So it's after nine o'clock on the first night I was allowed to do prayers. And boy, was it way more complicated than I expected.
Like I said in the last post, a woman who is menstruating is not allowed to pray until she has ritually cleansed herself twelve hours after her last period. The process of this cleansing is called "ghusl", and it's basically a bath. Before you can perform ghusl however, you must hold "wudu", which means to cleanse oneself from any physical impurities. It's a pretty long process, and slightly different for men than women (women have to perform wudu in privacy, especially if it's right after menstruation). Here's a link to the steps for you to read.
http://islam1.org/how_to_pray/wudu.htm
After performing wudu, you can move on to the ghusl. This also varies according to different branches of Islam, but this is the one I followed:
http://www.islamicinformation.net/2008/07/how-to-perform-ghusl-bath-in-islam.html
In case you were wondering, najaasat is any unclean substance, such as blood, semen, urine, or feces, which might be present on the body. This has to be washed away before you perform ghusl.
I finished ghusl twelve hours after my period, but will have to do it again on Friday, after my evening prayers.
After ghusl is complete, I am free to perform Salah, or the 3 Rakahs (or steps) of the prayers I do five times a day. Luckily, I do not have to take all these steps every time I pray, though truly devout Muslims are encouraged to do so if able.
I really had no idea how involved this all was. It's been a challenge to get it all right, and to find time to do it properly, but I'm doing the best I can. Tomorrow I start praying five times a day.
May Allah bless and keep you,
Sarah
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Project Islam: Day 2: "Terrorist"
I realized that in the rush to post day 1, I forgot to mention a few things. Also, don't be too alarmed about the title, I knew it was going to happen eventually, and it might happen again.
Anyway, I forgot to mention the abomination of idleness. According to Islam, it is a great sin to let oneself be idle; that is, to waste time. And see, I am a champion at being idle. I thrive on being idle. This includes watching movies, by the way, or television. It does not include reading, as long as the subject matter of what you're reading is good in Allah's eyes and does not promote sin. In order to watch movies or television, I have devised a plan: I must keep active while doing these things. So while at home, I exercise while my family watches Columbo. In my dorm, I sweep and clean while watching a movie on my laptop, or exercise. I work around this.
So anyway, day two. I will take my cleansing bath tonight and begin evening prayer at nine. I had dry white toast and fruit for breakfast again, and a salad with tomatoes, cucumber, carrot, and oil and vinegar for lunch. It's like a radical diet, but I'm doing better today with the no-caffeine, no-sugar thing. I suppose the four-hour nap helped tremendously with that. :) I'm assuming my father will bless the chicken we're having tonight, as he did last night. I will also have the mealtime prayers to add tomorrow, for both before and after each meal. That is a LOT of prayer. With three meals, I will pray 11 times in total each day, counting the five routine prayers throughout the day.
The first thing that happened today happened while I was walking to breakfast. There was a group of guys behind me, maybe 12 yards away or so, walking the same direction I was. I was almost to the dining hall when one of them yelled, "Hey look, a Muslim!" I can't describe the fear I felt. He was the first to acknowledge what I actually was, and he was within a group of six or seven other guys. I was automatically sure they were going to catch up to me and harass me, or worse. Maybe that's too paranoid, but you can't be sure. There's so much bias against Muslims here in America. My mother literally told me when I started this project never to walk alone. Nothing happened, but it got my radars up.
Then today at lunch, a woman who works at the dining hall and usually greets me with a smile and a "hello" sat a few chairs away from me, with a few other workers. I kid you not, when she sat down two chairs away, she positioned herself with her back to me. My mom says she barely recognizes me, so I understand this woman not knowing who I was, but still. It hurt. I'm growing surprisingly accustomed to keeping my voice down, and not meeting men's eyes, too. A guy from my English class just about ran into me when I was walking into one of the buildings, and I was the one who apologized. I also couldn't hold the door open for him, as I'm not permitted to do so for anyone. Strange. But whenever I do speak now, at least while dressed in the hiijab, I speak quietly and carefully.
