The Sounds of the Saints

So I accidentally called myself out on my own bullshit regarding this blog two nights ago.

Mister and I were on a date night, and had followed some good Indian food up with some live music at The Nick.

After the show, we were sitting outside chatting it up (because date nights are RARE, and the nights when they coincide with our friends' date nights are rarer still), and I remarked about how much I had enjoyed the show, and that I was thinking maybe I wanted to write something about it.  And our friend piped up with "And then you'll do what you always do, which is--"

". . .Make it religious?" I interjected.

Which is NOT what she was going to say, but I realized was kind of true, nonetheless.

And so, as it goes with me, this one concept/idea/interaction has been floating around in my head since then, gathering speed, and occasionally picking up other random ideas and inviting them to the party, too.

I do that.

. . . I totally do that.

And so I started analyzing myself, and my thought process.  Because I am not (as has been firmly established in this blog), a particularly religious person.**

**Right here, I feel that I should add something about how, while I am not "religious", that does not mean that I lead an unexamined life.  I am spiritual.  Maybe even a little mystical.  But not religious.  I was going to give an explanation of all these things, and then I thought. . . nah.  People that know me, know me.  People that don't, don't care.  And I'm perfectly happy to leave it at that.**

Anyhoo.  The point is that I was thinking on it.

And the fact that I unintentionally called myself out on this means that I have at least noticed it.  And so I started to call lots of things into question.

Am I over-stating when I write?

. . . I try really hard not to exaggerate, but perhaps I am over-stating sometimes.  And, since I am trying really hard for honesty here, that would not necessarily be a good thing.

And so I guess this post is going to be an exercise in keeping it honest.

 . . . why DO I always seem to bring religion into it?

First and foremost, I guess because spirituality is important to me. And a lot of that can probably just boil down to what I said a moment ago, about not living an unexamined life.

But the second reason I think I do this is. . . possibly a bit more complex.

And I think it is because I am a product of my environment, as we all are, to varying degrees.

I believe it was Mark Twain that said that every writer has a complicated relationship with the place where they grew up.

. . . I *believe* it was Mark Twain.  And yet I cannot find any evidence to support this belief.  So it could've been anybody.  Hell, it could've been ME.  . . . but I think it was Twain.

Anyway, I remembered this line because the first time I read it, it rang very true to me.

This is, of course, supposing that I can even call myself "a writer."  Because, unfortunately for my ego, while looking for the source of this quote, I came across this one, which sadly seems to be more applicable:

So I write sometimes.  I also bake sometimes, but I am not toying with the idea of whether or not to refer to myself as "a baker."

We'll just say that I'm maintaining my amateur status.

For tax purposes.

And that'll be fine.  Just fine.

Anyway.  Where was I?

Oh yeah.

Trying to figure out why I always seem to bring religion into my posts.

And then I realized:  The answer was right in front of me.

==============================

We did, as I mentioned, see some live music Friday night.

Really GOOD live music.

Live music that, coincidentally, happens to bring up religion as a theme from time to time.

As seen here, in If You Ain't Got God:

A powerful song, to be sure.

Actually, I think the way I described it a couple of nights ago was:
"Some really get-down, seriously funky shit."

Sooooo. . . take that song.  Listen to it.

Now listen to it again.

And you'll find one of the great things about living in Alabama.

Which is:  Just because this is an awesome song about God, and belief versus non-belief, does NOT necessarily mean that the musician who wrote it is a religious person.

It just means that they grew up here, with their days as deeply steeped in religion as they were in sweet tea.

And that is essentially what I'm talking about today.

This is the music of Heath Green and the Makeshifters.  (I'm not one hundred percent sure about the rest of the band, but I know that Heath Green was born and raised here in Alabama.)

And, if YOU were born and raised here, YOU know that just because he wrote a song saying that "If you ain't got God, you ain't got nothing." does NOT mean that he is necessarily a church-going person.

Let me explain.

================================

You grow up in Alabama -- you know about The Church.

You grow up going to it.

Or your granny takes you.

Or the kids in your class go to Youth Group every week.

You probably spent summers of your childhood at Vacation Bible School, learning about Jesus, making noodle art, and drinking watered-down grape kool-aid.

You act up?  Make a big mistake?  Make your neighbors call how you were raised into question?

You're GONNA get told that "You need some Jesus."

(How MUCH Jesus is really up to you.  But at least a little bit.)

There is simply no way around it.

Go out to the country. . . there's at least one church for roughly every 6 miles of shredded country blacktop.

Your granny was religious.

I know she was, because EVERYBODY'S granny was religious.

It's as much a part of growing up here as playing in the red clay when you were a kid.

If you grow up in Alabama, you know about the church.

You know.  

Because it is a vital part of life and death here.

It is part of your childhood.  It is sewn into your memory.  It is indistinguishable from you, because it is a part of you.  It is one of the major threads that has been used to sew the fabric of your life.  And you can't remove it without the whole tapestry unraveling.

You KNOW how you're supposed to behave in church.  You know because, at some point in time, you did NOT behave in church.  And it was probably the first time your granny, or other family member or church member, spoke to you between clenched teeth, and threatened you with bodily harm if you did not STOP acting a fool RIGHT.  FREAKING.  NOW.

You KNOW the way your granny's church fellowship hall smells.  (Because that's where the best food you've ever eaten in your LIFE was served.)

You know what a church feels like in the middle of August, just as well as you know that a church program makes a really inadequate fan.

You know that, as a kid, if you weren't behaving at church, it didn't matter if your granny or any other family member was around or not.  Because ANY ADULT THERE had the right to reprimand you if you needed it.  It was not questioned, and no explanation was required.

You know what the church cemetery looks like.  Because that's where all your people are buried.  And you spent what feels like countless hours of your childhood taking flowers, and paying your respects.

You were there for your own wedding, or your brother's wedding, or your cousin's wedding.  

You know the almost indescribably wonderful feeling of getting home from church on a hot summer Sunday, and trading your church clothes for shorts and bare feet.

At one time or another, you have literally kicked off your Sunday shoes.

You grow up in Alabama, you know The Church.

