Picked Up

Picked up from my seat and plopped in a boat on the lake.

And just like that

There I was Burned and giddy

With the Nelsons

Who are part of the ever-diverging people.

It was my first and last time on the boat.

Skinny as a sardine and head over heels

and so very bright eyed.

Swiftly, moved to my desk.

Who is the lord of The Lord of the Rings?

I.

A kingdom of notes and ideas?

Here.

Held within tight confines of my room.

It was life for sure.

For how could I help but feel the

pulse of the guitar,

pull of the Almighty,

the story,

Togetherness,

The pinch of the growing foot in the ever shrinking shoe.

I read an article once called "Stop Remembering"

Scholars say the more you recall a specific memory the less truthful it becomes.

That makes me a reckless mythmaker on days like this.

Days where I am slightly out of focus

All is is strangely dim.

But who's to say that ska was wrong?

That the anthems were off?

That here is better than there?

And now I'm here.

Couldn't we just find the square root of sixty-four?

Long division?

With all the pencil smudges

The stifled sniffs and coughs

I always hoped math would enter the equation

But you break the math

You are the math

The sum and the example

Do you know of the river, dear?

The slosh and strand of crisp?

Grandeur; Variety

But you know

Feet cooling down on the bank

Here am I
Making chowder with the fruit of my labor

Shimmery scales

Sandy shells in piles on the threshing counter

Do not

Suppose I am a grizzled fisherman

Sailing indifferently through the mist

A sailor is picturesque

Not I

I just like chowder

I. I like right rain

Front rain is too wet on the toes
left rain is unpredictable
my chair is immobile and to the right
Well.
mobile and hefty
so I live on my porch with the right rain

People say they "feel" it coming
and they do.
their eyes grow grayer
their arms are breezy
and this helps
but for all their future talk, boy do they scurry

When it darkens, the uneasy drivers come out
and drive 'round and 'round collecting
kids swinging on monkey bars
and not-quite-yet-ripe tomatoes
and pet squirrels on the stoop
Wisking Away

The brave cling to the rail
wind whistling
and so are they
They call the television stations and say, "It has reached the ground!"
like spacestation moderators

The dreary affirm their dreariness behind piles of curtains

II. Then it starts
The wind chatters and churns
muddy bubbles all over the front yard
content sighs all over my town
It came, you know?

It was wet dark rain
It always is
And the frantic, sweeping droll strands from their face, are in fact relieved
It's just regular
And how marvelous regular is

They can shut the books
They can delve too far
They can bask in florescence
They can grow one thousand cattle on a hill
They can destroy a smirk

But I'd like to see them stop the rain

And when the world is covered in a ball of plastic
Father calls me
To my right rain.

It is not because I dislike you

Lackadaisical piping
and
Fifteen chapters at a time
and
Smirking in the sun
and
Windows down
and
Words like lackadaisical

And you know it

But fall and winter

You are better

And you know it.

The Suburbs: A review

There are kids everywhere. And how interesting they all are. The Arcade Fire, with their lyrical infatuation with childhood and all its innocence, has become posterboy for nostalgia. The masses watched Win and gang yell their hearts out over a trailer a movie “for the child in all of us.” Arcade Fire likes the kids. Understandably, the entire crowd thinks they relate. I was ten once! I played make believe! Lets see what The Suburbs has to say about that.

When I awoke, I knew that The Suburbs would probably be sitting in our mail slot in a few hours. So I made my way to our porch. My mind was restless. I was not necessarily excited for the album. Nervous is not the word I am looking for either. I was wary. Wary and rightly so. Funeral and Neon Bible were well…. perfect. For every indie music admirer, for everyone else, for each other, for the road, and for the kids. I had heard ‘The Suburbs’ was a departure from the other two and some negative fan reaction. No “Wake Up” and no “Keep the Car Running’. I was on pins and needles swinging back and forth on our wicker rocking chair. Dang it all, I am nervous! Then the mail-lady walked up my front steps and handed me the mail. COME ON, I got a conformation email that clearly said…! Then the package from a secret pouch. Phew.

