Eat the Cookie, Buy the Shoes

For how much I slave over inventive, catchy titles that I choose to draw in the readers of my blog and get people to form a question mark above their heads, this time, the title is not my own. But rather it is the title of a book I jacketed at Sheboygan's Mead Library where I work. It was written by a popular Christian spokesperson who's face is really familiar in my head right now, but I can't think of her name! When jacketing a book I invariably read the summary on the inside flap, just to see what the book's about whether I'd be interested in it. This book in particular, Eat the Cookie, Buy the Shoes was about how as Americans - and people all over the world - we have let guilt riddle our lives until we stumble and fall like too many potholes in a dirt road. She - the author - goes on to say that God hadn't intended for us to live this way. We were meant to be freed of guilt and the burden of sin, placing it all upon him, rather than drag it around with us like a water-logged wool coat.

I was interested in the book then, but who would figure that a couple of weeks later I'd be sitting here writing a blog about it? It's like my mind just stored up that idea like that one dilapidated carousel horse no one wants to ride and then one day, a kid jumps on it and everyone takes notice. But no matter what the reason for me suddenly thinking about it again, I'm just glad to finally have Wednesday come around and finding I have something to write about! As most of you have known, as of late I've been strapped for ideas. Every Wednesday I feel like I'm standing at the train station, looking down both sides of the tracks, waiting, waiting for that train to come but it never does. Sometimes I sit on the bench and occupy myself, other times I simply walk around, frustrated. But this time...the train has pulled in! And I'm along for the ride.

When thinking about guilt sometimes overrules my life I immediately thought about the most obvious category...my writing. When I neglect my blog, my stories, or I have this slight itch to write a poem but there's a bigger itch that doesn't really want too, I feel guilt-riddled. But who, exactly, do I feel guilty about betraying? Is it the characters in my stories who, while they wait for me tie up another loose end in their lives or take them off of that deserted highway and plop them safely in the hallway of their home, are frozen in time and simply waiting, in the same manner I'm waiting for inspiration or the mood to write to come along? That may've been the longest, most multi-level question never written, and I dearly hope I didn't confuse you. Hell, I'm still trying to figure out what I just said!

Or do I feel guilty about neglecting the writer within me? That part of me that's so dominant in words on paper and rising from the keys of my keyboard but is a recluse in society. Do I feel guilty because while I feel like writing something I go off and do something else, all the while feeling that snippet of a scene, that opening to a new story, or just a random conversation I know I can work into something bigger if I only sat down and worked at it. I don't remember where I heard it but someone once said that to become a better and more prolific writer...you should write every day, and for a while I was doing that. But honestly? I don't think I could sit down and work on my stories every single day, because when I do, I'm usually at for two to six hours. That's a lot of sitting down people! Now I know I just can't look at it that way, but I've noticed that within the last year some extra padding, per se, has collected around my thighs and waist, and I'm not liking it very much! I've always been effortlessly skinny and to have this intrusion of fat and blubber is unacceptable! But, this isn't a post about my recent weight gain, it's about guilt! Forgive me if any of you feel awkward reading that certain paragraph. :)

There's another problem, albeit it's not completely a problem. I'll be working on one story, fulling intending to stick to it when out of nowhere I'll be intercepted by another story, or perhaps just a story thought. It's usually the latter. So naturally, to keep from loosing said story thought I'll start typing it out and then become swept up in this whole world, this entirely new batch of characters and I'll take off with it and then once I'm high in the sky look down and realize...I left my former stories just standing there, waving frantically, wanting to come along. In a way it's like writer's ADD, I'll be on one subject and then all of a sudden switch to something else. The funny this is thought is that most - or is it all, perhaps? - of my stories run in the same vein, yet each is blatantly different. The truth of the matter is, is that I love placing myself in the myriad worlds in my heads and spinning a new life I can live through the characters I create. If I could live the lives of my characters, it would be amazing! Not to say that they lead perfect lives, not by any standard. But like Scarlett Johansson said in a movie who's title escapes me I love to write because my own life is so boring. Not of course, that I'm saying that my life is completely boring, because for probably the first time in my life I have a full schedule, and enjoy it immensely. I simply inserted that quote because I place my characters in the places I'd love to be like the Great Plains, Oklahoma, the countryside, small towns, old houses...you know me by now right? What's interesting is that I have yet to set a story in New England, which is another place I'd love to live. I'm just starting to write stories based right here in Wisconsin, and I must say I'm enjoying more than I thought I would. I steered away from doing so previously because I thought it would be too predictable, plus, in all honestly, I wouldn't mind moving out of Wisconsin myself sooner or later and move - you guessed it! - to the Great Plains or New England.

