Tag: writing

of lights we sing frantically

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A few little book reviews this night. At least I hope they’re little. We shall see.

13. And Once More Saw the Stars – Four Poems for Two Voices by P.K. Page & Philip Stratford. A strange and wonderful poetry paperback I stumbled across in a random second hand bookshop in B.C. a few years past. Finally picked it up off my shelf and I’m glad I did. This is a strange example of genre that I don’t quite know how to classify, even though I’m sure it’s been done before. It’s two artists writing poetry together – a renga, you may say – and it’s slightly offbeat but yet still beautiful the way the voices weave together. The poetry isn’t always exactly my style or to my liking, but yet I still fell under the spell of this book and perhaps that for a meta reason. Page put together this book following the death of Mr. Stratford who died before finishing their lyric dance. The poems are interspersed with the written correspondence enclosed with each succeeding stanza (sent via the trusty mail service – not quite the internet days!) and to be honest? I think I enjoyed this book primarily just to see the way these two poets talked about their poetry and the process and the struggle and the little quirky asides they tossed out as they cobbled together these whispers of the heart. Like I said, if this was just a book of poetry, I may have found myself most unimpressed. But instead…this is a book that is a bit of a window into two artists, showing the collaboration and writing process in a way I’ve not seen it done before. Even my copy has another meta layer on top, with a previous owner making random corrections and comments throughout! I appreciated the tribute to Stratford here and the vulnerability it takes to publicize this correspondence between writers. Grateful for a window into the creative process and it’s made me think more about why and how I write what I do. And some of the sonnets really are quite good! Especially Wilderness I & II – those burst with greater magic and unveiled greater wonders to my soul. This was a worthwhile book and I shall return to it. I came for the poems. I left with the story of two writers whose hearts yearned yet to write of beauty.

14. The Overstory by Richard Powers. There were some things in this book I really loved and there were some things in this book that I really…did not love. And I walked away from this book wondering if maybe Richard Powers is just not the author for me. This is Powers’ magnum opus, the book that won him the Pulitzer and so I assumed that this book would properly wow me. Yet. And. Still. Something in me just doesn’t respond to the way Powers writes and I fully confess it may be my inability to grasp entirely what Powers is attempting to communicate. If anything, it puzzles me because I had a similar reaction when I finished Playground (his most recent book and maybe not the right Powers to start with!). When I finished that book, my ending thought was “Hm.” Same here. I will definitely say one thing though, this book is better than Playground!

Yet I’m already writing too many words and to prevent myself from going overly long, let me say a few of the thoughts I had on this one in more details. Spoilers may follow, be warned if you care about that sort of thing. This book is the tree book. Anyone that’s heard of this book or glances at the title can guess that. And one of the strongest recommendations I can make for this book is that this book definitely makes me want to know more about trees!! As I walk around my neighborhood and my city, I have found myself looking at trees and noticing them in ways I certainly didn’t before. What tree is that? Is it good that there are that many young trees planted close together? Why is half the tree flowering and the other half not? So many questions that I want answers to! I am shamed (though I hope I’m not alone) in realizing how many trees I walk past every day that I can’t name. I am too Olivia (though not Maidenhair, as we’ll get to). If anything, this book made me wish this book was simply a science book about trees and all the wondrous fascinating facts about them. I need to source such a book. But instead…well, and this gets to one of my issues with the book, I struggled to know which was truth and which was fanciful imagery and which was anthropomorphic language and which was possibly some magic realism. There is so much going on with trees here. Yet as much as Powers continually makes it clear the sins humankind is committing against the planet and the trees that inhabit it (and ourselves and our descendants), I was left much fuzzier on what Powers was attempting to communicating about the true essence and reality of trees. Are trees sentient and attempting to communicate to us in a way we simply can’t understand yet? If we had sufficiently advanced computing power and the eyes to see, could we understand the many whispers of the winds that bear the wisdom of countless living, flowering arboreal wonders? In a way, I think Powers may be too clever for me and that the messages he seeks to communicate are cloaked in ways I struggle to grasp. I had the same issue with Playground.

