*photo taken by a very wonderful Christine Robinson who made the trip out to the Queen tonight with her four month old baby in tow. Thank you!

And, yes, you better believe I wore antlers.

Though, I really cannot take the credit. They are Shane’s antlers. During last night’s practice, I asked him if he was gonna wear the antlers for our Christmas show.

“I was planning on it…” he said.

And so I thought that was that.

Until we walked on stage and he nonchalantly handed me the antlers.

“Really?!” I said.

“Really,” he said.

And, as it turned out, that was actually that.

We played a show in collaboration with Battleshy Youths and Em Mckeever tonight at the Queen Theatre in Delaware. It was a blast. We covered legit Christmas songs and threw a rather non-traditional version of Baby, It’s Cold Outside in the mix.

Some guy asked me afterward if I ever collaborate.

“Why?” I asked, “What do you do?”

“Hip-hop. Soul. Funk.” he answered.

Ummmm, heck YES, I collaborate.

So, we’ll see.

Another guy told me that I have the energy  of Cameron Diaz. I am not even sure what that means, but I seem to remember that in most of her comedic roles, she ends up making a fool of herself at some point in the movie by either singing or dancing on stage.

Uh-oh.

No, actually, I think it’s funny.

But tonight was lovely; I love to perform. I feel lucky and grateful all at once every time I get to do it.

I am one half of the Paper Janes.

Well, since we brought a couch on stage with us tonight, perhaps I am more like one third of the Paper Janes.

Anyway.

We had a really good time; I really love that yellow couch of Shane’s.

It looks like it belongs in a very good story.

Probably because it does belong in a very good story; Shane’s story is very good and so is the paper janes’ story and now that couch is part of both (more the former than the latter, really).

And we brought a drum tonight, too.

I was supposed to play it.

I played it a tiny, tiny bit–and not too well, at that.

I got nervous and it was awkwardly to my far right and when I try to sing and play a djembe simultaneously it feels like my brain is fighting itself and doesn’t understand how to function anymore.

But other than my less than parr occasional hits on a drum, the show was really fun.

The couch, especially, was a hit.

Plus, we got a little bit of money and a lot of tater tots and chicken fingers, too. We shared those with friends. Food usually tastes better when shared, I think. Unless you’re, like, really hungry and all you have is one tiny sandwich. That probably tastes better not shared, I’d imagine.

In conclusion: I need to get better at playing the djembe. And food that is both free and shared is delicious. And the yellow couch was a major hit. And my voice sounded a little crackly twice tonight, but I decided not to get my panties in a wad over it. That expression is for my friend Mindy, who says it often and cracks me up every time. Plus, wadded up panties sounds terribly uncomfortable and would only make a situation in which your voice is already crackly even worse, I think.

Have I mentioned that I really love my ukelele? Yes, I do.
Anyway, here it is.

And also? Last night I dreamt that I had a fever and then woke up with a fever. Shane says that’s because I knew it without really knowing it.

I wonder what else I know without really knowing it. Probably more than I admit to myself. It’s a strange balance to at once feel so lost and clueless, while trying your darndest to walk resolutely on that overgrown, easily overlooked path called TRUTH.

I have also decided to grow my hair out long.
I want to have a braid down my back again.
I want to see what color it is when all it does is grow.

Until I decide I want a fauxhawk and it really should be blond, that is.

I met a girl with an afro today at church. A white girl with an afro. I guess word has gotten out about how I’d like an afro because her friend pointed to the afro and said to me, “You want her hair.”
It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.
And it was true; I couldn’t deny it.

But God gave me straight, soft hair. It is how it is. Acceptance is the first step to freedom, you know. And the next step is a braid down the back. Cause if I can’t have an afro, at least I can have braid, I guess.

At least I can have braid.
And sound like a cavewoman.
That, too.

The reason I would love to say this is because I was just stung by one of those huge, mamba jamba hornets. The kind that looks like a prehistoric beast with wings. The kind that’s thick.

We were just getting back from Philly, having played there tonight. And Shane was carrying his guitars and stuff from my car to his when I noticed something fly into my car. I was outside of the car at the moment, though, so no big deal. Until I needed to get back into it, that is. So I opened the door to let the thing out, and what does he do to repay me?

STING THE LIFE OUT OF ME.

And not just any part of me, either. Like, the middle of my spine. Ew. It felt like I was getting an unexpected shot, so I dropped to the ground and also managed to scrape up my knees and shoulder in the kerfuffle.

Shane drove me the remaining 100 or so feet to my parents’ house and then Darby applied huge amounts of baking soda. That’s supposed to really help make it feel better…

…And I’m still waiting for the ‘better’ part.

Cause right now it hurts.

A lot.

And I can’t believe a huge hornet stung me at 3am.

