Request

***UPDATE!***
Tim is feeling better and is finished with some unpleasant treatments, so yay. We're still praying for Rachael to be able to relax and not obsess about the darker possibilities of the past few weeks. The doctor believes it was a one-time thing and that Tim should never ever pick up a cigarette again. Well, duh, Tim. (We love you!) He isn't even much of a smoker, but there it is.

They are moving on to bigger and better things, with a baby kicking like mad and a baby shower on the horizon. So thanks for your prayer, internet. Keep it coming, we all appreciate it and need it in this crazy world.


Hey everyone who might happen by here.
Could you pray for my friend Tim and his wife, Rachael? He had a blot clot problem tonight and is in the ER. She's about 6 months pregnant and beside herself, of course. They are good friends, crazy wacko artsy intense goofball types and two of the best I've ever met... prayer would be good.

Olympics, Baby

The Olympics are a little sip of caffeine for my mood. I love to watch people do well, focus, do so-so, lose well, flip out, talk trash and lose it all. It's like classical music but popular.

Michael Phelps has to be one of the most spectacular pieces of humanity ever to train himself silly. All the swimmers are ridiculous. Gymnasts, too. It's impressive, really, that these people found what they are built for and then focused on it to the extent that they are able to do things no one else has.

I love the sports where things are concrete: you went faster, or not. Unlike performing in artistic endeavors, there is no room for subjective critique. Obviously, I like the arts. It's just that years (and years. And... seriously, 20 years since high school? CRAP!) of training can ALLLLLLmost squash out of a person the ability to enjoy their pursuits without constantly looking for the next thing to improve. All professional musicians I've ever grilled about this answer the same way: maintaining an unjaded love for your music is a life-long challenge. It sucks to turn on the radio and instantly wonder who is playing so you can catalogue them and anything you don't like about their playing in your own mental podium race for BEST, instead of squealing with joy that they are even playing a viola concerto on the air in front of civilians.

I used to love the done-or-not-done quality of dishes and laundry, too, but somehow that has begun to fade.

The best thing about the Olympics, hands down, is that I always have something to hum to the boys. Toby was born during the winter Olympics of '06, Isaac's 4.5 months old now but likes to sleep like a much younger man. So there are anthems, themes, all sorts of snippets of grand tunes floating around even through the clouds of sleep deprivation. I love that main theme- thank you, Mr. Williams, you hummable themey genius you.

DOOOOO DEEEEEEEE Dee DUH! DUH! DUH! DUH! DEEM DEEE Dee DEEE.....

Peepers

Toby's getting glasses. They are made of flexible blue plastic and have unfortunate round rims. When they come in, I'll take pictures of us wrestling him to the ground and applying them directly to his forehead.

I think my gear shifter is broken. Toby loves to play with that kind of thing- he probably got ahold of it at some point and wrenched it clean off. I am no longer able to adjust gracefully between the roles I fill at home and those in the musical world. I'm just kinda tense about both instead. But hey, I can still get around despite my higher mileage and at least I'm paid for.