Choose.

"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"

"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat.

"I don't much care where -" said Alice.

"Then it doesn't matter which way you go," said the Cat.

"- so long as I get SOMEWHERE," Alice added as an explanation.

"Oh, you're sure to do that," said the Cat, "if you only walk long enough.”

Lewis Carroll, from Alice in Wonderland

If you mishandle a firearm, you could hurt yourself.  How are the expectations of any smart device different?

The word "addiction" comes from the Latin addicere, meaning to give over, to sacrifice, or devote.   

If you're struggling with devices, don't give yourself, your choices, and your precious time over to them.  It's not the device's fault. 

Choose to be more and more curious.  Choose not to click the ad, choose not to become a statistic in the algorithm, choose to put it down.

Choose to live a life astounded by the unexpected.

Thank.

Dear child,

Please to fancy, if you can, that you are reading a real letter, from a real friend whom you have seen, and whose voice you can seem to yourself to hear wishing you, as I do now with all my heart, a happy Easter.

Do you know that delicious dreamy feeling when one first wakes on a summer morning, with the twitter of birds in the air, and the fresh breeze coming in at the open window – when, lying lazily with eyes half-shut, one sees as in a dream green boughs waving, or water rippling in a golden light? It is a pleasure very near to sadness, bringing tears to one’s eyes like a beautiful picture or poem. And is not that a Mother’s gentle hand that undraws your curtains, and a Mother’s sweet voice that summons you to rise? To rise and forget, in the bright sunlight, the ugly dreams that frightened you so when all was dark – to rise and enjoy another happy day, first kneeling to thank that unseen Friend, who sends you the beautiful sun?

Are these strange words from a writer of such tales as "Alice"? And is this a strange letter to find in a book of nonsense? It may be so. Some perhaps may blame me for thus mixing together things grave and gay; others may smile and think it odd that any one should speak of solemn things at all, except in church and on Sunday: but I think – nay, I am sure – that some children will read this gently and lovingly, and in the spirit of which I have written it.

For I do not believe God means us thus to divide life into two halves – to wear a grave face on Sunday, and to think it out-of-place to even so much as mention Him on a week-day. Do you think He cares to see only kneeling figures, and to hear only tones of prayer – and that He does not also love to see the lambs leaping in the sunlight, and to hear the merry voices of the children, as they roll among the hay? Surely their innocent laughter is as sweet in His ears as the grandest anthem that ever rolled up from the ‘dim religious light’ of some solemn cathedral?

And if I have written anything to add to those stories of innocent and healthy amusement that are laid up in books for the children I love so well, it is surely something I may hope to look back upon without shame and sorrow (as how much of life must then be recalled!) when my turn comes to walk through the valley of shadows.

This Easter sun will rise on you, dear child, feeling your ‘life in every limb’, and eager to rush out into the fresh morning air – and many an Easter-day will come and go, before it finds you feeble and gray-headed, creeping wearily out to bask once more in the sunlight – but it is good, even now, to think sometimes of that great morning when the ‘Sun of Righteousness shall arise with healing in his wings’.

Surely your gladness need not be less for the thought that you will one day see a brighter dawn than this – when lovelier sights will meet your eyes than any waving trees or rippling waters – when angel-hands shall undraw your curtains, and sweeter tones than ever loving Mother breathed shall wake you to a new and glorious day – and when all the sadness, and the sin, that darkened life on this little earth, shall be forgotten like the dreams of a night that is past!

Your affectionate friend,

Lewis Carroll

Easter, 1876

John Renbourn, "The Hermit"

Clive Carroll performs ...

Curious.

I almost wish I hadn’t gone down the rabbit hole – and yet – and yet – it’s rather curious, you know, this sort of life!

Lewis Carroll, from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

Crowned.

Snicker-Snack.

Perfect.

He had bought a large map representing the sea,⠀

Without the least vestige of land:⠀

And the crew were much pleased when they found it to be⠀

A map they could all understand.⠀

“What’s the good of Mercator’s North Poles and Equators,⠀

Tropics, Zones, and Meridian Lines?“⠀

So the Bellman would cry: and the crew would reply⠀

“They are merely conventional signs!⠀

“Other maps are such shapes, with their islands and capes!⠀

But we’ve got our brave Captain to thank:⠀

(So the crew would protest) “that he’s bought us the best–⠀

A perfect and absolute blank!"⠀

Lewis Carroll, from The Hunting of The Snark

Happy Birthday, Carroll

Lewis Carroll was born in this date in 1832.

"I could tell you my adventures—beginning from this morning,” said Alice a little timidly; “but it’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then."

Lewis Carroll, from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass

Down.

'Tis summer ...

Twined.

All in the golden afternoon

Full leisurely we glide;

For both our oars, with little skill,

By little arms are plied,

While little hands make vain pretense

Our wanderings to guide.

Ah, cruel Three! In such an hour,

Beneath such dreamy weather,

To beg a tale of breath too weak

To stir the tiniest feather!

Yet what can one poor voice avail

Against three tongues together?

Imperious Prima flashes forth

Her edict to "begin it"--

In gentler tones Secunda hopes

"There will be nonsense in it"--

While Tertia interrupts the tale

Not more than once a minute.

Anon, to sudden silence won,

In fancy they pursue

The dream-child moving through a land

Of wonders wild and new,

In friendly chat with bird or beast--

And half believe it true.

And ever, as the story drained

The wells of fancy dry,

And faintly strove that weary one

To put the subject by,

"The rest next time"--"It is next time!"

The happy voices cry.

Thus grew the tale of Wonderland:

Thus slowly, one by one,

Its quaint events were hammered out--

And now the tale is done,

And home we steer, a merry crew,

Beneath the setting sun.

Alice! a childish story take,

And with a gentle hand

Lay it where Childhood's dreams are twined

In Memory's mystic band,

Like pilgrim's withered wreath of flowers

Plucked in a far-off land.

Lewis Carroll

Best.

Time.

... and sandwich time.

Adventures.

"No, no! The adventures first," said the Gryphon in an impatient tone, "explanations take such a dreadful time."

Lewis Carroll, from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

Happy birthday, Carroll.

Lewis Carroll was born on this day in 1832.

A boat beneath a sunny sky,

Lingering onward dreamily

In an evening of July —

Children three that nestle near,

Eager eye and willing ear,

Pleased a simple tale to hear —

Long has paled that sunny sky:

Echoes fade and memories die:

Autumn frosts have slain July.

Still she haunts me, phantomwise,

Alice moving under skies

Never seen by waking eyes.

Children yet, the tale to hear,

Eager eye and willing ear,

Lovingly shall nestle near.

In a Wonderland they lie,

Dreaming as the days go by,

Dreaming as the summers die:

Ever drifting down the stream —

Lingering in the golden gleam —

Life, what is it but a dream?

Lewis Carroll 

The Secret World of Lewis Carroll ...