Through a Glass, Darkly

I made a “Back to School” playlist today that includes some albums that I have been wanting to listen to (The Hold Steady, Jack Johnson, Elliot Smith, Emmylou Harris) and some back to school songs. There are not a whole lot of back to school songs that aren’t, you know, the Beach Boys singing about being true to your school. Mike suggested “We’re Going to Be Friends” by the White Stripes, and I thought of “This Year” by The Mountain Goats.

(Tangent: “This Year” by The Mountain Goats is an excellent song, and I am always happy to have an excuse to put it into a playlist. I didn’t have an alcoholic stepfather, but I was a teenager who was unhappy where she was, and this song describes those feelings perfectly. The last line, “There will be feasting and dancing in Jerusalem next year,” catapults it from a good song to a great song. Check out The Mountain Goats. The Sunset Tree is a great album. Especially if you work with teenagers. End of tangent.)

I also did some songs that are, in truth, New Year’s songs, but it is my playlist and a new school year counts as far as I am concerned. So, thank you, Death Cab, and welcome to my back to school playlist. But, even with the stretching of the definition of back to school, I am in the market for some more non-cheesy back to school songs. What songs remind you of bouquets of freshly sharpened pencils? If there is a story attached, please share it!

Mike and I went to see She & Him at the Cat’s Cradle last night. We realized a few things.

1. We are too old for concerts without assigned seating. Too old, I tell you! When we saw Glen and Marketa, we had assigned seating, and it was basically the best ever. No waiting in crazy lines in the hot sun so we could have a good position in the venue. (And, for us, a good position in the venue means “sitting down on the side” not “close to the stage.” Because we are old.)

2. We are too old for opening acts. I know, it’s great for those musicians to get some exposure, but . . . what if they are not good? As last night’s opening act was. Not. Good. I can’t figure out why an alt-blugrass-country group would be touring with She & Him. They didn’t go together well at all. Also, they were terrible. They couldn’t harmonize, and they were bad twangy (there’s good twangy and then there’s what happened last night). The whole time they were singing, I was thinking, “If these bozos would get off the stage, Matt and Zooey could go ahead and play and then we could get home earlier.” I am so old, you guys. So old. I was thinking about bed rather than listening to the opening act.

3. We are too old to be around that many people in a small space. Or maybe that’s just me. For one thing, it was crazy sticky. And that makes me cranky. For another, I don’t do the jostling thing well anymore. I want my personal space. I got here early and stood in line just so I could sit here. I see no reason why I should scoot over and make room for your late self.

4. Also, we thought the drums were too loud. We are apparently our own grandparents.

However, I thought the show itself was very fun. When they were on Conan, it was . . . how do you say? Not good. Specifically, she was not good. But her stage presence was much better, her voice was strong, the two of them and the band seemed to be having a fun time, and the music sounded good. A little more dynamic than the CD, which doesn’t grab me all that much in some places. My favorite was “You’ve Really Got a Hold On Me” (of course). And, happily for me, they did “Magic Trick” as one of the encores. I did wish they had sung “When I Get to the Border,” which was the first song they recorded together. And Mike thinks they should cover “Little Boxes,” but he’s been watching a lot of Weeds, so he’s got that song on the brain. I am glad we went, and I will probably revisit the CD a little bit more now instead of the one or two songs I have been listening to. After I get my much-needed nap.

Eef Barzelay’s new CD has a song called “I Love the Unknown,” which was also on the Clem Snide CD Your Favorite Music. We are big Eef fans in this house, and I have been listening to his new CD a lot. As I was singing “I Love the Unknown” in the shower one morning, I had to laugh at myself. I am about as far from loving the unknown as any person can be, and even Eef Barzelay can’t trick me into throwing caution to the wind and taking a bus to “the place with the most allure,” wherever that might be. I like my ordered existence, and I like lists and plans, and I happen to think that’s a perfectly acceptable way to live. The unknown is a scary place, full of . . . things that are unknown. Let me get my calendar out and we can schedule some things instead. The past few weeks have been particularly bad specifically because many, many things have been up in the air.

But then, there’s the end of the song, the part that goes like this:

The doctor asked him what he was afraid of,
just what was he running from?
He said, “It’s not a fear of success, nor of closeness,
but of going through life feeling numb.”

Well, that might be a little bit Fight Club, but maybe the man does have a point there. As much as I like my ordered existence, my routine, sometimes I feel as if life is passing me by and I am not paying attention. There is always something to get through, something we must do that we would prefer not to do, and so we count the days away rather than embracing the time that we have.

I learned a lot of things from my dad: how to drive a stick shift, how to change the oil in my car, how to hammer a nail. Those are all useful, but he also taught me about life and about shaking things up. I have talked before about how he would take us out of school to have a day with him at the mall or at the fair or just on his delivery route. I certainly value those days spent with him in his truck more than I would have remembered whatever I missed that day at school. When you have a family, it’s hard to say that you love the unknown, because you are looking out for more than just yourself. But my dad would never have advocated going through life being numb. He loved fiercely, he cared about people, and he wanted more for me than feeling bogged down by the life going on around me, wishing the days away until the next milestone.

When I took my new job, I wasn’t sure that my dad would have approved. He saw how hard my mom worked as a teacher, and he did not want the same for me. But I know he would have approved of some of my reasons, including wanting to be able to spend more time with my friends and family, especially in the summer. This is my first chance to catch a breath in a while, and as the calendar of our summer stretches out in front of us, so many days left to fill, I have to admit that I don’t mind that sort of unknown quite as much. I appreciate this summer more than I did when I was used to having summers off all the time. I am going to do my best to make it count.

I have a bit of a sore throat, and I took some Tylenol PM last night. So this morning, I am not really sure that I can run. Benadryl hangover, wooo! Instead of running, maybe I will tell you about my running playlist. It horrifies Mike, who says, “That has more swears per minute than any of my playlists.” Let us examine the list and see if that is so.

In no particular order:

-”1492″ by Counting Crows. Fast? Check. Swearing? No, actually. But this one does say “tranny whores.”

-”Snakes on the Plane (Bring It)” by Cobra Starship. Fast? Check. Swearing? Oh, yes. Including Samuel L. Jackson’s infamous line.

-”The Raiders March” by John Williams. Well, uh, no words. So no swearing. But I love it when this comes up. “I will make it up this hill by the power of Indiana Jones!”

-”Bitch” by Meredith Brooks. I think this one is self-explanatory. I just want to say that Melissa laughed a lot when I told her this was on my running mix. It is another one that is great for hills. It also raises the average of the swears.

-”Revolution” by The Beatles. This is the one off Past Masters, with the really heavy guitars. No swearing. But the guitars keep me moving.

-”Stronger” by Kanye West. Scott said he can’t run to this, but he probably runs faster than I do. This one is great for me. And if you have heard it, you know that there is, in fact, a lot of swearing.

-”We Used to be Friends” by The Dandy Warhols. I have been using this one for running ever since I put it on a mix CD for Alisa. No actual swearing.

-”Miami” by Counting Crows. This one starts off kind of slow, but by the time it gets to, “Come on baby, let’s go shut it down in New Orleans,” I think it works as a running song. I like how angry it is. And, yes, there is one swear.

-”Jesus Walks” by Kanye West. I flat-out love this song. I am also glad to know that I am not the only one who loves to run to it. Swearing? Check.

-”Livin’ On a Prayer” by Bon Jovi. Mike and I had a discussion about whether this was a better choice or whether “You Give Love a Bad Name” (which starts off stronger) is a better choice. I happen to love this song (so tough), so I chose it instead. There is no swearing, only awesomeness.

