Sometimes a song comes along that stops me right in my tracks. Like this one.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Shh. Listen.
Just feel like it... because it makes me really happy to think of it in my head, and I don't want to forget any of it: I am presenting My List of Favorite Sounds.
(In no particular order)
1. The sound of a guitar string as the hand playing it slides quickly across to reach another chord.
2. A fan lulling me to sleep. Every night for years and years.
3. The sound of a soft rain hitting the already plump ground.
4. Dallas' giggle. Infectious and pure.
5. The sounds of my sleeping children. Slow, rhythmic breathing.
6. Silence.
7. The hisspop of eggs frying.
8. The quiet hush right before a movie starts.
9. The sound of cicadas outside my window in the summer.
10. The bubbling of boiling water.
11. The sound you can hear when you block out the ruckus of a train: that rhythm of clickclack, clickclack.
12. The word Puma.
14. People speaking another language (French or Spanish only, please) so fast that all I hear is exoticity, flamboyance, elegance, and beauty.
15. When someone says I love you and you know they mean it more than the words.
16. Rock Chalk Jayhawk chant.
17. The crackling of a fire, the flow of the Walnut River, and my family and friends laughing while at the Boxcar.
18. The sigh after my daughter laughs.
19. The beginning of a story I've heard my husband tell a million times.
20. A favorite song in it's first three chords.
That's all for now.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
The post that has no title. Yet.
Ain't it funny how sometimes the family we were born in to, the society of that group, is the one thing about them that you dislike the most? It's funny though, how quickly I become irritated when someone from the outside levels criticisms against or mocks people I consider my people. Hate without love, I think, is what's wrong. Unless you have the love, the hate is ugly. When you have the love, when you can understand, when you've been there, your hate means something. The hate can be tragically beautiful. Whoa, that was deep.
What prompts this deep thinking, you ask?
Well, lemme tell ya. I had a dream last night. I went to bed feeling quite content and calm. I woke up at 3ish in the morning, hold on...rather I was WOKEN up by a horrible dream, and by horrible I mean I was being chased and my God, I hate to be chased. HATE. BEING. CHASED. (Did ya get that?) It startled me so that I sat up and had to take a few deep breaths to resurrect the normal flow of oxygen. So, I tried with great effort to calm down and drift off to sweet dream land. ( HA! Yeah, like that was gonna happen.) Sooo, of course my mind starts going, running, bouncing and generally feels like it's gonna squirt all the nonsense I have in my brain all over the room. I start thinking about childhood, earliest memory to High School type stuff. I started thinking about family. The kind you're born into, the kind that is brought to you, the kind you find, the kind you build and the kind that finds you. I have been and am a part of all those types of family. Hey, aren't we all?
You still with me in all this ramble?
The thing that stuck out the most last night as I was laying there thinking all over the place;
I have quite a vivid picture of Louisiana—from the short time I lived there—is this species of large tree with great tangles of exposed roots. I'm not sure what sort of tree that was, but I always thought it was lovely and brave. I hoped someday I could show my roots so openly and proudly as that tree.
Can you see my roots? The gnarly ones ones that look battered and beaten? How about the ones that look smoothed out by a soft rain? Oh, and the lovely ones that look fresh and new? Even the ones that are hidden under some dirt?
I hope you can. I'm proud of them all.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Oooh, me likey
