Happenings

The new year is coming on fast.
I stepped into the sharp chill this morning and little droplets of cold water were clinging to me as I walked. My face got wet.
I was thinking about family and summer plans. And, I was thinking about the approaching New Year and all of the stipulations that go along with ushering it in. I know that I'm supposed to make resolutions. I'm not sure if I am going to this year. Maybe I'll accomplish more by spontaneously deciding I'm going to do something. I don't have a hard time sticking to plans, but I don't particularly enjoy waking up and knowing exactly what I have to do for the day. I don't want my life planned out, hour for hour for me. I love living life. I think we are supposed to. In fact, I know we are.

Lying in bed early this morning (was I asleep?), I had a new concept for a series. I woke up and thought about it. I sorted through the concept, picking at potential developments and casting off bad ones. I was conscious, but I didn't feel like searching for a pen and paper, so I reached out and got my cell of the bedside table and text messaged the ideas to myself. I reread them when I got up this morning and was amazed at how coherent I was. It was all very stream-of-consciousness. Anyone else would have had a hard time decyphering, but it worked for me. I need new supplies to get started. Maybe I'll take a trip to Memphis.

I'm starting to get excited about the spring art exhibit.

Note to self: put a pen in top drawer of bedside table.

I don't want to stay here this summer. I want to live on an organic farm and make things. I want to write and work on art, and live. I want to live. And for the first time, I feel like living means spending those three months away from here. And for me, I think that's a big, exciting step. I want to go out and know something different. And then, I want to come back and appreciate this all the more.

Unrelated

I. Photographs.

II. Words

Troubadours break metaphorical

jubilees to travel door to door in metaphysical

humility.

Growth and Nostalgia

These are five photographs of my sister, Kaitland, taken from a series that has been in progress for three years now. Growth and Nostalgia is just a statement of the obvious. It is about how people record growth through time, if only inadvertanly, and then later reflect that growth through nostalgia. For me, the nostalgia is capturing the overarching moment--reliving that memory. For Kaitland, its about being her younger self, fully and completely.

Maybe its the Weather

Today, I'm looking out of the window at the gray sky, and reading Sylvia Plath. But really, what I'm doing is wishing James would bring me back my copy of "The Perks of Being a Wallflower". I get lost in that book. I really should stop reading it. It's truly a terrible thing to allow myself to love. I get caught in those white spaces between the words and I can't get out. It is a sin.

This is a strange way to spend Christmas Eve, I know. It fits in nicely with the rest of the break, though. We've not done anything particularly Christmassy. We don't even have a tree this year. Its nice...sort of a purge-yourself-away-from-anything-except-an-excess-of-food-and-the-scripture-reading kind of Christmas. We made a family decision not to swap gifts this year, too. I like it. It makes the real purpose so much more...well, beautiful.

God is the best.

"And in that moment, I swear, we were infinite."

I've just become fully aware of the fact that I've combined a blog post about the greatest miracle that has ever occured, and one of my sinful indulgences. And you know what? I feel really bad.
But I still love that book. And I think you should read it.

Take Me Back, Josephine

Anyone who knows me...(really knows me) has no doubt discovered that I have a series of systems. I don't mean that I'm obsessive-compulsive or anything. I am just a creature of habit. One of my habits is this: whenever I come home from college and think about it in enough time, I pop in Brandi Carlile and make the left onto Josephine while she drones her sad, dripping words. It becomes my own personal soundtrack for the moment. It was the perfect track for today.

Cold rain has been pelting at the house and I've done my best to try to stay in.

__________________________________________________________

On another note...I hate it when my mom calls me "young lady". She's been doing that a lot lately. I don't even think the fact that she's been nagging me about silly things bothers me as much as the fact that "young lady" should be a compliment and that those words only escape my mother's lips in condemning tones. I hope that when the inevitable happens and "I open my mouth and out falls my mother" I chose some other phrase.

