Porcelain, do you carry the moon in your womb? Someone said that you're fading too soon...

There once was a missionary.
I wrote him all his days,
except the last month or so.
He gets home next week,
but he will not drop by to say hello.
He said once that I was his best friend.
I am now dating his other best friend.
Reality: There once was a missionary, but:
Soon, he will be a Ken. Right here in this town.

Reality: There is no real way to prepare for this.

Our letters ended with a box.
Brooklyn text me:
"There is a box on our doorstep that looks like it's been through hell. I think it's from Latvia."
I came home to find it, busted corners and triple-taped.
To me, from him.
A box of all my letters and the things I've made him.
I sit here with them.
My mind looks at my heart and says
"Are you gonna be okay down there?"
"I think so, I mean someday," she says.
(She actually says much more than that. She begins a million thoughts without finishing any of them. She cries and yells. Sprints and sleeps. It's a mess, believe me. We're paraphrasing here.)
"No pressure," my mind tells her.
"Let's just not freak out. But let's not ignore reality either. But well... I don't actually know what to do ...Keep going? Yeah. Let's just keep going and listen for God and be strong."

This is what my mind and my heart generally decide to do. It's our most trusted solution.

So I made a cool thing on my wall out of the pictures he sent back.
And today, I'm readin my old letters.
I am tryin to make something positive out of this.
I am trying to do something constructive with all these emotions.
Wanna be a part of it? You're invited.
Here's a celebration of the last two years, in pieces:

-->

May 2008:

So pretty much Pete Hoyt’s gonna marry my friend Stephy Jay, probably this summer. Another one bites matrimonial dust, and I am a triple bridesmaid.

June2008:

"I’m in the APX breakroom at work, and there are computers for me! And a plasma screen TV... and I feel like I should be excited but I'm not. It's dumb.  They should turn the heat on, and add a couch... and then I'd be excited. (Maybe a grilled cheese sandwich maker.)

My supervisor at my new job is pretty huge. He has a Mohawk… like a 4 inch legit Mohawk. The other day I was bragging about eating a whole frozen pizza after my huge dinner. And then, mistakenly, he doubted me. I challenged him. "You. Me. Eating Contest," I said. "Girl, I would put you under the table." He talks now, but I know he fears me. I'll let ya know how it all goes down."

"One more question. I feel like, if I were you, my American life and my Latvian life would seem immensely separate. To the point that  remembering who I was before would be surreal, like I was recalling a movie I watched once... rather than something I actually experienced. Is it like that?"

July 2008:

"I'm home now! HOME. Today I took Brad to this sweet carnival thing for dang free! They had a ferris wheel and swings and an airplane ride and a fried chicken flopper! I was too old for everything, 'cept they did let me flop the chicken. I also wanted to get my face painted, but Bradley didn't really want to... and I would have been the only one in line that was twenty.

     You know what word I miss? Filthy. My Mom's chasin Brad around yellin 'You are a filthy little child and you're gettin in the tub. Quit whinin'.  And ooooooh! Go show Lyndsi how white your heiny is.'

Hi, welcome to the dollhouse.

     Other updates on my kids--- Corey just got his first sword wound from Kung Fu, not kidding. He came in flexin his muscles "Finally!" he proclaimed as he let his battle scar shine forth.

     Lacey's a fox. She came home soaked the other night because she decided she wanted to jump in the lake. So pretty much: she's me. I'm havin a sleepover with katie and kelsey tonight. I was real excited to ask her to come with me. What else could she possibly be doing on a Friday night? Going to Jason's party of course. So she's me, but cooler. Way cooler.

     This morning I woke up to the sounds of Jesse rockin out to guitar hero downstairs. He's SO shaggy lookin. By the time I came down he was skateboardin in his pajama pants. A shirtless bandit of flannel rebellion. My siblings are ballin."

August 2008:

"Right now I'm sittin in a cabin that's been rented out for Sabrina's wedding party. I know--dank. Welcome to the bridesmaid's room, you're the only boy in here. Be glad you can't hear on account of you'd hate it. So Sabrina's gettin married this weekend. Stephy Jay next weekend. Heather and my roommate Kim the weekend after that. Also, Brooklyn has a boyfriend. Me? I have a complex."

August 2008:

"I'm stuck in Cedar City on account of a tire BLEW while I was drivin 80 mph back to provo. Guess who handled it like a CHAMP? Me. And Brooklyn.

