Well, the garage sale is over. For now. We're taking this week off because the last two have completely exhausted us. Was it worth it? Yes. We got rid of a lot of things and we earned a fair amount of money. We didn't make enough to buy the saxophone we wanted, but that's okay. We're setting that money aside for now and renting one. All of the rental payments will go towards the purchase of an instrument. In the meantime, Son is teaching himself to play.
It was kind of fun in the story - Ekroth Music, in St. Cloud, MN. After determining we were not going to purchase an instrument, the woman at the store steered us toward an excellent student model. A Cannonball. She set Son up to play and had him give it a go. His first two efforts produced no sound at all. She coached him about how to do it and he made a single note. Then we began the paperwork. While we were doing that Son continued to work with the saxophone. Within fifteen minutes he was playing songs. The woman said she believed he would do fine. "In fact, it's scary how well he's picking it up."
I contacted Son's band instructor from school. He will meet with Son after July 4th. (He's going out of state to visit friends/relatives for a couple of weeks.) We're also going to contact Northwestern College in St. Paul, MN, to see about formal lessons. It's all pricey, but I'm looking at it as an investment in Son's future. Every musical instrument he has ever picked up he has done well with. Drums. Recorder. Tuba. Autoharp. Keyboards. And now Saxophone. Daddy was like that, and it looks like Son has inherited some of his grandfather's talent. To develop it honors God. To let it waste is a waste.
Today I go to the sleep apnea doctor. NOT looking forward to that. Answered the big questionaire. Spouse helped (because some questions are about whether I quit breathing during the night). Spouse laughed and said it seems more like she has sleep apnea than me. But my heart doctor is convinced I have it. My heart IS swelling, which is a symptom of sleep apnea. It also happens to be a symptom of diabetes, but because I'm so fat my heart doctor is convinced I have sleep apnea. According to the tests taken seven years ago I am borderline. I've always been borderline. As long as I don't have to go through the night of torture.
I suppose the reason I didn't fare well with the CPAP machine is that I am borderline. Those with definite, or even serious, sleep apnea problems, are so helped by the machine that they feel wonderful because of it. My symptoms are so minor that the machine becomes an encumberance. I'm just trading problems. So are the others, but when the benefits so outweigh the detriments it doesn't matter to them. For me, it's the reverse. But it's the only way to get my heart doctor to stop yelling at me about it.
There is another problem. (Of course there is.) My COBRA insurance runs out this summer. Once that happens I will not be able to afford the machine. Or my diabetes medicine. Or my stomach medicine. Think we can still swing the heart medicine.
I suppose there are some who would say the CPAP machine and medicines are more important than the saxophone. You're wrong. My son has a future. A real future. My future is make-believe. It's a mist, without any substance. It doesn't matter. Not really.
Showing posts with label Music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Music. Show all posts
Monday, June 15, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
Clearing Paths For the Next Generation
Have you ever played a musical instrument? Were you good at it?
I've never been good at any instrument, which is a pity as I so love music. Not the best singer, either. Got a voice like beef jerky: either you love it, or you hate it. I think most people hate it. I like it. But then I hear it from inside my head and not thinned out by the air.
My grandmother had a piano and I remember banging on the keys with my siblings and cousins, but nobody ever taught me anything. Daddy tried to, but he couldn't read notes. What he did was chord with his left hand and sound out notes with his right. His familiarity with the keyboard allowed him to quickly duplicate most any song he wanted, but his method of teaching was, "You got to hear it." Well, yeah, but that style of learning didn't suit me. I never learned to play piano.
The first instrument I really wanted to play was the harp. My introduction to it was Marx Brothers movies. Harpo would pluck a few strings and then do glissandos. The truth is, he wasn't really playing the harp. He was playing with it. My understanding is that he actually learned to play the harp, but not until after he quit making movies.
When I was in my late twenties I managed to convince Spouse to let me buy a harp. Got it from Chester E. Groth Music in Minneapolis, MN. I had walked in one day just to look at harps and Mr. Groth himself showed them to me. When I explained I didn't have four or five thousand dollars to buy one, he showed me a troubador harp for nine hundred. It was ebony. Thirty-six strings. No peddals. Levers were used to set the harp to play either sharps or flats. When Spouse agreed that I could purchase it, I raced to the store and bought it. Mr. Groth put me into contact with a harp instructor. I am so ashamed because I don't recall her name. She was an older woman who had played alongside Marcel Grandjany. When I told her about my Harpo Marx inspiration she became almost indignant. That was kind of like telling a famous chef you liked their filet mignon because of the ketchup. Spouse was (and still is) convinced she was in love with me. That's why when she changed the venue of our lessons from Chester Groth's music store to her house Spouse came along. I said she was more than twice my age and had no interest in my like that. Spouse wasn't convinced. I didn't argue. I was playing the harp. Spouse could be there if she wanted.
What made the harp so wonderful was that it sounds pretty - even when I mucked up royal. I brought it with me to work and would practice during breaks. I was developing a small following of people who liked to listen to me - especially when I learned the glissando. But mostly I did not use that technique. I learned to play notes. Even enharmonic ones, in which you change the note a single string plays. I didn't particularly like that because I wasn't that good at it. My instructor played it beautifully. After a few months she deemed me to have progressed to the point where she would play along with me, harmonizing to my melody. But before I really learned to play it - so that I could really perform before a real audience - I sold the harp for practical reasons. I was going to learn a trade to earn better money. One of the most stupid decisions I have ever made in my life. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb!
