JohnBlase

Y'all have fun. I've grabbed my skates and headed to Instagram. If you can navigate this space well, then my hats off to ya. But I've found it no country for old souls.

As I finished the final few pages where they smashed and broke Velutha-the-carpenter-Christ-figure, the church bells in Holland, MI rang out, and I found myself undone. Beautiful, simply beautiful. Dum dum (iykyk).

@JeanniePrinsen I am very sorry, Jeannie.

“Hmmm, I’m bored and horny. Think I’ll throw a tweet out there about leggings. Yeah, that’ll stir em up. Gosh I love Twitter,” he grinned to the mirror.

Jesus stayed in the tomb for 3 days, then said, "Enough!" That's a good standard for Easter leftovers—3 days, after that, enough. I pushed it to 5—today's lunch, trying to be a good steward in these times, blah, blah. But no, 3 days, no mas. Let it be written. Let it be done.

Unpopular opinion I know, but sometimes I think some people who want to help me unleash my creativity really just want my money.

@AmberBenson I do know that song. Love it.

I drove down to my Mom's house yesterday. She had a dr's appt, and I was the designated driver. I drove my Dad's old Silverado, the pickup I inherited after COVID thieved his life away, the same pickup my Dad and Mom went everywhere together in. But I drove her car to the dr's,

Lady and the tramp. Tramp got new frames today. We press on.

Buechner's: "Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid." That's the abundant life, my friends. Experiencing the abundance, all of it, the beautiful and the terrible and everything else in between, every damn stitch, right in the cardia. Amen.

then finally patted the dashboard, turned to me, and I helped her down. She squeezed my hand and said, "Thanks, kid." That one got me too, right in the cardia, as it should. I know I nod to this often, maybe too often. But I've found no better mantra for living than old Fred

@KrisP44 yep

Just read this in a book. “She worried her lip.” Does that sentence make sense to you?!? #reading #WritingCommunity #amwriting #writers #books

I've fallen in love with Arundhati Roy's The God of Small Things. I'm almost finished and I'm experiencing anticipatory grief. White men in their mid-50s being head-over-boots in love w/something other than themselves...I know, cray-zee.

I know the scriptural basis for the phrase, but I've always found "He is risen!" to ring strange, sorta formal, kinda angely. "He's alive!" has that grab ya by the shoulders, you're-never-gonna-freakin-believe-this breathless wild shuddery humanness to it.

Who didn't desert Jesus at the end? Who really killed Jesus? Is this a recipe for deviled eggs that'll bring you new life while you're idling on Easter Eve? I can only answer that last question w/authority. And it's yes.

Someday’s comin’.