Today’s Word: mutatis mutandis (noun) – Mutatis mutandis (myoo-TAH-dis myoo-TAHN-dis) is a Latin phrase that translates as “with the necessary changes having been made” or “with the respective differences having been considered.” It is usually used in a legal or academic context, but not always. Example from The Americans by Henry James: “Roderick made an admirable bust of her at the beginning of the winter, and a dozen women came rushing to him to be done, mutatis mutandis, in the same style.”

Did You Know?: CBS’s 60 Minutes is the only TV show that doesn’t have music or a theme song.

Worth Quoting: “Only mediocrity can be trusted to be always at its best.” – Max Beerbohm

What I’m Reading: Protestants: The Faith That Made the Modern World by Alec Ryrie. The Reformation that began with Martin Luther in 1517 started with an argument about religion – whether only priests could interpret the Bible or whether each person, as Luther argued, was his own priest. But it sowed the seeds for the secular notion we have of democracy in the USA, including our belief in limited government and the equality of all races, religions, genders, and classes.

Remembering Mary Oliver: Mary Oliver died Thursday. A Pulitzer Prize and National Book Award winning poet that wrote poems straight and truly, the way they should be, she was a welcome antidote to the more common variety of modern and contemporary poets that write as though they feel that expression rather than communication is the proper cause of writing anything.

Here’s a poem that demonstrates that and why I admire her – a contemplation of her own death…

When Death Comes

By Mary Oliver

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it’s over, I want to say all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world