la langue

too many words. too little reason. say less. speak less. in fewer words, more is found and more is revealed. 'when words are scarce they are seldom spent in vain' -- shakespeare

something was said directly to me yesterday when this particular individual was thinking out loud. the words were like nails in my chest; and though they were not meant to intentionally hurt, they held power just by being released. the words have fallen off and not implanted in me; forgiveness and forgetfulness are valuable tools in prying away at poisonous nails. but one learns because we all do it. i realized that i said something that night i wish had never come out of my mouth; it was on the brink of prejudice and could be construed that way. oh, be careful little tongue how you snap.

evidence and proof

I-35 the sunday after thanksgiving is a freeway not recommended to travel. after spending an hour and a half on a piece of highway that usually takes me forty-five minutes, it was already time to stretch the legs (mainly because sitting on a freeway is just a bit frustrating). i stopped at an unnamed business and headed straight to the bathroom. this particular bathroom was a very awkward one; instead of two stalls side by side there was one on the right and one on the left. i came in and stood in line at the back wall with one other lady. at the outside door of the restroom, there was a wheelchair. in walks another woman who stands to my left now that the other woman has entered a stall on my right. i know i am next; the lady on my left knows i am next in line. in walks a mother and child and they stand to my right. the stall on the left opens and it is the woman needing the wheel chair. the woman on my left knows her and helps her to her wheel chair; and i enter the stall. it is my turn.

ah, but then there is the mother with child. she is quite upset with me because she jumps to conclusions. she thinks i am a horrible person who pushes others aside in order to serve myself and get to the stall first. the evidence before her suggests it in full. postmodern thought leads her to conclude that the immediate form of evidence is in her personal observation-- that i am a thoughtless human and i stole a place in line in the bathroom. yet i know that her sensory perceptions are completely subjective. she doesn't know that and lays the burden of proof on what her eyes see. she wants to comment to the lady who she perceives was in line first but she doesn't want to say something while i am still there. she attempts to comment and gives me a nice tongue lashing with her eyes when i exit the stall. the clear and convincing evidence before her suggested i was in need of an eye-whacking. misanthropic sentiments lead us to believe humanity is going to hell in a hand basket. what the mother concludes based on her eye witness account is that i am proof of this theory. i chose not to defend myself. i chose to meditate on this experience without letting this woman know i am not such a bad apple in the hand basket of humanity. but what conclusions will she draw from this, from a perceived truth? and yet i know the truth. i have the whole truth before me, and i completely aware there is a whole truth.

it made me think how often i do this; believe one truth based on intuition and the evidence before me, before my senses. but what lies beyond, beyond the door before i entered, before my senses were aware of their environment? what lies in unknown thoughts and proofs?

there is evidence before me that suggests two (even three) completely different conclusions. but i don't see what is behind the door. i do not have the whole truth. there is a whole truth that will put every bit of perceived and unperceived evidence into a whole picture. i long for resolution, a verdict, and to know truth. but until that time, i wait with patient defiance and trust the Almighty, the maker of Heaven and Earth. for i know He is the way, the truth, and the life. in Him is justice not anarchy, peace not chaos, real truth not relative truth.

raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens

okay, so i am allowed one cutsie wootsie post a year. this is it. won't happen again. had to do it though. brie and laurie, now you can see kara's gals....

aiden, zoe and nonna prepare to brace chilly dallas weather

zoe (full of life) visiting emily and bekah. zoe is walking at 10 months and i am pretty sure speaks fluent japanese. she is also an extreme extrovert, the life of the nursery.

aiden embraces her inner hippy. and yes, she is wearing short sleeves in fall. welcome to austin.

rosie cotton (we are a family of tolkien nerds), dad's one year old cavalier king charles spaniel, gave birth to seven absolutely adorable pups. seriously cute. seriously.

goooood momma who still loves a game of catch the frisbee. samwise is out hunting conies.

and something just purely goofy......

next post: how upton sinclair's the jungle changed the united states and why the fda needs a complete reformation (an attepmt to re-establish proof i am not a cutsie wootsie girly girl).

my song is love

thank you, joel, for the mixed cd. my brother knows me well. the music lured me in to a delicious mellow monday. the first song, a message-- lovely. i've been thinking lately about what it really means to love, and it frequently turns me to meditate on the most widely known scriptures on the subject. overused (which waters it down), but good stuff.

patient. kind. does not envy (ouch). it does not boast (?). it is not proud (hmm). it is not rude (okay). not self-seeking (woah). not easily angered. keeps no record of wrongs. keeps no record of wrongs. keeps no record of wrongs. did i say, keeps no record of wrongs (personal reminder)? does not delight in evil. rejoices in truth.

always...

protects
trusts
hopes

perseveres (sigh)

never fails (whew. love wins, so i hear).

one important lesson i have learned through this-- it is completely a choice. a free will choice.

some days are diamonds, somedays are stone

it's a stony day. a seasonal one. a million and one songs play through my brain.

hard rock miners.... and i feel like i'm dyin' from mining for gold.

hello darkness my old friend. (you may be the sound of silence but your voice is abrasively soft.)

i went out walkin' through the streets paved with gold. lifted some stones....

it's time to write my own lyrics.

and maybe skip some stones.

God, please hear my broken hallelujah.

sin-tacks

me righter. knead ed.it or

to kill a mockingbird

okay mr. mockingbird,

it is time to fly. you are now beyond annoying. too bad you are protected by state law. i lived in the deep deep amazonian jungles of south america where i learned to bathe in a river and fish with a spear, where swimming with piranha was an every day occurrence and a sure way to lose a toe, where sloth and wild boar were minor threats compared to 10 foot boas, anacondas, and other poisonous slithering things. when we lived in a tribal setting for a month, my friend jonathan and i would go bird hunting with sling shots . i hated the idea of killing any creature, but the tribe ate birds like you for a snack. i hear it's good protein; maybe a little wild tasting but good with french fries... so I hear. mockingbird on a stick, anyone?

" Atticus said to Jem, "I'd rather you shot at tin cans in the back yard, but I know you'll go after birds. Shoot all the bluejays you want, if you can hit 'em, but remember it's a sin to kill a mockingbird." That was the only time I ever hear Atticus say it was a sin to do something, and I asked Miss Maudie about it. "You're father's right," she said. "Mockingbirds don't do one thing but make music for us to enjoy. They don't eat up people's gardens, don't nest in corncribs, they don't do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That's why it's a sin to kill a mocking bird."

Father, forgive me for I have sinned.

tonight's menu
-orange fowl wrapped in bacon on crussette toast
-mixed field greens nested with texas goat cheese and petite boiled wild eggs
-roasted urban mockingbird in a duck burgundy sauce with new potatoes and carmelized carrots
- latte gelato served on a bed of chocolate twigs