Why does it affect me so?

I had been alternately diddling inside and out, and thinking and writing about preparedness.

I came inside, sat down at my desk and refreshed American Digest.

For a split second, I did not understand. And then I typed drudge… .

I hit the top link– there were only three at the time– and looked at the pictures.

Notre Dame. In flames. I just sat there staring at the screen.

As much as I know about the brain and how as it relates to the mind, I have no explanation for why my brain singled to my tear ducts in these moments.

And then I went outside for some fresh air. Notre Dame. In Flames. Why does this affect me so? What is going on?

I don’t care about how / why it happened.

I’ve been there once, and only on the outside.

Where is that photo?

Kat & Marg feeding the Notre Dame sparrows in 2000

I searched the picture tub and found it.

So why does it affect me so?

Why did I weep?

Fancy @The Farm

Last evening, Mr. Big Food asked if we could invite the Berkley Prof to The Farm and I said, “Sure.”

Turns out the Berkley Prof was a normal human being. Waitressed at a DQ Dairy Queen when she saw a teen.

Maybe there is hope.

What does it mean to be ‘smart’

So the Farm Hand & I are working in the Asparagus patch.

He’s an A-B student. In a decent school district. His Dad is a biology teacher, FFS. His Mom’s a nurse.

And he going on & and on about how smart we are.

I tell him that he’s smarter that he thinks he is.

What does it take to be smart? He asks. Read. Ask Questions.

It’s not that complicated.