Friday, June 18, 2010

Dear Daddy, Happy Father's Day

So here we are coming upon Father's Day weekend, my first without my Dad.   I am far enough away from his death in September 2009, to say I really miss him and wish I could tell him one more time how very much I love him.

Dear Daddy, 

Your grandsons are doing fine.  I say that, because I do not remember a day since they were born that you didn't ask me that question.  You will never know how much you influenced them in their music and you would be proud to know that Carter is once again playing the piano, beautifully I might add.  After ten years of not touching a keyboard, he picked it back up without a skipping a beat and get this, he is singing too!!!!  Your quiet, reflective grandson singing and playing the piano...obviously a God thing going on there, so tell Him I said thanks :)  Isaac is rockin' that guitar you got him for his birthday in 2008!  He is sounding great and although his style is not Merle Haggard, he is a natural born performer!  Friggin' great.  Gotta be the Stapleton in him.   Carter and Isaac have joined talents and are working day and night on a song they plan to perform together.   They are both perfectionists (wonder where they get that?), so every note and tone has to meet their standards before they perform in public.   I've never seen brothers who love each other more.  They are best friends...also an answered prayer.  High-five the Big Guy for that one also.  By the way, Isaac is about three inches taller than Carter, got braces in April, has hair down to his ears and is as sweet as ever.   Carter is working again this summer and is planning a major life change coming soon.  I'll tell you more about that later, but honestly, I think you already know.  Like the rest of us, they miss you terribly.

Your Rosie

Thursday, June 17, 2010

Audio Books

Recently I have been listening to audio books rather than reading. In my head, sitting down with a book feels like time wasted (I absolutely know it is not) but because there is always something needing to be accomplished in my home, reading feels like a luxury I cannot afford at the present. Audio books have solved this problem for me. I listened to Francis Chan's "Crazy Love" while doing household task. An amazing speaker and author, he draws great analogies from every day life to teach God's truth.   This has been beneficial to me since my "Mad Church Disease" has recently prevented me from attending.   Here is a video clip to give you an example.....

Wow!  What a great mind visual to help me see myself in a clear light!

Another audio book that came across the circulation desk at the library is "The Poets' Corner" compiled and read by John Lithgow.  His uniquely animated and lyrical voice brings poetry to life.  Poetry is meant to be heard.  Inflections in a voice can significantly change the tone of a poem and bring clarity to what the writer is trying to say.  This audio has been very enjoyable and relaxing to me and has introduced me to poets with whom I was not familiar, such as Elizabeth Bishop, the Poet's Poet.   Her poem "Filling Station" is an exquisitely precise painting of a miniature world.
Oh, but it is dirty
--this little filling station,
oil-soaked, oil-permeated
to a disturbing, over-all
black translucency.
Be careful with that match!

Father wears a dirty,
oil-soaked monkey suit
that cuts him under the arms,
and several quick and saucy
and greasy sons assist him
(it's a family filling station),
all quite thoroughly dirty.

Do they live in the station?
It has a cement porch
behind the pumps, and on it
a set of crushed and grease-
impregnated wickerwork;
on the wicker sofa
a dirty dog, quite comfy.

Some comic books provide
the only note of color--
of certain color. They lie
upon a big dim doily
draping a taboret
(part of the set), beside
a big hirsute begonia.

Why the extraneous plant?
Why the taboret?
Why, oh why, the doily?
(Embroidered in daisy stitch
with marguerites, I think,
and heavy with gray crochet.)

Somebody embroidered the doily.
Somebody waters the plant,
or oils it, maybe. Somebody
arranges the rows of cans
so that they softly say:

to high-strung automobiles.

Somebody Loves us all.