triet XIX

first time I've been able to* accompany myself singing "Killing Me Softly" which is a song I've sung and loved for many, many years -- Sunday

first time I've enjoyed Earl Grey tea /first time I've asked for Earl Grey -- Saturday / Monday

first time I've been riveted by a genealogy/the reading of a genealogy (and I mean "riveted" like I had to remind myself a few times to breathe in) -- Sunday


*because I was taught the rudiments of music theory, given ear and transcribing training, I haven't needed to figure out the chords to 95% of songs with the use of another instrument (piano, guitar, banjo, accordion, Zelda for N64) for a good ten years or so. I listen and I hear the music in numbers. (I use Roman numerals so I can put the song into whichever key I choose or so I can put it into the original key once I am using some other instrument.)
Then there are songs like "Killing Me Softly" which I find so gorgeous that I don't want to "figure them out" because I like not knowing. I like being unable to pick them apart (like "Blackbird" which I have still somehow managed to avoid drawing up blueprints for) because sometimes Roman numerals are incredibly distracting. Like...if Superman could never turn his x-ray vision off..he would stop seeing people and it would become difficult to interact with them, I imagine. I don't want to get lost in the nuts & bolts sometimes; I just want to swim in the music.
For some reason, though, on Sunday I wanted to give dissection a shot. It took a couple minutes and I'm still not 100% sure of it but I don't care because it was very fun to sing. (78) I'm really happy about it. I feel sorry for the next guitar player I cross who doesn't know I'm going to ask them to play for me. For some reason I think it would just sound better on a six-string. And with a fat bass. ha. It's like I'm planning to cut an album. (I'm not.)

s'all good.

after I prepped my lunch, I glanced back at the oven clock to be sure it was after noon so I could crack open this Coors Light my mom has in her fridge. She doesn't drink...she keeps them on hand for company...I am company..it had to happen this way.

I just got back from one of the more gorgeous weddings I've attended.
All through the service my head was swimming with observations and compliments and comments that I thought I would write here but now that I'm back I feel I couldn't capture any of it very well.

The bride was stunning, her husband is wonderful, the service was great in every way that's important.
Over the past year or so, I have been thinking about weddings differently as I have seen three other marriages become not-marriages. In my weakest moments, I am fending off the urge to be incredibly cynical and say, "yeah, right," as earnest people express their vows to one another.
[Verdict? Coors Light - not that good. I hope this is my last can EVER. Just decided I'm done with mediocre beer. It's not worth my time.]

This is the fifth wedding I've attended this year and I think I am finally at the point where I am comfortable with the balance of being filled with joy and happiness and sappiness for the newlyweds and being anchored in the sordid, painful truth that marriage is inconcievably difficult and any moment not spend on-guard is a moment you're in trouble. I think, "YES this is wonderful; YES, 'for richer and for poorer,' etc.," but also, "You have NO idea what it will be like when it's 'for worse' or 'in want'." That's not to discourage people from getting hitched but to say, let's not be blind and naive. And let's not decide to care about one another's marriages only after they're on the rocks.

It was a beautiful wedding. W & J seemed like they understood the gravity of what they were doing. The pastor - who seemed to be new and nervous..but in an endearing way - he seemed to get it and encouraged them in a sobering way. I appreciated him and his straightforwardness, openness and quoting of Ephesians 6:10-20, The Armour of God.

Good wedding. God be praised.

re-deciding that I love Toronto.

say what you want, Western Canada - I love the big city. I walked out of the bus terminal at Bay and Dundas and felt in a moment exhilarated and at home. a million streetcar tracks in one intersection, a hot dog vendor, a huge Canadian Tire where it just doesn't make sense to have one... I love it all. It's excessive, it's loud, it's braggardly and I love it. What's more, I suppose I don't care how that reflects on me. I'm a city girl. Deal with it.

I have some really nice friends. I have too many people in my life that I can count on and that put up with me. I'm not saying that last part to be cute... I am seriously overwhelmed by people that know me well not giving up on me. To all of you (and I dearly hope you know who you are), I say a hearty, rumbling THANK YOU from the core of me. Go ahead and picture that. It makes it more fun.

