The other day, I was at a seminar and heard that people who are younger than I am (lots of people) are “digital natives.” Currently, I am still a digital stranger trying to figure things out, in the best ways possible.

At this minute, I’ve gone wild with good music, now that I’ve learned (I hope) the simple (?) task of posting a music link.

Thank you for being so patient with me while I learn to walk and talk better in the digital world. Tonight, the hope is to post links about my son and his band again, because the band is that good, like I said Saturday. (It’s not just me. The band also got excellent reviews last year in the Boro Pulse, Nashville Scene and The Dirty Lowdown).

Thank you also, to all who listened here and “liked” the excellent progressive rock music.

The two tracks I sent, which I’m trying to send again, are Kemosabe and Cig Flip. The band is The GoldRoom (spelled just that way). Besides the music link, the other link is to a review I wrote after hearing the band in person last spring at Rock-the-Relief 2012 in Bradley County, Tennessee.

As I said, my son and the other band members have kept their day jobs, so far and Lord willing. I don’t think they’re playing music together right now, for various reasons. (Hoping to keep you posted:)

The band has never made much money making music, which is one reason they’ve always played pure music, for people everywhere. (Look at all the places their music traveled, and is traveling again:)

Real people. Pure sound. Play loud, again! (And thank you!)

http://thegoldroom.bandcamp.com/

http://whitehothair.com/2012/05/01/one-band/

For my daughter too:)  http://whitehothair.com/2012/05/08/ask-anything-2/

Ponderosa pines seen from Summit in Scotts Bluff National Monument, Nebraska, USA (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Today the Chattanooga Times Free Press banner headline says: “Stage is set for fracking in Tennessee.” It makes me sad.

Last week, I heard a guest lecturer at the Lee University math and science building, talking about the Ponderosa pines they cut down out west to get the natural gas, for consumers.

I was self-centered enough to ask the lecturer what happens to those pines that are cut down, since trees remind me of mothers, the ones who fail, but who still try to do good for their children.

“Oil and gas development will continue on private land,” the conservation biologist said. “They like the royalties and profits from cutting trees.” (Thank goodness, for national parks, protecting trees and wildlife).

The biologist also said the ranchers and landowners like it when the conservationists take care of the elk and mule deer.  That way, other rich people can pay to go on the land and shoot the elk and mule deer, for sport.

If you’d like, you can go to the United States Department of Agriculture National Resources Conservation Service website, to learn many wonderful things about Ponderosa pines, including all their good usefulness and the alternate names, like “Big Heavy” or “Bull Pine” or “Black Jack.” Affectionate nicknames are an honor, I think, because it means somebody loved you, or loves you, and somebody still loves trees, that God made.

There is also a lot more information about fracking in that newspaper article today. But it all boils down to doing unnatural things to God’s natural creation, even ruining the water, which has caught fire with methane in Pennsylvania.

Money meant all this to happen. God didn’t mean it to happen.

When I drove down 20th Street today, after sending a fax to find a job, I saw a little sign in a yard, in bold print and bright colors. The sign said: “God Loves You.” I didn’t make it up.

God meant that sign for you and for me. Let’s not give up, but I’m about to cry. There’s a big heavy ache in my heart, for all creation.

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Tennessee State Line (Photo credit: J. Stephen Conn)

First, the lady I gave the $5 to last week for health care paid it back today. She looked happy.

It feels good not to owe anybody any debts. Christians are supposed to owe people a debt of love, but we get tired. We are human. Still, many try.

Jesus wondered if He’d find any faith when He returns to Earth. No wonder He wondered.

Today in Cleveland, there’s a prominent story, on the front page of the Cleveland Daily Banner, saying that a really rich man has donated a whole lot of money to Lee University, which is expanding property lines into “historic downtown Cleveland.”

But last night, at Lee University’s School of Religion, I went to a meeting in Room 247. The room was filled almost to capacity with people, mostly students, who are trying to help stop human trafficking in the Cleveland area, which is a corridor for sex trafficking because of its proximity to I-75, I-24, Nashville and Atlanta.

