I hope that it is not codependent of me to say that I already miss him. I already miss his body next to mine in bed — close enough to touch, but far enough away in our king-sized bed for touching to be a matter of choice rather than necessity. I also miss that he will not be able to stay up until 2am before an important trip to fix my blog in Internet Explorer when it was perfectly fine in Firefox.

So this morning, well-rested, I drove, and ate my fourteenth McDonald’s breakfast in one month (is having a regular family order for the drive-thru an indication of nutritional abuse?). Dick could not find the airport if he were in a plane and it was lit up like a marching band. I said, “Don’t go,” in my cute little-girl voice and Dick just smiled.

He said, “Remember we can’t talk on the phone this time like we did last year.” Last year we were surprised by a huge bill for roaming charges even though national roaming, like long distance, is included on our Verizon plan. Apparently Vancouver is part of Canada, which is not actually part of the United States, but I think that’s just the phone company’s way of extorting more money. Along with not rolling over minutes and charging millions of dollars for calls originating at 8:59pm even though 99% of the call takes place after 9pm. Even if it’s 9pm in Vancouver, which is on Pacific Standard Time because Vancouver IS still along the Pacific Ocean, even if it turns out to not be part of the US of A.

Dick wondered if I remembered what our long conversations were about last year. Of course: he got lost driving from Vancouver to Seattle, because, as everyone knows, one has to cross an international border to do that. The only possible route is Highway 1, also known as Highway 99 in Canada (because in the metric system you number things from East to West), but it’s still really confusing because the signs are in Canadian English, so they say things like Turn Right, eh?

Dick remembered a different long conversation from last year. About my blog and something that wasn’t working right. Which hardly ever happens. I mean, computers always do exactly and only exactly what you tell them to do, right? And even if they did do something weird, what are the chances of my needing technical support right when Dick is supposed to go OUT OF THE COUNTRY? If he could just stay in the United States, I’m sure I wouldn’t need any help. And maybe Verizon would stop trying to convince us that Canada is not the 51st State.

—–

More MMSM

Tara wrote about her memories of BYU and what classes she would have taken if she had realized that what she would be spending her life doing isn’t exactly exhaustively covered in your basic liberal arts education. I remember when I first realized this — when we settled back in the US and I started to “stay-at-home” in earnest. Why did I think cooking/sewing/gardening/fix-it’ing were lamentably “vocational”?

Marianne at Writer-Mommy wrote about the bittersweet memories of her kids’ toddlerhood. Check out the picture of Mommy plus little girl plus baby. Is it just me or does the mommy look about 16 in that picture? Wish I looked that good AT 16! I love reading something where I think: I have felt that exact same thing, but this is expresses just so, so right. (Although, being still in the toddlerhood, I’m just assuming that one day I’ll miss it!). 

To join in the MMSM carnival, write on “memory” on your blog and follow these guidelines.

Do you know how many times you have to ‘generate’ for the random number generator to pick the number you want it to pick? Right, of course not. Why would you know something like that?

In other bloggy news, don’t forget the new, improved Makes-Me-Smile Monday is back in four days (Monday, May 5), on the topic of memory. Write on your blog, send me the url of your post (whataboutmom@gmail.com), and I’ll link to you in my post. Here’s an exerpt from Jane Austen’s Mansfield Park:

If any one faculty of our nature may be called more wonderful than the rest, I do think it is memory. There seems something more speakingly incomprehensible in the powers, the failures, the inequalities of memory, than in any other of our intelligences. The memory is sometimes so retentive, so serviceable, so obedient; at others, so bewildered and so weak; and at others again, so tyrannic, so beyond control! We are, to be sure, a miracle every way; but our powers of recollecting and of forgetting do seem peculiarly past finding out.

Oh, not for me. Dick and I fought like pole cats the first couple months of our marriage, ten years ago. We fought about the usual things: money, sex, how to spend our free time and who should be home cleaning the toilet on a fine Saturday morning. I said the “d” word once and Dick looked at me with hurt eyes; I hadn’t accepted that I could hurt him. But for him divorce was a real thing, because his parents were divorced. For me it meant “I’m really mad at you and right now I think not being married would just be simpler.” Neither of us has said that word, in relation to us, since that day.

