Tag Archives: Personal Reflections

The Power of the Ask

Posted on by
2

“Question with boldness even the existence of God; because if there be one, he must more approve of the homage of reason, than that of blindfolded fear.” —Thomas Jefferson (1743–1826). Third President of the United States, in a letter to his nephew Peter Carr, August 10, 1787.

A mistake in a math book. Imagine! Numbers don’t lie. Right? But they seemed to in our textbook Arithmetic 4: The Word of Numbers. I was stoked.

“Mrs. Petry, look at this! It’s wrong, isn’t it?”

She lowered her glasses, peering out above the frame:

“Yes, I think you’re right, Brentford. Why don’t you write a letter to the publisher and ask, just to make sure.”

I did. And to my surprise, Ginn & Company replied, promising to make a correction in the next edition and send me a copy. They kept their word. I received the corrected edition and treasured it for years. I was even more stoked, not because I was right, but because I asked them about the mistake, and they replied.

That was seventy years ago, and I still remember it—not simply as a fourth-grade incident but as the moment I discovered the power of the ask.

Mrs. Petry was exceptional, but she wasn’t an exception. I continued to be blessed with teachers in grade school and high school who encouraged their students to question, to investigate, and to ask. And I did. I was never on a mission to find textbook mistakes, but whenever I did—or thought I did—I reached out to the publisher just as I had reached out to Ginn & Company. Sometimes my teachers encouraged me to do so. Sometimes I did it on my own. But get this. I always got a response, even when I was wrong. Over time, what began as a childhood discovery became a lifelong Socratic habit: the power of the ask.

Years later, when I became a professor of English, I found myself encouraging my students to do exactly what Mrs. Petry and so many other teachers had encouraged me to do. Ask.

One classroom moment gleams more brightly than others, perhaps because I had absolutely no idea what the outcome would be. But I wanted my student to find out on his own.

It was a Friday afternoon, during a three-hour creative writing class. For our poetry module, I had included one of my favorite poets, Ted Kooser, who served as Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004 to 2006. His plainspoken poetry always resonated not only with me but also with my students. I could count on Kooser to generate an energetic discussion.

I remember vividly the poem we were exploring, “Flying at Night,” with its opening image of stars, constellations, and a distant dying galaxy.

What I don’t remember is precisely what prompted one student to ask a question. It might have had something to do with the dying galaxy. I’m not sure. But I am certain that I couldn’t answer his question, and he wouldn’t give it up.

Finally, I smiled.

“I know exactly what to do. When you get home, find Kooser’s email address and reach out to him. See what he says.”

“But he’s a famous poet laureate, and besides, it’s the weekend. He won’t answer.”

“Do it anyway. Ask him what he had in mind.”

I didn’t know whether the student would follow through. I didn’t even know whether Kooser had a publicly available email address. And I certainly didn’t know whether Kooser would answer.

But the next Friday, I found out.

My student went home, found Kooser’s email address, and reached out. The very next day—a Saturday!—Kooser replied, providing an answer to my student’s question.

It was a gratifying moment watching the student access his email and share Kooser’s response with me and the class.

“Imagine that! I actually got an email from Ted Kooser!”

And I found myself repeating that line all the way home: “Imagine that. He got an email from Ted Kooser.”

I had passed along the power of the ask, and it had paid off.

I still look for opportunities to encourage people to ask whatever it is that might be on their minds.

Just a few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of speaking with Phi Theta Kappa students at their Virginia/West Virginia regional honors conference at George Mason University. I had been asked to speak about Artificial Intelligence (AI). I was delighted, especially since I’ve tried to keep up with recent AI developments. It seemed logical to me that I would use Phi Theta Kappa’s Honors Study Topic–“What’s Next? Imagining the Future”–as the springboard for advancing the idea that AI’s future is already here. I titled my presentation, “AI IS HERE. Whatcha Gonna Do When It Comes for You?”

My message was simple: Engagement with AI is not an option. It is an obligation.

