Momma has a poem called Hill After Hill. In it she says “and years from now you know they are what made you.”
A.T. challenged me to think more upon what it is about those hills that haunts me, haunts us all.
These are just some of the memories that were made upon those hills.
I think sometimes the memories are getting blurry, but then I start to think about them, and they all come back to me like that freight train passing quiet through the night. When I remember it most clearly I am about 10 or 11 years old, a little freckle faced, red headed girl with a head full of dreams. If I was 11 that would have made the one we sometimes called Mary Poppins about 13. I wanted to be her so badly, with her beautiful brown eyes and her soft spoken ways. The Tom Boy, her, sister would have been about 10, just six months behind me. Strangely, I wanted to be her too! So wild and free, the complete opposite of her older sibling. And I could never quite make up my mind which one I wanted to be more.
The Bunny Collector was grown by then, or so we all thought. Sixteen years old and long since leaving behind those childhood games for basket balls and guitars. But still the sweet, genuine boy was there who had cared so dearly for his bunny friends, only now he was trying hard to be a caring man.
My little shadow would have been about nine. I had still had a few years before she would rebel against me in attempt to strike out on her own. In my mind she still thinks I hung the moon and stars and she follows Mary Poppins and the Tom Boy and me around as we pursue the Bunny Collector through the hills of the Ozarks.
It is Autumn in the Hills and when we find him the Little Man is with him. He is about five or six but he looks eight. He is so grown up but still there is wonder in his eyes. Wonder and wisdom and love. Its no surprise the two are hiding together under the fort they have made from sticks and fallen trees. They are versions of the same song played in different decades but with the same soft melodies.
The leaves are crunching below us as we try to sneak up behind them; they give us away. The Little Man smiles but I think I see a bit of disappointment cross The Bunny Collector’s face, no doubt he has enjoyed the time away from his crazy girl cousins. We huddle close to them intruders upon the fort, but soon we are all laughing. The hills are alive with colors but we are so consumed with each other that we hardly notice them.
There will be a feast for dinner later, Cornish hens, mashed potatoes, parsnips, me-maw rolls and pumpkin pie. We would be allowed to sit at the table if we could keep our napkins in our laps and sit up straight. “Now, Girl!” Old Bad Fox would say and look at your elbows. Quick! Get them off the table! He smiles.
Later there is snow on the ground. It is Winter in the Hills. Momma says she heard the snow fall in the night and when we look outside we are thrilled to see that she is right. We all live in places in the South like FL, GA, TX, MS and TN so snow is an old friend we rarely see. We all bundle up and I’m jealous of Mary’s white fur coat. The Shadow throws a snow ball at The Bunny Collector’s head and it breaks The Old Bad Fox’s car window. She lies when she tells him that she didn’t know there were rocks in it and we all keep our mouths shut.
We hike slowly down the old hill to the lake below. Careful to hold Little Man’s hand so he won’t fall. The lake is frozen but not solid enough to go out on it. Our noses are cold and our hands are freezing even through our mittens. The Bunny Collector wanders off into the snowy woods and I wonder what it must feel like to be a teenager. We head back inside for stew and cribbage.
Its Christmas Eve in the Hills and I am lying beside the Tom Boy on the pull out couch that Me Maw calls a divan on the sun porch. The old clock is singing its night time song in the distance and I can’t wait to see what Santa has brought. In the morning there will be cheese bread and coffee. Christmas Sweaters. Family Sing a Longs and some one will read Grandma Barker’s old poem.
The Three Girls are all home. The Music Maker at the piano, the Singer of Songs holding the hymnal, and The One Who Marches to Her Own Beat making them laugh.
The Bunny Collector’s older siblings are here too. Sweet Sister. Ok, that settles it! Forget Mary and the Tom Boy, she is the one I want to be just like. With that curly hair and great laugh! I hope I will be so cool when I grow up. I have a secret crush on the Second Son. I think he is so handsome. His new wife is with him and she is pregnant with their baby. She is beautiful to me. Before we go to sleep The Oldest Son and his wife tell us the most amazing story I have ever heard. I love how they tell it together. How one finishes the others lines. I would realize later that it was C.S. Lewis’ The Silver Chair.
Its Springtime in the Hills and My Shadow and I have on the sister dresses Me Maw gave us. Little Man in in a white suit. And oh my! Look at The Old Bad Fox in his pink suit and Easter egg colored tie! He clips roses for the girls to pin to our dresses and we feel like we are little ladies. So pretty. “Pretty is as pretty does” Me Maw reminds us. Where have I heard that before? We all take pictures with the iris and then off to church.
Spring time means lots and lots of flowers and we follow The Old Bad Fox through the garden as he snaps pictures. “You see that stump over there, Girl?” He asks. And I smile. “I’m never cutting it out.” I know why and he hugs me.
I sleep in the Red Room with My Shadow and Little Man. We bundle together in the in the twin beds and fight over who gets to sleep in the middle.
It is Summer in the hills and Me Maw is taking us on a picnic. We pack our lunches and head to Kabool to the park. The mayonnaise on the sandwiches has gotten hot but I eat mine anyway because she packed it for me. Later she takes us down to the old creek and we wade out in the water rolling up our pants legs we go out too deep. On the way home we pick Queen Ann’s Lace. When we get home we discover we have leaches from the creek!