But on Sunday, March 16th, 2008 at approximately 9:43 am, I found out that divorce can happen to anyone. It wasn’t me so I wasn’t hurt. It was someone I love, so I was mad. I wanted to pull newly-grown hair and smash Christmas ornaments and throw dinner on the floor.

In college you hear a lot about paradigm shifts. Adolescence could probably be characterized as that stage in a person’s life when (they think) they’re experiencing massive paradigm shifts between each class. My middle-aged humanities professor shocked me by saying that it had been a long time since he’d read a book that actually changed the way he thought about the world, and OH! How I pitied that man.

Threat of divorce has shifted my paradigm. It makes me feel rebellious. No one should have to turn herself into Clean House Barbie to keep her husband happy, or pretend to enjoy Jazz basketball or not to mind when the kids are not fed and in bed on the one night I go to the library after dinner. When I told Dick I felt like never cleaning again, he panicked, made me promise that I was just joking. Then I had surgery and had a medical excuse anyway.

I could probably turn into a model wife, for a week or so, at least. If I did, if I woke up and made lunches and saw him off with a kiss and a stack of French toast, and kept the house clean and kept up with our finances and never used the mean voice and picked up socks without asking, “Did you want these socks washed or were you going to wear them again tomorrow?” And if I made one of his five favorite dishes and had dinner on the already-set table and three happy, clean, and sweet-smelling children lined up to throw themselves at his legs at 5:52 pm. If I didn’t yell at them or let them hear me swear, would he love me more and think that I had lived up to the promise of my 30-pound lighter, not-stretch-marked, adoring, twenty-year-old bride-self?

Love me more: I don’t think so. Think I lived up to the promise better: probably. We did both promise to be our best selves. That’s not true. There was nothing in the actual sealing about setting goals or maintaining our figures or cleaning the toilets before doing fun things together on Saturday morning. Instead, though the LDS ceremony is slightly different, it including something about loving, honoring, cherishing. And while it didn’t say anything about in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, it did say forever, eternity. Which pretty much includes all the rest. And you usually think that the hard times would be the sickness and the worse and the poorer. But maybe those are the easy times — the times when you know you couldn’t possibly make it without your spouse at your side.

Without a man who will wipe your armpits with baby wipes when you can’t shower. Or laugh when your milk squirts him during an otherwise romantic, amorous moment. Or not even shout when you kill a laptop with your bare hands.

I didn’t really mean to write about what I don’t do to make my husband happy. And I meant to be humorous and light. Go read Marie’s Making Men Happy for a great, funny list of things men (at least the Ask.com men) want in a woman. And for proof that Google might be getting in touch with it’s feminine, nurturer side.

What I do try to do is: communicate to him that what he thinks and feels and does is important, significant, relevant. Make him know that he is the big tuna in my life, and always will be. That even though I wouldn’t actually rather get sick myself than see him sick, his health and comfort and life and happiness are vital to my own.

I would promise, like Tracy Lord in The Philadelphia Story, to always be yar. But I know I’ll use the mean voice again. I’ll get mad that he is Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout. I’ll wish at least one of us were independently wealthy. I’ll even, heaven forbid, swear in front of the children again. But with my paradigm forever shifted, I’m seeing the sickness and the worse and the poorer as opportunity to thank God for knowing better than I what was good for me.

____

I think this week (month?) has been hard for a lot of people. Hard to smile when terrible things happen. Loraine has a post, Still Trying to Smile After Sunday, that nigh unto broke my heart. I usually feel pretty darn callous. What do I care about someone I don’t know? But determination to find something, anything to smile about is irresistible. My favorite line? “Likewise, Mekare finally cleaned off the coffee table- wait, one of the kids already threw her hoodie on it.” That’s my life, in a nutshell.

____

To participate in the brave new world of the Makes-Me-Smile Monday carnival, write on today’s topic “How to keep your husband (or other loved one) happy” and then follow these guidelines.

____

Before you object, let me say that I believe that if anyone is in a relationship with an addict or abuser or adulterer or abandoner who is not 100% committed to changing and to the relationship, they should get out. Even (especially?) if you have kids and even if the abuse or abandonment is emotional rather than physical. Staying in a bad relationship on the strength of what once was is too Rose for Emily-ish. Get out.

One lucky winner will win a place on my sidebar for as long as your blog remains family-friendly, which I expect to be for life. We do have decency standards around here, but, depending on how funny you are, those standards aren’t too hard to meet.

