in this case, the good far outweighs the bad

I've got good news and bad news.

Did you ever have anybody tell you that and immediately follow it with asking you which you'd like to hear first?

I've always been a let's hear the bad news first and get it out of the way kind of girl, myself.

So, the bad news:

I have re-injured my rib. The same one that my friend unwittingly cracked while slamming into me on a roller coaster over the summer. The same one that had healed so nicely. Maybe too nicely, cause I had forgotten it was even susceptible at all. I had also forgotten how badly a rib injury can hurt. How it kind of feels like I am suffering a minor heart attack, being that the rib in question is right over my heart. And how it seems to be connected to every kind of automatic movement your body does, to the point where getting up hurts. As does breathing. And any sharp motion at all.

Have I mentioned that I am in A Chorus Line and there are approximately 3,056 sharp movements in that show? Thought I would throw that in there. You know, just in case you were gonna tell me to stay away from sharp movements for a while. And getting up. And maybe try holding off on that whole pesky breathing thing for at least a day. Cause unfortunately, I've got to get up to do the sharp movements in the first place and breathe the whole time throughout. There's just no way around any of it, I am afraid.

But Jessica, you're all dying to know, How in the world did you re-injure your rib?

Well, how badly would you judge me if I said that it involved a completely harmless and athletic pole-dancing class? And I followed it up by saying that it did not involve one ogling man, one bit of stripping (well, I did roll up my pants at one point, but that hardly counts. Oh wait, I also took off my shoes, which is a form of stripping. Shoot.), nor did it involve anything that I would be embarrassed to do in front of my mom. In fact, I'd be proud to do it--she would have been oohing and aahing, seeing me swinging around that pole and climbing it like a monkey.

A really tall, (comparatively)hairless monkey who recently got her hair highlighted.

But the climbing part. That's when I slammed my poor, just healed rib into the pole and hurt it all over again. I didn't think it was that bad until the show tonight. And let me tell you, I started thinking it was that bad all over again. Not call-out-of-the-show bad. But bad enough to make my movement a little daintier than usual.

So there you go, that's the bad news.

The good news?

We're talking boxes around here, folks. Many, many boxes of all different shapes and sizes which will soon be packed with anything ranging from the child's Mickey Mouse tee my dear friend Kevin bought me in Disney World this past February to the pair of brown boots I thought I'd wear but have rarely done so to the small collection of sharks I have seemed to pick up on the road. Yes, that's right, these beloved boxes are going to be filled to the brim with the contents of my trunk which has been filled to the brim with the contents from my home since last April. LAST APRIL, cause that bears repeating. And capitalization. And how about getting some italics all up in here? LAST APRIL. And let's make it bold, too, just for kicks. LAST APRIL. Because that's how long I've been on the road, filling up that trunk. Since last april, 2008.

But now I am finally getting myself ready to go home. With boxes.

And that is some good news.

Aren't you glad I saved the best for last?

that's what I hear in these sounds

It's his footsteps that reach me.

The sounds of stairs, begrudgingly giving way underneath. With a creak, announcing him.

And even though he's walking away, there's still the sound of him, and I love those loud stairs for that.

But then the big door swings open and closes with a hollow thud and that's that. The ensuing silence proving the point that he's actually gone. Until he starts up that motor, and his old jeep backs up, working too hard to just get out of the neighborhood.

And although that quiet is quite clearly broken, it brings no comfort.

Only isolation.

Like a woman noisily giving you the silent treatment.

She's banging on various kitchen sundries, making a point to carry overly loud saccharin conversations with everybody else when she's not humming that tune made famous in high school, and you finally put down your book. You wonder what it was you ever did to make her ignore you so hard.

And that's how it sounds when he leaves; I like the sound of him coming home much better and at least there's a cat at my feet and one at my side.

*inspired in part by when he left early this morning...and a song called The Chain, by Ingrid Michaelson:

So glide away and so be healed and promise not to promise anymore

and if you come around again then i will take, then i will take the chain from off the door

this one's for you, babe

I've got this husband.

