On Music and Other Activities
Happened across this musician's blog this morning and had to share.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Comfort
Those of you who are in relationships cannot, in my humble opinion, fully appreciate the treasure you possess.
To have someone to come home to or who comes home to you; to have someone with whom to discuss the day's events or your concerns or your joys; to have someone to wrap his arms around you when all you want is just to be encircled by big manly arms. I miss that luxury.
Last night I ran up to the Gardener's after rehearsal to get an hour of face time. We just sat on the couch and watched (in my case, listened to) a program on television. WIth an arm around me, I put my head on his shoulder and let the busy-ness of the day melt away. What a lovely gift he gave me last night — the space and ability to relax.
To those of you in relationships, even those who are a mite disgruntled and wondering what it would be like out of that relationship, don't go there. The grass is not greener. You have something wonderful, even when you think it's not so wonderful, that you would surely miss if you lost it.
I envy you.
Those of you who are in relationships cannot, in my humble opinion, fully appreciate the treasure you possess.
To have someone to come home to or who comes home to you; to have someone with whom to discuss the day's events or your concerns or your joys; to have someone to wrap his arms around you when all you want is just to be encircled by big manly arms. I miss that luxury.
Last night I ran up to the Gardener's after rehearsal to get an hour of face time. We just sat on the couch and watched (in my case, listened to) a program on television. WIth an arm around me, I put my head on his shoulder and let the busy-ness of the day melt away. What a lovely gift he gave me last night — the space and ability to relax.
To those of you in relationships, even those who are a mite disgruntled and wondering what it would be like out of that relationship, don't go there. The grass is not greener. You have something wonderful, even when you think it's not so wonderful, that you would surely miss if you lost it.
I envy you.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Trustwordiness
Today I'm thinking about men and the words they say. I refuse to believe that all men are not true to their words. But I sure have come across a bunch of them lately. Are they just after whatever they can get and will say whatever needs to be said to achieve that objective?
(And here I explicitly exempt the Kayaker, the Traveler, and the Gardener from the stereotype. But nobody else in my current little black book.)
The thing I've got going on with the Gardener now fits me like a glove. It's a very different relationship than any I think I've ever had. I'm just having fun, laughing, heavily into a good time being had by all. I'm not trying to peer into my crystal ball or predict anything that might happen a year from now. I'm just enjoying myself.
He's a good guy and Extreme Boy Scout, and even is willing to listen when I complain about hot flashes. Oh, BTW, I've decided in my next career I'll be a fashion designer with a line of clothing for hot flashy women. It will contain lots of layers and be easy on, easy off. Nothing that has to pull over the head. I'm dying here, and when I complained to my doctor yesterday, she just laughed (sympathetically).
But back to the Gardener. I'm not getting a thing done around the house because I'm spending so much time having fun. But that's a good thing, right?
Today I'm thinking about men and the words they say. I refuse to believe that all men are not true to their words. But I sure have come across a bunch of them lately. Are they just after whatever they can get and will say whatever needs to be said to achieve that objective?
(And here I explicitly exempt the Kayaker, the Traveler, and the Gardener from the stereotype. But nobody else in my current little black book.)
The thing I've got going on with the Gardener now fits me like a glove. It's a very different relationship than any I think I've ever had. I'm just having fun, laughing, heavily into a good time being had by all. I'm not trying to peer into my crystal ball or predict anything that might happen a year from now. I'm just enjoying myself.
He's a good guy and Extreme Boy Scout, and even is willing to listen when I complain about hot flashes. Oh, BTW, I've decided in my next career I'll be a fashion designer with a line of clothing for hot flashy women. It will contain lots of layers and be easy on, easy off. Nothing that has to pull over the head. I'm dying here, and when I complained to my doctor yesterday, she just laughed (sympathetically).
But back to the Gardener. I'm not getting a thing done around the house because I'm spending so much time having fun. But that's a good thing, right?
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Chipping Away at Hope
Two of the characters in the novel "The Company" to which I'm currently listening are pursuing a romantic relationship. He says, "Every time I leave you, I leave a little piece of my heart with you." She replies, "Oh, I hope not. If that's so, then before long there will be none of your heart left."
This made me think about what happens when someone breaks up with me or a blossoming relationship fails.
I go into a potential relationship with my heart wide open. I hope this might be the ultimate relationship. I open myself up fully, holding nothing back. And then it ends, and I have a little less hope, a little less belief, than I had before.
How many times does this have to happen before there will be nothing left? Does hope (and one's heart) keep regenerating itself, like a lizard's tail? Does hope, springing eternal, allow one — after a sufficient period of recuperation — to believe again, to want again, to hope again? Is loneliness so powerful that it brings hope back to life?
So many questions; so few answers.
