Regrets and Avoidance

If there's one thing I have come to realize that I've missed out on, it's having that finely developed appreciation for exceptional music. I never learned to cultivate that ear as a teenager or a young woman, so I typically found myself caught in that pop rut with my peers during those years.

It wasn't necessarily a need to fit in or fear of being different as much as it was not surrounding myself with the people who could have shown me the way. Fortunately, this is not only no longer a problem for me. Also, the Internet has stripped me of any and all excuses for avoiding musical growth, so I've been doing quite a bit of exploring in the last five years or so.

With that being said, here are some of the entries on my "better late than never" list:













There are a lot of other artists that I could list here; many that I was aware of but never listened to properly. In any case, my plan is to avoid regrets like these in the future by putting my ears to work.

Game of Thrones - trying, and failing, to understand.

Many of my friends and family have been going on non-stop about 'Game of Thrones'. If I'm being honest (and I usually try to do that), I just don't get it. I watched an episode, and part of a couple others, and could not understand what the fuss was about. Maybe it's one of those things you have to see from the beginning to understand.

Here are some of the thoughts that occurred to me as I forced myself to sit through the one episode I watched all the way through:

• I can't tell one fur covered bearded guy from another - how many people are IN this family or squad or whatever? I think there are different groups - or is it the same group from different camera angles?
• Was bathing not invented yet? There are so many dirt-streaked people in this thing that it looks like a Monty Python and the Holy Grail scene, but not as funny.
• There are supposed to be likeable characters in any show, but I don't care for any of the people I've seen so far:
• A snot-nosed brat who kills people for fun
• Some guy who made wives out of his 37 (or however many) daughters (ick)
• Some girl with dragons who doesn't seem to know what she's supposed to be doing with them
• Some sort of weird brother / sister thing, I think - and are they the parents of that wretched brat-king? I couldn't follow any of that. I was waiting for a wizard or something to break up the monotony of the scene, and then I gave up and went to fix a snack instead.

• Everyone seems to be in a big hurry to get somewhere, but I have yet to understand where that is. Are they going to the same place? Different places? Are there more than four directions on this map? Why is it winter in some places and summer in others? WHERE THE HELL ARE THEY GOING???

Anyway, I don't mean to poke fun or criticize. I'm sure it's a great show if you're into it, but maybe it's just not meant for me.

For those of you who love it, keep on keeping on.

A Teaser From The Crayon

I am proud and pleased to present this teaser compilation of some of the 'They Stole My Crayon' songs we have been working on.  This sample includes snippets of the following songs:

• Longing On
• Some Things I Can't Say
• Take the Ride

Something on the Darker Side

Weekends

Every weekend
you choose
a weapon
(my family,
my career,
ambitions or dreams)
You hurl it
with deadly force
and pinpoint accuracy
at what is left of
my love.
My trust, the casualty.
After I have fallen,
you carry your
oblivious indifference
in your beer-stained cloud
to bed,
leaving my wounds and I
unattended and alone.

Next weekend -
You will not so easily
find me in range.

Best Quote Ever

“We danced too wild, and we sang too long, and we hugged too hard, and we kissed too sweet, and howled just as loud as we wanted to howl, because by now we were all old enough to know that what looks like crazy on an ordinary day looks a lot like love if you catch it in the moonlight.”

― Pearl Cleage / What Looks Like Crazy on a Ordinary Day

The Older I Get...

... the more this feels like me:

I wish I knew who the artist was so I could credit them, but I think this piece is beautiful.

Boy Scout

Some prose for the day from the archives.  Should this keep going, I wonder?

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I can hear singing in the cherry tree outside as I reluctantly open my eyes to the sounds and smells of six a.m. With resignation I shake the dreams from my head. There is so much to do today.

With a sigh I sit up and reach blindly for the slippers under the bed. I can only find one; the cat has stolen the other slipper, and no doubt it is lying somewhere in the hallway where I will be sure to trip over it. I’m not ready yet. I’m not prepared for a day of searching for footwear.

Coffee.
 
I trek sluggishly down the hall and find my slipper, balanced precariously at the head of the stairs. I retrieve it and insert my foot. To my joy I find warm cat saliva waiting to embrace my ankle. A recent theft then.

I am not yet lucid enough to wage war against the cat slobber on my foot, but I quickly wake up at the sight of the large cream-colored envelope waiting on the floor in front of my front door. “How did that get in here?” I mutter to myself as I bend over to pick it up. There is no name on the front, nothing to tell me where it came from. Distracted, I walk the rest of the way into the kitchen to get the coffee started. Nothing is happening in my house, at six a.m., without caffeine fortification.

I sit at the kitchen table, envelope lying there nearly forgotten, and stare out the garden window at nothing. The comforting smell of brewing coffee fills the house. I let my mind wander back to the night my life ended.

Alex never told me anything.
 
All those years of visits on Mothers Day and my birthday, and all he could talk about was, “Bob cracked us all up during the staff meeting” and, “I think Kevin and Darcy have a thing going on.” Investment banking was a safe choice. What do I know about investment banking?

He was always good at math; it made perfect sense to me. I could even picture him sitting behind his desk, tie over one shoulder, watching his computer monitor while speaking rapidly on the phone. I hoped he would have a picture of me somewhere in the clutter of folders and printouts. He had a messy room his whole life, why would his desk be any different? 

When they found his Kevlar vest in the bushes on the bank of the Columbia River I remember asking myself, what would an investment banker need with one of those? Between the words “line of duty” and “award for bravery,” I gradually began to understand. Alex had been lying all along. He knew as much about investment banking as I did.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bubbling sound of the coffee maker brings me back to the present, where I have neither investment banker, nor undercover agent for a son. Where I have no son. I absently stir coffee and cream together as I release the final images of bullets flying around my beautiful boy from my mind. I don’t have time for this today. There is so much to do.

Glancing back towards the table I remember the letter. I set my cup down and pick up the envelope. I look it over again curiously and then open it. I read it.

Dimly, I hear a clatter and a crash. I feel wetness against my left leg. That’s not right, I think. The cat stole my right slipper.

It doesn’t matter anyway, nothing matters. The only thing left in the world is the carefully printed card I am holding on to for dear life right now.

“Mom, I am so sorry. I had no choice. Please forgive me.”