"Take me back Josephine, to that cold and dark December. I am missing someone and I don't know who. Now I'm standing alone, and I'm trying to remember. Sometimes I wonder how I ever started loving you. Noontime wind, can you blow for me one more time and take me on back to the start, where the midnight moon shines so bright, nearly pulls us up to heaven, by the strings of our hearts? Morning sun, shine on me. Come light inside my window, and rest on my brow. Kiss my eyes while I sleep, and carry me back home, if my dreams will allow. Take me back Josephine, to that cold and dark December. I am missing someone but I don't know who. Now I'm standing alone and I'm dying to remember. Sometimes I wonder how I ever started loving you. Someone help me understand why I'm still loving you."

Flowers, Bending in Time

I realize that I haven't been posting really intellectually stimulating stuff lately. I could blame this on being distracted by other things...or procrastination...or feeling intellectually stifled when I am at home...or any number of things. But I won't. I'll just talk a little about various random things and hope that somehow, it might seem like I am a less terrible blogger than I, in all actuality, am...

1. Jeff Buckley.

Please introduce yourself to this man. An avant-garde musician in New York in the 90's, he was the son of Tim Buckley, who was himself, a notorious musician. Both Tim and Jeff died quite prematurely-- Tim from a drug overdose, and Jeff, a swimming accident which led to his drowning in Memphis. "In the space of just three years and one album, Jeff buckley attained the cult status his troubled father had taken eight years and as many records to achieve." In his obituary, it was written: "Second generation pop stars hardly ever live up to their illustrious parents. Jeff Buckley was the exception to that rule."(The Independent)

I won't call Jeff Buckley a "pop star". I will say, however, that if pop music resembled anything close to the beautifully haunting sounds of his own, that I might actually listen to the "Top 10".

I recommend: Turning out the lights, sitting on the floor alone, and turning up "So Real" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WolmjxD4hn4 and "Lover, You Should've Come Over"http://www.youtube.com/watch?hXe1jpHPnUs , just to start off with.

2. Mason Jars

Oh, the joy that variously sized fruit jars can bring. The things you can do with a mason jar are endless. Deemed, "the poor man's water glass", they are indeed perfect for filling with cool beverages. Once the brass lid is secured, you're good to go. For picnics, they make perfect glasses...if you wanna be fancy. They are one of the essentials of a good watercolorist's supply list. Once you're done, and that inevitable red is running down one side, you can rinse it out and put it on the window sill with the other four hundred you've collected--to catch the sun. Fill them later with pencils, marbles, thumb tacks, rubber bands, insects, buttons, wood shavings, or just about anything else.

3.Gravity's Rainbow

This Thomas Pynchon novel and I have a very serious love-hate relationship. One special summer day, I walked into Square Books in Oxford, Mississippi. I boldly approached the counter and asked one particuarly...bookwise...employee to help me choose a book. This very kind book salesman led me into the "P"'s and took from the shelf my very own special copy. I fell in love. I took it to the register and doled out a twenty. There was no need for a bag. I sat in the comfy red chair right beside the door and started devouring. Let me say, Pynchon is an exceptional challenge. I know that there are very differing opinions on his writing, but I really do think he's got something wonderful going on. Oh...back on track. As I said, I bought the book one summer day. And I read that summer day...and several afterwards. I read and reread the first few chapters...and got through about 1/4 of the book. And then something happened. School started. I put Mr. Pynchon down, and then, something else happened. Something really terrible. I forgot everything that I had read. Yes. I have to start over. I think I'll wait until this summer. And that will be my challenge. Get through Gravity's Rainbow before school begins again.

Also, on a completely different note, I have discovered that Zak Smith did the cover art for this novel...and that he did an entire series based on it. One illustration for each page of the novel. Impressive. One day, I'll dedicate an entire number to this man.

4. Justin Bieber

My sister's obsession with this teeny bopper is getting out of hand. It's really creepy to wake up to an entire wall plastered in two alternating faces. Bieber and Lautner give me nightmares. I will not be sleeping with Kait again anytime soon.