-”Since U Been Gone” by Kelly Clarkson. This is the only Kelly Clarkson song I can run to. If I had had to guess, I would have thought there was swearing in this song. But there is not!

-”Chariots of Fire Theme” by Vangelis. Mike put this on there, and it’s good for starting, but not so great when I am in the middle of a run. However, it does make me laugh, which I appreciate. No lyrics = no swears.

As you can see, the reports of my playlist have been greatly exaggerated. And I thought that I was the one with the tendency toward hyperbole. For shame, Mike. For shame.

I read (but did not really care for) Rachel Cohn and David Levithan’s newer book, Naomi and Ely’s No Kiss List. I read Boy Meets Boy by David Levithan, and I thought it was cute, though not necessarily my thing. But, for some reason, I keep thinking that maybe I am going to like David Levithan, so I thought I’d try Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist. Also, it is being made into a movie. And my husband really likes music, so the idea of an infinite playlist was pretty appealing to me.

Alternating between Nick and Norah’s perspective, this is the story of the first night of their relationship, the night that Nick asked Norah to be his five minute girlfriend, that they saw their favorite band and began to get over their exes and stayed up until dawn. And I liked it better than the others, no question. But I think I liked the idea of it more than the actual execution.

What I did like was their infinite playlist, their relationship beginning, as they were experiencing that first spark, bantering back and forth, reciting lyrics at each other. It made me think about how that’s a pretty great description of relationships, how I can chart our relationship from “Mansions” by Burlap to Cashmere and “Testify to Love” by Avalon to “The Story” by Brandi Carlile and “Falling Slowly” by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova. And in between, there’s a lot of Counting Crows and Simon and Garfunkel and The Beatles and Waterdeep and Kelly Clarkson and M. Ward and The Decemberists and Bob Dylan and Andrew Peterson and hours and hours of Christmas music. Music is one of those things that helps me chart the passage of time, one of those things that causes a visceral reaction as it takes me back to certain memories, places, tastes, or smells. I have said before that relationships are one long conversation. But, as Nick and Norah are discovering, they are also an infinite playlist. As we build memories, we build our soundtrack.

I am running a 5K here in Greensboro in early May, and I have been trying to get in shape for it. Since changing jobs, my exercise schedule has been a little bit off. It’s crazy how much easier it is for me to exercise, though, now that it feels like spring (and now that it’s light in the evenings). Here’s where you come in: I need your favorite running songs. I listen to a lot of slow/sad music, and when I am running by myself, this is fine, but it’s not really going to cut it when I run in a race. I need some music to keep me moving. What’s your favorite I-will-make-it-up-this-hill song? Or, if you’re not a runner, what’s your favorite I-will-rock-out-in-my-car-and-I-don’t-care-who’s-watching song? As much as I love Patty Griffin, I don’t think she’s quite what I need here.

I didn’t say very much about it at the time, but Once was my favorite movie of last year, hands down. We went and saw it one Saturday in August, and Mike went and saw it again the next day. And we spent the rest of the fall and winter listening to the soundtrack (actually, I am still listening to it) and counting the days until it came out on DVD. “Falling Slowly” was my favorite movie scene from last year, too - one of those scenes where you know something magical is happening and you are suddenly mesmerized. I was ecstatic when they won the Oscar, because I like to have my opinions validated by others. And because it was such a moving song in such a moving scene that it deserved to be recognized. And I have been sharing my copy of the movie with teachers at my school. I would compare it to a drug, like crack, but drug references are frowned upon.

One of our friends has fallen very ill in the past few weeks, which has been incredibly sad. Even having been through this sort of thing, I am not very good with knowing how to help people who are very sick. So I made pumpkin chocolate chip muffins tonight, his favorite. I want to fix things, or at least to be useful. We took his favorite flowers on Sunday, and Mike worked on his computer yesterday, and he’ll get some muffins tomorrow. I guess that’s not so bad. I just wish that I could put some magical healing mojo into the muffins along with the chocolate chips.

I have been reading a whole lot lately, but I haven’t really written anything up. I even read a graphic novel for my class: American Born Chinese. Overall, I have to say that graphic novels are not really my thing, but it was very good, and had a great message. I also enjoyed Monster by Walter Dean Myers. I ended up liking it a lot more than I thought I would. I have read about the same amount of books as last year, but I have to confess that more of them are young adult books than last year. However, I am also reading articles for my classes. And Entertainment Weekly. Which I seem to mention in every post.

Did you know that Mike is almost done with his student teaching? It’s true. Can you believe that?

Mike has been playing some of the Counting Crows’ new songs, and I have to say, they are not bad. I put a moratorium on the Counting Crows a few years ago and refused to listen to any of their songs. Because they only had four albums. And Mike played those four albums constantly. And I had to put a stop to it. He’s been sneaking them back into our playlist, though. He thinks I haven’t noticed, but I have. And, actually, it’s nice to hear those songs again. I was even singing some Counting Crows last week to myself. I just needed a break. A nice, long break. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and all that.

Tomorrow is a very long day, so I am going to head to bed very soon.

I don’t know anything about Tullycraft, but one evening I was listening to the radio station that Mike DJed for over the summer, and I heard this beautiful haunting song. I made Mike call the station and find out what the song had been, and it turns out that it was “The Lonely Life of the UFO Researcher” by Tullycraft. Now, sure, that’s a silly title, and in some ways it’s a silly song. I kept finding reviews that said that very thing. But, in my humble opinion, those people are missing the point. This is a song about faith and doubt, about believing in what is not seen, about questions and needing to know the truth. All of those things are set in the context of UFOs, but don’t be deceived. I experience these same emotions all the time, belief and unbelief forming an uneasy truce in my heart. Feeling misunderstood by people who don’t share my same faith. Desperately wanting a sign that I’m not wasting my time.

Antenna towers, and distant hopes
I’ve measured happiness with telescopes
Well, I’ve been face to face with what my future brings
The reels they turn recording blips and pings
Through the white noise and distortion
There’s a message I can feel
Just give me one sign that you’re real

Please give me one sign that you’re real

This year, our Lenten theme has to do with restoration, and I thought on Sunday about what Mike and I were like five years ago, how much we had managed to hurt each other and how, little by little, we have grown up and grown from those mistakes. If I am needing some sort of sign from above to confirm God’s existence, I only need to look at my husband, who faced his fears about college and grades and intelligence and returned to school, coming out of his shell and developing an incredible confidence in himself and his abilities. And not being satisfied with bettering himself, he has wholeheartedly embraced a profession that allows him to help other people.

There are so many ways that Mike encourages my faith, but none more than the way that he has quietly allowed God to work in his heart and give him the courage to change. This is what I picture when we talk about God restoring the years that the locusts have eaten: I think about how I will feel on May 16th.

Then I’m laying out my winter clothes
And wishing I was gone
Going home
Where the New York City winters aren’t bleeding me,
Leading me, going home.

In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of every glove that laid him down
Or cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame
“I am leaving, I am leaving”
But the fighter still remains -Paul Simon

This is the track list for a mix CD I made. It is a melancholy autumn CD. You have been warned.

“What Light” by Wilco – I would not consider myself a Wilco fan, but I do like this song.

“Moon River” by The Innocence Mission – I didn’t like this song until I saw Breakfast at Tiffany’s last winter. Finally, I get the appeal. I had thought about including Patty Griffin’s version, but I think The Innocence Mission fits better.

“Thirteen” by Big Star – This song sounds like fall to me.

