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My Favorite Nat

The older I get, the more I realize the incredible amount of inspiration I get from my own family. I’ve written before about my father, mother and older sister. And today is my younger sister’s birthday, so here is my greeting card to her.

To my favorite Nat,

You were born at a good time, even if you didn’t realize it then. Mom had lost a baby, and though I was very young, I was still old enough to sense the sadness that I imagine only comes from a miscarriage. And then you came to us, and we were all so glad.

For a family that speaks in two volumes, loud and louder, you seemed like the “quiet one.” But I suppose that’s not a fair label when you fall in line after your two sometimes-psycho older sisters. Now, I think you’re one of the funniest people I know. I admire your sensibility when it comes to conversation.

Typically, the oldest kid is a trailblazer of sorts, which Leah certainly was (thanks, by the way), but you are too, trying things and attempting feats no one in your family has. I think especially of when you wanted to be a lifeguard for the Town of Falmouth. You attended trials, diving to the bottom of a pool’s deep end to rescue a 200-pound (attractive) male. (If you don’t know my sister, she is approximately 2 feet tall and weighs 48 pounds.) And you did it; you became a lifeguard.

For someone like me, who tends to see the negative or jump to the worst conclusion, you are the perfect antidote. Thank you for teaching me to think and speak about the best of people, to give others the benefit of the doubt and to value fairness. I admire your efforts to be nice to everyone, no matter who they are or what they believe.

I’m thankful for your insight and advice, your sense of self and your grip on life (are you only 23?).

I love you, my favorite Nat.

P.S. I think you’re very glamorous and beautiful and also a great dancer.

P.S.S. Thanks for helping me see the light when it comes to cats.

Unusual

for me to blog posts of this nature, but today, I couldn’t help myself.

My friend is in labor right now about to give birth to a boy, so maybe that’s why I’m incensed more than usual at this no-appropriate-words-can-describe, you-know-what, so-called doctor in PA who is being accused of murder (rightly so) at the abortion of 7 late-term babies. A crime like this shatters political boundaries as both sides, pro-life and pro-choice, find this man and his actions deplorable.

However, besides being disgusted almost to the point of being physically ill, what angers me even more is the use of the term “viable.” Because the babies were “viable,” the murders are illegal. So, I’m assuming if the babies are not viable, the mother has the “right” to choose to end the pregnancy because the baby or fetus is 100% dependent on the mother and incapable of living on his or her own outside the womb. Know any infants, one-, two-, three-, etc. month-olds that are rocking life on their own? My sister has a three-month-old who, besides being able to breathe air on her own instead of in the womb, still depends 100% on her mother. Is the only difference here a layer of skin and the wall of the amniotic sac? A twist here, a bit of jargon there, and whammo, you have a so-called legitimate case for abortion.

Proud

as a peacock of my artistic friends who are so good at what they do but don’t flaunt it or act like they know it. They just do it and are good at it and enjoy it and you can tell! And I reap the benefits because I get to see firsthand what they think up and then make and I also have the privilege of knowing them for the really, really nice people they are on the inside (cue the music)!

Right now, one of my friends is working on her art show (complete with handmade-from-scratch [as in she designed the pattern too] font pillows, and another who is expecting a baby just designed her baby’s room. And another friend just entered The Sketchbook Project. Check out her blog for a preview! I looked at the book before she sent it off, and I almost stole it to keep for my very own.

Thankful.

I’ve been anticipating the events and emotions of the past few days to find their way to this blog. Since 6:45 a.m. Thursday, I haven’t stopped smiling; I received a short text message from my mother that said: 7 lbs 20 inches. Mama and baby healthy. Still in nursery getting cleaned up. Will call soon.

The Mama is my sister, Leah, and the baby is Evangeline Claire. And now, I’m a very thankful aunt.

– Evangeline, or Evie for short, is very healthy and very beautiful.

– Leah is a trooper and is fine. She had to have a c-section due to high blood pressure, but God kept her safe.

– Joe, who I always thought was the best brother-in-law anyway, kept us updated and then posted the most precious photo album on Facebook (I’ve looked at it almost 20 times; I can’t get enough.) Here’s one:

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Me: “I don’t really know what to say.”

Don’t say anything. Know Me. Trust Me. Find true joy in Me–I promise. Depend on Me for everything. Do not worry. Do not be afraid. I know you. I know what you need. I know how you feel. I made you-wonderfully, like I said. I knew you and loved you before anyone else did. Call Me Father. Call Me Provider. Call Me Love. I hate sin and evil because I love you. Don’t ever think I don’t know what’s best. Remember the Cross. Remember the Grave. Remember Jesus beat death. I want you.

{Overwhelmed.}

Silly but not.

It sort of looks silly. It sits on my desk, and I like to look at it and read that little saying on its base. It sat on my grandma’s desk FOR YEARS, and for that reason alone it’s not very silly to me. I wonder where or who it came from. It was probably inexpensive, but its sentimental value far exceeds how many pennies it cost. I wonder what sort of days my grandma had when she had a moment to sit at her desk and sort through bills, pen some fantastic note (my grandma had a way with words), or read Keat’s Poetical Works (a treasure I’ve since inherited). I wonder if she did anything at this desk or if it was more of a catch-all.  I wonder if she smiled just a bit from reading the little message that this funny little thing displayed.

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A Bicycle Built For ____________.

I don’t remember getting my first bike. But I do remember riding without training wheels the first time and feeling my heart swell with pride (not necessarily the bad kind, but more the I-can’t-believe-I-just-did-that-successfully kind that induces confidence). I also remember thinking this is probably the greatest and most significant accomplishment in my life up to that point, and I guess for a child it was. Unfortunately, I don’t remember exactly how old I was, and for you snarks, this WASN’T last week.

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“They believe the future of their industry may lie in the past.”

This is a shot from the Hamilton Wood Type Museum in Two Rivers, Wi. The museum and the history and art of printing using wood letterforms are featured front and center in a new film called Typeface. The film also explores the interests and efforts of modern-day graphic designers in bringing back the traditional printing press. I really enjoyed the film (and I’m not even a graphic designer).