5. Guitar Center

The smell of Guitar Center mirrors that of one celestial body rumored in the Bible. The sounds...not so much. I particularly enjoy the acoustic room. I do not particularly enjoy the shifty glances from the pony-tailed teen across the room.

6. Meatloaf

A food, particularly one that a character in a previous post didn't ever want to eat again. Also, the famous musician. I include him because my father has passed his immense knowledge of classic rock on to all three of his children. This vast knowlegde overlaps with appreciation and even, dare I say, preference. Sitting here, as I think and type, my sister and I are listening to "Paradise by the Dashboard Lights". Yes. I admit it. I am the strangest.

Oh. I've been writing this for a long time and I find that each number is waning in seriousness. Therefore, I retire. I'll try and think of something more entertaining for next time.

P.S.--two quotes from none other than Mr. Buckley:

"Words are beautiful but restricted. They're very masculine with a compact frame. But voice is over the dark, the place where there's nothing to hang on: it comes from a part of yourself that simply knows, expresses itself, and is."

"All flowers in time bend toward the sun. I know you say there's no one for you, but here is one."

Duh.

Well, It didn't take me long to miss a day's post, did it? Oh well. That time was well spent in catching up with family that I hadn't seen in far too long.

Today I had an ephiphany. Said epiphany was this: Through my blog, I have the opportunity to consolidate all of the things in life that I most enjoy. I don't know why I have felt constricted and obligated to stick to one topic. I mean, I know I've been on here for less than two weeks, and that I don't really have but two followers (who may not even read this), but I feel like I shouldn't have to conform to any stipulations. This is my blog to do with what I want. This may be a challenge for me. I try very hard to stay as conhesive as possible (though I usually fail quite miserably). If I was to consolidate my interests into this blog, I would essentially be including posts on all of but not limiting myself to the following: writing, quotes, literature, random thoughts on random subjects, knitting, sewing, embroidery, painting, drawing, sculpting, (any number of art and crafts related stuff, really), vignettes of life, my Christian walk, relationships, anecdotes, observations, achievements, wishes and desires, pet peeves, family updates, lists of recommendations for any number of various topics, ect. I don't really know if this is going to be possible. It might drive me a little nuts...and you too. But, I guess you never know until you try.

So, Here's to my newly-vamped, new blog.

The Night, Alone

I wake to find, that upon the floor, my wish for waking has broken into a reality. The dream is over, and I, wrapped tightly in this quilt of many patterns, lie in the company of the shadows upon my ceiling, and nothing--no one more. The vast quietude itself is a song that sings to me, and I turn, contemplating the darkness and myself. From off the shelf, I take some words, which comfort me and bring me hope. Someone is there, speaking out of the night, in bold comforting tones. "I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow..." And tonight, I am glad that Roethke holds me so.

Wishing

Would someone please tell me why in the world I am so attached to this-->.
Not the photograph...the building. For as long as I can remember, this building has made my heart beat a million miles and hour. It used to be an old jailhouse. Now, it is unused and slowly falling into disrepair. I've been told several times that it belongs to the town and that they refuse to sell it. I cannot understand this. Nobody is doing anything with it, and it is falling apart. I can't think of anyplace better to stack books and set up a studio. Plus, it is next door to the library. Heaven? I think so. Sometimes I wonder why people are stupid.

Looking for Something

We sit or lie, shoulder
to shoulder in the damp
grass, too dark to deem green--
searching for a belt to dress
Orion as we did ourselves this same morning.
And when we find it, we laugh
Because there it was all along
like it had been looped around
the chair we had our hands on.

The Day is Done

I think I might have several unhealthy addictions. This blog may be the newest component of the already plump list. Over Christmas break, I am hoping to make a post every day...just to keep myself writing. I am going to draw for at least an hour a day as well. I am hoping that typing this out will keep me accountable in some way. Eventually, if I can set up my scanner, I want to put some sketches and such on here. We'll see how that goes. Now that I have probably bored the very few people who actually look at this, I might write something halfway worth reading. Maybe.

