The Lyrics to "Hard to Get" by Rich Mullins

You who live in heaven
Hear the prayers of those of us who live on earth
Who are afraid of being left by those we love
And who get hardened by the hurt
Do you remember when You lived down here where we all scrape
To find the faith to ask for daily bread?
Did You forget about us after You had flown away?
Well I memorized every word You said
Still I'm so scared, I'm holding my breath
While You're up there just playing hard to get
You who live in radiance
Hear the prayers of those of us who live in skin
We have a love that's not as patient as Yours was
Still we do love now and then
Did You ever know loneliness?
Did You ever know need?
Do You remember just how long a night can get?
When You were barely holding on
And Your friends fall asleep
And don't see the blood that's running in Your sweat
Will those who mourn be left uncomforted
While You're up there just playing hard to get?
And I know you bore our sorrows
And I know you feel our pain
And I know it would not hurt any less
Even if it could be explained
And I know that I am only lashing out
At the One who loves me most
And after I figured this, somehow All I really need to know
Is if You who live in eternity
Hear the prayers of those of us who live in time
We can't see what's ahead
And we can not get free of what we've left behind
I'm reeling from these voices that keep screaming in my ears
All the words of shame and doubt, blame and regret
I can't see how You're leading me
unless You've led me here
Where I'm lost enough to let myself be led
And so You've been here all along I guess
It's just Your ways and You are just plain hard to get.

Lay Hold On Eternal Life (Grateful Tuesdays #3)

Dear God,

I thank you for people. For Donald Miller, first of all, who showed me it's okay to need people. And secondly for all the people he showed me it's okay to need. For Katie (who, I hope, has not transgressed beyond the point of salvation) and her similar need for, and delight in people. I thank you that she delights in me; I know she does, because she missed me very much when I was gone.

And God you know the person first on my mind at present. My Lord, is it all right that she is there? I suspect so. I suspect that your view of things is not half so grave and gloomy as mine is.

Dear God, thank you for being a God of buoyancy, a God that lightens loads and relives burdens. A God who understands what it is to be weary. And confused. Do you, God? Has your mind ever known confusion? Or is that to be the one chink in your armor of understanding?

You must, you must have known confusion. Of course I see it now, a little. I see a little of it in you before you changed water to wine. A little in how you reacted to us human beings.

How do you react to us, I wonder? Are you really very mad with us? With me? Or is your reaction more one sadness? Or maybe amusement? Oh God, to know that, at the very least, if I fall short of pleasing you, I amuse you. To put a grin on your holy face, my Lord. To cause a reaction from you.

Do I cause a reaction, God? Do I have an effect on you? Is there something that, that... happens to you God, when I'm around you? Something that you can't help? What is the effect?

I've heard it said that you love me. I'd like to hear it from you.

I have 59 unread emails in my inbox.

I'm trying to get to yours. Honest I am.

My Ten Favorite Love Songs

Yes, I said "love". You know, that man-woman thing, the thing that causes well-groomed princes to slay dragons and disgruntled daddies to change diapers at midnight. You know, The Beatles sing about it a lot.

Now, I don't claim to know a whole lot about this subject (having avoided both dragons and diapers with equal vigor), but I guess I know enough to at least make a top ten list, and would you please hold your snickering till the end of the tour? Thank you. Let's begin.

All I Want is You, U2
Eileen's Song, Burlap to Cashmere
Casimir Pualski Day, Sufjan Stevens
Built Her a Cloud, Terry Scott Taylor
A Man and a Woman, U2
This Sweet Old World, Emmylou Harris (A cover of I'm not sure who)
When I'm Sixty-Four, The Beetles
I Walk the Line, Johnny Cash
A Moment in Time, The Choir
Hush Now (Stella's Tarantella), Over the Rhine

Well, there's the list for now; there's no order to it yet, and I know I'm missing a bunch probably. Does anyone have any suggestions? What are your favorites? I'm thinking of trying to put fit U2's "Love is Blindness" into the list; what do you think? What about "Crown of Love" by Arcade Fire? Oh, what about "Girl from the North Country" (Bob Dylan, Johnny Cash)? And should I put why I like each song or just leave that to your imagination?

At least Katie will be excited...

Jeff Berryman has good news for Leaving Ruin fans; he is apparently mostly finished with Ruin's sequel Hunting Grace (and anxious to begin work on a third book!). It's in the hands of his publisher right now.

