Whilst glancing at her neighbor’s very own picture archives on the coveted FFFFound website, Ella elated to obtain her own. It’s bad to covet, she knew this well, but couldn’t help her awe-struck wonderful desire of a place to gather images of random, perhaps attainable, at least visit-able beauty––a virtual scrapbook, without the photo corners or corny stickers, sparse and Swiss-inspired. Hers would have mid-century, fashion-forward, green elegance and urbanity for which to cherish and aspire. Someday…
Some of you know that I have been sick for about two years. (If you don’t know, it’s been due to a combo of birth control messing with my hormones, REALLY LOW cholesterol, and a gluten-intolerance. As Joshua says, we’re on a House-ian search to find what the heck is wrong with my health). Being sick is awful. But being discouraged by it, especially if it is a long-standing illness, is even worse.
John Piper and David Powlison’s article “Don’t Waste Your Cancer” is a convicting exhortation to those in the midst of sickness. I take great comfort in knowing that whether or not God heals me miraculously, by medicine, or heals me at all, He is bigger than my illness. And He will use it for my good.
This sink / toilet is definitely efficient, but I wonder, are you supposed to wash your face here too?
Behold the healing powers of nature. I can tell you from personal experience that these remedies REALLY help.
There is an igloo on the desk says the woman in the purple dress, sitting at the computer in the morning. She thought it a kind of warning that her thoughts had turned to luring her to declare the mundane and obvious before her. For her mother had declared when she was losing her hair that the midgies were attacking her own scalp. “Everyone knows that’s what midgies do…” the woman had wondered at her mother’s apparent summation. Two weeks later the old lady was taken to the loony bin and sorted among the others of her kind. The woman remembered this and turned her thoughts from igloos to imaginary beaches.
Well friends, I’m back. Forgive the random HUGE gap in postings the last week-and-a-half-ish. I have not yet mastered the art of blogging while out of town. This might change, but I don’t know. I must consult my interweb guru for tips. As a welcome back to you, oh delightful readers, I leave you with the above poem.
The shower was as white as the tower of the local flour mill, ironically where it got its power. What do flour and water have to do with each other, one might ask? Well, Winston the superintendent of the flour mill was waiting to tell. “Flour gives power from the kinetic energy produced by smashing grain to dust. And different grains give off different levels of energy. Barley, for instance, produces greater energy than wheat due to the sheer husk of the grain. It’s tougher to open.” White-robed Winston walked about the flour mill seeking somewhat-willing listeners for his spiel.
Danny Roberts draws for a living. When he was five, he “convinced [himself] that pouring mud onto cardboard was how to make concrete.” Reminds me of the time my friend Tori’s brother and I tried to make a bomb by attaching a string fuse to a rubbing alcohol-filled tennis ball. It didn’t work, thank God.