Two of my best gal pals are headed off into a whole new phase of life in the next week or so, one of them moving to Texas for a few months and the other settling in Virginia for the foreseeable future. Being the great friend I am, I wanted to find a sweet, meaningful, inspirational blessing for them.
You can only imagine how delighted I was when I stumbled across the following Irish gem:
May the frost never afflict your spuds.
May the leaves of your cabbage always be free from worms.
May the crows never pick your haystack.
If you inherit a donkey, may she be in foal.
Hannah and Eleanor, this pretty much sums up exactly what I want for y'all. 'Cause I just know how much your cabbage means to you both, and goodness knows, if someone is precious enough to give either of you a donkey, you surely will want to continue growing your herd ASAP.
Seriously, though, I'm gonna miss you both.
Be good, look both ways before you cross the street, don't forget to brush your teeth before you go to bed every night, eat your green veggies, say "thank you" and "excuse me," make up your beds in the morning, don't pick your noses in public, and be sure to charge your cell phone batteries faithfully.
Love y'all!
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Did you know...
... women in France don't shave under their arms.
... once when I was two I ate my sister's deodorant.
Those two facts were unrelated in my mind, believe it or not; I didn't set them down side by side on purpose. Oh, the beauty of irony!
... Isaiah is my favorite book in the Bible.
... I don't like milk. I can't drink it without thinking about exactly where it comes from - and that's just gross.
... I have now reached what is quite possibly the peak of homeschooler syndrome. I am friends on Facebook with Dr. Grant. Oh, yes.
... it's easy to love an ideal, thinking that you're loving reality. But be careful, because there's a good chance you aren't.
... diamonds aren't really me. I admire them, but I don't feel at home with them.
... I despise, abominate, and abhor chrysanthemums. They're so stiff and fake.
... I know how to spell "chrysanthemum" because of watching "Anne of Green Gables" so very many times. Who says movies aren't educational?
... I have an affinity for swings.
... I absolutely hate it when businesses spell things the way they sound, but not at all the way they are. "Kwick Kash," anyone?
... when I am completely stuck in the middle of a math problem, I go and play the violin for ten minutes and it clears my brain wondrously. Do you think they'll let me bring my violin to the ACT?
... I get ferocious, killer butterflies in my stomach when I think of my violin audition for Ole Miss this coming Spring.
... I was named Larissa for my first cousin, Robin Larissa, who dreamed that Mama was expecting a girl - before Mama and Daddy told anyone that she was pregnant. The rest of Robin's dream was that she kidnapped the baby and took her to live at college with her. So, while the dream was only partly prophetic, it was enough to have Mama and Daddy name me for Robin, and I'm glad, 'cause I like the name Larissa. However, I'm somewhat ashamed to report that I didn't know for sure whether it was spelled with one R or two R's until I was ten. Yeah.
... I carry a blanket with me to church. Yes, seeing me swaddled up to my chin in a down-filled blanket probably provides a good deal of amusement for various and sundry people, but all I can say is that they obviously aren't cold natured, or they would totally understand.
... I like pickles.
... I don't like spiders. What? Oh, you already knew that? Well, now you have been reminded.
... this post didn't really have a purpose.
No kidding, Katie! Really?? I would've never, ever figured that out!
Oh, hush. Why don't you run up an alley and holler fish?
... once when I was two I ate my sister's deodorant.
Those two facts were unrelated in my mind, believe it or not; I didn't set them down side by side on purpose. Oh, the beauty of irony!
... Isaiah is my favorite book in the Bible.
... I don't like milk. I can't drink it without thinking about exactly where it comes from - and that's just gross.
... I have now reached what is quite possibly the peak of homeschooler syndrome. I am friends on Facebook with Dr. Grant. Oh, yes.
... it's easy to love an ideal, thinking that you're loving reality. But be careful, because there's a good chance you aren't.
... diamonds aren't really me. I admire them, but I don't feel at home with them.
... I despise, abominate, and abhor chrysanthemums. They're so stiff and fake.
... I know how to spell "chrysanthemum" because of watching "Anne of Green Gables" so very many times. Who says movies aren't educational?
... I have an affinity for swings.
... I absolutely hate it when businesses spell things the way they sound, but not at all the way they are. "Kwick Kash," anyone?
