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Tuesday, July 29, 2008

  • A Late Night Snack

    I saw the clock, and 1 it said
    Which prompted me to go to bed

    I snuggled in between my sheets
    In a cocoon of cold and heat

    I closed my eyes and said a prayer
    Then ceased to think as I lay there

    But as the seconds drifted past
    The minutes seemed to last and last

    And ninety minutes came and went
    I still could not make the descent

    Into the sleep I longed for, so
    I got back up, resolved to go

    Into the kitchen, alas! alack!
    To make myself a midnight snack.

    The choices, I admit, were slim
    Then suddenly, upon a whim,

    A Seussian thought appeared to me
    And then I thought, "Oh yes! I see!

    Though I can't say my name is Sam,
    I sure could make green eggs and ham!"

    In all my years-- yes, twenty-one
    With time as friend, student, son

    I now admit (it is a sham!)
    That I'd not made green eggs and ham!

    I searched into the 'fridgerator
    To be a Seussian creator

    I found the eggs, I found the ham,
    Some salt and colorin', and a pan,

    And in five minutes flat, I say
    My new-cooked dish would make my day!

    I stirred the eggs, I added green,
    I sprinkled salt (for taste, I mean)

    I heat the pan, I heat it well,
    The butter melted like in hell

    I poured the murky mixture in
    And let it form, without, within

    And shortly, there had formed for me
    A bit of what I'd long to see!

    I tossed the ham in, and I looked
    To make sure that it was well-cooked

    When all was done (it looked first rate!)
    I placed it on a simple plate:


    I got a fork, I stuck it in
    And got a bit of Geisler sin

    What happiness! What joy I feel!
    It's sure to be a wondrous meal!


    I looked at it, and as a looked
    I was overcome by what I'd cooked

    What a shocking sight to see
    Such a dish as made by me!


    As I moved it toward my lips
    I felt a tremor in my hips

    It seemed so scandalous, yes ma'am,
    To sit and eat green eggs and ham!


    And then the taste- I say, how fine!
    A perfect snack-- and mine, all mine!

    Bite by bite, measure by measure,
    I succumbed to childhood pleasure

    And now I head to bed again
    Hoping sleep will be my friend

    But yet if not, as I'm in bed,
    I'll cherish what runs through my head,

    A simple chef is all I am,
    I conquered-- yes!-- green eggs and ham!

Saturday, June 14, 2008

  • Currently Listening
    Spring and Summer
    By Jon Foreman
    see related

    Well, this has been a long time coming.  Not really, I suppose.

    I was just walking outside tonight around 7:30 to go eat, and I looked in my backyard as my dad and I pulled out of the driveway.  Our house is a split-level, so the backyard slopes down.  Dusk's golden sunlight was streaming through the various trees which form a thick, lush canopy over the freshly-manicured grass, and the lawn was occasionally bathed in that gold light, like the hands of nature reaching into the yard.  The flowers my dad has planted were in full bloom-- pinks, reds, yellows, oranges-- sporadically around the yard, and an old-looking stone fountain trickled water in the middle of the yard.  It really was such a beautiful sight, and I had to pause for a moment to just enjoy it.  Dorothy had it right: there's no place...

    Sometimes I wish I'd grown up faster.  College has been great-- it's stretched me, tested me, tried me, and rewarded me, and though I feel like I'm in a constant state of flux, I know I'm headed to where I want to be.  Eventually.  Maybe.  It's the waiting part-- the figuring out, the questions, the answers we do and don't want to hear-- that makes it so tough.  That's why I think I wish I hadn't gone into my collegiate years so "unprepared." 

    That's not the right word.  If it is, it was an "unavoidable un-preparation." 

    Sometimes, though, I wish I had "been through a little bit more" growing up-- pushed a little bit more in school, questioned a little bit more in church, conversed on a deeper level with friends.  I can't complain about my home life-- I honestly think I had about as good of an upbringing as is possible, and I am so, so grateful for that.  But I just think... somehow... I don't know.

    Now I expound.

