why is it that unconditional love is such a surprising notion? should it not be the very nature and foundation of any real friendship? isn't the point of a friendship to be involved with someone who loves and appreciates you for who you are in your entirety and not in spite of who you are? so often I am insistent that people grant me the grace and mercy to have the freedom to be myself and feel whatever why i may choose. how then can i not allow the same consideration for others? that being said, do not think i find this an easy task. for some reason it is the hardest for me when it involves my beloved mom whom i love and adore and respect dearly. yet she has this overwhelming power to annoy me to no end? why? i wish i knew. For whatever reason it is so difficult for me at times to be gentle and kind to the one person who deserves it most. certainly i need to make a far more concerted effort to do so. what about in everyday life? i know for other people being kind to strangers is far more difficult than being kind to loved ones. For me it's much easier. why? simple. they can't hurt me so there's never the risk of any love lost like with people in my inner circle who weld the power to tear away at my closely protected heart. i don't know though. ultimately i think sharing this grace, mercy, and love is ultimately the whole point of Jesus in the first place. while all the pageantry of church is lovely, it doesn't hold a candle to treating people with dignity and respect. i for one will continue striving to do precisely that, particularly with my wonderful mother.

In April of 2009 I wrote a short bit about the memory of watching my dad die. June 2, 2013 will mark 18 years since he passed away. To my own astonishment I've lived far longer without him than I did with him. And yes, every time I think of him, my heart skips a beat, and the little pieces I've tried to mend back together crumble a bit again. This will be a lifelong process I am certain. The ebb and flow of time and experience has taught me this cycle will never end. And truthfully, that's okay. I don't need it to end. If it were to cease, I would cease to feel, and worse yet, I would have locked away all the memories of my beloved dad. The important part is what I do with all this now. Shall I let it destroy me? It could even all these years later. I could allow those small cracks to shatter my carefully piece-mealed heart. Or I could go the other way and enshroud my heart like a fortress. Certainly that's the route I'm more inclined to go. Why? Because I'm selfish. I'm afraid. Scratch that. I'm terrified. I have no idea what to do with intense emotion. I have no place to put it and, shockingly, no frame of reference for how to handle it. (To any of my friends to whom I've ever seemed unsympathetic, truly I am sorry for being such an ass clown when it comes to this sort of thing.) I'm older now than when I wrote that entry (obviously I know). But time, as Patty Griffin says, "will do the talkin' and years will do the walkin'. I'll just find a comfy spot and I'll wait it out." That my friends is pretty damn close to what I've done. I have protected myself, kept people at arm's length, never gotten involved with anyone so deeply it hurt too much to let them go, and you know what? Now here I am at the ripe old age of thirty-freaking-two and I'm still clueless about to have a relationship. I'm beginning to think it's about time I learned. Comments, thoughts, suggestions??? What does anyone else think about this??

It's no secret I love Andrew Bird. Literally had he asked me to drop everything and go on tour with him when I met him last year, I'm sorry everyone I would've left behind, but I would've taken off so fast no one would be the wiser. So but WHY do I love the great, seemingly eccentric, intellectual musician? Well because I'm sucker for one thing. Damn if I don't fall for musicians every time. But the real reason? Have you listened to his lyrics??? He writes the most eloquent songs I've maybe ever heard. When he steadily croons "I dreamt you were the cosmonaut of the space between our chairs, and I was the cartographer of the tangles in your hair" to quote Rachel Zoe "I die!" Okay, so no one tell Andrew Bird I quoted Rachel Zoe while discussing his music. I'm pretty sure that completely offend him. In the same song I just referenced "Armchairs", the ever wise Mr. Bird sings that "you need to learn to love the ebb just like the flow." Pretty savvy eh? I think so. I'm also a big fan of "grab[bing] hold of [my] bootstraps and pull[ing] like hell" but I digress. The reason I was listening to this song today, despite it's overwhelming swells and beautiful melodies, is that I was thinking of the people in Boston who suffered the worst Monday I can think of in a while. I wondered to myself how someone handles a situation like that. When you start thinking about it, there are LOT of different arenas that need to be taken care of on a day like this. Of course there's the obvious, caring for the injured and for those whose loved ones have passed away. Then there are also the people who knew no one in the blast but are still shaken just the same. Hell, I would be. After such a catastrophic event, someone has to come in and clean it all up. I hate to be dismal, but if you start really thinking about what all that potentially entails, it's horrific to say the least. Then there are all the emergency personnel who have to be organized to protect and serve the public. And I know no one is really a fan of politicians, but regardless, we've entrusted these people with our safety, and now everyone from a patrolman all the way up to the POTUS are scrambling to find the who and why behind all this and punish those responsible and find a way to try to ensure this won't happen again. And what about the business owners whose shops and restaurants were destroyed? And the children who are now afraid to walk down the street? I wonder, how is it that these people muster up the gumption to pull up their bootstraps and learn to love the ebb just like the flow? There is now a permanent shift in their perspective of the world. The ways in which they view literally everything will alter. I'm not quite sure how one might digest that. To go back to Andrew Bird, at the end of the song he talks about how "we'll get back at them all, with epoxy and pair of pliers." I get what he's saying here, but I wonder, what will be enough for these people? How will they move on with their lives? What do the mothers tell their children when they ask why Daddy will never be home again in time for dinner?