I did much enjoy the early parts of this book – I loved all the individual short stories that told of the lives of so many different people. I initially thought this book was to be entirely a collection of short stories and their connection to trees and the trees’ connection to them and I was here for it. I was so psyched for that book. And I think I was mildly disappointed when those expectations were dashed and I realized all the characters would all interact in their various ways (some more obvious than others). The second part of the book was the weakest by far. Yes, I suppose it was a bit interesting in some ways to see the futile warring of the few against the apathetic selfish tyranny of the many and the attempts of the so-called “eco-terrorists” to save mankind from itself. Yet for some reason the characters in this section all felt a bit caricaturized, a bit plastic. I lost the thread of who was who and what their motivations were. I did really like Dr. Patty Westerford’s sections and though profoundly depressing for multiple reasons, I thought Neelay’s sections were fascinating as well. Yet the rest? They all tended to blend together a bit and I found myself pushing through the brutal horror of it all just to see where Powers was taking us.

I also think I struggled with Powers’ writing style. The metaphors and analogies he uses so often threw me out of the story in their odd juxtaposition to what was occurring on the page. Too often the phrases and imagery felt just a bit too carefully-constructed and artful instead of beautiful and true. This may just be personal taste on my part, but I think I just don’t resonate with his writing style – a bit too much crudity and even a tending towards voyeuristic tendency at times.

Though I struggled with the middle of this book, the end definitely got better and I’m glad I finished this one. I still don’t quite understand what Powers is trying to say – but I appreciated the fact that the ending tone seemed a bit hopeful and optimistic despite the cynical undertone running throughout. Powers is not leaving us in despair – he believes there is reason to hope for good things for the future of this world. Though I’m not quite sure computers and their ilk are the answer, it is fascinating to think of such. Is our incapacity to love each other and our world a product of our own innate selfishness and apathy or simply an inability to understand the messages written in every corner of this world? Do we have an excuse to enable us to continue our way without considering the fact there may be greater truths in this world than we now consider? Perhaps. I’m sure myself and Powers would disagree on what these greater truths are, but I appreciate that he is seeking to use his skills as a writer to tell a story that makes a difference. For true stories have the power of change. But only true stories can do such. This story contains kernels of truth and though I do think Powers’ style simply isn’t for me, I’m grateful this book is in the world.

Laresnova

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She’s dreaming of lighthouses again.

Still and silent in her bed she lies yet her mind rages in beauty as images of seas crashing on rocky shores flash vividly in black and white. There is a cliff that reaches higher than the rest of the surrounding land and sea and on that cliff points a lighthouse up to the heavens. At the base of the lighthouse is a little path that winds to the edge of the cliff. On this edge stands two figures silhouetted against the grey sky. These figures, one taller and one smaller, are slightly angled towards one other, as if to protect each other from the winds swooping down on them from above. Down at the base of the cliff the sea pounds relentlessly in rhythm that the spray echoes back in delight. Back on the top of the cliff the two figures huddle closer together. Wrapped in long and bulky outerwear, these figures still seek to conserve warmth in a hug that lingers in its intimacy. Dark clouds move closer to the island yet there is no rain. The sea spray calls louder in sweeter harmony with the low percussion of far off thunder. One of the figures raises a hand pointing to the heavens. The other figure moves closer still to the first. Symmetry of sea below and sky above as both reach to meet the other in stormy union. The two figures break apart and pull up their hoods. They stay a moment longer as the rain washes down upon them in sheets, the pure water washing down upon the rocks and lighthouse and figures alike. One figure laughs out loud, her laugh joining the song of skies and rocks and seas. The other figure pulls her close and together they walk up the path back towards the lighthouse. The light next to the door burns cheerily. The figures pull open the door and enter in. The lighthouse now stands alone on a cliff. The lightning flashes once, twice. Again it flashes. The seas below roar in delight and dance towards the cliffside in chaotic beauty. There is light behind her eyes as she opens them wide. Still and silent in her bed she lies thinking on these things she’s dreamed and wondering what they mean.

She doesn’t mind these lighthouse dreams that call back memories so aching sweet. And she sighs in harmony with the song of that sea spray.

