Thankful Thursday

1. My friends. Last night, I was reminded that I am supremely blessed when it comes to people who love me and whom I love in return. There are close to 20 women, living all around the country/continent/globe, with whom I can be completely honest, who speak truth to me, and allow me to return the favour. I can't begin to say how rich this makes me feel.

2. Sunshine. Oh, the sun. You make everything better. Today there is a moderate UV index, and a slim possibility that I will go for a run at lunch time. I wouldn't even consider this if it were rainy. Sunbeams are returning to my work window as winter fades away, and it helps the afternoon go by faster. (it's a weird sort of science, but it's true)

3. Easter Weekend. Long weekend, what! I am anticipating fun, family, and time spent thinking about Jesus. I can't wait for 4:30 to roll around this afternoon.

4. Music. It is a gamechanger in my world. There is TOO MUCH good stuff out there to ever catch up with, but I am doing my best to enjoy as much as I can. Last night, a couple of adorable boys in plaid shirts were busking in my subway station, playing Fleet Foxes' White Winter Hymnal. I couldn't stop grinning, listening to it echo behind me all the way out.

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Simone Weil: On "Forms of the Implicit Love of God"

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I Like to Keep My Issues Drawn

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Esse - Czeslaw Milosz

I'm on a bit of a poetry binge this week, and Monday afternoon found me lying on the luxurious shag rug of a friend's tiny apartment, re-reading some of my favourite poets (ee cummings, William Carlos Williams, Czeslaw Milosz). It is an adventure to re-open a collection and wonder what will pop out, knowing something you've read before will strike you afresh, or you will be reminded of a particularly moving line that you had somehow forgotten. Like this piece from Milosz, which floors me. Every. damn.* time. The first time I read it, I lay in a park with a friend (this same friend who offered me her rug as my reading burrow) and demanded that I share it with her. I spoke it carefully, and then, into the post-reading silence, I slammed the book shut, and dropped it as loudly as I could onto the grass. "I'm never reading anything again," I declared, "What else is there to say?" Esse I looked at that face, dumbfounded. The lights of métro st...

* not with ink

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