We go over to the to Uncle Bob and Aunt Nita’s for fishing. He has rigged up an elevator of sorts to get up and down their steep hill. It creeks and moans. What fun! They never had children of their own and so it is fun to play with them. Aunt Nita shows us her paintings and I love to just sit and listen to Uncle Bob talk, his handle bar mustache moving as he speaks.
Later there will be watermelon from the garden.
As I think back I realize it is the people who come to mind. It is the hills, yes, but the people I loved who lived among them. And maybe it is the hills that I could see in them that I long for now. They grew up in those same hills. The same seasons passing. An Old Bad Fox and his Bride. Over fifty years of passing seasons and still I saw him cry when we laid her down into those very same hills.
I guess it’s the passage of time that I long for. The innocence of childhood that I seem to have left there somewhere along the way. It seems as though Mary and The Tom Boy, Little Man and My Shadow, The Bunny Collector and his older siblings, The Three Girls-The Music Maker, The Singer of Songs and the One Who Marched to Her Own Beat, The Old Bad Fox Himself and His Bride, it feels in my minds eye that they should all still be there, playing with the little freckle-faced red-headed girl, shaping her dreams.
Once upon an
Ozark Hillside
Lived an Old Bad Fox
And his Elegant Bride.
Nesting upon that hill
Three girls at their feet,
A Music Maker, a Singer of Songs
And a Little One, Who Marched to Her Own Beat.
The three would grow,
Each with her turn to shine.
Each would have her own brood
In her own time.
And year after year
No matter where they had gone
Each would return to that old hill
And bring their children along.
What joys! What laughter!
Memories that will never fade!
The Old Bad Fox telling stories
And oh! The suppers he made!
And his Bride, our Me-Maw
Was there ever a sweeter sound made
Than to hear her soft voice whisper
That you were her Babe?
I don’t think they knew the impact
That hill would make
No matter how far our roots run
Or which paths we take.
Once upon an
Ozark Hillside
Lived an Old Bad Fox
And his Elegant Bride.
Resting now upon that hill
Their beloved Ozark pride!
Home with their Maker
And forever side by side.
.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
another friday night passes..
i remember writing in my journal how the losers lingered a little longer on the field than the winners did that night back in '97. how i watched the lights go out on the field standing there on the astroturf in college station with lara, the quarterback crying beside us. just two away, i wrote. two away from state.
the hornets would go on to win the texas state championship in '00. i stood there on that freezing december night with matt and the family. i had driven seven hours to be there. the brutons had brought their gas powered space heater and the whole stadium seemed to be sharing the same blanket, huddling beneath it together only to throw it off every five minutes as we stood in a fury to cheer. in the final seconds taurean henderson ran the ball into the end zone and the whole arena erupted. one giant cheer of hometown boys and girls long since gone from the place they had once known, but home now coming together in one common victory to share in this great night when a small town seems bigger than the biggest city. taurean would go on to play for texas tech and then the vikings and the falcons; our very own home town legend who put little ole gatesville, tx in wikipedia. but i bet even he would say his greatest win was that night. there is just something about texas high school football. if you haven't lived it, you might not understand. it stays with you.
in my novel i am writing, justus loudbach's father, rw, the high school kicker turned preacher has a state championship ring in a case over his diploma in the church office. his brother wain has one too, proudly hanging in its case over his bed in the j crew room his mother has not touched since he left home to marry liz and become a lawyer and the father of perpertually crying twins. justus dreams about that night when it came down to the last kick. about how the whole world seemed to slow down. the home movie in his head flickers a bit but he can still hear johnson yelling "send our baby home through the uprights, j!" he can still see the ball clip the corner and fall. he can still see the lights go out. i guess despite that win after i was in college that loss in high school has still lingered a little longer with me.
this year the starting quarterback and the homecoming queen for gatesville are both two precious kids that i baby-sat once upon a time. little jake has stood on those side lines with the big boys watching his daddy coach the hornets since almost before he could walk. in fact my memory of this is inspiration for parts of my novel. and now its his turn. and mary, my little mary alice. homecoming queen for all of two days, but our little drama queen forever. i can still see those big blue eyes looking up at me with those big crocodile tears. i hope, for thier sakes, those will be the only kinds of tears those big blue eyes will ever see.
im old.
i was so young then. u never realize it until its too late.
if i could write mary and jake a letter, and maybe i will, i would tell them "stay there in those moments for as long as you can. soak up every ounce of gateville. the drive-in theater and the way audi smiles and nods when he hands you the ticket. main street, with the way it sneaks up on you and then its gone. the old courthouse square. the parade where the whole town comes out. little girls and boys pointing and smiling. mommy, daddy he's the quarterback, look mommy a queen! the hornet buzz on monday after a victory. the drum beat of the band warming up on friday morning. the pep rally on friday afternoon, oh feel it for everything its worth. never again in your life will you be so united with any other group of people. and those friday nights. listen for the old train that goes by in the distance when you play la vega. watch for the goats that graze just to the left of the field when you play china spring. be sure you make fun of the troy trojans. sing the words to oh christmas tree when the robinson rockets play their school song. go get kalaches when you play in west. catch a mini football that the cheerleaders throw after a touchdown. and never, never fail to join pinkies across the stadium and proudly sing your alma mater. do you know most people i have met in life don't even know their school song? sing it proud and be sure to sing it right, changing that last line from gateville, all hail, to gatesville, all hell.
