The whiplash is mostly gone, but new and weird pain has shown up in my knees. And my scabs are starting to itch, which in some ways, is so much worse than the pain.

After we came out at the end of the trail on Saturday, we loaded our bikes onto the doctor’s truck, and we headed back up to the trailhead where the other car was parked. People started transferring bikes from the car to the SUV. It was barely a 10-minute ride and I thought it was funny how we spent three hours on a trail for such a short return. It was definitely worth it.

People were chatting, and all of a sudden I felt dizzy. And the back of my head tingled. And everything was washed out in white light. And I thought, [bleep], I’m about to pass out.

I didn’t faint, though, but instead squatted where I stood and lowered my head and closed my eyes. I began to wonder if this was a result of the fall, if hitting my head had to do with the dizziness. It scared me a bit.

People kept on chatting, and I stayed seated. Then someone might have looked at me–he must have–and then he asked if I was okay. And I told him that I was dizzy. And the other stuff I was feeling. And he said that I had altitude sickness and that I should take two aspirin and drink a lot of water. That the aspirin would thin my blood and allow oxygen to travel more easily through my body blah blah blah fishcakes.

Someone gave me two ibuprofen and said it would do the same thing as aspirin. I dropped the pills from my palm into my mouth and drew some water from my Camelbak.

We boarded the white SUV and the driver blasted the air conditioning and I positioned the vent next to me to blow on my head. Someone told me how to recline my seat, so I leaned back and closed my eyes for a bit.

Within the first five minutes of the drive back to Duck Creek Village, some nausea sneaked up on me. I began to think how I would tell the people in the car how I was going to throw up at any second: could we pull over please, I’m about to vomit. Or that I’d just roll down the window and blow chunks and hope not to ruin the paint on the car. But, I continued to lay back and focus on the conversation around me, and soon the nausea subsided.

The sensation of the entire experience came back only one more time, and I worried that I would have to drive for four hours to Provo in this condition. Yet, my body adjusted to the altitude, and once I drank more water and had something to eat, it wasn’t so bad.

The drive to Provo was great. Thunderstorms booming and tumbleweed rolling across the interstate. Playlists and Radiolab podcasts. Mountain biking that morning and 8 hours of hiking the day before worked me hard, but maybe adrenaline kept me alert. And pain rode with me the whole time. Soreness had begun to settle into my joints and muscles. Mostly my shoulders.

I didn’t interact with very many people today. Maybe a total of two lines in Google Chat, and one response in facebook. All this morning.

I began rereading Atlas Shrugged. When I opened to the first page of Ms. Rand’s tome this morning, a familiar-weird-bad taste returned to my mouth. I was 18 or 19 when I read it the first time. I was only 17 when I read the Fountainhead. It’ll be interesting to see if my opinions have changed over the years. Writing: fine. Story: fine. Propaganda: whatever. I mean, it’s hard for me to understand how this woman could hate women so much; how her philosophy was JUST SO COOL once upon a time. If I take everything she says with a grain of salt, then I will also need a good prescription for high blood pressure. Or I won’t have to wonder why I’m retaining so much water.

I want scones. Real scones from England.

And, of course I’m not going to tell you.

Good fortune.

Tender mercy.

Blessing in disguise.

Call it what you want.

I’m grateful, all the same.

***

Oh, in other news, my reading for the BYU English Symposium is on Friday. Not to be overshadowed by Senator Orrin Hatch and a certain Mark Zuckerberg speaking the following hour. If the billionaire will go out with me one time, I will forgive him for stealing my thunder.

When I type, I sometimes let my thumbs take turns at the spacebar. It depends how fast I type, which depends on my train of thought. Am I raring to go, or do I have to pause every few words? See, my right thumb is used to dominating the spacebar. If I’m typing quickly, my right thumb involuntarily, reflexively taps the spacebar. If I have to stop and think for a second, my left thumb gets a turn, and it generally feels pretty good, like I’m ambidextrous, because my left upper limb and its digits are practically vestigial, and the slower, meditative push with my thumb is different than the tasks I usually give it, like helping hold things when my right hand is busy. It might also be good for hitchhiking – I haven’t tried that yet. Also, thumb wrestling, but no where near as adept as Righty. Yet.

