someone suggested that we take the total snowfalls for the entire area and average them to get the total accumulation of the snowstorm. i think that's a good idea. anyway, this storm ended up ranking 5th largest. it would have been higher than that if it hadn't switched to sleet. we walked to hollywood video on friday night and rented a few movies. they were out of just about everything new...but there's lots of good, old stuff out there. there were about 4" on saturday night. we took our digital cameras and took some cool pix of the snow at night. amazing...
then snow, snow and more snow! is there anything more beautiful? we just watched it pile up on the back patio. it got all the way up to the picnic table benches. probably about 18" by the time it was all said and done. it's been a quiet weekend. stayed up late. slept in late. a holiday weekend that stretches into the week. vacation by God. landscape by God. peace by God. ...thank you, God.
Wednesday, February 19, 2003
Thursday, February 13, 2003
peaceful...
that's the best way to describe it. the wind enveloped us, and it was indeed cold. but even with blustery wind, there was snow on the ground and the sun shining in a blue blue sky. my family met today at arlington national cemetery. and it was very peaceful. today would have been mom's 61st birthday, and we wanted to spend it remembering her. celebrating her. celebrating who we are because of her. she lived a life worth celebrating. papa read a poem. and we prayed...thanking God for giving her to us. then we went to the airport. she loved her job! she was a sales agent for continental airlines...and she was good at it. she passed her smiles on to tired travelers. we thought it would be appropriate to remember her today at her airport...where she spent many hours, and touched others' lives. and yes, we had cake.
i will send flowers to a special friend...someone who i think might need a little bright spot in their day...in honor of my mother...her life and her love.
papa and i spent the rest of the afternoon and evening...talking... sharing...reading...scanning pictures... it's a special thing to be able to sit and share...hang out and just be...with a parent. i'm a very lucky girl. i know it. not every child is so blessed to grow into an adult and have their parents as their friends. every night of the last several months that my mom was alive, she would say to me, "God bless you, calondra." and he has. indeed he has...
i will send flowers to a special friend...someone who i think might need a little bright spot in their day...in honor of my mother...her life and her love.
papa and i spent the rest of the afternoon and evening...talking... sharing...reading...scanning pictures... it's a special thing to be able to sit and share...hang out and just be...with a parent. i'm a very lucky girl. i know it. not every child is so blessed to grow into an adult and have their parents as their friends. every night of the last several months that my mom was alive, she would say to me, "God bless you, calondra." and he has. indeed he has...
Wednesday, February 12, 2003
books
"i would try on solitude like an old favorite shirt which had hung for far too long in a quiet closet, and feel once again the comfortable cloth against my tired skin..." -- linford detweiler
i dreamt last night of back pain and hospital stays. somehow i thing the back pain part might not have been just in my dream...
i've read a good bit today and that's been encouraging. read the first ten psalms from the message. read an article on grief that someone passed on to me...not very helpful or insightful...or comforting even for that matter. that's okay, i can toss it...no harm done.
the good reading was an interview with linford detweiler of over the rhine from a couple years ago. their band is probably my favorite...as much for linford's writing as karin's voice. we share an appreciation for many of the same authors...fredrick buechner, anne lamott, c.s. lewis to name a few. i crave other people's words. there is so much beauty in language. and i find that it touches me deeply. i aspire to be such a writer.
i dreamt last night of back pain and hospital stays. somehow i thing the back pain part might not have been just in my dream...
i've read a good bit today and that's been encouraging. read the first ten psalms from the message. read an article on grief that someone passed on to me...not very helpful or insightful...or comforting even for that matter. that's okay, i can toss it...no harm done.
the good reading was an interview with linford detweiler of over the rhine from a couple years ago. their band is probably my favorite...as much for linford's writing as karin's voice. we share an appreciation for many of the same authors...fredrick buechner, anne lamott, c.s. lewis to name a few. i crave other people's words. there is so much beauty in language. and i find that it touches me deeply. i aspire to be such a writer.
Tuesday, February 11, 2003
2.10.2003
i don’t understand the uneasiness. the restlessness. i don’t know what else to call it. i can’t really find words that describe it and i find the effort trying, to be almost overwhelming. like, move on to something else...get over it. i’m reminded of the quote by madeline l’engle from a house like a lotus that says, “it’s all right. you have to go all the way through your feelings before you can come out on the other side. but don’t stay where you are.... move on.” so somehow writing about my uncertain feelings is my way of working through them so i can come out on the other side.