... when I am completely stuck in the middle of a math problem, I go and play the violin for ten minutes and it clears my brain wondrously. Do you think they'll let me bring my violin to the ACT?
... I get ferocious, killer butterflies in my stomach when I think of my violin audition for Ole Miss this coming Spring.
... I was named Larissa for my first cousin, Robin Larissa, who dreamed that Mama was expecting a girl - before Mama and Daddy told anyone that she was pregnant. The rest of Robin's dream was that she kidnapped the baby and took her to live at college with her. So, while the dream was only partly prophetic, it was enough to have Mama and Daddy name me for Robin, and I'm glad, 'cause I like the name Larissa. However, I'm somewhat ashamed to report that I didn't know for sure whether it was spelled with one R or two R's until I was ten. Yeah.
... I carry a blanket with me to church. Yes, seeing me swaddled up to my chin in a down-filled blanket probably provides a good deal of amusement for various and sundry people, but all I can say is that they obviously aren't cold natured, or they would totally understand.
... I like pickles.
... I don't like spiders. What? Oh, you already knew that? Well, now you have been reminded.
... this post didn't really have a purpose.
No kidding, Katie! Really?? I would've never, ever figured that out!
Oh, hush. Why don't you run up an alley and holler fish?
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Once Upon a Time,
there were three little girls.
All their respective parents were fast friends long before these girls were even thought of, so it's totally safe to say that they were more or less friends from the moment they were all born. (I'm pretty sure Eleanor was sad for nine months of pure loneliness before Katie came on the scene, and then they were rather forlorn for the next fourteen months, 'cause somewhere deep inside, they knew their friendship just wasn't complete without Julia.) (Or maybe they just laid around, sleeping and eating and crying, seeing as how they were infants and all.)
Anyway, back to the story.
For lots of years, they were bestest friends.
They fought. They giggled. They teased. They played. And played. And played. They argued. (Well, Katie and Eleanor argued; Julia sat sweetly in a corner, looking with wonder at the two hooligans yelling at each other.)
Then there was a time when they went different ways for a while, and weren't all three such close friends anymore.
But thankfully, that didn't last more than two years or so, and their friendship rebounded and grew tighter than ever, strengthened in part by the mere fact that they were all growing up, slowly but surely, and that Katie and Eleanor could go an entire hour without figuratively scratching each other's eyes out.
Then all of a sudden, with a mixture of excitement and terror, the girls all discovered that growing up was for real. It wasn't some pie-in-the-sky, distant, foreign thing. And it was starting in less than two weeks, when Eleanor moved off to the big, egotistical state of Texas.
Next Autumn comes college for at least Katie and Eleanor, and the future is pretty dang bright for Julia, too, although it involves less of college and more of... well, I'll stop there.
At any rate, the three girls realized that it would be a long time before they were [relatively] carefree people with flexible schedules again - maybe never again, 'til they were in the nursing home with little to do except play bingo and give their nurses and offspring a hard time.
So, they got together for a farewell bash.
They picnicked in the park, ('cause yay for saving money!) they rode the carousel at the Mall, they drank coffee, they took lots and lots of pictures, they threw ice cubes at ducks. They discussed what their grandchildren should call them, what they wanted to look like when they were old, food, boys, their respective immediate futures, the distant future, the past, marriage, lack-of-marriage, seat belts, and God's providence. They laughed. They linked arms. They made some pretty distinctive plans to stay in touch.
And Happily Ever After?
We'll see. But let's just say I have a pretty good feeling about that.
All their respective parents were fast friends long before these girls were even thought of, so it's totally safe to say that they were more or less friends from the moment they were all born. (I'm pretty sure Eleanor was sad for nine months of pure loneliness before Katie came on the scene, and then they were rather forlorn for the next fourteen months, 'cause somewhere deep inside, they knew their friendship just wasn't complete without Julia.) (Or maybe they just laid around, sleeping and eating and crying, seeing as how they were infants and all.)
Anyway, back to the story.
For lots of years, they were bestest friends.
They fought. They giggled. They teased. They played. And played. And played. They argued. (Well, Katie and Eleanor argued; Julia sat sweetly in a corner, looking with wonder at the two hooligans yelling at each other.)
Then there was a time when they went different ways for a while, and weren't all three such close friends anymore.
