Why do most of us shy away from the camera? Are we afraid of the end result becoming a distorted image of our true selves? Maybe it’s a lack of self-confidence…or maybe we’re just trying to hide something stuck in our teeth.

My kids had a blast playing around with Photo Booth tonight. Belly laughs galore. I’m thankful they have the ability to laugh at themselves….especially not-so-perfect images of themselves. I finally tried it out and found myself making weird faces right along with them.

Sometimes we tend to take ourselves a bit too seriously. Laughing at yourself is akin to achieving mini-nirvana. It takes a real grown-up to come to grips with their own flaws, accept them, chuckle at them, and move on.

The “squeeze” distortion is my favorite in Photo Booth…

The Road by Cormac McCarthy

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

(Spoilers)I think I may need to reread this, that’s what I think. This book was so intense at times that I blew through the suspenseful bits. I admit I got scared. And I started thinking too deeply. That’s scary in and of itself. But ultimately I was curious as to what it would be like to exist in a world where all sense of past and history had been obliterated by its own doing…essentially to exist in the pre-dawn of existence. Back to the old drawing board. A true clean slate–Nothingness.

Except that hunger drives some of your fellow men (what’s left of them) to cannibalism. Would humans revert to animal instincts without anything to confirm their own humanism? How long would this take? And to try and raise a child in this gray, ashen, post-apocalyptic world without hope for a future seems an impossible but necessary task. Find the good guys. Carry on history verbally. But what would we strive for in a world where history is the future? Would we build a new world and ultimately end up in the same predicament? Maybe it would be better to just ignore history, or simply forget.

The lack of punctuation, proper names, quotations as well as the overuse of “okays”–these are all powerful narrative tools in creating the sense of doom and foreboding that envelops the reader throughout the novel.

Highly recommend…sensitive readers proceed with caution.

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I was surprised with a gift and a card from a very special friend today. The gift was probably one of the most meaningful I have ever received…an original 1955 publish of Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s Gift From the Sea, interestingly the same book I had been eyeing at the local book store for quite some time.

After reading my dear friend’s heartfelt note written inside the cover, I opened the book, stuck my nose in it, and took in the delicious aroma of history and aged words– a bit like sniffing a glass of fine wine before taking the first swig.

Gift From the Sea is one of my very favorite books… a bit surprising if you know me. In 1996, another dear friend of mine also gave a copy of the book to me and my husband in as a 1st wedding anniversary gift, with these words written inside the cover:

“…friends stay in contact. Love you guys, J & J”

I quickly gobbled up the book and vowed to someday find my own solitary place to pause, reflect, and muse—preferably on a remote beach, with the ocean lulling me to sleep, just like Anne. I tucked the little book away in the top drawer of my bedside table.

The second time I read Gift From the Sea I was a rookie mother, heart swelled with pride and overflowing with love for my newborn son. Only then did I begin to understand what Anne was trying to say. Again I put the book back in the drawer of my bedside table, this time along with my stash of important stuff like written correspondence from my grandmother, love notes from my husband, and a book of poetry from my mother called To My Daughter With Love.

I started to give out Gift From the Sea right and left to any dear female friend or relative about to get married, give birth, or face some other Major Life Change, in hopes that it provide them with comfort and fodder for soul-searching. Apologies if you’ve received more than one copy from me over the years…

Well I sort of forgot about that book until a few years ago, after we moved back to the States from England. I reached for it while convalescing…recovering from ACL reconstructive surgery. Out of sheer boredom, I started organizing the drawers in my bedside table. Lo and behold, that little cream-colored book with gold shells whispered “Hello again” to me from beneath a pile of my kids’ artwork and the more recent of my grandmother’s letters, whose shaky penmanship now required a bit of deciphering.

When I opened the book that time, the binding no longer creaked with resistance. I found that handwritten note inside and smiled at the memory of our friends. I read the book once again…and finally GOT IT. We mothers can each have our own place to pause and ponder whenever and wherever the hell we choose to do so—even if it means closing our eyes for just a moment to listen to the sound of the crickets chirping and take in the dewy fresh smell of a perfect summer night.

So now I have both copies of Gift From the Sea, given 15 years apart–both from dear friends, both with handwritten notes of love inside the cover—stacked beside me. I am not a sappy person, but Little Moments of Significance like this one really get to me and cause a few tears to fall.

Also of note: my most recent giver of Gift From the Sea is moving a fair distance away. We’ve only known each other for a short time, yet we have a connection. Distance won’t break that connection… I’ve learned this from experience. As much as I love the convenience of social media an general online communications, I would still much rather receive that little note from you. I know it’s from you because of the special way you flourished the loop on your “y” or crossed your “t” sideways. Handwritten words are like miniature hugs—it required a connection of body and mind to produce those words in your own special style of writing. That means a lot.

I still try to write my Christmas cards by hand, much to my husband’s dismay. Even so, I’ve slacked off on the Writing of Special Letters.

Now, I’ve been inspired. Thanks, friend—you’re a hell of a writer.

Our new house doesn’t have a basement. That means we’ve had to purge a bit of furniture. And the first thing to go? Our old green couch. We bought that couch when we first moved to Zionsville. It’s been the recipient of every bodily fluid known to man — from dog slobber to baby diarrhea to toddler vomit. If it can be excreted by a living creature, it’s been on our couch. And strangely enough, no one seemed to want it. We set it out during the ne … Read More

via Katrina Anne Willis