It was such a beautiful day. I feel this way and that way, headachey and heartachey, but not trapped by it. Just aware, and not surprised, and knowing it'll be better in a day or two. Not daring to cross my gratitude with doubt today. Doubt seems like betrayal, after all I've been given. Why should it be perplexing anymore, after feeling the lightness turn to heaviness and the heaviness turn to lightness, so so many countless times... why would it be a surprise? (Rilke: Now stone, now star.)
Evening
The sky puts on the darkening blue coat
held for it by a row of ancient trees;
you watch: and the lands grow distant in your sight,
one journeying to heaven, one that falls;
and leave you, not at home in either one,
not quite so still and dark as the darkened houses,
not calling to eternity with the passion
of what becomes a star each night, and rises;
and leave you (inexpressibly to unravel)
your life, with its immensity and fear,
so that, now bounded, now immeasurable,
it is alternately stone in you and star.
..
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
what?
I just realized how similar the words cellophane and cellphone are. How odd.
...
By the way... it's now official:
I'll be spending all of January and February in Hawaii.
The bosses have signed off; I can work remotely from my laptop. I'll be buying the plane tickets as soon as I get my paycheque in a few days.
C'mon, rainclouds. Bring it.
...
...
By the way... it's now official:
I'll be spending all of January and February in Hawaii.
The bosses have signed off; I can work remotely from my laptop. I'll be buying the plane tickets as soon as I get my paycheque in a few days.
C'mon, rainclouds. Bring it.
...
heavy wine
Part I: Going to the Symphony
People like to do this for 'the experience.' That's what it seems like to me. And hey, I don't knock that. It is an experience. You get to dress up, mingle in the red-carpetted lobby with its sweeping staircases, then seek out your God-given seat and settle down politely, staring up in anticipation at the stage. Then the noble entrance of the concert-master, the beautiful sound of tuning 5ths, then silence, the wait for the conductor and the soloist. Applause. Coughing. Crossing, uncrossing legs, murmurs. Then the baton is raised.... a zillion pounds of energy quivers on a bowstring, and is released - Kapow!
3 minutes later, the first coughers start to get uneasy, start to fidget and look for coughdrops. Take 5 minutes to unwrap them painstakingly, penetrating the fullest symphonic sounds with the crinkling of cellophane. When that sound dies away, it's replaced by whispers somewhere behind you. Then someone in the middle of the 5th row suddenly needs to leave, and climbs over 20 people, stiffling coughs, and hurries down the aisle and out the door. The man besides you starts to tap his knee out of time. People squirm and sneeze. Then suddenly it's over, and people jump to their feet because the music was fast and flashy and virtuosic, which you could tell even without really listening.
It's always the same, which never ceases to amaze me. When I was a kid my Mom taught me proper concert etiquette; she was militant about it. Sit motionless, with ears open and everything else still. Pay attention. Allow the people around you to absord the music without distraction. The thing is, you can't do anything about other people. Some people had militant concert-manner Moms, but most people didn't. So you have to accept the noises as if they're part of the music. Beside the flutes, you have the 1st and 2nd cellophanes. The timpanis are behind the coughing chorus, and the random-noisers sit at the front of the stage, in black-bow-ties, and drop programmes and let their cellphones ring at cleverly provoking intervals.
Part II: When Music Jumbles Your Organs About
Ravel does this - he jumbles me, makes me all tingley and sparkey and at the same time gloopy and melty. This happens independant of the Symphony 'experience'... and I wonder how many people actually come to get what's really being offered. Ravel had the most incredible sense of colour and orchestrated like an impressionist painter. It was so delicious to get to hear some of 'Daphnis & Chloe' live, even if it was not the most inspired orchestra in the world. It really wrung me out and released all those chemicals that remind my body why life is good. No - why life is inexpressibly wondrous.
Part III: A favourite poem by Rilke:
Lord, it is time. The summer was immense.
Lay your shadow on the sundials
and let loose the wind in the fields.
Bid the last fruits to be full;
give them another two more southerly days,
press them to ripeness, and chase
the last sweetness into the heavy wine.
Whoever has no house now will not build one anymore.
Whoever is alone now will remain so for a long time,
will stay up, read, write long letters,
and wander the avenues up and down,
restlessly, while the leaves are blowing.
..
This is about me, only I don't think 'restlessly' is the right word. Maybe 'wander the forest while the leaves are blowing.' It's such a sad, sweet poem. I am alone, and for some reason don't see myself not being alone - at least not for some time. But there's a closeness with everything, in spite of that, and it does not feel bad.
..
People like to do this for 'the experience.' That's what it seems like to me. And hey, I don't knock that. It is an experience. You get to dress up, mingle in the red-carpetted lobby with its sweeping staircases, then seek out your God-given seat and settle down politely, staring up in anticipation at the stage. Then the noble entrance of the concert-master, the beautiful sound of tuning 5ths, then silence, the wait for the conductor and the soloist. Applause. Coughing. Crossing, uncrossing legs, murmurs. Then the baton is raised.... a zillion pounds of energy quivers on a bowstring, and is released - Kapow!
3 minutes later, the first coughers start to get uneasy, start to fidget and look for coughdrops. Take 5 minutes to unwrap them painstakingly, penetrating the fullest symphonic sounds with the crinkling of cellophane. When that sound dies away, it's replaced by whispers somewhere behind you. Then someone in the middle of the 5th row suddenly needs to leave, and climbs over 20 people, stiffling coughs, and hurries down the aisle and out the door. The man besides you starts to tap his knee out of time. People squirm and sneeze. Then suddenly it's over, and people jump to their feet because the music was fast and flashy and virtuosic, which you could tell even without really listening.
It's always the same, which never ceases to amaze me. When I was a kid my Mom taught me proper concert etiquette; she was militant about it. Sit motionless, with ears open and everything else still. Pay attention. Allow the people around you to absord the music without distraction. The thing is, you can't do anything about other people. Some people had militant concert-manner Moms, but most people didn't. So you have to accept the noises as if they're part of the music. Beside the flutes, you have the 1st and 2nd cellophanes. The timpanis are behind the coughing chorus, and the random-noisers sit at the front of the stage, in black-bow-ties, and drop programmes and let their cellphones ring at cleverly provoking intervals.
Part II: When Music Jumbles Your Organs About
Ravel does this - he jumbles me, makes me all tingley and sparkey and at the same time gloopy and melty. This happens independant of the Symphony 'experience'... and I wonder how many people actually come to get what's really being offered. Ravel had the most incredible sense of colour and orchestrated like an impressionist painter. It was so delicious to get to hear some of 'Daphnis & Chloe' live, even if it was not the most inspired orchestra in the world. It really wrung me out and released all those chemicals that remind my body why life is good. No - why life is inexpressibly wondrous.
Part III: A favourite poem by Rilke:
Lord, it is time. The summer was immense.
Lay your shadow on the sundials
and let loose the wind in the fields.
Bid the last fruits to be full;
give them another two more southerly days,
press them to ripeness, and chase
the last sweetness into the heavy wine.
Whoever has no house now will not build one anymore.
Whoever is alone now will remain so for a long time,
will stay up, read, write long letters,
and wander the avenues up and down,
restlessly, while the leaves are blowing.
..
