Years ago I took the Myer-Briggs Personality Type test, which is based on Carl Jung’s Personality Types, and I got an INTP result.
I took the test again today, and voila! got INTP-A again, so I used another site with slightly different question wording, and got INTP-A once more… so I would say that at-least as far as this test is concerned, the results are pretty consistent.
I read the generic description of the INTP type: http://www.16personalities.com/intp-personality and found it to be fairly accurate, a little like looking into a personality mirror. I don’t really put a lot of stock in psychology in general, since so much of it is subjective and based on the flexible opinion of whoever is writing the book, and very little concrete logical analysis, but I have found the Myers-Briggs test fascinating, and I do have respect for Jung -much more than for Freud at-least. Jung seems more down-to-earth and more fascinating than his more well known colleague: Freud.
My heart goes out to the beautiful people of Paris, and the whole of France during this time of senseless violence and brutality. May the spirit of France remain undaunted.
Forget Me Not 1918
These pressed flowers were in a book I bought many years ago at a garage sale. I have kept the worm eaten book and these flowers for many years because they are special. I don’t know the story, I don’t know if this was a funeral bouquet for a fallen soldier, or an influenza victim, they may have been grown on the front and sent home to loved-ones, they may have nothing to do with the war: they might be a lovers bouquet, or just some flowers gathered in the springtime….
But I know that they have survived the years and were waiting for me to discover them. What years have passed into the dust of history, great men have risen through the ranks, to command despotic empires that have fallen crumbling into forgetfulness, and these small blooms have waited pressed between the mouldering leaves of a novel on a shelf.
Nations have risen in hope from the turmoil of revolution and then dissolved in chaos back again to rust and neglect, all while these little fragile spots of color waited for someone to notice them. What secrets could they tell us about the frailty of human lives and the short sharp pain of loss, if we would only listen? Someone picked these little springtime flowers and carefully tied them with string, and dated them. They pressed them between the pages of this book, and then time came swirling by and took all the meaning and memory away slowly and with gnawing blunt teeth.
No one knows now why they were picked and preserved, no one knows their story. What whispered lovers secrets were told in their presence? What fleeting kisses stolen on a secluded hillside awash with verdant springtime rainbows? These little flowers have a story to tell, but no lips to speak them with.
I will keep them so that they will outlive me, and their next discoverer can ponder the abyss of time also.
Éowyn is just turning 2 years old, and is full of energy already. She takes to things with no reservations or hesitation, she runs up and dives in with both feet. I see her doing this with things as simple as trying to get onto the recliner with me. She will run up with so much momentum, that she will bounce off and land on the floor. She wants to get up on my lap, but somehow the idea of coming up to me and then climbing up doesn’t occur to her. Watching her at the playground is a similar experience, she flies from the swings to the slides and back again. It is a workout just keeping up with her. I love to watch her have fun, she is such a little firefly darting here and there…
Its no wonder that we have nicknamed her: “TURBO”
I put a poem in the inside of every new moleskine I buy. I put this poem from Tennyson in the moleskine I used for the most chaotic, upsetting and exciting year of my life. (4-2014 to 3-2015)
An incredible number of things happened to me and my family during that time, and this poem has been on the back inside page of my moleskine journal the whole time. I have read this poem a hundred times if I have read it once.
Summer is finally here now.
My daughter Scarlette is 6, she is smart and observant, and sometimes the things she comes up with are really amazing. A few weeks ago she had a small splinter and after we removed it, we put a band-aid over the area, and Scarlette thought for a moment, and told me that she knew why band-aids worked.
I asked her to tell me why, and she said: “They work because they are like stickers”
At first I didnt realize what she meant, and then I remebered that when she was little we used to give her stickers whenever she bumped her head or scraped her knee or whatever. They were a placebo to take her mind off the pain, and so we would kiss the bump and give her a sticker to put on the sore spot. She remembered that, and deduced that band-aids were like stickers becuase stickers also worked and made her feel better.
That made me smile.