I went a step further. I challenged the students to ask their professors why they weren’t teaching them more about AI.

A retired professor encouraging students to question their professors! Say what?

But I was serious. Students have every right to ask how their education is preparing them for a world in which AI is already transforming the way we live, work, learn, and think.

I wasn’t suggesting that their professors had all the answers. Far from it. I was suggesting that the questions needed to be asked. And who better to ask them than the students themselves? Why aren’t we learning more about AI in our classes?

Did any of those honor students take me up on my challenge and ask when they returned to campus? I don’t know. Perhaps some did. Perhaps none did. I knew what happened when Mrs. Petry encouraged me to ask. I knew what happened when my creative writing student reached out to Ted Kooser. But this time, I may never know.

But that’s the thing about encouraging people to ask. You can’t guarantee that they’ll do it. You can’t guarantee that they’ll get an answer. And you certainly can’t guarantee that they’ll like the answer they get.

You can, however, encourage them to ask.

That’s what I’ve always tried to do. That’s what I’m trying to do here. Right now.

Whatever it is that you’re wanting to know—why a medical bill is so high, why you were passed over for a promotion, why someone you love has grown distant, or why everyone expects you to remain silent when you believe something is wrong—be bold. Ask.

And, for that matter, don’t be afraid to fuss with God, whatever your concept of God might be. Ask why. Ask why not. Ask what on earth is going on.

And while you’re at it, pay it forward. Show someone else the power of the ask.

Abiding Peace

Posted on by
4

“To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it
go,
to let it go.”

—Mary Oliver (1935–2019). American poet and essayist. The quote is from her “In Blackwater Woods” (American Primitive, 1983).

“They’re gone! I can’t believe it. They’re not there.”

“What?” Gary wanted to know, as we savored our breakfast in the early morning quiet.

“The chimney swifts. I don’t hear them. They must be gone.”

“I’m not sure,” he mused, looking toward the kitchen fireplace. “I heard them last evening during dinner.”

Before I could answer, their high-pitched trills interrupted us as they took their morning flight out of the chimney.

“I guess you’re right. But it doesn’t sound as loud as usual. Maybe some have gone already.”

The chimney swifts have taken shelter in our kitchen fireplace for longer than I can remember, arriving sometime during summer and departing sometime during fall.

This year was no exception. But somehow, I was more aware of their going, perhaps because I had come to love their early evening and morning serenades.

But a few mornings later, I looked at Gary again, knowing that I was right this time:

“They’re gone.”

He nodded.

A week or so later, we were sitting on our deck enjoying a glass of wine after dinner.

“My God!” I exclaimed. “They’re still here.”

Gary knew that I meant the hummingbirds, because as I spoke one whirred its way past us, so close that we could see its iridescent forehead and crown before it hovered and then torpedoed itself to a limb high up in a tree, so high that had we not followed its path, we would have lost sight of it.

“They’re hanging around far too long. The nights are getting too cool, you know,” I continued. “They need to start their migration.”

“They’ll be gone soon?”

“Oh, yes. Soon.”

Yet, they continued to tease us with their unexpected comings and goings, despite my worries about their fate. We figured they knew what to do and when to do it far more than we did.

But then one evening, wine glasses raised, we looked at one another with the same surprised realization.

“They’re gone.”

And so they were, just like the chimney swifts. Gone.

I sat there for longer than a while, thinking about other things in our lives that we know will leave us, although we never know when.

Not our material wealth and possessions that bring us comfort and security.

Not our occupations and endeavors that give our days meaning.

Not our status, recognition, or professional titles.

Instead, I was thinking about the things we know we cannot keep.

Youth. We feel it diminishing in our bodies. We see it in our mirrors. Gradually. Ever so gradually.

And then, one day, gone.

Health. We start noticing the body that used to work without our noticing. The loss, gradual. The reminder, visceral.

And then, one day, gone.

Independence. Driving ourselves, managing our own affairs, living on our own terms. Giving up the keys is a hard surrender.

And then, one day, gone.