And when I got him, I also got a lot more musical instruments just strewn about.
Which is fine with me, by the way.

And our feet all seem to get along, which is a bonus.
They even get along with paws.

One of our favorite things to do is to write music together.

And then play it for other people.

I'm good at coming up with songs; he's good at making my songs better.

He's good at putting chords together I would never think of; I'm good at throwing words on top of those chords, strung together by a melody.

And something else we've made, too--a solution, of sorts.

One we came up with a long time ago.

It's necessary when you combine someone like me, whose inner monologue jumps ahead to any potential dialogue, trying desperately to avoid anything that could possibly make myself or anybody else feel awkward with someone like him, who loves, laughs, and speaks freely.

So.

If one or the other of us does not like what the other is doing or saying, we pinch their elbow. Discreetly.

Like a ninja.

Only we can wear normal clothes.

And leave the throwing stars at home.

Now I just came across a picture I had made sure to get but then promptly forgotten about. The picture is funny because Drew happens to think the phrase is pretty darn funny. And yes, uses it from time to time.
So here you go, Drew; this is for you.

And look, I am not even pinching your elbow.

But I am wondering if you've ever been to Maine with a can of pink spray paint in hand.

leftovers

I really don't love them.

And here's why.
Inevitably, we forget about them.

Inevitably, we end up growing Frankenstein's monster in flora form.
I know, gross.

When I finally unearthed it under its innocuous looking facade of saran wrap, I could hardly believe what we had been growing under our own roof.

A lot of people grow flowers.

Herbs, even.

Some even grow chickens and goats.

We grow mold, I guess.

Big, billowy piles of mold that can deceptively look like cotton candy.

But not anymore.

At least not until one of us gets the next bright idea of stashing away those leftovers in the very back of the fridge.

Like I said, gross.

the girl and her piano.

Let me tell you a story.

It's my story so I might as well tell you that the protagonist is gonna be me.

And the antagonist...well, you'll find out soon, but he would probably disagree that I am, in fact, the protagonist.

There was a girl who had a piano that she loved very much. It was dark cherry wood and had all the white keys and black keys it should. There were a few tiny little chips in the otherwise perfect veneer from when she had gotten very into whatever she was playing, banging on that perfect amount of black and white keys so hard that the knickknacks her mom had placed on top of the piano in an effort to be decorative fell down, hitting those keys with an accompanying discordant crash and leaving their marks.

And with each examined chip, the girl learned her lesson well: don't put knickknacks on the piano or if you do, don't play so hard.

But despite those little chips, the girl still loved her piano. And it was a very sad day when another one of the girl's loves, a boy this time, took her away from that piano, moving her into an apartment with white walls and not much soul. The hand-me-down couch with all the striped cushions and chips in the wood that the girl and boy acquired helped to give the place character, sure, but it still didn't have anything near as loved as that piano in it.

Except maybe the boy.

When he wasn't working and was actually in the apartment, that is.

Now the girl would still make the trip to her piano, though. Faithfully. And she didn't even mind so much that she was always the one doing all the visiting; she understood that the piano had all those keys, the very perfect amount of keys, in fact, and couldn't move so well because of them.

But still she dreamed of having her piano nearby, a few steps away. She liked to have all those keys close for her to find just the right way to say the songs that came to her at odd hours of the day or night.

A year passed.

The girl and the piano remained the same, visiting when they could and never growing tired of each other.

And then the boy had some good news.

A house was in store. With lots of walls that could be painted whatever color the girl chose. Or re-chose as the case may be. And the couch would come of course, all it's stripes would fit right in with the bright walls the girl was already planning. And best of all, the piano could come live with the girl in the house.

This made the girl very very happy.

And finally, the boy did it.

On an afternoon that could have blended into many another afternoon we've all spent, something grand made it stand out: the boy and a lot of his friends moved the piano into the house and sat its cherry wood behind right down against the yellow wall behind it. And excitedly, joyously, the girl began to play.

It was maybe 2 pm, not late by any standard at all.

And the girl kept playing, every once in a while trading off so that the boy could play, but making sure to stay nearby and listen to all those keys, just the right amount of keys, sing.

