Strum a chord

Today, I wore moccasins and my Nickel Creek t-shirt. Yes, I felt like a neo-hippie. Just call me River.

I also woke up at the scandalous hour of 5:15 this misty morn, and walked with my dad and the dog. And then drank a large mug of Stumptown coffee. A very. Large. Mug. And felt much better.

By the by, the Sweet Dog finally has a name. He's a Weimaraner (the grey dogs with costumes in all those pictures), so we kept hoping for something German. Jim's offering: Faust (I vetoed quickly. We are not naming the Sweet Dog after a character who sold his soul to the devil.) My offering: Luther. Rationale - German theologian, check. And Luther also sounds like something our neighbors on the other side of the Loop would name their mutts, so it honors his current heritage. The rest of the family showed a remarkable lack of enthusiasm. Dad's offering: Rowdy (Veto, note the capital).

Dad finally came up with Mosby (pronounced: MOSE-bee), after the Civil War major called "the Gray Ghost." Rationale: Mosby is gray. He roams and wanders a lot (embarrassing incident where he ended up in a neighbor's kitchen). We're just tired of arguing over a name and confusing the poor dog. As though he cares what we call him, as long as we'll throw his beloved ball.

Today has been a blah-ish day, all gray and August and Monday. The kind of day that reminds me of the smell of 32 freshly sharpened pencils and the first terror-filled days of the new school year (I was a neurotic child. New situations equaled internal nervous breakdowns. What if my teacher yelled? What if I fell walking down the hall? What if - gasp - she didn't give me a bathroom pass?)

Only now I sort of enjoy the back-to-school feeling. Yes, school means papers and stress and plain old work, but it also means friends and RUF and Samford in the fall. Besides, I'm an English major. I write papers in my head whatever I'm doing. Only this time around I know never to write on Paradise Lost again. Try to imagine coming up with different ways to say "Satan" 500 time per paragraph.

In other news, my newest obsession is Bounce febreze dryer sheets. Why has no one told me about how amazing dryer sheets are? Not only have I sworn to use them in my laundry, I've left a trail of airy sheets in my wake, stuffed in the drawers and nooks and corners of my room. *Deep inhale* Ahhh. I'm in the midst of composing a love letter to Bounce.

Song of the Day: "About a Boy" - Josh Bales.

I heard Josh at Summit two years ago, and his music was my absolute favorite thing. Rich, real - just pure worship. And I love this song because it expresses so well that caught-in-the-middle feeling, wanting to trust and not feeling able.

When will you force me to love you?

When will my heart give in?

I know I can't stay here forever,

but I'm too scared to just jump in.

Could you come down,

and wrap your arms around me?

And when I cringe,

just let me know you won't let go.

Making up on Sunday

Song of the Day: "Better Than Love" - Griffin House

Did I already do this one? I feel like I did. I don't care. Griffin House can be my boyfriend any day. 

Honey when you doubt my love for you 
Looking in my eyes what I'm going through 
Even if we change and fall out of 
You hold my hand and it's better than love 

Yes, it's been (over) a week. The blog and I have grown apart . . . we kept trying to find a time to sit down and talk things out, but you know how it is. The usual excuses and passive aggression, while the relationship walls grow higher. 

But things are better now. We're back together, and I've promised not to let it languish in neglect again. In return, the blog has promised not to take over my life. 

***

On Friday, I got to hold a three week old baby. Twenty minutes later, I was visiting with a 101 year old man and his 94 year old wife. As I commented to Mom, the full scope of humanity all in a day. The baby was darling and the couple was cute (still in the honeymoon stage after ten years. It's sweet in the non-saccharine way).

I also got a day off work on Friday, and it was more glorious than I could've imagined.  The weather calmed down and offered a taste of September, and I ran in the morning with my Sweet Dog and he did not try to befriend the part-wolf half-breed creature this time. Progress, progress. Then we threw the ball about three hundred times, I got the two things on my to-do list done (clean car, organize college stuff) and did nothing much else except lounge. And it was very nice. 

Saturday I watched the sunset and moon from the upper balcony, and came this close (dragging the air mattress outside) to sleeping out there. I challenged a skeptical parent to give me a good reason not to commune with nature. He mentioned spiders. Wise parent, that one. But it's only deferred my purpose for a short time. I will sleep on that balcony and wake up to the sunrise and it will be beautiful. Soon, children. Very soon. 

Recipe Experiment of the Day: Paula Deen Peanut Butter Bread, with Anna's additions of peanut butter chips, chocolate chips, peanuts, and dried cherries.

Verdict: Maybe it could win something at a peanut festival? 

Saturday in 4 acts

Act 1

Morning. Blueberry muffins and Stumptown coffee (Guatemalan blend - of course). Enter Pepper Place; exit laden with okra, squash, two yellow tomatoes, field peas, and a bowl of homemade peach ice cream. Humidity strikes around 10:30 in a preemptive strike; end scene. 

