Clean Up Your Own Mess.

I Love This Child. Red-haired - Patient And Gentle Like Her Mother - Fey And Funny Like Her Father. When She Giggles I Can Hear Him When He And I Were Young. I Am Part Of This Child. It May Be Only Because We Share Genes And That Therefore Smell Familiar To Each Other.... It May Be That A Part Of Me Lives In Her In Some Important Way.... But For Now, It's Jelly Beans And 'old Macdonald' That Unite Us.

It's Just This: That There Are Places We All Come From-deep-rooty-common Places- That Makes Us Who We Are. And We Disdain Them Or Treat Them Lightly At Our Peril. We Turn Our Backs On Them At The Risk Of Self-contempt. There Is A Sense In Which We Need To Go Home Again-and Can Go Home Again. Not To Recover Home, No. But To Sanctify Memory.

My Own Movement Of Thought Is Not Meant To Be A Straight Point-to-point, Linear Line Of March, But Horizontal Exploration From One Area Of Interest To Another. There Is No Ultimate Destination - No Finish Line To Cross, No Final Conclusion To Be Reached. It's The Way I Feel About Dancing - You Move Around A Lot, Not To Get Somewhere, But To Be Somewhere In Time.

Just When You Thought That You Already Learned The Way How To Live, Life Changes - And You're Left The Same As You Begun.

Peace Is Not Something You Wish For, It's Something You Make