“Monster Ballads” by Josh Ritter – Mike put this on a playlist for me, and I thought it fit with the feel of this CD. Which is monstrously depressed. Sorry about that.

“Falling Slowly” by Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová – If you haven’t seen Once, you are probably sick of people telling you to see it. But, seriously, you should see it. This is from the soundtrack.

“Real Love” by Regina Spektor – I never liked this song when the other Beatles recorded it “with” John for the Anthologies. But this recording is really amazing, and really brings out how beautiful and not-cheesy the song is.

“Daughter” by Loudon Wainwright – Besides being melancholy, this mix CD is a nice little recap of all the movies I saw this summer. This song is from Knocked Up. I heard it before I saw the movie, and thought that the song was just okay. But after seeing the movie, I liked it much better.

“Imitosis” by Andrew Bird – I have been listening to his latest album, and this song stands out to me.

“Starcrossed” by Ash – Here is a more upbeat song! Except that it’s about starcrossed lovers. So it’s still melancholy. Oh, well.

“Five Colors” by Sam Phillips – I am a big Sam Phillips fan. Surely you knew that by now. I wrote about this song here.

“Moment in the Sun” by Clem Snide - Mike and I stumbled across Clem Snide/Eef Barzelay a year or so ago. I always like to put one of their songs on mix CDs. I believe this was the theme song to Ed for a while, but the fans hated it. The fans were wrong.

“My Rights Versus Yours” by The New Pornographers – I don’t have anything to say about this one. It’s more upbeat, at least.

“Addy Will Know” by SNMNMNM – This is a local band, and this song is about how fantastic librarians are. I think that mix CDs are allowed one gimmicky song. This is mine.

“The Story” by Brandi Carlile – I like this song, too. I don’t listen to the radio, so I’m not sure if it got any radio airplay. At least it’s not completely depressing. (And thus ends the upbeat portion of our CD.)

“Love Love Love” by The Mountain Goats – This is the only song of theirs I know, but I have been meaning to look into more of their stuff.

“Give it Away” by Quincy Coleman – This song is from the movie Waitress, which I loved. Mike calls this song “the long one from Waitress.” But I persist in liking it.

“Amazing Glow” by The Pernice Brothers – I don’t know any of their other songs, either, but I would like to hear more. I heard this song when they played on Gilmore Girls.

“Close the Door” by Waterdeep – Their new CD is, honestly, kind of a downer. Which is perfect for inclusion here! (And being a downer doesn’t mean that I don’t like it, because I really like their new album. And sad music.) I really like what this song is about, faith and belief growing and changing through different phases of life.

“Bookends” by Simon and Garfunkel – I can think of no better way to close an autumn/melancholy CD. This song is a very “end of summer” song for me.

I realized that after I was done, since I took Patty Griffin’s “Moon River” off, I should have put “Burgundy Shoes” on there somewhere, because it really would have fit. But I didn’t. So this is the CD as it stands, forever and ever, amen.

This time of year, I find the seduction of cool nights (finally, cool nights) impossible to resist, and you are likely to find me and my iPod outside. I love running on nights like that, though my soundtrack tends to be a little too melancholy to inspire running at a very admirable pace.

Mike listens to sad music in the fall, too. Well, he listens to sad music all year. For someone so upbeat, he really likes wallowing in sorrow, especially in the fall. And now that it’s September, he’s put in his official autumn soundtrack: August and Everything After. It’s been a while since I’ve heard it, and I found myself humming “Anna Begins” as I transferred the laundry to the dryer last night. I am so easily swayed. My music, though, definitely switches in late summer. I started a playlist in early August that was called “Kari is tired,” and I’ve been listening to it for the past six weeks or so. The “Summer 2007” playlist (usually my playlists have pretty boring names) was a whole lot more upbeat. A lot of “Kari is tired” songs are going on a CD I am making for a CD circle, and I should probably warn them that the mix I have so far is pretty much a downer. I told Mike I needed a few more upbeat songs, and he said, “No, put some more sad songs on there, really push them over the edge.” And you thought he was the optimistic one.

I appreciate that the rhythm of the church calendar gives us space to grieve, instead of asking us to be “up” or “peppy” all the time. This year, especially, I have appreciated that the rhythm of the seasons does the same thing. In spring, I celebrated new life and rebirth and the miracle of the resurrection. Now, autumn means that the world is beginning to die, that we are heading into winter. It’s another Lent, in a way: memento mori. After this past year, I think that autumn will always be a time to grieve, and I like that the earlier sunsets and cooler evenings help me learn to make room for that. And make room for me to learn it.

The truth is that I don’t know how to make room for my own grief, let alone other people’s. I don’t know how to be patient with myself or others when it comes to grieving. I have never been good at dealing with strong genuine emotion. I take refuge in sad music and big plans. I want some kind of process, some steps to follow. I want to make things manageable. For now, the slow decline into winter is going to have to be enough.

Hello Internet People.

I can’t think of anything interesting to say. But I have been working on my iPod a lot lately, finally making a playlist that I think is awesome. Here is what I am listening to lately, with, of course, the reasons why I am certainly loving each song.

“Heavenly Day” by Patty Griffin - Do I need to explain my affection for this? It’s beautiful and happy and sounds like spring. Every time I hear it, I secretly want to run through a field. Did I just say that out loud?

“Long Lost Brother” by Over the Rhine - They played this at the concert that Andrea and I went to, and I have been listening to it ever since. Favorite lyric? “Trouble is, I’m so exhausted / The plot, you see, I think I’ve lost it / I need the grace to find what can’t be found”

“Magic Trick” by M. Ward - Do you see this, internet? This is me caving on the issue of M. Ward. Mike . . . has won.

“Revolution” by The Beatles - I don’t ever need an excuse to put The Beatles on a playlist. I guess spring makes me want to revolt.

“Used To” by Daughtry - I like Chris Daughtry. His album is all kind of same-sounding, but a couple of the songs stand out. This is one.

“The Story” by Brandi Carlile - THIS SONG IS AMAZING. LISTEN TO IT. Mike downloaded it right away, but it took me a few weeks to really pay attention to it. I was wrong. I admit my mistake. This song is awesome.

“Only Up or Down” by Patty Griffin - We have obtained the Barnes and Noble exclusive songs from the new album, and I thought I’d try them out in my playlist. They are, of course, great.

“Hallelujah” by Over the Rhine - I found a version of OtR singing this, and it is as heavenly as you might expect. I have really come to love this song over the past few years, and I am always happy to find another great version of it.

“Up to the Mountain” by Kelly Clarkson - Kelly Clarkson? Singing Patty Griffin? I’m in. Plus, when we purchased it, the money went to charity! I can feel good about listening to it!

“O Valencia!” by The Decemberists - Did I mention, internet, that Mike has won? I give up.

“To Go Home” by M. Ward - Well, this is just embarrassing. I am a defeated woman.

“One Line” by PJ Harvey - Remember when Tristan offered Rory tickets to the PJ Harvey concert? And then Dean showed up at Chilton and she kissed him? Yeah, me too.

“Breakfast at Tiffany’s” by Deep Blue Something - Because this song is awesomely awesome. I miss 1996.

“On the Radio” by Regina Spektor - Here is a good chance for me to plug Regina Spektor. I have really been enjoying her album. Favorite Lyric: “We were on our knees / Praying that disease / Would leave the ones we love / And never come again” (Sorry my favorite lyric is kind of morbid.)

“Like a Rolling Stone” by Bob Dylan - Yep, still loving it.

“Chinese Translation” by M. Ward - I can’t even look you in the eye anymore, internet.