Forty and three paces it may
be, down the driveway, to the
end, where I turn--contemplating
the metallic cold--and walk back.

My fingers are turning into
my mother's and I am pleased by
their aging, even if I cannot feel
them. The air is sharp.

On it are words. Escapees
of my own chapped
lips, they echo back more
foreign than they fell.
"Razor wire stings when
you touch it. That is true. Don't
drag your knuckles along it
as you walk and there
is nothing to worry
about."

Reflections

My Christmas Break officially started as I got into my car last night. It was probably a little before then, but walking outside and getting in just set things. I drove back to my dorm and called my mother. We talked for a long time. Sitting there, in my car, in the wee-est hours of the morning, I realized how very thankful I am for her...for the people I have been surrounded by. I called my mom at 12:30 a.m. on a work night and she talked to me for at least an hour. I am so blessed by her love. I'm glad I am going home today to be with my family. I should probably pack.

Instead, I am sitting on my bed, eating a bag of Bugles (I called them finger chips when I was little). A little known fact about me is that Bugles are by far my favorite chip. I am not really a chip kind of person. I don't like popcorn either. This is something that I was thinking about last night as I was offered some. I think I have concluded that it makes my mouth wrinkled. That is a strange observation, but I just don't like salty, wrinkled lips. I feel a pang for anyone who does.

Ouch

This hurts. I'm glad tomorrow means home. I'm glad for hope.

Thanks

Today, I am like an old
tired dog, sitting on my bed with
drooping eyes and whisps of hair
about my face.
I need a bath. But I would rather
listen to the rain pelting the
window sill and stretch
and yawn my praise
for the ability to sit
and yawn
and stretch.

On Prayer

I read a poem by Mary Oliver entitled, "The Real Prayers are not the Words but, the Attention that Comes First." The poem is nice, but for me, the title stands solidly enough on its own. I almost wish there wasn't a poem at all, just blank page at which to stare and contemplate the brilliant truth in quotations.

Right now, we are doing a series on "word becoming flesh" at church. Today, the sermon was in part about the power of the spoken word in prayer. Really, the power of prayer in general. This semester, I have learned so much through prayer and scripture, particularly concerning patience, trust, and understanding and desiring to do the will of God. God has taught me so much about so many different things. I find myself desiring relationships. A relationship with God, deeper relationships with established friends, new relationships with new friends, intimacy with family, and the desire to develop myself in Christ for a potential "relationship" relationship. I've learned to step out of my comfort zone, to shed the fears and insecurities that have long surrounded me and given me a reputation as an introvert. I have learned so much about being myself. So much of myself has been brought out by people in the past few weeks. That in itself is an answered prayer.
Pastor Nick has challenged the congregation to chose a particular prayer request and to spend this week in fervid prayer and submersion in scripture. I have just such a request that has been on my heart for several days now. As we have been challenged to do, I have put my trust in the LORD and am confident, that in his timing and according to His will, my prayers will be answered. I find comfort in the following verses which have been revealed to me in God's perfect timing of late:

Psalm 48:14 "For that is what God is like. He is our God forever and ever and He will be our guide until we die."

Psalm 16:7-8 "I will bless the LORD who guides me; even at night my heart instructs me. I know the LORD is always with me. I will not be shaken for he is right beside me."

Psalm 37:4 "Take delight in the LORD, and he will give you your heart's desires."

Psalm 37:7a "Be still in the presence of the LORD and wait patiently for Him to act."

Psalm 37:23-24 " The steps of the godly are directed by the LORD; He delights in every detail of their lives."

Psalm 40:8 "I take joy in doing your will, my God, for your law is written on my heart."

Psalm 131:1-2 " LORD, my heart is not proud; my eyes are not haughty. I don't concern myself with matters too great or awesome for me. But I have stilled and quieted myself, just as a small child is quiet with its mother. Yes, like a small child is my soul within me."