I'm in a dorm room, long story. This mornin I woke up, took a sweet long shower, jacked a freshmen's hairdryer... and so now I am atleast a clean, good-smellin hobo.

Did I tell you I was a hobo for real? Cause I am. I had to leave my summer apartment on the 15th, and my new one won't let me in til the 28th. So I'm stayin at Pete and Stephy Jay's empty married apartment until then. Brooklyn's with me, and her little sister Jen who's been livin with us for a month or so. Plus Steph's on her honeymoon so no big deal. Its FULL of boxes, with a mass-pad of blankets in the only open carpet-space-- we sleep there. Yesterday we dropped off Jen at SUU for her first day of college. (Hi, nostalgia major? Yes.) Anyway, thats when our car crapped out on the way home. We were sittin on the side of the highway in the dark, watchin the mountains. With the help of Chris Noel: my hero firefighter, and a state

I feel anxious about the fall, I am anticipating the change and flow of newness. I always get this way when I'm havin a beginning. Plus Sabrina, Steph, Stephy Jay, Heather, and our summer roommate Kim are all married now. So we're pretty much the most legit girls left in this town. And by we I mean me and my Brooklyn, we're a team."

October 2008:

"When Lyndsi gets married, we ain't havin no dainty halibut.

There will be fried chicken at that wedding."

--My little brother Jesse.

"I love my brother Corey. I know we could understand each other.  I miss him loving me. Loving me without guard, without anger. I would soar with relief, gratitude, and hope if I saw him go on a mission. I see what he can be. I wish I was more able to show him this love, because I know he doubts it, and I know that hurts him."

January 2009:

“There is one battle that remains-- always, I am fighting for my youth. Back home, I felt like my youth was dying before its time. I worked to preserve the child in me. I think that is why I still need to play in the reain and sing loud and fingerpaint. I need to know that I am not hardened. I pay my rent and write my papers. I go grocery shoppin and apply for scholarships. I help my friends tie up their wedding dresses. I. am. growing. Up. Part of this is beautiful to me. But still, I ache with the change. As God stretches me into who he wants me to be-- there is pain in the growth. I grieve for what I have lost. But I fell him here with me. I am grateful for the braid of past, present, and future. Sometimes, he reminds me, that he won't make me grow up any more than is necessary. Being a woman doesn't mean I lose my warmth. He will never rob me of my youthful spirit.”

March 2008:

"It's midnight and I'm eatin a chocolate coconut bar in my pajamas. I just got off work. There's an engaged snuggly couple on my couch, a leaky faucet down the hall, and a new book in my purse. This is my sweet life. I like it here."

January 2009:

"Lately I've been havin a hard time too. But, I was resistant to God's answers. I didn't want to know them... maybe because knowing them would require action-- and i was choosing to sulk. But last Sunday  I told Him I was ready to be in-tune. I opened myself back up. And since then, I have felt hims sending me strength. I sang in the car yesterday, and knew that I was BACK from my greyness. There was confidence and freedom in my voice, instead of disappointment and distraction. I know He brought me back, and I am grateful."

February 2009:

"Now I'm in my front yard eating chips & mango salsa with a stack of the letters you've sent me since I last wrote you. It's sunny. Happy Wednesday."

"...I love Ilga the feisty composer! She sounds like a strong woman, even if she's too stubborn to listen to you these days..."

April 2009:

"There is so much compassion in me, but blocked. Blocked by my distracted self-importance. If I could break down all that opposes it-- the anger and judgment-- the pride and idleness-- I know... that only clear purpose would remain. Only clarified direction.

Only healing."

September 2008:

*Postcard from California*

"Hail from your homeland! I'm here! I know! One of my favorite parts of today was sittin on the edge of the water and playin in the sand and tyin thin blades of seaweed on my ankles. They're still there. I bought some wooden beads from a mexican store for touristy kids like me-- who eat fajitas and fried icecream barefoot outside. Ken, San Diego is WAY different from the beach back home. There's a loud speaker at the ocean?! It's more ballin sushi city... and less country-fried-chicken-letsgofishin. It's not 100% me but I love it for what it is...”