Teatime

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I have been trying to write winter poetry and failing miserably. Alas it is not to be this night. Hence I switch to prose, the last resort of the poet who refuses to believe his muse is dead. Or temporarily incapacitated. One hopes only temporarily. But sometimes the fire burns within and one simply must write or else he feels as if his soul will crumple in on itself like a big ball of wadded up notebook paper that is scrunched so tight that it may yet yield to the tendency to become a black hole. Yes, that is the correct feeling, finally put in words to burn in their very temporal state. But where was I? Ah yes, talking of poetry and poets and their unsurprising failures. As for me, switching to prose often feels like a defeat, yet I long to snatch victory from its jaws yet. I too am a shepherd boy – or at least I attempt to model myself after one such – and so I too can fiercely extricate this prized lamb from the lion’s jaws. Scratch that last. Dreadful metaphor, quite mixed in theme and usage. To continue. Sometimes prose pieces are fun, sometimes they turn out dreadful too. This one feels whimsical and experimental enough, I am actually somewhat pleased. It amuses me, I will allow it to live. Oh how merciful am I. Now for the piece at hand.

I really did mean to write some winter poetry as I just returned from a lovely walk on this January evening. Finally my humble southern state has been blessed with weather that feels like winter. Temperature in the mid-40s and a nice dry air and a stunning sunset to boot? What have I done to be blessed with such beauty? Well, nothing of course. It’s not all about me. Instead, the glory belongs to another. Musings such as this rolled around in my head as I walked down the sidewalk in my little neighborhood. I thought of the interplay of the small neighborhood with the sky above. The small old houses seem so feeble when compared with the majesty of a winter sunset sky. The clouds stretch up and up, set on fire by the last triumphal notes of the setting sun. The trees contribute a chorus, their branches finally shed of their overly ragged autumnal garments. The branches stretch up and out and contrast nicely against the blues and purples and oranges. But the houses? They seem a bit timid and bashful, their structures not at all suited to be seen in company with the artistry of heaven. An outlier though? The power lines. The power lines start on poles which masquerade nicely as slender wintry trees…and then the lines swoop gracefully, firm and delicate and subtle all at the same time as they highlight the brilliant colours of the twilight. Seeing the power lines hug the sky just as I hug my own arms to myself – well, it brings me a cosy satisfaction. I find delight in the way the mundane creations of this world complement the creations of the one who existed before this world began. It is a thrill to think on such and imagine that just as the power lines point to something greater, so too am I privileged to rest my eyes on the fires of heaven and sing praises to the one on high. Am I also allowed to compliment this moment as my figure somehow complements this scene in which I walk? What does it look like, this frail and faded creation walking on the sidewalk this winter night? Am I too allowed to be thought of as the mundane that points to the beautiful a bit beyond my mortal sight? My temporal hand stretches forth to the eternal. The power lines continue to vibrate in holy tension and I sigh. The sliver of dusk shivers in anticipation of resurrection glories and the waxing starlight sings of a story not yet done. The book is written and the ending sure. But for now, turn one page at a time. Faithfully I read on, now a candle lit beside me as I let my mind slip back to the present. Yet still I remember the stark beauty of that cold and perfect winter sunset sky.