This is about me, only I don't think 'restlessly' is the right word. Maybe 'wander the forest while the leaves are blowing.' It's such a sad, sweet poem. I am alone, and for some reason don't see myself not being alone - at least not for some time. But there's a closeness with everything, in spite of that, and it does not feel bad.
..
Monday, September 27, 2010
classical thought cluster
After those Mozart quintets on Friday I have been on a Mozart spree. Piano concertos, violin concertos, clarinet concertos, quartets, sonatas... But my collection is paltry compared to how much he wrote. I'm feeling a bit shabby in the classical music knowledge these days; it's time to brush up. Starting with Mozart. Gotta make a trip to Sikora's. Was watching a crazy Rameau opera yesterday while collaging. Bizarre and riskee, especially for Baroque. They were not prudes. Tonight I'm going to the Symphony for some Saint-Saens and Ravel - fantastic! Hope it lives up.
..
..
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Human beans
There were lots of beetles on the trail today, so I had to watch my step. They're so big and shiny and fast - like rolls royces. Gorgeous out there - so lush. Mmm.
It's been a productive weekend. Got my 12th envelope finished, and am loving the process. Spreading out farther for materials to scavenge, learning better techniques for folding the pocket, making the flaps interesting shapes, etc. They're all really different, and I'm not sure yet who will get which one, but it will be fun to decide that later on.
I'm enjoying this 4-a-week game, even though it's a bit of a push, and I had an idea today for another mail-project to start once I'm finished all these letters. I'm going to keep making crazy post, 2 envelopes/letters a week. I will send one of them to somebody ridiculously out of my league. The other one I will send to a random stranger, chosen blindly from a phonebook. The letter will basically contain well-wishes, a few statements about why I'm doing what I'm doing, and an email address in case they feel like saying hello back. It'll be my way of keeping up the creative (non-musical) flow, of practicing giving freely, and saying F-YOU to Facebook, online dating, text messages, and impersonal, lazy communication. I love the idea of throwing things out to the world at random. Of spending a few hours making something with great care and love, and then sending it away to a stranger. It just feels good.
Also, it's another way to practice being less concerned about what other people think... I will never know how any of these recipients will react when my letter arrives. And it totally doesn't matter. Here's my little revelation: It's the same thing with my music. Same thing with this blog. It's coming from honesty. I'm not a bad person and if people don't dig what I do, if they don't like me, that's okay. Yes, everyone is going to judge me- that's what humans do. We judge, we like, we dislike. I won't ever find out 'the truth' about 'what people think' of me. It's better to be seen as me, and have someone dislike me and stay away from me than to keep people around by being a lie.
I watched an awesome movie today: Temple Grandin. I love movies that are about real people and true stories. They're always more interesting and crazy than fiction. Temple is autistic and famous for designing humane slaughterhouses. Sounds strange, but it's amazing - she's amazing. It's really boggling how much human beans can differ from one to another. Can you imagine being able to see the world the way animals do?
..
It's been a productive weekend. Got my 12th envelope finished, and am loving the process. Spreading out farther for materials to scavenge, learning better techniques for folding the pocket, making the flaps interesting shapes, etc. They're all really different, and I'm not sure yet who will get which one, but it will be fun to decide that later on.
I'm enjoying this 4-a-week game, even though it's a bit of a push, and I had an idea today for another mail-project to start once I'm finished all these letters. I'm going to keep making crazy post, 2 envelopes/letters a week. I will send one of them to somebody ridiculously out of my league. The other one I will send to a random stranger, chosen blindly from a phonebook. The letter will basically contain well-wishes, a few statements about why I'm doing what I'm doing, and an email address in case they feel like saying hello back. It'll be my way of keeping up the creative (non-musical) flow, of practicing giving freely, and saying F-YOU to Facebook, online dating, text messages, and impersonal, lazy communication. I love the idea of throwing things out to the world at random. Of spending a few hours making something with great care and love, and then sending it away to a stranger. It just feels good.
Also, it's another way to practice being less concerned about what other people think... I will never know how any of these recipients will react when my letter arrives. And it totally doesn't matter. Here's my little revelation: It's the same thing with my music. Same thing with this blog. It's coming from honesty. I'm not a bad person and if people don't dig what I do, if they don't like me, that's okay. Yes, everyone is going to judge me- that's what humans do. We judge, we like, we dislike. I won't ever find out 'the truth' about 'what people think' of me. It's better to be seen as me, and have someone dislike me and stay away from me than to keep people around by being a lie.
I watched an awesome movie today: Temple Grandin. I love movies that are about real people and true stories. They're always more interesting and crazy than fiction. Temple is autistic and famous for designing humane slaughterhouses. Sounds strange, but it's amazing - she's amazing. It's really boggling how much human beans can differ from one to another. Can you imagine being able to see the world the way animals do?
..
Saturday, September 25, 2010
the secret vice
I just learned 2 things that are really dismaying - Firstly, that there is illegal harvesting of salal happening on the B.C. west coast. Apparently, people are going into our forests and removing huge chunks of salal to sell to florists. It's becoming a big problem on the gulf islands, damaging the ecosystem. Honestly - is nothing sacred? There are few sights more lovely than a sea of salal under a tall canopy of evergreens. Do we have to hide in the trees with pellet guns now? Leave our undergrowth alone, you bastards!
Secondly, there is a majestic old fir at the front of our yard that has been put on death row by the property owners. Allegedly because it's blocking too much light. This should be illegal. Destructive idiots.
Ahem.
Letting my anger go now, I'm going to turn this over to some passages from a book I loved. A little while ago I read Gift From the Sea by Anne Morrow Lindbergh. I didn't realize it was such a famous classic, but it deserves to be. She wrote it in 1955 and it's not dated in the least. The topic: being alone. I've been wanting to write about aloneness vs. loneliness for a while, so I'll start with quoting Lindbergh, since she puts it all so well:
"How one hates to think of oneself as alone. How one avoids it... We seem so frightened today of being alone that we never let it happen. Even if family, friends, and movies should fail, there is still the radio or television to fill up the void... Even day-dreaming was more creative than this; it demanded something of oneself and it fed the inner life. Now, instead of planting our solitude with our own dream blossoms, we choke the space with continuous music, chatter, and companionship to which we do not even listen. It is simply there to fill the vacuum. When the noise stops there is no inner music to take its place. We must re-learn to be alone. It is a difficult lesson to learn today - to leave one's friends and family and deliberately practice the art of solitude for an hour or a day or a week... And yet, once it is done...
Life rushes back into the void, richer, more vivid, fuller than before. It is as if in parting one did actually lose an arm. And then, like the star-fsh, one grows it anew; one is whole again, complete and round - more whole, even, than before, when the other people had pieces of one...
For it is not physical solitude that actually separates one from other men, not physical isolation, but spiritual isolation. It is not the desert island nor the stony wilderness that cuts you from the people you love. It is the wilderness in the mind, the desert wastes in the heart through which one wanders lost and a stranger. When one is a stranger to oneself then one is estranged from others too. How often in a large city, shaking hands with my friends, I have felt the wilderness stretching between us. Both of us were wandering in arid wastes, having lost the springs that nourished us... The core, the inner spring, can best be re-found through solitude.
