Harder Better Faster Stronger

One of my favorite videos from last year. Wait til the end, it's downright impressive. That dude's got some quick hands.

All Creatures Here Below

My grandfather's memorial service was this past weekend, a chance to memorialize 92 years in a scant 45 minutes. Family gathered, huddled, mumbled, and stared, hoping for cues from no one in particular. Yet the most powerful part of the whole service didn't come from aunts or uncles, it came from my brother.
As most of you know, I suffer from something called hyperhydrosis, a condition that randomly makes my hands and feet sweat uncontrollably (if you didn't know this, surprise. I do. There is no cure, but apparently botox shots every six months can mostly stop it, if I got a couple grand I need to burn). When I have an episode, the very last thing in the world I want to do is touch another person's hand. I am frighteningly self-conscious about this, and I think for good reason. Like I would rather be naked in front of a large crowd than have to hold hands with people for more than 10 seconds. (So please, don't ever make me hold your hand. I'm not kidding. I once dumped a boyfriend because he insisted on holding my hand when I didn't want to.) Toward the end of my grandfather's memorial, my Uncle David got up and said, “As per family tradition, we'd like to end the service singing The Doxology and holding hands.” I froze. I was standing between my brother and my Aunt Penny, whom I've met a total of twice in my life. I looked at him with panic in my eyes.
“I can't hold hands! Look at my hands! I can't do it!” Elliott locked eyes with me and said steadily, “Switch places with me. Stand between me and Katie (our little sister) and we'll take care of you.”

And you know what? He did. When the time came he looked right at me and grabbed my hand, the one I was trying to hide, and held it firmly through the song, giving me a little squeeze when we both broke down into tears.

All this time I've been wondering how to love my brother well, what boundaries to enforce, the amount of contact I should have with him, I've been condemning him and judging him. And then he goes and, if only for a moment, loves me so deeply and precisely that I am struck dumb. It wasn't the lesson I was expecting to learn in that moment, but I praised the God from whom all blessings flow.

Three Girls and Their Buddy

Robin and I, in a fit of fiscal irresponsibility and passion, decided to purchase tickets to the “Three Girls and Their Buddy” show last night at Thomas Wolfe Auditorium in our little Ashe-vegas. We got cheap tickets but fabulous seats: first row, balcony closest to the stage. We had an unobstructed view of the magic that was Emmylou Harris, Patty Griffin, Shawn Colvin and Buddy Miller (hence the name of the show).

There are simply no words.

I got emotionally shaken; overwhelmed, filled, awe-struck and rapturous.

Hearing Emmylou sing “Red Dirt Girl” live, experiencing “Trapeze” with the Patty/Emmylou combo like on the studio recording, finally getting to see Shawn's cover of Steve Earle's “Someday” in person—just bowled over really. And then they did “Up to the Mountain (MLK Song)” and I got tears in my eyes.

The first encore was the four of them doing John Lennon's “Imagine” and then Patty's own “Mary”.
The second encore was “Didn't Leave Nobody But the Baby” and whoa what an encore that was.
I my throat is still raw from screaming. If the tour comes anywhere near where you are, you'd do well to go see it.

“I was so wary then
The ugly American
Thinner than oxygen, tough as a whore
I said, You can lie to me
I own what's inside of me
And nothing surprises me anymore.”

True Love at Last

This one's for you, Liz. Mini-Colin said to say hello. But ever since he discovered his presence on my computer desktop, he's been smitten with me (even if it was you who put him there) so you'll just have to lay off my man. I think we're cute together.

Multitudes

I've been in email banter with my ex recently, which is a blatant bad idea. That being said, I love email banter, and he is very good at it, so it's been enjoyable in that baby-pool depth that is banter sort of way. The other day he said I was inconsistent, and I agreed, saying that I found people who weren't inconsistent not only boring but liars (and aren't boring liars the worst kind? If someone is going to lie to me I'd much rather have it be a great story than something mundane and banal). But then I started to think about the comment about being inconsistent. I believe it was Walt Whitman that said, “Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.” which I have always loved and found to be true. Of course I contradict myself, of course I'm inconsistent, of course on some issues I stand firm and others I waiver sporadically. Of course I can beat you at a carbomb and then talk to you about the gospel; they are not mutually exclusive and neither am I. I contain multitudes; I am much. I think that's what being a dynamic person is about; part of being a true person is understanding the contradictions and inconsistencies that make up who they are and then being able to reconcile or apologize for them. I am not saying inconsistencies are reflections on the best of us; hardly, they often make clear the cracks and crumbles within. And I have many that require explanation and many more that require apology. I guess that is the burden that comes from containing a multitude.