LisaQ

 

Dimly tinted are the days

In shades of stone and sepia

But if it weren't for times like this

I wouldn't love Magenta

 

If it weren't for tears that fall

And wash the colors colorless

Bleeding fear and joy to one

I wouldn't love Magenta

 

Bursting through the morning sky

Then gone until the end of day

If it burned with every hour

It wouldn't take my breath away

 

So give me fog and gray sometimes

To keep me grateful for the Sun

'Cause if I had a perfect life

I wouldn't love Magenta

As I was putting my coat on this morning, I glanced out the window.  My breath caught in my chest as I took in the beautiful scenery.  Frost had settled on even the most unnoticed elements in the landscape, making it one of those mornings when you are reminded why winter can be so wonderful. 

 

God is an amazing artist.  Even the fence surrounding an abandoned gas station was beautiful this morning. 

 

He did a pretty good job with my kids too!

 

 

Today was my second time helping in the school gymnasacafatorium, and I got promoted from condiment duty to main course duty.  The main course was turkey and cheese sandwiches, and my job was to put the turkey and cheese  on the bun, then slide it over to the lunch nazi....I mean lady so she could put on the fries.  This is how I got my promotion:

 

ME:  Nonchalantly standing, in all my plastic-clad, hairnet fantasticness, right by the turkey and cheese tray, completely ignorant to the extra pressure that comes with serving the main course...

 

LUNCH LADY:  "Here they come, ok everybody, let's get ready."  Then she looks at me, standing by the main course and says:  "Ok, I suppose you can try meat and cheese, but if you fall behind, I'm putting you back on condiment duty.  Make sure you only give them one plate, make sure the top bun is on the top and not the bottom, and teachers get double portions.  You better keep up!"

 

ME:  "Keep up?  Er...ok...uh...like this? Is this how you do it?" (picture me frantically trying to put the turkey and cheese on the bun, keeping the top bun on the top, only picking up one tray, all the while, desperately searching her face for some hint of approval)

 

LUNCH LADY:  (cautiously)  "yeah, that's fine.....so far." 

 

Fortunately, her attention was diverted to the insolent kindergartners who had the gall to ASK NICELY for beans instead of raising their hands like they were supposed to. 

 

I can't say that I'm glad the kids were getting yelled at, but at least it took the pressure off of me for a while. 

 

Before I work lunch duty again, I think I'm going to find out what they're having, and do a practice run in my own kitchen before I get there.  You're welcome to come on over, and I'll serve you lunch.  But, if you don't raise your hands for the green beans, you won't get any.

My back went out on Saturday.   I'm hobbling around like I'm 90.  My tenor on worship team said this as he saw me walking into the sanctuary this morning:  "Hey, you look great today...in a disfigured, contorted kind of way."

 

It's my wild lifestyle.  I know I need to mellow out, and act my age.  This getting-up-from-a-chair-to-answer-the-phone business has got to stop. 

 

Pray that I learn to settle down a bit.

Burt was Blue

Cause Mr. Green is through

On his perch, just emptiness

But Sandra's glad

That might seem bad

But Mr. Green made such a mess

Bree shed tears

No more chirping she hears

But soon, the tears will end

He was bit by the mutt

Now, Mr. Green's being stuffed

So Burt can still see his friend

 

Kee...pass this along as our condolences to our dear friends in their time of mourning.

The phone is ringing at every commercial....

Disgusted groans are coming from the family room....

A British man is making people cry....

People all over the U.S. are cancelling piano lessons, basketball, book clubs, and church meetings to get home by 7pm....

 

AMERICAN IDOL HAS BEGUN

As of 7:45 this morning, the official time the Q's leave for school, it was -10F.  I think we've found every pair of gloves, every hat, and all of our clean socks.  Let's hope the girls don't fall on their way in to the school...they're so puffy, they won't be able to get up.

It is 10:00...and is now...-4. 

It was 1 degree this morning....that's farenheit, mind you.

 

 

The other day, I picked up the girls from school.  I had John Coltrane's Love Supreme going in the cd player.  After about five minutes of listening Sarah says:  "I know this song.  This is one of those fancy restaurant songs.  You know....the kind of songs they play at fancy restaurants....like Applebees or Carabbas."  (Applebees a fancy restaurant?  I guess compared to a happy meal at McDonalds, she's right!)

