This gives 3617 = 2.9x1026 unique cards to be issued.
Note than this is 400 million times the age ofthe Earth.
My own mother wanted to be a writer, still wants to be one. She has not published a book yet. Occasionally people will tell me I am ambitious or productive or unusually driven, as though my accomplishments were my own. But I know that at every moment I am standing on her shoulders. I am, moreover, achingly aware of what this has cost her.
We worry. A gallery of contributors count the ways.
She raised me alone. When I first wanted to go to a boarding school, my grandmother chastened her—“It’s cruel to let the girl look at those catalogs when you could never afford to send her.” But send me she did, and paid for four years of college, and supported me again and again as I tried and failed and tried to have a career as a writer. I have lost count of how many times I have moved back into her house. I am living there now with my husband and children!
best ideas about Personal statements on Pinterest Graduation
Thank you for this!
Beautiful beautiful writing.
Gives me so much to reflect on. Sometimes I believe I am lazy because I can’t make amazing things or anything happen with my scrambled brain in the little bit of time that my 8 mo old son is sleeping.
Our work is unappreciated, unseen, exhausting, sops our essence from us.
Damn our culture.
We need more help.
Image titled End an Essay Step
It was actually shocking to me, as each piece of this unfolded, how closely you were describing my own experience. The reflection is so much needed just right now, I can’t begin to tell you. Thank you for this insightful, necessary, affirming piece of writing. Thank you.
Thank you very much! Will try my very best!
I put my notebooks on a shelf when my triplet burdens of motherhood, mortgage and man were all I could juggle. Years later, when I wondered who I was, I picked up the creative pen again. I started with poems I could scribble out after work and the dinner was done and the babies were in bed. When they got so they could get the bus home I wrote short stories and after I left my marriage the words tumbled out freely in all the spare time not looking after a man brings forth. Pressing pause on my career released me from five day a week marathons and bought me Wednesdays – a break in the middle to write up a storm or a typhoon or a haiku. I have hard won my freedom to create. My daughters conspire with me to make it so for all of us. One paints and stidies and does all our cleaning. The other studies and writes and cooks for us. We’ve stepped out of the cycle with our education and set our sites on wanting less stuff and taking more time.