After I got over the shock of it, and even though it still hurt, I started laughing. Because–how weird.

And kind of interesting, I mentioned to Shane. And he agreed.

Life is a lot of things, but boring is never one of them.

And then I finally got home at 2:00 am and was all ready to trade the real world for the dream world, but before that could happen, I had to open up a door to my parents’ house to, you know, get inside.

deep breath.

Cause that was the kind of sentence that you swear must be a run-on. But it’s not. It’s just lengthy. It’s just a stop-and-take-a-breath-girl! sentence, is all.

But the door was locked.

Well, every door was locked.

And I literally thought: sucks to suck! when I realized this.

Sucks to suck.

This is my sister Jenna’s latest favorite phrase. She says it a lot. She said it to Strider the dog the other day. He had managed to steal one of her starbursts, but then didn’t like the flavor and so Jenna was all, “SUCKS TO SUCK, STRIDER!”

It made me laugh.

But being locked out of my parents’ house at 2 am when I am already feeling what one would classify as rough?

That did not make me laugh.

Until I thought SUCKS TO SUCK! to myself and then remembered how Jenna said that to Strider. And then I did laugh.

But I was still locked out and wondering what to do about it.

I decided to drive my car to someone’s house. I had just said good-bye to a bunch of people who were heading to Shane’s house to eat food. I wanted to eat food. Plus, I knew his house would have doors that were not locked, so perfect.

I got in my car.

But my brother had just borrowed my car and, instead of leaving the key inside the car (which is what I always do. But if you’re a car thief, I’m just joking. I never do that. Never ever)–but instead of leaving the key right between the two front seats, my brother had put the key on the key ring inside my parents’ house.

The one that was currently locked.

So I couldn’t drive my car anywhere either.

AWESOME.

Then I decided to do something crazy. I vaguely remembered my mom giving me a key. Luckily, I was using the purse that I had not used for a while, so maybe it was the same purse I had dutifully put the key in and then promptly forgotten about it.

I looked for it with no faith at all.

And then I found it with what could be called very modest rejoicing. As in: For once that evening, I did not think: SUCKS TO SUCK!; I thought something more like: I wonder how this thing works…

Well, okay, not totally. But I did not grow up with keys, see. I grew up in the legit country. We didn’t lock our doors. Nobody even came to our house for candy on halloween. Well, almost nobody. And when one kid did manage to brave the half mile country lane into the woods to climb up our deck and finally figure out which door to our dome house could possibly be considered the front door and then ask for candy, my pop managed to find some old forgotten piece, probably left over from one of our Easter baskets or something.

I hope that was the best candy of that kid’s life, considering what he did to get it and all.

But keys make me nervous and I don’t trust them and I always kind of doubt they’ll work.

But this key worked.

I was a lucky duck.

And then I was a sleeping duck.

And then Darby felt really badly about locking me out of the house.

But I didn’t care; I actually thought it was kind of funny.

It’s a summer storm.

A summer solstice storm.

What a celebration. The thunder welcomes the official start of summer, and, though I don’t know how to make such a powerful noise, I agree with it.

I had my last session with my therapist this morning. She is moving to Nashville because she believes in following dreams–gossamer and illusive things that they are–and her husband is a musician. She can talk people through their trauma in any old state; but her husband feels that he will write his songs best in Nashville.

She has helped me a lot; I will miss her. But I am happy to see her living in such a way as to take the kinds of risks from which dreams are realized.

And tonight, The Paper Janes had a show in Philadelphia. We played on a tiny stage that had a pole on it. The kind you can dance on. I did not dance on it so much, but I sure did lean on it while I was singing. It was kind of reassuring, having a pole to lean on like that.

We also did a spontaneous photo shoot after the show. It all started because I saw a car that matched Shane’s pants. Brilliant, right?
And then we kept finding cars that matched us.

So we posed in center city in front of random cars (though that one was not so random, being my own and all).

Then whoever was not in the picture got to edit it, giving a big reveal after their creativity was sated.

It was a good day.

And a good night.

And it’s gonna be a good summer.

