All posts by Murph

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Good enough for me

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A response to the Day 3 Writing Prompt Boot Camp, because I’m sitting in Writing Group not writing and I should just pick something. Even if I don’t think I write fiction. 3 years ago, I thought I didn’t write poetry and I was wrong about that, so…

Bob O’Connell dropped his bag on one of the four-legged grey chairs in his office, and himself into his black desk chair. He tapped the keyboard 3 times to wake his laptop. He was greeted by his own face and a password box, and that’s when he noticed that the white “Property Of WJA Data Analytics” label on his laptop was obscured by a little black cookie.

Bob looked around his office. Nothing looked to be disturbed, though as he scanned piles of paper and notebooks on his desk, he gave a half-smile and thought “but how could anyone tell.” More importantly, it didn’t seem that anything else had been added. Just one cookie.

He snapped the cookie in half to reveal the black cookie under its chocolate icing. The scent confirmed it… a Girl Scout Thin Mint. And impulsively, he popped a half in his mouth before he really started wondering where it came from. Chewed, swallowed, started to wonder who’d have a key to his door but not leave a note, decided he wasn’t poisoned, and ate the other half.

The next day, he returned from lunch to find another Thin Mint on his laptop. He called to the next office.

“Hey Megan? Is this cookie from you?”

“What cookie?”

A short blonde woman poked her head in Bob’s office. “I didn’t get a cookie.”

“Did you see anyone?”

“No, but I’ve been in meetings all morning. Ooh, Thin Mints! And well past Girl Scout cookie season too.”

“You want it?”

Megan squinted her eyes at the little disk. “No no, that’s your mysterious gift. I couldn’t possibly.” Her computer chimed and she went back to her office for the next meeting.

Bob studied the dark icing for a moment, and ate the cookie.

Next day, no cookie.

No cookies at home over the weekend.

Monday morning, 4 cookies. Bob tore a page out of a notebook and wrote “Thanks, whoever you are.”

Tuesday, after he went for an afternoon cup of coffee, one cookie, and a note. “No problem” in thick strokes of green fountain pen ink.

It was in his own handwriting.

No cookie the next day.

The following day, the opulent ring of a Samoa, chocolate, coconut, and caramel mounded high. And another note.

“We were out of Thin Mints.”

This story brought to you by the letters N, O, T, I, and S. In one of my first library jobs, I had a dumb terminal connected to a NOTIS mainframe, and I swear it worked better when I offered it a Thin Mint cookie. Truth is, I proceeded to eat those cookies myself, not wanting to leave food on my desk in the library. But I liked the idea of them disappearing in the past and reappearing somehow in the future.

Featured image: “Girl Scout Cookies – Thin Mints & Samoas” by brian, CC-BY-SA at https://flic.kr/p/bA8bVk

40DaysOfGoodShit, Biographical, Text

Stars and bacon

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(Lent is over but I can keep looking for #40DaysOfGoodShit. So this is Day 9. There’s probably a blog post in the idea that one might “honor Lent in my heart and try to keep it all the year”.)

So here’s the good thing, which needless to say I watched first thing in the morning…

And in the comments, someone talked about the fact that their morning routine is to put a vinyl record on while they drink their coffee. A long time ago, I tried something similar (except with cassettes), so I took that specific comment as my motivation.

Lemme be clear: I hate it. I liked waking up in a warm bath made of content. I liked my brain slowly coming up to speed as I play games on my phone or scroll a feed of “content”, snug and sleepy under the covers.

But consciously choosing not to be on my phone first thing is making me aware of how much the phone makes me time-blind. And I do not like the “oh shit!” moment when I realize that the morning is getting away from me, when I’m late and everything has to be rushed, when the first thing I really feel in the morning is guilt.

I rather like feeling that I’ve been conscious all morning, that I know what time it is, that I’ve made meaningful choices before I even get to work.

I like choosing to walk the dog, instead of remembering that I have to.

I like the fact that this is reminding me that I don’t do my best listening early in the morning. (Heck, I can’t even pick a new album some mornings… it’s been The Allman Brothers 3 times in a row and I’m proud that I managed to flip the record once.) But at least that has motivated me to do some intentional listening in the evenings.

I swear my coffee even tastes better when there’s no Facebook in it. Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say that now, my coffee tastes.

40DaysOfGoodShit, Text

Easter Lily

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It’s late on Good Friday and I’m walking the dog and I remember a new U2 EP just dropped.

Completely unpredictable that this would be an album about longing and remembrance and the afterlife.