i don't know why. i can't explain it and you won't be able to either, but you will never be able to forget them."
im friends with lara now on face book, but we never really talk. she has two little boys and lives in florida. im pretty sure our homecoming queen moved off to utah. our quarterback went of to a&m but never played. taurean broke his leg and got sent to play in a league in europe. cody and clay and gip and matt all got married. and guess what! the great class of '98 is turning 30 this year!
i left too. bound for the magnolia state with a broken heart trying hard to leave gatesville behind. its been almost two years since i crossed that state line and gosh, almost ten since i left for mc. its been too long since i saw the sky grow big before my eyes. my heart still smiles to think of it now.
time passes.
in the tv show friday night lights the first couple of episodes they would write at the bottom of screen, monday morning, 8 am, 5 days away. tuesday afternoon, 3 pm, 3 1/2 days away. and so on...those early writers of that show understood the dynamic of a small texas town. every week in early fall you get the chance to start over.
maybe thats what i am still waiting for...
Jake Truss hit 13 of 19 passes for 280 yards and two touchdowns as the Hornets held off the Connally Cadets 44-34. Truss hit a 15-yard touchdown pass in the first quarter and a 64-yard scoring pass in the second quarter. Truss also ran for touchdowns of 6 and 1 yards, and nailed a 23-yard field goal for the Hornets (4-1).
source-wacotrib.com
today i am listening to:
adele-19-hometown glory
bruce srpingstein-born in the usa-glory days
today i am reading:
my novel, maybe i'll work on it some!
the hornets would go on to win the texas state championship in '00. i stood there on that freezing december night with matt and the family. i had driven seven hours to be there. the brutons had brought their gas powered space heater and the whole stadium seemed to be sharing the same blanket, huddling beneath it together only to throw it off every five minutes as we stood in a fury to cheer. in the final seconds taurean henderson ran the ball into the end zone and the whole arena erupted. one giant cheer of hometown boys and girls long since gone from the place they had once known, but home now coming together in one common victory to share in this great night when a small town seems bigger than the biggest city. taurean would go on to play for texas tech and then the vikings and the falcons; our very own home town legend who put little ole gatesville, tx in wikipedia. but i bet even he would say his greatest win was that night. there is just something about texas high school football. if you haven't lived it, you might not understand. it stays with you.
in my novel i am writing, justus loudbach's father, rw, the high school kicker turned preacher has a state championship ring in a case over his diploma in the church office. his brother wain has one too, proudly hanging in its case over his bed in the j crew room his mother has not touched since he left home to marry liz and become a lawyer and the father of perpertually crying twins. justus dreams about that night when it came down to the last kick. about how the whole world seemed to slow down. the home movie in his head flickers a bit but he can still hear johnson yelling "send our baby home through the uprights, j!" he can still see the ball clip the corner and fall. he can still see the lights go out. i guess despite that win after i was in college that loss in high school has still lingered a little longer with me.
this year the starting quarterback and the homecoming queen for gatesville are both two precious kids that i baby-sat once upon a time. little jake has stood on those side lines with the big boys watching his daddy coach the hornets since almost before he could walk. in fact my memory of this is inspiration for parts of my novel. and now its his turn. and mary, my little mary alice. homecoming queen for all of two days, but our little drama queen forever. i can still see those big blue eyes looking up at me with those big crocodile tears. i hope, for thier sakes, those will be the only kinds of tears those big blue eyes will ever see.
im old.
i was so young then. u never realize it until its too late.
if i could write mary and jake a letter, and maybe i will, i would tell them "stay there in those moments for as long as you can. soak up every ounce of gateville. the drive-in theater and the way audi smiles and nods when he hands you the ticket. main street, with the way it sneaks up on you and then its gone. the old courthouse square. the parade where the whole town comes out. little girls and boys pointing and smiling. mommy, daddy he's the quarterback, look mommy a queen! the hornet buzz on monday after a victory. the drum beat of the band warming up on friday morning. the pep rally on friday afternoon, oh feel it for everything its worth. never again in your life will you be so united with any other group of people. and those friday nights. listen for the old train that goes by in the distance when you play la vega. watch for the goats that graze just to the left of the field when you play china spring. be sure you make fun of the troy trojans. sing the words to oh christmas tree when the robinson rockets play their school song. go get kalaches when you play in west. catch a mini football that the cheerleaders throw after a touchdown. and never, never fail to join pinkies across the stadium and proudly sing your alma mater. do you know most people i have met in life don't even know their school song? sing it proud and be sure to sing it right, changing that last line from gateville, all hail, to gatesville, all hell.
i don't know why. i can't explain it and you won't be able to either, but you will never be able to forget them."
