I’ve always loved that wood quote (generally attributed to Henry David Thoreau, although according to the interwebs, its coinage as aphorism derives from—ick—another Henry: Ford). It’s a lovely concept.
The Mate has been hard at work this past month, getting warm to keep us warm.
In October 2025, Susan, a close local friend, received an out-of-the-blue Stage 4 cancer diagnosis. Too old to wish to face treatment, she went into hospice.
On December 14, I learned of the death of my best friend from high school, Adrian.
Adie & I in the Grand Canyon in 2004
Nine days later, Susan died.
Susan was my nature-photo buddy. Now I don’t know whom to send these flowers to.
In February, my husband’s disease, Lewy-body Dementia (which we’d been managing pretty well) took a giant leap forward, canceling our road trip and wiping out all future plans for travel.
If you’ve followed Wing’s World for any stretch of time, you know that travel’s a big part of who we are. So that’s been hard.
The Mate biking in Virginia on Road Trip XII
In May, my father, unwilling to accept the threat of paraplegia from his long struggle with spinal stenosis, made a date for a Voluntary Assisted Death in Switzerland. My sisters and I made plans to accompany him, which meant I had to arrange companionship for my Mate.
Switzerland was beautiful, though, and I’m grateful for my dad’s sweet, easy death.
In June, my lengthy absence—in Europe, and then back to North Carolina to celebrate my friend Adrian’s life—seemed to accelerate my Mate’s symptoms.
Adrian’s Christmas present to me in 1978: a fabric-covered notebook for journaling. Fun fact: this notebook is the one that records my falling in love with my future Mate.
So, here on Lopez Island, we’ve spent the last several months regaining our equilibrium. This has involved my taking over most of the household responsibilities the Mate once covered—finances, utilities, minor repairs. It’s been a steep learning curve, in addition to playing a more active role in supporting my mom, now alone after 71 years of marriage.
But the amazing Martha Klopfer still races, at 91. Dad would be proud.
One thing hasn’t changed for us Wings, though: The Mate still mows in summer…
…and chops wood in fall. And I take photos. Turns out those future memories warm me too.
As of this writing, I’m preparing to go back to North Carolina for my dad’s Celebration of Life…carrying all these images with me.Warmed.
“So, Renato,” begins the concerned-looking woman in the YouTube clip, “what’s the remedy when the Department of Justice turns into the Department of Injustice?”
[courtesy Asharangappa.com]
“Ehhh…” responds Renato, “…it’s complicated.”
So begins another episode of “It’s Complicated”–legal analysis by two of the sharper legal tools in the briefcase: FBI agent-turned-Yale-law professor Asha Rangappa and her friend, former prosecutor Renato Mariotti. Sadly, this particular episode was the duo’s last (at least for now), but you can still tune in to plenty of past episodes and learn a TON about how the DOJ is supposed to work.
Being a legal nerd, I enjoyed those episodes. But what really lights me up are Asha’s deep dives into the MORAL complexity of our government’s current chaos.
That’s where Freedom Academy comes in. A teacher by heart, Asha runs weekly Q & A sessions for her Substack subscribers, where you can submit questions in advance, and then watch Asha engage with equal minds on questions like, “Why do some people cave in while others stand up?” “Where does moral courage come from?” “What does ‘complicity’ mean, anyway?”
Here she is most recently, talking with her friend, law historian Ruth Ben-Ghiat, whom I featured in my previous post:
[Substack videos won’t “embed” in my blog like YouTube…but click on the link to watch]
Another aspect of Asha I enjoy is her relative youth. Many of my Guiding Lights are my age, Boomers. But Asha’s solid Gen X, with the cultural references to prove it. In my book, FBI agents are automatic badasses, and the fact that she made that pivot from gun-toting to Yale Associate Law School Dean is, to me…not complicated, but COOL.
As Asha explains:
The original vision of this Substack was a course called “Democracy in the (Dis)Information Age.” I built this course over three years, breaking down the content I teach at Yale into 52 bite-size lessons that each have an audio “lecture.” You can visit the syllabus here, and paid subscribers will have access to all the lessons to read/listen to at your leisure (and in any order you like!).
Beginning in 2026, I will be using this Substack to illuminate research that I am doing for my forthcoming book, Uncompromised: Activating Your Moral Compass in an Age of Complicity. My book will draw on my experiences assessing people in the FBI and as an admissions dean as well as research in psychology, leadership, and risk-taking to understand why some people go along to get along — even when they know it’s wrong — and why some people find the courage to push back.
