just one word

I often find myself inspired by Idelette McVicker (can I be her when I grow up?) especially when it comes to writing.  It’s actually her fault that this blog exists at all.  Years ago I was having coffee with her and she asked me, “So tell me, what are you writing, other than for work?” No one ever asked me that. I stuttered and stammered and made noises about time and focus and finally confessed, “Nothing.”

She looked right at me and in one of those moments where someone gently but firmly takes you by the shoulders and turns you toward the truth she asked, “What do you call a writer who doesn’t write?”

That was almost eight years ago and in the time since, I’ve kept up this blog, I’ve journaled more, and the last two years I have participated in, and won, National Novel Writing Month with it’s “50 000 words in 30 days” challenge.

The challenge from Idelette this today is much simpler: lay aside those new year’s resolutions and instead pick a single word, just one, that you want to focus on this year.  Sounds easy right? It is and also it isn’t.  (Remember the words of van Gogh, “How difficult it is to be simple.”) But it's right up my alley.

I had planned to think about think about this, to really chew on it and take my time with it.  But no sooner had I read Idelette’s challenge when a single word announced itself loudly in my head.  Really? I asked.  Are you sure? I remembered something I heard recently, in small group I think, where someone said not to dismiss those thoughts that come out of nowhere, because sometimes that is the voice of God.  So I took another look at the word. The more I thought about this word, the more sense it made.

So here goes.  My word for 2012 is SAVOUR.

I’ve been thinking about timing a lot lately.  Timing in the sense of feeling like the pace of things is wrong and timing in one particular circumstance where the timing is not what I wanted.  I am taking an amazing trip this year, but to do so will mean using almost my entire allotment of vacation days just six weeks into the year. I thought I'd made arrangements to make it easier, but it didn't work out. Now I worry that I won’t have time to do the other things I want to do. There won’t be a summer vacation this year and what if family comes to visit? What if the friends I went to Boston with last year decide to meet up again? What if there's an out of town wedding? What if there isn’t enough time?

So my word for this year is savour.  I will savor those weeks in Australia and not taint them with worries of enough. I will look for the good that’s right here in my life in the place I’m in right now and not dilute that joy by wishing for something different. When there isn’t a whole day to play I will look for play in the moment.   Webster's defines savour as to "taste and enjoy it completely". I want to do that.

I want to take the time to taste the day, to roll the words around on my tongue, to drink in my surroundings. I want to sink deep into the moments of this year until they come up over my shoulders.  I want to cuddle in, lean in close and really catch the details of what is going on.  I want to make memories and tell stories.  I want to be the kid on a swing who leans all the way back so she can stare at the sky. 

Savour.  What a delicious word.  It's scary and also exciting - just what a new year should be.

making room

At church on Sunday Pastor John talked a little about generosity. He said that he often hears people say that if they had more money they’d be generous and his answer to them is, “No you wouldn’t. Generosity has nothing to do with your money.” He’s right.  Generosity has nothing to do with what you can afford; generosity it all about what you make room for.  

I remember when I was about 14 or 15 and I reached that age when my parents didn’t make me sit with them in church anymore. All of us “youth” would grab a pew together, usually the second one from the back and there we’d sit reveling in our autonomy.  The pews in that church were oldish, solid wood and what I remember most about them is that you could always, almost always, squish one more person in.  

There would be times when I’d get to that pew and it would look full – chockablock, hip to hip full – and I’d be crestfallen until someone said those magic words, “I think we can make room.” All the way down at the far end of the pew someone would shift over releasing a tiny little piece of space, half an inch, maybe a little more. The next person would scrunch over, the guy that had his eye on the girl next to him would be extra generous and move all the way over plastering himself to her side in the process.  Piece by piece the row would move, each one making a little space until low and behold there was a spot for me.  It always felt so good to tuck in beside them, to be included, to know that my being there was worth a little of their comfort. 

More often than not, five minutes later another person would come along and somehow the miracle would happen again.  There it would be, like the oil and flour in the story, a little more room.  I think that’s what generosity looks like.

Generosity is not about the extra, the left over, or surplus. Generosity happens when I say, “I was going to have this, I was planning to spend it on me, but here, I want you to have it instead.” Generosity comes out of our own comfort, our willingness to squish a little to make room. It doesn’t have to be dramatic – most of us are not called to sell our cars and homes and give it all away – but for the person standing on the outside, those tiny inches can really add up.

When I see a Christmas pageant and it gets to the part where Mary and Joseph arrive at the inn it always bothers me that the innkeeper doesn’t even leave to go look properly. “No room in the inn!” he declares from the doorway and I want to say, “Could you check again? It’s cold out here.” I need to remind myself of that.  Check again.  Look closer. It’s easy to think that what we have isn’t much, not enough to be of value, not enough to go around.  But so often God can take our little bit and stretch it out like taffy.  He can make it enough.

Generosity doesn’t start in my wallet, although it often ends up there.  Generosity starts in my eyes.  It’s that moment when I see a need and notice it instead of turning away.  It’s in that heartbeat where I ask, “Maybe I could….” It’s in my feet when I make the decision to help, and then it gets into my heart, usually right around the time I’m taking action.

It’s such a simple thing really, making room - a slight adjustment, a butt wiggle and you’re already there.  What are you making room for?

What else?

And suddenly there is was, out in the open as if it had always been there.  Unmistakable. I didn't approach it at first, I didn't want to scare it away.  So I smiled instead and very quietly said, "hello".  It turned to face me and stretched a question out between us, fragile as a spider's web and just as strong.  "Would you?" the question asked and without meaning to I found I had taken a step toward it.  I think I saw it smile.

"What do you love?" It asked me. 

"People," I said.  "And words and the ocean and skipping and horses."

"Horses," it repeated.  "It's been a long time since you talked about horses."

"A very long time," I agreed.

"But you haven't forgotten?"

"No, never." I shook my head, grinning.

"So, horses then. There could be horses.  What else?"

I could see all of the ideas spread out like a candy buffet at a summer wedding and for the first time in a long time, I reached out a hand toward them.

* I wrote this a few weeks ago. It feels like it belongs somewhere, like there is more of the story that I just haven't quite found yet.  But at the same time it is so very much all about today because on Saturday I go for my training as a volunteer with the local equestrian therapy center.  As of this Saturday there will be horses again.  What then, I wonder? What next?

the sharing of stories

I’ve been reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s new book, Committed (her follow-up to Eat, Pray, Love). It’s both a love story and a history of marriage, a rare departure for me into nonfiction. It’s blowing my mind in all the very best ways but a short section on the idea of trading our stories has haunted me since I read it over tea and toast this morning.

About three quarters of the way into the book she talks about how we share our memories, our stories, with other people.  Sometimes it’s a stranger on the bus, sometimes it’s the person in our bed.  In the act of telling the story we really do share it.  The story still belongs to us, but now it also belongs, in part at least, to the person we told it too.  Now they carry the story as well. 

