Happy Anniversary

wow, so, um, happy September everyone. Didn't realize it'd been so long since I'd written. I have a long post in the works. So long, I think I'm going to have to break it down into a few segments. I can't really throw that all at you at once.

Today has been not a very good day thus far thanks to one particularly stupid company claiming that I owe them money that I don't. I don't say that I hate much. I hate them.

For nearly the past week I've been dealing with some not-so-pretty side effects of quitting a Rx cold turkey. It's not something I'd recommend, but given the circumstances, it was the best decision I could make for myself at the time. Besides, no matter how much they're messing with me, I still claim the side effects of withdrawal aren't as bad as the side effects of consumption.

Despite all of these negative things that seem to be looming around me right now, I actually had a really great weekend. A friend blessed me in an enormous way. So much so that I haven't found the words just yet to thank my friend. I have not simply been blessed with this friend's gift, but even more so with this friendship and that blessing has rendered me speechless in its wake.

Oh, what about the anniversary mentioned in the title? Yep, today's my anniversary. Three years ago on this very day I made my big move to Nashville. Just me, a loaded car and Long Line of Leavers on repeat. I almost feel like I should order some La Paz in commemoration of my first meal in music city-- but it just wouldn't be the same without Kat. (I'm ok with you all being completely lost in that last sentence)

You came to me
first draft

i sped to this place as so often i have
supposedly seeking your face
straining my ears for a still small voice
i missed you screaming my name

Among the lifeless bound to remain
my flesh succombed to its fate
hardly warm and losing steam
callousness seeped easily in

i could not move
i could not be
until
you came
to me

there i lay
alone in my fears
yet never alone may i be
when i'd tried till forgetting
just why i began
that's where
you came
to me

you've found my open hiding place
you've seen the mess i've undertaken
things aren't always lovely
they're hardly what they seem
yet, even here
you came
to me

until you came to me
i could not move
i could not be
until
you came
to me

To Know is to Be Known

It's peculiar. No matter how many times I've flown in and out of Midway Airport in the past three years, I still feel like I'm in a weird new place every time I'm there. I know Nashville's airport well enough by now, and thanks to numerous trips or necessary bus stop layovers, I'm well acquainted with General Mitchell in Milwaukee and the great big hub that is O'Hare. I actually have rather distinct memories of breakfast at one particular O'Hare McDonalds. It's like it calls to me: Eat a breakfast sandwich, you know you want one, add on some hashbrowns! Yes, being in airports means McDonalds breakfasts, Chili's dinner, Cinnabon desserts and a Starbucks latte (soy of course) to wash it all down. Basically, being in the airport means sucking it up and kissing the ring of the don that is corporate America.

Last night I actually got a little handle on Midway, though. Well, I remembered where the doors were to get out-- hey, it's an important thing to remember, right? Otherwise I'd still be there! Any way, I found the doors and as they automatically opened in front of me I could feel the wet blanket that is Midwest August air envelope my lungs and smother my flesh in a mere instant. Perhaps I've been in the South too long. I'd forgotten how incredibly humid it is up here in late summer. Instead of being simply next to Lake Michigan, one feels more like they're slowing walking at the bottom of it. All. The. Time.

Moving on. One of my very bestest friends in the world picked me up and we stayed up talking for an hour or two (drive included). She had to work this morning, so she slept on the futon and I had the bed. It was weird to not share the same room with her-- seeing as how we shared a dorm room one year and have fallen asleep talking even on a single bed before. But she didn't want to wake me (she's a dear), so she slept on the futon. It poured last night, alleviating some of the humidity-- but there are more storms to come. I suppose I've pulled this routine a number of times now. Coming in Thursday night and having LJ's place all to myself while she's at work on Friday before coming home and hanging out. It doesn't seem unnatural to be alone in her place-- and this is the third place of hers in which I've pulled this trick.

I love how much we know each other. Just as one can assume my refridgerator will echo from the click of the light turning on when you open the door, I know that LJ will always have food-- more than likely of the organic variety. It's also a given that when LJ comes to visit me, we will make at least one trip to the grocery store to pick up supplies to make meals for the weekend. No matter where we are, we usually have pancakes at least once, with peanut butter and syrup (you can try to fight it, I did for years, but it's actually really, really good). AND I know that somewhere LJ has a stashed soda reserve, too-- which is perfect since I've cut back on my coffee intake but am still a fiend for caffeine. What I didn't expect was Diet Pepsi Twist-- usually she's more of a Diet Coke or Diet Cherry Coke girl.

This is a perfect example of why I love my beautiful friends, even though LJ isn't in the picture below. We know each other and understand each other-- and yet offer each other twists in our daily routines. We can be open with our weaknesses as well as our triumphs. In short, my friends aren't just beautiful on the outside. As a matter of fact, it's what's inside that makes me treasure them most. To quote an amazing movie that I recommend everyone rush out to see:

You know that point in your life when you realize the house you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? That idea of home is gone. Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people who miss the same imaginary place. ~ Andrew Largeman in Garden State

My friends are my family. We all miss the same places and have the same experiences. The imaginary places that we miss, however, are in the company of each other. In having shared experiences, we've not only shared our lives, we've shared our souls-- that's what makes us friends. That's what makes us family. That's what makes it beautiful.

I Love My Beautiful Friends!!!

No Noun Required

Some days, I am in love.
Not with hes or shes,
Nor any distinct or unremarkable, tangible dream.

Love need not abide
in the sight of a person,
Nor the smell of a place.
It need not even dwell
in the feel of an item running
through lotioned fingers
or beneath calloused heels.

No, love need not
be defined in nouns
scattered throughout one's visual plane.

It just exists;
without rhyme or reason
without subject or destination.
Both without and within
when it comes to my soul.

Love needs not my recognition
nor my peace of mind
for its existence.
But today, thankfully
I can see Love abiding in me
And He has shown me abiding in Him.

Well, He Knows Me

My computer desk sits in a corner of my office facing the wall. To my right and along the same wall, stands my door, usually slightly ajar in order to keep the heat in my office. In the center of the office, perpendicular to my computer desk is my "real" desk which usually receives little attention except from the piles and stacks of papers strewn across its surface. On the other side of that, basically the opposite corner from my computer desk, is my plant. Technically, it's my bosses plant which he received as a gift when he began working here nearly three years ago. I, however, seeing the poor treatment it received in his office, stole it and adopted it as my own.

I used to have an amazing system for watering my plant. Once a week Robert would come in to read to me. (Robert is in his fifties and just began to read a few years ago) Robert and I would sit in the chairs along the wall in front of my "real" desk and he would read a passage from the Bible that he had been working on, adding my help when needed. Being on that side of my hefty "real" desk called my attention to my plant, so when Robert left, I would water it. However, Robert's visits have become more sporadic and, therefore, my plant has suffered due to my Pavlovian watering-reminder trick.

Of late, I have been making a concerted effort to remember my poor plant. It is starting to flourish again, perhaps it'll even flower again soon; it used to have flowers all the time. I finally got around to a superficial pruning today. There were a lot of dead leaves and the further I pruned, the more I realized how it could benefit from a real repotting and removal of dead shoots attached to live ones-- how it could grow even more if I just gave it some more space and took off even more of that extra baggage.

I'm as sure that I've used the following illustration before as I am that I will use it again, so let me bring it to the table. In C.S. Lewis' Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Chronicles of Narnia, Book 5, Eustace Scrubb becomes a dragon and tries and tries to peel away at his own scales to reveal the boy he knows lays hidden inside. Eustace was trying to prune himself. However, it wasn't until he let Aslan tear deep into his scaly hide-- piercingly rending his pride and vanity, that he could finally find the boy he was meant to be; a boy different from the one he himself had remembered or imagined.

You probably know where I'm going with this. Often times I feel like I'm offering up my life for God to prune, but only to the point at which I'm comfortable. Perhaps this isn't actually allowing God to prune me after all, much less give me a good repotting-- rearranging my own idea of who I am and who I was meant to be. I think God wants to prune and repot me, to give me an overhaul. I hope I am brave enough to let Him tear into my pride and see myself as He sees me, as I was truly meant to be and then continue to be that person.



"But who is Aslan? Do you know him?" [Eustace]
"Well--he knows me," said Edmund. ~ The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, The Chronicles of Narnia, Book 5

When I was a kid I was really random.

But now that I've grown up, I'm still random.

the end.

An Attempt at Redeeming One Lost Post

Here goes:

There's a poem that has been eating at me lately. A whole work, really, that I long to hold in my hands and pour over time and again. It signifies a life, or rather many lives, that I have been fortunate enough to never know. And yet, I feel like there are still many lessons to learn from these lives, these tales, these heroes and heroines in their own right, in their own world, even if not in their own sight.

I don't remember if it was assigned to me in high school or junior high, but I do know it has stayed with me ever since. Though I could not fathom the significance then, these poems were embossed on my heart, on my very soul. I was privileged enough to hear the poet, herself, read them out loud. I can still hear her strong, sober voice telling tales of children who do not always come home to milk and cookies. She didn't just tell us of their tales, she wrote each one from their own innocent, yet jaded, young-but-learned perspective. Gwendolyn Brooks wrote Children Coming Home in the 1990s. It is raw, emotional and heartbreaking. It currently only exists as a section in her compilation, In Montgomery and Other Poems, which I have on hold at the library and can't wait to get in my hands; to caress the spine as though it were the hardened face of each abused or ignored child in hopes of comforting just one for at least one moment.

