Music 2009

One of my first stops will be to visit my friends, Stan and Marion. Marion is an incredible visual artist whose work sells as soon as the paint dries. She also creates inked cartoons released as cards. Marion painted an amazing painting for me of children dancing and playing happily in the street. The painting is full of energy with blues and reds. Unfortunately it is too big to carry in the RV. The smaller painting of a child with wings taking to the clouds will fit. Marion painted the picture of freedom, happiness, and wonder to mark my then new job as a mid-level university administrator. I think of the paintings as gifts of life. They give me great peace when I gaze upon them. Stan is an incredible musician living in the world of jazz and classical music. He instantly understood music as a child who, instead of simply banging on the piano, at the age of three played the piano. This is in sharp contrast to me who, after years of study, has given up on ever being able to read music or to sight sing. I am or was a lyric soprano with no lower range. For eleven years Stan worked with me to add bottom to my voice. During this time I tried to sing blues and jazz. I had a lot of fun singing at open mics. and at friends’ gigs. My voice glided into the secret world of tenors and quickly, quietly touched the notes of baritones. I lamented the failure to do the impossible, to romanticize bass, letting the cool notes float over the bottom much like a light breeze over still waters. Johnny Johnson sang bass; refusing to sing secular music of love, desire, and heartbreak and live praising the Lord. His voice was like a black silk sheet casually tossed across a bed. How I wish to sail there. Still I missed dancing the high notes, twirling them in the air and watching them float – bubbles in the wind with soapy rainbows. I no longer try to sing the jazz I learned but never belonged to. I returned to the high notes. The tenor in the music group, The Dells, hits high notes letting them flutter as a down feather gently blown, floating quietly to the earth. I am working to express the same lightness on top notes to be used when my mind takes them there. My dogs watch me sing; I am not sure if from enjoyment or the fear that I am hurting. Singing is my peace, my heart; so much a part of me it is me. From Stan I learned to color words, to express the meanings of songs more than the notes. Thought will take the notes where they need to be. With him I wrote my first professional show about dolls through the stages of a woman’s life. After studying with Stan I can direct songs to help audiences feel what I hope they will feel; that they will leave feeling more than when they came in. Most of all I became friends with him and Marion. To pay for lessons I couldn’t afford I cleaned their house. I ate lunch with them. Marion’s meals look like a work of art and taste even better. They will be one of my first stops. I am very excited.

The Bees Have It - June 2009

Bees are building hives inside the door of the RV! How they are getting inside the tightly sealed space is not the question. The question is how to make sure they never return! Luckily the hives were at the beginning stages so I could quickly destroy them. I am not sure of all the spaces the little stingers can get into. Right now I am spraying everywhere! To prepare for my new life as a fulltimer, I am reading books with information on living on an RV when I should be reading the books on how to set up my RV. One book tried to discourage traveling with pets. I think the authors are nuts. I would not travel without my pets. There is a reason they are called pets as opposed to animals. Of course, as with many pet people, I call mine my kids. They are an important part of my life. I would never give them to another home or have them put down because they have become inconvenient. By adopting them I agreed to love and care for them. They are company and give me great pleasure. They also protect me, especially Princess who is the smallest yet the most aggressive. No one enters the house until she has inspected them and deemed them to be worthy. I am looking forward to reading books of interest and fiction. I cannot think of a more pleasant way to spend a day than curling up on the couch or sitting outside in the shade with a good book and a cup of tea. School books will soon be available by down loading from computers which will alleviate some of the crippling weight of kids’ backpacks. This is great as it will reduce the growing number of kids with back problems. However, for pleasure reading there is nothing more satisfying than to touch the fragrant pages of a book while holding it open on one’s chest, getting lost in another life in another time and/or location. I will also be able to write freely. In higher education (my most recent life) professors are required to publish so called scholarly papers. These papers, based on research and studies, have their place I guess, however they are dry and abstract. They lack any hint of feeling or emotion. They do not allow for the reader to reach within themselves, to cry, dance, to see colors. I believe emotions in scholarly papers may drive the readers to want to work for change in themselves, their community, the nation, and/or the world. The papers may allow the readers to feel. Perhaps because I am an artist the need to bring feelings, thought, relief, an exploration of self, or whatever the listener needs to feel at the time is the most important reason for writing. I am free to write from long buried feelings. I will allow the multi colored butterflies to take flight and watch them as they fly free on the wind. I will be me

Heat

This week the temperature has been in the 80s, too hot for Seattleites. We are fortunate that the humidify is low and the air cools down at night. This is not at all like the summers in New England. There the temperature sores into the high 80s and 90s with over 90% humidity. The nights may cool to the 80s but the humidity remains as high. When I was there I didn’t have air conditioning, only a fan blowing constantly. At night I’d get into the shower wearing a t-shirt. I could sleep in front of the fan until the t-shirt dried. In Worcester, Massachusetts I worked at the Edward Street Daycare Center. Every day was magical as I shared their world. In the heat the kids could be challenging. They were as sleep deprived the adults. Everyone was grumpy. The staff would pull out the kiddy pools for the kids. We kicked off our sandals and put our feet in the water. Living in a third floor apartment didn’t help with the heat at all. I plan to never leave the Northwest.

