Whittling

The thing about whittling is that you end up with something smaller than you started with, and, in it's smaller state, something that you wanted. The unnecessary parts lay on the ground around you and are soon discarded like so much garbage. As the pieces are swept up they flip over and over and we see all that they once had to offer; sometimes they still have much to offer but are whittled away simply because life is finite and whims are not. I'm still whittling, but some of the recent trimmings did not "go gentle into that goodnight."

Sometimes the idea of loss is more significant than the loss itself; admitting that I can't do everything I would like because my life will end before my imagination does, is hard to take because I enjoyed the days of thinking that I was invincible.

On the flip side, there's hummus. Hummus is a wonderful treat that I only recently became aware of. It stands to reason that there are other things like hummus just waiting to be discovered; embrace all things humussee and, "rage, rage against the dying of the light."