I know that I chose a Ray LaMontagne song a few weeks ago or so for one of my Sunday songs. But this one is so good I had to share it.
I've been listening to this song ALL week....on the iPod, on the computer, in the car. The funny thing is that I've heard the song on the CD a bunch of times, but this week I actually "heard" it for the first time. If that makes any sense?
I sort of wish that we could have a National How Come Day and blare this song down in D.C. and all over the country. But that's just me and my wacky way of looking at things.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy the song.
And I hope you like listening to it rather than reading the lyrics.
I'm having some formatting problems doing it this way. Like I can't post a label. And Rav says that I still should type the lyrics.
You all will have to tell me what you think.
But don't forget to enjoy the song first!
I'm honored and flumoxed.
And I don't know what to do about this because a lot of the people that I would pick have been chosen already.
I think most of you know the rules but here they are just in case:
Connor's school, in an effort to promote early literacy, has this program called Book-In-A-Bag. And for those not familiar, in the beginning of the year, parents sign a form saying they'd like to participate, then on Monday your child comes home with a book in a plastic ziplock bag, you send it back in on Friday and the process repeats.
Our House
The times spent in that house were my only recollection of being a "family". My dad continued to work days, my mom nights. This is where I fell in love with music. These are my earliest memories of music. This house - in the living room - is where I first heard Carly Simon on the radio singing "Jessie". Whereupon I said to my parents, "Jess. I like that name Jess. Just call me Jess." And they did.
And still do.
The three loves of my dad's life in '82
My dad & I in our front yard during our first winter at the new house.
(and the yellow is not in the snow, but a spot on the picture from age)
Like smoke that wafts up from an extinguished match, this was soon all gone.
I remember one day being home with my dad and I don't know what the precursor was, but he punched a hole in the wall. In front of me. I wasn't scared. I was sad that something made my dad that angry. Still to this day I don't know what it was all about. Probably just a stupid fight that escalated into something more.
I do know that at that very moment I realized that something was horribly wrong.
And I know I retreated.
I distinctly recall sitting on my bed, in my little girl room and looking around. I remember thinking to myself What if all of this isn't happening right now? What if all of this is just a memory? And really, I'm 16 sitting on this bed, in this room and this is just all a memory?
I also remember retreating to the spare room in our house while an argument raged on and someone was sitting with me. But no one else was there. Mom & Dad were in the other room raging, I was in the spare room....but there was a figure sitting next to me. It has always been one of the scariest, comforting memories that I have.
The memory that, to this day haunts me above all others though, is when it was all over. I don't remember what happened leading up to it. I don't remember anything after. All I remember is being loaded up in the car with my mom. Driving away from our house.
I turned around and looked out the rear window. And there standing in the driveway, all alone
was my dad.
The fear, the dread, the shame, the guilt washed over me in ways I still feel as I type this right now. I remember thinking inside This is wrong. I need to go back.
I couldn't say a damned thing. My voice may as well have been laying like a lump of glistening saliva on the driveway next to my dad's feet. I was limp. I had no words, no sounds. I had become momentarily mute.
I'm pretty sure that's the day I stopped being a little girl. That's the day the carefree attitude of a happy, well-adjusted little girl were lost and gone forever. That's the day I became so heavy.
I know that with that, there were battles in court to be lost or won.
Mom won.
I knew that was a mistake. But I had no way to say that. No one asked. And there was no one to listen.
After that, the two parties convened at my grandmother's house (my mom's mom). Another flash of memory and my dad is walking briskly - with me in his arms. We end up at the 7-11 near my grandmother's house. I think we get a soda or something. I look to my left, out the huge glass doors and there are more police cars in that one small parking lot than I had ever seen in my life.
And they were there for me.
I have always loved this picture of my grandparents.
When my grandfather & grandmother were first married, they were living abroad in Korea, Japan and then the Philippines, as my grandfather was in the military. My grandmother, I know, looks at these years as the happiest of her life. If I'm not mistaken, my uncle was born in the Philippines and then the young family moved back to the States shortly thereafter.
My grandparents entertaining. He is at the head and my
grandmother is opposite at the far-end.
My grandfather was very involved with his boys. Teaching them to fish, spending time outdoors, raising cattle on the farm, hunting, Boy Scouts, etc. He was very hands-on, from what I understand. I know that my Dad and Uncle still light up when reminiscing of the short time they spent with their father and the mark he left upon them forever.
This one I've been working on for a year & need to get of my butt.
It's for my BFF's grandson who is ONE now!
I enjoy playing with the colors, the designs, the patterns, the tedium.
However, the thing I think I like least is going to the fabric store.
As I walk back to where the fabrics are I become high. I'm excited by the prospect of the project, but start shaking as I look at the rows and rows of fabrics.
I imagine this must be what it feels like to be an addict. I get high.
This one I just started for friends of ours who are expecting a baby in May.
I know what I want: to make a quilt for someone.
I know what I have to do: pick fabric.
But there are just so many options.
When I walk in, usually, with no pattern yet decided upon. And not necessarily a color scheme picked.
I walk the aisles, in a fit of jonesing, and touch the fabric, look at the fabric, until I "feel" what is the right one.
This is my general state-of-mind with almost any project.
Last night was my first class of this half of the semester. Pyschology of the Exceptional Child.
Good lord, my head already is going to explode.
The instructor began by saying all of the things about exceptional children that I was trying to say the other day in my post about Connor and people around children with exceptionalities/issues being more aware, more in-tune, more willing. I found myself saying in my head... yes,Yes!, Yes!
Then she began talking about the work we had to do this semester. And one rather large one in particular.
We have to choose a topic regarding exceptionalities, pick 5 medical/professional articles, cite them, annotate them and present them.
She gave us time at the library to start looking at our topic.
And wouldn't you know, it's as if I'm back in the fabric store.
There are just so many options.
And I feel passionate about them all. How do I pick just one?
Certainly I can jump on my soap-box about ADHD, treatment/nontreatment, behavioral/emotional issues, tactile defensiveness in correlation to ADHD, special ed. vs. inclusion, demographics, etc.
But I already know so much about the issue from living it. Which could be helpful.
However, my stepmother works with deaf/hard of hearing. She could lend some insight to their community and speaking/signing v. non.
And my mom, who has spent the last 10 years working with an Autistic adult in his workplace as his job coach, and how that program is being inundated with other mental health impaired and sex offenders because the state doesn't know where to put them.
Oh.dear.lord. My head is going to explode.
And nothing excites me more than reading, researching, exploring, learning, discussing, and sharing the information. Which, truth-be-told, has gotten me in trouble in the past. As I'm being asked to do these things for a grade, by someone who is actually interested in hearing different ideas, I'm already feeling the tingles of excitement and mental stimulation.
These projects, as much as they excite me, make me crazy. It is so hard to nail myself down to one. I guess I have to let my fingers do the walking on the internet today. I'll have to "touch" the articles, the different exceptionalities. And hopefully one will feel right.
This indecision and excitement I feel kills me. I feel unsettled until I can land on just the right one.
