Musical Monday: Bring On The Rain

A friend of mine gave me a short list of country songs as requests. I was familiar with this one and found a good karaoke track for it, so I was excited to record it. I don't know much about country music, but I must admit that the few I have done here have been very comfortable to sing.

Bring On The Rain

Instrumentals provided by Karaoke Hits, Pure Country, Vol. 43

Kazzy's voice has been silenced by the Digital Millennium Copyright Act(see the details here). Sorry you can't listen to her sing directly. But send her a message and she'll try to work something out.

day 284: blogging, casually

I spent the weekend at the Casual Blogger Conference, where I learned lots of wonderful things and spent time with women that I have become connected to through our writing.  We spoke of finding our voices, increasing readership, storytelling, and even ways to make money blogging.  What a great thing to have my own little publishing company, where I can write things that matter to me.  I love having a place to be creative and to express myself.
JThis is Momza and me.  I am a new fan.  Also, here are Tauna from Garden of Egan, and Debbie, from Crash Test Dummies.  Crash is a little lady with a big heart.  I have enjoyed getting to know her so much.  All three of the above pictures were taken by her.

Me on the drive home to Springville, after a terrific weekend at the conference.  Below, I snapped a photo of my feet while I was waiting for Mindy Gledhill to start singing.  I really like her voice a lot.  Very smooth.
On the drive home tonight I caught an actual glimpse of purple mountains' majesty.  It was breathtaking.

Charrette and Heather of the EO as we were finishing up lunch.  

A little Sarah McLachlan on the way home.  I was very reflective in my mind as I drove home and thought about the experience of being at the conference.
I was so glad to finally meet Heather King, of Heatherofthe EO.  She is sweet and genuine and kind and thoughtful, and many other good things.  It was a real blessing to spend 90 minutes with her.

day 283: my overflow

I am a spilling out of my skin.  I am unconfined, without definite borders.

I can't experience something new without tying it to something old.  Like the time we did an art project in my classroom where we melted crayons, and the smell immediately transported me to Graham Road School.  Mrs. Parks' kindergarten class.  Kevin Black, with his messy blond hair, who liked to gnaw on wrapped crayons like they were chewing tobacco.  Drool running down his chin.

Or how one day I watched from behind as my youngest walked away from me, and I saw my younger brother.  His same gait.  The same swing in his arms.  I was ten again, the big sister.

Sometimes I am the middle, seeing the present but connecting it to the past in my mind.  Or learning of the past and finding a connection to the present.

There are layers under my olive, freckly skin.  There are memories behind my brown eyes.  And I am much more than now.

282: to taste

An IEP meeting today, 6th grade graduation for my youngest, school luncheon at my job, class at the university.  It was a full day, and it went well.

I picked up Chinese on the way home because it was almost 7 and Geo was trying to help people in about 3 different emergency situations, making it impossible for him to help out in the kitchen (which he usually is happy to do).  After dinner we went outside and I did some yard work and enjoyed the evening air.  It was a strange color outside tonight.  I can't really explain it, but it was like the sky was fighting itself, unwillingly giving up this beautiful day.  Moody.

Then tonight G and I stood in the kitchen making Indian food together for a get-together he is having here at the house tomorrow night.  A dozen university students are coming over for food and a movie tomorrow while I am an hour away at the Casual Bloggers Conference (ex-cited!).  And as we stood there working together over the stove, which I might add is quite a romantic thing to do, he asked me questions about exact proportions for the spices, the chicken, the coconut milk.  I said...

Add things in equal amounts and then change it, to taste.  See what smells good.  Sprinkle more garam masala into the marinade if you want.  Add more coriander.  Whatever you need to get it to the flavor you want.  Let go of the recipe and the exactness.

Our lives have been like this.  We throw in church service, work, school, kids and their recitals, letters to the missionary, talks with the first-born.  We throw out the exactness and change it up, to taste.  And it tastes really good.

day 281: moo juice

Today I got a bottle of chocolate milk from the vending machine, brought it to my desk in class, and proceeded to guzzle it down like it was my last drink on my way to the gallows.  I sat there with my materials binder, my lesson plans, my textbooks, and my chocolate milk bottle right there at arm's length.  It was good.

