Called Home
I have just begun reading, "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" by Barbara Kingsolver. She is by far one of my favorite and most treasured authors. And I here I am beginning a walk down the wondrous road of reading a book when I have a pile of magazines to catch up on (Scientific American, Discover, Seed and National Geograhic's) all strewn in a messy pile in the living room, a pile of which only I can understand their organization. Not to mention I am in the middle of cleaning my beer brewing equipment, doing laundry and feeling the ever pressing need to weed the flowers on the last days of a heated summer because surely fall will drop in to stay for a day or two.
But what moves me most - or what I will talk about any way, are within the first words in this book.
"One person's picture postcard is someone else's normal."
Perhaps what we should all strive for a bit more is taking a treasured postcard and making that our normal? Perhaps we settle too much into riding down a rutted road and before we know it all that we know of this worlds beauty is someone else's postcard... perhaps we need to dig our heels in occasionally or jump off the ride before we get locked in for ever.
Nothing is ever experienced if not by chance.
Going back to reading the book now ..
But what moves me most - or what I will talk about any way, are within the first words in this book.
"One person's picture postcard is someone else's normal."
Perhaps what we should all strive for a bit more is taking a treasured postcard and making that our normal? Perhaps we settle too much into riding down a rutted road and before we know it all that we know of this worlds beauty is someone else's postcard... perhaps we need to dig our heels in occasionally or jump off the ride before we get locked in for ever.
Nothing is ever experienced if not by chance.
Going back to reading the book now ..