• I was informed that the water in New Orleans is getting high and displacing some wildlife. Thus, the city has issued a SNAKE ALERT. That is what you call BAMF.
• Tonight The Paper Janes rocked. Oh, it was fun. I felt it in my bones. And my spirit. And my mind. I am pretty sure I felt it in every part of me. That’s what happens when I really sing. Somebody recently was talking to me about the difference between singing in church and singing at bars. “Of course you can’t feel the same kind of thing when you sing in a bar as when you sing in church,” he concluded. “Actually, I do, kind of,” I surprised him by saying. And it’s true. I feel God in the singing. No, it’s not direct worship–and it’s different, absolutely–but I feel God there. And I feel myself doing exactly what it is I should be doing. It’s like the world is right. And all of me is getting along–my body, mind, and spirit. And I feel that way in church, too. So, there you go.
• I have a loose policy that I don’t buy alcohol. But, I do accept it sometimes. Tonight a guy offered to buy me a drink. Well, okay. And then we talked for a while. And at one point, I mentioned that I had read a book about communist China, which he then followed up with, “And you’re smart, too.” It was actually quite funny to me. Because I felt a little like a dog being looked over by a breeder and a little like I had left the room and was being discussed. Plus, just cause you read a book, you are not necessarily smart. And even more to the point, just cause you say you read a book, you are not necessarily smart.
• Which reminds me of something else that is funny. A little while ago Shane and I and my various nieces and one nephew were taking a puppy named Willow out for some filming. I’d tell you more, but the project is really quite secret and may or may not have something to do with Area 51. We wanted to bring her down by the stream, and, my mom, a new and nervous puppy-mama, gave some warnings to me, Shane, and Willow, as she hesitantly acquiesced.

“She’s not smart and she can’t swim!” she yelled to us from the top of the hill. And I am not quite sure which of us said it first, but we quickly followed it up with, “And neither can the puppy…” And then had a good laugh.

• Today in yoga, one woman came in hopping mad about the noise people make outside the studio while doing whatever it is they are doing. She was complaining about how they don’t read the sign that very clearly says: QUIET, YOGA IN SESSION and make about as much noise as a person can make. “Yes, it’s a shame,” said the instructor. “But you know what? It’s life. We cannot control anyone else but ourselves. And what better way to practice this very thing then while practicing yoga?” Oh, man, so true.
• I am really sad because I was offered the chance to dance in a flash mob in NYC and get paid for it. But it conflicts with another job that I am already doing, so I cannot do it. Oh well, I would have had to dance in a bikini. Maybe that sounds like more fun than it is.
• I am tired, so tired. And am attempting a magic trick in the morning. It’s called getting up in six hours to practice yoga. Magic wand, don’t fail me now.

And I also got a nice offer. Or, I don’t know, we may have even made plans. With one proviso, though: I must cut my hair really short. But once that is done, a guy has offered to first fall in love with me and then marry me. And we will live in a house that is chocolate free (he doesn’t like chocolate). But there will be a small refrigerator right outside the house which will store all of the very best chocolate (because I do like chocolate).

“He’s gonna marry you?” Shane asked, after hearing us discuss The Plan.

“Yeah. Once I cut my hair. Isn’t that nice of…um…Ben?” I said.

“You mean Andrew.”

“I was pretty sure it was Ben.”

“It’s Andrew,” Shane says definitively, before going on, “And you should probably make sure you know his name.”

I guess he has a point. And maybe hair length isn’t the best foundation for a marriage.

Maybe.

And what else?

I woke up this morning feeling like I must have traded jobs with Atlas during the night, my shoulders were so very sore. But then tonight, my friend rubbed my shoulders. Hmm. There seems to be just no real way to say that without it sounding kind of weird. Sorry about that. But, it was really nice  and not weird at all. I am of the opinion that a massage is just about one of the best things on earth. That, and bread. Oh, and also books. And animals, too. And colors.

I think I could go on along those lines for a very long time, unless I put an end to it now. Let’s just say there are so many best things on earth; and I am very lucky to be an earthling. Since there are so many best things here, and all.

Another best thing? Sleep. Especially when one has to get up early for a birthday breakfast for just about the cutest little blond haired and green-eyed five year old boy ever.

Another one of those best things on earth, that’s for sure.

Maybe with a conversation:

Me: “I wrote another song. And guess what? It’s NOT a love song.”
(see, shane maintains that I only write love songs or love recovery songs or heartbreak songs)
Shane: “What’s it about, then?”
Me: “Um, it’s a worship song.”
Shane: “Which is still a love song. Just, to God.”
Me: “No–it’s not!–I mean, I basically took it straight out of Song of Solomon…”
which is when we both started laughing and Shane shook his head.

Because: SONG OF SOLOMON. The only book of the Bible that is entirely and wholly devoted to LOVE.

Geez.

So I quickly changed the subject.

(and if you wanna hear it, here it is: if a man would give for love )

Friday night, The Paper Janes played to a sold out show at MojoMain in Newark. Now, to be honest, it was sold out because we were playing with some bigger bands, but still. Sold out. We were very psyched, and I have to say the concert was a blast. I felt lucky.

Saturday morning, I went and played worship for the women’s retreat at my church. It was just me and my little red keyboard, and, though I was pretty tired from a late night, I was happy to be there. Then I got to be a part of a small group. My problem with small groups is that I want to make jokes. The. Entire. Time. So, I try to filter and choose just some jokes to make and I try to answer seriously the questions being asked, and I think I do about half of each for half the time. If you’re confused by that, so am I.

