Concerning Life as It Is Supposed to Be

A Drizzly November Soul

So muses Melville’s Ishmael:

“Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth, whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul, whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.” (Moby Dick, chapter 1)

In our own drizzly November souls, where go we when the sea is no option?


Drinking the Same Water


Akira Kurosawa and His Sons


  1. Adri

    Not a comment so much on this particular post; just generally that I am glad you are posting so often. As always, I enjoy your writing.
    Here’s something else: a warning – if you don’t want an outburst of laughter during your Sunday morning service, don’t tell a joke to a blond on Saturday night.
    No longer blond myself – gray-white so I’m allowed to tell you these things.

    • Are you saying, then, that it takes a blond about 12 hours to get a joke? I thought the average was much longer. And, sorry to tell you, but once a blond, always a blond.

  2. Suzanne

    I’ve made it through many difficult moments in life by going to the sea. It’s where I go. There between land and sea I meditate and communicate with the creator. Somehow the experience helps me to gain perspective and inspiration.
    Where would I go if the sea were not on option? I suppose I’d find a magnificent tree to sit under, or a bench near the river. If those were not an option, I’d most likely find a quaint little coffee shop.

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