about the moon

I called to tell you

to look at the moon, but you

didn't answer me

About resting badly

for Liz, who is probably right

"You're doing it

wrong," she says

on Facebook in what

I imagine is the aggrieved-

affectionate tone the

Bloggess' long-suffering

husband Victor uses

when he says it to

her.  I think she's right

because other people

would not encourage

resting so much if it

did as much damage

to them as it somehow

does to me.  Does

anyone know where

I could learn how to

safely rest?  Are there

classes for this sort

of thing?  I can't see

the solution as: stop

resting because being

exhausted is bad

enough, but it's worse

when I add resting-

related injuries to the 

mix.  There must be 

a way for me to learn 

how to rest more 

safely.  Maybe

if I practiced it 

as often as I am 

supposed to, I 

would be 

better 

at it?
It can't
hurt
to
try,
right?

it takes two

Sometimes

you need two

teeny tree frogs

to get through

the day

and

two great friends

to get you through

the night.

why I'm writing this July off as a loss

Two things I learned this July:

1. Classical music can be hazardous to your health.
2. Resting can be dangerous.

I just wish it had happened AFTER I shifted the books

I suppose it was
inevitable that I
would trip and fall
on the hammock

because no blessing
has lately come to
me not accompanied
by cursing. This

is why resting has
not been particularly
restful for me
lately.

Brahms like clouds

I was trying to figure out why 

I kept thinking of clouds when 

I listened to A German Requiem, 

and I think it's because, 

in the Requiem, Brahms

--like those majestic 

piles of middle-high 

clouds--simply 

refuses to be 

rushed.

first tree frog fairy sighting

Yesterday was the first day
I spotted a tree frog  clinging
to the third story window.

I was afraid they were not
coming this year, since I
had not seen any in June.

Maybe they come this late
every year with the cicadas,

and, like everything else
these days, I just forgot.

It's good to see them again
this year always every time.

Can I have an open sing of Brahms' German Requiem instead of a funeral service when I die?

When I die, instead of a funeral service, I think I would like to have an Open Sing of Brahms' German Requiem (in English, since few of my friends understand German).  It should be conducted by someone with the intensely dramatic, passionate enthusiasm John Hoffacker brings to it (make sure there's nothing above him in reach).  If the soloists could be as good as Justin Staebell and Kristin Morant, it would be amazing.  Since I am not rich and because it's worked pretty well all the times I've done it, I'd recommend all volunteer orchestra and choir with my friends mixed in with whatever voice part they want to listen to (a hard choice since they've all got good stuff) and right up against the orchestra because that makes it even better than a recording.  I might recommend Hamline United Methodist Church, which is a physically and sonically beautiful space, (and so there can be an organ).  I'd like to request a harpist, too.  This is what I would like because this music is so powerful that even when all the instruments aren't there, and nobody can get all the way through the end of the third movement right, and my voice is shot before we finish the rehearsal, which should ruin everything for me and make me miserable during the performance, being a part of the words and the music and the skill with which they were assembled by Brahms and pieced together by an orchestra and choir leaves me with joy, hope, confidence, and peace in the love of God and the place He's prepared for His people to rest.  Those are the kinds of things I'd like people to go away from my funeral carrying.

progress

I had forgotten a game

I used to play when I rode

down tree-lined sidewalks

where I would sit up as tall 

as I could to try to brush 

the overhanging leaves with 

my bike helmet.  Now that I

do not have to be hunched, 

deliberate, and slow when

I ride, I remembered and

played it again today.

Everyone who plays this 

game is a winner.

on a beautiful day in summer

I am trying not

to let it matter

that I can no longer

remember the color

of the spring blossoms

on the backyard

crab-apple tree

of my youth.

the first thing

The first thing I liked about this home 

was the pink tree out front in full bloom. 

Not that pale pink kind, though that 

is lovely, too, and not 

the really dark, deep 

pink but the middle-darkish 

pink that smells of heaven and keeps 

it's fruit all year round, so it is 

beautifully dressed even in the winter 

when the other deciduous 

trees 

are only 

bones.

First anniversary

On this, my first

anniversary of owning

a home, I am grateful

that I have this space

to inhabit and infuse

with blues and greens

and peace and rest.

Yesterday's guilty epiphany

How can He

give you rest

if you will

not take it?

To the white moth perched on the only part of the ceiling that is not white but red

To the white moth perched on the only part of the ceiling that is not white but red:

You are beautiful
and baffling.  Perhaps

you should stay inside
where it is safer and

your inability to use
your camouflage is less

likely to get you
killed and eaten

by something more
grateful for your

mistakes at fitting in
than your success

at standing out.