Two of the characters in the novel "The Company" to which I'm currently listening are pursuing a romantic relationship. He says, "Every time I leave you, I leave a little piece of my heart with you." She replies, "Oh, I hope not. If that's so, then before long there will be none of your heart left."
This made me think about what happens when someone breaks up with me or a blossoming relationship fails.
I go into a potential relationship with my heart wide open. I hope this might be the ultimate relationship. I open myself up fully, holding nothing back. And then it ends, and I have a little less hope, a little less belief, than I had before.
How many times does this have to happen before there will be nothing left? Does hope (and one's heart) keep regenerating itself, like a lizard's tail? Does hope, springing eternal, allow one — after a sufficient period of recuperation — to believe again, to want again, to hope again? Is loneliness so powerful that it brings hope back to life?
So many questions; so few answers.
The New Rules
I've said any number of times that the Rules of Dating have changed in the time period since I was 17 or 18 and dating. My friend in Fredericksburg and I discussed this over dinner on Friday night. He agreed and asked that I keep him apprised of any rules I discern.
Here's Rule One, so far as I can see: If you're thinking of or planning on building something with a person or maintaining an existing something, you must communicate with that person. A text message or three line e-mail or a two minute phone call saying "I'm thinking of you" will suffice to keep the home fires burning. But a three day or three week or three month gap between communiqués will not!
The Gardener asked me over Sunday breakfast if I had heard from Mr. Match. My answer was no. I last heard from him about three weeks ago, when he said, in essence, "We need to talk. There was too much between us to just let it go." And I haven't heard from him since. I called once and left a message and he didn't return the call. And I told the Gardener that the more time that passes between Mr. Match's communications, the less inclined I am to let him back into my life. Right now the door is open just enough to to retrieve my CDs.
I come from a family that doesn't know how to communicate. I've spent my whole life trying to learn how to live differently — live correctly. I'm sure not going to revert to that dysfunctional behavior at this point in my life!
I've said any number of times that the Rules of Dating have changed in the time period since I was 17 or 18 and dating. My friend in Fredericksburg and I discussed this over dinner on Friday night. He agreed and asked that I keep him apprised of any rules I discern.
Here's Rule One, so far as I can see: If you're thinking of or planning on building something with a person or maintaining an existing something, you must communicate with that person. A text message or three line e-mail or a two minute phone call saying "I'm thinking of you" will suffice to keep the home fires burning. But a three day or three week or three month gap between communiqués will not!
The Gardener asked me over Sunday breakfast if I had heard from Mr. Match. My answer was no. I last heard from him about three weeks ago, when he said, in essence, "We need to talk. There was too much between us to just let it go." And I haven't heard from him since. I called once and left a message and he didn't return the call. And I told the Gardener that the more time that passes between Mr. Match's communications, the less inclined I am to let him back into my life. Right now the door is open just enough to to retrieve my CDs.
I come from a family that doesn't know how to communicate. I've spent my whole life trying to learn how to live differently — live correctly. I'm sure not going to revert to that dysfunctional behavior at this point in my life!
Monday, November 27, 2006
How Big is That Block, Anyway?
I had been traveling all day, hot flashing my way across North Carolina and Virginia. (This is a new experience, thanks to my doctor, and I'm not enjoying it at all. In case you were interested.) I arrived at the home of a lovely cultured, educated man with whom I've been maintaining an ongoing flirtation for six years. (We see each other annually at chorus events in Washington and I always wonder what it would be like to date him. Friday night we had our first date — dinner at a lovely restaurant in historic Fredricksburg, Virginia. He asked me!)
He offered the use of his shower when I expressed how grubby I felt after a day in the car. As I stepped into the bathroom, he handed me a freshly laundered, size-appropriate, terrycloth robe. Hmmm.
Now is this an indicator that he is a Southern gentleman accustomed to entertaining and hosting out-of-town guests that might have forgotten to pack a robe, or is this the first sign that the man is a player, having been around the block more than once? Is he used to having women shower in his home, or does he simply have a wonderfully-organized home? Not that there's anything wrong with that.
I had been traveling all day, hot flashing my way across North Carolina and Virginia. (This is a new experience, thanks to my doctor, and I'm not enjoying it at all. In case you were interested.) I arrived at the home of a lovely cultured, educated man with whom I've been maintaining an ongoing flirtation for six years. (We see each other annually at chorus events in Washington and I always wonder what it would be like to date him. Friday night we had our first date — dinner at a lovely restaurant in historic Fredricksburg, Virginia. He asked me!)
He offered the use of his shower when I expressed how grubby I felt after a day in the car. As I stepped into the bathroom, he handed me a freshly laundered, size-appropriate, terrycloth robe. Hmmm.
Now is this an indicator that he is a Southern gentleman accustomed to entertaining and hosting out-of-town guests that might have forgotten to pack a robe, or is this the first sign that the man is a player, having been around the block more than once? Is he used to having women shower in his home, or does he simply have a wonderfully-organized home? Not that there's anything wrong with that.
