First, there was a half-hearted run that turned into a long walk that turned into breakfast: kolaches and coffee. Then came the getting ready, then the navigation, then Moo's high school graduation. Then, a ginormous lunch at P.F. Chang's, complete with TWO "oops, we accidentally made this... do you want it, too?" dishes. Naps and cards in the afternoon. X-Men III: Last Stand. Banging on the piano. Blogging to Sigur Ros with sister and her boyfriend in the background.
Vacation as it should be is a lot like coming home. Coming home is a lot like vacation. I'm just not sure which is which, anymore.
I'm loving the B-sides from Sufjan's Illinois album. There's this one song on a mix I got from Sam... I'm not actually sure if it's an Illinois outtake, or something earlier, but it starts like this:
"she is the day that gives me time
to love and linger, love my life,
till night comes on with sundown's scythe
to end the pause of pantomime.
"she is the day of love."
And it goes on like this:
"she is the bridge on which i wait,
to watch the river 'neath me flow,
all spinning surging far below
along the deep and bending straits.
"she is the bridge of love.
"she is the air i breathe, entranced,
wake or sleep, in storm or cold,
a wind to wash my lifted palm
a sky that calls me out to dance.
"she is the air of love.
"she is the day through which i walk,
toward the bridge where she stands
she is the air i breathe, to sing,
she is a smile without demands.
"she is the smile that keeps me warm
with matchless laughter, eyes ablaze.
a mischief mystery she plays
upon the flute of early morn.
"she is the smile of love.
"she is the air of love.
"she is the day of love.
"oh, oh, oh, oh."
...and speaking of b-sides, there are two Illinois b-sides available here.
So the cell phone minutes finally ran out this week... our family's new month didn't start until 9 pm last night, so I'm sorry to all of you who've been calling and not getting an answer! At about 9 pm, JG and I were setting off a burglar alarm and trying to manage a 100+ pound German Shepherd who had been cooped up for 11 hours without going to the bathroom.
A day in the life... everybody gets a call this weekend.
There's a wind in the myrtle,
swinging slender branches gently,
passing through and passing on
to swing some other tree.
Brine is in my hair and on my porch,
collecting softly on the cars,
falling from a homeless wind now
sighing from the western sea.
Iron railings, utility poles,
and mailboxes feel sediments
sink deep into their crevices,
and curse the wind that comes and goes.
The breeze will pass away, although
I cannot wash the trees and trucks
nor make the wayward wind
take back our second skin of salt.
Fascinating excerpt from a Wikipedia blurb:
"Three features that, together, distinguish Turkish from many other languages are the following:
"1. Turkish is highly agglutinative: its words are able to carry many suffixes (or 'endings').
"2. Turkish exhibits vowel harmony: when a suffix is attached to a stem, the vowel in the suffix is adjusted to harmonize with the last vowel in the stem.
"3. Turkish has no gender."
about a piece of clothing before. I found this jacket at Sears (while hunting for the bathrooms) that (a) was $10 and (b) had freakishly long sleeves. Ha!
And my mother thinks I never buy new clothes... double ha!
"We humans are continually tempted to interpret our relationship with God by considering his dealings with us rather than relying upon his eternal character revealed in the Holy Scriptures. We suffer for it." (from Chuck Frost this morning)
"Like a river glorious is God's perfect peace,
over all victorious in its bright increase;
perfect, yet it floweth fuller every day,
perfect, yet it groweth deeper all the way.
Stayed upon Jehovah, hearts are fully blest,
finding, as he promised, perfect peace and rest."
(from worship this evening: Frances Havergal, 1874)
I heard the branches singing songs about love:
every leaf knew your name
and sang it.
I saw the kestrel wheeling high in a loop of love:
in his victory over the wind
he cried your name.
I walked and the earth spoke beneath my feet:
warm soil hummed the tune
of you and me.
Alas, I could not understand the song.
The branches are my bones, and leaves, my flesh,
but I cannot repeat the song.
Neither could I see the hawk that flew.
He wheeled and soared within my mind
but I do not know which way he went.
The only thing I have for you is how to hum.
The soil is my heart, my language that of earth
and good for crops.
(1) Evan's new theory: that I've been blogging less since I started having more regular phone conversations. He sees this as a good thing... hmm. I've definitely been more distracted from blogging and other avenues of reflection, these days.
(2) Jobs that are appealing today: acrobat, portrait-painter, sound engineer, translator. Anything but professional waiting-for-a-visa-person.