[courtesy Asharangappa.com
If you’re at all interested in how humans tick, and how we can use that “ticking” to better shape a government that works for ALL of us, I hope you’ll join me in checking Asha out: on Substack, on YouTube, and–soon, I hope–at the bookstore!
Sometimes you just want to know. Sometimes (these times? yes!) you just want to bust right out with the question, “Is American Democracy Going to Die?” …and get a good, strong answer from a good, strong historian.
Meet (if you haven’t yet had the pleasure) Ruth Ben-Ghiat.
Dr. Ben-Ghiat is not who you turn to when you want warm fuzzies, or discussions about M ‘n’ M’s and Gary the Apple Guy. For that, see my previous posts about Heather Cox Richardson and Joanne Freeman–both serious historians who often take a break from the serious. I have never seen Dr. RBG (yep, RBG!) do more than crack a smile; I’m not sure if she knows how to giggle.
That’s fine. Sometimes I need it straight. Like her book…which pretty much predicted our current predicament. (Click here to buy it from your favorite indie bookstore.)
If part of what bolsters you, in these fraught days, is the notion that this shit HAS happened before…that there IS a playbook for what’s happening in Washington DC…and that said playbook HAS been defeated…look no further than Dr. RBG.
I will leave it there for now. Stay strong, folks. Pay attention to the wise ones. Then pick whatever you can do and do it!
Read Dr. RBG’s book. Join a phone bank. Help someone register to vote. Talk to your loved ones. Keep your chin up.
I know. I looked! But this guys is young and fresh and new. And so are his takes. And that’s why I follow him.
from Ahmed Baba’s popular Substack, Ahmed Baba News
I first ran into Ahmed through my favorite hands-on political org, Common Power. Not only was he canvassing with CP, as I was, in battleground states leading up to the 2024 debacle election, he was breaking through as an independent journalist in a place I (and so many of us) have turned to since 11/2024: Substack. (See also: The Contrarian, Joyce Vance, Marc Elias…)
I still love watching Ahmed compare political notes with Common Power’s Executive Director Charles Douglas:
Ahmed was one of my first “follows” on this new platform. Not only did he follow me back, but whenever I’d write a personal note about some major milestone in his young life–his marriage, the birth of his first child–Ahmed would respond. Somehow, though this guy seems to be everywhere! he has time to interact with the folks who rely on him for his un-bought perspective.
That “everywhere” thing? Here’s Ahmed on MSNOW:
Here he is with Don Lemon, on Don’s own channel, Lemon Drop:
Ahmed’s special sauce is connecting with folks whose perspectives you might not have considered…like citizens of the UK. A regular guest is his Scottish buddy James Matthews, in a segment they call “Across the Pond” (note, in this clip, James has had very poor sleep–he’s not usually THAT pale! Or maybe he is):
While Ahmed’s mind is sharp and his soul deep, it’s his authenticity I most value as a guide, these choppy days. He has to wear a suit for his TV appearances, but otherwise there he is in his polo shirt, cussing where necessary but never showing off. “Say it with your chest” is one of his frequent comments.
More of that, please. PLEASE. I highly recommend you check out Ahmed Baba News if you haven’t already, and pass it on to someone else who’s feeling let down by legacy media.
And in navigating this current turbulence—both national, and, more recently in my case, personal—she’s also my North Star. (Here I confess I don’t actually know if Polaris forms part of what mariners look to…but I know the North Star led folks out of slavery, and that’s the choppiest chop there is. So: let’s roll with it.)
(image by Andres Nieto Porras, courtesy Wikimedia Commons)
Reading and listening to HCR (especially listening; her voice is so calm) has been keeping my keel evened since the 2024 debacle election. If you’re reading this, you’re probably in the HCR choir so I should quit preaching. But just in case you’re not…
Through her Letters From an American series, HCR puts the daily outrages of the current regime into perspective. Yes, this is horrible…but it also looks a lot like the 1850s. The 1890s. The 1920s. Etc.
1850s attempted murder in the Senate, anyone? (courtesy Wikimedia)
Through her Politics Chats, (on YouTube, Substack and Facebook) HCR draws a line through the chaos, connecting dots, allowing us to see patterns, to understand. What do all these awful news stories have in common? Grift. Corruption. White supremacy. Etc.