The Pond at Camelot

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Why does she keep writing? I wish to echo her song but I keep finding myself left behind. There’s a piece of magic in the pieces that proceed from her pen, a poetry that expresses itself in such a manner that would be envied by the Romantics of yesteryear. I find myself speechless. Hence why I retreat back to my own garret and proceed to scribble responses that I’d never dare send to her. Her writings stand alone, dominant and unshakeable in their conviction of the beauty that thrills the soul. My writings would be merely reflections, meaningless apart from the source. Perhaps I could dialogue with her and sharpen her analysis of the true nature of the world. Perhaps I could send her a fond note in which I drop a few hints that she’s persuaded me too. Perhaps the only worth I have is in holding a candle up to the parchment pages that she’s filled with life. I cannot use any other word for it. Her poetry is life itself, bursting and singing forth the bones of reality itself. Do you see that cherry tree out yonder past the stone wall? I’ve sat there many times, holding up its trunk with my stiff neck. Yet it was not until I read her lines that I truly grasped the beauty of a cherry blossom in spring, even though my eyes surely must have at many times seen that very sight. The tinder is carefully laid and the wood is prepared near to hand. I cannot argue against the testimony of my heart that cries out in the night. Sometimes it seems the night mutterings are more true than the daytime blatherings. I would walk up and shake her hand but I fear she’d turn away knowing I was not worthy. I am not worthy. I walk up to the bookshelves that line this room and run my finger across every spine. The way is prepared and the path is cleared. Where is the spark? I wait for it to fly for only then will I be prepared to die. Her poems speak of dustpans and green curtains and islands in the blue. And even when she talks of teatime at dusk in all its mundanity, I see it, that hope of that which is to come. I pull up a chair and lay down my book. It opens to a proper page for of course it does. She smiles and reaches out her hand. Trembling, I hold out mine.

Tears Upon the Angel’s Face

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Book review post! (Surprise!)

68. Art and Fear by David Bayles & Ted Orland. A book about making art and all the perils that come with. Was a bit disappointed by it as I think maybe I expected something a bit more profound? Yes, the authors weren’t trying to write a treatise on the meaning of Art or about what comprises art (Everything? Nothing?) and they also weren’t necessarily trying to classify who belongs in the Artist category. Yet still? This book felt both a bit perfunctory and a bit unfocused. Definitely a few good takeaways here and there (especially the idea that the very creation of a particular piece of art is something done only once, as the artist is given of himself at a particular moment in time and the process of creating necessarily changes both the artist and the world in that moment) yet perhaps this is a book that should be read all at once. I may have done it a disservice by reading it disjointedly over the span of two weeks. I did enjoy mulling over the idea that the only work worth doing is that which is focused on something the artist cares about. Only that is “true art”, perhaps? Maybe I was not the right audience for this work. Very much felt like the authors were writing to “professional” artists, those who make their living from their art (or at least want to). Is it possible to be an artist who creates art yet not be an Artist? Maybe? The authors didn’t really engage with this. Also was uncertain of a few statements made that we can only really make art that dialogues with the ethos in which we live – obviously making religious art in these post-modern days doesn’t really work, according to the author. Of course that’s me stretching the point perhaps farther than the author meant to imply, yet I was amused at the idea that all of us today are so monolithic in thought that certain old ideas are no longer feasible as artistic subjects. I would beg to differ, as I would postulate (from at least my own experience) that religious truths are even now a very present concern and impetus for the creation of true Art. To sum up? Not a bad book by any means. But it feels a bit dated (even though it was written a bare 30 years ago!) and I don’t think adds much to the general conversation. If you are an aspiring professional artist? This would probably be at least mildly worthwhile.

Cinderella

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See how the lights dance now that the sun has set. Christmas lights would not be so marvelous was it not for the contrasting hues of darkness that surround and infuse this little set apart neighborhood ensconced in the metropolitan hustle and bustle. She walks down the sidewalk and gazes in wonder at the waterfall of light that adorns the high and haughty trees that guard this one corner house. The house itself is a bit humble, no gaudy pillars or high balconies to proclaim its worth. But the family that dwells therein – for surely it is a family, for why else would the little soccer goal sit on the front lawn? – has decided to throw itself into the dance of the advent season with joy and to spare. There are little lights everywhere on the house – white lights, coloured lights, sparkling lights, LED lights and little fat bulb lights. Somehow it skirts the right side of the tacky or classy divide and it all just feels right. Or so the girl decides as she stands between the feature that imparts the most joy to her heart. For all the trees have strings of light descending from them. These strings sway gently in the cold December wind and the effect is as if the stars of heaven are dancing down a stairway to mingle with the souls of earth. Who knows how high of a ladder was needed to cover the trees of this yard with such a festive bouquet of lights, but the mechanics of the light parade do not bother the girl at this moment. Instead she simply hugs herself in awe at the wonderous lights that play across her smiling face. Her scarf pulled snug around her neck and her gloves red in the glow, she presents a pretty sight herself. There is something wholesome and beautiful about a girl who is so sweetly thrilled. And this evening is one she shall always remember. She needs to go home and put on a pot of tea and heat up the leftovers, but for now? She can spare a moment just to rest and let her heart be filled this quiet little December night.