When the story we tell is a personal one, our memory goes with it.  I could tell you a story about running on the beach when I was a little girl, the sound of the quiet ripples I used to think were waves, the heat of the sun on my shoulders.  If I describe it well enough you might remember the story the next day and share it with a friend. In so doing you will have remembered MY memory. Isn’t that the strangest thing?

Gilbert illustrates this with a favorite story from Italo Calvino's Invisible Cities.  In the story there are these tradesmen who spend most of year crossing the desert arriving only on the equinoxes to buy and sell their wares.  At night, after trading, they sit around a fire and the trading of stories begins.  “Tell me a story about your sister,” says one. “Tell me a story about a wolf,” says another. In the days that follow as they make their way back out across the desert they find each one now has two sisters travelling with him – the one he remembers and the one in the story from the fire.  The story has done the impossible, sharing itself out without diminishing the original.   A very fancy party trick.

When people are in love we speak of giving a piece of ourselves away.  I think that happens any time two human beings make enough of a connection to bump up against each other.  Not a piece though, just a tiny thread, a blink, a moment of who we are.  Sometimes those moments get brushed off our sleeves, other times, for better or worse they get woven inextricably into our own story.  Sometimes a single thread can worm its way into your heart like a thorn, but it’s rare to catch one of those in a chance meeting.  Thorns usually take time to cultivate.

There is incredible power in the telling of our stories.  If someone is suffering in a way that I have suffered, I can share my story and in doing so, walk with them.  I can say, “See? Me too,” and she will walk through the next day knowing she is not alone.  

There’s a line in the movie Shall We Dance that has always stuck with me.  In the scene two characters are trying to decide if their marriage of 25 years is still worth the effort.  They are trying to describe the role they play for each other and Susan Sarandon turns to Richard Gere and says, “I will witness your life.  You life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it.”  I always thought that was incredibly beautiful.  It’s easy to notice the hero, the grand gesture, a marriage proposal, the day you bring a child home.  It’s harder to notice a thousand tiny moments, and I think that is part of the work of marriage.  It’s promising to pay attention.

At the end of this passage on stories Gilbert talks about lying in bed with her beloved on a night when it’s too hot to sleep.  “Tell me a story about fish,” she says and he does, spinning a lovely tale.  And then she concludes with a profound statement:

This is intimacy: telling our stories in the dark.

There is so much truth in that.  To truly share ourselves, to offer up the memories that have formed us, the fears that cage us, the hopes that lift us up, that is the very stuff of intimacy.  It’s lying there in the dark finding the courage to say, “This is me. Please love me.”

One of the most profound moments of my life happened late at night over the telling of stories.  I was in my apartment, my last year at Trinity, my roommate asleep in the other room.  I was sitting on a ratty and beloved couch with a decidedly not ratty but also beloved old friend and somehow he got me to tell him the story that I never tell anyone.  I remember feeling so exposed I hid my face behind a pillow and all we were doing was talking.  He was sitting at the other end of the couch, not touching at all. 

It was, I can see now, an incredibly intimate moment.   No wonder I was so shaken afterward.  No wonder the letter he slipped under my door 20 minutes later is still tucked into my journal. 

Plato said that “He who tells the stories shapes society” and I’ve always thought of that on a grand, national scale.  But I see now that she who tells the stories shapes herself.  It is in changing ourselves first that we have any hope of changing society.  It is in the telling our of stories that our souls come home.

the tools of play

I came to a curious realization yesterday. I was talking to a friend of mine about something or other, I don’t even remember how it began and he mentioned that he currently owns three volleyballs and I said, “You know, I’m not sure I’ve ever owned a ball, of any description…”  The more I thought about it I realized that it wasn’t entirely true, but close.

I took tennis lessons one summer, and there was a tube of three tennis balls that came with that.  We had a bocce ball set growing up (although technically I think that belonged to Mark and technically, being British, we called it Petanc.)  I have a croquet set, that’s 6 balls right there.  But I think that’s it.  To my knowledge I have never owned a soccer ball, a baseball, a football or a basketball.  I loved those little tiny bouncy balls that bounce higher than your brother and often had a supply of them, but that’s about it.

My brothers had balls to play with – there was a basketball net installed on the side of the driveway.  But I don’t remember ever asking for one.  I don’t think it ever occurred to me to have one of my own.  I suppose it could be a gender thing, but more likely it’s the asking thing.  I didn’t show much interest in them and parents, beloved and lovely, knew I’d much rather have a book or craft supplies or, oh hallowed day, a hamster.  And they were right.

I’ve been thinking about the idea of “play” recently.  In just a few days I’m headed off to Winnipeg where I intend to play thoroughly with my two nieces, and with Dave and Janie for the duration of my stay.  I know that there will be board games, and probably bubble blowing and I’m going to try to convince them that we should all go to a pool.  It’s easy to play around children, it’s often harder to play as adults but vitality important to do so.

I got me thinking about the tools of play.  I’m very good at making sure I have the necessary tools for work.  I have work clothes and an iron to keep them spiffy.  I take good care of my laptop.  I just bought myself a better desk chair to ease the strain my neck endures because I like work that happens at a desk.  When it comes to housework I have brooms and cleaning supplies, laundry soap and dishrags.  These are important things.  But do I make sure that I have the tools I need to play?

For my birthday I did buy myself something to play with.  I have a deep and abiding love of pop-up books and at Chapters last Friday I found a pop-up book that teaches you how to make pop-up books! It’s a little meta- if you look too closely, which I won’t, this time.  In addition to whole sections that explain the why and the how of pop-ups it has four giant press-out-and-stick-together pages to practice making pop-ups.  There’s a dragon and a castle, a jungle and, inexplicably Frankenstein.  All I need is some glue and the delicate scissors from the cupboard and I’m all set.  Almost makes me wish for a rainy day.

I have a crafting cupboard well stocked with oddments and ribbons and crayons and beads.  Well, to be fair, I have two of them.  There’s sealing wax and yarn, embroidery thread and very delicate scissors.  I still have my flute and a sheaf of sheet music.   But I don’t currently own a bouncy ball or a skipping rope or sidewalk chalk.  I don’t have a skateboard, or even a trendy west coast long board.  Or a trampoline (although admittedly that last one is a bit impractical in a rental).  I have a LOT of books, nine bookcases worth between Kendra and I at last count.  I wonder what I would pick out if I took myself to Toys R Us.  I think I’m going to find out.

roses and Oprah

There's a rose in my garden that has no business being there.  It started out as an errant rose hip carried over by a fateful wind, or one of the neighbourhood dogs.  My landlords tried to pull it out when it first appeared but a couple of weeks later the rose was back.  I believe that tenacity should be rewarded so I started watering it secretly every time I got the hose out for my herb garden.