 

That's what jazz is to most of the world.  I'm still trying to figure out what it is to me.  I bucked even listening to jazz for years because it seems like everyone says they like jazz.  It's the "cool" music to like, so I didn't want to like it.  There are no power chords. (or are there?)  The rhythms don't land like they "should" sometimes. The chords strike me funny and make me turn my head like a dog hearing a high pitched noise.  And yet, there are recurring themes and patterns that twist and intertwine, that surface, then disappear, and then resurface in a new way.  Just when I figure it out, it takes a turn on me.  Sometimes I like that.  Sometimes it frustrates me.   Here's my black turtleneck sweater, gotee, beanie and sunglasses description of jazz:  It reminds me of a leaf that is gently blowing along.  It never stops for long, or lands with a thud somewhere,  but instead swirls and moves, joining other leaves and then separating again.  Sometimes it's frenetic and dizzying.  Other times, it glides and pauses, and twirls into a deadfall, only to rise in some new mysterious direction.  I don't understand so much of it, and yet, I'm compelled to keep listening.

 

All I know is that when I'm in a certain kind of mood, and I stick in a song like Miles Davis's Blue In Green, I am moved like I've never been moved before.  Powerful stuff, that fancy restaurant music.

The school called me this week to see if I would fill in on lunch duty.  So, today, I showed up, donned my oh-so-flattering hairnet and plastic apron and and gloves, and commenced handing out carrot sticks.  I would rather have been on mashed potato duty, but the head lunch lady is not a woman to be trifled with.  She's been doing this for 17 years, and runs that kitchen like bootcamp.  Maybe when I earn my stripes a little, I'll get to slop the mashed potatoes.   

 

Here's some insight to my weirdness:  I was nervous about working lunch duty.  New experiences make me scared, whether it's getting on a plane to fly to Nashville for the first time, or being the carrot lady in a school gymnasicafetorium.  I even asked the principal when she called if I needed to come in early for some training.  She basically said to me:   "No training is needed....you take the spoon of food...and put it on the lunch tray."  OH RIGHT..THAT'S HOW IT WORKS.  Think I need to relax a bit?  Shah..me too.  You know, I must say though, there were a few moments of stress.  Do you ask the kids if they want carrots?  All one hundred and seventy five of them?  Or, do you just make eye contact and sort of nod? Then, because I was at the end of the line, there was no little compartment on the tray for the carrots.  Do you put them by the meatballs or mashed potatoes?  No, then they'll get  gravy on them.  Do you put them in the milk section?  No, then they'll have to lift them out to get their milk.  I settled on setting them on top of their corn.  Veggies with veggies, no gravy touching the carrots situation, and no need to move them when the milk comes.  I had a few complaints about the carrots touching the corn, but what can you do?  See, it CAN be stressful.  *sniff.*

 

 

Children are so cute.  I was shocked at how many of them said their pleases and thankyous (mostly no thankyous to me since I was the carrot stick lady).  The boys were adorable with their cowlicks and bedheads, untied shoes and sports apparel.  The girls were...well...girls.  They were shuffling quickly to keep up with friends and trying to walk in a gaggle while carrying their lunch trays.  "Are you getting white milk or chocolate?  White? Ok, I'll get white too.  Where are you sitting, can I sit with you?"

 

It's hard finding jokes about carrots, but I managed to make a few to the kids I knew.  All in all, I had a great time.  Jenna was morbidly embarrassed to see me standing there in my hairnet, joking with her friends.  I would say my work there is done!  I snuck my hairnet out with me...gonna pick up the girls from school while wearing it.  I don't get enough disgusted looks from my oldest, so I thought I'd bring on a few more.

 

 

 

 

I'm reading an article on Madeleine Peyroux.  She's a Jazz singer.  To start the article, the interviewer described Madeleine on stage:

 

 

Those words stopped me dead in my tracks: casually stunning.  What a great compliment.  It made me want to be casually stunning.  But, if I tried to be casually stunning, I would never achieve it..for the very essence of that virtue, in my opinion, is that it just happens without effort or awareness.   I wonder what Madeleine thought when she read that article.  Is she now self-conscious that her stage presence is casually stunning? That would just wreck all of her casual stunningness if she became self-conscious.  That would be sad.  I hope she hasn't read the article. 

 

Those words got me thinking about compliments I've received that have meant something to me.  The ones that have moved and blessed me are those which are genuine, simple, and show that the giver of the compliment has taken time to notice me for me.  On the other hand, blanket type compliments mean little to me.  Those which have hidden agendas, and are manipulative (like flattery) just flat out offend me.

 

The new year always gets me thinking about goals.  I like to set goals, no matter how many of them I never achieve.  In regard to this subject, a more noble goal than being casually stunning, would be to give more meaningful compliments.    An even nobler goal than giving better compliments would be to be a better noticer of the unique and wonderful traits in the people around me.  Out of a more observant and listening spirit will come so much more than just great compliments for people.  So, I'm adding it to my list...Be a Better Noticer.

 

I wouldn't mind being casually stunning while learning to be a better noticer though.