I like to reward myself here and there.  And I like to put myself on a schedule.  These two things work really well together, like when I set the timer on the microwave and give myself 10 minutes to clean the kitchen floor, and after I run to turn it off before it beeps I allow myself 10 minutes on my reader catching up on blogs, news, etc.

Lots of things stand in for chocolate milk.  Time with my husband, playing with the kids, reading, blogging.

What can I say?  I work well on a deadline, especially when I get to treat myself afterwards.

day 280: because I knew it in my brain

This week I have been having one-on-ones with my students for post-kindergarten testing.  I love these moments where each student gets to have all of my attention.  Tender.

Today I was working with a boy that has done a complete 180 since the first half of the school year.  Where there were clouds there is now a clear sky.  Where there was distraction there is now focus.  It seriously has been one of the biggest miracles I have witnessed in my life, when it comes to someone being changed.

One of the things he had earlier struggled with was answering a "why" question.

S, why did you put your paper in your cubby already?  
I have my grandma.  
This was a conversation we might have had.  Now he answers with the appropriate "because".

Today I showed S three crayons and then held 1 out to show him, keeping the remainder behind my back in my other hand.

S, if I started with 3, and now I am showing you 1, how many are behind my back?  Then, S, now I am showing you 2.  How many are behind my back? 
He answered correctly each time, and his teacher got a little choked up.
Why did you say there was 1 behind my back?  
 Because I knew it in my brain.

Thatta boy.  Thatta boy.

day 279: cling

Clingy.  An interesting word that I thought about tonight while I was standing in the fitting room trying on a few dresses.  Clingy on my legs?  Doable.  Clingy on my chest.  Eh, ok.  But clingy around the equator?  I'll pass, thanks.

Then there is clingy in relation to family.  Immediate family?  That can be okay, unless it becomes too close to codependency.  Extended family?  Not so good.  Marriages have ended over this one.  Grown women with families of their own who spend every Sunday at their parents' houses eating their mothers' cooking.  I have really weird feelings about that.

I am not against proximity, in good doses, but I have lived 2000 miles away from my parents since I was 20 years old, so maybe I am just used to independence.  And I am converted to the idea.  For me, I was not about to figure out who I was until I was forced to- through distance and circumstances.  It is a process, and at 46 I am still at it.

Life is like that fuchsia dress I tried on tonight.  A little cling works, just not everywhere.

Musical Monday: I'll Be

This was a fun song to record, but it was right on my breaking point in my voice, so I seriously had to do the first sentence ten times to not have it crack on the word "eyes". I always wondered why Edwin McCain didn't hit the big time.  I have listened to some of his other stuff, and he is very talented.  

Click on the title below, and check out the sidebar jukebox too.  I will be changing it up here and there.

Also, thinking about what I can find an instrumental track for, please leave a request in your comment.  I keep a list, so if you have requested before, please do so again.  I just go by what feels right, after I see what is actually available.  Thanks.

I'll Be

Kazzy's voice has been silenced by the Digital Millennium Copyright Act(see the details here). Sorry you can't listen to her sing directly. But send her a message and she'll try to work something out.

day 277: meandering, literally and figuratively

I wandered today.  After attending a bridal shower north about 40 miles, I meandered back home over the course of about 4 hours.  Window shopping, taking scenic routes, listening to music, and avoiding coming home to do homework.  Yup, even 40-somethings don't like homework.

While I was gone my husband rallied the troops and got the lawn mowed and the bathroom cleaned.  Now I am sitting here blogging at his big fancy 27" inch Mac and he is off to see a movie with a friend.  Tag teaming.  We do that well, and still manage to spend lots of good time together.  It is a good system we have.  Not that we haven't had to tweak it here and there over the past 23 years, but we work well together.  Funny thing is that he has had to ask me to slow down and remember him more often than I have had to ask him to do the same.  He is naturally more attentive to me.  I don't know that I thank him often enough for his love and affection.