The most eye-opening part of today, however, happened during my Ethnic Studies class. Ironically, this is the class through which I was assigned to conduct this project, and it was here I faced the biggest reaction to my appearance. First off, it was very hard to read the board to get the notes, without accidentally looking at my professor's face. It didn't help that he is very big on eye contact with each student. I managed to avoid his eyes, but did glance his face several times. But that wasn't the thing. We were discussing Native Americans, and the professor mentioned something about the way the indigenous people were pushed out of their lands by the colonists, and how they would retaliate by attacking and killing the white man. He called them "early terrorists, in a way". This was when a girl in the front row turned around and just stared at me. Maybe five seconds passed, and she turned around again. I couldn't believe it. I knew it was the word "terrorist" which caused her to do that. And that made me angry. Yes, those behind 9/11 were Muslim, but they were radical Muslims, with extreme hatred towards the U.S. and the westernization it and Europe had brought on their countries. This was an example of the bigotry and ignorance I'd been expecting. I was completely shocked by what this girl had done.
But there was also a fun part of the class. There were only a few people who were outwardly, obviously, not dressed like themselves. One of them was a man dressed as an Orthodox Jew. He was very convincing, with the long black coat, black pants, wide-brimmed black hat, and the curls he'd pinned to the sides of his head. He was even wearing a Star of David. I was impressed, and we chatted for a few minutes after class, and both of us thought it was kind of cool how the two of us were dressed as two groups who traditionally avoided each other (Not all Muslims are from Arab countries, but the Jews and the Arabs have historically hated one another). It was a cool thing.
So here we are at the end of day 2, and it's already been an adventure.
May blessings go with you and yours,
Sarah
Anyway, I forgot to mention the abomination of idleness. According to Islam, it is a great sin to let oneself be idle; that is, to waste time. And see, I am a champion at being idle. I thrive on being idle. This includes watching movies, by the way, or television. It does not include reading, as long as the subject matter of what you're reading is good in Allah's eyes and does not promote sin. In order to watch movies or television, I have devised a plan: I must keep active while doing these things. So while at home, I exercise while my family watches Columbo. In my dorm, I sweep and clean while watching a movie on my laptop, or exercise. I work around this.
So anyway, day two. I will take my cleansing bath tonight and begin evening prayer at nine. I had dry white toast and fruit for breakfast again, and a salad with tomatoes, cucumber, carrot, and oil and vinegar for lunch. It's like a radical diet, but I'm doing better today with the no-caffeine, no-sugar thing. I suppose the four-hour nap helped tremendously with that. :) I'm assuming my father will bless the chicken we're having tonight, as he did last night. I will also have the mealtime prayers to add tomorrow, for both before and after each meal. That is a LOT of prayer. With three meals, I will pray 11 times in total each day, counting the five routine prayers throughout the day.
The first thing that happened today happened while I was walking to breakfast. There was a group of guys behind me, maybe 12 yards away or so, walking the same direction I was. I was almost to the dining hall when one of them yelled, "Hey look, a Muslim!" I can't describe the fear I felt. He was the first to acknowledge what I actually was, and he was within a group of six or seven other guys. I was automatically sure they were going to catch up to me and harass me, or worse. Maybe that's too paranoid, but you can't be sure. There's so much bias against Muslims here in America. My mother literally told me when I started this project never to walk alone. Nothing happened, but it got my radars up.
Then today at lunch, a woman who works at the dining hall and usually greets me with a smile and a "hello" sat a few chairs away from me, with a few other workers. I kid you not, when she sat down two chairs away, she positioned herself with her back to me. My mom says she barely recognizes me, so I understand this woman not knowing who I was, but still. It hurt. I'm growing surprisingly accustomed to keeping my voice down, and not meeting men's eyes, too. A guy from my English class just about ran into me when I was walking into one of the buildings, and I was the one who apologized. I also couldn't hold the door open for him, as I'm not permitted to do so for anyone. Strange. But whenever I do speak now, at least while dressed in the hiijab, I speak quietly and carefully.
