A section on on rehab Erickson has this quote we could not live an Act without a world of distinct things. I started thinking about that, and about how my house is filled with things. I occasionally attempt to get rid of some of these things, either by selling them at the bookstore, recycling them, doing 18 them to Goodwill, or just throwing them out. I never seem to make a dent in it, however. As I read this line in a history of philosophy, I started thinking about how attached I am to things. One of the things that immediately occurred to me was the cross that I wear on a leather cord around my neck. A few weeks ago I noticed that it was missing and I looked everywhere for it. I felt pretty desperate, I actually. I remember emptying out the hamper and going through the pockets and of my pants and threw the shirts. I did this at least twice. I looked in my bed, in my car, on the floor of my bedroom, in the hall, in the washing machine, in the dryer, around the basement floor, everywhere. Again and again. I had really given up, and was feeling pretty depressed about it. In part, because it is the only thing that I still have that belonged to my grandfather. After he died, my mother took us over to his apartment to clean up, and she told us that we could take something to remember him by. I chose this cross. I am guessing that it actually belonged to my grandmother, who was heavily Catholic, as I don't remember pop being particularly religious. But it is very old, and aside from the religious significance, it meant a lot to me in terms of representing my relationship with my granddad. And I was thinking about how things do become imbued, suffused, with meaning. Not that the things in themselves have any intrinsic Worth, or meaning, but they become meaningful. One part of my mind can look at a thing, such as this cross, and see that it really isn't worth much of anything. It is not a symbol of anything. But the other part of my mind would desperately miss this thing if I were not able to recover it. Speaking of which, Hey section on on read Erickson has this quote we could not live and act without a world of distinct things. I started thinking about that, and about how my house is filled with things. I occasionally attempt to get rid of some of these things, either by selling them at the bookstore, recycling them, donating them to Goodwill, or just throwing them out. I never seen to make a dent in it, however. As I read this line in a history of philosophy, I started thinking about how attached I am to things. One of the things that immediately occurred to me was the cross that I wear on a leather record around my neck. A few weeks ago I noticed that it was missing and I looked everywhere for it. I felt pretty desperate, actually. I remember emptying out the hamper and going to the pockets end of my pants and threw the shirts. I did this at least twice. I looked in my bed, in my car, on the floor of my bedroom, in the hall, in the washing machine, in the dryer, around the basement floor, everywhere. Again and again. I had really given up, and was feeling pretty depressed about it. In Park, because it is the only thing that I still have that belonged to my grandfather. After he died, my mother took us over to his apartment to clean up, and she told us that we could take something to remember him by. I chose this cross. I am guessing that it actually belong to my grandmother, who was heavily Catholic, as I don't remember pop being particular religious. But it is very old, and aside from the religious significance, it meant a lot to me in terms of representing my relationship with my grandad. And I was thinking about how things do become in Butte, sis used, with meaning. Not that the things in themselves have any intrinsic worth, or meaning, but they become meaningful. One part of my mind can look at a thing, such as this cross, and see the it really isn't worth much of anything. It is not a symbol of anything. But the other part of my mind would desperately miss this thing if I were not able to recover it. Speaking of which, I got on my exercise bike one morning, look down, and there was Mike Ross on the floor. Apparently the not on the leather cord had come undone and it had slipped to the floor without me knowing it. I'm very surprised that my cat didn't make off with it. Anyway, things do become repository of our lives. Maybe we could not live in at without a world of distinct things because life flips through our fingers, but some small portion of that life is attached to the things we cherish. Bye the way, this was the first love and tree I have attempted to dictate. I haven't had a chance to prove free it, but I am going to put it up anyway. Just to fix the moment.
Okay. Just got home and looked at that post...oh, my. Dictating definitely changes the landscape a bit. But it's my first, so ahmo leave it there, but here's the Mo' Bettuh version:
A section of A History of Philosophy on Henri Bergson has this quote: "We could not live and act without a world of distinct things."
I started thinking about that, and about how my house is filled with things. I occasionally attempt to get rid of some of these things, either by selling them at the bookstore, recycling them, donating them to Goodwill, or just throwing them out. I never seem to make a dent in it, however.
As I read this line in A History of Philosophy, I started thinking about how attached I am to things. One of the things that immediately occurred to me was the cross that I wear on a leather cord around my neck.
A few weeks ago I noticed that it was missing and I looked everywhere for it. I felt pretty desperate, actually. I remember emptying out the hamper and going through the pockets of my pants and through the shirts. I did this at least twice. I looked in my bed, in my car, on the floor of my bedroom, in the hall, in the washing machine, in the dryer, around the basement floor, everywhere. Again and again. I had really given up, and was feeling pretty depressed about it. In part, because it is the only thing that I still have that belonged to my grandfather. After he died, my mother took us over to his apartment to clean up, and she told us that we could take something to remember him by. I chose this cross. I am guessing that it actually belonged to my grandmother, who was heavily Catholic, as I don't remember pop being particularly religious. But it is very old, and aside from the religious significance, it meant a lot to me in terms of representing my relationship with my granddad.
And I was thinking about how things do become imbued, suffused, with meaning. Not that the things in themselves have any intrinsic worth, or meaning, but they become meaningful. One part of my mind can look at a thing, such as this cross, and see that it really isn't worth much of anything. It is not a symbol of anything. But the other part of my mind would desperately miss this thing if I were not able to recover it.
Speaking of which, I got on my exercise bike one morning, looked down, and there was my cross on the floor. Apparently the knot on the leather cord had come undone and it had slipped to the floor without me knowing it. I'm very surprised that my cat didn't make off with it. Anyway, things do become repositories of our lives. Maybe we could not live in a world without distinct things because life slips through our fingers, but some small portion of that life is attached to the things we cherish. By the way, this was the first blog entry I have attempted to dictate. I haven't had a chance to proof read it, but I am going to put it up anyway. Just to fix the moment.
P.S. Well, obviously that penultimate sentence is no longer true. But there it is.
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