missing

      Once in a while, there will be people you miss too much when you leave them -- so that in your head, they become bigger and deeper and fresher and more golden than they really are. And when you finally see them again after so much waiting, they can't possibly live up to your inflated expectations. And all your anticipation turns flat, like a bottle of soda that's been sitting in the sun. 
       
       But sometimes you see them again, a little tentatively (because you've been disillusioned before), only to find that the way you remember them is just a faint echo of who they really are. That who they are is better than you realized, and that you were right to miss them all along. 

photo by Spencer Fields

This is for my best friend, because he asked for it. 

"'Human beings do not live forever, Reuven. We live less than the time it takes to blink an eye, if we measure our lives against eternity. So it may be asked what value is there to a human life. There is so much pain in the world. What does it mean to have to suffer so much if our lives are nothing more than the blink of an eye?' He paused again, his eyes misty now, then went on. 'I learned a long time ago, Reuven, that a blink of an eye in itself is nothing. But the eye that blinks, that is something. A span of life is nothing. But the man who lives that span, he is something. He can fill that tiny span with meaning, so its quality is immeasurable though its quantity may be insignificant.'" 


~ from The Chosen by Chaim Potok, page 217

summertime blues

I've been eating vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce. Listening to the Beach Boys. Swinging in my back yard. Biking to the pool.

It's like I'm twelve years old again, barefoot and suntanned, with newly-minted friends and fresh optimism.

And suddenly I realize that June has slipped by altogether. Evaporated like water in this heat.  

Days like these, my biggest worry is that the days will all slide by this quickly, and leave me nothing to remember. That one day I'll wake up and it will be fall, and I'll have bigger worries than the slippery nature of summer.

 photo by McGallo

The story of my life, I can't quite comprehend
Don't tell me if you know how it ends
When everywhere you go feels like a mirror maze
And you're not sure how you're stuck in this place
                   And you've got no where else to go; you're lost within your own home
                   You're trying so hard to win
You keep trying, it's embarrassing
                   And how, you don't even know, but you know you're off the track
                   And how did you get in here? Thinking, 'how did I get in here?'

I'll help you break the walls down
I'll help you break the walls down
And bust you out, and take you home
Believe you me, you are not alone
I'll help you break the walls down

Does anybody know a February wind?
I was hoping that by now we would be at the end of this
When you open up a book and read a thousand lines
But you don't really read, you just move your eyes

And all the weight we carry
Will disappear and I will willingly
Embrace your soul
Lay your head
So come on home,
                      come on home,
                                    come on home
I'll help you break the walls down

~"Walls" by The Rocket Summer

poem for a pensive Sunday

The Lord feeds some of His prisoners better than others.
It could be said of Him that He is not a just god but an
      indifferent god.
That He is not to be trusted to reward the righteous and
      punish the unscrupulous.
That He maketh the poor poorer but is otherwise undependable.


It could be said of Him that it is His school of the germane
      that produced the Congressional Record.
That it is His vision of justice that gave us cost accounting.


It could be said of Him that though we walk with Him all
      the days of our lives we will never fathom Him
Because He is empty.


These are the dark images of our Lord
That make it seem needful for us to pray not unto Him
But ourselves.
But when we do that we find that indeed we are truly lost
And we rush back into the safer fold, impressed by His care 
      for us. 


~ "Psalm" by Reed Whittemore


Why is it that whenever I ask questions like these, I ask myself, instead of Him? As if I had any of the answers.

the nap hat and other curiosities

This is...a nap hat. You know you want one. It's designed by Kawamura Ganjavian, and you can read more about it on their website.  

But that's not all! They make lots of other rad stuff as well! Such as this:

As far as I can make out, this is...recycled light. Read about it for yourself. 

Then there's the Oyster.

 Heat Me.

And, of course, 

The Earshell.

Check out their website. They have all sorts of projects, ideas and art profiled (and other things I'm not sure how to classify). You're sure to waste lots of time browsing through the mind-boggling array of items (and buildings and social experiments) that they've created.

kindness

"I love cerebral palsy. It makes me try harder and be kind. . . . If people read my book, I want them to smile. I want people to think, 'Ryan would help me if I needed it.' If they were in a wheelchair, I'd push it. If they couldn't get their food on their own, I'd get it. If they need help with their math homework or want me to sing at their birthday party, they should call me. I want to read [my book] at schools, so kids know it's okay to talk to their parents when they're scared and frustrated. Kids should know they can always be successful in their heart."


From an interview with Ryan D'Emidio, a 15-year-old memoirist with cerebral palsy. Read the entire interview at the Washington Post.