And then we each got to paint or draw on or basically decorate however you’d like one tile. The idea was that, in the end, we’d fit them all together to a bigger and more beautiful picture than one we would come up with ourselves. Nice. And now this, I was stoked for. I hardly made a joke at all. Instead, I grabbed colored pencils and a normal led pencil and a charcoal pencil (I guess I really could have saved some time there by just saying pencils, huh?) and went to work. I was happy with my little picture, too, but most people who saw it didn’t really know what to say. Actually, they simply made a sound–kind of a sad puppy dog whining noise upon first glance. I guessed it to be empathic. It wasn’t like a picture of somebody kicking a kitten or anything–don’t be too worried–it was just me as a girl with some words I had written on it, too:

When I asked for a life of wonder, I didn’t know I’d wonder about so much along the way.

I don’t really consider it to be a huge downer. I mean, it’s not like I drew a big D for you-know-what (ah that would be divorced, and not a certain first name that starts with the letter D). Life is full of wonder. The end result is redemption, but there’s a lot of other messy stuff that we happen upon along the way. And I don’t have all the answers and I don’t know what the results will look like in detail, and thus: I wonder.

And then Saturday night, Shane and I played for a bunch of lovely and oh-my-goodness-fun! midwives at a wisewoman conference in MD. I think Shane was pretty thrilled to be so completely outnumbered by the ladies. There was one man there at the dance party (yes. dance party!) that we were party to after we played our set, but both Shane and I agreed that since he simply sat on a couch and did nothing, he didn’t really count. And like I said, playing our music was super fun, but afterwards there was much conversing, karaoke-ing, and dancing, and that was a hilarious bunch of good ol’ times. Especially when the eldest midwife there grabbed Shane and made him dance with her.

ha. ha. ha.

And then Sunday came. I had my own little church-ish time by driving down to the ocean, sitting upon its shore and sharing quite a few moments with it. Oh, it was lovely. The ocean has a way of filling up the parts of me that feel empty. I walked along the shore for a very long time; as I did so, I imagined there to be healing in the cold, cold water. I imagined myself stronger and better because of it.

I think I was a sponge today, dropped into a whole bucket of peace. And since then, I have felt some squeezing, felt the peace try to leave my veins, but no thank you, squeezing. I will keep this peace, if you don’t mind. I will be squeezed and I will be peaceful; it will be done. Not because of all my trying, I think, though; trying gets me mostly just tired. No, I think it has more to do with surrender. And um, patience. And love–the kind you read about that says a lot about kindness and being slow to anger and oh, patience. Yes, that again.

Sorry, I didn’t take any pictures of the ocean. But it was very big and very wet and very loud, if that helps with imagining it. It had a sky that hovered over it, grey and full, and there seemed to be a razor sharp edge to the water that I could just barely make out in the distance, upon which a boat sat precariously. Don’t worry, the boat held its balance quite well, and never did fall off the edge. Not while I was there, anyway.

And now to be like the boat and not fall off the edge. To be like the sponge and absorb the peace. And to be like the midwives and dance like you mean it. And also catch babies. Well, okay–maybe just the dancing part, for now.

The Paper Janes have no business cards. We have been known to write down our info on a napkin. Or maybe it was a receipt. Well, it was small and wouldn’t really hold its own in the rain, I remember that much. Classy. Yes, I know.

So I got inspired to make something. To pass out. You know, with our information and pictures and relationship statuses on it. Just kidding about that. We wouldn’t actually give out our information.

ha.

But, the weirdest thing happens when I start to make something–anything, really. I get all happy inside. Almost giddy. Maybe it’s the way a golden retriever feels when you throw a ball and they bring it back. Like they fit, or something. Like there is nothing else in the whole wide world that they’d rather be doing in that instant than going after that ball. How nice when we get it right, you know?

But I asked Shane how many he thought I should make. I was making them, you know. Glue would be involved. And lots of cutting.  And I had just shy of two hours for this project. Yes, I am not the world’s best at planning ahead.

“How many you think I should make?” I asked. “Like…four?”

And he laughed.

“Jess,” he said, “There are gonna be over a hundred people there!”

“So…like, eight, then?”

Silence.

“Make as many as you can,” He finally replied.

And I did. Which turned out to be nine. I thought that was a good amount, actually.

And none of them were the same size. No two in the bunch. Is nine considered a bunch? I guess it is now. But they were all a little irregular because I am not what one would consider the measuring type.

Anyway, it was a fun little project. And much thanks to Christian for helping me get the picture down to size and Janine for laminating every last one in the bunch (since we’ve decided nine is considered a bunch, after all).