Music Monday

A favorite of mine. My church choir is singing the Hallelujah Chorus for Easter this year and I'm so "exciting"!!!!

Little Bits of Joy

Sometimes it's the small things that get me through long, bleak, dull days.

-Like the beautiful day yesterday. I love walking to work - no I don't love my job, but I like living close enough to be able to walk. Plus, walking back after lunch means the kids at St. Boniface are at recess outside. Hearing and watching kids play always brings a smile. As does the sight of the middle-grade girls clumped in a circle. They're practicing for when they get older, but they don't know that. :)

-Jamie, my two-and-a-half year old friend at church. I was late a couple of weeks ago getting to Bible Class. (For once I did not go to early service, and was thus late to BC.) I came in the door, sat down next to our seminarian, and was taking off my coat when I saw someone gesturing to me out of the corner of my eye. It was Jamie, beaming ear to ear and waving across the table at me. She is a delight! And yes, I waved back.

-My coworker's daughter called in a state of high excitement. She is almost guaranteed to get into a good law school in the area with significant financial aid. Good for her!

-CJ's smile when he's happy.

-Eating chocolate ice cream for dessert today - because, because...why not?

-Pictures of my cute nephews - the elder, busy at learning chess (CHESS, I tell you!), the younger, with his beloved monster trucks and sweet smile. The elder niece with her mouthful of teeth, and the younger niece, busy conquering the technological world at the age of six months, and coolly surveying the beach in South Carolina. Did I say that A is six months old? Yes, she's already cooler than me. They are all awesome kids, and they are terribly missed. Keep sending pictures, please!

-Hearing my mom's voice. Because she's one of a kind, and, well, she's my mother. What can be said? She is marvelous.

"I've never had a song that affected me like that one has...like I didn't want to hear it again..."

This is a rather long post, and it tells a sad story. Also, the song below caused BR to cry. As in, tears running down her face. So ye be forewarned.

---

Where does a story begin? Where does it come from? Every Harry Potter that comes along can be traced back to an earlier story. Isn't it always a young person on a journey of self-discovery, with his or her destiny to bring down the evil of the world - like Katniss Everdeen or Luke Skywalker or innumerable heroes of fairy tales who rescued princesses and slayed dragons? Back and back and back.

All stories, even fairy tales, come from somewhere. Sometimes the stories that we thought were just that - stories - may have come from something true. A famous line spoken in the film The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring is: "History became legend. Legend became myth." This does not just happen in fantasy fiction.

A man, two of his sons, and their dog go for a walk in the woods. It is an unseasonably warm day - perhaps the father thinks they will return before the forecasted storm comes? Perhaps he thinks only that it is a nice day, and his boys love to go hiking in the woods.

The worst happens. The temperature drops dramatically. Heavy, chilling cold rain begins falling. The sky is dark gray, and in the lengthening afternoon, there is no hope of any sun. The light the father carries with him goes dark. Calling for help is futile. The rain continues to pour down.

The next day, the father is found dead. The boys are alive, but only just. They die a short time later. Only the dog survives. It is assumed by those who found them that they missed the path back home in the dark and the rain.

It is January 2013, in the middle of America.


Eastern Kentucky, 1989

They crowd close to each other on the carpeted floor. Their father sits before them, his voice low, mysterious.

"...And the three children were seen wandering in the woods, in the direction of the haunted house." He pauses, watching their faces. If they are too frightened, he will finish with something silly to make them laugh. But not tonight. They are watching him, tense with anticipation. His twins, eyes huge, lean closer. His little boy rocks back and forth, waiting for the end of the story. He finishes.
"No one ever saw them again."

...

"Daddy, can you sing the song again? The one about the babes in the woods?"
She likes hearing him sing. Something in his quiet tenor voice soothes her, even when the song is sad. Like the song his grandmother - her great-grandmother - taught him.

"I'll tell you a story, of a long time ago
There were two little babes, their names I don't know
They went strolling away, on a bright summer's day
Got lost in the woods, I heard people say
Well, they sighed and they cried
And they bitterly cried
And the two little babes, they laid down and died
And when they were dead, a robin so red
Took strawberry leaves and over them spread
He sang them a song the whole summer long
Poor babes in the woods, poor babes in the woods." *

Where do stories come from? An old song, that seems to come from legend, may seem to have no foundation on which to stand. Except every old song based on a story has to come from somewhere. Right? There is probably little, if any connection, between an old family song and a provincial legend in Pennsylvania.

