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    • Peggy’s Cove

      Peggy’s Cove

      Standing watch over the rocky coast of Halifax’s Peggy’s Point is a small lighthouse built in 1915.  The lighthouse, modest in comparison to other in the region, grows more famous yearly as tourists flock to Peggy’s Cove, make their way out to the point and post pictures in front of this iconic backdrop.  Interestingly, the lighthouse doubled as the post office for many years, which seems impractical if only because the lighthouse is set out on the point, where something closer to the cove would seem more efficient.

      To me the cove is the real star, as houses and boathouses crowd right up to the edge of the water.  This is convenient when you make your living on the sea and walking from your house.  These houses are charming and make for a great Instagram post.  Nova Scotia restricts building in this area, and restricts purchasing property here to the locals.  I guess that means I can’t move there.  Tourism and fishing are the two primary industries here, so perhaps simply visiting is enough.

      Peggy’s Cove is named for Saint Margaret’s Bay, of which it’s a part of.  The point is dangerous for ships and the lighthouse does its job alerting ships to the dangers.  Unfortunately the tourists don’t always get the message.  Signs alert people to stay off the black rocks.  Black rocks mean water.  Many tourists to the region are swept off the rocks to their deaths.  Paying the ultimate price for a chance for the perfect picture.

      While its beautiful, it’s also a madhouse in the summer months when the cruise ships and other tourists flock to the area.  Frankly I’d rather visit in the offseason when you can have a little elbow room.

    • Monday Jump Start

      Monday Jump Start

      My week started at 6 AM with a quick walk around the garden to take stock of things, let Bodhi out and then a dive into writing before I shift gears towards work.  It was clear that the first cup of coffee hadn’t shaken the cobwebs off yet, so I indulged in some literary caffeine to get my jump started for the work week.  It started with grabbing a few random quotes from books I own:

      “As long as you live, keep learning how to live.” – Seneca

      “Misspending a man’s time is a kind of self-homicide.” – George Saville

      “A man is rich in the proportions of things he can let alone.” – Henry David Thoreau

      “The shortest and surest way to live with honor in this world is to be in reality what we would appear to be; all human virtues increase and strengthen themselves by the practice and experience of them.” – Socrates

      “The great thing in this world is not so much where we stand as in what direction we are moving.” – Oliver Wendell Holmes

      “No life ever grows great until it is focused, dedicated and disciplined.” – Henry Emerson Fosdick

      From there I started wondering about a couple of the people who were quoted.  I know all of the names but some carry more weight today than others.  Living in the Boston area it’s easy to know about Thoreau and Holmes, but Fosdick was someone I didn’t know as much about:

      Fosdick was a pastor from Buffalo who found fame as a leading voice in Modernism taking a stand against Fundamentalism (ie: taking the Bible at its literal word) with his sermons and books, in fighting racism and for co-authoring Alcoholics Anonymous.  He’s a guy that would look around today and have a few things to say about our society.  I’ll need to find his biography and read some of his sermons to really get a sense of the man.

      Then I moved over to Holmes.  Supreme Court Justice.  Acquaintance of the Concord elite.  Harvard guy…  Civil War veteran?  Interesting.  Another biography I need to read.

      We live our lives with history swirling all around us.  People who lived their lives with focus, dedication and discipline and changed our society in meaningful ways, and thus changed the way we live our own lives.  This ripple effect is profound, and yet we usually don’t know the source of the ripple.  I guess that’s one reason I blog; to learn about the antagonists that bounced around in this pond before me and changed the wave we’re surfing today.  Another reason is to build this writing muscle back up so it doesn’t atrophy.  Whether anyone ever reads it is beside the point, but I do appreciate you getting this far down the page.

      With that it’s time to focus on my job.  The work week has begun.  I’ll try to spend my time wisely this week, move in the right direction and to be honorable.  I don’t always get it right but hopefully I’ll do more good than harm this week.

    • Summer Solstice

      Summer Solstice

      The 4th of July is the big bang of summer, but late June is when the longest day of the year happens.  Summer solstice was June 21 and we’ve started the slow tilt away from the sun.  It’s hard to imagine because summer’s just begun, but it’s literally the beginning of the end.

