the field where I love to lie

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field.  

I'll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass the world is too full to talk about.

― Rumi 

{clockwise - starting top-left: 1. whittling via squeeze bottle, 2. again, 3. purdy, 4. frivolity, 5.this-is-why-we-can't-have-nice-things}

 It's weird that the season of living in Baltimore is coming to a close.  I feel like I spent a good portion of the time scurrying - to find a job, get settled and build community.  Years two/three have been the most rewarding- as we slowly started setting roots and developing some authentic relationships.

Yet, in spite of how much I've loved our new community - I was reminded this past weekend (and over the past month or two) of the difference between new and old friends.  I love the friendship-honeymoon that comes with burgeoning relationships, and the refreshment of meeting new people that you feel as close with as those who you've known for ages.  But there's something unique about the bliss of spending hours whittling the day away with the people who know you best.

Moving away from your hometown generally leads you to build your closest friendships with other people who are so-inclined as to move away/around as well.  Although the pang of missing friends can be sharp, the joy of the reunion is far sweeter.

Hurrah for summertime weddings, reunions and adventures.

everyday mathematics

hem and haw.

There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.

Nelson Mandela 
in 'A Long Walk to Freedom'

pocket dweller

Prayer

by Marie Howe

Every day I want to speak with you. And every day something more important
calls for my attention—the drugstore, the beauty products, the luggage

I need to buy for the trip.
Even now I can hardly sit here

among the falling piles of paper and clothing, the garbage trucks outside
already screeching and banging.

The mystics say you are as close as my own breath.
Why do I flee from you?

My days and nights pour through me like complaints
and become a story I forgot to tell.

Help me. Even as I write these words I am planning
to rise from the chair as soon as I finish this sentence.

via NPR discovery

“You have been given questions to which you cannot be given answers. You will have to live them out - perhaps a little at a time.'
And how long is that going to take?'
I don't know. As long as you live, perhaps.'
That could be a long time.'
I will tell you a further mystery,' he said. 'It may take longer.” 
― Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow: A Novel

right as rain.

{best work email, evar.}

What is absolutely correct, you ask?

...that my coworker's response to my previous blog entry described my behavior towards UK fandom as incestuous.  It's quite the fitting analogy for a Kentuckian.

At this point I don't think I've gone so deeply into the UK-basketball incest that my children will have a blue hue, but I can hope...

a magical, magical village

I was talking with a co-worker about a potential forthcoming existential crises:  If I attend the school-which-must-not-be-named, how I'd grapple with the cognitive dissonance of supporting said school-which-must-not-be-named and my undying loyalty to Kentucky basketball.

I assure him that it was easy, on all school-that-must-not-be-named apparel, I'd simply employ some handy-dandy duct tape to cross out the 'D' and 'E'.

Said coworker counters with - "But if they give you a scholarship, how can you not support the university that provides you with a great education?"

I respond with a blank stare.

Coworker fires back with an analogy - "Listen, if you grow up in a village and then move away -- when it comes time to get married, do you go back and marry someone from that village?"

If that village happens to be UK basketball.... absolutely.

{who wouldn't marry into this?!}

GO BIG BLUE.