Happy Feets

Driving home from work last night, I was playing my favorite driving game.  It’s called Scan.  I scan the dial, find a good song, camp there for a while until they no longer play music I like and then scan again.  I try not to play this game with a passenger next to me, they seem to get agitated and stare at me until I give up and settle on one station for the duration of the trip, good music or not.  The only rule of Scan is to sing, loudly and with purpose so that the music will know that you approve of it existing.

I love music.  I don’t play any instruments and my singing is really not something that should be heard outside of my shower or sanctity of my car, but I do love it.  I cannot think of a time, place, or event in my life that was not punctuated by music of some sort.  

Growing up I was given the fundamentals; Allman Brothers, Doobie Brothers, Crosby Stills Nash (and sometimes Young), Jethro Tull, Beatles, Moody Blues, Led Zepplin and The Who… My mom and dad agreed on some, not so much on others.   But it was always playing.  Later on in my childhood, maybe not as much, but those really early years (when my parents were probably all of 28 years old), music was a staple to how life was lived.  

I remember sitting looking the album covers, spread out on the floor (although I believe story is that I once danced on them, maybe shattering a few, I might have blocked that from acceptable memory).  They were so cool, opening up, lots of graphics, designs and color.  To this day, there are a few that stand out in memory—Songs from the Wood, Jethro Tull scared me to my core.  I do not know why looking at it now, but it freaked me out something fierce.  Eat a Peach, I loved it.  Question of Balance, I could stare at for hours.  

 

When I was in 7^th grade, we drove down to Florida in a motorcamper--  I don’t know if there were any other tapes or if my father only played Abbey Road because A: he really liked it or B: because my mother really did not like it, but when I think of this trip, I will always think of Abbey Road.  Over and over and over again.

A trip up to Long Lake in Maine years later, my father discovered Graceland by Paul Simon.  I can remember getting stuck on the high bridge in Portsmouth in traffic for what seemed to be hours.  We sat there in the back seat of my grandmother’s car (borrowed for the weekend because it had Air Conditioning!!), singing the “Uwhat uwat” parts of Diamonds on the Sole of Her Shoes-  for the first time on that trip, I think my brother, sister and I were in sync and not fighting over who touched whom. 

Billy Squier will always make me think of the dances at the Greenville Legion or Fire Station.  We were little kids then, but we thought we were so very cool.  Metallica, my entire 10^th grade  year of high school and my trip to France where I found French magazines with them plastered all over the covers (Lars Ulrich was my reason for being back then).  Rock Lobster; my summer at St. Paul’s School doing Shakespeare with the ASP.  Toad the Wet Sprocket, Phish, Grateful Dead, Tori Amos, Fleetwood Mac; my soundtrack to Keene State- 

Think of some of your favorite movies….what did you hear in your head?  For me, I heard the music that accompanied the movie.  In fact, I’d be hard pressed to find a movie where there isn’t some musical imprint that stays with me, popular or scored, it’s all there-  it builds that memory you have when you think of the movie. If you are like me, you go a bit further as to where you were when you first saw the movie, first heard the music.  I suppose this is why there are Oscars given out for Best Song/Musical Accompaniment, nail hit head, it’s valid, it matters.  

I love having music in my life, I can’t imagine how quiet and boring it would be without it.  I love passing my love onto my children, much like how my own parents did for me.  It warms my heart to hear my 3 year old belting out the words to Master of Puppets or listening to them fight over which song is “theirs”, much like how my brother, sister and I once did.   My friends and family all bring a wonderful and wildly eclectic musical arrangement to my world; I can see their faces when I listen to songs that are their songs.  In those images, I truly am happy in my soul all the way down to my feets..

 

Write Right Now!!!

The other day I was going through some old boxes from college/high school looking for a picture and I found this story that my friend Susanne had written for me.  It was double sided, handwritten and apparently missing a page because I only held the 2^nd half in my hands.  Looking at that paper a few things dawned on me… 1- where is the other half?  2-dear god, how I miss Susanne and 3- she handwrote me a story that had to be about 4 pages long.