Shoreline

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The room was full of paper, reams of it, heaps of it! And he waded through the paper as one trudges through the midwinter snow, grimly stepping through it as he knew he must. He feared he was damaging beyond the point of no return hours of scribbling. And he knew better than most the pains that these writings had inflicted upon her heart. But there was nothing for it now if he was going to reach where she now lived beyond world’s end. Fascinating, was it not, how quickly treasured mementos become waste paper. But this room that had harbored so many midnight hours of fevered creation now felt a bit hollow and empty. Almost it felt as if this room knew at its core that she was gone, gone forever. He reached the table next to the bed and saw the candle still flickering an inch above the little chipped porcelain saucer. She had not been gone long, as this world counts time. But why had she emptied her trunks of writing, why had she torn out the pages of years of journaling, why were her poems scattered far and wide throughout this room that had heard so many years of song and tears? Had she taken any poems with her? That was the question. He reached down a hand into the gently swirling depths of paper at his feet and pulled out a piece at random. It was a sheet he recognized, unsurprisingly. An ode to summertime. He smiled – it was one of her quirky silly ones, lilting in meter and light in tone. At the bottom she’d sketched a quick daisy. That had been a good day, one of hiking through lush green meadows and laughing at the play of waterfalls. There had even been a picnic, as is proper on a full summer day such as that had been. And she’d written that right on the bank of the stream after their stomachs had been filled with sandwiches and chips and carrots. He’d been half-asleep across the stream, gazing up at the way the light fluttered amongst the canopy of green above.

He smiled now, and wiped away the tear that threatened to fall. Oh Isabel, where are you? And why have you left me now amidst the detritus of your most treasured writings? Harry shook his head in fear, wondering what his next step was to be. He stood in the middle of an ocean of paper and felt as if he was a rock shivering underneath the midwinter rain off the coast of southern England. Oddly specific to be sure, but that was the last place he had seen Isabel and so the thought came natural. Here were the remnants of all Isabel’s dreamy musings. Harry fumbled through his pocket and pulled out his phone. No texts. There had not been any these many months but hope is oddly unrealistic at times. He looked around him at the paper swamping what had once been Isabel’s room and he sank to his knees. There was no time to waste. And so he gazed at the sheets of paper all around and looked up at the weathered ceiling and finally finally began to pray.

Hello there!

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For some strange reason, I’ve got a weird desire to watch Star Wars – Revenge of the Sith right now…so imagine the subject line as said by Obi-wan to Grievous.

And wow, what an odd opener to this entry! Maybe I haven’t gotten enough sleep yet? See my update last night for more details on that…

Anyways though, I’m sitting in Starbucks now, enjoying my deliciously crafted peppermint mocha as I sit in peace, some chill big band music playing in the background. Saw Steph when I came in this morning – she and the family finally got back from Portugal last week – someday I must visit there! Anyway, finally everyone is coming back from their holidays – John is back from the States, but I haven’t seen him yet – he’s been recovering from jet lag with his parents in Montrose. Hopefully he comes back to the flat tonight or tomorrow!

Last night was…interesting. I was hoping to see a movie or something with people, but thankfully pretty much everyone was already busy, because then I ended up having to work late. Not fun, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. Cameron, you owe me one.

And this feels like a really random entry – caffeine fueled madness, perhaps? I really only am writing this because I wanted to at least write a few words about last weekend! Like I mentioned earlier, yes – I was in London. Olympics, y’all!!