    Like, I wish high school was harder.  I wish we'd started writing research papers freshman year, just to get used to it.  I wish we had to read books like The Catcher In The Rye at least before we were juniors.  I wish I had more teachers that challenged us as people, and not just as students.  I wish we'd have been slammed daily and unbiased-ly with the issues that face our world.  I wish we had to have developed our own opinions more often.  I wish my Sunday School teachers had been a little more "real" with us.  I wish I'd read the works of C.S. Lewis sooner.  I wish 'church' didn't always feel like such a routine.  I wish I knew more people outside of my Christian circle of friends.  I wish I'd learned to truly love someone I was supposed to hate.  I wish I met more people who have really lived something. I wish the more experienced people that I did know would have been more fearless to tell me about it.  I wish I'd developed closer friends among the ones I had.  I wish I'd been more real more often.  I wish I'd challenged myself to go beyond the expectations of the southern young man.

    But then I wouldn't be here.  And I think where I am right now is a great thing.  Maybe not right now, but in the long run... who knows.  Eternity is kind of a long time.  I probably shouldn't expect to know exactly where I fit in His plan at this moment.  Then I wouldn't be so human...

    ... and being human is... what He intended.  And what he intended...

    ... is Good.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

Monday, February 04, 2008

  • Currently Listening
    The Fight of My Life
    By Kirk Franklin
    see related

    Today was an utterly amazing day.  One of the best I may have ever had, and really for no special reason.

    I love Vanderbilt.  And Nashville.  My friends.  Laughter.  Good food.  Music.

    I love my God.

    I'm growing, learning, improving, stretching, discovering, achieving, overcoming.  After one of the lowest points (spiritually) of my life, I thank Him for rescuing me.

    I wish I blogged here more, but I've found other ways to journal about how life is going for me.  But if you read this, pray for my uncle Lee Watson, who's now fighting in Iraq.  He has a wife and five kids at home, ranging in age from 4 to 20.  Also, please pray that I find someone with whom I can be spiritually completely accountable here; it's possible to get by without, but I'm not sure that's what God intends.

Thursday, November 08, 2007

  • Time seems to be flying by... not uber-fast, like the speed of light, but at least the speed of sound.  Bad analogy.  My apologies.

    For the past month and a half, my life has basically been consumed by opera.  With rehearsals five nights a week, I've felt as if I've had little time for "other things"-- from theory homework, to piano practice, to studying in general... to life, really.  It's not like I haven't had weekends to unwind-- but usually I haven't needed as much of a break.  But honestly, I don't want an extended break.  I love what I'm doing.  True, I hate it when I miss a cue, when I feel out of tempo with the orchestra, when my voice isn't working at its highest ability, when no one seems to appreciate the work I'm doing... and when I know I'm not even putting forth the effort I should. 

    But we open tomorrow night.  I have an unusual feeling in my head, my heart, my stomach... I feel it in my left hip, in my left foot, my right shoulder.  It's this strange feeling of being as prepared as we possibly could yet at the same time yearning for something more in our performance.  It's an exciting feeling.  It's not nerves.  It's not worry.  It's just... I guess, I guess it's that it's my first opera.  We put together a Mozart opera in a month.  I have a sizeable role.  This is something else.  It's not every day you do something new.

    I'm not sure what to think.  I've been on vocal rest, and I get in strange moods when I don't allow myselft to talk.

    *

    In other news, I'm really enjoying this season of Survivor.  I've also started an interest in the poetry of Mark Jarman-- it's so... different, almost prose-like, and refreshing.  And I'm also finally getting around to reading Blue Like Jazz.  I identify with a lot of what the author says.  It's kind of an addictive read.

    It's late, we've got a show to do tomorrow night, and I need some good rest.  I'll leave you with a quote from Jarman's latest book Epistles that I found beautiful, heartbreaking, true:

    "Even as they urged us to depart, on the island of the persecuted, they begged us to stay."

Werwanderflugen

  • Visit Werwanderflugen's Xanga Site
    • Name: Preston
    • Birthday: 6/1/1987
    • Gender: Male
    • Member Since: 4/16/2005

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