A couple weeks ago, our dear friend TJ graciously gave up his Saturday morning to take pictures of us and the girls [tiny, black Pom = Grady, who belongs to Whitney; adorable half-Pit = Autumn, who belongs to Jacklyn] in Piedmont. We wandered around [mostly in our heels] and made funny faces.
Here are some of our favorites. [More to come later.]
This column was originally posted on The Rumpus.net on February 10th, 2011. A line in this column also serves as the title of Cheryl Strayed‘s [Dear Sugar] collection of columns published this summer [Tiny Beautiful Things]. The whole book is wonderful, but there’s a reason this column in particular provides the title and closes the collection. It is presented below without comment [For now, at least. And without any intended copyright infringement — we <3 The Rumpus and Cheryl A LOT.], because it’s brilliant and gorgeous and important, and we want to spread its wealth and wisdom to everyone we know.
Enjoy. [You might want to grab a tissue.]
Excuse me while I go skinny jean, chunky glasses, I-knew-about-X-before-it-was-cool hipster on your ass for a second.
I’ve been using Twitter since 2007 [in fact, I’m user #7,015,052] — before it became mainstream, commercials had their own hashtags and people’s pets had accounts. The service immediately became deeply connected to my life in a way that I never dreamed an online service could. So, ‘natch, I’m a bit protective of it. That said, I find myself stuck between the past and future, wanting to keep things as they are but also wanting to see Twitter grow and become something greater. It seems that Twitter might be feeling the same way [wtf dudes?], but that’s neither here nor there.
Yeah. We’re the girls quoting The Fray. Guilty. But I [Hey y’all, Jack here.] saw this somewhere last week [Twitter, probably], and I felt compelled to write it down. It’s been sitting next to my computer since. And then this morning, it made more sense.
Then I shared it with Whit, and it resonated with her too.
What follows are the immediate reactions [read: word vomit] to realizing why this lyric impacted us both so sharply.
I finished my fruit fast on Wednesday, and I won’t lie — that oatmeal and coffee tasted a-maz-ing on Thursday morning. Technically, I broke the fast a little early on Wednesday, when I had two basil martinis [herbs are just a step away from fruits, right?], but I still refrained from eating, so I think it’s fine. [Pro tip: When one of your directors invites you to happy hour, always say yes.]
I only lost two pounds this time, which is less than normal, but I found this fast less daunting than previous ones. I rarely wanted to cave and was generally satisfied consuming [lots of] fruit. But while this fast included fewer physical challenges, I stumbled upon more and deeper mental and emotional realizations than normal.
I’m looking for a real southern gentleman living somewhere in Atlanta [preferably ITP].
Requirements:
You know what manners are and you know how to use them. You’ll race me to open doors and pull out my chair [or my mother’s, if she is with us]. You respond to others with “yes ma’am” and “yes sir,” no matter their age or whether you know them. After all, it’s a sign of respect. You will always offer to help, whether it’s carrying my groceries, running an errand or walking the dog.
You don’t make empty promises and you always follow through. You realize that every conversation means something, and you do your best to remember what we talk about and file the important pieces away for later. You call when you say you will. You’re predictable when it matters and spontaneous when it’s appropriate.
Photo by TJ Reynolds.
