People disappear when they die. Their voices, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living mempry of them ceases. This is both dreadful and natural. Yet for some there is an exception to this annihilation. For in the books they write they continut to exist. We can rediscover them. Their humour, their tone of voice, their moods. Through the written word they can anger you or make you happy. They can comfort you. They can perplex you. They can alter you. All this, even though they are dead. Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic.
--Diane Setterfield
Thursday, December 18, 2008
I won an award at work for being the Team Oriented Preformer... and family is coming into town this weekend. I'll post about it someday.
I talked to Scott but forgot to send an email. We need to figure out what we are doing for Christmas. Dinner/lunch, at my house on the 25th. What details? Email me if I get distracted again before I get to my inbox.
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I talked to Scott but forgot to send an email. We need to figure out what we are doing for Christmas. Dinner/lunch, at my house on the 25th. What details? Email me if I get distracted again before I get to my inbox.
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