Skip to main content

Riches



If you can, if you get the chance, make sure you marry into a family of storytellers. No amount of wealth or social position can touch the value of even one magical tale. Imagine a lifetime of them. 

As for me, I chose well: bound in marriage to master storytellers of word, image, and song. Their stories have flowed like the wine at Cana - -  on the stage, at dinner, around the fireplace - - one can hardly imagine that their sweetness could have come from ordinary human creatures.

Surely there are other callings some may find more important. But for me a life filled with drama and music and poems and paintings is the closest thing I will ever experience that touches the pure love and joy of whoever created the Universe and made us who we are.

By the word of the Lord were the heavens made, and by his breath the stars came forth.

Stories can live forever if you listen hard and are brave enough to make them your own and share them in your own way. People can live forever if you are brave enough to love them so deeply that it breaks your heart to lose them. Somehow they live on in the pieces, in the memories, the moments you can’t let go.

Once upon a time I knew a prince of stories and now I carry within me the treasures of a thousand kingdoms.

If you have a chance to love a storyteller, don’t let it pass you by. Once you let their stories become a part of you they will change you. And you will change the world by sharing them.

I love you, Sam. Thank you for all of the words you have shared which have helped to shape this beautiful universe.




Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Teacher Gifts

Today is the last day of school before the Winter Break. It’s a good time to remember the far-reaching nature of our public school system. You may not have children. You may have sent your children to independent schools. It matters not. You will be impacted one way or another. Yesterday I read a long thread on Facebook about several waves of illness in the schools right now. There’s influenza A and norovirus, I believe. And of course there’s COVID. Apparently in some individual schools the rate of illness is high enough for school admin to notify parents.  When I was little the acceptable holiday gift for a teacher was one of those lovely floral handkerchief squares. (I don’t know what it was for male teachers. They were rare in my elementary years.) These days the range of teacher gifts is wider and I have fond memories of Target gift cards which I have written about before. I think it’s safe to say that giving one’s teacher Influenza, norovirus, or COVID is not the ideal holiday...

They Can Wait

This is not a typical Saturday post. That’s because, in my community, it’s not a typical Saturday.  Oakland Mills High School, after years of deferred repair, needs massive renovation. It’s pretty simple: when you don’t fix a problem it gets bigger. The school system itself said the the OMHS school building was  "no longer conducive to learning" back in 2018.  2018 .  But Thursday the Boad of Education voted to push it out of the lineup of important projects which will be given the go-ahead to proceed soonest.  In my opinion it’s a terrible decision and sets a dangerous precedent. To explain, here’s the advocacy letter I sent in support of Oakland Mills High School. I was rather proud of it. I am writing to ask you to proceed with needed renovation at Oakland Mills High School in the most timely and comprehensive manner humanly possible. I have read the letter sent to you by the Oakland Mills Community Association and I am in complete agreement. You are extremel...

Columbia Chance Connection

  Last night, as my husband and I were about to sit down to dinner, our front door swung open and a cheery voice announced, “I’m ba—ack!”  We weren’t expecting anyone. Clearly the only people who’d walk right in to our house would be one of our offspring. I had my reading glasses on so I wasn’t seeing too clearly. It seemed too tall for our youngest, but we knew our eldest was at work. I took off my glasses to see a friendly but confused face scanning our living room. When her gaze landed on us we all had a sudden realization. We didn’t know eachother. “Oh I’m so sorry! I’m in the wrong house! My daughter just moved in and she needed hooks for the kitchen so I ran out to get them.” She waved the package. “All these houses look the same and I don’t know the neighborhood yet. I thought this was my daughter’s house.” We were all getting a bit giggly. “That’s okay. For a quick second we thought you were our daughter,” said my husband. I told her our names and said she should defin...