And, if you're me, you know it very well.

You remember every crumbling brick, and every hymn.

You remember your granny's favorite bible verses.

You remember your family's eyes closed in prayer before every big meal.

You have, either literally or figuratively, been baptised in muddy waters.

It is part of our heritage.

And, even if you don't share the same beliefs as an adult, you still pay your respects.

Oh yes, you DO.

=================================

So back to my original train of thought.

Yeah.  I seem to bring religion into a lot of my posts.

And I guess the reason I do that is. . . because I simply cannot help it.

It is where I'm from.  It is who I am.

It is a complicated relationship, to be sure.  But you can't deny the history there.

So. . . we saw some great music Friday night.

It was some deeply soulful stuff.

And as I was standing there, while the band was playing, I knew that I was going to write about it.

What was I going to say??

. . .I've gotta keep it honest.

And the most honest thing I came away with was this:


A few weeks ago, my husband and I were in the kitchen, listening to music and giggling and just generally enjoying each other's company.  And then we turned on Heath Green, and I just stopped dead in my tracks.

And I sat down to listen.  To give it my full attention.

"It feels familiar," I said.  "It feels like I've heard this before, but I know I never have."

And as I said that, I realized something MAJOR (major for ME.  It's all relative).

That's what ALL good music has in common, for me.

I still remember the first time I ever heard The Grateful Dead.

Or The Beatles.

Or Elvis Presley.

Jimi Hendrix.

The Band.

CCR.

Ray Charles.

The list goes on and on and on.

But each time I heard these different types of music -- it stopped me.

Because I felt like I already knew it.  Like I'd heard it somewhere before.

And I'd stop, and listen really hard.  Trying to commit every note and line to memory, and also kind of feeling like bits of it were already there.

So I'm not going to over-state here.

I'm not going to say that seeing Heath Green and the Makeshifters changed my life on Friday night.

I'm not going to tell you that listening to them will change YOUR life.

I'm just going to say that it was a really great show, and if you like funky, soulful, bluesy music with a beat. . . you should probably check them out.  They obviously had a great time performing, and they obviously wanted YOU to have a great time, too.

As for the religious aspect. . . yeah.  I can't remove it.

I can't remove it from the songs themselves, and I can't remove it from my interpretation.

My epiphany was that good music always feels familiar.

But. . . why is THAT??

Is is because music was with us in the beginning?  Is it because music, as an audible expression of joy and pain, is where we come from?  And also where we're going?

Hell, I don't know.  Those are big questions.

I'm not a music critic.

I don't WANT to be.  I love music with too much of my heart to go around criticizing the folks that make it.

But I'm gonna tell you right now:

If you are a music lover, you NEED to listen to this music.

And, just in case you don't want to take my word for it, I'll go on and give you my credentials:

I can pick out the mournful note in a joyful noise.

I know that when it really moves you, you close your eyes, and the crowd disappears.

I've known great joy, and I've known great loss, and I know that sometimes your voice breaks when you sing about them.

I was raised in the clay, I've been washed in the blood, and I've got muddy water running through my veins.

. . .

I KNOW the sounds of the saints, when I hear 'em.

***I honestly have no idea if this post is worth a damn, because somebody was talking to me the ENTIRE TIME I was writing it.
But thanks for reading to the end.  =)

RANT. =)

A rather lengthy rant is about to follow.

I make no guarantees regarding the quality of this blog post, as I wasn't planning on writing it.  But I feel certain that what I want to say, and the thoughts I feel a sudden need to express, will be far too lengthy for a facebook status.  So I'm just going to put them here.

==============================

You know. . . it really is a strange thing to consider, but lately I have been more and more overcome with the conviction that I was, in a way, completely spoiled by my childhood and youth.

It is a strange thing to consider because I grew up in the country. Back-woods Alabama, as rural as it gets.  Aside from a few years when we lived in a suburb (that was still fairly rural), I spent my childhood and teenage years out in the boonies.

=)

As in. . . lots of trees, lots of pastures.

As in. . . catching lightning bugs in jars.  . . .and discovering that if you keep the FROGS you caught in the SAME JAR as the lightning bugs you caught, and leave them there overnight. . . you will wake up with fat frogs and no lightning bugs.  =(

As in. . . not having grandparents, but having Grannies, and Mawmaws, and Pawpaws.

As in. . . it was 10 miles to the nearest gas station, and a good half-hour to "town."

As in. . . my high school was *literally* blown away by a tornado.

I think I can fairly state that I am, at heart, a country girl.

And it has completely spoiled me, in a way that I never anticipated.

And now is when we get to the meat of the matter. . .

For two years now, Padawan has participated in youth soccer, and has now decided to add baseball to his athletic resume.  Which means that, for two years now, we have been dealing with the parents from UNNAMED AREA (we'll just call it. . . "Hestavia Vills". . . just to keep it anonymous).

I have tried to reserve judgement regarding these people.

It has not been an easy thing to do, but I have tried.

But for TWO YEARS I have been there for soccer games, met several of them, and have sat there on the sidelines with them.

And I'm just gonna say it:

These people are assholes.

I have spoken to them (just remarking about the game or something, just being friendly), and have been met with silence.

I have smiled at them.  And they have stared at me like I was perhaps slightly unhinged.

I have asked questions of them DIRECTLY, and they have STARED AT ME WITHOUT RESPONDING.   As in today, when I was wandering around with Pad and Took, looking for where we supposed to be, knowing we were on the right field, but knowing we weren't at the right PLACE.  So I asked a lady.  She stared at me, and turned around.  That's it.

("MAYBE NO HABLA INGLES," I should've whispered loudly.)

In two years, not ONCE have I met one of them that had a kind word, or a smile.

Not.

ONCE.

(And I'm not even going to say a THING about their children, because that would be uncouth.  . . . but I WILL say that I showed my "country side" a couple of years ago, when we were in a restaurant for the presentation of the soccer trophies, and ---I kid you not--- EVERY child in there, aside from OUR kid (who HAS ADHD, for God's sake!) was *literally* climbing the walls, and screaming and yelling.  They were in danger of harming themselves, AND restaurant property, and every customer in there was staring in amazement.  And I kept waiting for one of their parents to DO something . . . and NO ONE DID.