im friends with lara now on face book, but we never really talk. she has two little boys and lives in florida. im pretty sure our homecoming queen moved off to utah. our quarterback went of to a&m but never played. taurean broke his leg and got sent to play in a league in europe. cody and clay and gip and matt all got married. and guess what! the great class of '98 is turning 30 this year!
i left too. bound for the magnolia state with a broken heart trying hard to leave gatesville behind. its been almost two years since i crossed that state line and gosh, almost ten since i left for mc. its been too long since i saw the sky grow big before my eyes. my heart still smiles to think of it now.
time passes.
in the tv show friday night lights the first couple of episodes they would write at the bottom of screen, monday morning, 8 am, 5 days away. tuesday afternoon, 3 pm, 3 1/2 days away. and so on...those early writers of that show understood the dynamic of a small texas town. every week in early fall you get the chance to start over.
maybe thats what i am still waiting for...
Jake Truss hit 13 of 19 passes for 280 yards and two touchdowns as the Hornets held off the Connally Cadets 44-34. Truss hit a 15-yard touchdown pass in the first quarter and a 64-yard scoring pass in the second quarter. Truss also ran for touchdowns of 6 and 1 yards, and nailed a 23-yard field goal for the Hornets (4-1).
source-wacotrib.com
today i am listening to:
adele-19-hometown glory
bruce srpingstein-born in the usa-glory days
today i am reading:
my novel, maybe i'll work on it some!
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
up in a day and back in forever...
(i stole that first line from scott's emo poem about his summer in texas. but i think it can be said as fitting here too. maybe its a lack of sleep, or too much time to think in the car, but tonight i am feeling i see things more clearly in the rear view mirror too.)
a whirlwind trip to the berg and back to do some more apt and job hunting has got me all contemplative. all in my head and feeling lost.
where am i going? what am i doing?
what do i want?
i don't know a lot of things...
i don't know how to do really hard math problems.
i don't know how to fix most things on my car.
i don't know what its like to wake up beside someone and have them whisper i love you.
i don't know how to finish my novel.
i don't know if i will ever finish it at all.
i don't know where the road will lead next.
i don't know if i will have the courage to take it.
i don't know what God is doing.
i try to believe still in all the things i believed as a child. in white picket fences and green eyed babies, and the knight in shining armor...i guess
here are some things that i want...
i want to be good.
i want to be someone that people find to be a source of encouragement.
i want to be a girlfriend and a wife.
i want a man who i can throw my arms around at the end of every day and say how was work?
i want a family to love and take care of.
i want children to bless and who my parents can spoil and love.
i want to know that i may not know where the road is going, but i have a best friend to walk it with.
i want to know that i can finish my novel with a happy ending because i have a happy ending to my own life.
cc once said that he was tired of living the same old short stories. i think i feel that way too.
im ready for my life to take this crazy turn of events and all of the sudden some of my wants turn into haves. i don't feel like its a lot to ask. i don't want money, or fame, or any of those types of things... just a fair shot at loving someone and being loved in return.
ah, well. the night is tired and so am i.
maybe my plot twist is coming...
poem of the day:
Longing is like the Seed
That wrestles in the Ground,
Believing if it intercede
It shall at lenghth be found.
--e.d.
today i am reading:
the hattiesburg american and craig's list
today i am listening to:
adele-19-chasing pavements
annie and the beekeepers--a pirates life
she and him-volume one-sentimental heart
a whirlwind trip to the berg and back to do some more apt and job hunting has got me all contemplative. all in my head and feeling lost.
where am i going? what am i doing?
what do i want?
i don't know a lot of things...
i don't know how to do really hard math problems.
i don't know how to fix most things on my car.
i don't know what its like to wake up beside someone and have them whisper i love you.
i don't know how to finish my novel.
i don't know if i will ever finish it at all.
i don't know where the road will lead next.
i don't know if i will have the courage to take it.
i don't know what God is doing.
i try to believe still in all the things i believed as a child. in white picket fences and green eyed babies, and the knight in shining armor...i guess
here are some things that i want...
i want to be good.
i want to be someone that people find to be a source of encouragement.
i want to be a girlfriend and a wife.
i want a man who i can throw my arms around at the end of every day and say how was work?
i want a family to love and take care of.
i want children to bless and who my parents can spoil and love.
i want to know that i may not know where the road is going, but i have a best friend to walk it with.
i want to know that i can finish my novel with a happy ending because i have a happy ending to my own life.
cc once said that he was tired of living the same old short stories. i think i feel that way too.
im ready for my life to take this crazy turn of events and all of the sudden some of my wants turn into haves. i don't feel like its a lot to ask. i don't want money, or fame, or any of those types of things... just a fair shot at loving someone and being loved in return.
ah, well. the night is tired and so am i.
maybe my plot twist is coming...
poem of the day:
Longing is like the Seed
That wrestles in the Ground,
Believing if it intercede
It shall at lenghth be found.
