Sunday, June 23, 2013

A Concert for the Disconcerted describes it this way:

dis-con-cert-ed [dis-kuh n-sur-tid]

  1. disturbed, as in one's composure or self-possession; perturbed; ruffled: She was disconcerted by the sudden attack on her integrity.
  2. bewildered or confused, as by something unexpected: The class was disconcerted by the instructor's confusion.
I would describe it like this:  It's been a hell of a week.

Blogging is difficult when my head and my heart are occupied elsewhere. I sat here yesterday looking at a blank "compose" screen for a long time, giving up on it because my thoughts were too scattered to post even a simple Saturday Song Selection. 

This morning I awoke with more clarity, able to uncork my feelings and let them flow, understanding that I don't have to be strong every minute, that bending like a willow can keep someone from breaking. Also, in between writing the last sentence and this one, I've had phone calls from two of a few special people who are my rocks: I know I can always count on them. Furthermore, if I imagine myself standing in a circle with those people, I can look at them one by one and identify their rocks, too; they each have a supportive network of others to look out for them. That's how we roll when it's our turn to be rocks.

With that in mind, I'm giving myself permission to post a Saturday Song on Sunday this week, because I now know exactly the right song to fit the situation (even if you don't like country music). If you ever find yourself feeling as though someone has tossed a nestful of angry hornets into your lap and you don't know where to swat first, remember that the people who are your rocks want you to know this:

The song is "I Won't Let Go," by Rascal Flatts.
Thanks to DieHardCreations for posting the song and its lyrics on YouTube.


  1. Dear Linda, I'm so sorry you are struggling. Please know you're in my thoughts and that I'm always here if you need an ear or a shoulder. Take care of yourself, my friend.

    1. Thank you, Annette. I knew that about you already, and it means a lot. Yes, I'm struggling, but please don't be concerned. Several small "hornets" flew at me at once, but the big mean ones--the ones that worry me most--are buzzing around the face of someone I love. This morning I had time to take a breath and reflect on the situation, and the lack of clear-cut solutions made me feel woefully inadequate. I felt more like a pebble than like anybody's rock. But ... that was this morning. Right now, at bedtime, I'm feeling very much like a rock again. Thanks for caring.

  2. I hope all is well with you. It's been a helluva week here too!


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