Hey all:) I'm taking today and this weekend off. A very, VERY dear, sweet, and close friend of my family passed away this week. And we just got word that his wife's brother, (whom I love like a mother) died last night. So she is dealing with the death of her husband and her brother. Enjoy your weekend, my friends, and hold those you love close. You never know when they will be gone. I will return on Monday, and will have workshop classes every day next week.
I think the more I try and slow time down, the faster it goes! Why? Sometimes I wonder if there really is fruit in my effort? I mean, no matter how hard I try, like slowing time down, it just doesn't work. where's the benefits? Where's the proof? What do I have to show for my efforts? Then, I have to sit back and realize, maybe I'm trying to change the wrong things. I mean, seriously, I can't change time, slow it down. That's an impossible task, so why do I try so hard to stop it? To time back, or slow it down. It. Can't. Be. Done. When I concentrate on the impossible, I overlook the the possible. Flickr Creative Commons So, I have taken inventory of my life, my goals, and the things that matter. The things I *can* change and the things I *can* produce fruit for later use. I'm no longer going to worry about the things out of my reach. I'm no longer going to concern myself with things I can not change. I'm no longer going to devot
Hey beautiful guys and dolls! Here it is! My CP feedback edited story. Had a hard time with this, but I hope it makes sense. I've got a post I'm working on I plan to put up after Thanksgiving. Here ya go. Enjoy... Every morning I wake to carnival day. Today, though, I have my key. If I don’t use it before midnight, my way of escape will gone. It’s a silver key with a twisted metal handle, a sapphire stone half moon and engraved stars. There’s a tiny inscription on the moon, but it’s so small, I’ve never been able to read it.I’ve always kept mine in my jewelry box, but today, I string it on a ribbon and tie it around my neck. My two best friends will be wearing theirs, too, and I wonder how they will escape this carnival of dreams. “What’s it for?” Cress asks as we stand in line for the swings. I run my fingertips over the entire silver surface. “I don’t know. It belonged to my grandmother,” I say. “Whatever.” She shrugs her shoulder in a dismissive way. “Have