The Axial Age

The Axial Age

Comments 0 Comment

A new semester has begun, sooner than I thought it would and undeniably here. I have readings to do, notes to study and a syllabus to consult. But after the first class last evening, I also have new thoughts to think, which is why I’ve gone back to school in the first place.

So far, the professor seems to be asking the big questions. One idea that stuck with me from last night’s lecture is learning about what some call the Axial Age, a period of incredible intellectual growth and curiosity that lasted from the 8th to the 3rd centuries BCE. As the professor said, “People kind of woke up and started questioning and looking for answers about almost everything in a very rational way.”

It was a parallel awakening of consciousness across civilizations that’s hard to explain, and it resulted in the development of Buddhism, Zoroastrianism, Confucianism, and Taoism, among other religions and philosophies.

The Axial Age gave us the Upanishads, Lao Tzu, Homer, Socrates, Parmenides, Heraclitus, Thucydides, Archimedes, and the prophets Elijah, Isaiah, Jeremiah. It was a paradigm-shifting age. No one one is exactly sure why it happened, but we live in its amazing wake.

(“A Reading from Homer” by Lawrence Alma-Tadema, 1885, courtesy Wikipedia.)

“Fast Food”

“Fast Food”

Comments 0 Comment

With a new year and the pace of life picking up, I did something I’ve been meaning to do for weeks: I made granola. Nothing earth-shattering about this except the way I felt when I was making it, which was hungry. Very hungry.

It dawned on me as I stirred the oats, nuts, flaked coconut and other ingredients, that if I lived even 100 years ago, certainly 150, I would usually have had to bake, boil or toast my breakfast. There would have been no instant oatmeal, no cold cereals to pour into a bowl with a splash of milk (or not), no containers of yogurt at the ready. I would often have been hungry while preparing a meal.

As it stands now, much of my food is “fast food,” since I often get by with salads assembled or leftovers reheated. And if I’m preparing a meal and already starving, I just dip into the cupboard for a handful of almonds and the pangs are staved off until hot food is on the table.

What struck me this morning is how instantly gratified I am in the kitchen and how rare this condition is throughout human history. It’s an awareness I’d like to keep in mind. And I will … once I dig into the granola.

Farewell, Underground

Farewell, Underground

Comments 0 Comment

It took months to figure it out, but once I did, it was a constant marvel. The Crystal City Underground was a part of my life for five years, and now it will be no more, at least in its funky, mom-and-pop style.

When I worked across the street from one of its entrances, I would dash into the underground to mail a package, pick up lunch or check out a library book. The maze of tunnels also came in handy on rainy or snowy days, when I could walk warm and dry from Metro to within feet of my office.

But now, I’ve learned, no leases will be renewed in the buildings that comprised the underground (though most of it is above ground, it does give off a subterranean vibe). It’s been likened to a futuristic invention, but to me it always seemed more like the past, a place where you could get your shoes repaired and chat with the cobbler while it was happening.

Amazon has moved into the neighborhood and may have plans for the underground’s future. All I know is that, for now, one more bit of real, hands-on life is disappearing from view.

Transformations

Transformations

Comments 0 Comment

What to do on a snow day? There are the outdoor activities — shoveling, snow sculpting, or just trudging to the end of the block and back. There are the indoor activities: making soup, cleaning closets and curling up on the couch to watch the flakes fall.

And then there is the modern, plugged-in version of a snow day: blogging and spreading the word about my latest book review, which entailed setting up a profile on Blue Sky Social (an X alternative). Yikes! That has taken up more time than I’d like it to this morning.

With that box checked, I plan to sink more deeply into the day, to enjoy all the transformations that snow can bring.

Rumors of Snow

Rumors of Snow

Comments 0 Comment

It’s not just that we’ve had little measurable snow these last few years, it’s that for the most part we’ve lacked even the promise of it, that delightful drumbeat of suspense that can accompany a snowstorm.

One of my favorite ways to enjoy blizzards in the past would be to complete all out-of-the-house errands before the first flakes fell, then plop myself down in front of a local news broadcast and watch cheerful reporters decked out in their most stylish parkas and hats, telling us what we could expect.