It’s a solid mid-tier U2 album, jangly and muscular, big ideas and big melodies. And walking in the dark, looking up at the sky, the opening tracks acknowledge grief and absolutely refuse to let it drive out joy. Anthemic tributes to connections that last.

I look to my right, toward the mountains where I feel my father. The moon is coming up, but it’s edges are obscured by trees. A pyre of blazing orange, a beacon in the east.

Featured image is “Lilies” by Bart Everson, CC-BY-2.0 at https://flic.kr/p/eya8TY

40DaysOfGoodShit, Images

Nothing but flowers

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For #40DaysOfGoodShit days 5-7, I’ve been noticing flowers.

Dead Nettles

According to the PictureThis app on my phone and Pl@ntNet on the web, this is dead nettle. Looks pretty lively to me.

The lawns in my new neighborhood are full of the stuff. This makes me very happy – these large clumps of low-lying flowers coming up as a sign of spring. I’m sure plenty of people would define these as weeds and perhaps a sign that the builders of the development cheaped out when laying the sod, but I was pretty glad to see these purple eruptions instead of just watching brown lawns slowly turning green.

IMG_3878

I just like this shot because I feel like it gives the scale of the flora better.

And then the very next day this happened.

Tulips in the snow

At the same time that I am done with this winter, something about the variability we’re getting this year feels like home to my Washingtonian heart. If you don’t like the weather, wait 15 minutes.

Berea College has a pretty public commitment to trying to keep its grounds resilient and biodiverse (while also tidy and safe). So it was unexpected but not surprising to discover that the lawns are full of springbeauty.

Springbeauty

This doesn’t begin to get the scope of it. There’s literally blocks of the stuff. Like the dead nettle, it’s lovely to see that everything doesn’t have to be just so.

Also, according to Pl@ntNet, springbeauty is formally known as Claytonia virginica, which sounds to me like a magnificent character name. “Claytonia Virginica Walsh sipped her tea, looked at the baseball sitting just inside her fence, and tried to decide which child would be brave enough to open the gate and retrieve it. It looked like the older boys were going to make the little squirrelly one do it.”

*It’s conceivable that’s Claytonia caroliniana, but that’s not nearly as good a character name. I suppose Claytonia Caroline, who goes by Cat, could be a detective in a cozy mystery series, but I’m not impressed.

40DaysOfGoodShit, Text

I’d rather just call him The Man

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My father passed away two and a half weeks ago.

There’s more to say. So much more to say. But in an attempt to rejuvenate my #40daysofgoodshit practice, here’s Day 4.

My brother did an amazing job on my dad’s obituary. He asked me for editing assistance, most of which he didn’t need, but I’m honored to have been part and I did add a detail that felt important. My other brother and mother also contributed.

And then it occurred to me that it was drafted in Google Docs and posted on an obituary site that we don’t control or even know how long it will stay up. And I’m also doing a lot of thinking and feeling about self-archiving and digital hoarding and backups and “lots of copies keeps stuff safe“.

This website still lives on a server I don’t control, but at least I do have the keys. And so here it is. I’m achingly, desperately proud of both my brother’s writing and my father’s life.

Joseph Aloysius Murphy

September 2, 1938 – March 3, 2026

Joseph Aloysius Murphy, 87, of Rockville, Maryland, died peacefully on March 3, 2026, following a long illness.

He was born in Nanticoke, Pennsylvania, to Joseph and Sophia Murphy, and was raised in Ashley, PA.

A lifelong devout Catholic, Joe attended St. Leo’s high school in Ashley before studying chemical engineering at the Catholic University of America in Washington, D.C., making him the first member of his family to have ever attended college. It was here that he met his beloved Anne Reilly and began a love story for the ages.

It was also at Catholic University where Joe tried his hand at boxing. It was not a successful venture.

Despite this setback, Joe went on to an accomplished vocation as a nuclear engineer. He dedicated his entire career to working for the federal government at the Atomic Energy Commission (later known as the Nuclear Regulatory Commission). His employment frequently took him overseas, unlocking a lifelong passion for international travel. His career included frequent work in Taipei, Cologne, Frankfurt, and Paris; together with Anne, he also traveled to Ireland, England, Italy, and Russia, among many other destinations. Each trip aroused his lifelong curiosity, filling him with stories of amusing local customs, breathtaking museums, and, most of all, exotic local cuisine.

Travel was but one of Joe’s passions. He was a voracious reader, most often studying Irish history and reading Irish authors and poets, but also inhaling any spy novel in arm’s reach. He was a dedicated member of the Knights of Columbus, where he served as Grand Knight of the Rock Creek Council, and held numerous chairmanships for the Maryland State Council. He loved baseball; boxing; dogs; jazz, folk, and country music; photography; wine; Guinness; and restaurants, where he would often hold court in the company of his family.