“Way Back Into Love” by Hugh Grant and some chick - The song is catchy. I am already embarrassed about the M. Ward and Decemberists. Please let me be.

“Fidelity” by Regina Spektor - This is the one I like the best of Regina Spektor’s songs. I first heard it, I think, on Veronica Mars.

“Never Again” by Kelly Clarkson - Not as good as “Since U Been Gone,” but still a solid bitter breakup song. I love the bitter breakup songs.

“Over You” by Daughtry - The other Chris Daughtry song I really like.

“Pop! Goes My Heart” by Pop - This song is a perfect fake 80s song. The video is even better. It makes me laugh every single time.

“Land of My Sojourn” by Rich Mullins - I have decided that this may be my favorite Rich Mullins song. I am not a hugely patriotic person, but this song connects with the people and things that I love about where I live. “Nobody tells you / When you get born here / How much you’ll come to love it and how you’ll never belong here”

“Kingdom Come” by Coldplay - I don’t really know why this is on here. It was on my old playlist, and I decided to leave it. I love how it opens.

“Sad, Sad Song” by M. Ward - I do have a reason for including this one. This is the song that M. Ward played at the concert where I looked around and saw people clearly having a deeply spiritual experience. I put it on my playlist in an attempt to understand. I still don’t get it.

“We Both Go Down Together” by The Decemberists - I haven’t been listening to this one much lately, but I thought if I was going to include “O Valencia!” I should include this one, too.

“Livin’ On a Prayer” by Bon Jovi - I can’t tell you that I’m listening to this because of American Idol. I have to come up with a better reason. SHOOT.

“Thirteen” by Big Star - This is another Gilmore-inspired song. In doing some research on songs that were played on the show (more on that later), I saw that Rory and Dean had a moment during this one, listened to it, and really like it. I know, I know, I am very late on this train. But it’s a great song.

“Free” by Patty Griffin - The other Barnes and Noble exclusive song. I can’t decide which one I like better, but I can tell you that I like both of them better than “Stay on the Ride.”

“Rollercoaster” by M. Ward - And so we come to the end. I closed the playlist with this song because this was how the concert ended. It’s pretty hard to top Brian on the piano, though, I must admit.

Would you rather hear about the M. Ward concert I went to last night, or the awkwardness I had at the grocery store this morning? Both? Really?

Okay.

I’ll start with the awkwardness. I am well-known for awkwardness at the grocery store, what with the apple-lanches and the having to ask tall people to get things off the top shelf for me. But today, today was the beginning of the tote bag revolution. I want to stop consuming so many plastic bags. So I took tote bags with which to carry home my groceries. (If you have tote bags you aren’t using, and you don’t want to join the tote bag revolution, will you please send them to me? I need more tote bags.) But let me get to that in a second. First let’s talk about how Mike hates certain scents so much that I had to stand in the dish soap section and sniff Palmolive until I could find one that I thought he would tolerate. Yes, that’s not embarrassing at all. Back to the tote bags now. I had several tote bags, and as I approached the cashier, I caught her eye and said, “I brought my own bags.” She . . . just kind of looked at me. And nodded. Now I am the crazy dish soap-sniffing, tote bag-carrying lady at the grocery store. Fantastic. When she started ringing up my groceries, she . . . put them in the plastic bags. So then I had to take them OUT of the plastic bags and put them in my bags. Not only do I sniff Palmolive, now I am crazy militant tote bag lady!

The cashier finally caught on to what I meant and started handing me my groceries for me to bag myself. She said that she had never seen anyone bring their own bags before. But . . . even Oprah is in on this bag thing! Surely I cannot be the only person at my grocery store who brings her own bags! (Apparently I am the only person at my grocery store who brings her own bags. And I only started today.) I told the cashier that I was trying to save the environment, and she seemed to like that. I also apologized for any inconvenience. I bet she will be telling people all day about the crazy militant tote bag (Palmolive-sniffing) lady. Oh, well.

How about M. Ward? Do you want to hear about M. Ward?

I am not the M. Ward fan in our family. In fact, I kind of have a problem with his voice. I have less of a problem than I used to, because Mike has worn me down. He has played M. Ward until my defenses collapsed, and there are times I almost think I like him. I KNOW! I hardly know who I am anymore!

Mike and Alisa went to see M. Ward back in September, but I didn’t go. This time, though, Mike insisted that I had to experience M. Ward live, so we drove to The Orange Peel in Asheville to see him. Here is the thing about me and Asheville. There’s part of that crunchy/earthy thing that appeals to me (see above, with tote bags). But I also like wearing makeup and tailored clothing. So I don’t think that I completely fit in in Asheville. Also, I like bathing. I decided last night that I am getting too old for the concert thing because I don’t like standing for that long, especially in a large crowd of unwashed people. Give me a concert with assigned seating, I say. Also, I like to go to bed much earlier than this concert allowed me to. Because I am old.

Since we were the first people in, we managed to score seats during the opening band. But we wanted to be closer for M. Ward, so we gave up our seats and made a move toward the stage. I should tell you that before and during the opening act, we entertained ourselves by playing games such as, “What in the world is she wearing?” “Look at that awkward first date,” and, “Why are there twelve-year-olds at this concert?” Did I mention that I am old? Because I am. So old. There were mere children at this concert. There were also women wearing tapered pants who should not have been wearing tapered pants. No one should wear tapered pants that look like that. Our favorite game, though, was, “Drunk or stoned?” The guy directly in front of us was, we believe, both.

So, finally, M. Ward came on to the stage, and we were really close to him, and he played really nice music. He is incredibly talented. AND! Most importantly, his voice didn’t bother me so much in concert. I felt kind of bad for being so close, because we were surrounded by people for whom the concert was apparently a spiritual experience. That was how into it they were. I, however, only knew a few songs. I was an interloper.

I think I would have enjoyed it more if he’d had the full band (especially because, without the band, he did not play “To Go Home”), but, at the same time, when he was the only one making music, it was easy to see how talented he is. I definitely came away with an increased appreciation for his music. I might even let Mike put his CDs on my iPod.

My favorite part was the last song, “Rollercoaster.” M. Ward said that he needed someone who could play piano to come up on stage with him. I think we all thought he was joking at first, so we all kind of stood around awkwardly. But then, finally, a guy named Brian made his way up to the stage and M. Ward taught him the part he needed him to play. I have long told Mike that we need to make sure our children, especially our sons, know how to play piano. I feel that this vindicates me, because every time Brian played the piano, the crowd erupted. The whole concert had a very intimate feel, not just because I was one person from the stage, and Brian getting to play the piano on stage is a perfect example of that. Good times for all.

Anyway, I am glad I went, even if it was a late night (I’m so old). I am sure Mike and Alisa can give you a better review of what was actually played, but this will have to suffice from me. I am very busy, you see, planning my next awkward adventure at the grocery store.

Note: To really get a feel for what this conversation sounded like, you have to imagine us yelling more than singing this song at the top of our lungs.

KARI: What do you want to listen to?

MIKE: You can choose.

KARI: *grabs iPod* You know what I’m going to choose!

MIKE: Yes.

KARI: ONCE UPON A TIME YOU DRESSED SO FINE

MIKE: Oh.

KARI: What?

MIKE: I thought you were going to pick “Born to Run” because of Peter Sagal.

[Gentle reader, rather than having a conversation about Peter Sagal and why he would inspire me to play “Born to Run,” I will simply explain that he excitedly recited the lyrics a few weeks ago on Wait, Wait in a discussion about how New Jersey once campaigned to choose it as their state song. It was definitely one of my favorite Wait, Wait moments of all time.]

