Where Did the Month Go?

Thanksgiving, family, lots of projects, lots of new ideas with many olden. 2 cuddly cats and 3 toddling 2 year-olds, all boys. Impromptu renewed connections (big and small) with old friends, the golden friends. 24 carat. Researching, writing, rewriting, teaching (or at least learning more on teaching), singing, performing, and only one dance night. Better than none. Keeping my ears patient and my heart cracked open to the sky. But what kind of sky? Do you hear what I hear?

The Secret Garden as a Multicultural Text

Over at Shen's Blog, I share small memories of The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett. Check it out!

Community Is a Good Word

Oakley Hall recently said that "community" was in vogue in the 60s. When he found out that the word currently has more positive connotations, he commented, you just have to wait long enough and everything will be back in style. More about Oakley Hall later.

My Hair Is Too Long

It's grown past the cut's capacity to tame it. Time to give it away. Soon.

I Miss Dancing

I haven't been dancing in so long I can feel my feet slowing down.

Your Nose Always Grows

And your earlobes, too.

Writers Are Like Cats

Herding them is nigh well impossible.

Music as the Universal Language

As I'm wrestling more with the imperfect language of English to capture my thoughts, ideas, and perhaps most important my emotions, I still come to the conclusion that wouldn't it be so much better if we could sing at each other vs. just talk? Okay, so life doesn't have to be a constant musical or even a musical episode a la Buffy's "Once More with Feeling," but there's a huge, really accessible emotional layer found in music. One doesn't even have to understand the words to understand the emotional impact of a well-performed and well-written melody.

On second thought, that's assuming that everyone can sing well and write songs well. Wouldn't the writing songs well kind of match the expectation that people can speak well? That leaves the dilemma of singing and those unfortunate folks who happen to be tone-deaf. Except in the past years, I've personally known several tone-deaf singers who are now either mostly on-pitch or quite competent.

I'm tempted to just start singing at people so they truly understand me, though I do know from past experience that randomly singing at people more often than not completely disconcerts that almost unthinkable minority who simply don't care for music. Or perhaps their distaste was more specifically for my singing voice. One never knows. Yet how can I keep from singing?

You Can't Hurry Art

You just have to wait because Art don't come easy. Inspiration, perspiration and dislocation.

When the Muse Visits

When the Muse visits, dust off that guest chair and brew a pot of her favorite tea. It changes every time. Today it's chamomile with honey. There's no need for caffine or white sugar or such. Just you, the Muse, your Conversation, and your Art.

Medicating with Music

I've been feeling blue lately, and I forgot to mention the best way to lift my mood is music. 'Tis the holiday season, and my choir is singing all these Christmas carols and Ave Marias. It's all about virgin motherhood and baby Jesus. But the music itself, while much of it is simple (perhaps because I had previously sung much of it), the intrinsic core of the music is beautiful, often haunting. So for NaBloPoMo, I've decided to add to my blog backlog of writing events a completely different series of my thoughts about the music that my choir is singing in December.

Too Much Caffine

Keeps one up at night, keeps the Sandman at bay.

Wading through Back Log Blog

For the majority of NaBloPoMo, the plan is to post events/reflections on previous events, but first I needed to get this out of my system:

Those little things in life that lifts the spirits, even when sad personal news from others surrounds and threatens to overwhelm, cracking what little serenity one might have managed to patch together.

Those little things might be:
A cup of adulterated coffee where it's more adulteration than coffee. An unexpected smile, genuine and vulnerable in openness. A scent of citrus. A conversation with a close friend who lives far away. A email from a new friend who lives nearby but one never sees. A voicemail from a bf in the latest phone tag. A bowl of mac and cheese where the mac is al dente and the cheese is Velveeta. A series of dreams echoing a haunting melody that one has just managed to learn, mostly in time. A compliment on one's range. A compliment on one's writing. A compliment on one's hair, soon to be donated to a child fighting illness. A walk where the only sounds you can hear are your steps pounding concrete and the rustling of trees.

People whom I am sending good thoughts to: Deborah H. a fellow singer, M.A. & family, Kimberly F. my student and a fellow Harry Potter fan.

100 Years of Falling Back

One hundred years ago a house builder named William Willet proposed daylight savings, and though it took a few years, it's a national practice. Except for maybe Arizona.

I'm happy to have "gained" an extra hour of sunlight and sleep.

The Sun Sets so Early in the Fall

But I'm still using sunscreen.

A Dolphin Is Like a Cheeseball

Weirdness abounds in my life.

This Year It's NaBloPoMo

NaNoWriMo aka National Novel Writing Month is a wonderful concept--writing 50k words in 30 days while you are working, schooling, doing your day to day thing. I'm sure lots of people can do it. This year my priorities lie elsewhere.

Yet I feel the urge to write on a regular basis.

So as a compromise, there's NaBloPoMo aka National Blog Posting Month. Even if it's only one word or one sentence, I will blog daily.