While I type I am listening to my recording of Landslide from my jukebox in the sidebar.  It is fitting.  Time makes us bolder.  Kids get older.  We get older.  And part of that getting older is that we say what we need, from each other, and from others too.  I also think some of the getting bolder is manifest in letting certain things go.  Meandering can be a hard thing to do sometimes, when I allow tasks to take over.  But today I made way for a little wandering, and it was good.

day 276: having a moment

When nobody was around I cried.  Just for a few minutes.  I held it together while I was stealing the last hug and giving the last sticker, but after they pulled away from the curb, and my technicians were gone, I had a moment.

A few times during class this week, my little princess said, I don't want to to go home.  Mommy doesn't play with me.  I will miss you, Miss Karen.  The last time she said it today I said, I will miss you too.  Then I quickly got busy doing something else because my heart was breaking, a little crack at a time.

 signing the word "special" for our program
photo by Luann Hawker at

This school year has not been without it's struggles.  One student can throw a pretty mean go-ahead-and-take-every-privlidge-away-I-don't-care-because-my-dad-has-already-given-me-money kind of tantrum.  The heels dig in, the face gets red, and the threats fly about how he is going to run away from school and never come back.  I still love that kid. I don't still love him because I am angel.  And I don't love him because I am obligated to, even though sometimes that is a good enough reason.  I love him because somehow, in this job, I have been granted a little extra portion, so that I can see the whole child, including his circumstances, as a little package of potential and squishy goodness.  No matter what.  And I am certain my technicians would say the same thing.

So on this last day of school, in my first year of special ed teaching, I was a little caught up short on how much it actually hurt to say goodbye.  I have been the student.  I have been blessed.  I have fallen in love.

day 275: colliding plates

 I am in the mountains tonight, with bare aspen trees and pink clouds.

It is quiet here, but sometimes I wonder about the sound that was made when these mountains were formed.  A creaking and groaning sound.  Rocks falling and forming and fragmenting.  It would have been a miracle to behold, if it had happened all at once, especially.

But it took time to grow these mountains, where we go to escape and to feel higher- closer to God.  It takes us time to have our own forming.  And we fragment too, sometimes faster than a mountain, but sometimes slowly and subtly.  We make our own sounds.

I am in the mountains tonight, with bare aspen trees and pink clouds.

day 274: remnants

On my nightstand, as I sit in bed:

water bottle
halogen reading lamp
gift card to a restaurant at Sundance
papers for work
fresh pineapple shimmer lotion
agenda for the Casual Bloggers Conference next weekend
Autobiography of Parley P. Pratt

As I looked at this lot, I realized it is a pretty darn good representation of me.  Kind of funny, the way you leave little pieces of yourself everywhere. 

day 273: breaking up

Today my husband stopped at the drug store and bought himself a mountain dew and a container of chocolate ice cream (this is as serious as his vices get).  When he was checking out, the tattooed cashier asked, Get dumped? 

The guy is pretty youthful looking, and the clues were all there, in the form of junk food, but it made him laugh.

This got me thinking about being dumped.  It has happened to me in many different varieties.

Twenty-four years ago I was engaged to a great young man that had changed my life.  We loved each other.  We were happy.  But he realized he needed more life experience, and I was not quite filling that bill.  It was tough.  I cried a lot.  I questioned my now-open future.  Then, 6 weeks later, I met Geo.  I am crazy in love with him.

About 5 years ago I was dumped by a close friend.  Personal healing on her part made it impossible to retain our friendship.  I was somehow a glaring light on some of the things she was struggling with.  I was in the way of her progress.  After a few years of distance we are now reacquainted, and it is at a good pace.  I have deep feelings for her.

Sometimes I even dump myself.  When I don't get to bed on time.  When I don't take enough time to meditate.  When I don't listen to myself.  When I don't read enough.  When I don't exercise enough.  When I don't sing enough.  When I don't hug enough.  When I don't cry enough.  When I don't laugh enough.

Being dumped can be a great cause for reflection and circumspection.

