Sunday, February 27, 2011


I saw you today, in a crowd. I glanced to my right, and it seemed there you were, one aisle over and two rows up. On second glance, it wasn't you. But then, I knew it already. He was younger than you were when we met. He was sitting next to a young man I took to be his significant other. But the shade of his hair, a grey sort of like aluminum, the shape of his head, the set of his shoulders, they all made me think of you.

For that briefest of moments, I could almost imagine myself running over behind him and hugging him, and saying, "I've been waiting to see you! I've got so much to tell you. You have to meet MyFella and Jamie. You have to hear about . . ."

But it wasn't you. I said goodbye to you, several years ago now, in Nashville.

But today, I find myself holding back tears all over again. I'm not doing so good a job of it, honestly. Between thoughts of you and the powerful music during the church service, I admit a tear came down. And another fights with me now as I write this.

What was it you said? "But I AM an old queen!" And you were my Great Aunt Ray.


"What makes a miracle? Is it the thing itself, or the one who sends it?"


Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Margaret Thatcher

I like a quote that is attributed to Margaret Thatcher.

"Being powerful is a lot like being a lady. If you have to tell people you are, you aren't."

I think the same goes for a lot of things one can be in life, and often am annoyed when someone goes to rather showy pretenses to prove they are what they say. Such as telling me, "I'm an artist" or "I'm a singer."

Don't get me wrong, I'm not bothered at all by people who are artists, or singers. I'm bothered by this attitude I see in some people who make it a sort of exclamation upon meeting them, and then keep finding ways to introduce it into conversation.

Or in the case of the young lady I met the other night, who seemed very pleasant in all other ways, except her determination to prove to the group, "I'm a singer."

Like when the band took a break, she had to run and ask them if she can sing a song with them. She returned, not dejected with her denial. But instead determined to sing along at the table with every song they sang after, often making comments about the original singer.

Really, honey, give it a break.