Comfort vs Safety - the transit chair question

Trains on Los Angles metro have slightly cushy cloth seats. While I like the cush, sometimes I think hard, washable plastic would be better. I mean, who knows what's on that seat? And it's not like you can swab it if you choose to.

So, which is more important, comfort or safety?

More than words and space

Scripture Window

A group from the office walked through the new Talbot building this afternoon, moving floor to floor and end to end. Two highlights for me were the scripture windows and the chapel.

Chapel

At another school, these depictions in Word and Space might be nice add ons, but I know some of the hearts behind the design and we heard the words of one as he described the chapel to those gathered within. Behind both artistic expressions is a deep theology, founded on the inerrant written Word, the Bible, and centered on the incarnate Word, Jesus.

Space and words can be sacred. I am glad these are.

I had a visitor at the bus stop this morning

As I waited in Norwalk this morning, a gopher was busy digging a hole. He popped up several times with dirt, once with a bottle cap of some sort, and another time with a nondescript item that looked like a former animal (eew). He finally stopped, placing a cap of soil over the opening.

He was cute, but there was no way I was getting any closer (4 feet was quite sufficient).

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(C) Laura Springer

Laura's Writings by Laura Springer is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 United States License.

And the leaves are tinged by the shortening days (Red 12)

Here in the flatlands of Southern California, the seasons are most often signaled by the calendar, rather than the weather. But for anyone with a liquid amber tree this is not the case, for the leaves begin to turn as soon as the days begin to shorten.

Sure, the weather can be hot or cold, clear or cloudy, wet or dry, but the red-tinged leaves tell the story: fall is here.

All one need do is read the subtle signs.

What life reveals (Red 11)

We try so hard to hide those parts of ourselves we find unbecoming. For if they knew...

But sometimes--most times?--life wears away the facade and reality peers out: just a hint at first and then full on. So we have a choice: we can dutifully maintain the facade, reapplying the latest hue, or we can bare our souls, hoping no one laughs and points or turns a face in horror.

Now, where's that paint bucket?

The perpetual plant (Red 10)

At the bus stop where I wait nearly every afternoon, there is a small plant--possibly a tiny tree--that has remained the same for years: same height, same flowers, same shape.

One day, thinking it was synthetic, I nipped a bit of leaf. It was real. I don't understand it's lack of growth. I don't understand flowers that never go to seed. I do know it's there and real.