Light-Year
by: Billy Collins
Being the amount of light
that falls every year
on this green pasture
where I pulled the car over
to write down
what I just thought of.
Technically, that's not really what a light year is. (Astronomical definition: a unit of astronomical distance equivalent to the distance that light travels in one year.) But I can get on board with Collins' description. When you live in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, you are very aware of the amount of sunlight available at any given time. I remember one particular winter when we didn't see blue sky for over a month.
It rained hard in my neck of the woods this afternoon, accompanied by some good-sized hail. It's supposed to start raining again in about an hour. (Confession: I'm writing this post around 5:30 p.m.) However, I'm sitting in my office at the library right now looking at an almost clear sky, so I'm not completely convinced that the heavens will open up and unleash again.
I'm supposed to host an outdoor concert on the library steps this evening, but I made the decision around 2 p.m. to move it inside. If you haven't realized it yet, faithful disciple, I abhor disruptions to plans I make. Most people who know me personally are very aware of this fact. Yet, some individuals still delight in breaking bad news to me. One such person today, shaking head, with a mild expression of concern/amusement: "Just saw the forecast. Doesn't look good."
Human beings get a kind of . . . thrill (I guess that's the best word I can come up with) when sharing information that's potentially upsetting or sad. (Maybe that's why everyone pays so much attention to Donald Trump. It's not because they believe or respect him. It's because he's a walking, talking airplane crash--disaster in the flesh.)
On the flip side, good news is always delivered with a spoonful of criticism. You may have just won the Nobel Peace Prize for battling climate change or caring for homeless squids, and you'll still be the subject of gossip and insult. Perhaps it's jealousy. Or just outright meanness. As the adage goes, misery loves company.
Saint Marty isn't miserable right now. Just mildly annoyed with the weather.
Sharing Good News
by: Martin Achatz
Bake Grandma's lemon bars
to share at tomorrow's potluck
and count how many people
eat them, smile, then point out
you didn't add enough butter
to the crumble crust.
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