November 2009:

"I have to tell you something. I'm kinda responsible now... like the super-busy-let-me-look-at-my-calendar-I'll-have-to-email-you-the-numbers responsible. It's weird. I used to think this kind of organization would kill my freedom and spotanaety. Now I know I have to be this way if I want to get everything done. Ken, I even wake up early. People depend on my and stuff. Sometimes I think 'Oh no! What if I'm boring now?!' But you're probably more responsible now too, so if I am more boring... hopefully you won't notice."

October 2008:

"Ken are you good at skipping rocks? Because I'm not. It's okay though, because I like the plunking noise..."

November 2009:

"I wish I could just sit you down and show you who I am, that it could be that simple.

The good news is: I've been tryin to do that for a long long time. For a while there, I couldn't tell if you were listening. Maybe that's because you weren't. But it's probably because you listen so differently from me, and so I just couldn't tell you were. Either way, for a long time now I've been able to tell that YES you are listening. I can feel your willingness. I'm always glad to see that it's still there. Always relieved. The best part is, these days you seem so ready to also show yourself. Maybe we can just keep trying. Thanks for doing this with me."

November 2009:

"I always worry that some mailman between here and eastern Europe will think the decorations on my envelope are obnoxious and throw away my letter because it's lame and American. Then I feel ignorant for worrying because that's kinda lame in itself... and American."

November 2009:

"Ken I just wanna be your friend all the time and tell you things. Sometimes I am walkin to school and I think 'I am so happy today. I want to tell Ken how this feels.' I am relieved to hear myself say things like that so naturally. Kinda like that time your companion asked you who I was and you said 'my best friend' without even thinking about it...

... I'm just glad for now-- for this part where we just write letters and learn things. This feels good. I believe in you so much. I hope you're finding out how powerful you are."

August 2009:

“Siovhan asked me what I want to be when I grow up and here's what came out: ‘A writer. And a Mom. Not necessarily in that order, but simultaneously, and forever.’ That's the most complete I've ever felt about the answer to this question.”

September 2009:

"I sit at this table, surrounded by produce and old letters... a gallon of chocolate milk (99 cents!) and the change of midnight. Today in my life I feel surrounded by: CHOICES.

Choices.

This is scary. Empowering. Staggering. Everyday, I find myself doodling question marks.

Where will my life go?

These days I am trying hard to be my best self. I have to keep re-committing, sometimes hourly. I know you are trying hard too. Let's both keep going."

August 2009:

"Okay. There's this very logical thing you keep doing that blows my mind...

1. Acknowledge flaw.

2. Make goal.

3. Follow goal.

4. Progress.

It seems so simple, and I see it working for you. I see your change. In my mind, I want these processes to be poetic-- symbolic and unfolding. Change can be this way, but the steps to change are much more simple. Logical. Accessible. Duh, right? In my mind, great things happen in mass revelations of beauty and truth. But great things just happen out of consistent effort and keeping covenants. That's all. God has been teaching me this, and you too.

Sometimes he says to me, 'See this rain? You hate it because it is slow and misty. It isn't a mad rushing downpour, so you think it has not story, that no one will remember this rain or really feel it. But not everything has to be so intense. Not every feeling has to come fast and strong to really matter. Not every process is a revolution. All the green things you love are benefiting from this rain I've sent, no matter its pace. Slow life can be your life. It can be enough.'

I listen to him, but I forget very fast."

A tall drinka water just a'pourin on down the sink...

* * * * *

Let me explain:

These are the throwbacks. The drafts I fiercely punched out on keyboards, and then hid away. 

...I couldn't ever get them to sound quite right. I couldn't say exactly what I was hoping to say...

Today: they are here for you to see.

EXPOSED.

Because today I was walking away from school, down the daily concrete steps. 

I stopped at the top.

I wished I could pull apart my ribs in one quick burst,

let my heart bust out of there. 

I can walk slow and heavy. I can handle my choices.

I can relieve my heart by letting go of its critic.

It's not about a beautiful escape for forgotten words, 

an idealistic second-chance for inarticulate paragraphs...

it's about exposure to the elements. 

Here is my mind. 

Here is my heart. 

Bustin out of confinement in painful imperfection.

* * * * *

* * * * *

February Third Two Thousand & Ten.

Goosebumps

They happen because a billion tiny muscles, each at the base of a single hair follicle, contract.

If you are cold, your body does this to trap a layer of insulation.

If you are fearful, your body does this to make you appear larger to those that prey upon you.

Except we don't have enough hair for either of those reflexes to really help.