When suddenly, there was a sharp rap at the door. One might even say an angry rap, if raps had feelings. The girl and the boy jumped to, opened the door, and were met by the Heavily Bearded Fellow From Next Door.

And he was not happy, though it was hard to really see him behind his beard. He started in by saying, That piano is very loud. Which is a tough thing to answer, it neither being a compliment or an insult. And then--

He asked them to stop playing.

He did. Like it was an option for the girl or something. Like it wasn't just like asking that dog to please stop having such a black nose or that cat to please stop saying meow.

The girl tried to explain to The Heavily Bearded Fellow From Next Door that she was a piano player and that she would be playing her piano. She acquiesced a bit by suggesting that she just play quieter, but other than that, they were at a standstill.

And since then?

The HBFFND (can I just call him that, please?) has taken to simply banging on their shared wall (the house being a townhouse, you know) in an effort to let the girl know that he is not happy that she is playing her piano.

Even though she tried to explain to him on that first day he showed up at her door at around 2pm in the afternoon that she was a piano player and therefore would be playing her piano .

And just tonight the girl was feeling inspired while playing all those keys and heard that dreaded thump! on the wall. The yellow wall that sits right behind the cherry red piano. And she quieted down, just like she said she would back on that first afternoon, at around 2pm.

But no, she didn't stop playing.

And no, she won't.

something large is napping

That was a phrase that surfaced in a game my family played at the beach this past summer. It cracked us up then and it still makes me smile to think about.

It also makes me think of this.
But in this case I should say somethings large are napping, I suppose.
Letting go of the world for a moment. Finding solace in sleep.
Forgetting about your argyle collar, your Armani glasses, and just cuddling up tight.
Letting the silence become a lullaby, the couch a vessel that takes you on a journey, a brief respite.
So go on then, slip into your
and we'll be here when you're ready to wake up.

Happy to see you.

But until then, something large is napping.

closets in the air and i believe.

Sometimes we need to make our own way in this world.

I get that.

But some things are just unavoidable. A part of life. Like accumulating paper. Lots and lots of paper. You'd think that somebody somewhere thought that trees grew on, well trees, with the amount of papers that are sent to our house every day. Coupons. Newspapers that are actually just more coupons, in case I didn't see that bulging packet of coupons that is sitting right beside it in the mailbox. Bills. Letters from dentists, for crying out loud, welcoming us to the neighborhood three years after we moved here. I mean, if I didn't feel welcomed by now, I am not sure how much a letter from a dentist is going to do the trick.

But in case you can't tell, I really hate all the wasteful papers that are sent my way. Just to be brought into my house. Just to fill up my trash can. Just to cause me to take out the trash and put in a new garbage bag once again. Just for those papers that were at first in front of my house in my mailbox to end up behind my house in my dumpster.

Couldn't the mailman save us all a lot of trouble by simply depositing those papers directly into the dumpster?

Anyway.

I hate excessive papers but I simply have to deal with it.

Because I can't just be like Drew, who one day says to me, I hate drawers, and the next day eliminates a lot of them from his life.

First of all, I had no idea the man I married had such a detest for something as harmless and helpful as drawers, of all things. But well, it takes all kinds, I guess and really, who am I to judge? He allows me my hatred of many many foods and drinks, so I suppose he is allowed to hate drawers.

Second of all, at least he can do something about it.

Like go to Lowes, pick up some antique chain and iron hooks, and then go hang a dowel from them after drilling it all into ceiling like this.
And of course, making sure that your newly acquired Japanese ninja sword from your lovely, intelligent, and hilarious wife is sitting next to your new hanging closet.

So there you go, Drew hates drawers and so made a closet in the sky. Or at least in the upper part of our bedroom.

And I present you the first piece of artwork in our room.
It makes me excited.

All of our artwork has gone to basically every other room in the house. Because other people see those rooms a lot more than our own bedroom, sadly ours is the room that has gone the most neglected.

But no more.

And we have plans for more, too.

Once the drill recharges and it isn't too late to drill, that is.