This morning I was out there again doing the first big weed out of the season and there's my rose, three times its size, full of promise and tangled around the base of it are several of the strawberries I'm sure I pulled out last summer when they staunchly refused to fruit.  I think the pair of them are laughing at me, but it's such a good joke I decided to join in.

As I sat there pulling weeds out from around the base of the rose and its rebellious friend I couldn't help but think how little it takes to encourage or destroy.  One twist of the wrist and there would be no rose in my garden, only a scar on the ground.  But a little water when I was out there anyway, not even a special trip and there will be glorious roses in a few weeks.  (And if I'm very lucky maybe even a few strawberries if the kids upstairs don't get to them first.)

It made me think about the people in my life and how we all have those moments when we are as vulnerable as the first shoots of a rose and a word spoken thoughtlessly is all it takes to snap us.  And yet, the opposite holds true as well.  Sometimes a little water, when you were already there anyway, is all it takes to let a dream take root.

I think that every gardener is a philosopher.  It's hard not to be when gardening lets you play at being God a little.  When the bulbs come back in the spring or the tomatoes finally turn red I sometimes think of that line from a movie when Jim Carrey calls out "I have brought forth life!!!" It's only pretend of course, we are not the life-bringers, not really.  I have yet to make my very own rose hip, or even a simple bean.  But we are life-bringers, we can be when it comes to the people placed around us.

I look at that rose now and it would not be so easy to get rid of these days.  Its roots are deep, it has a firm grip on the stairs leading up to the deck.  That rose had a champion, a friend just when it needed one.  I've been watching some of the last few Oprah shows and in one of them she talks about the importance of telling someone that you see them, that you hear them. She spoke of her fourth grade teacher who was the very first person who showed her that she had value.  There was a clip in one of the shows where Oprah had been trying to help someone and this other lady said "I needed you to say that you liked me and you never did."

And Oprah just shook her head and said, "No, I don't accept that.  I sat in the audience and gave you the stage I believed in you so much."

The next response was the one that so stayed with me.  She said, "I didn't even know what it was Oprah.  I couldn't see it, can you hear that? I didn't even recognize it."

I know that there are people in my life and there are people in yours too, who are so used to hearing the bad things, the ugly things that they can't even recognize the good things when they see them.  They don't even know what it is.  I don't know how to fix a person who's broken like that, but I do think that it can begin with something as simple as water.  It can begin with saying "I see you, I hear you."  I see things in you that are admirable and good, things to be celebrated and encouraged.

Oprah often talks about people not realizing their own power and I think that's true.  We can do more good than we know and more harm than we realize.  We are stronger than we know, and wiser (most of the time). We are capable of change and built for forgiveness.  And on the days when we are the little rose, unwanted and tugged on by an unfeeling hand, we are each of us, just as worthy of that water.

time enough

My birthday’s coming in a few days and for some reason it has me extra-thinky.  It’s not one of the big birthdays, not one of those ones that peer down at you ominously with zeros at the ends of them, but it’s caught me quit by surprise.  For some reason it feels old.

Old, the idea of “old” is something I fight against pretty vigilantly most of the time. I believe that time is a gift, that each birthday, each year afford to us, is like winning the lottery.  Time is a wishing star, the one thing that really, truly, can change our lives.  Eliot wrote that “only through time, time is conquered” and I believe that.  Yes, age comes with a few costs, but those are trades I would gladly make again for its benefits. 

It’s true that I will never be 21 again and I can’t go back and be one of those girls who gets married three weeks after graduation.   But I also won’t be that girl had no idea who she was.  I don’t stand in front of the mirror and wish I was someone else, instead I think, “Ok, I can work with this.”  At least most of the time.

There’s a book I found in Chapters a year or two ago that asked people to write their life story in just exactly six words.  The title, which was one person’s answer to this challenge is “Not quite what I was expecting” and that so perfectly fits where I find myself in the gloaming before the beginning of my 35th year.  I thought it would be different. 

If you had asked 18 year old me - well, maybe not her, she was still pretty fragile - if you’d asked 22 year old me where she thought I would be now she would have drawn a picture of someone who looks more like my Mom.  She would have known about the move to BC but would have no idea that I’d make my home here permanently.  She hadn’t met Kendra yet, she didn’t know that there was a whole west coast family waiting to welcome her.  She had no idea that she would love being Auntie Claire so very, very much.  She would never have guessed that a man she met once, for a couple of moments, would so profoundly change the way she saw herself.  She had not learned yet that you can borrow courage, and that that is so much better than a cup of sugar from a neighbour.

Just the other day I was offered something that would take me away for six months.  It would involve travel, which I love, and family, which I also love but it would also involve destroying most of the life I have built for myself here. It is very tempting, the idea of running away,  but I can’t shake the knowledge of what there would be, or rather wouldn’t be, to come back to.  And the more I think about it the more I realize that I wouldn’t trade this life – even when the offer is, quite literally, right in front of me.  That's a pretty enviable realization to come to. It's not a perfection situation but it's one worth fighting for, worth hanging on to.  (I wonder if there's a way to do a shorter version that might fit better, I'll need to give that some thought.)

I think the time might be ripe for an adventure, I can feel the wind shifting.  Maybe that’s what has me feeling the edges of this birthday so keenly.  I can hear a whisper, “it’s time, it’s time” but time for what I do not know yet.  All I do know is that I want to be here when it happens.   

*** (There should be a transition here, but I can't find it so imagine some instrumental music or the bird call they used for books on tape when we were kids you will know it is time to turn the page...***

When I pray for myself I tend to pray in pairs.  I ask God for wisdom and grace – wisdom to know what to do and the grace to do the right thing gently.  I also pray that He would help me not to shy away from the good things but also not to take too much.  There’s that line in “God Bless the Child” that says “You can help yourself, but don’t take too much” and for some reason I worry about that, that even if it’s being offered I shouldn’t really take all of it.  (Maybe that’s simply the ‘last piece of cake’ gene all women seem to have. Why is it that we worry about declaring things finished?)

There’s a beautiful song by Joshua Radin called “Today” that speaks to me.  He sings, “You saw right through me, there was no one else.  I sat beside you and became myself.” I sigh, audibly, every time I hear that line. It’s so very beautiful “I sat beside you and became myself” I love that it’s an act of becoming, not a gift.  The person in the song doesn’t confer “myself-ness” on the other, they simply sit there, stay with them, and in the safety of that moment, in the push against the chrysalis, the person steps into themselves, as if they were stepping out of their own shadow.

I don’t know what lies on the other side of this birthday.  I know that there is a new niece or nephew on the way.  I know that not long after my birthday I will finally, finally, get to meet Annika.  I know that there will be books and the first book club I have ever been a part of (good gracious, how did THAT take me almost 35 years??) I believe that there will be joy and I accept that there will be tears.  There may be blood.  And woven through it all will be the wishing star, if God permits.  The time to enjoy, to choose, to love, to weep. 

