Maybe it's the awful weather we've been having around here lately (try biting wind blowing those hard, little flecks of ice-crystals across your face) but it's becoming easier to slow down. I've been finding the smallest things becoming my happiest moments.
I gave the chickens old lettuce. I swear I watched them toss it up into the air and eat it for at least seven full minutes.
I made yogurt in the morning before class the other day. Well, I tried. Incubating it in the oven isn't exactly the best method, and so it turned out more like milk-with-yogurty-chunks-in-it. But it was still a nice gesture.
Gosh, even listening to the other girls in my weaving class make bawdy jokes and complain about Twilight has it's small comfort.
Are you ready? Best part of the week:
Andrew Bird last night. Dorky. Quiet. The way he bobbed his head and closed his eyes as he sang. My housemate said later, "It wasn't like watching a musician, it was like watching an artist." I'm going to go ahead and put in this visual/audio treat:
He plays with ideas and concepts like they are play-dough. It's so fun to watch.
Being in the theater is fantastic. When they turn down the lights it's like a warm, sleepy blanket, and you stop thinking your own little petty thoughts because there's Andrew Bird, and he's making beautiful sounds come out of his mouth.
Now the only thoughts are, "Yeah, being an artist is so cool. I could do that. Life is so inspiring. Anything is possible. Wow, human beings are really fantastic."
And then you walk back to the car in the biting sideways attack of ice-crystals-in-the-face. But it is worth it. You bet it is.
So you wake up the next morning, and you're a little more excited about life. Suddenly everything is inspiring.
Toast with two kinds of jam on it. That's a small victory, indeed.
(And you can also spy on my hat, which is nearly finished.)
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