Between the howling winds, trees coming down, power outages and a tornado or two, March definitely roared into town. Whether it goes out with a whimper is yet to be determined, but as last week’s storms raged through the Upper Delaware River region, I hunkered down with the Wonder Dog amending my schedule as sirens wailed outside.
In My Humble Opinion
There are many of us who still wince upon hearing those words that most would agree were written in poor taste, and others who will literally guffaw in response to the expression that has been bandied about for an undetermined number of years.
Even though my pickup is still in the shop, I’ve managed to get by—with a little help from my friends. Mother Nature has been more than kind over the last week, and the early signs of spring in the air combined with temporary wheels found me hitting the road once again, in search of both arts and leisure.
At the risk of being presumptuous, I’m going to assume that parents still read to their kids. At least, I hope so. My mother read to both my sister and me and instilled in us a great love of literature from a tender age—something that we both cherish as adults. To the best of my recollection, E.B.
Yep—it’s that time of year when Cupid is busily winging his way into the very heart of the Upper Delaware River region, and I’ve spent the past few days thinking about love and the variety of ways that it can be expressed. Love. You can’t buy it, can’t hurry it and from what I’m told, it makes the world go ‘round.
As I count the days in anticipation of making s’mores and basking in the warmth of the sun, I’m reminded that many of the events springing up in the near future have been (or are) in the planning stages months in advance. “What? Already?” I moaned, while reading an email.
That’s what the ancient Greek philosopher Heraclitus claimed anyhow. Actually, he said “change is the only constant in life,” but over the years, his words have been, well… changed. Either way, I don’t like it and I never have.
Memories are funny. With time, they can shape-shift and fade, but often they are instantly brought back to life by seeing an object I haven’t thought about in years, a whiff in the air of a once familiar scent, or the strains of a long-forgotten tune.
Those three words pop up frequently here in the Upper Delaware River region and have transformed the way I view art. While it may be perfectly fine to go to a gallery and stroll the halls making personal observations, getting a glimpse into the mind of the creator often puts a whole new spin on the subject at hand.
No, I’m not about to fill an entire page with sticky, gooey, far-too-sweet, lighter than air nothingness. Or am I? Not entirely unlike the marshmallow crème, a “fluff piece” is a form of journalism, even though there are folks who would argue the point. And in fact, it’s what I do.