      Late June is full of weddings and strawberry festivals and kids going to camp.  The tree pollen finally eases off and you can start breathing again.  The days are warm but not dog days of summer hot.  Lakes and the ocean are still warming up and remind you that you still aren’t that far past winter when you jump in.  Many of the perennial flowers in the garden are peaking.  Roses are bursting and bending over with the weight of their showy tops.  Annuals just planted weeks ago are hitting their stride.  Late June in New England is ripe with hope for the future.
      Other cultures start holiday right about now.  Americans work right through with maybe a week off wedged around a long weekend so you don’t have to take the extra day.  This is the time of year when you recognize the folly of this system.  Two days off on the weekend just don’t give you enough time for all that there is to do this time of year.  Beach or hiking?  Sailing or gardening?  Swim in the pool or go out for an ice cream?  Take a bike ride or have a drink with friends on the deck?  Its an embarrassment of riches.  These are days we’ll remember, but there’s so much to do that you can’t possibly fit it all in.
      Best to savor these moments.  Be happy with whatever you choose, shift down a gear or two and appreciate the long days.  Our lives are about living now.  We only have today, and the days aren’t getting any longer.

    • Feta Cheese Lady

      Feta Cheese Lady

      People tend to fall into one of two buckets.  Either you’re looking for what you have in common with someone or you’re looking for how you’re different from someone.  I’ve had a few conversations over the last month with people who I have a lot in common with who are completely different from me on which politician they support, religious belief, what they eat or don’t eat, Red Sox/Yankees, how they raise their children, smoking or nonsmoking, how they drive or a hundred other things.  And yet in each case I have a lot in common with them too.

      I had a meeting this week where I completely agreed with the guy I was meeting with on 95% of what we were talking about.  Where we had differences of opinion I chose to keep my mouth shut rather than work to educate him on why I was right and he was wrong.  Does that make me weak, or pragmatic?  In this conversation I was talking with a customer and I think it was pragmatic not to stand on principle and tell him why his opinion was off the mark.  But I’ve held my tongue in non-business situations as well.  I think there’s a place to take a stand and a time to figure out what you have in common and leave the rest behind.

      The art of compromise is finding a place in the middle where both sides win.  Extremists on both sides view this as weak, spineless or a hundred other things.  Most people will hold the line on something.  Most people view school shootings as horrific events that must stop.  Where we disagree is in how to stop them.  Most people agree in general that secure borders make sense.  Where we disagree is in the methodology for stopping people from crossing that border.

      Philosophical debate has been around for as long as humans could communicate with each other.  The art of philosophical debate was mastered by the ancient Greeks, most notably Socrates, Plato and Aristotle.  Read Plato’s Philebus and you see just how brilliant great debate can be when employing the Socratic Method of questions and answers to stimulate critical thinking and eventually agreement.  But the art of debate gets lost in the noise that social media and mass media create.  It’s far easier to follow one point of view than to find the nuance between the two that makes the most sense for both sides.  Clicks and followers demand loud voices.

      I was talking to the woman making my omelet in Rochester, New York this week.  Random person whom I know nothing about other than that she cooks eggs to order at a Doubletree Hotel.  I’ve had the same conversation with her twice, roughly seven months apart.  I asked for feta cheese on my omelet and she gushed about Stella feta cheese, saying it was the best anywhere, but really hard to find outside of Sysco or whatever other supplier Hilton contracts with.  She didn’t remember having this conversation with me last year, just that we both liked feta cheese on our omelets.  She may have strong opinions about separating children from their parents at the border, or about any number of hot button issues.  What I know for sure is that she’s a sweet older lady who isn’t very good at making omelets but tries hard.  And when she’s at work she doesn’t bring up divisive issues that detract from her primary mission.

      Social media offers plenty of opportunity to comment on divisive issues, and God knows people take advantage of that opportunity.  But somewhere along the way a few people forget why they’re Facebook friends with someone in the first place and prompt debate, discord, anger and name calling.  Some of the greatest people I know have opinions I completely disagree with.  And I’m okay with that as long as they respect my right to have a different opinion.  Facebook to me is a place to look at your family and friends living their lives and cheer them on as hit milestones or try their best.  It’s not the best format for debate on hot button issues, but when you aren’t hanging out around the same water cooler it’s one way to reach out and touch someone…  or say something annoying enough that they respond.

      Sometimes I just want to get my omelet and get on with my day.  Debating a short order cook about which feta cheese is better wouldn’t have advanced my life in any meaningful way.  Other times I want to complain about Dunkin Donuts just to get a reaction.  Debating DD vs. Starbucks is a means of engagement.  Poking friends to see who responds.  And I see that with political discussions on FB.  Sometimes you want to jump in, other times not.  But when intelligent debate devolves into argument neither party advances in any meaningful way.  We all have our line in the sand, but isn’t it more interesting to find common ground?  Ultimately its all just food for thought anyway.