I love Jeff Berryman; The Daily Hopper has always been one my favorite blogs to go to when I just want to soak in good writing, and the companionship I found in Berryman's Leaving Ruin was great (as in "a large amount"). I had no idea a sequel was in the works! How exciting! Aren't you excited?

Installment Twenty Six...

"Angels fly because they take themselves lightly."

-G. K. Chesterton

Blogging is for Dweebs

And, as a card carrying member of the Dorks Of America, I can say it's good to be back.

Let me begin this sojourn back into the land of the (mostly) living with a topic that has been on my mind of late. Or at least my face. I'm talking of course about facial hair, and I'm afraid that other, less meaningful topics (e.g. how I spent my summer at a Bible camp, what it was like being in the same time-zone as the girl with whom I'm prayerfully cultivating a "getting-to-know-you" relationship, the role of rest and peace in the life of a child of God etc.) will have to wait.

What concerns me chiefly right now is the role that facial hair has played in my life and the question of whether or not I should keep what little of it I have on my face (or continue the life of slavery and hardship that is shaving).

First things first, a brief personal history of facial hair:

• About six years old: I wonder to myself where mustaches come from and reach the conclusion (based on a little research and personal observation) that a man's mustache grows from his nostrils. Riddle solved.
• A little later: Bad discovery. I notice some of the older ladies in our village have faint mustaches. Conclusion: Everyone has facial hair; it's just that most women, in order to please their too-psychically focused husbands, decide to shave it off (which calls my Dad's moral character into question and explains my Mom's need for razor and shaving cream). I begin to wonder if God will be okay with me asking my wife to please shave or if that would be changing things too much from the way they're supposed to be (how did Adam cope with Eve's facial hair?). Oh yeah, and it turns out the nostril-hair thing's a bust.
• Puberty: Ahh! Dark hairs on my face! I pull them out in an attempt to keep all the changes at bay. They keep growing.
• A little later: Peach fuzz big time above my lip. Surely girls are not attracted to this!
• A little more later: I shave for the first time! Worries over; it's a carefree life of clean-shaveness from here on out!
• More a little later: Discover the need to shave again, but if I ask Dad if I can borrow his razor will he think I'm growing up too fast? I decide to lock the door and shave in secret. This continues for several months till what I'm doing gradually becomes obvious to Mom and Dad.
• About fifteen years old: The rest of the family finds out that I shave. And the world breaths a collective sigh of relief.
• Spring 2006: Grow a beard-like thing.
• Summer 2006: Shave off beard-like thing. Continue slavishly shaving the rest of summer.
• END OF SUMMER 2006: BEARD-LIKE THING RETURNS! Boy it's nice not to shave! But boy oh boy is my face ever scratchy! [Angst piles up, provoking blog post...]

Okay, so that's where we're at now. I like having facial hair (and not having to shave!), but I think that, on a nineteen-year-old, it might just look like I'm trying too hard. Maybe I should shave and just wait till I'm twenty to let it grow back. Yes I think that's what I'll do.

Hey look! It took me so long to write this post that I've already arrived at a decision without getting to hear any of your input. Oh darn. Well, they'll be more angst to come, I'm sure. Until then, this is me, signing off.

He Has Made Everything Beautiful in Its Time (Grateful Tuesdays #2)

I've decided to keep going with this blogging-thanksgiving thing, for which, by the way, I've made a new rule: I'll avoid mentioning the same thing two weeks in a row. Other than that, everything's the same.

====

Dear God,

Thank you for my stuffed kangaroo "Kanga" and her little joey "Roo". (If it be your will, would you allow my kids to be more creative when they name their stuffed animals?) Thank you that we are reunited at last and that they are willing to sit on my bed all day. Thank you also for my yellow blanket which I've had since I was born and which doesn't have a name. Thank you that almost nobody makes fun of me for still having it. Thank you that it has been a good friend these past nineteen and a half years or so.

Thank you for Albert and Elric and the good traveling companions they are. Albert is so cool in all his white-ness, and Elric is so cool in all his green-ness. For Ernest too. I also thank you for my friend's computer Eddie, even though he is a PC. And for Firefly who I helped name. They are all great tools and great friends.

