Couldn't Have Said It Better...

"Cynicism is not realistic and tough. It's unrealistic and kind of cowardly because it means you don't have to try." - Peggy Noonan

 

I found this quote online this morning and thought it was worth a reflection.  Optimism has always been easy for me, but I know that some people look down on the "always look on the bright side" philosophy and find it irritating if not outright annoying.  And I guess for the most part, I'm better classified as a stoic than an optimist.  I don't believe that everything is always sunny and wonderful.  Some things (earthquakes, cancer, unemployment) are hard to smile about, but stoicism provides the nice cover of knowing that everything will be alright - even if it isn't right now.  But cynicism is one school of thought that I just can't buy into and I think the quote above is a pretty good summation of why.  I think cynicism is too often a surrender to fatalism in the mask of bold, gritty, realism.  Cynics will point out the truth of how messed up the world really is, but what good is embracing that truth without the belief that change is both possible and worth it?

Because it's not there.

On the brink of October ending, I have more on my mind than just Halloween. Once again I find myself pondering - and foolishly committing to - National Novel Writing Month, better known as NaNoWriMo. NaNoWriMo is a writing challenge to take the month of November and, by writing around 1700 words each day, write a 50,000 word novel. I've participated and "won" for the past two years (winning involves completing 50,000 words before midnight on November 30th) but I'm hesitant to participate again.

My first reason for stalling is that I don't have too many ideas. This is the first year that I've struggled to develop a title and though I've been working through some outlining and pre-writing, I just don't know if my ideas are any good. Secondly, I feel a bit like I've already completed two 50,000+ projects that are for the most part unreadable and in desperate need of editing. I've yet to take the steps of revisiting my work and polishing it so I feel a little senseless persuing another draft when my first two have gone nowhere.

But when I think about the fun involved of seeing a story come to life... when I take a day and write a character that I never even planned to create... there's a thrill to it. Yes, there are the frustrating days when I want to dropkick my laptop out the train door. Yes, there are the writer's block moments when I seem to plug out nothing but cheesy dialog. But when each day brings me closer to a novel - even a largely unreadable first draft of a novel - it's exciting. And completion is pure elation.

Funny thing is, as much as I like to write and to write about writing, I don't like to talk about my novel. I think it's near impossible to say the words "my novel" outloud without sounding a bit pretentious. Go ahead try it, "The other day I was working on my novel..." - don't you instantly sound a bit more full of yourself? Maybe it's just me. My writer identity (I still can't use the word *author*) isn't one I'm completely comfortable with. A sure fire way to make me blush is to bring up my writing in public.

I'm giving it another go, though. I came across a quote the other day that read, "Why do writers write? Because it isn't there." For me, that's what NaNoWriMo is about. I'm not pursuing publication. I don't even write for an audience. It's just about me creating something new. Because it isn't there.

About to Break

I cannot take this anymore, I'm saying everything I've said before,
All these words they make no sense, I found bliss in ignorance,
Less I hear the less you'll say, but you'll find that out anyway!
Just like before…
Everything you say to me, takes me one step closer to the edge,
And I'm about to break!
I need a little room to breathe, 'cause I'm one step closer to the edge,
And I'm about to break!
I find the answers aren't so clear, wish I could find a way to disappear,
All these thoughts they make no sense, I found bliss in ignorance,
Nothing seems to go away, Over and over again,
Just like before…
~Linkin Park

I don't always listen to angry punk rock music, but I actually really like Linkin Park. This song got me thinking though. What do you do when you feel like you're about to break? I know we've all been there at one point or another. And if you're lucky enough to have a long enough fuse that you've never been in a spot where the powder keg of your mind was about to blow from the pressures around you, share your secrets because I'm sure the rest of us are quite curious.

