Textual Revolution

"To read between the lines was easier than to follow the text.” - Henry James




I dragged my sick daughter out for approval on my ball gown (ha! my ball gown!) She managed to keep the conversation going with me while casting her eyes at the text messages she was receiving.

Yeah, she's rude. It's a good thing she is cute.

"What's it say? Share with me!" I'd have tried to just covertly peek, but my eyesight isn't what it used to be.

"Oh, my friend is mad at me." She explained a lot of what sounded like, "Nyah, nyah."

I felt a Mother/Daughter talk coming on. . . I explained how I'd had "friendships" where I felt as though I was always apologizing or explaining myself. What a drag! A friendship should be uplifting for both parties, not a constant game of imagined slights and clipped remarks. A friend should like you as you are. . .not pick you apart for what you aren't. And, while a friend should be honest with you up front, that friend shouldn't talk badly about you behind your back!

"But all my friends are like that!" she argued.

I gave her "the look."

"Then maybe you need to get some new friends. . ."

"Mom!"

"No? Okay, I guess that understanding comes with maturity. You could always just ignore them when that crap starts. Eventually, you'll grow out of playing the games. You just have to hope that they do too."

"Yeah, I know."

She returned her attention to the texting.

Wouldn't it be nice if you could just impart your motherly wisdom intravenously? I thought. Ah, but then it wouldn't be as much fun.

Maybe I should just send her a text message with everything she needs to know. Perhaps a little Kipling this morning?? It would kill my thumbs to text this, let's just hope she reads the blog today!

"If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise. . .

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it. . ."

Go get 'em, girl. I love you!