I’ve been watching old home movies of Christmas past and I think this one is my favorite. No particular reason why, it’s just very nice. Watching these have got me thinking about how I’ll feel 40 years from now looking at photos and videos taken now and from my childhood. Mom always warned me about not taking time for granted, to enjoy moments, celebrate relationships, and, for the most part, I followed her advice. But it’s a double-edged sword. Since I did make those moments count, and the people in my life matter, it’s even harder to move away from them.
Artist retreats are mysteries to me. What do you do there? I know the purpose of them, and if I had the money I’d certainly be a financial supporter of them, but how does one go about dropping everything and moving into a retreat/colony? I guess I’ve anchored myself down so much with a mortgage, full-time job (non-writing, at that), a needy dog, a wife (she’s not an anchor, but you get it), that even if I got accepted into one of these things I wouldn’t be able to go. And when I think about that, I start to get paranoid that I am headed down the wrong path, not doing what I really should be doing, etc etc….whatever. Just keep writing.
I’ll never forget seeing her speak a couple years ago. She has an almost magical spirit. (Courtesy of The Millions, a website I visit about a dozen times a day).
Harry Crews is one of the most interesting writers we have around. This documentary is a great introduction.
It took us about 2 1/2 hours to string the popcorn. I thought I had some fishing line, but couldn’t find it, so we used dental floss instead. The waxed, minty kind.
I was so depressed when Mom told me the truth about Santa. It’s probably strange, but sometimes I do wish very much for it to be the other way around. For there to be a magical place with elves and happiness and snow.
