Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)
Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.
This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.
Thursday, September 25, 2003
Saying the darndest things...
Back at it again. You know, taking off work to go do other work just means you get further behind in your work.
Not that that has ever had much of an effect on me.
Anyway, got home last night to be greeted by everyone running around doing homework and trying to get ready for church and getting supper ready--more or less the normal madhouse routine. Rushed around, finally got the table set after moving everyone off somewhere else, threw some vittles down, said the prayer, and began chowing down. Somewhere in among the normal din of four kids all saying something at the same time, Rebecca was jabbering away about something, when she suddenly got a very thoughtful look on her face.
"You know, sometimes if I get bored, I will think to myself and say, 'A baby was just born.' 'There's a tornado happening.' 'There's an earthquake.' 'Someone just got married.' 'Someone just died.' All around the world, things like that are going on all the time."
All the other kids started chiming in with silly crap, and the whole thing degenerated into the idea that somewhere someone was breaking wind, but I still haven't gotten over the little leap of understanding she had demonstrated. She'll be eleven on Monday, and maybe by that time kids have some conception of the big picture, but there's still something vaguely odd about being there when the light comes on. Almost like seeing her when she was born.
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