Billy Joel is really good.  My favorite part of the night was his piano playing.  He's a great entertainer as well...very engaging with the crowd.  He finished the night with Piano Man and BROUGHT THE HOUSE DOWN.  At one point, he stopped playing and singing, and just let the 17,000 of us sing. 

 

As a writer, that was a pretty intense moment for me.  How would it feel to hear thousands of people singing your song, and loving every minute of it?  How does it feel to know that a song you wrote and performed is still reaching people 30 years after it was written? Just think about some of the hymn writers!  Be Thou My Vision was written(lyrics) almost 500 years ago!

 

His talent, and his band's talent   took me back to my days in New York.  (all but one of his band members were from either Jersey or New York)  That city is oozing with talent.  You can feel it in the air.  Here's a tiny island, crammed with people, many of whom are scrambling to "make it."  It's bound to give off a vibe.  I felt so creative.  I wanted to be better.  It was a great feeling, one I haven't had in a long time.   That feeling was encapsulated as I stood on top of Rockefeller Center, and looked out at the Empire State Building.  The ESB was built in 13 months.  Because of The Depression,  people were hungry to work (and just plain hungry), so the work went on 7 days a week, 24 hours a day.  That feeling also surfaced as I stood in the Louis Comfort Tiffany display at the Met and cried over how beautiful his work was.  I was enveloped with the desire to create, as I listened to Corinne Bailey Rae share her gorgeous songs as if she were sitting across the table from her best friend, having tea.  It's amazing what human beings are capable of accomplishing.  It's amazing how God has gifted people.  I felt a part of all of that, which was a really really cool feeling.  I don't mean that I wanted to build something like the Empire State Building, or match the artistry of Tiffany, or even to write/sing/perform like Corinne. 

 

I just wanted to be more of me.  And, I believe that's what God wants.  That's how I can bring him the most glory, by being all of who He's created me to be.  I felt compelled to live like one of Johnathan Edwards' resolutions:  "to live with all my might, for as long as I live."  It's amazing how many voices I listen to, that are not of God.  Fear, complacency, self-preservation, pride, embarrassment, other people's expectations are a few of the voices that speak to my heart.  Sometimes, God drowns out the voices with the truth.  Sometimes, they scream at me and I can barely hear God over those voices.

 

It can be scary being who you're supposed to be.  It can be hard being who you're supposed to be.  I'm continually amazed at how hard I'll work to be someone I'm not, and yet won't put the work in to being who I'm supposed to be.  But, moments, like the one on top of Rockefeller Center, are the moments that God is using to give me courage, and strength to be authentic before Him. 

 

GIDDYUP!

 

 

AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BROTHER!  THIS IS MY PATHETIC ATTEMPT TO MAKE UP FOR THE FACT THAT I FORGOT TO SEND YOU A CARD, AND JUST REMEMBERED AN HOUR AGO THAT IT WAS YOUR BIRTHDAY!!!

 

First thing I want to say about New York:  For those of you who are Seinfeld fans, it's mecca.

 

On the first day, we were walking through Central Park (gorgeous).  The pigeons don't move.  It's as if they don't even see you.  You're on their turf... not the turf of a pigeon, but the turf of a New Yorker.  They are New Yorkers, and they don't move for anyone.   Bart and I looked at each other, smiled, and started quoting the episode where George hits the pigeons and screams:  WE HAD A DEAL!  Jerry says:  We look the other way on the statue defecation, and they get out of our way...

 

Then, at Battery Park, we start talking about The Kenny Roger's Chicken episode where Jerry is sleeping at Kramer's because of the neon chicken lights, and he starts acting like Kramer.  George had lost Elaine's seven thousand dollar mink hat, and she was trying to figure out how to replace it.  Jerry starts talking while eating ice cream right out of the carton:  "My friend, Bob Sacamano called last night, etc etc,  and we got to talking and he sells hats down in Battery Park."  Elaine:  are they sable?  Jerry:  "No, but the difference is negligible"  Elaine:  well, let's go  Jerry:  "giddyup"

 

Giddyup....We had a deal....I was in heaven!

 

Ok..there's so much more to say, but I'm off to the Billy Joel concert.  More later...

We've been in New York since last Saturday.  It was a great trip.  We got back last night, and this morning at 5 am, Sarah started throwing up. 

 

I hope to blog all about our trip after things settle down a bit.  It's an amazing city.

 

Off to the store now, to buy more anti-bacterial wipes, bleach, lysol, and apple sauce. 

 

 

The lunch lady's nephew is eleven.  He has cancer.  He was born with an enormous tumor in his chest.  They treated him successfully when he was littler, and now it has returned. He goes in for surgery on Saturday.  Her husband had a brain tumor 7 years ago as well, and is still on a lot of anti-seizure medication.   

 

Suddenly, I'm not so annoyed with her.

 

32 people were killed in Virginia yesterday.

 

Suddenly, the ordinariness of my life seems extraordinary.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Which concert should I go to:  Norah Jones or Faith Hill and Tim McGraw? 

 

Discuss.

I'm an insomniac.  Always have been.  When I do manage to sleep, I've been told that I yell at my husband.  I've been known to accuse him of all kinds of low and conniving things, and to regularly demand with an exorcist-ish voice and an accusing finger held close to my face and pointing directly at him that he tell me who he is and why he is in the room.  Bart usually freezes in place and begins his calm and perfected speech that goes something like this: "I'm your husband, Bart.  I'm not a robber, and I'm just coming to bed for the night."  Usually, said perfected speech pacifies me enough that I mumble and grumble, turn over, and go back to sleep. 

 

Also, I've been known to wake-up in a panic, thinking that we're being filmed by someone.  Four nights ago, I flew out of bed in said panic, and began grabbing all of my dirty clothes off of the floor, and putting them in the basket.  As I was crawling around in my closet, frantically arranging the less embarrassing pieces of dirty clothing to be on the top, I began waking up more fully.  That is a terrible feeling.  "Is it really happening?  Are there really cameras on me?  Why am I in the closet?  Should I go back to bed or stay up?  I'll go back to bed...but now I can't sleep.  I'll read or play on-line Boggle."

 

Thursday night, I had another option.  We were staying in a local hotel for our daughters' birthdays, and so I had cable to watch.  No lie...I did NOTHING but flip channels for 2 hours.  Decorating shows, Austin City Limits (MICHAEL MCDONALD ROCKS!!!!) and the best for last:  two guys filming themselves for the world to see.  One guy was HUGE....HA-YUGE....and he was shaking his belly (he was clothed) as fast as he could.  It was grotesque, but I couldn't turn away.  He was out of breath by the time he was done.  Now there's an exercise plan for you, just shake your own fat until you pass out!  How many calories would that burn? I might have to try this sometime.

 

The second guy was bald, and had perfected the technique of throwing a plunger up into the air, and landing it with a giant SHLUPPP! on top of his head.  With an equally giant SHLUPPP! he would pull it off of his shiny head, and commence the routine again.  While this was happening, he was speaking of the "hazards" of said activity.  Once, he commentated (is that a word?),  he looked up while throwing it, and the plunger landed on his face.  He claimed that he almost sucked his eyeballs out of his head.  Also, prolonged sessions of Fun-With-The-Plunger give him headaches. Go figure.  May I just say that I think prolonged sessions of Fun-With-The-Plunger are sucking brain cells from this man.  Just watching him made me stupider.  See...told ya.