As always, I digress, but I don't apologize! The writing path my mind treads is a haphazard slice of dirt winding down a tree riddled mountainside, never flowing in a straight line. It's all I can do to keep my feet on the narrow path and not go tumbling down! I'm not sure what that means, but there it is nonetheless. Back to guilt! I also have a guilt problem with cookies, and other obviously unhealthy foods. Now, you can buy healthy cookies but you'll pay a higher price. Why, as consumers who yearn to eat healthier and feed our families less junk food forced to sacrifice money just to feed ourselves the food God intended? It doesn't make sense. But...I'll save the food rant for later. Perhaps I have stumbled off of that path, time to slow down and get back on it! Whenever I bite into a Oreo or grab a soda from the fridge, I think about that extra padding around my waist - yeah, sorry to bring it up again - and wonder why I don't choose something healthier. Why not those whole wheat crackers in the cupboard? Or that organic apple juice in the fridge? Perhaps I supplement my occasional unhealthy snack choices by bringing fruits and organic applesauce with me to eat on my break at work, or while everyone else is having soda for dinner, I grab the organic tea in the fridge. But even still, eating healthy most of the time isn't good enough for me. The owner of the horse rescue farm I go out to in Reedsville eats all organic food, and she has less money to spare than my family does. Yet she manages to buy healthy foods and cook simple but delicious meals. It made me realize that although the price of organic foods is frustratingly higher than regular items, you don't have to spend twice as much at the grocery store to get it. I've made it a goal in my life to someday never shop at Wal-Mart. Everything about the place irritates me. I'll be eating healthy but I'll also be spending the same amount of money. In the past my family and I have tried switching to healthy foods but some people - mainly my brother - have been adamant about refusing to.

Well, it turned into a mini-rant about the food industry anyway. Oh well, it felt good to get it out. I haven't talked about food in a while. So this whole guilt thing with cookies and other unhealthy foods, is it a good thing? Like the author of the book Eat the Cookie, Buy the Shoes tells us, God hadn't intended for us to live with guilt. But, he also instructs us to take care of our bodies. So where's the middle ground here? I believe that if you eat mostly healthy foods and exercise in tandem with that, you can allow yourself a few indulgences here and there. Then instead of feeling guilty for eating that cookie, you'll think of it as a reward, a slight stepping out of bounds when you've ran the race perfectly and are almost to the finish line. Last summer I rode my bike almost every day, and granted I didn't have a job then and a lot less volunteering 'jobs' as well, I'm still getting out on my bike plenty this summer.

Whatever your persistent guilt is in your life, perhaps you need to sit down and evaluate why it's there, and if it's a healthy dose to keep you in check, or if it's a stubborn gray rain cloud hanging over your head and weighing on your back. Splurge on that one dress at the store, buy that package of double chocolate cookies. Once a while isn't bad, is it? Eat the cookie! Buy the shoes! Just do it!

My Third Eye

Lately I've been neglecting my blog and I feel extremely guilty because of it. I cannot exactly pin point why I've been shortchanged on ideas but I've figured out that when I don't work on the various novellas I have started...my blog suffers as well.