One of the poems that has stuck with me most superficially seems to have nothing to do with me at all. Delving deeper, however, I realize that it has everything to do with me. It can teach me pride and respect and love. It can teach me mercy and grace and patience. It can teach me how to live. See what it might teach you.

I AM A BLACK

According to my Teachers
I am now an African-American.
They call me out of my name.

BLACK is an open umbrella.
I am Black and A Black forever.

I am one of the Blacks.

We are Here, we are There.
We occur in Brazil, in Nigeria, Ghana,
in Botswana, Tanzania, in Kenya,
in Russia, Australia, in Haiti, Soweto, in
Grenada, in Cuba, in Panama, Libya, in
England and Italy, France.

We are graces in any places.
I am Black and A Black forever.

I am other than Hyphenation.

I say, proudly, MY PEOPLE!
I say, proudly, OUR PEOPLE!

Our People do not disdain to eat yams or
melons or grits or to put peanut butter in stew.

I am Kojo. In West Africa Kojo
means "Unconquerable." My parents
named me the seventh day from my birth
in Black spirit, Black faith, Black communion.
And I Capitalize my name.

Do not call me out of my name.


Reprinted from In Montgomery and Other Poems, published by Third World Press (2003).

In case you were wondering

I've written two wonderful posts this week: long, extravagant-- mesmorizing really (and humble, I'm sure), only to have them lost with a flick of the wrist. Therefore, you get this for your post instead. sorry. I'll try harder next time. Or maybe I won't. I'll leave you with this thought:

I'm confused. Oh, wait, maybe I'm not.

peace.

Sounds Like Someone Has a Case of the Mondays

My roommies and I have started having weekly Bible/book Study on Monday mornings in order to get the week started off right. However, seven o'clock came way too early this morning. When my alarm went off at 6:30, I thought I had just lain down my head. That was a sad, sad thought. But, now I'm awake and at work. I'm still sleepy, but whatcha gonna do, right? Anyway, to top it all off, the air's busted again-- has been since Friday or Saturday, so it's a little warm here in the office-- however, I'm the only person who's actually happy about this-- I'm tired of being frozen out! Well, I'll also be happy if it doesn't last too long or get too hot. Ah yes, conditional love... gotta love it.

Attention K-Mart Shoppers

So, for those who know me, it's no surprise that I like to shop.  As a matter of fact, I use shopping as a coping mechanism.  Shopping, or even browsing around a store soothes my mind.  When I'm particularly stressed, bothered, nerve-wrecked or ulcer-inducing upset, shopping tends to take my mind off of things for a little bit.  Needless to say, I've been shopping around a lot lately.

Winter

was it really
years ago
did you need me
well, I'll never know
I'm sorry for clinging
I'm sorry for wanting more
my heart was there for you pounding down your door
maybe it was timing
maybe I was too much
running behind you pushing my love
well, you weren't ready
and you said you thought I knew
but I was taken with your beautyI was lost inside of you
winter made a sound
maybe next time if you need meI’ll be around... I'll be around... I'll be around
I'll be around

I never meant to swallow you
you never were my savior maybe just my lover
maybe nothing more

now one more winter
has passed so silently
and I'm tired of longing
that you'll come back to me

winter made a sound
maybe next time if you need me... yeah… you'll need me
and winter made a soundI know… if you need meI'll be around… I'll be around… I'll around
I'll be around

~East Mountain South

I heard somebody say
Today's the day
A big old hurricaine
Is blowing our way
Knocking over the buildings
Killing all the light
Open your eyes, boy, we made it through the night

Forgiveness~ Patty Griffin from 'Living with Ghosts'

Rolling Thunder

Have I ever told you that the longest I was ever in one school was through college?  Yep, all four years.  My mom still lives in the house into which we moved when I was seven months old, but due to different conveniences/opportunities, I switched schools every couple of years throughout elementary and then junior high and high school were only three years each.  So, college was the longest I ever stayed at one school.

I lived in the same bedroom in which my parents placed my crib until the eighth grade, at which time I moved into the basement bedroom until I left for college and even then I came home to that room the first couple of summers.  I lived in the same dorm room for two years and then the same apartment for the next two.  I just moved out of my apartment in which I lived for the past two of the nearly-three years I've lived in Nashville.

I like Nashville.  I like the town and the people.  I like the friends I've made here and the families of which I've grown to feel a part.  But sometimes things happen and no where is big enough or small enough to hide from what/who you don't want to see.  I definitely get a wanderlust, a feeling of restlessness, a rumbling threat of thunder and lightening stirring in my soul and this is part of what's happening now.  I'm not done with Nashville for good-- but I could definitely be done with it for a month or so.  You know, just long enough to get away, heal from some hurtful things and miss the loving ones.  Now if only I could just unleash the storm.

Nosing Around

I know I've written before about the amazing memory/emotion triggers in the human olfactory lobes, but I've become overwhelmed by them once again, and therefore must reiterate.

Since I've "grown up" and left home, I've become acutely aware of what surroundings, sounds, sights, savors and of course, smells, provide an overwhelming, unexpected comfort.  A few weeks ago, when I started this post, I experienced this comfort from the oddest place, the pet store.  Now, I suppose a lot of people may find pet stores comforting, what with the happy puppies wagging their tails and the little kittens who long to curl up in your lap or wrap themselves around your shoulders.  For me, however, it was the mere smell of the pet store-- an odd smell I've always equated with bird seed, although I don't like birds-- the sight of chew toys and squeaky rubber balls, the sound of bubbling fish tanks off to the side.  All of these things reminded me of home, of security and of times of joy and love.

See, my dad bred, raised and trains dogs-- still does.  Actually, he should have a litter of pups any day now.  Even though the pet store I ventured into a few weeks ago is some large commercial place, it reminded me of the small store we'd go to on the north side of town to pick up large bags of special dog food and rawhides and anything else.  I'd wander around that store while my dad took care of business and that smell of bird seed I guess just infiltrated my nostrils and clung to my mental sensors like barbecue to your ribs or peanut butter to the roof of your mouth. 

I bring this up again today because I've found another trigger, another haven in the storm: the library.  I've never sat down and thought about how much time I've spent in libraries until a couple of days ago.  I mean, sure, I spent most of my junior high after-school afternoons in the library, but that was because they wouldn't let transfer students ride the bus anymore, even though it stopped at my street anyway (the border went right down the middle of my street and I lived on the "wrong" side and therefore had to transfer to go to my school).  So, when I didn't have an after-school activity or friend's house to go to, I would simply walk to the library and wait there for my mom to get off work; two hours later.  Needless to say, I rarely had a hard time getting my homework done in those days.  On Fridays the library closed at 5pm, so I had to wait in the lobby or outside until my mom could get there thirty minutes later.  (Think winters in Wisconsin---brrrrrr--froze my little tukas off)  yay for after-school activities. 

 
But the library thing goes back further than that.  In my day care, we would have "library day" each week when we would walk down to the downtown library and get to check out a book.  We would always have a waiting list to check out "The Dark Crystal."  The library was beautiful-- divided downstairs with a balcony second floor so you could look down onto the first.  Thinking about it, I get the feeling Belle might have had when the Beast gave her his library.  I don't think I've been there since high school.

In college I would bury myself in the "cages" as they were called-- the little desks lining the stacks of the Memorial Library in I needed to get some serious reading, outlining or other homework not requiring a computer done.  Most times I'd bring my headsets and just lose myself to the world around me.  Sometimes I'd sit in the almost-silence of rustling pages, scribbling pens and the harried breathing of my fellow crammers.  Between classes, I would sink into a large leather chair in the Art Library-- sometimes to study, sometimes to simply fall asleep until the bells rang once again. 

Even now, when I want to run away I find myself heading to a library.  Oft times I pretend to look something up under academic guise.  Usually, I just want to be in the near-quiet of the anthology-padded walls with the smell of old bindings wafting through the air and the sporadic sounds of catalogue viewership as another traveler finds rest in the form of this tranquil haven. 

Noted Absurdities
 

During an argument, a Florida man swung a 3-foot alligator that he was keeping in his bathtub at his girlfriend.  You know, if she was dating a man who kept a 3-foot gator in his bathtub, she may have just asked for that... Read more

 

Closer to home-- This morning at the gas station, one man was buying another man's coffee.  The cashier asked the man fixing his coffee what size it was so she could ring it up.  Not only did he not remember what stack he grabbed the cup from, when she told him it was written on the bottom of the cup, he held up his *full* coffee cup and tipped it over to look underneath the cup.  She meant it was written in the brown trim *along* the bottom rim of the cup.  Poor, coffee-spilling guy-- he must not be from 'round these parts. 

 

I went to bed at 5 o'clock last night.  wow.

The Rant That Was

About 2 hours ago I was planning on logging in and publicly lambasting my bank. I was going to convey how they have continued to screw me over time and again in the past six months. I was going to warn anyone from ever doing business with them. I was going to suggest anyone that might even be employed by them to find another job, because they would surely go under due to their lack of customer service and over-all suckage. Basically, I was going to rant and rave until my poor little fingers grew numb from flailing and the tips bloody from violent typing.

