Time Machines





We all have our time machines. 


Some take us back: they’re called memories. 
Some take us forward; they’re called dreams.

-         Jeremy Irons

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Postcards from Paradise (Reprise of 2009 Post)

Image
I've been carrying on an on-and-off conversation with an acquaintance of the male variety who is going through a divorce and is dealing with the sense of dislocation that results from losing that familiar structure. He's trying to figure out how to be single again and doesn't feel as if he's very good at it. Thinks he never was. I told him I thought that one of the underrated things about marriage is that in a marriage partner, you have a witness to your life. Someone is there to appreciate the moments, big or small. Someone celebrates your accomplishments and helps pick you up when you fall. Someone sees the cloud passing across your face and wonders if you'd like a back rub or cup of tea. Someone listens to your dreams and woes, validates your perceptions or perhaps reorients the way you see things. There are little love pats exchanged in passing, for no reason other than physically reinforce all the spoken "I love you"s. Even when there...
Read more

A Girl and Her Dog

Image
It's Sepia Saturday again. Since my dear mother is recovering  from shoulder replacement surgery, I thought I'd feature her image this week. This is little Betty with her dog Spot. She was born in a small town in Oregon, the third of four sisters. The Depression defined her childhood, though I don't know how much she knew or understood. Her high school years were spent in the shadow of World War Two. She went to college at a time when women sought an "MRS." degree. She had a lovely singing voice and often performed  as the vocalist for weddings and funerals. I remember once when I was really little that she was on television in Indianapolis. She worked in the library at Butler University, putting Hubby through school, so to speak. She worked on and off through my childhood, when working mothers were somewhat odd and not at all normative. It wasn't a matter of personal choice as much as necessity, because her husband's ministerial salary couldn'...
Read more