Half of the reasons I come up for not working on a novella or any other writing endeavor sound like excuses, even though a handful of them probably aren't. In my first creative writing class - which was online - I saw people write that they get "crabby if I don't write for a while." I've found this to be true for me as well! I'll get into that sort of funk or snappy mood, feeling that snippet of a story or even a fresh story just waiting to be born through words and images gnawing away at me, or knocking incessantly on that door I locked them behind in the back of my mind. That's happening to me now. After going for an 1 1/2 long bike ride through Sheboygan's north side and looking at block after block of old houses I thought of a new "story thought." That was on Monday, and I still haven't gotten around to it. So needless to say it's bugging me even now. The random characters, the - of course! - beautiful old house they live in, a rough plot line, etc. A lot of times these story thoughts will simply be a few chapters, as long as the meager flame can find some suitable wood by which to feed itself I'll keep writing. Then either another idea for a story will intercept it, or I'll run out of wood and realize I'm standing in a barren forest with only stumps surrounding me. When that happens all I can do is sit back, wait for the trees to go or start walking and looking for another, more fertile forest and start chopping down some more trees.

It may seem like a haphazard way of writing, and it probably is. But it's the way my brain works. Inspiration comes in spurts, like a hose being dragged around a house. Sometimes the hose kinks and you're left with nothing but a maddeningly thin trickle. Other times you have a cascade of water, drowning you in its depths, while still other times the hose gets tangled up and you have to go back and fix it, slaving under the hot sun. I have a real problem with fixing what I've written. I would much rather just leave it the way it is. Which I realize is completely unrealistic as every author has to edit what they write, it can't be perfect the first time right? Perfection is an unattainable goal in all of our lives, yet so many of us strive for it every day in the most minutest of details.

Along those lines, my lack of wanting to edit my work isn't saying that I think it's perfect the first time. Far from it! I practice what is called "free writing" which means I basically write by stream of conscious, not rereading what I've written until maybe days later. With this type of writing the story can go all over the places. I'll be on my way with one thought when another will intercept me like a bear attacking in the woods. Often times I've satisfied with the end result, though a few of my stories have ended being total disasters, including my first stab at a novella series entitled Wide Open Spaces. I was in the process of rewriting the beginning chapters but halfway through realized there were more holes in it than a drunk man's dart board. It's frustrating because obviously I feel close to the characters and the town they live in, but I know I'll have to start from scratch...again. but if you think about it, if every one's work - both writing and otherwise - came out perfect the first time around...would that be any fun? There wouldn't be any need for advice, no one would have to challenge themselves to become a better this, a better that. Every body's work would be on the same level as everyone else's. You get the point right? As much as I would like my yearly Christmas cards to come out perfect the first time, and not have that glob of glue darkening the card stock, or that letter crooked because my hand flinched...that's what makes a homemade card so special! Just like when I find typo's in the books I read it makes me realize that humans weren't meant to be perfect, even at the professional level. Someone just needs to send a memo to my inner critic!

Well...I had intended to talk about my renewed love for photography, but obviously that didn't happen! My love of photography is just another "outlet" for my always extending cord of imagination. Think of it as that dad who has to run the chainsaw but the chord's too short. So he keeps adding extension cords on to it. Then he finds another tree, but it's too far, and then there's that tall hedge bordering the yard, that could sure use a trim...and so on, and so on. First it was writing, then it was graphic design, then it was interior design, then it was dabbling in songwriting, then it was card making, then it was drawing and now...photography!

Actually, when I said "renewed love" for photography I meant that I had a slight passion for it in high school, and I say slight because when you have a camera that takes film while everyone else is in the digital age, it's kind of hard to get into taking pictures! But now we have a digital camera and I find myself snapping pictures every time I go on a bike ride. As well as experiencing those maddening "wish I had my camera" moments. Unsurprisingly I love taking pictures of the beach, countryside, abandoned/old houses and barns, trees, flowers and my cat Ziggy. These subjects - especially old houses and the countryside - have been a major source of blood for my creative heart. Most of my stories - or should I say all? - are based in the countryside and the characters live in old houses. While photographing such things is where I feel at home, even though I've never lived in the countryside or an old house. But perhaps we don't have to experience things to feel close to them. Our imaginations can bring us to the threshold and give us a real world experience through our mind's eye, or our third eye.

