Last night I watched quite a bit of Dawn of Humanity on PBS. There came scenes of a person crawling through a cave tunnel so tight the body could barely squeeze along. I took some slow deep breaths to calm myself when the adrenalin began to kick in, but soon realized I couldn’t take it. I got up and went into the kitchen till the deep-cave moments were over.
I was migrainey and Scott was in even worse shape, between his neck (he has driven down to Regina twice already to see the only chiropractor who has been able to make a difference, and will be going again) and a cold and a gusher of a nose bleed, so we didn’t have the energy to get out the door to attend a family function in town. He was in bed by nine and I fell asleep on the couch not long after. Hope you had a fabulous time, Howard and Sharon, and Happy Anniversary!
A friend shared an anecdote about buying a colouring book for her mom and, before the gift was given, hearing her mother say “Staying within the lines, no thanks! Colouring books are not for me.”
I have come to the conclusion that being forced (if one was; one isn’t, of course) to colour inside the lines could be akin to being forced, while creating, to stay within certain other parameters; for instance, when you’re writing a poem or a haiku. The form of syllable or rhyme imposes a discipline that helps distill meaning into a powerful, pithy essence. Limitations have their positive uses.