or catch a major chronic illness ( meaning NOT the ones that doctors are convinced are all in your head) you will discover when you reach a ripe, old age, that you pretty much feel like the same person you were, when you are over 70, that you were when you were 25- - clueless as to the greater mysteries of life and still facing your own mortality. I'm grateful that I can look down a long history of messing up and then still being able to continue living Life with a little more clarity and sense of purpose.
Yesterday, I rode on over to Sis's house and had a good chinwag. We talked about all manner of things: Homedec, Osama bin Laden, aging pets, The World According to Garp, and the true name of the tree down the road that's festooned, in late September, with huge clusters of yellow flowers.
Also, we traded tips on keeping lettuce crisp and lively in a refrigerator, measured doorways suspected of being "not to code", and discussed the theory of why God hasn't just flicked us all out into space by now ; we decided many things.
We decided that for every heinous crime committed there were at least 25 people working to catch the rotter, so we still had them outnumbered. This is a great relief. Now if we could just have solved the mystery of why over half the prison population is African American, we might have been satisfied with our little chat.
Knitting. I hang my head. Since we had the excitement of having to replace a major non-appliance household necessity, I have done no knitting to speak of over the last two days. I did take the sweater sleeves out of the bag and looked longingly at the pattern that is pure Greek to me in my postoperative haze.
Yes, it was a long time ago now, but "The Little Grey Cells" took a hit, the only way to describe what happens sometimes under anesthetic, and said cells have still not fully recovered. So I soldier on, trying to make sense of M1s that now appear, and taking them to mean Make 1, and still cannot make it all come out right.
I do believe that I'll just make the sleeves striped, if there is some other non Merino yarn in the stash. I'm thankful that I've found that I can knit on the circs. I just have to keep my eyes open and watch for whatever it is that is lurking just outside my vision but keeps tantalizingly waving it's big green hands at me.
Are you grateful and thankful that stream of consciousness writing still exists in this world much too full of over important Guys in Suits who want to take all the money, as well as all the land, and use it to grow bio-hazards? Me, too.
I'm thankful that every major religion has, within it, a mechanism that punishes such people, both in the "there and then"- whenever that is- and/or in HELL!
I have this lovely quote about Art to share:
Yesterday, I rode on over to Sis's house and had a good chinwag. We talked about all manner of things: Homedec, Osama bin Laden, aging pets, The World According to Garp, and the true name of the tree down the road that's festooned, in late September, with huge clusters of yellow flowers.
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| It's a Golden Rain Tree like this one |
Also, we traded tips on keeping lettuce crisp and lively in a refrigerator, measured doorways suspected of being "not to code", and discussed the theory of why God hasn't just flicked us all out into space by now ; we decided many things.
We decided that for every heinous crime committed there were at least 25 people working to catch the rotter, so we still had them outnumbered. This is a great relief. Now if we could just have solved the mystery of why over half the prison population is African American, we might have been satisfied with our little chat.
Knitting. I hang my head. Since we had the excitement of having to replace a major non-appliance household necessity, I have done no knitting to speak of over the last two days. I did take the sweater sleeves out of the bag and looked longingly at the pattern that is pure Greek to me in my postoperative haze.
Yes, it was a long time ago now, but "The Little Grey Cells" took a hit, the only way to describe what happens sometimes under anesthetic, and said cells have still not fully recovered. So I soldier on, trying to make sense of M1s that now appear, and taking them to mean Make 1, and still cannot make it all come out right.
I do believe that I'll just make the sleeves striped, if there is some other non Merino yarn in the stash. I'm thankful that I've found that I can knit on the circs. I just have to keep my eyes open and watch for whatever it is that is lurking just outside my vision but keeps tantalizingly waving it's big green hands at me.
Are you grateful and thankful that stream of consciousness writing still exists in this world much too full of over important Guys in Suits who want to take all the money, as well as all the land, and use it to grow bio-hazards? Me, too.
I'm thankful that every major religion has, within it, a mechanism that punishes such people, both in the "there and then"- whenever that is- and/or in HELL!
I have this lovely quote about Art to share:
In a decaying society, if it is Truthful, Art must also reflect Decay. And, unless it wants to break faith with it's social function, Art must show the world as changeable, and help to change it.For reading this long, here is your reward: If you don't like the cherries, just pick them out and give them to me, please?
~Ernst Fischer~
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I'm certain you'll persevere. Sending you a hug.
ReplyDeleteAnd I love the art quote.
Thank you for the hug! I'm reminded of the cartoon, "The Pluggers". They just keep plugging along... That Art quote is quite striking. Glad you liked it, too.
ReplyDelete