I’m posting this tonight for Joe.

THE RIGHT THING

Let others probe the mystery if they can.

Time-harried prisoners of Shall and Will-

The right thing happens to the happy man.

The bird flies out, the bird flies back again;

The hill becomes the valley, and is still;

Let others delve that mystery if they can.

God bless the roots! -Body and soul are one

The small become the great, the great the small;

The right thing happens to the happy man.

Child of the dark, he can out leap the sun,

His being single, and that being all:

The right thing happens to the happy man.

Or he sits still, a solid figure when

The self-destructive shake the common wall;

Takes to himself what mystery he can,

And, praising change as the slow night comes on,

Wills what he would, surrendering his will

Till mystery is no more: No more he can.

The right thing happens to the happy man.

~Theodore Roethke

I’ve got a little personal project going on. I keep a journal. I have for many years. I thought it might be cool to gradually put it on computer, make it searchable. That way, when somebody says, “What year was it we all went to Gilroy for the famous garlic festival therein, and Uncle Kyle had that bad gas all the way home?” I’ll be able to find it.

I’ve started with my current journal, which goes back five years. There are more in the closet, going back maybe another ten. So far, I’ve typed in May through June of 1999.

What I’ve learned so far is that I’m not much different, in terms of my discernable emotional life, than I was then. This isn’t good news. I need to lighten up.

The garlic festival begins July 23, and runs for three days. In the mean time, there’s Santa Barbara’s annual Solstice. Maybe I’ll go as a guy who didn’t just stumble out of a Chekov play.

Mattie Stepanek, Poet, Advocate, Dies

“Despite his condition, Stepanek was upbeat, saying he didn’t fear death. His work was full of life, a quest for peace, hope and the inner voice he called a ‘heartsong.'”

“It’s our inner beauty, our message, the songs in our hearts. My life mission is to spread peace to the world.”

What a fine poet. Such a wonderful vision of purpose. This boy’s death is a loss to all of us, a gain to none but heaven.

Hey, do you all think I should apply for credentials to the Democratic National Convention? I could blog from there about nothing in particular, which is what I expect will be going on. So it would be right up my alley, don’t you think?

Anyway, other bloggers will be covering the events, so I’ll just stay here and drink coffee and watch the show. Hope none of you are disappointed.

I’m feelin’ mighty blue today. Ever have one of those days when you wake up feeling down, and well into the afternoon you still feel like killing a clown? Then you have to talk to people, but it feels like your voice is going to crack. Well that’s how I’m feeling today. I’m goin’ down the road feelin’ bad.

It doesn’t help that we haven’t seen the sun for more than two consecutive hours in the past eight days. It’s June Gloom, a local meteorological phenomenon, which means that the sky turns the consistency of elmer’s glue and elephant phlegm.

I’m going to the kitchen now, and I’m going to mix up a couple quarts of Kool-aid. Don’t worry, I’m not going to summon the reaper ala Jonestown. It’s just the strongest stuff in the house, next to Folgers instant coffee, and that would have the opposite of the desired effect. Hmm… there might be a little orange juice.

Anyway, I need a hug. So if you’re going down the 101 between now and bedtime, stop by and give this old blogger a bit of a squeeze. What goes around comes around. But check yourself in the rearview mirror first; if you look anything like a clown, you may not make it back down the stairs alive. I can’t be responsible.

I haven’t been blogging much lately. My nephew – T,age 3 – was visiting for several days. It was really a blast having him here. Most of the time, he’s just a little engine of unabashed happiness.

He got to go to the annual butterly exhibit at the museum of natural history. Hundreds and hundreds of butterflies, flittering around and doing their butterfly thing in a big enclosed pavilion. If you’re feeling angry or at odds with life, this is just the thing to set your mind and soul aright.

I know, it’s not a great picture. But T slows down to the point where a photographic device can capture him so seldom, that one tends to shoot from the hip.

He also went to the carousel at Chase Palm Park. Here he is, with Nana, on his trusty steed. Once again, the shutter on a digital camera is only so fast.

I realize I missed the opportunity to comment on geopolitical events of great moment, and I really appreciate it.

I’ve updated the look of my Web site a little. Just a couple of screens. The first page and the technical writer page. What do you think?

Everything is green, except

the lavender Jacaranda.

I hear the jagged bounce

of a basketball and the happy

Spanish of boys. The dogs

beg me to keep their bellies

full and the blue jay skips

along the redwood rail

in search of crusts. Iraq

is full of smoke and rattles

like bones

like a skull of sharpened teeth.

© Kyle Kimberlin

June 16, 2004

This crocodile hunter guy isn’t all there. Seems he’s in trouble again.

He’s a sandwich short of a picnic.

He’s got kangaroos in his top paddock.

If brains were gunpowder, he couldn’t blow off his hat.

He’s a sanger short of a barbie.

I’m tellin’ ya, mate, he’s not the full quid.

Link

The last widow of a veteran of the Civil War has died. It’s amazing to me that such a person was still living in 2004.

Link

In case you’ve been as worried about the implications of grey goo — and the potential for nanotechnology to run amok — as I have, this article should help ease your mind.

Experts put ‘grey goo’ in perspective

OK, his timing could have been better. Kerry could have called on Der BushFührer to reverse his stem cell policy a long time ago. The day after Reagan’s burial seems a tad opportunistic. But what the hey.

News Article | Reuters.com