I read a quote the other day that refuses to leave me alone:

Every day of our lives we are on the verge of making those slight changes that would make all the difference.  Mignon McLaughlin

If there are things that need to change, and for most of us there are, we have the chance to do that every day.  There is so much hope in that.  Which ultimately means that there is hope in this soon to be birthday. Because it means that there’s still time. Time to do what? I don’t know yet.  Time enough to figure it all out. 

gavel not included

I don't know if there's something in the air, but over the past few days I've been shocked by the hurtful judgements I've seen levied against other bloggers by people who are "just being honest."  MckMama was taken to task for not caring enough about her cat, while a single Dad received death threats because the new dog wasn't getting along well with his son so he took the dog back to the pound.  Meanwhile Brad Bell, better knows as Cheeks, gets a stern letter for recommending too many things in his own tweets.  Do people honestly have nothing better to do?

It seems that as humans we find casting judgement just about as easy as breathing, and far more entertaining if the sheer volume of it is any indication. I used to think that this sort of thing was a phase you grew out of, but the older I get the more I realized that we don't stop judging, we just change the topics that we care about enough to mention.

As a single adult, I get why aren't you married/ don't you want a husband/ are you gay/ have you tried xyz dating service/ you should pray more/ just wait for Jesus more/ stop thinking about getting married and God will surprise you with a spouse when you least expect it.  I've been given unsolicited and unwanted dating advice in all sorts of places, most notably at the funeral home during my grandfather's funeral. (I wish I was kidding.)  But of course if I do get married one day, it won't stop there.

Friends of mine who have faced infertility have had unspeakable things said to them. One family who was blessed with quadruplets gets "wow, isn't that a lot of children?" while yet another friend, a mother of twins, has perfect strangers asking about her medical history. If you have one child people want to know when you're having the next one but for goodness sake don't get pregnant too quickly, or wait too long.  What is it about us that makes us think we have any right to ask, let alone any claim on the answers?

I was talking to Dallas today and he said, "in the old testament we used stones, after the curtain ripped Jesus allowed us to exchange Rocks for words".  He was joking around when he said it but it struck me how much truth is in those words.  We so easily throw judgements around but they are not little harmless pebbles, they are rocks.  Jesus said that whoever was blameless was allowed to throw the first rock and I think it would be good to keep that in mind when it comes to judgements too.  If I am faultless then I am qualified to judge, but until then I can only hope to become well versed in the language of mercy.

Shakespeare spoke of mercy dropping like the gentle rain of heaven.  Mercy is often associated with weaker words but there is an incredible depth of strength in it.  To be merciful I have to be secure enough in myself that I don't need to take anything of yours.  Mercy comes out of our excess.  It is a generosity of spirit, of choosing not to take the cheap shot and the cheap thrill that comes with it.  Mercy says, "I don't need to point out your faults, or prove to you how smart I am".  Mercy is the one who is there to help clean up the mess without commenting on how the mess got there in the first place.

I still remember, four or five years ago now a good friend of mine showing up to church heavily pregnant and unmarried.  As she stepped into the sanctuary someone made a horrible comment to her as if she did not know which choices lead her to where she stood.  It was hurtful and so very unnecessary and the one and only time I have ever really wanted to punch someone in a sanctuary.  She was like the poor man with only one lamb in the story Nathan used to rebuke David in 2 Samuel 12.  She was feeling pretty alone but she came to church hoping for a little support and received harsh words instead.  It would have taken so little for this person to simply say "Good morning, I'm glad you're here." Where else should she be on a Sunday morning?

It's always a tricky business talking about judgement because it's pretty much impossible to be anything other than judgemental while doing so.  So let me say it here, "mea culpa".  I totally do this too.  Why do we do it? Well tell ourselves that we're just trying to help but that's not true. If we wanted to help, really and truly, we would do a lot more listening and a lot less talking.  We would make a meal for that new mother instead of berating her for not breastfeeding.  We would offer a little comfort instead of kicking the person who is obviously down.  We would remember that only God can cast the first stone, and then we'd go back and read that story again and remember that He choose not to throw a stone at all.  Instead he said, "neither do I condemn you." Now there's words to live by.

the sound of music in the dark

If you ever get the chance to attend a Sing-a-Long Sound of Music, say yes. Say yes quickly. And prepare to be delighted.

I first heard about the show a few years ago from a friend of mine. I always thought it sounded like a riot.  Imagine my glee when I found out that the show was coming to Vancouver. I was slightly less gleeful when I realized that the one and only show was the night before the Sun Run, a 10km trek I had already committed to but someone pointed out that it would probably be worth it.  He was right.  It seems that my year of proving that "sometimes it is absolutely necessary to do the thing that makes no sense" continues.

So Saturday night found me back at the RiverRock casino, full of memories of the last time I was there to see Adam Lambert and missing my Boston girls something crazy. It wouldn't take long for this night to kick up such a party of its own that there was no time left for reminiscing.

The show started with a costume competition, a hilarious hodge podge of Marias, nuns, goat herders and a very memorable group of ladies draped in a green cloth who turned out to be the hills, alive with the sound of music.  We received our instructions: hiss when the Baroness is on screen, bark for Rolf, salute the captain, say Awww for Gretal. They showed us how to use the cards for "How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?" and told us what the little piece of cloth was for.  Then they dimmed the lights and from the very first note the entire room broke out into song.

There is something truly magical about a group of strangers singing together. You can see it in the way people respond to flash mobs, and it is stunningly illustrated in California composer Eric Whitacre's magnificent Virtual Choir. There is a freedom in singing with strangers, a joy that is uncommon.  You can see it in karaoke bars the world over and it was fully on display at Sing-a-Long Sound of Music.  

This is, above all, a participatory show.  You can't just show up, you sing.  You agree to be silly, you wave your cards in the air, literally and figuratively, and there in dark you admit that you are definitely NOT too cool to sing out loud.  I hope that we are all able to remember that come Monday morning.

Lou Holtz said, "A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song." At Sing-a-Long Sound of Music we all had a song and we sang it, with vigor. The day after my throat is sore from laughing so much and singing so loudly. Proof of a very good evening in my book.   We speak of play as the serious work of childhood, so why do we so often forget the importance of playing as grown-ups?

I was reading something the other day where one character asks the other, "What do you want from me?" and the reply comes, "I want your song. I want you to sing for me."  The idea is a request for knowledge, I want to know the real you, I want to know what comes out when you can't stop it.  I wonder sometimes how well I know the words to my own song and how willing I am to sing it. It can be so tempting to be quiet, or to sing someone else's song or sing what we think the moment needs. I think that honesty is serious work of adults, figuring out who we are in the dark and what, in this whole wide world we plan to do with it.  I think if we could figure that out, the hills really would be alive with the sound of our music.