Act 2:

Noon(ish). Home. Cleaning, and running with my sweet dog. Well, mostly sweet dog. He's very obedient when he wants to be, which is: a good deal of the time. When our desires conflict, however, we have an interesting tug of war. We weigh about the same, so if I make up my mind first, we go my way and he trots calmly by my side. If he makes up his mind first, I get jerked off my feet toward a suddenly fascinating tree. End scene. 

Act 3:

Gloaming. Waiting out a thunderstorm in Michael's on the way to the much-anticipated folk festival. I am in the cheap scrapbook sticker aisle when Mom enters and thrusts the adorable (read: outrageously priced) stuff at me. In my defense, I tried to explain that I was being thrifty and etc. Then I went sticker happy. I love my momma. She buys me stickers. Am I four years old again? No, because I didn't even like stickers until now. And she bought me other happy scrapbook things. 

Act 4: Sunset.  Arrive Historic (read: sketchy) Avondale Park, site of Birmingham Folk Festival!!! We find that the ticket price has dropped to $2.50 and there is free Jim and Nick's to be eaten. Mom and I head to the tent without speaking. There is no need. We share an intuitive obsession with free food. Then we settle in as the sky goes all glorious pink and a breeze picks up and Act of Congress takes the stage. Happy sigh. 

Then. The New Familiars. I think my very own mother said it best: "They're like a 70s rock band with bluegrass thrown in." Well - yes. They look like slightly altered clones of Iron & Wine, and their energy level = spastic. I loved it. What kind of band covers "My Guy" as an ethereal rock ballad? What kind of band has a mandolin next to an electric guitar? Did I mention I loved it?

Song of the Day: "Annalein" - The New Familiars

When's the midnight train for Nashville. That's what I'm asking.

My sweet Annalein, where have you gone?

You took that midnight train bound to Nashville

headed west for the golden coast.

Didn't you know how much I loved you?

Didn't you know I loved you more than most.

Something old . . .

I just ran, swam and polished off a chocolate coffee banana smoothie made with health nut-approved soymilk and yogurt. If you want to experience this goodness in your own life:

1 carton coffee yogurt + 1 banana + a healthy dollop of plain yogurt + a generous splash of chocolate soymilk + enough ice to make it refreshing but not watery

Whirl together until perfection ensues. 

***

Today I spent deep in the rural hillside of North Alabama, delving into the family trunk of great-great-greats on my PaPa's side. My grandfather's cousin Marie is eighty three and lives in the same small white farmhouse her mother grew up in. I love it (apart from the rather hideous old clock in the back bedroom). It's the kind of house jammed with so many old things you're almost afraid to sit down. And most of the old things manage to avoid being creepy/nasty (as in, that is encrusted with the grime of who-knows-what and I just want to burn it). There is the lovely, solid old table that my three times great-grandfather (the venerable Thomas Thornton) made himself and is still table-ing along today. There is the pretty blue and white china, the scary carved walnut bed, and a gorgeous old kitchen hutch that Marie's father made for her mother. It even has a little board you pull out to roll biscuit dough on (I want it. Sigh.). 

But the best part - Marie and her brother, Herbert (I know), had tiny yellow tomatoes from their garden. Now, I do not eat raw red tomatoes. In ketchup, sauce, stir-fry, anything else, fine and good. Sliced on a plate: No. However - yellow tomatoes are a different thing entirely. They are what red tomatoes try to be and can never achieve. They are sweet and not too soggy and I will defend their cause with every tastebud that I own. 

Apart from lusting after antiques, I tried to gather ideas for the Great American Novel I plan on writing in oh, twenty years. I looked through a kind of journal kept by a great-great grandmother and giggled over entries like this:

"To J.T. McCaleb 1861 -

If to love is a sin, then I freely confess

that every short minute I therein transgress."

Family names I might conceivably use: Isaac, Eva, Thomas.

Family names I vow never to inflict on an innocent child: Bathsheba, Hopwood, Felenburg. (Felenburg?)

***

And tomorrow I have fun things planned. Like - Pepper Place Farmer's Market! And - Birmingham Folk Fest! I was explaining to my mom that I think I am so excited about this day of veggies and banjos because it is akin to a rejection of our synthetic culture. In a world of plastic and screens and smooth industrialization, it is good to buy a cantaloupe and know that it came out of the ground yesterday, and to listen to music that is real and lovely, not electronically ironed out. 

Song of the Day: "I Disagree" - Act of Congress

In honor of aforesaid folk fest on the morrow. Act of Congress, the up and coming, closest thing to musical happiness since Nickel Creek, and you, yes you, can also follow their rise to stardom! Step up today and claim your status as Original Fan. 

"Love is something I believe in 

'cause it makes lonely disappear.

I'll paste these pieces of my broken heart

and build an altar just for you."

***

P.S. And my mother just promised to brew Stumptown coffee tomorrow morning (!!!). I reacted, um, very enthusiastically. "Will that make the perfect day even more perfect?" she mocked. She sees right through me. I build up this perfect ideal in my head ("I'll get up, and drink Stumptown and go to Pepper Place and go to the folk fest and wowitsgonnabesooooperfect!!!") and before you know it I'm wound in a ball of expectation so tight that the slightest interference with my "perfect" day sends me into a spiral ("oh no, I can't control things!). Breathe, Anna. Just breathe. And drink some Stumptown coffee. 

