We recently had a huge coffee table debate. Our old, really rustic cool coffee table from our previous home had disappeared . . . probably in the move.
Well, they went and did it again. They made us spring forward.
Seems like only yesterday we were falling back, doesn’t it? In reality, it was four months ago. We now spend only four months a year on Standard Time. (Is it just me, or does that completely upend the meaning of “standard”?) Yes, my friends, Daylight Savings Time is steadily expanding – creeping like kudzu right under our noses – and we’re just letting it happen. Some people even like it.
Congratulations to all my Episcopal, Catholic, Lutheran and many Protestant friends and family. You are one week in with only a little over five to go. It won’t be long, Livi, until you can cover everything back up again with ketchup so you have no idea what you’re eating anyway. Margot, it’s only a matter of time before you can start pulling the white things out of your onion rings and eat only the fried crispy goodness again.
Last week, when Pat Conroy stood up to present an award to Andie MacDowell at the 9th Annual Beaufort International Film Festival, he said, “As the first thing you’re seeing after watching a video montage of Andie MacDowell’s career, I have never felt uglier in my life.”
The audience howled – it was classic Conroy – but something he said later struck a serious note with me. Speaking of movie stars, he said (and I paraphrase), “The ancient Greeks were not the only ones who needed gods and goddesses. People have always needed them, since the beginning of human history, and we still do.”
“Go to your bosom; knock there, and ask what your heart doth know.” – William Shakespeare
I don’t know about y’all, but I love to read a great love story. Real, imagined, immortalized, tragic, you name it, and I will immerse myself in one at any given time, especially if it involves a warm bath and a good pinot.
So, there’s a discussion thread on my Facebook page that, as of this moment, has been alive and kicking for seven days. The subject? Clint Eastwood’s controversial, Oscar-nominated film American Sniper. The pro-Sniper folks are hanging tough, while the anti-Sniper contingent is also holding its own. I bowed out of the conversation days ago, and frankly, I’m starting to wish the others would “take it outside.” But what’s a gracious hostess to do? I started it. I invited them in, so it seems impolite to kick them out. Still, seven days?