I think it would be cool if I said I was proud to be black. Honest? I don't really think about it much. Not sure what I'm proud to be most days -- and not sure how that's supposed to function.

If I scrawled this blog post on a coffee shop napkin I found in my vest, does that convince you I should be a writer? Do the multiple blotches of ink on both my hands convince you? Me, I dunno if I'm convinced but I do know that between the glamour & romance of the big city and the Telus advert on the subway for a new plan suggesting, "Your office is wherever you are," I feel like I'm dying to make that my profession. Honest? I'm waiting for someone to corroborate the notion but I know they won't/can't/shouldn't. I know I need to be my own man and make my own way. I know that with this kind of profession you need to convince people through your craft or your output, not through saying, "I'm really good at this." NO. No, that's not what I mean. I mean if no one wants to read it I can't make them. If no one wants to listen, it'll be difficult to make it as a musician. Electrician? Errybuddy gots lights. Plumber? Errybuddy poops. Nanny? Errybuddy gots kids. Politician? Errybuddy need to be governed. Data Warehouse Analyst? Unimportant. Lawyer? Errybuddy need defending or prosecuting. Teacher? Errybuddy needa learn. Many professions have some kind of guaranteed demand for their services.

This isn't a sob story or a pity-grab. I'm merely reflecting. There is a demand for certain kinds of artists... journalists will always have articles to write; sculptures & paintings are commissioned; dancers, singers and actors will always have something to audition for. But if you want to make it on your own, to carve out your own corner of the market, you gotta take the road less traveled by and almost undoubtedly live the "starving artist" life for some amount of time. You gotta want it!

I want it... but I don't know what/where to write. People often ask me what and I don't know. I at least want to get my foot in the door and ideally wander about until I find something that fits. (I feel more convinced of that today and yesterday after bombing an interview for a job I definitely wanted.)

There is a door ajar in my life. I need to try to slink through it.

I greatly dislike bad hair days.

(I just don't know what they're for. They drive me nuts. It's probably one of those perpetual (perennial?) lessons on you-can't-always-get-what-you-want-isms. Or on patience, or on let-it-go-ness. I don't really like any of those things at the moment I'm standing in the bathroom looking in the mirror. But there it is!)

Makes me feel a little bit weird that I have the titles of three television shows on my roll-over to-do list. It is weird that I haven't been able to watch the handful of shows I follow faithfully at their normal time of airing. I'm happy that this means I don't give TV precedent over other things even though I would VERY OFTEN like to. Because of my weaked computer, watching online is somewhat challenging but it gets the job done. And there's always random reruns. And renting season DVDs. And sentence fragments.
This Monday was the first Monday in six Mondays that our small group hasn't met. (And that on that Thanksgiving/Columbus day, I missed it. Three Mondays before that was when our group started - and also the same Monday Season 7 started! Drove me mad when I discovered that coincidence.) Which means this is the first Monday in six Mondays that I could watch "House M.D." (2004-present) at its original air time. I realized this a few weeks ago and made plans to make sure I was home today between 8 and 9pm so I could watch it and love it. Shouldn't have been difficult. But what did I do? Well, I stayed out playing/practing piano until well past 9pm. (Really??) I don't know what is wrong with me. I don't know how I gave it up. It's not like I can't watch it online tomorrow; I know that. Also, it's not like show is THAT important to me..if it was canceled tomorrow I wouldn't be sad for very long.
It's the principle of the thing! I wanted to do something that I have been barred from doing for a long time. But, apparently I also REALLY wanted to play piano.

gosh, what a weird thing to write about.

the ephiphany I had to go all the way to Kitchener to find.

This is an excerpt from a letter I penned this afternoon.

"I realized that the fact that I'm looking for work doesn't mean I (necessarily) failed at something. I realized that the job hunt "mode" or season can be good for exactly what it is and not for what comes at the end of that season (i.e. the job). In this place, God can teach and show me some unique things that I can't see or learn when I work full-time. Do you feel me on this? it was some kind of profound epiphany for me. It makes me feel less guilty & depressed about the whole thing AND shows me a new kind of discipline. It's somehow easier to commit to diligently looking for work with wisdom, sincere effort and integrity when I consider that it's OK - or even good - to be at this point right now. I must believe God will give me a job in good time and that I have my responsibilities to fulfill in the mean time. (Geez, I got half a mind to keep this letter 'stead of sending it to you because I need to remember this stuff I'm writing!)"

and there it is.