This evening after Institute class, quite a few of us stayed after to play volleyball (and this was after I rehearsed with the Institute choir because someone asked if I could sing, and I said “alto” and I was basically the lone alto until the girl with the solo joined me in the chorus of “O Holy Night” because I can be social when I feel like it but I also knew I wouldn’t be able to perform because I have a prior commitment but it was nice singing anyway and I wanted some physical activity which also happens to be a convenient way to observe people and get to know them without actually having to talk much). We rotated players in for each time teams changed servers.

So I was on the court sometime during the third or fourth game, left net. Volleyball is not my sport of choice, mostly because, well, it favors tall people. I can set and bump just fine, and I can hustle and dig, but I am definitely not the most comfortable at the net. I laugh when I put my arms up in blocking position, because I know that’s not me, and I just don’t have the ups. So when the serve lobbed over and back and the ball arced its way in a wonky parabola to my part of the court, and when my elbows weren’t bent just so, putting my thumbs more vertical than in a proper setting position, the ball landed hard on my left thumb and jammed it.

And now my left thumb just sits, hesitant, distrustful. It hurts to put any sort of pressure on it; it hurts to stretch my fingers to see how big my hand is. As I’m typing, my right thumb gets carried away,virtually dancing on the spacebar, almost mocking Lefty. Occasionally I reprimand Righty and give the left thumb a few chances to push the spacebar ever so gingerly. I should hope full-functionality returns, albeit slowly.

Sometimes I feel like my left thumb: bruised, a little less confident, therefore a little less valued. As I’ve sometimes set my left hand aside so my right hand could do the more “important” things “correctly,” at times I’ve resigned to aloofness, giving others the spotlight, the attention they deserve so much more than I. Then, even given simple tasks, my left thumb still gets hurt, as I do in my shortcomings, and the pain often feeds into greater weakening, lesser self-esteem, deeper not-good-enough-ness.

But, sometimes, I feel like my left thumb: hopeful, fixable, healable, lovable – deserving love; eager, ready to serve in any capacity, regardless of relative skill or coordination. Building sureness, boldness; ever determined, grateful, and indebted for whatever help comes my way. A continually waxing belief that I have worth, a great price.

“Come Thou Fount” finishes that list of songs I began back in April – the ones I can’t live without.

To recap the previous nine:

Samuel Barber, Adagio for Strings

Indigo Girls, “Galileo”

Bee Gees, “Stayin’ Alive”

Arvo Pärt, Spiegel im Spiegel

10,000 Maniacs, “These Are Days”

Ennio Morricone, “Gabriel’s Oboe” – The Mission Soundtrack

Kermit the Frog, “The Rainbow Connection”

Patty Griffin, “Mary”

Black Eyed Peas Featuring Justin Timberlake, “Where Is The Love”

“Come Thou Fount” fits. Everything about it appeals to me: that itself is an appeal, a prayer, a supplication, a testimony; that the simple melody builds to the same part of every verse before it descends as it began. It’s brilliant, inspiring. It radiates hope and optimism. It attests to and embodies the Atonement.

I hope the thumb analogy works, especially as it correlates to the hymn.

Enjoy.

 

Come, thou fount of every blessing,

Tune my heart to sing thy grace;

Streams of mercy, never ceasing,

Call for songs of loudest praise.

Teach me some melodious sonnet,

Sung by flaming tongues above.

Praise the mount! I’m fixed upon it,

Mount of thy redeeming love.

Here I raise my Ebenezer;

Here by thy great help I’ve come;

And I hope, by thy good pleasure,

Safely to arrive at home.

Jesus sought me when a stranger,

Wandering from the fold of God;

He, to rescue me from danger,

Interposed His precious blood.

O to grace how great a debtor

Daily I’m constrained to be!

Let thy goodness, like a fetter,

Bind my wandering heart to thee.

Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,

Prone to leave the God I love;

Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,

Seal it for thy courts above.

Is it in a box?
In a fox?
Under some rocks?
Behind those clocks?
In Fergie’s botox?
May, where is your love?

Maybe this is one of the few instances where I can stand Fergie. Sometimes, when it’s this song’s turn on the iPod, I’ll repeat it 4 or 5 times before letting it go to the next song. Maybe having this song on my list will satisfy my crazycrush on Justin Timberlake. Easy enough: I don’t even have to meet him, just feature him in a song about The Moral Of The Story. Yeah, the message is strong and that’s part of why this song’s in my top 10, but I think I like this one more for the music.

