Ocean passages on rolling seas; counting waves to challenge the myth of the set wave, where every seventh swell is the largest of a set of 14 waves. Sometimes, it was the fifth; other times it was the ninth. Whatever the number, there was always a wave that appeared too big, that roared and enveloped you.

Pandemic, war, the loss of loved ones, and the machination that is the great wheel of time; all have caused me to consider and share thoughts on my own crossing from life to death, and it’s a sailing metaphor, of course.

My early morning trip, with lights sparkling on the horizon in the wintry cold of dawn, reminded me that seekers are the torchlight that feeds the flame – illuminating and healing “the least of these brothers and sisters of mine” while spreading peace and joy.

Nothing can violate my commitment to protecting and securing life through acts of love and compassion. So, if the state chooses to kill me, it is not the end for me; it is only the beginning.

“The phrase, “sanctity of life,” is an interesting development in discussions about reimagining policing, and it’s beginning to influence the culture of policing . . . Sanctity of life should be the foundation of de-escalation, use of force, and how we approach all calls for service.”

“Retirement is the filthiest word in the language. Whether by choice or by fate, to retire from what you do – and what you do makes you what you are – is to back up into the grave.” -Hemingway-

by James Copple Baseball is part of the warp and woof for most children raised in the suburbs of America in the 1950s and ‘60s. And as I watched the Washington Nationals upset the Houston Astros in Game 7 of the 2019 World Series to win the championship title, the memories and thrill of it […]

by James E. Copple In 1960, I was 10 years old and living in the Ruskin Heights suburb of Kansas City, an idyllic community occupied mostly by veterans of World War II and Korea. The houses were all the same, with public parks and well-lit streets, and the neighborhood kids would gather on long summer […]

By James E Copple It seemed like big trouble at the time, but a battle about bologna sandwiches ended up being the foundation of a legacy I cherish. I was in fourth grade, and we were scratch-farmers living in Lee’s Summit, a Missouri suburb of Kansas City. We had a few horses, four pigs, about […]