He was a master storyteller who passed along his love of humor to his children. His stories might end in a pitched fit of laughter, or a cocked eyebrow for a more subtle ending. It was a true joy for his family to hear him laugh – a high pitched, oscillating howl that was in every way discordant with his steady, baritone voice.

At work, in the Knights of Columbus, and at home, Joe was known as a generous mentor. He recognized talent in others and offered time, space, and advice to help it grow.

He is survived by his wife of 56 years, Anne; his “three turkeys,” Joseph (Alison), Thomas (Jennifer), and Kevin (Colleen); and his nine grandchildren: Molly, Bridget, Lilly, Jude, Jack, Katie, Fiona, Calvin, and Lina. He is preceded in death by his parents and six of the most loyal and charming Irish Wolfhounds God ever gifted to mankind: Finbarr, Aulin, Shannon, Jupiter, Siobahn, and Rebel. He was steadfastly devoted to them all, even the humans.

Joe died surrounded by family who were alternately singing, praying, and sharing their memories in his final hours. He slipped away while they were distracted and laughing at old family stories, making his a true Irish Goodbye.

A public wake will take place on Sunday, March 8, from noon to 4:00 PM at Devol Funeral Home, 10 E Deer Park Dr, Gaithersburg, MD. A full funeral mass will be on Monday, March 9 at 10:00 AM, at St. Mary’s Church, 520 Viers Mill Rd, Rockville, MD, where he had been a faithful parishioner for 56 years.

In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the Rock Creek Knights of Columbus or to the Catholic University School of Engineering.

40DaysOfGoodShit, Daily Create, DS106, Images, Text

Stand in the place where you work

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Daily Create #5162 asks where we sit while we do our Open Education work. So here’s a picture of the new office.

Pictures on the wall

In part, I’m just glad that I got those pictures on the wall reasonably straight and spaced without actually measuring. (My home walls have not fared quite so well.) And they tell a little story – the panorama is Cal Ripken’s last at bat, a nod to growing up an O’s fan and paying more attention to baseball in the 1990s than I do now. I picked up “Artist vs Star” at a campus art sale at Kenyon because I liked it and it struck me as edupunky/DS106-y. The Hot Licks Blues Fest poster of Taj Mahal is for my musical side. And the framed poem was a going-away gift from my friend and colleague Chris Gillen, biology professor and poet. It’s titled “How we got through Covid-19 and the times before and after” and it is up there to remind me that I’m actually pretty good at this pedagogy support thing.

Which is nice, because it turns out this is also bell hooks’ first office at Berea. And that reset my impostor syndrome real good. I mean I’m not filling her chair in any literal or metaphorical sense but… see earlier comment, I don’t not-believe in signs.

Anyway it’s neat to imagine Dr. hooks also enjoying this exact view. (Photo taken in December).

Berea College in the snow out my office window
40DaysOfGoodShit, Images

Long as I can see the light

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On December 8th, I started a new job at Berea College and found out that my office is in the same room as the Danforth Chapel.

Later that afternoon, we had a family-and-doctors Zoom call about my father’s declining health and the need to start having end-of-life discussions.

I don’t believe in signs. But I don’t not-believe in signs.

It’s a bit of a cheat to call this #40DaysOfGoodShit Day 2, since the photos were taken the Monday before Lent, but it’s my second post in the series and there you have it.

We had another call that day, with a hospice team.

I walked into the chapel after the call. There was a break in the clouds outside such that the sun came streaming through one window and not its neighbor.

Sun coming through the window in Danforth Chapel, Berea College (retouched)

And the colored light fell on the podium in a way that was almost tangible. Illuminating the air itself. Not quite ghostly but perhaps Holy Ghostly.

Light on podium, Danforth Chapel, Berea College (retouched)

I post these, partly to share them with you because it was beautiful, and partly to ask for tips on photo editing. Below you can see an album of the originals of these photos and the retouched versions (as well as an alternate angle which frankly I just don’t love as well). I’ve tried to boost the colors and diminish the brightness a bit to make the light stand out more, like it did in person. It’s not entirely successful at recreating the ethereal effect, but that may just be a limitation of moving from 2 dimensions to 3 (and/or taking photos with my cell phone). But if anyone has ideas of other ways to edit the photos, I’d love to hear them. Actually, they’re all CC-BY-NC; you’re welcome to have at it if you just want to tinker.