I think it was a couple weeks ago at evening church when me and Joel were talking about how sweet it would be just to go down to London for the Olympics. We said it half-jokingly. Then looked at each other…”Wait, why *don’t* we?” So we bought airplane tickets without even having any Olympic tickets, figuring we’d find some! Joel eventually found some marathon(10k) swimming tickets before we headed off to London…

So last Thursday night, we made our way down to London. After dashing through Heathrow, picking up our bags, taking the tube, then getting detoured onto a bus(with a small side-trip into a pub to watch Usain Bolt’s 200m domination!)…we finally, finally got to Joel’s friend’s house. A couple frozen pizzas later, we collapsed into bed. Friday morning dawned bright(Seriously, it was amazing weather my whole time in London…sunny and warm. I have never seen it rain in London. Due to this, I have concluded it never does) and we made our way to Hyde Park for marathon swimming!

We had sweet seats in the grandstand, so after picking up some souvenirs(shirt for me, hat for Joel), we settled down to watch the action on the Serpentine. Our seats were definitely prime – we had the Aussie Olympic swim team in the rows right in front of us. Anyways, as the sun beat down on us, we enjoyed our packed sandwiches as we watched some beast athletes swim 10k. A guy from Tunisia won, sadly no one from USA or GB got on the medal stand. One of the swimmers was about 15 minutes behind everyone else, but Joel and I couldn’t really poke fun at him, seeing as neither of us probably could have swum even one kilometer.

And wow, I better quicken up the pace here…or this is going to be one mammoth entry!! So after the swimming, we wandered over to a large public area in Hyde Park where they’d placed giant TV screens showing all the Olympics action. There were thousands – no, TENS of thousands – of people there, just soaking in the atmosphere and enjoying the sweet sport of the Games! We watched Team GB win the bronze medal in woman’s hockey and finally decided to make our way to a more secluded area of the park…where we just lay back on the grass, watching the clouds float through the gorgeous blue sky as the oak trees stood sentinel over us. Oh what a lovely time did our Father give us!! I think relaxing with Joel in that quiet corner of Hyde Park was probably one of my favorite times of the whole weekend…

Anyways, to try and speed this along – we eventually met up with a friend of Joel’s for some curry, enjoying eating outside in the oh so lovely weather!

Now – next day, Saturday! Woke up, had toast and coffee…and since I’d brought my laptop, me and Joel checked for available tickets online, since we had none for the day. Every time we checked, there was nothing, so our hopes were low and our expectations nil. Finally, about ready to leave the house and head to the tube station, but we decided “One more time.” Checked online…and wait. Volleyball tickets? I told Joel, “DO IT.” And he bought us a pair! We had no idea who was playing, but it didn’t matter, we had tickets!

As we sat in the tube, merrily speeding to Earl’s Court to pick up our tickets, we perused one of the London dailies and found the match we’d bought tickets for – women’s hardcourt vball finals. Gold medal match! USA v. Brasil, winner take all!! PSYCHED.

And so with that happy news, we set out to enjoy the rest of the day. Went back to Hyde Park to watch some Olympics action with the masses(truly, there were so many people…people from all around the world, all excited to watch the best athletes of the world) then relaxed a bit more in the Park. He called Laura(his gf) to chat while I talked to Maryanne for a while. Oh I miss my fam sometimes.

Anyway, eventually we decided it was time to head over to Earl’s Court to catch the vball game! We made it to our seats and settled in. There were far more Brasilian fans than Americans…and they were much louder too. I don’t want to say that was a contributing factor, but I’m sure it didn’t hurt. Our girls took the first set in fine style, but after that…all Brasil. They played with passion and fire and our American ladies just could not stop them. Alas. Still, viva Brasil! A great match and just to be able to watch it in person with Joel…awesomeness. After the game, it was great watching the Brasilian women clown around, enjoying their victory. The American ladies stood there disconsolately…I felt bad for them.

Anyways, me and Joel finally made it back to the house, and then on Sunday, back to Aberdeen! For some reason I decided to come to church that night, even though I was feeling exhausted. Ah well, always good to worship with my friends!

And wow, I think it’s time for this entry to come to a close, but I just wanted to chronicle this Olympics adventure before the memory began to fade…truly, such a sweet gift our God gave me, to have this chance and to be able to enjoy it so! And truly, the best part was just being able to hang with Joel and adventure through London with him…and enjoy ever so much the friendship our God has given us.