Thank you for my uncle and my cousins. Thank you for how excited they get over music and that my uncle calls me the "iPod master" and that he put me in charge of the music yesterday while we were driving to various grave sites and so forth. Actually, I thank you for all of my uncles; I'd get more specific, but I don't think I'm allowed to.

I thank you for my extended family in general. Thank you that I can count each one of my cousins as a friend in his or her own right and that we all get along so well.

I thank you that my friend now has a Volkswagen Microbus and that I will now see it most every day. This is probably the best thing that's ever happened to me. Ever.

I thank you for tea: For wild raspberry herbal tea and for Tazo Passion tea especially. I thank you that every time I smell wild raspberry tea it makes me think of U2's "Electrical Storm" because I listened to that a lot at camp. I thank you for how you are continually affirming my calling (your calling), how, at camp, you showed me the vital role of art in the lives of children and the amazing ministering power of beauty. I thank you for all the beauty that you've brought into my life. I thank you for women who I'll just see around town or throughout my day who take time to be beautiful. I always want to go up and thank them. I'm not sure why.

I thank you for my friend Tim, for his love of music and of people. Thank you for how much he's taught me about community. I'm sorry that he's leaving. Thank you that he's following you, though. Also thank you so much for the community that you've put me in.

Thank you for the companionship I find in reading; I don't know where I'd be without books. Thank you for Godric, who is always trying to be holy, for Hazel in Watership Down, who wants very much to be a good leader. For Reverend Ames, who takes time to think and to remember. For Marilynne Robinson who causes Reverend Ames to think and reflect. For Philip Yancey, who is always looking for the truth.

Keeping me looking for the truth, and bless me now as I seek to do you will.

In Jesus' name I pray. Amen.

My heavens! There's no escaping the randomness!

First Why, then The Queen of Arts and England; now I find that Stan has fallen under the sway of all things random!

Of course, I haven't done anything to alleviate the situation.

Okay, so people have been doing this for a long time, and I'm just freaking out over nothing. But freaking out is fun, so I'll keep on with it. Anyway, all this to say that I've now added Katie and Stan to my homepages so I can keep tabs (get it?) on them daily. They post a lot, and have trouble keeping up with them otherwise.

If you, by the way, think I should add your web page to my list of homepages then just let me know, and I'll think about making you a part of the family.

Happy Birthday, Bob!

It's Bob Dylan's birthday today! Everybody do a dance! Hooray!

Okay, bedtime.

Oh, and to give credit where it's do, this portrait was done by our own Eucharisto some years ago. (On a program called "Appleworks" - the Mac version of Paint [the best program Microsoft ever designed]).

To Enter His Gates

With this post I am making good on a promise that I made to my brother, Why. The promise was that I would steal the format of one of his recent posts for a post of my own. I am also honoring the request of a friend, but, to be truthful, the roots of this post are nevertheless mostly grounded in thievery. However, I've decided to give this stolen item my own twist (surprise!). And seeing as how recently I've come to see the practice of giving thanks as a key element of our beautiful Gospel, this seemed like a good way to do that.

So you see that I'm killing three or four birds with one stone here. But please, poultry genocide aside, join me as I toss this
stone up to glory seeking to give thanks to my Creator. And who knows? Perhaps this will be the first of many thanksgiving posts to come.

===

To begin with basics, Lord, I give thanks for ultimate frisbee. And for Mt. Tabor park even though there's no good spot to play ultimate frisbee up there. This is why I also give thanks for Berrydale park; it's name makes me think of the asylum in Arsenic and Old Lace, but it has a long stretch of grass, and that counts for something.

I give thanks for rain. For running in the rain. For running in the rain on Mt. Tabor park, in the morning when there is a fog in the air and in the trees.

I thank you, God for my friend who's name I don't want to say on the Internet and who goes running three times a week with Why and myself rain or shine, though of course, because he's from California, he'd prefer it were shine. Also I should say that Why and I go running with him, since he's been doing this longer. I thank you most of all for his willingness to listen, I thank you that you brought him into my life at one of its darkest points. Thank you for bringing me out of that darkness. (Don't let me go back.)