If you don’t already have a button for your blog, I can make you a custom one from a graphic you send me or from what is already on your site. Oh, and if you’d like a scrolling box to display the html code for your button on your own sidebar (encouraging your own readers to display it), I’ll make you a scrolling code box. [Any html-ness I can lay claim to I owe to Dick and to those lovely ladies at Blogging Basics 101.]

For examples of buttons and to see what a scrolling html code box looks like, direct your attention to my striking sidebar. The MMSM button is an example of a button made from a graphic tweaked from a Picasso print. The Fortune Cookie Kit button I made from a photograph Shalece sent. The Daily Delight and June Cult buttons I made from graphics that were already on Tara’s and June’s sites, respectively. So, my sidebar: that’s where you could be. Just think of it: my many readers and unwitting-Google-searchers-who-land-here will see YOUR custom button winking out at them day and night. Honey, you can’t buy that kind of publicity. Well, you could, but, better to get it for free, right?

To qualify, I’d like you to help me get a head start on the next Makes-Me-Smile Monday Carnival on April 28th. The MMSM carnival is a different kind of carnival: no more Mr. Linky’s! Instead, if you follow the guidelines here, I’ll include a link to your post in my own MMSM post, with a short blurb about it. If you know your SEO (search engine optimization) and Google/Technorati stuff, links in actual posts are much more valuable than in Mr. Linky (not to disparage Mr. Linky; he’s certainly necessary for the million-link carnivals like the Bloggy Giveaway!).

This Monday’s topic was a request from Dick, who wants to see “tips on how to make your husband happy.” We’re totally not influenced by self-interest around here. And I don’t need any more sex tips, so I hope that doesn’t rule out the top five things that immediately sprang to your mind. The movie I thought of to go along with this is The Philadelphia Story. (or the more jazzy — literally — remake High Society). You don’t have to have seen either movie to write a post with great tips on how to keep a significant other happy, but it certainly wouldn’t be a bad use of a Saturday night.

But I digress. You should probably automatically qualify for the Powerball Lottery if you’ve actually read this far, but, getting back to the Free Publicity For Life For Your Blog (button, sidebar, scrolling box) contest, simply leave one tip on the making of a loved one (child/parent/friend/spouse) happy, and you’re entered. If thinking up a happy-making tip gets you thinking on a post you could write for the MMSM carnival, even better. But not necessary. (Well, not for this contest. For the betterment of mankind, maybe).

Comments Closed — Winner to be announced SOON.

And Toni is the WIN-NER! She gets TurboTax, Mother’s Day Loot, SEATTLE, a Fortune Cookie Kit!! Email me at whataboutmom@gmail.com, and I will ship you your fortune, today!

****

Breaking News on the MMSM Carnival!!

Since I am nothing if not flexible (mentally, anyway), the topic for next Monday (April 14th) is Melinda’s favorite movie, The Great Muppet Caper. I wanted to list some great quotes from the movie, but it was really hard to pick just a few.

If you haven’t seen it in awhile, I definitely recommend a re-view with — or without — the kiddies. In the meantime, here are some of my favorite quotes:

Miss Piggy: What am I? A glutton for punishment?

Nicky Holiday: Miss Piggy, you’re a very different-looking woman. I’m so tired of the same type. Those tall thin creatures with the long legs, the aquiline noses, the teeth like pearls, soft skin.
Miss Piggy: Yeah, well I can see where that might make you sick to your stomach.

[In a hot-air balloon]
Gonzo: I’d like to try this without a balloon.
Kermit: Try what? Plummeting?
Gonzo: Yeah.
Kermit: I suppose you could try it once.

Kermit: Quiet!
[all fall silent except Janice]
Janice: So I said, Look, Mother. It’s my life. OK. So if I want to live on a beach and walk around naked…” Oh.

Sometimes this caused pain, as when Dad compared me to a wasp (because of my sharp tongue, and no, dad, I still haven’t forgotten that, sorry!) or when he asked me if I were on speed (nope, just Mountain Dew, and sorry, haven’t forgotten that one either). Dad was also really candid about his own faults. I know things about my dad that I could really embarrass him with online, but I won’t. Because he knows things about me, too.

When I was 13 and wanting to go swimming during one of my first periods, I couldn’t get the tampon in. Muscles too tight, brain too anxious. There was no way that foreign object was going anywhere inside me. Mom said she could do it if I wanted. Well, that’s just gross. And weird. But I wanted to go swimming. And I trusted, I mean, really trusted, my mom.

