Making sense

Anne Lamott, on writing ...

"We are a species that needs and wants to understand who we are. Sheep lice do not seem to share this longing, which is one reason why they write so little. But we do. We have so much we want to say and figure out.”

Friday, December 26, 2008

Wacky weather ...

Thunder and lightning. On December 26.
Should've known wacky meteorological phenomenon was heading our way. Yesterday it was 36 degrees. Today? Sixty-five. Yep, that's right: 65 degrees ... in December.
Whenever the sky sends spring-like droplets in a non-spring season, the first thought I have is this: OH NO the world is ending.
And then the second thought I have is this: I will never get to be a grandma.
How weird is it that I am SO wanting to be a grandma that I'm half tempted to make a spare bedroom into a future nursery for that spectacular day when I do, in fact, have a real grandchild to place in a real basinette.
It would be utterly delightful to transform a PlainJane bedroom into a magical baby land.
I just don't want to get carted off to a crazy place trying to make it happen!

1 comment:

Bee said...

Oh, I long for babies, too. And yet -- I also long for the next, more selfish, stage. I suppose that contradictory thoughts are normalish.