So finally . . . *I* did.  I don't even know where it came from. Wasn't even quite sure that I had gotten that gene. . .  But I just couldn't take it any more.  It was SO rude.  So I stood up, and (me, the INTROVERT) yelled:

"HEY!!  SIT.  DOWN.  WE ARE NOT THE ONLY PEOPLE IN THIS RESTAURANT!  SIT, AND ZIP IT!!"

. . . that happened.

It still amazes me.)

I digress.

But as long as I'm digressing. . .  I'll just go on and take the exit and make a side-point.

Before I met my husband, I dated a guy, pretty seriously, who was from Mountain Brook.  (If you aren't from Alabama, I'll just tell you:  it's one of the wealthiest areas in the state, if not THE wealthiest.)  He lived with his parents at the time, and they had an enormous house, and were very well-off.  Like. . . seriously well-off.  So much so that, once I began to get an inkling of HOW well-off, it began to make me a little nervous.

But they were some of the kindest people I've ever met.

And I don't mean just to me, because I was dating their son.

They were GENUINELY kind people.

And so I am forced to conclude that it has nothing at all to do with whether or not you have money.

But I do know this:

If I sat down at a ball park in Oak Grove today, and didn't know a soul there, someone would speak to me.  Someone that didn't know me would say hello.  They would make polite conversation while we watched the game.  And if you smiled at them, they would damn sure smile right back.

==========================

My parents worked very hard while I was growing up, and continue to do so to this day.

I'm sure that at some points we were given more than we needed, and we certainly never lacked for anything.

But we were never "spoiled."

We were disciplined, we were expected to behave in a certain way, we were expected to make certain grades, and we were expected to be kind to others.

. . . as I sit here writing this. . . I'm not even sure what to say at this point.

I just find this behavior so baffling. . .

It is rudeness, plain and simple.

I don't care that they wear six-inch platform heels to a kids soccer game.

I don't care what kind of vehicle they drive.

I don't care what's in their bank account, and I don't even care that I've seen some faces that likely spend more on Botox each year than we do on our kids' Christmas.

As I said, I have tried to reserve judgement, as it is not my place to judge others.

But what I DO care about is the fact that they are just so needlessly rude.

Continuously.

And I care about what it is they're teaching their children.

. . . Luckily for us, our Padawan was born with roughly 8 times the confidence of a normal child.  So he probably hasn't even noticed.

Good thing, that.

====================================

So I guess I'll just end this rant by saying this:

I'm grateful for how I was brought up, and where.

I'm grateful for humid summers, and playing in the river.

I'm grateful for time spent in the woods, and the quietness there.

It's good for you, that quietness.

I'm grateful that kindness was the norm, not the exception.

I'm grateful for not just parents, but an entire family and community, that refused to let any of us believe that anybody was "better" than anybody else.

I'm grateful that I've never had enough money in my pocket to make me rotten.

And lastly. . . I guess I'm just grateful that it hasn't taken me an entire lifetime to figure out what "living the good life" is really all about.

Oh.

Yeah.

And I'm PROUD to be a coal miner's daughter.

=D

My God, What A Hot Mess

So the whole gay marriage debate is something that has been going on in this country for a while.  But, in recent days and weeks, it has hit home in my little state of Alabama the Beautiful in a big way, and I sometimes find myself at a loss for what to say.

Often I think to myself:  Maybe you just shouldn't say anything. Don't wanna rock the boat.  Don't wanna risk offending people.

. . .

But nope.  That's wrong.

It's not my job to worry about what offends others.

**I WILL say here that I go out of my way, WHILE stating my opinion, to TRY and remain as balanced, and fair, tolerant, and open-minded as I can possibly be.  It is basically what I am asking OTHERS to do, and I would be nothing short of a flaming hypocrite if I did anything less than that, myself.

. . . but what about others worrying about offending ME?  Is that happening?

. . . nope.

Because I find discrimination offensive.  REALLY offensive.

Discrimination for any reason.

So I'm writing this post, just to clear up a few things.

I've got a few points to make, and a few stances to take, and then I'll shut up.  And when I'm done, if you find any part of this reprehensible, unkind, or repugnant. . . ??  Then safe travels, and may the wind be at your back as you walk your own path.

Anyway, here goes.

First, it's really kind of hard to have a gay marriage debate WITHOUT bringing religion into it.  I really wish I COULD speak about it without bringing religion into it. . . but it's pretty much impossible.

Because no one else really seems to have a problem with gay marriage.

Trust me, I KNOW what the Bible says.  I really do.
I'm not just choosing to ignore it.
I'm NOT choosing to support "sin", in defiance of God's word.

I am straight up, without a doubt, saying that if the One you serve has called you to discriminate against ANYONE, label them as "different", deny them the same rights as others, or simply look down your nose at them. . . then it is not a God of love and light that you serve.

"I just know what the Bible says, and so it's wrong."

. . . and so are a MILLION other things, according to the Bible.

But we don't see people picketing, or shaming an overweight neighbor down the street, "Loving the sinner, hating the sin" of gluttony.  Yep.  It's in there.  One of the Seven Deadly Sins, if I remember correctly.

But to those who are overweight, do Christians say:  "I will love you, but I will hate your sin of gluttony.  I do not agree with your lifestyle choice, and the word of God is very clear on this.  Your body is a temple, and you are living in sin due to a lack of morals and self-control."  ????

They do not.

So let's just leave this "Love the sinner, hate the sin" out of it entirely, shall we?

If we are all sinners. . . then the word "sinner" should be synonymous with "human".  And we don't make a point of calling each other humans all the time, and reminding ourselves of our own failings in every other regard.

The Bible says a lot.  There are even 10 commandments, that we are meant to live by, as follows:

Yeah. . . "Thou shalt not allow gays the same rights as straights."

It's not on there.

Neither are a few other things that I find questionable:

Thou shalt not own slaves.

Thou shalt not rape.

Thou shalt not beat your wife.

Thou shalt not abuse children.