Thank you for artists who show me other ways to do things. Thank you that you are far more creative or imaginative than any human. I don't think I could worship a God whom I could out daydream. Thank you for 2001: A Space Odyssey and The New World. Neither film is complete, of course. But they are both so refreshing to my soul. Thank you for Sufjan Stevens and for the Danielson Family and that they both heed your vision (to borrow from the trailer that supplies me with all the information I know about the Danielson Family). Thank you also for Frederick Buechner and for the colorful wings he has put on my perception of the Gospel. Thank you for G. K. Chesterton and the enormous, crushing joy that is your Gospel that he has revealed to me.

Thank you so much for your Gospel, which is Good News not only for the sinner but for the saved. Thank you that you Gospel is a well to which we can continually return. I thank you that you do not stand in the way; the only thing keeping me from being roaring slobbering drunk on that Living Water is me.

Hm.

I thank you for my family. I thank you for the crazy, bottled up tensions and relationships that make up a family; how I'd miss that holy insanity! (I thank you also for using Brave New World to point this out to me.) Give Mom and Dad grace as they seek to serve you. Thank you for parents are willing to fling everything to the wind to chase the Wild Goose that is your Holy Spirit.

(I thank you for "Casimir Pulaski Day", which my computer, Albert is just this moment playing.)

I thank you for relationships. I thank you for the health and richness you have brought into my relationships since bringing me out of the darkness I mentioned. All of the rich friendships, the wonderful people that I can't even begin to name in this place.

Thank you for those two wonderful people who lead our college group; you used them to show me the perilous importance of thanksgiving (and for other things which you and I know).

I send a special prayer of thanks also for the relationship you've permitted me to begin with the girl that most people know here by that very long name. That the person called The Queen of Arts and England would even consent to join me on this "getting to know you" venture is cause enough for a thousand songs. Thank you.

Lastly, my dear sweet Jesus, and perhaps most importantly, I thank for my beautiful sister, Midsummer, who's birthday is tomorrow. I thank you for the summer sunshine that she is in this family and I ask that you make your own face to shine upon her on this special day.

And now I end this prayer of (mostly) thanksgiving, with a prayer that you make me fully alive, fully in communion with you. Use me to bring to life those around me. I hope there's some of you left in this post.

In Jesus' name.

Amen.

Hiatus

Look for me next Monday because I'll be taking a week off from anything related to the Internet (except email; I tend to hurt feelings when I stay away from that for too long). Nothing too serious; I just need to readjust some priorities.

See you Monday!

A Scrap from the Bottom of the Barrel!

I don't have time for a real post today, but (of course) that doesn't mean I can't dig up something from way back in my past. Today's somewhat moldy dish a paper I wrote for my psychology class; yes, it's a hack job, but my teacher liked it, and that's what counts. I quote poetry in it, if that interests you. Besides, some of you (okay, one of you) have expressed interest in reading this paper, so that's probably a good enough excuse. Here it is:

Most Fresh Sting: Memory Storage and Retrieval

In the Australian children's story Wilfrid Gordon McDonald Partridge by Mem Fox, a little boy name Wilfrid who lives next to a retirement home seeks the answer to a simple question: "What is a memory?" Wilfrid asks this question in hopes of somehow restoring the memory of his friend, Miss Nancy, who is suffering from memory-loss. Wilfrid Gordon's neighbors had many different answers to his question, and one gets the feeling that, if modern psychologists were approached on the subject, a similarly varied response would result. The question of Wilfrid Gordon McDonald Partridge still lingers a little in the world of psychology, though perhaps in more complex forms. Psychologists might have moved beyond simply seeking a definition for memory, and instead are asking themselves questions relating to memory storage and retrieval. It is this topic of storage and retrieval that I intend to survey in this paper, focusing also on the role of the olfactory receptors in memory recall.

The concept of memory storage that probably many of us have in the back of our minds is the idea that we store our memories in a little corner of our brain, in a room, perhaps with a sign above the door, labeled "Memories". This is a nice, neat theory of memory, and, of course, it's wrong.

In the early 1900s, psychologists began a search for such a room, a search that more or less continues to this day. These researchers, like the little boy in the story at the beginning of this paper, were looking for memory. But how exactly does one pinpoint memory? Is it localized in one spot (as our imagination might have us believe), or is it spread across the brain? One famous researcher, Harvard psychologist Karl Lashley, went a long way in answering these questions.
Lashley's method was ingenious, though perhaps cruel. According to author Mark Pendergrast (1996), Lashley started by teaching several rats to complete a complex maze. After that, finding where the rats stored their memory would be relatively simple. Lashley would systematically remove sections of the different rat’s brains and let the rats try their luck in the maze again. If a rat demonstrated a total lack of memory for the maze after a certain section of the brain was removed then the search for the memory's storehouse would be complete. But surprisingly, no matter which part of the brain Lashley removed, the rat always retained at least some memory of the maze; it was not where the brain was affected, but how much it was affected that made the difference in how well the rat remembered the maze (pp. 101-102). Lashley’s conclusion: We store memory all over our brain, not just in one localized area.