KARI: I’ll play that later. HOW DOES IT FEEL?

MIKE: TO BE WITHOUT A HOME.

KARI: A COMPLETE UNKNOWN.

MIKE: NO DIRECTION HOME.

BOTH: LIKE A ROLLING STONE.

Last year, Mike made a playlist of Rolling Stone’s 500 greatest songs of all time. On trips, I always found it a reliable playlist we could both agree on, even if we did choose to skip a song here and there. The best part was that it started with Bob Dylan’s “Like a Rolling Stone.” I am not sure I can convey how much I love mumbling/yelling the words along with Bob. Especially when the windows are rolled down and it inadvertently causes me to yell things like, “Scrounging FOR YOUR NEXT MEAL,” at people who are innocently walking down the street. Yeah, that’s awkward. At least it wasn’t, “You threw the bums a dime in your prime, DIDN’T YOU?”

I don’t know why I got so obsessed with the song. I’m not a big Bob Dylan fan, to be honest, but I do like some of his classic stuff. Road trips would generally feature me yelling along with the song while Mike drove with a polite/bemused expression on his face. Oh, but now! Now I have converted him! We listened to nine different versions of it last night. Straight through. Complete with yelling.

And possibly dancing.

I like the idea of being able to chronicle your life through mix tapes. I remember the mix tape of They Might Be Giants and R.E.M. that my cousin made for me, the CDs that Sarah and I were given when we drove to Memphis in 2003, the countless playlists that Mike has devised for me, the CDs people made for me this year so I would know they were thinking about me. I like how the music that we listen to isn’t just about the music, but also about the things we were doing at the time, the way it makes us feel. I have been putting together a playlist of music from 2006, and I suppose I could do it by play count or something, but, really, when I close my eyes and just try to remember what I was listening to, what 2006 felt like, and it all comes back. Brandi Carlile, Over the Rhine, Kelly Clarkson, Eef Barzelay, The Dandy Warhols, Grant Lee Phillips, Sam Phillips, Dixie Chicks, Dolly Parton . . . just like lives are made of tiny pieces of memories, so are years cemented by little scraps of emotion sung to music.

And I don’t even consider myself a music person, so I know it’s got to magnified for someone who is.

Which is why I wanted to read Love is a Mix Tape: Life and Loss, One Song at a Time by Rob Sheffield, a writer for Rolling Stone. In it, he chronicles his love for music and his relationship with his wife by the music (specifically mix tapes) he was listening to at the time. The book jacket and reviews I read make no secret of the fact that his wife died after they were married just five years, so I’m not going to, either. Because of that, it’s difficult to read in parts. I liked, though, that he didn’t shy away from that, that he didn’t edit himself to make it more palpable. I liked that music was both healing and destructive in his life after his wife passed away - that it reminded him of the good times, but that it was hard to listen to the music they shared and the music that he would never get to share with her.

The chapter I liked best was called “MmmRob,” where he talked about how kind people were to him, and how he had to learn to accept that and even try to be worthy of it. In talking about it, he said, “You lose a certain kind of innocence when you experience this type of kindness. You lose the right to be a jaded cynic. You can no longer go back through the looking glass and pretend not to know what you know about kindness. It’s a defeat, in a way.” I have had a few conversations in the past week about how, at times, I find sincerity difficult. It’s easier for me to make light of something, to crack a joke, or even to be snide. But I agree with what Rob Sheffield said here - the overwhelming kindness I have experienced in the past few months has changed me. It wasn’t easy to ask for or accept the help that people were offering. It was tempting not to accept it, to play some kind of martyr. But I needed people, and they knew that, and they wouldn’t let me turn them away. As he says later in that same paragraph:

People kept showing me unreasonable kindness, inexplicable kindness, indefensible kindness. People were kind when they knew that nobody would ever notice, much less praise them for it. People were even kind when they knew I wouldn’t appreciate it.

I had no idea how to live up to that kindness.

I do know that this year taught me a little more about how to be kind. I am not great at reaching out to people, especially when they are hurting. It’s a bad old habit, not feeling secure enough to know what to say or that my presence would be welcomed. But now, on the other side, I realize the importance of just showing up, of sending the card or the email. Of giving the hug, giving of myself. Naturally gregarious people can do that more easily than the rest of us. But when the people around us are so kind, it’s awfully hard not to pass it on.

But this was about the book, right? I liked it. I didn’t know all the songs, but it was good. I liked the way he wrote about sharing music, about music in community. The first time you listen to a song with a friend or your spouse and you know that you’re never going to forget it. I was never a Nirvana fan, but . . . I almost got the Kurt Cobain thing when he described it. It was sad and raw, but it was very real, and I always like reading about music by people who know what they are talking about.

So, if you’re a music person, give this book a try. (If it doesn’t make you think about your own story and what the soundtrack would look like, well, I’ll be very surprised indeed.)

Once upon a time, Harry and the Potters played at the Greensboro Public Library on a Saturday afternoon. I had to work that day. I did not get to go.

But then! Then Harry and the Potters came back! And I got to be there! While they rocked the library! It was a good time - their song lyrics (when I could make them out) are very funny. The consensus was that our favorite lyric had to do with not wanting to talk about Cho’s dead ex-boyfriend over coffee. I believe the song was “The Human Hosepipe.” We were, admittedly, a little old compared to most of the crowd but it was fun to watch all the kids (read: teenage girls) who knew every single word of every single song. Also funny: the teenage girls surrounding the younger brother after the show. hee.

Anyway, here are some pictures from the evening. Enjoy.

The opening band, Someone Still Loves You, Boris Yeltsin. I liked their Beatles cover.

My Harry Potter shirt and Harry and the Potters.

Harry and the Potters in action!

Harry and the Potters singing their hit song, “Cornelius Fudge is an Ass.” (Well, it was a hit with us, anyway.)

Check out the saxophone action.

Here you can see some of the fans. Those girls in the front were really into it.

Not to be outdone, Alisa and I had our picture taken with the older brother, Paul.

And, finally . . . the shirt I’m wearing to work tomorrow. ROCK THE LIBRARY!!!

(Brian got a shirt, too, a different one. He should post a picture of it, because I don’t have one.)

It was an excellent time. I loved seeing all the kids (I’m so old) getting into the silliness and having fun with Harry Potter stuff. I’d definitely go see them again. And, you know, we could only get the first CD, so if somebody wanted to get us other CDs for, you know, my birthday or something, that would be cool. It’s music for people who read. I read. I’m just saying.

That’s all for now. I have to go save Ginny Weasley from a basilisk. Be back later.

I was brave and did the Christmas CD Circle this year (has it been done before? I usually avoid CD circles because I don’t really think of myself as a music person). Since I wrote out all the reasons why I picked the songs, I thought I’d post it here instead of it being lost forever.

These are songs that Mike and I listen to each year at Christmas, and it’s a good sampling of what you would hear if you were at our house this time of year.

1. “The Irrational Season” by Carolyn Arends. I have a kind of love/hate relationship with Carolyn Arends. I like some of her music, but she can be cheesy. However, the lyrics of this song are from my favorite author, Madeleine L’Engle. “This is the irrational season / When love blooms bright and wild / If Mary had been filled with reason / There’d have been no room for the child.” I think that sums up the miracle of the incarnation in a wonderful way.