...The world does not understand, in either man or woman, the need to be alone. How inexplicable it seems. Anything else will be accepted as a better excuse... If one says: I cannot come because that is my hour to be alone, one is considered rude, egotistical or strange. What a commentary on our civilization, when being alone is considered suspect; when one has to apologize for it, make excuses, hide the fact that one practices it - like a secret vice! Actually these are among the most important times in one's life - when one is alone. Certain springs are tapped only when we are alone. The artist knows he must be alone to create; the writer, to work out his thoughts, the musician, to compose, the saint, to pray. "
Aloneness brings about "that inner stillness which Charles Morgan describes as 'the stilling of the soul within the activities of mind and body so that it might be still as the axis of a revolving wheel is still.'"
..
Secondly, there is a majestic old fir at the front of our yard that has been put on death row by the property owners. Allegedly because it's blocking too much light. This should be illegal. Destructive idiots.
Ahem.
Letting my anger go now, I'm going to turn this over to some passages from a book I loved. A little while ago I read Gift From the Sea by Anne Morrow Lindbergh. I didn't realize it was such a famous classic, but it deserves to be. She wrote it in 1955 and it's not dated in the least. The topic: being alone. I've been wanting to write about aloneness vs. loneliness for a while, so I'll start with quoting Lindbergh, since she puts it all so well:
"How one hates to think of oneself as alone. How one avoids it... We seem so frightened today of being alone that we never let it happen. Even if family, friends, and movies should fail, there is still the radio or television to fill up the void... Even day-dreaming was more creative than this; it demanded something of oneself and it fed the inner life. Now, instead of planting our solitude with our own dream blossoms, we choke the space with continuous music, chatter, and companionship to which we do not even listen. It is simply there to fill the vacuum. When the noise stops there is no inner music to take its place. We must re-learn to be alone. It is a difficult lesson to learn today - to leave one's friends and family and deliberately practice the art of solitude for an hour or a day or a week... And yet, once it is done...
Life rushes back into the void, richer, more vivid, fuller than before. It is as if in parting one did actually lose an arm. And then, like the star-fsh, one grows it anew; one is whole again, complete and round - more whole, even, than before, when the other people had pieces of one...
For it is not physical solitude that actually separates one from other men, not physical isolation, but spiritual isolation. It is not the desert island nor the stony wilderness that cuts you from the people you love. It is the wilderness in the mind, the desert wastes in the heart through which one wanders lost and a stranger. When one is a stranger to oneself then one is estranged from others too. How often in a large city, shaking hands with my friends, I have felt the wilderness stretching between us. Both of us were wandering in arid wastes, having lost the springs that nourished us... The core, the inner spring, can best be re-found through solitude.
...The world does not understand, in either man or woman, the need to be alone. How inexplicable it seems. Anything else will be accepted as a better excuse... If one says: I cannot come because that is my hour to be alone, one is considered rude, egotistical or strange. What a commentary on our civilization, when being alone is considered suspect; when one has to apologize for it, make excuses, hide the fact that one practices it - like a secret vice! Actually these are among the most important times in one's life - when one is alone. Certain springs are tapped only when we are alone. The artist knows he must be alone to create; the writer, to work out his thoughts, the musician, to compose, the saint, to pray. "
Aloneness brings about "that inner stillness which Charles Morgan describes as 'the stilling of the soul within the activities of mind and body so that it might be still as the axis of a revolving wheel is still.'"
..
Friday, September 24, 2010
A mosquito got into my bed and now my face and neck are very itchy
A bit of a strange day. A muddle of work, car dealings, inaugural ceremonies, and random performances. My thoughts at various points of this day:
I have touched too many computers; I am bored. The bus driver would not have yelled at me if my hair was not blue. One day I will blow up the Honda dealership. Why didn't I become an aerial dancer? I should not have had ice cream for lunch. This juno-award winner is very very pretty but her songs are very very boring. And so on.
My favourite part of today was walking Cocoa - I crash at her owner's house twice a week now, so that means 2 great dog walks a week. I have such a fantastic new playlist to listen to, 120 bands that I've never heard of. I love - love - checking out new music while I'm walking. It's been a while since I actively pursued fresh music, so this is good. Gotta know what's out there.
Strangely, as I am writing this, I suddenly smell dog. Or is it chocolate? (Do you ever notice that fresh ground coffee smells strikingly similar to horse manure?) Last night I watched a Swedish movie, and one of the characters was named Dag. They pronounce it, "Dog." Cocoa the dog. Huh.
I also saw a Doppleganger of a person who is quite dear to me, but who lives far away. He was holding a violin, which was uncanny. Dopplegangers can really throw you for a loop. I guess I stared at him a bit - and he stared back. I wanted to tell him that I really miss his Doppleganger, and could I give him a hug? I wonder if I have a Doppleganger? Sometimes, I believe, people have animal Dopplegangers. Cocoa the dog reminds me a lot of another friend of mine.
I wonder if I should do a Master's in Interdisciplinary Arts? Maybe I could learn to make films. That might be good, because sometimes I think of music visually, and could make films aurally. I had a little idea for a film earlier because my tattoo was all puffy and itchy and I thought something really weird was happening. It turned out to be a mosquito bite.
This was a stupid blog. I have to go watch Mozart string quintets now. Goodbye.
I have touched too many computers; I am bored. The bus driver would not have yelled at me if my hair was not blue. One day I will blow up the Honda dealership. Why didn't I become an aerial dancer? I should not have had ice cream for lunch. This juno-award winner is very very pretty but her songs are very very boring. And so on.
My favourite part of today was walking Cocoa - I crash at her owner's house twice a week now, so that means 2 great dog walks a week. I have such a fantastic new playlist to listen to, 120 bands that I've never heard of. I love - love - checking out new music while I'm walking. It's been a while since I actively pursued fresh music, so this is good. Gotta know what's out there.
Strangely, as I am writing this, I suddenly smell dog. Or is it chocolate? (Do you ever notice that fresh ground coffee smells strikingly similar to horse manure?) Last night I watched a Swedish movie, and one of the characters was named Dag. They pronounce it, "Dog." Cocoa the dog. Huh.
I also saw a Doppleganger of a person who is quite dear to me, but who lives far away. He was holding a violin, which was uncanny. Dopplegangers can really throw you for a loop. I guess I stared at him a bit - and he stared back. I wanted to tell him that I really miss his Doppleganger, and could I give him a hug? I wonder if I have a Doppleganger? Sometimes, I believe, people have animal Dopplegangers. Cocoa the dog reminds me a lot of another friend of mine.
I wonder if I should do a Master's in Interdisciplinary Arts? Maybe I could learn to make films. That might be good, because sometimes I think of music visually, and could make films aurally. I had a little idea for a film earlier because my tattoo was all puffy and itchy and I thought something really weird was happening. It turned out to be a mosquito bite.
This was a stupid blog. I have to go watch Mozart string quintets now. Goodbye.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
dreamscape
If you string all these images together in your mind then you'll have a sense of what I was dreaming last night. Exhausting bizarreness. The best part was a big old white dog (he was 75 years old) who was very wise and became my friend.
..
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Slow-hand
I'm wiped out, and it's only 6pm. Face feels hot - I must have caught some sun. Mmm, good. Spent a goodly amount of time with my feet moving through forest today. Had some small amusing moments - fell on my rear, came face to face with a grasshopper, found a crab skeleton up high on a hill, shared an apple with a wasp.But most pleasingly, I wrote 8 letters. (Hand-wrote.) It was draining. It took me many hours. But it did get easier as I got into the flow of it. By the end of this weekend I should have 12 packages ready to go. I am a crazy old-fashioned girl.