So I now ask myself,  Can we get back together?  I miss you.

day 272: beatitudes

I was walking around the block on Saturday, leaving my sister a voice mail, when I saw an older woman in my neighborhood out cleaning in her yard.  She called out to me and we sat on her porch and visited for awhile.  I asked her for a little insight into a parenting question, and she left me with something I have thought about since.

She said, When my son, Josh, was newly married he came home once to complain to me about his wife.  I told him to wait right there, and I came back out into the living room with a massager and told him to go home and use it on his wife after he gave her a foot rub.

I loved that.  Service in the face of adversity.  Loving those who seem to despitefully use you.  Peacemaking.

Sound familiar?

Musical Monday: Stormy Weather

With the passing of Lena Horne this week I thought it would be fun to record her most famous hit.  I am loving doing this style!  Just click on the song title below, and look for my new jukebox in the sidebar. 

Stormy Weather

Kazzy's voice has been silenced by the Digital Millennium Copyright Act(see the details here). Sorry you can't listen to her sing directly. But send her a message and she'll try to work something out.

day 270: water levels

A few nights ago my husband was in the hot tub when he noticed the water was below the line on one side of the tub, and at the normal level on the other side.  Upon further examination he discovered that the lower water was on the side farthest away from the huge cottonwood tree that canopies the cement pad the tub sits on.  After 9 years the level is off?

Today we were talking about it when his face lit up and he realized that every time he drains the tub (quarterly at least) he runs all of the water right onto the roots of the tree on the west side of the pad.  He was causing his own problem by over-nourishing the tree that had big, fat healthy roots right under the cement pad the hot tub sat on.

All of this on the same day I sat on the porch of an older woman in my neighborhood for an hour, talking about being a parent to my adult children.  Talking about nourishing.  Talking about the motherly instinct to feed and clothe and nurture.  How too much water poured right onto the roots could possibly mess with the cement and throw the level off in a hot tub.

Finding a way to pour it on, but not pour it on.  Offering love and shelter and help until my sons' roots are firmly planted and ready to soak in their own sustenance.  So I stand there with the watering can, and tip my arm when it seems right.

day 269: unthinging

Henry David Thoreau said, "A man is rich in proportion to the things he can afford to leave alone."  I feel more than ready to leave some things alone.  Things, objects, stuff.

We don't have tons of stuff.  I clean out often, and we have nothing in our attic and don't even have a garage.  But each room still gets its fair share of clutter here and there, and I am ready to be done with that.

google image

We have too many paperback books that we simply do not need.  They are stacked in a downstairs bookshelf, in boxes in a closet, and even in my husband's office at the university.  They became sentimental during the many moves we made in our early marriage, and we lugged them around everywhere.  This, I would say, is our biggest thing weakness as a couple.  And by "couple" I mean my husband, the English professor.

google image

We have too many purses.  I am an accessory nut (hey, what better way to hide your imperfections than with a cute purse or a sparkly bracelet?).  And by "we" I mean me.  If you live near me please come over and choose one of the ten I have lined up in my bedroom.  I am serious.

We have just enough of a lot of other things.  We don't overdo it on the furniture or the kitchen stuff.  And knickknacks?  Can't stand the stuff.  Love?  Just enough, sometimes too much, I guess, but I am happy to keep an extra batch of that around.

And when you come to pick out a purse, please stuff a few books in it too.  I really am serious.

day 268: my little butterflies

Two days ago a miracle happened in my classroom.  It was the kind of miracle that I had been prepping my kids for for a few weeks.  Those teeny tiny caterpillars we ordered in the mail, that had finally crawled to the top of the container to build their little sleeping bag chrysalises, were wiggling, and one had actually started to burst through.  We stood the children up on a chair, one at a time, to look in and see this amazing thing.  This science, this biology, this nature.  They were thrilled.  WE were thrilled.  It was a happy place.

The next day we came into the room to see that the first butterfly we had seen yesterday had struggled to get out.  He was stuck and seemed to have given up.  He was shriveled up a bit and looked hopeless.  Also, the other chrysalises were not seeming to progress and had stopped moving.  My technicians and I were broken-hearted.  What had we done wrong?  Why had they not changed properly from caterpillar to butterfly?  What more could we have done?