As "Psychology Today" journalist Jill Neimark (1995) puts it: "Memory is not a single entity residing in a single place.” Neimark goes on to say that memory “is the likelihood that the pathway of neurons and connections an experience forges in the brain can be reactivated again." (Neimark, 13 Ways of Looking at the Brain section, para. 5).

How, then, is a memory formed? We know that a memory starts as an experience. This experience then passes through the hippocampus, where psychologists believe that memory is received, and then the hippocampus decides whether to relay the experience or discard it. (Neimark). If relayed, the experience will be stored along a complex network of neurons. The neural bonds that are formed may then be strengthened over time by recollection.
In William Morris's poem "The Defence of Guenevere" Arthur's runaway queen ponders the phenomena of recollection; what Neimark describes as a “pathway of neurons” being reactivated:

In the lone sea, far off from any ships
Do I not know now of a day in Spring?
No minute of that wild day ever slips

'From out my memory: I hear thrushes sing,
And wheresoever I may be, straightway
Thoughts of it all come up with most fresh sting (103-108)

If memory recall (surely the lifeblood of memory) is the reactivation of such "neural pathways", how does this reactivation occur? Before attempting to answer this question, let us look at the two different types of memory. In the poem above, Queen Guenevere is referring to what’s called “explicit” memory, that is, the memory that records events, people, conversations, and so forth. The other kind of memory, called “implicit” memory, is what’s being referred to when someone says, "Once you learn to ride a bicycle, you never forget it”. Implicit memories are the memories of the unconscious: skills, routines, strategies, and the like. I do not intend to delve into the recall of implicit memory in this paper, but instead propose to explore briefly the effects of certain sensory stimuli on the minds explicit memory.

We know from experience that a familiar taste, the whiff of a scent can trigger memories long thought forgotten. An unpleasant car trip, and exciting family adventure, a time of great loss, the intimacy of relationship. Consider this quote about the power of the sense of smell to release a flood of memories:

“My grandfather died three years ago, and his image in (a photograph), caught in a moment of posed reunion, often reminds me of my boyhood, when he doted on me as his hunting and fishing companion. Yet the recollections are vague and distant.
Recently, however, I took his old deerskin hunting vest out of the closet and on an impulse pressed it to my face and sniffed. Abruptly there came over me a rush of emotion and memory as intimate as it was compelling. No longer was I an adult squinting across a chasm of years at dim events: Suddenly I was a boy again, and there in all but the flesh was my grandfather, methodically reloading his shotgun as the flushed quail sailed beyond the mesquite.
This was no hazy reverie. I could feel his whiskered cheek against mine and smell his peculiar fragrance.” (Boyd Gibbons)

This only makes sense, considering that the olfactory receptors have a direct link to what is thought to be one of the key areas in memory processing in the brain.

In conclusion we see that, while Wilfrid Gordon may not find a definite answer to his question, the field of the study of memory is beginning to cement some of the foundational concepts of memory, including memory storage, and is also advancing in the study of what sensory stimuli strengthen and trigger memory.





















References
Fox M. Wilfrid Gordon McDonald Partridge (1989) Kane/Miller Book Publishers
Gibbons B. as quoted in Creating Understanding by Donald K. Smith (1992). Zondervan Publishing House.
Morris W. (1909-14). The Defence of Guenevere. The Harvard Classics.
Neimark J. (1995). It s magical. It s malleable. It s..memory. Psychology Today, 13 Ways of Looking at the Brain section, para. 5.
Pendergrast, M. (1996). Victims of Memory (pp. 101-102). Upper Access, Inc. Book Publishers.

For Cash Fans

Wow.

This is very, very exciting news. (Found via Thunderstruck.)