Dr. Daniela Augustine, a professor of Christian ethics at Lee, attended and helped lead the meeting, where around 30 to 35 people tried to find out what they could do to help stop human trafficking in this area. We were told, by a speaker from Second Life Chattanooga, that sexual slavery is right here in our own neighborhoods, or nearby. It’s horrible and hard to imagine.

But I remember those young people, in room 247 last night. They do not have huge sums of money to help them help others.

It looked to me like those young people are running on all heart, hearts as big as God‘s. That’s why I have to keep faith that God will help them (maybe us) pay that staggering debt of love, to help humans who have nobody else to help them.

Earlier today, on a car in the Lee library parking lot, I saw a bumper sticker that said, “Find Your Strong.“

Last night, I saw all those young people, finding their strong, off the front page.

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Sunlight Feed (Photo credit: kennytyy)

It was my good fortune, in Cleveland, Tennessee just a short while ago, to walk by the Lee University soccer field, where the women’s soccer team practiced running, about half-way down the field, to the blue markers and back, then again.

Nearly every young woman had hair long enough to be pulled back into a ponytail, the sunshine bouncing off their clean pulled-back hair, like mirrors held out, reflecting.

The women formed a line, at the starting line, then each ran at her own pace. They ran fast, sprinting. I could hear them breathe while I sat in the stands. This was practice, so there were no distracting crowd sounds, so I could hear the runners breathe.

It’s a privilege isn’t it, to hear someone breathe? It’s the breath of life.

Those young women, so free and strong and living bright and trying to do so well. They breathed strong breaths, catching breaths, all at their own speeds, except two girls finished side-by-side, crossing that finish line for today. They all finished for the day, those sprints.

One young woman finished her sprints and was flat-out in the green grass, catching her breath. Her teammate, who was standing up, grabbed her friend’s hand and pulled her up. The whole team still stood at that line when I left their practice.

It was such a beautiful sight, seeing all those strong women, running free and clean and strong in the autumn air on the green grass, on a beautiful day that graced us all.

I haven’t forgotten about the people hurting because of the storm. But, for a few minutes, it was wonderful to see, that team of brave women, running, chasing sunlight, catching sunlight, giving sunlight back.

Have you ever seen something so beautiful it hurts? My chest hurt seeing that innocent scene on the soccer field. It was like a weight, the weight of glory, pressing down like you press wildflowers inside pages of books.

There are so many gifts from God, to be treasured and cherished and pressed to the heart, our weights of glory, which move us forward.

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English: The beach at Loch a’ Bhealaich. Far from the madding crowd – well worth the walk in. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Today at the dangerous little intersection at Peerless and Georgetown roads in Cleveland, Tennessee, I wondered how we get these dangerous intersections that never seem to change. What in the world is going on?

Some of the local schools are over-crowded and nobody seems to know what to do about it here in Cleveland and Bradley County. An article this week in the Cleveland Daily Banner named the schools that are already over-capacity. But developers and planners keep planning and developing and building more apartments and businesses and so on and so forth, right into they think forever. Cleveland is crowded now.

Remember that movie “Far from the Madding Crowd” with Julie Christie? I just saw a scene or so, but the title tells the story. She lived away, far from the madding crowd.

If anything can drive you crazy, it’s a crowd. If you live in a crowded city, sometimes you just wish you had somewhere to go, a way to get away, to another place, maybe South Dakota or Maine or Alaska or Black Mountain, North Carolina.

Let’s go somewhere. It’s getting dark outside and time to go to another state of mind, up in a mountain cabin, with pine trees all around and crisp breezes and a pot-bellied stove with glowing embers and naturally, some homemade beef stew that’s been simmered until the meat is fork-tender and dripping with beef juices, with those vegetables like carrots and onions and the potatoes.

There’s a fireplace too, made of river rocks, with a chimney where smoke curls out into the clean black night air, free and unhurried, with stars everywhere, as far as you can see. Here, in this state of mind, we are without those intrusive city lights or city noises or city crowds. But we have lanterns and candles and hot water and we enjoy a few appliances, with just enough spare.

Nothing here dilutes or clouds the clear pure joy. Burning logs crackle and spit their happiness and you can feel the bright fire’s glow, trying so hard to say “All is well.”

