happy halloween!
—
“clothes make a statement. costumes tell a story.”
— mason cooley
this is not me, but we both have eaten our fill (and then some), of candy
before giving what’s left of it to halloween trick-or-treaters tomorrow night.
—
“every time i avoid eating halloween candy, i reward myself by eating halloween candy.”
-author unknown
—
art credit: ‘Maltesers’ by Alison Friend
this is the kind of note that we sometimes see at arrival
pinned to a child’s school bag
giving us a heads up about how things are going so far.
i think adults should also be able to wear these as needed
in our lanyards or clipped to our clothing or bags
a simple statement of fact
a quiet warning
when we arrive somewhere
no questions need be asked
just a smile and a nod will do.
—
“i really should come with a warning label.”
-tom upton, american author
full october moon tonight, and something’s different
—
“when witches go riding, and black cats are seen, the moon laughs and whispers, ‘tis near halloween.”
— author unknown
—
art credit: Ida Rentoul Outhwaite, The Witch on her Broomstick
Illustration from The Enchanted Forest – 1921
“we are like books.
most people see only our cover,
the minority read only the introduction,
many people believe the critics.
few will know the content.”
-emile zola
—
image credit: newton free library
my daughter and her family are prepared for pretty much anything that comes their way.
(also noted: she had just given away a lot of it and this is what was left)
keep a wide berth if you are a pirate, clown, space alien, ninja, vampire, monster or….
—
“every time I thought I’ve seen every possible scenario, something else comes up.
you just have to be prepared at every level.”
-chris hansen
watching the big kids and wishing you were on the other side of the fence.
—
“dream big, little one.”
-a.u.
one more week until the candy rains down!
—
“i want to get a vending machine, with fun-sized candy bars,
and the glass in front is a magnifying glass.
you’ll be mad but it will be too late.”
-mitch hedberg
—
image credit: etsy vintage
(not me, but how we will both be spending the day. and i really like her blanket.)
blankets, soup, juice, meds, rest, repeat.
—
“i shall not die of a cold. i shall die of having lived.”
-willa cather
—
image credit: pinterest
In May of 2013, celebrated author and MacArthur ‘genius’ George Saunders took the podium at Syracuse University and delivered a masterpiece of bequeathable wisdom, the commencement address. A year later it was adapted in “Congratulations, by the way: Some Thoughts on Kindness”, designed and hand lettered by Chelsea Cardinal.
With his gentle wisdom and disarming warmth, Saunders manages to dissolve some of our most deeply engrained culturally conditioned cynicism into a soft and expansive awareness of the greatest gift one human being can give another — those sacred exchanges that take place in a moment of time, often mundane and fleeting, but echo across a lifetime with inextinguishable luminosity.
I’d say, as a goal in life, you could do worse than: Try to be kinder.
In seventh grade, this new kid joined our class. In the interest of confidentiality, her name will be “ELLEN.” ELLEN was small, shy. She wore these blue cat’s-eye glasses that, at the time, only old ladies wore. When nervous, which was pretty much always, she had a habit of taking a strand of hair into her mouth and chewing on it.
So she came to our school and our neighborhood, and was mostly ignored, occasionally teased (“Your hair taste good?” — that sort of thing). I could see this hurt her. I still remember the way she’d look after such an insult: eyes cast down, a little gut-kicked, as if, having just been reminded of her place in things, she was trying, as much as possible, to disappear. After awhile she’d drift away, hair-strand still in her mouth. At home, I imagined, after school, her mother would say, you know: “How was your day, sweetie?” and she’d say, “Oh, fine.” And her mother would say, “Making any friends?” and she’d go, “Sure, lots.”
Sometimes I’d see her hanging around alone in her front yard, as if afraid to leave it.
And then — they moved. That was it. No tragedy, no big final hazing.
One day she was there, next day she wasn’t.
End of story.
Now, why do I regret that? Why, forty-two years later, am I still thinking about it? Relative to most of the other kids, I was actually pretty nice to her. I never said an unkind word to her. In fact, I sometimes even (mildly) defended her.
But still. It bothers me.
So here’s something I know to be true, although it’s a little corny, and I don’t quite know what to do with it:
What I regret most in my life are failures of kindness.
Those moments when another human being was there, in front of me, suffering, and I responded … sensibly. Reservedly. Mildly.
Or, to look at it from the other end of the telescope: Who, in your life, do you remember most fondly, with the most undeniable feelings of warmth?
Those who were kindest to you, I bet.
But kindness, it turns out, is hard — it starts out all rainbows and puppy dogs, and expands to include . . . well, everything.
—
credits: Maria Popova, Chelsea Cardinal, George Saunders
I didn't have my glasses on.... 