Small world

We’re so used to thinking of each other as pages on a computer screen that it catches at me when I read something like Doug Alder’s current post containing photos of his hometown of Rossland in British Columbia.

I grew up less than 50 miles from the town he describes. Down from the mountains, on the other side of the border, and along the river valley. This is actually a pretty amazing coincidence when you realize how remote our respective homes are, and how sparsely populated the area is. Or was.

When my parents first separated, I was quite young. My mother had a boyfriend who owned a large store in Doug’s area and she used to go visit him for a few days at a time. He’d always bring my brother and I Canadian chocolate bars because, as I remember him saying, they were …better than the American Hershey’s.

I wish I could remember his name. I wonder if he’s still alive, and if Doug knows him?

Small world.

Photography Writing

A touch of spring

Yesterday and today were perfect days to herald in a gentle Spring, and I was able to photograph several early flowers, including magnolia, snow drops, and, of course, daffodils. The magnolia and snow drops will wait till tomorrow; for today, in what is becoming a Burningbird Spring tradition, the first of the daffodils and the perfect poem to go with them, Henry Wordsworth’s “Daffodils”.


I wandered lonely as a cloud
   That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
   A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.


Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the Milky Way, 
They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: 
Ten thousand saw I at a glance, 
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.


The waves beside them danced, 
but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: 
A Poet could not but be gay, 
In such a jocund company: 
I gazed–and gazed–but little thought 
What wealth the show to me had brought:


For oft, 
when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, 
They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; 
And then my heart with pleasure fills, 
And dances with the daffodils.



Dedicated to promise of future Springs.




Question as to perceived hostility

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

I’ve been posting comments over in Jeff Jarvis’ space, primarily as a way of learning to not get offended, because if you say something someone doesn’t agree with there, you will get blasted.

In addition, Jarvis does attract some very interesting people who have much good to say, but if you make an idiot comment, these types will ignore you. So, I’ve been in ‘training’ so to speak in how to make comments that engage the more intelligent responder, while learning not to react to the people cruisen’ for a fight.

Interesting thread today on the TypeKey issue in which Jarvis felt that my comment was rude and hostile. To be honest, I didn’t see it as such. If anything, I was frustrated because I’ve felt for some time now that he doesn’t respond to what I write but will respond to other people, instead, and then use this as an indirect response to me.

Maybe I was rude, but hostile and nasty? Hmmm.

So my question is to you to review the comments, and let me know – did you perceive my response to Jarvis as hostile, rude, and nasty? If so, why? If not, why not? Glenn Fleishman seems to agree with Jarvis, but then, they also seem to know each other.

Is that also a factor in perception? How much we seem to ‘know’ the other person, or how much we value them?

Finally, and this is a sensitive one – does gender influence this perception? After all, aren’t girls supposed to be sugar and spice and everything nice. Is a critical comment given by a woman perceived to be more negative than the same type of comment given by a man?

And please be honest. Sigh, knowing my readers, I know you will be.