Catchy tune, nice beat. It’s extra fun when those lower strings kick in for real. Maybe about a third from the end. You know where. You can’t hear it so much in this live version, but in the studio version, it’s pretty awesome. If I were stranded on some seemingly deserted island, wouldn’t this song be handy to have around? Just in case? Justin case?

If you don’t like it, I may not like you. I may not love you. Maybe this will get you questioning: See video.

more about “Black Eyed Peas Ft Justin Timberlake-…“, posted with vodpod

 

I’m posting this here. Again.

Patty is performing at the Wellmont Theater in Montclair, NJ on June 2, as part of Three Girls and Their Buddy. It would be awesome to go, but tickets are sold out. The next closest concert is on May 29 in Atlantic City. I mean, I already saw them on February 20, but … now it seems I’ve my train of thought, but you get the idea. Anyway. 

The very first Patty Griffin album I got was Flaming Red, back in 2003. The album was already five years old at the time. The song on repeat was the penultimate track, “Mary.” The lyrics are simple enough, and they repeated enough I could follow them quite easily, yet they’re deep enough, and the melody is also simple and beautiful enough that the song bears repeating, because I just can’t get enough of this song. “You’re covered in treetops, covered in birds, who can sing a million songs without any words.” I like how the melody is strung out for that line.

Apparently the story of “Mary” is that it’s about Patty’s grandmother. I mean, it depends on who you are and where your sensibilities lie, and while this song means a great deal to Patty personally, what does it mean to you? What kind of power does this song hold? The answer to those questions for me is why ”Mary” is part of my top 10.

Mary
You’re covered in roses, you’re covered in ashes
You’re covered in rain
You’re covered in babies, you’re covered in slashes
You’re covered in wilderness, you’re covered in stains
You cast aside the sheet, you cast aside the shroud
Of another man, who served the world proud
You greet another son, you lose another one
On some sunny day and always stay, Mary

 

 

Jesus says Mother I couldn’t stay another day longer
Flys right by me and leaves a kiss upon her face
While the angels are singin’ his praises in a blaze of glory
Mary stays behind and starts cleaning up the place

Mary she moves behind me
She leaves her fingerprints everywhere
Everytime the snow drifts, everytime the sand shifts
Even when the night lifts, she’s always there

Jesus said Mother I couldn’t stay another day longer
Flys right by me and leaves a kiss upon her face
While the angels are singin’ his praises in a blaze of glory
Mary stays behind and starts cleaning up the place

Mary you’re covered in roses, you’re covered in ruin
you’re covered in secrets
Your’e covered in treetops, you’re covered in birds
who can sing a million songs without any words
You cast aside the sheets, you cast aside the shroud
of another man, who served the world proud
You greet another son, you lose another one
on some sunny day and always stay
Mary, Mary, Mary

Back to the ten songs I can’t live without! Yay!

Kermit the Frog is my favorite Muppet, ever. As a moppet myself, I had a Kermit doll, with velcro patches on his hands and feet so he could hang onto things. Except when I was three years old. I lost him at a bus stop in California. L.A. area. Maybe I should put up a Craigslist ad to see if anyone has him.

Oh, Kermit. So contemplative, deep, hopeful. Someday we’ll find it.

I don’t have much to say about this song. Either it does it for you or it doesn’t. I will say the key change makes me smile. The nostalgia consumes me. I have been able to live without my Kermit doll for almost 30 years. This song, though, I hold fast to it, as if velcro were on my own hands and feet.

This is just about the only YouTube video of Kermit singing this song that doesn’t have the sound disabled. Debbie Harry is a nice touch. That Kermit really knows how to charm.

 

 

I’m so sorry about the list of 10 songs I can’t live without. Four songs left. I wish I could just name them right here and now, but the truth is I’m still deliberating. This is pretty hard, you guys. I’m pretty sure one of the songs is by Kermit the Frog. And another of the songs is a clarinet solo piece, but I don’t know if it’s going to be by Mozart or Weber. I’m kind of leaning toward Weber. And one of the songs is definitely by Patty Griffin. And the last song? It might be U2. The Cranberries? Tori Amos? Radiohead. I can’t decide!