. . .  and on and on and on.

Seems like some pretty big blanks that should've been filled in.

But who am I to question these things??

Oh wait!  Wait!!  I KNOW THIS ONE!!

I'm a freaking HUMAN.

I'm a human, and I was given a brain, to think, and a heart, to feel, and a soul, to keep me honest.

And AS one of these beautiful and glorious creatures that we call humans, I was given a sense of reason.  And a sense of compassion.

I believe that these things were given to me by a Creator.

I was made in His image, right?

I was GIVEN a brain.  By God Himself, presumably.  So that, when all else fails, I can THINK FOR MYSELF.

Thank God!!!!  =D

And what do *I* think about gay marriage?

I think that people are people, and you never, ever, ever know what battles someone else is fighting.

I think I have made choices in my own life that I have owned up to, but still would really prefer that they not be put under a microscope and examined by every other person that walks past.  I'm really GLAD that my friends and family do not define ME by my sexual orientation, or ANYTHING other than the PERSON THAT I AM TODAY.

I think kindness and compassion are what is NEEDED, DESPERATELY, if we are to have ANY hope of a decent future for our children.

Speaking of children. . . 

I have three.  (Not news to most of you.)  Two that I am blessed to have in my life due to love, and one that's been mine since birth. The only real difference in our relationships is that the one I've had since birth lives here all the time.  But I absolutely, completely and without condition, LOVE each of these three boys, not in spite of, but BECAUSE OF all their differences, their quirks, and their own unique brand of beauty.

============

When my husband I were dating, months before we were married, I met his oldest son.  I was terrified of meeting him.  I was REALLY afraid that he wouldn't like me.  . . . would I like him??

And then I met him.  And he was only about 12 years old, but he was funny.  And he was kind.  And he was really, really smart. Even at 12, he had a good head on his shoulders.  He didn't need me to help "raise" him.  He'd already been raised.  And his mother had done a fantastic job.  It only took me a fraction of a second to realize that he did not NEED another "mother."  And so I never tried to be that for him.  He already had one.

But what he DID need, what ALL children need, was someone else in his corner.  Someone else who saw him for who he was, marveled at the beauty of it, and loved and accepted him for the young man he already was, and for the wonderful man that he was quickly becoming.

And so that is what I strove to do.

(And I hope it has worked.  =)

But I digress. . .

During my first meeting with the eldest Spawn, Mister and I drove down and picked him up from school.  Mister introduced us.  He was a little shy around me at first, as I was with him.  And then, pretty soon, Mister was joking around with him, and trying to embarrass him.  (As he does.)

"So," my future husband said to his first-born, "you got a girlfriend yet?"

*blushes and looks of annoyance*

"Noooo."

"A boyfriend, then?"

Spawn just looked at his dad, and rolled his eyes.  "No", he said.

And he knew his dad was just joking around, and asking about his life, and we continued eating our Taco Bell.

But there was a look on his face, and I will never forget it.

The conversation ended there, and we moved on to other topics, How is school going? et cetera. 

But The Look.

It was the look of a dawning realization.  It was a look that said: Huh.  My dad loves me.  He just loves me.  No conditions.  No matter what.

. . . I will never forget that look as long as I live.

Because it was a look that held in it a great degree of security.  Of knowing that, no matter what, his dad was in his corner.  For life.

And I'm not even gonna lie:  I fell in love with Mister a little more, and a little faster, right then and there.

=================================

I don't care what your views on gay marriage are.

I really don't.

Just as I'm pretty sure you don't care what mine are.

Just as I'm pretty sure every person in the country that identifies as homosexual doesn't care what your views are.

KEEP your views.

HOLD your views.

SPEAK OUT about your views, if that's what you want.

None of that offends me.

Just don't use YOUR views to try and dictate the life of someone else.

That's all.

That's it.

That's the beginning and end of the debate.

Because I KNOW Christians that are tired of being called "haters".

And for some reason, there's this disconnect at this point in the conversation, every time.

"But the word of God says THIS!"

Okay.

That's what you believe, and that's fine.

It is ONLY when the word of God is being used to keep others from being treated equally that I have a problem with it.

And yes, I find that offensive.

Honestly?  I find it completely disgusting.

If you are a Christian, and you serve the forces of goodness, and love?  

Then we're on the same page, friend!

If you are a Christian, and you are using your Bible as a tool to push others down, and deny them the same rights and freedoms YOU have??

Then you are the reason people are leaving the church.

YOU.

If I go to a place where all people are not accepted at face-value, if I go to a place where some are singled out as "worse" than others, (though they are ONLY guilty of loving the "wrong" person, and doing what their own HEART has led them to do), if I go to a place where people are openly, unabashedly judging others. . . even when their own BOOK tells them not to. . .

Welp.  That's not what I call a house of God.  And I won't be going back.

. . . probably gonna piss some people off.

. . . probably gonna ruffle a few feathers.

?

Maybe your feathers NEED to be ruffled.

Maybe you need to examine yourself.

Maybe I need to examine MYSELF.

Because I am, quite frankly, BAFFLED IN THE FIRST DEGREE.

You talk about God's love, and how Jesus was the Prince of Peace. . . then you scream from the mountaintops about how precious your gun is to you, and praise God for this great country where you have the RIGHT to walk around with a loaded sidearm on your hip, and oh, btw, gay people are an abomination.

I say YOU are the abomination.

I say YOU have chosen to IGNORE the teachings of YOUR Savior.

"Love one another."

"Treat your brother as yourself."

. . .

Now. . . maybe, if you know me, you're saying to yourself:
"Well, you can't really comment on this.  You haven't darkened the church door in years, and your husband is an atheist."

And, might I add:

"*tsk*. . . those poor children."

And. . . well, I guess you'd be half right.

But only half.

No, I am no longer a member of a church.

The reasons for that are legion, and I would be happy to discuss them with anyone at any time.  (Aside from nap time.  That is when we nap.)

The main reason is simply this:  Organized religion holds no allure for me.

I feel more inspiration when I watch a sunset than I do in the confines of a building.

I feel closer to God (what *I* call "God") when I am hugging my children than I do sitting in a pew.

