Let’s talk (new) music

I have a favorite artist named NF. So far I’m the only one I know that’s a huge fan, I assume that’s because we’re all loners, and probably have issues that are difficult for others to understand. That’s okay though, the music unites us.

He has a new album out titled Therapy Session and I just keep listening to a song called Wish You Were Here.

I’m not going into this to much, but I thought I’d share a part that just makes me desperately wish that I could talk to him;

You took them pills for the last time didn’t you

They took you from us once, guess they came back to finish you

Crying my eyes out in the studio is difficult

Music is the only place that I can go to speak to you

Took me everything inside of me to not scream at your funeral

The song is about him loosing his mom to a drug overdose. That’s not something that’s happened to me- but loss, I get that, and the anger/loss combo is especially hard. I get really funky around the topic of death, and I don’t really deal with it to well.

The anger- I battle with forgiveness, and that’s an understanding that I wish I could convey to this guy that’s in a lot of pain, but I can’t. I can’t  express my own experience, I haven’t touched on it here, don’t know if I ever will.

Maybe it’s meant for us to feel this way, for the greater good or something? I don’t know, maybe it’s meant to help another generation, or to bring us together, or something. Who knows?

The things that make a house a home

Good news, we just got a washer and dryer delivered. It’s a stackable (all we had room for) but it’s actually normal sized once you peak inside. It’s not hooked up yet, but still a relieve to know that I can do laundry like a normal person instead of these long days at the laundry mat. It’s just that basic white kind, not the energy efficient ones. I think it’s cute, gives me a homey feeling.

Our laundry room is small, it doubles as a pantry. Right now it’s a disorganized mess (all my mess) but it’s one of my favorite parts of the house because it’s something I visualized for a long time. It’s part of what used to be our back porch.

There is a lot of character built into that one little addition.

It’s weird, even with all the work this house has taken, and all the money it’s sucked up, it’s still not perfect, but I love this little place. It’s maintained that made-by-hand feeling that old houses have, mostly because working on an old house means you have to literally fuss with every single little detail until it’s right.

I think it’s different too because the people who live here have worked to make this their home. It doesn’t have that same generic stamp that say “I was build by professional ‘slap your house together’ home builders.”

The kids worked hard, got splinters, all that. I obsessed over the “demo” because it really freaks me out to have people come rip apart a house that I love. Adam found hard working guys who have big hearts and a lot of character combined with a “can do” attitude.

The two who built the addition were older guys who drank on the job, slapped you on the back, and called you buddy because they don’t actually remember anyone’s names, yet still want to make everyone feel comfortable.

I felt so strong because I could raise heavy buckets of plaster over my head to fill a dumpster- like is was nothing, then these two show up carrying huge beams, and build walls and roofs like it’s nothing… put me back in my place.

Anyways, I just wanted to say that I am inspired to work on this perfectly flawed/  full of love/ adorable/ new/ old/ amazing place that I get to call my home.

Books and reading

I’ve started reading a new book Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs. It’s the kind of book that once you pick it up and start reading it’s very hard to put down. I’m about a third of the way in.

I’ve been searching for this book, my local used book store hasn’t had one in, and Wal-Mart was my only other local option. Since I don’t get away from here… ever… it was my only option and I’ve been checking since before Christmas.

I first discovered it because their was a “trailer” for it on YouTube, and another video that was more of a documentary of the authors journey in making these two creations; the book, and the trailer.

Anyways, the main character is a fifteen year old named Jacob. He was close to his grandfather who had escaped Europe during WWII. His Grandpa was more of a hero/mentor to him, he told Jacob stories of when he was young, their where monsters after him, but he found a safe place on an island to live that kept other children like him  protected from the monsters. (AKA he was a Jewish Immigrant hiding from Nazis)

In his last moment of life he give Jacob a string of clues to follow. Now Jacob is on the Island, and has found the house that his Grandpa lived in, but he’s still trying to unravel the rest of the mystery.

I’ll let ya know what I think when I’m done, but so far I am enjoying this one a lot. It’s kinda making me rethink my own story telling in the book I’ve been writing (or attempting to write)



The check out hag


I colored this picture out of a kids (or my) coloring book. It was one of those days I refused to let things get to me.

It worked for the most part, but by then end of the night there were still things that weighed heavily on my mind.

That’s how it’s been lately.

I filled my pond with water but it leaked out by the next night. I’ll to go over everything again to make sure it’s water proof.

Nights I drag myself into the kitchen to warm up something in the microwave; the kids scarf it down.

Days I plan the most perfectly executed meal- they hate all food that involves ingredients.

This only scratches the surface.          If that.


the apple tree I finally planted! 

Today while standing in line at the grocery store; the guy in front of me said he’d be right back, he grabbed a 12 pack of soda, and was right back. No harm done, it’s such a small store.

The cash register lady (or should I say hag?) ripped him up and down over leaving his groceries half loaded onto her lane. She kept saying you can’t do that, and that it ran her behind, she demanded that he apologize to everyone in line, and to the next register over for putting more pressure on them.

