Thursday, January 22, 2009
Things have been busy.
Taylor, Kelsey, and I are finally beginning to call this blue house on Park Avenue, Home. KELSEY PUTS IT BEST.
More and more each day do I appreciate their company.
And a youth said, Speak to us of Friendship. And he answered, saying: Your friend is your needs answered. He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving.
And He is your board and your fireside. For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace.
When your friend speaks his mind you fear not the "nay" in your own mind, nor do you withhold the "ay."
And When he is silent your heart ceases not to listen to his heart;
For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared, with joy that is unacclaimed.
When you part from your friend, you grieve not;
For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain.
And let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit.
For love that seeks aught but the disclosure of its own mystery is not love but a net cast forth: and only the unprofitable is caught.
And let your best be for your friend.
If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him know its flood also.
For what is your friend that you should seek him with hours to kill?
Seek him always with hours to live.
For it is his to fill your need, but not your emptiness.
And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures.
For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.
The PROPHET, Kahlil Gibran
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
One of my fondest memories of my grandfather occurred during one of our visits up North to Victoria, Canada. It was my mom, Nate, and I who were there to spend time with Grandma and Grandfather. The three of us had gone on an exploration through downtown Vancouver, and made a significant stop on the sidewalk in front of a street band. They were Irishmen with Irish spirit in their songs and in their instruments. Their charm and rhythms were so contagious that it very much became an atmosphere that we wanted to keep with us always; in our pockets, in our suitcases, through our ears, and in our heads. Resulting in a purchase of a low-quality, burned edition the band was selling behind them on a worn tabletop. The music was especially endearing to my mom, Nate, and I because after that performance we would drive back to Victoria, home to our grandfather, an Irishman; straight from Ireland who ate a baked, whole potato every chance he could. Now once we returned back to the house we found a CD player, brought it into the kitchen, setting it on the breakfast table and pressed "play". Realizing what he heard were fiddles and Old Irish tunes, my grandfather began to jump and dance in the kitchen. His spirit was entirely lifted. He became a tangible image of what those band members might turn out looking like years and years later. He then, opened the freezer door, pulled out a vanilla ice cream container and ice cream cones from the cupboard and started scooping ice into two cones. For myself and Nate. He filled the cone to the very tip, making sure not a single hollow pocket without ice cream remained in the entire cone. It was the heaviest cone I had ever held, and knowing that it was filled with sweet vanilla ice cream made me float with happiness. We sat there in the kitchen, Nate and I, eating ice cream, listening to Irish tunes, and watching our Grandfather, an Irishman dancing. Everything was so good.