Since I desire to capture the same passions I love to write and draw about with my camera, I consider the camera to be my third eye. Its lens is drawn to what my own eyes are, and desires to capture it just as I see it, with brilliance and a million words. For instance, whenever a flower opens around my house I am always hunting for that perfect angle, that perfect way to capture its beauty and delicate lines. Flowers are such a simple way to express one's creativity and love of color and plants. I'm habitually drawn to all red flowers - since it's my favorite color - but I enjoy a labyrinth of other colors.

My cousin Kelly, whom I have recently reconnected with via Facebook, is a huge part of the inspiration behind my renewed passion for photography. She posts many pictures that she takes as well, and upon viewing all of them made me realize that I wanted to do the same thing! So around I go snapping pictures, posting them on my Facebook profile and enjoying the comments I receive. But I feel limited by what I can photograph, for a lot of reasons.

Number one being, while I am in the process of taking said pictures I worry what others think of me. An unnecessary worry I know, and I shouldn't' care what others think but...these statements don't help me any. I worry anyhow! Also, when visiting my great aunt in Daggett, Michigan I am limited from photographing the myriad abandoned farms/old houses around her own farm because I can't drive I know neither my parents nor my brother would care to bring me. Whenever I see an abandoned house or barn on the way to her rural farm I feel a swell of excitement within me. There is something so beautiful about a weathered house or a sway-roofed barn. It speaks of time's surreptitious yet blatant spell on abandoned buildings, it speaks of the hardships of country life and the sacrifices we must all make. It speaks of the cycle of life, and how just like its human inhabitants, so must a house or entire farm die as well. While riding back to her farm with my aunt she pointed out several houses alongside the highway. One had gotten struck by lightning and since abandoned, another one's owner had recently died and would soon be abandoned...and on goes the story.

There's also the abandoned house alongside the gravel driveway leading to the horse rescue farm I volunteer at in Reedsville. The owner, Mary Ellen, told me it's been abandoned for twenty-plus years, and due to last winter's heavy snowfall is more caved in that usual. Even though it is nothing more but a skeletal frame of grayed slats and hollow window frames like the charred remains of a burnt car twisted in wreckage, it's still sad to see it falling down. Mary Ellen told me it once had beautiful woodwork. If I look hard enough through the trees I can see the outline of where the staircase met the wall. My imagination stirs to life and I picture a sweeping balustrade meeting you at the door, a sinuous newel post commanding your attention, golden light from an antique hurricane lamp reflecting softly off of it's rich, deep cherry wood.

I always manage to work old houses into everything don't I? But such is the case when I so invariably find them a part of my every day life, whether it be in a drawing, my imagination, a story thought, or a picture I took on impulse. A couple of weeks ago I visited my great aunt's farm with my parents and while they talked I went around snapping pictures of the barn and surrounding landscape. I received many good comments, and it makes me itch more than ever to get back out there and take some more. Such a case leads me to wonder where I could have a career in photography. I subscribe to Country magazine and often marvel at the stunning pictures of countryside life and landscapes. I've always thought being a traveling photographer would be one of the best jobs a person could have.

So then, as I've told my parents in an off-hand matter, perhaps I could make a career out of traveling through the countryside photographing the sweeping fields and plains, capturing a swaying barn roof or bleached moonlight fingering the hollowed sockets where windows once stood in an abandoned house. I've realized that all of the possible career choices I've conjured up have no guarantee of "secure income." But that's fine with me! I would rather face financial instability and be pursuing my passion one photograph or word at a time rather than be marooned inside a tumultuous sea of beeping phones, utilitarian carpet and cubicle walls and air conditioned rooms all day. The corporate and office world isn't for me. Every time I find myself in the countryside I know it's where I belong. And one day I'll find myself there, and I'll never leave.

