I sent a new friend a melody for his lullaby lyric last night. Very odd thing to do, but the tune came out and felt like it wasn't really mine to keep. He replied, describing the sweet "mew" my kit-tay added to the recording as a descant, so I had to look up descant, and learned a new thing. Seems I have been singing them all my life without knowing the term.

I know almost nothing about music, except that I can play by ear on my mother's old Martin guitar, and sometimes a song comes out of me. I was also THE rebellious 2nd grade piano student, but mostly because I wanted someone to tell me to practice, and no one did. (It was the same with the flute later on.) And, according to the Johnson O'Conner Institute for Aptitude Testing, I have perfect rhythm memory.

There is a real-life memory, though that I love more than most, of the day when we were supposed to play Mozart. Minuet in G. My piano teacher intended to skip me because I was never prepared, but something about this piece was difficult enough that I had mastered it. No, really. So on my turn I played it note-perfect. I created an absolute stunned hush in an after-school piano class at Armstrong Elementary School in Highland Park, Texas in 1973.

The next class I told my teacher that we could no longer afford for me to attend, (lie) and that was the end of that.

Growing up when I did trained me for harmonies, too, and you can tell how long I've known a song by how many different harmonies I've made up. I have to say it is sometimes frustrating, like a talent I should invest more it. But I don't, I just sing really loud in my car.

But, today I learned that I sing descants whenever possible, mostly without knowing.

I am no fan of whatever it is The Final Four is supposed to be. I know it is basketball, but I don't follow basketball; Texan, I guess.  But, I do care about many of the smart and funny "Final Four" brackets which appear around the web, I really do. So, here is a bit of one:

Which book is better? (Best Christian Book of All Time, Final Four)

	2) The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien	+44
	1) Confessions by Augustine	+52

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• 2 people like this.
• 

  Zack Groff This one is incredibly difficult - perhaps because the volumes have such disparate goals and content.

  Like · Reply · 1 · Monday, April 1 at 9:30amReply
• 

  David Haines This is a difficult question. The two totally different genres makes a real comparison actually impossible.

  Like · Reply · 1 · Monday, April 1 at 10:49amReply
• 

  Jim Venable These are like comparing apples and oranges...different genre.

  Like · Reply · 1 · Monday, April 1 at 11:47amReply
• 

  Gail Standish Ward I'll take the glory of hard, honest repentance over fiction any day, even if the story is as beautiful and fully formed as Tolkien's.

  Like · Reply · 14 minutes ago · EditedReply
• 

  Eric Fullgraf More like comparing apples and eggs. Both works are essential Christian reads. Can't choose.

  Like · Reply · 7 minutes agoReply
• 

  Gail Standish Ward Thinking long-haul is what made this easier. Long-haul, and only one, would I rather have apples or eggs?

  Like · Reply · 11:22pm (a few seconds ago)Reply

Yes. Now, please let me be irritated just a bit. Which book is better? Simple question about two dissimilar books. I thought about it, looked at them in terms of the long haul, and picked. Simple. 

So, why the hell can't one man in this thread say anything else but "blah, blah, I can't choose, there is no way to know."

Dear Jesus, spare me from these "Christian" "men" who have no strength of mind nor opinion. Maybe they have been cowed by the confusion which came from modern Feminism, but I have no time for a man of no decision. 

Yes, this is too long.

Hi parents, and friends. I know that it's hard to get what goes on in the mind of a child who is labeled ADHD, so I thought it would be kind to tell you what I know, being HAT (see below) and having taught for 20 years.

First, it is a terrible misnomer, the problem is *not* a deficit of attention, it is the exact opposite. We notice EVERYTHING, so we tend to flit around super-fast. I just call it "hyperactive attention tendency." I don't believe this is a disorder of a child as much as a disorder of our misunderstanding that God makes us each precisely. Not every child is meant to be a scholar. (Seriously, who wants to live in a world of only scholars? I LOVE scholars, but I love bakers, too, and anyone who makes good cheese.)

What made me think about this was the day I had consisting of lots of flitting around. It went something like this:

1. I need to ship my eBay sales and want them to look special for the buyers. 2. (looking at my ribbon box) Wow, really needs to be re-organized. 3. Also notice that my Etsy merch and sewing kit are in disarray...(many more flits I will spare you).. 4. Spend an hour reorganizing Etsy stock in individually labeled  zip-lock bags. 5. Decide the eBay things can wait because I have knitting to do and a new episode of Project Runway to watch.