Once the kids came into the room we were busy rehearsing for our Spring program, so nobody seemed to notice the lack of life in the butterfly habitat.  There were a few minutes before the school talent show that we were going to attend, so I had a nice quiet moment with the kids explaining death, and animals, and insects.  It was sweet as they looked into my face and told about times they had found baby birds that had fallen out of nests, or had kittens that had died.  I love those impromptu teaching opportunities.  It is also one of my favorite things about being a mother.  Anyway, it was good, and on we went to the assembly, and then to the bus to go home.  My plan was to clean things up today as we started to prepare in earnest for our Spring program.

I came in and sat at my desk to check my email.  Looking into the sad little mesh butterfly house I saw that two of the butterflies had actually emerged and were starting to stretch their little butterfly legs and wings!  I was almost giddy with excitement, like when a prayer has been obviously answered.  I called to my technicians and we were thrilled about the news.  I asked Miss L if maybe we should take the little paper out that held the poor little guy that never broke out of his cocoon, and the two other coffin-like pods that seemed to be lifeless.  She suggested we wait and just see.  So wait we did.

Later today we were closing things up and I looked into the container to see that a third butterfly had come out, AND that the struggling one was still giving it his best shot.  There was movement, and when there is movement in a little butterfly house, there is hope.  I couldn't believe it.  I was completely ready to cut my losses and get unattached when things started to look up. I almost felt ashamed of myself for being ready to give up so quickly.

By the end of the day there were still just the three out of five chrysalises that had burst open with life, but now I am excited for tomorrow.  A miracle for my kiddos and for me to see this beautiful process of transformation in one of God's creations.

Then I left work today thinking about my 13 little caterpillars in my class.  How many times have people thought they couldn't learn, or grow, or progress?  And now look at them.  They are counting.  They are reading.  They are friends to each other and angels to me.  I love my little butterflies, with their brightly colored wings.  And as the school year draws to a close I unzip the top and hope they are ready to fly out on their own into the warm sun.

day 267: lighting on the swatter

There is a quote that says The fly that doesn't want to be swatted is most secure when it lights on the fly-swatter.  If you are like me you are immediately making a mental picture in your head right now.  A fly white-knuckling it on a purple plastic butterfly.  Yeah, I'm there. 

But I think this is a very profound statement for me.  My own impending fly swatter looks different here and there. Sometimes it looks just like my obligations at work and school.  Sometimes it is the spitting image of my 85 percent house and it's needy closets.  Sometimes it looks exactly like relationships that need more of my attention. 

Here goes my own white-knuckling. 

day 266: my last one

With your handsome, sleepy head on my lap I feel young,
And I forget for a brief moment that you are the last one.

Your smooth cheek is the only one left in this house of men.
You tell me I am awesome, and we laugh and make silly faces at each other.

Your silent laughter has always made me laugh.  Cinched up eyes and a shaking belly,
But no sound comes out.  It is your nature to hold things in.  My shyest one.

Shy enough to run out of the room when I read a card you have made for me.
Shy enough to bury your face in my back.

Sometimes you are a reflection of your brothers.  Sometimes my father.
But always a tender reminder of what matters.  And what always will.

day 265: the hard way

 wikipedia image
 The Maasai are a semi-nomadic people that began in the Nile Valley hundreds of years ago and now make their home in a large strip of land that extends from Kenya down into northern Tanzania.  They are about 900,000 strong and have retained their ancient ways of sheep and cattle herding, and though they live amongst wild game they refuse to eat game or birds.  What makes this tribe especially unique and even respected is that they are able to farm in desert and scrub land, where no one else has seemed to be successful.

photo of painting my son brought home from Kenya
I get a strange kind of jealous feeling when I learn about people that perpetuate a traditional lifestyle.  It is not that I particularly want to live that way, but it is a mysterious and amazing, and even beautiful, thing when old ways are preserved and the difficult path is chosen.  The fact that these people probably feel like they are not making a choice- that it is just "the way", doesn't matter to me. 