The first ten minutes were tough for me. Tough mainly because I wasn’t really listening but picking it apart. So I started it over and calmed down a bit. You may need to do this as well. Here is what I found:

The Suburbs is not a true departure. There is the fast high ethereal guitar; there are the interesting (catchy?) piano pieces; there is sad crooning; there are violins and cellos.That being said, it has a different feel then before. It moves slowly. Its fastest point is the fastest Arcade Fire has ever moved. (Month Of May) There is less variety. And most importantly, it is personal. I do not recommend listening to this album without lyrics sheet in hand. Please give it a look. Win hits his stride. Many of tracks are revamped and darker versions of previous ideas. Instead of saying, “Man, when we were kids the world was great” it is “None of these kids are living real childhoods.” The Suburbs points to all of us in the crowd and says “Get out of your technology! Go turn off the lights!.” This idea is in no way novel but certainly relevant. Win feels for the kids. He says we are modern man and modern kids. In this way, he is more of a struggling comrade then an aloof parent.

There are some real gems in here. The title track is killer. We Used To Wait, is debatably the strongest track in the bunch. It packs a snythy, gritty punch and gives a farewell wave the big anthems (I used to wait for it. Screaming, “sing the chorus again.”) Sprawl II.
I did find it a bit unsettling how long The Suburbs was. It could be ten tracks long and say everything it does. As I get to know The Suburbs, I am sure I will become more ok with this. Still a viable complaint in my book.

Many will (have) called this a mediocre album. I understand that. I almost believe it. But there is something big here. Too big for mediocrity. This is not the album of the year and I am doubtful of its rank in Arcade Fires repertoire. But don’t give up on it. It will grow. As I sit here typing this Win is singing to me, “Hey kid, put the laptop down.” I think I will.

I look alright
I feel alright
I am alright
I am alright

I am not alright

Porch

I found my porch.

I knew he was there along. Every morning and night, I take two strides across him to my front door. Heck, I washed him with a hose last week. Pollen and dust be gone. But it was not because I cared. For him, at least.

But yesterday... there it was. A white swing and two rocking chairs. A couple of hanging plants, droopy from the days heat. But it was cool yesterday around duskish. And it was then that I saw my porch. In all his glory.

I always admired other peoples porches. They are the best place of many houses. Besides kitchens maybe.

So here I am, with three hours ahead of me. Getting to know my porch. It's raining and breezy. I am unnecessarily watering our grass with cold coffee. And necessarily piping and reading.

Backyard Roomate Camping

We brought a pipe.
Two pipes, one for each us.

We brought some chocolate milk.
Two chocolate milks, one for each of us.

We spread a tarp because the grass was wet.
Or at least we expected it to get wet.
Thats what grass does to innocent outside sleepers.

We unzipped our sleeping bags most of the way.
It was too warm outside for enclosed feet.
But too cool for outclosed torso.

We talked about serious stuff.
The stuff you talk about at sleep overs.
We laughed about hilarious stuff.

I woke up when the sun woke up.
That time is around five o'clock.
Ants and spiders running laps on my pillow.
Grass clippings glued to my arm and face.

Raspberries for breakfast.

Thanksgiving Mayhem (Part 1)

I awoke to my alarm scwaking and bleeping like a repetitious warning of doom. This was usual for the mornings. (Someday I will invent a machine that will softly smack my face with a pillow. It will look like a windmill and it will be more enjoyable than this screaming fellow.) I hastily arose from my mattress and walked promptly into the side of the door. With a grunt of indignation I fell back onto my bed, let a second more accepting grunt escape and slept.

This time it was my mom who woke me. "Stephen!" she urgently exclaimed "You need to wake up."
"...whazit?"
"You are gonna be really late for work, its 7:45!"
"...."
"Stephen?"
"whatisithappening?"
"You need to get up right now!"

Then my mind woke up... Zounds!

I raced around the room pulling on clothes obviously not for work and then ripping them off in frustration. Finally I got it right: A red tee-shirt that said Coca Cola on the front and had pictures of glittery glass bottles on the back. I do not know why we at Fergeson and Hasseler wore this shirt but my fellow baggers and I always did. When I was first interviewed for the position, i was handed a pile of these shirts. No one told me that I had to wear them. I wore them anyway.

