Today, the waterfowl waited patiently in the pond.
They’ve learned manners over the pandemic.
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Mallard male (Anas platyrhynchos) illustrated by the von Wright brothers in the 1929 folio version of Svenska Fåglar Efter Naturen Och Pa Sten Ritade.
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The bottom of the quail’s foot is always itching for the ground ; and he seems never so happy as when leaving the enemy far behind him. His little legs take him through the brush so fast that you cannot keep up with him. Every muscle in him is as tough as a watch-spring.
from “Winged Life” in The Desert by John C. Van Dyke
Last year, my friend posted a note when Helmut Jahn was killed in a bike accident.
We’ve hit the age when our heroes are leaving us.
I looked at Helmut’s website. He had an impressive portfolio, but the page stopped scrolling.
When starting my career, there was an infinite supply of next-projects. An endless row of residential remodels lined my future.
Thirty houses later, it stopped. I went corporate and never came home.
Jump again and my government pension plan has given me a logical retirement date and a biennual cycle.
Nevada’s legislature meets every odd numbered year when they give us projects. If the economy stays perfect, I will be assigned a big project every four years and five small projects every other year.
At most, I’ve got five more buildings and fifty small remodels.
Wait! That’s it?
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The night after the news, my dream mind visited San Francisco to search for an old friend. I went into a cafe. The barista pointed towards the BBQ joint down the street. As I walked along the shaded tree lined sidewalk, I woke up and remembered that Andrew passed away a decade ago.
Our heroes may not be famous, but grasp them tight while they’re here.
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Who are your heroes? How are you honoring them?
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This Corridor Crew episode is an exit interview with a member starting his own channel. The guys discuss the need for consistent production and loving the craft. It’s not about the product, it’s the doing.
Seth Godin writes about three skills that will keep one employed. He challenges us to learn the art of “initiation“. Go make shit happen.
Here are some lovely photos by David Alrath of Skovshoved Petrol Station, designed by Arne Jacobsen in 1936.
You give me money, I’ll give you creative. I’ll start when the check clears. Time is money. More time is more money. I’ll listen to you. You listen to me. You tell me what you want, I’ll tell you what you need. You want me to be on time, I want you to be on time. What you use is yours, what you don’t is mine. I can’t give you stuff I don’t own. I’ll try not to be an ass, you should do the same. If you want something that’s been done before, use that.
PRO BONO
If you want your way, you have to pay. If you don’t pay, I have final say.
Grizzlypear would have hit four digits last year, but I had moved some old posts to private.
It was worth the wait because this moment coincides with a programming change.
For the past month, I’ve been playing with a new format. These Penny Delights started as a one-sentence story, but have expanded to include a short vignette, quote, and linked photo.
Beyond the format, I have a rule — I don’t schedule Penny Delights. If I don’t write today, I don’t post today.
I’d like to post every day.
So I’m slowing down on the longer posts. I’ve also revised the Grizzlypear newsletter to publish a weekly digest on Sunday mornings.
If you’d like a Penny Delight each morning, I’ve created a daily newsletter (that will also include the longer posts when they are published). Send me an email if you want to try it out.
Over the years, Grizzlypear has been the home of many experiments, and this hobby has become more fulfilling with each iteration. It’s totally2008, but everyone should start a blog. The internet was supposed to be a utopia of shared knowledge, not a mindless scroll of spoon-fed consumption in the walled garden of a soulless corporation. Plant your flag and start writing. Even without a big audience (we’re up to nine!) the exploration is its own reward.
One of my mottos is “to tinker and delight, together”. Thanks for following this meandering journey. Please forgive my tinkering; I hope you enjoy the new delights.
Who knows, maybe I’ll be writing about five digits in 2052.