For me, I just get stressed sometimes. I let little things worry me more than they should. I let expectations from others take a greater priority than God's image of me. And I get to thinking that I'm way more important than I am - that the world can't go on without me running at a frantic pace. This week has been one such stress-fest. Work would be infinitely easier if I could be in two places at once - or at least manage to grow an extra pair of arms. I started to think I could stand being the world's first octopus-human hybrid just to improve my ability to multitask. That's when I realized I needed some perspective.

I took the day off on Thursday. My awesome husband Tony was at home (he starts a new job on Monday) and I decided nothing at work was more important than spending some free time with him - and regaining my sanity with much needed rest. I cleared my schedule by working my butt off on Wednesday and spent Thursday relaxing. Seriously, I did next to nothing. I slept til nine, stayed in my pj's until noon, caught up on the previous two episodes of Top Chef, did some reading, and worked on a blanket I'm crocheting. It was awesome.

I realized I've only had three non-sick days off work this whole year so far and my longest "vacation" was July's bout with Poison Ivy. (I was on way to many drugs to actually enjoy that time off.) But overworking was not me getting more done. It was me burning myself out. Pushing myself to get more done until I was wound up so tight that the smallest things set me snapping unfairly at others. I needed rest. True rest.

I realized that this is why God created a Sabbath. It sounds corny because I know I've heard it preached in church multiple times, but I haven't seen that scary work-a-holic side of myself in a long time. It struck me though as truly awesome that He recognized, way back then, our need for rest. I don't treat my weekends as very Holy - more often they are days to catch up on dishes, laundry, groceries, and family affairs. It's something I need to change.

Before I break, I need to break - break from my routine of stress, overwork, and pressure. As I mentioned in my last post, I need to set aside times of reflection in my life.
I need times of peace.
I need breaks.

Cold Tangerines

My friend Ellen recommended a book to me called Cold Tangerines by Shauna Niequist. I didn't admit to her (until now) that I cringe a little at book recommendations. There's a certain amount of pressure that comes with reading a book that someone else really likes. Maybe the book spoke to them in a way that it just won't talk to you; perhaps something in a person's life resonates with the book and they only imagine that you share that sonorous quality. Whenever someone recommends a book I find myself reflecting on the quote that, "In literature, as in love, we are often astonished at what is chosen by others."

However, Ellen is someone that I trust and admire so her recommendation didn't dare go into the "perhaps, maybe before I die" pile of books on my mental shelf. Instead, Cold Tangerines showed up on my library hold queue and jumped quickly to the top. I started it this week, and (as of my train ride home today) I have just a few chapters remaining. It's the kind of book that speaks to a reader - I suppose I mean female readers - and I almost wish I could Xerox off different chapters and press them into the hands of family and friends and say "You need to read this!" or "This is SO what you are going through!"

And, of course, with a book that relevant to my loved ones, there were to be found several passages that seemed to be written directly at me. In a chapter called "Prayer and Yoga" she laments that both are decidedly good for her yet she doesn't stick to either as often as she should. (Sound like anyone you know??) I also really liked her thoughts on writing. As I contemplate another looming November with NaNoWriMo, I find myself pondering if I want to embrace - unleash - my identity as a writer once again. I've wavered and flip-flopped about taking on the chaotic novel-in-a-month challenge this year and then, this afternoon, I read this:

"Sometimes when I'm writing, if I try really hard, I can move more slowly, like a dancer or a mime, and taste things more vividly, and see not just the trees and the grass, but the individual leaves and blades. Things are richer and brighter than I thought, now that I have slowed down enough to see them."

~Shauna Niequist, Cold Tangerines p. 137

I don't think NaNoWriMo is quite the atmosphere for slowed down perception that Niequist is speaking of, but I understand her need for the reflective introspection that comes from times of writing. It's where I spent a lot of time in the days when I was a prolific journaler - heck, even when I was a more prolific blogger. I look with some shame on my sparse posting of this year. I see it not as sad because I missed sharing inane thoughts with friends and family but rather, sad that I was living my life without reflection.

