I recently had the pleasure of exploring The Old Florida Book Shop. It's one of those places that I am simultaneously excited to have found yet embarrassed that I had no idea of its existence. It was a significant drive from our home base of operations, so we made a weekend of it. That weekend tuned into a delightful experience for our entire family. We'll get to some natural beauty as well, but first, the titular thought of the post.
What looked from the outside like a simple store front, opened up into this magical, slightly dusty place:
As I perused the shelves, I spied a little book with an odd title. It was called I Saw Esau: The School Child's Pocket Book, which was originally published in 1947. The content within it caters to a demographic of childhood that our children have outgrown, but it's title so captured me that I picked it up and bought it, along with a few other titles. Here I am giving the cashier my money.
The book is full of familiar -and not so familiar- children's rhymes. I thought I might keep it for babysitting, future grandchildren, or maybe even gift it to someone for a child's birthday. When I read the foreword, I knew it was a keeper, and not a giver away. This quote at the very end of the introduction struck me as words to remember:
We find we are born, so we might as well stay and do as well as we can, and while we are here we can at least enjoy the absurdities of humankind.
Iona Opie, from the introduction of I Saw Esau
Now to be fair, I am certain Iona Opie, who died at the ripe old age of 94 in 2017, would be shocked to learn that even she had not witnessed the levels of human absurdity that we've experienced in the 6 years since she died. Nevertheless, this tiny bit of wisdom is worth contemplation when we are tempted to despair at the depth -or peak?- of human absurdity.
Besides the absolute sublimity of an old book shop, there was also the transcendent beauty of creation as displayed in the Florida Everglades National Park. The best way to appreciate its beauty is by air boat, so that's exactly what we did! The Everglades were often referred to as the "river of grass", but I couldn't help but think as we rode through, that it could just as easily have been given the moniker, "river of glass" as the reflection of the sky onto the water is crystal clear:
Alligator sightings are not particularly exciting to anyone who has lived in Florida as long as we have, but seeing them in the Everglades adds a layer of interest:
This grass with the purple blooms is certainly pretty, but it's called sawgrass for a reason, so don't grab a hold of it unless you know the right direction to hold it. Otherwise, you will need a lot of stitches:
Remember, while we're here, we may as well do as well as we can, and even laugh a little at some of the absurdities of humanity.
Oh yeah, and go outside. The fresh air'll do ya good.
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