Food for Thought

First, a quote whose source is very surprising:

..., unheard-of wonders are to be seen, performed by God: the sea is divided, a cloud has shown you the way, water has gushed from the rock, it has rained manna; all things have conspired to your greatness. The rest is up to you. God does not want to do everything Himself, and take away from us our free will and our share of the glory which belongs to us." – Machiavelli, The Prince


We are all prime numbers divisible only by ourselves. – Jean Guitton

And some wise words to soothe our worries at this time of political and economic uncertainty:

How small, of all that human hearts endure, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure! - Samuel Johnson

Trying to Live in the Moment

I wish I had some profound insight or hilarious experience to share, but it's just me - blogging to get the old blog off the screen. It haunts me sometimes how long a blog can linger in cyberspace as if its contents constitute the author's 'famous last words.'

I've been struck lately by the quick passage of time. Whole months are going by in what used to feel like a week of days. It's September 24th already? Impossible!

So in order to slow time down a bit, I'm trying to focus more consciously on each day and date. What's possible today? What do I want to accomplish? Journals (and blogs) are good for chronicling that sort of thing, but in order to make time slow down a bit, I need to appreciate more of its incremental moments.

Human felicity is produced

not so much by great pieces of good fortune

that seldom happen,

as by little advantages

that occur every Day.
Benjamin Franklin, Autobiography, 1771

Frivolousness

Let me see if I can explain this emotion I have from time to time, this sense that I am not taking life, or, more specifically, life’s blessings, seriously enough.

I first recognized it when my children and I were sitting ducks in a car crash and our minivan – the most beautiful minivan I had ever seen – was totaled at both ends and completely destroyed. I was thrilled to be alive, of course – and especially that all of my children were alive and virtually unscathed. I would gladly have sacrificed ALL of my material possessions for that outcome. So I was surprised when days later I felt a sense of loss. It wasn’t really that I had lost the minivan – we were already at work replacing it – it was that I had never fully appreciated it.

We give our time and resources to people, activities, and, yes, even to 'things' that are important to us: the people we love, the activities that bring us joy, and the things that serve us or make our lives better, like our homes and our cars. In my life, 'things’ always fall to the bottom of the list, as I believe they should, but I do wish I knew how to appreciate things more.

A few years ago Scott and I were driving down State Street in Salt Lake when we pulled alongside a 1970-something small pickup truck. Neither of us is a car-afficianado at all, but we both noticed it for its immaculate condition. It was a hideous orange color with a crisp white camper shell and shiny windows. The woman driving it had white hair - probably the original owner. The truck itself must have spent every night in a hermetically sealed garage. She probably vacuumed it weekly, gave it sponge baths on schedule, and parked far away from store entrances to avoid door dings. I was awestruck, admiring this woman and her truck, even as I told myself that she was undoubtedly a perfectionist who led a tortured existence in an effort to preserve all of her possessions indefinitely - that having a 30-year-old car that looked brand new really would not be worth the sacrifices she had made along the way, even if a complete stranger is blogging about the experience of seeing it years later.

Obviously, I still have a lot to work out on this subject. I reassure myself that things are only there to give us pleasure, so I should not allow them to give me even a moment of angst.

I'm Being Rebellious...Again

I see that I have not blogged in a week.

Brownies are baking in the oven as I write, so a chocolate aroma is wafting through the house. My children are gone to the playground with their cousins. I'm neither hot nor cold (Scott has discovered that I have a half-degree tolerance range on household temperatures, so this fact alone is remarkable.) It's Friday, so we are all breathing a sigh of relief because we will not have homework tonight. And BYU plays tomorrow...All is right with the world (well, almost all...I'm sure if I put my mind to it I could complain about something.)

Anyway, I am rebelling. How? By procrastinating. I'm supposed to be writing newspaper stories. I've been researching and interviewing for days -- stories about comediens, truck drivers, fun runs, etc. I have six stories due at noon on Monday, and they'll all be done, but at what cost in terms of sanity, family harmony, etc.? My legs will be permanently bent by then.

I've read that doing what you're supposed to do WHEN you're supposed to do it is a sign of maturity. I am not mature. I pay my bills on time -- that ought to count for something -- but I'm weak. I lack discipline. I AM A PROCRASTINATOR. There must be a support group somewhere for people like me.

I know, I know. Time is a valuable thing! A very, very valuable thing. Thoreau's words haunt me: "As if you could kill time without injuring eternity." Ah, the guilt!

But here I sit, blogging.