At the college I'll be attending in the fall, I have to select a minor in which I want to study. I've been toying with the idea of photography, and maybe, just maybe this time I'll make it a reality. In the past - with 4-H for example - I've wanted to pursue it but have been held back because of the lack of money. It's not like I'm much better off this time around - only slightly! - but unlike last time, I have more of a passion for it, and realize the potential photography holds for me. Whatever my creative endeavors turn out to be, I know I can't abandoned them all, as haphazard as they may be. Think of each of them as clothes hanging out on a line. Each article of clothing is as valuable as the next, but the line is sagging and you know if you don't take a few pieces off they'll all fall into that persistent mud puddle in the yard below. So you choose carefully, perhaps having to make some small sacrifices and realize you can't turn your full attention to all of them at once. Once those few pieces are off you know you've made the right decision, and while some of your passions may not be on the line anymore, you know they won't fall into that muddy puddle of neglect but be treasured just like the rest of them.

I Know It's Summer But...

I'm sure that whenever the weather warms up we're all more than happy to shed those pesky fleeces, pants, boots, knee socks, long sleeve shirts and all other winter garb that weights us down through the frosty months like the tilting, overused coat hanger near the back door. And I'm no different! At the slightest hint of warm weather in my hometown of Sheboygan I gladly shed all layers until all I have on is a short-sleeved shirt and capri's. And don't forget the sandals!

You see, winter is like that musty, mothball-infested wool coat you didn't know grandpa had in the back of his closet, so you decide to try it on. The wool is scratchy and thick, the smell intoxicating and sinking into your skin and it weighs on every inch of you like dew-laden fog in the morning. You're struggling with the closures, trying to get it off, but it won't budge. Finally...it's off! And you can breath again. Now I don't want to come off like I hate winter completely because frankly...if you live in Wisconsin and hate winter you might as well move to San Francisco and say you hate warm weather! It's pointless is what I'm trying to say.

Each season has its own beauty and benefits. Winter's being that sparkling blanket of white layered upon everything, insulating the world like a pair of fluffy, white earmuffs. And the cold air is energizing as well, a drink from a crystalline lake tumbling from a mountain's edge. But....before I get too carried away and start rushing the seasons - God knows summer is short enough as it is right? - let me get to the point of this week's blog post.

At the beginning I talked about the liberation of shedding those layers of clothes. And I like shorts as much as the next person, and here's the 'but' - you knew it was coming! - there's a point when your shorts become more like hot pants.

I'm going to write this post assuming none of you wear those infamously short shorts we all see girl's wearing, though if you do, I would like to know how you can walk around and not feel self-conscious! Maybe such an opinion comes from the fact that I'd much rather wear bermuda-style shorts versus actual shorts, but recently I bought a pair of the latter and wore them today. I felt entirely too self-conscious, even though they were nowhere near as short as some other shorts I see girl's wearing. I'm just not used to wearing them is what it comes down to.

If manufacturers are putting this type of summer clothing on the market, why do girl's buy it? The skimpy tank tops, the ridiculous shorts and let's not forget the short skirts! A while back I went to JC Penny's with my parents and was looking around my section and found the shortest skirt I had ever seen. I'd meant to try it on - just to see how it would on me - but forgot to. I could imagine it would've hit just below my butt though, just as some shorts would. I mean, if your shorts don't have an inseam shouldn't that be telling you something? Also, there are better ways to cool off than to expose that much of your legs, or anything else.

I'll admit, I love to shop at American Eagle. But some of the shorts and skirts there? Are pretty ridiculous. The same can go for the tank tops. During that same trip to JC Penny's I bought two boyfriend style tank tops and once I got home realized the neckline is too low. What's the point in that? I want to wear a tank top because of the warm weather and not have to worry about my bra showing or what people can see when I bend over. Now my mom has to sew material there, and it's taking her forever to do it. It'll be winter by the time she finishes them!

The media is no doubt a huge influence on how women and girl's dress in general. But for myself? I've never felt that pressure to wear this or buy that. I also think it depends on how you were raised and what type of environment you grew up in. Who says you have to give in to social pressure? Who says to be cool during the summer you have to wear skimpy clothes otherwise you'll overheat? I haven't bought a pair of actual shorts - not bermuda's - since probably middle school, and I've been graduated from high school for two years now. There are ways to be stylish without compromising your modesty.

