real
i can only figure i must have been given, at birth, an extra large capacity for life because it is my idea of fun to spend extended time in philosophical conversation. for example, when a friend of mine wanted to bounce his ideas around about the philosophy of art and spirituality, i was all over it, for several hours! not only that, but it left me energized because that kind of talk is somewhat rare in our society. feeling a kinship with poets from the 1800's and thinkers is just the beginning.
i also like to think that i was given an equal dosage of silliness and a kind form of sarcasm to balance things out. like a surge protector for the brain; a cooling system so the mind doesn't overheat. because i also routinely crack myself up and find humor in the simplest of places.
recently i saw two magazine articles that had me giggling out loud in sarcasm font. the first was "the perfect morning according to pinterest" and the second was "martha stewart's calendar." now, i don't know about you, but when i wake up, it is nothing like pinterest. my hair is sticking out in weird curls while i walk, bleary-eyed in mismatched pjs to feed the chickens with a dented tin can. (doesn't this scream "photo shoot"?)
when i see features of families in design magazines where children are eating red things on white shag rugs or playing music with their parents while all clad in matching tones of linen, i can't help but think about the reality of sticky floors, broken toys, chocolate stains, and ear-splitting screams. it's no wonder i prefer to be around real families, whose kids get splinters and fall off of swings and struggle to share and like to bang on pianos.
we can't live up to the photo shoots. it's nice that martha can have her cars waxed and serviced while making post-winter spa appointments and still manage to get exotic heirloom seeds planted in the perfect weather while creating an intergalactic space party with matching planet cakes for her grandkids. knock yourself out! when i wash my car it is immediately covered in dust which happily reminds me that it's ok for things to get dirty. i like my wooden spoon that has burn marks on it from happy cooking memories. and boxes of recycled bottles and watermelon rinds and burnt-out ends of fireworks that call to mind the easy, unmatched laughter of the mess and wonder of getting together.
it's what makes life so beautfiful--the deep and the silly. the tidy and the bleared all rolled up in one big package of real.
i also like to think that i was given an equal dosage of silliness and a kind form of sarcasm to balance things out. like a surge protector for the brain; a cooling system so the mind doesn't overheat. because i also routinely crack myself up and find humor in the simplest of places.
recently i saw two magazine articles that had me giggling out loud in sarcasm font. the first was "the perfect morning according to pinterest" and the second was "martha stewart's calendar." now, i don't know about you, but when i wake up, it is nothing like pinterest. my hair is sticking out in weird curls while i walk, bleary-eyed in mismatched pjs to feed the chickens with a dented tin can. (doesn't this scream "photo shoot"?)
when i see features of families in design magazines where children are eating red things on white shag rugs or playing music with their parents while all clad in matching tones of linen, i can't help but think about the reality of sticky floors, broken toys, chocolate stains, and ear-splitting screams. it's no wonder i prefer to be around real families, whose kids get splinters and fall off of swings and struggle to share and like to bang on pianos.
we can't live up to the photo shoots. it's nice that martha can have her cars waxed and serviced while making post-winter spa appointments and still manage to get exotic heirloom seeds planted in the perfect weather while creating an intergalactic space party with matching planet cakes for her grandkids. knock yourself out! when i wash my car it is immediately covered in dust which happily reminds me that it's ok for things to get dirty. i like my wooden spoon that has burn marks on it from happy cooking memories. and boxes of recycled bottles and watermelon rinds and burnt-out ends of fireworks that call to mind the easy, unmatched laughter of the mess and wonder of getting together.
it's what makes life so beautfiful--the deep and the silly. the tidy and the bleared all rolled up in one big package of real.
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