I shoveled two pieces of buttered toast down my throat. No time for orange juice. No time for see ya!'s. Hurry, Hurry, Hurry. After a short drive across our small town of Quarryville, we arrived with a shreech at the back of the grocery store. My mom shouted some inaudible encouragement as a raced out of the car and to the back door. I swung it open vigorously and there they were: my co-workers huddled around our manager. She, Anna Mary, was a Mennonite woman who was somewhere between forty and one hundred years old. On most occasions she was a gentle creature who would usually let you off work if it was important. I liked her. But at this moment in time and space, her resolve was bitter and her face bristling determined. What time is this? Thanksgiving Eve.

I had heard about this legendary day from many a wiser bagger. Fred was the most eager of the bunch to tell the tale. He spoke about it with reverence as if it was a deceased war hero or a golden idol. In his gleeful and whithered voice, Fred told me, "So many folks showed up last year traffic was backed up at both directions for miles. Yesssiree. Aisle number twelve dropped to the ground because the crowds were so rouoty. Goodness to heavens, I reacall there was canned peaches everywhere. Pheewwee!"

With that conversation in mind (and many others), I had an idea of what was coming next from Anna Mary: a pep talk. She looked at all of us a women who wanted nothing more than the day to be over. Let me tell you, there is nothing more disheartening than a leader who looks like she has given up. But it was over in a second. She straightened her shoulders, wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders and said "Good luck friends." With a quick couple steps, she elbowed her way through the hodgepodge of baggers and opened the door leading to the store. It was 7:58. Two more minutes. A loud rumbling sound reached the ears of the tightly knit group as they neared the front of the store. What we saw out of the huge plexi-glass windows was utterly astonishing.

You know those disaster movies were millions of people are trying to cram their way onto a tiny boat headed to the zombie free shores of Africa? It was like that. Body upon body was pressed against the walls banging their fists against the window panes. I am skeptical that I heard one comprehensible word from that fierce crowd before the store opened. It was mostly groans and howls and shrieks and screams and chants and that sort of thing. As the mass of humans swelled, Anna Mary looked once again over her frightened workers. "Lets do this" she said and swung open the doors.

Midnight is almost upon me

I must finish this before midnight! Otherwise, my school things will be locked inside the upstairs. Warning: the end of the blogpost may be blunt... And we're off!

Robert and I recently came into the possession of roughly (exactly) 150 dollars worth of itunes gift cards. I will not tell you how much we paid for it but I will give you two facts. It was less than thirty-one dollars. It was more then twenty-nine. Some people have all the luck. (<-- I bet you are saying this). Look at the bottom of the page to find out which song I purchased.

Robert (Heiskell) and I recently mulched together for a couple hours. We discussed Wendell Berry and Sufjan Stevens. Isn't he the coolest?

Robert (Dr. Kapic) and I have a meeting set up to talk about my schedule. For some reason, I think about my future classes all the time. I spent roughly three hours over break looking at classes and weighing my options. Why? I think it is due to the fact that I am ready for my next year at Covenant. Aren't you?

Iron and Wine- Such Great Heights

French Food, Magnificent Mood.

Growing up with a mother from a French background, I know what a good crepe is. Crispy on the outside, fluffy on the inside, and slightly sweet. Rachel's Crepes gets it. My friends, PeterRobbieAnnieAnnaAdrienne and I, decided that this hole in the wall restaurant would be our lunchtime destination. We picked correctly. They served a mean crepe. At our table were six different yummy wrapped crepes, one for each of us. Mine was called the Barnstormer which tasted much better than the name would suggest. But I am not here to discuss the wonder of Rachel's. For we had something magnificent in store us.

Behind me, underneath a small picture of a home in Italy, sat two middle aged women giving their order to a waiter with long black hair. They looked like they were anticipating a calm quiet lunch. Just the two of them. Then we showed up. After walking through Market and the little shops lining Lancaster's streets, we were in a laughing, loud mood. I thought to myself, "I bet they are annoyed at how loud we are" but in true teenage form did nothing. Then something magical happened.

As the waiter approached our table, he had a strange sort of smile on his face. Adrienne asked him, "Can we have our tickets?" (I can only assume this meant "our bill.") He said, "Those ladies who just left paid for everything. They just said Pay it Forward." And with another grin he whisked away to tend to another less fortunate customer. We sat in utter astonishment. After a second, we caught our breath and then yipped and hurrahed for about five minutes. It was wonderful.