They call us fast, hot, and whores, when we are just lonely women looking for a bit of warmth.

Singing

I sang as a kid. After 25 years of study I still do. I loved to sing and the peace it brought me. I’d often sing for no reason at all. Other times I sang with songs on the radio and TV. There were even a few times when singing would get me into trouble. Music is very powerful. During U.S. slavery the enslaved people sang to endure their lives. Without music the Civil Rights Movement would not have been as successful. Marchers sang before, during and after marches. This gave them strength to face hostile police and crowds. Singing gave them strength to face fire hoses and vicious attack dogs. Singing gave them strength as they were loaded into paddy wagons to be thrown into jail. One afternoon police entered the black section of a movie theater (the balcony) to harass the people sitting there. The people started to sing We Shall Overcome, softly at first then louder until the song filled the theater. A police officer said to them, “If you must sing must you sing so loudly.” The officers left. The music was too powerful. So how would singing get me into trouble? When Mom disciplined me I would softly sing. Mom would say, “Don’t sing while I’m talking to you.” I didn’t even know I was. I did know that while I was singing the sting of being corrected didn’t exist. I don’t know if I even heard what she was saying. Singing gets me through happy times, sad times and rough times. I love the power of music. I love to sing.

What me 60?

I think 60 year old women are not supposed to spread their arms and pretend they are airplanes (complete with zaroom noise) while walking in the park. I don’t think they can pretend they are fairies fluttering with delicate wings from a yellow flower to an orange flower. Or skip with a big grin on their face while singing some song from their youth. Well, I guess it is okay if they are with a grandchild. But alone? December I will be 60. When 60 years passed I have no idea. I always thought I’d reach my idea of an adult by now. However, I still sleep cuddled up with my stuffed bear (and of course my two dogs.) I love hot chocolate in the winter and ice cream causes my eyes to glitter in the summer. Flowers are imagined as fairy dresses and having fun, as always, is my primary goal. So I check to see if anyone is nearby before I twirl in the middle of the sidewalk pretending I am wearing a light pink tutu. I hide this part of me from a judging public’s eyes. Now don’t get me wrong. I’ve done a lot of adult things like get an education, work, live alone and support myself. I’ve attended boring professional dinners and conventions. Speaking with political correctness while boiling inside and leaving any sign of passion outside when dealing with issues was a great skill. But I’ve never given up my childish ways. Now I will be 60. The age, as each age, is welcome. I mean, think of the senior discounts. I am still me, still happy. A world of fantasy, art, music, and dreams of love still remain. Yet I feel publicly I must display the dignity I did as a higher education administrator and professor while inside I am dancing as I did at 20. Perhaps the difference with 60 is some things I do such as those in the opening paragraph must be hidden. But wait until 80! At 80 I won’t care who sees or thinks I’m crazy. I’ll just smile sweetly and keep dancing in the middle of the street wearing a rainbow tutu and wig.

Hello, Little Blog.

Hello, little blog. I’ve missed you. One of the Moms at my niece’s school asked me if I am my OLDER brother’s mother. How does one respond? I was in shock. I know I don’t look my 61 years. The woman was so upset she made such a mistake I spent my energy trying to console her instead of taking care of myself. I told my brother. So did she. He asked her why she thought I was his mother. She answered that it was not based to looks but energy level. That hurts too. Before my TBI I was very active. I am hopeful I’ll be that way again. I understand she is still upset. So am I. Due to my lack of energy my psychiatrist prescribed a stimulant I should have tomorrow. Please let that help. I told my cousin the story about being mistaken for my brother’s mother. I also told him I never feel fully awake. He replied that was because of the depression. I was surprised. I thought the depression was better and I was just dealing with the TBI and the sudden major changes in my life. As I thought about what my cousin said I realized I am still very depressed. I honestly didn’t know. Now I am more depressed. Many people believe depression is just a feeling of sadness and for some this is true. It can also be disabilitating as it is with me. I’ve been this way for so many years I only recognize when I get worst. I somehow need to get out of this. I’ll have to talk to my therapist next week. You’d think all the medication I am on would take care of it. I will not have my old life back but I need to have a life with hopes and dreams. Soon I’ll write about my desire to take trips on trains.