Little Songs About Raindrops…

Where have you been? All two of you…where have you been?

I don’t remember when or where I discovered Lullatone. All I know is I really dig the sound. It’s perfect for reading, studying, thinking, even snoozing at my desk. It has a very “commercial-ly” vibe (not “commercial” as in sellout, popular, or whatever)…more like the background music for a TV commercial.

It also has a very childlike feel, one of wonder and whimsy. It’s exactly what this old coot needs on a course to try and rediscover some creativity.

A Sweatshirt for the Soul…

Cold, always cold so I put on the sweatshirt.

Sometimes the classic gray, others the navy blue.

New, as they were, since I was just reminded of their classic look.

Perfect for knocking about, puttering as it were around the house.

Yet, classic and kind of hip and cool,

At least for this old coot, classically unhip and uncool as could be.

Is there a sweatshirt for the soul, for the heart?

My Own Ecclesiastes Moment…

I want to sit and think and write and read and drink coffee and hide from the world. I want to be in the world among people with no fear or concern for a virus or such.

I want to laugh and I want to weep.

I want to fix the things that are wrong with my house and I want a new house.

I want to wake up from this funk and I want to sleep. I want to smile and I want to grimace.

I want to say I told you so and I want to hope for better things. I want to be right.

I want to be acknowledged. I want to make a contribution.

I want to shout and I want to pray. I want to sing and I want to mourn.

My own Ecclesiastes moment is here. Now. And vanity of vanities, all is vanity. Empty. Nothing. Chasing after the wind. A time to and a time to not.

Sound and fury, signifying nothing.

To All The Things I’ve Loved Before…

(This post first appeared in my morning pages on September 17, 2018.)

I used to love the South. Not the media caricature of the South as racist, crass, and ignorant. The South of grace and genteel charm and crisp October Saturdays and ma’am and sir and how y’all and all that. Polos and khakis and penny loafers with no socks and plaid in the spring, seersucker in the summer, and heather-toned Shetland in the brief winter.

I used to love shopping, going to the mall, browsing.
I used to love food. Cooking it, tasting it, sharing it.

I used to love Alton Brown’s podcast, where he interviewed creative folks of all kinds, not just foodies, but artists and poets and authors and whiskey connoisseurs and puppeteers and podcasters and such.

I used to love reading. Newspapers, magazines, books. Real dead-tree, dead-octopus kinds.

I used to love people. Meeting them, talking to them, learning about them, serving them.

I used to love this house. When it was new and big and cool and ours.
I used to love this community. When it was new and different and cool and ours.

I used to love to exercise.

I used to love preaching and preparing to preach and studying and standing in front of people and inspiring them and helping them think and act and do and become.

I used to love going and doing and seeing and experiencing and enjoying.

I used to love learning.
I used to love hoping and dreaming and anticipating and expecting.I used to love knowing there was always tomorrow, that things would work out, no matter how bad they seemed today.

I used to love going to church on Sunday. Even though it meant going to work, it was a good thing, a God thing. I was glad when they said unto me, and then I wasn’t.

I used to love.

I. Used. To love.
Once upon a time. In another time. As another person. As another me. In another place. In a different life. I used to love.

And then I didn’t any more.