Elan Morgan is a writer and web designer who works from Elan.Works, a designer and editor at GenderAvenger, and a speaker who has spoken across North America. They believe in and work to grow both personal and professional quality, genuine community, and meaningful content online.

Five Star Friday's 242nd Edition Is Brought to You By Javier Marías

This week's Five Star Friday is brought to you by love for a father over the years, parenting through childhood mental illness, accepting truth of your emotional needs, a car accident, a history with phone tapping, using your time to do greater things, loving simply, food and recovery, the joy in amateur passions, and

Javier Marías

:

Javier Marías en TCM

photo credit:

Carmen Alonso Suarez

To think of posterity nowadays is ludicrous because things do not last. Books seem to last more than films or records but even they do not last very long. Now more than ever, we depend on the mercy of the living.
     — Javier Marías, in "Javier Marias, The Art of Fiction No. 190", interviewed by Sarah Fay in The Paris Review

Happy Friday!

"

A Father's Frown

" by

David Leite

at

Leite's Culinaria

:

At that moment, I no longer cared what he had done or said years ago. All that mattered was that he loved me and I loved him. There wasn't time for tears, though. I had work to finish. Because I knew that when I put a plate of blintzes before my father and he took his first bite, we'd show our love in our old familiar way.

"

How to Keep It Together When Your Child Is In Crisis — Or Not

" by

Amanda Jette Knox

at

The Maven of Mayhem

:

He's a superhero, that one. His cape might be a little tattered at the moment, but I can't wait to watch him fly again.

"

You're Not Needy. You're Starving

" by

Rachel W. Cole

at

RachelWCole.com

:

So you're starving. That's okay.
You can begin there. Begin bit by bit. or bite by bite.
Begin by renaming this 'neediness' with a more accurate term: hunger.

"

The Bruising Will Come Later

" by

enderFP

at

The Red Monkey Blog

:

The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things that you get ashamed of because words diminish them — words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size they they're brought out.

"

Tapped Out: Phone Monitoring, Young Love, and Me

" by

Dan Sinker

at

DanSinker.com

:

I wish I could say I was outraged by the NSA PRISM project, by the collection of cellphone metadata, by any of it. I am disturbed by all of it, disappointed for sure, but outrage would imply that my worldview was shattered. But the world I've lived in for a long time is the world we've all been plunged into with the revelations this week.

"

Part 5: Thousands of "Wrong!"s Do Make a Right, After All.

" by

Jennifer Gilbert

at

The Trephine

:

If you regret something, you should fix it if you can, even if it will take a while. I’m with my mom on this one: That time is going to go by anyway.

"

Six Words You Should Say Today

" by

Rachel

at

Hands Free Mama

:

When simply watching someone makes your heart feel as if it could explode right out of your chest, you really should let that person know.
It is as simple and lovely as that.

"

Life Without an Oven

" by

Elissa Altman

at

Poor Man's Feast

:

In the coming months — eighteen of them, before I moved back to Manhattan to get on with the business of my life — my grandmother's ancient aluminum pots clattered on the stovetop, their bottoms rounded and dimpled with age. I chopped with my great-grandmother's hockmesser — the four pound, wood-handled cleaver she carried over from Romania; I steamed what needed steaming in a white enameled colander set over a pot of boiling water; I wine-braised spatch-cocked pigeon in an old Teflon fry pan covered with a warped cookie sheet; I dredged Branzino in seasoned egg and flour and slid it into a hot, butter-coated 1930s oval metal casserole that had baked decades of kugel; I drank cheap red wine out of the tiny four-ounce milk glasses of my childhood Sunday afternoons; I drizzled warm, sectioned figs with the dregs of my grandfather's Slivovitz that I found in the depths of the hall closet, buried behind torn shopping bags bursting with the fading letters that my father had written to his parents from the Pacific during World War II when he was nineteen.

"

For the Love

" by

Kent Lassman

at

Radical Immersion

:

I believe we are all amateurs. Learning, striving, improving, and critically, competing. All of us get paid when we do well. The means of payment vary and the measure of a good performance is highly personal, but we all get back as much or more than what we put into the sport. That is how love works in other aspects of life too. When you give it freely, it multiplies, enriches and is paid back.

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Slow, Grey Morning