The second instrument I truly wanted to play was bass guitar. Always liked the tempo beat bass guitars added to the music I listened to. And when I saw an imitation Hofner in a Montgomery Ward catalog (company out of business), I knew I had to have one. But this was a nightmare for me. Not only was my family poor, but they were not encouraging about music for boys. My brother Mickey had wanted to join band, but my parents wouldn't pony up for the instrument. They did for Judayl. And Helvie. But not Mickey. And certainly not me. I wanted to play bass guitar. Left handed.
I forget how many times I was told (by everyone in my family) how nobody played guitar left handed. Daddy even went so far as to point out that they didn't make left-handed pianos. I'm not sure what the significance of that was. Didn't even at the time. But you didn't argue with Daddy. Of course, when the Beatles hit the U.S. and we saw Paul McCartney playing the Hofner bass left-handed I felt vindicated. But not in the eyes of my parents. That was Rock 'N' Roll. And there was no way they would fork over good money for that cr*p. So I did not get a bass.
Did get an accoustic guitar, but it was right-handed. I tried restringing it for left-handed, but even my instructor criticized me constantly about it and I wound up giving up. The only one who encouraged me was my grandmother, and I just didn't see her often enough. I'm not strong enough within myself to pursue my own dreams vigorously without outside help. That's why I have never succeeded.
When Lynahr was landed in the hospital with pancreatic cancer, I told Spouse I was going to go out and buy a left-handed bass guitar. I didn't ask. I told. My rationale was that I could die tomorrow, and I didn't want to die without at least having tried to play the bass. So we went out and I walked into a guitar store and stated what I wanted. The owner asked me how important it was that the bass be left-handed. I said very. Then he handed me a 5-string which had just come in that week. I bought it. I took lessons. Sixty dollars a month. Did that for five months. Then I lost my job and had to quit the lessons.
I have kept the bass, and I try to pick out accompanyment to some of the slower songs I have. Can do "Don't it Make You Want to Go Home", and "Reflections of My Life". For a while I was able to do "Year of the Cat", but I forgot it. Recently purchased a book of bass songs with a CD accompanyment. Been playing "Imagine" off and on. Mostly off. It's hard to play when I know I don't play well. And it's hard to play well when I don't really believe in myself. But I will still pick up the guitar and try at whiles, wishing I could play faster and with fewer errors.
Which brings me to the present. I have a son who is very interested in music. He also has been demonstrating talent. Real talent. This is not just my opinion, it is the opinion of two different instructors at his schools.
His first interest was drums, and we bought him a kid's drum set. But when he was old enough to try out for band he chose the tuba. He has been recommended for state band, but we can't afford that. He is the first tuba player to make jazz band in the school's history. And he is one of the very few sixth graders who have done it.
Recently, he began teaching himself keyboards. The school will only teach one instrument per student due to costs of time and money, and his instrument is the tuba. We can't afford other lessons. We have an autoharp I inherited from my grandmother, and he is learning that. I ordered an instruction book for him. It was only nine dollars. And he learned the recorder in an earlier grade, but he doesn't practice that much.
What he wants now is to add the tenor saxophone. That's about a two thousand dollar instrument. Without consulting Spouse, I offered that if we can make two thousand dollars at our garage sale, we would buy him a saxophone. Then we would find a way to come up with money for lessons.
Today, on the way home from his most recent jazz band concert, we stopped at a Schmidt Music store to price tenor saxophones. His band instructor said to let him know makes and models and prices and he would let us know which were good deals. While at the store, his mother looked at the prices and began to back off the agreement. (She had agreed after I told her.) I came down harder than I needed to, but I said we had made an agreement, and if we could keep it, we would. I'm going to do everything I can to encourage and stimulate this musical gift my son has. I have no clue how good he is really, or how good he can become. What I do know is that NO ONE who can participate in music has ever regretted it. They may have hated the learning, but knowing how to do it is always a blessing.
My son will be Blessed. I promised him that. I sang it to him for months before he was born, and after. In whatever way I can help, he will be Blessed.
I've never been good at any instrument, which is a pity as I so love music. Not the best singer, either. Got a voice like beef jerky: either you love it, or you hate it. I think most people hate it. I like it. But then I hear it from inside my head and not thinned out by the air.
My grandmother had a piano and I remember banging on the keys with my siblings and cousins, but nobody ever taught me anything. Daddy tried to, but he couldn't read notes. What he did was chord with his left hand and sound out notes with his right. His familiarity with the keyboard allowed him to quickly duplicate most any song he wanted, but his method of teaching was, "You got to hear it." Well, yeah, but that style of learning didn't suit me. I never learned to play piano.
The first instrument I really wanted to play was the harp. My introduction to it was Marx Brothers movies. Harpo would pluck a few strings and then do glissandos. The truth is, he wasn't really playing the harp. He was playing with it. My understanding is that he actually learned to play the harp, but not until after he quit making movies.