Plus, you know how I have to say something about each of the songs and make these posts multi-media. All that takes time. And I don’t have a lot of that right now. I promise to finish. I hope you understand.

Love you!

Have you SEEN this movie? Have you listened to this soundtrack?

I’ve described my favorite scene from the movie here.

I’ve listened to this oboe feature hundreds of times, and it’s impossible to get tired of it. It’s just too beautiful. The instrument sings; it soars, triumphant. Glorious.

I’m not sure I can do too much more to describe this piece. Every time I listen to it, it’s the best two minutes of my life. That’s happened … hundreds of times for me. I can’t get enough.

See if you feel the same way.

 

This song makes me feel so good.

This song sparks every nostalgic particle of my body to the next energy level.

This song came into my life for the very first time my freshman year at BYU. Of course, it conjured memories of high school.

And, now, this songs awakens every single experience that has ever meant anything to me in the world.

This song makes me feel more alive, because it reminds me just how much I have lived. This song is every moment, all the best moments. This song is now.

I have a good life.

The lyrics are a force. These are the words you’ll remember. Where was it? Ah, yes: The commons room on the second floor of Ballard Hall (U-Hall) of the Deseret Tower dormitories on BYU campus was one of the first times a song really connected to time, to history, and history included me, and I was part of eternity, an expanse not so overwhelming, so … expansive, because I felt signficant. I feel significant.

This song couldn’t have come along a better time in my life.

These are the days you’ll remember.
Never before and never since, I promise, will the whole world be warm as this.
And as you feel it, you’ll know it’s true that you are blessed and lucky.
It’s true that you are touched by something that will grow and bloom in you.

These are the days you’ll remember.
When May is rushing over you with desire to be part of the miracles you see in every hour.
You’ll know it’s true that you are blessed and lucky.
It’s true that you are touched by something that will grow and bloom in you.

These are days.

These are the days you might fill with laughter until you break.
These days you might feel a shaft of light make its way across your face.
And when you do you’ll know how it was meant to be.
See the signs and know their meaning.
It’s true, you’ll know how it was meant to be.
Hear the signs and know they’re speaking to you, to you.

 

more about “10,000 Maniacs – These are days“, posted with vodpod

 

 

 

“I could compare my music to white light which contains all colours. Only a prism can divide the colours and make them appear; this prism could be the spirit of the listener.”

-Arvo Pärt

The end credits of the movie Wit roll as this piece is playing. If you’ve seen the movie, then you’d know I’m already crying at the end as they show the split screen with Emma Thompson’s character, Professor Vivian Bearing, healthy, and her character deceased. I’m sobbing. And it all starts, really, 10 or 15 minutes before the end, when Ms. Bearing is so ill she can no longer speak. She lies in the hospital bed, letting the other characters exposit what’s going on. Her own college professor from many years ago, Professor Forster, comes to visit her, enters the scene; she’s in town to see a grandson and went to the university to ask for Vivian, and the faculty tells Ms. Forster she’s in the hospital.

Ms. Forster slides open the door. Vivian sees her and begins to cry. Her only friend, you see. Ms. Forster removes her shoes and lies next to Vivian and reads her Runaway Bunny, a children’s story, something that isn’t John Donne. Vivian cries herself to sleep. Ms. Forster kisses her tenderly on the head, fares her well, and leaves. This scene is so tender, so compassionate, so poignant, one can’t help but cry.

And 10 or 15 minutes later, the movie’s over.

Except it isn’t. See, it’s this piece that keeps me from turning off the DVD player. (Yes, I own this movie.) It doesn’t contain trills or glisses or fugal elements. Three-note repeating sequences on the piano with that gentle, bassy boom every so often at the left of the keyboard, and the cello sweeps along the progression with long, bowing tones. Two – TWO! – instruments. It seems like it could go forever – I want it to - but here, it lasts eight and a half minutes.

It’s powerful, it’s so simple it’s brilliant and it’s brilliant because the catharsis just happens, and like Mr. Pärt says, I can see all these colo(u)rs, and my life seems to gain all this depth and passion and … clarity. Colors. Definition. Meaning. If I had stopped that movie before the credits rolled seven years ago, I would have been fine, but since I didn’t, I can’t imagine its absence. It’s white light I can see.

more about “arvo pärt: spiegel im spiegel“, posted with vodpod

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