..
Play
Oh man, did I ever luck out today. A day off and a blue true dream of sky. 12 hours of daylight: how am I gonna use them? It feels like summer's last kick at the can for the year. Should I go up the mountain or spend the day on the bike? Lie around on a beach? Take out a kayak? As I'm writing this, 2 ravens are outside, teetering on a wind current. (Balancing like those cyclists at a red light who refuse to put their feet down.) They're playing, no doubt about it. Wings stretched out, hanging on the airstream to the last second.
..
..
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Daydreaming
My sister and I bobbing in the huge surf - about 4 months ago now - at Makena Beach in Maui. That afternoon had some of the most memorable fun I've ever experienced. We nearly drowned from laughter and saltwater nasal cleansing. Those waves just could knock you over, suck you down, spit you up and roll you around til your bathing suit nearly fell off with the weight of sand inside it. It was ridiculous, exhilarating fun.
I can't help it. My mind keeps going back there. I've been thinking and thinking about all the places I could go, but in the end I really just want to go back to Hawaii. I have a list of basic requirements, and when I think about the real reasons for wanting this trip, it seems quite obvious.- Must be able to spend majority of every day outside. (Which means the climate must be comfortable enough - not too hot - for bike riding, hiking, etc. And it must feel safe enough for me to do all this by myself.) Firstly, Costa Rica and Panama are so equatorial that this is not guaranteed. It could be incredibly humid and hot... and the sun goes down around 5:30pm, making for relatively short play-time. Secondly, there are a lot of dangerous insects, snakes, animals etc. in Central America, and crime-wise, it simply is not as safe for a woman adventuring on her own.
- Must have wireless internet, and be able to work 3-4 days a week from where I'm staying. This is obviously going to be more of a challenge in Central America. Awesome little beach bungalows (where I'd really want to stay) are out of the question. Also, I don't speak Spanish, so if I ran into any technical problems, or just needed basic assistance, I would be faced with a serious head-ache.
- Must be able to rent musical equipment if desired. Same problem as above.
- (Bonus) Friends should be able to visit. It's way cheaper and way easier to visit Hawaii, in pretty much every way.
- (Bonus) Should have places where I can go to extend myself socially... a musical scene, where I could even play some gigs. Okay, I'd be stupid to say I couldn't find that in Costa Rica. But to be realistic, the socializing stuff is already a huge challenge. If I added to it a different culture, different language, I think I'd be biting off more than I can chew right now.
..
Friday, September 17, 2010
palindrome zoo
I am playing with retrograde. It's a fun technique - in essence, a musical palindrome. Sometimes song-writing gets so banal. Let's face it- songs are pretty banal. Popular song form is about as cookie cutter as you can get. Not to say it doesn't take real skill to make a 'good song' within that structure. But it feels so limiting. As with most of my songs, the piano comes first. Sometimes I'll start with lyrics and a melody, and there's always such a difference - I know I need to stretch myself to do more of that, because it's counter-instinctual for me. But the real 'play' is always at the piano. So I've been working on 2 lines of counterpoint that can be played forward and then backward, so they create a mirrored phrase. And then adding the challenge of augmentation... So, say you take the left hand line and double the length of each note value. Now it takes two cycles of the right hand to play in conjunction with the right hand, and it makes new counterpoint. And also a longer phrase to put in retrograde. It's a lot of fun... most of this, I start at the piano, then work out the 'math' as it were, on paper, and come back to it, play it, and have the fun surprise of hearing how it sounds. Between you and me, a lot of it sounds like garbage! But it's a good game, and it gives me lots of ideas and lots of material that i wouldn't have just discovered otherwise. When I get something I like, then the real fun is making a vocal line that plays within and around that. Usually I end up singing what I can't manage to cover with my hands. Sometimes this is just a purely rhythmic element.. my dream set-up at the piano is to have a small kick-drum under the piano so I can add what I'm already hearing. Then I guess I'll have to have jingle bells strapped to my other leg, and a trained monkey to play the crash cymbols.
A parrot would be even better, cause then he could sing harmonies too. I'll call my band "Palindrome Zoo".
Let it be known that I would like a musical studio with the piano on adjustable legs - so that I could play it standing sometimes, so I can dance around a bit. And a drum kit incorporated into and around the piano. Live birds flying around for inspiration (open, of course, to the tropical outdoors), and a good supply of home-made percussion and instruments for visitors. This studio should have, as mentioned, walls that open right up to the outdoors. There must be a recording setup that is ludite-friendly, with one button for 'microphones on' and another button for 'record'. And so on.
Outside the studio there should be several self-contained cottages/bungalows, and a common house with a huge kitchen for communal meal-preparations and many soft surfaces for lounging.
It goes without saying that this place will be within a stone's throw of fantastic forest/jungle and ocean. And that animals will abound. The house will also be called "Palindrome Zoo".
..
A parrot would be even better, cause then he could sing harmonies too. I'll call my band "Palindrome Zoo".
Let it be known that I would like a musical studio with the piano on adjustable legs - so that I could play it standing sometimes, so I can dance around a bit. And a drum kit incorporated into and around the piano. Live birds flying around for inspiration (open, of course, to the tropical outdoors), and a good supply of home-made percussion and instruments for visitors. This studio should have, as mentioned, walls that open right up to the outdoors. There must be a recording setup that is ludite-friendly, with one button for 'microphones on' and another button for 'record'. And so on.
Outside the studio there should be several self-contained cottages/bungalows, and a common house with a huge kitchen for communal meal-preparations and many soft surfaces for lounging.
It goes without saying that this place will be within a stone's throw of fantastic forest/jungle and ocean. And that animals will abound. The house will also be called "Palindrome Zoo".
..
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
morning lecture, delivered by my mind to my mind
When you catch yourself thinking the bad thoughts, you use a 'thought attack.' You keep your pockets stuffed with these things, like grenades. You gotta be ready to whip one out and pull the pin. You gotta stay alert and sharp - vigilant. So the second the bad thoughts come atcha, you're ready to blow them to kingdom come with a swift, ruthless, deadly thought attack.
This is what you have been learning. Cunning defense against the bad chemicals, the bad thoughts, the lies, the evil ways. Vengeance. It's not easy, this training of the mind against the mind. But if you lose this battle, my friend, God help you. You will never escape your mind. Everywhere you go, there you will be. The velcro will overtake the teflon... the negative will stick to you, will accumulate in saggy layers in the sticky bog of your defeated brain. It will pile up until there is no clarity, no joy, and no hope.
This is why you must practice the thought attack. Practice and practice and practice ridding your mind of the daily poisons. Joy does not come in a hand basket! It will never be delivered to your door! It may visit, but it will not live in a mind that is overgrown with prickly weeds. It needs fresh-tilled soil. It needs space. So get out there, Warrior, and sweep the world with your determination and your light-heartedness.
..
This is what you have been learning. Cunning defense against the bad chemicals, the bad thoughts, the lies, the evil ways. Vengeance. It's not easy, this training of the mind against the mind. But if you lose this battle, my friend, God help you. You will never escape your mind. Everywhere you go, there you will be. The velcro will overtake the teflon... the negative will stick to you, will accumulate in saggy layers in the sticky bog of your defeated brain. It will pile up until there is no clarity, no joy, and no hope.
