tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963733760359755862.post3973133289531770615..comments2023-05-19T06:04:20.872-04:00Comments on Wanna Cuppa?: Flying PantsBeatrice Blounthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18412115311766270612noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963733760359755862.post-45729231311523994702010-08-24T13:17:30.397-04:002010-08-24T13:17:30.397-04:00Aww, I was eating while reading this, so the cat p...Aww, I was eating while reading this, so the cat part made me a little nauseous. All kidding aside, I had no idea you lost so much. For some reason I thought it was a small, contained fire. We all say that "things don't matter" but we know in our hearts that they do - to some extent. They don't matter the most, but they do hold places in our hearts and some of them deserve to be grieved over.<br /><br />As for the homeschooling, I am flying around willy-nilly by my pants, and it's working out okay so far. Post-its stuck on the next day's lesson are my favorite thing. Why write it down and plan? Just open the book and start reading and grab whatever you need then. It's not everyone's style, but it's mine.Lori Buckhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05606200668033856075noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963733760359755862.post-44317236288156102642010-08-24T13:09:18.233-04:002010-08-24T13:09:18.233-04:00Tiff, my heart was breaking for you! We know it...Tiff, my heart was breaking for you! We know it's not things that matter but it is the memories we place upon those things.<br /><br />Take a day and revisit that day and write your feelings regarding your special day. Save it for your children. They will cherish it!Antonia (Toni)https://www.blogger.com/profile/04418427934386337832noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963733760359755862.post-34016097163058806332010-08-23T23:47:24.106-04:002010-08-23T23:47:24.106-04:00Dearest Beatrice,
"...I scrubbed at the ide...Dearest Beatrice, <br /><br />"...I scrubbed at the idea that things matter...but they don't...but they do." <br /><br />When Isabella was born I had a girl show up to visit me in the hospital from London. She didn't fly in from London just to see me, though that I can pretend... no, she had been someone I worked with who I was positive hated me. I continued being my people pleasing, cheery self, and didn't understand why ANYONE could hate me (insert sarcasm here). Nonetheless, I spoke, was polite, and witnessed to the best of my ability. When Isabella was born she showed up, flying into my room out of nowhere (so it seemed) and gave me this beautiful coffee mug and then she flew out as quickly as she'd flown in. I never seen or heard from her again after that moment (last I heard she was back in London and not in a very good 'place'). The coffee mug said, "If flowers were friends, I'd pick you." It touched me to the core. Each time I used that cup I would say a prayer for her. One day, in a fit of rage, someone (who shall remain nameless) destroyed it out of spite along with a precious picture. I tried gluing the shattered pieces of the mug and taping the picture back together from a billion pieces into one, though was unsuccessful with both. <br /><br />Time heals all wounds (such a cliche but so very true, well time and the love of God)... while I was devastated at the moment, felt as though the very life was sucked out of my soul (over something much less valuable than your home)but things, the memories attached to the things, matter. <br /><br />"Fan the flame of love...", not just in learning, you're fanning it all you do, in the person you are, in the reflection your children see. <br /><br />While most times I'm laughing, or agreeing, or at times shouting "I love Beatrice Blount" when reading your words, today I find myself crying. Crying in your pain, knowing the feeling of loss... crying in a grieving spirit in recognition of knowing the loss... yet crying with overwhelming joy in knowing that God has you and your family and He has great things ahead for you. <br /><br />I am honored and privileged and blessed to know you. Thank you...<br /><br />Signed, <br />Great Aunt MarthaAnonymousnoreply@blogger.com