But thankfully, that didn't last more than two years or so, and their friendship rebounded and grew tighter than ever, strengthened in part by the mere fact that they were all growing up, slowly but surely, and that Katie and Eleanor could go an entire hour without figuratively scratching each other's eyes out.
Then all of a sudden, with a mixture of excitement and terror, the girls all discovered that growing up was for real. It wasn't some pie-in-the-sky, distant, foreign thing. And it was starting in less than two weeks, when Eleanor moved off to the big, egotistical state of Texas.
Next Autumn comes college for at least Katie and Eleanor, and the future is pretty dang bright for Julia, too, although it involves less of college and more of... well, I'll stop there.
At any rate, the three girls realized that it would be a long time before they were [relatively] carefree people with flexible schedules again - maybe never again, 'til they were in the nursing home with little to do except play bingo and give their nurses and offspring a hard time.
So, they got together for a farewell bash.
They picnicked in the park, ('cause yay for saving money!) they rode the carousel at the Mall, they drank coffee, they took lots and lots of pictures, they threw ice cubes at ducks. They discussed what their grandchildren should call them, what they wanted to look like when they were old, food, boys, their respective immediate futures, the distant future, the past, marriage, lack-of-marriage, seat belts, and God's providence. They laughed. They linked arms. They made some pretty distinctive plans to stay in touch.
And Happily Ever After?
We'll see. But let's just say I have a pretty good feeling about that.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Dear Geometry,
I've never, ever, ever been much of a math person. In fact, I'd usually choose almost anything in the whole wide world over doing math at all, and especially over doing extra math. Ha! Extra math has never even been a blip on my radar.
But yesterday, I was emotional, a wee bit stressed, had a head ache, and really nothing appealed to me - not writing, not reading, not eating, not violin, not talking, and I felt too tired to go clean something, which usually is a pretty good fall-back for me.
Out of no where, the thought occurred to me, "I'll go do a lesson in geometry!"
And so, I did.
You're steady and unchanging, no matter what upheaval is going on in my mind. Angles are angles, and rays are rays, and the formulas for figuring it all out don't shift and shake. Within fifteen minutes of picking you up, I was calmed and soothed, and after twenty minutes I went and crawled in bed, totally relaxed and blissfully unconcerned with emotional issues. Plus, I felt as though I had accomplished something Useful and Beneficial.
So, thank you, Geometry, for being an odd sort of consolation for my troubled self. Never thought those words would come out of my mouth, but there they are.
See you again soon!
Best Regards,
Katie
But yesterday, I was emotional, a wee bit stressed, had a head ache, and really nothing appealed to me - not writing, not reading, not eating, not violin, not talking, and I felt too tired to go clean something, which usually is a pretty good fall-back for me.
Out of no where, the thought occurred to me, "I'll go do a lesson in geometry!"
And so, I did.
You're steady and unchanging, no matter what upheaval is going on in my mind. Angles are angles, and rays are rays, and the formulas for figuring it all out don't shift and shake. Within fifteen minutes of picking you up, I was calmed and soothed, and after twenty minutes I went and crawled in bed, totally relaxed and blissfully unconcerned with emotional issues. Plus, I felt as though I had accomplished something Useful and Beneficial.
So, thank you, Geometry, for being an odd sort of consolation for my troubled self. Never thought those words would come out of my mouth, but there they are.
See you again soon!
Best Regards,
Katie
Friday, September 17, 2010
a rarity.
When I'm forced to watch sports, (read: when I'm at Anna and Lowell's house and I'm too lazy to get up off the couch as soon as Lowell turns the TV on,) I usually amuse myself by rating the cuteness of each player, (there are some reallyreally adorable guys in sports, and there are some reallyreally homely ones, let me tell you,) or by drooling over the trim, perfectly kept grass in the playing field, (or whatever it's called. "Playing field" makes tons of sense to me,) or by painstakingly deciding which uniform is the most tasteful. (Hey, don't laugh. Choosing the most attractive uniform can be kinda tricky, 'cause sometimes I like the jersey of one team better, but prefer the helmets of the other. And this makes for a complicated situation, since I usually cheer for the team whose uniform I decide is the best.)
In other words, I don't care one iota about the game itself. Points, goals, fumbles, bumbles, passes, crashes - all those things mean zero. I don't even really know what the quarterback does in football.
But the other night, I found myself actually interested in the baseball game Lowell was watching. Yes, I know. Shocking.