Does living harder refine us?  Does planting and harvesting in a desert make the food more blessed?  Do we need more trials?  More time away from ease?  Rhetorical questions, but ones to ask myself every now and then.  To check in.  To take inventory. 

Musical Monday: At Last

There are few things more fun to sing than jazz, even when the song is just barely at your breaking point and it feels like your throat is going to give out at any second.  Just sayin'.  I have been itching to do some Etta James or George Gershwin's Summertime, so this was fun.

Click on the song title to download the song, or listen all week by using the mp3 player in the sidebar, once the widget kicks in.

At Last

Kazzy's voice has been silenced by the Digital Millennium Copyright Act(see the details here). Sorry you can't listen to her sing directly. But send her a message and she'll try to work something out.

day 263: my tater

I remember the first time my oldest son came to the grocery store with me and actually sat up in the seat of the shopping cart.  He had on navy blue elastic waist pants and a little zip-up jacket.  There were a few times that I turned my eyes away just for a second and his little chubby body was leaning over to the side like a handsome little sack of potatoes.  I was pretty sure every single person in the store was staring at him and thinking how lucky I was.

That's all.  Just a little mom memory.

day 262: juxtaposed

I was moved by everyone's comments on my last post and wanted to say thank you for participating.  It was a revitalizing experience for me, and I hope it was for you too.

A funeral, a field trip, the temple, and a flute recital.  Each thing filled a different part of me today.

I started this day attending a funeral for the friend I mentioned earlier in the week.  Minus a few of the details, the life sketch that was read from the pulpit could have very easily been of my husband.  It was very emotional and ended up feeling even closer to home than I might have thought going in.  And his wife blogged today.  This is a strong woman, full of faith and surrounded by love.

Next came a field trip, where I went straight from the funeral to meet my kiddos at a pond where they were feeding ducks.  After the duck adventure, and a few kids tripping on exposed tree roots and skinning their knees, we headed to a park for a picnic and a 30-minute adventure at a new playground.  They are adorable and served as good salve for my soul today.  I love these guys.

Third, the temple, where I slept through more than I should, but still absorbed the feeling and the purpose.  I was emotionally spent, but glad to go and be reminded of things pertaining to eternity.  I needed it.  Afterward, my husband and I spent a good half hour talking about the kids and what we can do to bring together certain parenting philosophies that we seem to feel differently about.  Different backgrounds, and all that.  It was good.

Last, a flute recital that knocked my socks off.  Maybe 40 of us there.  I seriously was blown away to hear the power of this pair of flutes, when playing a capella and not competing with other instruments.  Maybe without lots of background sound we each can stand out if given the chance.  Big hugs to the musician friend, and then home to see my boys.

A day filled with crying and laughing and the Spirit and good music.  A mix.  Healthy and juxtaposed.

day 261: i am

It's been a long day, full of teaching, and going to school, and celebrating two friends' birthdays, but it started off with me rewatching this, and I can't get it out of my head.  Again.  My friend Charrette also referred to the ideas in this video in her post.  So, in addition to these two beautiful things I have seen, and heard, and read, I want to add my own thoughts.

I am not my body.  I am not just about cellulite across my belly, or my longer second toes.  I am not just about my developing crows feet, or tomboy-scarred knees.  But if this is true, then I am also not about the parts of me I mind less; meaning, I am not about brown eyes or a decent-shaped nose.  I am not about freckles across my chest or olive skin.

I am what I come from.  I am sent from heaven for a purpose.  In my life I have grown fat with babies, and then fat with love as I have tried to give more than I have.  I have been filled up with affection for my husband after being emptied by giving it at the same time.

I am bigger than my 5'2" frame allows, not because of my own accomplishments, but because of my unbordered, unbound inside.  I am my interests and my thoughts and my feelings more than I am my outside casing.  I embody the hope of every generation before me, back to my heavenly beginnings.  My body is here as a vehicle for my spirit, and I choose to respect it for that reason, but I do see beyond it.