SInce I figured out that this is how I function, I find it fun, or at least amusing, to tell the truth. But, I am also not in school where undivided attention is required. I can focus really well on reading, writing (and physics!) as long as I have a pencil in hand.

But, the extra-added secret is that if you are ever lost in the woods somewhere, I am your girl. I notice every edible plant and berry there is. All the time.

14. When I was young and full of all the favor of summer
I spent my Augusts at the beach in Rhode Island

Where my cousins and I would seek out crabs

When we were bored of just lying on the sand

Tired out from swimming in the pounding waves.

We would take pictures, too, Instamatics. 

We would frolic for sure, laughing more than most,

And then we would bring those rolls of film to the Rite-Aid

To be developed, and eventually to be seen,

Though it would take days to get them back.

One afternoon we’d get a call, like a girl after a date, 

And beg to use the van so we could drive on over, pick up that film,

And open the crisp envelope to find pure visual proof

That we loved ourselves

That we loved our time, our beach; that we loved it all.

Now I wonder at the nieces and nephews of mine

Who spend the same Augusts at the exact same beach

And take those pictures on their phones. 

They are just as much fun and love each other just the same

But there is so little anticipation in their lives it makes me sorry.

Waiting for things is history, it seems

And I am sad for that.

I always will hold out for anticipation and its reward

Just as I hold out for real film and my Pentax K1000. 

Just as I hold out for my beach at August, and have every year of my life. 

I'm trying to learn to be the birthday girl for a while instead of the conduit. Meaning, after all of these years of teaching, I want to learn to enjoy something great without feeling the need to share it. Maybe these wonderful things that come my way can be just for me alone. I'm having a hard time with that, but I think it is important right now to take it in without the pressure of handing it off.

What prompted this idea was a fashion show event I went to tonight which could not have been more tailor-made to hit all of my favorite things at once: the Franklin Theater, good wine, prime rib as a snack, a real London-Club-worthy DJ, Paris fashion by a local who gets the culture here and how to share it globally through silk and cut and fun, and a band consisting of a guitar playing singer/drummer and a gal playing upright bass kicking out Johnny B. GoodRing of Fire,

I don't know anyone who could delight in each of those aspects and in experiencing all of them combined the way I did. I decided it to take it in like that, like the birthday girl. No, you don't get a slice, it's mine. Go find your own cake. 

Here's how I would like to order my day:

1. Wake up when I wake up
2. Put on glasses and grab phone. check email, FB,
    then read the Scriptures from the Book of Common Prayer
3. Hop out of bed and make an omelette from whatever is in the fridge
4. Do my toilette so I am ready to go out and...
5. Face the world
6. Go down to the studio and paint, read, write, etc.
7. Meet a friend for a cocktail
8. Return home, check email,  FB, and maybe some news
9. Cook something great
10. Watch a movie or something with the company of the cat (alternative: social event or date)
11. Evening toilette
12. Thank my God for my day
13. Snooze

Yep. 

SO, this is how I pack now: 


I get to bring 6 items of clothing (not including what I wear on the plane, 3 other pairs of shoes, black camisole and leggings, and any special occasion dress/whatever.) Each piece gets walked down the line and has to work 3 different ways. (this with this and that? cute!) 

It is actually a fun challenge and I get to be creative, do mathematical permutation calculations, travel light, and feel very French chic about the whole thing.

I keep a set of toiletries always packed and ready (we will discuss the shoe organizer I use to hold travel toiletries when you have recovered from this blast.) in my suitcase along with a book of NYT cross-word puzzles, a small book of Shakespeare's Sonnets (useful in any number of situations,) and a small copy of the Book of Romans. (I should buy a tiny Book of Psalms and Proverbs, too.)

But the problem remains, as always, I love to pack but hate to unpack so much that sometimes it takes 6 months or more. (Feel better?) I wrote a poem about it; a little moment of light verse which taught me something important.  Here:


I love filling my suitcase but I hate to unpack
Empty the dishwasher? An impulse I lack.
I will choose to believe that the reason is why
I am great at hello but so bad at goodbye.