~ in Railroad Square
~ beekeeper’s quilt in progress
~ sunflowers from Paul
A little of this, a little of that:
~ Five lessons learned from counseling those with anxiety. Lots of good stuff here.
~ Anyone want to try a week (3 meals for 2) of Hello Fresh for free? I have some invites, so just let me know in the comments if you want one. Paul & I just enjoyed a free week, and we’ve signed up for more.
~ The 25 best true crime books. True crime podcasts and books interest me because I’m fascinated by human behavior. Why do people do what they do? I haven’t read any of the books on this list, but I own a couple, and others have been on my TBR list for a while now.
~ I finished two books yesterday (My Berlin Kitchen and Better Than Before). I feel like I’m in a bit of a reading rut, and I’m hoping an upcoming beach vacation will help me get out of it. Any recommendations?
Happy Monday y’all!
~ pink cotton yarn
~ sweet K in pink
~ an Easter long, long ago
~ a rose in downtown Thomasville, the City of Roses
~ an old book I’ve never read
From Jonah Goldberg:
I don’t like crowds, personally or philosophically. I don’t care if they are right-wing or left-wing, young or old. They are the idea of “strength in numbers” made flesh. Like any other kind of show of force, they can be good or bad depending on the cause that animates them. But I start from the premise that they are to be viewed skeptically.
I guess my point is that I don’t like crowds. I don’t trust them. Good things rarely come from them. Not all crowds are mobs, but all mobs start as crowds, and I’m a little allergic to the vibrations within in them. The heroic unit in the American political tradition is the individual, not the mob. The crowd is what makes the cult of personality a thing. Without the crowd, it’s just a person.
From hither and yon:
~ The best makeup you can buy at the drugstore. I concur on the Wet & Wild foundation, although it’s tough to find.
~ I made this cheesecake again recently. And I still love it.
~ Internet trolls in church clothing. Here’s the ouch (part of a list of questions to ask before posting a comment):
- Am I speaking from a soul satisfied in God or from my discontent?
~ There is much wisdom in this wedding sermon (and so neat – I went to church with Micaiah and her family when we lived in Hawaii!). A peek:
What I am saying is that this marriage, if it is to be successful, must be a marriage of the Book. You must love and respect one another, and you do that by relating to your wife, or to your husband directly. But if you want to check on how you are doing in that relating, you don’t look to them, and you don’t look at the world, and you don’t look into your own heart. Rather, you hold the Word up, and you look at your relationship to your spouse as it is reflected there. The Scriptures are not just a compendium of divine information. The Word is light, it is food, it is conviction, it is a perfect mirror, and it is living wisdom. There is no better way to see the back of your own head.
~ A very sad story of addiction – My broken heart
~ I’m cranking out dishcloths these days because I’ve discovered I like using them better than sponges. I basically use this pattern and knit until 28 stitches before I start decreasing. That is the size I like using best so far.
[From 2013, but still true! Happy Birthday, Mom!]
Let me tell you a little about my mom: My stubbornness and hers often bumped into each other when I was younger, but I have a fuller appreciation for her (and the stubbornness!) as I get older. She has always been there for me. She was with me for Lamaze classes when I was expecting Will and his dad was deployed, and she helped me through a traumatic experience giving birth to him. She was there for me when Caroline was born and her dad was deployed. She’s been with me through all of Caroline’s surgeries, my wisdom teeth removal when I was thirty and home alone with two little ones, and my recent move back to Georgia. She’s calm in a crisis and never lets me feel sorry for myself. (That has irritated me a time or two, but it has been a gift.) She has a gift for serving in practical ways. She loves Jesus and her family. She makes things lovely.
She loves my children well. She has always been interested in the details of their lives — knowing who their friends are, their activities, their interests. She and my dad have traveled around the world to see us and know their grandchildren. They’ve missed lots of the daily things because we were far away, but they have tried hard to be there for the big ones. And as Will has been at college in Georgia while we were living in Europe, they’ve gone up for his birthday every year to take him out to dinner. Efforts like that make a family a family.
I love my mom more than I can say, and I don’t know what I’d do without her.
[This time I’m adding one of my favorite photos of her, taken a couple of months before I was born.]
Happy Birthday, Mom!
Spring has sprung, and my eyes and nose have sprung a leak. It’s too much for a daily dose of Claritin to handle.
Every surface of our front porch is covered in pollen, and we’re tracking it inside onto our dark wood floors. My car is a dusty yellow, when it should be charcoal gray.
A light rain has been falling this morning, and I’m hoping it will turn into a heavier shower and rinse everything off.
And yet, my daily commute is lovely, and spring green is such a cheerful color. Those old-fashioned formosa azaleas are putting on a show, and dogwood trees are still in bloom. The hydrangeas on my front porch get prettier every day.
I remember enduring long winters years ago when we were stationed in Maine. One year, it snowed on my birthday – at the end of April! I knew that my home state was enjoying a beautiful spring while we were still stuck inside, looking out at barren trees and muddy slush. I truly understood seasonal affective disorder.
But I was allergy free!
You know what? I’ll take the sniffing and nose-blowing and watery eyes in exchange for green and pink and sunshine and no snow. Maybe that’s just me, but I’m glad to live where I live. (Until July.)
Happy spring y’all!
~ Parents, people do not think your child is cute when you give them the mini-shopping cart at Publix and let them wreak havoc down the aisles. Please keep an eye on them and the other shoppers around you.
~ If you’re trying to sell someone essential oils, skincare, etc., and they say no, please just respect that and don’t continue to email/text/DM. I know that the motivational speakers at your conferences tell you otherwise, but it really just puts people – often your friends – in a very uncomfortable position. Some of us don’t like saying “PLEASE DON’T EVER ASK ME THAT AGAIN!”
~ Spring has sprung here, and the dogwood trees in snow white bloom remain my favorite.
~ The canopy roads in these parts are spectacularly green:
~ Roses are blooming in Thomasville, the City of Roses:
~ I’ve got 5 knitting projects in various stages of completion, and I have 4 books in progress. It’s time to power through some of these and move on.
~ By the time this post appears, I’ll likely have finished Sous Chef: 24 Hours on the Line, and it’s really good. I love reading about people who pursue a vocation with excellence, and this one fits the bill.
Happy Thursday y’all,
~ blue skies in downtown Thomasville, Georgia
~ blue at home
~ blue skies and water at Ft. McAllister in Savannah, Georgia
~ blue-eyed beauty
~ a big blue belly (way back when I was expecting Will)
From Death Comes For the Deconstructionist by Daniel Taylor:
And so I do what I often do in this situation. I decide to read. Books were an early lifeline, and I turn to them regularly with a certain desperate hopefulness. People talk about reading as an escape from reality—I tend to think of it as an escape into reality. Books aren’t an escape from trouble. There’s more trouble in novels—and most other books—than anywhere else. Books aren’t even an escape from your own particular troubles, because a good book always makes you think about your own life while it pretends to distract you from it. It’s just that books suggest the possibility that trouble can be survived, if you know what I mean. Or at least named. Books are more real for me than the rest of my life because they light up more parts of me than the rest of my life ever has.