    • A Quick Hike Along the Niagara River

      A Quick Hike Along the Niagara River

      Niagara Falls rightly gets most of the attention from visitors to this corner of New York.   The Niagara Falls State Park is the oldest state park in the United States and looking around I’m grateful for those who preserved this area from souvenir shops, off track betting, casinos and parking garages that would otherwise grind right up to the edge of the falls.  Americans need to be protected from themselves and state and national parks are one way to keep the wolves at bay.

      I’ve visited Niagara Falls half a dozen times in my life and appreciate the power and beauty of the falls every time I see them.  I’ve seen the whirlpool from the Canadian side but that’s akin to walking on the boardwalk at the beach.  You see similar stuff but you don’t get any sand in your shoes.  There’s an elevator on the Canadian side.  Taking an elevator is not my idea of getting outdoors.  So with that as my experience with the Whirlpool, I’d never thought much about going downstream on the American side until a friend raved about it.  I found an opportunity to do that hike yesterday afternoon after meetings in nearby Tonawanda (To the Native American tribes who lived in this area Tonawanda meant “swift waters”, today it means “land that the power lines run through”)

      Whirlpool State Park and Devil’s Hole State Park are the next links in the chain of state parks that line the Niagara River downstream from the falls.  Opened in 1928 and 1924, respectively, they each remain largely what they were at that time and thus have that old park nostalgic feel to them.  Massive old trees line the upper trail that hugs the cliff line.  Old stone staircases, recently rebuilt, are largely the same one’s from when the parks opened.  Descending the staircase at the Whirlpool State Park you can hear the white water well before you reach the bottom of the stairs.  Glimpses of fast moving green and white water greet you through the trees as you make your way down.  As I descend I’m mentally calculating how many of these steep steps I’m going to have to climb back up on my return.

      At the bottom you have the choice of left for upstream or right for downstream.  I took a left and followed the Whirlpool Trail.  This trail follows the river to the wild whitewater that flows from the falls upstream.  It reminded me a lot of the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon.  Steep cliffs with rock falls, arid climate with a powerful, fast-moving river next to you.  It was late afternoon on a weekday, so I was passing people hiking the trail but never felt like it was too crowded.  A few college kids were sunbathing and smoking pot and doing whatever college kids do to pass a summer day.

      The Niagara River just below the falls is 170 feet deep, apparently as deep as the falls are tall.  Further downstream the depth at the whirlpool is 125 feet deep.  That rise combined with the narrow gorge, some twists and turns in the river and the sheer volume of water trying to muscle its way through this tight channel creates a chaotic white water scene that’s breathtaking.  The green water boils into a frothy, bubbling eruption as it roars by.  This is first class white water and I laugh when I see the no swimming signs.  Swimming in this water would be almost as dumb as standing on the railing upriver to take a better picture of the falls.

      The trail running alongside this wild river is rocky and you need to watch your footing in this stretch.  Memories of similar hikes in Sagres, Portugal, Camelback Mountain in Phoenix and the side trails of the Grand Canyon came back to me as I worked my way through a few particularly rocky stretches.  The overhanging cliffs in the gorge felt very similar to the canyons out west, and the heat of the day reinforced that impression.  The Canadian side at the river level is heavily wooded as well, and I could easily see this landscape as largely unchanged from the days before European explorers walked these paths.  The only thing that betrayed the changes were crumbling concrete walls and paths from a century ago.

      Still, this was the Niagara Falls region and even in this pristine environment the illusion was eventually encroached upon by power boats and jet skis running the rapids, an overhead tram line, zip lines and buildings overlooking the white water on the Canadian side and further upstream on the American side.  Pristine beauty is nice and all, but it’s better when you can sprinkle a little profiteering on top.  I was thankful there wasn’t a Margaritaville food truck parked on a barge along the path.  Maybe they save that for the weekend traffic.  Anyway, rather than going to the bridge I decided to turn around before the end of the trail and backtracked to the staircase, where I then continued onwards along the Devil’s Hole trail.

      If the Whirlpool trail is notable for the rocky trails and white water, the Devil’s Hole Trail is notable for the cooling shade and relatively flat terrain the trail follows between the river and the escarpment.  The path is an old Seneca Indian portage trail, and they fought several battles along this ground trying to preserve that access for themselves.  In 1763 a wagon train was ambushed near this spot and 80 British soldiers and settlers were massacred.  That story seems to have faded into history.

