None of these are bad things.  In fact, I love them.  Mostly I love being busy and social and productive.  But I haven’t been all that much into picture-taking and photo-blogging lately.  I’ve missed several days of Camera Shy posts since I moved…something that hasn’t happened since its inception.  That bothers me a little, but evidently not enough for me to do something about it.  : )

I’m hoping that a new routine will set in…all 4 kids are finally back in school, I’ll be working fairly normal office hours, and so on.  Structure is good for me.

But what might be better is an actual vacation with down time…yea…I’m craving that.

All this week, I’ve been feeling reclusive and have been consumed with the unknowns of my life.

And then, this afternoon, an acquaintance from back in the days of the ‘tumor posted a link on facebook.  And my perspective shifted.

Henry Granju was admitted to the hospital over a month ago; from what I can tell, it was drugs and a drug-related physical assault.  Right now, this very minute, he is fighting for his life, with his family waiting faithfully from the confines of the ICU waiting room.

I remember those days.  The memories become less sharp with time, but all it takes it something like this to bring things into perspective.

And so, it really doesn’t matter if my boys have shorter hair than I’d like; it doesn’t really matter if I don’t know what my future holds.  What matters is what’s here, and what’s now — I have four beautiful, healthy children and a blessed life.

And you can bet that I’ll be talking with the kids ( at least the older three) about the real consequences of drug use.

And I’ll be praying for Henry and his family.  I hope you will, too.

I can remember three times in my life when music changed me.  The first was when I was almost a freshman in high school, and I ordered a smattering of cassettes from Columbia House.  The second was in 2001 when James and I saw Radiohead play at Stone Mountain, GA.  The third was the free Dr. Dog show at Miller Plaza in Chattanooga.  I hadn’t been to a live show in so long, and they were sooooo good…good enough to drive up to the Bristol Rhythm & Roots Reunion that Sunday to see them again.

Something about that September weekend spurred a new realization of just how much I love music.  It’s something that fills me with joy.

And here shortly, Jason and I are headed to Nashville to see Dr. Dog again.  It will be a little different this time - they’re not new to me anymore, but more like a cherished old friend that keeps me company on otherwise lonely nights.  I can’t wait.

Anyway, I woke up this morning feeling very self-conscious about last night’s post.  I reread it and it was so very melodramatic and…well, maudlin.  I thought about deleting it, but decided that wouldn’t really accomplish anything.  As embarrassing as I think it might be, it was how I was feeling at the time.  And that’s okay; it’s not wrong or something to cover up (with paint, or vices, or anything else).

Sooo…

…

I was asked to be a member of a committee at church.  I agreed and I’m glad I did.  We had our first meeting this afternoon and I was able to actively participate without breaking into a cold sweat / turning beet red.  I wouldn’t have been able to do that a year ago and for that I am grateful.  I still struggle with many of the theological aspects of church, but I love it there and very much feel at home.

It’s 12:24 AM right now, but with daylight savings time that translates into 1:24, and I’m not quite sleepy yet.

I love painting; ever since I have been an adult and lived in a house, it has brought me joy.  I suppose I appreciate being focused on something simple and physical; it allows me to concentrate on something that’s mostly manual labor but also graces me with many moments to simply think.

One thing I love best about painting is covering the little cracks that have accumulated with the inevitable settling of a house.  Tonight while painting I thought about that, and how I wished there was something that could cover the cracks in me.  How, as we grow older, we all collect cracks in our lives.   Broken relationships; unrealized dreams; paths not chosen; etc.  These things splinter us to the point we no longer feel like a whole person, but a gathering of pieces with cracks in between.

I guess there are ways to cover up those cracks; right now I’m relying on a paintbrush of vices.  I know the cracks are still there and someday I’ll have to address them. We’re all broken, yes?

…

Ha…I hope you’re not taking me too seriously.  Really, these are just words born of disrupted sleep schedules and early morning brandy.

I took a walk in the snow tonight and it was so very nice.  There were still a few cars out, but for the most part it was quiet enough to hear the world around me…the wind in the trees, snow hitting magnolia leaves, wind chimes hanging from the homes of strangers, dark windows and light windows and life.  I could smell the woodsmoke in the air.  I enjoyed looking backward at my footprints with the understanding they would soon be covered with more snow.  It was very, very peaceful…like meditating without the effort.

I will walk again tomorrow and take my camera.

Tomorrow will be strange, as I don’t have the kids this weekend.  I’ll miss the snowman-building and sledding and all of that wonderfulness.  Of course, I won’t have to deal with the inevitable cooped-up-ness…so I’m not complaining too much.  ; )

Tomorrow will be full of quiet solitude, which make my new-found social tendencies and singleness cringe a little.  I haven’t been alone — really alone –  since I was a teenager, which is both exciting and terrifying.

But for now, it’s time to curl up in front of the fire with a glass of wine and look out the window expectantly.  Thank God for beautiful snow.

And yet, joyful and blessed.

Life amazes me.