Forewarned is forearmed.
On Friday, I'll once again be opening this blog to anonymous confessions. Which gives you several days to consider what you want to spill this time round.
While you're waiting, if you're jonesing for deep, dark secrets, check out the plethora of surprising (to me, anyway) responses to the May edition of Niobe's True Confessions ™
I've got a lot on my never-ending to-do list for this weekend -- grocery shopping, laundry, mailing a package (yes, M, it's for you), weeding, planting stuff in the garden.
Then there are those other projects that aren't exactly on my list, but that I really need to do. Like, eventually. These include: new rugs for the family room and living room, touching up paint in various places around the house, reorganizing closets, finding a place to get my hair cut and highlighted.
And then there are a couple of things that, if you're so inclined, you could help me with.
There’s a story that you’ve probably heard about a village whose inhabitants constantly and bitterly lamented the inequities of life and fate. Wearying of their complaints, the village headman told the villagers to each pack up their troubles into a sack and to hang the sack on the branches of the big tree at the edge of town.
As the villagers stood looking up at the sacks hanging in neat rows, the headman told them that, while, in this world, everyone must bear some burdens, in the interests of fairness, he would allow each of the villagers a choice of troubles. The villagers circled the tree, checking the size and weight of the various sacks, loosening the ties and examining the contents. And, of course, in the end, each person took his own troubles back.
I suppose the moral of the story is something like: and you thought you had it bad or be grateful for what you have. But sometimes, especially when I’m confronted with evidence of exactly how inequitably troubles seem to be apportioned, I can’t help but wonder how true that really is. If you could, would you trade your sorrows for someone else’s? Or, like the villagers, do you prefer the devil you know to the devil you don’t?
Back in April, Gray got acceptance letters from a couple of great colleges, but was put on the waiting list at a few others, including his first choice school. Today, he got the phone call from the admissions office telling him that he's been accepted at First Choice College. I generally try to avoid the bragging mama thing, but I am really happy about this. Especially since FCC is the same school that I went to, long, long ago.
Anyway, with the school's blessing, Gray is going to defer for a year, so he'll be starting college in September 2010. Which means he needs to figure out something to do for a year. I (and Gray) would very much welcome whatever suggestions you might have.
Any ideas (no matter how vague or impractical)?
The photo is of a few fronds of the wisteria that grows all along the neighbor's fence, by the back of the carriage house that they use as a art studio. Last year, the carriage house was the color of a wisteria blossom. This year, sadly, they decided to paint it a pretty, but much more conventional, granny smith green. Viewing the matter (as I far too often do) from a purely Niobe-centric vantage point, I'm thinking that they really should have consulted me about my preferences since I'm the one who has to look at it.
And, in other news, I'm going away (all by myself!) for the long weekend and meeting one, two, three, four! of my absolutely favorite bloggers in the whole entire world. I can't wait!
People talk about wanting to live in the moment and I nod and smile, but, really, I have no idea what they're trying to say. Because, for me, most of the value and practically all of the joy of life comes not from anything that I'm experiencing in the moment, but from all those imaginary worlds spinning inside my own head, from contemplating the future or remembering the past. In other words, no matter how hard I think about it, I find it almost impossible to understand what you're supposed to get out of not thinking about it.
They say that there's no such thing as a stupid question -- only stupid people who ask them -- so let me ask you this: does the concept of "living in the moment" resonate for you? And, if it does, what does it, you know, mean?
Also, another not-too-bright question: Is there anyone else out there who was unpleasantly surprised to discover that, no, actually, the word is not pronounced BERRY-boned?
I'm not even the tiniest bit superstitious.
But this (colors reversed for bonus ominous effect) can't be a good sign.
For a slightly different perspective on the spaces between, check out this haunting post by Julia at I Won't Fear Love.
We went on the memory walk this weekend. We got the chance to meet Cara and we stood with everyone else under grey skies, listening as she told us a little about her Emma Grace and as she read the names of all the other missing babies.
Afterwards, we wandered through an old cemetery in the churchyard of a nearby town. We read the names and dates etched into slate and marble, looked at carvings of urns and willows, lambs and cherubs. We both took photos, but it wasn't until I got home that I realized that all my pictures were of exactly the same thing -- not the gravestones themselves, but the spaces between them.
Scene: Monday morning, my street, my car. Shattered glass all over the sidewalk and the front passenger seat. My (cheap) cell phone and (ancient) iPod gone.
Sympathy is always appreciated, but what I'd really, really love are recommendations for a new phone and/or provider.
updated to add the silver lining: Well, the good news is that it turns out insurance covers the cost of replacing the window -- with no deductible! And the other good news is that, while vacuuming glass shards, I found my cell phone, apparently tossed under the seat in disgust. While you guys make the iPhone sound awfully tempting, there are definitely advantages to having a phone so clunky, hideous and app-free that even a thief doesn't want it.
"The confession of evil works is the first beginning of good works," said St. Augustine in the eponymous Confessions of St. Augustine.* And confession is supposed to be good for the soul.
So, borrowing the idea from the Online Nanny (who tells me that she took it from some other blogger), I'm opening the comments to this post to any and all confessions. All that I ask is that they be strictly anonymous -- no names, not even your own. If there are enough responses, I just might reveal one or two of my own secrets, hidden among other comments.
So, use the anonymous commenter option and 'fess up. Spill each and every one of your deepest, darkest secrets. You'll feel so much better. I promise.
*Of course, he also said, "O Lord, give me chastity. But not just yet."
Has it ever occurred to you that a heart looks nothing like, you know, a heart? Here are a few (not especially persuasive) theories why that might be.
And, because there's a flickr group for just about everything, I knew that, if I looked, I would find one consisting solely of fortuitous hearts.
Finally, as I mentioned, this weekend, I'm going on walk in memory of lost children. If there's a baby or babies that you hold only in your heart and would like to have remembered at the walk, please leave their names and dates in the comments.
Well, the good news is that I'm reasonably sure it's not swine flu H1N1. The bad news is the usual: achy muscles, throbby head, scratchy throat. If anyone wants me, I'll be in a more or less prone position on the bed in the guest room, raising my head from the pillow only to take occasional sips of hot and unexpectedly tasty apple cinnamon theraflu.
And how are you?
Recently, reading an essay by woman with two children who longs for a third, I was a little taken aback by the vitriol in some of the comments. The world is far too overpopulated already, say the commenters. Be grateful for the two you already have. Just adopt.
As I contemplate going forward with an FET with a surrogate some time in the next few months, I feel greedy and ungrateful. I have two wonderful, perfect boys. That should be enough -- far more than enough. Still, I keep thinking that there's room for just one more and that, in any event, we have the frozen embryos already and we might as well at least try and see what happens.
And, to those of you who think that the real reason that I want another baby is that I'm trying to replace the other twin: Of course I am. Of course it is.
