Blackbird has Spoken

I woke up this morning and thought, "THIS is the image of God? If You say so, Jesus."

I bet on that first morning in the Garden of Eden, when Eve first showed up, she was looking the part. I bet she was lovely, with thick, rich hair that smelled clean and new. And I bet the air was so clean, that the scent of it stayed with Adam all day.

But that's a far cry from this morning, let me tell you. This morning is just full of yesterday's leftovers.

And nothing against Cat Stevens, whom I adore, or against the original writer of the hymn, but this morning did not break like the first morning.

The first morning must have broken open gently, tremulously, like an eggshell hatching or a flower breaking open for the first time.

This morning broke like that morning not so long after the first one. That morning when Adam and Eve found themselves outside the gates of Eden. That morning broke like a family heirloom falling off the mantle. That morning broke like a mirror, into a thousand little pieces. And Adam and Eve, and we, we are still trying to find the shards, so that we can see ourselves for what we looked like when the mirror was whole, when we really were God's image.

I think it is that sound, that shattering of a mirror, that is still ringing in my ears.

why i am going to die alone

I think it's time to update this.

So, I was thinking to myself yesterday: if I get married, does that mean that I will have to suddenly be fluent in the arts of sandwich-making and housecleaning? Because if those are job descriptions, I am in for some serious sh......................ugar. Not to mention my poor potential husband. I sure hope he likes PB&J.

"What's for dinner, honey?"

"PB&J!"

"What's for breakfast, honey?"

"PB&J!"

And then there's my cleaning skills. Or to rephrase, And then there's the vacant gaping hole where my cleaning skills should be. That pile of crap in my room is usually about the height of my 3 year old brother. And I don't know what cleaning products are for what.

I think I am just going to have to marry a Mr.Clean/Chef Boyardee combo if this hypothetical marriage is going to work.

Ok, and I KNOW I will get bored staying at home all day. Chances are, WhoeverImarry will have a more legitimate job than me. Because that's not hard. So it makes sense that I will be Penelope and Whoeverheis will be Odysseus. I don't think I'd make a good Penelope. I'm much more of an Odysseus. And if you rule out cleaning and cooking, there's not much to do at home, besides TV.

What to do, what to do...

If I am a "kept woman," which is my secret life's ambition, I will have the luxury of volunteering at a homeless shelter all day or something because money will be no object and because I will pay my cleaning ladies and chefs extravegantly. That would be kinda neat. And I wouldn't get bored.

Ok, so, I have to marry a very RICH Mr. Clean-Boyardee.

If you're out there, fabulously rich and handsome Mr. Clean-Boyardee, I am the woman for you. I can whisper witty anecdotes into your ear and you can be so proud of me and my volunteering. Of course I will be devoted to you because you are perfect. And that's why you don't exist. And that's why I'm going to die alone.

Till next time,
the future Mrs. Clean-Boyardee, a.k.a. grace

writing on writing and why it is like standing next to a cliff

Somebody, not sure who, once said that "Writers write." This in the context of advice for new writers. (May have been Anne Lamott. Sounds like her...)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anne_Lamott

Anyway, that is what I'm doing. I don't really know if I am a writer yet. I mean, I write songs, but I do that more because I feel like I'm supposed to, because it comes naturally, and because God told me to. As for other kinds of writing... I've been told I'm good. What does that mean? Frankly, what I'm really good at is academic BS. Comes in handy Freshman year. But as for real writing, the kind that is bright and marvelous, like a new penny... I don't know that I'm very good at it.

I just read some Eudora Welty and was made to feel completely insignificant.

Reading a good writer's work, or listening to really good lyrics is like standing on the edge of a cliff: beautiful, yes, and intimidating as hell. It fills me with joy, awe, and a little fear, and makes me almost ashamed of mediocrity. It's a litttle bit like encounterig God in that way. (Except you know, with God it's times a billion.)

But, even though I am standing on the edge of a colossal cliff (my songwriter father and English professor mother alone!) and even though, right now, I am out of things to write about... still I will write. Anne Lamott, or whoever else, better be right about this writing thing.

Right about writing... That's funny...

What else to talk about?? Hmmmm..... (You're probably getting tired of this blog, right? I mean, I've talked a lot and said very little. Not to mention all the parentheses. And ellipses...)

Patience, dear reader. One of these days, I will write the Great American novel or folk song and then you can say you read me when.

(...)

Well, that seems enough typed torture for the day. Hope you were at least a little amused by my bumbling.

Word of the day: MALADROIT: ineffective or bungling; clumsy.

Quote of the day: "Freedom is not worth having if it does not include the freedom to make mistakes." -Mahatma Gandhi

Random link of the day: Interview between Woody Allen and Billy Graham:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a6iAaxOAHCM

Commentary on random link of the day: I find myself caught somewhere between the two. I am maybe 30% Woody, 30% Billy, and 40% something else entirely. What's your Woody to Billy ratio?

blogging: day one.

Today is day one of my blogging experience. Hope this turns out to be something I stick with. But, if you are thinking to yourself, "Self, this seems like it is going to be a cool blog. I can't wait to read more!" first of all, you need to get out more. (Electronically speaking. After all, I'm sure there are many well-established, mentally stimulating, spriritually fulfilling, entertaining blogs out there on the w.w.w.) Second, don't get your hopes up. I will do my best to keep this up but I'm not making any promises. My track record has not been that great in the area of journal keeping.

I will try to be faithful to this blog and to you, dear reader. After all, it's not that hard to maintain. I can always type when I'm at work. (I work at my dorm. My job entails sitting on a couch, opening a door, and occasionally renting out a vacuum cleaner.) Plus, my songwriting will be reaping the benefits of constant word-craft.

Just writing, I think, is good for me. Educational and therapeutic.

Maybe reading will be good for you.

Have a wonderful day.

yours truly,
grace