wednesday would have been mom’s 61st birthday. we (the rest of my family) are spending part of the day together. i think we’re going to the cemetery. then to lunch, because mom liked to go out to eat. and we will have cake, because mom loved having birthday cake. whew. she’s been in heaven for just over a year now. i know she has no idea how long, because time is different up there. or maybe it simply doesn’t exist. i don’t know. some days i feel as though i’m doing quite well...in working through my feelings. and other days it seems just as new and painful. loss is a deep hurt that takes a long time to heal. because healing has to occur at so many differnt levels.
i find that music is simultaneously soothing and painful. it comforts me because it speaks to my soul. but my soul is what is wounded so it is very tender. sometimes music is just too potent. certain books are the same way.
this past weekend was an empty brain weekend. whenever someone asked me what i was thinking there was just nothing there. empty. i needed to create. i carved two rubber stamps. both flowers. a tulip, and the other i don’t know what it is. there is satisfaction in creating, but i still felt empty. it is very frustrating to need something...and try to fulfill that need...only to still feel so unfulfilled upon its completion. i know that sounds vague but i don’t know how else to explain it.
i spent a lot of time this weekend reading snippits. bits and pieces. authors that were familiar. quotes i knew. looking for comfort there. yes, there was a bit, but i came away even more frustrated needing to do my own writing and not feeling capable or adequate. feeling inferior. i ached inside listening to the language of these writers. i’ve been touched, but not satisfied by their words.
i think i’m in the middle of about five books right now, and not really working on finishing any of them. just muddling through them in small bites. tasty, but i guess i’m not really hungry for them. because when you get hungry for an author, you can’t stop reading. its like it just possesses you. maybe my soul is looking to be possessed by some inspiration and finding the current list of reads lacking. picked up part of eugene peterson’s the message yesterday. i’m thinking that its probably the inspiration my soul is longing for and that’s why everything else seems void. i need to turn to the scripture to be satisfied. to read God’s words. to look there for comfort. i say he is all i really need. i believe it, but i desperately want to feel it. i want to feel it. please God, touch me.
i want to read more. i want to write more. i want to create with a sense of purpose. why is it that these things that are so necessary are so difficult? it’s like trying to breathe under water. you can see the surface. you can even stick your fingers out of the water. you just can’t quite seem to get there and breathe. maybe i’m just not trying hard enough. maybe i just don’t want it bad enough. maybe. whatever.
just write. don’t talk when writing will do.
wednesday would have been mom’s 61st birthday. we (the rest of my family) are spending part of the day together. i think we’re going to the cemetery. then to lunch, because mom liked to go out to eat. and we will have cake, because mom loved having birthday cake. whew. she’s been in heaven for just over a year now. i know she has no idea how long, because time is different up there. or maybe it simply doesn’t exist. i don’t know. some days i feel as though i’m doing quite well...in working through my feelings. and other days it seems just as new and painful. loss is a deep hurt that takes a long time to heal. because healing has to occur at so many differnt levels.
i find that music is simultaneously soothing and painful. it comforts me because it speaks to my soul. but my soul is what is wounded so it is very tender. sometimes music is just too potent. certain books are the same way.
this past weekend was an empty brain weekend. whenever someone asked me what i was thinking there was just nothing there. empty. i needed to create. i carved two rubber stamps. both flowers. a tulip, and the other i don’t know what it is. there is satisfaction in creating, but i still felt empty. it is very frustrating to need something...and try to fulfill that need...only to still feel so unfulfilled upon its completion. i know that sounds vague but i don’t know how else to explain it.
i spent a lot of time this weekend reading snippits. bits and pieces. authors that were familiar. quotes i knew. looking for comfort there. yes, there was a bit, but i came away even more frustrated needing to do my own writing and not feeling capable or adequate. feeling inferior. i ached inside listening to the language of these writers. i’ve been touched, but not satisfied by their words.
i think i’m in the middle of about five books right now, and not really working on finishing any of them. just muddling through them in small bites. tasty, but i guess i’m not really hungry for them. because when you get hungry for an author, you can’t stop reading. its like it just possesses you. maybe my soul is looking to be possessed by some inspiration and finding the current list of reads lacking. picked up part of eugene peterson’s the message yesterday. i’m thinking that its probably the inspiration my soul is longing for and that’s why everything else seems void. i need to turn to the scripture to be satisfied. to read God’s words. to look there for comfort. i say he is all i really need. i believe it, but i desperately want to feel it. i want to feel it. please God, touch me.
i want to read more. i want to write more. i want to create with a sense of purpose. why is it that these things that are so necessary are so difficult? it’s like trying to breathe under water. you can see the surface. you can even stick your fingers out of the water. you just can’t quite seem to get there and breathe. maybe i’m just not trying hard enough. maybe i just don’t want it bad enough. maybe. whatever.
just write. don’t talk when writing will do.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