--e.d.
today i am reading:
the hattiesburg american and craig's list
today i am listening to:
adele-19-chasing pavements
annie and the beekeepers--a pirates life
she and him-volume one-sentimental heart
Monday, September 21, 2009
a bobolink and a noted clergy...
yesterday was wonderful.
it is so good to be at momma and daddy's church and be with them on sundays.
momma did not tell us she was singing a solo with the choir! but she did and it was wonderful. it was funny because during one part of the last congregational hymn she sang an alto line that none of the other altos sang and with out looking up i knew immediately it was her sweet voice. i sat there and thought how probably no other person in the church could have picked her sound out that way, except for maybe daddy and boo, but that i knew it with no question. that same soft voice i had heard since before birth. then to have her walk from behind the loft and pick up a mic, i was so excited to get a public showing of the very singer i was just remembering so dearly from youth. so beautiful.
it is always good to hear daddy preach.
in my about me i describe myself as the daughter of a man who is not afriad to speak the truth. it is true. i could also describe myself as the daughter who sometimes cringes when he does. i have a tendency to be all talk and no action. i can get fired up at home, but its scary to speak your mind in public. its even harder to speak the Lord's words. its even harder sometimes to be the little girl sitting in the first pew listening to her daddy "step on toes". but also it is wonderful. it is inspiring. i think in human experiance there are opportunities to be decent, there are opportunities to be extraordinary, and then there are chances to touch on the divine. moments where we can look at a road before us and choose not to take it, to take it with hesitance, or to barrell through it like a wild sheep through a hedge! yesterday i watched daddy follow in the footsteps of violent sheep our family has known and loved.
the sermon was out of the book of james. following the litergy. but isn't it like God, it was exactly what the church needed to hear. sometimes the hardest thing to preach is what the church needs to hear. but preach it he did. he didn't bang the pulpit like jonathan edwards or dramatize his plight in life like hawthorne's minister in a black veil, but he stood up there like a man who had lived this last week in the presence of the divine. bowed with his wife in silent prayer, renewed. humbled within the walls of his office in study of the word, refreshed. transformed before he took the stage by the holy spirit, his lips no longer his own, but changed into an instrument of the Father. simple. profound. bold. truth speaking.
emily dickinson, whom i have enjoyed quoting as of late, stopped going to church as an adult.
it greatly shamed her father, a popular amherst lawyer, that she so publicly shunned the practice of her faith in a community setting, but emily believed that she could not worship with hypocrits. it delights me to consider the thought that she might have joyed in a fellowship under a preacher like the one i heard yesterday.
today my monday was better because my wonderful parents helped me renew my soul in fellowship yesterday. i pray that the rest of the congregation allowed the same renewal, but like emily, i fear that perhaps some did not.
today i am listening to:
ben taylor--deeper than gravity--nothing that i can do
rosie thomas--these friends of mine--much father to go
coday anthony--the forgotten album--beneath
some keep the sabbath by going to church
i keep it staying at home
with a bobolink for a choister
and orchid for a dome.
God speaks a noted clergy
and the sermon is never long
so instead of getting to heaven at last
im going all along.
--e.d.
it is so good to be at momma and daddy's church and be with them on sundays.
momma did not tell us she was singing a solo with the choir! but she did and it was wonderful. it was funny because during one part of the last congregational hymn she sang an alto line that none of the other altos sang and with out looking up i knew immediately it was her sweet voice. i sat there and thought how probably no other person in the church could have picked her sound out that way, except for maybe daddy and boo, but that i knew it with no question. that same soft voice i had heard since before birth. then to have her walk from behind the loft and pick up a mic, i was so excited to get a public showing of the very singer i was just remembering so dearly from youth. so beautiful.
it is always good to hear daddy preach.
in my about me i describe myself as the daughter of a man who is not afriad to speak the truth. it is true. i could also describe myself as the daughter who sometimes cringes when he does. i have a tendency to be all talk and no action. i can get fired up at home, but its scary to speak your mind in public. its even harder to speak the Lord's words. its even harder sometimes to be the little girl sitting in the first pew listening to her daddy "step on toes". but also it is wonderful. it is inspiring. i think in human experiance there are opportunities to be decent, there are opportunities to be extraordinary, and then there are chances to touch on the divine. moments where we can look at a road before us and choose not to take it, to take it with hesitance, or to barrell through it like a wild sheep through a hedge! yesterday i watched daddy follow in the footsteps of violent sheep our family has known and loved.
the sermon was out of the book of james. following the litergy. but isn't it like God, it was exactly what the church needed to hear. sometimes the hardest thing to preach is what the church needs to hear. but preach it he did. he didn't bang the pulpit like jonathan edwards or dramatize his plight in life like hawthorne's minister in a black veil, but he stood up there like a man who had lived this last week in the presence of the divine. bowed with his wife in silent prayer, renewed. humbled within the walls of his office in study of the word, refreshed. transformed before he took the stage by the holy spirit, his lips no longer his own, but changed into an instrument of the Father. simple. profound. bold. truth speaking.
emily dickinson, whom i have enjoyed quoting as of late, stopped going to church as an adult.
it greatly shamed her father, a popular amherst lawyer, that she so publicly shunned the practice of her faith in a community setting, but emily believed that she could not worship with hypocrits. it delights me to consider the thought that she might have joyed in a fellowship under a preacher like the one i heard yesterday.
today my monday was better because my wonderful parents helped me renew my soul in fellowship yesterday. i pray that the rest of the congregation allowed the same renewal, but like emily, i fear that perhaps some did not.
today i am listening to:
ben taylor--deeper than gravity--nothing that i can do
rosie thomas--these friends of mine--much father to go
coday anthony--the forgotten album--beneath
some keep the sabbath by going to church
i keep it staying at home
with a bobolink for a choister
and orchid for a dome.
