'500 days of summer' bench
Some of the best days come when sisters have absolutely impromptu visits to downtown LA.
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"The Curator seeks to encourage, promote, and uncover those artifacts of culture – those things which humans create – that inspire and embody truth, goodness, and beauty. We do this through considering and grappling with the zeitgeist."
Image: Art - Faith - Mystery
"Understandably, religion and art also need each other. When we lack the kind of stimulus which only the imagination can provide, we make it more difficult to live the life of faith. And art, when it sees no creation to celebrate, and no soul in need of nurturing, loses its respect for truth."
"The world does bad things to us all, and we do bad things to the world and to each other and maybe most of all to ourselves, but in that dazzle of bright water as the glittering whales hurled themselves into the sun, we saw that joy is what we belong to. Joy is home. God created us in joy and created us for joy, and in the long run, not all the darkness there is in the world and in ourselves can separate us finally from that joy, because whatever else it means to say that God created us in his image, it means that even when we cannot believe in him, even when we feel most spiritually bankrupt and deserted by him, his mark is deep within us.
We have God's joy in our blood."
Frederick Buechner, The Great Dance (emphasis mine)
>> – Brothers
We decided to spend an afternoon walking. My youngest brother, MA, and I left the house together with a happy labradoodle at our side. I carried a letter because our nominal goal was to take the letter to the post-office, but honestly, we just wanted the time and space that the calm summer day offered us.
We walked a couple blocks singing bits of songs, everything from Justin Bieber to The Sound of Music. Then we talked about everything under the sun.
"I know a girl who likes me."
"Oh really? I knew a boy who liked me."
"Oh," he said and kept on walking, then in the same semi-serious tone, "Do you think I should buy a slushie or a candy?"
After two miles, we reached the post-office, passed under coffee-colored walls, and stepped on all the uneven stones. We spent a couple minutes trying to understand how to get my letter into the rather menacing blue postal box. Postal boxes are not as intuitive as one would think. Not at all. We celebrated our victory with slushies and bionicos and sat down under a small patch of shade, waving at the passing traffic.
On the way back, we took frequent stops on helpful green benches, both for his sake and mine. We also stopped at every house that had a dog. One of the dogs we passed had such a loud, deep bark that we flattened our hands and held them out in front of us to catch the sound vibrations. The barks sent tingles through our fingers.
He slipped his hand into mine whenever we crossed streets. He immediately withdrew it once we reached the safe sidewalk, but that small, almost unconscious movement of trust made me treasure that walk, this memory, as something I hope to never forget.