      As you hike the trail you come across caves of varying sizes.  One of these caves is called both the “Devil’s Hole” and also the “Cave of the Evil Spirit” as bad luck seems to befall those who go into it.  I’m not sure whether that’s true or not, as I wasn’t inclined to do any spelunking on this particular trip.  Locals tell stories of rattlesnakes living in the caves but nobody seems to have ever really seen one.  If there are indeed rattlesnakes the chipmunks didn’t get the memo.

      I hiked up out of the gorge using the Devil’s Hole staircase that delivers you to the parking lot of that state park.  This staircase wasn’t as steep as the one at Whirlpool State Park, but got my heart rate up anyway.  The escarpment is very steep and the stairs switch back several times on the climb.  Reaching the top I followed the Niagara Gorge Rim trail back to the Whirlpool State Park.  This trail had some great views of the river and Canada and was wide and flat.  A few points along the way offered perspective on the lower trail and the power of the river.

      These state parks are a lovely buffer from the beat up poured-concrete roads, tired tourist culture and power infrastructure that make up much of Niagara Falls, New York.  The American side doesn’t have the views of the falls that you get on the Canadian side, but it’s still a breathtaking landscape worth visiting.  Hopefully some of the billions of dollars New York is putting towards Buffalo reaches the City of Niagara Falls, New York.  The city could use a face lift to make it a more attractive destination.  But the parks do their part year in and year out.  With no charge for parking or entry into the parks, it’s a great bargain for anyone looking for some exercise away from the crowded railings overlooking Niagara Falls.  For me, it was a nice way to cap off a week of travel and get some exercise before the long drive home.

    • Rust in the Water

      Rust in the Water

      In general we take the supply of water for granted in the northeast corner of North America.  There’s usually enough precipitation in rain and snow coming through this region to refill the aquifers, rivers and reservoirs that supply our drinking water.  This month we’re running a bit dry, according to the meteorologists.  After the spring we had I’m okay with a bit dry.

      Our ecosystem is designed to be resilient to a point.  But as the population grows we continue to test the limits of that resiliency.  Watering lawns, filling pools and a hundred other things we humans do increase demands on the water supply.  Desalinization is still too expensive a process, and frankly we aren’t desperate enough as other regions are, to be a viable option here yet.  Conservation is the key here.

      There was rust in the water this morning.  That usually means they’re doing maintenance on the pipes somewhere, or flushing the fire hydrants, or some other thing that turns our normally clear water into a lovely orange sheen.  It’s a good reminder that we’re all reliant on the system working.  Water, electricity, gasoline, food…  we have so much delivered to us that sometimes we forget that the supply chain could break down at any time.  Building more resiliency into our individual lives is one answer.  Just as we have a national reserve of oil to protect us from a sudden shutoff of the global supply, so we should have a reserve of food, water, batteries and fuel to ensure that we can survive for some period of time should the system break down.

      Such are my thoughts when there’s rust in the water.  Thanks for the reminder.  It’s good to have those once in a while.

    • Father’s Day Reflections

      When I think about Father’s Day I think about the Father’s Day I spent spreading crushed stone as a base for our brick patio on a hot and humid day a dozen years ago.  Spreading crushed stone with a rake and shovel is soul-crushing work, and I was miserable.  At moments like that I usually try to push harder to just get it done, but looking around that day I realized that I had a long way to go.  No end in sight.  The Bobcat I rented couldn’t do what needed to be done, I had to do it.  Thoughts ran through my head about hiring someone to finish the job.  Throw money at the problem and have it go away.  Go have a drink and relax on the deck instead.  But we pushed through those feelings and eventually finished the work.  And for the last twelve years we’ve enjoyed countless birthday parties, fire pit conversations and casual strolls on that walk and patio and look back and laugh at that “low point” in our lives.

      Like every father I’ll remember those moments when my kids were born forever.  The marathon exhaustion of Ian being born combined with the mystery and newness of bringing a child into this world.  The surprising and relative ease with which Emily introduced herself to the world (spoken from a father’s point of view).  Those moments were milestones but just the start.  Fatherhood is the grind that comes afterwards.  The day-to-day commitment and sacrifices you make for your family.  Being a father means showing up and doing the work.  Maybe thats why I think of that particular day when I think of Father’s Day.

