capsized.

today has been a day gone by too quickly. i cleaned my room and read some small wonder and listened to good music and ate lunch with constance and rode my horse and visited with friends, dana and myke.

and i bought a bulletin board. i hung it over madeleine l'engle's framed words: sometimes mercy and reconciliation can come to us through story.
some pictures hang loosely now. and i can't stop looking at them:

1. my nephew, bob's profile as he watches his big sister, alaina, ride the zoo train. bob's too afraid to ride it, but he watches protectively to make sure alaina is ok. he looks pensive and acutely aware of every detail, in his orange polar fleece.
2. my cat, buster, less than a year old in 1986. she's got her face in the camera, staring it down. she died in 1998 and was a creature of God her whole life. she slept at my feet when i was sick. she slept on my mom's chest every night after my father died. she knew what i needed, mom said. (i think my guardian angel was a cat.)
3. the big, black locomotives that used to come through town in the summers. the drone of the whistle is my groaning for childhood and daddy. we watched the trains together.
4. 1980. my mom wears a red handkerchief on her head, navy blue (p)leather jacket, star of david necklace and orange-ish pants. (she looks very cool.) my then eleven-year-old sister, eileen, is holding a two-year-old me. it's a beautiful moment.
5. percy priest lake, where dakota and i go every week. it's a horse-eye view.

i think i've lined up these photos like icons. they're all comfort and longing and the best of all is well.
i'm arming myself for the first anniversary of a personal, unforgettable violence, and i want to be ready.
again, sarah harmer: there are some things i got no feelings about, and there are some things i can't tell...

time for sleep now. church tomorrow. i haven't been in three weeks, and my soul feels dry. (hmm. too tired to write past cliche tonight. sorry, folks.)

a blackalicious line for y'all: "you can choose to say good morning, God or good God, morning..."

i am awake.

josh and sandy are having a garage sale today. i am not participating.

while dreaming weird saturday morning dreams, i was woken up by josh outside my room.

josh: (loud) annnne?
me: (groggily, still dreaming) yes?
josh: there's a lady outside who wants to buy a couch. wanna sell yours?
me: (groggily, still dreaming) ok.
josh: ok. how much you wanna sell it for?
me: (ready to make money while groggy, still dreaming) start her at $20, give it to her for $10.

and now i'm awake, wondering if i have some new money.

since i am awake, i thought i'd hop online and catch up on some blog-reading. RACHEL gave me the link to her friend, SCOTT'S site, and also to his MOTHER'S. i've spent the last hour reading through the latter, and...well, i feel like i should have to pay money to read such good writing.

scott's mom (whose name is katy raymond) has an amazing gift of capturing moments--real, true moments--and chronicling them with such subtlety; i'm beyond impressed. and i think this capturing gift is trans-generational, because i'm experiencing the same thing with scott's words.

i feel like i've just been armed with new tools, new perspective, and i think i'll take up my own pen today.

blackalicious and bean trees, nearly

i'm eclectic girl today, who really has no business spending money, but couldn't resist on this not-too-balmy friday.

i'm rushing to blog as i'm finishing my lunch hour and need to do my proverbial fifteen minutes of actual work.
so. lunch hour. friday. i went to my friendly neighborhood borders.

and i bought blackalicious. and i bought barbara kingsolver's small wonder (thanks sparrow.)

re: blackalicious, i like how it has affected dear sarah harmer. read her own words right HERE.

my mindset today: i'm not saying anything, but i'm thinking a lot.
(also sarah harmer's words.)

pee ess can you tell i got my sarah harmer cds back from julie yesterday?

fullmind.

i'm studying buddhism again in school. i studied it in high school, with MoRo, who is still an integral part of my life. i studied buddhism in much the same context as i am now: a comparative study of world religions. but, what i missed when i was 17 i got last night. i heard mindfulness: everything is liturgy. nothing is exempt. brush your teeth, girl. and it is holy and good. keep your eyes open. remember? remember.

anne lamott reminded me the other day, as she asked through my car speakers: how alive are you willing to be?

how alive am i willing to be?

we need some more of this mindfulness in the world of Christianity, i think. we talk the language of joy complete and life more full and victorious (and what exactly do we mean by victorious, anyhow?) yet we miss the grace of our dailyness. or maybe it's just me.

no, i am not making plans for a conversion to buddhism--don't worry, mom--but i am most definitely borrowing its attentiveness today.

and how can we be numb if we are mindful? (that's the good news.)

off to have dinner with julie. mexican! ole! (if only i had the authentic upside-down exclamation point here.)

wishbest.

i drove back to nashville last night, with anne lamott's word by word lecture tape to make me laugh and muse, and phonecalls from jenna and vicky to last nearly 100 miles each through ohio and kentucky, respectively. (and then there were the peanut butter m&ms...)

well. here i am, admittedly floundering a bit under the weight of make-up work, in the realms of school and work. i'll surface. i'm sure. no, really: i will.

getting myself out of pennsylvania was the hardest part. goodbyes on smoldering blacktop of parking lot after brunch. see you soons.

loss is big right now. and it was big there too, but i had space to hover wherever seemed comfortable. here: loss is the hardfelt emotions in the midst of the daily grind. there is no stopping. no naps. i'm having to suck it in and be the big girl who needs to simply get the work done, you know?

and in the recesses, i hear coldplay singing everything's not lost. it's a psalm 62, speak to your soul kind of lyric.