steak and potatoes

{via pinterest}

i spent last night with my parents. 


not the whole night, but enough of the night to have steak and potatoes and chocolate ice cream, and laugh until we wept with too much joy overflowing from the corners of our eyes. 


and then i leaned against the counter and talked to my mom. 


and we talked about the baby, and about everything else that comes in between. and we talked about life, like we haven't done in what feels like ages. life has been rushing and i feel like my family connections have gotten a little threadbare since the beginning of two dark purple lines. 


but we're all doing a show together this spring. mom and dad and me and baby too, all on stage together for the first time since i was thirteen. and connections form with theater lights and velvet curtains, just like they used to do when i was a child and i had my first tied pair of ballet ribbons draped over my arm. 


did you know steak and potatoes and chocolate ice cream and so much laughter could do so much? 


i think i'd forgotten. because i think i've allowed myself to retreat, to dwell too much and live too little. to wrap too many shaking fingers around fears and cling just that bit too tight. 

{via pinterest}

going home feels good sometimes. at the end of night, we got in our car and drove back to our little apartment with bills and laundry and pizza rolls in the freezer.


but going home feels good sometimes, to steak and potatoes and chocolate ice cream and the warmth of familiarity when things are too much to handle on our own. 


because two are better than one. and a bundle of sticks are better than two. and we're making our own stick bundle now, turning two to three, and five to six. 

well the sun is surely sinking down

but the moon is slowly rising

and this old world must still be spinning 'round

but I still love you

:: you can close your eyes :: brooke fraser ::

and so now i'm singing lullabies to the baby in my stomach, the same ones my mom sang to me when i was a little girl. and i'm repeating familiar melodies over and over again. 

cross shadows and repeated lines.

and steak and potatoes and chocolate ice cream. 

{thank you everyone for your patience with me as i figure out this pregnancy and my body's new way of life! giveaway winners from January are going up in a matter of minutes on the original post, and the new giveaway is up as of tomorrow morning!}

Tracks

I travel not to go anywhere, but to go.  I travel for travel's sake.  The great affair is to move.  ~Robert Louis Stevenson

So many things in this world captivate the poet in me.

So many little things that go unnoticed by most...somehow, they draw me in, whispering for me to tell their story and share the truths locked within their silent beating hearts.

I don't dare turn a deaf ear to their pleas.

Train tracks sing such a song to me...one that I simply cannot ignore.

They speak of so many things...

 -- of strength, for how many courageous brides clutched their carpet bags to their chests as the clicking of the wheels drew them closer and closer to their yet-unmet grooms...

When Jacob saw Rachel...he kissed her on the mouth and began to weep.

-- of bravery, for how much youths gaze upon the train doors, worn suitcases at their feet, preparing to carry their broken souls and sunken eyes home to aching-hearted parents with white ribbons tied to trees...

Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you.

-- of love, for how many pairs of hands have brushed from window to platform, with now only letters to  keep them together...how many hands returned empty, and how many brushed palm-to-palm again with silver and gold bands to caress one against the other. 

Place me as a seal over your heart...for love is as strong as death. 

Yes, train tracks speak of so many wonders. The burdens they bear are full to the brim with so many stories of love and loss, of seats cracked with snuggling and windows stained with tears of longing and brokenness. 

Train tracks sing these powerful melodies...

...melodies best not ignored. 

And there is the headlight, shining far down the track, glinting off the steel rails that, like all parallel lines, will meet in infinity, which is after all where this train is going. ~Bruce Catton

(Don't forget to enter DramaticElegance's current whimsical giveaway, running until the end of August 2011.)

Soundtrack

Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent. ~Victor Hugo

I breathe music.

It's been something that I've lived on since I was a tiny girl.

With a professionally-trained musician father and a mother with the singing voice of an angel, I was steeped in musical notes and treble clefs from the time I could walk.

I credit my parents with teaching me the value of putting my life to a soundtrack.

Every great movie has a soundtrack -- a score of music, a compilation of songs, a haunting melody. These notes speak more to the drama, strength, passion, and bloodlust of each pivotal moment than any detailed explanation ever could.

My life is no exception.

Maybe this is exposing more of my own quirks than I actually want to, but even still...

My life has a soundtrack.

My mood and my iPod run on very similar veins.

The rich, earthy tones of Imogene Heap and Joshua Radin speak to the mellowness...the twinges of romantic darkness that cling to the edges of my heart.

The light daisy-petal notes of Mika, Lenka, or Yiruma speak to the brightness and melodic tone of my spirit.

The powerpunch of Skillet, Anberlin, HIM, or Plumb generally refer to a bit of leftover angst lingering after a particularly strong moment of dark emotion.

The bouncy snap of some popular Top40 hit or the swish of a Michael Buble melody generally speaks to my growing need to move my body and dance like either a mad lunatic or a measured artist -- all mood-based.

The flooding rush of Brit Nicole, Brooke Fraser, Chris Tomlin, or Aaron Shust remind me for Whom I live...a musical way to remind me that I live for the One who broke my chains and set me free.

I could go on, but I think I've conveyed the idea.

Music runs through my veins like blood, scores cover my skin like invisible tattoos, and notes flood my head like flocks of brilliantly-hued butterflies over a dew-dusted meadow.

Music says what I can't. It screams when I have to be silent. It laughs for me when all I can do is cry, and it unveils those hidden corners of my soul that hurt too much to reveal.

So at the moments, when the echoes are screaming and the pain is flooding my lungs, threatening to drown me...

...I let the music breathe for me.

“'Sing and rejoice, O daughter of Zion! For behold, I am coming and I will dwell in your midst,'” says the LORD." ~Zechariah 2:10