Swept Away

A Photo-post. No words necessary, but an imagination helps.

I Prefer The Alternative

My hands look old.

My face looks old.

I hate this.

Growing old – aging – sucks in a big, ugly way.

And, yes, I do prefer the alternative!

Just The Thought Of Me (or “Why I Believe In Miracles”)

My day was made this morning when my husband texted me from work to let me know that the thought of me had, well, turned him on (I won’t share the exact verbiage for those with more sensitive sensibilities…suffice it to say, his jeans were a bit tight).

Later, when I met him in town, I was delighted to see “that look” in his eyes when he caught sight of me walking toward him; “that look” is just something that is impossible to fake.

It amazes me. We’ve been married nearly nine years. And, as so often happens with men, he has aged well…while, as so often happens with women, I have not (it isn’t fair, I know…it’s life). To have him still (genuinely and sincerely) think of me that way, to have just the thought of me causing him to feel that way…well, WOW. It doesn’t make sense. It defies logic. It’s awesome, and I am soooo blessed! If I didn’t already believe in miracles, this would do it.

Beauty Is A Beast

First of all, I want to thank those of you who have started following my blog. I really appreciate you taking the time to read (and sometimes even comment) on what I take the time to write. I recently moved my blog from Posterous (which was more like PREPOSTEROUS) to the lovely WordPress here…and, well, it’s been a good move. And, I wanted to mention and say thanks to you who are coming along for the ride. If you have a moment, I’d be thrilled if you’d check out my music and, if you have the evil Facebook, if you’d “like” my Facebook Page I would be seriously delighted (encouraged, happy, my day would be made).

Anywho (enough of my gratuitous shameless plugging), today I want to talk about the ugly business of beauty. Don’t worry, I’m not going to lament about the media and sterotypes and all that stuff (which I, and others, have lamented long and loud on many occasion in various ways and sundry manners) but, rather, talk about some practical matters to do with the mop on my head known as… hair.

In my (too) many years on this sphere, I have worn my hair in a number of different styles. Some have been good, while some others have been not so fabulous (the 80’s have a lot to answer for). I think it was most popular, however, in the times when it was very, very long (but very very long and very very young always seem to go together…and I’m no longer even young, let alone very very). Every time I got a wild hair (pun intended, of course) and decided to cut it short I ALWAYS regretted it (with many tears) UNTIL my asymetrical cut. With it, I finally found a short cut that looked…well, good, actually.

Now, then…comes a couple of months ago and my husband says something to me that lets me know he’d really like me to grow my hair out again. I literally panicked. Growing hair out of a layered short cut is an ugly nightmare. It goes through what feels like ages and ages of stages (rhyme not intended but, oh well, free poem, no extra charge) of varying degrees of U.G.L.Y. (you ain’t got no alibi…other than you are growing out your hair, of course…). I thought, surely, growing hair out of an asymetrical would be an even worse case of dishevilled wreck until it would look anywhere close to decent again. However, I was saved from actual decision making by having no funds to go to the hairdresser to get my hair done. I steeled myself: I was going to have to embrace ugly.

However, I have some rather shocking news to share with you. Since deciding to (or being forced to decide due to necessity – when I say I am a starving artist, I mean it… food and clothes for the kids are more important…do you feel guilty yet for not checking out my album, singles, etc… what are you waiting for? Oops, sorry…gratitutous plugging – pathetic pity party – creeped in again…I do apologise profusely…moving right along), I have actually had more good hair days than bad ones. Oh sure, now, ugly has visited… but, so has creativity and ingenuity….and, I don’t just mean hats and headbands…although, those are good, too.

So, a little over a week ago, I donned a headband and thought… hmmm…ok, this works. But, then…ouch! I got a headache from the thing pinching the sides of my head.  But, I suppose, it’s like the pain from wearing highheels, isn’t it? Beauty is a beast.

So, then we come to Friday night of last week… and I have a “suddenly moment”.  I’m sitting on the sofa, and I run my fingers through my growing hair… and I essentially do what might be considered the female equivalent of  “the comb over”.  I flip my part to the other side!

The Flipside

I picked up my phone to see my reflection and thought, ‘Ooh, that’s not too bad’, and I snapped this little visual. When an ad break finally caused my husband to turn away from the TV to look at me, he exclaimed (with a certain look that I love in his eye), “Oh! Hello there!”

I smiled back… seductively, as is my wont to do when he looks at me that way, and responded, “So, you like it then?” To which, with conviction, he said, “Oh, yeah.”

And, I knew… I had it! The way to survive a bit more of the beastly growing hair out experience.

I wore my flipped-out-comb-over hair to church on Sunday and got a compliment off of someone who has exceptionally high beauty standards (his wife is gorgeous, and so is he for that matter) U’h, here I am sure I should put in a reminder that God does not look at the outer appeareance but, rather, at the heart…  it was just really nice to get that surprise compliment from someone so sparing with praise of that sort.

I think this is the first time I have “flipped out” and had it be a positive thing.

So… do I recommend an asymetrical? Yes. By all means. It’s funky and cool. It’s also surprisingly not so horrendous to grow out of (when the time comes to do so…all good things, and all that).

Do I think beauty is hard work? Most of the time, yes; it can be painful and frustrating and down right demoralising.  But (and I do love a big but, don’t you?), sometimes, just sometimes, the beast’s teeth are slightly less sharp than at other times, and we should celebrate and be thankful for those times (thus this post, which I hope you have enjoyed reading as much as I have enjoyed writing).

Oh, yeah, and last point: isn’t it good to know that not ALL “comb overs” are a bad thing?

“I’m a musician…

“I’m a musician: I’m not mental… I’m INSTRUMENTAL.” – Autumn Dawn Leader

We musicians can be a rather, ahem, special lot.

