Tyr’s Day

Mary never thought of Friday or Monday as days of victory. Many thought of Monday as victory for the working man over the lazy man by staring their week over again. Many thought of Friday as the victory, because it meant the weekend was starting.

To her, neither day was a victory, because the start or end of something wasn’t really a victory so much as another point in the endless cycle of humanity; something she’d long grown used to.

No, to her, true victory were the days in the middle where you conytinued to trudge through all of your work no matter how heavy the load.

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Sit With Me

Please make sure there is enough room
Let me crawl up here too soon
And curl up no matter how big
Your lap is the perfect place to dance a jig

You know how toddlers love to play in your lap while you’re trying to work on something? Vincent, my dog (whose almost a year old now) also loves to do that when I’m trying to work on the computer even though he’s much too big to fit there anymore!

Well, with winter coming at least I’ll be extra warm. (laughs)

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Small Mercies

And shall run and not be weary, and shall walk and not faint. –Doctrine and Covenants 89:20

This is how my weekends feel.

Saturdays (and Fridays) are very much a flat our run most of the time where I must movemovemove and not be weary and Sunday I must walksoslowly and not faint.

It is a blessing to be able to do so.

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Weekend’s Aren’t For Relaxation

Race
Until
Nothing works anymore

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Music of the Heart – Thankful Thursday

In less than a week, it’s going to be my dad’s 70th birthday. Even with that coming up it hadn’t really occurred to me that he was getting up there in years, mostly because he was Dad and Dad wasn’t Old, he was just Dad.

(Logic, which normally works just fine for me, fails me now and then.)

Then Dad told me that he was retiring from the local symphony that he’s played his double horn with my entire life. And that’s when it really hit me. He’s been retired from his actual job for about five years now, but it’s the thought that he won’t be playing his horn anymore that really clues me in that he’s reached the twilight years. (Even though he’s a Grampa ten times over and has had knee surgery because he injured his knee playing with said grandchildren at a family picnic several years ago.)

When I asked him about why he was retiring from the syphony he said, “Martha, I can’t make it through a whole concert anymore and if I practice the day before a performance (which I have to do) I can’t perform at all.”

It had never occurred to me that this would become a problem for him because playing his horn has been such an integral part of who he is to me for my entire life that the though of him retiring it is like getting smacked in the face with a two by four.

He is plying in public one last time, this Sunday at his ward and I am grateful that I got the chance to find out about it before it happened so that I could make it to see. We’ve tried to go to his concerts in the past with varying defgrees of success, but for this last one, I hope all of my seven siblings (and I made sure we all knew) can make it.

For my soul delighteth in the song of the heart; yea, the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me, and it shall be answered with a blessing upon their heads. –D&C 25:12

Check out the original Thankful Thursday.

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(*Face-Paws*) – One-Liner Wednesday

“Martha, don’t do that, you’re being an idiot.”


My last cat, Tommy, had about 50 different Looks that he’d give me that were all a variation of this and he was usually right. He was far more patient with me than Usako is.

Check out the original One-liner Wednesday.

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Snap

He was so tired of running. So very tired.

It wasn’t like he’d had a choice in the matter.

(There’s always a choice.)

Neal didn’t slump against the wall, but he dearly wished he could. He only had a moment to rest before he had to start moving again.

(He just wanted to rest.)

Why should he have to run?

Why couldn’t they just understand?

(Why couldn’t he go home?)

(You can’t always go home.)

(He should have remembered that.)

Behind him, a twig snapped.

 

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