Since coming among Quakers, I’ve known the last of what my grandpa called the old-order sort. Almost all of them, in fact. The ones who dressed in Plain-style clothing and used the thee-thou everyday speech.
My, that seems like a long time ago now.
You never know what we'll churn up in cleaning a stall
Since coming among Quakers, I’ve known the last of what my grandpa called the old-order sort. Almost all of them, in fact. The ones who dressed in Plain-style clothing and used the thee-thou everyday speech.
My, that seems like a long time ago now.
One of the big themes running through my novel What’s Left was that “family” can mean so many different things to so many different people.
Maybe it’s all the renovations going on in our old house, but recently I’ve been pondering many varied understandings of the word “home,” too.
For starters, sampling of what others have said, a home is:
Is it even a place at all?
Cecilia Ahern insists it’s a feeling. Lemony Snicket pegs that as homesick, “even if you have a new home that has nicer wallpaper and a more efficient dishwasher than the home in which you grew up.” Maya Angelou relates it to an ache “in all of us, the safe place we can go as we are and not be questioned.” For John Ed Pearce, it’s a state of mind, somewhere “you grow up wanting to leave, and grow old wanting to get back to.” Edward Sharpe senses home as his beloved’s presence, “Wherever I’m with you.” Edie Falco connects it family when he returns to them from his paying job and realizes they make his labors “richer, easier and more fun.” For May Sarton, it must have “one warm, comfy chair” as the line between being “soulless.”
I don’t eat canned soup anymore – can’t stand it, not after being upgraded at home.
Beer, meanwhile, has a tab or comes in a bottle.
So here are my reasons for not throwing our can opener into the trash:
If we only had a dog or cat and their cans of pet food.
I’m really in the dark about what’s “in” these days, though I do get some glimmers through family.
So let me ask.
Remind me that not all candy is chocolate and not all flowers are roses. But you might want to check out just what’s inside those heart-shaped red boxes tomorrow.
Here’s some perspective:
Thanks especially to Max at Dame Cacao. She just might be worth a Tendril of her own.
It’s one of those days when I can’t put two and two together as one.
The random notes in no particular order continue: