MONDAY THOUGHTS: LESSON LEARNED: PRESERVE YOUR PEACE

I woke up feeling positively battered. 

Considering what time I finally went back to sleep, I'm surprised I'm awake at all. 

I dragged myself to the bathroom, and realized I looked exactly the way I felt. 

My very thoughtful daughter was busily making juice. Apples, mangoes, oranges, pears, lemons...

I needed that little glass of juice. 

It was like a shot in the arm. 

I opened my bedroom window. 

Other than vehicles passing, it was quiet. 

I love a morning breeze. 

Suddenly, some loud girl yelled out to someone who had to have been a mile away. 
Yes. There's residue from yesterday. 
Today is going to be a noise-free day.

Yesterday, I put up with the noise from the park longer than I should have. 

That was stupid. 

Instead of complaining, and being annoyed, and pondering whether to call the police, I should have just made a plan, and gone out. 

At the first sound, I should have left home. 

Instead, I tried to deal with it. 

When I considered how ridiculous I looked lying on my bed with earphones on and a pillow over each ear, I should have gotten up and gotten out of here.

Is it okay to amplify profanity-laced music because it's South East, DC? 

Do we not care? 

Is there such a lack of respect for Ward 8 residents that we are not trusted to just read the mailers and other correspondence from candidates of the upcoming primary? 

Do we have to be favored by the loudest, most mushmouthed speakers because we can't relate to, or understand anyone who passed high school English? Are we so disengaged from politics that people feel the only way to dispense information far southeast of the river, is to invade the neighborhood, set up an apparently nuclear powered sound system, and force people out of their homes with the equivalent of musical tear gas? 

Right now, my nerves and ears are meeting to form a mutiny if I overexpose them to unpleasant sound ever again. 

The campaign event bum rushed the neighborhood like a crazed go-go Pied Piper. 

"Come out, come out wherever you are, Black people! This music is going to blast so loud that being inside your home will be like torture! 

Come on out ya'll! Young and old, hear this poor excuse for gangsta rap, go-go, and old school R&B! There's something for everybody! 

You can't hear yourself think, so you might as well come outside! The only way to get your interest is to feed you, and permanently damage your hearing! You'll be shell shocked when it's over, and we'll leave lots of trash behind, but you will definitely know who to cast your vote for in the upcoming primary!"

People who plan events in Oxon Run Park have no idea what an assault the noise is on neighborhood residents who seek to enjoy the comfort of their homes. An argument can be made that it's not every day or night that an event takes place, but one only needs to be battered over the head by a wrecking ball ONE time to know it's not a pleasant experience.

Yesterday, my peace was disturbed, and I did not handle it well. I tried to endure when I should have gone in a different direction. I took too long to take a ride. If the primary had been yesterday, I would have voted for the other guy in the other party.

You know what you can handle. 

Don't compound stressful situations by remaining in them. 

Don't continue complaining as they progress, and hoping that they will change, or miraculously go away as they get worse. 

Every thing is not for you. 

Be kind to your nerves and blood pressure. 

You DO have a choice. 

Don't cry, whine and reduce yourself to a mess. 

It's not about being right, having rights, winning, or principles when your peace of mind is at stake. 

You can have the right of way, and be just as injured.

 Sometimes, you have to let people have their noise and mess, and search for peace.

SUNDAY THOUGHTS: NOISE

From 3PM until 8:03 PM Sunday, a mayoral candidate's rally took place in the park across the street. It was an open air concert with taped and live music, in addition to guest speakers. 

The first song that came tearing through my closed windows and brick walls was "Blame it on the Alcohol". 

I finally got to sleep around 11 PM. 

At 2:35 AM, I was awakened by the sound of sanitation workers emptying dumpsters into their truck. 

Still awake at 2:39 AM, the sound of an ambulance heading up the street, probably awakened others in the neighborhood, too. 

At 3:00 AM, some random driver blew his car horn 7 times. Yes. I counted. 

I'm irritated. 

I suppose if noise is the worst of my problems, I should be grateful.

I woke up and wrote:

Some stuff has residue
Traces left over, after the real thing has gone
That you just can't get over soon
Can't seem to recover from
Some stuff has residue
It's designed that way
To leave you weak and confused
Feeling there is no way

Just ain’t no way

It's 3:57 right now. 

I feel as if I've been wrestling. 

I'm tired. 

My headache, as a result of the bass booming for hours, has subsided. I am now convinced that unwanted noise is a health hazard. Right now someone is sitting at the red light, and I can hear the music from their car speakers. Maybe it's to keep them awake. I don't know. 

I had been looking forward to a peaceful Sunday afternoon at home. The noise from the rally sent me rushing to the car to get out of my own home and neighborhood. 

I pushed in the CD that was in the deck. Anita Baker asked, "What's wrong with you?" I wondered that myself, Ms. Baker.

I was so irritated, and on the verge of tears over noise.

I drove downtown near the Tidal Basin, then past the National Gallery of Art, then to 4th Street into SW, and back across the South Capitol Street Bridge. I kept going south on the freeway, and took the National Harbor exit. I stopped for gas, visited with my Dad briefly, then headed home around 7PM—thinking that the noise in my neighborhood would be over. It wasn't. 

A speaker was on a very good microphone, telling "all ya'll round here" why we should vote for a certain candidate. Then he announced the next act to perform. 

I couldn't find a parking space, so I drove around the block again. Fortunately, one opened up right in front of the gate by the time I returned. 

Once inside, I grabbed some headphones and found some white noise videos on Youtube. At one point I had the headphones on, and a pillow over each ear. There was no escaping the banging, and booming and screaming. There was nothing musical about any of it. Even some of my favorite songs were played, and they may as well have been the sound of a jackhammer on concrete. The noise was inconsiderate and intrusive. It was so loud, the event may as well have been taking place in my living room.

Yes. People have rights to do all sorts of things that other people are left to endure. I suppose I could have called the police, but there was police presence on the grounds of the rally. It was all perfectly legal. 

I don't think people realize that what they do outside affects someone's atmosphere inside. There was no buffer; no way to abate it. I was forced to hear what I neither chose, nor would have chosen to hear. It was forced upon me and every other person in the neighborhood, whether we wanted to hear it or not. 
The floor and windows vibrated for a little over 5 hours. 

I feel like I'm in recovery. 

It's 4:28. I'm going to try this sleep thing one more time. 

I do believe I'm getting old. I used to hear elderly relatives talking about their bad nerves, and what their nerves were too bad to endure. 
I get it...

SATURDAY THOUGHTS: BAG TAX

I don't think I'll ever get used to it. 

I put all of my purchases on the counter. 

The cashier rings them up. Then there's a pause. 

I'm waiting. 

The cashier is staring. 

I stare back dumbfounded. The cashier is smiling. 

I smile back.
Has the next step been forgotten? 

Has the cashier fallen asleep standing up? 

Am I in some weird Twilight Zone time warp? 

Has the world stopped spinning? 

Am I on Candid Camera? Am I being punked?
"Ma'am, do you need a bag?"
HUH? 

Duh? 

Of COURSE I need a bag! Do you SEE all of this stuff you just rang up? Am I supposed to carry it out of here in my skirt? Can I borrow a cart? (I say all of that in my head of course. Mommy always said, "Be polite" and it kinda stuck.) 

Is the cashier REALLY asking me if I need a bag?
Oh. My bad.

I live in DC. 

Bags cost 5 cents. 

I will probably need more than one. 

There are never any large bags that will preclude me from looking like I need a hand. 

"Uh, yes. Yes. I need bags. Thank you. I totally forgot where I lived. All of that shopping in Maryland and Virginia, where a bag just goes along with the shopping experience, has me spoiled."

That Potomac and Chesapeake Bay had better start looking like the Caribbean very soon.

WAKING THOUGHTS

Some people won't interact with you-- not because of anything you've done, but because of what they've been told and chose to believe. It's so great to see craftily engineered misunderstandings and divisions blown out of the water by the truth. It's also great to witness friendships, and business relationships restored and thriving in spite of the enemy's mission to destroy them. 
Don't be anxious. Don't manufacture new partnerships out of frustration or spite. Don't be a pest or succumb to desperation. Be still. Keep your mouth shut. Resist the inclination to defend, complain and protest. Just wait and watch God work it all out.

RECONCILING WITH BEETS

There are beets in my refrigerator. 

I still can't believe it. 

I'm sure that, as a child, I vowed I would never eat them again. 

Beets have been on my "not fit for human consumption" list since 1968. 

I wanted no part of them. 

As a child the routine at the dinner table generally went like this: "Just try it. How do you know you don't like it if you don't try it? Just eat a little, and if you don't want it, then put it aside". 

My twisted face and tears weren't enough to get me out of having to taste the beets. I took a big bite--an entire rubbery slice. 

My little body shook like Lucy Ricardo's when she took her first taste of Vitameatavegemin. 

I concluded years ago that beets were horrible, and I would not forget it. 

I didn't care HOW they were prepared, nor who prepared them. 

I didn't care if they were a cure for everything that ailed me. 

But, if I was ever going to get out of seeing them on my plate again, I had to show my parents that I at least made an effort to try them. 

In our house, food was not to be thrown away. 

Daddy had too many stories about all of the things that my grandmother put into a pot. 

"We had to eat whatever was running," he often said. 

(My Dad has a very particular palate to this day.) 

Throwing away food was tantamount to a criminal offense when I was young. There were too many starving children in Africa, I was told. 

I now know there are too many starving children in America, too, but neither pronouncement made me want to be a friend of beets.

Fast forward to 2010. 

I'm creeping up on 50 very quickly. 

I have found myself eating things I used to decline. 

Yogurt. 

Broccoli. 

Cauliflower. 

Cabbage. 

Tomato Juice. 

I'm finding myself more and more interested, lately, in what my body needs, while not totally depriving myself of what my taste buds want.

The Jack LaLanne juicer has started something wonderful. 

(I recall watching him when I was a little girl at my maternal grandmother's home in Addis, Louisiana. 

He's still around, and still preaching the gospel of good health.) 

There are a lot more varieties of fruits and vegetables in the kitchen, now. Every day is like an experiment to see what goes well with what. I still can't believe I have consumed a beet. 

The juice is beautiful in color. That's what beets were good for as far as I was concerned--color. 

They were art supplies, not food.

My daughter juiced eggplant (we know now not to do that again), sweet potato, spinach, squash, apple, and orange. 

It wasn't Coca Cola, but it gave us the distinct feeling that our bodies were grateful. The pulp that the fruit and veggies yielded just seemed too abundant to throw away. I'd kept the pulp from the lemon, orange, apple, strawberries, grapefruit experiment we did one day, and used some of it when I prepared salmon.

As I stared at the pulp that included the beets, for the first time in my life I was excited about the prospect of a veggie burger. 

I don't know if it was the redness of the pulverized beet that made me think of ground meat, or not. All I know, is that I put half of the pulp in a bowl, and seasoned it with onion, rosemary, celery seed, seasoned salt. I cracked 2 eggs, and made bread crumbs from 2 hamburger buns that had been languishing in the refrigerator. 

The more I mixed, the more my brain believed it was meat. 

My taste buds would be the judge, though. 

I formed the patties, heated a pan, got the vegetable oil and was pleased by the aroma. When they were done, I toasted some wheat bread, topped the burger with mustard and a little barbecue sauce, cut the sandwich in half and tried it. it wasn't an Angus burger, but it really wasn't bad! 

I mixed the rest of the pulp with tomato paste, and the spaghetti I made on another day was good, too. 

Am I considering becoming a vegetarian? Probably not. 

But I am happy with the notion that days aren't going by without my feeding myself something fresh and chock full of nutrients.

This afternoon, I opened the refrigerator and looked at the lone, remaining beet. 

I STILL can't believe there is a beet in my home on purpose! 

There was a generous bunch of greens, and the stems from the other 3 that we juiced a few days ago. 

I'd asked my daughter to save the skins from the sweet potato and the squash thinking that I would fry them. 

Instead, I checked online to see if beet greens were edible. 

Maybe that's something that I was already supposed to know, but my aversion to beets kept me from wanting to know anything at all about them. 

Egglesscooking.com had a good article, and gave me the go ahead. 

I still wasn't ready to cook them as if they were collards, mustards, or kale, though. Maybe another day. 

I chopped up the beet greens, stems, and the skins and prepared it all for another round of veggie burgers. 

I still don't like beets, but they're fine all tangled up with a lot of something else, and that wonderful, rich color is something that I can't bring myself to hate. 

I even considered saving some of the beet juice and dyeing my tennis shoes. I can't seem to get rid of the yellowish stain where the rubber meets the canvas. I'm sure there's something on the internet for that, too.

It has actually been fun-- this aim to get the recommended daily requirement of fruit and vegetables. 
I like my new habit. 

Maybe by NEXT summer, I'll really appreciate the effort...: )

POWER

I had a nice time today at Woodrow Wilson Plaza. It was wonderful to sing out in the open air. The atmosphere was powerful. A homeless man danced throughout the entire event. A man in a wheelchair lifted his hands and spun in his chair. Government employees left their offices, filled the plaza, and sang along. The weather was great. Not a rain cloud in the sky.


A lady walked up to me after the concert, reintroduced herself and told me that Mother Glass, an elderly woman I met at a local church, had passed away. I remember that Mother Glass was very spry and always impeccably dressed. She walked with her head high and didn't mince words. I'll never forget what she said to me one day when I got an unexpected phone call. She asked me if I had any anointing oil. I told her that I did. She asked, "Well do you use it?" She sensed that I was being bullied, and not putting up much of a fight. She told me to keep the oil in my purse.
"Don't you worry about the devil, and don't you let him run you.", she said. "People get scared when they see me going in my pocketbook, Baby, 'cause they know they gonna be hittin' the floor. They gonna have to send ALL their clothes to the cleaners! You got oil, Baby? Well, use it! Sometimes you gotta have thick skin. If the devil knows he can scare you, he'll be running you the rest of your life. I don't let him run me. HE got to go..."

God rest her soul. I'm glad to have met her. She was warning me of the dangers of not being alert, and not knowing the power that is available to you. I suppose it is nice to get to the place where nothing bothers you, because you're prepared for whatever comes.

The afternoon was passing smoothly, and all of a sudden at 6:04 the power went out. The TV went black not long after "Peter Gunn" ended. The ceiling fan slowed to a stop and my computer quickly let me know that my internet connection was a no-show. Not knowing how long it would be before the power was restored, I went to the kitchen and put the milk and butter in the freezer and put some ice packs near the fruit. Fortunately, the AC had been on. I'm glad that I hadn't been cooking or ironing. I'm glad that the power outage didn't pose any real problem other than I missed an episode of "I Spy". I imagine that somewhere, someone was in the middle of a task that required electricity. There's been a lot of anger toward PEPCO, especially in cases like today where there was no storm, no thunder or lightening, no rain, yet the power failed. PEPCO had just been a topic on the news. Apparently they know their service hasn't been up to par and their national ranking among power companies isn't favorable. The bottom line is, whether their service is poor or outstanding, customers have to depend upon them. That's not reassuring, but now that we know there's a problem, it would be wise to have a contingency plan in place.

You really can be going along, minding your business and without provocation, lose power. It makes sense to be prepared--whether the loss of power is physical or spiritual. It's good to recognize that it's out, and when you do, don't get all frazzled and worried. Don't be gripped by fear. Don't think things are hopeless. Just wait. Occupy the time, know your options, stay alert, stay in control. Know that the source has infinite power and will restore it to you. Just ask.

WEDNESDAY THOUGHTS: THE SAD SIDE OF "KEEPING IT REAL"

I took a walk last week, and on the way back, I was a short distance behind a group of teenagers. 

They frequently stopped, which brought me within ear shot of their conversation. 

One young woman's cursing was so intense, I couldn't take it any more. 

"Baby, Baby", I said. "Stop. Please. Let me talk to you for a minute". 

When she turned around, her clothing, demeanor and words betrayed her beautiful face. 

She said that she was sorry, and called me "Ma'am", which told me that at some point in her life, someone had taught her manners. 

On the sidewalk however, she'd forgotten them all. Every other word was laced in her speech as if it was second nature. 

The harsh way that she spoke to her friends, made me wonder why they were friends at all. 

She was loud, and seemed to want to be heard. 

I didn't know what her reaction would be, but I just wanted her to know that there was another way. 

I wanted her to consider how much value she had. 

I wanted the beauty of her face to match her words.

We all learned the "Sticks and stones" rhyme when we were children. As adults we learn that words do hurt. They have much more power than we like to admit, and reveal so much about what's going on inside us. 

Our hearts are being exposed daily. 

We enjoy freedom of speech, but sometimes that freedom does more personal harm to ourselves than to others. 

The words we use to affect others have a way of returning to our own doorsteps, and indicting our own character.

Every time I log on to twitter or facebook, there are comments that are clearly intended to shock. 

There are others that are a little sad. 

Wow. 

It's like there's no filter, no discretion, no sensitivity.
That thing between the brain and mouth that's supposed to kick in when something ignorant, hurtful, inappropriate or stupid comes to mind, is malfunctioning, and that malfunction carries over to the index finger and causes it to click "send", "enter", "tweet", "share"--without regarding how words will negatively affect others, or cast an ugly light on oneself. 

It's been blamed on a mishandled philosophy called "Keeping It Real". 

The true culprits are "Lack of Wisdom", "No Discernment", and the brilliant notion that "Hurt people, hurt people". 

