In which I go crazy for hyperlinks

Let's go right to the shore and forget our troubles here

I'm gonna gas up the ford, the waves are crashing

and the sky is clear - I want to be by your side

- the everybodyfields

I picked up a copy of "Christianity Today" in some office the other day, and flipped to the main article. It was on pilgrimage, and I was immediately intrigued (one of my favorite books during the Homeschool Years involved a boy and girl in the 1300s who go on a religious pilgrimage. I loved The Ramsay Scallop, and for a long time I put myself to bed at night by imagining medieval pilgrimage stories). The article was lovely and now I want to go on a pilgrimage. This makes sense. Pilgrimages are not aimless wanderings, and they are not all about the destination either. The journey is part of the discipline. 

So I want a good long modern pilgrimage, with the comfort of the passenger seat late at night and drowsing to Fleet Foxes or Kate Rusby and the stars over the highway. One of my playlists is already named "Starry Roadtrip Night" - I'm aching to just go. 

 Deborah, you are my music clone/road trip twin - let's go! I'll bring the hummus and fruit this time. 

***

Here we are at the transmission party

I love your friends, 

they're all so arty

-Franz Ferdinand

A couple of weeks ago, our home was graced by the presence of two very wonderful musicians. Stephen Gordon and Adam Agin played for a small group of friends and then we roasted s'mores outside and the boys swam and it was so. much. fun. Anna Rubia had gotten me hooked on Stephen's music when she introduced me to Doug Burr, so I already knew I loved his stuff. I hadn't heard Adam before though, and he was amazing. And I loved the feel of the tiny house concert, just a group of folks crowded in our great room and listening to two guys who happen to make incredible music. 

So I grilled Adam and Stephen on how they write songs (Adam is very emotionally involved, Stephen is detached - fyi) and really awful concerts in their past and whatever I didn't question, my mother did. Besides being astounding musicians, they are also super nice guys. Go listen to their music!

***

From all that dwells below the skies

let the Redeemer's praise arise:

let the Redeemer's name be sung

through ev'ry land, by ev'ry tongue.

-Isaac Watts

"Bridgewater," the tune to the words above, is my favorite Sacred Harp song. They didn't sing it today at the National Sacred Harp Assembly, but that's ok. I went and got my fix, and the sound - oh the sound. And I bought my own hymnal so that I can vary my routine, instead of pulling the usual number and singing the same line over and over again at really obnoxious volumes.

And yes, I know, watching to the video you will probably think What the heck does Anna see in that weird abrasive music? Well. I'm not always sure myself; I just know I love it. But that singing, it just fills you and swells up and makes me feel right and whole. It also gives me a headache after about three hours, but it's so worth it. 

And people recognized me and called me by name. How can you not love any group of people where that happens?  

***

Well. I didn't post on Daniel Craig this time. But remember how long it took me to get around to Narcissa Whitman? James Bond's time is coming. In the meantime, I need y'all's opinion on something. I've been a poem writing machine these past three weeks (ok, not really, but I have written three) and I need to know - what does the phrase "gypsy broom" mean to you? As in, a broom that a gypsy would leave lying around their caravanserai wagon. Does it seem weird for a gypsy to have something domestic - like a broom? Or am I crazy? Sigh. Poetic anguish of searching for the bon mot. Please help me out, people. Go to my poetry site if you're brave enough to read the poem and lemme know if the gist is getting across. Thankee.