Oh, and a card that is presently in our house.

I agree with it.

And would like to add to it.

I believe:

in my ability to change.

because I used to never eat green peppers, but now I do and that counts for something. I did it just today, in fact, proving once again that I can change. And maybe someday change will be harder than just sticking a little old green pepper into my mouth, chewing, and swallowing, but well, that leads me to my second point...

in God's ability to change me.

because I know a guy who was a lot like all of us in that he just assumed that he would live forever or at least a very long time and got bogged down in all of the trivial things that don't matter so much, like what kind of shoes you are wearing and who is kissing who in the 12th grade. But then he found out that he was sick. Really sick, with something that most people think of as a stigma that leaves them saying no thank you and keeping their distance which only makes these people who are already sick also feel alone. But my friend--well now he is living life fully with no large or small moments lost on him, and he is radiant with a kind of joy that only the truly grateful among us experience. It's beautiful, he's beautiful and his sickness is not the point of his life.

So there you go.

What are you believing today?

candles and boots and coats and football can only mean one thing

The air has gotten cooler, haven't you noticed?

And I'm ready.

For the fall.

I think most of us are, in our own way.

Drew has welcomed this new season by watching football whole-heartedly. And even now that exciting and canned theme music with way too much treble is blaring from our speakers as the Titans and the Steelers compete for a win.

And me?

Well, I got some candles today.
Pumpkin spice and apple pie.

Enough said.

And I opened up this gorgeous and hand-made wedding invitation from my dear friend Betsy.
I should also say hand-sewn. Cause she's amazing like that. And she's a beautiful autumn bride. Perfect.

And I've dusted off my boots, debating wearing a pair tomorrow.
I also perused my latest Urban Outfitters catalogue, dreaming of owning a pair of their boots.

Perhaps someday.

Although I know exactly where my dream boots are. Spanish leather. Black. Sold at Barney's. And not in my closet.

Perhaps someday.

And I've also started getting excited about my coats again.
The different textures. The colors.

And even Drew purchased a cable-knit sweater yesterday, in honor of fall.

Are your thoughts turning towards fall quite yet?

black and white and food downstairs

Yep, that's right, a new bloggety design.

It was past time cause that green was even beginning to annoy me.

And I happen to be a big fan of green.

In the Great Change of '09 I lost a few widgets and gadgets that I am currently trying to track down and get back, but other than that, I am pleased with this new design of black and white (and read all over. Get it? It's a blog, so you read it, like that old joke about the newspaper,What's black and white and read all over? only you say it instead of read it, so you think they're referring to a color rather than an act. That's the clever part. Oh, am I getting way too in depth for this tired old joke? Sorry).

But as to the missing widgets and gadgets, I've asked some of the best internet people I know about those. A brother and a friend. Oh, but they are two different people. I guess one is my brother and my friend, but the other is not my brother cause she's a girl and a Hornbuckle, so not my brother, see? But a friend.

Anyway.

After only sleeping a measly five hours or so on Tuesday night, I made up for it smashingly by sleeping fourteen hours last night.

It's a good thing that I finally woke up or else people might have wondered if I had gone and met my Maker.

Ah, people being Drew and the cats, considering they are the only ones around this morning. But still.

Although it wouldn't have been the first time to have met him, my Maker, that is; I've met him already, and honestly, I am in no rush to leave this earth. Not because he isn't awesome or anything like that, though. Maybe it's all the green, cause I do love green as I said before, and there happens to be a ton of green things here.

And maybe it's the people too.

Okay, definitely it's the people.

People like my mom, who make sure that my kitchen looks like this,

stocked with all sorts of delicious and American food, so that I don't have to go to bed hungry.

You know, they don't have pretzels in Japan.

Okay, they sort of do, but they aren't the same. And the same goes for Ritz crackers, too, if you were wondering.

And I was craving some pretzels like crazy. For a month. And now they are downstairs in our kitchen, just a stairs descent away, and this makes me feel so happy.

It's amazing how much comfort a well-stocked kitchen can provide.