Then I went to said bank and they reimbursed me for all the money they had screwed me out of in the past four months and apologized profusely, guaranteeing to repeal any further mishaps, as well. Therefore pacifying the beast that was a fervent rant and calming the post that could have been. But at least I'm happier now. = )


And yet, I know this feeling all too well...
If I had a car I'd drive straight into the window of a bank I owed money to ~ Ryan Adams

Speaking of "dark horses"...

This comic couldn't be more me if it tried.

Awwww, Someone Believes in Me!!!

The following is an email response among our group of college friends:

"All right with K officially engaged and off the market-- whose next to drop? Smart Money's on C.... but I have the dark horse [Lady M] to come in by a hair...

Who wants in on the pool?"


Aww, it's so nice someone still believes in me. Wait, "dark horse"... is she calling me fat?!?!?!? heh heh.

The Importance of Understanding Your Jewish History

A friend once brought to question how to interpret the following section of the Lord's Prayer: Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. My friend admitted that he does not always forgive in a manner worthy of proclaiming this verse, a realization to which I myself have come time and again. We pondered the consequences of our lack of forgiveness. If I haven't forgive others, does that mean God won't forgive me? Have not all my sins been already forgiven on Christ's Cross?

The other night, in reading a book by a woman, Lauren Winner, who first committed her life to Orthodox Judaism and then later converted to Christianity, I was once again faced with the necessity of understanding Jewish history, culture and religion in interpreting any part of the Bible. Winner states, "On Yom Kippur, Jews confess their sins, both privately and corporately. Before the holiday begins, they go around asking the forgiveness of everyone they have wronged; the Talmud [oral Rabbinic works believed to have been given to Moses on Sinai] teaches that God forgives the sins we've done against Him freely, but He will not forgive the sins we've done against our neighbors until they have forgiven us first. One Jewish prayer book puts it this way: God's forgiveness for us is our forgiveness of other people running through us."

So, to pray to forgive us as we forgive others, is in reference to seeking forgiveness. As others seek forgiveness of us, we are to seek it from God. It is a confession that we need forgiveness, that we must seek it from God and from others. It is an acknowledgement that every Lord's Prayer may open our reconciliation, every day may be our day of atonement, our Yom Kippur.

Update

Just so y'all know, there's no need to mail any rusty knives to me. I'm golden. But thanks to those who offered! Crazy kids.

Something in the Water

Don't know what it is, but there's a virus going around potential Nashvillian relationships. The male species tends to catch it first, which somehow disables any phone usage on his part. The girl, subsequently, fights it off for a few days and then has a major physical reaction to this retched virus. I'm seeing it all over the place folks, and it ain't pretty.

The few outbursts I have witnessed have seen varying outcomes from "let's be friends" to "I'm swearing off relationships for good!"

Hold on to your possible significant other and purify all liquids, seal yourselves into quarantined areas if you have to until the epidemic passes.

Lady M, P.R.E. News, Signing out. *krrrctch*

No More Metaphors

It's funny how we communicate best
Best in code
Best in costume
Best in show

It's odd how we dance our best
Best in darkness
Best in shadows
Best in masquerade

Yet, you slip off my mask
Let it tumble to the floor
Cup my metaphors in your hands
And blow them from your palms

My brow once hidden
by feathers and pearls
Unfurrows in the warmth
Of light 'til now unbeheld

Luminance not from bulbs or orbs
But from blinders removed
Revealing light found not in pictures
Found only in what is.

The Evil Side of Lady M

I try, in general, to exercise kindness and sensitivity towards others, peppered of course with playful sarcasm, but with no harmful intentions. And, of course, there are those times (hopefully not too often) when it might be more beneficial to be beaten with a large, barbed wire-wrapped stick than to try to talk to me. However, even in these times I try to maintain civic duty and lock myself away until the proverbial full moon sets.

Aside from these infrequent bursts of savagery, inside me dances a dervish, little imp who loves nothing more than mischief. This is the Evil of which I speak. Granted, it's not a true evil. It's more the kind of evil that tempts the dieter to a piece of tiramisu or the Atkin's affectionado to some tortilla chips.

It's this impish part of me that smirks at the sight of a "Student Driver" sign on a car. I ALWAYS want to mess with the student drivers. Not really because I'm that mean... ok, maybe, but more because, well, it'd be a life lesson. Not every car on the road will be nice and eventually there will be no sign announcing to the world that you could use some leeway. So, I'd be doing them a favor, right? Good thing I was borrowing my friend's car today. hehehe

To All Friends and Lovers

This past weekend was actually rather relaxing. If I hadn't had a morning Board meeting, this would have been my first Saturday since I started my second job that I haven't worked at all (except for when I was away in Ireland and just getting back). So, I got to spend plenty of time outside basking... oh wait, no I fell asleep inside for most of the day. = ) I was sooo tired I almost couldn't get up that evening for my friend's birthday bash, but I'm so glad I did!

It was such a wonderful night. Good friends (old and new) holding down the porch on a beautiful summer night, grilling out, sharing stories and celebrating our friend. (have I mentioned that my favorite summer meal is cheeseburgers on the grill? one of the only times of the year I really love them, actually) It was such a family atmosphere-- regardless of the fact that his family (who I love!) was at hand. We, as friends, built a family- brothers and sisters, quite and boisterous, mellow and wild. We mostly all go to the same church, which is a bonus because we got to bring that familiarity into the "sanctuary" the next morning.

Speaking of, church was great, too. We had a sort of non-traditional service (surprise, surprise, we meet in a warehouse--ha) where our pastor gave us a visual picture of the freedom and grace we've been discussing over the past six months through snipets of the movie, "Les Miserables." We sat around round tables and discussed questions before hearing more from our pastor. It was a beautiful picture not only of grace and freedom, but also community as we sat there sharing muffin crumbs and morsels of insight.

Then I finally got to relax outside some Sunday afternoon, reading and listening to Damien Rice before going to see Shrek 2 in the company of a delightful friend (after which I returned to a home of roommies watching 50 First Dates, which I quickly joined in on!).

Plus, I got to talk to my dad some on Sunday for Father's Day, and that's always a bonus.

We nearly galloped down the curvaceous path toward the sea. As we descended, the ground shot up to our left, long grass pouring over dunes and hills. Some walked in groups, some in pairs, some in solitary silence.

Upon meeting our destination, each person wandered quietly from stone to stone, examining the ground, the sea, the sky. Hexagonal shapes jutted from nature's floor, some slate grey, some molten black. These six-sided stones formed perches and gullies, mounds and ravines to the wonder of all. Yet, over all of it came the song of the sea. The sweet, gentle, rolling murmur that whispers you are home, you are safe, you may rest.

Indeed we rested for a moment that seemed like a lifetime gone by too quickly, taken too soon. And still, the waves rumble in our minds, in our souls: you are home, you are safe, you may rest.

Hot and Tired

It's nearly 9pm and I'm still at work. It's ok, it's actually cooler in here right now than in the middle of the day, I think-- you know, since the a/c's been out for a week now. Yeah, good thing we're not in the sweltering south. oh, wait...
Weather Pixie says it's 81F outside. Last reading from Ms. Carolyn's thermostat: 90F, and her lights have been out and blinds shut for the past five hours. I think my room's one of the coolest in the offices because I don't have a wall of windows, but Ms. Carolyn's office feels pretty cool right now. Don't worry, I'll leave soon. I just want to get some copies run while no one's around to die of heat stroke from the copier's kinetic emissions.

delirium is setting in. must. escape. heat...

Kristin stole this idea from Kandy. Then I stole it from her. Thanks ladies! She's so cute. = D

Cheap Excuse for a Post

melissa, you are somewhat left-hemisphere dominant and show a preference for visual learning, although not extreme in either characteristic. You probably tend to do most things in moderation, but not always.
Your left-hemisphere dominance implies that your learning style is organized and structured, detail oriented and logical. Your visual preference, though, has you seeking stimulation and multiple data. Such an outlook can overwhelm structure and logic and create an almost continuous state of uncertainty and agitation. You may well suffer a feeling of continually trying to "catch up" with yourself.
Your tendency to be organized and logical and attend to details is reasonably well-established which should afford you success regardless of your chosen field of endeavor. You can "size up" situations and take in information rapidly. However, you must then subject that data to being classified and organized which causes you to "lose touch" with the immediacy of the problem.
Your logical and methodical nature hamper you in this regard though in the long run it may work to your advantage since you "learn from experience" and can go through the process more rapidly on subsequent occasions.
You remain predominantly functional in your orientation and practical. Abstraction and theory are secondary to application. In keeping with this, you focus on details until they manifest themselves in a unique pattern and only then work with the "larger whole."
With regards to your career choices, you have a mentality that would be good as a scientist, coach, athlete, design consultant, or an engineering technician. You can "see where you want to go" and even be able to "tell yourself," but find that you are "fighting yourself" at the darndest times.

taken from http://www.mindmedia.com/brainworks/index.html
an idea which I stole from my friend Emily. (not EM-- Emily)

Let me know if you think they're on to something.

Matt Put Up Pictures of Northern Ireland

In case you were wondering.

I can't play Pooh to your Christopher Robin

I caught a movie on TV this weekend, Beautiful Girls, and just kind of got sucked in. That's always how it happens, isn't it? You have to be to work in two and a half hours and you get sucked into a movie that ends with just enough time for you to almost get ready, if you really hurry.