Who's Your Daddy?

Is there a God? Or a god? gods certainly, but God? That's entirely different. See what a difference correct grammar and punctuation make? Maybe not, but I see the difference. I wonder about God fairly often, although, I must admit less so as of late? Why? Eh...a number of reasons that mostly are irrelevant, or at least I think they are at this juncture. Going forward, like most anything else, there is a distinct possibility that my thoughts there may change. Anyway, God...I remember when I was a kid I tried to envision what he may look like. Somehow at the ripe old age of something like four I had decided that God looked Atlas. Yep that one. The guy who holds the weight of the world on his shoulders. Now that I think about it though, that's seemingly fitting. The only difference though is that in my head, God was outlined in this fly looking white light. Atlas, or whomever it was in a 4 year old's head, was just kind of grey and cementish. (Yes I see the irony of me previously mentioning correct grammar and now making up a word. Sue me.) Sometimes even now I reflect back on that Lite Brite version of God in all of his glowing splendor. I miss thinking of him that way. He was big and pretty bad ass sitting there in his stoic glory. Totally the guy you would pick first for kick ball if for no other reason than he scare the shit out of the other team. Some days I could really go for that idea. Then there are other days and with them come other thoughts, and sometimes no thought of God at all. But I like to sit and wonder and imagine what he might be like and why and likewise why not. Like today for example I think I have the stereotypical Jesus hanging out in my head. The guy with the wavy brown hair, that heavy white robe with the blue sash, and let's be honest-some epic cheekbones that would make the likes of Kate Moss blush with envy. That Jesus is the kind you would almost definitely smoke a joint with as you sat under the Joshua Tree, or at least I would anyway. I kind of really like that Jesus, even though I can't fathom how he managed to keep that white muslin so clean while traipsing around Jerusalem barefoot and all. I mean, I can't make it through breakfast without getting something on my clothes. Anyway, overall, this version seems like a reasonably cool guy-laid back, open minded, gentle, easy to talk to-I feel like I'm describing my ideal date. Is it weird to say I would date Jesus? Okay, so then there's other Jesus or God. The two terms essentially are interchangeable right? So but this other guy, he's a total ass. I mean really, screaming damnation, hellfire, and brimstone like some enraged drunk at a bar. I wouldn't serve that Jesus a drink for anything. No sir. I'd have him escorted out so fast. Why? Because that Jesus is the one who allows pain and suffering. That's the guy who sends people to hell, which I just can't get on board with no matter how hard I try. That Jesus seems to forget all those really lovely things he preached to thousands of people. He seems like a "do as I say, not as I do" sort of fellow, and well, those sorts just can't be trusted. So I'm curious, what does God look like to you? Why? How do you reconcile asshole Jesus with badass Jesus?

Sometimes it seems the me I used to be is little more than a distant memory. Now my time is comprised mostly of work, or doing things with friends, and maintaining relationships. I used to have this quiet solitude. It was my own blissful respite, away from the world, where I could wade through my thoughts and even acquire new ones. Books, movies, and music kept me company and filled my head with all sorts of dreams and ideas. Even as a child I was quite taken with the notion of dreams. I still remember Gene Wilder in "Willy Wonka" saying "We are the music makers and the dreamers of the dreams." I'm with ya' Gene, even though you look creepy as hell in that Willy Wonka costume. But that idea of a world of music and dreams. Oh to live in that place...to find my way back. Where are the conversations that circle around all sorts of philosophies and ideologies? Where are the rainy nights with good wine, good music, and better conversations? Are those lost and gone with days of the past? Are there more of them patiently awaiting my arrival in the future? I miss my nights tucked away alone in my dimly lit room, enveloped by the deep, soulful sounds of the likes of Zoe Keating. Surely those moments are not lost to times gone by. Surely the girl I once was is still there beneath the piles of paper and social obligations. And maybe the answer is simple enough...turning off the technology and learning to say no to find the girl who dreams the dreams and dares to ask the questions once again.