There are rocking chairs too, and a sofa, with two or three soft warm blankets, in colors like Hunter green and burgundy and brown. Here, it’s okay to just stare at the fire, with a two-lane highway just below the mountain, with just enough traffic to offer comfort. Nobody’s in a hurry.

Just sitting here safe and cozy and happy, in front of that glowing fireplace state of mind, in that mountain cabin, far from the madding crowd.

Time to go for now. Thank you for listening again. Things feel better. One of my brothers heard a radio report the other day. They say when you want to get away from the walls, it means you’re getting better.

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English: A tie dyed lace tank. Photo taken by User:Gezi and explicitly released under GFLD by ThaiDye Artists. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It’s hot again here in the Southern United States. It’s not as hot as it was, but it’s hot enough to confuse your clothes. This morning, I must have changed clothes three times, trying to get comfortable.

The repetitively unpredictable weather patterns in the South are hard to live with and can drive just about anybody nutty and swirly, like those autumn leaves swirling down at the same time the roses are blooming and wilting and the yellow butterflies are dancing around all crazy-like, but also pretty.

It sure can get frustrating. Just a week or so ago, we were enjoying autumn with its cool breezes and friendly sunshine and clear moonlight. But it didn’t last. Summer changed her mind, which is the pattern here in the South.

Let’s not get used to any leveled-out weather here in Tennessee, or anywhere else in the South. Just when we think we are free and clear, here comes summer again, carrying that torch for us.

This blazin’ heat makes you want to wear tank tops here in September and maybe thumb your nose at people and then just get somewhere cool.

The guy at the desk stared at my apologetic tank top, but it’s really trying to be a happy shirt, fit for the weather. When (and if) it gets cold enough, I’ll switch to turtlenecks and sweaters and jackets and long sleeves and V-necks. But right now, the heat presses down and makes us wear tank tops, trying to be comfortable.

A young woman with her hands full kicked the automatic door open with her foot today. What did I tell you? It’s the heat. Time for a happy shirt.

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That was awful, the way I almost blew off my blog today. It hurts so much to be dismissed, to have the door closed in your face. So here we are, hopefully together again, for a few minutes of the day. Please forgive me for almost not writing for you today, like I usually do on weekdays, except Fridays. I’ll really try not to do that again.

It’s Wednesday and mid-week church night at some churches. Some of the church members had asked me to help stir and serve food tonight, which I did last week. But today the day got away from me, because I didn’t plan well and this and that happened and it was difficult. Haphazardly, I went from one place to another.

So, I almost wrote about something else, but decided to write about beauty on the back roads instead. Earlier today in Cleveland, Tennessee, when I was driving from one place to the next near the Lee University campus, I found such gloriously beautiful flowers in so many colors again, this time around Clemmer Street and Joy Street and Brown Stove Works and Carolina Avenue.

The weather is just about as perfect as it can be today, cool and breezy and colorful in pink, green, yellow and you should have seen those deep purple Morning Glories. lush on vines. Later, I learned these deep purple flowers are Star of Yelta Morning Glories, according to onalees.com, which sells home-grown seeds and plants. What a gorgeous color deep purple is, just begging people to look and feel something deep and affectionate and appreciative.

There’s quite a history behind the song “Deep Purple,” another song about lost love. There are probably many songs about finding love, too. Let’s go look for one of those love songs. Meanwhile, my hope is that you can accept my deepest apology. I shouldn’t have run off like that. You mean more to me than church. Please stay.

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Snow Cat (Photo credit: clickclique)

Once upon a time in Montgomery, Alabama, it tried to snow. It was the 1960s, not sure what year. We lived on National Avenue, after our little brother was born at St. Margaret’s Hospital, when we lived right around the corner from National, on April Street. The whole neighborhood gathered round to see the new baby.

But back to the snow dust, which I remember looking down to see and there was dark hard ground and some white cold crystals, or something, gathered together, but not much. They weren’t really like big snowflakes, but like white thick dust or those small icy white crystals, trying to make real snow.