Well, in this movie, a guy goes back to his small hometown (which I really think was in Wisconsin, one of the guys had a Milwaukee jacket... go figure) Anyway, it's a look at growing up and all that entails-- leaving ghosts behind, forging into the future. One of the story lines involves a 29 yr old man and his 13 yr old neighbor who he considers "waiting for" because she's so amazing and can only get more amazing.

Then his friend makes him see that maybe this is just another sign of him not wanting to grow up. However, the girl picks up on it all, and asks him to wait for her anyway, just 5 years until she's 18. At this juncture, the man has to come to grips with what is real and what he would like to believe. He gives her this great analogy of Christopher Robin and Winnie the Pooh. Pooh was a product of Christopher's imagination and when he grew up, he didn't need him anymore; didn't need the 100 Acre Wood, at all.

A sentiment seems to be floating around about the 100 Acre Wood that is the Blog-o-sphere. Jason's moved on, Matt's done, Dave's mulling it over. I can't say I haven't pondered it myself, that I haven't felt the pages slipping by one after another; that I haven't feared the monster at the end of this book.

With every scrolling page I seem to follow the bouncing ball further toward the end of the 100 Acre Wood. I'm not ready to see the light yet, but I know it's coming and that day looms ahead with grief and joy. As I sit here, I wonder if I can enjoy life outside the Wood, and yet never leave its pages. I wonder if a caged bird really ever has a song.

Aragorn: What do you fear my lady?
Èowyn: A cage. To stay behind bars until use and old age accept them. And all chance of valor has gone beyond recall or desire.

I wonder what my true song will be and when that day will finally come.

Where Once Stood Servants of the King

Centuries of tales and mourning seeped from every nook and cranny as we stood amidst the ruins of Castle DunDrum. Built as a fortress and manor in 1111, now all that remains are a few walls and pillars, semblances of rooms and towers. What once may have been a dirt floor has been overgrown with a carpet of plush green grass. Weeds and wildflowers sprout from the crumbling tips of what may have presumably been a guard wall.

We climbed haphazardly, almost irreverently, along the remaining stones. Our companions were soon dwarfed in appearance from atop a curved staircase or two. Even from the court floor, however, the surrounding landscape and countryside could not be dwarfed. From across a crystalline bay, mountains loomed over us as silent guardians, fortifying yet foreboding.

While my friends and companions cheered in revelry at the marvelous site of it all, I couldn't help but meander off by myself in ponderous sadness. No where in the States will ever be this old, will ever hold this much history. There will never be a day when someone can stand on the ruins of my livelihood and romanticize at what it may have been like. You can see it already, consecrated battle grounds turned places of woredrobing worship; graveyards overrun by the green of 18 holes.

Perhaps this very ground once felt the foot falls of royalty and servants alike; troubadours and soldiers. Once a queen stood here, peering out over her realm, over her people for whom she wept and fought and loved. Perhaps the walls miss hearing the echo of voices, of royalty, of servants of the King. If nothing else, perhaps we were sent to minister to this place and be ministered by it. For on that day, at least, those walls once again echoed with voices of the Court. It reminded us of our purpose for there we stood, servants of The King.

Prepare Yourselves

I probably won't be around for a couple of weeks. Crazy. See you next month!

hugs, kisses and chocolate chip cookies.

The Issues At Hand

A) After moving all of my junk this weekend, I have decided that it will take at least a couple of years for me to forget the pain and agony of doing such enough to attempt to do so again. Thankfully I had some really great help! (amongst others)

B) Even his wife calls him MattGrace.

C) And The Most Urgent Issue At Hand
I leave in TWO DAYS for my mission trip to Northern Ireland! I have all of my packing yet to do, but I'm not that stressed. Well, except for one thing-- I want to limit the CDs I take to about 10 (10 CD works so that a 2 disc set still counts as 1). I want a mix of chill, rejuvenating and energizing. Help me please!

Here are my definites:

Over the Rhine- Ohio; no explanation needed

100 Portraits- Five Wise Virgins; this CD is all about love and mercy and being the bride of Christ- It's amazing

Kalgren-- the EP I have of them unless I get the full CD in the mail before I leave; Just because I don't think I could go that long without listening to my dear friend, Christopher. Oh, and they rock. Check 'em out-- seriously

Will Hoge- Blackbird on a Lonely Wire; This was originally on the "possibles" list, but then I realized that it's too energetic not to take

Here are the others from which to choose:

John Rutter- Requiem; this work is amazing, very relaxing and spiritually rejuvenating

Patty Griffin- Impossible Dream; I just got this and am still breaking it in

OR Patty Griffin- Flaming Red; This CD is so amazing and can be listened to for energy or relaxation

Fleming and John- The Way We Are; I'm still breaking this one in too, but Ugly Girl makes me laugh so stinking much

Fleming and John- Delusions of Grandeur; a charged work that can be used to provide much energy

East Mountain South- Self Titled; Spiritually revitalizing and very chill.

Matthew Ryan- Regret Over the Wires; Dark, brooding and thoughtful

MadHatters- No Jacket Required; These are my a cappella guys and it's just fun, but I don't know if I'd listen to it that much

Ryan Adams- Love is Hell 1&2; Now available on 1 CD, I actually have the 2 EPs. It's very chill and I listen to it to fall asleep a lot

I'm sure there are others and I'll be updating this list as they come to mind. Suggestions are definitely accepted, too.

Co-Worker Lurker

Yes, that's right. I have a co-worker lurker who has been reading my blog for sometime now. Yes, I know you're there. I've known of your lurking for some time now. I've been waiting for the right time and day to call you out, but that hasn't come, so I'm doing it now. Quit lurking and say something already. You might as well, since I already have you figured out. Besides, I must be saying something of interest for you to keep checking back multiple times a day. Unless you're just spying, in which case, that's not nice; it's weird.

love~

p.s.

I switched out one of the songs on purevolume. click the "songs" link on the sidebar.

much love.

Kingdom Flora

I have been blessed with my own office. Not a cubicle, not an entryway- an office, with a door and all my own space. The door is good because it keeps all the heat generated from my space heater in my own little space. The door also makes it easier for me to concentrate on work and allows me to play music without the fear of disturbing others. One thing my office does not have, however, is a window-- no, the one in my door leading to the hallway does not count, neither does any form of Microsoft.

Driving into work this morning, I fell in love with late spring. Sweet floral fragments wafted through my open car windows. Valiant knights of the Flora Court lined my blacktopped carpet, lifting or bowing their regal arms to herald my every rpm, their plumage ruffled and roused by last night's invigorating thunderstorm. Oh the storm! Streaks of brilliance lit the sky, bolting here and there in frenzied excitement, followed or preceded by bold claps of authoritative splendor interspersed with the gentle rhythm of the tumbling sky.

Last night I fell in love. This morning it happened all over again. My heart would burst with tears at the thought of it all: the pulse of the warm rain, the majesty of the Kingdom Flora, the sweeping kiss of the sun against my skin. And yet, I would cry no less to be torn from it, to sit in a cage free of bars, free of sunlight, free of any breeze of fresh air at all. Overhead the fluorescent lights mock me. The computer screen glows in mechanical triumph. My eyesight fades, my love grows dim. This is no world of life and growth. It is a chamber of cold, dank, out-dated technology.

I am blessed with my job and with my office, and yet, I have never felt more a dungeon prisoner than when I walked in this morning after my fatal tryst with the Kingdom Flora.

Long Time Coming or Better Late Than Never

I have had this dull throb of an ache in my head, on my shoulders, throughout my entire soul, really. I have it since about my junior year of college. Throughout the years, the pain has grown increasingly stronger, heavier, deeper. Over the years, sandbags of pressure have been added to this burden. Gradually the ride I had once mastered began to master me. No longer was I on the throne bellowing orders and being heralded for every raised pinky. No, now I was amid the throng of minions, bowing before an unrelenting beast of a god. Whips flaring at my heels, constantly reminded me of my two choices in this hell, just ahead the nine tails or underneath their fury. I have been pushing boulders uphill and lugging unnecessary weight for years.

Today, however, today I have reached the apex of my mountain and what a beautiful sight it is. For at the top of this mountain were a pair of scissors and piles of plastic roughly hewn. I have flung my excess burden on those piles, sacrificing them on the alter of financial responsibility and now begin my slow and arduous journey down a long, winding path down the other side. It may take years, but they will be spent dutifully striving toward that peaceful, debt-free paradise at the end of the trail.

It's the Female Hypochondriac's Dream Come True!

It Should Be Warm

This back and forth warm/cold weather is really doing a number on my health here. My boss said someone referred to what we're going through as a "blackberry winter." Since neither of us had ever heard of this before, I decided to google it. Here's a definition to my liking:

blackberry winter -- A period of cool weather in spring, usually May or June, when the blackberries are in blossom." For several days there is cold disagreeable, cloudy weather, and often a touch of frost.'" From "Whistling Dixie: A Dictionary of Southern Expressions" by Robert Hendrickson (Pocket Books, New York, 1993).

Yeah, it SNOWED a couple of weeks ago. SNOW. In TENNESSEE. IN MAY. We don't even get snow in the winter, much less the spring! Today the weather is supposed to jump back up to the seventies and then be in the eighties this weekend. I hope it stays there. Be warm or cold. This back and forth thing is not to my liking.