Personality could be another big influence. You see, I've never been one to make waves where my clothes are concerned. Plop me in a crowd and I wouldn't stand out at all. Just the way I like it! Though in my head? I conjure up all kinds of outfits I can wear. I've even thought of a few dress designs here and there. If you want more on that go back to my blog post entitled Side B of Me. I explain that inner person that hides within my quiet, shy demeanor. And even though we're all told not to care what other people think, I can't help but to do just that! So when I don those new heels I bought or wear that slightly short skirt with black leggings I find myself cautious, wondering what they think when they see me. It shouldn't be that way though! We should dress to express ourselves and no one should judge us for it.

But...like I've said previously, it should be within reason. One infamously expressive dresser that comes to mind is Lady Gaga. Now, I won't even begin to try to understand why she dresses the way she does, but there's no one else out there that's like her. And apparently - as far as I know - every outfit she wears she designs herself. I'm no fan let me tell you. I shunned pop music long ago, but her songs are ubiquitous and entirely impossible to avoid. Lady Gaga is definitely not a good influence on girls in our culture today. I've seen some of the outfits she wears, it's disgusting to say the least. Why do so many artists - or so-called artists - feel that not only do they have to sell their music, but their bodies too? Excuse me but, I didn't come to your concert to see that, I came to see you perform. Somehow over the years the music industry has been grated down like a pair of molars in the back of your mouth. Someday soon it'll strike the nerve beneath and maybe then someone will do something about it and artists will start selling music again. And maybe it'll be music too, and not the sludge scraped from the bottom of the talent pool that was once so plentiful and crystalline.

I am afraid this post has turned into a rant. I hope not! Because that is certainly not my goal with this blog of mine. As always, I ended up talking about music. Funny I didn't find a way to work old houses into it too! :) I hope all of you reading this enjoy the rest of your summer, and thank you, as always, for reading my blog!

Ghost Song

I'm sure we've all been there. You're doing dishes, doing homework, slaving through that last hour of work or driving en route to somewhere when you turn on the radio and a new song is playing that you've never heard. Doesn't it always seem to be that when this happens the announcer never says the artist or name? Irony shows up in many places, let me tell you!

When you hear that new song for the first time, it's like everything else fades into the distance and you focus only on that voice, those lyrics, that music coming through your radio, each note like a sharper bend in the road, obscuring what lies ahead. It's even better when you like the song. Because then you're scrambling for a piece of paper, trying to contain snippets of refrains or words in your mind, hoping that later on they'll join to fit a whole. There's something exciting about hearing a new song, and in a way, something exciting about not knowing its title or the artist.

Here comes a house analogy! You knew it was coming didn't you? This same scenario happened to me today just hours before. After eating a late lunch coming home from work I was doing the dishes when I turned on the radio that I'd lugged in from my room. I was about to hit the iPod button and bypass the radio when I heard this new voice coming through the speakers. Instantly I tried to place it, but couldn't. The lyrics were the second thing that made me pause. I'm still thinking about them. Usually Sheboygan's only country station plays nothing but the garbage that's coming out of Nashville these days, but this song was different. Later I'll go on Google and attempt to feed it the random lines I gleaned from the song and hope I catch a fish! But if I don't, I'll just have to be tuned in for a while and refrain from playing my iPod continuously.

I never got to that house analogy did I? To me, these undiscovered songs are like the many abandoned houses and barns on the way to my Great Aunt's farm in Upper Michigan. When I pass them I am always inexplicably captivated, for as most of you know, I love abandoned buildings in general! There is something mysterious, something haunting, something fiercely captivating that draws you in, and in turn narrows your world to only that cluster of buildings, those wooden skeletons breathing through nothing but the wind that pumps muddy blood through their veins. I think of the lives that used to live there, the way the buildings are dead but still alive.