Whatever it was, that Montgomery snow was not the kind of snow that piles up into glistening drifts, to make the world look peaceful and quiet and pure and whole for a little while. There was no purifying, relieving, unifying warm snow during our whole lives in Alabama—Montgomery, Alabama; Gadsden, Alabama; Bynum, Alabama; Deatsville, Alabama. We moved a lot, following Dad’s work as an electrician and lineman, eventually a lineman for the Tennessee Valley Authority. When we moved to Tennessee for that TVA job (our Mom drove us and a mobile home to one of those jobs by herself one time), then we finally settled down.

It doesn’t snow much in Tennessee either, as a rule. Once in a while, it snows some or it snows too much, like an unnatural disaster. In the South, we’re never prepared with snow plows or snow blowers or barely any snow tires. Usually we don’t need those things in the South, so we’re never prepared.

It’s hard to grow up and live still in the South. It feels restless and relentless, with all the football-playin’ and gun totin’ and family feudin’ and secret lyin’ and then there’s that miserable heavy heat, all the way into September and maybe October and we might even get those untimely flowers and spring in January. Even when it’s supposed to be Autumn, that relentless wet heavy heat never lets anything completely cool off or refreshingly air out or wholly fully heal. That wilting wet heat presses your spirit down day after day after day after day. It’s September and those yellow Irises are still in-our-face-gonna-take-our-place. (Somebody said it). And yet, we Southerners try. Most of us try as hard as an Alabama snowfall.

Who am I, it’s possible to wonder, even when you get old, maybe especially when you get old. Who am I? You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve changed my name, because of marriages, or because I wasn’t sure what to call myself here in the confusing South.

Now I’m 60 years old and both ex-husbands are somewhere else. My children are grown and have their own lives, as it should be. So, who am I? All I know is that I am His. I belong to Jesus. Jesus saved my life. I am His Beloved and Jesus is Mine, oh what a foretaste of glory divine. If you’d like, Jesus will be your Beloved too, and you will be His. Beloved, Jesus says, there will be warm snow soon. I promise you, there will be warm snow soon. Things are lookin’ up:)

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Cheddar cheese from Bravo Farms, Traver, California (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

These Frito-Lay cheddar cheese crackers sure are good right here in the Lee University library in Cleveland, Tennessee. It says on the little clear and brick-colored wrapper that these are officially “Cheddar Cheese Flavored Filling on GOLDEN TOAST (trademark sign) Crackers.” Also, the cheddar cheese is “Cheetos” brand and it feels kinda happy (or not miserable) just to eat these buttery-cheesy crackers this afternoon.

It would be easy enough to dwell on the little bad things, in addition to the deeply painful tragedies we endure. Sometimes we can’t help it. It can all add up fast. But I won’t make a long list of annoying little things, but you get it. You know what it feels like when somebody annoys you or hurts your feelings or worries you first thing in the morning or last thing at night. What did that woman mean, waving me out of the way in the post office parking lot, like I’d done something wrong? But maybe it was me, not paying attention. Good grief!

Here are some good things to think about. I’ve already mentioned those good crackers, which I already finished and threw the wrapper in the garbage can. Garbage cans are good. It’s good to have a place where we can throw our junk and not litter up the whole world any worse than we already have.

By the way, the other day I was driving behind a big garbage truck and traffic was slowed down behind the truck while two men ran back and forth, from the street to the truck, running and hefting and lifting those heavy and full plastic garbage cans while everybody was looking and waiting. I wanted to get out of the car and thank those men for the work they do, because it’s hard work—and probably harder when people are waitin’ and starin’ behind the truck. There must be a way to thank people who do the “dirty jobs,” like that show on television.

It wears me out just to think about it, about all the dirty jobs and all the other jobs, about how to be grateful and say or feel “thank you” for all the people doing the dirty jobs and all other jobs that help keep the world up and running or limping along.

We’re all inter-connected and inter-dependent and just like President Obama said, we didn’t build anything all by ourselves. Somebody thought of cheddar cheese and buttery crackers and putting those two things together and somebody had to make the good crackers and make the good cheddar cheese and somebody else had to take care of the dairy cows and somebody else drove that dairy cow’s milk to market and so on and so forth.

