Music

Music celebrates,
Music grieves.

A Joyful Noise

About the Artist

Music incites,
Music relieves.

Music quells,
Music achieves.

 

 

Music confesses,
Music deceives.

Gracious gratitude for all, through music, one receives.

Pink Saturday -- A Thanksgiving Poem

T’was the night of Thanksgiving,
But I just couldn’t sleep.
I tried counting backwards,
I tried counting sheep.

The leftovers beckoned,
The dark meat and white.
But I fought the temptation,
With all of my might.

Tossing and turning,
with anticipation.
The thought of a snack
became infatuation.

 

So I raced to the kitchen,
Flung open the door,
And gazed at the fridge,
Full of goodies galore.

I gobbled up turkey,
And buttered potatoes,
Pickles and carrots,
Beans and tomatoes.

I felt myself swelling,
So plump and so round.
‘til all of a sudden,
I rose off the ground.

I crashed through the ceiling,
Floating into the sky,
With a mouthful of pudding,
And a handful of pie.

But I managed to yell
As I soared past the trees
Happy eating to all,
Pass the cranberries, please!!

May your stuffing be tasty
May your turkey be plump.
May your potatoes and gravy
Have nary a lump.

May your yams be delicious,
May your pies take the prize
And May your Thanksgiving dinner
Stay off of your thighs!

by Lauren

Big thanks, of course, to Beverly at How Sweet the Sound for hosting this fun tradition -- can't imagine how much work this must be.  

Participating in Pink Saturday is such a great way to find more blogs to enjoy.  This week, I recommend stopping by Ginger's blog, Glitter and Roses, just lovely. 

Legacy

What's in a name?  Sares is exploring that very question in her blog, LoveLeigh Treasures and others.  She is hosting a most interesting "blog party today.  Stop by, the story of her nickname is charming and I can relate as I have a nickname only my grandfather calls me, but I choose not to discuss it today because I could never, ever figure out how it is spelled . . . it is heavy with Polish sounds and entanglements . . . bit I do love it so. 

What's in a name?  I have long hoped that spirit and power can be in a name.  That is what inspired us to name our daughter, Sarah Caroline.

Sarah is a common enough name and that commonness, itself, may have put us off that name normally.  But we knew from the start that our daughter would need the power and the spirit of her new family and we tried to vest that within her by giving her this name.

Sarah was the name of my great-grandmother, a saint of a woman, feminine as the most delicate lace, but strong as a mule.  She came here, on her own, from Poland, as a teenage girl, not knowing a soul in this new world.  She set about making a life for herself . . . and she did . . . and she also created the most beautiful woman I have ever known, my grandmother who, in turn, created my mother.  How could I not link my daughter to my great grandmother's incredible legacy?

Caroline was my husband's mother, the happiest soul I was ever lucky enough to know.  I only knew her for a short time, for she died rather abruptly before my husband and I were married.  I grieved as if she were my own mother because she had been such a spiritual mother to me.  I miss her laughing spirit each and every day, but am grateful for the time I did know her and especially for the man she raised, the man who is now my husband and the best father I could have ever dreamed of for my children.  We made "Caroline" my daughter's middle name for we wanted to link my daughter with her grandmother forevermore despite Sarah never having spoken with her.

So my daughter carries with her the name of her brave, immigrant great-great grandmother who came to this country from her eastern European country in search of a better life.  Despite being separated by several generations, they share that bond.  My daughter, too, came here from an eastern European country when we adopted her and brought her home to be part of our family.  She, too, comes to the new world in search of a better life.

And we paired her first name with a middle name of a woman whom she should have met, had fate not been quite so cruel.  With this middle name, our daughter will be ever mindful of the wonderful woman who would have been her "grandma." 

My daughter is six years old now, but oh so old and oh so young for the time she spent as an orphan.  I pray that she has the power and the spirit to continue in the legacy of strength and love for which she has been named.

Would It Hurt Him!

I have always suspected . . . and now I know for sure . . .

If it were up to my husband, my kids would never eat lunch.

Honestly . . .

Football, Yes, Football!

Yes, football!  (My husband will be so shocked to read about my appreciation of football!)

I am not a die-hard fan; my interest waxes and wanes depending on what else I have to do that Sunday, that year, that phase of life.  I was a big, involved fan back when my husband and I were "single," i.e., before having children.  But babies don't watch football and I got busy and lost interest during those years.  I am working my way back to football as the kids get older now.  I like the dimension it adds it my relationship with my husband.  And I know my husband likes to talk football with anyone who knows anything about it, and I like to be counted in that group.

I also love football for the hours of fun and excitement it brings my husband.  Men seem united in some way when they like football.  They are lucky.  Though they may have never met and may know nothing else of each other, if they are both into football, they can converse easily for quite a while.  I often wish women had as unifying an interest.

Football also lends itself to lazy Sunday afternoons, something I seem to savor more them most in my family.  All summer long, we are outside doing or planting or putting . . . all the while, I feel the call of a lounge chair on Sunday afternoons.  Fall football seems to finally send that call through all of us in the family.

So, today, I spotlight football as something I am grateful for.  (Surprise, Honey!)  I love the commaradarie it brings to my family and to all men who watch.  I love the repose it brings to fall Sundays. 

And dare I say, the season is too short?  Just about the time that the holiday hoopla is over and winter Sundays begin to get a bit dull, it's over . . . that never quite makes sense to me. 

Art

Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.  ~ Thomas Merton

I received this painting from Sadee Schilling the other day ~ it pays to enter those giveaways!  Isn't it beautiful?

Sadee Schilling Studio

I love it's subtle, off-beat colors and the sweetness of the image as well as the way it sets me about thinking what kind of music those birds are hearing.

Despite what all the art critics might say, I believe art to be anything that can take you outside of yourself -- your worries, your joys, your realities, your fantasies -- and bring you a moment of suspension, of newness.  High art, "low" art, crafts . . . almost anything, by this definition, may be art; it depends on the viewer, and I like the empowerment of that philosophy.

With that philosophy comes the responsibility of the individual to see art, to find art, to experience a moment of newness.  Perhaps it is more than a responsibility, but an inspiration.

 

 

Art is not a thing; it is a way.  ~ Elbert Hubbard