Printed in 1935

Quote

Last week I was sidetracked by a good cause. Rescuing old books from an uncertain future is a precarious habit given the current state of my bookshelves. There is something about a book, the feel of the pages, the slight imprint of the words, the smell, the binding that all converge into a prized possession even without me having read a word.

 

The Intent is what matters, not perfection.

Sounds easy, doesn’t it? The Universe keeps sending me this sound bite and today I found myself writing it to another but the message was equally (if not more so) meant for me. I am a perfectionist. If I were to give thought to the reason why it boils down to a simple sauce of belief and a need to finish with the gold star firmly planted on my chest. Perfection to me is equated with the words: a polished finish. One cannot reproduce a higher standard and really who wouldn’t like that? Yet my need for coloring inside the lines and having that perfectly straight handheld scissor cut are rooted in a dislike of chaos. (Ironic and fitting considering much of my life has Continue Reading →

Poetry in Motion

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Beauty in Motion