Reading that story, I started to smile because she wrote it to me to cheer me up.  Something way back in 1992 had made me sad and this wonderful friend of mine handwrote me a story about Santa Claus and the Grinch.  Beyond the point that she wrote me a silly story, I got to thinking how this would have never happened in today’s world.   That story would have been about 3 sentences long in an email.  It might have been a text message in code.  A silly picture posted to Facebook.  The sentiment would have been the same, but the delivery would have been entirely different and honestly, I think while I would have appreciated any method of comfort to cheer me up, a handwritten story trumps all. 

So with this tucked away in the back of my mind, I arrive at yesterday-  I decide to send my friend Britten a copy of a cd (personal usage only FCC!!).  While I am copying the music, I decide to do a little cover art for her-  I get out my pitiful art supplies that I have in my desk and set to work.  As I am doing this, I realize how much I miss sending and receiving letters.  I go to my mailbox each day and beyond the bills, catalogs, circulars and junk mail, it is rarely anything personal.  I miss that.  

In this world, we wish each other Happy Birthday via email, text and Facebook.  Don’t get me wrong, I love love love seeing all of the Happy Birthday messages on my wall, it is like a gift that gives all day each time I get a notification, but when is the last time you actually got a birthday card mailed to you?  (I’m not talking about the one your mom and dad gives you over cake).  Christmastime…  some people still send out cards, I try to each year, but honestly, I just ran out of time this year.  But even the cards are a shadow of what they used to be.  I’m guilty of it to, but how many of us opt to create a card via the internet on Tiny Prints or Snapfish and type in our happy message, love us, etc and then that’s it?  No personal message on the back, no I love you, hope to see you…  A few years ago I made my own cards using a picture I took of Gabe.  I wrote a personal note to each one, granted it might have been a line or two, but I used a real pen and wrote with my hand.  It was time consuming, it took forever, it actually cost me more than it would have cost me had I just used an internet card making service.  The next year I went the easy route again, but looking back at those cards, I realize now how awesome there were and so worth the time it took me to do them.

At work, I rarely have to write anything.  I “write” all day long, but I do it using my fingers camped out on the home row of my keyboard (Thanks Mr. Sheehan)-  I can type like nobody’s business.  I am fast and I make few mistakes.  The only time I honestly take pen to paper is when I am interviewing someone or talking on the phone and I am jotting down little notes as to what is going on with my call.  Drips and Drabs.. Not writing.  

Remember in school when you had to write an essay or answer questions using the dreaded BLUE BOOK?  Actually WRITE?  I can remember my hand cramping, shifting in my seat, sighing, etc, but we did it.  We filled those damn books full of our cramped handwriting.  I honestly do not know if I could survive one of those 20 page horrible books now, I would need a support team to rub my hand halfway through, someone squirting water into my mouth, a blanket around my wrist to keep it limber..  And that is a problem.  I should be able to write still..  

And so, I have decided to start a movement.  The Write Right Now Movement.  Hmmm, not sure about the name, I might need to work on that..  But the premise is that I am going to start writing.  I am going to start surprising my friends with notes, cards, messages, etc all created from my own hands.  Cards will be handmade, no more copping out with the internet making them (or if I am pressed for time and do make internet cards, they will come with a handwritten personal sentiment to the recipient).  I am going to try this for a year and hope it catches on with my circle of people.  I charge all of you to pick up a pen, crayon, marker and a glue stick and create something from your own hand.  I would love to look back 20 years from now and like I did with my story from Susanne, smile fondly at the work someone put into creating for me, just because.

Writer's Block

I’ve sat down a bunch of times to write -  I get a thought in my head, YES!  Whoo hooo something to talk about…and then mid way through the first or second paragraph…nothing.  I lose my writing mojo.   It isn’t enough to sustain an entire post--  delete delete delete..  and try again.

I write this little blog as a catharsis for myself.   I lack that other grown up person to babble to at night about the arcane (and maybe not quite so) things that went on during the day (or in my head).   I need an intellectual release and so, I write.  And delete…. And write….and delete

And sometimes it makes it to “publish” where those of you that actually follow my ramblings can be held captive (or frightened) by the mind that is me.  Majority of you have known me forever, thank you for that, and so read to support me in this random endeavor.  