When I was in my late twenties I managed to convince Spouse to let me buy a harp. Got it from Chester E. Groth Music in Minneapolis, MN. I had walked in one day just to look at harps and Mr. Groth himself showed them to me. When I explained I didn't have four or five thousand dollars to buy one, he showed me a troubador harp for nine hundred. It was ebony. Thirty-six strings. No peddals. Levers were used to set the harp to play either sharps or flats. When Spouse agreed that I could purchase it, I raced to the store and bought it. Mr. Groth put me into contact with a harp instructor. I am so ashamed because I don't recall her name. She was an older woman who had played alongside Marcel Grandjany. When I told her about my Harpo Marx inspiration she became almost indignant. That was kind of like telling a famous chef you liked their filet mignon because of the ketchup. Spouse was (and still is) convinced she was in love with me. That's why when she changed the venue of our lessons from Chester Groth's music store to her house Spouse came along. I said she was more than twice my age and had no interest in my like that. Spouse wasn't convinced. I didn't argue. I was playing the harp. Spouse could be there if she wanted.
What made the harp so wonderful was that it sounds pretty - even when I mucked up royal. I brought it with me to work and would practice during breaks. I was developing a small following of people who liked to listen to me - especially when I learned the glissando. But mostly I did not use that technique. I learned to play notes. Even enharmonic ones, in which you change the note a single string plays. I didn't particularly like that because I wasn't that good at it. My instructor played it beautifully. After a few months she deemed me to have progressed to the point where she would play along with me, harmonizing to my melody. But before I really learned to play it - so that I could really perform before a real audience - I sold the harp for practical reasons. I was going to learn a trade to earn better money. One of the most stupid decisions I have ever made in my life. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb!
The second instrument I truly wanted to play was bass guitar. Always liked the tempo beat bass guitars added to the music I listened to. And when I saw an imitation Hofner in a Montgomery Ward catalog (company out of business), I knew I had to have one. But this was a nightmare for me. Not only was my family poor, but they were not encouraging about music for boys. My brother Mickey had wanted to join band, but my parents wouldn't pony up for the instrument. They did for Judayl. And Helvie. But not Mickey. And certainly not me. I wanted to play bass guitar. Left handed.
I forget how many times I was told (by everyone in my family) how nobody played guitar left handed. Daddy even went so far as to point out that they didn't make left-handed pianos. I'm not sure what the significance of that was. Didn't even at the time. But you didn't argue with Daddy. Of course, when the Beatles hit the U.S. and we saw Paul McCartney playing the Hofner bass left-handed I felt vindicated. But not in the eyes of my parents. That was Rock 'N' Roll. And there was no way they would fork over good money for that cr*p. So I did not get a bass.
Did get an accoustic guitar, but it was right-handed. I tried restringing it for left-handed, but even my instructor criticized me constantly about it and I wound up giving up. The only one who encouraged me was my grandmother, and I just didn't see her often enough. I'm not strong enough within myself to pursue my own dreams vigorously without outside help. That's why I have never succeeded.
When Lynahr was landed in the hospital with pancreatic cancer, I told Spouse I was going to go out and buy a left-handed bass guitar. I didn't ask. I told. My rationale was that I could die tomorrow, and I didn't want to die without at least having tried to play the bass. So we went out and I walked into a guitar store and stated what I wanted. The owner asked me how important it was that the bass be left-handed. I said very. Then he handed me a 5-string which had just come in that week. I bought it. I took lessons. Sixty dollars a month. Did that for five months. Then I lost my job and had to quit the lessons.
I have kept the bass, and I try to pick out accompanyment to some of the slower songs I have. Can do "Don't it Make You Want to Go Home", and "Reflections of My Life". For a while I was able to do "Year of the Cat", but I forgot it. Recently purchased a book of bass songs with a CD accompanyment. Been playing "Imagine" off and on. Mostly off. It's hard to play when I know I don't play well. And it's hard to play well when I don't really believe in myself. But I will still pick up the guitar and try at whiles, wishing I could play faster and with fewer errors.
Which brings me to the present. I have a son who is very interested in music. He also has been demonstrating talent. Real talent. This is not just my opinion, it is the opinion of two different instructors at his schools.
His first interest was drums, and we bought him a kid's drum set. But when he was old enough to try out for band he chose the tuba. He has been recommended for state band, but we can't afford that. He is the first tuba player to make jazz band in the school's history. And he is one of the very few sixth graders who have done it.
Recently, he began teaching himself keyboards. The school will only teach one instrument per student due to costs of time and money, and his instrument is the tuba. We can't afford other lessons. We have an autoharp I inherited from my grandmother, and he is learning that. I ordered an instruction book for him. It was only nine dollars. And he learned the recorder in an earlier grade, but he doesn't practice that much.
What he wants now is to add the tenor saxophone. That's about a two thousand dollar instrument. Without consulting Spouse, I offered that if we can make two thousand dollars at our garage sale, we would buy him a saxophone. Then we would find a way to come up with money for lessons.
Today, on the way home from his most recent jazz band concert, we stopped at a Schmidt Music store to price tenor saxophones. His band instructor said to let him know makes and models and prices and he would let us know which were good deals. While at the store, his mother looked at the prices and began to back off the agreement. (She had agreed after I told her.) I came down harder than I needed to, but I said we had made an agreement, and if we could keep it, we would. I'm going to do everything I can to encourage and stimulate this musical gift my son has. I have no clue how good he is really, or how good he can become. What I do know is that NO ONE who can participate in music has ever regretted it. They may have hated the learning, but knowing how to do it is always a blessing.
My son will be Blessed. I promised him that. I sang it to him for months before he was born, and after. In whatever way I can help, he will be Blessed.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Searching For a Way
The opening to The Animal Kingdom is getting a bit of a roast over at Evil Editor. Click here if you're interested in joining the fun. Personally, I hadn't expected that large a response.