(Plus she has an adorable habit of reading aloud all the towns and countries people beam in from to listen to her livestream.)
Through her current 250 to 250 series—which should seriously win some kind of media prize—HCR reminds us what it means to have pride and joy in our own country, its government, lands, history. Want to celebrate America’s 250th more meaningfully than watching a cage fight? Here are 250 1-minute snippets on everything that makes us US.
(Most of the 250 are narrated by other people, some famous, some just appropriate. Heather herself only narrates two…but it’s telling which two she chose.)
HCR is also fun and funny. My favorite podcasts are her weekly(ish) chats with fellow American historian Joanne Freeman, “What the Heck Just Happened.” There, serious unpacking of the week’s stuff comes with healthy discussion of M ‘n’ Ms, cleaning your bathroom, and Gary the Apple Guy, and they end each session telling each other “I love you.” Can’t begin to express what a balm this is.
If you’ve clicked on some of the above links, you’ve now found your way into HCR World, but just to be clear: look for Heather Cox Richardson on YouTube, on Substack, or just Google her and see what pops up.
I guarantee you will feel heartened, bolstered, and…guided. Sail on!
Rev. Dr. William Barber [photo courtesy Wikimedia]
If we were back in my childhood of the 1960s-70s, all watching the same 3 or 4 channels, everyone would know this preacher. Everyone would have seen him preaching, heard him cajoling or roaring from the pulpit. Though his accent is eastern Carolina, not Atlanta, we would have known him the way we knew that other Rev. Dr., the one whose birthday is now a federal holiday.
But we’re all in our separate media silos now; separate channels, separate apps. Rev. Barber is back on the east coast (managing to pastor a congregation at Yale even while doing all this political work), and here on the west, I RARELY meet anyone who’s heard of him.
I’m trying to change that.
One of my very earliest memories is of the civil rights movement in my hometown of Durham, NC: holding hands and swaying in a demonstration, singing “We Shall Overcome.” I learned later that Duke students and faculty–including my dad–came out in support of Duke’s all-Black custodians, probably 1965.
Out here in the Pacific Northwest, all that history feels remote. Or it did until Trump, the Supreme Court and Project 2025 started attacking voting rights again. Now here we are, right back in the mid-60s, fighting to maintain what we thought we’d won.
The only difference? “We” is more than Black Americans now. “We” is we.
If you find yourself thinking, “We sure could use Dr. King now,” then
a) you’re not alone, and
b) meet Rev. Barber.
State troopers watch as marchers cross the Edmund Pettus Bridge over the Alabama River in Selma, Alabama as part of a civil rights march on March 9. Two days before troopers used excessive force driving marchers back across the bridge, killing one protester. [Courtesy Legal Defense Fund]
This February, Rev. Barber’s group, Repairers of the Breach, will be leading a march modeled on the famous Selma to Montgomery March of 1965. They’ll start in Wilson, NC on Feb. 11 and walk almost 50 miles (15 miles/day), finishing in Raleigh on Valentines Day. How I wish I could be there! I can’t…but I plan to support the march financially. And I plan to tell everyone I can about it.
Starting here. Because, who knows? Maybe you can be there. Maybe you can be part of that history.
Can you? And if not…can you send this post to someone who might be able to join, or support the marchers?
And if you do that, will you tell me about it?
PS: For more information, or to contact Rev. Barber & the Repairers of the Breach directly, click here.
Fifteen years ago, I interviewed my LA-based cousin, Susi Kaminski Klein, about her experiences as a child survivor of the Holocaust. Over the course of four days, hanging out here on Lopez Island and visiting beautiful Victoria, BC, I recorded Susi narrating her story.
Susi & I taking a break from history in Butchart Gardens, 2010
Nine years ago, I blogged about Susi’s story as depicted in Jewish Journal of 2016. You can read that here.
Five years ago, with some urging, and a TON of formatting, research and illustration help from my cousin Helen (Susi’s daughter), we turned those notes into a book.
Helen should’ve gotten co-author billing!
But the lede I’m burying here is this: COUSIN HELEN WAS WAYYYY AHEAD OF ME! In 2011, four years earlier, she had already published the story of her father, Fred Klein. Here it is:
Something you have to understand: back then, self-publishing was HARD WORK. I’ll get to that part in a moment.
What I wanted to know was how Helen’s experience interviewing her father compared to mine, interviewing her mother, and…well, I’ll let Helen tell it. Cuz?
