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This set is not sold in stores. |
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But I read all these books for my thesis!! Notable and quotable, I am. |
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Because I'm happy! |
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"Oh hai, Dad!" |
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Red beans: I'm ready. |
- Fun is fun is fun. Have I ever told you how fun Will is? Way more fun than me. He plays games, he tells jokes, he's super active... and I am the snail coming in last place with a huge grin on my face. He loves that I participate. He loves that I like trying new things. He comes along with me to museums and parades. He helps me indulge when I think I should clean instead - and I appreciate that he embraces the lighter side of life.
- Vulnerability. When Will's upset, he tells me. When I'm upset, he asks me what is wrong. He doesn't expect a "fine" answer - he wants to know because he cares. I'm learning to be a lot more brave with my emotions because of my husband's healthy attitude towards honesty, acceptance and truth.
- Cleaning till it's good enough. I don't happen to agree with this, but I appreciate it and I am working on accepting it. When I was pregnant, I went through a CLEAN ALL THE THINGS stage. Then, I had Grace, and that became an Olympic feat. I take a more moderate approach now - one big sweeping clean after dinner, and then I retire until the next day. Wa-la!
- Intellectual honesty. Will is straight-forward and unflinching. He knows his strengths and his weaknesses. He is the master of Socratic method discussion and I love picking his brain with philosophical questions and hypothetical situations.
- Let it go, let it go. Will is not easily ruffled, whereas I can be Sensitive Sally. He asks me, Is it worth it? The answer is usually a resounding no. His perspective is gentle and calming, and firm.
- He encourages me. Will is all about being hands-on and doing; I am contemplative about everything, including that pile of laundry that needs to be folded. He could eat the same meal every day and not complain, and yet he encourages me in all my cooking ventures (even if that means eating something else later). He watches Grace so I can run by myself for 30 minutes, or write a blog post, or just drink my cup of coffee without two little feet kicking me. He encourages me to seek what I am interested in, and explore it, even if/when I baby step towards it
- Sex matters. There is so much talk and visual exposure to sex today that its real attraction is being lost: intimate moments between two people. Moments of real connection and passion. Not actors - people in love with each other; people who marry in the hopes of a long life with the other.The intimacy of married life is nothing compared to what Will and I felt before our wedding; and, being with only Will was and is worth it - worth all the waiting. Looks are deceiving, charm is fleeting; people will tempt you, and you'll have conflicted feelings, but sex is so much more than the physical action. The emotional connection of trust, knowing the other person is there for you always, accepting the other person as exactly who they are (combined with the possibility of children), is a true grace from God. It's beautiful and it is special, and the person worth sharing it with you is the one who mutually pledges their life to yours.
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Windy day and a walk with Dad |
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I know Grace; your Dad is 27! |
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Telling Grace that rum cake is for later in life... |
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Grace in the morning. So happy and ready to go! |
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So simple, yet imaginative! |
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Will Grace inherit her mother's Irish complexion or her father's talent for tanning? |
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The theme for the floats this year was circus! |
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Beads a-flyin'! |
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Okay, this is seriously cool - Simon is a New Orleans-based folk artist artist whose work I love and whose studio I stumbled upon a few weeks ago while on a walk with Grace. On my birthday, we stopped by, met him, and ordered a sign... and then a few days later, we saw him again! |
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The after math. Boom. |
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I know; the aesthetics can be overwhelming. |
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Heaven will be a big ole crawfish boil |
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Hamming for the Gram. |
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Baldwin babes. |
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Here's one before bed. While walking down memory lane, Dad showed me his cards. |
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For me? |
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I know, I'm pretty cute, right? |
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My behavior: A Pews with seat cushions: B+ |
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Little Lefty Baldwin |
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Totally natural, not posed |
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Who's the fairest of them all? |
"The yellow eyes are really the soul of the dog. He has this piercing stare. People say the dog keeps talking to them with the eyes, always saying something different. People who have seen a Blue Dog painting always remember it. They are really about life, about mankind searching for answers. The dog never changes position. He just stares at you. And you’re looking at him, looking for some answers, ‘Why are we here?,’ and he’s just looking back at you, wondering the same. The dog doesn’t know. You can see this longing in his eyes, this longing for love, answers."The contemporary art of Rodrigue is now seen all over New Orleans, in private homes and restaurants, as well as in the public sphere. Diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer, Rodrigue died on December 14, 2013.
— George Rodrigue on the Blue Dog, interview with The New York Times (1998)
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"During a traditional Ash Wednesday service, ashes are applied to the worshiper’s forehead (the “imposition”) in the shape of a cross. In Scripture ashes or dust symbolize mortality (Gen. 18:27), mourning (Est. 4:3), judgment (Lam. 3:16), and repentance (Jon. 3:6). An ashen cross serves as a reminder that you come from dust and to dust you shall return one day. It is also a call to “Consider yourself dead to sin and alive in Christ Jesus” (Rom. 6:11).
As you begin this journey of Lent, you must start with rending your heart—tearing it from self-absorption and binding yourself (mind and devotion) to Jesus. Regardless of your current state or your proneness to wander, you must “Return to the Lord your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love” (Joel 2:13).
After all, Lent is not about your faithfulness, but rather about the faithfulness of Jesus on your behalf. He is the faithful One!"
-Journey to the Cross, Day 1, Ash WednesdayPart of our Confirmation promises is to be a soldier for Christ - soldiering does not mean one is militant, but present. Wearing one's ashes and sharing them with others connects the vines of Christ, and plants seeds along the way too.
There was a piercing scream from the woods, followed closely by a pistol report. "Does it seem right to you, lady, that one is punished a heap and another ain't punished at all?"
"Jesus!" the old lady cried. "You've got good blood! I know you wouldn't shoot a lady! I know you come from nice people! Pray! Jesus, you ought not to shoot a lady. I'll give you all the money I've got!
"Lady," The Misfit said, looking beyond her far into the woods, "there never was a body that give the undertaker a tip."
There were two more pistol reports and the grandmother raised her head like a parched old turkey hen crying for water and called, "Bailey Boy, Bailey Boy!" as if her heart would break.
"Jesus was the only One that ever raised the dead," The Misfit continued, "and He shouldn't have done it. He shown everything off balance. If He did what He said, then it's nothing for you to do but thow away everything and follow Him, and if He didn't, then it's nothing for you to do but enjoy the few minutes you got left the best way you can by killing somebody or burning down his house or doing some other meanness to him. No pleasure but meanness," he said and his voice had become almost a snarl.
Vivian and I sitting on Flannery O'Connor's porch in Georgia. (February 2011) |
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