Monday, February 28, 2011

Monday's Much Needed Song of the Day: Two Twenty Nine by Brave Saint Saturn

This is one of my favorite songs. No joke. There is no official video, which makes me sad.
Reese Roper, I hope you are still feeling the Spirit and using healing hands in Denver, or wherever you are.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Payaso de Miercoles: The Three Stooges-Slowly I Turn

All those mornings I woke up in the dark after my mom left for work made these guys seem like my funny uncles who had been sleeping on the couch. (I actually think Moe looks like my Uncle Glenn:)
At least I was distracted from being afraid until sunlight.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

And they shall call his name Jesus

For the last three months I have been teaching the  two and three year-old sunday school class. Next Sunday is the last Sunday of my third glorious tour of duty with most of these kids. The the next time I teach, which might be a while if I go back to school, I will have a new batch of kiddos.

Most people's eyes bulge at the idea of teaching this age, but through all three tours, there was no biting, no fighting and only one bathroom accident with a sweetie pie who wasn't feeling so hot.

We sing songs, have snack, get some wiggles out, review a memory verse, sing songs, listen to a Bible story, make a craft, sing songs, listen to an extra story , and then, we play and sing songs.

The first two times, they would come in all rambunctious and fling their shoes off. Before sitting down for story time we'd line them up against the wall to keep the girls from trying on every shoe possible. After story time they'd respond to EVERY Bible story question  with a resounding chorus of "JESUS!" And they were almost always right.

But last Sunday, sure I'd have them stumped after the story of Naaman, I asked what his owies were called and to my astonishment they actually screamed, "Leprocy!"
All my little smarty pants growing up so fast. What a privilege to be their teacher and to be taught by them.

Friday, February 18, 2011


What I have is, some pieces.
Ninety per cent  of what was written was never shot.
Like most of my life, I take what I am given,
then hunt down all the rest,
and see what I can fashion from
scavenging and assembling.
It's not symbolic.
It just is. And then some.

Bow to the Water from Tamitha Curiel on Vimeo.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011


Mim's dream, turns out, isn't prophetic.
No one leans over my shoulder;
I am alone.
There is no magic pulling and pushing
of shots and scenes--
I am far away from anyone who can help in
miles and ability,
so I form few questions.
Whisper the story to me.
Only this time I do not feel desperate.
The only response, the lake water hitting the haddock wall
like laughter, mocking my inabilities
and, and, and
I am left wondering
since the WWJD campaign isn't a scripture reference,
is manipulating it blasphemy?
Am I too busy looking for my muse and eating him, too
so if  I am stuck I can regurgitate,
have him at hand,
look into the eternal open palm
where I find
the most comforting voodoo,
life lines to lead me to
Use pictures.
Use a kid.
Show nothing and everything.
Don't forget to breathe. 
It's okay. It doesn't matter. Perfect.
Chew. Chew. Spit.
Be for real. The most honest.
Reach for what is even the tiniest bit alive.
When there is no vision, the people parish.
I mean perish.

Piecing from What It Is on Vimeo.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Monday's Much Needed Song of the Day: Time After Time

My boo can pitch some serious woo. One of the many ways he won me over was playing Chet Baker. It still works, too:)

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Curealities: What We Remember by Caleb Curiel

I wonder if the kids
who rode Jubilee
to and from what they
thought was a waste of time
ever considered that their
temporary mode of transportation was
soon to be home for a
family of five.
The besties who shared secrets
with one another--
did it occur to them that
they were gossiping in someone’s kitchen?
What was the night owl dreaming about
when he was napping in a
stranger’s shower?
Did the thought come across
the driver’s mind that the very
bus he was driving would somehow end up
broken down in central Mexico containing
two families and one couple
on a music mission trip.
I wonder how much really
happens to what we remember?

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Snow and Go

We had six inches of snow last week and are supposed to have four tomorrow. I must say, we are kind of looking forward to it:)
Not sure why the sound is not right on youtube. It's right on my computer-boo.

Monday, February 7, 2011

Mondays Much Needed Song of the Day: It's a Man's World

Okay, I thought I caught a wrong lyric in yesterday's song, but wasn't sure. I taught a lesson called "All Four Stanzas" about the Star Spangled Banner for about five years and I still wasn't sure if I heard wrong or not:)

I also think we need a strong list of stadium worthy bands/Artists who can play at the Superbowl and we need to stick to it. U2, Prince, Peter Gabriel, The Flaming Lips, Dave Matthews, Green Day, MCR, The toadies, The White Stripes (aaaaaaaghbooohooo) . . . the Beastie Boys (When MCA gets better.)

For crying out loud, people, spend your millions sensibly.

Okay, so maybe the Toadies are a stretch, but they totally pull off the Cowboy's Thanksgiving game half-time and you know it.

ANYWAY, I'm posting this because I LOVE it and I think after Super Bowl press should focus on the fact that not only did Green Bay win, but those dirty punks lost-HA! HA! HA! (For some reason though, I like the coach. He reminds of Gant on ER.) See pic below video:)

Tuesday, February 1, 2011


are important.
At least to me.
My mom says she hates'em, but she has her own-
she just don't know it.
She likes her beer cold with salt on the top
so much she's really not nice now she can't drink so much,
now that the baby in the belly is making it's way,
And how, she likes to sit by the heater and count how many cigarettes
she's allowed
to have for the next day
so she won't have to think she's a bad momma
Five, she counts, her brow creased,
holding them in her hand like
she's weighing them out.
They're light, I know.
I bring'em home from Bob's store
when she sends me for a burger and tots and a coke in a glass bottle.
We call it in and Bob, whose name isn't Bob at all, it's Barham.
I see it on the official papers he has to hang on the wall
when I go behind the counter and straighten up the display case.
"Azarafrous can't come as much and I am not good with order unless it's numbers," he says
and gives me a pink snowball or a lemon pie for the next day's breakfast
as payment for my neat-nic work.
Sometimes, he even throws in a Yoo-hoo.
"Azarafrous," he repeats her name with water in his eyes
and I think about the last time I saw her, how I recognized that look on her face
and how far away she was one second
and angry at me the next
for disrupting whatever daydream she was lost in--
Strange and familiar at the same time.
I make a ritual of arranging the display case-
the lighters, the wooden roses,
the loteria cards, the "gold" chains with marijuana leaves
I hide underneath the gold Jesus'.
Oh, I feel good when I stand back and survey my work,
even though I know it will be a wreck by Sunday, just like me.
Which leads me to the MOST ritual--
hopping on the Sweet Victory Bus, with my dollar tithe and my momma's Bible, singing VBS songs at the top of our lungs, reciting our memory verses and sitting real still in service by Mrs. Vernon who smells like talcum powder and butter.
It's the stillest I get all week unless Daddy's home and that's an eggshell kinda still where church
is a flowing water kinda still.
So when I go home, the mess is all around me, but not in me. At least for the afternoon.
Somehow by Sunday afternoon, I don't feel like such a mess.