For now we see as in a glass, darkly; then we will see face to face. – Paul
We have a problem.
Slender rectangles dangle in our pockets, our purses, our coats. They call out to our hands, our hearts, our minds.
I wonder if so-and-so responded to what I said yet. I wonder how many people liked my picture on Instagram. I wonder what crazy thing so-and-so has posted on Facebook today.
And while the wondering isn’t harmful, necessarily,
the constant triggers
be beginning to rule us.
He that’s secure is not safe. – Benjamin Franklin
Freedom lies in being bold. – Robert Frost
It always begins with such hope, doesn’t it?
We breathe the faint scent of maple and cinnamon, sense the flint of the chilling air as we drive to work and school, pause for a pumpkin-flavored coffee or treat, wrap ourselves in warm scarves and cozy pea coats, scuff our boots against the leaves littering the sidewalks, and say,
This year I will …
Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer’s day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time. – John Lubbock
We must cultivate our own garden. – Voltaire
The wrinkles are winning.
A friend stopped by Wednesday to pick up something I’d forgotten to give her last week. I answered the door puffy-eyed, snotty-nosed, and gingerly touching my ever deepening crows feet.
Are you okay?
She’s one of those who remembers sooner than most that my life isn’t normal.
Sure, I said, just … June.
Each year you play Germany to my Poland, blitzkrieging your runny nose Luftwaffe, Panzer tank congestion, and goose step sneezes into my sinuses until I surrender with a weak Seig Heil and curl up on the couch with Benadryl and three boxes of Kleenex.
The world is all gates, all opportunities, strings of tension waiting to be struck. – Ralph Waldo Emerson
I have a problem – with word art.
Last week I went to IGA and almost walked out with five – count em, five, pieces of word art. I slapped my own hand before I got to the register and restrained myself to one. It said:
If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.
For heaven’s sake.
The worst part is, I. Loved. It.
If I get the opportunity to grow old, I will be the crazy cat lady with no cats and one thousand pieces of ridiculous word art. (It could be a Saturday Night Live sketch, if I was clever enough to write it.) At the very least, my kids will tell stories about their barmy mother who never saw a cheesy inspirational quote-on-stretched-canvas she didn’t like.
At least they’ll always know what to get me for Mother’s Day.
On Janus, there is no reason to speak. Tom can go for months and not hear his own voice. He knows some keepers who make a point of singing, just like turning over an engine to make sure it still works. But Tom finds freedom in the silence. He listens to the wind. He observes the tiny details of life on the island. – M.L. Stedman, ‘The Light Between Oceans.’
I know. I’m behind on blogging.
I could give a variety of excuses:
1. Our winter homeschool activity schedule. The girls love gymnastics, but it may have been the thing that tipped me from happy homeschooling mama to off-kilter, crazy lady. Considering the encouragement I receive from steady, faithful, fellow homeschooling mamas while we watch our children learn to tumble, though, I’ll be sad to see these ten weeks be over.
I am conflicted.
Last week, mainstream media exploded with the tragic story of twenty-six people who lost their lives to a – literal – madman.
Social media imploded with a smorgasbord of response -
Shame on him. Shame on his mother. Shame on all those who said the wrong thing at the wrong time.
Shame on guns.
Shame on all you who carry guns.
Shame on gun control.
Shame on the President.
Shame on all of you who voted for the President.
Shame on all of you who didn’t.
Shame on all of you who don’t feel shocked.
Shame on all of you who don’t feel anything.
Shame on all of you who feel anything different than I do.
That’s a lot of shame.