      I think that’s the magic in It’s a Wonderful Life.  Most parents can relate to it.  George Bailey sacrifices his own wishes and desires for his family and the town he lives in.  The knocks keep coming but ultimately he figures out that the things that kept saying “not yet” to him when he was just about to realize his dreams were the things that made his life worthwhile.  That’s being a father.  Sure I haven’t checked off a lot of items on the bucket list just yet, but I wouldn’t trade the time with my kids.

      I have a few fathers in my life.  My dad and step-father have both been central in my development and in the way I look at the world.  I inherited my sarcasm and self-depreciation from my father, but also my love of family and willingness to sacrifice like George Bailey for the family.  After raising four children my dad fostered and raised six more kids.  He never complains about the struggle, he just pushes through.  Being the 8th of 16 kids meant my dad was as middle child as you get.  He taught me to appreciate the little things and to be patient with others.  He’s better at that than I am.

      My step-father has his own kids but made us a central part of his life.  He sacrificed a lot in doing so.  He’s more Harry Bailey; flying off aircraft carriers, athletic, traveling the world, a knowing gleam in his eye and quick with a great story.  And there for you when it counts.  Taking a walk in the woods with him was a Masters-level education.  My love of adventure, gardening and willingness to jump right into it comes from him.  And rum.  He set me down the path with rum.  Not just the drink but the process of making the drink and when and how to drink it.  That’s a post for another day.

      My father-in-law is the third father in my immediate circle.  He’s the ultimate cheerleader for his kids and grandchildren.  He knows everyone in the Merrimack Valley.  He tells stories about basketball games from 30 years ago like they were yesterday.  Kris says he never missed a game or track meet she was in growing up.  While I can’t be at every game like him I’ve tried to be there as much as I can for my kids’ milestone events.

      Now I’ve got adult children.  My youngest is the age my mother was when she had me.  But being a dad doesn’t stop just because my kids are largely independent.  I expect the next twenty years will be filled with both milestone moments and knock you to your knees challenges.  I’m hoping for more of the former.

    • Connecticut Capital Building

      Connecticut Capital Building

      If Hartford, Connecticut is a mix of gritty neighborhoods and gleaming insurance headquarters today, in the late 1800’s it was considered a model city.  Mansions popped up in the Nook Farm area, which rivaled Concord, Massachusetts with the number of artists and writers who clustered in that area.  Insurance companies were also popping up, and bringing massive wealth into Hartford.

      When Hartford was chosen to be the capital city for Connecticut over New Haven, the leaders wanted to build an impressive capital building to show that they had arrived as one of the great cities in North America.  Richard M. Upjohn was chosen as the architect and proposed a Victorian Gothic design to sit up in the hill adjacent to Bushnell Park.  Walking around the property, you see the grandness of their vision, even if they cut corners in a few places.  Marble, granite, stained glass and ornate fixtures show the wealth of the era.

      I’m not an architect, but I appreciate a great building when I see one.  Perhaps some architects find the building audacious (it was and still is), but its a great time stamp from a time in the 1870’s when Hartford was a wealthy city with some of the nations literary giants walking its streets.  Hartford is not that city anymore.  Poverty encroaches on many areas of the city that were once highly desirable neighborhoods for the elite.  The Nook Farm area is now the high school and apartment buildings, with a few historic buildings like Mark Twain and Harriet Beecher Stowe’s homes still telling stories from another time.  The Capital Building tells a story too.  Of wealth and privilege for sure, but also of a city that was finding it’s place in a crowded corner of the country between Boston and New York.

    • Winning the Lottery

      Winning the Lottery

      In 1933 an influenza outbreak spread across the world.  While it wasn’t considered a pandemic, it represented a significant spike in influenza-related deaths that hasn’t been equalled since.  The 1933 outbreak hits home for me; I’m told that my grandfather’s first wife, father-in-law and infant daughter Paula all died in this influenza outbreak.  So my own existence is tied directly to these events.  When Josephine Carmichael died, my grandfather Robert sought out Beatrice Morgan to help care for his three surviving children.  Robert and Beatrice eventually married and had twelve children of their own, including my father.
      The 1933 outbreak was a new variant of H1N1 influenza but wasn’t considered a pandemic even though it was a new variant and spread worldwide.  Perhaps in comparison to the one that came before it 1933 seemed pretty minor by comparison.  The worst pandemic ever recorded was the 1918 outbreak of “Spanish Flu” which killed millions of people.  It was directly related to the movement of people around the world following World War One.  Boston’s ports were one of the transportation hubs and thus the region was hit especially hard by the 1918 pandemic.  The Spanish Flu was unique in that it killed young people who might otherwise survive an outbreak that killed weaker people like the very old and very young.