I feel more amazement and awe when I am puzzling out the workings of the universe for MYSELF, than I ever did in Sunday School.

(I was a very sensitive child, and I'll just say it:  Sunday School scared the ever-loving shit out of me.  I hear that it does not have the same effect on all others, but that's the effect it had on me.)

Sometimes, when I witness a disaster, and see others, strangers, running to help. . . I cry.  I weep because THAT is where humans are strongest.

THAT is where we shine the brightest -- WHEN WE ARE HELPING OTHERS UP.

THAT is WHAT WE ARE HERE FOR.

=============================

Thinking on this topic for the last few days, I came back time and time again to the memory of my Granny.

She was a strong woman.

She was active in her church, hardly ever missed a Sunday, and took food to the "old folks" until she was well into her seventies.

I tried, really TRIED, to remember if I'd ever heard HER, this great Christian influence in my life, say anything about homosexuality.

. . . other than that one time she was watching tv, and expressed her opinion that she thought that perhaps Hillary Clinton was a little "sideways" (. . .I looked at my mom silently, asking with my eyes exactly what she meant?  "Gay" she mouthed.) . . . I cannot recall her ever mentioning it.

And I think I know the reason why.

Her name was Mary Lou Hicks.  She was a simple country woman, a mother and grandmother, a Christian, a baker of the best pound cakes this side of eternity. . . and quite frankly, she was years ahead of her time.

I think that the reason I don't remember her ever saying anything about homosexuality. . . is because she simply did not give two shits.

She read her Bible.  ALL the time.

And her takeaway from it, judging by the way she lived her life, was:  LOVE each other.  HELP each other.  Reach out your hand to those that are down, and do your best to lift them up, love them, and take care of them.

She did not PREACH this point of view.  She didn't HAVE TO. Because she LIVED it.

She lived her life with one arm extended, and if you needed her, all you had to do was reach out, or ask for help.  And you'd get it.  No matter WHO you were.

If pressed about it. . . yes.  She would most likely be in agreement with the Bible.

But I never heard her say a word about it.

Know why??

BECAUSE LOVING PEOPLE WAS MORE IMPORTANT.

Loving people will ALWAYS BE MORE IMPORTANT.

================================

And. . . just for those that worry, and I know you will, about the children we are raising.  (". . .those poor children. . . you know their daddy's an atheist?")

You really don't have to worry.

Our children are not just "growing up", they are being RAISED.

They are being TAUGHT.

And if you'd like an example of this, I have to look no further than last night:

I was putting Took to bed.

We were discussing his day, his thoughts and opinions, what new toys he wants to add to next year's Christmas list (it is already QUITE long, and THAT causes me no end of concern), when I started joking around with him and trying to make him smile.

I don't remember how it happened, but my efforts didn't work (he was probably over-tired), and he just wanted to be left alone.  And, for some reason -- hormones, stress, too much sugar in my diet -- it just hit me in exactly the wrong way, and. . . instant tears.

Me.  Not him.

I teared up immediately, and tried really hard not to cry.  My feelings were hurt.

But he was facing the other direction, snuggled down with his grumpiness and his baby, and I swallowed my tears (until I got downstairs) and finished his bedtime songs, kissed him on the head, said "I love you baby.  Good night.", and left his room.

By the time I got downstairs I was bawling, but I got over it in a few minutes.  He hadn't MEANT to hurt my feelings. . . which kind of made it even worse, in a way. . . but he HAD.  But he was only a baby, and did not yet know the true power of words.  Still.  I cried a little.

Then I brushed my teeth, pulled on my pajamas, and climbed into bed with Mister to watch some tv.

. . . about 10 minutes later, we hear footsteps coming down the stairs.

We sat there.

Waited.

. . . .

. . . and then, ever so quietly, a small head appeared outside our doorway.

I looked at him, and he walked in.  Slowly.  Head hung low.  Looking like he might cry.

He walked over to my side of the bed.

"Yes?"  I said.

"Mama?", in the smallest of voices, "I really sorry I hurt your feelings.  I really sorry."

. . . .

And then, of course, I almost started crying again.

I hugged him, told him it was alright, but that I really appreciated his apology, and told him that I love him.  

Just as he is.  

All the time.  

Even when he hurts my feelings.

And he turned around, happy with the world once again, walking as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and went back upstairs without another word.

He KNEW he had hurt my feelings.

He COULD'VE gone to sleep.

But he STEWED on it.

He felt BAD about it.

He could NOT let it stand, and he CHOSE to get out of bed, come downstairs, and apologize.

. . . . .

So trust me when I say:  You don't have to worry about my kids.

They're gonna be just fine.

They already ARE.

A Homebody's Adventures Through Music and Mayhem

If you know me as more than a passing acquaintance, you know that I am a home-body.  I LIKE to be at home.  They say that a man's (or woman's) home is his (or her) castle, and I believe that. Home is my safe-place.  

When the world gets to be too much. . . too loud, too frenetic, too busy, just too, TOO MUCH. . . home is where we retreat, and regroup.  To take off our shoes, put on our snuggy Cookie Monster pants (if you don't have a pair, I would like to recommend that you invest in some.  Like, NOW.), dance in the kitchen, play in the back yard, drink Strawberry milk, read stories, and play with (or AS) every Marvel Super Hero you can name.  (My son has, so far, shown an aversion to almost anything DC.  It looks like we're going to be a Marvel family.  . . . AND SO IT WAS WRITTEN!!)

Also, if you know me, you will know that while I am a tidy person, I do NOT keep a spotless house.  I am a coffee-drinker, and a self-professed "dribbler", and my son seems to have inherited this from me.  At any given point in time, our home is occupied by one old-soul woman-child (me), one weird and wonderful man with dark hair and dark eyes (been my favorite combo since 2nd grade.  Fo.  REALZ.), at least one cat (though we're working on that, because, as Took puts it:  "Waynon need a friend." . . . Her name is actually Waylon.  Waylon Jennings), and anywhere from one to three boys, ranging in ages from 3 1/2 to 18.