A task for my intelligent readers (that would be all of you)

I'm working on a post for my new darling: Communication Matters, but I need your help. The essay I'm working on will (God-willing) explore the concept of "Christian" Music, but I think that before I go off and form my definition I should do some shopping and see what good ones are out there. This will give me idea of what normal, sane people (i.e. people not like me) think on this matter. This is, of course, where you come in: While I would hesitate to call any of my readers "normal", you are pretty much all sane, and I think it would be helpful to me if you would give me an idea of what you believe "Christian" Music is. For example: How do you discern whether or not a song (or movie, or book for that matter) is "Christian" or "Non-Christian"? What trials must it go through? Is it the artist responsible? The content? The market it was released to?

These are just some questions to keep in mind. I can't wait to hear your responses.

Something a little more personal...

My dear readers,

As most of you know, I have started up a new blog called Communication Matters. I am very excited about this blog and on it I intend to post all of my most profound thoughts and ideas, which seem to occur to me on a bi-weekly basis. In the meanwhile, I have decided that this blog (Foolish Knight) shall contain a bit more of that which is personal, a bit more of the every day.

So, reasoning along these lines, I thought it would be good to let you know something that has changed about my life in recent days. Well, not changed exactly, but... well, I'll just tell you: The smell of my new deodorant, at times, hurts my teeth. I'm dead serious: It's that strong and that weird.

Now this is a vast improvement over my last deodorant which, by the way, didn't have any odor AT ALL. It seems to me that if a deodorant doesn't really prevent bad body odor (which this last one DIDN'T), the least it can do is cover it up.

Am I right? What do you guys think? Let me know by leaving a comment expressing your views.

Also, you guys should really check out my new post on Communication Matters. It will change your life forever.

Installment Twenty Five...

"A saint is somone who exaggerates what the world neglects."

-G. K. Chesterton

Speak Now...

I'm plan to make my blog rounds on Saturday; leave a comment on this post if you think I should visit your blog (and you might let me know what you've been up to recently, if you think about it).

See ya Saturday! ("Ya" is a weird word too; I'm ashamed to have used it.)

Fascinating News Items And Grammar Bits!

Now that I feel bad for having run you guys through the ringer a little bit with that April Fools prank (Midsummer tells me that, on judgment day, I'll have to answer for the part about wanting you guys to pray for me), I guess it's time for a real update. (Update is a funny word, by the way; it hasn't been around for very long. It was invented, I believe, by businessmen. A dry word, I think.)

Anyway, starting with old news, I have gotten a short haircut. It's been about a month, I think, so it's not so short now, but I plan on keeping it short throughout the summer because it's so convenient (and at camp, convenience is essential).

Which brings me to my next "update" (again, funny word): I've been accepted as a counselor at Trout Creek Bible camp, and I'll be working there from June 8th to August 26th, then there's a weekend retreat, so camp really ends on the 29th. Hooray for weekend retreats, woo hoo! ("Woo hoo" is also a funny phrase, and one that I plan on using a lot this summer. [Keep in mind also, that there is no such phrase as "alot", in fact I planned on using the nonexistent word at the beginning of the second sentence of my April Fools post, just to tip you guys off, but I settled for using two exclamation marks on the end of the first sentence instead - which really, if you ask me, should have been enough of a hint for you guys.])


In other news (which is, by the way, probably the laziest transition phrase ever) today I got to help out with childcare for Mom's Club at church, which, since there are plenty of kids but only ever a few boys, means that there were lots of little pink

(Hey! Because I got bored writing this post, I went to the Looking Closer Journal and found this witty piece about the future of television. Joss Whedon is a funny man.)

people running around, and it also means that I had the chance to truly express myself through the unfortunately under-appreciated category of "pink crayon" art, the results of which can be seen here.

Okay, one last news item: I have started a new blog, what's more, I believe that its justified even! Take a look.

Exciting Update!

Dear All,

There's so much to tell you!! A lot has happened in my life since you last heard from me; I won't be able to tell you everything though, so I'll just keep it brief. Last week was a wonderful time for me; this girl at church who I've been interested in for a long time (I won't say her name here, but I think that some of you know her) finally agreed to "go out" (as public schoolers would say) with me and we had a great time! I've never been in a serious relationship like this before, so if you all would pray that I would have wisdom, I'd really appreciate that.

Be sure to leave a comment and let me know what's going on in your life! (And happy first of "International Guitar Month"!)