I remember being in New Orleans years ago and hearing a carpenter complaining, 'Did no one have a square when they built this damn town?' I feel like nothing is quite square anymore, so many curves, scalene and obtuse triangles instead of nice, neat squares. I suppose this sort of thing naturally happens after so much unexpected and unwanted change. I look around wondering what happened to my perspective with a mixture of longing for the old safe place and an appreciation for the new. (Honestly, nobody likes change. I'm trying to talk myself into it. Couldn't you be a little nicer about it?) It's so hard to just glide through it. Although, fabulous shoes really do help.
I read the sweetest book last week called Daddy Long Legs which is really just about perspective. It's a fast read and free for download on your favorite electronic device (I like my Kindle and my not a book burner so settle down). But, mostly, I worry when my changing perspective that captures things like this:
Are his legs really that long? Or am I seeing things? How is it possible that he will be 8 next month. 8! I know, 8, 8, 8 is great, 8 is a number I do not hate and all of that. But, really, 8? How much longer is he going to like me? What is happening to his perspective?
But then there is her. And when the answer to, 'mama, did you make me a leprechaun skirt like my valentine skirt to wear to apple school tomorrow?' automatically becomes 'of course I did'. I just did it after you went to bed and I went to the fabric store and bought things like bias tape because I was assured that the pattern for 'dummies' truly did include me. (Ahem.)
But it's not all bad. Not when someone is too happy to notice the wonky seams and the white thread on the green bias tape on the skirt you made too late the night before.
I read the sweetest book last week called Daddy Long Legs which is really just about perspective. It's a fast read and free for download on your favorite electronic device (I like my Kindle and my not a book burner so settle down). But, mostly, I worry when my changing perspective that captures things like this:
Are his legs really that long? Or am I seeing things? How is it possible that he will be 8 next month. 8! I know, 8, 8, 8 is great, 8 is a number I do not hate and all of that. But, really, 8? How much longer is he going to like me? What is happening to his perspective?But then there is her. And when the answer to, 'mama, did you make me a leprechaun skirt like my valentine skirt to wear to apple school tomorrow?' automatically becomes 'of course I did'. I just did it after you went to bed and I went to the fabric store and bought things like bias tape because I was assured that the pattern for 'dummies' truly did include me. (Ahem.)
But it's not all bad. Not when someone is too happy to notice the wonky seams and the white thread on the green bias tape on the skirt you made too late the night before.
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