As a tribute to yourself, I ask that you leave a comment that states some things about your inside/spiritual self that helps to define you. 

day 260: revolutionary fever, again

It is time for my semi-annual (or so) rhapsody on George Washington, which, this time, has been brought on by watching America, The Story of Us on The History Channel.

Did you know that GW was humble enough, and confidant enough in his own manliness, to bring in a Prussian general to rally the troops after a horrific Winter at Valley Forge, Pennsylvania?  It was during this Winter that he also introduced inoculations in the camp by having the doctor scrape pus (sorry) from an open small pox sore on one sick soldier and admit it into the bloodstream of a healthy soldier.  Are you getting how revolutionary (sorry again) his thinking was?

And don't even get me started on his self-discipline and the respect he earned from his troops.  This man was totally born to do what he did, and I will reiterate that again sometime in the next 6 months. 

day 259: smoochy face

In the words of Thoroughly Modern Millie:

Aphrododite, don't forget me.
Romeo and Juliet me.

photo by Luann Hawker at

day 258: to the end of the numbers

My husband was sad today as he called to tell me that a colleague and long-time friend passed away unexpectedly over the weekend from a pulmonary embolism.  This friend was our age, with kids the same ages as ours.  Those facts alone really make it hit close to home, and all day I felt a weird sense of reflection and out-of-body reviewing of my life.  Very kind and loving tributes were paid to him on both his and his wife's facebook pages, and as I read I wondered what people would think about me if I were to die today.  That macabre thing happens when someone tragically dies, but part of me thinks it is a good thing to let it take over for a little while, so that we learn something, and we re-evaluate where we are and where we would like to be.  

Geo came home around 6, we had a kind of quiet dinner with numbers 3 and 4, and then when they were cleaning up and preparing for a family lesson, G and I went to talk for a bit.  More efforts toward personal connections, he said.  I need to get better at that.  It is natural for women to foster relationships, but not for men.  Not for me.  I want to work harder at connecting socially with people.

We all take different things away from a heart-breaking experience.  My own thoughts, after sitting with it for awhile?  Would my children know that I loved them as much as I do?  Would they know I loved God?  Would they know I had endless faith in them?

Tonight as the day winds down and things settle into my brain and heart a little bit more, I think about the promise of eternal life.  The ones left behind are sad, yes, but can we find comfort in knowing that our friend is not sad?  Can we find comfort in the promise of eternity?  

 The gospel of Jesus Christ teaches us that this life is not the end, even though trying to comprehend that is almost impossible.  Some of us will spend a larger percentage of our existence in this chapter than others.  We are that we might have joy, and even when we fall short of joy we have God's grace to take us the rest of the way.  All the way to the end of the numbers and back.

Musical Monday: Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You

I remember my parents listening to this one when I was a kid.  When you have a song with such a cool vibe you will hear it covered over and over again because it has staying power.  I fell back in love with it when I got the Lauryn Hill CD maybe ten years ago.

So I just turned on the mic and went for it, which was a nice change from the blood, sweat and tears (almost not kidding) last week when I had to work hard on C'Etait L'Hiver.

Give a listen, and then go hug someone you love.

Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You

check out the mp3 player in the sidebar too

Kazzy's voice has been silenced by the Digital Millennium Copyright Act(see the details here). Sorry you can't listen to her sing directly. But send her a message and she'll try to work something out.

day 256: pulverizing

Tonight we were watching a show on machines that pulverize things.  I mean these things are called the rock saw, the wood hog, and the tub grinder, and they are the bad boys of the pulverizing scene.  70 million pounds of force when needed and nothing can survive, whether it's trap rock. or marble, or large telephone polls.

 Every time I watched the machine smash something I found myself wincing.  I realized that just the prospect of being hit that hard was tough to fathom.  No warning and then ka-blam. But how many times does the pulverizing just sneak up on us?  Deception from a loved one.  Job loss.  Health problems.  What is your strategy for facing the pulverizing?

day 255: personal billboard

My son and his girlfriend have been getting into silk screening lately, and for my birthday made me a shirt to prove it.  Suh-weet. 

ps I think I am going with a little flirty love song on Monday.