How does all of that relate to hearing a new song on the radio? Well...I'm still trying to figure that out. I guess what I can say is, just as an abandoned house or barn makes me stop and draws me in, so does a new song on the radio cause me to falter in my fast pace of life and listen, no matter how faint the call is. The song could be profound like the one I heard while doing the dishes today, or it could be some guy with an accent singing how rain is good for the crops because corn makes whiskey. It's that curiosity of the undiscovered that fuels our full attention to something. Like a tornado funneling all of the storm's energy into that narrow tube, sucking in the air, feeding off of our fear.

Like your tongue traveling to that one rotten tooth in your mouth, I once again find my thoughts wandering back to old houses. Whenever I spot an old house I think of the people that live there, what the house looks like, how old it is...etc. The same goes for a narrow country road branching off of the one I'm driving on. Where does it lead, what treasures lay scattered along its edges like random beads strung on a necklace? When out in the country, if I were to really follow that nagging curiosity within me, I'd be lost before I could count to three! But if you think about, wouldn't discovering new and inimitable things make up for being lost? Because frankly, I would be lost in my thoughts, in the joy of discovery, in the pure rebellion of following that wandering river that at sometimes may run thin, but never dry.

Of course, not every new song you hear will you instantly love. It just so happened that today was one of those times. I'll admit, I'm listening to the radio less and less these days. What is played over the airwaves just isn't country anymore. But you know what? It was my departure from radio that lead me to some of the greatest country artists I have ever stumbled upon. Artists like Patty Loveless, Suzy Bogguss, Alison Krauss & Union Station...etc. It's frustrating how radio holds people back from truly honorable music like the artists I mentioned above, put out. It's like radio has kept all of their listeners in a tight corral whose ground is parched and dusty like a bald man's dirty head and they can't see that beyond the tightly woven line of pine trees is myriad countryside dipping and falling in lush green fields, just waiting for a soul brave enough to break the fence and walk over. I myself have broken free of that corral and never intend on going back! Although, like today, every once in a while it proves that sometimes it doesn't hurt to walk back over to that dusty path of earth and see if things have improved any.

That drive to discover the undiscovered could be applied to music too, couldn't it? Like hearing that new song you instantly love on the radio and then scribbling down a few refrains. Said lines may skip through your head, like snippets of a haunting song drifting to you on the wind through the door of an open church. You yearn to discover the ball of yarn at the end of the string you clutch and then once you do, you find that it's not enough. So you throw the yarn down a hall, down the stairs, and see where it leads you next. For reasons perhaps unexplainable, it's hard for me to let a new artist into my own personal corral of music. It's like all of the artists I already know and love are horses who have been pasture buddies for years, and don't like a newcomer in their midst. They scoff, they balk, they bite, they bully...but eventually, a spot is worked into the group and everything calms down. But if I have to go through that every time I wish to strike out on a new artist endeavor, why not just be satisfied with what I have? In a way I am, the artists I love now have plethora's of music that I enjoy, and I know there's a lot more stuff by them that I haven't cracked the lid on, but what about an artist who's songs I have never heard? If I hear one song by them, will I be willing to listen to others?

I believe first impressions by an artist are extremely important. Take my number one country music obsession, Patty Loveless. I can't recall the first one I heard by her, or even where, but from that moment on I knew I wanted to hear more, I yearned to hear more. And I did! Now I'm slowly building my Loveless album collection as well as exploring new artists that are similar to her. Perhaps that's the key, then. Instead of simply thrusting myself out there, searching for artists amidst the tempest-tossed sea of music, I could travel a familiar vein and seek out new artists that way. Wade amidst the familiar, rather than surround myself with the opposite.

Well, I believe this blog post has been more all over the place than previous ones. As always, I have managed to intertwine houses into the topic but if works, why not? If you hear a new song today, and it makes you pause, think of all of the other opportunities to slow down that you're missing. It could be an abandoned house tucked behind some trees on a country road, a lemonade stand run advertising ice cold lemonade for fifty cents, or even a quaint, small town tucked into the crook of time alongside a busy highway. You may only get a glimpse, may only halt for a few seconds, but just as I glimpse an old house on my way to somewhere, it could be enough to create a story, or anything you want.