God speaks a noted clergy
and the sermon is never long
so instead of getting to heaven at last
im going all along.
--e.d.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
the drive down...
today i slept in late. i stayed up too long watching episodes of top chef on the internet.
when i finally got up i packed a few things and got in the car. headed down to the berg to do some apartment hunting with boo.
as i drove that strecth of highwway 49 between jackson and the hub city that i have driven so much in recent months i thought about other strecthes of highway i have become familiar with over the years.
when we were children we alsmost never lived in the same town, or even the same state, as our grandparents. (as a minister's family you go where the Lord calls you know matter how far from family and friends He may take you.) the roads between wherever we were and lake of the ozarks, missouri and canton, mississippi, where both sets of relatives lived, were as much a part of our lives as children as the people waiting at their end. in that time we lived in what buechner would call once below a time. that magical point in our lives when we are still young and innocent and we know nothing really of time and space dimensions, only what we see and what we feel on a daily basis. "how much longer?" we would whine from the back seat. "its like two sesame streets and one mr. rogers to go." Our wise momma would tells us when we were two and half hours away. and we got it. that kind of time made since to us back then.
you knew that mamal and daddy duke's house in the hills of MO was getting close when you began to see the rocks form on the sides of the highway reaching up like mini mountaians on either side. our hearts raced as these mini moutains got higher and higher until at long last we were pulling up that old familiar hill that was their driveway. passing lake. passing iris. passing stump. home.
the "big golf ball" (mc's coliseum) was the sign on the way to mimi and dandy's. (its so strange to think now that i have made my place of dwelling not five minutes from this very spot for almost ten years now.) next came the lee's water tower; in the days long before madison's eiffle tower this was the next big landmark on the horizon. then came the railroad tracks. then the rolling greens. passing lake. passing azalea. passing golf carts. home.
i also traveled a lot in college. my early years of college i spent at mary hardin baylor about 45 minutes from my parents house in texas. i lived in the dorms but traveled home to gatesville quite frequently with crosby. he played piano at our church and so most sunday and wednesday nights i drove with him that long stretch of highway between g-ville and umhb. the flashing yellow lights in the distance as we left fort hood headed for lake belton. then waving goodbye behind us. did they signal what was ahead for us both? i was in love with him back then. in what buechner would call once upon a time. i had known what it was to break, no longer innocent to time, space, distance and pain. hesitant to reach out across the seat that seemed to stretch out between us in my mind longer than old highway 36. i studied hikus in my creative writing classes. and when i told him he composed one on the spot.
"there are two cities.
and one man lives in them both.
a bridge connects them."
i knew that this meant we would never be togther. not because we didn't fit, or i didn't love him enough, but because i knew both men. both what he had been and what he wanted to become. he was talking about the bridge over lake belton, but he was talking about me too. i was the line he connected his dots with. that night i cried silent tears into the window praying he could not hear me. today a silent tear again. i weep because he has become the man he set out alone to be. passing lake. passing blue bonnet. passing youth. home.
i think sometimes home is not so much a place where we settle, as it is the things we pass along the way. i think that this is what buechner would call once beyond a time. what donald miller would describe as beginning to see the lines in His face. i think i am closer now than i was back then. i think the highway stretches long before me still...
Today I am listening to:
avett brothers--emotionalism--paranoia in b minor
lucreo--tennessee--sweet little thing
van morrisson--brown eyed girl--i love you
Today I am reading:
buecner--a sacred journey
donald miller--blue like jazz
Poem of the Day:
A little road not made of man,
Enabled of the eye,
Accessible to thill of bee,
Or cart of butterfly.
If town it have, beyond itself,
’T is that I cannot say;
I only sigh,—no vehicle
Bears me along that way.
--Emily Dickinson
when i finally got up i packed a few things and got in the car. headed down to the berg to do some apartment hunting with boo.
as i drove that strecth of highwway 49 between jackson and the hub city that i have driven so much in recent months i thought about other strecthes of highway i have become familiar with over the years.
when we were children we alsmost never lived in the same town, or even the same state, as our grandparents. (as a minister's family you go where the Lord calls you know matter how far from family and friends He may take you.) the roads between wherever we were and lake of the ozarks, missouri and canton, mississippi, where both sets of relatives lived, were as much a part of our lives as children as the people waiting at their end. in that time we lived in what buechner would call once below a time. that magical point in our lives when we are still young and innocent and we know nothing really of time and space dimensions, only what we see and what we feel on a daily basis. "how much longer?" we would whine from the back seat. "its like two sesame streets and one mr. rogers to go." Our wise momma would tells us when we were two and half hours away. and we got it. that kind of time made since to us back then.