I grew up knowing that, whatever else, my dad and mom would never tell me less than the truth. And they expected the truth and nothing but the truth back. Of course I still lied. I lied when I was afraid they just wouldn’t understand. Who could possibly understand? How shocked was I when my sheltered little parents not only understood, but still loved me, and wanted the world to be right for me? Now they, and I, want the world to be right for my sister, and for all of their progeny. That’s all we want, right? For the world to be RIGHT for those we love.

My parents did a lot of things right (and a few wrong, catch me on a less-reminiscing day, and I’ll TELL ALL), but one thing that imprinted on me to the point of inducing salivation at 6 pm sharp is family dinner. Dick used to tease me about my Pavlovian insistence on all five of us being at the table with food of some sort on our plates every. single. night. Basketball? School function? Church activity? Better eat fast.

Then Dick listened to an NPR Bryant Park Project podcast and learned that family dinner is associated with better early reading, even more so than parents’ reading to their kids. Suddenly family dinner is the cool thing to do. But it’s not just the fish sticks and broccoli, it’s the complex conversation, replete with explanations of words and storytelling.

The benefits of showing “genuine concern about each other’s daily activities” even extends to kids with asthma. They’re less likely to end up in the ER if they come from a family “reasonably intact and functional” enough to have family dinner with a side of conversation.

Now, I admit that sometimes I’ve only set my book down long enough to yell at Sally to set her book down. Then Dick says (he doesn’t yell, sigh) “I thought we weren’t going to read at the table anymore.” Sigh.

Then we watched Some Kind of Wonderful in anticipation of the MMSM carnival. And what do they do at least twice in that movie, at some length? They have a family meal. They talk. They hassle each other about school and Keith’s sister teases him about his hot date with Amanda Jones. Dad gets mad at Keith for calling him and Mom by their first names. Mom makes the effort for a solid, if boring, meal. And, for once in cinema-land, they actually sit around the table, instead of along one side of it. They’re a family.

When Keith withdraws all his college money and his dad finds out, there’s a lot of yelling — and the real “F” word, not just the “f” word we’ve banned at our house (fat). But the dad listens. He hears what his crazy, dumb 18-year-old son says. He’s right, Keith’s right. Dad understands, and Keith can finish growing up with his blessing.

As Watts says,

Yeah, well, in comparative terms, it’s probably better to have an old man nagging you about your future, than no old man, not nagging you about nothing.

—-

Link up to the MMSM carnival below! This week we have a giveaway for one lucky participant. I offered one of Shalece’s Fortune Cookie Kits at the UBP and that went well, so we’re excited to offer another one (Shalece is all-entreprenuerial that way). You can see what’s in the kits (and meet Shalece!) in the video at her site. Personalized fortune cookies make great party favors or special thank-you tokens or original surprise-springers (I’m pregnant! or I didn’t forget our anniversary!). You can even dip them in chocolate or just serve them as dessert for that special family dinner I know you’re planning.

So I am happy to bring you a giveaway this Monday as a bribe small token of my appreciation for your making the effort to brighten up the internet with thoughts on one of the best movies ever made. A movie that led to one of my proudest moments: As we watched Some Kind of Wonderful, yet again, my dad got sucked into it, and said, “Wow, this is a lot better than I thought it would be.” Thanks, Dad.

I am also hoping this movie choice will entice some lurkers (you know who you are) who I happen to know LOVE this movie, or at least did when we were young(er). And as the song goes, High School Never Ends (sorry, Melinda).

Some Kind of Wonderful has great characters, characters that might start out stereotypical (it is a John Hughes movie, after all), but who grow and change; the conflict is real and realistically (un)resolved. And the music, oh! But the best part is the dialogue. It sparkles! I think I could recite the entire movie. (I once had a friend who had Alice in Wonderland memorized; SKOW is like that, only better).

Two of my favorite exchanges are:

Keith: You can’t judge a book by its cover.
Watts: No, but you can tell how much it’s gonna cost.
Keith: Wow, I never knew you were so deep.
Watts: You want shallow, call Amanda Jones.

and

Ray: I know that if you wanted, you could be a girl [snaps fingers] like that.
Watts: Ray, this is 1987. Did you know a girl can be whatever she wants to be?
Ray: I know. My mom’s a plumber.
Watts: That explains a lot about you, Ray.

