For the third morning in as many weeks...

...John and I awoke to the piercing and shrill shriek of our building's unique fire alarm. A single, monotonous (though in no way boring) sound that ought to frustrate dolphins somewhere near Hawaii.

The first morning (it's been around 4 a.m. each time), John and I stumbled ridiculously around the apartment for no less than 2 minutes before I had the bright idea to turn on the lights and get my glasses. This was not before I was on the ground, plugging my ears and crying, "Turn it off! Make it stop! Why won't it stop?!"

I'm not kidding, I was a wreck.

Because this morning was our third incident, we have since developed a pattern for taking turns covering the alarm while the other gets dressed until we both wander downstairs where the noise is somewhat less deafening. Our maintenance manager, who happens to live in our building, has also figured out how to disable the alarm after about 7 minutes. Much better than the 20 that it took the first time, since we had to wait until the FD showed up.

What made this day different is that we thought the worst was over. I hate losing sleep due to vandals, but I was willing to brush it off and keep my chin up. Until John called me around 10 a.m. to confirm that my car was still in working order.

You see, it seems that our neighborhood [insert choice of crude name here, I'm trying to keep this blog clean] was feeling rather feisty this morning and pulled out a blade to slash tires. From our rusty calculation, he hit at least 20 cars. Seriously.

John lost 3 tires.

3 STINKIN tires.

Seriously.

And I'm glad that it was only material. And I'm glad that no one was hurt.

But I'm feeling a little bit naked right now.

And despite the fact that I feel much better after discussing security and building transfer options with our leasing manager for about 45 minutes tonight...I'm not ready to go to bed.

Because I just wonder how smart is this idiot? I wonder how methodical he/she is to possibly be involved with pulling a fire alarm at nearly the exact time on three separate occasions and then slashing multiple tires on nearly 2 dozen cars without anyone noticing. And I keep thinking that who's to say it won't happen again tonight. Or tomorrow.

Thankfully, I'm not afraid for my life. But boy is this inconvenient.

Today, I had a four-year-old ask me...

..."Mrs. Ledbetter? God is always watching us, right?"

"Yes, Quinn, He is."

"Then why do those things happen?"

"What things, Quinn?"

"You know, the bad things? Why does he let those happen? Like when people get hurt?"

SERIOUSLY? It's only Tuesday.

But this is reason 526 for why I love my job.

What is it about music...

...that conjures up emotions that appear deep and suspiciously superficial all at once?

It's happened before that I've been asked to create a soundtrack to my life, and yet the job has never appealed to me. It is difficult enough for me to search through old photo albums for that picture I so vaguely remember without becoming an emotional wreck of joy and sorrow as I recall the millions of moments that have created the lives of myself and those around me. To add music to those moments makes them that much more vivid and intimate. I'd be a puffy-eyed mess for days.

I've had Robbie Seay's newest album in my car, rotating through each song over and over, learning every nuance and letting it become my current soundtrack on my drive to work, yoga, SuperTarget or random social event. It brings feelings of release after a long day at work, when I've left early enough to just miss the evening traffic, instead traveling home at a brisk pace, with the windows rolled down and singing of Christ's return.

What strikes me each time I hear it are three notes in one particular song. Three notes. But the progression is eerily similar to those in a old favorite song by a band called, The Kry. Now, I've done this my whole life, I guess. But I have a tendency to run a CD into the ground by playing it over and over until I nearly forget what other music sounds like. And after I came home from my second summer of Camp Esperanza at the ripe age of 11 years and 11 months, I listened to The Kry every second I could and cried about missing my friends at camp and feeling sort of lonely for being back in a world that didn't quite understand me like this new one did.

And while I'm creating new memories and adding new songs to the 100-disc CD set that could be the soundtrack to this life, I'm so easily tossed into an old world. A world that seems very long ago, very different and set apart from the one I occupy now.

And all it takes is music. Just three notes.

I'm nearing the end of April...

...and I had a teary-eyed moment today as I watch two of my girls have a special moment, and I realized that one of them would be moving shortly. Then I realized that all of them would be moving soon...on they go to public school or a different private school or...whatever.

I was teary-eyed because I know that I will miss them dearly. I was on the edge of a full-fledge sobfest as I realized that my first year of teaching will soon come to a close.

If I can get my act together, I should be blogging soon. I am impressed with and grateful for just how much is going on in our lives right now. And maybe it's for just that reason that I went on a temporary computer-hiatus.

peace out...