The other morning as I was waking up (that early morning time-- the "time between times" -- is often my best contemplation time), I was thinking about a particular short book I'd read years ago.
The story is called "The Great Stone Face" by Nathaniel Hawthorne, and awhile back I found an illustrated, abridged form of it at a bookstore. I thought it would be a perfect story to read to Strider someday, so I went ahead and bought it. And I know I bought it -- but I've never been able to find it since! I think I "stuck" it somewhere to make sure I would find it at the right time to give it to him... and years later it still has not surfaced. It's been very perplexing to me -- not to mention frustrating because I truly love the story.
Anyway, the story is fascinating on several levels... and if you haven't read it, you can here: http://www.eldritchpress.org/nh/gsf.
Here's a quick example of a quote I love from it:
How I want to age like this! (Well, all except the scattered gray hairs and the wrinkles. And the furrows.) In the last week I've heard several people talk about anti-aging, and how to "stay young"... but isn't this a wonderful contrast? And I'm thankful for my grandparents who are living examples of this.
But back to the main point of the story...
The thing that has stuck with me the most is the idea that you become like what you are looking at. (That's a weird sentence.. and probably grammatically incorrect?)
Interesting truth, isn't it? And sobering. In those early morning moments I started to think again about what it is I'm "looking at." (besides the insides of my eyelids) What will I become like? And what will my children become like? For Strider I fear he may start to look more and more like a football. I'm going to have to keep my eye on him -- if he starts to grow laces or get brown and leathery, we're going to have to make some serious changes.
The story is called "The Great Stone Face" by Nathaniel Hawthorne, and awhile back I found an illustrated, abridged form of it at a bookstore. I thought it would be a perfect story to read to Strider someday, so I went ahead and bought it. And I know I bought it -- but I've never been able to find it since! I think I "stuck" it somewhere to make sure I would find it at the right time to give it to him... and years later it still has not surfaced. It's been very perplexing to me -- not to mention frustrating because I truly love the story.
Anyway, the story is fascinating on several levels... and if you haven't read it, you can here: http://www.eldritchpress.org/nh/gsf.
Here's a quick example of a quote I love from it:
The years hurried onward, treading in their haste on one another's heels. And
now they began to bring white hairs, and scatter them over the head of Ernest;
they made reverend wrinkles across his forehead, and furrows in his cheeks. He
was an aged man. But not in vain had he grown old: more than the white hairs on
his head were the sage thoughts in his mind; his wrinkles and furrows were
inscriptions that Time had graved, and in which he had written legends of wisdom
that had been tested by the tenor of a life.
How I want to age like this! (Well, all except the scattered gray hairs and the wrinkles. And the furrows.) In the last week I've heard several people talk about anti-aging, and how to "stay young"... but isn't this a wonderful contrast? And I'm thankful for my grandparents who are living examples of this.
But back to the main point of the story...
The thing that has stuck with me the most is the idea that you become like what you are looking at. (That's a weird sentence.. and probably grammatically incorrect?)
Interesting truth, isn't it? And sobering. In those early morning moments I started to think again about what it is I'm "looking at." (besides the insides of my eyelids) What will I become like? And what will my children become like? For Strider I fear he may start to look more and more like a football. I'm going to have to keep my eye on him -- if he starts to grow laces or get brown and leathery, we're going to have to make some serious changes.
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