      Pandemics, natural disasters, world war, the randomness of two people meeting and both paying enough attention to each other at any given moment to be attracted to one another.  Overall health and well being of people in the United States has improved significantly since 1933.  Infant mortality is at its lowest point in history and exponential improvements in medicine ensure more people make it to adulthood.  Childhood diseases that killed or crippled millions were largely eradicated in the years since Josephine died.  We’re all lottery winners just by being born, and being born here and now.  So I have a low tolerance for self-pity and complaining about relatively minor things.  There are plenty of examples of people around the world born into a worse situation than us.  There are plenty of people who aren’t born at all.

      Josephine had four children.  Paula died as her mother did of influenza.  Her older brother Robert died in a car accident when he crossed the line driving drunk in Virginia.  Her other brother died in Korea in the first year of the war in 1950.  Only her sister Marcia lived on, helping raise her siblings from her father’s second marriage until she herself was married and moved away to raise a family of her own.  I didn’t take the opportunity to ask Marcia a lot of questions about her mother, siblings or grandparents before her dementia stole that opportunity away from me.  But I’ll think of them, back in 1933, and the hardships they endured and the virus that they succumbed to.  I’ll never know all the random events throughout history that allowed me to hit the lottery, but I know about them.

    • Experience with Emerson

      Experience with Emerson

      “Life is not intellectual or critical, but sturdy.  Its chief good is for well-mixed people who can enjoy what they find, without question…  To fill the hour, – that is happiness, to fill the hour and leave no crevice for a repentance or an approval.  We live on surfaces, and the true art of life is to skate on them.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson, Experience

      Emerson was at the center of it all.  If Concord was the center of the 19th century literary world, Emerson was the great influencer; the magnet that drew in talented writers, or inspired talented artists to push their own boundaries.  Emerson and Thoreau, Emerson and Alcott, Emerson and Hawthorne, Emerson and French; always Emerson.  The father of Transcendentalism, which promoted the inherent good in people and self-reliance over institutional control, Emerson continues to inspire and lead well beyond his time on earth.  My own personal philosophy is deeply rooted in Transcendentalism.  Emerson is the wise old sage who reaches out from beyond his grave with his Experience:

      “Life is a mixture of power and form, and will not bear the least excess of either.  To finish the moment, to find the journey’s end in every step of the road, to live the greatest number of good hours, is wisdom.”

      When I was in college I took a course which dove deep into Transcendentalism.  I often wish I’d saved the notes from that class.  I’m no scholar, and certainly not an expert in the philosophy.  Emerson was a leading voice in Transcendentalism but not its only voice.  Ultimately we all develop our own operating systems.  My own is far from perfect, but firmly rooted in living in the moment and treating people with respect.  These quotes I’m pulling out are from the yellowing pages of The Portable Emerson, a book I’ve had for a long time.  I’ve never read the entire book, but dabble in it occasionally.  Perhaps thats one of my flaws; too much of a generalist, dabbling instead of spending the time to dive deep.  Conversely, I’ve done my best to live by the spirit of this philosophy even if I haven’t invested the time in fully comprehending it.  But these words I know.

      “Since our office is with moments, let us husband them.  Five minutes today are worth as much to me as five minutes in the next millennium.  Let us be poised, and wise, and our own, today.  Let us treat the men and women well; treat them as if they were real; perhaps they are.  Men live in their fancy, like drunkards whose hands are too soft and tremulous for successful labor.  It is a tempest of fancies, and the only ballast I know is a respect for the present hour.  Without any shadow of doubt,  amidst this vertigo of shows and politics, I settle myself ever the firmer in the creed that we should not postpone and refer and wish, but do broad justice where we are, by whomsoever we deal with, accepting our actual companions and circumstances, however humble or odious, as the mystic officials to whom the universe has delegated its whole pleasure for us.”

      Emerson wrote those words in the last millennium, I’m re-reading them in the next millennium.  Many of us are bridges between the two.  Born and living a portion of our lives in each millennium.  The term itself is nothing but a man-made reference to a period of time.  1000 trips around the sun.  Completely subjective, but meaningful nonetheless in the way that marking time is a gauge to indicate our progression through life.  A reference point to those who lived before us, with us or after us.  Ultimately we’re all going from here to there.  Making the most of here before we get there is all we can do.  And remember those who came before, honor those who are here with us now and leave the world a better place for those who come after us.  Live a bit more like Emerson.