I'm way behind on housekeeping matters.
That's just one side of the desk in my office. You should see the floor.
On second thought, no, you shouldn't see the floor.
But that's not the kind of housekeeping I'm talking about. I'm remiss in addressing some bloggy good news and kindnesses.
First of all, the Relay for Life. Thank you so much for everyone who contributed--I'm sad to say I ended up not going; that was the night before we put Teddy down. Very little else would have kept me away. But the Cure-Rageous Knitters, lead by Lisa, sailed through the night (and thanks to Lisa for making sure all the luminaries were named in my absence), winning an award for being a top fundraising team--we raised over $2500!
Woot! Boy, do I like attention. Thanks, ladies! And now I must pass on the good karma to five other bloggers.
First, in the category of "bloggers I love to read who really ought to blog a lot more often hint hint hint": Kelle and Lisa. C'mon, you guys, step up to the plate--Lisa is the aforementioned team leader who raised a righteous amount of money for the Relay, and Kelle--well, Kelle is simply a knitting goddess.
Next is Miss T. Miss T. brings an artistry and whimsy to her blog that makes it always a good place to drop by.
Then there's Cashmere Dreams. She made the Spike's Revenge sock yarn for the Buffy KAL. Need I say more?
Don't forget Lickety Knit. She has a wry sense of humor that I find very appealing. Gosh, who'd'a thunk.
So, go! Go blog! And spread the bloggy karmic goodness!
Finally, on a more serious note, I know I already said thanks for all the kind wishes about Teddy, but I found this poem that really speaks about the value of kindness. This is reprinted with permission from the publisher from the book Words Under the Words: Selected Poems by Naomi Shihab Nye (Far Corner Books, Portland, OR).
Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.
Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.