The song written by Julie Lee and John Pennell, "Jacob's Dream" is so hauntingly brought to life that the first time I listened to it, I agreed with Alison Krauss. I didn't want to hear it again. That I heard it  the same week David, Dominic and Grant Decareaux died only made its impact hurt worse. The thought of the same thing happening to my nephews was agony. Before Dominic and Grant, there were George and Joseph Cox. All lost babes in the woods.

What brought me back to the song was some of the lyrics, in particular one during the refrain. The children are crying for their parents, promising if they are found, that they will behave. "We promise not to stray again from our cabin door." It sounded eerily familiar.

"In the beginning..." Of course, it is where all stories come from. Some are heartbreaking. We don't want to hear them because we can't imagine the pain others are going through. We don't want to imagine what WE would do if children dear to us were lost in the woods. But perhaps we don't want to hear the sad story because in our heart of hearts, we know that we are the ones lost, trying to find the way home.

* These are the words that I remember. If any one of my relatives (Dad in particular) wants to chime in and correct me in the comments, please do. Oh, and Alison Krauss is a living legend and is Awesome.

-BR

Music Monday - A Family Tradition

Happy New Year, all!

CJ and I spent most of the week of Christmas in...very, very rainy California. My father-in-law kept saying "It's not usually like this!" and "If it keeps raining like this, you won't want to come back in December."

Meanwhile, we read innumerable books. CJ poked around on their laptop and I made friends with the cat while sitting in front of the gas fireplace. So, exactly like a Midwestern Christmas. Without the snow. Plenty of fog, though. That's the Bay area for you!

The cat was an inadvertent friend, I'll admit. I petted him once when he approached, and he kept coming back. Apparently he doesn't get much attention, so the first person to do so...I'm a sucker.

CJ's sister from New York (Twin #2) was in town, so we got to catch up with her a good deal. She's job-hunting, like so many are these days. Unlike some, she has a job offer. Whether or not she'll take it is the family gossip. Included in the gossip is her twin sister, who has a job and lives in California. The gossip on Twin #1 is when she'll get engaged. She and her boyfriend have been an item for about four years now. The sisters' 30th birthday is coming up in a month, so we'll see.

The day after Christmas (Boxing Day, to you Anglophiles), CJ's youngest sister and I went to a nail salon and got pedicures. It was my first time, and I enjoyed it. The color of my toes is now a dark wine color. I really picked the color because it matched my shirt that day. When I need to take the polish off, I'll call my sister. She's the expert on such things. :)

The trip to the salon is a tradition in CJ's family. His grandmother (Nana, for those that know) likes to give her granddaughters gift cards each year. She very sweetly included me.

What were some of the other traditions? Christmas Eve night at Nana and Bob's, then late church. Christmas morning at the house with just Mom and Dad L, the sisters, CJ and me to open presents. Then off to Grandma B (mom's mom)'s for brunch and opening more presents (but mostly watching the youngest cousins go crazy over theirs). Then home for a short break, then over to CJ's aunt (his dad's sister) and uncle's house for Christmas dinner. Oh. My. Goodnessgraciousdinnerwasdivine. Randy is an EXCELLENT cook. And because this is California, all these comings and goings involved a good amount of wine. And mimosa for breakfast, and etc.,etc., etc.

My favorite family tradition, though came on the way home from Christmas Eve service. CJ made a joke that he stayed in the Midwest partially out of embarrassment. My FIL agreed, and told me that he (CJ) used to hunch down in the car when they were leaving church. One of the girls had an old CD that a friend had made years ago. The sisters belted, and I mean BELTED out the song three or four times on the way home. Sissy, they reminded me of the two of us. I would have sung louder, only I don't know the words to the song, only to the chorus.

Whatever you strive for this year, give it your all. Belt it out! Sing it, or dance it, or paint it, or write it!

-BR

Music Monday - Monarchy Version

Okay, so I had planned on dedicating this post to Advent in general, then...world news prevailed. Congratulations to the British royal family (and William and Catherine in particular) regarding the news of their expected heir(ess?), coming sometime next year!