The most eye-opening part of today, however, happened during my Ethnic Studies class. Ironically, this is the class through which I was assigned to conduct this project, and it was here I faced the biggest reaction to my appearance. First off, it was very hard to read the board to get the notes, without accidentally looking at my professor's face. It didn't help that he is very big on eye contact with each student. I managed to avoid his eyes, but did glance his face several times. But that wasn't the thing. We were discussing Native Americans, and the professor mentioned something about the way the indigenous people were pushed out of their lands by the colonists, and how they would retaliate by attacking and killing the white man. He called them "early terrorists, in a way". This was when a girl in the front row turned around and just stared at me. Maybe five seconds passed, and she turned around again. I couldn't believe it. I knew it was the word "terrorist" which caused her to do that. And that made me angry. Yes, those behind 9/11 were Muslim, but they were radical Muslims, with extreme hatred towards the U.S. and the westernization it and Europe had brought on their countries. This was an example of the bigotry and ignorance I'd been expecting. I was completely shocked by what this girl had done.
But there was also a fun part of the class. There were only a few people who were outwardly, obviously, not dressed like themselves. One of them was a man dressed as an Orthodox Jew. He was very convincing, with the long black coat, black pants, wide-brimmed black hat, and the curls he'd pinned to the sides of his head. He was even wearing a Star of David. I was impressed, and we chatted for a few minutes after class, and both of us thought it was kind of cool how the two of us were dressed as two groups who traditionally avoided each other (Not all Muslims are from Arab countries, but the Jews and the Arabs have historically hated one another). It was a cool thing.
So here we are at the end of day 2, and it's already been an adventure.
May blessings go with you and yours,
Sarah
Project Islam: Day 1: "Don't Judge"
First of all I should explain what Project Islam is. I was assigned a week ago by my Ethnic Studies professor to choose an ethnicity, a cultural set, a disability, or religion to 'become' for one entire school week, and to make it as authentic as I wanted or was possible. Initially I planned to go around campus in a wheelchair. This would prove to be especially difficult since the building I live in does not have an elevator, and I live on the third floor. However, I was unable to acquire a wheelchair in time, so at the last minute I chose to spend the week as a Muslim, practicing Islam.
I assumed of course that this might be a particularly risky route to take, simply because of the bias and fear surrounding Islam and the Muslim people because of 9/11 and the Taliban. I won't say I wasn't, and still am, extremely nervous about the reactions and actions of fellow students on campus. The first morning, I barely wanted to leave the dorm building. I was afraid of being cornered, challenged, or worse.
I decided, as I often do, to go all-out. I learned how to wear a hiijab, the headscarf worn by Muslim women, which much to my surprise I've already mastered! I wear long sleeve shirts, and long skirts to properly cover myself, and I avoid eye/body contact with men, eat only foods which aren't pasteurized, processed, or contain unnatural sugars or preservatives. I won't be able to pray until Wednesday however, and this is because women who are menstruating aren't permitted to pray, and must wait twelve hours after their last period to take a ritual cleansing bath. Only after these 12 hours and the ritual are they allowed to pray again. So tonight I will take that bath, just in time for the evening prayer at nine o'clock. I'll wake up again at midnight, and will continue the cycle at seven, noon, five, and nine the following days, through Friday night.
The first day brought a lot of stares. This was one of the toughest things for me, because I absolutely hate to be stared at. It's not to say I wasn't expecting it, but I hated it still. I had the thought that maybe, besides the hiijab, maybe one of the reasons people are so uncomfortable is because I am white. Maybe they recognize me and wonder if I went through a radical Muslim conversion. Nobody's asked me about it yet, and I highly doubt anyone will.