How to Vote in 10 Minutes or Less

Every time an election is called I hear people talking about not voting and I get a little rant-y. This year I'm going on the offensive and saying it early: YOU HAVE TO VOTE.  Don't let yourself play the "it's too complicated" or "I don't really understand the issues" or "politics is hard" card. You live in a democracy. If you like hospitals and roads and not getting shot at, then you need to vote. It's pretty simple.

Refuse to be disillusioned. There are no perfect politicians just like there are no perfect dentists or project managers or cupcake bakers. Politicians are people and just like you and me they are flawed. Refusing to vote because "everyone is corrupt" or "all politicians lie" is basically saying that you're waiting until you can vote for the Easter bunny. You're a grown-up now.  Vote.

So now that you've decided to vote, choosing WHO to vote for doesn't have to be that complicated.  In a perfect world we'd all be totally informed and up to date on all the issues at all times. But for everyone who isn't a political junkie trying to figure out an entire governmental system in the weeks - ok let's be honest, the days - before an election is a daunting task.  Instead of getting overwhelmed and "forgetting" to vote, here are four easy ways to choose a candidate in 10 minutes or less.  The internet-savvy among us can probably do it in five.

How to vote in 10 minutes or less:

1. Join the party.  Take a quick online assessment to find out which political party best lines up with your own political beliefs.  Vote for the candidate in that party.  I like this one. (fixed the link)

2.  If you can't think big, think small. Research your local reps and vote for the person who's in charge of your own back yard.

(2. Alternate) Think even smaller. Choose the one issue you care the most about and   do a quick Google search to see where the local candidates stand on that issue. Vote accordingly.

3. Borrow someone else's vote.  Go to someone who's opinion you trust and ask them who they are voting for and why. Add your voice and your vote to theirs.

4. Close your eyes and point. If all else fails, show up on election day and randomly select a candidate. Voting for the wrong person is still better than not voting at all.  At least you showed up. You participated.  Next time, try options 1 through 3.

Above all, remember that in a democracy not voting is not an option. It's like being the roommate who never ever ever does their dishes, the parent who refuses to change a diaper, the freeloading friend who never grabs the check. You don't want to be that guy.  If you truly cannot with good conscience vote for any of the candidates then spoiling your vote is a valid option, but only if you show up at the voting booth and do it officially.  

We're Canadians, we show up when things are hard, we pitch in where there's a mess.  Voting is a privilege that was hard won on the backs of someone else's loved ones.  Voting is how we begin to say thank you for that. Don't let the chance pass you by. See you at the booth! (We can go for Tim's after.)

world without end

I went to a service at St. Matthew's this morning and much to my great surprise, I think I might be Anglican.

In retrospect, it makes perfect sense, as things often do. I have always loved the sound and flavour of words. I have always appreciated the immediacy of symbols and their ability to give us something to hold on to in the face of untouchable things. Makes sense that a style of worship that places a high value on both of these things would be right up my alley.

The first hints that I might have found what I was looking for happened while I was reading St. Matthew's website which is, hands down, one of the best church websites I have ever seen. As someone outside of their community I found everything I needed to know right there, easy to find, easy to read. By the time I got to the church this morning I felt I had the information I needed to be able to participate in the service. For someone raised in a string of "contemporary" churches a full traditional liturgy can be a very unfamiliar thing. St. Matthew's site gave me a road map. I wish all churches did that.

The word liturgy means "the work of the people". I love that idea that church is not a place we go, rather church is something we physically do together. The service was incredibly participatory and that really spoke to me. You don't just come in and sit and listen, you speak, you pray out loud, you respond. There were two readings, one from the old testament and one from the new and for the New Testament reading every stands, a visual picture that the news of what Christ has done for us is so wonderful you can't stay in your seat as you hear it. The reading finished and the congregation as whole gave thanks to God right there in the moment as if hearing it for the first time. Did you know that the liturgy is set up so that the congregation hears the entire Bible read aloud every three years?

I wondered if an Anglican church would be formal to the point of coldness but I couldn't have been more wrong. I was warmly greeted, and the nice lady next to me helped me keep up when I got lost switching between the hymnal and the prayer book. It has been years since I went to a church that sang hymns, and I've started to notice lately that I miss them. Verses of hymns I sang a child have been running through my head - isn't it amazing that they're still in there? One of the great things about hymns is that they have such classic chord progressions that even if you don't know the tune you can pick it up by the end of the first first.

Also, it comes back to the words again.

The words in hymns make sense. Not only are they deeply scriptural but the verb tenses are always correct and the point of view doesn't jump around. I know for most people that's not a deal breaker but for me, it pulls me right out of a worshipful mood when the song is simply wrong. There's one chorus about a river where Jesus is the river in one line and then we're standing in the river in the next and then Jesus is calling us to the river. . .and I just can't sing it because I get so distracted trying to figure out which verbs go with which river and why anyone would try to stand IN Jesus in the first place. Hymns hold no such mysteries.

I think my favourite part was the prayers from the Book of Common Prayer. I love a word well spoken and the idea of speaking to God in words carefully crafted, patiently selected, thoroughly rooted in scripture, was very beautiful. We use poetry when we want to speak of love, we quote great minds when we want to say just the right thing but lack the words, how lovely to speak to God in the same way. Not that it is the only way to speak to God, but it is a treat to get to bring such pretty words to him. In several of the prayers the phrase "world without end" is mentioned speaking over and over of the timelessness of God, the duration of his love and mercy. It was a great reminder.

It can be hard to hear God amid the noise of life and the busyness of lists. Some days it's even hard to hear him in church. But this morning in the quiet reverence of a service that has been conducted just this way for years on end, I could hear him clearly. Maybe I was wrong about the words, I think that THAT was my favourite part.

accidental diamonds

You might wonder how a person can accidentally buy diamonds, well for starters, it helps to be in LA.

It happened on the way home from a lovely Arizona Christmas. I had a layover at LAX and decided to do a little browsing through the shops. I found a store full of watches and one of them really caught my eye. It was classic and elegant and when I picked it up I noticed that it really caught the light well. It sparkled.

I had been thinking about getting a new watch. I have one that I love but no one can get the back off of it to put a new battery in. It has given me a good few years of service but I thought it might be time for a new one. The sparkly watch was $95 so I put it back and kept looking.

I walked around some more but the idea of the watch wouldn’t leave me alone. I started thinking about this past year and how the idea of sparkling was a thread that ran through it. Early in the year I read a quote that said “On the bad days you need to sparkle harder” and then months later a friend told me “in general, people greatly underestimate their need for sparkle.” As the year progressed I had, and took, the opportunity to sparkle both literally and figuratively.

I am a sucker for a good metaphor and I kept thinking what a great reminder that watch would be - a way to actually make the hours sparkle as a reminder to myself to always be on the lookout for the good amid the usual. With fifteen minutes left before I needed to board the plan I went back and got the watch. It still sparkled and the mother of pearl face cast little shimmery rainbows if you held it just right. I decided it would be my Christmas present to myself.