That sort of thing doesn't happen anymore.

After reading Chapter 12 of "Jayber Crow"

I awoke, staring at the knees of one of my hall mates. He was excited beyond belief to give the wonderful news: school is cancelled on account of snow. My first thoughts were surprisingly negative. "Agrruphmp" I grumbled to myself as my hall mate giddily left continuing his conversation with the air. My grouchiness was valid educationally, but when I looked outside I could justify it no longer.

You know how it is waking up to fresh snow.

After looking outside, I rolled over and started dreaming. I dreamed from the perspective of a young boy who was running in circles around a cul-de-sac trying to escape the clutches of an old woman with obvious violent intentions. I ran into a house and shut the door when Behold!, Jacob Corrbet, some other murky character, and myself sat. The only thing I remember after that is Jacob explaining to... somebody... that this group of three watches a movie in this house every week, but secretly are trying to befriend me(the young boy). That is all.

I usually do not describe dreams for many reasons. (2, I guess) As you can probably tell from the previous paragraph, it is not that easy. Characters and plot swirl back and forth sometimes making sense. Often not. Two, I have a phobia that people will think I am making my dreams up. I don't know why. Maybe it is because I always suspect "made up dreams" from everyone else. I know it is horrible for me to assume, but I cannot help it.
Sometimes when you can't think of what to say. making up a dream helps the conversation move along. I used to. All the time. Now, I am so deathly afraid that someone will find out (Using a Dream Detector or something of the sort) that I only relate dreams that really happened.

Later on, I slid and waded to my library. The doors were squeaky and loud. I think this is so the two student librarians sitting at the desk will be able to keep tabs on who Is and who Isn't in the library. When I entered their heads popped up from a pile of books, gazing wide-eyed in my direction. They looked like a pair of prairie-dogs. I stifled a chortle and purposely walked to my chair in the corner. Some people like to sit in my chair. It is understandable. He is close to four windows which let in the sun and, sitting quite close, is his best friend the Lamp. The Lamp is the only piece of furniture of its kind here in the library.

I pull him as close to his chair friend as I can (so they can catch up) and then I sit. Sometimes a friend of mine will plop down in the neighboring chair to say Hello or to have a long conversation. Sometimes I will listen to other peoples conversations as I pretend to read. Sometimes I really read.

A poem from "Now We Are Six" and a list of Childrens Books

A Thought

If I were John and John was me
I'd be six and he'd be three
If John was me and I was John
I shouldn't have these trousers on

-A.A. Milne

Good books intended for children are simply the best. I hope my children read these:

The Chronicles of Narnia
Little House on the Prarie
Blueberries for Sal
Madaline
Homer Price
Whinnie the Pooh
Now We Are Six
The Hobbit
Tintin

The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades Is Out To Get Us- Sufjan

A Letter to Summer

Dear Summer,

We are separated by a great span of time. Math tests, many cups of coffee, and unwritten songs concerning your brother spring stand between us. Do not despair. I love and care about you the most. Please do not misunderstand me for I do enjoy my time here on the Mountain. For I do like it here, here with winter. But dearest, you have been on my mind. Just yesterday I picked up "Tom Sawyer" which I hope you will remember we read together last year. I started thinking about your coffee shops and your picnics and your friends that live with you. Your bare feet, your frisbee, your giddy songs, your bonfires, your family, your walks around town, your books, your simple foods, your movies in the park, your buzzing city.

I can barely stand this time in between.

Yours,
Stephen

P.s. I will listen to "15 step" every day that we are apart.

Nothing frees the writers hand...

.... like a large amount of Grecian Homework. How the words do fly when there are better more constructive things to be doing. But what good will this homework do me? I will not look back fifty years from now and say to myself in a crackly withered voice, " My, my, my, I think I will look back at my old Greek homework from college." However, It is possible that I will look back at that silly little blog I used to write. And it enjoy it.

Sigh. Putting off learning the Perfect Active Particle of luo will negatively affect my grade.

Hear ye!: Spring and Summer approacheth. Verily, I say unto ye listen to thy favored music pertaining to the coming seasons. Verily, I say unto ye I chooseth "No one's Gonna Love You" by the Band of Horses.