Another difficult part is the hunger. I'm so used to eating a lot of food, food not necessarily good for me, and I drink pop quite often. I consider myself in good health, and exercise daily, but this is somethng completely new. I'm existing on fruit and vegetables, and plain chicken I can only eat if it's been blessed, which so far my father has done for me. I ate a whole plain potato yesterday with supper. I can't have coffee, which I've become pretty dependant on. I could drink it, but only if it's black, because both the creamer I use and either sugar or Splenda are forbidden, because of pasteurization. I'm also allowed white bread, and I'm not sure why because I always assumed it was more processed than wheat bread. But I can't have wheat germ, so wheat products are forbidden. There was a guy behind me in my second class who apparently whispered something about me as I sat down. This is a class where I'm made fun of almost on a regular basis, even when I'm dressed as I usually am. Anyway, he said something which I didn't hear. What I did hear, however, was a girl behind me who said back, "Hey, don't judge." This was the first verbal confrontation I'd had about it, and I was grateful for the girl, but didn't have the courage to turn around.
It sounds funny, but it's really hard not looking at men. The only man I'm permitted to touch or look in the eye is my father (or my husband, but I don't have one of those!). I only have two male professors, but when they speak to me I have to look just over their shoulder; the same with other men who talk to me, which hasn't been too many.
I'm also not permitted to raise my voice, which I do on a regular basis, but usually out of enthusiasm. I've broken that rule so many times already.
Anyways, kids, that's all for now. I'll be checking in every day this week with more. Wish me luck!
Blessings from Allah,
Sarah
I assumed of course that this might be a particularly risky route to take, simply because of the bias and fear surrounding Islam and the Muslim people because of 9/11 and the Taliban. I won't say I wasn't, and still am, extremely nervous about the reactions and actions of fellow students on campus. The first morning, I barely wanted to leave the dorm building. I was afraid of being cornered, challenged, or worse.
I decided, as I often do, to go all-out. I learned how to wear a hiijab, the headscarf worn by Muslim women, which much to my surprise I've already mastered! I wear long sleeve shirts, and long skirts to properly cover myself, and I avoid eye/body contact with men, eat only foods which aren't pasteurized, processed, or contain unnatural sugars or preservatives. I won't be able to pray until Wednesday however, and this is because women who are menstruating aren't permitted to pray, and must wait twelve hours after their last period to take a ritual cleansing bath. Only after these 12 hours and the ritual are they allowed to pray again. So tonight I will take that bath, just in time for the evening prayer at nine o'clock. I'll wake up again at midnight, and will continue the cycle at seven, noon, five, and nine the following days, through Friday night.
The first day brought a lot of stares. This was one of the toughest things for me, because I absolutely hate to be stared at. It's not to say I wasn't expecting it, but I hated it still. I had the thought that maybe, besides the hiijab, maybe one of the reasons people are so uncomfortable is because I am white. Maybe they recognize me and wonder if I went through a radical Muslim conversion. Nobody's asked me about it yet, and I highly doubt anyone will.
Another difficult part is the hunger. I'm so used to eating a lot of food, food not necessarily good for me, and I drink pop quite often. I consider myself in good health, and exercise daily, but this is somethng completely new. I'm existing on fruit and vegetables, and plain chicken I can only eat if it's been blessed, which so far my father has done for me. I ate a whole plain potato yesterday with supper. I can't have coffee, which I've become pretty dependant on. I could drink it, but only if it's black, because both the creamer I use and either sugar or Splenda are forbidden, because of pasteurization. I'm also allowed white bread, and I'm not sure why because I always assumed it was more processed than wheat bread. But I can't have wheat germ, so wheat products are forbidden. There was a guy behind me in my second class who apparently whispered something about me as I sat down. This is a class where I'm made fun of almost on a regular basis, even when I'm dressed as I usually am. Anyway, he said something which I didn't hear. What I did hear, however, was a girl behind me who said back, "Hey, don't judge." This was the first verbal confrontation I'd had about it, and I was grateful for the girl, but didn't have the courage to turn around.
It sounds funny, but it's really hard not looking at men. The only man I'm permitted to touch or look in the eye is my father (or my husband, but I don't have one of those!). I only have two male professors, but when they speak to me I have to look just over their shoulder; the same with other men who talk to me, which hasn't been too many.
I'm also not permitted to raise my voice, which I do on a regular basis, but usually out of enthusiasm. I've broken that rule so many times already.
