It’s 2:21 a.m. and it’s true that there are a lot of bowling alleys here, but I have yet to enter one.
I’m in Milwaukie, Oregon now writing in the middle of the night.
Clearly it is still the middle of the night. Nearly, it is the middle of the night still.
I’m muting the music for a bit, just to check. Yep. It is still, but less and less middle, so I better start writing and get this out of my head so the sun can rise and the sweet kiss of dawn will not be tarnished by the night and seriously we are not getting any younger, so holy crap. . .
You can tell already that this is gonna be a freestyle post. I am just guessing here, because of my new mantra IHNI, “I have no idea!”, that it ain’t the last of the freestyle rambles, and I suspect (ihni) that some of them are going to be more free, less style, and maybe more ramblin’ but I can cut the rambling off, okay? I do need that free, however, and I shall impart some style to all of it.
I am up for it.
You? I have placed a rather large wager that you are too.
First, the music. It is Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto Number 3 on the radio, and it is the final movement and I am writing and the night has three hours left in it.
[2:47:55 a.m. PDT the glory of Sergei just ended]
<mute <tuner input disabled <video input--plug phone into jack--queue playlist "59" (the little mix I made for my birthday self and theyasked me to do the music for class and now they count on it so yea I am not entirely in exile and i enjoyed thinking about just what songsto include, and i gotta consider the hearers you know, that is the most difficult part in all of this, Lord, those who have ears let them hear, sure, but there is so much to tell them that i have to use different voices, right? like you do. Oh, God, like you do yes! the way you speak is right now blessing me thank you thank you thank you. and i am not alone, you are here too . . . in my own playlist that is not my own, not my own it is his, for them, with you. i played this at church yesterday <play . . . glory. beauty (I swear). shared. thank you. <adjust volume
When I woke up, why? (ihni) I just stared at one clock (it’s my new back up alarm in case my phone dies before I do), and then I did check my phone and then I did minor chores and then rerouted some wiring and then checked the other clock, the one with the spring, and I wound and reset it ( i am counting on this older clock and must remember to keep it wound up into a coil, that spring that is inside the gorgeous case, and all of it keeping time), and then I cleaned a shelf and got some things out for breakfast later and then at whatever time it was (IHNI!) my left hand just went up to <POWER <UNMUTE (it’s low-level by default so you don’t blast yourself in the morning with last night’s volume)<TUNER, and the announcer at that precise moment said,
“And now it is the Piano Concerto Number Three by Sergei Rachmaninoff”.
And you know, I am up for it God. This miracle.
Bring it on.
All the wonder, the glory, the gut-wrenching longing, the waiting, the confusion, the trust, this waking up in the night, (two hours to go, yea), and the way that I get a taste and a glimpse and have the time right now, and folks will be fine, and it is true God, what everyone is saying, that I need some time. Fine. Thanks. That ain’t all I need . . .
It’s your gift, gracious Father, that they made a cut in my flesh to fix something and now they won’t let me work, to deliver, for another week, because I cannot lift. But I am also in new digs and in exile and so I can use this time. And I still get paid, but I need to be careful at so many levels. Ugh, there are a lot of levels, IHNI! Oh well.
For your gifts. Your presence, the Beauty that has saved my life. And the touch of the moments of more.
I am yours.
Bring it on.
I’m up for it.
Track One <play
Track 27 <play
continuous compiling, shuffle, infinite loop, do not end . . . you are not alone. up for it up for it up for it