Just to let you know

I will not be blogging as frequently for a stretch here. My sweet Drew has some time off work, as do I right now, and I am gonna jump on this and let some other things go as I focus on being home with him.

And other things totally means my blog. But so as not to make this dear blog feel singled out, it also may or may not mean going to the gym.

We'll see.

Please enjoy yourselves and I'll try not to forget how to write or use a treadmill in the meantime.

daylight

I traveled a lot yesterday.

Monday went on forever, it seemed; In fact, it was about 13 hours longer than it should have been.

But when it comes to enduring however many hours it takes to get home, who's counting, really?

Not me.

Besides, those hours will happen no matter what. Might as well be spending them getting somewhere good. What's two bus trips, two flights, two movies, many meals, and multiple games of solitaire--one of which I actually won?

Not much.

Except for when I won, then it was a lot.

And it's been nice to hear Drew play my guitar; he makes it sing with a voice I had yet to hear.

It was nice walking my mom's doggies with her early in the day.

Heck, it was even sort of nice waking up at 5:30 am, since I was waking in my own bed to a still gray morning in which the sun was slowly rising, casting dawn upon us all like a spell. Like a beautiful spell that fills the world with light, and I am no exception so I'll happily stand in place besides the rest of creation and wait to be filled with a new expectation for the day.

Wait to be filled with the dawn.

Thank God there is one every day.

time

It's funny how time works. The way it just keeps going, moving along whether you want it to or not. I am actually pretty fascinated by it...I think back to when I started this job and it feels like a life time ago.

Walking into that big studio in Times Square.

Feeling like it was the first day of school, only my mom wasn't right next to me this time.

And yet at the same time, it is almost unfathomable that two birthdays have passed since I started this job.

Time works that way, doesn't it? Infinite, yet fleeting. Encompassing but can't come fast enough.

What brought this to mind is a picture I found the other night. Sometimes I like to go through my photos when I can't sleep or when I am missing home.

And one stood out to me.

I remember it perfectly, like it was yesterday.

Drew and I were walking on the pier in Chicago, clouds were billowed high over us, and we came upon a sign. It had arrows pointing different directions and the amount of miles to whatever big city was that way.

And yeah, Tokyo stood out.

Cause it was this place that I was going, but it still didn't seem real. At that moment, with Drew in Chicago, it was as real as the children we would have someday, the end of this tour, or even Christmas when it's only June.

It was the not yet.

And all of the moments that had to transpire until I left for Tokyo were daunting; all of the shows to do stateside, the meals to eat, nights to sleep through, weeks home to spend...But somehow all of those moments pile up and eventually tip the scale, making the line between the future and the present blur and suddenly what you thought was just a speck in the distance is staring you right in the face.

And you are saying good-bye and trying to be brave and wondering how that lump in your throat never seems to go down, not even with age, not even with it being the thirtieth time you're having to leave.

And now my trip to Japan has happened. Just like that. And yes, it was amazing...I actually think the question How is Japan? is a little hilarious. I mean, there is just so much to it. Do I mention the smells, how the air in even the 7-11 hangs heavy with the odor of fish? How I awake to purplish grey mountains outside my window? How people are crying in the audience every show; how they video us leaving the stage door and seem honored to shake our hands? How I got to play my music here in Tokyo and one of the emails I received afterward mentioned that my music was very friendly, among other things? Do I talk about the noodles, noodles, and more noodles? How the monkey wrapped himself around my leg, like I was a freaking tree? How I am now used to not being able to read one single thing in the subway? How I am physically in Japan, on the other side of the world, but well, there's this whole part of me, my imagination, I guess, that's back in America, that's in a small house with a man and two cats?

Or do I just smile and say Japan is amazing?

Cause it is.

And it's also a lot.

And how strange that here I was back in April, standing in Chicago while pointing towards Tokyo, a place I had never before been,

and now I have worked here for a month.

And now I get to go back home. And time is behind all of it.

Well, time and God, I suppose.

And guess what?

I never did figure out how to get to this theater here in Hyogo on my own.

And I am really okay with that.

it's a long long road sometimes

It's official.