There's a famous quote that says "We must live life forward and define it backward," but I think most of us fall into the trap of too much forward motion on that one. Not that it would be good to over-define life to the point of not spending one's time living it. When we can find the place between rushing out to live each day and poignantly reflecting on our journey as a whole, that's where a well paced life will be. Neither hurried nor bored, that will be a balanced life indeed.

On Science...

They wouldn't call it re-search if we found the answer the first time.
-L. J. Guerrero

Part 2 (Peanuts, M&M's, & Me...Continued)

Consider this something of a follow up to my last blog post. (This will make a bit more sense if you read the other one first.) I feel like maybe I was a bit too maudlin in my introspective ramblings so I thought I would follow my usual blog pattern and tie my thoughts to something from the literary/pop culture world.

Many of you know that Pride and Prejudice is one of my all time favorite books. I was impressed with the Keira Knightly version of the movie but I much preferred the A&E miniseries with Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle. I confess that as a young romantic I daydreamed myself Elizabeth Bennet (really, what girl reads the story and doesn't??). She's an ideal heroine: headstrong, determined, witty, and beautiful and she unknowingly wins the heart of Darcy who is eventually revealed as an ideal man.

The more I've read the story (and various versions of it), I find that there's another character that I resonate more with. As much as I want to be the Lizzie Bennet, I think I may have much more in common with Fitzwilliam Darcy. (Yes, his first name is Fitzwilliam. Not Mister as many seem to believe.) This is where the tie-in to my previous post arises. Darcy is unfairly labeled as proud and arrogant early on in Austen's story because he's not entirely comfortable in social settings. Bottom line: he's shy!

One of my favorite scenes in the novel, is a turning point in Lizzie and Darcy's relationship. She calls him out on his aloofness (which she has assumed is really pride) and he explains that he doesn't always feel comfortable making small talk with strangers. In response, Elizabeth confronts him with an interesting piano-playing analogy:

"I certainly have not the talent which some people possess," said Darcy, "of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns, as I often see done."

"My fingers," said Elizabeth, "do not move over this instrument in the masterly manner which I see so many women's do. They have not the same force or rapidity, and do not produce the same expression. But then I have always supposed it to be my own fault- because I would not take the trouble of practising..." (Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice)

Later in the story, Darcy takes Lizzie's advice to heart and his efforts at "practising" lead her to fall further in love with him. I guess it's partly why I love the story so much because their relationship is not a schmaltzy love-at-first-sight but one of deepening regard over time and the betterment of two people because of their relationship with each other.

But back to my own comparison, I've seen real truth in the lesson Darcy learns. Whether my weakness is piano, social graces, or blog-writing, improvement comes only through practice.

Distractions?

(Phone conversation)

Tony: All this construction in the parking lot is really loud and distracting.

Lisa: Why don't you take the laptop and go over to Caribou or Starbucks to work?

Tony: But then I can't watch the Cubs game....

Enough already!

Our Purell which art in hand wipes, Sanitizer be thy name.
In sickness come and germs be gone from our hands as they are in public.
Give us this day a test for H1N1 and forgive us our allergies
as we forgive those who sneeze from Influenza B.
Lead us not to contamination but deliver us from swine flu.

*****
Okay maybe I should explain that before people start crying sacrilege. I'm getting really sick of swine flu (pun intended). There has been way too much hype and media fear mongering for my tastes and I wrote this "poem" as something of a satire for where people place their trust these days (some of you have heard my griping about the "Purell Patrol" that enforces the use of hand sanitizer upon entering my building... because, really, the answer to an international epidemic must be hand sanitizer....). I think the news has done too much to sensationalize the outbreak of H1N1. Reports declare "Child in US Dies of Swine Flu" and, not to minimize that death in any way, it was a 2-year old from Mexico who was already severely ill when presented to doctors in Texas. Similarly, a recent headline read "38 New Suspected Cases of Swine Flu" when medical institutions are quite adamant that almost all of these "suspected" cases are turning out to be Influenza B, a very common seasonal strain of flu. I've had enough, people. In the words of The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy: "Don't Panic!"

