Wednesday, November 7

On the pop culture beat: I was glad to see the soundtrack to O Brother, Where Art Though win the CMA Album of the Year Award. I don't listen to country radio anymore, so I am totally out of touch with the pop country scene and had no interest in any of the awards except that one. I only watched the show because I'd heard that two of my favorites, Buddy and Julie Miller were going to be on, singing with Lee Ann Womack on a song Buddy wrote, Does My Ring Burn Your Finger. If you don't know the Miller's, shame on you. They are unique songwriters and vocalists with an undeniable spiritual tinge - Michael introduced me to Julie Miller long ago during her more explicitly "Christian music" career, during which she recorded for Sparrow, I believe. By the way, Man of Constant Sorrow is a great song, but as Michael said tonight while we were watching the performance on the awards show, it really does pale in comparison to Patty Loveless haunting version on her Mountain Soul album.
I suppose you could look at the post below and see it from a different perspective. Or maybe I should, at least. After all...isn't it kind of an ideal day, sitting on the couch watching the baby play and reading Therese of Liseaux? What would I prefer? Talking to fifteen-year olds about the Desert Fathers or sitting in a parish staff meeting? Nah. Although it would have been nice to get a little writing done, at least. Tomorrow is another day...of ten-minute naps.
A thoroughly aggravating day, at least at this point. After waking early, and giving me hopes of some good solid naps as a result, Joseph would only sleep for ten minutes at a time - until he finally conked out into a deep sleep - about thirty minutes before I had to rouse him to go pick up David. Aaargh. I guess God didn't want me to do what I'd planned to do today, but instead wanted me to sit on the couch and read The Story of a Soul by Therese of Liseaux, instead, while Joseph alternately rolled around in his playpen or belly-crawled around the living room, basically ignoring his toys and instead attempting frequent sneak commando raids on his three favorite targets: the wires under the stereo, the fireplace implements, and one particularly attractive electrical outlet. A reason for all things, I must keep believing.

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