If you are in awe, well, wikipedia doesn't know why your body gets goosebumps for that.

I found an answer on yahoo about spinal nerves and somatic motor patterns.

But we know what it's really about.

It's a soul thing.

You are affected.

We should call em soul chills.

Wow bumps.

I love those.

I love that my body reacts in acknowledging my spirit.

So often we force them into separation.

I am hoping to keep mind entwined.

Every day I try to hear what they both are saying.

But when the soul chills come, I only hear:

"Stay. Stay right here."

And the rest cannot be confined to translation.

I listen to wordless waves.

I listen.

"I can't remember now" he said.

"I'm blank. Maybe that means I shouldn't bring it up with you."

I hold your hand in the dark and we drive.

I can't forget.

* * * * *

February 5^th, 2010

Tonight I went to KidZone. It's run by college kid volunteers during the Utah Flash Game. I sat at a table in my free t-shirt with two rows of little paint cups-- the kind that made me exstatic about life when I was little. Tonight I noticed: They still make me this way. I painted a continuous line of little youthful faces. "Do you want a flash like on the uniforms? Or a basketball? Or we could just do cool stuff like stars and rainbows and dinosaurs..." They were loyal little fans... I did mostly Flash logos. But there was one stegasarus, a butterfly and two ladybugs... and one "red monster with scary teeth and two horns and a curly tail, ok? A curtly tail like this..."

I was born to do this.

I belonged at that table.

Their was a girl ready to switch me spots at the end of the first quarter.

I painted on into the third.

I needed this tonight, to be that happy.

By the end I had a kid in my chair and one hangin on each leg to watch.

When Dan and Brooklyn were ready to go, I let the other girl take my spot.

Before we dropped Dan off he asked,

"So what are you girls doin tonight?"

"Cryin," we both say. In unison of course.

And we are. I assure you this is totally healthy.

Big big things are happening and we need this.

Of course before hand there is the ice cream run.

Brooklyn gets the flavor she always gets when she means business:

Purely Decadent Soy Chocolate Obcession

I got lemon.

What was I thinking?!

I am so weird these days.

I am learnin something... it goes like this.

I left this boy. It was a heavy decision.

As he walked away I wanted to say

"Remember what I said about how I want my family to be someday? Later, you'll be with your friends and you'll want to laugh at that. You'll want to make some sarcastic reference to it, to put a spotlight on what they will perceive as prudishly idealistic, naieve and rediculous. You'll want to shine that light all over me because I made you sad and that hurts. When that chance comes, could you not? Could you not joke about it? Because that is very sacred and real to me. It would hurt if you let someone laugh at it. And because I love you and you loved me and I know you understand why it matters."

But I can't do that.

When you let go of something, you have to watch it go.

You have to let it leave however it chooses.

Sometimes they sink fast, down deep into a place you cannot remember.

Sometimes they take the pretty secrets and show them to everyone in broad daylight until they are worn from exposure and weak from misunderstanding... until they do not belong to you anymore.

Sometimes they laugh.

Sometimes they pretend, averting their eyes when you pass unexepected. Reality is half drowned.

Sometimes they come back, look you in the eye and say everything you want to hear.

Regardless: They leave however they choose to leave.

You can't answer all their questions, and you can't stop them from burning your letters.

* * * * *

February 22^nd, 2010

Today I am thinkin about this stretch of road in the desert of California.

I cannot tell you where it is

because it would ruin the mystery

and because I don't actually know.

I have driven on the skinny two-lanes.

Where old dusty cars are always daring to pass the slower ones

They accelerate in spite of oncoming cars and

switch back

just before colliding.

Breathe faster.

There are no hills.

It is flat and dry and totally unfamiliar to where I've grown up

It makes me think of a line my Dad used to sing:

Ventura Highway, in the sunshine 


Where the days are longer 


The nights are stronger than moonshine 


You're gonna go ...I know.



Cause the free wind is blowin' through your hair 


and the day surround your daylight there 


Seasons cryin' no despair 


Alligator lizards in the air...

It makes me feel young and alive, 

like I belong in one of those

mid-70's america movies.
I want to feel this today.

* * * * *

February 19^th 2010

Can you see it?

Damp bathinsuits hangin on the drawer knobs. The flip flops strewn across the  bedroom floor-- after swimming pools and muddy parks and walks with sprinklers. They even take shifts waitin in my backseat, just incase I catch myself barefoot at the grocery store again... oops. (I can't tell you how many late night pints of ice cream I've snuck barefoot at Smith's... stealthy self-checkout with cold toes on the tile floor. Sorry about this.)