Thankfully (as I am the one in charge of cleaning this castle), most every occupant tends to be fairly tidy as well.  But life is messy, and we do not exist in a state of Barbie dream house perfection.

There is a ring around our bath tub that I've been considering cleaning for two days, and just forgot (to care) about.  There are always crumbs of kibble around Waylon's bowl, as she is a . . . "frisky" eater.  And we usually have a small pile of cracker crumbs SOMEWHERE in the house, as they are Took's niblet of choice, and he is much too busy to be bothered with eating over his plate.

But this is MY home, I keep it fairly neat, I've made a conscious effort to make it cozy and inviting (if I could TEACH our couches to say "Hey.  Come have a seat.  Take a load off.". . . I WOULD), and I love it here.  I.  LOVE IT.

Soooooo. . . it would probably come as a surprise to some that might've only met me in the past few years, that I actually HAVE traveled to a few places here and there, dotted the map a couple of times, and, for a couple of years, basically spent my life living out of the backpack that was near-constantly slung over one shoulder.

My Took, of course, knows nothing of these adventures, as he came to me after my wild and woolly days were a thing of the past. All HE knows is Mama.  She cleans the house, she washes the clothes, she hands out juice (and Time-Outs), she dances in the kitchen and sings in the bath tub, and she gets really irritated when you interrupt her when she's painting.  =)

Thinking back on it now, I'm very grateful that I was able to do these things before Took came into being.  Believe me when I say: I waited on that child for a LOOOOONG time.  But, while I was waiting, I went out and saw some things.  And some of them were pretty cool.

All of this is probably in my head because I had what I *thought* was a tooth emergency yesterday (turned out to be TMJ, hurts like a mother, and more on that later), and I thought I was going to have to be knocked out to have it removed.  So of course, me being ME, I was absolutely certain that there was at least a 50% - 60% chance that I was going to die.  (Never put mountains of blind trust in your doctors, kids.  It's a fool's game!!!!!)

But I'm still here today, so that means I still have a chance to chronicle some of my adventures.  For Took to read in the future. You know. . . in case I ever have to have another tooth pulled.

So here are some random things I experienced in my meager travels.  Not exactly the beginnings of a memoir. . . just a record. So my son will know.  If he wants to.  You know.  Whatever.  =)



RANDOM THINGS FROM YOUR MOMMY'S (EXTENDED) YOUTH.
For Took.

You KNOW your mommy loves music.  I KNOW that you know this, because we have made Family Dance Parties a regular occurrence in our home, you've watched your daddy play drums in the garage and mommy plunk around on the piano that she has, by now, almost completely forgotten how to play, and because I sing you anywhere from 2 to 15 songs every night before bed. (Seriously.  Unless I am sick, or hoarse, EVERY.  FREAKING. NIGHT.)
But did you know that Mommy used to travel around, just to go to music festivals?  

It's true!

I forget the exact dates, but it was somewhere between 2005 and 2008, that I spent all of my vacation time, and pretty much every dime that wasn't already committed to rent or food, on traveling around to music festivals.

It was a dark period in my life.  I was floundering, and trying to find myself.  And music made me happy.  So, I figured that since I was floundering anyway, I might as well make it fun and go chase some tunes.  I will also add here that I think it took me considerably longer to "find myself" than it does for most.
. . . But I have always been an excellent hider.  


I do not think I am over-stating here when I say that:  Music festivals are another planet.  

If you've ever been. . . you know.

The first one I ever went to, it blew my mind.  And I will readily admit, I was a little daunted.  And maybe even a little afraid.

". . . ALL these people are weirdos. . ." I thought to myself.

Then I realized:  Hey.  Wait.  . . . so am I!!!  
I'M HOOOOOOOME!!!!!  =D

And it reminded me of one of my favorite quotes from The Matrix:
"You have the look of a man who accepts what he sees because he is expecting to wake up."

And, much like a swimmer struggling in the ocean, I realized that all this weird, wonderful stuff was happening right in front of me, and if I kept fighting to make these extraordinary situations "normal", or struggling to make it make sense. . . I was going to drown.  So I did the logical thing:  laid back on my back, let the water carry me, and devoted my attention to learning how to FLOAT.

I think my first festival was Wanee, in Sewanee, FL.  It was beautiful.  It was held in April, before the summer really started heating up, and so the weather was delightful.  (Also:  REAL bathrooms!!  No port-o-anythings!!  YAY!!)

The cooler weather also meant shorts were comfortable by day, light pants by night, and in the morning, when I woke up in my tent, it wasn't already sweltering by 6 a.m.  =)

I saw the Allman Brothers play for the first of MANY times, and sat on a grassy knoll, watching people and families and girls with enormous hula hoops (professional hoopers) that appeared to be VERY dedicated to their craft.  I ate a lot of food on sticks.  And I got to see Keller Williams perform (twice!), and felt completely amazing when I got to be part of the crowd that watched him perform THIS song, on a beautiful sunny day:

(LANGUAGE WARNING FO REAL.)

And I was a part of it.

===========================

I saw the sun rise from the window of my tent on the top of a mountain in West Virginia.

I've been to Wanee (in Florida, 3 times), Summer Camp (Chilicothe, IL, once), All Good (Marvin's Mountain, WV, 3 times), Voodoo Fest (in Memphis, after Katrina, once), Hangout (Gulf Shores, twice), Bonnaroo (three times). . .

. . . and a few other smaller festivals here and there.  But I think those were the major ones.

I camped out, I sweated, I talked to strangers, I hiked, I ate Fruity Pebble treats for breakfast, I survived a Nor'easter in a TENT (I survived, my phone didn't), I wore flowers in my hair, I got my whole body painted (top half green, bottom half orange), 

I took a baby-wipe bath in a tent (I don't recommend it, but some people can go days without a bath. . . I am not one of them), I reread The Hobbit on the top of a mountain while The Flaming Lips played right behind me.  I chipped a tooth on a piece of pizza that somehow had a pebble baked into it.  ???  