“This will be a short and possibly unexpected answer. I never interviewed my father to capture his story. My father started writing his book, believe it or not in 1997! He went through a number of iterations. During the process he found several people who were willing to edit his work and give him ideas on organization, grammar, etc. I was not involved in that process at all.”
Fred and Helen in 2015
Well, that tracks. Susi had separated and Fred by the time we met, so I never got to meet Fred. From what I’ve learned, I think he must have been an impressive man. Maybe daunting to interview? Not really, Helen said, but…
“I think I would have found it extremely challenging to interview my father. Not because he would not be willing but it is such a vast subject, I would really have had to figure out where to begin, how to organize and structure the questions etc. so honestly I am grateful my father wrote his story on his own and got some guidance from others on organization and structure.”
Keep in mind, my cousin’s working full-time during this entire period. When I interviewed Susi, I had just left my teaching job, so I had the time I needed to organize her story after capturing it on tape.
Helen and Fred in 2006
Also…as Fred Klein’s book cover intimates: he survived Auschwitz. While Susi’s story was horrific and traumatic, including her father being sent to the concentration camp Theresienstadt…it did not involve Auschwitz.
Full disclosure, I’m only partway through No Name, No Number, which is written as a mix of personal account and history lesson. History, I think, is more and more necessary these days when precious little Holocaust history is taught. But personal stories are the most poignant.
Here’s an excerpt from Ch. 7, where, in 1941, still living “freely” in Prague, teenage Fred is forced to labor on a collective farm. I have bolded sentences that especially capture the personal reality of the horror.
“For me, the worst part about the camp was the strenuous physical effort required. I was in extremely bad shape, not accustomed to the job, never having learned to push myself. Sometimes the grueling twelve-hour workday seemed like hell to me. I thought I would never last through them. I had to shovel some three hundred times earth up to a little metal wagon. Sometimes I had to carry very long tree-trunks with a fellow forced laborer. Most of my fellow inmates were in better shape than me and enjoyed teasing me. They had me carry the thick end of the tree-trunks which was so heavy that I almost collapsed, whereas the other fellow had it easy. Had I been in better shape, the work would have been exhausting, but tolerable.”
Fred as a still very young man, after the war, now living in Argentina
Here’s another excerpt, from Ch. 11, where in 1944, 22 year-old Fred is unloaded at the dreaded camp. Notice the detail in the middle of the passage:
“I jumped out of the cattle car. Barracks, barracks, barbed wire, gleaming lights. SS men with police dogs, wielding whips. Pajama-clad figures – kapos – and other prisoners, something I had never seen before. This place was cold, frightening, there was nothing soft to humanize it. I stared briefly at the hellish scene, and then I took off my glasses. Shouting and shoving, the kapos and prisoners herded us into rows five men deep and made us stand still. The dogs of the SS were poised to attack us. Somehow the pajama-clad prisoners got us moving forward in a single file.”
“I took off my glasses.” To me that act says, I will not look at this. I will get through it.
Fred with baby Helen in Buenos Aires, 1958
So, Helen– your dad wrote out his own book. Why was it not published right away?
“What I can tell you is that my father tried very, very hard to get his book published. He wrote lots of letters to a variety of publishers, but none of them seemed interested. I don’t even know if he ever got answers.”
It’s painful to reflect on this answer. There are so many Holocaust stories. The simple truth– that the sheer quantity of such traumatic stories affects their “marketability”–hurts my stomach.
Helen finishes:
“He finally gave up looking for a publisher, and sadly resorted to literally going to Kinkos, making copies of his book, getting the books comb-bound, and then trying to distribute his book that way.”
Ouch. But then here comes my cousin, to ease her father’s pathway:
“Originally, I published my father’s book in 2007 using Blurb.com. That process was long and tedious, but I pushed through it as I really, really wanted to get it done while my father was alive. Little did I know back in 2007, when I completed the publishing on Blurb, that my father would live to 100, something I am ever so grateful for!”
Helen & Fred in 2018
Which brings us back to this moment. Blurb.com no longer exists. Fred Klein passed away in 2022 (at the age of 100, as Helen said). But thanks to his daughter, Fred’s story lives on…easily available on Kindle!Click here to download and read No Name, No Number, for free.
I would like to thank my cousin Helen for her perseverance (not to mention all the photos!)…and my cousin Susi for hers. They are both role models for me.