2. “Silent Night/On Christmas Night All Christians Sing” by The London Festival Orchestra and The Ambrosian Singers. This is from an album called The Beauty of Christmas, which is out of print, but which is our favorite favorite favorite Christmas CD. Mike bought it the first Christmas we were together, and every year we put it on, turn on the Christmas tree, and turn off all the lights in the house. It’s one of our traditions, to listen to it by the lights of the tree. I put a few songs from this CD on here, so you could get an idea of what it sounds like, since just one song doesn’t give you a good representation. Its whole is better than the sum of its parts.

3. “O Come All Ye Faithful” by Mandy Ihrig. This is from a Christmas album called Your King Has Come that several “Square Peg” artists contributed to, including Derek and Sandra, Jill Phillips, and Katy Bowser. This is Mike’s favorite song off the CD, and it’s one of my favorite versions of this song.

4. “Miriam” by Pierce Pettis. Pierce Pettis sang this at Andrew Peterson’s show a few years ago. It’s been a staple of our Christmas mix ever since.

5. “Child of Wonder” by Sara Groves. This (like the songs from The Beauty of Christmas) is a leftover from when Mike used to work for a Christian bookstore. This came from a CD of Christmas songs all sung by women. As a woman, I think about Mary a lot this time of year, and what she went through, and I like this song because it’s from her perspective.

6. “Sing We Now of Christmas” by The London Festival Orchestra and The Ambrosian Singers. This is another from The Beauty of Christmas.

7. “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” by Coldplay. I have to say that this is not one of my favorite Christmas songs, but I do like this version of it. Mike claims it’s the best version of this song EVER. He . . . really likes Chris Martin.

8. “Joy to the World” by Eef Barzelay. On his CD Bitter Honey, Eef closed with this song. Mike and I agreed that it was definitely going on our Christmas mix this year. I am putting it on this mix in an effort to spread the Eef love. How can you not love someone named Eef?

9. “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” by Death Cab for Cutie. This is another song where . . . I’m not sure I like the song, but I do like this version a lot. The whole Death Cab sound goes well on this song.

10. “For Unto Us a Child is Born” by The London Festival Orchestra and The Ambrosian Singers. Another song from The Beauty of Christmas.

11. “Silent Night” by Martha’s Trouble. Martha’s Trouble is a band that some of our friends like a lot, and we went to a concert they put on a few years ago around Christmastime. We have one of their regular CDs and their Christmas CD. Their version of “O Come All Ye Faithful” is also very good.

12. “Away in a Manger” by Buddy and Julie Miller. What I’d really like is a version of Buddy and Julie singing “Manger Throne” without Third Day anywhere near the song, but this is what we have instead, and it’ll have to suffice.

13. “Babe in the Straw” by Leigh Nash. Another leftover from the Christian bookstore days. I believe this was on the same CD as the Sara Groves song. I learned as I was putting it on here that Caedmon’s also did it a few years after that on the City on a Hill Christmas CD. I humbly offer my opinion that this one is miles better than that one.

14. “The Holly and the Ivy” by The London Festival Orchestra and The Ambrosian Singers. Another song from The Beauty of Christmas.

15. “Christmas Day” by Dido. This is kind of a sad song. But we had it on our mix, and I always sing along with it, so I decided to include it despite that.

16. “Christmas for Cowboys” by Jars of Clay. This is a new one for us this year. We have no idea where it came from. (I mean, we know it’s a cover, but it seems strange for Jars of Clay.)

17. “River” by Sarah McLachlan. I like Joni Mitchell (blame it on You’ve Got Mail), and I enjoy Sarah McLachlan’s cover of this song. Even though it’s another sad song.

18. “What Child is This?” by The London Festival Orchestra and The Ambrosian Singers. From The Beauty of Christmas.

19. “O Holy Night” by Tracy Chapman. When we first got together, Mike had a CD that had this song on it, so it’s always been part of our Christmas music. I like how mellow this version is.

20. “Heaven’s Got a Baby” by Sarah Masen. Another Christian bookstore leftover. This was on a mix that was put out that wasn’t very good, but I really like Sarah Masen, and I think this song is fun. I like how the song is set against the idea of a Christmas pageant.

21. “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” by BNL and Sarah McLachlan. Look, I know this song has been overplayed. But it’s part of our Christmas, so I put it on here anyway. I remember driving around and listening to the radio, hoping it would come on. (This was back before you could find everything on the internets.) I still love the combination of those two songs together.

22. “O Little Town of Bethlehem” by The London Festival Orchestra and The Ambrosian Singers. From The Beauty of Christmas.

23. “One More Sleep” by Kermit the Frog. A Muppet Christmas Carol is my favorite Christmas movie. Period. It’s not Christmas without it, and it’s not Christmas unless I get to hear the songs. This one’s probably the best.

24. “The Meaning of Christmas” by Charlie Brown and Linus. Mike got this clip a few years ago. I love it. “Isn’t there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?” “Sure, Charlie Brown, I can tell you what Christmas is all about. Lights, please.”

25. “Christmas Time is Here” by Vince Guaraldi. Has to come after “The Meaning of Christmas.” What can I say?

26. “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” by Chris Rice. The other song I associate with the Charlie Brown Christmas Special is “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.” So I thought I’d put this nice instrumental version to kind of close out the “Charlie Brown” section of this CD.

27. “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” by The London Festival Orchestra and The Ambrosian Singers. To close out the CD, one last song from The Beauty of Christmas.

I do very much mind if I am getting nowhere, actually. It weighs on my mind and makes me even more tired than a plate full of tryptophans. But, slowly, slowly, I’ve been learning that heading in a straight line to what I perceive to be the answer may not be an answer at all. No, the answer might require patience, finesse, taking the long way around. And so, in the end, it might be better just to enjoy the process, to see how the “mystery of the curve” might take a little more time, but it also might give me the experience I need to better know what to do. As I circle this issue yet again, I am trying to believe that, if it’s not resolved yet, there’s something else I need to learn from letting this happen. Again. Only this time I’m going to try to let the end result work itself out.

I don’t mind if I am getting nowhere
Circling the seed of light
I’ve been greedy for some destination
I can’t get to where are you
Turning reverie to perfect solids
Bone and shells to hide ourselves
I tried but can’t find refuge in the angle
I’ll walk the mystery of the curve

Five colors blind the eyes
See the world inside
Amazed alone

I have to say that I thought this would be over by now. I know I’ve said that, said it so much that even I am tired of hearing it. And I know I’ve been stressing myself out, holding onto it and rolling it over and over in my mind when there’s more than enough on my plate already. But then I step back for just a minute, and I think about who I am now, and how different I am than when this started. I have made good decisions for myself, I have more confidence, I am stronger. Maybe this situation hasn’t changed, but I certainly have. And that’s not really “getting nowhere.”

And this is the time of year to believe in change. To remember the mystery of a little baby in a manger, and not to put limits on relationships, what I think can happen, what I think should happen. To try, once again, to let go of the things I hold too closely: what others think of me, being understood, and instead to grasp onto things that are healing: friends who prop me up, spending time with family, road trips and concerts and Advent. The baby in the manger reminds me to hope, even when I’m too afraid, too tired to risk it on my own.

Opening my hands
Closing wounds I made myself
Raise the dead and bury all my fears
Listen to the rain
And the bells that ring in my dreams
Turning time to break its line from here
To the small forgotten road
Where we see the concrete world disintegrating

So, for now, what I believe is that “getting nowhere” is getting somewhere after all.

Fabulous lyrics from “Five Colors” by Sam Phillips.

Good.

