stream of consciousness on a record player

what is it about a vinyl record that is so wholly comforting? the needle skips over the well worn grooves, grooves that can recount the past and the stories within. carole king's "tapestry" i can play over and over. i think we might be soul sisters though i prefer gilda's "national woman" to the original:) carole and i rode the train together a couple of times from jacksonville to miami as i sat in my lone seat pining for the man who had my heart and then broke it. at the time he was woven in to the words and the music. thirteen years later, carole and i still sing together though the man is no longer. the memories are still there of the clickity-clack clickity-clack hum the tracks made, who i was then, where my heart was, and all the lessons i needed to learn. at the time i was working on a ship stationed in jacksonville, fl. We were preparing to sail to the rebellion-torn, poverty stricken nation of haiti to take in relief supplies and hospital equipment. there were 100 crew members representing 19 different nations. the ship was a forty year old norwegian ferry; "fart" in norwegian means "stop", btw. some reason the tiny cabin i lived in was painted bright pink, and the roommate i shared it with was never there. i would go to johnny rockets at the jacksonville landing for special occasions , and sometimes i kept a stash of oreos in a zip lock for late night snackies. i drank powdered tea and my best friends were dutch and swiss. my theology was being tested through new ideas, new experiences, new people. and in the meantime, my boyfriend from home-- who lived in miami-- broke up with me (i still have a distaste for the florida keys, particularly key biscane). as my heart was breaking and learning to mend, i was being taught to trust and lean on the goodness of God in the heat of trial. praise him no matter what. no matter what. praise him in the bad times, praise him in the good. praise him. just praise. it stuck with me for a while; when i returned back from having my heart pummelled against the waves, i was told by a respected one that i was glowing. it was all in praising God, in trusting him. and then when i got home to texas i threw a tantrum and a pity party and gave up on the praising. bad idea.

carole and i also shared a journey with my sister kara. kara's cd player decided to give out at the beginning of a spring break trip to padre island and south padre island (we liked going to the beach together, going on road trips, etc). so we picked up the tapestry cd case and ended up singing every single song, remembering all the words (kara remembered "tapestry" much better than i did).

carole also reminds me of my mom because mom is the one who owned the 'tapestry' record in the first place. she liked folk music in the 70's and 80's and my tastes have been influenced by that. bread, john denver, carpenters, peter paul and mary, dan fogelberg, etc.... just to name a few.

thirteen years after the 'last train to jacksonville', i am still learning to lean on God, to trust him when circumstances look bleak, when i am ready to put down the armor and sword and crumble into someone's arms, to praise him- just praise him when the heart is weak, to not get caught up in my own mind and desires and wishes and emotions. just praise.

last week when trouble was raining down, i pulled out carole and danced. the sweet sounds of the crackling record reminded me that this is not the end. "way over yonder, is a place that i know, where i can find shelter from the hunger and cold.... i know when i get there the first thing i'll see is the sun shinin' golden, shinin' right down on me."

your kingdom come.

on earth as it is in heaven.

a mockingbird love story, protector of squirrels, and caterpillar jungle gym

so, i am being wooed by a two-winged, multi-tonal, sassing, plagiarizing feathered foul (i mean fowl). he has been completely unprovoked by any "home invasions", and for some reason for the past 6 weeks he has been coming to my door handle at work to mock me, taunt me, or is it just to woo? he'll come twice a day, peck at the glass, and then attempt to fly in. yesterday he did it six times. yes, six. mr. mockingbird, it is time to find something better to do (he didn't come back today; i guess i kinda miss him now).

yesterday after my morning exercise i was stretching silently on the porch and was disturbed suddenly by a ruckus coming from the bushes. squirrels usually do not make it on my list of cute fuzzy creatures to sympathize with, but this one was being ganged up on by 3 typically antagonistic felines. mercy kicked in. the squirrel hid right behind me as the hunters cornered their game. the cats circled around me but were too afraid to make a move. i armed myself with pecans (just to impede any attempts they might make), and another squirrel up in a tree sent down its threatening squirrely prayers in protection of its friend. the cats abandoned the hunt as my towering figure frightened them away, and the squirrel stayed scared stiff behind me for a while. when i offered him a pecan, he flew; i've never seen a squirrel jump like that. i hope one day he'll reconcile himself to me and we'll become the best of friends.

and lastly, i sat on my porch a couple of days ago talking on the phone (why can't we cellular companies get it right by allowing us to talk in our homes?) when i noticed a furry caterpillar climbing on my knee. i didn't feel him make it up my leg, but was none too happy to have this visitor on me. i gently flicked him off desiring not to harm him (but to give him a hope and a future), and i watched him land safely at the bottom of the stoop. two minutes later, guess who was staring me in the face? yes, he made it back up; so i flicked him gently once again. what a strange coincidence, i thought to myself. i continued to talk on the phone and chit chat when i looked down at my knee to a white blur. yes, once again. three times in a 10 minute span of time. this time i let him crawl to the other knee and make his way down.
well, yesterday i was sitting on the porch listening to a dear friend tell me a wonderful story of exciting news. sure enough, i looked down on my knee and guess who was there to greet me?

nature tales from my stoop in the burbs (correction; stoop in the city(?))

feminine observed

to be the fair maiden
and not the fair friend
to be the one pursued
and not the one pursuing
to be found lovely
and not found wanting
to be sought
and not to be the one seeking
to be first loved
and not to be the one pining
to be embraced
and not the one dreaming

this is what the woman within me cries

stayed

with patient defiance I wait
with quiet resistence I hold ground
with trust in the Creator of Heaven and Earth
I am unmoved

fate and hope are sealed in the hands of the Light of the World
His strong arm never leaves me
comforts me
supports me
holds me
and will not release me

uncertainty lies ahead
but i am certain of this;
that i will see evidence of the goodness of the Lord
while walking this terra firma

and so strength and tenacity
stay my feet
though my heart and spirit are tempted to crumble

and I wait for the Lord

language and laughter

Victor Borge-- a danish man speaking english creating his own version of a language that is not his mother tongue. and the video has dutch subtitles. gotta love it.

i love languages. i don't speak any fluently (english is still a bit of a struggle, i have to admit) though i wish i did, will strive to do so, and admire those who do. my spanish and french suffer at the hands of the other. even when i was in germany for a week and attempted to learn some of the language, i began to lose the little dutch i picked up (not that i picked up a little dutch person but the language). latin and italian are limited to music and opera and a handful of root words. o mio babbino caro anyone?

taking a second language a step further by inventing another language within that second language shows mastery and understanding and ultimately has a "way cool" factor (to use bad english).

i would have included these comments in the last post, but my html is very elementary.

so, here's to you, Victor Borge.

Victor Borge - Inflationary Language