I'm not getting anything done. Think about doing things. A lot. Just don't actually do anything.
Guess I'm just looking for a way to get away. Not quite start over, but I'm looking for a place. Some place I'm not sure I've ever been. I remember a conversation with a counselor back nearly thirty years ago. We were discussing the likelihood that I had thrown away my salvation. During the talk I remember her asking me:
What is it that you want? I mean, really want? If you could have anything, what would it be?
I want to be happy again.
Again? Bevie, when have you ever really been happy? Can you tell me?
I didn't answer because I couldn't think of a time which qualified. But isn't that true for everyone? It seems everyone's life is so filled with sadness. None of us have a monopoly on it. But sometimes we just want to get away, don't we?
So I know what my desired solution is: I want to get away. This, of course, begs the question, Just what is it that I want to get away from?
Something I have believed far too strongly for far too long: That I can't.
Can't what? Anything, really. I mean, positive thinking is all well and good, but sooner or later, if one is to continue it, one must succeed at something worthwhile. That's not to say I've never done anything. There have been lots of things I have done for which others have commended me. But that's their idea of success. Not mine.
I have always wanted to entertain. Back when I was young and in school, I recall telling my classmates that the greatest gift anyone can give another is laughter. In laughing, one renews their strength to fight the battles which must be fought on another day. I would tell them, "I can't make things better for people, but if I can make them forget their troubles long enough for them to renew their strength I will have truly accomplished something."
My goal was to live a life in which I did that. Earn my living from it, even. I'm on the backside of my life. Even if I live to be one hundred I'm closer to the end than the beginning. And yet I have done none of the things I wanted to do. I have lived my life in fear of things which were not even fearful. I still do. The enemies of my soul are not others, or even life's circumstances. They are the thoughts in my own head. The feelings and beliefs which have become integral to my life. The familiarity of failure becomes my security blanket. I fear success because it is such an unknown. I have no idea how to live a successful life.
Of all my faults, this is the one which I fight against passing on to my Son. I am partially successful, I think. He asked if he could try out for band. I told him I thought that was a wonderful idea. He said he wanted to play the tuba. I said that was great! (It wasn't the instrument I was hoping for, but I didn't tell him that.) He has become very good at tuba playing. His grandmother loaned us a keyboard. He began teaching himself to play it. I told him how impressed I am. (He's getting pretty good, even without formal instruction.) Now he wants to add the saxophone to his repertoire. I said that's good, but we can't afford it right now. Undaunted, he is saving his money and offering his own things up to sell in our big sale which is due in three weeks. He's already made some money and has over $400 in a savings account.
I don't know what all of my Son's dreams are. It doesn't matter. What matters is that he believes he can achieve them if he goes after them. The question I have is this: Is it possible to teach something I don't know for myself? I'm hoping it is, because if not, then Son is going to have to learn this lesson from someone else. In my life, I can't honestly say I believe it to be true. What a waste of a life.
I'm not getting anything done. Think about doing things. A lot. Just don't actually do anything.
Guess I'm just looking for a way to get away. Not quite start over, but I'm looking for a place. Some place I'm not sure I've ever been. I remember a conversation with a counselor back nearly thirty years ago. We were discussing the likelihood that I had thrown away my salvation. During the talk I remember her asking me:
What is it that you want? I mean, really want? If you could have anything, what would it be?
I want to be happy again.
Again? Bevie, when have you ever really been happy? Can you tell me?
I didn't answer because I couldn't think of a time which qualified. But isn't that true for everyone? It seems everyone's life is so filled with sadness. None of us have a monopoly on it. But sometimes we just want to get away, don't we?
So I know what my desired solution is: I want to get away. This, of course, begs the question, Just what is it that I want to get away from?
Something I have believed far too strongly for far too long: That I can't.
Can't what? Anything, really. I mean, positive thinking is all well and good, but sooner or later, if one is to continue it, one must succeed at something worthwhile. That's not to say I've never done anything. There have been lots of things I have done for which others have commended me. But that's their idea of success. Not mine.
I have always wanted to entertain. Back when I was young and in school, I recall telling my classmates that the greatest gift anyone can give another is laughter. In laughing, one renews their strength to fight the battles which must be fought on another day. I would tell them, "I can't make things better for people, but if I can make them forget their troubles long enough for them to renew their strength I will have truly accomplished something."
My goal was to live a life in which I did that. Earn my living from it, even. I'm on the backside of my life. Even if I live to be one hundred I'm closer to the end than the beginning. And yet I have done none of the things I wanted to do. I have lived my life in fear of things which were not even fearful. I still do. The enemies of my soul are not others, or even life's circumstances. They are the thoughts in my own head. The feelings and beliefs which have become integral to my life. The familiarity of failure becomes my security blanket. I fear success because it is such an unknown. I have no idea how to live a successful life.
Of all my faults, this is the one which I fight against passing on to my Son. I am partially successful, I think. He asked if he could try out for band. I told him I thought that was a wonderful idea. He said he wanted to play the tuba. I said that was great! (It wasn't the instrument I was hoping for, but I didn't tell him that.) He has become very good at tuba playing. His grandmother loaned us a keyboard. He began teaching himself to play it. I told him how impressed I am. (He's getting pretty good, even without formal instruction.) Now he wants to add the saxophone to his repertoire. I said that's good, but we can't afford it right now. Undaunted, he is saving his money and offering his own things up to sell in our big sale which is due in three weeks. He's already made some money and has over $400 in a savings account.