And, in this season of deepest darkness, please say an extra prayer for the Fred Kleins of the world. May their stories find resonance.
Not that Joyce. Nothing against Dubliners or Ulysses; I just don’t think they’ll help get you through another week of our current presidency. I mean Joyce Vance, author of this book that was waiting for me, hot off its October 21st release, when I got home from my canvassing trip this week:
Mine’s autographed! 🙂
To judge a book by its cover, this one looks boring. To me, though, it looks like mental health. I thought I’d take a minute to explain why.
In 2022 and 2024, I canvassed in my home State of North Carolina, where my folks still live. This year Virginia has some important elections, so I went there (visits to sister & niece a bonus).
Part of Team Fredericksburg on the canvass trail
Between doors (we knocked on about 2,000 during the days I participated in Fredericksburg, then Richmond), I split my awe between the lovely big deciduous trees of the east…
O oaks, how do I miss thee!
…and creative Halloween decorations.
(sometimes both!)
But the best part of CP work, to me, isn’t actually the conversations on voters’ doorsteps (though those can be quite moving). It’s the TEAMWORK, the FELLOWSHIP.
especially at a dumpling restaurant at the end of a long day
Which brings me back to Joyce’s book, whose opening line is, “Could I have picked a worse time to write a book about saving democracy?”
My answer is: no, this is EXACTLY the right time. Because now more than ever, we need to know we “have friends everywhere” (as they say on Andor), and we need to get our hands on some how-to.
However, if podcasts are what your life has room for, Joyce is all over that landscape. I first discovered her via Substack, where her Civil Discourse unpacks the week’s latest legal WTF?!! as only a former U.S. Attorney (and current law professor) can. Each post ends with, “We’re all in this together.”
Or you might just as easily find her on the brilliant panel-pod, Sisters in Law…
While I’m only halfway through Vance’s book, I’m happy to report that the final chapter–titled We Are the Cavalry–is chock-full of options for resistance, participation, finding community, pointing yourself towards hope…or, as one heading puts it, “Understand That Protecting Democracy Comes in a Lot of Flavors.” (146)
This is Fredericksburg’s Rappahannock River at sunset. Not a flavor; it just looks like one, eh?
In this moment when the bad guys want us to despair and give up, Vance offers this uplifting reminder:
“Although we may be on our own, we are not all alone. We truly are in this together. We have one another, a community of like-minded people across the country who care about democracy. That may seem to be a slender thread, but it’s how we, like others who have faced similar challenges in the past, are going to get through this.
So, gather your resources and take courage.” (138)
Joyce’s chickens also make appearances on her Substack, so I’ll close with this:
[photo by Joyce Vance]
Do yourself a favor: Read Joyce. [Support her by clicking here to buy her book!] You will feel empowered–because, as she says, we’re all in this together.
“Throwing shade” on someone is bad. So is calling something “shady.”
But in July in Alabama, the shade is where you want to be.
Once my Amazing Mom had finished her track meet and we’d all gone out to brunch (at Waffle House, where else?), the five of us–me, parents, sister, brother-in-law–found ourselves with several hours of free time before their flight back to North Carolina, and nowhere in Huntsville’s 95-degree humidity that we wanted to be.
We’d already gone to see the big rockets. The local botanical garden looked pretty online, but most of its pathways were out in full sun. No thanks.
Then my sister found us Monte Sano State Park–a little mountain just outside downtown Huntsville.
complete with Japanese tea house!
There’s nothing like a mature hardwood forest for real shade, and this one was up a thousand feet or so–easily 10 degrees cooler than town. The park even boasted those wonderful New Deal-era CCC cabins The Mate and I always loved to discover on our Road Trips.
Not pictured: all the birdsong in these woods
We strolled; we lingered. We sweated a LOT less than we would have, anywhere else in Alabama that day…
…some of us stretched our hamstrings…
…thanks to the shade.
Mid-afternoon, well satisfied, I dropped my fam off at the Huntsville airport and continued on an errand of my own. Yes, I could have booked my flight from there, but the connection via Birmingham worked better for me. And Birmingham carries a weight of history that I wanted to feel again.
Except it was Sunday: all museums closed. So I made another plan. I decided to take a 90-minute detour through the small town of Anniston, where I knew the Freedom Riders Memorial would still be accessible, Sunday or no.