I’m out of practice in that area. Besides, a new forecasting powerhouse is in town: the Capital Weather Gang, the Washington Post‘s coterie of meteorologists. I think it’s fair to say this crew is pro-snow. Which is not to say their forecasts aren’t accurate; they are usually spot-on, and they cite the models (who knew there were such things?) upon which they’re based.

Still, I detect a barely-restrained glee when there’s white stuff in the forecast. And why not? It’s been a while since we’ve had a good dousing. But from what I’ve read, that may change … soon.

(This snow photo was taken almost five years ago.)

Half-Mast

Half-Mast

Comments 0 Comment

I see them in the neighborhood, flying halfway up the three flagpoles that grace our block. I saw a large one yesterday, what I think of as a “highway flag,” which I typically associate with the lonely off-ramps of midwestern interstates but which, for some reason, was flying over a car dealership on Route 7 in Loudon County.

Whether small or super-size, the flags have one thing in common: they are all flying half-mast. And for once I know why. I know that they honor the 39th president of the United States, the president who lived the longest, the only one to reach the age of 100.

I’ve read much about James Earl Carter Jr. these last few days. I’ve remembered his many accomplishments, recalled his trials and failures, his rich and noble post-presidency, including a Nobel prize. Here was a president who was alive at the same time as William Howard Taft and has only just gone to his reward.

So often these days I don’t know who or what half-mast flags are about. This time I do, and I realize anew the importance of this tradition, its invitation to remember, to grieve. American flags will be flying at half-mast for 30 days for President Jimmy Carter.

(A flag flies half-mast at Ball’s Bluff Battlefield Memorial Park in Leesburg, Virginia, last Memorial Day.)

Back to Business?

Back to Business?

Comments 0 Comment

It’s a traditional getting-back-to-business day, the return of work and school after holiday revelries. So why do I feel like doing nothing?

It’s simple. Holiday fun takes time to plan and execute. For all the wonder and excitement it generates, it don’t explode fully formed from out of nowhere. Presents must be purchased and wrapped. Dinners must be planned and served. Visits must be executed.

The chief planner/purchaser/wrapper/cook might be forgiven for wanting to do nothing more than curl up with a good book. Which may be exactly what she does … at least for an hour or two.

First Day

First Day

Comments 0 Comment

We’re more than 19 hours into 2025, a windy beginning to this new year with jets flying low over the house. They barely registered due to the din inside, as our large gang gathered.

There was a brunch with black-eyed peas and bagels, and then, after the cooking and eating and visiting, there was a piano to be played and a newspaper to be read.

That the first day be packed full seems in keeping with the general tenor of life these days, a life I’m grateful to have on this first day — and all the days — of the year.

(This was posted on 1/ 1, but due to a glitch in blog settings — now fixed — shows up as 1/2.)

A Year in Moments

A Year in Moments

Comments 0 Comment

As the year winds down today, I plan to be scribbling about it in my journal. It’s been a ritual for decades, begun when my typical New Year’s Eve plans involved babysitting for the family down the block.

When I was younger, I would take these retrospectives quite seriously, composing a highlights reel of the year I’d just lived. I’m a little more jaunty about New Year’s Eve entries now, though I don’t know why I should be. Each year life becomes more precious.

I think it’s because I realize that the beating heart of a year is not to be found in a list of what happened and how I felt about it. What matters are the aha moments: Witnessing a spectacular sunset. Falling asleep to the gentle patter of rain on the roof. Glimpsing on an adult child’s face the exact same expression she’s had since birth.

These are the moments that matter. And today, I’ll be celebrating them.

Immortal Yarn

Immortal Yarn

Comments 0 Comment

I’ve spent the morning with yarn. Spools and spools of it. Sage greens and sky blues, violets and aubergines. Yarn for placemats and scarves and table runners and blankets. Tapestry yarn and loom yarn. The textures and colors invite me to touch and imagine.

The yarn belonged to my dear friend Nancy, and now, through the kindness and connections of another friend, it will find a new home.

My experience with yarn is limited to amateurish crochet projects, but Nancy was a weaver extraordinaire. I’m so grateful that her work and her yarn will live on.