Missing Lynx

Do you know what a multi-colored crayon is? It’s the most fascinating contraption. I found one lying around today, but it was broken. So I brought it to Owen and together we tried to figure out how it worked. It’s a funny little thing, with a very simple design really. It took us a while to figure out the parts. There was a spring, different colored crayons, some sliding mechanism to slide the crayon of choice down, and some other tiny parts to make the entire thing work.

I think we spent a good thirty minutes just figuring out how it was supposed to work. But when it was time for Owen to go, there was one missing piece.

I was about to toss it as a “beyond repair” thing, but I found the missing piece. It’s this circular button that completes the “multi-colored crayon” and makes it work. I finished the repair, and I wrote a note to whoever owns it. Probably the kids, or probably my sister. Either way, notes are fun things to give, even more fun to receive.

This anecdote is nothing special really, but it was out of the ordinary enough to motivate me to document it as one of the sweet moments of the day. Because of the pen, I learned about auto-white balance, the use of aperture settings and shutter speed settings.

Right now, my neighbor is singing his lungs out on a videoke machine. This is one prime example of how one person’s happiness can be the annoyance of others. Somehow, I think there should be some sort of sound proofing law to videoke machines.

I remember about 6 months ago, I promised to treat out my mother to Peking Garden. Well, promise completed. Today, for mother’s day, we did exactly that. Of course it was pricey, but we rarely spend anything for our mother that I think this is all well worth it.

She lit up at each bite of Peking duck and said, “This is my favorite!”

(She says this for all things she likes.)

Happy mother’s day to everyone!

To people who litter cigarette ends, cigarette cartons, or cigarette wrappers, grow up and be polite enough to clean your own mess; no one is going to pick up after you. Smoking already generates air pollution, so at least do us all this one favor and minimize the land pollution.

What I miss.

(via taled)

(via iammigmig)

Source: TheSimpleDollar.com

maureenjohnsonbooks:

Many of you may have seen the articles today about the awesome fourteen year-old who took a petition to Seventeen Magazine requesting that they do one non Photoshopped spread a month. Seventeen, to their credit, heard her out. They ultimately turned her down.

Now, Seventeen Magazine can do…

Today, I was feeling down. So down in fact, that I asked my boyfriend to call me up and help me figure what was wrong. I was so down, that he felt down too. I was sick with the sad disease, and it was infectious. We talked about it in an objective manner. We called out our inner psychologist and counselor, but still my sadness would not go away.

Then our conversation turned a different route. Instead of trying to explain away the sadness, he started recalling things that made me happy. He reminded me of the surprises he had given me, the help he was willing to give, the hoops he would jump just to get to me. So instead of sadness, I felt happier. But there was still something missing. And I could not find out what.

Finally, before we called it a night and put down the phone, I asked him to play a little game with me. We had to make a poem. Four lines each. And there must be rhymes! (The world is better with rhymes). And this is what I came up with:

Owen, my love

You are like a Dove

and by that I meant the soap

I want to hold you like a rope

He mentioned the last line was subject to various interpretations. I told him that it meant I wouldn’t let go of him if I were hanging onto him for dear life. To which he replied, “Please make sense” amidst his giggles and laughs. Then he showed me up with his impromptu poem.

Rikka, isa kang mahika

ika’y parang talang

walang maikukumpara

Okay, I can’t remember the exact words, but it did sound like that. I told him he was cheating. That was only three lines. He said it was four. (Rikka counts as one line.) Shortly after that, the sadness just faded away. Drowned by the laughter and conquered by a smile. I can remember what I was sad about, but I have a new reason to be happy. And it’s not a particularly good reason. Perhaps it’s just a reason that doesn’t make sense.

The cure to sadness isn’t always found in the sensible things. Sometimes, you just have to try to stop making sense, and let go.

(Source: sabbatarian-hunter, via migoholic)