I don't know what all of my Son's dreams are. It doesn't matter. What matters is that he believes he can achieve them if he goes after them. The question I have is this: Is it possible to teach something I don't know for myself? I'm hoping it is, because if not, then Son is going to have to learn this lesson from someone else. In my life, I can't honestly say I believe it to be true. What a waste of a life.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
I Am Musical - With a few Sour Notes
Supposed to talk about God and/or religion today, but instead I am going to return to nostalgia. Going to talk about being in choir during my school years. This wasn't church choir, although the choir director was a Christian and often inserted religious pieces for us to sing. That was allowed in the 1960s and early 70s. But the types of music we sang are irrelevant, for the most part, to my memories. Although I must say we (the senior high choir) did an excellent job of singing William Billings' Kittery.
I've always liked music. From this pumpkin song I recall from first grade:
to this cute ditty, also from first grade, (taken from this site)
to country music, folk music, rhythm and blues, rock 'n roll, to songs I hear on the radio now.
I've never been a great singer. Got a voice like beef jerkey. Remember the commercial? Either you love it or you hate it. Most seem to fall into the latter category, but I remember a few (with fondness) who would sit and listen with rapture while I sang. (Or maybe they were just hoping for the rapture while I sang.)
When I was in sixth grade the high school choir director made the rounds to the three elementary schools which filtered up into the junior high. Our district wasn't the smallest, but our high school had grades seven through twelve and less than 900 students. Anyway, the director listened to each student sing and then left. What we (the students) didn't know was he was auditioning us for choir. When I started seventh grade, choir was not on my schedule. I was in General Music, which meant no singing. In fact, there wasn't any music at all. Just theory. Learning notes and whats and whys. None of the students in General Music liked music at all.
However, despite not being picked for choir, my hopes were not completely dashed. During the first day of General Music class the choir director (who taught the class) asked if there was anyone who wished to audition again to be in choir. I and three others did. From that second audition I was moved from General Music, which met three times a week, to Choir, which met every day. But in Choir I got to sing; much to my joy and a couple others' distress.
My first concert was memorable, and it was remembered all the days of my tenure at that school. In fact, I'd be willing to wager that if you brought my name up to anyone who was in the choir that night they would say, "Oh, yeah. Bevie James. I remember Bevie James." It wasn't exactly something I was proud of.
You see, I had never been in front of a real audience before. We stood on risers under a choir shell. There were lights. It was hot. The gymnasium was stuffy. We had to wear dress-up clothes instead of something comfortable. I stood with my knees locked. The choir director stopped the concert just before I tumbled over and had me sit. Five years later, as the choir was preparing for the final concert which would include my class, the same choir director gave out final instructions. When he finished, Chlo W turned around and said in a vicious voice, "And don't faint!"
It wasn't all bad, though. My voice, while not being a favorite of just everyone, did improve enough that I got to solo in a song (my first effort resulted in a room full of laughing people - including the choir director), and even sing a few solos without the rest of the choir. I sang Elton John's, Your Song, over the local radio station. But the one I was singing it to refused to listen to it.
There were statewide music contest for choir members back then. The choir director signed me up in my last three years of school. His new assistant liked my voice. she even played the piano for me when I sang over the radio. I never won. Did get a Thanks For Showing Up and Wasting Our Time award. Twice!
I like music, and I like to sing, despite the opinion of others. It's kind of like that with my writing, too. Not everyone likes what I write, or how I write it. But others do. And so my voice continues - for now. One day I expect it will go silent, both as a writer and as a singer. Until that day I shall continue to do both. Maybe one day I'll dare record myself and post it for you to give the thumbs up or down to. We'll see. I'm not exactly a courageous person.
I've always liked music. From this pumpkin song I recall from first grade:
I had a little pumpkin,
I gave it two big eyes.
I cut a round and tiny nose
and a great big mouth that smiles.
Now I hide behind a bush and
wait until it's dark.
Then when someone comes along
UP I JUMP!
BOO I SHOUT!
What a surprise!
to this cute ditty, also from first grade, (taken from this site)
to country music, folk music, rhythm and blues, rock 'n roll, to songs I hear on the radio now.
I've never been a great singer. Got a voice like beef jerkey. Remember the commercial? Either you love it or you hate it. Most seem to fall into the latter category, but I remember a few (with fondness) who would sit and listen with rapture while I sang. (Or maybe they were just hoping for the rapture while I sang.)
When I was in sixth grade the high school choir director made the rounds to the three elementary schools which filtered up into the junior high. Our district wasn't the smallest, but our high school had grades seven through twelve and less than 900 students. Anyway, the director listened to each student sing and then left. What we (the students) didn't know was he was auditioning us for choir. When I started seventh grade, choir was not on my schedule. I was in General Music, which meant no singing. In fact, there wasn't any music at all. Just theory. Learning notes and whats and whys. None of the students in General Music liked music at all.
However, despite not being picked for choir, my hopes were not completely dashed. During the first day of General Music class the choir director (who taught the class) asked if there was anyone who wished to audition again to be in choir. I and three others did. From that second audition I was moved from General Music, which met three times a week, to Choir, which met every day. But in Choir I got to sing; much to my joy and a couple others' distress.
My first concert was memorable, and it was remembered all the days of my tenure at that school. In fact, I'd be willing to wager that if you brought my name up to anyone who was in the choir that night they would say, "Oh, yeah. Bevie James. I remember Bevie James." It wasn't exactly something I was proud of.
