Thursday, April 28, 2005

More Secrets Revealed!

Ok friends, one more confession... I have been seriously delinquent in updating my links and in doing so, have kept some amazing people from you. I'm terribly sorry. I think I may have doubled my links section today! Sheesh. That's a lot of peops. Well, I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

These are mostly people I know from college and they all have wonderful, funny and perhaps wonderfully funny things to say. :-) I have also added my cousin because she rocks and because perhaps if I have a link to her, she'll write more. Perhaps even about her newly announced pregnancy!!! Maybe she'll follow in Dooce's footsteps and recount the process for us. Then again, do we really need to go through that again? ;-)

Ok, ok. There are the links. You see them. Enjoy!

Wednesday, April 27, 2005


Stay away from me, I'll be gone soon... It's just so hard to let go once you've grabbed hold. ~from Twenty Three Places by Matt Wertz

I have a confession to make: I shut people out, push people away. Now, I'm not so naive or self-centered as to assume that this confession is mind-boggling or that I am alone in such tactics. I guess I just needed to get it off of my chest: to confess.

Obviously people tend to push away and shut out others whom they might find annoying or crass. However, this is not the offense to which I am confessing. I am speaking of the more heinous, more negligent misdemeanor of closing one's self off from the ones he or she loves. And this, my friends, is a crime I believe more of us than not commit.

It is an offense I hold near and dear. It is a defense mechanism I cherish. After all, isn't life more about self-preservation? Survival of the fittest? Hammy. Perhaps. Unless, of course, you believe in the healing power of community.

You may not know this but you, my friends, have become a community to me. And yet, by not posting or by posting inane trivialities, I have pushed you away, shut you out. It's not that I don't want your advice, your help, your succor. It's just that I don't think you *can* help right now.

All too recently I have learned the draining effects of spilling all to others who are in no position to help. Since I know you are in no position to help, I have simply left my musings to those nearest me. I'm not going through any problem of great consequence, just living life. And those day-to-day decisions can be difficult sometimes.

So, I post randomly and beg you not to forsake me completely, while, at the same time, giving you no real reason not to do just that.

Perhaps this is just another of those misleading posts. One of those pleas to love me even when I'm inaccessible. Or possibly to begin to love me, at all.

In truth, you don't have to love me. I know enough people do. I know God does. And I am learning to even love myself.

In short, you may come or go; do as you please. Just know that I'm out there somewhere, even if not at the keys.

Friday, April 22, 2005

The Hardest Thing

What I've learned so far in life is that rejections are not the hardest part: disappointment is.

Whether it's disappointment in one's self, disappointment in someone else or disappointing someone else, the presences of disappointment takes the reins far too often in my life.

My mom would say that she spanked me when I was growing up, but I don't remember that. What I remember most, and remember fearing the most, was disappointment. While most kids feared the phrases, "Bend over" or "Get the paddle," I feared the phrase, "I'm so disappointed in you."

There were times in my life when I knew I did something wrong or had information my parents should know. Usually, I would hide. At least, at first. However, after a few minutes in the dark closet or under the bed, I would feel the threat of impending disappointment. Knowing that I my faults required discipline, I also learned early on that running from the inevitable discipline only increased it's term or severity. I also knew that if I didn't face up to responsibility, my father would be "very disappointed" in me.

So, I squiggled out from under the bed or pushed through the pleats and sleeves to face the music: face my responsibilities.

Lately I have regressed to that little girl who runs for cover when things go awry. I know I have a responsibility to step up to in this life: to live and be joyful. This is probably the greatest responsibility I will ever face and if I don't, the repercussions will surely devastate. I need to face my responsibility and take whatever consequences result from my decisions-- be they good or bad.

Unlike that little girl, however, I am not going to simply sit on my bed and wait for a punishment. I am not going to sit by in fear and trepidation, stiff-lipped and blurry-eyed. I don't have to wait with steely conviction to appease my accuser and confess my errors.

No, this time I won't wait for disappointment to threaten my character before I step up. Because this time I know the accuser has no power over my intercessor. I know impending disappointment is rebuked by grace, rebuffed by mercy. I don't have to fear because I love and am loved. And, if I'm not mistaken, there is no fear in love. Nor is there disappointment or guilt or shame.

There are, however, actions and reactions, causes and effects, consequences and responsibilities.

And that is okay.

Tuesday, April 19, 2005


When I tell people I'm from Wisconsin, they generally respond with a few different things. My responses/commentary are in parentheses.