I'm getting a little sick of all this.

I try to shove it out of my mind (and I also toy with the idea of going head-to-head).
And then tonight I'm at a friend's house and BAM! I get ambushed. Utterly ambushed and my heart breaks.

Then I come home and it's here to greet me.
I turn on the TV and a host mentions it. It's the sub-theme of the next program.

Are you serious??!?!


I'm at a loss.

triet XVIII

Show I weirdly can't seem to get enough of: "Canada's Worst Driver". I don't even know what to say.

Thing that makes me wish I could slip into a coma (and emerge at some convenient time): relationships!

Traits I lack obviously at present: patience and discipline.

solar plexus

I should be working. I wanted to write. (I don't fully want to but I need to exercise the writing muscle cos it's been a while.)
I like Mozilla Firefox far better than I like Internet Explorer.

On Sunday I was responding to an offer from a friend of mine with a simple, "I'm OK," because we were in public and I didn't want to expose the details of what we had been talking about. Someone who was sitting between us on the other side of the long table of ten people said, "You are??" in a way that surprized me. I started answering before I'd discerned what she meant: "Well in this specific area, yeah..." I didn't know what she was getting at so I played it safe. Then I realized she was mocking me and my answer had played directly into her hand. It was funny.
But what I REALLY* liked about it was that it was the first time she had mocked me like that - which means she's getting comfortable with me! Ha...it's great. It's really great.

*I need to stop using this word so lazily. I hate it (the laziness, not the word).

OK. Weird of weird?

On Monday, when I was about to affix a poppy to my shirt, I thought of how I had seen someone else affix theirs on Sunday. I didn't watch them put it on but I saw them wear it in a way I'm not familiar with. And as I tramped across the lawn (bad!) leaving my house in a rush and finished securing the thing, I became aware of some crazy older-brother complex I had stepped into. But I was like the younger brother, though, more than a younger sister.
I realized that something in my brain said in a way that's so simple it's gotta be childlike (childish?), "Well if he does it that way, I'm gonna do it that way." The implication is that Jeff wants to be like Sam so he asks mom for the same kind of sneakers or gels his hair the same way or whatever.
I thought it was funny. I was a little surprized at myself. I've never done something just because someone I admire is doing it. It's a funny feeling. I think with brothers it can be an amazing thing.

Just a few moments ago I took a final swig of the dregs of my tea which I accidentally put too much masala in. (Imagine it like your tea bag broke or something. Or the hot chocolate powder that turns into a grossly sugary goop, often like that produced by Tim Hortons.) And in that split-second where I was not enjoying it and wishing I hadn't drank it I considered the option of spitting it back out and I am SURE I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't just watched an episode of "The Big Bang Theory" (2007-present) where Sheldon spat out a shot of whatever (tequila?) about three times because he either thought he could handle it or forgot what it tasted like, I donno. He spat it back into the shot glass. It was ridiculous and kinda funny. It was also gross...because of the froth. But anyways, as I spat my tea back out I was thinking, "Am I actually doing this?" cos it's so juvenile/pansy but watching someone else do it somehow allowed me to make an excuse or something, I donno.
I knew it wouldn't taste great because the sip before was a bit intense but I wanted to muscle through partly to continue my lifelong battle against pansy-ness (i.e. giving up on or avoiding something because it makes me uncomfortable or is unpleasant) and partly to remind myself to be more careful in the future when preparing this drink. I think..maybe it worked. I donno. I blogged about it so it must be just at least a little bit significant.

Oh, influence.

and so it begins ...(?)

Today is the day I kinda get Twitter. Eesh. I hope I'm not getting sucked in. I'm scared. For the record, it was @CarlCrawford_ that pushed me that one step closer. Gross, gross, gross.