To qualify for the giveaway, put your thinking cap on (or at least your breathing cap) and figure out what you want to say about (pick ONE): judging by appearance, women in the workforce, maternal influence, identity, high school, John Hughes movies, Eric Stoltz/Mary Stuart Masterson/Lea Thompson, music of the 80s(!), or one of the biggest themes of the movie — socioeconomic class disparity in America. Or about what you did (or wished you’d done) to get detention.

Then link up to the carnival this Monday (or comment substantially, if you’re blogless), and you’ll be eligible for some sweet schwag. (I’ll describe the schwag in detail on Monday; this isn’t quite priceline, people).

]]> http://www.seagullfountain.com/2008/04/03/a-giveaway-a-giveaway-my-kingdom-for-a-giveaway/feed/ 4 http://www.seagullfountain.com/2008/03/30/makes-me-smile-monday-the-best-of-times/ http://www.seagullfountain.com/2008/03/30/makes-me-smile-monday-the-best-of-times/#comments Mon, 31 Mar 2008 06:41:03 +0000 Shannon http://www.seagullfountain.com/?p=830 I’ve been meaning to write this post since Christmas, when my mom asked Mary and me to write or say something to our 18-year-old sister Karen to reassure her that we do actually enjoy being mothers.

I have been a mother for two-thirds of my adult life, so it’s hard for me to even remember what it was like when I was just me. Often I long for that old self, or pine for the fantastic new self I will be once my days are filled only with those bodily functions and tantrums that are my own.

In the meantime, for the next 700 years or so, I get to be a mom, and I get to stay home with three of the cutest, stinkiest, smartest, dumbest, most guileless, most naughty girls in the whole world. Like you, my kids are WELL above average in both their triumphs and their catastrophes. I have no patience for people who think you can’t hate some parts of being a mother and still, overall, love being a mother.

I have a pretty long list of the things I love best and the things I hate most about my kids and about being a mother in general. For this post, I’ve limited myself to the best and worst of what I experience physically every day, or, in other words, my

Best of the senses and worst of the senses

Sound
Best – baby giggling or a child reading, however haltingly.
Worst – screeching pterodactyl impersonation, especially when you can’t escape it or fix it.

Sight
Best – sleeping kids.
Worst – anything involving poop.

Smell
Best – baby’s skin, which is to say Johnson’s Baby Lotion.
Worst – little girl panties that looked clean but WEREN’T.

Touch
Best – that plump, squishy, naked baby body.
Worst – snotty nose nuzzling my neck.

Taste
Best – cookies we’ve made together.
Worst – backwash in my drink.

And the best day ever would be a day without potty accidents, projectile vomiting, excess snot, runny poop that doesn’t know it’s place, or any other misbehaving excretions.

Why are moms so obsessed by what goes in and what comes out of their kids? Gross.

I hope this has convinced Karen that motherhood is the most holy, the most sacred of all endeavors in life and that she should rush to embrace it as soon as possible. Or, in other words, that she should marry carefully in about 10 years, and then start thinking about maybe having one or two kids, and start saving now for a mother’s helper.

——

I’ve entered this post in MamaBlogga’s Group Writing Project ‘Savoring the season.’ I wrote it for my MMSM carnival, but my best of times and worst of times fits the theme so well! Maybe it’s a spring thing?

——

I also hope you’ve thought of something that bests and worsts you. As Emerson said, consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds. To participate in the MMSM carnival, leave your link or comment below. Any questions? Check out the MMSM link at the top of the page.

Here’s the original quote from Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way . . .

I found a bunch of great women whom I would like to be friends with IRL, as long as In Real Life means I can read all about your exciting, Frump-less lives from the comfort of my dirty pajamas and the chair that Spot the dog my 18-month-old has been using as a rawhide bone.

(My mom came to our apartment yesterday and later took great pleasure in telling my dad and sisters how “busy” I am. You know, I used to clean frantically before family was coming over, especially my in-laws. Now? If the kids have been fed and are relatively the quiet, and I am on the computer? Dishes? Serious debris on the floor? Laundry? I don’t see ANY of it.)

(Also parenthetically, if by some strange, shocking confluence of events I missed your UBP comment, or have not been to your blog, please email me straightaway at Whataboutmom at gmail dot com, and I will rush to peruse and plight my comment troth. ((Don’t you hate it when people write their email addresses like that? What’s wrong with whataboutmom@gmail.com?))).