you knew that mamal and daddy duke's house in the hills of MO was getting close when you began to see the rocks form on the sides of the highway reaching up like mini mountaians on either side. our hearts raced as these mini moutains got higher and higher until at long last we were pulling up that old familiar hill that was their driveway. passing lake. passing iris. passing stump. home.
the "big golf ball" (mc's coliseum) was the sign on the way to mimi and dandy's. (its so strange to think now that i have made my place of dwelling not five minutes from this very spot for almost ten years now.) next came the lee's water tower; in the days long before madison's eiffle tower this was the next big landmark on the horizon. then came the railroad tracks. then the rolling greens. passing lake. passing azalea. passing golf carts. home.
i also traveled a lot in college. my early years of college i spent at mary hardin baylor about 45 minutes from my parents house in texas. i lived in the dorms but traveled home to gatesville quite frequently with crosby. he played piano at our church and so most sunday and wednesday nights i drove with him that long stretch of highway between g-ville and umhb. the flashing yellow lights in the distance as we left fort hood headed for lake belton. then waving goodbye behind us. did they signal what was ahead for us both? i was in love with him back then. in what buechner would call once upon a time. i had known what it was to break, no longer innocent to time, space, distance and pain. hesitant to reach out across the seat that seemed to stretch out between us in my mind longer than old highway 36. i studied hikus in my creative writing classes. and when i told him he composed one on the spot.
"there are two cities.
and one man lives in them both.
a bridge connects them."
i knew that this meant we would never be togther. not because we didn't fit, or i didn't love him enough, but because i knew both men. both what he had been and what he wanted to become. he was talking about the bridge over lake belton, but he was talking about me too. i was the line he connected his dots with. that night i cried silent tears into the window praying he could not hear me. today a silent tear again. i weep because he has become the man he set out alone to be. passing lake. passing blue bonnet. passing youth. home.
i think sometimes home is not so much a place where we settle, as it is the things we pass along the way. i think that this is what buechner would call once beyond a time. what donald miller would describe as beginning to see the lines in His face. i think i am closer now than i was back then. i think the highway stretches long before me still...
Today I am listening to:
avett brothers--emotionalism--paranoia in b minor
lucreo--tennessee--sweet little thing
van morrisson--brown eyed girl--i love you
Today I am reading:
buecner--a sacred journey
donald miller--blue like jazz
Poem of the Day:
A little road not made of man,
Enabled of the eye,
Accessible to thill of bee,
Or cart of butterfly.
If town it have, beyond itself,
’T is that I cannot say;
I only sigh,—no vehicle
Bears me along that way.
--Emily Dickinson
Friday, September 18, 2009
circle games...
its raining today in mississippi. i think the whole state has seen scattered showers and will see them all weekend.
ive always had this kind of love affair with the rain. when we were little momma had an old record that she would put on that had thunderstorms on it and we would cry and scream, but we loved it! there was something about that feeling of your heart pounding when the thunder would crash and then the sweet comfort of minda's little hand in mine with that wild look in her eyes. we also loved it when daddy would put on our hap palmer record. what a wonderful thing on a rainy day when we could not go out to play! we'd laugh and sing along with sweet hap as he sang the "opposite song" and we played the "circle game." safe from whatever threatened outside because Daddy was watching us from where he was studying in the next room.
frederick buechner has said that he loves the rain for how much more cozy it makes the indoors feel. i think i am in love with the rain for this reason too. to lie in bed on a lazy afternoon or during a thunderous night is just about the most wonderful thing i can think of. blankets never feel so warm. pillows never feel so soft. and a book is never quite so good. even music is better when its raining outside. haven't you ever seen dirty dancing? the part where they go running inside to patrick swazye's little cabin to beat the downpour and then dance to soloman burke's, "cry to me"! that would not have been nearly as romantic if it had not been raining. i am convinced. (only here in my little world will you get dirty dancing and buechner in the same paragraph!)
today on my lunch break i drove over to the cemetary where my great aunt evie is buried. its a beautiful place with large live oaks and little ponds with ducks and geese. it was a crazy day at work and i could not think of a better place to get away to for a moment and clear my head.
the rain in those big old trees was so calming. i think if there is anything i love almost as much as the rain, it is trees. they are such an example to us as humans, don't you think? anyway, it was so nice to stand there for a moment under my umbrella with my friends the trees, with evies wind chime sweetly singing beside me, drawing strength from she who walked before me. it just occured to me how precious a thing death can be when a life has been well lived. what i mean to say is that the death of a person who has lived such a great life can become a catalyst for those who come after. like there is this void that is almost instanteously felt when a person passes that calls out for the next generation to step up and carry on. we do a lot of that as humans, don't we? carrying on. its a circle we all draw over and over together with our families and friends. maybe the rain should be a reminder to us that the heavens and the earth create thier circles too and that the Father is always there. watching over us as we play our circle games.
today i am listening to:
patty griffin--rain--1000 kisses
louis armstrong--what a wonderful world--what a wonderful world
hap palmer--the circle game--getting to know myself
today i am watching:
its always sunny in philadelphia
today i am reading:
frederick buechner--a sacred journey
poem of the day:
The Lightening is a yellow Fork
From Tables in the sky
By inadvertant fingers dropt
The awful cutlery
Of mansions never quite disclosed
And never quite concealed
The Apparatus of the Dark
To ignorance revealed.