And here's the proof.
My visa. For Japan.

FOR JAPAN!!!

And aside from the fact that I look exactly like my brothers in this picture, it's a teensy tiny bit exciting to look at it.

But I don't really want to go. I just hate the leaving home part. The last hugs, last words, the last last last...

I. Hate. It.

But still, it's traveling. Like, so exciting. Whenever I tell someone that I am leaving to work in Japan for a month they look at me like I told them that, I don't know, I just won the lottery or something. You know, something awesome. A dream. And then I feel like saying if it's so freaking fantastic why don't you go and I'll just stay home???

At dinner tonight I asked Drew if it was too late to reschedule. Something came up. Something like home. And Drew. And how much I need to be with him. So...yeah, I'm not gonna be able to make it.

Okay, just kidding.

I'll make it.

And to prove it, I have half a suitcase packed already with nearly 40 pairs of underwear inside, waiting to be worn in Japan. And no, not at the same time, smarty pants.

I know, I know, God has opened this door and all that. It's gonna be good. But right now--well, it's hard.

But I've been through it enough by now to know that there is grace for me, joy for me. Even all the way in Japan.

Wow. And that's not a sarcastic wow, believe it or not; I mean it, I am amazed by how God continues to bolster my heart, to encourage me, to help me to do it--whatever it is at the moment.

Even if it means doing it afraid, it doesn't end there.

So here's to anticipating some beauty that for some reason can only be found in Japan...and wading through the sadness in the meantime...

Now you'll forgive me for leaving--I have a mom and a few dogs on their way to wish me bon voyage, as well as a husband whose on his way back home after unexpectedly getting off from work tonight to be with me.

So really, who can be too terribly sad after describing their situation like that?

blue heaven in a parking lot

Today the sun was out in a force that almost rivaled Texas.

Almost.

So we lined up, like so many ducks in a row, and Drew took an artiste's picture of us.
There is some sad news that Crocs might be going under. Though I did see a high heel, in Crocs-form, which I am sure is their attempt to appeal to the greater masses. And yes, they are as hideous as they sound. Those heeled crocs might just be the last nail in the coffin. But luckily, my youngest nephew Judah is keeping them in business, two feet at a time.

But not the high heels, thank God.
I love when Drew wears the Blue Heaven shirt. It reminds me of our not even 24 delightful hours we spent in Key West this past winter and the restaurant we ate at for breakfast. Outdoors, a guy with a guitar and a mic, a few roosters roaming around, a ping-pong table which always serves as a reminder to us of my superior skills at the game, and that t-shirt. Blue Heaven. It's come a long way from the place where Hemingway used to referee boxing matches.

Don't worry, the kids finally started behaving once Drew laid the smack down.
And pretended to be a little bit happy.
So we followed suit.

z-pac, work your magic

I am under strict orders from my husband to do absolutely nothing.

And now, while he's at work, he keeps texting me with this question: are you drinking your water?

At which point I proceed to grab my trusty water bottle that is sitting nearby, take a sip, and then text back: yes.

It would seem that Drew is not in love with the idea of a sick wife, not if he can help it, anyway.

And he has helped it. He took me to the doctor this morning, after three straight days of my fever not breaking, has proceeded to cancel my pilates class I was supposed to teach tomorrow (which is a real bummer; I truly enjoy it), and even forbade me from cleaning the house tonight.

I guess he's really worried about me; usually he truly appreciates a clean house.

So I am laying like a lump on my bed, surrounded by books, cats, and my computer, waiting for the z-pac the doctor gave me to kick in...But well, being sick is kind of boring. And frustrating. Here I am, at home, and not able to hang out with any of the fantastic people I am so wanting to see; I am with my piano, but being sick takes all the creativity right out of me, it seems.

Isn't it ironic? as Alanis Morissette would say.

But I am going to trust that tomorrow is going to find me feeling much better, that I will be back to my self again and ready to take on the world.

Or at least, you know, Newark, Delaware.

on why a small component of my present reality is dumb while most of it remains awesome.

This is dumb.