"This is just me! That's just the way I am!", is the arrogant, often bragged excuse that's made. Unfortunately it is soon followed by the realization that people are keeping their distance, not returning calls, choosing or hiring alternatives, declining invitations, ignoring e-mails...hiding and deleting. Reading the Book of James might help...or a muzzle.

Don't let "doing you" do you in. 

Don't let "Keeping it real" keep you avoided.

You kinda have to wonder when your turn is coming. Listening to someone just spouting off indiscriminately; shooting barbs every time they speak, makes you wonder when your turn is coming. It's not hard to see through it all to the pain. 

Maybe that's the time to pray--when you stop being appalled long enough to consider that at one time, they weren't so mean, critical and harsh. 

What's real, is that people who never had a platform before, have one now, and are teetering and diving head first off of it, as a result of their own words.

YOUR FRIENDS AREN'T ALWAYS MY FRIENDS

I got some news today that made me very angry, but I could have scripted it myself. I saw it coming, yet, "I told you so" stayed in my head. Funny how you won't defend yourself, but you're quick to go to bat for someone else. I was more angry because I had made my concerns about a person's rather strange, intrusive behavior known, and they were largely laughed off and ignored. Today, because he was not shown boundaries when he should have been, he, of course, crossed them. It left a young woman frightened, her mother furious, and him scrambling for an explanation that would hold water.

I just had a few questions. What was an almost 65 year old, married man doing contacting a young lady at her university? How did he get her phone number? What did he want? Why didn't he think his actions were highly inappropriate considering he was neither her friend nor family, but a friend OF a family member of hers? 
I'd witnessed bizarre behavior before, so I was not surprised as I listened to the excuses he had given. I WAS surprised when his actions were defended and excused away as "thoughtful" by the one person who had the authority to shut it down. Some cockamamie story about his "always checking up on college kids from church" was given. The young lady doesn't even attend his church! Why didn't he phone her mother if he was so concerned? I didn't buy any of it. I advised the mother to block his number from her daughter's phone. At least that way, she wouldn't have to get any more rambling text messages and voice mails from someone with whom she was not even remotely close.

The creepy guy's story satisfied the family member, and the student and her mother were accused of overreacting--which made the mother question the loyalty of the family member--her own father--who, it was discovered, gave his granddaughter's phone number to the guy without her permission.

One of the things children need is to know that they are safe. They need to know that they will be heard. They need to know that their parents have their backs, and no one will be able to wedge themselves where they don't belong. No real friend will attempt to negatively impact your family. No real friend will repeatedly cause dissension. No friend will harass your family.

Some people are just too familiar. Some people go too far, and it's hard to complain when you're the one who gave them the ticket to ride, and they begin to visit themselves on your extended family in the creepiest ways. Some people really do believe they have rights and privileges in your life by virtue of their relationship with someone in your family. That's fine if that's what YOU want. When it isn't, there's a huge problem that may end with someone getting their feelings hurt---or a restraining order delivered to their door.
Often people labor under the misapprehension that friendship with your parent automatically means friendship with YOU, and access to you and your children. It can begin when you're a child and follow you into adulthood. They don't seem to know that familiarity STILL breeds contempt. "I thought we were family" is often uttered as an excuse for extreme nosiness, and the unwelcome taking of liberties.

Be a little more cognizant of the rights, privileges, and courtesies you extend, the information you share, and the access you grant. These things can't be spread out all willy nilly-- especially if you have children. When people come into your home and act as if they have the same rights and privileges as your children, seeds of a bigger problem may be sown. 
"Make yourself at home" isn't something you can say to everyone. They'll rummage through your refrigerator, dirty hands and all, while your shocked children look on. No one should be allowed to do ANYTHING in your home that you have forbidden your children to do. Never place your children on the defensive against your friends while you languish in the middle.

Familiar spirits WISH they were family, and would like nothing better than to destroy the harmony in yours. Don't enable them--and don't infuriate your children by forcing people upon them, or relaxing rules for others that your children couldn't break any day of the week.
Mind those who will throw YOUR own children under the bus in order to have a relationship or business association with you. 
Be more discerning what you share with people concerning your children. People need not know EVERYTHING that's going on in your home. 
Parents, your children shouldn't be confronted with their personal business every time they encounter your friends. If you want your children to trust and confide in you, respect the things they tell you, and keep your mouth shut. Don't be the reason your children are humiliated. Don't be the reason they clam up and shut down. Don't use them as fodder for your conversations with people they may not like or trust.
Some people will work diligently, right under your nose, to create and maintain confusion and division in your family. That slick, manipulative devil is a liar whose scheme is to convince you that he is either innocent and harmless, or doesn't exist at all. Watch those grown people who delight in picking on your children or discussing their flaws. If you can't be your child's cheerleader, keep your mouth shut.

