I’ve been sitting quietly and looking at the lighthouse down the beach that continues to shine in all seasons. *  So very cold here.  I’ve not been out of the house in days, as I am recovering from the respiratory flu that is going around.  No worries – am fine – but had not been that ill in some time.

We’ve had winters this severe before, and Karl and others who have helped us with our home have made the house so warm.  Every day I am grateful that we have power and water and shelter.  It’s also been a blessing to visit your blogs here and there – always and when not writing myself these past days.

January 5 – my father’s birthday.  Harold A. Borgh, Ph.D lived on earth from 1915 – 1983.  He was a history teacher and I often watch panels on C-Span channels.  I enjoy listening to historians.  There is always a learning curve in life.  If I think I have learned something, the lesson will come around again!

One of my favorite poems for Dad, whose parents came here from Sweden:

love for you
became her care
until she joined you there
grief gives way to fields and wind
and now I hear your voice again

(published in Bell’s Letters Poet)

Take care, Ellen

* Update (with smiles): after all these years I am learning that what I’ve been seeing is not a conventional lighthouse, but rather smokestacks from a power plant with aircraft warning lights.  Also, sometimes we can see lights on TV Transmission Towers in Milwaukee  – I don’t understand all the science yet – am jotting this note with Karl.

As a poet, though, these are still lights in the night.  Karl is an engineer as you know, so we are doing research on lighthouses in other parts of Wisconsin.