Clump #268: Pick up (at last) Christmas cards; day twenty-six of National Blog Posing Month.
The saga of our 2014 Christmas card printing continued with another little glitch. We left off when the machine at Target was out of order. When I returned, the word JOY on the top of the cards did not look the way it did in the computer mock-up. My comment, silly as it sounds, was, “The Joy is cut off.” The gentleman at the counter told me to put the flash drive back in the machine and start over again. We both looked at the computer screen and the way the card was supposed to look, with a little bit of space around the word. He started the order over again … and the cards came out, again, with “the Joy cut off.”
I heard a song today by a group called Lucius with the refrain, “She’s looking through the wrong end of the telescope/ Turn it around, turn it around.” Instead of feeling put-upon for a little imperfection, I changed my perspective. First, I’m pretty sure I got twice the number of cards I ordered … for free, and second, maybe the Joy isn’t cut off, but overflowing the page.
It was a day for inspiring song lyrics. In an email from a local bookstore, this Leonard Cohen lyric spoke to my condition:
Ring the bells that still can ring,
Forget your perfect offering,
There’s a crack in everything.
That’s how the light gets in.
Wishing you a Thanksgiving with Joy and Light overflowing. And if it is not, I hope you might “turn it around, turn it around.”
I am thankful for you and your support of Clump A Day!
Clump #92: Writing addresses on Christmas cards, part two.
Every year my mom would set up a card table for what seemed like forever, writing a personal note to each in a long list of Christmas card recipients. I’m not that dedicated. We print up a newsletter, but I still feel the need to put pen to paper.
Today is the 150th anniversary of the Gettysburg address. I found this article, on the website The Daily Beast, written by Martin P. Johnson, author of Writing the Gettysburg Address. Sobering was the mention of funerals for over 3,000 soldiers.
Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate — we can not consecrate — we can not hallow — this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract.
The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us — that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion — that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain — that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom — and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.
— Abraham Lincoln
Nov. 19, 1863
272 words; two and a half minutes from start to finish.