Should I be asking myself some deep questions about this?
Should I be worried?
Excited?
Fulfilled?
None of the above?
Maybe aliens came and stole away a part of my inward being, replacing it with a part that actually tolerated a game of baseball.
Well, I would take more time to continue this soul searching, but I'm slightly hungry, and food is waaay better than anything remotely sports related.
Oh, wait.
I'm back.
In other words, I don't care one iota about the game itself. Points, goals, fumbles, bumbles, passes, crashes - all those things mean zero. I don't even really know what the quarterback does in football.
But the other night, I found myself actually interested in the baseball game Lowell was watching. Yes, I know. Shocking.
Should I be asking myself some deep questions about this?
Should I be worried?
Excited?
Fulfilled?
None of the above?
Maybe aliens came and stole away a part of my inward being, replacing it with a part that actually tolerated a game of baseball.
Well, I would take more time to continue this soul searching, but I'm slightly hungry, and food is waaay better than anything remotely sports related.
Oh, wait.
I'm back.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
taking the plunge.
Well.
These days are taken up by studying for the ACT and SAT. I'm taking online practice tests til my eyes water and call me bad names, I'm delving deep into unfathomable mines of geometry and algebra and science reasoning in a desperate effort to absorb a ridiculous amount of information in a ridiculously small amount of time, and I'm collaring every friend who's ever taken either of the tests and begging them to impart some of their wisdom to me. I'm looking into all my financial options for Ole Miss, and I'm filling out applications. I'm poking into dark corners to try and unearth helpful scholarship possibilities. I'm suddenly considering the possibility of taking college classes this coming semester and summer, instead of beginning next Fall.
Yeah. It's stressful.
And yet... dare I say it? It's also stimulating. Almost enjoyable at times. I feel as though my brain is stretching, expanding, and quite liking all the new tidbits, various facts, and such pouring in.
Then seven minutes later, said brain seems to be rejecting every single word I read and every equation I try to calculate, spitting them back out in a most unmannerly and unkind fashion. I retire from the field of mental battle conquered and tired, ready to throw in the trowel and say with all my heart that I nevereverever want to attend college anyway, if it takes all this just to get in the dang place. Will it really matter in the long run if I choose the easier, (at the moment,) path, and decide to never open a text book again or spend another moment worrying about the outcome of the ACT?
But I always pick up my shriveled brain, shake it, and tell it to get back to work or else. There are two reasons I am able to do this:
The first reason is that deep inside, I don't want to give this up. I don't want to give in to laziness and mental tiredness, because I DO want college.
You see, I want to be the best possible music teacher I can be.
I want to learn all the ins and outs of music theory. I want to be helped with my rather pitiful attempts at music composition. I want to write interesting essays, and be challenged and inspired to do better next time. I want to have breakfast at Bottle Tree Bakery before an early morning class, and I want to study on Rowan Oak's lawn with a thermos of tea and a pastry. I am beyond excited at the prospect of being in the University Orchestra, experiencing again the thrill of so many different instruments playing in harmony. I think student life will be fascinating, too, even though I do know there will be many, many days when I just want to crawl home and stay there. Forever. And ever. Days when I have glorious writer's block, when my non-existent math skills come out and ride roughshod over me, and when my fingers are clumsy and want to play every note except the right one.
But I still want college. I believe it's where God is leading me.
The second, and most important reason I am able to press on, is that my heavenly Father is taking care of all my needs and frustrations during this rather confusing time. He is faithful to meet with me in His word, to give me strength during the day, and to guide me as I make big, Grown-Up Decisions that I don't particularly want to be making.
So, the bottom line is, while there are indeed times when I would fly straight to Peter Pan's darling Neverland without a single moment's hesitation, I think that I, like Wendy, have ultimately decided that the business of Growing Up is not without its own particular charm.
It's bewildering, to be sure.
It's terribly responsible. (Although I admit I'm not embracing all the responsibility whole-heartedly. Maybe I will someday soon... and maybe I won't.)
And sometimes I'm a bit scared of it all.
But with my family's encouragement, (and especially the help and moral support of my dearest Mama,) my brain's figurative sweat, necessary attention to oft boring details, and above all, God's continued guidance and faithfulness, I'm realizing, bit by bit, that all children, save one, must grow up.
And this particular part of Growing Up that I'm experiencing right now? It's not as disagreeable as I thought it would be.