Next, I wanted to thank all those who have complimented me on my new header. I love it! Mostly because it is not actually ME in the header pictures. That would be my 18-year-old, size 2 sister, Karen, who is identical to how I would look if I were twelve years younger and 30 (40? 50?) pounds lighter and IF I could sew my own cool retro clothing. I’m afraid I’m more like Horton the Elephant, whom I have to say is looking mighty swingin’ up there.

The kids are mine and my sister’s (my other sister’s, whose fancy house this also is). Karen was a fantastic model, and Mary was a gracious host and photography consultant, and we had more fun than we have since Mary and I used to dress up ourselves and play Shipwreckt.

Oh, and Dick did the techie stuff to make it fit the theme’s banner thingie and all. Thanks, Dick. I owe you big — as soon as you put your laptop down and come to bed, I’ll show you just how grateful I am.

Finally, I wanted to shamelessly plug the Makes-Me-Smile Monday carnival. I know I’m not as cool as most (all?) other carnival hostess-es-ers, but I am . . . earnest? needy? dorky? Yes. So, please join me, by post on your own blog, or a comment here, tomorrow, Monday, March 31st, for the first re-installment of the MMSM carnival.

The “topic” is a quote from Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities. So you could write about London or Paris (because as far as I can remember from 7th grade, those are the two cities involved), or about any two other cities you like, or about orphans, or Madame Guillotine, or about any time or event or experience in your life that seemed to be at once the best and the worst. Hope to see you there!

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way . . .

I enjoy the Rocks in My Dryer WFMW carnival (which I shamelessly plundered for info on how to host mine), though sometimes it is overwhelming with how many links she gets. Other carnivals worth checking out include Tickle-Me Tuesday, Fight the Frump, and the Recipe Box Swap.

You can read past editions of the MMSM carnival here, though the Mr. Linkys are long gone as I have a minimalist account with them (and comments seem to be random too for some user error deep technological reason).

For this resurgence of the carnival, I’ve chosen some of my favorite quotes from books and movies as the “topics.” I really mean these as very broad starting points. You could write on anything that is sparked by thinking about the book or movie or by reading the quote or anything twice removed from that. And I would love to get your ideas for quotes or topics. Just email me at whataboutmom@gmail.com.

Click on the button to the left or the link in the header for more information, and here’s the tentative schedule. Hope to see you here next Monday!

March 31 from Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way . . .

April 7 from Some Kind of Wonderful

Keith: You can’t judge a book by its cover.
Watts: No, but you can tell how much it’s gonna cost you.
Keith Nelson: Wow, I never knew you were so deep.
Watts: You want shallow, call Amanda Jones.

April 14 from Jane Austen’s Mansfield Park

If any one faculty of our nature may be called more wonderful than the rest, I do think it is memory. There seems something more speakingly incomprehensible in the powers, the failures, the inequalities of memory, than in any other of our intelligences. The memory is sometimes so retentive, so serviceable, so obedient; at others, so bewildered and so weak; and at others again, so tyrannic, so beyond control! We are, to be sure, a miracle every way; but our powers of recollecting and of forgetting do seem peculiarly past finding out.

April 21 from House

Dr. Cameron: Men should grow up.
Dr. Gregory House: Yeah. And dogs should stop licking themselves. It’s not gonna happen.
or
Dr. Wilson: Beauty often seduces us on the road to truth.
Dr. Gregory House: And triteness kicks us in the nads.

April 28 from Thoreau’s Walden

However mean your life is, meet it and live it: do not shun it and call it hard names. Cultivate poverty like a garden herb, like sage. Do not trouble yourself much to get new things, whether clothes or friends. Things do not change, we change. Sell your clothes and keep your thoughts. God will see that you do want society.
or
The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.

May 5 from The Kingdom (very last lines)

Adam Leavitt: Fleury. Tell me what you whispered to Janet, in the briefing, to get her to stop crying about Fran, you know, before all this, before we even got airborne. What’d you say to her?
Aunt: Tell me, what did your grandfather whisper in your ear before he died?
Adam Leavitt: You remember?
Ronald Fleury: I told her we were gonna kill ‘em all.
15-Year-Old Granddaughter: Don’t fear them, my child. We are going to kill them all.