Just Jazzy 157

“She decided to free herself, dance into the wind, create a new language. And birds fluttered around her, writing “yes” in the sky.”  (Monique Duval)

These little musicians teach us that if we can weather the storm, we can sing again in the sunshine.

These little musicians teach us that if we can weather the storm, we will soon be singing again in the sunshine.

Weathering the Storm

English: Mayan calendar created by a modern cr...

English: Mayan calendar created by a modern craftsman (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’ve gotten a little distracted from my December 2012 book of days adventure in which I was supposed to be summarizing my daily preparations for the last day on the Mayan Calendar.  Although since there was never any really firm plan, I suppose I can say I haven’t gotten too far off track yet.  If you don’t know where you’re going, it’s pretty much impossible to be lost.

We got a ridiculous amount of snow today, and there’s more on the way.  The roads are crap, there’s ice everywhere, and intersections can be treacherous.  There are minor and major accidents happening all over the place, sometimes despite how careful we all think we’re being.  I wish someone would declare the month of December one big long snow day so we could all stay home until the new year.  Maybe I was a hibernating bear in a past life.

But hey!  What can we do except make the best of it?  Every day is a perfect day for something, and I think today was custom made for singing along with Kay Starr to this Irving Berlin song!  All together now – one, two, three….

The snow is snowing, the wind is blowing,
but I can weather the storm!
What do I care how much it may storm?
I’ve got my love to keep me warm.
I can’t remember a worse December
Just watch those icicles form!
What do I care if icicles form?
I’ve got my love to keep me warm.

Off with my overcoat, off with my glove.
I need no overcoat, I’m burning with love.
My heart’s on fire, the flame grows higher,
so I will weather the storm.
What do I care how much it may storm?
I’ve got my love to keep me warm.

The Storms Rant

Sparks

Sparks (Photo credit: PhotoGraham)

Now are you afraid? I’m coming.

Madness in the air tonight.

Grinning fury, threatening menace,

Blinding whiteness, hot as ice.

Do you feel it?  Cold descending,

Heavy heat begins to weep.

Crawling, creeping, rising, fleeing,

Off to wait, a watch to keep.

Can you see the branches dancing?

Swaying terror, frantic bliss.

Every leaf with hissing whispers

Shivers warning, blows a kiss.

Am I laughing?  So perceptive.

Yes, the rumbling’s belly deep.

Hard as silk and cruelly soothing,

Temper held and then unleashed.

Are you dreaming of the burning?

Sparks in darkness feed on drought.

Smoke and rain and choking blackness;

I could put the fires out.

Am I hell-bent on destruction?

Are you cowering, weak and small?

Bolts and volts and cracks and howling,

Fierce remorseless torrents fall.

Are you nodding off?  I’m going;

Wrapping up, my tantrum spent.

I’ve been harsh and you’ve been frightened.

Time for calm. I will relent.

What this night have I extinguished?

What ignited with the dawn?

You’ll remember me tomorrow.

Now I’m dying.  Played out.  Gone.

Summer Place

There’s a summer place

Where it may rain or storm

Yet I’m safe and warm

For within that summer place

Your arms reach out to me

And my heart is free from all care For it knows

There are no gloomy skies When seen through the eyes

Of those who are blessed with love

 And the sweet secret of  A summer place

Is that it’s anywhere  When two people share

All their hopes , All their dreams ,All their love.

There’s a summer place

Where it may rain or storm

Yet I’m safe and warm

In your arms, in your arms, In your arms.

Theme From A Summer Place (Percy Faith)

If that doesn’t put you seriously in the mood for summer I don’t know what will.  We’ve spent a lazy day doing not much of anything except enjoying the sunshine.  Work can wait until tomorrow.

Inspired by My Favorite Book

“My gripe is not with lovers of the truth but with truth herself. What succour, what consolation is there in truth, compared to a story? What good is truth, at midnight, in the dark, when the wind is roaring like a bear in the chimney? When the lightning strikes shadows on the bedroom wall and the rain taps at the window with its long fingernails? No. When fear and cold make a statue of you in your bed, don’t expect hard-boned and fleshless truth to come running to your aid. What you need are the plump comforts of a story. The soothing, rocking safety of a lie.” (Diane Setterfield, The Thirteenth Tale)

Sometimes I find myself on the very brink of telling someone things that I have never told anyone before. The words are forming themselves into sentences in my head and dancing around in my brain in gleeful anticipation of bursting forth, of flying from my mouth. Panic swells inside me. I will not be able to stop them once they start, and then I will never be able to snatch them back.

I force myself to hesitate and wait for them to recede in numbing slow motion. Their impatience to be heard at last begins to fade and the words themselves drift blissfully away into mist and the recollections of that past are gone. Perhaps they are lost forever. Please, please let them be lost forever. The truth would be too painful for my listener to bear, and what good could ever come of that? I will tell her a bedtime story instead, containing little chips of the truth, but not enough of them to mar the happy ending.

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