Little pleasures
I have today, Monday and Tuesday off work to take care of some personal issues. I woke early today, very early, with much on my mind and sleep fluttering away from me. Its all right. I have learned its better to just go ahead and get up if I awaken an hour or so early, than to try to get back to sleep.
I begin to get sentimental at this time of year. I love having the excuse to look adoringly at my friends and family in my mind, to begin counting the ways that I adore them, thinking of ways to spoil them and just letting my heart fill up. I love to get out old movies that I adore, old books, the stories that bring to mind people no longer here, times that have changed, patterns that have brought us to where we are and habits and customs that could bear some revival. Little Women, Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility. Tales of femininity and strength, gentility and yet great, driving passions. Stories that touch the woman in me and make me happy to be one, that remind me of gentler times when a glimpse of a woman's ankle was as erotic then as a bit of cleavage is now, when being a woman was no less powerful and perhaps even more cunning and subtle due to the overt restrictions put upon us. Times that seemed truthfully not at all long ago in the years of my childhood on my grandparent's farm, learning the graces and expectatons of ladies versus men that still had flavors of the 1800s from when that huge old house was built. Family pictures from the turn of the century, from the years of the Great Depression, the awareness of lineage and tradition passed down one story at a time. Faces that resemble mine here and there, souls I never knew and who died long before I was born. I wish I knew more than just their faces and the basic outlines of their lives, their travels, their heritage. Who did they love. What did they suffer. What did they triumph. What made them happy. The sister that looked so delicate versus the sister solid, like me, whose face was happier though her beauty seems less. I wonder about them. And thus wonder....who may one day wonder....about me?
I begin to get sentimental at this time of year. I love having the excuse to look adoringly at my friends and family in my mind, to begin counting the ways that I adore them, thinking of ways to spoil them and just letting my heart fill up. I love to get out old movies that I adore, old books, the stories that bring to mind people no longer here, times that have changed, patterns that have brought us to where we are and habits and customs that could bear some revival. Little Women, Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility. Tales of femininity and strength, gentility and yet great, driving passions. Stories that touch the woman in me and make me happy to be one, that remind me of gentler times when a glimpse of a woman's ankle was as erotic then as a bit of cleavage is now, when being a woman was no less powerful and perhaps even more cunning and subtle due to the overt restrictions put upon us. Times that seemed truthfully not at all long ago in the years of my childhood on my grandparent's farm, learning the graces and expectatons of ladies versus men that still had flavors of the 1800s from when that huge old house was built. Family pictures from the turn of the century, from the years of the Great Depression, the awareness of lineage and tradition passed down one story at a time. Faces that resemble mine here and there, souls I never knew and who died long before I was born. I wish I knew more than just their faces and the basic outlines of their lives, their travels, their heritage. Who did they love. What did they suffer. What did they triumph. What made them happy. The sister that looked so delicate versus the sister solid, like me, whose face was happier though her beauty seems less. I wonder about them. And thus wonder....who may one day wonder....about me?
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