A Hymn Remembered

You shall cross the barren desert but you shall not die of thirst

You shall wander far in safety though you do not know the way.
You shall speak your words in foreign lands and all will understand,
You shall see the face of God and live.

Be not afraid
I go before you always
Come follow Me,
And I will give you rest.

If you pass through raging waters in the sea, you shall not drown
If you walk amidst the burning flames, you shall not be harmed.
If you stand before the pow'r of hell and death is at your side
Know that I am with you, through it all.

Be not afraid
I go before you always
Come follow Me
And I will give you rest.

Blessed are the poor for the Kingdom shall be theirs
Blest are you that weep and mourn for one day you shall laugh.
And if wicked men insult and hate you all because of Me
Blessed, blessed are you!

Be not afraid
I go before you always
Come follow Me
and I will give you rest.

~Robert J. Dufford, Based on Isaiah 43:2-3; Luke 6:20

Delicious Ambiguity

"Some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious ambiguity."

- Gilda Radner

Coming up Roses

Since NaNoWriMo is over and yesterday brought fabulous news from the world of college football, I thought I'd try my hand at poetry:

Roses Are Orange,

Violets Are Blue,

I'm going to California to see the Illini in the Rose Bowl!!!

How about you?

*HAPPY DANCE!!*

LisaWriMo: I Won!

I officially won NaNoWriMo by writing my 50,000th word at 5:01 pm yesterday! *Happy dance!* Even more exciting though was that at 8:43 this morning, I finished my novel. *Happy Dance! Happy Dance! Happy Dance!* My final word count is 51,200 though I'm sure that will be altered with the quantity of editing the story requires. Lots of people have asked me "So, what's it about?" And it's a simple question with a not so simple answer. When I mention that it's about a girl working in research lab they assume it's based on real life experiences. Maybe it is a little but it's also entirely fiction. I like what author Katherine Patterson said,

"Thus, in a real sense, I am constantly writing autobiography but I have to turn it into fiction to give it credibility."

Some characters started off as patterns of people I know but many of them took on their own unique personalities throughout the story and ended up looking nowhere close to who I imagined them as. In a few scenes I found myself unintentionally paying homage to authors I admire - towards the end I found I had written shades of Edward Cullen and Boo Radley into two of my players. I borrowed some names from old friends, and have since reconnected with a few while offering my thanks (you rock, Tonya). Most of them are common enough to never be traced back to individuals but one of my challenges was creating believable names for the cast - though Clarissa and Pablo really had to be Clarissa and Pablo. And I butchered science. I didn't intend to, and I feel a little bad about doing so, but it made for a much more exciting story. That's why it's fiction, right? I'll be curious to see if the minor flubs are caught or if it's only through close technical knowledge that things appear ridiculously fake. I'm still pretty genre-less. I classified myself as Mainstream Fiction because there was no listing for Scificklysterymance (that's sci-fi meets chick-lit meets mystery meets romance. It's no coincidence that that describes my reading tastes too.

But the bottom line is - it's done! I finished! I wrote a novel! I won! As part of the NaNo celebration, once I validated my word count I got a pdf file of a winner's certificate. I like the description they give on it (emphases theirs):

This literary honor is bestowed but once a year upon the bravest, most dedicated, and GIFTED of writers who have achieved their creative potential in ONE absurdly challenging month. The bearer of this certificate shall forever occupy a revered place in the firmament of HIGH-VELOCITY NOVELISTS, and his or her work shall stand as an INSPIRING testament to what can happen when one courageous writer triumphs over the naysaying and self-critical voices that stymie the flow of ART AND MERRIMENT in the universe. Congratulations, novelist. The Office of Letters and Light salutes you.

