Rob and I made a quick stop at our favorite secondhand store this afternoon so Rob could hunt for some amps. No luck for him, but I must say I found some gems. I picked up a great book of crème brûlée recipes and a collection of classic Welsh short stories. But as usual, the more interesting items were the ones I didn't buy. Sometimes just having photos of them is enough, especially the writings that are left behind in old notebooks and journals. This time I got to see the inner workings of the minds of two young boys:
"... and at the end of the Day i'd Rather stay." Yeah, so would I, kid.
Yesss! Something really useful on the last page
of a notebook full of spelling lists and long division.
And here is almost an entire book club set of one of my all-time favorite reads, Haven Kimmel's hilarious first installation of her childhood memoirs. Next to those eight copies of A Girl Named Zippy is her excellent follow-up book. I was so tempted to grab them all for a mere two bucks apiece, but my inner accountant advised me to be practical. *sigh* Glad I have my own copy—might need to dust it off and dip into it to combat the January greys that I know are coming. Maybe you should pick up a copy for yourself, and we can spend an evening laughing about it together and reminiscing over some of our own family stories. We could even whip up some fake blood and enjoy a little recess from life. Howzaboutit?
I so respect a man who isn't too proud to stop and ask for directions when he's lost.
Happy birthday to one of my most revered heroes—Joseph Smith. Because of his influence in my life, I have a deeper understanding of my reason for being and a clearer, more compelling purpose for continuing on. Thanks to him I have a good grasp on my origin and my destination, and a comprehension that my journey is about joy. He has helped nurture my faith in God, in truth, and in myself.
I love that he was a seeker, and a worker. I love that he asked important questions. I love that he listened for answers, and then put them to good use. I love that he never ever stop inquiring, and was never ever passive.
Recently, I did some sound editing for a collaborative art installation that Rob and I are exhibiting locally. A phrase from one of the interviews I worked on has been rolling around in my head for days and days: "serving... and loving... and making...." These are some of the foundational priorities in my life, elements of creation. Thank you, Joseph Smith, for showing me how to create, and to know my Creator.
Because of Joseph Smith, the feelings I have during the Christmas season are sweeter and more sacred. All I have to do to feel the holiday spirit is to pull back from the red-nosed swagger of commercialism and meditate on what I know of the life and mission of Jesus Christ, remember the quiet stirrings I've experienced within my own soul, and celebrate light and truth, questions and answers, and creating.
Happy birthday. Thanks for teaching me. You've been God's hands in my life, and have helped me see how and why to be that for others.
Well, shucks, I got off-track with my blogging earlier this month. I've kept up a steady pace with my thanks-giving, I just haven't documented my adventures here. Too bad. But kudos to all my friends who have faithfully shared their own warm November fuzzies on Facebook and elsewhere. I've wondered, Should I do penance? Should I backtrack, do make-up homework? But nah. The sweetest thing I can think to do is to continue spending some daily gratitude, wherever I find myself, till I spend my thankful pockets empty. But it doesn't work like that, does it? Gratitude pockets are magic and never come up short. The more you spend, the more you find to spend when you dig down deep.
Tomorrow's Thanksgiving. So is today, and every day. I love my life, and I'm glad it's mine, come what may.
Here's a little gift from me to start the holidays out right, a song I've loved since I was small. Enjoy it. Enjoy your feasting tomorrow and an endless spending of gratitude.
the joy of movement, esp. walking fast on a crisp afternoon
messages from faraway friends
sweet irony: Last night a friendly neighbor sent over an ENORMOUS plate of gooey black magic box brownies, the kind that can turn deadly if you overindulge. After Rob and I cautiously sampled them, we decided we were in danger, so I loaded up the rest to share with a family I met with today. They were excited, and we were relieved. Hey, no emergency room trips for us! On my way home I received a text from a different neighbor friend, telling me she'd just left brownies on my porch and giving me full disclosure about her ingredients list, all healthy in the extreme. Those we finished off.