Friends are great. Spawns of satan are not. When people are poised to wreak havoc in your family, doggone it, SAY SOMETHING to them. DO something. NIP IT! Recognize that their agenda isn't a healthy one. Stand up for your family. If you don't have any boundaries around yourself, at least respect your family and protect them from people who they TELL you make them uncomfortable.
Don't give your adult child's phone numbers or address to your friends, or ANYONE without their permission. Don't put your children into situations where they may have to defend themselves against the behavior of your friends. When your children tell you something, listen. Your friends may be friends to YOU, but they are virtual nightmares to your children. Pay attention. Don't be so hard pressed to keep a friend or business associate that you alienate your own children, or cause them to question YOUR judgment. 
Don't allow familiar spirits to wreck your home.

SUNDAY THOUGHTS: "ECHOES" TO THE RESCUE---NOISE, EAST OF THE RIVER

I didn't realize there were tears in my eyes. 

I thought, "No. Not again. Not today". 

The sound was so unbearable. 

I was all prepared to spend a quiet Sunday afternoon at home, then, the noise broke through the walls like a crazed monster.

I love good music. 

I love bass and drums--when they're being skillfully played by someone I choose to hear. 

However, when they're coming from somewhere else, all over-amplified, muffled and dull, it's like being hit repeatedly over the head with a gigantic hammer. 

The windows were shaking. 

The floor was vibrating. 

It's like heavy construction is going on in, and outside of your home that you didn't authorize. 

There was no way to escape it, except to put in ear plugs,  don headphones, or leave the neighborhood. Closing the windows didn't even help.

I was not leaving home. 

I'd just arrived back from church. 

I was all prepared to enjoy a good meal, and maybe a movie. 

I thought, "I have a right to be at home. 

I have a right to enjoy a reasonable amount of tranquility." 

My rights were being abused, because someone else was exercising their right to make noise. 

To them, however, it was music. 

No. I don't want to join the noisemakers. 

I want the noise to stop. 

What I want, regarding the noise, means nothing today, and I'm resigned to just wait it out. 

I can still want peace, though. 

I was hoping it would suddenly rain...a lot. 

Perhaps I should have stopped thinking about it, and just prayed.

It's official. 

I hate noise. 

Why live in the city, you ask? 

I'm wondering that myself, right now...lol

 

This isn't a city problem, though. Its a cultural one. Would I be so bothered if it were a different genre of music? 

Probably not. 

If it was smooth jazz seeping through every crack in the walls, I'd be okay. 

If there was another Walter Hawkins tribute concert going on, I'd be just fine. 

I'd even settle for everything Earth Wind and Fire, Stevie, The Emotions, Chaka, and Frankie Beverly ever recorded.  

I'd settle for light rock. 

I'd settle for an accordion player, a baby banging on pots and pans with a wooden spoon, Tiny Tim and Miss Vickie--ANYTHING-- over this. 

This blasting offering of craziness, sounds like somebody missed too many days at school, and is driving me bananas. 

I'm sorry. 

There's just something ignorant about some forms of music that, as much as I have tried to appreciate it, something won't let me. 

It seems to come from the lowest level of human sensibilities, and revels in being unproductive, unintelligible, shocking and profane. 

It's like pollution. It intends to do harm. 

I see very little creativity. 

I don't understand it, and don't want to. 

It's like rebellion without the intelligence to justify it. No sense in making myself sick about it. 

It'll be over soon...hopefully.

Noise isn't an emergency, but I'm sure there's a noise ordinance in the city. 

Surely this racket has exceeded whatever decibels constitutes a nuisance. 

If ever a law was to be enforced, today would be a prime opportunity. 

I wouldn't dare make light of situations where people lose it, but I can kinda see how, and why some people go postal. 

When those tasked to help don't, won't, or trivialize a problem, people take matters into their own hands--and sometimes with disastrous results. 

This noise is ridiculous, and horribly unfair, considering the number of residences in the surrounding area. 

What about a mother trying to put a baby to bed, a student studying, a tired employee who has to get up early tomorrow morning, and elderly person trying to watch TV, a family trying to have a conversation over dinner, or a shell-shocked soldier? 