She even took three people behind him (minus me because I wouldn’t budge) no one knew what was happening.

I’m leaving a lot out, but it was very uncomfortable.

I waited a long time until there was no one around. My blood boiled although I promised myself to stay calm.

I waited. I could tell she knew I was standing behind her, I didn’t care. She was shifty now, uncertain, and for good reason. EXTRA POLITE.

Eventually we were alone, and (even though I promised myself to stay calm) I stepped close to her and said;

“You don’t have to be so demeaning.” I know I had my blank psychotic face on because I can’t help it with these feelings.

“That guy in front of me was a nice guy, he just forgot something, you were very demeaning and rude to him, and he was nice. It happens, people forget to get things. You where hard on him in front of everyone and he was humiliated because of you.”

She was apologizing profusely,  my brain told me to keep on walking, but my heart couldn’t let it go.

She apologized more and more, even made excuses; “He seemed like such a nice guy…” I said as my milk fell from the bottom of my cart.

I picked it up and placed it in the lil kid seat… “and you where so mean….”

That’s how I left it.


I had a feeling when I got in line. Now I wonder how paranoid she is that this’ll make it to her supervisor.

It wont. It was her that I wanted to get to.

It’s weird. Once I was such a victim but now I downright refuse to let anyone feel victimized.

Well,  that’s all for now, I guess.


“I Am” – A 10-Year Old Boy’s Poem About Aspergers

Kindness Blog

“My 10-year-old son with Asperger’s was asked to write a poem for school titled ‘I Am’. He was given the first 2 words in every sentence. This is what he wrote.”

10-Year Old Boy's Poem About AspergersSince it was first posted on Facebook April 10, the poem written by Benjamin Giroux has gone viral.

Another parent commented;

“So beautiful made me cry. I’m a single dad. My 14 year old son is autistic with Asperger’s. Reading this made me feel like I almost got to look into my son’s head.”

Having his son express so much emotion was something new for Benjamin’s father, Sonny Giroux.

He told Today.com;

“At first, we felt sad and hurt that he feels isolated, alone, misunderstood and odd at school. As the poem went on, we realized that he understands that he’s odd and that so is everyone else in their own way, which is what Ben wants everyone to…

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In Memory

I was taught that God grants us gifts, not so much for ourselves, but to use to inspire others. Other people benefit from our gifts more than we do. That should never mean that we give up on that thing we love, only to put it up on the top shelf of our closet to collect dust. This happens way to often.

I’d even say that we are all multi-talented; unfortunately it is hard to work these things into our lives.

Meet Wallace Hartley;


He was a man known for his strong principals and moral fiber.

Raised in a Methodist church, his father directed the choir, and Hartley would lead the seven other musicians that played aboard the Titanic, not only with his musical guidance, they also turned to him for moral guidance.

Long after his death (on April 15, 1912) he has found his way into my heart; inspiring me in many different areas of my life.

 I’d never seen this coming, although there are foreshadowing events that were pointing me here.

Hartley believed in and used music to calm and center himself and others. He believed it could be used to even prevent panic.

According to fellow musician John Carr “He often said that music was a bigger weapon for stopping disorder than anything on earth. He knew the value of the weapon he had, and I think he proved his point.”

Ellwand Moody from the Mauretania also said “I remember one day I asked him what he would do if he were on a sinking ship and he replied ‘I don’t think I would do better than play Oh God Help Me in Ages Past or Nearer, My God, to Thee.’”

I most likely wouldn’t have taken any of this to heart had I not visited the Titanic museum which brought it all to life once again. Sure I loved the Titanic story, the movie, etc. I just hadn’t related it so closely to everything in my life until recently.

The musicians were not ordered by the captain to play, they had every right to fight for their lives as so many of the people on board did. Hartley even excused them from the duty, although he himself had already planned on playing until the end. They stood by him. He made them stronger. The music centered them, calmed them.

They moved up the deck as the water rose until they could play no longer, after their final piece Nearer My God to Thee Hartley strapped his violin to his chest, and the rest is history. His body along with the violin was recovered from the sea ten days later.

Hartley and the other musicians were not super human by any means, they probably had no idea how they would react to the situation, although it seems that Hartley did give it some thought. Personally I admire them for their courage in the face of danger.

What Hartley did for those other musicians,  for the fellow passengers, it gives me chills, it  brings tears to my eyes, not matter how hard I try to fight them off.

I don’t know when or if this topic will ever be finished in my mind or my writing. I do plan on revisiting the museum in order to see the violin that was played during that final piece of music on the Titanic. I honestly don’t know how I’ll react to it, time will tell.


Thank You Wallace Hartley

Rest in Peace


Wallace Henry Hartley


A work in progress

I have been struggling to write my next post (which I intended to publish a couple days ago on a significant date)

Its a personal story/ history lesson/ striving to understand the meaning of life (and death) – kind of post.

What im trying to say is this; I’m still writing… In the meantime, think about what gift you have to offer people, and how you might use it in an act of courage/ bravery.