But seriously folks, since November 11th I’ve traveled to Pittsburgh for a lovely visit with my son and the daffodil (remember: De Facto Daughter-in-Law), nearly burned to a crisp in a hotel fire en route home, (you read that post about ten days ago?) and hosted a gala Thanksgiving dinner here for 16, which (by my own rules) involved marathon cooking for days in advance. And the use of dishes which can not be put into the dishwasher. (Yes. I am nuts.)
So I’m just saying, I have tons of excuses for the lengthy delay…
Anyway, my obligation is to tell you of five obsessions, and to bestow the aforementioned award on five more bloggers. First, my obsessions.
1. Billy Collins. His poetry totally rocks my world. He can make me laugh and cry both within the same poem. He sees things with clarity and insight and shares them like a ripe peach. Oh, please buy his books, read his work, and worship him as I do. We will be the Billy Collins cult. And The Lanyard will be our anthem. Or The Trouble With Poetry. Or The Poems of Others. Or The Man in the Moon. You will so love this man’s work.
2. Fabric. I love everything about it. Touching it, turning it, cutting it, ironing it. Wait—maybe not so much the ironing part. I started sewing when I was very young, and fell in love with what I could do with fabric. Make myself a dress, make curtains for my room, later make clothes for my kids, re-cover seat cushions to my liking, make fun purses, etc. When I discovered quilting about twenty-five years ago, a whole new world of fabrics opened up to me. Great and wonderful colors and designs are out there, and there are new lines and designers coming along all the time. Amazing things can be done, and one can never have too much fabric. That is axiomatic. You can believe the bumper sticker She Who Dies With the Most Fabric Wins.
3. Justice. I know, this should have been first, not third, but I’m weak. I despise and detest injustice in all its many forms. I cringe, rail, and shake my fist in the face of any display of bias, discrimination or unfairness. I write letters to the editor, to my senators, to my congressman, to anyone I think can effect change in the face of some perceived wrong. I attend meetings, sometimes I organize meetings, letter-writing campaigns, or other means of protest when I think that justice is not being served. Right is right, and wrong is wrong, and who are we if we do not speak up when we witness an act of inequality?
4. Reading. My earliest memories are of reading. It was Harold and the Purple Crayon by Crockett Johnson. I have very vivid memories of riding the Elmwood-Darstdale bus to the Delmar Loop to visit our local library on Saturday mornings. I can (seriously) conjure up the smells of that wood, and the marble floors and the beautiful, and seemingly endless, shelves of books. I recall that I was allowed six books each week, and would read them over and over again until the next Saturday rolled around. I also remember that I couldn’t wait for my fifth birthday to come, as that was the day I was permitted to get my own library card. I printed my name on the line, and my mother attested to my age. This was perhaps sweeter than getting my driver’s license. A license to read. My driver’s license had more limits than a library card. I still couldn’t leave our metropolitan area at sixteen years old, but even at age five, with my own library card I had a passport to everywhere. I was reborn! (We should talk about The Elegance of the Hedgehog—have you read it?)
5. My kids. (Photos some other time!) Enough said. I’m getting ferklemt just going that far, so fill in the rest for yourselves. And this includes, of course, the grandkids. Sniff, sniff.
Step two: Bestow the award on five deserving recipients. For that, tune in Friday! This post has become a tome in itself!