You Are 75% Pure |
 You're pretty pure, and you have no plans on changing that. You do have a devilish side though... and it will probably get the better of you. |
Monday, May 19, 2008
Well, that is just pathetic!
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Off to the Bamboozle
in three days!
Will be back with a full report of all fun and frivolity. And to be sure I will get in a fight with someone along the way ... after all, it is two days ... and my last two concerts have been conflict free. :)
Will be back with a full report of all fun and frivolity. And to be sure I will get in a fight with someone along the way ... after all, it is two days ... and my last two concerts have been conflict free. :)
Friday, April 18, 2008
My girl, she flies, and then, not so much
AKA: girl goes over jump, but horse doesn't
Yes, she is fine. Just a bit sore. How great a mom am I that I held the shutter button down so diligently as she flew through the air?
Yes, she is fine. Just a bit sore. How great a mom am I that I held the shutter button down so diligently as she flew through the air?
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Happiness
There's just no accounting for happiness,
or the way it turns up like a prodigal
who comes back to the dust at your feet
having squandered a fortune far away.
And how can you not forgive?
You make a feast in honor of what
was lost, and take from its place the finest
garment, which you saved for an occasion
you could not imagine, and you weep night and day
to know that you were not abandoned,
that happiness saved its most extreme form
for you alone.
No, happiness is the uncle you never
knew about, who flies a single-engine plane
onto the grassy landing strip, hitchhikes
into town, and inquires at every door
until he finds you asleep midafternoon
as you so often are during the unmerciful
hours of your despair.
It comes to the monk in his cell.
It comes to the woman sweeping the street
with a birch broom, to the child
whose mother has passed out from drink.
It comes to the lover, to the dog chewing
a sock, to the pusher, to the basket maker,
and to the clerk stacking cans of carrots
in the night.
It even comes to the boulder
in the perpetual shade of pine barrens,
to rain falling on the open sea,
to the wineglass, weary of holding wine.
*Jane Kenyon*
Thank you Julie, for sending this to me and for recognizing me in the words ... and the words in me. It's beautiful.
I truly am happy. And surprised by happiness finding me, like the uncle I never knew about.
or the way it turns up like a prodigal
who comes back to the dust at your feet
having squandered a fortune far away.
And how can you not forgive?
You make a feast in honor of what
was lost, and take from its place the finest
garment, which you saved for an occasion
you could not imagine, and you weep night and day
to know that you were not abandoned,
that happiness saved its most extreme form
for you alone.
No, happiness is the uncle you never
knew about, who flies a single-engine plane
onto the grassy landing strip, hitchhikes
into town, and inquires at every door
until he finds you asleep midafternoon
as you so often are during the unmerciful
hours of your despair.
It comes to the monk in his cell.
It comes to the woman sweeping the street
with a birch broom, to the child
whose mother has passed out from drink.
It comes to the lover, to the dog chewing
a sock, to the pusher, to the basket maker,
and to the clerk stacking cans of carrots
in the night.
It even comes to the boulder
in the perpetual shade of pine barrens,
to rain falling on the open sea,
to the wineglass, weary of holding wine.
*Jane Kenyon*
Thank you Julie, for sending this to me and for recognizing me in the words ... and the words in me. It's beautiful.
I truly am happy. And surprised by happiness finding me, like the uncle I never knew about.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Thursday, April 10, 2008
In our family:
Floor = universal storage space.
Probably because all the other surface areas are already occupied.
Probably because all the other surface areas are already occupied.
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