This is why you must practice the thought attack. Practice and practice and practice ridding your mind of the daily poisons. Joy does not come in a hand basket! It will never be delivered to your door! It may visit, but it will not live in a mind that is overgrown with prickly weeds. It needs fresh-tilled soil. It needs space. So get out there, Warrior, and sweep the world with your determination and your light-heartedness.
..
Sunday, September 12, 2010
a feline compulsion
Today was fun - I spent the whole afternoon working on those four envelopes. Charles kept lying down in the middle of my work, so I had to torture him a fair bit.I used to write a lot of letters, especially to my lovely friend/pen pal in Austria. We always put effort into crafting neat envelopes and writing on unusual papers. I've been neglectful lately (sorry, E!)... but still love the post. Always will. Love getting things in the mail, love sending things off. That's partly why I am so excited about this project.
First four packages, done. They're not spectacular, but will at least show some effort. I had to stick with collaging, since my other artsy skills are pretty much lacking. I made a big ol' mess and got lots of glue on myself. It was just like being a kid again - holed up in my bedroom with music on, rain coming down outside, and a desk covered in art projects. A pretty great day.
Jungles and Bikerides
This is the section of map on my wall that I've been obsessing over. Was checking out places to stay in Costa Rica this morning... a little bungalow on the Caribbean. Jungle paths, butterflies, monkeys, fruit everywhere. Know when you feel the kind of longing that kicks you in the kidneys? Yeah.Still, looking forward to getting out into our own Rainforest today. There's something so inviting about a canopy of trees when rain is falling steadily. Even though the trees are there, right over head, somehow the world feels taller, the sky farther away. That suffocating rooftop of cloud unravels into slips of languorous mist, the trunks stretch upward endlessly, the soft branches bend down and the ferns and grasses drip with fullness of life. I love the comfort of all that lush green and I love the feeling that nobody else will be out there. It reminds me of being in grade 6 or 7 - there was a small glade of trees in the far corner of the schoolgrounds, and I would hang out there in the rain during recess, often alone. There's a feeling of protection and wise old acceptance about the trees that I can't quite describe.
Before the rain started yesterday, I had a bloody fantastic bike ride - quite a long ride for me. I'm kind of slow on the bike, and I walk up the steepest hills, but I love going at my own pace and taking all the time I like to look at things. And I often sing, especially going downhill. How great would it be to cover a whole countryside, bit by bit, on a bike? City cycling is a different matter and I'm afraid I have no interest in trying that any time soon. But I have started fantasizing about doing a cross-country bike tour, maybe in England. My mind always does this. I just get so excited about things, and so overrun with inspiration, that one successful curry dish has me musing about opening a restaurant, and one happy hour painting a bedroom makes me want to build a house. But anyhow, realistic or not realistic, it is nice to fantasize. I probably make 2% of my fantasies into reality... but mathematically speaking, more fantasies means more realities. And I have huge faith and trust in possibility.
I wonder if everyone has the same experience that doing physical stuff outdoors can create a huge charge of creative energy? Not just ideas, but the sense that anything can be done. I've been a bit stuck for my letters to musicians, but as I was pushing the bike up a big nasty hill yesterday, I suddenly knew what to write. So I hopped off, whipped out a notebook, and sat in some soft weeds at the edge of the woods to begin. "Dear Leonard..." Easy as that. So my job today is to write 3 more letters and get the envelopes all prepared. I don't know if I can do 4 a week, but if I can, then I'll have most of them ready by the time I have the cds to send with them.
I forgot to mention that the mixing is finished for the album. Hoo-ray! Now I can get on with the mastering, and the pressing. I think that for now, I will only print a very small run, but of really beautiful and high-quality packages. I'll have enough to shop around with and sell at some shows, but I'll hold off having a big 'release' until I have a better sense of label prospects. I'm going to start playing with my band again in October, and line up some shows. Can't wait.
..
Saturday, September 11, 2010
F the tcb!
Oh boy, does it ever feel good to have my 2 days off at home now. Sittin' in the good spot, with the cat and the tea and some canteloupe for breakfast. No plans today - take that, to-do-list, you old bastard. I've been living for tcb these last 2 weeks, and I'm sick of it. The list just keeps growing, two new items cropping up for every one I get crossed off.
No, today is the kind of day where I lay stationed on this couch, reading, and responding to such occasional comments from my mom as, "I think it's better to be a wildebeast than a penguin," and musing about that.
Earlier she said, "You know, spontaneous friends - they're hard to come by." And this is true! We've both observed that it's damn hard to get anyone to come to the island for a visit. But I notice this the most when I'm in the city, and suddenly have a free evening, and fancy some company. I only have 1 spontaneous friend in town, and he's usually busy. For crying out loud, why can't I find a single person to hang out with for 2 hours? Remember when you were a kid, and the doorbell would ring, and it would be the kid next door asking to play, and you'd drop your lego and go outside? Too many plans these days, too much structure. Too many to-do lists. I'm gonna play outside today and play the piano and maybe play with some paper and scissors and glue, but free-form. All free-form.
..
No, today is the kind of day where I lay stationed on this couch, reading, and responding to such occasional comments from my mom as, "I think it's better to be a wildebeast than a penguin," and musing about that.
Earlier she said, "You know, spontaneous friends - they're hard to come by." And this is true! We've both observed that it's damn hard to get anyone to come to the island for a visit. But I notice this the most when I'm in the city, and suddenly have a free evening, and fancy some company. I only have 1 spontaneous friend in town, and he's usually busy. For crying out loud, why can't I find a single person to hang out with for 2 hours? Remember when you were a kid, and the doorbell would ring, and it would be the kid next door asking to play, and you'd drop your lego and go outside? Too many plans these days, too much structure. Too many to-do lists. I'm gonna play outside today and play the piano and maybe play with some paper and scissors and glue, but free-form. All free-form.
..
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Arachnid Zeppelin
Okay, this might be long...
I've decided not to do the readiness program, or the wellness jail. I opened my eyes to a few key things this week. One is that I am on a really good path, am really lucky to be where I am, and don't want to jeopardize that with a 3 month stint with struggling women. My therapist agrees, so that's settled. Part of why I'm doing so well these days is the feeling of momentum and forward movement in my life. And nothing challenges me more than getting out there every day and pushing through the shit that freaks me out and makes me feel awful, and working with everything that comes up because of it. That's therapy.
I finished my novel. It was delicious. Huge improvement to quality of daily commute. Also finished memorizing Tintern Abbey. That one took a while - I started about a month ago. 159 lines... but I guess that would be nothing for an actor. It's a great feeling, knowing these words inside and out. Meanings unfold to me like sleepy flowers. And somehow even the lines I can't quite decipher make sense. I came to my favourite part yesterday:
"...knowing that nature never did betray the heart that loved her; 'Tis her privilege, through all the years of this our life, to lead from joy to joy: For she can so inform the mind that is within us, so impress with quietness and beauty, so feed with lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, rash judgements, nor the sneers of selfish men, nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all the dreary intercourse of daily life, shall e'er prevail against us..."
To me, that says almost everything that could ever need to be said.