I had a bottle full of dreams…

I never believe the people who claim to have no regrets. I look at them and think, “What a load of bullpoo!” (being polite as I can be here). I will freely admit that I have (loads) of ’em.

“Bottle” is me at my most autobiographical. I wrote this song in all of about 10 minutes one night as part of a “songwriting challenge”. It’s what I would call a lament. I’d also say it’s one of the best things I’ve ever written, and certainly a personal favourite…definitely, simply, personal.

What have you filled your bottle with? Have you spilled your dreams out to stain your world the colour of “what if” and “I should’ve” and filled it up again with everything and anything else?

If, like me, you have a cracked and battered bottle, once full of dreams, now full of regrets, and you identify with the song (because, hey, I know I’m not alone out there), the album version is available to download all over the interwebz via CD Baby, i-Tunes, Amazon and Bandcamp, etc.

It’s me…but in Hebrew!

Everyone knows singing is what I do… well, and if you don’t you must have been living under some Rock of Total Ignorance. However, what some people might not know is that I also love singing in Hebrew.

I was inspired by one of the #SheReadsTruth devotionals based all around the series of Psalms known as “The Songs of Ascents” to set some of these Psalms (I originally wanted to do all of them, but that was a wee bit ambitious with such short notice as I had) to music. Afterall, they are meant to be sung! So far I have recorded four of these, and have done videos for three (they can be found on my YouTube Channel…as well as other stuff of mine that I strongly encourage you to watch/listen to…well, go on, already! What ARE you waiting for?). For this one, even though I did, at first, endeavour to set the whole Psalm to music, I found it impossible at this time to do so. Even with feeling as close as I do to the Psalmist David, and interpreting his unheard music just from his words, I had to limit myself, in this particular song-prayer, to verse 6 and praying for the peace of Jerusalem… but, I wanted to sing it in the original Hebrew…which I have done. So, I have read the Psalm, recording it as spoken word, with the song-prayer (sung in Hebrew) in the background. It’s me…but in Hebrew.

Please watch, listen and join with me in praying for the peace of Jerusalem.

Just Call Me A Camel

Last week I decided that instead of “Facebook Status-ing” all my woes, that I would blog them instead – it seemed to be less of a waste of words, maybe a better use of them and the energy spent to write them, and I might get more appreciation for them than just casting them onto the navel-gazing world of Facebook where, really, no one cares. So, I have had two “blogging” not status-ing moments, and here’s a third.

Mornings like this one crush me. It’s difficult to explain to those who just don’t get it. I am overwhelmed, as a parent…the schoolrun…there is too much to remember…I’ve got to remember their bags, their homework and, when there are extras (like today, we were supposed to bring in a favourite book for World Book Day), it’s often just too much to handle. I love books (understatement). I should have been excited, but this was the proverbial back-breaking straw. Just call me a camel. I hadn’t remembered at all; I was already battling the weepiness that attacks me most days (especially in the morning).  I left my daughter’s school feeling (and knowing) once again I had failed. DON’T ARGUE WITH ME, DAMMIT! It was a failure; call it what it is.

I managed to get my son to playgroup, minus his bag (which I had forgotten) and all the time him fighting me because he didn’t want to go today. I then quickly got back to the house to attempt to find The Velveteen Rabbit (one of my daughter’s favourite books that I used to read to her quite a lot) in order to rush it back to the school so she wouldn’t be one of the only children that didn’t bring in her own book. But, another failure… I tried to find it. I failed.

As a parent, I constantly fail. Again, don’t you argue with me! It is failure. FAILURE!  And, when they are throwing their tantrums and treating me and each other like poo, I crumble. I fail. Do not tell me that I am being too hard on myself. Do not LIE to me!

There is no happy turn at the end of this post like the others. No redemption of it at the finishing line. Don’t look for it. Today, reduced to sobs that wrack and ravage my soul, I am going to wallow. Today I am going to let the Waterfall take me, because life – and parenthood – sucks! Don’t argue with me. Just don’t.

Every Season (Including Me)

I just read where someone said “every season has its value and purpose.” At the same time I overheard my four year old son say, “sometimes good things come from bad.” The boy is wise beyond his years, yes. But, I have always had a problem with this figurative concept of (life) seasons (funny that, eh?), because, in my opinion, the good ones are far too short and the lousy ones painfully too long and much more frequent than the good ones. Ninety percent of the time I find this pre-posthumous existence very frustrating, and the other ten percent of the time I’m asleep; I really struggle with this living/life thing. I long for heaven and home. But…every season has its value and purpose. And, so do I.

The Awkward Stages

I’m sitting outside in my back garden on a beautiful, rare, sunny day. The birds are singing, the neighbour is playing guitar, kids are out playing, and I’m…thinking too much. Just because we (physically) become adults (emotional, mental and spiritual adulthood having NOTHING at all to do with age and being TOTALLY relative) doesn’t mean that we are now immune to (physical) awkward stages (again, encountering emotional, mental, and spiritual awkwardness should be expected to be a life long experience). After we made it through the uncomfortable, and ofttimes embarrassing, periods of time when we were kids and our arms were too long for our bodies and our coordination was off and our hormones had a whole lot to do with how we looked on any given day and, some of us, looked downright UGLY (you ain’t got no alibi), we then go through a false sense of thinking that this (rather crappy) bit of life will not be repeated. But it just isn’t true. As we age, as we get old, it happens again. And, well, it sucks. Just saying. Right now I’m going through an awkward stage. Growing my hair out over a much older face, features shifting…it’s painful, it’s ugly. But… don’t those birds and that guitarist sound nice?