Wow, what has this blog come to? I'm talking about the weather. Next up: How about those Cubbies? bah. Hopefully something creative will sprout up here sometime soon.

I Am I Don Quixote The Lord of La Mancha

So, I just picked up Patty Griffin's latest album Impossible Dream, the title of which kept taking me back to my first high school musical experience in the Man of La Mancha. I was, of course, a meager peasant in the chorus, but hey, my makeup for the show included making myself look really, really muddy and dirty.

Any way... one of the major theme songs of the Man of La Mancha goes To dream the impossible dream, to right the unrightable wrong, to bear the unbearable sorrow, to run where the brave dare not go...etc. We also sang this song for choir the next year. Every time I saw the title Impossible Dream, therefore, I thought of this song.

Come to find out... at the end of "Top of the World," an amazing song in itself, there's a small clip of this very song! I feel so cultured. heh. I can't wait to see Patty this weekend. It's going to be a great weekend of concerts.

Friday night: Switchfoot and Johnny Lang (and perhaps Wyclef Jean)
Saturday night: Shawn Colvin and Patty Griffin (and possibly Josh Rouse)
Sunday night: The Strokes

I'm not going to say I'm working for the weekend here... but come on, why not?

Scatter-brained

I could give you a recap of my weekend, but no one wants to hear that except Nate (hi Nate), who wants me to tell you I met a real jerk of a guy named Nate. Well, that's not going to happen. I met a ton of really cool people this weekend, girls and guys from the tumultuous world of UW A Cappella, and yes, Nate was one of them and no, he's not a jerk like he'd have you believe. ;-) The girls and guys were all awesome and the sound people did an outstanding job.

Speaking of jobs, I've started my second job working retail at The Loft (with a great boss who's married to a wonderful blogger) I had my first real shift last night and I'd have to say it was fun getting outfits put together for people. Someone even told me I was a great "up-seller" since I found her matching shoes and a darling purse to complete her ensemble. I don't even work on commission, I just really like to accessorize. My roommates used to laugh at me because even my pajamas are coordinated. I blame this all on my mother who never bought me "clothes." Nope, not her, from her I got "outfits." Outfits that were all interchangeable. I don't consider this a bad thing at all, but perhaps that's why I have so many shoes.. yes/no? Accessories make the outfit! Notice that they aren't "excessories."

Ok, enough of that.

My mom, aunt and nephew came to see me in Madison while I was there. We had breakfast and walked around looking for a sweatshirt for my mom. I could have used a sweatshirt, too, at the time-- brrrr. Turns out, my cousin and his wife were also in town that day, although we didn't know it. They participated in the annual 5-mile Crazy Legs run. Colin (yes, I have a nephew and a cousin named Colin) ran and Marci walked. Marci would have run, if she wasn't scheduled to give birth in 3 WEEKS!!!! Dang, that girl is crazy. I intend to be hand-fed in bed that close to giving birth, not doing some 5-mile walk. So, it's sad that we missed them. I could have seen her cute belly!!!

I also didn't see my best friend who lives in Madison. Or anyone not involved with a cappella, really. Sometimes you just have to do that or else you get worn too thin, you know?

K, I'm off to do stuff. How have y'all been? I've missed you.

Champaign

The city. As in, greetings from. That's right kids. I'm in Champaign, IL and let me tell you, IT'S FREAKING COLD!!!! Boo, I've become a true, spoiled southern chick-a-dee. It's about 30 degrees here this morning. Gah. At least it's supposed to get up to 63 today in Madison, WI-- our final destination.

Linds and I drove 5.5-6 hours last night and stopped to see a friend of ours who is an opera grad student at the University of Illinois (booooo. hisssss.-- that's the WI alum coming out there.) We had an easy drive, made good time and got to spend a while hanging with our friend before we all started falling asleep where we sat.

This is A Cappella Weekend! For a taste of the concerts we'll be participating in and viewing all weekend, see the girls group that I used to be in and the guys group.

Ok, time to clean up and get back on the road!

Much love.

An Invention

So, I've figured out how I'm going to become a bajillionaire. I've come up with an invention to completely revolutionize all motor vehicle systems. Using this invention will prevent more accidents and increase overall driving safety. It will be a sort of warning system to let other drivers know when you want to change lanes or turn one way or the other. There will be little blinking lights on the front and rear corners and a little lever easily accessible to the steering wheel of each car with which to control the little signals. Say a driver needs to be in the left lane, said driver will click the lever leftward and the little lights on the left side of the car will automatically start blinking, letting other drivers know, "hey, I'm moving over to the left lane." Or perhaps said driver wants to make a right-hand turn, he/she would simply click the lever over to the right instead.

If people used these little blinking lights, this "signaling system" if you would, road safety would increased as well brake lifespan! Oh to wonder in joy at the thought!

I'd Like to Report Some Missing People

I have a friend, actually I have several friends, who have become M.I.A. Sometimes it seems like I only actually have one friend left! It's really amazing when you go from hanging out with someone most of the time to never seeing them or talking to them and actually feeling like a pest when you try. It's like we broke up or something, but I've yet to receive closure.

I told a friend recently that I'm thinking of "consolidating" my friendships, meaning that I'm willing to let some friendships finally ebb into nothingness if need be. I don't want to do this. It just seems like some people have better things to do than call me back, or call at all. Perhaps they just have busier schedules than I do, yeah that's it, so they're just waiting to call me whenever they happen to have a spare moment.

The real deal though, is that I'm not the one doing the consolidating. I feel like they're whittling me out. So, I'm tired of fighting to save friendships that seemingly didn't mean as much to others as they did to me. It's not as cut-and-dry as I make it sound. These are friendships after all, not business deals. These are people who know about some of the worst hardships I've been through in the past few years. These are people with whom I've cried and laughed and fought and embraced.

The whole situation has really hurt me. I wake up in the morning with headaches and muscle tension from horrible, stressful dreams about fighting with them, being abandoned by them. I've been angered, saddened and left hollow by their absences. The worst part is it's not like it's several people from one group. They are a few different people in completely different areas of my life and they're all walking away. And I'm going to let them because it hurts too much to keep getting tossed in their wakes, it hurts to much to keep falling on my face while grasping for threads of reason. I can only take so much. I can only wonder so much if I'm that poor of a friend/person. I can only ask them and myself so many times if I've done something wrong. Sometimes the only thing left is to move on. Grasping at straws does no good when you're in the middle of the Pacific.

My Dawson

For those of you who weren't Creek* fans or didn't catch the finale, Joey ended up with Pacey. She and Dawson decided that they'll always be together in some cosmic way, just not in a romantic sense.

I have a "Dawson," a guy friend who is like my kindred spirit-- but not my soulmate. It's hard to tell the difference sometimes, although it's rather enormous. Yeah. So, now I'm thinking about findin' me a Pacey. ;-)

*Not to be confused with "Creeksters," the name for Nickel Creek fans. Which are way cooler than Dawson's Creek fans, by the way.

Promised Quotes
from Fat and Happy by Wendy Shanker as featured in Self Magazine

"I'm not a doctor. I'm not a therapist. I don't have a degree in health education. I'm just a professional ex-dieter with a chip on my shoulder and a mission on my mind. There are too many women just like me who know more information about fat grams than about foreign policy, who spend more time counting calories than communicating with friends. And that ain't right."

"Technically, because I am fat, I look fat in everything."

"The body image anxiety we put ourselves through is mostly wasted time, wasted energy and, finally, wasted life."

"Here's the challenge: Think about how much time you've spent pondering your extra poundage and punishing yourself for what you've put in your mouth. Now imagine not doing that. Imagine if we all did it. The fat girls and the skinny chicks. The movie stars and the PR agents, the soccer moms and the CEOs. Imagine all that free time not going toward ripping ourselves to shreds. All that money that we're not going to spend on fat-free, sugar-free, taste-free sorbet. [Personal interjection: I like sorbet~melissa] That's a lot of minutes and money from a lot of women with a lot of brainpower. Use that energy to admire achievements more than muscles, to weigh options, not bodies."

"So, basically The Man's trying to bring us down by making us focus on weight instead of taking over the world like we should."

"If I had a choice between regular heaven and pie heaven, I'd choose pie heaven. It might be a trick, but if it's not... mmmmm boy!"

~ok, ok. she didn't say the last two quotes. but it would have been awesome if she had.

ah well, go here, it's more entertaining than I am.

Love Songs

I just got Andy Davis' album "Thinks of Her" in the mail the other day. This aptly titled disc contains approximately 35 minutes of love-induced or lovelorn songs. Instead of having most of the songs be about relationships with a few obligatory songs not about relationships, this disc is intentionally devoted to songs about relationships-- about what Davis is thinking as he "Thinks of Her."

I'm not very good at writing love songs. There's "Fools." Well ok, that's about a couple who will never get together because they don't communicate. Then there's "Far Away Home." Oh, that's about a marriage gone sour and cold. "Pedestal" is about expecting too much of another person. And then there's "Should've Known Better"-- the title speaks for itself. See, I told you I wasn't very good at writing love songs. I don't think I've had the right muse as of yet.

There were two loves songs that I wrote last year. They were for my friends' wedding. Which was actually one year ago today! Yes, I've called to wish them a Happy Anniversary already. They were a good source of inspiration. The thing about Andy's love songs... they're about her. He's thinking about her, whomever "her" may be. I think about myself too much to write about him, whomever "he" will be.

