The Famous Dennis Mitton Library
Well, it’s actually a blog, and it’s not famous. Eventually, it will be a blog with a lot of stories. I’m combining several blogs into one from the last ten or so years. If it wasn’t published or isn’t in a book, this is where it goes. Other pages are category-specific, but this lists each post, one at a time, as I write them. It’s a little messy, but so is your favorite used bookstore. Read lots and comment lots. Thank you, merci, and Selah.
It’s dangerous to argue with Feynman, but I think Lyell’s uniformitarianism is even more basic:
They were both overweight, smoked, ate poorly, were inactive, and, all niceties aside, were generally gross and slovenly.
It's taken a few days, but my new book on living with TBI is up for pre-sale on Amazon. See it here. In truth, it's about more than living with traumatic brain injury. Living with is easy. You go to sleep and then wake up. Do that every day, and you're doing it. My...
No problem. I’ve got five blister packs of new ones in another drawer. I’m kind of finicky about pens.
Hmm. Schultz was Polish. Yeats Irish. Maybe I should move to Japan where they honor their old folk?
Can I Fix My Brain looks at the gamut of TBI issues and how they relate to the patient, the caregiver, and to their family.
The book strikes me as more of a pocket cheerleader than a manual, and that’s not all bad. Who of us doesn’t need a cheerleader sometimes?
We’ll see if it works as well for these folk as it does for my daughter. (Hint, it doesn’t.)
G is ready to help, and your church family is, too, but here’s the teaching: G wants you to handle the problem.
These two pictures – on the one side a world of apparent premeditated order and calm juxtaposed against tumult and decay – grew into a natural philosophy called catastrophism.
Or… maybe they’re just having a bad day and need a sit in a hot bath? It always depends on how e see it. Why give yourself a pass?
I expected the seas to part. I absolutely expected lots of yelling and hand waving. At the very least, I expected to be dragged to the truck by my ear. But Mom and Dad just looked at each other. They probably winked. “Fine.”