I swam in a creek with a bunch of hippies, who were happy to share towels, snacks, Gatorade, and fans.  I wore nothing but a bikini, with a scarf hanging from my hips, and I danced in 105 degree heat on the top of a mountain while The Wailers played Stir It Up. 
(This is still one of my favorite memories from this life.)

I saw Tom Petty, Jack White, The Foo Fighters, Beck, Jack Johnson, Ben Harper, moe., Dave Matthews, Flogging Molly, Matisyahu, The Lips, The Lumineers, The Smashing Pumpkins, The Allman Brothers, Cake, Toots and The Maytals, George Clinton and the P Funk All-Stars, Dumpstafunk, the Neville Brothers, The Mississippi All Stars, The Wailers, Keller. . . and honestly WAAAAAAY too many others to name.

AND!!!  I SAW THE POLICE ON THE FIRST NIGHT OF THEIR REUNION TOUR.  A REUNION THAT EVERYONE SAID WOULD NEVER HAPPEN, AND IT HAPPENED, AND I GOT TO SEE IT.

THIS.  

I WAS IN THIS CROWD.  

I WAS THERE FOR THIS.

And it changed my life.

No, seriously.  It did.

I was (at the time) with a man that was not the one for me.

I saw this show, more specifically, this SONG, and it hit me like a ton of bricks.  I'd heard the song a hundred times.  But THIS time. This time it just hit me over the head.  It spoke to me.

And when I got home from that trip. . . I started a Myspace account. As my SOS to the world.  That was my message in a bottle.

And that's how your daddy found me.  =)

TRUE.

STORY.

========================

So I'm sharing all this for a couple of reasons, and those reasons are for my Grey Bear.  And right now, I am speaking directly to him. Or Future Him.  Whatever.

Don't be afraid to wander off the path, baby.  
That's where the BEST things are!!!

Don't be afraid to try something new.

Look at things with open eyes.  Look at EVERYTHING with open eyes.  There's bad out there, yes.  But if you look with OPEN eyes, you'll see that there's plenty of good, too.

I've been to dozens of festivals.  I've slept in a tent, walked around in crowds full of sweaty people clothed mainly in bathing suits, and had really good conversations with strangers about everything from the current economic crisis to the benefits versus the drawbacks of having dreadlocks.

I've been surrounded by rich folks, poor folks, rednecks, weirdos, and hippies from age 9 to 90.  I've fallen asleep on a blanket in the middle of a field FULL of people while NIN played (not my cup of tea).  And never once was I accosted, harassed, or robbed.

Well . . . except for that ONE time at Summer Camp, when I decorated the outside of my tent with balloons that I had blown up myself. Woke up the next morning to find that someone had stolen all of my balloons.  . . . pretty sure the thieves were under the impression that perhaps the balloons were filled with nitrous? Imagine how disappointed they must've been to find only my breath in there.  =)

My point is this:  Don't be afraid, baby.

There is SO MUCH to SEE in this world!!!  Don't be afraid to go and SEE IT!!

Keep your head about you, but follow your heart.

Walk over that mountain, just to see what's on the other side.

Get your hands dirty.

Sweat.  It's good for you.

Remember that you can't read a person's heart based solely on what they look like.

And, though it's cliche, seriously:  

Work like you don't need the money.  

Love like you've never been hurt.

Dance like nobody is watching.

When the time is right, go on out there and have your OWN adventures.  Get out of your comfort zone.

But if you remember nothing else, PLEASE!!!  REMEMBER THIS:

Learn how to be happy in YOURSELF.

Learn how to be happy in your HEART.

REALIZE that how happy you are is UP TO YOU.  
It's ALL YOU.

It doesn't matter where you live, or the kind of house you live in, or the kind of car you drive, or the kind of phone you have.
YOU determine your own happiness.

JUST.

YOU.

And once you figure that out. . . you're going to stumble upon a stunningly beautiful realization:

You can travel the whole world, and still be a home-body.

Because once you've found peace within yourself, and once you've officially put on the hat, and declared yourself "Captain Of My Own Happiness". . . you'll realize:

Home is wherever you are.

You carry it with you wherever you go.

Walk your own path, baby, and build a strong home.  Make it a place where you feel safe, and accepted, and HAPPY.

Then get your ass out the door and go chase those rainbows.

(. . . just don't forget to call your Mama.)

=D

Goats, Goals, and Van Gogh . . . Peace OUT, 2014!!!!

Well. . . it's New Year's Eve.

So is this going to be a blog post about reflection and self-improvement? 

. . .honestly, I don't know WHERE I'm gonna go with this one, so I guess we'll just find out together.

It's been a . . . challenging year for me, personally.  Good times and bad, just like for everyone else.  I'd like to think I've learned some things.  I guess we'll see.  =)

So is this going to be a post about resolutions for the new year?

NOPE.

I don't make resolutions.

I used to, but they were almost always the same as everyone else's, the same mundane goals, and as soon as I hit a wall with one (usually around the second week of January) I would end up beating myself up over it for the next several weeks.  Or months. Just depends.

So I'm done with resolutions.  

I do, however, have some GOALS for this new year. . . but I'm keeping most of them to myself.

I also have a few Reminders for Myself, though, and those I would like to share with you.

They're pretty simple, but here they are:


Unplug.

On a regular basis.  

Unplug from the internet.  Unplug from the emails, and the phone, and the tv, and your own growing irritation, and all the NOISE.

Take time to be quiet.  To let your mind wander.  To remember a song that you'd forgotten about.

Hear the sound of your own voice singing.

Sit in the back yard.

Do nothing. . . 

But listen.

Don't Wait.

. . . Can I say that any louder??!?

DO.

IT.

NOW.

The one thing we can never get more of is time.

Your children will only be this age ONCE.  

SEE THEM.

YOU will only be this age ONCE.

SEE YOURSELF.

YOU WILL NEVER SEE THIS WEDNESDAY AGAIN.

!!!!

So go learn to play the piano.

Look at the people around you, and really SEE them.

If you aren't happy with your life  --  CHANGE IT!!!

Don't wait to be happy.

Don't wait to laugh.

Don't wait to feel loved.

DO.  IT.  NOW.

Read the story, write the book, play the song.

. . . Realize that you ARE the song.