And thinking again upon the Olympics – why do I enjoy them so? Well, I do so love seeing the power of men and women plunging through the waters…the fastest men in the world speeding down the homestretch…the utter grace as gymnasts soar high above the earth…citius, altius, fortius. It is a joy. But why? I think partly just because the beauty of the human form and ability is so apparent. The human form that was made in the image of God. Tarnished, yes. But that glory can still be partly seen…and so to see what God had made, I cannot help but rejoice in Him, our Saviour, our God! Oh but would all see it so!! One day. One day.

And now, time for me to exit Starbucks into the bright sunlit day above. Think I’m gonna pick up a birthday book for a friend and then figure out what I want for dinner. Meatloaf or beef stew, y’all? I can’t decide. Or maybe just hamburgers and potatoes? We’ll see. All I know – I desire a restful remainder of my day. And I think my Lord is granting that to me.

Have a sweet day and pardon the length of this over-wrought entry. I’m out!

Peace upon the cobblestones,
clouds play the music of the sky-
A wreath bestowed to victors,
Delirious with joy I sigh!

Tick tock

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And almost the clock does strike midnight!

And where am I right now? Hm, sadly the correct answer to that question is – still at work. Yes, it is Friday night. Yes, it’s been a long week. And a thousand times yes, it’s been a very long day!

But wait, if it’s midnight, why am I on livejournal writing an entry instead of driving home and collapsing on my bed? Well, I don’t have the answer to that extremely good question, unless if it’s that I’m in a weird mood, on my way to being sleep zombified. Yes, I should probably go home now.

Anyways! Had to stay late to get this pressure test done to satisfy a very important customer(oh Diamond Drilling, how I love thee), but that ended about an hour ago. But did I go home then? No, went down to reception to let the customer out to find that the night guard and cleaning girls were having a pizza party! And what’s better than late night pizza? So I eagerly jumped in on that. Sean came by a few minutes later, and then somehow we found an hour had passed while we five chatted about things ranging from the perils of marriage to the intricacies of the Glaswegian language. Oh Scotland.

Sean finally left to go home and then I finally decided I should stop being silly and come up here to dash off an email to the customer summarizing the night’s testing. So that’s done, and somehow I found myself opening up livejournal and now I’ve typed all this. Wow. I need sleep. Should I delete this and just go home? Well, the answer to the latter is a definite yes, but I think I’ll leave this here for posterity. All I can say is- despite my long day – God is good. Truly, my heart sings to the Lord!! Despite my weariness and the many worries and cares of life…I need fear not. Sing joyfully, y’all! At a few difficult points today, I just found my heart uplifted as these words came to mind –

Sing alleluia to our God!

Oh I love you all. Have a most lovely evening while I go home to my bed!

Friday Vault

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So I realize I haven’t posted a Friday morning entry in quite some time! I suppose work just may have something to do with that. Nevertheless, before I start work on this lovely Friday morning, thought I’d write a few words…

As I drove in this morning, the sunlight blazed victoriously until the road started descending towards the River Dee. As I crossed the bridge, fog rolling across the waters, I was sad for a moment to see the sunlight vanish from the skies. But I had already seen the sun burning merrily in the sky and I thought to myself that surely it would burn through the fog soon enough. And as I continued driving along the coast, my car escaped the tendrils of fog and broke into the sunlit summer morning once again. I smiled.

And now I must start work momentarily, but briefly – the Olympics are oh so awesome this year…I’m much enjoying the cornucopia of sports events every night this past week! Got to watch some great swimming last night(complete with Phelps domination of the 200 IM – 20th Olympic medal, what!) and as I was about to turn off the TV and go to bed, they mentioned they were going to show gymnastics highlights at 10. I had no idea who’d won the women’s all-around, so I groaned to myself and just decided to read a book and stay up to watch the gymnastics too! Enjoyed watching Gabby Douglas take the gold there! And so a delightful Olympics evening was had…only thing that could make it better was if I was watching it with my family.

And this was far longer than I was expecting to write. Still, only one other person in the office, but think it’s time I went to work.

Farewell all, enjoy a marvelous Friday!!!