Of course, I almost wish I had been able to read that piece of encouragement before I started. "absurdly challenging month...."; "Revered place in the firmament...."; "stymie the flow of art and merriment...."; those are some great noveling words... I might have to keep them in mind for November '08!

LisaWriMo: Almost finished!!! (...Sort of?)

As of this morning my word count stands at 47,441. On Monday I broke my record for a single day's word count with 2634 words. On Tuesday I broke Monday's record by plugging out 2990 words. (I almost wish I had written 10 more just to have a 3K day.) It's highly likely that I'm going to hit the coveted 50,000 tonight or tomorrow morning...but you'll notice that I'm not claiming to finish tonight or tomorrow morning. I'm going to revel in the success of "winning" NaNoWriMo very soon but an even bigger joy will be completing my novel - which will likely take an extra couple thousand words above the 50K mark. It would be awesome to complete the story by November 30th but I don't want to rush the ending too much. I posted another excerpt - there are several now if anyone's interested - but even cooler to read is the latest author pep talk by young adult and sci-fi writer Garth Nix. The full text isn't available online yet but as I did with the supremely awesome Neil Gaiman, here's my favorite highlight from the pep talk of Mr. Nix:

"...remember that being published is not a necessary validation or a path everyone wants to take with their work. Writing---and finishing---a novel is a great thing in itself, whether or not the book is published or becomes widely-read or not.

"Finally, I think it’s always best to write the story that is currently strongest inside you, the one that won’t go away, regardless of its genre or marketability. If you are true to your inner vision, believe in the reality of your story and write the book you want, you will bring it to life."

It really answered my inner doubts about whether or not my story had any "readability" and also acts as a nice little answer to those who want me to seek editors and publishers immediately. I might not be a great writer. I might not even be a good writer. But I have a story to tell and I think I've done a pretty fair job at bringing that story to life.

Stay tuned for copious amounts of celebration and a plethora of joyous salutations when I hit the big 50K!

LisaWriMo: The Final Countdown

I have written - I have HAND-written - over 42,000 words. That puts me a mere 8000 words shy of the goal. That's 84% done. *Insert squeals of delight.* For those of you that stuck with me through my "I-hate-my-novel" and excessive use of rubbish and it's synonyms in describing my writing phase, I thank you profusely. This is the downhill stretch and yet it's also the climactic rush that's providing some of the most dramatic and fun to write material so far. Wish me luck on the home stretch!

Reaching for something in the distance

So close you can almost taste it

Release your inhibitions, feel the rain on your skin

No one else can feel it for you only you can let it in

No one else, no one else can speak the words on your lips

Drench yourself in words unspoken

Live your life with arms wide open

...Today is where your book begins

The rest is still unwritten.

LisaWriMo: Overdue Update

I figure I'm well overdue for an update on here. I'm over 30,000 words into my novel. I know that should seem like I'm on the home stretch but I still feel like I'm heading "into" instead of out of this project. The last few days have been especially daunting - I dropped below the daily minimums for the first time all month - but after a few marathon writing sessions I'm back on pace to make it 50K in the next ten days. Thanks to all who have been wishing me well - from the encouraging friends to the emailed pep talks from famous authors that NaNoWriMo provides - I really couldn't persevere without my cheering team! I actually had an "I hate my novel" moment this weekend and a perfectly timed email arrived from Neil Gaiman - many know he's one of my favorite authors and you can read his appropriately suited for the moment words in their entirety here. My favorite part was:

You're in the middle, a little past the half-way point. The glamour has faded, the magic has gone.... You don't know why you started your novel, you no longer remember why you imagined that anyone would want to read it, and you're pretty sure that even if you finish it it won't have been worth the time or energy and every time you stop long enough to compare it to the thing that you had in your head when you began---a glittering, brilliant, wonderful novel, in which every word spits fire and burns, a book as good or better than the best book you ever read---it falls so painfully short that you're pretty sure that it would be a mercy simply to delete the whole thing.