Clock's ticking, people.


Create.

About 2 1/2 years ago, I had never painted anything, other than maybe a bedroom wall.  I had some troubles, got in a rough patch with myself, and accidentally rediscovered that I really LIKE to draw.  . . . I just never thought I had much of a talent for it.

But I enjoyed it, so I started drawing.  It was an exercise in meditation, and it allowed me to "put down" some of the anxieties that I was carrying.

And I started doing it almost every day.  Even when I wasn't in the mood.

And one day, even though I was terrified of even touching it, I picked up a paintbrush.  

I had convinced myself that I didn't know HOW to use a paintbrush, and so, for most of my life. . . I hadn't.

And I was completely petrified.  

Of screwing up.  Of really sucking at it.

But I swallowed that fear, and I did it anyway.

Because, by this point in my life, I had stopped trying to convince myself of all the things I COULDN'T do.  

At THIS point in my life, I was busy convincing myself of other things. . . like the belief that trying, failing, and trying again is STRENGTH.  And that fear, no matter how small, is my enemy.

So I was afraid to paint.  I was afraid that I would exert all that time and effort, then look at my finished work and be completely irritated that it hadn't turned out to be good enough.  I was afraid of feeling like a failure, even if only to myself.

It took a while, but the realization finally hit me:

IT.

DIDN'T. 

MATTER.



No, I wasn't great.  I was no Van Gogh, and I never would be. Primarily because there was never going to BE another Van Gogh.  

I realized that, while I might not be a mysterious and miraculous little snowflake, I WAS unique.  In that I was me.  And I was the only one of those there was ever going to be.  In all my muffin batter-spattered bathrobe, messy hair, and bags-under-my-eyes mommy glory, I realized that somehow, when I wasn't looking, I was slowly turning into the best (though still QUITE imperfect) possible version of ME.

Now it's been 2+ years, and I am almost at the point where I would feel comfortable calling myself an "artist."  

(Not a GREAT one, mind you, but still. . .)

And that's a huge step for me.

And a huge lesson.

YOU WILL NEVER GET TO YOUR DESTINATION IF YOU DO NOT START DOWN THE PATH.

One step at a time.  Take the first one.  Your feet know how to follow each other.

Create something that's never BEEN before.

Use your time wisely.

BE HONEST.

Be honest both with others, and with yourself.

. . .and I'M learning that learning to do this is an art form in and of itself.

But we all want to live a genuine life, right?

We all want to learn how to focus on what's REALLY important, and shut out all the noise and the distractions and the drama, right??!

I think this starts with honesty.

GENTLE honesty.

(You can be honest with someone WITHOUT tearing them a new rectum.  It can be done.  As I said:  "art form.")

Be gently honest with yourself first, and once you get good at that. . . I think it just naturally starts to spill over into the rest of your life.

No one wants to reach the end of their life and think:
"Oh God.  If only I hadn't wasted so much time caring what others thought of me.  If only I hadn't been afraid to TRY.  If ONLY I had said the things I needed to say, and made the changes I needed to make!"

I intend to avoid this at all costs.  And I think it starts with honesty.

Example:

Enough said.

=)

EVOLVE.

Live your life on purpose.

Be better than you were yesterday.

Forgive.

Then do it again.

Give second chances.

Grow.

Understand that the WORST points of your life, the points where you honestly thought that you could not keep on going. . . are molding you into a freaking warrior.

The points that broke your heart, the moments when you thought you'd never stop crying, and that you COULDN'T go on, because there WAS NO "on" . . . they are tenderizing you.  Making you more compassionate.  Focusing your sight, so that you see the pain of others.  

I'm not gonna lie. . . the hard parts HURT.

But they make you BETTER.

They make it worth it.


COME AS YOU ARE, & ACCEPT THE SAME FROM OTHERS.

Seriously.

I'm a work in progress, and I've made a lot of progress.  . . . And I've still got a LOT more work to do.

Sometimes I see old pictures of myself and I shudder to think who I was then, and how MUCH I had left to learn.  How much I STILL have left to learn.

For example:  I'm a turtle.

I proceed through life at a cautious pace, I never go anywhere without my shell, and I'm fairly deliberate about my words and my actions.

But we're not all turtles.

Some of us are mountain lions.  Some of us are meerkats.

Some of us are old (no matter what our age), and the lessons of life have been carved into us deeply, like a river carves into a mountain.

Some of us are young (no matter what our age), and are sprinting through the neighborhood like a dog that just realized the gate was left open.

And both of these are OKAY.

I'm a turtle.  And it took me a LOOOOONG time to realize that the world is not populated solely with turtles.

Some people have, through time and pain and patience, fostered a great capacity for love, forgiveness, and understanding.

Some others have not.  Not due to some inherent "badness" within them. . . but simply because they haven't made it that far yet.

And it's not my job to decide where anybody else should be.

We are all walking our own path, and I am beginning to fully understand exactly what the means.

It means that I can't expect anyone else to be exactly where I am. They can't expect me to be exactly where they are.

We just have to love each other anyway.

The day you learn to simply ACCEPT the people in your life, AS THEY ARE, is the day you become 835 steps closer to total freedom.

You, my friend, might be a goat.

You tear up my yard, and eat from the garbage can, but you are a FABULOUS FREAKING GOAT, and I will love you in all your goat-y glory.  

I will accept you as you are.  I will not expect more from you than you are capable of giving.  I will love to the greatest of my ability, not yours. 

And I will NOT try to turn you into a zebra.

You can come as you are.  And that's fine.

That's what we're all doing, anyway.

And I've made my peace with it.

=D

=======================================

**As this will most certainly be my final blog post for this year, I'd like to offer a final thought.

As is often the case with me, my "thoughts" generally come in the form of music.

So here it is:

We live in an amazing time, folks.

It is a beautiful, and tragic, and magically delicious place we have here.

And WE!!!  

WE LIVE IN A TIME WHERE OUR VOICES CAN LITERALLY BE HEARD AROUND THE WORLD!!!!

I choose to lift mine in song.

Peace and love.

To all of you, and all of yours.

LOVE.
Dani