Here's the first from Blog Meridian. This is unforgettable!
And the second... maybe. I can't get it to work. Oh well, just don't shoot me for this screw-up (I'd prefer lethal injection, if that's what it comes to).
It's a pretty easy step, to say thank you, but we rarely say it enough. As soon as my daughter started talking I realized that I needed to say please and thank you a whole lot more if she was ever really going to get it. But now I must ask if I say thank you enough to the people that matter? Do I show my gratitude to God, not out of obligation, but purely from a thankful heart?
I'm thankful for the people God has placed in my life, those here, others that used to be. Most of these people have made my life much richer, and a few, God has used to help me grow (or both). I'm grateful for my family and friends that continue to hope in and encourage me. For the struggles and triumphs in life; for the endless possibility of growth God gives me in each day. His endurance (love and patience) exhausts me.
I'm grateful for you. Those of you that visit here frequently---just for showing up. Your presence and comments encourage me on many levels. At least I'm not literally talking to myself!
What are you most thankful for today?
This day I'm thankful for:
Freddy's Frozen Custard,
the semester's near-end,
and little potty chairs!
I'd like to dream more--- while I sleep. I once had a teacher that claimed to have never had a dream in color. I don't have as many crazy-fun vivid dreams as I did when I was a kid. I once had a dream that I was late for the bus, my room was done in cherry wall-paper. In real life--I rode the "short bus" since I was always bused to school. In my dream I was late, so I was trying to run out to the bus. There was only one problem I couldn't run. Of course it's usually hard to run while your in bed sleeping, but as I looked down at my fully-clothed body, I found a pair of pantyhose pulled up only to my knees!
Maybe it's not too funny to read, but it was the best dream I've ever had.
Secondly, blog world is pretty overwhelming. I'm also really glad I didn't try to read too many of them before now. There are so many incredible thoughts floating around in this realm of the world. The linking and quoting and uhmm, other things I don't even know how to refer to are all pretty amazing.
A day at a time Ashley, a day at a time...
Do you have any dreams that are especially remarkable? Do you dream in color or black-and-white?
I googled my daughter's first name. WOW! "Elseigh" is even more original than I imagined! (Yes, I admit I created this spelling by chopping off the "Ch" of the English spelling of Chelsea (Chelseigh))
Only two of the results are not specifically her. She is one of a kind! Praise God!
BTW- I realize I'm only blogging SO much because I'm trying to avoid studying... it will all be over soon and things should balance out.
I realize that MANY cartoons do not wear pants, shirts, or any other garments.
What's going to be on the rest of the week? Booze-day Tuesday?
I'm learning to accept that there are going to be others who may be more eloquent than me or have large amounts of daily readers. But I also know that I am only responsible for me. I grow through writing, and at least here, I can only offer... me.
This excerpt from Thoreau's "Life Without Principle" is, in part, why I even mention any of this.
AT a lyceum, not long since, I felt that the lecturer had chosen a theme too foreign to himself, and so failed to interest me as much as he might have done. He described things not in or near to his heart, but toward his extremities and superficies. There was, in this sense, no truly central or centralizing thought in the lecture. I would have had him deal with his privatest experience, as the poet does. The greatest compliment that was ever paid me was when one asked me what I thought, and attended to my answer. I am surprised, as well as delighted, when this happens, it is such a rare use he would make of me, as if he were acquainted with the tool. Commonly, if men want anything of me, it is only to know how many acres I make of their land,—since I am a surveyor,—or, at most, what trivial news I have burdened myself with. They never will go to law for my meat; they prefer the shell. A man once came a considerable distance to ask me to lecture on Slavery; but on conversing with him, I found that he and his clique expected seven-eighths of the lecture to be theirs, and only one-eighth mine; so I declined. I take it for granted, when I am invited to lecture anywhere,—for I have had a little experience in that business,—that there is a desire to hear what I think on some subject, though I may be the greatest fool in the country,—and not that I should say pleasant things merely, or such as the audience will assent to; and I resolve, accordingly, that I will give them a strong dose of myself.
(You can read the rest here.)
(And perhaps someday I'll even be able to confidently discern between the correct uses of commas, colons and semi-colons!)
An exact copy or reproduction, as of a document.
Part of me wants to tie this back into my thoughts on comfort.
But not today. Today has been uncomfortble enough.
Priorities will have to wait until later.
Today I picked up my custom-made shoe inserts, because it turns out I have these really crummy feet. "Crummy" meaning that I have high arches and it often feels like my weight is supported by about 3 square inches of foot. As a result, I have incredibly thick calluses. Big deal, right? Having a callus on your foot probably isn't going to hurt you too much, given its function. But, let's flip to emotional callousness. We become hardened as a means of protection, which is probably good at the time. Once the thing (person or situation) that caused the callus is gone, then what are we to do? That callousness is not going to vanish on its own and it may take some time before you're convinced that your hardened extra layers are unnecessary. Removing the physical callus is probably less difficult than removing the emotional kind. And, unlike band-aids, calluses aren't formed overnight and they cannot simply be ripped off, nor will the original surface conditions ever be fully recovered.
Comfort. It's strange to think that we become comfortable with our calluses. It might be more accurately called "protected," but what is the healthy amount of risk, or protection? On one level I think there are things everyone should do that are not necessarily going to be comfortable. There are some pretty incredible "Carpe diem" quotes involving the importance of taking risks in life. But I hesitate here, because sometimes being uncomfortable means that you're not cut out for something. There are times when we are reluctant to do something, not because we fear the uncomfortableness of it, but because it's just not right.
I'm sure more thoughts on comfort are forthcoming, but for now I must face another callus-rendering activity by finishing my paper(S).