Here are some examples of attempts from my documents:

"God I wish I knew what love was. I wish I could put it in a song. But the hollowness would hide all I had to offer, all that I could write. All my words are lost now. My pallet has run dry. Wish I could write a love song. Wish I had the chance to try.

I thought I knew what love was once. Thought I could explain. Now I can't remember that far back. Don't know what to say.

And my mother's always wondering where her girls went wrong. I told her that it just takes time. What if she's the one that's right.

What if I was never meant to have you? Whomever you might be. What if everyone is meant to fall in love? Everyone but me.

And yet, I'm young. I've got a life to live, free from strings and obligations, free from jealousy and questions, free from love in all progressions..."



Old Red Shirt

You wear me like your old red shirt, Brand new in seventh grade
Fit you like a tent back then, fits like a glove today

Chorus:
You wear me like your old red shirt
You wear me like your old red shirt
Darling, you wear me like your old red shirt
A second skin of faded comfort

You wear me like your old red shirt, Its ringer collar frayed
Peeled off the label years ago, Said you like it better plain

Chorus
Bridge:
There are patches growing threadbare
And the seams are showing through
What others call beyond repair
Fits perfectly to you

Chorus Modified:
You wear me like your old red shirt
You wear me like your old red shirt
Darling, you wear me like your old red shirt
A second skin...

End
You wear me like your old red shirt, Broken in through time
You wear me like your old red shirt
And I wear you like mine

Worth the Weight

Well, since tomorrow's Easter, I suppose I can spill the beans (I mean confessions, not jelly bellys)-- the following is my essay on What I Gave Up For Lent. (um, or something)

The other day I picked up a couple of magazines at the grocery store. Last month I picked up a couple for my plane ride up north and one had some good looking previews for this month, so I wanted to make sure I got that one in particular. Unfortunately, since I don't buy magazines all that frequently, I couldn't remember the name of said interesting magazine, so I picked two that sounded familiar.

One of them was Self Magazine, a magazine for which I actually used to have a subscription. This is basically a beauty magazine about health and fitness. A couple years ago I ended my subscription, figuring that, in truth, the magazine wasn't a healthy beauty magazine alternative, but actually made me even more obsessed and concerned with exercise and my body's shape.

When I got home and realized what mag I had picked up, I was a bit unfurled. This is a magazine I'm supposed to stay away from, dangit! However, I opened it up to give it a skim and found the very first article to be about being happy fat, by a self-proclaimed fat woman (5'7", 220lbs). This article had some great quotes that I will post later since I forgot to bring the magazine and (sadly) couldn't find the article on their site. It is a very positive article about loving yourself for you and making changes for yourself and no one else and all sorts of stuff like that-- regardless who you are or what your shape.

Now, I know I'm not fat. I also know that I used to be 20-25 lbs heavier than I am now. Well, actually, I don't know that for sure because, you see, I gave up weighing myself for Lent. A seemingly odd, yet unbelievably difficult thing to do-- especially for someone who has been fighting eating disorders for a number of years. I can't tell you how many times I've been tempted to step on a scale in the past 39 days. I never realized how much well, weight I give to my poundage. It's a sort of comfort, knowing that even though I had a piece of cake (or three) I still weigh the same amount and I didn't blow up like a balloon. There are certain times when the scale really is a comfort because, even though I feel fat, it tells me nothing's changed and it's all in my head.

It's been hard not having that comfort, that crutch, but it's been good. To be honest, I'm dying to know what I weigh, though I'm sure it hasn't changed much-- and I've even had a couple of doctor's appointments in which they've had to take my weight, so It's not even like I've gone the full 40 days without a weight check at all.

Just know you don't realize how much you use your elbow until you hurt it, I never knew how much I relied on that scale for comfort (and I don't even own one!) until I couldn't run to it. There have been days that have been extremely difficult without this crutch, but I think I'm learning to flex muscles I would have never realized I had unless I'd set it down. Now I just have to strengthen those muscles so that I can run to the One True Comfort. The greatest thing is, that even if I'm so weak that I can't hobble, much less run to Him, He'll come and sweep me up right where I've fallen. For that, I give great thanks and tears of mercy-filled joy.

SAMPLE ME!

So, you want to hear some music do you? Ok, then. Go here. There are three songs. "Fools" is the song Kristi's been wanting to hear for forever. "Patricia Lee" is the song I wrote the day after my aunt passed away from breast cancer.

So, there you have it, at long last, some MP3s.

Things, ok SONGS, That Make Me Happy As Of Late

I Met a Girl~ Wheat

Return to Me~ Matthew Ryan

Do You Realize~ Flaming Lips

Fell In Love With a Boy~ Joss Stone

Burning Photographs~ Ryan Adams

Silence is Easy~ Starsailor

Five Minutes, Superhero, Like a Drug~ pretty much anything by Garrison Starr

She Will Be Loved~ Maroon 5

I'm Shakin'~ Rooney

Friday I'm In Love~ The Cure (this is just an all around "make me feel good" staple)

Ugly Girl~ Fleming and John

Will Hoge

Basically a whole bunch of songs that I can blast in the car with the windows rolled down to let in the warming breezes. I love warmer weather.

There's a definite difference between summer music and winter music. Winter music is more intimate, moodier, closer: the kind of music you curl up in a chair with while sipping hot cocoa. Summer music is fun and blaring; the kind you can roll with, dance to and just all-around radiate fun. "You Got It Bad" by Usher reminds me of warm weather. "Something's Missing" and "Man on the Side" from John Mayer's live double disc remind me of cold, rainy nights. Tracy Chapman's whole "Let it Rain" album reminds me of some dark winter freezes, physically and emotionally. I love driving to "Romeo on the Radio" from The Normals, perfect warm weather driving song. Wilco's "Heavy Metal Drummer" is a total summer song, as well.**

It's so amazing how different songs and different types of music emerge in different seasons of the year, and of life in general. In this season, I just want to bop my head and shake a tail feather. I'm ready for flipflops, tank tops and dancin' tunes.

**As a disclaimer, these songs remind me of these things, a lot of the time, because that's when I first heard them or heard them most.

Forgive Me Reader For I Have Scened

Sorry for the pun (ok, not really-- I'm really that cheesy) but I just couldn't help it since I'm citing the second article from The Scene in two consecutive posts. I really do have my own thoughts. Really. Anyway, this "gladiator" article reminded me of a friend and I thought I'd share his crazy antics with you.

My friend Matt (one of my friends named Matt, there are about a gajillion) is an Ultimate Fighter. As in, he goes into a ring no-holds-barred and either beats the crud out of someone or vice versa. Let me put things in perspective for you: Matt's not a big guy. He's probably around 5'9", maybe 155lbs and quite aesthetically pleasing, not to mention hilarious. He dressed really nice and majored in business at Madison. I think he's one of those dumb smart boys. We even had one class together my senior year and we would sit next to each other, when he showed up.

One day he came in to class in his J Crew button down, sweater, jeans and arm sling. Ok, no, J Crew does not make an arm sling... of which I am aware. Yeah, he broke his collar bone, or rather, the guy he was fighting broke his collar bone. However, I think he actually won the match, fighting in a higher weight class than he should have. I thought about going to one of his matches, but after I saw the videos of previous matches, I knew I could be no where near that arena. Though I admit I would have cheered mighty heartily for him if I had.

Deep Fried Onion

In honor of April Fool's Day, one of Nashville's local (and my favorite) publications, The Nashville Scene, decided to post a few cover stories Onion style. I was literally laughing out loud reading this to myself over coffee the other day. Ah, southern humor.

WANTED: ONE (1) COPING MECHANISM

This weekend a friend and I went to the Southern Women's Show. No, not something any boy would be caught dead at, lest he be forced to carry purses and roll his eyes for hours on end. Actually, there was a time or two in there when I wondered if I was even girlie enough to be in that place. It was a lot of hand lotions, beaded jewelry and pink. Including pink ribbons, the official symbol of breast cancer awareness. Despite the free samples and gallons of hand lotion samples, I left the building sobbing.

Over a year ago my aunt fell to the disease of breast cancer and I suppose I have yet to really cope with her passing. I mean, I know plenty of people who have survived the disease, especially in my own family, so I often underestimate the seriousness of the disease. Seeing the loads of women at the couple of breast cancer awareness booths touting the vast improvements in research and treatment did not bring me warm fuzzies. It made me angry. One woman rattled off a statistic about the improvement in mortality rates from 95% mortality to 95% survival. Don't get me wrong, that's amazing. Being an at-risk candidate myself, I bank on improving research, technologies and preventative healthcare.

However, the way the women all smiled and radiated angered me so much because 95% is great, but it isn't 100%. There are a lot of survivors, and there are some who haven't. I wanted the ladies to acknowledge those who scrapped tooth and nail and still didn't make it. Instead they stood there in their black and pink looking more like Victoria's Secret sales associates than healthcare activists. I felt bad because my friend's mom has recently gone through chemo and survived and was all gung-ho about the cancer awareness tables. The ladies were so happy that her mom was a survivor, I didn't have the heart to tell them my aunt wasn't and bring down all their joy. So, I just wandered off infuriated and distraught.

