life between the pages
“I spent my life folded between the pages of books.
In the absence of human relationships I formed bonds with paper characters. I lived love and loss through stories threaded in history; I experienced adolescence by association. My world is one interwoven web of words, stringing limb to limb, bone to sinew, thoughts and images all together. I am a being comprised of letters, a character created by sentences, a figment of imagination formed through fiction.”
― Tahereh Mafi, Shatter Me
In the absence of human relationships I formed bonds with paper characters. I lived love and loss through stories threaded in history; I experienced adolescence by association. My world is one interwoven web of words, stringing limb to limb, bone to sinew, thoughts and images all together. I am a being comprised of letters, a character created by sentences, a figment of imagination formed through fiction.”
― Tahereh Mafi, Shatter Me
Sunday, August 14, 2005
travelling mercies
in the past two weeks, i have moved my abode, from a two-story historic dwelling in the heart of downtown to a modest, recycled 1950s ranch house just outside of town in an older 1-acre lot subdivision that backs up to a thousand acres of corn. i suppose i should mention that this is the 9th move for us in 8 years. don't ask, that is a subject not even worth a blog entry. i do feel inclined to mention that 3 of those 8 years were spent in one house, and we spent as few as 8 weeks in another of those temporary dwellings. But all in all, we've had to pack up and move on the average about once a year, not by design, it was just what happened. i do mainly attibute the cause to my chosen career --we went where my job took us. now that i am no longer working for the government, i expect we will be able to settle down again. i look forward to finding myself again here in this little white house on the edge of town, that my children call "the hidden house." it has long been their practice to give our houses a name. there was "the old cold house," "the tiny yellow house," "the farmhouse," "the Summerfield House;" this last "the Christmas House." This one they have named after the fact that it is tucked away down what appears to be a country road, a serendipitous discovery we made after nearly a month of searching. needless to say, we like it here.
so now that we are settled (again), i do ask for travelling mercies nonetheless. because the journey i will take here is on the inside, and will hopefully produce fruits of the spirit. let's see, there is the embroidery guild, school volunteer work, and the liturgical dance project. there is The Work, which is the Novel. there is the Great Pattern Project. and perhaps a grantswriting contract or two. all in the name of mental and emotional health, i have enough to keep me busy and my thoughts occupied for the foreseeable future. if any of this produces income to put bread on the table, so much the better. but i have let go of that monetary pursuit for now --it was what kept me stapled to the desk in my past life. since i've left that, i really now must focus on the everyday, which is the true journey.
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