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May 22, 2007



That is so telling to me that you did not even expect the cup to be full. Clean and perfect. Untouched, unblemished. It means that all is right with the world. Or at least it appears that way…on the surface.
I used to cut out bits and pieces from catalogs, ordering up a life for me that was so unreal and unattainable. I wanted to be that perfectly coiffed woman smiling out from her perfect home where nothing very bad could ever happen.
I’m trying to discern just what it is that you think you have in common with your mother.


Actually I didn't want things to be perfect. I never thought it was possible.

It's like Plato's Forms. A concept is only perfect in your mind.

I didn't feel comfortable expecting anything or wanting anything. So I savored the idea. I appreciated that it may exist in a dream world or for other people, but not for me.

What did I have in common with my mother? A desire for a home, perhaps.
But even moreso finding ways not to desire a home. Not to desire anything. Imagining it was enough.


It's ironic that through the eyes of a child, a mobile home is such a perfect, fantastic place, where to many adults mobile homes are laden with the trailer-trash stereotypes.


This was a beautiful read. Thank you.


Just here. Thinking about the half-full or half-empty, and what it says about us. Your glass didn't want to be filled anyway; at least it had that posture, so it could never be disappointed. A while back I posted a quote about that, that ended, "I'm just happy to have a glass." That is true of me. Always so grateful for just the minimum; a crumb. That's not always a good way to be; sometimes, but not always.


When I think about what you say you have in common with your mom, I think of being dreamers. Dreaming about what could be, how nice it would be. But I see in your comment that it isn't exactly how you interpret it. While you were never envisioning yourself or your family inside the mobile home, do you think that your mom might have been? Or was she doing it just to win you over?


I think I could learn a lot from you. This was beautiful.


I see why Susie named you as a thinking blogger. This was so touching and sweet. Your life seems like it was sad, but you've found beauty in it. I always love to see your pictures and I should come over to read much more often.

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