It won’t work to dance with the devil and none of us should even try, for our own good and everybody else’s. But whenever possible, it soothes the soul to be glad for the good little things people do or that we take for granted. Have you ever thought about being glad about the goodness of a bath or a shampoo? This morning a woman who’s in her 70s told me she cannot take a whole bath or full shower, but only sponge baths. She has health problems and said the water sometimes causes her to have seizures. She lives alone, with nobody to help her. But this woman was so glad today, because she had been able to wash her hair without having a seizure. Her hair looked so soft and pretty. Imagine that. Imagine having to risk your life just to wash your hair.

It’s amazing, isn’t it? It’s amazing.

So, if nothing else (and sometimes that’s all there is) we can try to be kind to the next person and so on and so forth, as much as it’s up to us. Right now we all live together here on Earth. We can’t think of and thank each other enough. But it’s still possible, when it’s safe and sane, to fill out the flavor for somebody somewhere. That way, hope springs eternal in the human heart. I hope we all have a good Monday night and hope to see you Tuesday!

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English: Nessun Dorma In a rehearsal for the Raymond Gubbay Classical Spectacular at the Manchester Evening News Arena. The tenor John Hudson sings Puccini’s Nessun Dorma from the opera Turandot, accompanied by conductor John Rigby, the Halle Orchestra and the ladies of Leeds Festival Chorus. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Last night I got to hear Nathan Pacheco sing Nessun Dorma on Georgia Public Broadcasting television. It’s too beautiful. That song is too beautiful.

Many tenors besides Pacheco have sung Nessun Dorma (None Shall Sleep) including Andrea Bocelli and the late Luciano Pavarotti. But the Nessun Dorma performance I remember most is when American soul singer Aretha Franklin sang it at the 1998 Grammy awards. Her magnificent performance gave me chills and the audience gave her a standing ovation.

Some songs are too beautiful, so beautiful it’s joy and anguish to hear them. Beth Moore the Bible teacher teaches about how God gives us joy and anguish at the same time. A lady at an alternator shop here in Cleveland, Tennessee told me about that Beth Moore Bible study of joy and anguish.

Today in Cleveland the city is fighting, among other things. The Cleveland Daily Banner headline says: “Council, tea party leader argue over apology need.” The article by David Davis says Mayor Tom Rowland and Bradley County Tea Party President Donny Harwood “became embroiled” in a 40-minute argument Monday at a meeting of the Cleveland City Council. Maybe I can catch that fight on Channel 5 later.

In the Chattanooga Times Free Press, a reporter named Judy Walton is writing about alleged “impropriety” in the 10th Judicial District. It all sounds wild and crazy. Yesterday I read in The Times about how “investigators found a partial bottle of whiskey (Jack Daniels) and packets of pseudoephedrine, which is the key ingredient in meth, in 10th Judicial District Drug Task Force agent Angie Gibson’s truck after she wrecked it August 7, 2011, in Madisonville, Tennessee.” We’ll see what happens with all that.

It’s not even night yet and already I’ve seen a Very Important Person. I got heartburn after lunch and what’s better for heartburn than ice cream? So I was sitting in my car over by Cooke’s Food Store eating ice cream and reading the newspaper, when I looked up and saw a man in a business suit holding his Droid or Android or whatever away from his ear about three or four inches. He seemed to be listening very intently and you could tell it was a business call because he was looking Very Important instead of Very Involved. People are usually animated when they’re involved but they are usually important when they are uninvolved.

So I sat there a few minutes and just ate my little $1.31 McDonald’s ice cream sundae and read a little bit more of the Banner when the VIP came out of that store with a plastic bag filled with food items. This time he had that snazzy phone about one or two inches from his ear, perpendicular! Perpendicular! What is that?!

Then I was thinking how it doesn’t work when Very Important People try to tell us they’re important with Blue Teeth and things in their ears, all hands-free and disconnected. It seems like they are putting on airs and when that happens, None Shall Sleep. I wanted to tell that businessman and his phone to get a room.

So now I’m sittin’ here tryin’ to figure out how to love people when they’re all up in the air like that. Love seems to happen on the ground and it sure can get dirty. Never try to love anybody who’s way too clean. Love gets messy.

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