Murderbot was a great book but fun as a Apple/Amazon series.
Though a bit crass, The Boys, is a car crash you can’t stop watching.
That’s my day. Wow. Don’t try that at home. I’m an expert.
Category: Blogging
Quiet.
Not my life. I don’t know quiet. Yet I live in the desert in a tiny frontier town.ย When the power went out it was silent for one minute. Then we all started talking. And as long as there was a long battery life, my stories continued. Well, the downloaded ones.
But it started me thinking. Let’s say there was a solar storm or whatever. How would life change?
I don’t have unlimited yarn, but I could knit and crochet for quite a while. And though it might seem noiseless, counting must happen. And the more sound around me, the more loudly I count.
I could draw or paint. I have a few diamond paintings ahead but after those are gone I might have to invent my own with all the leftovers from previous projects.
But the noise within me would start screaming. ADHD does not do quiet.
Though I might play my keyboards until the batteries go kaputt.
But look at my noise! Piano, recorders, violin, and uke. I can play and sing and read aloud forever! I’m no quitter!
And maybe we would spend a lot more time getting to know our neighbors. What’s stopping us? Well, that’s the question!
What is happening to my days? But by bit time is chipped away until here it is at bedtime.
Here is where I keep myself accountable to me for progress on projects of my passions. But yesterday I got behind and then ahead on this episode.
Sometimes I feel I make other people feel inferior through my checklist. Please don’t. I feel inferior to everyone else in that I’m sure they’re getting other stuff done that they don’t even need to report because they are so good at getting their adulting jobs done that I feel guilty not getting done or just overlook, like dishes and shampooing. The same 24 hours is all we get and we make choices of what we can do. What we need to do. And what we can’t wait to do, leaving other necessities hanging with futile hopes.
And since this blog is attached to ‘Warts and All’ I’ll start with what hasn’t gotten done. My husband asked me today why I haven’t been playing the uke, recorder, or violin. Well, I thank Mrs. Skinner for this sidetrack path straightener.
When I got sick of practicing piano and ready to quit lessons, she came up with this bait and switch. Forced practice came from Mom. But I adore my teacher. She sent me home with her ukulele. It helped so much in bringing me back to the piano.
So in hopes of keeping my music alive I tried the recorders and strings. And sure enough it worked.
When my dad was in the rest home over a decade ago, the lady in the room next to his played her piano all the time. I decided I wanted to grow up to be her, or Huge Lauri of House fame. He would sit down and just play, no sheet music just music.
I’ve been stuck with eye music since I was 5 years old. My goal this time is to learn to improvise and play. Still, there is so much to learn to get to that stage of free-playing. The other instruments help with learning chords and meandering melodies. And a change of positions. So I need to get back to them sometimes.
Duo still rides my stationary bike managing a few lessons for the half-hour 4-5 miles on #3 grade. So… There’s that.
Is it me? There seemed no other good Snoopy puns. All seemed like this one. So maybe Facebook is trying to tell us something.
I started my revisit to playing the piano at the beginning of October last year.
At that time two of my friends were in the hospital. In my piano journal I mentioned the deep thoughts and how it might affect my “playing”.ย Three days later one of my friends passed away and I worried the other might join her. Outside of praying there was little I could do.
Birds sing. They just do. Creativity has to happen. Just because.
I think I started before October. But the journey back to the keys got serious then. I started keeping the piano journal then.
I remember trying to figure out how to start.
My friend and I were already working on bringing back our creative muses. She said I should make sure to say ‘play’ not ‘practice’. It has worked.
But when I started back I found I couldn’t play songs I memorized or at least conquered back when I was twelve.
It was embarrassing, depressing, in fact, to even think about some of the songs. And I had to have everyone in the house hide away while I played.
At first I would play for five minutes. My anxiety was so high.
I’d play far easier things or sight read what might be easy.
Early on I looked at the Shirley Temple Songbook and felt that there was no chance I’d get the rhythm. Modern rhythms, syncopation. Bane of my existence.
Well, I finally got brave and started hitting the Songbook.
Still missing my Michele. But glad Yvensong is better.
As a child my mother wanted me to have curly hair. She or my aunt gave me perms. Ugh! I hated it! And it took forever to grow out. It wasn’t so much curly as frizzy.
In sixth grade I had a thing for Shirley Temple. I used those pink sponge rollers, or mom would use rags to curl my hair into those ringlets. I loved Ms. Temples songs, shows, and dances.
My teen years found me using coke, orange juice, or coffee cans as rollers as Cher straight hair was in. I couldn’t find pics, sorry.
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