Monday, July 7, 2008

The easily perceptible linear thread through our lives causes a basic misunderstanding when we tend to give the same weight to years, months, and days. The briefest moments can have an explosive power that overwhelms the time around them including what preceded them.
Jim Harrison True North

Some mornings I wake to the feeling that I am fleeing the scene of a crime. I know I am guilty and repentance is not an issue.
But the guilt can't amount to much if it can be easily dispersed by a cup of tea and some toast with cherry jam.


Randal Graves said...

Oh, memory, why must you make us bleed?

Look at it this way, at least you didn't kill anyone. And if you did, we won't tell.

Mary Ellen said...

Wait...okjimm killed somebody? Can I hire you? ;-)

Don't feel guilty, leave that to the Catholics.

DivaJood said...

Oh, goody, so when I become first Diva President, a campaign that Randal is managing, then okjimm will have a Cabinet Post as the Secretary of Da Fence.

Distributorcap said...

do the crime, do the time
eat the jam.......

Anonymous said...

I take a break from blogging and this happens?!

susan said...

Why is is that 5 seconds spent looking at an angry face seems longer than the same time spent looking at a happy one? I think I'll just close my eyes and enjoy my tea.

okjimm said...

Randal, ME....I didn't kill anyone...just a few brain cells. I do need to be careful, though, I think I am running out of spare ones. is VERY good home-made jam. Have a great time on your trip....I am extremely jealous!

FOT, ya, this time off of blogging stuff.....gotta've had enough time off. are SO mellow!

Mary Ellen said...

okjimm- Mmmm...homemade jam. I think I'll forgo my usual yogurt and coffee for breakfast this morning and toast myself an English muffin and have a little jam with it. Except my jam is not homemade. Maybe if I would spend less time blogging, I can make my own jam, haven't done that in years.

Anajo said...

Reminds me of a Robert Burns' poem:

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain;
The best-laid schemes o' mice an 'men
Gang aft agley,
An'lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me
The present only toucheth thee:
But, Och! I backward cast my e'e.
On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!

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