My thoughts of Maui have started to wander. I realized that it's not just a climate change I'm craving, but a culture change. Warmth - in the weather but also in the people. I am thinking of Costa Rica and Panama. Next, I've got to find a few travel books, and start honing in on a real plan. I mentioned that I painted my room on the weekend - that meant I could finally put things up on the walls. The entire wall adjacent to my bed is taken up by an enormous world map. I haven't had that up for years... my brother ordered it from National Geographic, and it's pretty spectacular. Awe-inspiring, truly, to lay beside a drawing of Earth's expanse of ocean and land, and contemplate all the places I have never been, will never be. Though I'm determined to stick a few dozen more flags in that map before I die.
It feels good to have my hair back - my painted hair, I mean. Not sure why... it just gives me a certain sense of decisiveness. A willingness not to hide. I'm starting to formulate a picture in my mind of who/what I want, visually, to be. Unrelated to weight and body shape. I am a costume fiend, have been since I was first tottering around. But I haven't even done dress-up for Halloween in years. I know exactly what clothes, from which eras, I want to be dressed in. And I'm going to get those clothes made for me, if only for performance. And have my peacock hair and zebra face-paint, and my lace collars and white gloves and town hats, and my cake, and eat them all too. (Remind me of this if I ever try to talk myself into high heels and short skirts again.)
Speaking of stupid clothes, I went off the rocker the other day and parted with over $300 in a clothing store, while I was stuck in the ferry time-gap. It was a jacket, a gorgeous burnt-orange leather jacket, with the greatest detailing. Made myself sit on my hands when I got home and think it through properly. It's unreal how compelling and enchanting clothes can be. So much promise. But here's the hard line: I can't wear it in the rain, it's not warm enough for winter, I couldn't wear it on a hike, and it's too fitted and self-conscious-making for me right now. So I gotta wipe the drool off my face, and take it back. Strange how hard it is, always is. The gleaming objects call oh so sweetly, and it takes such bad-ass discipline to say no and practice prioritizing. After all, $300 is half a plane ticket... Or 3/4 of a studio day.
So, tomorrow is the long-awaited extra day for mixing. I've got my list of little things to tweak, and then a big question mark over the tune I'm fence-sitting. The problem is that I really need to consult my producer about the editing, but he won't be there. So I have to fiddle around with it with the engineer, or wait til November for another studio day. Da-amn! But I'm not going to sweat it. Something will resolve itself tomorrow, I feel certain.
One last thing: Did you know that spiders can balloon themselves to far-away destinations? It's true. They can let out a bit of silk, and use it as a kind of parachute, and sail in the wind... across oceans, even. I let a spider as big as a cookie outside this evening. I wonder if she can balloon? Seems unlikely. But maybe that's how she came to Bowen.
..
I've decided not to do the readiness program, or the wellness jail. I opened my eyes to a few key things this week. One is that I am on a really good path, am really lucky to be where I am, and don't want to jeopardize that with a 3 month stint with struggling women. My therapist agrees, so that's settled. Part of why I'm doing so well these days is the feeling of momentum and forward movement in my life. And nothing challenges me more than getting out there every day and pushing through the shit that freaks me out and makes me feel awful, and working with everything that comes up because of it. That's therapy.
I finished my novel. It was delicious. Huge improvement to quality of daily commute. Also finished memorizing Tintern Abbey. That one took a while - I started about a month ago. 159 lines... but I guess that would be nothing for an actor. It's a great feeling, knowing these words inside and out. Meanings unfold to me like sleepy flowers. And somehow even the lines I can't quite decipher make sense. I came to my favourite part yesterday:
"...knowing that nature never did betray the heart that loved her; 'Tis her privilege, through all the years of this our life, to lead from joy to joy: For she can so inform the mind that is within us, so impress with quietness and beauty, so feed with lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, rash judgements, nor the sneers of selfish men, nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all the dreary intercourse of daily life, shall e'er prevail against us..."
To me, that says almost everything that could ever need to be said.
My thoughts of Maui have started to wander. I realized that it's not just a climate change I'm craving, but a culture change. Warmth - in the weather but also in the people. I am thinking of Costa Rica and Panama. Next, I've got to find a few travel books, and start honing in on a real plan. I mentioned that I painted my room on the weekend - that meant I could finally put things up on the walls. The entire wall adjacent to my bed is taken up by an enormous world map. I haven't had that up for years... my brother ordered it from National Geographic, and it's pretty spectacular. Awe-inspiring, truly, to lay beside a drawing of Earth's expanse of ocean and land, and contemplate all the places I have never been, will never be. Though I'm determined to stick a few dozen more flags in that map before I die.
It feels good to have my hair back - my painted hair, I mean. Not sure why... it just gives me a certain sense of decisiveness. A willingness not to hide. I'm starting to formulate a picture in my mind of who/what I want, visually, to be. Unrelated to weight and body shape. I am a costume fiend, have been since I was first tottering around. But I haven't even done dress-up for Halloween in years. I know exactly what clothes, from which eras, I want to be dressed in. And I'm going to get those clothes made for me, if only for performance. And have my peacock hair and zebra face-paint, and my lace collars and white gloves and town hats, and my cake, and eat them all too. (Remind me of this if I ever try to talk myself into high heels and short skirts again.)
Speaking of stupid clothes, I went off the rocker the other day and parted with over $300 in a clothing store, while I was stuck in the ferry time-gap. It was a jacket, a gorgeous burnt-orange leather jacket, with the greatest detailing. Made myself sit on my hands when I got home and think it through properly. It's unreal how compelling and enchanting clothes can be. So much promise. But here's the hard line: I can't wear it in the rain, it's not warm enough for winter, I couldn't wear it on a hike, and it's too fitted and self-conscious-making for me right now. So I gotta wipe the drool off my face, and take it back. Strange how hard it is, always is. The gleaming objects call oh so sweetly, and it takes such bad-ass discipline to say no and practice prioritizing. After all, $300 is half a plane ticket... Or 3/4 of a studio day.
So, tomorrow is the long-awaited extra day for mixing. I've got my list of little things to tweak, and then a big question mark over the tune I'm fence-sitting. The problem is that I really need to consult my producer about the editing, but he won't be there. So I have to fiddle around with it with the engineer, or wait til November for another studio day. Da-amn! But I'm not going to sweat it. Something will resolve itself tomorrow, I feel certain.
One last thing: Did you know that spiders can balloon themselves to far-away destinations? It's true. They can let out a bit of silk, and use it as a kind of parachute, and sail in the wind... across oceans, even. I let a spider as big as a cookie outside this evening. I wonder if she can balloon? Seems unlikely. But maybe that's how she came to Bowen.
..
Ar T is pain
Paint has been the word of the day, since Monday. I painted my room, got my head painted, painted my rarely-painted nails, and am following the painting progress of a painterly friend. PAINT!
After typing that word several times, what I now see is pain- T. Makes sense. For me, my bedroom, my scalp, the pain was fairly minor. But for the major pain ters, it must be fairly major. Speaking of T, I really need another cup, and then off to the boat I must race. T is also for Too Bad, because dammit - I have so much to write about! Life is off to the races - my pulse is jumpy with the good energy. But Time and Tide and ferry boats wait for no man...
Sunday, September 5, 2010
I said, don't touch my piano
So much for the note to self - that topic is something I'm always ready to talk about, but taking time to write about it feels like a big undertaking. Lots to say about aloneness and loneliness. Another time.