A very nasal, "You mean, Wis-KAHN-sin?" ("Did I say it like that? I didn't think so.")

"So you're a cheesehead?" (or some other equally unoriginal comment about cheese. yeah, Wisconsin makes cheese, get over it.)

"Do you like the Packers?" ("I'm pretty sure I'd be disowned if I didn't.")


"How'd ya git down here?" ("I drove.")

or, my personal favorite:

"You don't sound like you're from Wisconsin." ("Thank you. Thank you very much.")

Conversely, when I visit Wisconsin and tell people I moved to Nashville, I hear the following:

"Do you like country music?" ("I did. Then I moved to Nashville and found better music.")

"What are you doing down there?" (And a bunch of other questions like that.)

"What brought you to Nashville?" (too long to answer here)

and, of course my favorite:

"Do you have an accent, yet?" ("Does it sound like it? Ok, ok, only on certain words.")

I attribute my lack of midwestern or southern accent to music (and perhaps my over all love of the English language and its grammar-- yep, I'm a nerd and I don't care). I grew up singing in choirs and taking voice lessons. You don't really get to have a personal accent when you sing choral music. You take on the accent of the piece. You absorb the accent of the choir; the phonetics of the language in which the piece was written. I've had the priviledge of singing in German, Latin, Italian, Spanish, French, Hebrew and Swahili, to name a few.

I've also had the priviledge of singing in a cappella. I don't think you understand the necessary absence of personal accent until you're trying to get a group of fifteen women to pronounce such phrases as "bwah bwah dop," "bwher neher lerhder der der" and prolonged vowels as one voice. I can't tell you how many hours we spent in rehearsal just matching words, vowels and consonants. But it was worth it.

Therefore, when I took a short accent quiz today (as seen on Perfect Blue Buildings), I wasn't really surprised at the results:

Your Linguistic Profile:

70% General American English

10% Dixie

10% Upper Midwestern

10% Yankee

0% Midwestern

Although I find it "Upper Midwestern" kind of offensive to be lumped in with the Dakotas and the U.P. (you would too if you'd ever heard them)-- at least it's only 10% and I'll attribute that to me saying that I drink from "water fountains" when I'm not having a "soda." I also fault them for not having some sort of West Coast language classification.

So, there are my results. Now how about you? What kind of American English do you speak?

Friday, April 08, 2005

Because I Love You

I had to tell you about Ray Lamontagne's Forever My Friend. For some reason it has struck a chord with me (no pun intended) and I just want to listen to it over and over and over again. It's amazing.

Give it a listen.

Thursday, April 07, 2005

Once again the world around me struggles to overcome one season with another, birthing a new sense to its scenery and skyline. The comparison of seasons stands stark as the winter-grey sky rumbles and rolls its clouds over the spritely green lawns and flowering branches.

Spring rain bothers me not as it brings the promise of softening the frozen earth and encouraging the emerging buds. The air, itself, eases with the release of spring rains, as though Spring herself laughs at the final tantrums of Winter's reign before he at last subsides before her gentle smile and countenance.

This is the time of year when Demeter might savor and rejoice in the company of her daughter, Persephone, released, if only for a short time, from her Underworld Kingdom. The ground bursts into flower at the passing of her dainty footfall. The air lightens by her very breath. The wind calms himself by weaving ever so delightfully through her tresses.

No, Winter has no power in her presence, though obstinate he might be. Soon he shall succumb to her radiant beauty. Soon her song will leave no blade unfurled, no branch unheralded. Soon Winter shall be denied his tyranny till she at last returns to her husband and master below. Till then, he must quit the earth and bother us no more. Till then, we might think of him no more and in her homage find delight unforeseen in her absence.

Welcome her friends. Welcome Spring's fondness and mercy, at last.

Monday, April 04, 2005

Hello There Stranger

I know it's been awhile. I'm feeling much better and thank you for your well wishes.

I apologize for my absence, and for that matter my lack of substance prior to my absence. It seems, however, that life has been far too real lately to spin imagery for you.

I finally saw "Finding Neverland" recently. I understand J.M. Barrie's desire to retain childhood wonder so much. I fear with each waking day I become less imaginative and more real, if that makes any sense at all. Just as the character Barrie says in the movie: "Young boys should never be sent to bed... they always wake up a day older."

I fear I've seen too many nights sent to bed and too many mornings awoken to a lessening wonder.