It's not their fault that I was mad. It's just that my aunt did all that stuff: the walks for research, the campaigning, the crusading. She was beautiful, outrageous, impetuous, immature and amazing. They didn't have a somber funeral when she finally went to her eternal rest, they threw a party. That's what she would have wanted. Maybe that's why I haven't coped with things. She wouldn't want me to be sad or angry. She'd want me to celebrate life for what it is, even in the crappy times. She'd want me to pick up the flag where she set it down and with my face forward, thumb the world and keep on moving. She'd want me to be thankful for those who have survived (I am) and help those who need it (I will try). In the very least she'd expect me to toast her with some Dewer's. What a broad.

"Of course it's my color, I bought it." ~my aunt in response to questions about her hair color.

I Love Me Some Hot Yoga

But not this much.

The State of the Non-Union

One of my roommates moved out yesterday. She and her fiance just closed on their house and she's moving in before the wedding. I had to face the fact that not only was I losing a roommate, I was losing a coffee grinder and free Starbucks beans every week. It was a sad day.

Even sadder because I was sick. Yet again. Stupid illnesses. I swear I work in a dorm-type atmosphere where diseases just continually people hop. With that and the sporadic weather, my immune system hardly gets any time to recoup.

Neither does my desk or apartment. You can tell how I feel by the condition of my surrounding areas. My desk is in a current state of chaos and my bedroom... oh man, my bedroom. I've thought about not cleaning up but just starting to pack instead. I mean, I'm moving in a couple months, makes sense, right? Looking around the apartment makes me dread the whole moving process. I think we'll need to rent a U-Haul. Except we won't because we're far too cheap/poor for anything like that, especially since it looks like we'll have to move into the new place before the old lease is up. Double payments, woo hoo. (Did I mention the root canal bill from hell? oh yeah, and my brakes are starting to grind, so I'm going to have to have that looked at asap. great)

The new place is great, though. It's a duplex, 3BR 2BA, large kitchen with dishwasher and adjoining dining room, fireplace, front and back yard with lawn maintenance provided and a washer and dryer. The rent is slightly higher than I'm paying now, but the location is amazing. A wonderfully quiet neighborhood, completely safe and yet still not far from anything. Now we just need to find a third roommate. bah.

I've applied for a second job and will hopefully get to go in for a second interview soon, since my (hopefully) manager-to-be and I have been playing phone tag to do just that.

So, now all I have to do is work on raising the money to go to Ireland (the week before moving), get my car fixed before driving up to Wisconsin in a few weeks and nail down my entire-employment situation. Oh yeah, and then there's that "have enough money to duplicate THE CD" issue. dangit. someday my pretties, someday.

EGO BOOST LEADS TO ADOPTION

I'm not sure how he got it, but Dave has been referring to me as "Lady M." Seems rather sophisticated and diva-ish, like a (rather flattering ) mix of Lady Day and the Divine Miss M, herself, who, by the way said one of my favorite movie quotes of all time: "But enough about me, let's talk about you... what do YOU think of me?" in the super sappy Beaches.

Since this (*possibly* undeserved) nickname celebrates my inner-Diva so well, I think I shall adopt it. Hence forth you shall receive all writings from "Lady M."

Thank you, thank you. Now where has that towel boy run off to? Good help is so hard to find these days! Dang, my fellow TUIB divas would be so proud. Raquel, this is for you.

Of Pain

Pain levels involving the root canal process on a scale of 1-10, 1 being "Pain? What pain?" and 10 being "I think my tooth's water just broke."

Eating on tooth that needs root canal: 8

Worrying about said root canal: 7

Going through said root canal: 5 (because the numb face and the process of getting that way kind of stink, but I did almost fall asleep in the chair-- nope, no sleeping gas, I'm just that tired)

Getting bill for said root canal: 8,000,000

Next project: resuscitate my wallet from its heart attack.

Erin Go Braugh! um, again.

What's that you say? St. Patrick's Day has come and gone? Well, I know that, silly. This time my greeting comes rather as a form of announcement than as salutation. What announcement have I, you ask? Well, I am going to Ireland. I'm going for a week at the end of May with a group from my church. This means I will have to raise the funds to support my time there with a youth ministry in Northern Ireland-- a British claimed area on Irish soil filled with turmoil between the two people groups. Yes, family, don't freak out, I'll be ok.

On St. Patty's Day I recounted that it has been ten years since the last time I was blessed enough to go to Ireland. I took that trip for granted, but may my eyes be gouged should I do the same this time around. As in the last trip, I will also have a short amount of time in London (1 day) and hope to see the things that I missed out on the first go round as well as a quick snap shot of that city life. *note to self-- bring empty suitcase to London in order to fill with stuff to bring back* :-)

To be honest, I look to this trip with excitement and trepidation. You see, this promises to be a challenging trip, exposing many of my faults, my caveats and all sorts of idols in my life that I am trying to avoid acknowledging. Everyone I've talked to who has gone to help this ministry in the past has nothing but great things to say about how it changed their lives. This scares me because I don't know if I'm ready to be thrown into refining fires. At the same time, however, I'm not sure which scares me most: the thought of being tested and changed, or the thought of nothing spectacular happening at all. I suppose this means I desire that challenge and change, after all.

Painting Everything in Black and Blue

I'm a strange kid. I get the weirdest bruises. Today I have one on the top of my hand. Not the top of the hand that I completely schwacked directly into someone's sideview mirror. Oh, no, that hand remained unmarred. The other hand. The one I don't remember doing anything to, ever.

Last week I was trying on skirts for the next day and turned around to find an amazingly large bruise on the back of my leg above my knee. Ok, longer skirt it is. It was quite purple. And blue. And did I mention it was large? How did it get there? How am I supposed to know?

And the bruise I got on my thigh above my left knee. Don't really recall how that got there either.

The funny thing is that I can run into something and expect a bruise, but never get one. Then one day I'll look down at the inside of my forearm (how the heck do you get a bruise on the inside of your forearm??? happens to me all the time) and there's a little brownish/purple dot to call my own.

I think they're on a delayed reaction. So, if I get a bruise right away, then I know it must be really bad. Otherwise, they don't appear for days (a week?) later and by then I've forgotten the cause.

Case in point: My cousin and I are the same age. For our high school graduation presents, we got to go out to visit my aunt in California. The week before, at the end of my cousin's graduation, I tried to descend the bleachers instead of the nice, tractioned stairs and ended up, well, *ahem* losing my footing, if you will. Slippery little things they were. There I was trying to be all cool in my long (thankfully), flowing dress and heals, and I slipped on one of the risers half way up and rolled sideways down the rest, stopping only at the one right before the gym floor-- where an elderly gentleman so graciously helped me to my feet while the hot upperclassmen gawked laughed above me. (note: this also qualifies as one of my most embarrassing moments)

The point of the story is this: my shins didn't bruise. They hurt like heck, though not as much as my fragile 18-year-old ego, but they didn't bruise. Or rather, they didn't bruise until a week later when, after hours of rollerblading on the Long Beach Boardwalk, I traded my blades back for my flip flops, only to find that the pressure from the blade-boot had brought out the bruises in a wonderfully ribbed gym-sock-pattern all across my shins. (note: this may have qualified for its own embarrassing moment, however, it is clearly acknowledgeable as an extension of the first)

I mean, seriously. What's with the bruises? I think my roommates are coming in and beating me up in my sleep-- well, if I was able to fall asleep properly, that is. No wonder I have nightmares!

Losing Silence, Losing Steam

In this world, I have favorites. It's true. I try to be unbiased, but hey, I'm human. My favorite food genre is Tex/Mex. My favorite movies are White Christmas and Tommy Boy (both for sentimental reasons, oddly enough). My favorite treat would have to be frosted sugar cookies, followed closely by anisette toast. I don't particularly have a favorite color-- they all look good on me. Oh, and my favorite personal attribute is my humility. heh.

The oddest of my favorites, however, would have to be doors. I have favorite doors in the world. I may, however, have to knock that down to just one favorite door for now seeing as how my 2nd and 3rd favorite doors have ceased providing the service for which they were so adored! There are two doors between my living room and my bedroom. These, until recently, have been two of my very favorite doors in the world. I could close them and seal myself into complete oblivion of apartment goings on and/or catterwalling.

Alas, the seal has broken, my domain has become, well, noisy. Noisi-er, I should say. Now, not only can I hear my neighbor's phone across the hall, the dog running about upstairs and anyone *ahem* "using the facilities" adjacent to my room or running water of any sort in the bathrooms above or below, now I can all of a sudden hear every little peep from my living room-- to which I had before been blessed to witness sheer silence.

I think the apartment is revolting. Perhaps it is waiting for May 31st with as much anticipation as I am. For then, we shall be free of each other-- forever! (insert maniacal laugh)

I just want peace and quiet. Oh-- and a little machine to follow me everywhere and soothe me with the sounds of tranquil ocean breezes.

So, I haven't written much it seems. I'm feeling a bit slow of late. A bit lethargic. A bit dreamy, yet not whimsical-dreamy, more why-am-I-awake-dreamy. However, I appear to be most stressed out while sleeping. Go figure.

I've begun looking into homeopathic wellness options, in an effort to spunk up my over-all lack-lusterness. Vitamins here, vitamins there. Homeopathic remedies are nice because they're more friendly to my messed up internal system. We'll see how they work. AND-- if they don't, the place I bought them from will give me a refund. Let's see Walgreens do that.

