Tales of My Shirts

"We join the story in 1942, a critical year for Britain, with British Generals slaving away at their autobiographies." - The Goon Show, "Tales of Men's Shirts"

So yesterday was FHE with the siblings (and Lilia, who has no siblings, the lucky little squirrel), and we had set up our camp chairs on the grass above the breakwall on Hyrum Lake. The water has actually receded so you can barely see it from the breakwall, but we were looking for shade. It was a breathtaking day, and the leaves up in the canyons were changing. You should have been there.
 
We all chatted about our personal nonsense for a long while, as we do, when I mentioned that I'm writing a memoir. Immediately, the entire family erupted in derisive laughter. Michael piped up, "a memoir of what, sitting around doing nothing?" Even Judith, who isn't usually as obtuse as her older siblings, looked at me in consternation, "You're just writing it for yourself, right?"

*laughs* 

*sighs* 

All that time, doing absolutely nothing. Letting life slip past like clouds over the valley, casting shadows that move nothing, touch nothing, change nothing. The bliss of total stillness.
Some days, I really, really wish my life were exactly what they think it already is.

Even innocent little Lilia saw it, waving mournfully and calling, "Goodbye, sad donut."

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