Not pictured: the beautiful, green, rolling lushness of the Alabama hills I drove through alone, wishing I could take photos with my eyes.
Also not pictured: the Sisters in Law podcast I was listening to, in honor of Professor Joyce Vance, my favorite legal explainer, who lives and teaches in Birmingham. (Click her name to follow her “Civil Discourse” Substack!)
My first view of Anniston reminded me of the narration in To Kill a Mockingbird: “an old town…a tired old town.”
Hopefully the emptiness was mostly due to it being Sunday…but I wasn’t so sure.
The memorial was tucked into an inconsequential alley, next to what had once been the bus station.
Note my giant rental car parked across the street.
Inside the alley, the exhibit came to life.
Each panel of the bus explained the events leading up to that spring day in 1961. I read them all, but for purposes of brevity, didn’t include the whole background to the event, which you can read about here.
I’ll let the panels speak for themselves, assuming you can expand them on your device.
Did I learn anything new from this exhibit? Only the small fact that the actual firebombing of the bus had occurred a few miles outside of town–after the local cops made the KKK mob let the bus leave, only to abandon driver and passengers to their fate as the KKK followed.
They had already slashed the bus’s tires. They knew it wouldn’t get far.
I still can’t comprehend how no one died that day.
But what I DID get from standing in that (shady) alley: chills. Thinking of the bravery of those young volunteers, Black and white, sitting in that Greyhound as the mob surrounded them. Yes, they were all well trained. Yes, they knew what they were signing up for, what they were up against.
(Photo courtesy Wikimedia)
But who, in the moment, is really ready to die by violence?
I drove off into the Alabama evening, shaken by its past…and by the shade that past still casts on our present.
I needed a walk in the woods.
Such beauty. Such peace. Such irony in these Iron Hills.
I want to thank the foot soldiers of the Movement, and the people who keep their story alive. We’re going to need all your grit in the shady days ahead.
“This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine…”
I know–Quakely isn’t a word, but it fits the Paul Simon reference better than the actual word, which is Quakerly. Which is what My Sister The School is.
I can’t possibly capture the entire, joyous 3-day anniversary celebration in one blog post, and I won’t try. What I do want to capture, briefly: how true that rag-tag ol’ Quaker school, started 60 years ago by 6 people (two of them my parents) in order to prove to the State of North Carolina that yes, people of all colors and backgrounds could learn and grow together with more happiness and grace than those who were separated by race…
My folks–Peter & Martha Klopfer, in the middle–kicking off a Founders’ Panel with some quiet “settling in”
…that school abides, true to its roots.If you don’t know what I mean by “roots,” take another look at that panel of 4 folks up there. Longtime influential Principal Don Wells (left) and longtime influential teacher Thomas Patterson (right) are dressed as one might expect from panelists, as is my mom. But Dad? He’s dressed for a track workout. Because that’s just who he is. And the school is what it is.
This creek separates Middle School from Upper. And I was overjoyed to see it still hold balls and frisbees, just as it did back in the early 1970s.
Like a number of my fellow “oldies,” I’d worried, in recent years, that CFS was getting too big for its britches. It has sports teams now–with uniforms and everything! And tennis courts. And a performing arts center. At our humble old school?
But throughout my weekend, spending days with decades-old friends and going back to my folks’ farm across the pond every night, I rejoiced in the hanging-in-there-ness of the whole place.
Like Raj, the Last Equine Standing at my folks’ Tierreich Farm…(which will one day go to the school)…
Age 37! And he can still canter!!
…and my dad, who uses the golf cart to get to his walking workout at the new CFS track, but makes his dog get her workout on the way there (just as me & my sisters used to get ours–OK, minus the leash!)…
Good girl. Good boy.
…and Mom, still getting hers by running, at age ALMOST-90!
You’ve outrun me, Mom. I had to give up running for my knees 6 years ago!
Quakers don’t tend to live by tenets, but if they did, #1 would be Simplicity. What you see is what you get. But keep striving for truth, which is constantly revealed. Don’t rest on your laurels. Don’t assume you have it all sewn up because you’ve operated successfully for 60 year. Sit down, be quiet, listen…
These are (mountain) laurels. Don’t rest on them. But do smell them & take their picture!
…and who knows? You might age as gracefully and thoughtfully as my sister the school. That’s what I’m aiming for!
Next up on Wing’s World: New England and New Scotland (Nova Scotia)!Thanks for ridin’ along.