Proverbs 4:18 " The way of the righteous is like the first gleam of dawn, which shines ever brighter until the full light of day."

Proverbs 4:23 "Above all else, guard your heart, for it affects everything you do."

Isaiah 46:3 "Listen to me, all of you who are left. I created you and I have cared for you since before you were born. I will be your God throughout your lifetime--until your hair is white with age. I made you, and I will care for you. I will carry you along and save you."

Isaiah 43:1-2 "Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you. I have called you by name, you are mine. When you go through deep waters and great trouble, I will be with you. When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown!"

Song of Songs 2:7, 3:5 " Promise me, O women of Jerusalem, by the swift gazelles and the deer of the wild, not to awaken love until the time is right."

Philippians 1:9-11 "And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may ascern what is best and may be pure and blameless until the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ--to the glory and praise of God."

Hebrews 13:20-21 "And now, may the God of peace, who brought again from the dead our LORD Jesus equip you with all you need for doing his will. May he produce in you, through the power of Jesus Christ, all that is pleasing to Him."

There are oh-so-many-more divine scriptures that bring me peace and ignite my soul. Perhaps I shall share some more at a later date.

No Solution

I can scrape my fork to the tune of a misfit. I can shift my peas and roast beef around in insignificance, without any contribution to the conversation my family is having about the worker's strike and the local high school football game last night. Every person sitting at this dinner table, sipping thick, syrupy tea and chomping on my mother's cooking is a Garrett. I, myself, am one sixth of that equation. I feel like a variable. The unknown. Someone is always saying, "find the value of x." I am constantly searching for my value in this Garrett equation. I hear this happens sometimes. I hear it's called middle child syndrome.
"James Garrett, quit playing with your food," mother says.
I'm tired of eating the same things over and over. My father and brothers are "meat-and-potato-men". "Potato-men" is more like it. Thick lumps of starchy-fleshed men with eyes that sink back dumbly in their round heads. Hell, they're even smeared with coal. Close enough to dirt. My mother cooks roast beef and meatloaf on alternating nights. Carrots, peas, and green beans for accompaniment. I'd kill someone for something different. Anything.
My younger brother, Mattie, keeps me sane. He's going to be just like my dad and older brothers, but for now, his ability to stick to marbles and stay out of the mines is enough to make him the most valuable of the Garrett's. I'm out of the mine too, for now. It's mostly because I refused to sink down, suffocate even, below the cold earth. That really pissed my dad off and that's part of the reason he is looking at me from over his plate like I murdered one of his more valuable children. I keep a job above ground instead.
After school, I walk over to the hardware store. Lane's Hardware and Mercantile. It has a big wooden sign with red lettering. I count the letters as I come down the sidewalk. 26 characters. The same as the alphabet. There are repeats, though. That messes it up. If there weren't, I could make more words. Today, I think, "sane", "war", "crate."
Inside, work is usually slow. I run the register, making change and shifty glances at the local contractors' daughters. They don't come in very often. The daughters, I mean. When things are really slow, I try fitting scraps from the trimmings together. They usually never fit. I take the screws and nails out. They're just temporary holds.
I don't know how many more nights I can come home to this food and these people. Mr. Lane won't let me stay late at work for the liability. Also, he says he can't pay overtime. Not that there's overtime work to be done.
"James Walter Garrett, what in the world are you doing?" My dad has swallowed his perpetual bite.
I could tell him that I'm planning a new, less monotonous dinner for tomorrow. Instead I just stare directly at the center of his forehead. He tells me to excuse myself until I can be a part of this family.
Upstairs, I have the only bedroom. My two older brothers, Frank and Lawrence, share the basement, and Mattie has his own bedroom down the hall from my parents. The upstairs isn't an upstairs at all, really. It's the attic. After the incident with the mine, I asked if I could convert it into a loft. Nobody objected. It made more room, they said.
There is a big tree that hangs over the gable above my bed. One of the branches scrapes the roof when the wind blows. That tree knocks on my ceiling a lot. I like that knocking because I never know when it's going to happen. That knocking means anticipation. That knocking makes me think. There's someone out there, trying to get in. And there is someone here, sitting in bed, trying to get out. Someone needs to take away the roof.
_________________________________________

