Imagine Peace

Right now I'm listening to music--"Imagine Peace" by Phil Edmonds, played by Aubrey Atwater on a tin whistle. Hence the post title. It's a really pretty whistle song--I can't for the life of me play that on it, because it goes really high and can't sound shrill because it's an air.

Probably soon the novelty will wear off and I'll stop posting here, but for right now I like it. I like having my own web space--I used to have that, and I know for a fact that one person visited, and I have a sneekin' hunch that someone else saw it too--that's another story. It's been so long!

It's Monday, and of course school has started again--oy gevalt, I hate math and lab! If science were just reading and writing it would be very cool. School actually started last week, January 2nd, a little earlier than normal, because we're going to Chiang Mai, Thailand, in a couple weeks. I probably can't post from there, but I'm going to keep a note so I can blog about going to a real foreign country!!!

I was just thinking today about people I used to know, and wondering if someday I'll ever see them. Like Teacher Sandy and Caroline, Kameron, and Jan. They knew I was cuckoo and they liked me anyway (Teacher Sandy, of course, called it "creativity"). For that, I am thankful, and I don't think some of my passions would be as well developed if it hadn't been for them.

I've never heard "Imagine Peace" the way I think I should hear it--the way I would hear it in Drumleman. See, when I first heard it, live, I was sitting along the back wall of a room in Hinsdale, IL, my eyes fixed on someone in the front--Ms. Atwater, playing her whistle, with her husband Elwood Donnelly playing guitar chords that blended perfectly in the music. The next time I heard it, I was playing it on my violin somewhat incorrectly on my violin for my mother for Christmas. Just this past summer, I got Atwater-Donnelly's wonderful CD, And Then I'm Going Home. And then it was summer with the windows open and golden light pouring in. Sometimes paint was drying on the walls--I wasn't in Drumleman then.

The perfect hearing, of course, would be on a dark rainy night--I think I'd be all alone, with nobody around. And I'd stare out the window at the streetlights, which would glow golden and little golden raindrops would fall from them--that would happen from the headlights, too. And I'd be alone, and not have to worry about having to talk about something, nothing would interupt my imagining--not peace, but a different, very different time, wistfully remembering...

...and then the magic would end. Yes, even in Drumleman would the magic end. Mum and Susie would come home from the library, and we'd listen to Like the Willow Tree while eating popcorn and apples at the coffee table. Mmm, I would taste the butter on the popcorn, and it wouldn't be yellow-orange goat butter (do not try that, it's not good) but sweet perfect pale yellow normal butter. And the salt would be just right, and the apples would be delicious granny smiths. And then, after we'd had our fill, Daddy would come home, and we'd be one big happy family. He might eat a little leftover popcorn, but he'd already have had a good supper, and he'd have a funny story to tell us. And then Mum would say, "I'll do the dishes, you just rest," but he'd be ready to play a game or something. And then we'd bathe and get into bed and I'd fall asleep to "Curragh of Kildare" and the drone of my parent's voices...

Be prepared for dreams like this, they happen often. Actually, I'm not sure I'll ever fall asleep to "Curragh of Kildare" again, but there's a good reason. But I'd settle for 50-50.

Saro