What would a 911 operator say? 

"Ma'am are you serious?", 

"Ma'am that's not an emergency", or 

"Ma'am go somewhere and sit down!" 

This is frustrating. 

It's too hot to put a blanket over my head. 

This is the enemy. Plain and simple. 

Pastor Battle preached all about loving like Jesus loved. I came home feeling so happy, and all ready to implement everything he said. 

What if I decided to confront the noisemakers? 

I know there would be no love in sight. I wouldn't have been the loving individual, seeking someone to bless. I would have been the deranged looking, angry person trying to find out who's responsible for breaking into my home with their crappy excuse for music.

I'm all for people enjoying themselves, and music often is a factor in the enjoyment. Music can be intrusive and abusive sometimes, too. 

This is like an assault. 

I didn't know that I wasn't in the mood, until the noise began. 

I didn't want to hear the noise, but it was being forced upon me. I couldn't turn it down, or turn it off. It was invading my space like a fast moving blob, and I hated it. 

My head and heart were hurting. 

I just wanted peace. 

The booming just went on and on--

--and it's still going on. It's 8:06 PM. Now some screaming individual has found a microphone, and the noise has gotten louder.

You hate to poop on anyone's party, but when they're dumping nuclear waste on yours, what are your options? 

It's not the jurisdiction of the U.S Park Police to monitor noise in this particular park. 

It's the job of the Metropolitan Police Department. Maybe, because it's South East DC, everyone thinks we are ALL thrilled to hear noise at all times of day and night. 

If it's not noisy music, it's fireworks exploding-- well before, and well after the Fourth of July; it's groups of kids on vehicles that should require a dune or a trail, not a city street. 

In a city with a gun control problem, you would think that anything that can be confused with gunfire would be banned. 

Does "residential neighborhood" mean something different East of the River? 

Can't people in SE, and the sliver of SW that is Bellevue, appreciate a quiet Sunday afternoon, too? Would this activity be going on anywhere else in the city where so many people reside? 

Are there no options?

It occurred to me that I should probably live in the country...on a farm...near a babbling brook...down a lane. 

I love peace. 

I suppose you don't realize how much you love a thing until it's disturbed--or gone. 

I concede that I'm getting older. 

I detest unnecessary noise. 

Did I say that already? 

See? I said I'm getting older. 

Ignorant, inharmonious sounding noise masquerading as music is the worst. 

Today it was a distraction that robbed me of at least 4 hours. 

I had options. 

The option I chose, unfortunately was to be bothered by it, as if there was no way out. 

I was suddenly tense, and feeling defeated by something I couldn't beat.

I thought back to the day that I stopped at a gas station, and a young man drove in shortly after I began pumping gas. I could hear the music coming from his speakers long before he parked. 

When he did, he turned the music up even louder, got out of his car and went to pay for his gas. 

Did he think he was doing all of us a service by leaving his music on? 

Did he ask the rest of us if we wanted to hear what he was enjoying? 

Did we all have to be cursed out under the guise of entertainment at the gas station? 

I don't know...

And another thing-- is a red traffic light now the universal signal to let everyone within a 2 mile radius sample what's in your CD changer?

 

The last thing I want to be is crotchety. It just seems, sometimes, that manners, decency, decorum and consideration have been lost....sometimes, thank God.

I needed to refocus. This morning Craig Oliver talked about going in circles, and the need to upgrade. On the way to church we listened and laughed with Garrison Keillor and his "A Prairie Home Companion" team. 

I wasn't liking the way the day was ending, so I went back to the way it began. 

I wanted my hopeful, good mood back. 

I searched online and found an NPR station in Birmingham. 

While I was looking for a little peace and quiet in Lake Wobegone, like Inga Swearingen singing "Lazy Afternoon", I stumbled across a show called "Echoes" hosted by John Diliberto. 

I'm listening to it now. 

The stress I was feeling from the noise has subsided somewhat. 

I decided to refocus my attention. I'm not going anywhere, but I'm not going to spend the evening lamenting over something I can do little about. 

Yes. I'm still impacted by what feels and sounds like a wrecking ball pounding on the walls, but the music I'm choosing to hear is beautiful, serene and excellent. It's uplifting and pleasant. It's artistic and lovely. 
It's making me smile...: )
You can listen, too at http://echoes.org/

Oh my. It's 8:45. I think it stopped. 

Thank you, Jesus.

