Feb
28
2007
Sweet!
What seems like forever ago, I wrote about finding a proper 10-pin bowling alley not too far from our MA house. Of course, that was a mere few months before starting my MLS degree, which left me spending time writing papers with the free wireless in my favorite coffee shop on Saturday mornings rather than at the bowling lanes, so I never got back into the game.
This past weekend, Hubby and I checked out the local alley, Sparetime Recreation (formerly known as Strike One), and I was thrilled to discover that it indeed is a 10-pin shop and not candlepin (I was actually informed that candlepin lanes in these parts are starting to disappear. Huh.). Even better, they’ve got a couple free slots for instruction coming up on Monday evenings, so I can get a much needed refresher, having not picked up a ball in ’bout 7 years. Sorry, knitting class, I’m gonna have to skip a few weeks while I tend to my bowling fix enough to feel confident in joining a league for the summer!
Feb
28
2007
When I imported my (very) old MT posts into my new installation of WP a few months ago, I discovered several draft posts I’d completely forgotten. In this case, I can’t even remember how I found the passage below, or what I was thinking about when I saved it as potential post-fodder. Rereading it now, though, I think it begs for a corresponding flickr stream. Sigh. Must find time to pick up the photography hobby, too, and finally put that dSLR to proper use…
First saved February 3, 2003:
May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view.
May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.
May your rivers flow without end, meandering through pastoral valleys tinkling with bells, past temples and castles and poets’ towers into a dark primeval forest where tigers belch and monkeys howl, through miasmal and mysterious swamps and down into a desert of red rock, blue mesas, domes and pinnacles and grottos of endless stone, and down again into a deep vast ancient unknown chasm where bars of sunlight blaze on profiled cliffs, where deer walk across the white sand beaches, where storms come and go as lightning clangs upon the high crags, where something strange and more beautiful and more full of wonder than your deepest dreams waits for you —-beyond that next turning of the canyon walls.
Edward Abbey 1928–1989