Family. Friends. Pets. Losses, one by one by one. We keep on keeping on.

And then, one day, gone.

Mind. The slow disappearance of the self we’ve always known.

And then, one day, gone.

Love. The kiss. The touch. The smile.

And then, one day, gone.

The eyes. The breath. The heartbeat.

And then, one day, gone.

Lifted Higher and Higher

Posted on by
Reply

“Stories are the communal currency of humanity.”

—Terry Tempest Williams (b. 1955. American writer and environmental activist whose lyrical essays explore the intersections of personal narrative, place, and ecological stewardship.)

Something snuck up on me yesterday.

I was talking on the phone with my 90-year-old sister when I glanced down at my smartphone, saw my WordPress dashboard—and nearly did a spit take.

Over 15,188 views this year already!

That’s already more than all of 2024, and we still have October, November, and December to go. Apparently, my little mountain corner has gone global again—and I couldn’t be more grateful.

To every one of you, My Dear Readers, who reads, comments, shares, or quietly lingers over a sentence or two: thank you. You’ve turned this space into a community of curiosity, compassion, and laughter. Every click, every view, every thoughtful message reminds me that words still matter—and that connection runs deeper than algorithms.

Your Top 10 Favorites of 2025 (So Far)

Every year tells its own story through what readers choose. This year’s list made me smile. It’s a mix of reflection, resilience, and rediscovery—with a dash of irreverence (because, well, it’s me or Poor Brentford Lee or maybe both).

● “I Am Afraid” — A wake-up call for our country—and a reminder of who we still can be.

● “The Place: Charleston” — The launch of my Unmasking The Humourist: Alexander Gordon’s Lost Essays of Colonial Charleston, South Carolina.

● “Redbuds of Remembrance” — Even loss can bloom in the right season.

● “FramilySaid™: For When Family Isn’t Enough” — A reminder that your worth doesn’t need a witness. Show up for yourself.

● “Rise Up with Words. A Declaration for Our Troubled Times” — In these politically charged times — when so many people feel hopeless, unheard, and unseen — words matter more than ever.

● “My Altar Ego” — “‘I be fabulous. You be fabulous, too.”

● “The Rust Whisperer” — Aging is a journey filled with yearnings. To arrive. To become.

● “What Could $40 Million Do—Besides Fund a Parade? A Love Letter to Priorities (with a Side-Eye to A Spectacle)” — History is watching. Are you?

● “A Week Back to the Future” — How my sister’s Remington Rand typewriter changed my life.

● “Finding Love Later in Life—Baggage and All” — Proof that love comes to those who believe.

Looking Ahead

There’s still more to come before year’s end—new essays, reflections, maybe even a few surprises that have been sitting in my drafts waiting for the right moment. Perhaps even one or two guest posts by our famed and acclaimed Poor Brentford Lee.

I can’t promise I’ll always be profound, but I can promise I’ll keep showing up with authenticity, honesty, humor, and heart.

Thank you, My Dear Readers, for being here, for reading, and for reminding me—every day—that a single voice can still find an echo.

When the Heat Is On: Cue the Vacay!

Posted on by
9

“You don’t have to be rich to travel well.”

–Eugene Fodor (1905–1991; notable American travel writer and editor best known for founding Fodor’s Travel Publications).

All right, everyone, indulge me for a moment and imagine something a bit out of the ordinary.

Close your eyes and conjure up an image the likes of which I’ll guarantee you’ve never seen before. Picture a man in his 70s, proudly sporting a ponytail that flutters like a whimsical flag in the breeze, perched precariously atop his chimney. Clad in well-worn flip flops and cut-off blue-jean shorts that reveal a pair of weathered but surprisingly spry and some-say-sexy legs, he stands with the kind of balance that suggests he’s either a seasoned acrobat or a silly fool blissfully unaware of danger.