LEARN

Every day there's a lesson played out
And every day there's a victim splayed out on a stage
"I didn't know I thought I could change it"
"I didn't know it would be this way"
"It wasn't like this at first"
"I don't understand why I'm hearing such evil today"

Had you paid attention to someone else's yesterday
Your now would be free of such hurt
It's not experience that teaches best
It's what's already happened to him and her

So learn, just learn
There's nothing new under the sun
Just new players
Who think they're immune to what's been done

The difference between now and then
Is that few knew where, how or when
But now that there's so much to see
We should be wiser you and me

So learn, just learn
Take the wisdom from others and run
Take the grace that will certainly suit your case
Don't repeat the harm that's been done

AFTERNOON THOUGHTS

Everyone can have a good idea, but implementing it without authority or considering who will be responsible in the case of failure is a dangerous mistake.

A person in need of help can go far after receiving insight, discernment, truth. Condemnation however breaks spirits and sends many to a place of apathy and self-doubt.

Are you more concerned with getting the job done, or the tools you're using to do it? Shouldn't they be equally important?

One can borrow the tools of someone else to get a job done, but what happens when they want their tools back because you're not using them correctly or with care? Unless a tool is used it can never be broken. Question is, was it broken while one was in the process of using it correctly or carelessly?

MORNING WISDOM

I woke up this morning and listened to Pastors John and Matthew Hagee, Pastor Craig Oliver and Dr. Mike Murdock. I remember, in school, we would have to read passages, and then write what we gleaned from them. I thought I would just be listening, but was compelled to write as they spoke. I love the way God interjects even when you're not particularly listening to Him. He has a way of arresting the conversation to make sure that you hear exactly what he wants you to hear. I love the way he orders my day.

Don't admire the man who is driving a Mercedes on credit. Admire the guy who's driving a Volkswagon and is debt free...Debt is a disease."
"The rich rule over the poor, and the borrower is servant to the lender." Proverbs 22:7

"The kingdom of God is ruled by his Word. If there is a kingdom, there is a king, and that king is not you."

Greater is He that is IN you..."It is God's agenda that we follow, not our own." Being about "kingdom" work and ignoring His righteousness identifies you as the kid that's doing your own thing. Adopting part of God's plan and dismissing the rest is foolish. "You can think you're busy building, expanding, working for the kingdom and still lose. Don't lose your cutting edge. Don't have a form of godliness and deny the power. Performing but not producing....exerting energy and effort, but going nowhere, zeal at zero. Flesh can't compete with passion and power. Don't be busy at your task but neglect the tools you're using. Don't be so busy chopping away at the tree but not noticing that the axe head has been separated from the shaft. We can't be faulty in our communion with God. Do we pray? Do we worship privately? Anybody can shout, and cry, and dance when we have an audience to applaud us. Have we forsaken the commandments? Have we fluctuated in our commitment to God? Are we effective any more? Our tools in ministry are borrowed possessions of an owner and the owner is God. God assigns tools to us so that we can be effective and in ministry and in the whole of our lives. We have to be accountable to God. What are we doing with the tools that God gave us?" When I can no longer see my tools because of apathy, laziness, carelessness, stress, or trouble, I need help to find them. There is a danger in complacency. If I am not going to serve--utilize the gifts that God has given, I am merely taking up space. I have to be aware that there is a problem when I am so busy working a task that I don't even realize I am functioning out of the flesh. I cannot be so confident in my natural ability, and so clever in the art of manipulation that I am not aware the the spirit of God is gone. "Even as one is engaged in a needed and noble work, building, expanding and increasing the kingdom, one can lose one's cutting edge. Find someone with divine insight, an authorized source--someone with a spirit of discernment, someone truthful--who will help you. Be encouraged. You never lose your cutting edge unless you've been working. Recognize when and where you lost it. One of the hardest journeys is back to the place where you lost. Did you lose it in an inappropriate relationship? Did you lose it when you took advice from the wrong person? Who were you with? What were you doing? Take heart. The tree you were cutting is still standing. Find it."

"Nobody else can ever take your place, turn my life around through your saving grace...nobody else Holy Spirit does what you do"

There is beauty, safety, protection, productivity in order. Learning is my calling..."

"I won't know what will happen to you until I find out who you trust."

Whatever you are you create. You can only be promoted by someone who gives you instructions. The person you serve controls your future.

"I don't believe him. I'm going to find out what the word of God really says about that".-Mrs.Willie Murdock

You can exhibit polite behavior, obedient service, and speak words of compliance, but have no love, honor, or respect in your heart.

When you hear a lie, anger should rise up in you.