The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion: Vol. 7

by Beth Brower

“Emma, I can’t imagine God giving you an acquaintance He did not mean for me to make use of. Please, close your mouth. Let us all pretend you’re not as dreadful as we know you to be.”

Anger!!!!!

There is no contentment like that of sitting at one’s window, reading a book, with the sounds of birdcall and the promise of spring.

Father had meant to take me, but there is never time for what one plans to do, only what one does.

I’ve placed it above my bookshelf. It feels right.

So she now has a picture of 2/3. Creepy or sweet?

“Is that not a good deal of extra work?” “What should that matter?” he said as if slamming his words against the table. “We have an opportunity to create order from chaos. One book, one year. Simple. Elegant. Certainly it’s extra work! Fine things, fine ideas, fine people, require work! This entire age is indulgent and selfish and shortsighted, complaining that easy things are not as easy as they’d like.” He lifted a hand before him, half shake of a fist, half artistic passion. “If you want quality, you must work for it. You wake and you strive and you make decisions to sacrifice. An easy life will never bring the kind of satisfaction the soul craves. I despise people who lounge all day as if there weren’t more important ideas than comfort, complacency, and appetite. Stretch yourself! Be industrious! Do something!”

“Hmmm. Tread with care, dearest. As for your parents, they lost all say by abandoning us to my mother years ago. If they roll over in their graves, they can thank us for the exercise.”

A question came to mind. “Have you ever kissed anyone before, Mary?” “Albert Charles from Stoicism. It was rushed and in the school barn.” “You kissed Albert Charles!” “It inspired no confidence in the practice.” “Ha! Never fear, Mary. There are better practitioners than Albert Charles.”