You see, I had never been in front of a real audience before. We stood on risers under a choir shell. There were lights. It was hot. The gymnasium was stuffy. We had to wear dress-up clothes instead of something comfortable. I stood with my knees locked. The choir director stopped the concert just before I tumbled over and had me sit. Five years later, as the choir was preparing for the final concert which would include my class, the same choir director gave out final instructions. When he finished, Chlo W turned around and said in a vicious voice, "And don't faint!"
It wasn't all bad, though. My voice, while not being a favorite of just everyone, did improve enough that I got to solo in a song (my first effort resulted in a room full of laughing people - including the choir director), and even sing a few solos without the rest of the choir. I sang Elton John's, Your Song, over the local radio station. But the one I was singing it to refused to listen to it.
There were statewide music contest for choir members back then. The choir director signed me up in my last three years of school. His new assistant liked my voice. she even played the piano for me when I sang over the radio. I never won. Did get a Thanks For Showing Up and Wasting Our Time award. Twice!
I like music, and I like to sing, despite the opinion of others. It's kind of like that with my writing, too. Not everyone likes what I write, or how I write it. But others do. And so my voice continues - for now. One day I expect it will go silent, both as a writer and as a singer. Until that day I shall continue to do both. Maybe one day I'll dare record myself and post it for you to give the thumbs up or down to. We'll see. I'm not exactly a courageous person.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
An Expression From the Past
Stephen receives a lot of exposure on this blog. He gets honorable mentions on a couple of other blogs, too. Daddy is another. It is entirely right and proper that I should do so, I think. They are both gone and I love them both dearly.
I have referenced my new friends more than once here, too, confessing my love for them.
Today, despite it being Animals and Nature Day on A Voice in the Wind, I will confess my love for Spouse. Included with that is Son, for he came from us, at least in part. His spirit comes from God, but the shell it lives in came from us, as well as a few personality quirks, good and bad.
Spouse isn't too keen on frequent mentions on-line. Not keen about Son being mentioned, either. Anything to hide their identity. But I can hardly post without referencing one and/or the other at least sometimes. And because this blogging thing has turned from a selfish display of words to myself into a selfish interactive with others, things slip, and I find myself compelled to reveal more to friends than I did to an empty and impersonal cyberspace. (Hence the addition of gender on my profile.) Spouse is mostly fine with this. I have friends again. It's been a few years.
Anyway, I have been listening to this particular song several times a day for the past five days. It's one of about a dozen I'm replaying over and over again. All take me back at least two decades in time. Some as far back as 1969. Some make me cry. Some make me feel hopeful. Others remind me of Stephen, being young, foolish, and without any cares. This song, also linked at the bottom of the blog, brings me back to the early 1980s. We (Spouse and I) were still in our twenties. We were both thin then (now it's just Spouse). And healthy. And hopeful. And poor. We both worked at the same place (which is how we met). As I drove us to and from work we would listen to radio stations (I'm a station turner). When this song would come on I would sing it. It's been more than twenty years since I remember hearing it last. Stumbled across it the other day. I can still sing it. Just not as well.
The song is important to me because I have watched what has happened to many other families - just in this neighborhood - in which the husband has lost work and can't get/keep another job to replace the one lost. In nearly every other case the wife has taken the children and left. Spouse did not do that. Not even when we lost the house.
It's no fun being undeserving. But it is comforting to be loved. And so my friends, not to take anything away from the love I bear for you, and you know I love you, this expression of love is for Spouse, though she will not read it. If you wish to listen to it, I have a YouTube link at the bottom of the blog. (Today, anyway. That will change at some point in the future.)
Longer, by Dan Fogelberg
Longer than there've been fishes in the ocean
Higher than any bird ever flew
Longer than there've been stars up in the heavens
I've been in love with you.
Stronger than any mountain cathedral
Truer than any tree ever grew
Deeper than any forest primeval
I am in love with you.
I'll bring fires in the winters
You'll send showers in the springs
We'll fly through the falls and summers
With love on our wings.
Through the years as the fire starts to mellow
Burning lines in the book of our lives
Though the binding cracks and the pages start to yellow
I'll be in love with you.
I'll be in love with you.
Longer than there've been fishes in the ocean
Higher than any bird ever flew
Longer than there've been stars up in the heavens
Ive been in love with you
I am in love with you..
For better and for worse. In sickness and in health. Wasn't sure I believed it at the time. Now, coming up on 30 years later, time has shown the truth.
I have referenced my new friends more than once here, too, confessing my love for them.
Today, despite it being Animals and Nature Day on A Voice in the Wind, I will confess my love for Spouse. Included with that is Son, for he came from us, at least in part. His spirit comes from God, but the shell it lives in came from us, as well as a few personality quirks, good and bad.
Spouse isn't too keen on frequent mentions on-line. Not keen about Son being mentioned, either. Anything to hide their identity. But I can hardly post without referencing one and/or the other at least sometimes. And because this blogging thing has turned from a selfish display of words to myself into a selfish interactive with others, things slip, and I find myself compelled to reveal more to friends than I did to an empty and impersonal cyberspace. (Hence the addition of gender on my profile.) Spouse is mostly fine with this. I have friends again. It's been a few years.