--Emily Dickinson
ive always had this kind of love affair with the rain. when we were little momma had an old record that she would put on that had thunderstorms on it and we would cry and scream, but we loved it! there was something about that feeling of your heart pounding when the thunder would crash and then the sweet comfort of minda's little hand in mine with that wild look in her eyes. we also loved it when daddy would put on our hap palmer record. what a wonderful thing on a rainy day when we could not go out to play! we'd laugh and sing along with sweet hap as he sang the "opposite song" and we played the "circle game." safe from whatever threatened outside because Daddy was watching us from where he was studying in the next room.
frederick buechner has said that he loves the rain for how much more cozy it makes the indoors feel. i think i am in love with the rain for this reason too. to lie in bed on a lazy afternoon or during a thunderous night is just about the most wonderful thing i can think of. blankets never feel so warm. pillows never feel so soft. and a book is never quite so good. even music is better when its raining outside. haven't you ever seen dirty dancing? the part where they go running inside to patrick swazye's little cabin to beat the downpour and then dance to soloman burke's, "cry to me"! that would not have been nearly as romantic if it had not been raining. i am convinced. (only here in my little world will you get dirty dancing and buechner in the same paragraph!)
today on my lunch break i drove over to the cemetary where my great aunt evie is buried. its a beautiful place with large live oaks and little ponds with ducks and geese. it was a crazy day at work and i could not think of a better place to get away to for a moment and clear my head.
the rain in those big old trees was so calming. i think if there is anything i love almost as much as the rain, it is trees. they are such an example to us as humans, don't you think? anyway, it was so nice to stand there for a moment under my umbrella with my friends the trees, with evies wind chime sweetly singing beside me, drawing strength from she who walked before me. it just occured to me how precious a thing death can be when a life has been well lived. what i mean to say is that the death of a person who has lived such a great life can become a catalyst for those who come after. like there is this void that is almost instanteously felt when a person passes that calls out for the next generation to step up and carry on. we do a lot of that as humans, don't we? carrying on. its a circle we all draw over and over together with our families and friends. maybe the rain should be a reminder to us that the heavens and the earth create thier circles too and that the Father is always there. watching over us as we play our circle games.
today i am listening to:
patty griffin--rain--1000 kisses
louis armstrong--what a wonderful world--what a wonderful world
hap palmer--the circle game--getting to know myself
today i am watching:
its always sunny in philadelphia
today i am reading:
frederick buechner--a sacred journey
poem of the day:
The Lightening is a yellow Fork
From Tables in the sky
By inadvertant fingers dropt
The awful cutlery
Of mansions never quite disclosed
And never quite concealed
The Apparatus of the Dark
To ignorance revealed.
--Emily Dickinson
Thursday, September 17, 2009
one small step...
well so i decided to create a blog. heh.
i'll hopefully be sharing things on here with myself, with family, friends, anyone who cares to listen.
i decided to call it running low on ink since this is an electronic version of the journals i have so long kept. i think emily dickinson's heart would be sad if i stopped keeping them all together, so i will still write some in them too; but since i keep them hidden under the bed i will also share thoughts here for you out in the open. maybe not quite so secret, but my sincerest thoughts none the less.
i can't promise any award winning pieces, but i do give my vow that i will write what is in my heart, keep my soap box rants short and always save room for your comments at the end.
so...here goes...
today i am listening to:
adele - 19--chasing pavements
jens lekman - night falls over kortedala--opposite of halleluja
kitty, daisy and lewis--self titled--going up counrty
today i am watching:
my so called life on hulu
today i am reading:
sing a song of tuna fish by esme riji
poem of the day:
your thoughts don't have words everyday
they come a single time
like signal esoteric sips
of the communial wine
which while you taste so native seems
so easy so to be
you cannot comprehend its price
nor its frequency--
emily dickinson
i'll hopefully be sharing things on here with myself, with family, friends, anyone who cares to listen.
i decided to call it running low on ink since this is an electronic version of the journals i have so long kept. i think emily dickinson's heart would be sad if i stopped keeping them all together, so i will still write some in them too; but since i keep them hidden under the bed i will also share thoughts here for you out in the open. maybe not quite so secret, but my sincerest thoughts none the less.
i can't promise any award winning pieces, but i do give my vow that i will write what is in my heart, keep my soap box rants short and always save room for your comments at the end.
so...here goes...
today i am listening to:
adele - 19--chasing pavements
jens lekman - night falls over kortedala--opposite of halleluja
kitty, daisy and lewis--self titled--going up counrty
today i am watching:
my so called life on hulu
today i am reading:
sing a song of tuna fish by esme riji
poem of the day:
your thoughts don't have words everyday
they come a single time
like signal esoteric sips
of the communial wine
which while you taste so native seems
so easy so to be
you cannot comprehend its price
nor its frequency--
emily dickinson
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