I’ve had this song stuck in my head since a friend mentioned it on Facebook the other day. She was marking the occasion of her son’s first birthday, but as I relax in one of the most peaceful places on Route 66, awaiting the start of another year, I find myself captivated by the metaphysical implications of the lyrics, which ask, in part:
How do you measure a year?
In daylights? In sunsets?
In midnights? In cups of coffee?
In inches? In miles?
In laughter and strife?
In five hundred twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes?
How do you measure a year in the life? …
In the truths that she learned
Or the times that he cried?
In the bridges he burned
Or the way that she died? …
How about love?
How about love?
Facebook is buzzing tonight with chatter about New Year’s resolutions, most of them involving things like eating less or exercising more or breaking this or that habit. Longtime readers of this blog know I’m not generally a fan of New Year’s resolutions, because they tend to be unrealistic and stressful at best and shallow and self-serving at worst.
That being said, as I stand on the cusp of a new year, it strikes me that the best way to spend the coming 525,600 527,040 minutes (Leap Year, remember?) is to measure my life — consciously and consistently — in expressions of Love.
In the end, time spent on any other purpose is time wasted.
Here are a few images from the Land of Cute, a.k.a. my mom’s living room on Christmas morning:
Hope you had a good Christmas, wherever you are.
I spent this morning enjoying one of my presents: Mom and Dad gave me some cash for Christmas, which I used to buy a new pair of running shoes. A refitting at Fleet Feet revealed what I’d begun to suspect several weeks ago: After eight years in motion-control shoes, I’ve finally quit overpronating, so it was time to switch to something a little more neutral. If the new shoes — New Balance WS870s — are as comfortable after 26.2 miles as they were after a mile and a half, I won’t have much excuse to blow off OKC this spring.
Maybe I can find time to test-drive them in New Mexico this weekend….
I didn’t get a chance to post this before we left town, but here’s my latest handiwork from Brews and Bytes:
The text on the postcard reads:
Dear Lawrence —
The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desrious of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow Roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars….
English majors should recognize the names, address, and quote. The rest of you … Google it.
These next few shots are reruns — I’ve posted pictures of these paintings before — but I think the previous images were fuzzy cell-phone pictures, and I wanted something a little clearer.
I’m about 80 percent done with the project at this point. I still need to do a large vertical painting on the space directly behind the toilet, find a mirror of appropriate size to go above the sink, install the Roman shade I made the other day, make a valance to go with it, and touch up the spots where I spackled over nail holes and whatnot. I’ve got about 40 hours in it so far, and I’m thinking another six to eight should see me clear, depending on what kind of mirror I can find and how much work it needs.
This is the sixth anniversary of Red Fork State of Mind.
It’s 10:48 p.m. CST, and Red Fork is dark and quiet. It’s cold and clear — the current temperature is 35 degrees — the dogs are snoring quietly in the other room, and I’m thinking about the two dozen tasks I need to complete before tomorrow afternoon.
The garden is mostly dormant, but the jar of duckweed I rescued from the pond a few weeks ago definitely isn’t.
It’s hard to tell from the picture, but if you look closely, you can see a couple of little black snails on the bottom of the jar.
Snails have varied methods of reproduction, but I’m assuming these little guys hatched from eggs, because they definitely weren’t in that jar when I brought in the duckweed. They’re hard to count because the glass and the water distort them, and they like to hide up under the plants, but I think we’ve got about a half-dozen of them in there. I probably ought to get a little aquarium to put them in so the duckweed can spread and provide more food and cover for them. They’re awfully cute. I’m not sure what species they are, but I should probably research them to find out whether there’s anything special I should do to keep them happy and healthy until spring.
If I can work a hand free tomorrow, I’ll post pictures of my latest handiwork over at Brews and Bytes.
“Don’t be dismayed at goodbyes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends.”
— Richard Bach
A few hours ago, I got word that a former student had been killed in a car accident.
My heart is breaking — for myself, for his family, and for my students, who are much too young to be dealing with so much sadness. I wish I could spread my arms wide enough to pull all of my kids into a giant mama-bear hug, hold them tight, and keep them safe forever and ever. But I can’t. All I can do is love them, listen to them, and support them with all my heart.
When I lose someone I love, I draw comfort from thinking about the spiritual qualities I saw in that person, then searching for those qualities in others. Tonight, I am thinking of Mitchell’s quick wit, mischievous smile, and deep sense of justice, and I am working to know that the intelligence, humor, and integrity he expressed can neither die nor disappear. Those qualities are eternal, and wherever we find them, we will find him.
I am blessed to have known Mitchell.
I am blessed to know all of my kids. I love you guys, and I always will.