A Tuesday in My Mind

I took piano lessons when I was a kid. I remember playing at recitals, sitting in my velvet dress and trying not to pee my self as I managed to clang "Good King Winsislas" onto the keys.

I don't know how old I was when my parents let me quit taking lessons, but they did. Recently, I asked my mom why she let me quit. She said she was tired of hearing me complain about practicing.

I kind of got mad at her, it passed quickly. A few months ago I sat down with a talented friend and forced her to teach me chords. Each night Jason and Moose get a recital here at our house. I am teaching myself to play the piano. I love it. I love using my own fingers and hearing something remotely resembling music come from it. I don't play recital music though. I play music that means something to me.

Which leads me to a thought. I am going on my twenty-eighth year in life and just now figured out that I think I would really have liked to be in a blues band.

Although I give them no blame I rather wish that my parents had forced me, complaining or not, to do something with myself. Perhaps they tried, I do not know.
I feel as though I have this tremendous amount of passion and absolutely no outlet for which to release it. I am drive without ability. I am ideas without talent. I am vision without know-how.

Really, truly, I am not particularly good at anything except for pretending that I am good at a lot of things.

Starting up the piano this winter has been good for me. There is this ever growing list of items in my life that I just can not seem to control, to manage, to even remotely figure out how to take steps towards. The piano was a step I could take.
I wished that I could be more musical, thus I am teaching myself how to play.

My tattoo was the same. I have always wanted a tattoo. I figured out something that I would forever want inked into my body. I went to the tattoo parlor one afternoon on my way home from the grocery store and two weeks later I sat in a black chair and got a tattoo from a man named Styx. I have never been more queasy and proud at the same time.

I feel like I am in a state of rebellion now, but not against God. I am finally rebelling against my own self. It is pretty exhausting to be honest, but it is better than boring. I would rather be tired than bored any day.

A year ago I went to a Mom's group in Bloomington looking for some companions, some support. The room was full of good, sweet, loving women. The conversation turned to things we need to teach our sons to help them become gentlemen.

Do you know what was said? We need to teach them to take their hats off at the table.

The group dialogues about this for a long time. How do we teach this? When is it okay for them to keep it on? When should they remove it? What if they are praying, but at a baseball game, should they take it off then?

I did not speak up.
No one wanted to hear that removing your hat is nothing more than a cultural sensitivity, a byproduct of a human being that can read social cues, an act of reverence and respect that is rooted in a much deeper understanding of the history of religion and relationships.

I have no concerns about my son learning when he should remove his hat and when he can just leave it on. He will learn. For now I really do not care if he eats his peas while sporting a cowboy hat, a new RAMS hat from Grandpa, or a pair of my underwear on his head.
I am more concerned about his feet. Will he be able to recognize Holy Ground? Will he be the kind of man that will remove his shoes?
When he is walking the road and passes by a hurt enemy which instinct will he give into? Will he flee for survival or will he muster up compassion?
That is what I want to talk about at Mommy's group, that and sex and how to make a really good batch of cookies.

I love the band U2 mostly because I have no idea what they are talking about and at the same time I know I want to be a part of it. I kind of feel the same way about God. He is a mystery to me, I do not get him most of the time, but I want him. I feel like I need to google God just as much as I am googling the meaning of U2 songs. But, in the end reading about it does not satisfy. I want to rock, with God that is. Although rocking with U2 would probably be pretty darn cool as well.


Sometimes someone will ask me "what do you want to do?".
I respond:

I want to see the penguins coming in off of the coast of Prince Charles Island in Australia and cry because they are so ridiculously fragile and amazing and cute.

I want to be in a refugee camp and meet people who remind me what human dignity is truly all about.

I want to sit down and ask Jesus why he made that fig tree wither.

"Oh,", they say "I meant like did you want to go to Target or the Mall?"


Recently I have been wondering why I have made many of the decisions that I have made throughout my adult life. It is wonder, not regret. There is a big difference.
I don't have an answer yet, but I think it has something to do with trying to find liberation while not letting go of the medication. You know, looking for the sky while hiding in a cave. Praying for God to send someone to help a sick man, while refusing to answer when God says, "Hello? Is someone there?" and I know he is talking to me.

Right now, today, what is it Tuesday..yes...Tuesday...Today this is what I am thinking. In case anybody is wondering, "What does Katie think about on any given Tuesday?"

1. Why is it that Barnes and Noble would have accepted the book I wanted to return without a receipt, but could not accept it when I produced a receipt showing the book was purchased over two weeks ago? It is an invitation for dishonesty, really.
Now, I am just going to go to another Barnes and Noble and return my unread book without the receipt.

2. There are 8 MILLION slaves in the world today. SLAVES.
We just got Mama Mia in the mail today thanks to Netflix. I have been wanting to watch that movie for a long time now. Is it okay for me to crash on my couch tonight, popcorn in hand, hubby close by and watch Pierce Bronson sing while there are 8 MILLION SLAVES in the world today?

3. I got this new shirt at JC Penny because my mother in law told me it would look great on me. I think she is just trying to find ways to cover up my tattoo, but none the less I bought the shirt and I rather like it. When I was in Ethiopia I had two pairs of pants, three shirts, and one pair of shoes. I bought a dress while I was there. My entire wardrobe fit into a back pack. And, I was incredibly happy with me.
Today I am wondering why I can not seem to get back to that place. Why I can't seem to stop wishing that I had better clothes, that I could be a little more fashionable. I am torn between wanting to purge my closet of all but the basics and buying this really great dress I saw at Express.

4. I want to follow my inner Gypsy, but for Christmas my husband bought me this amazing kitchen aid mixer. I do not think Gypsy's have those.


And, that is that. That is a glimpse into my mind on this very dreary cold Tuesday. Moose is sleeping, tired from a wild morning with Mommy. It has been a great day thus far, that child brings me more joy than I can explain.

I am off to do some laundry, to trip over the dogs because they always manage to stand right where I am going, and to consider the possibility of joining a rock band even though I can not sing, can not play, and get really annoyed with music that is too loud.

~


P.S. Tomorrow I am going to a Mommy's group because despite my annoyance and anger and how often I feel like I have to repress rolling my eyes there really really really are tremendous women there who can teach me a lot and who's fellowship I enjoy despite not really feeling like I fit in. They are all trying, in their own ways to figure it all out, to do their best, to love their families, to balance selfish whims with responsibility...I get that.