From this lofty perch, he’s gazing out over the Shenandoah Valley below, his eyes twinkling like a mischievous elf’s, while the mountains in the distance seem to be returning their own salubrious salutation. With all the gusto of a wired researcher on a caffeine overdose, he belts out the Hallelujah Chorus at full volume, his voice soaring like a defiant eagle. His performance is a grand spectacle of unbridled joy and unequaled eccentricity, turning the chimney into his personal stage and the sky into his private audience.

In case you’re wondering who this daring rooftop performer is and why he’s carrying on such shenanigans, lean in close, and I’ll tell you. It’s me! I’m celebrating what appears to be the temporary end of an exhausting heat wave and drought by having my own imaginary rooftop concert that would make any diva proud. After enduring what felt like a never-ending barrage of scorching temperatures and parched landscapes, I figured it was high time for a little over-the-top jubilation. And if there’s anything that I love, it’s everything over-the-top.

Cooler temps and rain seem to be headed our way, and I’m embracing the arrival of this much-needed relief with the kind of exuberance that only a seasoned professor of hot weather clichés could cobble together. It’s been so blisteringly hot that I nearly froze to death, but I didn’t. Instead, I’ve become a connoisseur of every sun-scorched saying you can imagine. I’ve spent weeks sweating buckets, trying not to fry like an egg on the hood of my Gladiator, and lamenting the fact that my car seats are doubling as personal saunas. I’ve become a pro at grumbling about the weather, wondering whether my walkway pavers were actually sizzling, and dreaming of anything that wasn’t a mirage.

Guess what else I did during the sweltering days that are temporarily behind us? I put off more tasks than Carter’s got liver pills! Yep. The heat and drought have been an excuse, whether I was avoiding the garden beds that have turned into dust bowls or ignoring other projects that seemed like too much effort in a heatwave. I’ve postponed weedwhacking, repairing the leaky faucet that’s been dripping like a leaky faucet (because, let’s face it, who wants to fix a sink when it feels like you’re living inside an oven?), and even organizing the loft, which has somehow become a haphazard shrine to summer’s oppressive heat.

Guess what else I did? I decided that I needed to take a vacation! Yep. You heard me right. I decided that I needed some good old-fashioned downtime. But dayum! Before I could even plan to take it, I found myself all curled up and relaxed with the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) so that I could find out all about the vacation that the dreaded heat and drought convinced me that I needed to take.

As might be expected, our kith and kin Across the Pond used the word vacation as a noun long before we did, all the way back in 1405:

“Whan he hadde leyser and vacacion ffrom oother worldly ocupacion” (Chaucer, Wife of Bath’s Tale Prologue l. 683).

Isn’t that fascinating? Of course it is. More fascinating, though, is the fact that we Americans used it first as a verb in 1866:

“Whether Winter or summer, … threading the filthy lands of the Ghetto or vacationing among the islands, Mr. Howells found Venice … a theme for constant studies” (Round Table 8 September 90/2).

Now that I’m all squared away on the word vacation, I think I’ll spend just another second or two finding out when the phrase take a vacation was first used. You might have known it. The OED has the scoop:

“Smoke Jordan tried hard to get him to … maybe take a vacation, Florida’s nice. ‘Get yourself wheeled up and down like an icky banker?’” (D. Baker, Young Man with Horn, 1938)

What the OED does not disclose is fascinating as well, and I wouldn’t know it if I had not wanted to find out who “D. Baker” is. As it turns out, Dorothy Baker was an American novelist who loved jazz. In fact, her Young Man with Horn was based on real-life jazz cornet player Bix Beiderbecke. Even better is this hot tidbit: the novel was made into a 1950 movie featuring such hotties as Kirk Douglas, Doris Day, Lauren Bacall, Juano Hernández, and Beiderbecke’s friend and collaborator Hoagy Carmichael.

Well, these word trips are turning out to be as much fun as a vacay! OMG! Did I just use that word? Well, I did, and since my OED is still open (virtually), I just have to see when vacay was first used. I’m betting that it was coined by an American. Those Brits have no problem when they need to stoop to conquer, but they would never think about stooping low enough to truncate a word. Well, I was right. Vacay was first used in 1992:

“He said he was going on vacay and would give me something after he gets back” (Re: More on getting Gigs in rec. music. makers 14 January, Usenet newsgroup., accessed 13 Sept. 2013).

