JOURNAL JOTTINGS

Random quotes written in my journal---they are the words of bloggers, friends, people whom I'll never know and whose words have touched a place in my heart, or caused a smile with their wit or their cleverness or their own heart-felt thoughts.



But motherhood is NOTHING like the card isle at Target AnitaO at Women's Colony


You all, I have just about decided after years of observation…there in not much ,a team, of determined men can’t do if they have backhoe. Gloria Christensen, of the Hinds County Gazette.

Everyone has their way of doing things...I listened to my heart with mine. Not what others told me. Dr. Spock was a great guide for many things..but otherwise..I raised mine by heart. My friend Mona, of Wspr Sweetly, on Raising Children

Strange how a teapot can represent at the same time the comforts of solitude and the pleasures of company. Unknown

I just took my camera in hand and walked around my yard, for there is where my simple beauty lies. Molly in her yard at sunrise. Read more: http://mollyscountrycolorshomeplace.blogspot.com/2010/04/finding-beauty-fridaylittle-wonders-and.html#ixzz0lvehSMQW


I cook big, so I need company to eat it all. Jeanne @ Backyard Neighbor

On her own Mother: You might root for her, but you wouldn’t post bail...too risky. Mrs. G., of The Women's Colony

And drivin’ out to Antoine’s, for the Sunday Eggs Sardou . . .line that will fit into a poem or a country song someday---scribbled down months ago by me.

When I make a sandwich, after I put the two halves together, I give it a little pat.
KEETHA of WriteKudzu

And from Stephen King, from The Shawshank Redemption, in one of the brightest spots in a grim-spotted movie, of prison and of gray and of the beating-down of the humanity within. Andy Dufresne, convicted of murders he did not commit, had been given the task of administering the prison library.

He took on the small, dim space, with its creaky book-cart of handworn, many-times-read books and its dusty corners, and by writing to organizations and pestering the state legislature with something like a letter-a-week requesting funding, he was sent boxes of used books and records.

On one particular day, the guard stepped out for a moment, and Andy took out a big old slick black record from its worn sleeve, set it on the turntable, started it playing, and turned on the intercom/public address system for the whole prison---house and yard.

The men elbow-deep in hot laundry suds stopped their labor; the kitchen cooks and the machine shop grease-monkeys and the floor-moppers and the guards all looked up in wonderment as those silvery notes floated out over the gray walls and bare-trodden yard, as if they were seeing the very angels in the air who voiced the melody.

And Red, who was Andy's best friend---a pragmatic old lifer played by Morgan Freeman (imagine that rich, honey-syrup voice narrating the words), says:

I have no idea to this day what those two Italian ladies were singing about. Truth is, I don't want to know. Some things are better left unsaid. I'd like to think they were singing about something so beautiful it can't be expressed in words, and it makes your heart ache because of it.

I tell you, those voices soared higher and farther than anybody in a grey place dares to dream. It was as if some beautiful bird had flapped into our drab little cage and made these walls dissolve away, and for the briefest of moments, every last man in Shawshank felt free.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lSzatzy8WvM