I've been looking forward to coming home for this glorious stretch of three weeks that have nothing whatsoever to do with a leotard or heels or a 5, 6, 7, 8! and well, the fact that I am now laying in bed with a 100 degree fever, all hot and heavy and sporting a case of under-the-weather-edness that makes my limbs feel like more than I could ever lift and my body all achy is just plain dumb.

And I guess the fact that I just taught an hour long Pilates class didn't exactly help, either; but hey, if I have to feel feverish right now, at least my abs are feeling flatter at the same time, so thank you for that, Joseph Pilates.

Because abs are what you care about most when you're laying in bed, flicking off imaginary spiders, your skin is crawling so much.

But the fact that I have been feeling progressively worse throughout the day cannot take away some of the simple and lovely things that remind me why I love home.

The husband who sleeps beside me, and sends me a text first thing in the morning instead of, you know, actually using his voice and speaking to the person who is literally inches away from him. And not just any text, either: googly eyes. Cartoon-style. With a question mark following, his way of asking me if I am, in fact, awake.

My text back?

Zzz

Because no, Drew Copeland, I was not awake yet; my eyes were firmly and contentedly shut--at least they were until I was forced to open them and gaze upon the googly eyes you just sent my way. Oh, and if Journey blares from your alarm clock one more time, well then, let's just say that anyway you want it will not be happening for you any time soon.

My three year old nephew, running at full-tilt-boogie on chubby sneakers that are delightfully called froggies and that house even chubbier feet as they cross the distance from his momma into my arms.

A gaggle of nieces, all hilarious and pretty and full of a wonder I hope they never lose, enfolding me in a group hug, causing all of our brown eyes to light up.

Another nephew sitting close beside me as we watch Fern Gully; I am now forever grateful that acid rain does not, to my knowledge, actually take the form of some shadowy Elvis impersonator and wreak havoc on our lives.

Working through another song with Drew, his fingers finding the chords on the guitar that keep pace with my melody and lyrics.

My parents. Always ready and happy to see me, to welcome me home, to keep me assured of the things that matter most like family, love, humor, God, green things growing, dogs that look like magical creatures, and cherry tomatoes (or so my pop would say).

And of course, throw in some brothers and some gorgeous sisters, and really, it doesn't get much better than this, as homecomings go.

Okay, well maybe it would be better if I weren't feeling sick as a dog, but still. I'm home...which outweighs anything else at the moment.

snapshots from home

This has been a lovely weekend.

Drew's brother got married on Saturday, so we had to be at the church at 9:45 am.

Oh, and it was 45 minutes away.

Now, I told that to my sister-in-law in the kind of tone that says poor me, isn't that sooooo early? And this mother or four children simply said, Jess, that's really not that early.

Oh.

But, did I mention it's a Saturday?

And that I work at night generally and so am not used to getting up before 9 am by a long shot, let alone playing and singing a song that is for a sacred ceremony such as a wedding and therefore carries some weight?

Because those are some factors that should be noted.

I was pretty excited because, for the occasion, I bought a dress that I would not have ordinarily bought since it was so bright. I was first drawn to the same dress but in white, but already having worn my white dress to a wedding once and for all, I decided to try on the salmon colored one.

And my friend convinced me to buy it.

And to my delight I realized that I already owned a matching pair of heels.
Like, I said I was at the church at 9:45 and the wedding didn't actually start until 11, so I had some time on my hands. You know, to take pictures of the way my shoes matched my dress.

For documentation purposes.

The groom and his groomsmen walked down the aisle to the Mission Impossible theme song and were all wearing their shades, of course.
Drew played the part well. Naturally.

And today I was all set to go to Cracker Barrel. After all, it does serve the very best french toast I have ever had the pleasure of experiencing. But Drew suggested that we try out this new restaurant near our house instead, The Cereal Bowl.

Honestly, I wasn't psyched about the switch, having already spent some time anticipating the french toast, but figured I'd give it a try. I've always been a cereal girl. Always. Ever since watching Sesame Street's music video, Cereal Girl, a play on words for Madonna's Material Girl, I'd sing along with those lyrics--I said I'd taste it/I'd give it a whirl/And now I am a cereal girl...With the knowledge that it was one of my life's theme songs.

