The things that brought me the most comfort now were too small to list. Raspberries in cream. Sparrows with cocked heads. Shadows of bare limbs making for sidewalk filigrees. Roses past their prime with their petals loose about them. The shouts of children at play in the neighborhood, Ginger Rogers on the black-and-white screen. [Elizabeth Berg, The Year of Pleasures]
I used to BElieve that comfort was BEyond my reach. I figured out, early on in Life, that neither this World, nor the “people in charge” really gave a fig about my comfort. And I have to say, this often made me act less than caring, and even unkind.
Now it’s all different. Of course. How could it BE otherwise?!
It seems like all the time people are making themselves themselves, but they don't really know it. You can only have true visions when you look behind. A person can slide so fast into being something they never really intended. I wonder if you can truly resurrect your own self. [Elizabeth Berg]
It seems to me that I am making “more” of everything. NOT mountains out of mole hills “more,” rather the sensible “more.” I know that Life unfolds at its own pace, and I understand some of the yet-to-unfold pieces over which I have no sway.
I love you, Currie