Anyways, kids, that's all for now. I'll be checking in every day this week with more. Wish me luck!
Blessings from Allah,
Sarah
Monday, February 18, 2013
Four Months
We talked for hours
Ate too much
And you told me about Nepal.
I told you about Elvis.
And got my umbrella stuck
In Seth’s hair.
You laughed at me because
I slept through the night holdingThe drumstick Bo had actually touched.
You took a picture of me sleeping
And kept calling me Mr. Lugnut
After the character from the board game we played
The night we first met.
And stay friends with you
Even though you guys would cuddle
And kiss and post pictures together
And I wanted to kill her for it.
One day, I didn’t know when, and we
Were gonna see him together.
We were going to see the world. We were going to cook and
laugh and watch movies and dance. You were going to help me with the banjo and
I was going to help you decorate your apartment.
Four months ago, I was just getting to know you.
Four months later, I wish we’d never met. Sunday, February 3, 2013
My Crazy Bedazzled Elvis-Loving Family
Let me start off by saying that I've seen Joseph Hall in concert officially 24 times. Twenty-four shows, spread out across almost 3 and a half years. Which might sound impressive, unless you talk to the same woman I did who'd been to nearly 200 shows in less than that time. But still, it's a number I'm proud of, and a number I never thought I'd be keeping track of.
Three years ago, I was a sophomore in high school. My mother took me to Northwest High School in Grand Island, Nebraska, to see this guy who sang Elvis. The first song he sang was How Great Thou Art. I was crying seconds after he opened his mouth. Boom. Just like that.
And just tonight, I saw Joseph for the 24th time at the Minden Opera House in Minden, Nebraska. Seeing him tonight, even after all the shows, the dinners, the hugs, the tears, getting to know him and his family and a lot of the people who follow him all over creation, it was just as fresh, just as real, just as breathtaking as it was three years ago. I danced. I sang along to every single song. I cried when he did the American Trilogy. And I hugged him several times after the show.
It was all so good, every song was flawless and beautiful and mindblowingly real. All the women, most of them in the front row, who have seen him countless times and wear his face on pins, t-shirts, purses, mugs, and now bobbleheads (I must confess, I got one of those), were there as usual. They scrambled and shoved and reached for the scarves and teddy bears as they always do, they screamed and howled and whistled every time he moved, they showered him with plastic leis and wiped away his sweat for him and begged for kisses. And though I must admit, sometimes I get really tired of their whole routine every show, I hardly noticed them tonight. The gentleman sitting next to me, who got a better seat since the other person I was supposed to have with me got sick, commented several times on how he could never have the patience to deal with those kind of people. But they barely registered with me. I didn't really see them because I was too busy taking in the music.
I love Elvis. I've loved Elvis since I was eight years old watching the movie Lilo and Stitch at a friend's house. The film uses several Elvis songs throughout, like Devil in Disguise and Jailhouse Rock, and because of that movie my mother bought me my first Elvis CD. I was instantly hooked, and my love only grew as I took in more music and more pictures, and visiting Graceland when I was 13 years old simply sealed the deal. Elvis was and is such a huge part of my life, and it's through him that I've met so many amazing, beautiful people and grown into the kind of person I am. I have more than half of his recorded music, books, posters, concerts and movies on DVD, I've been to both his Memphis home and his childhood home in Tupelo, Mississippi twice, and I'm still hungry for more.
Through all of this, Elvis has become a source of love, and comfort for me. Whenever I'm having a bad day or something happens in my life that causes me to doubt myself or my purpose, I listen to Elvis. I watch one of his concerts. And whenever possible, I go see Joseph's show.
Joseph brings Elvis to life for those of us who weren't lucky enough be there while he was alive. He dresses up in those glittery jackets, those polyester suits, and he makes us believe again. He pours his own soul into every song and almost embodies Elvis for a little while. Even tonight there was a moment, I can't remember which song it was, where something happened, something clicked, and for the briefest of seconds, I believe I was seeing Elvis Presley, through Joseph. I can't even fully explain it, but he was singing and it was like his face changed. He BECAME Elvis, in a way. I saw it, and I felt what I imagine audiences back then felt: rapture. Disbelief. Unshakeable joy.
