300

This is Post #300. Strike up the band. And in honor of my 300 ramblings, I shall toss a nice and long stream of consciousness at you....

Dis-"chord"

My piano is dying. As I've been playing it a lot lately, this is bordering on tragedy. So now I either need to strike it rich (so I can buy a baby grand AND a house to fit it in) or I need to take up the guitar. Which is far more portable. Or so I've heard.

In My Head

I have very little control over what gets stuck in my head. Lately, it's been a combination of "For the Nights I Can't Remember" by Hedley -- It's a Canadian-content thing. The radio plays them EVERY MORNING as I get dressed. So when I hear...

And I do wanna love you
If you see me running back
And I do wanna try
Because if falling for you, girl, is crazy
Then I'm going out of my mind
So hold back your tears this time

...I'm actually thinking about putting on eye shadow. --and "A Kiss is Not a Contract" by Flight of the Conchords. Which is hilarious, but not always suitable for singing aloud. If you're under 14, don't bother listening to the lyrics. I don't want to be held responsible for questionable content in your precious little heads.

The other song currently in my head (and it's one that lyrically resonates with me as of late) is Edwin McCain's "Go Be Young." Yes, I love his voice. We've established that. Many times.

Perfumed and smoky
She swears that she knows me
She's falling down drunk again
I say she's mistaken
She's visibly shaken
Emotions all drowned in gin
She said I used to be beautiful
But now it's all gone
I let my dreams slip away from me
That's where it went wrong

Go be young, go be free
Follow your heart where it leads you
Don't end up like me

Act Your Age

I was born old. And I often neglect to just "go be young." To live in the moment. I'm too good at delayed gratification. I forget about today. But the times they are a-changin'....

(Is quoting Bob Dylan a young thing to do? I hope so.)

Regret

I was quite shocked recently to discover that I was regretting having done the right thing. I didn't know it was possible to regret making the best possible decision. But there I was, treating my life as a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure tale, wishing I could flip back a few pages to try for a more satisfying outcome. An outcome, while less "right" and responsible and mature, of greater spectacular-ness.

A Wedding and a Funeral

I have called my grandmother's funeral a wedding so many times now, I can no longer keep track. I've even typed it. Oddly enough, I find it fitting. When I returned home last weekend, I went through a Bible study on "Beauty from Ashes." And instead of summarizing with thoughts on being beautiful, Beth Moore shared what it was like to watch her mother die. To look at a body no longer inhabited by life. I know that moment. Exactly.

"And all I could think about was that sweet little torn-up body was now dressed in white, was beautifully proportioned from head to toe, and she was standing before Jesus, looking into the face of someone who knew her every detail as the virgin bride of Christ."

~Beth Moore

Words, Words, Words

The journaling process has become a little overwhelming in the past weeks. The other night, I curled up on my bed to scribble down some thoughts on death, beauty, love and fearlessness, and ended up rambling for eight pages. And I never even got to my point.

Even blogging is an exercise in editing. I could type forever. I am falling more in love with the written word. You are warned. (And yes, I deleted over five paragraphs before posting this.)

A Snapshot

My dad is looking for something computer- or work-related.

Dad: Where is my--? Hee!
Joel: Where is your "hee"?
Mom: Yes, his "hee."
Nadine: I ask myself that all the time: Where is my "he"?

Joel laughs.

Mom: Don't put that on your blog.
Nadine: Um, I think my readers know I'm single.
Mom: Oh.


Here's to 300 more....