Since children have entered the picture, we haven’t ventured to Playhouse Square as much, but on a near-weekly basis, I sing through some Les Mis to warm up the voice on the car ride in before the chanting ensues on Sunday mornings. Part of the reason, I’m sure, is the entire storyline emerges from different pivotal moments in the history of France, a country I still hold dear because of my beloved high school French teacher. Another is all these entrancing songs that stick with me in the car and beyond.
If only the world could be filled with the same joy and excitement and thrill over a child seeing the first trace of snow…what a world it could be. Granted, the first trace a couple days ago seemed to be rather miniscule in comparison to the seemingly doomsday prediction of the anticipated amount, but minor detail. The children don’t know about the intricacies of weather patterns and freeze points and lake effects. They don’t have to worry about ice-scrapers and shovels and salt and defrosts and brakes and other drivers on the road. They just see the result of natural science on the ground, and they’re overcome with joy and excitement and a thrill not just over the sight but of the potential play-filled possibilities…as long as their parental figures cave in. If only the world could even be slightly filled with that nearly holy combination…what a world it would be.
I recently saw this image of Los Flamencos National Reserve in Chile. And as someone who doesn’t necessarily excel in my own home country’s geography, let alone the world’s, I had to dive into a bit of research:
As we approach this All Saints celebration weekend, when we typically focus on those who have died since the previous year’s All Saints weekend, sometimes it’s helpful to consider those who have gone even before. To consider the impact still being felt by them, even years and years since their earthly departure. And so, over the years I do my best to keep in mind Mrs. Lee.
Growing up on the more rural end of things, my siblings and I would have to go into town for the trick-or-treating festivities, or to participate in the parade in hopes of winning cash and/or candy prizes to satisfy our gadget or rotting-our-teeth craving. Except, what I remember more now is being at my babysitter’s house, when I believe I reached the whole too “cool” stage to go trick-or-treating anymore. Instead, I would help hand out candy to the complete strangers coming to her house.