I've had a lot of ups and downs in my life, in the short time that I've been on this Earth. Nothing that makes me any more entitled to pity or special favors than the next guy, but things that have brought me down and made me feel sometimes like the world didn't want me here. And through a lot of these things, the Hall family has been there. The less crazy fans have been there. The family friends who run the souvenir table and ticket table and run the spotlights have been there. Every time I go to a show lately I end up hugging at least six or seven different people, most of whom I didn't know a year ago. I've got twenty people asking me how I've been. Joseph's father treats me like one of his own children. I've hung out with his sister at her apartment. Joseph himself takes the time every single show to sit down with me and catch up on my life, and talk Elvis.
My point is, yeah there's crazy fans, but they're not all crazy, and even if they were, I wouldn't let that stop me from going to shows. Not only is this a place I can go to see Elvis reincarnated, Elvis reborn and very much alive in the form of an astoundingly talented 28-year-old. This is a place where I know I am always welcome, always appreciated, and always loved. I consider a lot of these people family, and they talk to me and I to them like we've known each other for years and years. His father Kyle, his sister Caroline, and especially Joseph have become treasures for me to know, irreplaceable safe havens that I know will always be there to tell me how awesome and beautiful I am when the whole rest of the world says otherwise. I can escape here. I can be just as energetic and free and off-key as I want with 200 other people who love Elvis (almost) as much as I do and who don't care that I'm not a normal 18-year-old. I am loved for being an Elvis fan. I am loved for being a Joseph fan. I am loved because I'm there and I'm singing and crying and laughing and hugging all along with everybody else. I am immeasurably grateful for the music and legacy of Elvis Presley, and for the ridiculous talent and heart that God has given Joseph Hall. They have both radically changed my life for the better, and I can't thank either one enough.
Three years ago, I was a sophomore in high school. My mother took me to Northwest High School in Grand Island, Nebraska, to see this guy who sang Elvis. The first song he sang was How Great Thou Art. I was crying seconds after he opened his mouth. Boom. Just like that.
And just tonight, I saw Joseph for the 24th time at the Minden Opera House in Minden, Nebraska. Seeing him tonight, even after all the shows, the dinners, the hugs, the tears, getting to know him and his family and a lot of the people who follow him all over creation, it was just as fresh, just as real, just as breathtaking as it was three years ago. I danced. I sang along to every single song. I cried when he did the American Trilogy. And I hugged him several times after the show.
It was all so good, every song was flawless and beautiful and mindblowingly real. All the women, most of them in the front row, who have seen him countless times and wear his face on pins, t-shirts, purses, mugs, and now bobbleheads (I must confess, I got one of those), were there as usual. They scrambled and shoved and reached for the scarves and teddy bears as they always do, they screamed and howled and whistled every time he moved, they showered him with plastic leis and wiped away his sweat for him and begged for kisses. And though I must admit, sometimes I get really tired of their whole routine every show, I hardly noticed them tonight. The gentleman sitting next to me, who got a better seat since the other person I was supposed to have with me got sick, commented several times on how he could never have the patience to deal with those kind of people. But they barely registered with me. I didn't really see them because I was too busy taking in the music.
I love Elvis. I've loved Elvis since I was eight years old watching the movie Lilo and Stitch at a friend's house. The film uses several Elvis songs throughout, like Devil in Disguise and Jailhouse Rock, and because of that movie my mother bought me my first Elvis CD. I was instantly hooked, and my love only grew as I took in more music and more pictures, and visiting Graceland when I was 13 years old simply sealed the deal. Elvis was and is such a huge part of my life, and it's through him that I've met so many amazing, beautiful people and grown into the kind of person I am. I have more than half of his recorded music, books, posters, concerts and movies on DVD, I've been to both his Memphis home and his childhood home in Tupelo, Mississippi twice, and I'm still hungry for more.
