How easily and hour can slip by as I click and smile.
a childish still life
katie and sue
our green grass is back
my favorite background
my favorite expression
I am reading Traveling Mercies again.
Like I need more reasons to cry.
But there is something so beautiful about Anne Lamott's words to me.
She is funny and irreverent and crazy and full of faith.
Lamott has explained: "I try to write the books I would love to come upon, that are honest, concerned with real lives, human hearts, spiritual transformation, families, secrets, wonder, craziness—and that can make me laugh. When I am reading a book like this, I feel rich and profoundly relieved to be in the presence of someone who will share the truth with me, and throw the lights on a little, and I try to write these kinds of books. Books, for me, are medicine."
She even says best what I want to convey about her and how I feel about her writing.
I read this part last night. Again.
Mary Williams, baggies of dimes and beam of love.
Now, a number of the older black women live pretty close to the bone financially on small Social Security checks. But routinely they sidled up to me and stuffed bills in my pocket-tens and twenties. It was always done so stealthily that you might have thought they were slipping me bindles of cocaine. One of the most consistent donors was a very old woman named Mary Williams, who is in her mid-eighties now, so beautiful with her crushed hats and hallelujahs; she always brought me plastic Baggies full of dimes, noosed with little wire twists.
I was usually filled with a sense of something like shame until I remembered that wonderful line of Blake's-that we are here to learn to endure the beams of love-and I would take a long deep breath and force these words out of my strangulated throat:"Thank you."
And that is why I love Anne Lamotts writing.
It slays me.
We watched Up in the Air last night.
what is with the academy?
Encourage one another,