I fall in love with many different projects all the time-  I have a cabinet full of baking supplies, I have a drawer full of ribbons and pretty accessories, I have boxes of fabric, Rubbermaid totes full of paper, glue, glitter, and the like.  I flit from one thing to another as the mood hits me.  My projects are always creative in nature.  I jump in, get covered in glue and flour.  I lean too close to the sewing machine and get smacked in the forehead with the little arm that drives the needle up and down.  I make a huge mess and then become disenchanted when I realize that the maid I thought I hired isn’t coming.

I can laugh in the wake of all of this because I know myself.  I know that I am more driven in my own mind than in practice and with proper channeling, I could amaze even my own self with my efforts.  But I don’t do it.  That’s just me, I accept it and grab onto my creative spurts and ride the wave while it lasts.  

I, like most of my peers, am on Facebook.  I’ve reconnected with numerous friends and made incredible new ones through this website.  I get lost in playing games and wandering through peoples pictures of their happiness and heartbreak.  Lacking the adult conversation sometimes in my own home, I love spending time chatting with others, laughing at what they send me, debating what we might disagree on, learning about things I didn’t know about.  From time to time, people do these lists of seemingly random facts about themselves:  Get to know me, what you didn’t know, hopes and fears, etc.  I read them eagerly to learn more about my friends, but I never actually do them myself. 

So here, on my space, with my writer’s block intact, I’ll give some random facts.  And remember, you came here voluntarily…

I was born in England-  As a child, I was tormented with the fact that I was a Tory.  I cringed whenever we studied the American Revolution because I knew someone would revel in the fact that I was “the bad guy”.

I wore glasses, big coke bottle glasses as a child until my grandmother got me fitted for contact lenses.  I once fought with a boy, I punched him, he punched me back and broke my glasses.  He got in trouble.  I started it.

I had a beautiful 10 speed bike when I was younger.  I went too fast down a hill and flipped over the handle bars, sliding down the hill on my back and elbow.  My back healed nicely after they picked the pebbles out.  My elbow still shows the scars.  I never rode that bike again, it rusted sitting outside.  I am ashamed about that.

I am horribly afraid of fire.  I can deal with it in a fire pit or fire place, but the idea of a house fire terrifies me to my core.  If I watch a movie where there is an uncontrolled fire, I hide until it’s over.  I cannot watch Backdraft to this day because it scares me to death.

I hate Braham’s Lullabye.  Mary Ingall’s baby died in a house fire (see the correlation?) and they were playing that tune during that part of the show.  I refused to play any music boxes with that song when my children were infants.

I love dragonflies.  This one isn’t that big of a mystery, pretty easy to guess if you even know me a tiny bit.   I find peace and happiness when a dragonfly chooses me to visit.  I know it’s crazy, but I greet them as my friends and talk to them whenever they come around.  I talk to most animals and believe they understand me.  

I won’t eat mushrooms or eggplant.  The textures creep me out.

I’m stubborn.  I might appear to be easy going and relenting, but I’ll dig my heels in like a mule if there is something I don’t feel like doing (right or wrong).  I am working on that.

I’m insanely loyal which is a good thing, but sometimes it clouds my ability to be objective.  

I think I am tougher than I am.  I forget sometimes that I lack height.  

In college, my parents let me borrow our old Nissan Sentra for the last week of classes.  My dad filled the tank before I left.  I was to drive it to KSC and park it.  I did not do that.  I drove all over the place all week and wound up breaking down on the way home from school, car loaded to the roof with my belongings.  I had to walk to the Yarn Barn to call my mother.  She came to rescue me.  I was caught because I told them that I had stopped to put gas in before I left to head home.  They were not happy.  The car never ran again.

I was taught by example.  One day I got a flat tire in Marlborough, NH.  I called my father to come help me as I did not know what to do (I was all of 18-19).  My father drove 45 minutes to come help.  He jacked up the car, took off the old tire, put on the spare and brought the car back down.  Then he put the car back up, took off the new tire, put back on the flat tire and lowered the car.  He handed me the jack and said, “now you do it”..  I have never forgotten that-  I have never been stranded with a tire on the side of the road again and more over, that gave me the where with all to figure things out in a time of need.

And lastly; I think that I am a great singer in my car.  I hold rock concerts and I am the star.  I always have my hairbrush poised for my incredible vocal stylings.