Anyway, I have been listening to this particular song several times a day for the past five days. It's one of about a dozen I'm replaying over and over again. All take me back at least two decades in time. Some as far back as 1969. Some make me cry. Some make me feel hopeful. Others remind me of Stephen, being young, foolish, and without any cares. This song, also linked at the bottom of the blog, brings me back to the early 1980s. We (Spouse and I) were still in our twenties. We were both thin then (now it's just Spouse). And healthy. And hopeful. And poor. We both worked at the same place (which is how we met). As I drove us to and from work we would listen to radio stations (I'm a station turner). When this song would come on I would sing it. It's been more than twenty years since I remember hearing it last. Stumbled across it the other day. I can still sing it. Just not as well.
The song is important to me because I have watched what has happened to many other families - just in this neighborhood - in which the husband has lost work and can't get/keep another job to replace the one lost. In nearly every other case the wife has taken the children and left. Spouse did not do that. Not even when we lost the house.
It's no fun being undeserving. But it is comforting to be loved. And so my friends, not to take anything away from the love I bear for you, and you know I love you, this expression of love is for Spouse, though she will not read it. If you wish to listen to it, I have a YouTube link at the bottom of the blog. (Today, anyway. That will change at some point in the future.)
Longer, by Dan Fogelberg
Longer than there've been fishes in the ocean
Higher than any bird ever flew
Longer than there've been stars up in the heavens
I've been in love with you.
Stronger than any mountain cathedral
Truer than any tree ever grew
Deeper than any forest primeval
I am in love with you.
I'll bring fires in the winters
You'll send showers in the springs
We'll fly through the falls and summers
With love on our wings.
Through the years as the fire starts to mellow
Burning lines in the book of our lives
Though the binding cracks and the pages start to yellow
I'll be in love with you.
I'll be in love with you.
Longer than there've been fishes in the ocean
Higher than any bird ever flew
Longer than there've been stars up in the heavens
Ive been in love with you
I am in love with you..
For better and for worse. In sickness and in health. Wasn't sure I believed it at the time. Now, coming up on 30 years later, time has shown the truth.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Works in Progress
Today is "Writing Assignments" day. Originally, it mean Evil Editor exercises. That was when I didn't really have any other writing projects on my active burners. In fact, last fall my active burners were suffering from a noticeable loss of fuel supply.
Since the end of last October, when I began blogging with a single blog, A Voice in the Wind, things have changed, and changed again. The presence of new friends to fill the void which had become far larger than I realized has thawed the flow of fuel to my heart and mind and stories are once again jumping about like the sunfish on Little Wabanna Lake at dusk.
Only I am not so foolish as to try writing them all right away. There were a couple of ideas I got and talked about writing too soon. One was The Power of Music, but I jumped the gun on that one. It needed to "cook" a bit more before taking it out. So right now I've only got two active writing assignments - self-assigned. One is the write the query for Traitor. I've got a rough copy right now. I'll rework it after I finish my final reading. The other is Quest, which is my sequel to Apprentice. That was begun yesterday, but I got nothing done on it today. Too many interruptions. (Spouse was home. Sump pump burned out and the basement began to flood. I've been sick for three days. Put together three boxes of books.)
Got some potentially good news today, too. Not ready to post about it, though. One may turn out to be nothing and the other could turn out to be a hundred times worse than good if things go bad. Isn't that just the way life is right now? All new endeavors have become high risk.
Cest La Vie.
Since the end of last October, when I began blogging with a single blog, A Voice in the Wind, things have changed, and changed again. The presence of new friends to fill the void which had become far larger than I realized has thawed the flow of fuel to my heart and mind and stories are once again jumping about like the sunfish on Little Wabanna Lake at dusk.
Only I am not so foolish as to try writing them all right away. There were a couple of ideas I got and talked about writing too soon. One was The Power of Music, but I jumped the gun on that one. It needed to "cook" a bit more before taking it out. So right now I've only got two active writing assignments - self-assigned. One is the write the query for Traitor. I've got a rough copy right now. I'll rework it after I finish my final reading. The other is Quest, which is my sequel to Apprentice. That was begun yesterday, but I got nothing done on it today. Too many interruptions. (Spouse was home. Sump pump burned out and the basement began to flood. I've been sick for three days. Put together three boxes of books.)
Got some potentially good news today, too. Not ready to post about it, though. One may turn out to be nothing and the other could turn out to be a hundred times worse than good if things go bad. Isn't that just the way life is right now? All new endeavors have become high risk.
Cest La Vie.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Something Good Someplace Else
Writtenwyrdd has a YouTube link which I think is just great.
http://writtenwyrdd.typepad.com/writtenwyrdd/2008/12/musical-monday.html
I'm listening to the Allman Brothers' Jessica right now.
http://writtenwyrdd.typepad.com/writtenwyrdd/2008/12/musical-monday.html
I'm listening to the Allman Brothers' Jessica right now.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Song Writing
My son began a new music class at his school this past week. He is already in band and jazz band. Now he will learn another part of music: writing songs. He has been creating a song on the keyboard for the past few days. It sounds quite nice. He asked me if there was anything on the internet which would be helpful. I did a search and found JamStudio.com. It's a free site which allows a certain amount of creativity using accoustic guitar, electric guitar, drums, bass, piano and synthesizer. You can make some really nice music using this. He's got me using it, too. Now I am able to put sound behind my stories. I can hear the mood I really want when I'm writing. Also, I think I can try putting my Elven Wings song to music. You should check out the website: JamStudio.com.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
In Times of Weakness
Well, I did call it on Friday. It was a pip of a day, and it carried over to Saturday.
