Barometer: Crispy.

77% Weekly Newsletter

Barometer: Crispy.

Beloved,

 

In the past few weeks, some things—things that usually don’t bother me—irked me.

 

Like the line at the grocery store. 

It pissed me off yesterday.

I usually don’t mind.

 

I coined the phrase “spiritual barometer” to refer to a thing that sometimes annoys and sometimes doesn’t.

 

My favorite example is my brother-in-law, Bob.  

 

When Bob calls—that is, when I see his face and number on my phone—sometimes I think, “Oh good, it’s Bob!” 

And sometimes I think, “What the heck does he want?”

 

My spiritual barometers help me to know my mood—and, if I listen, I can see when I need to up my compassion and self-care.

 

 


 

 

Anyhow, the past few weeks my spiritual barometers has indicated I am/was a bit crispy and I am/was headed towards burn out.

 

So, I’m implementing, starting immediately, compassion and self-care—so, I’m asking you NOT to respond to this email.

 

 


 

Next week is the “off-week” of the month for the newsletter.

 

I’ll be back to serve you fresh spiritualigious content April 7th.

 

I’ll be refreshed. (I hope.)

 

I thank you for your compassion, understanding, and support.  And, NOT emailing me this week.

 

Way Through

✧✧✧ Hugh’s dad died a few weeks ago. Hugh is a dear friend and Presbyterian minister in Waterloo (just west of Toronto), Ontario, Canada. I call, we small-talk for a while, and then I ask, “How is your heart?” “I appreciate you asking. My heart is heavy and sad.” ✧✧✧ I love Hugh.I mean, how many people do you know

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Flash Bang

✧✧✧ My buddy Marc meets me near my house at 3:30 on Saturday afternoon so we can bike to the small park named for Elizabeth Caruthers. I looked her up as I started to write this article. Elizabeth Caruthers was an early pioneer woman whose Supreme Court case led to the 1850 Donation Act—ruling that a woman, married or not,

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Hiawatha Johnson, JR.

January 2026 — Portland, ORE Hiawatha Johnson, Jr., a mentor and friend died. Summer 1985 — Magic Camp Oakdale, Long Island I’m 15. He’s 30. He wears a dashiki. He uses a walking stick. I’m prepubescent. I listen to comedy cassettes on a Walkman. I’m in awe. ✧✧✧ I perform a rather banal magic act that year — me narrating

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77% Weekly Newsletter
77% Weekly Newsletter