Any way. I would love to type more, but I think I might have to just curl up in a cocoon for a little while. Then perhaps I shall emerge a vibrant monarch ready for spring.

peace.

The South Is Seriously Oppressing Me!

Ok, perhaps it's just the two stores I tried in my semi-ghetto neighborhood, but I could not find any fun St. Patrick's Day paraphenalia! I find this a serious enough atrocity to blame the *entire* South. Yep. And I bet none of those meat-n-three places will see the necessity for corned beef and hash, either. Stinkin' ghetto south. It's about more than green beer people!!!!! It's about blinking "Kiss Me I'm Irish" buttons* and green bowler hats, too! Not to mention pots of little gold-foiled chocolate coins at the end of shimmering rainbows! And shamrock or better yet, four leaf clover, stickers to brand one's cheek and shout to the world, "YES!! I'm IRISH! I love potatoes and little green men! I may call myself or my friends/relatives 'Micks,' but if you do it, BEWARE my flailing fists!" If it weren't so cold there, I'd go to Boston. Or South Bend, Indiana-- but it's cold there, too. As a matter of fact, it's gotten colder here, too! It's all a conspiracy!!!!!


*As a disclaimer, I actually had the opportunity to buy a Kiss Me I'm Irish button at a going out of business sale a few months ago and refrained for fear people might actually take it seriously. I only throw elbows when necessary so I'd rather not extend an invitation that would lead to such violence.

Blarney

I can't believe it, but a decade ago (A FREAKING DECADE!!!!) today I was in Dublin, Ireland marching in THE St. Patrick's Day Parade. For Cheerleading. Yep. Of course, they made us chant "U.S.A." while we walked-- stupid arrogant Americans, but it was neat all the same. I particularly loved it when the Irish kids started chanting "I-re-land" on the sidelines. What I would have given to join in. = ) As much as they jeered at our chant, however, they didn't seem to mind our short pleated cheerleading skirts...

Ah, Ireland. I hope to return someday. Especially since then I was 15 and didn't realize the significance of, well, anything. We stayed in a castle and ate a LOT of potato leek soup (which I now happen to enjoy). I think it's also the only place where the same guys hit on my mom AND me in the same go. Not, however, the only place I've seen drunken teenagers falling along the side of the road. hmm. Ah, the carefree...

May the road rise up to meet you and the wind always be at your back.
CHEERS!

A) Will's Going Down

B) For the record, it's actually rather nice here in Chicago. Of course, I am indoors and there is sunlight streaming through the windows. My friend did, however, tell me I looked ridiculous all bundled up after picking me up from the airport-- um, come on-- it was 17-freaking-degrees!

C) SJD-- I would love to see you this weekend and am going to try to go to Blackhawk Sunday a.m. Call Yooms to get my #. I tried to email you-- didn't work. Silly other-people's-computers.

D) Ok, this is muy importante. Joss Stone, The Soul Sessions put out by S-Curve Records. She's a (surprisingly white) throw-back to Aretha's soulful tunes of the seventies with a wonderful timeless feel. She even has an Aretha cover, All The King's Horses. She's got more funk than Nora Jones with just as much soul. It's a good mix of get-your-groove-going-funk and chill-yo-self-into-a-puddle-of-vibrato-driven-gelatinous-cool-ballads (ala the Romeo and Juliet Soundtrack's Kissing You). This girl proves that soul isn't bound by race-- because, seriously, what is "race" anyway. Or something. yeah.

Brrrrrr

Yeah, that's the noise I'll be making A LOT this weekend up in Chicago and around my alma mater the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Yep, might just look like this. Though I would prefer it to look like any of these.

Laughing not allowed.

Besides, I'll be with some of the most awesome people ever-- well, aside from all of you, of course. Have a great weekend!

Do you ever feel yourself slipping away? Just kind of rolling away from your true self, your own sense of self like the tide ebbing into the sea? It comes back again, always comes back. It's a cycle, you see. A cycle of comings and goings. A cycle of highs and lows; of ins and outs. Even though I feel somewhat on my way out right now, I know that I'll come back in to flood the banks once more to stir the pebbled beach, to massage and wear at every single grain, until each granule weathers to a smooth, crystalline bead and the shore awaits my coming. I will set upon it with grandeur and with grace, with presence and with ease. Eventually it will form to me and resist its shifting ways. The wind will no long control its to and fro, for that will be my kingdom. That will be my haven, beaten and caressed into peacefully concaved submission, clinging to my shape, moving at my will. Yes, sometimes I feel I am this tide, this ebb and flow of power and glory.

And yet, sometimes, I am the shore.

Absent

I will be absent today as the entire day will be spent checking Dooce's comments. I'm thinking y'all might just be doing the same thing.

Born Deaf

That's right. I was born deaf: 80% in one ear and 50% in the other. I never knew this until after Christmas when my mom and I were driving down to TN from WI. I had tubes in my ears when I was younger, but I always thought it was due to an imbalance problem (which I also had) and had no idea it was to rectify my hearing inability! My mom said she didn't figure it out until I was around three years old. I was in the bathtub and my mom would talk to me. If I was looking at her, I'd respond, but if I was looking away or she covered her mouth with her hand, I had no idea what was going on. Apparently I had gotten pretty good at reading lips (a talent I would pay for now).

Thinking of my life and my love of music, it's somewhat baffling to think of what my life would have been without being able to hear. It's like that "would you rather" game. Would you rather be born deaf or blind? Well, apparently my body would have rather been born deaf-- although it is definitely allowing my eyesight to degenerate over time.

Since I've gained knowledge of this news, I have been taking into account various situations in which I can use it to my advantage. What was that you said? I'm sorry, I was born deaf, have a hard time hearing sometimes... In truth, I do have a hard time hearing sometimes. Rather than asking people to repeat themselves over and over, I generally try to just go with the flow and guess what they said. Note: this hardly ever actually works. That's right. I pretty much end up sucking it up and admitting that I couldn't hear them because I've made a fool out of myself. Ah well. To each his own. To me-- the mule award of the day. What? I'm sorry, I can't hear too well-- born deaf, you know.

Legally Binding?

Growing up I would make contracts with my dad. I would write them out with conditions and rewards and we would both sign them. For example, we signed contracts stipulating payment methods for grades on report cards: $1 for every A, $.50 for every B, nothing for Cs, -$.50 for every D and -$1 for every F. Granted, the last three grades were never actually applicable, but I had to make it seem fair and insinuate incentive. Going into Junior High (grades 7-9) my dad and I signed a contract that if I got straight A report cards throughout all three years he would get me a car (and people wondered why anything less than an A test grade freaked me out). I got my car. I think we also made contracts about chores and vacations. I even made a contract with my aunt stating something about the two of us going abroad after I turned 18 or something. That, sadly, will forever be a contract unmet.

I returned from lunch today to find this voice mail from my mom:

"Hi honey, I just wanted to call and tell you know what a little twit you are. I was just going through my junk drawer and looking at some of your old school records in it and in there I found all the little contracts you made with your dad for grades and one of them said If I *father's name* am mean to my daughter, Melissa *last name*, I owe her an extra dollar. *laughing* And you both signed it. I love you, I'll talk to you later, buh bye."

Hey-- my momma didn't raise no fool. Maybe I was supposed to be a contractual lawyer, eh?

Are We Surprised?


Lord of the Rings!


What movie Do you Belong in?(many different outcomes!)
brought to you by Quizilla

D Day

Off to get my root canal. ok, so I'm actually not that worried, I just hate it when they stick the needle into my gums. *shudder* Not to mention the fact that I'll have a pretty numb mouth for a few hours afterward. woo hoo.

When it's over, however I will be able to chew on both sides of my mouth, at last!

2000 zero, zero party over, oops out of time

Would someone like to bank roll my way to a Prince concert? I'll let you come with-- you know, if you get our tickets. *batting eyelashes*

Rainy Day Monday

Not getting me down. For some reason I don't mind the rain today. It actually makes me smile and feel all warm and giddy inside like being in love--or maybe like being befuddled by someone new. Sometimes it's nice to lose the horizon-- let the pavement and sky bleed into one. I think today's rain is just different. It's March rain.

Unlike January or February rain which plink into icy pools, March rain starts to feed the earth in preparation for Spring. Yesterday's temps reached sixty-something. The sun shone radiantly and my step instructor bored me so I hit the road for a walk/run. (aside: my knees hate me, a lot)

I saw robins. Growing up I learned that robin-red-breasts were a sure sign of Spring. However, here in Nashville I've been seeing droves of robins since January. I guess this is where they hang until Spring in Wisconsin--which can be as late as the end of April or middle of May (it can even plunge to 40s or 50s in June evenings). Not here though. Here it's practically Spring in February. My face even got a sunburn on New Year's Eve. Yesterday, however, yesterday I saw a true sign of the nearing springtime. You see, the trees are different. Not incredibly noticeable. Not pains-takingly obvious. It's a subtle difference, one you have to get up close to note. On branch ends and interspersed along the shafts, in the shade of bark, velvety soft buds have begun their worldly emergence.

You can't have grass and flowers and healthy, blossoming spring plant life without rain. Today's rain should give them some needed nourishment. That makes me happy. And giddy. And somewhat amorous, even amidst the grey.