In lieu of trying to belong to any number of societies: Chesterton, Sherlock Holmes, the Inklings, and so on: I propose and establish one of my own. Don your intelligence cap at the door; dust off your logic and imagination; did you bring your inspiration and encouragement? We are shapers, my friends; lit lamps; light-bringers. Bring quotes; poetry should be uplifting and thoughtful, or witty and clever, (or both). Humor is encouraged; laughter is invited back. Pull up a chair. Anyone for tea?

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Season of Light

Lectio 365 was so good today! Do give a listen if you have the chance. It spanned topics from Advent to Art, and was riddled with quotes I wanted to write down:
 
"Let me make the songs of a nation, and I care not who makes the laws." - Andrew Fletcher
"Art is theft" - Pablo Picasso
"Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal; bad poets deface what they take, and good poets make it into something better, or at least something different. The good poet welds his theft into a whole of feeling which is unique, utterly different from that from which it was torn." - T.S. Eliot
"May the favour of the Lord our God rest on us; establish the work of our hands for us - yes, establish the work of our hands." - Psalm 90:17
 
"Lord, in this busy season please help me to be still. I am opening my ears now to hear You, quietly preparing my heart for the wonder of Your coming at Christmas." - Lectio 365

 
Today I made something between chocolate dipped pretzels and what is fondly known as Christmas Crack. This one is just gluten free pretzels, pistachios, and chocolate, but it is delicious.
These are some of the lights I drove by last night, taking in this Season of Light.
Being the last night of the Feast of Lights, I lit my menorah one last time, this time all lights ablaze.
I sorted festive outfits for different days of the festive days ahead, and finished wrapping my gifts. I only have a few more odds and ends: a secret santa gift, one that's coming in the mail, and two I'm shipping Out in the mail...
My hands are inky all that wrapping. "I love the smell of book ink in the morning!"
But tonight I am tired, and so must sign off. After I make myself a pancake? I'm starved. Did I eat supper? What is life? It is clearly time for bed. 'Night loves, 'til tomorrow

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