Lately I’ve been drinking more decaf tea in the evenings. After many years of rejecting fruit tea, I have decided I like it after all. I especially like Black Cherry Berry Herb Tea by Celestial Seasonings. I don’t even normally like cherries. Sadly, I realized last night that one of the reasons I might like it is because it smells like Kool-Aid. Cherry Kool-Aid. Mike tasted it and said, “Three more spoonfuls of sugar, and it’ll taste just like warm Kool-Aid, too.” I like a tea that tastes like Kool-Aid. The tea people are going to take my tea card away, aren’t they?

Mike made me a playlist that has the song “White Houses” by Vanessa Carlton on it, among other things. Alisa and I were talking about it and I mentioned that it’s a really sad song, but I couldn’t think quite why when I said it, so I looked up the lyrics, and it’s about a magical summer when the main character lived in a house with four friends and the fun that they had and the boy that she liked . . . and then it all got messed up with sex and the relationships got complicated and . . . it ended. In the song, she’s looking back with affection on that time, even though she’s lost those friends now. I’m the kind of person who likes to romanticize the past, I think. (Susan made me a mix CD with “Painting Pictures of Egypt” and we should probably cue it here.) I either do that or I completely throw out all the good stuff with the bad stuff. Either way, it’s hard for me to see things as they were, and I tend to look back and feel that things were much easier. I enjoy “White Houses” because I know exactly the kind of summer that she’s talking about, the kind with so few responsibilities and all you have to do is spend time with your friends and stay up late and have inside jokes and everything is fraught with meaning. And you don’t realize how quickly it will fade away, that those days will be over and you’ll find yourself with a 40-hour-a-week job and maybe even a house and a family. This is getting to be so long that maybe it should have been its own entry, but the song has reminded me that I’m going to look back on this time with affection just as much as I do previous times, and I’ll remember the sleeping in on the weekends and the road trips and the cups of coffee with friends and the shopping with my mom and the job that I enjoy. And I should try to embrace it now, not just exist in it. And maybe that’s a little deep for a silly pop song, but I don’t really care.

At church they’re doing a series on Jewish women, and I’ve missed a few of them, but I was there for Ruth. I’ve heard the story of Ruth hundreds of times - sermons on it, small group studies, personal studies . . . so much Ruth! This time the sermon was about how Ruth trusted God as she took each step, not worrying so much about the future. And it was also about how God created a family for Ruth and Naomi, even though it didn’t look like what they had expected. Both of those were things I needed very much to hear right now. I think that’s what I’m learning these days.

Bad.

I haven’t had any time for exercise in the past two weeks. I’ve been so busy in the evenings, or so tired. I’d rather veg out on the computer or in front of the TV. I haven’t been reading all that much. I haven’t seen many of my friends. When I am busy, I get anti-social.

I hate having to decide what to wear in this kind of weather. Some days it’s cool. Some days it’s cool in the morning and in the 80s in the afternoon. Don’t tell me to layer. I know that. I just don’t have good clothes for this kind of weather.

Ugly.

Earlier this week I read Kristen’s entry about OxyClean spray, and I was like, “Wow, nothing like that has ever happened to me with OxyClean.” I don’t use the spray, but even so. And then, this morning I discovered that, while using OxyClean to get a tomato stain off of Mike’s new M. Ward t-shirt, I apparently bleached the front. And I don’t think the shirt is available online (at least, I can’t find it). And I am sad. It’s been ages since something of his got messed up in the wash, but I really hate that it was his new shirt. Anybody got a solution? It looks like M. Ward is . . . touring in Europe right now. Anybody want to go to Europe and catch a show and bring me back a t-shirt?

Other.

I finished a book that was pretty enjoyable: Dinner with Anna Karenina. It was about a book club and the things that happen to them over the course of a year. Up next: this month’s book club selection, Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt.

So this is how it feels at the rock bottom of despair
When the house I built comes crashing down
And this is how it feels when I know the man that I say I am
Is not the man I am when no one’s around

This is how it feels to come alive again
And start fighting back to gain control
And this is how it feels to let freedom in
To break the chains that enslave my soul

The summer of 1999 was a hard one for me - some big plans had to change, I lived in a lot of fear and out of a sense of rejection. When things are hard, I am not good at remembering them, and what I remember about the summer of 1999 is kind of a blur. A cookout here and there, a trip to Fort Mill gone awry, late nights at Mike’s apartment. Nothing concrete. Without really thinking about it, I can’t tell you what I did for my birthday that year, I can’t tell you if we went on any kind of vacation. I just remember a sense of sadness.

Sometime that summer, the CDs we had to play at the store featured a song that was coming out in August, something about jail, something about freedom. Every time that song came on, I would try and soak it in, because what I heard resonated with me. I felt that, in many ways, I was refusing to live the way that certain people thought I should live, and I would sing the chorus as if I was singing it to them. “I refuse to be locked up in here like a prison cell.” I don’t know exactly where “here” was, but, to be honest, it felt like my own heart.

I refuse to be locked up in here like a prison cell
Where all I ever get is a meal and four walls
I used to be just fine in here but not anymore
Gonna break through these steel bars

I have been singing the song lately, for whatever reason, and I realized that, at some point, my focus shifted from the first stanza (rock bottom of despair) to the second (come alive again). The past few years have been about gaining confidence in who I am, in my abilities. I didn’t feel very loveable back in 1999 - in fact, many of the things that happened seemed to prove just the opposite. I wasn’t communicated with, and I took that as being deemed “not worthy of communication.” I was rejected for who I was, mostly because I was messy and I made mistakes. I wasn’t given a chance to rectify any of it, I was just rejected completely, and it’s taken me several years to crawl back out of the foxhole that all of that sent me into emotionally.

You would think that being married would help that, and, to some extent it has. But being married means letting your spouse into a lot of that mess, which, admittedly, is the way to start healing. It takes a lot of pain to get there, though, and it’s something I’m still learning. I can point to a few things, though, in the past two years that have been about me learning to stand up for myself. To believe that people like me and that I am capable of being in relationships without having to become a different person to meet expectations.

Not only have my relationships with people improved, but my relationship with God has improved. I am finally able to see how I was believing so many lies about God - I talked here about how I had this view that everything was about Teaching Me a Lesson. I don’t believe that anymore. Instead, I focus on seeing the strength and grace that God gives me, and using that as I learn about relationships and forgiveness and what it really looks like to love people.

At the time, I really believed that some of the hard things in the summer of 1999 were about refining me. And now I can see how that has come to pass.

So tell me how it feels when the tables start to turn
And you find yourself on the losing end
Tell me how it feels, you’re not welcome here
Cause I’m tired of pain and I’m tired of sin

I used to hear this song and cry because it was so much of what I wanted - to be free of hurt and the expectations I felt were placed on me. Now I hear it and I cry because I see how far I’ve come. A lot of the journal-burning came from that sense of moving on, and even though I claimed it wasn’t a deep ritual, it did give me a feeling of moving past that rejection, from being the person who was so caught up in her own misery that she couldn’t see straight.

Lyrics by Andy Gullahorn.

Every time Mike goes out of town, I feel the urge to act like a teenager and throw wild keg parties. Which is ridiculous . . . why do I act as if he’s the adult in our house? He might care if I was throwing wild keg parties, it’s true, but he doesn’t care if I eat pizza rolls or popcorn for dinner. (I know, I know, we’ve been over this before. I told you this happens every time.)

With all this big talk about acting wild and crazy, you would think that I . . . acted wild and crazy last night. You would be wrong. Yesterday I went grocery shopping, baked a cake, folded laundry, did dishes, and went to see my brother for his birthday. I was in bed before 10:00, finished the book I was reading (don’t tell the doctor I was reading in bed, because she told me not to. But when there’s no one else home, it’s just more fun to read in bed than anywhere else, because bed is where the pizza rolls and popcorn are), and was asleep before Mike called at 10:30. It’s a good thing I’m going to the movies tonight, because I . . . am . . . boring. But the house looks better than it did.