Happy with outcome of FNC last night. Enjoyed the show, though the music didn't give me much. Just kind of a sugary niceness which is fine, good sometimes. The musician I went to see is a lovely person; I don't know her well but her sweetness reads loud and clear. I'm glad I went to support her, was glad to notice I didn't feel that bothered, being out of my scene. I usually find it really hard to be in a big excited crowd when I'm not feeling any excitement. It's depressing and alienating, and way too familiar. But it was okay last night - I still kind of just shake my head at what seems to get people going. But that's just how it is.
When it comes to listening, I'm not a hard critic. I try to give everything my best shot, but my attention wavers if the music doesn't compel my senses. I don't try to analyze what's going on; I don't follow form/chord structure/themes etc. The music just compels me or it doesn't, moves me a little or a lot or not at all. If I'm not drawn right into a performance, then I'm always in danger of drifting into fantasy. My eyes tend to glaze, and I start writing a show. My fingers feel twitchy; I get achingly restless to find a piano; even when I'm half-listening, I'm half-composing something completely different, to fill the gap of what I want to hear. I also feel jealous... not of the performer or performance, but of the piano. Like last night: she wasn't loving that piano. She had no connection to it, was just pressing down the keys. I start to get jealous, want to take over, give the instrument some real romance. Maybe that's weird. When you're a pianist, you're always meeting new pianos, trying to have an intimate dance with a stranger. You've gotta LOVE it, man, or just back off.
I was thinking about her voice, too. The band was so driving that her singing was just a vehicle for a melody and some hooky lyrics. Too bad, cause she knows how to get some nice colours out of her instrument. Note to self: be careful with the chest voice. Don't overuse it, and make sure it's not just about belting. Sounds way too generic. Need to find some strategies for avoiding that blown-out wash of sound that you so often get with an amplified show.
Been thinking a lot about the next album/s. So looking forward to moving on. Think I ought to document the music I've written in the last couple of years. There's a fair bit, and only one of the pieces is on the album. The rest is from 2008 and earlier. On my to-do list: book a couple of all-night studio sessions for a couple of months from now. Make a track list, polish the music a bit, then record them and move on. Lots of fragments and ideas haunting me.
Also on my to-do list: install my keyboard someplace accessible - find a room in someone's house or something - so I can play/write on my city days. I'm finding it really tough to get any time alone at the piano. It's nobody's fault - I just can't write when there's anyone around, and there are almost always people around at home. So, strategies in the works.
Speaking of strategies. I know I mentioned a project I'm excited about... and this too is a bit of an undertaking. It involves personally contacting each of the 2 dozen or so artists who have influenced and inspired me throughout my life. By post. I know it doesn't sound like much. But each one is going to be a handmade package with a personal letter of gratitude and a CD. Just cause it feels right to do, and I've always wanted to do it. I've started tracking down addresses (not easy) to send all my mail to. I'm pretty stoked. I think it's quite likely that Leonard Cohen and I will become fast friends. Or at least pen pals.
..
Happy with outcome of FNC last night. Enjoyed the show, though the music didn't give me much. Just kind of a sugary niceness which is fine, good sometimes. The musician I went to see is a lovely person; I don't know her well but her sweetness reads loud and clear. I'm glad I went to support her, was glad to notice I didn't feel that bothered, being out of my scene. I usually find it really hard to be in a big excited crowd when I'm not feeling any excitement. It's depressing and alienating, and way too familiar. But it was okay last night - I still kind of just shake my head at what seems to get people going. But that's just how it is.
When it comes to listening, I'm not a hard critic. I try to give everything my best shot, but my attention wavers if the music doesn't compel my senses. I don't try to analyze what's going on; I don't follow form/chord structure/themes etc. The music just compels me or it doesn't, moves me a little or a lot or not at all. If I'm not drawn right into a performance, then I'm always in danger of drifting into fantasy. My eyes tend to glaze, and I start writing a show. My fingers feel twitchy; I get achingly restless to find a piano; even when I'm half-listening, I'm half-composing something completely different, to fill the gap of what I want to hear. I also feel jealous... not of the performer or performance, but of the piano. Like last night: she wasn't loving that piano. She had no connection to it, was just pressing down the keys. I start to get jealous, want to take over, give the instrument some real romance. Maybe that's weird. When you're a pianist, you're always meeting new pianos, trying to have an intimate dance with a stranger. You've gotta LOVE it, man, or just back off.
I was thinking about her voice, too. The band was so driving that her singing was just a vehicle for a melody and some hooky lyrics. Too bad, cause she knows how to get some nice colours out of her instrument. Note to self: be careful with the chest voice. Don't overuse it, and make sure it's not just about belting. Sounds way too generic. Need to find some strategies for avoiding that blown-out wash of sound that you so often get with an amplified show.
Been thinking a lot about the next album/s. So looking forward to moving on. Think I ought to document the music I've written in the last couple of years. There's a fair bit, and only one of the pieces is on the album. The rest is from 2008 and earlier. On my to-do list: book a couple of all-night studio sessions for a couple of months from now. Make a track list, polish the music a bit, then record them and move on. Lots of fragments and ideas haunting me.
Also on my to-do list: install my keyboard someplace accessible - find a room in someone's house or something - so I can play/write on my city days. I'm finding it really tough to get any time alone at the piano. It's nobody's fault - I just can't write when there's anyone around, and there are almost always people around at home. So, strategies in the works.
Speaking of strategies. I know I mentioned a project I'm excited about... and this too is a bit of an undertaking. It involves personally contacting each of the 2 dozen or so artists who have influenced and inspired me throughout my life. By post. I know it doesn't sound like much. But each one is going to be a handmade package with a personal letter of gratitude and a CD. Just cause it feels right to do, and I've always wanted to do it. I've started tracking down addresses (not easy) to send all my mail to. I'm pretty stoked. I think it's quite likely that Leonard Cohen and I will become fast friends. Or at least pen pals.
..
Friday, September 3, 2010
The Mortal Imperative
100% happy today, right from the start. A surprise day off, and brilliant morning light to make me just leap out of bed. Walked down to the ferry, happy as a clam in mud. It just feels right to be outside in a summer dress- lots of air around the skin... and today, with comfy old flip flops and a satchel with a book, a journal, a pen and a sweater. Equipped for life! Took the boat in to meet an old friend for lunch at Granville Island. Had such a great visit, then had just enough time to grab some fruit at the market and hop the water taxi back home. Ah, the life! Had a beautiful ride and thought about how stupidly lucky I am. Then filled the rest of the afternoon with walking.
Life is rich, friends. When my head is clear of the self-absorption rubble, life is so rich. It's all the little things that make it so sweet and good. Like being able to strike up conversation with a nice young guy sitting beside me on the boat, instead of staring out the window in isolation. (He asked me where my accent was from. "My accent?!" And then we had a good laugh when I confessed it might have something to do with all the old poetry I've been reciting.)
...and then saying 'goodbye stranger' and letting that be that. Then realizing on the walk home that my bag was dripping peach juice and that some of the fruit wasn't going to last the journey. Had to stop and slurp up some gooshey peach before continuing on.
