A green hillside near Elizabeth Lake has put on its coat of many colors (Photo – Reg Green)
Editor’s Note: In a world shaped by the chaos of geopolitics, technological evolution, and unpredictable human behavior, Broodings delves into the disconnects, missteps, and poignant moments that often go unnoticed. Here, even the smallest gestures and most trivial interactions can reveal deeper truths about who we are and how we navigate the complexities of life. This collection by Reg Green blends the ordinary with the extraordinary, offering a mix of humor, reflection, and a touch of the absurd.
By Reg Green
Counter Jumping
The Ukrainian Counter-Disinformation Center spoke a fewweeks ago of the importance of the drone strikes deep inside Russia. The Russian Counter-Counter-DisInformation Center is expected to deny the drones’ effectiveness. The response to that expected denial is currently being written by the Ukrainian Counter-Counter-Counter Disinformation Center.
O O O
Two Paths Diverge
Maybe these robots are not so smart after all.
As this year’s college graduates disperse, AI Overview sums up their future like this: ‘Life’s path unfurls, a canvas yet unpainted, where possibilities bloom like wildflowers.’
Tom Lehrer saw it a little differently: ‘Soon,” he said of his class, “we’ll be sliding down the razor blade of life.”
O O O
After the Borgias, Colonnas and Medici……..
The excitement of electing a new pope reminds me of a moment when I participated in great secrecy in what could have been one of the most revolutionary changes in papal history.
My wife, Maggie, our five-year-old daughter, Eleanor, and I were on a private tour of the Vatican. This was strange enough, walking with just a guide along unending empty corridors normally bursting with other tourists. The Sistine Chapel, usually deafening, was so quiet we spoke in whispers.
At length we went into the papal robing room and saw what must surely be the most sumptuous collection of clothing anywhere on earth. Caught up in the exhilaration of the moment, the guide reached for a papal mitre and popped it on Eleanor’s head.
As I gazed down at her innocent little face, topped by a nearly foot-high headpiece, I felt as if we were laying the groundwork for a brand-new dynasty of popes: American, female and first-grade.
O O O
Bosses, What Do They Know?
Coverage by the media of recent air disasters has brought to mind the night when my friend, John Adams, a new reporter at the Daily Telegraph in London, where I worked too, was dutifully waiting to add in the final figure for his lowly task of compiling the column of world weather statistics.
The one still missing was the temperature for London which was released at the same time every night. No adult in England then could have failed to recognize the phrase: “At 9 o’clock the temperature on the Air Ministry roof was so and so degrees.” It was a ritual as ingrained as the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace.
On this night, however, the normal buzz in the newsroom was shattered by news of an air crash that had every reporter reassigned: did this aircraft have previous safety issues, any suggestion of terrorism, any well-known victims, anything unusual about the flight path or the crew? Writers ran around clutching pieces of paper, subeditors wrestled to reconcile conflicting reports from different sources, editors dropped other stories from the front page and had to find space for them elsewhere.
While the turmoil swirled around him, Adams, carefully keeping out of everyone’s way, was spotted immobile at his desk by the night news editor. “What are you doing, John?” he asked sharply. ” I’m just waiting for the nine o’clock temperature for the weather column, Mr. Armstrong,” he replied. “Well get on with it. Don’t just sit there ” “But it’s only ten minutes to nine, “John said gently. Armstrong’s rebuke was unanswerable, “You can try, can’t you?”
O O O
People are so touchy these days
I got a message this week from someone who I had no reason to offend who complained “I resent your email.”
I looked again at the email I’d sent to her and only the most hypersensitive of people could have found anything in it to get upset about.
I decided to let her know how I felt about these petty complaints. “What could you possibly resent in my email?” I asked.
Her reply was instantaneous. “I resent your email to my supervisor. What’s the problem?”
And no doubt thought, “People are so touchy these days.”
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