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Personal blog of christian
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(No Title)I've been thinking about a snapshot that exists somewhere, somewhere, not only in the recesses of my childhood memories, but also in the even deeper recesses of a forgotten dresser drawer or a long abandoned cardboard box. In the picture, the child is all of three years old, with clear blue eyes and wispy auburn hair, rather frail and lost looking in an enormous upholstered chair. Her legs stick straight out in front of her, unbending, the soles of her tiny feet pointing at the photographer as if to say "Hey, look at me!" She is the only child that day at her grandparent's lake house, and her grandpa is capturing the moment. Beside her on the chair is an enormous cooky tin filled with old buttons and beads, glistening treasures to the small girl's imagination. Even though they were of little value then, in the fifties, collectors would clamor for them now. As much as she is thrilled by reaching into the tin to choose her next favorite button, her greatest pleasure comes from the huge length of them she methodically strings together and displays, out in front of her, like a winding road to somewhere, somewhere. "I learned that you should feel when writing, not like Lord Byron on a mountain top, but like a child stringing beads in kindergarten--happy, absorbed and quietly putting one bead on after another." Brenda Ueland I've been thinking about that snapshot, and remembering why she smiles.
Posted by Katy on 01/15/02 at 04:08 PM
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