Welcome to the club.

That's how novels get written.

I'm still on the fence as to how much sharing of my work will be done. More on that to be discussed later, I'm sure. Until then I'm over 60% done... here's to pushing through to the end!

The Dread Pirate Brody's Real Name?

My pirate name is:

Mad Bess Flint

Every pirate is a little bit crazy. You, though, are more than just a little bit. Like the rock flint, you're hard and sharp. But, also like flint, you're easily chipped, and sparky. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from piratequiz.com.
part of the fidius.org network

So my original pirate name (back in '02 when only the fiercest of us had even heard of TLAP Day) was The Dread Pirate Brody (long story) but I guess Mad Bess Flint has a certain ring to it. Maybe Mad Bess Flint Brody works. Go ahead and take the quiz and let me know your own pirate name!

Happy Pirateering To All And To All A Sword Fight!*

*Yes, I just coined that phrase. Consider it my own personal trademark.

The Write Stuff

In case you're wondering Part 2 is coming but I came across something oddly blog worthy and just had to point it out. I sometimes entertain weird dreams of writing something really worth reading but when I peruse even the idle thoughts of true writers I find myself too in awe of their talents to count myself anywhere close to them. Case in point, Neil Gaiman. (For the non neo-goth-pulp-noir fiction lovers that missed the gem of a film called MirrorMask and sadly don't recognize Mr. Gaiman's name, expect to hear more about him this summer with the film premier of his novel Stardust - if the movie is half as good as the book it will be a real treat.) I know he's not Twain, Steinbeck or Keats but he's one of those authors with a gift for finding the perfect words to describe the ultimately mundane things of this world in a way that brings you a glimpse of a new sort of reality and makes you wish you could describe life as he does. On his blog he describes the simple task of walking his dog like this:

"Tonight we walked under a sky hung with a million billion trillion stars, and a perfect crescent moon, and watched the constellations of fireflies blinking greenly and magically in the trees and hedgerows like a tiny magical cityscape. Other fireflies would fly up, and arch across the sky and come down like falling stars."

It's the kind of description that just made me sigh pleasantly. His true genius though lies in following up a poetic piece of prose with something like this:

"I sang Stephin Merritt's song "100, 000 fireflies" as we walked, or all of it that I could remember. Dogs don't mind if you forget bits, and the fireflies were too busy flashing and floating and glowing and dreaming to care."

I count it as a sign of literary greatness to bring me to an image of peaceful serenity and then make me laugh out loud.

Huh.

My horoscope du jour:

"Just because you have a high level of integrity and are willing to do the spiritual work required by your beliefs, don't think you are better than everyone else. Be careful about self-righteousness; it will only isolate you from those you love. It's healthier to realize that everyone is on their own path and is exactly where they should be at this time."

Death Sucks.

That's not meant to be funny. Or ironic. It's called I'm at the point where that's all I can think to say. Death sucks. If you object to the curse word in there, chalk it up to postmodernism that says I can be a Christ follower and also use the words that aptly express my feelings even if they're considered vulgar. Hopefully you can also credit the fact that I wouldn't be much of follower if the death of my 21-year old cousin didn't leave me upset and frankly, pretty darn pissed off. I know all the lines that there's hope because Christ has conquered death. This life isn't all there is. He's in a better place. We'll be together again someday. Sure. It's true. I DO believe it. It's actually quite comforting. But there's still this heap of emotions that keep bursting through the healing words and thoughts leaving everything to feel so.... raw.