Light on podium, Danforth Chapel, Berea College
40DaysOfGoodShit, Text

That I should rise

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#40DaysofGoodShit, #1

The hospice where my father is staying has a full-time music therapist on staff.

A ruddy young man with a neat reddish beard. He asked my father what he’d like to hear and Dad said “anything Irish.” He said he knew “Joe Murray” would have some Irish in him, took his guitar case off his back, and hit the ceiling fan with it.

He played us The Wild Rover and When Irish Eyes are Smiling and Danny Boy and something about St. Patrick’s Day in New York City and one more I can’t remember. And then he sang one we’d never heard before and he said he’d only heard once, about “where’ve you been, Bridey Flynn.”

Dad smiled and tapped his foot the whole time.

And the music therapist went to pack up and tapped the ceiling fan with the head of his guitar again.

The photo “Guitar Scales” is by Alan Levine, CC0 at https://flic.kr/p/RDaeis

Daily Create, DS106, Text

It’s a little bit funny

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Today’s Daily Create asks us to sketch “what it’s like to be you” and to focus on the fun part of this moment, this perspective.

Sketching asks a lot of me; I have a belief that I “can’t draw” which goes back to not being as good as others in elementary school art class.

But then Randall Munroe has shown you can do a lot with stick figures, so there goes that excuse.

But “in my subjectivity, here and now,” I don’t feel like drawing. So here are some character sketches in words. I don’t know if they’re all actually from my perspective, but what you might see looking in.

A grey-haired man in a blue shirt is at a conference table. Around the table are 4 women and himself, evenly spaced out, each working quietly on their own projects on their own laptops. From time to time he looks around, proud to have brought Writing Group to his new place.

A grey-haired man in a blue shirt is hunched over his laptop at a conference table. He fidgets in his chair. He crosses and uncrosses his legs. Sometimes his fingers fly on the keyboard, sometime they are still. His cup of tea (4th caffeinated beverage of the day and it’s not noon yet) is empty.

A grey-haired man in a blue shirt stares out the window at bare branches dusted with white. He wonders if driving through a low snowbank was a smart choice to get a close parking place. His stomach rumbles and he wonders what’s for lunch. He strokes his goatee and realizes his skin feels drier on the inside than out.

A grey-haired man in a blue shirt finishes his blog post, hits publish, and closes his laptop. He digs a green notebook out of his bag and a cheap purple fountain pen from his pocket. He puts pen to paper and watches to see what happens next.

Featured image: “pen” by Russell Wall, CC-BY-NC at https://flic.kr/p/361DHa

Radio Show

Burns Night Show 2026

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Last week’s theme was Burns Night – the annual celebration of the poet Robert Burns, and for my purposes, all things Scottish. (Playlist at the end.)

Monologue, from the end of the show:

I was listening to Padraig O’Tuoma’s wonderful podcast Poetry Unbound and he offered that the etymology of “record” has of course “re- ‘for “again”, and “cord” coming out of the Latin for heart. I’m quite taken with this “re-hearting” idea. I think we can see it in Burns’ work to preserve folk songs, to write lyrics for old airs and to generally preserve and spread a certain version of Scots language and identity – a return to the heart. 

And I thought about this practice, this getting together every week to spin… records. (Maybe next week I should put a literal vinyl record on, but you know what I mean. I found an antique mall with just tons of records to flip through, if I don’t get snowed in.)

(Note: I got snowed in.)

One of the neat things about DJing on DS106 is that there’s one number of listeners which appears on the website, and a smaller number that appears on the server’s private dashboard, and a smaller number than that which the dashboard can put on a map. And sometimes those folks comment on Facebook or Mastodon or text, and sometimes not. I truly love the not knowing – the wondering who the listeners are in the gaps. Wonder what other heart is beating along with us tonight. It makes it feel a little less one-way.

And of course there are the other folks – the creators who made the music, the various folks in our lives who helped us build our tastes. They’re not actually with us and yet they are, they’re part and parcel of what moves us.  I said it to the guys in Illiterate Light when I saw them at Newport last summer, and I told them about the little 3-song playlist that helped me get through the last year. I do think it’s truly amazing how art allows people who’ve never met to feel seen and connected and cared for. To have their heart touched by someone who becomes a little bit less a stranger. To restore our hearts past distance or disconnection or death.

So let’s go out on Robbie Burns’ greatest hit, performed here by Palmyra. Let’s take a cup of kindness.

Not available on Spotify:

The actual version of Culloden’s Harvest I played:

Featured Image: “Print of Robert Burns after Nasmyth” from the Dumfries & Galloway Museums, CC BY-NC-SA 2.0 at https://flic.kr/p/ctX6gU