Coming much sooner is the much-anticipated, ever-hopeful anniversary of the arrival of our Savior, Jesus Christ. He was not satisfied being His Father's only Son. He insisted on dying on the cross and rising again so that we might be heirs, too.

Sola Dei Gloria.

And yes, this is from King's College, Cambridge. Enjoy.

So, For A Teaser...

Life intrudes. Work, sleep, church activity, write, grade papers (CJ), walks, getting sick (both of us), work, sleep, etc., etc. etc.

I'm sorry I haven't posted anything for awhile. Sometimes it isn't because there's nothing to say; it's that there's too many words and the ability to write them down won't coalesce around an idea.

Until today. No, this isn't the blog post for it. I'm at work, and needing to finish lunch break, so it will have to wait. But here's the teaser for the blog post: it's about a new country song about a merry-go-round, another blogger's musings about the trials and tribulations of young mothers, and my trip to Germany in 1999. And dreams. Not the kind you have when you're sleeping, the other kind.

Oh, and just for L, my sister-in-law R's mom, I had store-bought spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. CJ had yoghurt, because he has an ear infection.

Enjoy the last of November!

Music Monday - The Boys (and Girls) Of Fall

There is a slight whiff of chill in the air tonight that wasn't there this weekend. The leaves are turning quickly, threatening to slide straight from green to the ground.

Another sign of the season.

Today is Monday, which for most people is back to work. But I'm typing this in the evening in the autumn, which for many Americans means one thing: Monday Night Football. It's on at our house right now. CJ is a Bears fan; it is a product of a decade lived in the rarefied air of Chicago. He's not optimistic about their chances against the Cowboys in Texas. This does not make him a fair-weather fan - it makes him a Bears fan. But this post isn't about the Bears. Or football really. Not professional football, that is.

This past Friday the local high school celebrated its homecoming. One of the big events was the annual football game. (Our town's team won.) It brings back memories of fifteen years ago, when I was in high school. A lot of things have changed from then - the kids now have cell phones that do everything, instant information via the internet, YouTube, etc. But some things haven't changed.

Before school starts in August, the boys are out practicing. Two times a day, multiple times a week, in sometimes murderously hot weather. Running, tackling, blocking, passing, rushing, figuring out the plays. Coaches slapping heads, yelling, blowing the whistle. Soft encouragement sometimes is needed too. A pull to the side. You can do this.

The football players are not alone. The soccer players, boys and girls, are running and playing too. At my high school, girls' tennis was a fall sport. And cross country. My sport.

I was crazy.

You have to be some kind of crazy, or at the very least not thinking very much, to run cross country. Running five kilometers in nearly all conditions, jostling elbows, lungs screaming, sweat streaming into my eyes, why-the-hell-am-I-doing-this, slogging through the pain to the finish line, girls in purple jackets yelling and cheering. Stop. Pant. Walk. Pant. Pant. Put hands on head. Pant. Pant. Pant. Coach's voice in my head: Don't let them see you hurt. Who wants to see me hurt? The other team? That voice in my head that says you can't do this? Someone hands me water. Pant. Sip. Pant. Spit. The air is coming slower now. The heart beats less frenetically. Deep breath. Done.

The worst part for me was never the finish. It was the start. The buildup, the anticipation. The open races were so crowded that there was little room to even put a foot forward.

Everyone would be doing the last moment stretches, jogs in place, quiet chatter to friends. The approach to the line. Deep breath, it's almost time. Find a spot wedged in between teammates. Good-natured elbow nudges. Look down at the ground, see the couple inches of grass or dirt visible beneath all the shoes. Set.

The hanging moment waiting for the gun. It's hot/humid/freezing/raining/sleeting, the Buckeyes are playing and I'm missing the game (again), man I coulda slept in this morning, oh listen to the birds in the distance (insert blackberry joke here), where is Mom standing, why am I doing this again!?!?!?

BANG.

Bumping, clawing, stretching out the stride, careful around the first corner, get some space, find my rhythm.

And do it again the next Saturday.

I miss it.

They are out there now, this season in this year. Innumerable girls and boys running against the clock. Against a rival. Against themselves. Kenny Chesney didn't sing this song for us, or for them.

"When I feel that chill, smell that fresh-cut grass..."

It comes back to me. But I don't think it ever left.