Bird in a Storm

It's a rainy Saturday, which means any motivation that would normally come to the surface is staying underground. It's good to have a rainy September 11th. The weather distances itself from the gorgeous sunniness of that day nine years ago.

The rain has been steady all morning, and I looked out the window to see half a dozen robins hopping around the front yard. It gave me pause; I'm not used to seeing birds voluntarily getting soaked like that. At first it was odd, but then I realized why. When there is a steady rain, the water seeps into the ground and floods the tunnels that worms live in, causing them to come to the surface for air (which is why you see so many worms on the surface after rainstorms). Robins, being worm eaters, have prime opportunity to find easy food before their long flights to warmer climes.

I don't know why it struck me today as so beautiful--that sense of provision, of God being in the rain, of delicate and specific care—I don't think it has to do with the date. Maybe it does.
But in that moment I said a little prayer to ask that I learn to see the worms in the rainstorms.

Shoulda Put A Ring On It

Very often I write down thoughts or ideas on little slips of paper and stick them in my pocket while I'm working. Ideas for stories or blogs, quotes or lyrics that I found relevant to wherever I am at that moment. I own too many pairs of pants and sometimes I won't wear a pair for quite some time and yet when I finally pull them out the little pieces of paper are still there and remind me in a vague way, like having someone else recall something you once dreamed.

I decided around Christmas that I really wanted to learn how to play Beyonce's “Single Ladies (Put a Ring On It)” on guitar and make it into a folky fun-fest but alas, Erin McKeown beat me to it and her version is way better than mine ever could be. I freaking love Beyonce, I don't care what you say. And Erin. Check out her blog. It's priceless.

It was upwards of 75 earlier this week and Sunday afternoon Margarita and I went down the Parkway to Graveyard Fields and sauntered around a bit. I'd say it was a hike only because we both had day packs and I slipped in the mud. It was lovely. Monday afternoon was just as beautiful and after spending the morning on the roof cleaning the gutters I conned Doug into slacking off in the afternoon and going hiking. We drove up the parkway to were it is closed (due to that stupid rock slide near Craggy Gardens) and hiked on the Mountains to Sea trail. I'd say it was a hike because all in all we did about 7 miles and increased our elevation by about 2600 feet. Wandered through the ruins of Rattlesnake Lodge and up Wolf's Den. It was silent and remote and lovely and I was exhausted and elated in the same rapid heartbeat. I can't believe I get to live here.

Tuesday was 12^th night apparently. Asheville is full of NOLA ex-Pats and they keep those Cajun traditions alive and thus four of us decided to check out what the fuss was all about. We met up with the krewe (as they are called) at Ed Boudreaux's and we were by far the most stodgy looking in the bunch. None of us had capes, wings, giant gold and purple beads or a crown. Laaaame. We did enjoy the 12^th night pub crawl and by the end of it there was zydeco dancing, a very small man in a jester hat and Dale Ale in cans. Again, can't believe I get to live here.

Twitter. I'm getting a little addicted.

Before I drove back from VA I decided to buy Sarah Vowell's The Partly Cloudy Patriot as an audiobook and I have to say that was a wise purchase. I've had the book for almost 7 years, have read it dozens of times but hearing her read it brings it a new dimension (and Conan O'Brien reading Lincoln and Stephen Colbert reading Al Gore does add a nice zing). I'm racking my brain as to what other audio books I should stockpile; good books make that 7 hour drive fly by.
“My ideal picture of citizenship will always be an argument, not a sing-along.”-Vowell

Dumbest joke I've heard in quite a while but still makes me laugh:
Q: What looks like red paint but smells like blue paint?
A: RED PAINT!

The other day my iPod was almost out of juice (poor me) and so I busted out some old cassettes I had in my car (CD player was stolen last year, along with my old iPod). The tape was almost 9 years old and it shocked me how familiar it was to hear songs so connected to very specific memories and moments. How those people are years distant and faded from my life yet these songs are still around. It was like my 19 year old self came to ride shotgun for a few miles, reading my sonic diary.

Shouting Stain

Know that Super Bowl commercial with the shouting stain where the guy is in a job interview and all the interviewer can hear is the stain talking over the guy?
How many freaking times do I feel like that, like I'm talking about something but I feel like what I'm saying is something completely different. What I'm actually thinking about is very different than the words coming from my mouth. And yes, usually the thoughts are something salicious. Giggle. And then you meander back into your present conversation and think, "What the heck am I talking about here?"
Anyway, just a thought for the day.