Summer for me is feeling.

Feeling the concrete through those barefeet, still hot from the sun late into the night.

The breeze everyone else is sleepin through.

The air comin in through the car windows as my voice goes out.

The ropeswing...

The water that seems to rush up over my head before it even touches my toes.

Because now I am submerged, I jumped from a higher safer place,

I was ready for the current.

Speaking of jumpin,

Everyone just trust me.

I know what I'm doing with my life.

(Haha...)

Okay so I'm tryin real hard to know.

I feel good. Can you believe me?

Because I do. I trust myself.

And I'm jumpin, regardless of whether you believe.

This week my love was everywhere.

Let me tell you something, I WILL NEVER STOP LOVING.

There is this boy Ben. He was my boyfriend.

Today he isn't. Tomorrow he won't be. But maybe on Saturday.

Strange, huh? That's how my life feels.

I wrote Ben a letter.

I was writing about this a picture of this bird in Spain and how 

it made me want to do big things with my heart.

Ben wants to do big things with his arms and legs.

He wants to skateboard a 10 stair... yeah...dude.

He is rock-climbing one-footed today,

because he had ankle surgery like one second ago and there's a fat cast on his other foot.

This fat cast is red. That's Ben's favorite.

Really? Rock climbin in your cast? That's what he wants to do.

He said sometimes, when I talk about spreading my heart out, he wants to say 

"No! Lyndsi Shae be careful with yourself. Don't get hurt."

He never told me that before, because he knows this big love is a part of who I am.

He also knows that in a few minutes,

He will be wanting to jump out of a plane or climb the side of 7-11.

OR HOP UP THE STAIRS TWO AT A TIME ON HIS ONLY UNBROKEN FOOT.

(I hate that.)

And I'll be thinkin "Ben! Be careful with yourself. Don't get hurt."

But I rarely it out loud, because I know it's part of who he is

"Funny that we both take these risks just after worrying for the other," Ben says.

When I picked him up from his surgery, he was full of anasthesia.

This makes people crazypants.

He was showing me his "cool smock!" 

(You know those weird floppy hospital gowns?)

He was smiling the biggest.

He was sayin to the nurses "See this girl? I love this girl! I love her!"

And I thought

"Oh Ben, be careful."

For both of us.

Here we are.

"Love isn't complicated." Chad said to me.

Chad is my new friend.  He is marrying my Claire.

Chad and Claire are very new to eachother in a way,

so some people might think their crazy for getting married.

But here's the deal: I trust them.

Do I love Ben? Yes. That is not complicated.

But making it work, making sure it's right, find out how and why and when...

that is complicated.

Sometimes love falls into your lap.

Like Chad and Claire and you get happy and married and it's all simple.

Sometimes love is Chad and Claire: beautiful and smooth and sure.

Sometimes the love is sure, but the rest is complicated.

That's what I know.

It's snowing outside.

Here we are.

* * * * *

And Sarah Laughed.

Today is Wednesday and woah, I feel big.
My soul is enlarged, and I am surprised by how thoroughly the spirit has found me.
It's in my shoulders and my earlobes and my waving thoughts.
I feel so calm, but also ready
ready for something... else.
It's coming. Whatever it is. I can feel it.
Part of me trembles.
But most of me expands. I float out with diagonal confidence and say:
Here I am.

* * * * *

Two songs that foster this day:

This one is from my favorite movie, The Secret Life of Bees.
This one is from the same fantastic woman, it popped up in my life today.
Sing it India.

Hi. This is my brain.

A thought:

You know how there are some people who are just... unique?

But they're not really unique because there are so many of them...

What's their word?

You know those people who eat really fantasitcally natural food and are all about whole grains and whole yoga and whole green beans from their own college garden? They call concerts "shows" and movies "films." They know all the little downtown shops and trendy independent online companies that sell the best journals and flat shoes and skinny jeans? They're outfits are like neverending urban outfitters catalogues and they're just smart and funny and hope to be intriguing because they are secretly awesome at taking "photographs" or drawing "sketches" or memorizing folk/indie/bluegrass tunes. (These are like easylistening, but vintage. So above Delilah.) Earth hues. Organic remedies.Get it?

I love watching those people.