Who will sing me lullabies?

I'm sitting here in the (mostly) dark, guided only by the glow of the computer screen and the lightning through the window. It has been a good day. 

I'm not sure why. I'll take it anyway. I worked, went to Mr. Carter's Amazing Poetry and Lit. Theory Class, and tutored a football player. (Insert slight sigh about the last part. I can help someone organize their thoughts. I cannot think their thoughts for them). 

Excitement: I've discovered a way to feed my baking addiction without feeding my sugar addiction: taking food to work. I started today with chocolate zucchini muffins (moist and cinnamon: yes. In need of chocolate chips or nuts: emphatic yes). It made me happy. So did writing a poem about an argument. I like conflict resolution. Rather, I like the feeling that comes after conflict resolution (thank you, roomie). 

And when I got home, Mom and I went blueberry picking. We pick at the same place every year, and this year of our Lord two thousand and eight, the kind blueberry lady announced that we could pick for free. F.R.E.E. (I have inherited my mother's obsessive love of anything gratis.) So we went and picked berries in the calm of the summer evening and now I feel like Laura Ingalls Wilder. I'm ready to go West, young woman, marry my rugged farmer husband and pick berries while I balance a rosy-cheeked baby on my hip. 

In other news, I was washing my face the other day when I *happened* to realize: repentance is not a grueling duty to perform. It is love, pure love on God's part, drawing us back from what destroys to give us life - Himself. Now if only I could make my heart understand. 

Song of the Day: "Canaan's Land" - Kate Rusby

Yorkshire singer + old English folk songs = perfection

To Canaan's land I'm on my way

Where the soul of man never dies

Where all my nights will turn to day

And the soul of man never dies

Poetry lieth this way - Flee while thou canst

Song of the Day: "Reasons Why" - Nickel Creek

Where am I today, I wish that I knew,

'cause looking around there's no sign of you

I don't remember one jump or one leap;

just quiet steps away from your lead. 

Last summer I thought it would be fun to write a poem after a scene in "It's a Wonderful Life." So in March I finally did. And it was fun. Truth told, I really just want to be Donna Reed and have lots of babies and be (not too) poor. 

“George Lassoes the Moon”

 George: What is it you want, Mary? What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down . . .

Mary: I'll take it.

- It’s a Wonderful Life

 

Your mother called and said you might stop by.

And here we sit –

Me all crinoline and pearls

And fluttered hope,

You stiff against the horsehair couch

And heavy parlor air.

 

You want trunks and trains and travel,

One-way tickets, careless anonymity

of crowds and cities.

 

I want the honeysuckle picket fence,

Small hands and sticky hugs,

Kitchen table conversations

And your goodnight kiss.

 

You want slick and nameless streets,

And I the shabby sidewalks

Of familiar Bedford Falls.

 

O George – bring the laughter

And the three a.m. despair,

Lullabies and scraped-up knees,

Morning coffee and

The years of slow routine. 

Bring the bitter words and

Sweet embraces – (you know it’s a wonderful life).

 

I’ll take it.

 

Death to Dustbunnies

Mood of the day: anticipation. It is a Saturday. It is a Saturday and I get to clean. Some early training (brainwashing?) convinced me that a Saturday cannot be fully enjoyed unless you work so hard all morning that by the afternoon you can do nothing but rest and relax. 

And I love to put on music and clean my room and the rest of the house. As my favorite roommate can tell you, this mood rarely strikes me at school. Something, though, about home, brings out the housekeeper in me and I organize and dust happily for hours while Alison Krauss or ABBA plays in the background (yes, while most eleven year olds were listening to N'Sync, I was listening to my dad's old mixtape of a 1970s Swedish pop band. I still love them). 

***

Visit with Lindsay = soothing and fun and yummy recipes. I enjoyed being out of the house for a few days and chatting and scrapbooking with Lindsay. Lots of scrapbooking. I finished all of sophomore year and spent two hours last night organizing our photos in search of more projects. This is fun. And - addictive. 

***

On Thursday, one of the reference librarians and his wife brought by their five week old daughter to show off. I was looking at her longingly when he came over and advised me to wait a loooong time before I had "one of these." How did he know that Chris Thile and I are planning to elope next week and get started on our ten children right away? 

Anyway, she was awfully cute, with lots of dark hair and long toes, and when you held her she curled against you like a little monkey. I miss kids! I was telling my mother how I loved the pram-like strollers that were popular in Spain and she looked at me like I was crazy. 

***

Song of the Day: "Fallen from the Sky" - Glen Hansard

This is from the "Once" soundtrack, which I love. This is what I call The Happy Song (even though the lyrics are not) because it uses an electronic beat and makes me think of hot air balloons for some reason. 

You must've fallen from the sky

You must've shattered on the runway

You brought so many to the light

And now you're by yourself