After I posted, I went and got Richy to come and talk to me. Sometimes
fear goes away easier when I talk about it.
So he laid here and talked to me and preached at me and prayed.... and
then it started raining. On my tin roof... and it was all very
peaceful.
After a while he went back and started working on his CD again.
And it was so weird and comforting and deja-vu.
Laying in my dark room, very tired and comfortable. And feet away music
is blaring, stopping, changing.... editing....
it was such a flashback to my life with my dad. Different, but so
familiar. I remember falling asleep to every kind of music or
narration, or ocassionally, explosions. And the sound had to be
revamped, over and over again.
I'm so grateful that I don't just have hands llke Daddy. or no butt. Or
irreverent humor at the most inopportune times in my head. All of those
things are a blessing.
But the music at midnight.... a gift.
6 comments:
If I remember correctly, you also write like your dad. I remember receiving a re-write back with your dad's comment that you had done it three times. I realized then that your writing was in the genes!!
Speaking of fear, sometimes it takes the 'fear' out of it by talking about it, mostly, by talking about the One who knows all about what we don't know, as that is usually what we fear...what we don't know. He is the only place where true peace comes from. But this you know, so I am only reminding not only you but me too.
I love you dearly, and am in this with you.
I remember one day when I was even older than you are now, I went to the apt early in the morning, in Pine Creek just to say hi,
There was a big rug on the floor there in the living room and it smelled like Dad's deodorant. He was just wearing his jeans and no shirt. He was putting on his boots getting ready to go work somewhere, it was so much like growing up that I seemed to be instantly transported to a comfortable place in the past.
I relate to what you said in that way.
What's funny is when I think of him now, I see him with all black hair and a moustache and I dont think the image I have is 52 years old. Somewhere he got stuck in time.
When I read what you wrote I didnt want to respond with something corny and useless.
So I just want you to know that we are all pushing for little (Toby).
When you went to the hospital Mom accidentally locked R2 in the car at Mc Donald's, The ac was running and he was not even scared.
Later, I couldnt help but thinking it was kind of freudian,
Like Mom wanted to lock the new baby in your womb.
And of course, I cried.
So so much for not being useless and corny.
I guess we can go back to guessing silly names and deciding what uniforms the worship teams should wear.
One more day is one day closer to the day that he should come out. Praise God for one more day.
I love the little Clark family
I am thinking about those comforting sounds too. How the house was full of music from the beginning. Not only music but soundtracks and artwork and scripts and WIRES leading all over the place. WIRES and Cables and microphones and mixers.COMPUTERS. and hippies wondering in and out of the studio making it all go. Guys like Gary Moon and Rich Layton and gorgeous photographers.(Why were they all so good looking?) and guys with video cameras that could go anywhere he wanted them to go. On top of stuff, under stuff, up in helicopters, down on fields where the confederates and yankees were re-enacting the whole scene (very seriously) with him right in the middle of the cannon fire and dust on his belly with a video camera.
And then late, sometimes 3 or 4 in the morning, his footsteps which I could identify any time anywhere, those big boots bringing that big rest of him home.
The other night Bob brought a little cheap guitar home. He had bought it off the side of the road. He said he would only be used to play slide. I said, "where is it?" He answered " Oh, I left it in the van, I didn't know if you would want it in here."
I said "No, you bring it on in." mama
I love that... I love the sweetness of familiarity... coming home.
Such a peaceful feeling with the background music. I miss it. I miss the sound of my boys playing and goofing off on their guitars in the back of the house. It is a gift, music at midnight.
My Aunt Getthe and my Mother and I were all sitting in the living room crotcheting and knitting, with my Uncle Jens playing his clarinet night before last. It was very different from the background music from long ago, but very familiar and peaceful. Such a wonderful thing.
i guess most of my stanley family memory includes the wacky home videos that i wanted so badly to include something very funny, but instead i would usually just feel like a fish outa water...i guess dorrington is the "loudest" memory when the kids (jess, C3, and leah) were little...
those were simpler times when i was just one of the kids, and not the "responsible" adult (although i guess i have always been the "administrator")that's diiferent than the "terminator"....
(ie; Calvin,drama guy,papa,hugger,etc.)
Oh how the blogs fly....
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