I love talking to them on the chance that I understand what they're saying.

The truth is: 

Sometimes I really want to be one of those people.

But I'm not.

Besides all the Wendy's I eat and country I sing and pajamas I incorporate into my daily attire...

I have all this emotion and loudness and contradiction...

and I'm just way too intense to be so organically delicate.

I think that's okay.

Another confession:

Gosh I feel lonely on this blog lately.

I leave for such long periods of time, and when I come back, I feel like I have failed this little page.

It's like I come back to my old home,

after being away on something gross like business leave...

something I never wanted to do in the first place.

It smells blank, void, dusty.

There are cobwebs on my favorite chair

and the sun doesn't quite shine through the tired glass of my discarded windows.

Ya'll, it's like even the fish has died.

And no one knocks on the door anymore.

I know this is all very dramatic,

but it's the truth.

Today I even looked up another blog site to see if I should start over.

Gasp! Oh the disloyalty! I know!

But that hypothetical new page would have no idea...

No idea that I let go of my home for so long.

That my expression often doesn't make it past preliminary thought,

And that this has been the case for a dang long dusty time.

It would know no feelings of neglect.

But then it also wouldn't know me.

So I'm not sure it's the answer.

Is anyone out there? Can we still believe?

Learn.

There are so many drafts saved here, behind the scenes of this blog.

They are full of my confused heart.

They span my stories and end with questions.

Sarcastic lines reference deep conflict and all is misplaced.

So they get pushed to drafts-- hidden, unfinished.

But I have something to say today! Wanna listen? Here it is.

* * * * * 

Today I am walkin home from campus to the sounds of Amos Lee.

Behold, the wonders of putting your ancient ipod on shuffle.

I love this man because he just pounds away at that piano and sings himself out.

Slow soul amos lee.

I am thinkin of a time when I sat in a small cafe.

It was at least 1 in the morning,

There were paintings on the wall. Not by Van Gogh or Rembrandt, but by some guy down the street. He could have been sitting next to me for all I knew. These paintings were wild, the kind where brushstrokes make little mountains of unabashed texture, unrefined emotion. There were a few mismatched tables, with creaky wooden and rod-iron and plastery chairs. There some couches from the thrift store of mustard yellow and faded floral prints. Nothing matched but it all belonged, and everywhere, everywhere was this late-night golden glowing. That's why we all fit there. We were not the same, but we had some golden around us.

In the corner was a piano. In it's silence, it seemed to have come from a forsaken life. It landed in that cafe as a refugee, and was making a new home. Half-way through my vegan sandwich, this piano was found by a scrubby guy in faded green pants. You know the kind, he was a stranger full of earth tones and handmade beanies. He sat at that piano and played Amos Lee. And I knew the words! There were only about 7 people in that cafe, and we all sang or hummed along. It was a phenomenon of belonging.

Then it's Dave Matthews in my ears. This song is called #41. My last two years of high school I had a friend who loved Dave Matthews. We used to listen to this on the way home from school in her grandma's convertible. We would sing with the top down and talk about it was very peculiar of Dave to name a song after a number. That's what she called him anyway, Dave. Oh strange, strange Dave. On one of those convertible afternoons we stopped the car to run and jump through sprinklers. And let me tell you, in the 3 houses I lived in during that time, all from different parts of a blending suburbia, the sprinklers are what kept me alive. Because every once in a while in these neighborhoods, the stars align. Newly installed sprinkler systems pop up from under the grass at exactly the moment when you're seeking a spectacular, spontaneous freedom. Later that night, we jumped in the lake with a boy I loved. Actually, I think that's when I started to love him.And me and that boy-- we would sing Dave Matthews like our hearts depended on him. Crash into me. I do know, where you go, is where I want to be.

These people have left my life now.

But don't you see? That's not the point!

This is life. 

The pages of my confusion and uncertainty?

I can sing home inside them.

This is what it's like to be alive.

I am skippin home in my baseball hat, elated to be taken down these avenues of my own experience,

all by unexpected music.

But is it just the music?

Perhaps the shotgun immediacy of my euphoria is due to some chemical imbalance that fuels the hereditary instability of the emotional women in my family. (So I've been told.)

Maybe it's the February sun today and how my arms shiver in anticipation of spring.

Maybe we don't need a reason people.

I just love Amos and Dave.

Thanks for the remembering.

Let's be alive.