Imagine my surprise when I took the watch out the next day and saw the words “diamond dial” on the watch face. I took out the instructions and to my great surprise discovered that what I thought were cubic zirconia in the bezel and on the face are actually real diamonds. No wonder it caught the light so well! In truth, they are very tiny diamonds, which is why the price wasn’t higher, but they are real diamonds all the same. The first diamonds I have ever owned.

Now I have not only a perfect reminder to make the hours sparkle, I also have a reminder that sometimes God surprises us with even more than we know, more than we hoped for. Sometimes he gives us the things we hadn’t even thought to dream of. I wonder what other delightful surprises are lurking in 2011? I can’t wait to find out.

indeed.

down the rabbit hole

When the espresso machine I've been hunting for more than a year showed up on my doorstep the very day I was considering joining NaNoWriMo I realized it might be a sign.

NaNoWriMo - National Novel Writing Month is a challenge to write a novel -- 50,000 words!!! -- in 30 days. It is crazy? Of course it's crazy. (And I'm told it requires a lot of coffee, if you're wondering where the espresso machine comes in to this.) Who has time to write a book in a month? But isn't that just exactly the point? Who has time to write? We make time, we take time, we find time, we redeem the days.

There are some things worth having that come as a result of careful and considered thinking and planning - university degrees and mortgages among them. But there are other things, crazy things, that are never going to happen if you wait for a time when it makes sense.

So yes, I admit here, before it all begins that this is crazy. It's entirely possible, likely even, that I am embarking on a fool's errand. But no wiseman can tell the fool what she might see in her travels, and even the king himself cannot tell the fool's stories. They are hers alone - her gift, her treasure. Her reward for being willing to wander where she does not know the way.

Time to jump down the rabbit hole.

fit for a queen

Last year when Mom & Dad were out here looking at houses Mom suggested that we go to the Empress for high tea for my birthday. Well who says no to that? So this year, when the end of May rolled around I took the day off work and off we went. Let me say this up front - if anyone ever says "Wanna go for high tea at the Empress?" the answer is YES. Always yes.

As you can see, the morning of my birthday I was pretty excited about the prospect of a mini break holiday with my Mom. Boats, water, tea, conversation - I knew it was going to be a great day.


Imagine my surprise when Mom arrived and in addition to the birthday treat I knew about she had a HUGE bouquet of flowers in her hands! I am such a sucker for flowers and these were gorgeous. I got them in some water and we were ready to head off for the day.

After a great ride over on the ferry, and a short ride on the coach we arrived in Victoria. The coach dropped us off just a block or two from the Empress. Just a short walk and we were there.
The signs says it all, tea this way! Ok let's go!


The tearoom itself is gorgeous! I could see right away why Dad opted to stay home. It is a very feminine room. The walls are pink. There's an incredible view of the harbor, columns and comfy chairs. It is a room that invites you in. I was so glad we had lots of time to stay.


The host settled Mom and I into a pair of cozy wingback chairs in a corner of our own. The room itself is huge but it's full of little nooks to snuggle into with conversations just waiting to happen. Our waiter Joseph came by with the menus and asked if we'd like a glass of champagne to go with the berry course. Mom and I looked at each and giggled and said "why not?" So we started our tea in style with a toast.


Not long after out strawberries and champagne the tea arrived and WOW. Everything you've heard about tea at the Empress is true. I can see why the Queen comes here when she's in town.

On the bottom level were sandwiches - mushroom pate, carrot & cream cheese, curried chicken, smoked salmon pinwheels & egg salad. Delish. On the next level up were scones, a classic, with Devon cream and little individual pots of Empress strawberry jam. Sooo good. On the top layer were the desserts. Goodness, a person could do some serious damage. Shortbread, chocolate cherry tulips, key lime cheesecake, strawberry tarts and to wash it all down the Empress' house blend black tea. There was two of absolutely everything so we could try it all. And we did.





Everything was so delicious we spent almost two hours enjoying it. We talked about life and love and dreams and boats and things we want to do more of and things we want to do less. It was a delicious afternoon in every possible sense of the word. After a wonderful tea we took a stroll around the harbor, stopping to take a picture of the beautiful facade of the hotel.


While we were walking we found a great idea for Dad's next birthday. You can rent this little beauty to drive around. I took a photo of the contact info for next time.


At the end of a wonderful day, we took the ferry home. I kept thinking of the end of the children's song Teddy Bear's Picnic "At 6 o'clock their Mommies and Daddies will take them home to bed extremely tired but contented bears." I know just how they feel :) Thanks Mom & Dad for a magnificent birthday! It's a day I will never forget.

The Church of Gaga

Lady Gaga is everywhere these days. Her current tour, The Monster’s Ball is so completely sold out that I recently saw a listing on Ticketmaster for tickets for a show in 2011. No joke.

Lady Gaga is known for being avant guarde, out spoken, artistic and opinionated so when she recently sat down for an interview with Larry King, I was surprised to see the discussion turn to matters of religion. King asked her about being raised Catholic and what she believes and this was her reply:

“I believe in Jesus. I believe in God. I’m very spiritual. I pray very much, but at the same time there is no one religion that doesn’t hate or speak against or be prejudiced against another racial group or religious group, or sexual group and for that I think religion is also bogus.

So I suppose you could say I’m a quite religious woman who is also very confused about religion.”

I knew she had her finger on the pulse of our times. A recent article for CNN spoke of the rising group of people, especially those 18-25 who identify as ‘spiritual but not religious’. You’ll often see the notation SBNR on Facebook. There is a longing to belong to something bigger than ourselves, but also a need to step away from some of the negative aspects of traditional religions. Which leads to some interesting questions for all of us.

Does God need the church? Do I need the church to know God?

It’s a not as easy question, but it’s an important one. In the Bible Jesus speaks of building his church, but then as he suffers on the cross, the man next to him calls out for forgiveness and Jesus doesn’t tell him he’s out of luck because he can’t get to a service. Instead he says, “I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise.” (Luke 23:43)

In CNN’s article they quote BJ Gallagher, a blogger for the Huffington Post who shares a parable that says:

“God and the devil were walking down a path one day when God spotted something sparkling by the side of the path. He picked it up and held it in the palm of his hand.

“Ah, Truth,” he said.

“Here, give it to me,” the devil said. “I’ll organize it.”

Does God need the church to be God? I don’t think he does, but I think I might need it. Those who identify as ‘spiritual but not religious’ often take aspects of different traditions together to combine into a custom faith, a personal spirituality. I don’t know if that’s enough or not. I know for myself there are times when I need a community of believers around me and yet there are also times when I wish they’d go away.

The other day I was reading an Op Ed piece on CNN about the military possibly repealing their policy of “don’t ask, don’t tell”. It was an opinion piece and the writer, who technically shares a somewhat similar religious view to me, was certainly opinionated. He spoke of the downfall of the military and even national security being put at risk. But that wasn’t the part that broke my heart.