Why I like Coffee

As I first typed the title to this blogpost, I immediately thought about my high-school days. This is not because I wrote essays about coffee, or even because I enjoy sentences including the word "why" without a question mark at the end. It is because of Oration day. Everyone student at Dayspring Christian Academy had to write their own oration defending topics ranging from "Providence of God through History" to "Insects are Scary: Here is Why." (2nd Time!) My favorite orations were preformed by the 1st-4th graders. They were always some variation on the theme "God is also Jesus." The oration was just a bunch of facts smooshed into a three point outline but golly did those children make me chuckle.

Now... to coffee!

The following piece of information is not easy for me to admit: I started drinking coffee because my friends drank coffee. And by "my friends" i mean, of course, Peter. I saw him start his coffee journey and envied him. He was so intensely awesome for enjoying that chalk tasting drink. The following is a conversation that i am making up but probably happened. I will call it "How I started drinking coffee"

Myself- "Man, that Peter sure likes that coffee."

A friend we will call Archibold- "I know. He even drinks it black. Without cream and sugar. And he likes it!"

Me- Well yeah.

Archibold- "Wow. He is so cool. Don't you wish you were as cool as him?"

I- "What do you mean?... I drink coffee black."

Archibold-Oh yeah? Prove it.

It was then and there that I drank my first cup of black coffee. It tasted like garbage but I managed to consume it with a straight face. Archie left looking rather impressed and I like I was going to vomit.

Then I started actually liking coffee. It took time but after a while I thought to myself, "Well whatdya know, I think i am enjoying this." Fast forward to modern day right now, and you will see my drinking about three cups a day. It started out as a ploy to be as cool a Peter... and though thats part of it, I now cannot go a day without that mug of caffeinated goodness. Think twice before you start.

Amsterdam by Coldplay or your favorite coffee song.

Dancing. Always Dancing. Actually, Sometimes Dancing.

GOOD NEWS:
We are here at YoWAW.
My church Youth Group is also here.
My sister attends my church.
She, in conclusion, is here.
(We are going back)

GOOD NEWS WITH SLIGHTLY ANNOYING CONSEQUENCES:

a. There was a dancing party.
But- It made me a little bit sweaty.
b. I played a concert with Third Lobby.
But- "Calvin" was out of tune.
c. They have coffee here.
But- It is not very good

MEDIOCRE NEWS WITH LITTLE/NO CONSEQUENCES:

The biscuits here are not as bad as you think they would be at first glance.

SCARY NEWS WITH MEMORABLE CONSEQUENCES:

We had a snow adventure to get to YoWAW. This included almost getting stuck in many a snowy bank and naming our car Pamela. Splurge.

BAD NEWS

I miss my Covenant Pals.

Look back to good news look in the parenthesis .

NEWS:

Listen to a song about war.

"Mulch" (I don't like that word either)

As a worker of the grounds here at Covenant, I interact with mulch more than many of my friends. That being said, I do not know if the mulch and I as a whole are on good terms. Most days we are not. These are the cold rainy days where he stubbernly sticks to edge of the truck. Or the cold frozen days where he is asleep and will not wake up. Or on the blazing hot days where he is heavy and smells horrifically.

But I live for the cool, breezy, sunny days. It is then when we are close. I carry him to garden and he lays down without making a fuss. I am happy to be pals with this guy.



-Taxi Cab. VW.

Service

Chapel is interesting.

Sometimes exhaustion chooses this particular instance to creep up on me. There will be times when my eyes and mind start to close and suddenly my head snaps back. Usually my neighbors on either side snicker and giggle at this. It's understandable. I would do the same to them.

Sometimes my mind is on other things. School. Or not school. At any rate, it is hard to concentrate on anything plus the word of God.

Sometimes the chapel speaker is boring. After a hour long math class, the last thing i usually want to is engage with someone who is hard to understand.

But there are times when my eyes are opened. Today, I was wide-eyed. The speaker, Jon Wheat, was engaging but more importantly convicting. He spoke about the importance of being a servant in a self-centered world. He told me about the life of Jesus who came to serve. He ripped me apart and then led me to foot of the throne of grace. I thank God for the wide-eye times.

Learning How to Die- Jon Foreman