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Posts Tagged ‘learning’

What would you do if you could go back in time for, say, one day? When would you go, and perhaps just as importantly, where?

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For today’s educational adventure I learned how to make a portal. Next time I’ll choose an image with a puddle for the reflection, but the effect is still pretty magic.

Photo by Etienne Boulanger on Unsplash

So, we have a target place, a target time, and a portal. Who wants to go first?

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Fiction-related aside: Time travel usually isn’t my genre (weird for someone with a history degree once upon a time, but there it is), but this series about historians tasked with maintaining the time stream is fun:

Just One Damned Thing After Another by Jodi Taylor

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“History does not always repeat itself. Sometimes it just yells, ‘Can’t you remember anything I told you?’ and lets fly with a club.” 

― John W. Campbell Jr.

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I just learned a new word-related thing and thought I’d share. The correct phrase is “just deserts” not “just desserts.”

Despite its pronunciation, just deserts, with one s, is the proper spelling for the phrase meaning “the punishment that one deserves.” The phrase is even older than dessert, using an older noun version of desert meaning “deserved reward or punishment,” which is spelled like the arid land, but pronounced like the sweet treat.

— ‘Just Deserts’ or ‘Just Desserts’? | Merriam-Webster*

I always thought this term was a food reference. Shows how my mind works.

And now that I know I was wrong, I can start being right. Learning stuff is great.

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* So wait, no “dessert” before the 16th century? Dark ages indeed;)

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Photo by Marta Dzedyshko on Pexels.com

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I ran across a draft letter I wrote several years ago, and I’m kicking myself for not sending it. Why? It was a condolence letter to the husband of an old friend of the family, and I realize now that I never felt like it was good enough to send.

L. and her first husband were close to my parents when I was young, and as couples split apart and merged in new formations, L. remained part of our circle. Even when she remarried, moved away and I hadn’t seen her for years, L. occupied a warm place in my heart. Then she got sick and died, and I didn’t know what to say to the new husband I’d never met.

Still, I searched for a card. I bought a stamp. I drafted a letter. I didn’t send it.

Running across the draft, I realize that what I might have said was less important than the impulse to share what L. meant to me. Here’s my draft, names abbreviated:

Dear P.,

I wanted to write to say how sorry I was to hear about L.’s passing. You know my father M. well, of course, and L. was a good friend of our family for years.

L. was many things, an academic, a family friend, wife, mother, upstanding member of the community and snazzy dresser. She was kind enough to invite us to her son’s bar mitzvah. The energy was happy, swirling, bright and compelling, much like L. herself. 

When I think of L., I remember her smile, her warmth, the care she showed for those around her. I think of her dancing.

I am so sorry for her loss.*

Perfect? No, but it was good enough. What lesson do I take from this? What will I tell myself the next time? 

I wanted it to be perfect because it mattered. But I had it backwards. I understand now that because it mattered, it didn’t have to be perfect.

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Reach out.

Share your feelings.

Send the card.

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Photo by Jackson David on Pexels.com

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* Note following a discussion on this with my father: I debated using the more typical “sorry for your loss” but decided that while I was deeply sorry for P., what I meant in the bigger picture was “I’m so sorry she’s gone.” So I used “her loss.” Told you it wasn’t perfect, but that’s ok.

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