Thursday, February 4, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
When the bee stings...
I was upset this morning, and wrapping a package in brown paper wrapping to send off from work. Suddenly, under my breath, I started singing songs from the Sound of Music: girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes, snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes, silver white winters that melt into spring, these are a few of my favorite things...
Needless to say, I felt better.
Needless to say, I felt better.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Monday, February 1, 2010
Wind Instruments
I picked up my clarinet again tonight for the first time in over a year. More like a year and a half. The last time I played it was a warm, cloud-free summer evening Culver City, the porch light, a few flying insects and an aluminum trailer to keep me company.
For the past few days, my fingers have started to itch to play. Family has been visiting, I've had to work, emails and to-do lists have been beckoning me. But tonight as I got off the phone with a dear (and musically talented) friend eight time zones away, I saw the clocked ticked 15 mins until a reasonable bed time--just enough for a few goes on the clarinet.
Like the QWERTY keyboard is to me now, my fingers knew their respective positions on my wind instrument. Of all the items in my possession, my clarinet may be one of the oldest: we bought it for my second year of band in school and it's been with me ever since. I was probably an intermediate clarinetist when I stopped, and the beginners book is really what I'd prefer at the moment, and there is some sense of freedom and history in just playing a few notes, running a few scale patterns together--like picking up a conversation with a long lost friend and remembering it the same as ever with refreshing nuances and changes since you last spoke.
For the past few days, my fingers have started to itch to play. Family has been visiting, I've had to work, emails and to-do lists have been beckoning me. But tonight as I got off the phone with a dear (and musically talented) friend eight time zones away, I saw the clocked ticked 15 mins until a reasonable bed time--just enough for a few goes on the clarinet.
Like the QWERTY keyboard is to me now, my fingers knew their respective positions on my wind instrument. Of all the items in my possession, my clarinet may be one of the oldest: we bought it for my second year of band in school and it's been with me ever since. I was probably an intermediate clarinetist when I stopped, and the beginners book is really what I'd prefer at the moment, and there is some sense of freedom and history in just playing a few notes, running a few scale patterns together--like picking up a conversation with a long lost friend and remembering it the same as ever with refreshing nuances and changes since you last spoke.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Mary Chapin Carpenter
I don't remember how old I was. It could have been when I was under 5 and 1/2--cause I don't remember where my brother was--or I could have been about 8 or 9. Either way, I loved everything about the concert. My parents got three tickets to see Mary Chapin Carpenter live at some theatre in the East Bay and I knew every word to every one of her songs. My parents commented later on how amazing her back-up band was, how fantastic her performance of 'Shut Up and Kiss Me' worked the crowd.
I couldn't have cared less about the former, but I remember her descending the stage and strutting her way through the center aisle, finding an appropriate lap to sit on at the opportune chorus moment. I was mesmorized by her perfomance, and sang right along with her. It was less that I wanted to be down there with her, an aisle seat on the path she walked, but more that I wanted to be her. To have that guts--and the glory--that raw talent.
A child under ten sitting next to her parents, singing along to every song was probably a sight to be seen. I remembered the guy behind me making some remark part way through the show, he had noticed my talent for lyrics, if you want to call it that. Me, I couldn't have been happier. It remains one of my favorite concerts of all time.
I couldn't have cared less about the former, but I remember her descending the stage and strutting her way through the center aisle, finding an appropriate lap to sit on at the opportune chorus moment. I was mesmorized by her perfomance, and sang right along with her. It was less that I wanted to be down there with her, an aisle seat on the path she walked, but more that I wanted to be her. To have that guts--and the glory--that raw talent.
A child under ten sitting next to her parents, singing along to every song was probably a sight to be seen. I remembered the guy behind me making some remark part way through the show, he had noticed my talent for lyrics, if you want to call it that. Me, I couldn't have been happier. It remains one of my favorite concerts of all time.
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