I don't know why I have such a hard time with sadness but I always seem to be crossing the razor-edge line from sorrow into rage. Don't get me wrong, I've shed plenty of tears but after they're dried I still feel like punching something. What am I so angry at, you'll ask, and I don't even know if I can sufficiently explain it. Maybe it's just that, for me, anger's more easy to deal with. Anger feels powerful where as sadness seems too vulnerable. Sure it's immature but I can't fight wanting to scream out that "It's just not fair!!!" Injustice. That's something to be angry about, right? The injustice of death, with a Dylan Thomas style plea to "rage, rage against the dying of the light!" But Thomas seems to speak of death of the aged, those who have lived and seen and done. He speaks not to the death of youth. When the cruel world claims those who have only begun to live, there lies tragedy indeed.

This week marks the fourth funeral I've been to in the past few years and three out of four have been for people under thirty. That's where death really sucks. In a reflection on the Virginia Tech tragedy, author Neil Gaiman said, "[I'm] still managing to think of this as something that happened, tragically, to Other People. And then ...my heart sinks... and I get my nose rubbed hard and painfully in the fact that there are no Other People. It's just us." And that's true. Every death is someone's someone. A son, a mother, a brother, a friend, a cousin - an Andy.

Andy. Andrew Patrick Moore, A. Mo, though you will always be our Andy. I remember you so well as a little boy with a shy smile and how in just a few summers you became a handsome young man that I suddenly looked up to - quite literally looked up to, for in between vacations you sprouted up taller than most of your older cousins! We played board games and UNO and in a small enough group your shyness etched away and we could talk about college and friends and your future.... The future that you no longer have outside of the hearts of those that love you. My image of you will always be barefoot, wearing swim trunks and a life jacket for you were ever most alive on a jet ski or being whipped around the lake tubing or water skiing with graceful confidence. You used to say the ride was awesome because it was fast - and perhaps now that's how we can see your life: a wonderful, but all too fast ride.

I don't know what else to say besides "it's so tragic" or "it's so unfair" or "it's not right" or perhaps most appropriately, "it just plain sucks". But none of those cliches can capture the whole of the situation. I suppose I could use another's words to say it best, "There is no pain greater than losing something - someone - before truly recognizing it's value." (R.A. Salvatore). You were valued to us Andy, you still are and always will be. But your potential, your impact and value in the world, were only just beginning. I can't describe how much you will be missed, but I will say that you will forever be remembered and you will be a constant reminder of how precious and fleeting life really is. Our family reunions at the lake will never be the same - we are 17 cousins now and there will be an empty chair for you at the table. But there is hope in knowing that we will have a grand reunion in heaven some day. It will certainly be the best one ever.

Goodbye, Andy. I'll miss you man.

Sorrow's Song

I'll explain later -
Basically this is a compilation of various song lyrics that just...
...fits.
****

I was naive, and I thought that I was strong.
...but now I know that I was wrong, 'cause I miss you.

I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone.

Life's like an hourglass glued to the table.
No one can find the rewind button,

I miss you.
Can you tell me, is there something more to believe in?
Or is this all there is?

I'd want to know, I'd want to know, my God, 

All I know - time is a valuable thing, 
watch it fly by as the pendulum swings,
watch it count down to the end of the day.
The clock ticks life away - It's so unreal!

It's funny how we feel so much but we cannot say a word -
We are screaming inside, but we can't be heard.
But I will remember you....

Your presence still lingers here... 
These wounds won't seem to heal this pain is just too real.

But long before, having hurt, I'd send the pain below.
Much like suffocating.

This is me pretending this is all I need and I just wish
that I didn't feel like there was something I missed.

And all the colors mix together - to grey.
And it breaks her heart.

I'm bound by the life you left behind,
your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams.

You won't get to see the tears I cry.

God thy will is hard, but You hold every card.

Don’t you cry, wipe away the teardrop from your eye.

It's easier to believe in this sweet madness, oh,
this glorious sadness that brings me to my knees:

Blessed be Your name on the road marked with suffering, 
though there's pain in the offering, blessed be Your name.

It won't rain all the time. The sky won't fall forever.
And though the night seems long, your tears won't fall, 

...forever.