I never fully recovered from my thoughts about my father on Friday. Even so, the day was progressing nicely - until I saw my query which I had sent to Evil Editor for critique had been critiqued. Had I been using my brains for anything at all I would have waited until Saturday to read what was written. I did not. I read it in a state of emotional weakness - and I was quite devastated. I reacted poorly, and as a result I suspect they (the people who provided the critique) now believe (perhaps accurately) I am some kind of looney. The back and forth continued to Saturday. I posted what I expect will be my final comment on the matter to them at three this morning. If you are curious about the exchange you can go to Evil Editor (it's the only blog I am officially following right now) Face-Lift 566. They are all quite wonderful people.
I went to bed at three this morning. I woke just over six hours later to what I believed was the sound of thunder. It was the wind. The wind has been blowing in hard from the west today. About a half hour ago my son said he believed it has begun to snow. It has. Only fifteen minutes ago snow crystals filled the air, flying by at thirty miles per hour in what looks like some kind of mass panic. I am sitting here now listening to Mr. Lennon (John, not the Russian). The same seven songs are playing in sequence over and over. If you're curious, the songs are as follows:
Instant Karma (playing at the moment)
Whatever Gets You Through the Night
#9 Dream
Mind Games
Love
Imagine
Woman
This is hardly an extensive collection of John's music, but it is all I have - excluding some Beatles songs.
I miss John, which is odd considering I never met him. But I always had the sense John was searching for something, and he was murdered before he found it. I still remember hearing he had been shot. I felt literally sick. President Reagon was shot about the same time. I remember not giving a damn whether he lived or died.
Priorities. Who is important to us and who isn't? For me, a man capable of touching my spirit with music was far more important than a man who merely influenced my nation and the world around it. John had done something old Ronny could never do. I'm feeling nostalic again listening to the music. Music transcends time. Suddenly, I am so very much younger again. Stephen is alive. There is music and there is a future (#9 Dream is playing). What happened? Oh, God, what happened? Why did every dream wither and die? You said your thoughts for me were good and not evil.
For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope. Then you will call upon me and pray to me, and I will hear you. You will seek me and find me; when you seek me with all your heart, I will be found by you, says the Lord, and I will restore your fortunes and gather you from all the nations and all the places where I have driven you, says the Lrod, and I will bring you back to the place from which I sent you into exile. Jeremiah 29:11-14 RSV
I know that was written to Israel many thousands of years ago, but you chose them to be a nation so we can see how you treat with all people everywhere. Is there nothing in that verse for me? It has not been seventy years, but it feels like such a long time. And now I have another mountain to cross. I am so weary. Give me strength to climb a little higher today. We'll worry about tomorrow later.
I never fully recovered from my thoughts about my father on Friday. Even so, the day was progressing nicely - until I saw my query which I had sent to Evil Editor for critique had been critiqued. Had I been using my brains for anything at all I would have waited until Saturday to read what was written. I did not. I read it in a state of emotional weakness - and I was quite devastated. I reacted poorly, and as a result I suspect they (the people who provided the critique) now believe (perhaps accurately) I am some kind of looney. The back and forth continued to Saturday. I posted what I expect will be my final comment on the matter to them at three this morning. If you are curious about the exchange you can go to Evil Editor (it's the only blog I am officially following right now) Face-Lift 566. They are all quite wonderful people.
I went to bed at three this morning. I woke just over six hours later to what I believed was the sound of thunder. It was the wind. The wind has been blowing in hard from the west today. About a half hour ago my son said he believed it has begun to snow. It has. Only fifteen minutes ago snow crystals filled the air, flying by at thirty miles per hour in what looks like some kind of mass panic. I am sitting here now listening to Mr. Lennon (John, not the Russian). The same seven songs are playing in sequence over and over. If you're curious, the songs are as follows:
Instant Karma (playing at the moment)
Whatever Gets You Through the Night
#9 Dream
Mind Games
Love
Imagine
Woman
This is hardly an extensive collection of John's music, but it is all I have - excluding some Beatles songs.
I miss John, which is odd considering I never met him. But I always had the sense John was searching for something, and he was murdered before he found it. I still remember hearing he had been shot. I felt literally sick. President Reagon was shot about the same time. I remember not giving a damn whether he lived or died.
Priorities. Who is important to us and who isn't? For me, a man capable of touching my spirit with music was far more important than a man who merely influenced my nation and the world around it. John had done something old Ronny could never do. I'm feeling nostalic again listening to the music. Music transcends time. Suddenly, I am so very much younger again. Stephen is alive. There is music and there is a future (#9 Dream is playing). What happened? Oh, God, what happened? Why did every dream wither and die? You said your thoughts for me were good and not evil.
For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope. Then you will call upon me and pray to me, and I will hear you. You will seek me and find me; when you seek me with all your heart, I will be found by you, says the Lord, and I will restore your fortunes and gather you from all the nations and all the places where I have driven you, says the Lrod, and I will bring you back to the place from which I sent you into exile. Jeremiah 29:11-14 RSV
I know that was written to Israel many thousands of years ago, but you chose them to be a nation so we can see how you treat with all people everywhere. Is there nothing in that verse for me? It has not been seventy years, but it feels like such a long time. And now I have another mountain to cross. I am so weary. Give me strength to climb a little higher today. We'll worry about tomorrow later.
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