Painters

You know those things that make you wish you could paint/write/create something as beautiful as them?

Painters by Jewel (one of my all time favorite songs):

Eighty years, an old lady now, sitting on the front porch
Watching the clouds roll by
They remind her of her lover, how he left her, and of times long ago.
When she used to color carelessly painted his portrait
A thousand times-or maybe just his smile-
And she and her canvas would follow him wherever he would go

'Cause I'm a painter and i want to paint you a lovely world
A lovely world.

Oil streaked daisies covered the living room wall
He put water-colored roses in her hair
He said, "Love, I love you, I want to give you mountains, the sunshine, the sunset too
I just want to give you a world as beautiful as you are to me

'Cause they were painters and they were painting themselves
A lovely world.

So they sat down and made a drawing of their love, they made it an art to live by
They painted every, passion every home, created every beautiful child
in the winter they were weavers of warmth, in summer they were carpenters of love
They thought blue prints were too sad so they made them yellow

'Cause they were painters and they were painting themselves
A lovely world.

Until one day the rain fell as thick as black oil
And in her heart she knew something was wrong
She went running through the orchard screaming,
'No God, don't take him from me!,'
But buy the time she got there, she feared he already had gone
She got to where he lay, water-colored roses in his hands for her
She threw them down screaming, 'Damn you man, don't leave me
with nothing left behind but these cold paintings, these cold portraits to remind me!
He said, 'Love I leave, but only a little, try to understand
I put my soul in this life we created with these four hands
Love, I leave, but only a little this world holds me still
My body may die now, but these paintings are real.'
So many seasons came and many seasons went
and many times she saw her loves face watering the flowers,
talking to the trees and singing to his children
And when the wind blew, she knew he was listening,
and how he seamed to laugh along, and how he seemed to hold her
when she was crying

'Cause they were painters and they were painting themselves
A lovely world.

Eighty years, an old lady now, sitting on the front porch
Watching the clouds roll by, they remind her of her lover
how he left her and of times long ago, when she used to color carelessly,
Painted his portrait a thousand times, or maybe just his smile,
and she and her canvas would follow him wherever he would go

Yes, she and her canvas still follow
Because they are painters and they are painting themselves
A lovely world

Browns

I think there is something immortal about Browns Pharmacy, at least it feels that way to me since I've only worked there for five years of its 150-year existence. I feel as though I am standing right at the pulse of the town, when someone strolls in and asks where they may buy a paper, or when someone calls and asks me to tell their sister to buy onions when she comes in. Sometimes I think I could stay there always, looking out the big arched window at the old folks walking by, with Glenn Miller happily playing around me. I never get tired of telling people it's the oldest store in New York (even though I'm not sure that's true.). I never get tired of telling the old stories about the various crazy people we've seen throughout the years. Somehow, the simple and sometimes even ugly of Deposit becomes so beautiful there. I love hearing the old ladies talking about how they play pinochle with their friends, or Mrs. K. telling me she saw my name in the paper for the president's list and how she said to her husband, "Lee, that's our Hannah!"... "we claimed you."
I think my family somehow does belong to the people of Deposit in a different way than most people belong. And they belong to us. We belong first out of necessity, but also out of love and a knowledge that a small town can only be understood by those with eyes open and humble enough to see the roots under our feet.

"How can you be so dead?"

Is anyone else more than slightly nauseated by American Christians?
Seriously, as I write this I am so appalled by the Christan culture in America, because it is so different from the Christian culture of the Bible.
If all you're looking for in a Church is "fun," "food," "games," and "entertainment," then you're looking for something so shallowly lacking the true reality of the gospel.
Last time I checked, the Bible isn't about planning the next superbowl party or youth laser tag night. I think the Bible has a little more to do with... God?

It's time to get out of the desert and into the sun

I've got you all figured out. No matter what I say, you'll say the opposite, but when I am there, you are happy.
And I'm not sure if I am happy too, in some way or another. At least I know I love you, even though love and happiness aren't always friends.
I'll make them friends. I'll make us friends.

Day 1 of Spring Break

You know those days where you avoid almost everything you really ought to do?

They always make me feel a little empty, a little sad, and really lazy.

I just want to watch movies, to spend lots and lots of vacuous hours gazing at scenes flying by my eyes and pretend I'm not gonna be stuck in town all next week.

April 3

10:30 am: Jess, Nienna and I sit together giggling in the Spot Diner. Down the same street, at the same moment, a man is shooting more than a dozen innocent people.
10:30 pm: I sit in my kitchen, and somewhere, maybe thousands of miles away, innocent people are being killed, raped, tortured.
Somewhere in the past twelve hours I've felt the horror of not being able to leave behind situations that I've always found so easy to ignore. It's here, it's now. And now it's real.
Awareness is a word I have used all too lightly.

Wednesday.

I've just returned from a tea party at which I consumed no fewer than five cups of tea in a few hours... hence, I feel quite awake and in the mood for writing. I warned that tea would be mentioned quite frequently in this blog, so there you go.
I am sitting in my favorite room of the house. It has four big windows, two which face the house it was a companion to a hundred years ago, and two which fill the room with warm yellow setting-sunlight in evenings. It's in the back corner of the house, and there is something peacefully set-apart about it. It also has different, fancier moldings around the windows, which makes me imagine that it was a more important room in the past. Since I've lived here it has been a living room, then a dining room, and once again it is a living room which contains a new cozy fireplace and the piano. The fireplace is cold, and I haven't played the piano all that much lately. I can't help feeling as though both of those truths are somewhat parallel to my own life at this time. I'm not saying that I am depressed or anything so silly... I certainly am not pity-partying. I just am standing still right now, and have no earthshaking decisions or destinations at present. I am actually pretty content and quite happy, I just want to make sure I'm not wasting time, if you understand me. One thing I am determined to do, is to be more involved with missions and charities. I so often take my blessings for granted, and I want to give some of them away to someone who will appreciate them more than I ever could.
So I don't really know exactly where this blog took me... other than to my favorite living room, wearing my tea-party dress, my mind humming the song I heard in the car which caused this charitable resolve to grow so firmly in my caffeine less-than-free brain.