Thursday, December 27, 2012

On things like The Proposal and money

I'm sitting here on the couch in my Father's house watching "The Proposal" (one of my sister's favorite slightly silly movies). My brother is playing on the  computer, and my sis is making lasagna. And I, I am drinking coffee and thinking about if I will run before dinner or after. And I am struck by how desperately full of love I am for my siblings and family. Ooch, I love you so hard it hurts.  I am thankful indeed to have been blessed with such stupendous siblings.

A haiku I wrote about my sisters yesterday;
Economist and
chemist, discuss strategy.
iPad games. Sisters.

And a little piece on writing I love, because it applies to anything you do for joy.

Money….not very much, but better than it’s ever been before. Probably it will all be taken away from me, or will be worth nothing, just when I have written my last word and feel the time has come to sit back and watch the flowers unfolding. However, that is a morbid thought. The only fact that matters is that there is money in the bank. It has accumulated there, mysteriously, because every day I lock myself up in a room and guide my pen over sheets of paper, and then sell those sheets of paper. That, you will agree, is an exceedingly peculiar way of earning one’s living. Making odd scrawls on a sheet of paper…rather ugly, hurried scrawls, blocked over, scratched out, very painfully erased and amended…and then exchanging those scrawls for beautiful, tangible things, like tulip bulbs, and shelled walnuts, and bottles of mysterious, dusty, and exquisitely fragrant Chablis! Very odd indeed.
But then, the minute any man except the farm labourer begins to ponder the sources of his income, he will feel inclined to hang his head in shame, unless he is a charlatan or a stockbroker.
Beverley NicholsVillage in a Valley

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