In the comments there are a few people who blast the writer, and that’s how it goes with Op Ed pieces, they’re supposed to draw lines. But then the church folks showed up, the people who are supposed to be my people, and the things they said took my breath away. There was not a drop of kindness, or love, or mercy. No attempt to understand, or time taken to listen. There might have been truth in what they were saying, but who could hear it under the roar of their rhetoric?

So where does that leave us? CNN’s article goes on to say:

Jennifer Walters, dean of religious life at Smith College in Massachusetts, says there’s a lot of good in old-time religion.

Religious communities excel at caring for members in difficult times, encouraging members to serve others and teaching religious practices that have been tested and wrestled with for centuries, Walters says.

“Hymn-singing, forms of prayer and worship, teachings about social justice and forgiveness — all these things are valuable elements of religious wisdom,” Walters says. “Piecing it together by yourself can be done, but with great difficulty.”

I can understand where the ‘spiritual but not religious’ thinking comes from. I also think it’s a lot to carry on your own shoulders if you’re going to go it alone. For me, I find comfort in tradition, in ritual, but I also need a faith that is hands on. If it only affects what happens after my life, and not what happens during it – I don’t have a lot of use for that. I need God to show up today, not 60 years from now. There’s a verse in Philippians that says, in part, “continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling”. Maybe it’s not supposed to be easy?

Notes:

1. Image of Lady Gaga is original fan art by Ellen Violet. You can see more of her work here.

2. I originally wrote this for work, but Facebook is so silly about allowing links in statuses that reposting it here was easier.

look who's here!!!

I have a brand new nephew! Jackson Rhys Colvin made his appearance Thursday, April 15th at 3:12pm and the world was never quite the same again. Rhys is a Welsh name that means "enthusiasm", a daring, but perfect choice for a little boy. (He'll be able to say that energy really IS his middle name.) Jackson, I don't know what you're going to be enthusiastic about yet, but I can't wait to find out.

Kai meets his brother for the first time. They commemorate the event by participating in a time honored male bonding ritual. (Kai punches his brother. Parents deal. The world continues to spin.) I remember hearing stories of Mark asking our parents when I was going back to the hospital. I wonder how Kai will respond to The Interloper.
I love this pic of Rachel and Jackson. They look so peaceful.


And then there were four. Just think, you are now the perfect size to win one of those all expense paid trips to Disneyland :) I really, really need to get to Australia. Clearly I am missing out.

Welcome to the world Jackson Rhys. I can't wait to meet you in person.

Warning: Fangirling Ahead

I went to both Adam Lambert concerts this weekend. Adam Adam. Twice in one weekend. Well, that was fun :D

It’s early Sunday afternoon as I write this and I am still basking in the afterglow of one of the best weekends I’ve had in a very long time. This weekend was full of things I don’t usually do and here in the sobriety of Sunday afternoon, I think I need to do them more often.



I went to the airport to meet the online friends I was splitting a hotel room with. Erin tweeted me that their flight was in and before too long she came striding over. I met Andrea and Cherry and in just minutes I couldn’t remember why I had been nervous. Confession: I left my Macbook at home because of the voice in my head that kept screaming YOU DON’T REALLY KNOW THESE PEOPLE THEY COULD BE KLEPTOs. I had nothing to worry about. Next time, the Macbook comes with :D

We grabbed lunch, made our way to the hotel and then headed off to Holt Renfrew for some fantastic false eyelashes. This is another thing I never do. I will be doing it again. False eyelashes are better than losing 10lbs on the spot. You look instantly more glamorous. After that it was time to head off to the MAC cosmetics store. This would become a recurring theme.

At MAC we bought fantabulous colors and Erin bought some teal glitter. Well stocked we headed back the hotel to get glammed up. Yoshi met us at the hotel and was quickly folded into our retinue. At this point, I should apologize to the hotel staff. With five of us getting ready in one room there was glitter everywhere. I couldn’t help but smile. I think Adam would have approved.

All prettied up we headed over to the Red Robinson Show Theatre. We grabbed dinner, got in trouble with security for taking photos (not allowed on the casino floor) and walked in under the huge sign announcing Adam Lambert was playing tonight.

For Thursday’s show at the Red Robinson Show Theatre we had seats farther back but dead center. It’s a tiny theatre, only a thousand seats so we had a great view. There was a mosh pit and lots of black and glitter. When the opening act started to play I thought the sound mix was a bit off. There was a very long intermission and at 9 o’clock the lights went down, the air left the room and a certain tall, raven haired ringmaster took the stage. Finally, finally it was time.

The roar of the crowd was deafening. It did that rushing wind thing that I remember hearing at the Idols live tour even though this was a much smaller crowd. They opened with FYE, but halfway through Adam stopped. They were having technical issues and he had them reset a few things and start again.

Adam is truly magical on stage. He moves like water, casts a spell over the crowd and holds you there, but you don’t mind. I know there’s been whinning about him mentoring on Idol but there’s no one better to teach those kids how to put on a show. Adam knows what to do with a stage and how to work a crowd. He was fantastic. There were sound issues throughout the night, but you almost didn’t notice. He was fully ON and we were right there with him.

After “For Your Entertainment” he played “If I Had You” a song I like more each time I hear it live. Whatdaya Want From Me was next. I have no idea how he manages to sing that song a little differently every time, but he does. I love that he’s kept the higher twist on “it’s me” – I like it even better than the original recording.

I don’t go to a lot of concerts, but I think that Adam is one of the few, the very few who actually sounds better live than he does recorded. The CD is really, really good but Adam live is a completely different treat, one that I wish every Adam fan had the chance to experience.
During Strut it was like he was tossing little pieces of his own confidence out into the crowd like glitter. I felt beautiful and confident. If someone had asked me right then to strut across the stage, I probably would have done it.

In another universe Adam would be AMAZING host for that British show “How to Look Good Naked”. He makes you believe that you can strut, with whatever you are working with. He is so confident it’s like sunshine that you turn toward before you even realize you’re doing it. He believes in you so strongly that you cannot help but believe it yourself. I can completely understand how the stories behind “Broken Open” happened. Adam feels incredibly safe and that safety is an amazing place to step out into whatever you’ve been holding back.

Sure Fire Winners came next. If I’m being honest, Adam had trouble with the lyrics on this one. He lost his words a few times that night but SFW just seemed to take him for a ride. It didn’t matter though, it was still a great performance.

He ditched the jacket for Soaked, moving us into the acoustic portion of the evening. Next up came A Loaded Smile – a song he has never performed live before. It was ethereal and haunting and lovely. He sang Mad World. I could listen to that song all day. Same with Broken Open which came next. After that was Sleepwalker and Music Again which was a bit of a blur.