Last night before I went to bed, I made a list of all the things I needed to do this morning, including calling a doctor, watering the garden before I left the house, and making sure I had everything I needed to go to the movies tonight. I have been making lots of lists lately, both at work and at home, just to cut down on stress. It seems to help. And so, this morning I remembered to go to the backyard and water the plants.

At 7:30 am, our backyard was beautiful. The sun’s beams were filtering through the trees, there was a mist near the ground, everything was covered in dew, and the neighbor’s dogs were apparently not yet awake, so it was quiet and peaceful. I watered the tomato plants and peppers (we had to give up on squash, which is so disappointing) and then the trees before leaving for work. The hem of my pants was wet and a little dirty, but it was nice to be outside during the cool part of the day. This post, with the going to bed early and getting up early to water the plants and call the doctor, is further evidence that I’m a morning person.

Maybe it’s all the Drunkard’s Prayer that I’ve been listening to lately, maybe it’s the fact that I have had Elizabethtown on my mind, but I’ve been feeling melancholy lately in a good way. The kind that makes you want to “wallow in delicious misery” and “get into the deep beautiful melancholy.” My doctor talked about how sometimes, we here in America freak out when things are hard, because we buy into the idea that life is supposed to be happy and easy. I think that’s why I’ve been playing so much Drunkard’s Prayer (especially “Born,” which for some inexplicable reason is on my iPod twice) at work, because it’s both melancholy and hopeful at the same time. I think I’m learning how to be okay with being a little sad, instead of feeling like I need to make myself fight it because it’s not “right” to be sad. Being alone in the yard this morning watching the sun and the mist coexist, I felt like that was a picture of how I was doing inside. The sun was there, and things were green and growing, but there was an element that the sun hadn’t reached.

Meanwhile, other than forgetting to buy stamps on my lunch break, my list is complete. Movie night tonight, girls’ night tomorrow (complete with outdoor movie watching and a hot tub), and hopefully I’ll be squeezing some more alone time in there, too. And probably listening to Over the Rhine a few hundred more times.

Pour me a glass of wine
Talk deep into the night
Who knows what we’ll find

Secret fears, the supernatural
Thank God for this new laughter
Thank God the joke’s on me -OtR, “Born”

The reason I don’t really listen to the radio is that they play songs over and over. For me, the stage between, “I hate this,” and, “I’m singing along to every word,” is bridged by repetition. In many cases, all you have to do to get me to like a song is . . . play it a lot.

Last year, Mike fell in love with The Decemberists. I objected to them, mostly because their songs are kind of dark. Rape, prostitution, death, revenge . . . not the happiest of topics. Some might say they’re a bit . . . depressing. The one I object to the most strongly is “A Cautionary Tale.” I mean, I like Patty Griffin, and she has some sad songs. But they’re not so . . . morbid.

However, over the past few months, I’ve noticed myself becoming more and more familiar with the material of The Decemberists. Mike kept slipping songs onto playlists, he’d have them on the stereo when I came home, he played them while playing X-Box. I came home the other day to find him playing Uno on his X-Box (my comment? “You know what’s fun? Playing card games with actual cards!”) and listening to Picaresque. As he was playing, “We Both Go Down Together” came on, and . . . I started singing with it. It’s a song that features a deranged young rich man who may or may not have raped a young woman from a lower class. And I was singing along with it. Because Mike played it so much that he tricked me into thinking that I like it, just because I know all the words. Actually, I do really like the part that goes, “Meet me on my vast veranda [awesome guitar/percussion], My sweet untouched Miranda [awesome guitar/percussion].” But that is not the point. The point is that Mike tricked me. When you hear me say that I was listening to some M. Ward, you will know that he’s finally broken me there, too.

So, this morning, I did the only thing I could do. I put Picaresque on my iPod. I kind of hate myself. But I love the awesome guitar. And percussion.

On the 4th of July, I found myself standing by the side of the road (under an umbrella) watching two sets of fireworks go off, one to my right and one to my left. The car stereo was cranked up, patriotic music was playing, and, oh yeah, the two guys I was standing with had patriotic bandanas draped on their shoulders. For whatever reason, people driving by were looking at us kind of strangely. Go figure.

And that probably wasn’t even the weirdest thing that happened this weekend. After all, the setting off of fireworks is enough to make an entire city come to a screeching halt. We weren’t the only car parked by the side of the road, even if we were the only car on that particular road. One of the things I love about the 4th of July is the relentless pursuit of fireworks. People angling for the best spots, people camping out for hours beforehand. Why do people (except Dawn) love fireworks? Why do we drop everything to watch them?

Fireworks make me feel like a kid again, like the last day of school before summer break. Like catching fireflies by the trees at the edge of our yard. Like homemade ice cream at my grandparents’ house. Like I do on my birthday, which is one of the reasons that fireworks and I have such a great relationship. In middle school and high school, we stopped going to see the fireworks quite as much, but I am glad Mike has helped restore the tradition of cheesy music, patriotism, and angling for the best possible view.

You don’t care about any of that, though, do you? You just want to know what could possibly be more strange than standing by the side of the road blaring “America” by Neil Diamond while people drive by giving you pitying looks. There are a few candidates:

It could have been when my shirtless next-door neighbor offered to let me, Adriene, Andrea, and Alisa (Kari and the Three A’s) get in his hot-tub. We declined. Actually, I declined for everyone else, finished playing with sparklers, and told the other three when we got inside. Much squealing ensued. Which was exactly why I didn’t tell them when we were outside. Sure, we can mock him, but we have to do it in the safety of my four walls.

Perhaps it was the real fireworks that people in our neighborhood were continually setting off all weekend long, much to the chagrin of whoever lived next door to them (or so I gathered from the yelling). I remember people setting off fireworks at their houses, but never big real ones. It was especially exciting when one apparently went off while still on the ground, and the yard was sprayed with colorful sparks. There was an extra-special bout of yelling after that one.

But it was probably the proliferation of glowsticks (that almost kept Mike out of the amphitheater), American bandanas (that helped Scott make friends in Target and Mike make friends at the grocery store), and embarrassing dancing that took place at the Kelly Clarkson concert. I very rarely go out in public and act foolishly on purpose, but apparently Kelly Clarkson brings out that side of me. We sang. There was dancing and jumping. There was no way for people to know that . . . we don’t always behave like that. Nor do we always wear glowsticks to concerts. Or accost little children and demand to have our picture taken with their Kelly Clarkson posters. So I’m pretty sure that everyone around us thought we were a truly weird group of people who are freakishly obsessed with Kelly Clarkson. Hence all the, “KELLY CLARKSON, WOOOOOOOO!” yelling. Instead, I think we are a truly weird group of people who are mildly obsessed with Kelly Clarkson. And Adriene, the photographer who does not judge us. At least while we are in earshot.

Having been to see Coldplay with a similar group of people (Susan, that was supposed to make you feel sad twinges. Did it work?), let me say that the overall crowd was much more fun at this concert. And by “much more fun,” I mean “much less drunk” and “much less crowded.” Which made it much more fun. No drunk frat guys looking for diamond rings they dropped. Nobody walking through our huge pile of snacks. Just good times with friends and fun pop music.

Scott pointed out that the weekend was all-American: baseball games, American Idols, and, well, I didn’t make apple pie, but I did make peach cobbler. Close enough, right? I made flag cake! Surely that should count for something!