Through all of this, Elvis has become a source of love, and comfort for me. Whenever I'm having a bad day or something happens in my life that causes me to doubt myself or my purpose, I listen to Elvis. I watch one of his concerts. And whenever possible, I go see Joseph's show.
Joseph brings Elvis to life for those of us who weren't lucky enough be there while he was alive. He dresses up in those glittery jackets, those polyester suits, and he makes us believe again. He pours his own soul into every song and almost embodies Elvis for a little while. Even tonight there was a moment, I can't remember which song it was, where something happened, something clicked, and for the briefest of seconds, I believe I was seeing Elvis Presley, through Joseph. I can't even fully explain it, but he was singing and it was like his face changed. He BECAME Elvis, in a way. I saw it, and I felt what I imagine audiences back then felt: rapture. Disbelief. Unshakeable joy.
I've had a lot of ups and downs in my life, in the short time that I've been on this Earth. Nothing that makes me any more entitled to pity or special favors than the next guy, but things that have brought me down and made me feel sometimes like the world didn't want me here. And through a lot of these things, the Hall family has been there. The less crazy fans have been there. The family friends who run the souvenir table and ticket table and run the spotlights have been there. Every time I go to a show lately I end up hugging at least six or seven different people, most of whom I didn't know a year ago. I've got twenty people asking me how I've been. Joseph's father treats me like one of his own children. I've hung out with his sister at her apartment. Joseph himself takes the time every single show to sit down with me and catch up on my life, and talk Elvis.
My point is, yeah there's crazy fans, but they're not all crazy, and even if they were, I wouldn't let that stop me from going to shows. Not only is this a place I can go to see Elvis reincarnated, Elvis reborn and very much alive in the form of an astoundingly talented 28-year-old. This is a place where I know I am always welcome, always appreciated, and always loved. I consider a lot of these people family, and they talk to me and I to them like we've known each other for years and years. His father Kyle, his sister Caroline, and especially Joseph have become treasures for me to know, irreplaceable safe havens that I know will always be there to tell me how awesome and beautiful I am when the whole rest of the world says otherwise. I can escape here. I can be just as energetic and free and off-key as I want with 200 other people who love Elvis (almost) as much as I do and who don't care that I'm not a normal 18-year-old. I am loved for being an Elvis fan. I am loved for being a Joseph fan. I am loved because I'm there and I'm singing and crying and laughing and hugging all along with everybody else. I am immeasurably grateful for the music and legacy of Elvis Presley, and for the ridiculous talent and heart that God has given Joseph Hall. They have both radically changed my life for the better, and I can't thank either one enough.
Monday, January 14, 2013
Paradise
A cacophony of silences
A homemade shroud of stars
Elvis on scratchy vinyl,
Or Springsteen
Or Armstrong
And forgotten cup of tea
On the nightstand.
Sundance the banjo
Minnie the violin
Bo the big stuffed kaleidoscopic lion
And my small band of teddy bears,
Joe Jr., Kentucky, Sullivan, and Jesse.
My sighs and your sighs on a cold afternoon
We say we're taking a nap, but neither of us
Will shut up. We've too much to say
To each other, and so little time
To get it all out.
My room smells like coffee
And pizza
And onions from the greasy floor at work
And blackberries from my perfume
And dustbunnies on fire.
It's mine, and partly yours,
And little pieces of you scatter the place
And my food seems to disappear
Like magic
And you help yourself to my clothes.
It's new and cold and the neighbors are loud
But it's a place I can go when there's too much to know
And too much to do and I just want to sleep
And talk
And dream
And breathe
And be me.
A homemade shroud of stars
Elvis on scratchy vinyl,
Or Springsteen
Or Armstrong
And forgotten cup of tea
On the nightstand.
Sundance the banjo
Minnie the violin
Bo the big stuffed kaleidoscopic lion
And my small band of teddy bears,
Joe Jr., Kentucky, Sullivan, and Jesse.
My sighs and your sighs on a cold afternoon
We say we're taking a nap, but neither of us
Will shut up. We've too much to say
To each other, and so little time
To get it all out.
