We seem to give them back to you, O God, who gave them to us.
Yet as you did not lose them in giving, so we do not lose them by their return.
Not as the world gives do you give, O Lover of souls.
What you give you take not away, for what is yours is ours also if we are yours.
And life is eternal, and love is immortal, and death is only an horizon,
and an horizon is nothing, save the limit of our sight.
Lift us up, strong Son of God, that we may see further;
cleanse our eyes that we may see more clearly;
draw us closer to yourself that we may know ourselves to be nearer our
loved ones who are with you.
And while you do prepare a place for us, prepare us also for that happy place,
that where you are, we may be also for evermore.–Fr Bede Jarrett O.P. (order of preachers)
It Is Well (With My Soul)
It Is Well (With My Soul) performed and used here courtesy of my friend David Ezell.
Resting in Peace, Emma Gray Emory, born June 18, 1922. Died February 8, 2014.
This photo taken by her grand-daughter, Emma, February 3, 2014.
Sophie turns 14 with grace. I am thankful.
I never complain about the pavement in neighborhoods because when the membrane is allowed to deteriorate sufficiently many benefits accrue.
There is the traffic calming benefit, travel speeds are reduced, drivers moderate their speed.
This is a poor man’s pervious pavement, allowing some recharging of groundwater levels.
I wonder if there is a correlation between condition of streets and median income of the surrounding neighborhood?
Walking on the mall yesterday I saw a dog in the distance that looked a little like Daido Moriyama’s famous canine,
a little like Robin’s sweet dog, Irene.
I was reluctant to approach, then recognized the human, John Kirkpatrick. Kirkpatrick is one of my favorite photographers. He took the picture above of me and Otto.
The Thomas Jefferson Center for the Protection of Free Expression installed a First Amendment Monument in our City, it is a monolith, 54 feet long, 7.5 feet high.
Faced with slate. It was a good idea. But the execution, the slate is very roughly finished,
not like a chalkboard at all, it is a difficult surface to write on. Try writing on toilet paper with a quill pen, it’s like that. The wrong surface. What was the architects’ intent?