Just a sec, though. I might be wrong to claim the first usage as American. The OED‘s citation is rather shabby, in my opinion, and I can’t determine the authorship with any certainty. Lector: Cave a fidem non probatis.

I shall not, then, trust my initial claim, but I shall trust my subsequent claim that the next usage of the word vacay was American. It appeared in 1995 in the Pittsburg-Post Gazette:

“The convertible … was my Mom’s, we were on vacay” (16 July g8/2).

As for va-cay, vakay, and va-kay–those variant spellings of vacay–the OED has not seen fit to include them at all. I find that rather strange, however, since I am certain that I have seen them in use somewhere or other, perhaps right here in my blog. Ab ridiculo ad sublimem transire.

Hooey phooey is all that I have to say. Leave it to me to turn a vacation into a bunch of malarkey!

However, in case you’re thinking that you might need a vacation, let me help you. If you find yourself nodding along to any of the subsequent scenarios, it’s time to cue the vacay:

● Work: Your boss thinks “work-life balance” means balancing more work on your plate. Your to-do list looks like a never-ending scroll of doom. You start dreaming about spreadsheets. You feel like a juggler on a unicycle, minus the thrill. Yep. Cue the vacay!

● Social Media: You’ve scrolled so much that you start liking your own posts. You find yourself in a deep rabbit hole, liking posts from three years ago, and you’re contemplating the philosophical implications of cat memes. Yep. Cue the vacay!

● Family Gatherings: Your aunt asks (for the 15th time) why you’re still single. You’re dodging advice and daydreaming about automated responses. Yep. Cue the vacay!

● Dieting: You’re on a diet of kale smoothies and quinoa bowls, and you start dreaming about burgers and ice cream like they’re forbidden treasures from a lost civilization. Yep. Cue the vacay!

● Home Improvement Projects: Your “quick” weekend project turns into a month-long renovation of ginormous proportions, complete with a gazillion trips to the hardware store and questionable structural changes. Yep. Cue the vacay!

● News: You’re considering a bunker in the backyard. Dystopian novels of doom and gloom look cheerful compared to your news feed. Yep. Cue the vacay!

● Dating Apps: You’re swiping so much that it feels like a full-time job. Your thumb is sore, your eyes are glazed over, and every profile starts to blend into one amor(ph)ous blob. Yep. Cue the vacay!

● Exercise Regimens: Your workout routine feels more like a medieval torture session. You’re dreading your workouts more than a trip to the dentist. Yep. Cue the vacay!

● Parenting: “Me time” means locking yourself in the bathroom with a chocolate bar. Your rare escape feels like a luxury retreat. Yep. Cue the vacay!

● Blogging: Your efforts to craft engaging content week after week during a record-breaking heat wave and drought feel like an endless marathon. You’re standing on the chimney singing the Hallelujah Chorus. Yep. Cue the vacay!

Dayum! Dayum!! Dayum!!! Here I’ve done gone and paved the way for me to have a perfectly legit blogging vacay this week, and wouldn’t you just know it! I’ve done gone and cranked out today’s blog anyway! Phooey!

Clearly, my brain has been baking in the sun too long. Tuff. I’ll keep right on gazing from my imaginary chimney perch, realizing that, sometimes, the best way for me to break free from the grind and the heat is to let my imagination run wild and embrace the breeze of a little bit of whimsical madness.

I hope that you, Dear Reader, find your own rooftop, whether real or metaphorical, and that you sing your heart out when the world gets a little too hot to handle. Whether it’s a break from work, social media, family, or even blogging, taking a vacay isn’t just about escaping the heat—it’s about rediscovering the joy in life’s little quirks and celebrating them with gusto.

Cheers to your vacay! Wherever it leads you, may it be as epic and freeing as my rooftop concert over the Shenandoah Valley.