Today I woke up and skipped school. I'm tired of trying to solve math problems. I went for a walk instead. The day was pretty gray but I didn't mind. I took in the crispness of the air as I walked along Delaney and down to Mackintosh. I decided to cross over to the mine road. I don't know why. A few yards away, I started to get nervous. I sprinted past but I tripped. As I was getting up, I thought about the time. I thought about how hungry I was.
It was too late to get food. I had to make it to work. I turned around and sprinted back to Lane's. Behind the register, I tried to focus on adding totals but my mind was rejecting numbers. All those numbers. I'm tired of trying to solve math problems. I grabbed my jacket and walked out.
I was so hungry. I thought about dinner. Meatloaf. I couldn't eat meatloaf anymore. I stopped by Miller's convenience store. I stuck my hands in my pockets and pulled out some crinkled bills. I didn't bother to count them. I'm tired of trying to solve math problems. I walked over to a shelf and just started picking up cakes. Yellow cupcakes and brownies. A bag of chocolate chip cookies. Fruit pies. I walked over to the cashier and held out my hand. The wadded cash was moist in my fist and I waited for her to open her hand beneath mine before I turned it free. I left all of the numbers with her as I pushed my way out of the door.
I walked home with that bulk of sweets in my arms. I must have looked like I was embracing them. I wanted to. No more meatloaf. Not tonight. I walked inside and headed straight for my room. I dropped the convenience store stash on my bed.
Mattie must have heard me come in because he came up through my floor and tentatively said, "Hey, James. You better not eat those. You're not gonna want dinner."
I threw an angry glance and a quick, "I'm not eating that shit anymore" his way.
"You shouldn't say that."
Then, I told him to go. I couldn't eat that meatloaf anymore. I couldn't do anymore equations. I wasn't going to try to fit myself in or place myself anywhere anymore.
"No. I'm not going to go. All you do is try to make our family different. You don't eat mom's food and you won't go to work like dad. You can't eat those cakes."
I hit him. I picked up something. I didn't even know what it was. I just picked up the nearest thing and hit Mattie. He fell limply to the floor. I looked down at my hand. One of my blocks with screws in it. I'd brought it home from Lane's. I dropped it from where I stood and stooped down to pick Mattie up. He didn't move.
I placed him delicately on my bed. I picked up the cakes and threw them in the trash. I sat down next to the youngest variable of the Garrett equation, dead beside me, and thought about lowering him into the suffocating cold earth long before his time. I removed one sixth of the Garrett equation. I killed my brother to find the solution. I have found the value of "x". I have found my value.
I sat there, empty until the tree knocked hard on my ceiling. I thought about the separation. Someone needed to take away the roof. I went down and got the box of matches. I brought them up and struck one boldly on the headboard. I sat limply on the floor and dropped the match. The flames rose up. Someone needed to take away the roof. I took in a deep breath and thought about the Garrett's eating dinner. Four-sixths of the Garrett equation. There is no longer a solution.

Gradiency

Gradiency tonight means running forward, like a bird. None of that vector-and-function stuff I learned senior year in physics. I don't feel like I'm going up. Just ahead. And so are everyone else.


Flightless birds aren't quick-
witted but they run fast
and run forward-- basic instincts
that do them well. Except for
the dodo.
________________________

Say it's safe to duck the head
and run, arms outstreched, into the
unsanctioned--the recondite.

Tell me that the gressorial
soul is satiated by the present and
maybe we can pretend I'm any good
at being satisfied.

Remind me once again that what
I really need to do is misrecollect
the inability to fly, spread my wings
and try.