He closed the show with Fever. This song is so obviously the hit single and but radio program directors won’t play it. They did Down The Rabbit Hole for the encore. Adam had such a huge grin on his face when he came back out. I loved knowing that I had a small part in putting it there. Yes there were technical issues, but all in all it was a great concert and I had a wonderful time.

We headed over to the River Rock after to meet some friends and to our great surprise Tommy and Monte walked out into the lobby. While my brain screamed "that's Tommy, standing right over there!!!" my innate Inner Awkward Turtle kicked into overdrive and I literally could not make my legs walk over. I admired him from afar.

Yoshi went over to join the crowd talking to them. She said that they were kinda down at first saying that the mix was bad and it made it almost impossible for them to hear each other. She told them that she had a great time and said that they cheered up a bit hearing that. They took pics and I just stood there, on the other side of the lobby feeling awkward. Little did I know that later that night, fate would bring Tommy to me.

We headed into the bar and grabbed a table. We managed to order a round in spite of the Worst Bar Service of All Time (of ALL TIME!!) Tommy and Monte came in to the bar and there was a crowd around them the entire time. But I ended up getting to meet Tommy. Here’s how it happened:

We were sitting at a table at the back of the bar and Tommy was over on the other side of the bar completely surrounded by people. Yoshi went over to talk to Tommy along with Fiona. Fiona was going to ask a question but got a little overwhelmed and came back to our table. Yoshi didn't notice right away and said to Tommy "My friend wants to ask you something" and then turned around and notice Fi was gone. Apparently Tommy said "Where'd she go" and when Yoshi pointed to our table Tommy said something like "Let's go ask her."



So, back to me, sitting, chatting away to Andrea and Fiona when I look up and Tommy is walking right towards me. I think I must have startled or something but Tommy looks up at me and puts his finger to his lips in a shh-ing gesture so I school my face into a mask of nonchalance. (I guess those acting classes did pay off) He sits right down next to Fiona and says "Hey, how come you're too shy to talk to me?" and Fiona turns, registers who it is and screams.



Quite understandable.



Tommy, who just might be the nicest man on the planet completely ENVELOPES her in a hug, introduces himself and asks her what her question is. Fiona at this point is having a little trouble making words so Tommy gives her a minute to collect herself and starts meeting the rest of us.

He reaches out across the table to shake my hand and says "Hi, I'm Tommy" and by the grace of all that is holy I manage to NOT say "YOU"RE TOMMY!" right back to him. After intros we start talking music. He tells us that the first time Adam mentioned playing “Whole Lotta” Love acoustic the whole band wasn't sure how it would work. Adam had to convince them to try it, which they did and once they heard it, they were convinced. I wanted to ask him if that happened a lot - if Adam often had crazy ideas and managed to convince them to try but the conversation moved.

The next day, Friday we all got up and had pretty much the same thought “we get to see Adam AGAIN tonight!!!” We grabbed crepes – the breakfast of champions! We headed back to the MAC store for more sparkly things. I headed over the glitter section. The night before Erin and Andrea put teal glitter in their hair – I didn’t even know you could do that. They both have dark hair, so the teal looked incredible. I am blonde and worried that the teal would look like sprinkles so I declined. My mission at the MAC store: find a goldish glitter that would work better in my hair.

The same assistant as the day before came over and was a little incredulous when she saw me finger the glitter. “Yesterday you wanted a subtle shimmery look and today you’re buying glitter?” she asked. I thought about trying to explain the Adam Lambert Effect but decided instead to simply say “it’s been a very interesting weekend”.

She recommended one of their white glitters instead and I have to say A+ choice MAC lady. You can wear it on your eyes, as body glitter, in your hair – or if you’re going to an Adam show all three. I have never worn glitter AT ALL before but I have to say, it’s a lot of fun. When we got into the show the girl behind me tapped me on the shoulder and asked “How did you make your hair sparkle like that, it’s gorgeous!” and I beamed. If you’re interested, the one I got is Glitter Reflects in Reflects Gold

Almost right away you could tell that something was different Friday night and different in a really good way. By the end of the show I actually felt a little bad for anyone who saw Thursday’s show and not Friday’s. Thursday was great but Friday….Friday was something very special. I think it will be a long time before I experience something like that again. The crowed was pumped, dancing along to the music that played while we were waiting.

After the first song they turned on a set of lights that lit up the audience and Adam could see us dancing and cheering and happy. It was as if they lit us and then we lit Adam. He looked out at us dancing, smiling, everyone on their feet and he just BEAMED. I swear his smile was visible from space. He glowed and then he sang. He put on an incredible show.

Adam said “you're all so sparkly!" and that's exactly how I felt. There is something about Adam that is incredibly freeing. It’s as if he walks around with a giant pair of glittery scissors cutting all the ties that hold us down, thst hold us back. Insecure about your looks? Snip, you’re beautiful. Afraid of looking silly and being rejected for it? Snip snip, just dance. He moves so quickly you barely notice he’s doing it but suddenly, inexplicable you’re free, you can fly if you want to. He won’t push, but he’ll lead you up to the edge of the cliff and show you the view.

I can't dance, but when Adam sings my body finds a rhythm. You cannot stand still, his voice calls out to you. I just went with it. It all felt right and there in the crowd, under his spell I never felt awkward or self-conscious. I danced for the sheer joy of it, for the music and the way that it made me feel. It was beautiful and it made us beautiful too.

After Strut they played Down the Rabbit Hole – another song that just keeps getting better. During the “Who are you’s” at the end of the song Adam skipped over to each band member in turn and sang to them. Then he sang "Who are you? Ask yourself that, who are you?" and I heard a voice in my head say "I am a girl who puts glitter in her hair". I like the sound of that.

At the beginning of the show the Host said “I have a feeling that years from now thousands of people will claim that they were at the River Rock for this show tonight. You’re the lucky ones who really were. Enjoy it.” Not hard to do.

Mad World was, hands down my favorite Mad World ever. It was beautiful. About three minutes in he just started riffing this gorgeous, bluesy set of runs. Really lovely.

Fever starts, and the crowd goes wild even though somewhere in the back of our heads we know that the show is winding down. The song ended and Adam beamed again. He started stomping his feet and declared “Disco is back!” He said “Disco! Disco!” and turned to face LP and in the next moment LP is giving him a beat. Monte joins in on guitar then Tommy and Cam and it’s so smooth it takes almost a full minute for me to realize that this isn’t the start of the next song, it’s just a few very talented musicians messing around on stage. Seriously, seriously talented musicians. They play, Adam dances then he throws his hand in the air and as quickly as it started it’s over. They end in perfect unison. This band is tight.

The morning after the show as I was walking around the city on my way to Starbucks the sun was shinning the sky was blue and I couldn't stop smiling. A couple of years ago when I still lived close to the ocean I got up really early one day to watch the sun rise over the water. A couple of lines that I wrote in my journal that morning came back to me to today "And now the world is fully awake. And now, so am I.”