I have a few, you know. Which is fine, by the way.

We walked in and I knew I was at the right place.

Cereal lined the lime green walls.
As did a funky do-it-yourself milk bar.
And not only did they have cereal, they also had every kind of peanut butter imaginable.
And I love peanut butter. On the road, it is one of my cannot-do-without staples.

I deliberated for a while, but after tasting a few, settled on two jars. One chocolate chip cookie dough peanut butter, and one Crunchy Munchy peanut butter. I cannot wait to try them out with some honey or some jelly, depending on whether or not I have access to a refrigerator these next few weeks on tour.

We stopped back at my parent's house one last time today.
To grab hold of that illusive marriage license so that I can get my life in order according to the state of Delaware.
This is one of my favorite views of my parent's land. And I love this time of year. The grass is so bright from the rainy springtime season and it seems that every possible thing that can grow does.

You can't really see it here, but in the shady right hand bottom corner is the stream that I spent many an afternoon while growing up. Catching frogs. Looking for snakes. Praying. Singing. Writing. Talking to friends and family. Even camping.

Anyway, I love that stream. Once I caught a baby snapping turtle there. Just had to brag about that. It is my blog after all.

When we walked into my parents' house we said the obligatory hello?!? trying to find out if any family members were hanging around. We heard some scuffling and Strider, my parents' dog came bounding around the corner into the kitchen, face split in a grin, and tail wagging so furiously that his whole body was twitching from the momentum.
Strider has a way of making you get down on the floor with him.
And when his furry paws wrap around you, it's over.
Life is just good. And you can't help but admit it.

And remember that Mt. Fuji size laundry pile I have been successfully ignoring?

Well, we finally got to it today.
And Taliesin might have gotten the worst of it.

normal, for now anyway.

Yeah, I thought the same thing at first.I thought that somewhere between the time I left Drew to start rehearsing for ACL and now he had become a wizard.

Or a Jedi.

So you can imagine my relief when I found out that he had simply bought himself a slanket.

Or disappointment.

Home is every bit as lovely as I expected. The flight here was just an hour and I had to pretend like I wasn't completely enthralled by the fact that nobody was seated next to me on the plane. Then I had to pretend like it wasn't the best thing that has happened to me on a plane in a very long time when I got to lay down.

I got a little lost trying to find Drew after I retrieved my luggage from baggage claim. Once the attendant told me that I was standing and waiting in departures, however, things became clearer. Considering I had just arrived, I quickly got myself over to arrivals and then we found each other.

Go figure.

Drew and I got to have such a normal, married couple night.

I mean--it was exhilarating. Just to amble an evening away, hand in hand, being stupid or silly or hungry or whatever but the point was we were together.

I was lucky enough to get some balloons at the Melting Pot.

And the fondu wasn't the only thing that was dipped tonight, either.

And please, just look at the picture because that is the only thing to which I am referring.

homeward bound

My last flight leaving home was a sad one.

I arrived in an overcast Chicago, a glimpse of the next three rainy weeks spent there.

I was wearing Drew's oversized sweatshirt,
but even that couldn't make me smile.

But time, my friends, is a two-sided coin. Sometimes its passing slips too quickly through our desperate grasp, revealing to us once again how little control we have over most things.

But sometimes it's a blessing. Sometimes is runs through May in the blink of an eye and before you know you it you are finally face to face with what you've been waiting for.

I can hardly believe it's been six months since I put in for this vacation while I was playing a snowy and depressed Detroit. At the time I wasn't even sure I'd still be on this tour, but just in case, I wanted to make sure I could get myself home for this first week of June.

You know, get myself home to this guy.

And this little Persephone girl.
And Taliesin, to whom we affectionately refer to as our Grumpy Old Man.
And of course, I can't wait to see some of these crazy cats, either.
And my friends, too...This homecoming is going to be a good one; I can feel it in my bones.

I am a woman blessed with so many dear family and friends.

I am positively rich with them.

Yippee for June!