... and then encountering 3 little girls in front of their yard, holding a sign that said, "Please give us money." Asking what was up, I was told, "We're collecting money or bunnies." I apologized for having no bunnies to spare, and gave them the 34 cents I had on me. "There, you've cleaned me out," I said, showing them my empty wallet. The youngest girl said, "Oh... well, you can have some back!"
Yep, this is the sweetness of life. Little things. Why it is, exactly, that some days I catch these things in my net, and other days do not, I just don't know. Guess it's all practice at being present, and I guess it's also just balance. Those three hard days earlier this week had me in a different place, with abstract and far off worries, monsters that don't exist, a dullness instead of richness. Tried to just be present with that too, but it's not easy, and I don't have much patience. So anyhow, thankful for a great day, and thankful for a bit more sunshine. Dammit, summer, don't leave!
I have to also recap a bit of my conversation with my friend at lunch. She's more than a friend, this woman - she was a really inspiring and important English teacher of mine from high school. I'm so glad we've kept in touch. She still has a knack for planting questions and ideas that lead me down interesting paths of thought. We were talking about gifts, the gifts that people are given at birth, I mean. She summed it up by saying we each have a "moral imperative" to use our gifts to give back to the world. I like that. We're counting on each other to use these gifts and to do what others can't do. Simple as that. Too bad school (and society) doesn't nurture individuality a bit more. Too bad we're always being squished, or are squishing ourselves, into molds that just aren't right for us. I've spent a fair bit of time playing roles I was good at, but that left me with a painful, nagging hole. Finally realized that if I don't put my energy into making my own music, then there will be an empty well where there should be a full one. There's nobody else that can make my music, but lots of people who could replace me in those other jobs I was doing. So, there it is: Do or die: the moral, Mortal imperative!
...
Life is rich, friends. When my head is clear of the self-absorption rubble, life is so rich. It's all the little things that make it so sweet and good. Like being able to strike up conversation with a nice young guy sitting beside me on the boat, instead of staring out the window in isolation. (He asked me where my accent was from. "My accent?!" And then we had a good laugh when I confessed it might have something to do with all the old poetry I've been reciting.)
...and then saying 'goodbye stranger' and letting that be that. Then realizing on the walk home that my bag was dripping peach juice and that some of the fruit wasn't going to last the journey. Had to stop and slurp up some gooshey peach before continuing on.
... and then encountering 3 little girls in front of their yard, holding a sign that said, "Please give us money." Asking what was up, I was told, "We're collecting money or bunnies." I apologized for having no bunnies to spare, and gave them the 34 cents I had on me. "There, you've cleaned me out," I said, showing them my empty wallet. The youngest girl said, "Oh... well, you can have some back!"
Yep, this is the sweetness of life. Little things. Why it is, exactly, that some days I catch these things in my net, and other days do not, I just don't know. Guess it's all practice at being present, and I guess it's also just balance. Those three hard days earlier this week had me in a different place, with abstract and far off worries, monsters that don't exist, a dullness instead of richness. Tried to just be present with that too, but it's not easy, and I don't have much patience. So anyhow, thankful for a great day, and thankful for a bit more sunshine. Dammit, summer, don't leave!
I have to also recap a bit of my conversation with my friend at lunch. She's more than a friend, this woman - she was a really inspiring and important English teacher of mine from high school. I'm so glad we've kept in touch. She still has a knack for planting questions and ideas that lead me down interesting paths of thought. We were talking about gifts, the gifts that people are given at birth, I mean. She summed it up by saying we each have a "moral imperative" to use our gifts to give back to the world. I like that. We're counting on each other to use these gifts and to do what others can't do. Simple as that. Too bad school (and society) doesn't nurture individuality a bit more. Too bad we're always being squished, or are squishing ourselves, into molds that just aren't right for us. I've spent a fair bit of time playing roles I was good at, but that left me with a painful, nagging hole. Finally realized that if I don't put my energy into making my own music, then there will be an empty well where there should be a full one. There's nobody else that can make my music, but lots of people who could replace me in those other jobs I was doing. So, there it is: Do or die: the moral, Mortal imperative!
...
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Cocoa
I"m back on my A-game. Or at least my B-game. I have to give credit where credit is due, and say that Cocoa, my new chocolate-lab/pitbull-cross buddy, has brightened my day. She's one great dog. Serene and gentle, but big and strong. It's such a good thing to have an animal relying on you to take them outside at least twice a day. Our walk this evening was fantastic. I forget how much I like walking at night... there's some trick of the lighting or the hour that makes me feel a bit like I'm gliding over the ground, faster than I could ever walk. Everything looks softer in the dark, and there's a kind of comfortable relief in the air that the day is over, and things are quiet again.
Another cheering event: today I bought a book. That's right- a fiction book. A book for entertainment and enjoyment. This, to combat the compulsion to always be doing something purposeful. Sometimes I feel itchy with the sense that I am not making use of my time or working hard enough on myself or my music... that I ought to use my free time to work on some lyrics and harmonies, read something philosophical, bash out some more goals, etc. But I am going to ease off this compulsivity. Sometimes you have to just sit back and let the seeds you've planted do their thing. And also: reading is one of the great pleasures of life.
Cheering honorable mention: I'm whittling down my t.c.b. list. Hoo-boy, how hard it is to get to the t.c.b., but how good it feels to get it done. T.c.b. = 'taking care of business'. Eg. Took the car in for the rear-ender repairs. Got the bloodwork done. Returned the long-overdue emails. Took back the clothes I bought too hastily, and so on. Getting 'er done! And knocking off those tedious tasks got me launched on a project I've been fantasizing about for years... More on this another time.
Finally, I've set my next FNC - for Saturday night, which feels good. And tomorrow evening I get to go back to my island home and stretch my legs on those nice soft pine-needle carpets. Truly, no complaints.
.
Another cheering event: today I bought a book. That's right- a fiction book. A book for entertainment and enjoyment. This, to combat the compulsion to always be doing something purposeful. Sometimes I feel itchy with the sense that I am not making use of my time or working hard enough on myself or my music... that I ought to use my free time to work on some lyrics and harmonies, read something philosophical, bash out some more goals, etc. But I am going to ease off this compulsivity. Sometimes you have to just sit back and let the seeds you've planted do their thing. And also: reading is one of the great pleasures of life.
Cheering honorable mention: I'm whittling down my t.c.b. list. Hoo-boy, how hard it is to get to the t.c.b., but how good it feels to get it done. T.c.b. = 'taking care of business'. Eg. Took the car in for the rear-ender repairs. Got the bloodwork done. Returned the long-overdue emails. Took back the clothes I bought too hastily, and so on. Getting 'er done! And knocking off those tedious tasks got me launched on a project I've been fantasizing about for years... More on this another time.
Finally, I've set my next FNC - for Saturday night, which feels good. And tomorrow evening I get to go back to my island home and stretch my legs on those nice soft pine-needle carpets. Truly, no complaints.
.
Can do
Just a quick post to make some goals for today. (I'm anxious, cause I'm starting the Readiness group today at the hospital.) Okay, here's what I'm gonna do: stay in my body. Stay there, and be grateful for my health. Don't get sucked into the comparing-game. If I'm healthier and heavier than everyone else, remember that's a good thing. Don't shrink away and isolate. Engage with the others, be open to all my natural instincts, like compassion and empathy. Acknowledge my own struggles and learn what I can. No judging. No comparing. No running away. Ready, set, go.
..
..
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)