These days are taken up by studying for the ACT and SAT. I'm taking online practice tests til my eyes water and call me bad names, I'm delving deep into unfathomable mines of geometry and algebra and science reasoning in a desperate effort to absorb a ridiculous amount of information in a ridiculously small amount of time, and I'm collaring every friend who's ever taken either of the tests and begging them to impart some of their wisdom to me. I'm looking into all my financial options for Ole Miss, and I'm filling out applications. I'm poking into dark corners to try and unearth helpful scholarship possibilities. I'm suddenly considering the possibility of taking college classes this coming semester and summer, instead of beginning next Fall.
Yeah. It's stressful.
And yet... dare I say it? It's also stimulating. Almost enjoyable at times. I feel as though my brain is stretching, expanding, and quite liking all the new tidbits, various facts, and such pouring in.
Then seven minutes later, said brain seems to be rejecting every single word I read and every equation I try to calculate, spitting them back out in a most unmannerly and unkind fashion. I retire from the field of mental battle conquered and tired, ready to throw in the trowel and say with all my heart that I nevereverever want to attend college anyway, if it takes all this just to get in the dang place. Will it really matter in the long run if I choose the easier, (at the moment,) path, and decide to never open a text book again or spend another moment worrying about the outcome of the ACT?
But I always pick up my shriveled brain, shake it, and tell it to get back to work or else. There are two reasons I am able to do this:
The first reason is that deep inside, I don't want to give this up. I don't want to give in to laziness and mental tiredness, because I DO want college.
You see, I want to be the best possible music teacher I can be.
I want to learn all the ins and outs of music theory. I want to be helped with my rather pitiful attempts at music composition. I want to write interesting essays, and be challenged and inspired to do better next time. I want to have breakfast at Bottle Tree Bakery before an early morning class, and I want to study on Rowan Oak's lawn with a thermos of tea and a pastry. I am beyond excited at the prospect of being in the University Orchestra, experiencing again the thrill of so many different instruments playing in harmony. I think student life will be fascinating, too, even though I do know there will be many, many days when I just want to crawl home and stay there. Forever. And ever. Days when I have glorious writer's block, when my non-existent math skills come out and ride roughshod over me, and when my fingers are clumsy and want to play every note except the right one.
But I still want college. I believe it's where God is leading me.
The second, and most important reason I am able to press on, is that my heavenly Father is taking care of all my needs and frustrations during this rather confusing time. He is faithful to meet with me in His word, to give me strength during the day, and to guide me as I make big, Grown-Up Decisions that I don't particularly want to be making.
So, the bottom line is, while there are indeed times when I would fly straight to Peter Pan's darling Neverland without a single moment's hesitation, I think that I, like Wendy, have ultimately decided that the business of Growing Up is not without its own particular charm.
It's bewildering, to be sure.
It's terribly responsible. (Although I admit I'm not embracing all the responsibility whole-heartedly. Maybe I will someday soon... and maybe I won't.)
And sometimes I'm a bit scared of it all.
But with my family's encouragement, (and especially the help and moral support of my dearest Mama,) my brain's figurative sweat, necessary attention to oft boring details, and above all, God's continued guidance and faithfulness, I'm realizing, bit by bit, that all children, save one, must grow up.
And this particular part of Growing Up that I'm experiencing right now? It's not as disagreeable as I thought it would be.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
oh, the hard life we bug haters lead.
It hardly needs to be reiterated that I don't handle situations involving large bugs well.
At all.
Like, they totally freak me out and I want to run away and hide in a small hole in the ground for the next year. Wait, except that holes in the ground usually have bugs in them, so scratch that.
But I've been doing better this summer, I promise. I've killed lots of gigantic spiders and beetles and mosquitoes without the help of anyone else. (Yes, killing them myself counts as "doing better." I didn't say I was naming them all and keeping 'em as pets.)
However.
This afternoon, walking around outside, something caught the corner of my eye. Something long and grey and thick, crawling up my shirt.
I screamed, (and oh, baby, it was the Mammy of all screams; seriously, I don't remember when I've screamed that lustily ever before,) and slapped at the THING simultaneously, (because I've got some wicked awesome skills when it comes to making noise and killing bugs at the same time.) It fell off, completely bewildered and not a little stunned, I'm sure, and proved to be the biggest, nastiest looking Praying Mantis I have ever laid eyes on.
