Stars and bacon

(Lent is over but I can keep looking for #40DaysOfGoodShit. So this is Day 9. There’s probably a blog post in the idea that one might “honor Lent in my heart and try to keep it all the year”.)

So here’s the good thing, which needless to say I watched first thing in the morning…

And in the comments, someone talked about the fact that their morning routine is to put a vinyl record on while they drink their coffee. A long time ago, I tried something similar (except with cassettes), so I took that specific comment as my motivation.

Lemme be clear: I hate it. I liked waking up in a warm bath made of content. I liked my brain slowly coming up to speed as I play games on my phone or scroll a feed of “content”, snug and sleepy under the covers.

But consciously choosing not to be on my phone first thing is making me aware of how much the phone makes me time-blind. And I do not like the “oh shit!” moment when I realize that the morning is getting away from me, when I’m late and everything has to be rushed, when the first thing I really feel in the morning is guilt.

I rather like feeling that I’ve been conscious all morning, that I know what time it is, that I’ve made meaningful choices before I even get to work.

I like choosing to walk the dog, instead of remembering that I have to.

I like the fact that this is reminding me that I don’t do my best listening early in the morning. (Heck, I can’t even pick a new album some mornings… it’s been The Allman Brothers 3 times in a row and I’m proud that I managed to flip the record once.) But at least that has motivated me to do some intentional listening in the evenings.

I swear my coffee even tastes better when there’s no Facebook in it. Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say that now, my coffee tastes.

Easter Lily

It’s late on Good Friday and I’m walking the dog and I remember a new U2 EP just dropped.

Completely unpredictable that this would be an album about longing and remembrance and the afterlife.

It’s a solid mid-tier U2 album, jangly and muscular, big ideas and big melodies. And walking in the dark, looking up at the sky, the opening tracks acknowledge grief and absolutely refuse to let it drive out joy. Anthemic tributes to connections that last.

I look to my right, toward the mountains where I feel my father. The moon is coming up, but it’s edges are obscured by trees. A pyre of blazing orange, a beacon in the east.


Featured image is “Lilies” by Bart Everson, CC-BY-2.0 at https://flic.kr/p/eya8TY