Sunday, November 26, 2006
On Boredom
Spending 36 hours with my mother last week forced me to think about retirement and lifestyles of the older American. My mother was trained as a nurse and worked until Daddy's medical practice was established. After my oldest brother was born, she didn't work outside the home again until after we three children were all gone from the house. Then she worked part-time for a couple of years as a secretary to help out her friend who owned a nursing home.
She spent much of her life as a housewife, and that lifestyle continues. The retirement home where she lives provides lots of activities: game night every Sunday (she plays a mean game of Scrabble and beat me two out of three on Thursday afternoon); a social hour two or three times a month; cooking classes; speakers; Bible studies; and on and on. And yet I look at the life she lives and deem it boring.
Mother is 93. She wakes up early, but doesn't really get up and get dressed until 9:00 or so. She goes to "dinner" at 11:30, then comes back to the apartment and takes a nap in the afternoon. She fixes a light supper for herself, then watches the news and goes to bed around 8:30. Once a week she walks 100 yards up the hill to visit her younger sister who has Parkinson's. A couple mornings a week, she might take a walk around the hospital across the street. In the summer she drives up to the mountain cottage, 80 miles away, for a week or so at a time. There she spends time reading or just sitting on the front porch.
And now that I write down everything she does, it sounds like a busy life. But living it with her for a day-and-a-half, all I could think was, "I don't want to live to my 90s. I don't want to live this way."
I have to confess that I do everything in my power to keep from being bored. On my trip last week, I took two programming books, my laptop, a crossword puzzle book, a Sudoku book, and a very long novel on my iPod. Oh, and seven CDs for the drive to North Carolina. I got most of the way through the Visual Basic for Access book, and finished two parts of the novel while driving. I listened to 10 minutes of one CD. I didn't even open the PHP book. God forbid that I ever spend a moment just sitting and thinking.
Today was beautiful in Tucson. I took the Gardener to breakfast to thank him for all the plant-watering and cat-feeding while I was gone, then we went and bought more pots and mulch and flowers and spent time working in the garden. When we were done, I would have loved to have just sat there, drinking in the gorgeous day. But instead I shooed him off because I have sewing and laundry and computer stuff to do.
Maybe there's a big difference between being bored and being contemplative. I need to clear things off my to-do list so I can spend more time being contemplative.
Oh yeah. I remember now. I need to learn to say "no"!
Spending 36 hours with my mother last week forced me to think about retirement and lifestyles of the older American. My mother was trained as a nurse and worked until Daddy's medical practice was established. After my oldest brother was born, she didn't work outside the home again until after we three children were all gone from the house. Then she worked part-time for a couple of years as a secretary to help out her friend who owned a nursing home.
She spent much of her life as a housewife, and that lifestyle continues. The retirement home where she lives provides lots of activities: game night every Sunday (she plays a mean game of Scrabble and beat me two out of three on Thursday afternoon); a social hour two or three times a month; cooking classes; speakers; Bible studies; and on and on. And yet I look at the life she lives and deem it boring.
Mother is 93. She wakes up early, but doesn't really get up and get dressed until 9:00 or so. She goes to "dinner" at 11:30, then comes back to the apartment and takes a nap in the afternoon. She fixes a light supper for herself, then watches the news and goes to bed around 8:30. Once a week she walks 100 yards up the hill to visit her younger sister who has Parkinson's. A couple mornings a week, she might take a walk around the hospital across the street. In the summer she drives up to the mountain cottage, 80 miles away, for a week or so at a time. There she spends time reading or just sitting on the front porch.
And now that I write down everything she does, it sounds like a busy life. But living it with her for a day-and-a-half, all I could think was, "I don't want to live to my 90s. I don't want to live this way."
I have to confess that I do everything in my power to keep from being bored. On my trip last week, I took two programming books, my laptop, a crossword puzzle book, a Sudoku book, and a very long novel on my iPod. Oh, and seven CDs for the drive to North Carolina. I got most of the way through the Visual Basic for Access book, and finished two parts of the novel while driving. I listened to 10 minutes of one CD. I didn't even open the PHP book. God forbid that I ever spend a moment just sitting and thinking.
Today was beautiful in Tucson. I took the Gardener to breakfast to thank him for all the plant-watering and cat-feeding while I was gone, then we went and bought more pots and mulch and flowers and spent time working in the garden. When we were done, I would have loved to have just sat there, drinking in the gorgeous day. But instead I shooed him off because I have sewing and laundry and computer stuff to do.
Maybe there's a big difference between being bored and being contemplative. I need to clear things off my to-do list so I can spend more time being contemplative.
Oh yeah. I remember now. I need to learn to say "no"!
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