I think the unexpectedness of seeing an unknown foreign object climbing up my shirt, combined with the endless possibilities running at the speed of light through my mind of what evil creature it very well might could be, were what caused me to lose it so completely. 'Cause lose it completely I did.
And here's the best part. I screamed so loud and so hard that I could barely talk for the next hour. My throat was sore enough for me to gargle salt and lemon water, and let me tell you, it takes a really doggone sore throat for me to be reduced to those straits.
After I changed my shirt, (it had been contaminated by the bug's presence,) and vigorously washed my hands and feet, (because the nasty thing had the audacity to fall first on my foot after I wildly beat him off my shirt,) in hot, soapy water, I felt a little better.
The Praying Mantis? Well, I went and looked for him on the patio, to show mama just how massive and thick he was, but he was nowhere to be seen, and my guess is he was holed up in a corner somewhere, living up to his name by praying for his ruptured ear drums.
At all.
Like, they totally freak me out and I want to run away and hide in a small hole in the ground for the next year. Wait, except that holes in the ground usually have bugs in them, so scratch that.
But I've been doing better this summer, I promise. I've killed lots of gigantic spiders and beetles and mosquitoes without the help of anyone else. (Yes, killing them myself counts as "doing better." I didn't say I was naming them all and keeping 'em as pets.)
However.
This afternoon, walking around outside, something caught the corner of my eye. Something long and grey and thick, crawling up my shirt.
I screamed, (and oh, baby, it was the Mammy of all screams; seriously, I don't remember when I've screamed that lustily ever before,) and slapped at the THING simultaneously, (because I've got some wicked awesome skills when it comes to making noise and killing bugs at the same time.) It fell off, completely bewildered and not a little stunned, I'm sure, and proved to be the biggest, nastiest looking Praying Mantis I have ever laid eyes on.
I think the unexpectedness of seeing an unknown foreign object climbing up my shirt, combined with the endless possibilities running at the speed of light through my mind of what evil creature it very well might could be, were what caused me to lose it so completely. 'Cause lose it completely I did.
And here's the best part. I screamed so loud and so hard that I could barely talk for the next hour. My throat was sore enough for me to gargle salt and lemon water, and let me tell you, it takes a really doggone sore throat for me to be reduced to those straits.
After I changed my shirt, (it had been contaminated by the bug's presence,) and vigorously washed my hands and feet, (because the nasty thing had the audacity to fall first on my foot after I wildly beat him off my shirt,) in hot, soapy water, I felt a little better.
The Praying Mantis? Well, I went and looked for him on the patio, to show mama just how massive and thick he was, but he was nowhere to be seen, and my guess is he was holed up in a corner somewhere, living up to his name by praying for his ruptured ear drums.
Friday, September 3, 2010
a boy after my own heart
Lowell: "After you finish your bath, Isaiah, we'll watch some football."
Me: "Or we could watch a princess movie."
Lowell: (in a disdainful tone) "Isaiah, would you rather watch football or princesses?"
Isaiah: (without any hesitation) "Princesses!!"
Me: "Or we could watch a princess movie."
Lowell: (in a disdainful tone) "Isaiah, would you rather watch football or princesses?"
Isaiah: (without any hesitation) "Princesses!!"
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
a perfect hour
They're cutting the hay in our pasture, and every time I step outside, I'm inundated with the sweet, delightful smell of sun-kissed hay. It permeates every corner of our yard, wafted here and there by a gentle, pleasant breeze, and I went out to eat my lunch of lime infused, baked tilapia and hard boiled eggs on the picnic table.
The perfumed air danced around me, my book was an old favorite, my Jones Soda was icy cold, and it was difficult to decide which was more beautiful, the blue, happy sky above or the freshly cut hay below, lying greenish gold in neat rows.
In other words, I challenge any prince or king, millionaire or president, celebrity or ordinary person, to truthfully say they were happier and more content at that very moment than I.
The perfumed air danced around me, my book was an old favorite, my Jones Soda was icy cold, and it was difficult to decide which was more beautiful, the blue, happy sky above or the freshly cut hay below, lying greenish gold in neat rows.
In other words, I challenge any prince or king, millionaire or president, celebrity or ordinary person, to truthfully say they were happier and more content at that very moment than I.
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