Of Eagles

I am not so wise as to know what wis­dom is, and pre­tend­ing only calls up its oppo­site, fol­ly.  A cou­ple of years ago I was cross­ing one of the float­ing bridges that spans Lake Wash­ing­ton, here near Seat­tle. You can see the bridge in the image below. I was dri­ving east — in the image from… Con­tin­ue read­ing Of Eagles

Published
Categorized as Choices

For My Mother

Jane Hed­wig Stah­mer Oestre­ich 12/5/1911 — 3/5/2012 A mem­o­ry: light sweeps around our love­ly wood­en house and I on stilts tramp my cir­cuit with wood­en feet. I bal­ance each cor­ner’s turn, pass the shad­ows where once the coal was kept, and climb a hill of lilacs toward our sun­lit kitchen. With­in the house you smiled to hear I’d cir­cled… Con­tin­ue read­ing For My Mother

Published
Categorized as Grief, Love

The Air is There, Waiting

There are two sto­ries that I find myself telling. One, spo­ken by the voice of my fears, tells me that I am alone, mis­un­der­stood, and dif­fer­ent from oth­ers in a way that will always keep me iso­lat­ed and unrec­og­nized. It’s depress­ing. The sec­ond voice “flips” this empha­sis on dif­fer­ence from a lia­bil­i­ty to an asset… Con­tin­ue read­ing The Air is There, Waiting

The Ears of the Wolf

Many years ago, when I was work­ing in an HR func­tion, two con­sul­tants were hired to help with exec­u­tive selec­tion process­es. Their sophis­ti­cat­ed tem­pera­ment test­ing instru­ment was used in com­bi­na­tion with oth­er stan­dard tools, such as inter­views, resumes, work sam­ples, ref­er­ences, and so on. The con­sul­tants’ infor­ma­tion seemed to be par­tic­u­lar­ly com­pelling and they soon… Con­tin­ue read­ing The Ears of the Wolf