Some Losses Are Forever

I think a lot about time and history. I think about who I am.

My father died when I was nine. I grew up knowing that he was sick–that he might die at any time.

Not surprisingly, that knowledge affected me.

And his death, when I was nine, also affected me.

But some other deaths affected me, too. The assassination of John F. Kennedy affected me. And so, too, did the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr., and Robert Kennedy.

“Anybody here seen¬†my old friend John?

Can you tell me where he’s gone?”

JFK died in 1963. My father died in 1967. MLK died in 1968. RFK died in 1968.

Sometimes I just get confused.

I remember listening to Jim Croce and thinking that he was so great. I never thought about his race or ethnicity. I never heard anyone mention his race or ethnicity. He was just a great musician, and everyone loved him.

And then he died.

Now it seems so needlessly difficult for us all simply to admire the beauty that we all bring to this world. Jim Croce and his great colleague, Maury Muhlheisen, performed stunningly beautiful music.

Isn’t that enough?

Who Sees the Waxwing’s Fall?


This morning I found a female cedar waxwing sitting on our driveway. I knew that she was injured. So, after taking a couple of photographs, I placed her in a small cardboard box and tucked her on our porch. I haven’t seen any cats in our neighborhood, but I nevertheless placed the box so a cat would have a hard time getting to it.

I checked the box a couple of times. On the second check, the bird had flown. I think that she had flown into the clerestory windows in our kitchen. We have bird-scarer decals on them, but they still claim the occasional bird. I’ve had to bury a few–much to my regret.

I’m hopeful that this one regained her senses and flew away.



I have been doing a fair amount of target archery the last several weeks. I have archered* in the past, and I have always enjoyed it; but I hadn’t done any for a couple of years. But my little girl did archery at camp and came back excited about it. I bought her a bow: pink, of course, and too heavy for her. But I then brought out an old Ben Pearson Jet that I had purchased for her big brother about a decade ago, when he and I were doing archery together.

I started looking around again and have ended up purchasing two “traditional” bows–that is, bows that do not have any sorts of cams. I purchased the second this evening: a PSE Blackhawk, which is a “recurve” bow. (When a recurve is strung, the tips of the limbs point away from the archer: thus the term.) The Blackhawk is an inexpensive bow, but it receives good reviews–and my skill level and non-hunterly** intentions don’t really call for anything better.***

In any event, the photo above shows part of the bow, along with a few arrows and my shooting glove.


* Like my coinage?

** I’m like a mint tonight!

*** But, thanks to an ad on the back of an archery magazine, I’m yearning for a Great Northern bow in green. Perhaps I should try to fund the purchase through¬†Kickstarter . . .