My room smells like coffee
And pizza
And onions from the greasy floor at work
And blackberries from my perfume
And dustbunnies on fire.
It's mine, and partly yours,
And little pieces of you scatter the place
And my food seems to disappear
Like magic
And you help yourself to my clothes.
It's new and cold and the neighbors are loud
But it's a place I can go when there's too much to know
And too much to do and I just want to sleep
And talk
And dream
And breathe
And be me.
Friday, January 4, 2013
You Made Me Love Banana Peppers
You're the reason I listen to
Jack Johnson, Kurt Cobain, Serj Tankian, and Aerosmith.
Your soul is music,
And in another life I might have been your melody.
You made me want to MAKE music,
Though you played my banjo better than I ever will.
I cried watching those web-cam videos of you and your guitar,
Because your voice was so soft and you never took your eyes off of me,
Watching.
It doesn't matter where I am, and I suppose it
Never will, but something's always there to bring you in when I'm alone.
Peach smoothies, the only thing I ever ordered from that coffee shop
Where we played chess (or at least we tried) and watched an entire
Mumford and Sons concert on your iPad.
Axe body spray, the kind that smells like chocolate,
because it's why I kept your green polo shirt and sometimes
Still wear it to bed.
A butterfly, because that was one of the first nicknames
You gave me.
You said it was because I always wore so many colors.
The color yellow, but not plain yellow.
Yellow like melted butter, the yellow that Crayola calls "Goldenrod".
You wore a shirt that color to that concert that changed too many things.
A phoenix, because you sometimes talked about wanting to die,
And I always believed you couldn't.
You held me tight in that cold little gazebo while I cried
Because I thought you were leaving me forever.
The wind howled and we both shivered but I was too busy
Getting snot and mascara on your jacket to care.
We ate frozen yogurt and big Italian sandwiches on the second day we met,
And went for that walk where both of us were nearly blown away, and I took pictures
Of all the plants and you told me what they were.
You dared me to try banana peppers and laughed
When I drank three cups of water, but I finished them all, and now?
I love them more than pickles.
You taught me what love is and what it means to fight
And apologize
And vow never to speak again
And talk for hours
All in one day.
You made me laugh and cry
And scream and whisper
And ache and relish
And smile and hate and love and cherish.
You made me never forget.
You made me love banana peppers.
Jack Johnson, Kurt Cobain, Serj Tankian, and Aerosmith.
Your soul is music,
And in another life I might have been your melody.
You made me want to MAKE music,
Though you played my banjo better than I ever will.
I cried watching those web-cam videos of you and your guitar,
Because your voice was so soft and you never took your eyes off of me,
Watching.
It doesn't matter where I am, and I suppose it
Never will, but something's always there to bring you in when I'm alone.
Peach smoothies, the only thing I ever ordered from that coffee shop
Where we played chess (or at least we tried) and watched an entire
Mumford and Sons concert on your iPad.
Axe body spray, the kind that smells like chocolate,
because it's why I kept your green polo shirt and sometimes
Still wear it to bed.
A butterfly, because that was one of the first nicknames
You gave me.
You said it was because I always wore so many colors.
The color yellow, but not plain yellow.
Yellow like melted butter, the yellow that Crayola calls "Goldenrod".
You wore a shirt that color to that concert that changed too many things.
A phoenix, because you sometimes talked about wanting to die,
And I always believed you couldn't.
You held me tight in that cold little gazebo while I cried
Because I thought you were leaving me forever.
The wind howled and we both shivered but I was too busy
Getting snot and mascara on your jacket to care.
We ate frozen yogurt and big Italian sandwiches on the second day we met,
And went for that walk where both of us were nearly blown away, and I took pictures
Of all the plants and you told me what they were.
You dared me to try banana peppers and laughed
When I drank three cups of water, but I finished them all, and now?
I love them more than pickles.
You taught me what love is and what it means to fight
And apologize
And vow never to speak again
And talk for hours
All in one day.
You made me laugh and cry
And scream and whisper
And ache and relish
And smile and hate and love and cherish.
You made me never forget.
You made me love banana peppers.
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