Art

Funny how the ways of life strike so fast. One minute you're barely remembering the past and the next you're fighting to take as much in as possible with us. The world moves in a funny way, sometimes faster than we think. Preserve what you can and don't regret what you can't. My thoughts, monitor the phone. Hoping the words are never uttered. The tears will never fall. A goodbye will never be said. Our hearts desire time, when there is little left.

I sat there, next to him. My head on his shoulder wishing it could stay there forever. Pushing sleep aside, my eyes stare. I focus, trying to memories every piece of him. From the moment I arrived, time slowed, the world didn't matter. Only life, the here and now stood above the rest.

So I sat there. Staring. Trying to ingrain the image into my mind. I wanted to remember every wrinkle, every grin, every gray hair. His eyes are soft, full of love, memorizing the world in his own way. They light up as we talk about the wisdom he's gained over the hears. Little tan boots cover his feet, slippers that have seen many mornings and many evenings. Red bathrobes now hold a special place in my heart as it, tied perfectly around his waist. Slowly a smile cracks across my face as I notice his political pajamas.

My heart pours out love for him. So much so that it hurts that time is not enough. This man means everything to me. More than I think he will ever know. The kindness that seeps from his heart, slowly into the lives of others is intoxicating. His heart pours joy. Once a heart that carried him from WWII, to births, to deaths, to love and everything in between. Now beats slower, steadier, time limiting the days. The heart is tired, but the spirit still kicks strong.

My hero, my love, my one and only. Conversations, memories, laughs and loves...treasure them. Only the Lord knows the number of our days. In the end, the only thing that matters is what you can take with you from this world to the next.

Art, I love you. To me, you are a hero. To me you are the most important thing, you are my Grandpa. To me, you are in my heart.

A Movement of the Soul

Last night I was blessed enough to attend the Ray LaMontagne concert with Leona Naess opening. This was my birthday present to myself and let me tell you...it was the best one yet. My amazing friend Chauncy attended with me for an evening of food and fun. Our parking experience was one of the funnest memories I have of us. Between the two of us we can parralel park and drive a stick shift...although we can both only do 1 of those :) Needless to say I'm sure we got some looks of confusion as we laughed in an awkward hysteria.

The show was held at McCall Hall in Seattle. The structure itself should not be counted out due to the medium size. The inside welcomes strangers with glass and a lightness to it. Since it was my birthday present I decided we were going to have good seats. The entrance to the lower level is a long hallway only lit by the small circular track lighting. The crimson red paint from beginning to end puts a sence of eagerness and excitment in all that walk these halls. Only to open up to a wonderful sea of chairs complimented by the green, brown and blue colors.

The show started and Leona Naess appears on stage. Her bairfeet make a distant sound as they grace the stage. Her orange summer dress pops in the black background. She begins to sing and the room is filled with a light, airy, yet jaw dropping grace. She sings awkwardly with her body moving to the emotion that floats through the air. There is a timidness to her that is cute and almost childlike.

I highly reccomend checking out the true talents of Leona Naess.

Then, the moment came. My heart begins to beat, my arms tickle with goosebumps. I am ready to see the man who has settled my soul for many days. "123 and" he whispers and the sound begins. An upbeat version of "You Are the Best Thing" opens the show. I can't help but display a large smile as my favorite artist whails into the night. His knee buckles as he dances, moving to the beat of his own music. His arm stokes the guitar in a very fast, not to mention visually strong, motion. Almost as if it was mocking a Metronom, swift and cutting it it's movement. He speaks little. Saying only a small handfull of sentences, still with a humbled shyness and meekness to his voice. He stands, graciously on the stage, thanking the stagehand each time he brings a new guitar. The mention of his first show in Seattle brought smiles and cheers. His hopes of 80 people were blown away at what he described as 400 waiting fans launching his success. He thanks 103.7 The Mountain for taking a chance on this man quiet in personality, yet loud in music and emotional expression. He is my favorite artist and his lack of words don't mean a thing when it comes to talent.

His music is a gift to this world, powerful and connected.