People Soundtrack

Music.

It's a large part of me, of how I feel and express, create and connect.

You've likely heard about the concept of a personal sound track, like in the movies but for your life - songs that are indelibly embedded with memories of places, times, emotions.  Songs that unfailingly remind you of your moments.

I have those songs.

I find that I've got a track within the track, too,


It's my People Soundtrack.

I'm feeling...things...and decided that I'd like to share some of my people with you.


John Watson

John was a dear young man.  I'd never heard this song  before his memorial.  It's sweet, and lovely, and when I hear it I always say "Hello, John Watson" and smile a little.  I miss him so.

Matt from PHP
He's married and has at least one child, now, but I knew him when he was sweet, painfully young, and attending a social group of which I was also a member.  He recorded a version of The Moldau for me when he learned that I adore it.  I believe that he is still sweet, if not quite so young (the years, they do fly).

Gypsy (not her real name, but excepting those passed through the veil or already public in persona, I don't tend to use given appellations)
One of my dearest friends, Gypsy.  Before kids and life and whatnot, we spent a lot more time together.  She played this lush song for me and my French brain struggled to translate to English, but whether I understand every word or not (and there's a lot of "not", these days, but thank goodness for translating programs and my hazy memory of youthful French), I enjoy it.

K2

Sister of my heart, Godmother to my son, one of the dearest people in my life, this is but one of the many songs I found through her.  Decadent, dark chocolate song...

E
He's married to K2, and he's one of the very few people with whom I will discuss politics.  He's also one of my favorite tech wizards, and I appreciate how often he doesn't make me feel like an idiot.

Mizz R Green
Dear woman, Godmother to my daughter, we've shared a love for another that has brought us joy, pain, laughter, and commiseration.  With her I've learned lessons about polyamoury, some easy, some difficult.  She brought me this song during some dark days.

Manx
I've listened to s LOT of Neil Diamond in my lifetime, but until Manx did a karaoke version of this, I'd never heard it!  Now, when I listen to it, I think of my friend singing at the Starwood radio station by the road, waiting for others to come do some karaoke in the summer sun.

Mr. Grey (nothing near his real name, but it's the name he used when we met, and not, it's nothing to do with that awful book...as far as I know)
He didn't introduce me to this song, but I heard it just after we met and it struck me as sweet, and he's rather sweet, and somehow it stuck.  I'm rather fond of both Mr. Grey AND this song.  The video never fails to bring a smile to my face.  Lort, but how I wish I could dance!

Donna Donnovan
I am comfortable using her name because she is fairly public - she founded and is part of Appalachian Pagan Ministry, and they to good work.  She used this song for a video she did for the APM, and it stuck in my head.  I say hello to her whenever I hear it.  She is John Watson's mother, and I love her.

There are so many more, but I think it wise to stop here before a too-long blog becomes too-longer.

How about you?  Any songs that bring your people to mind?

Music On My Mind

If you've been reading this blog for a minute you know I'm a wee musical.  There's almost always some kind of song running through my head.  Sometimes I have an extensive playlist in there, and sometimes it's just one or two songs over and over and over and over and...you get the idea.

I have this idea that the music on our minds when we aren't thinking about it is trying to tell us something.  Music soothes, it agitates, it hurts, it comforts, it offers an outlet for expression unequaled in this world.  When words fail, music speaks.

So this morning I woke with a few songs taking turns on the inner part of my noggin.   First was this:
  

 Then this:
   

 Then this:
   

What's that about?

Meanwhile, what kind of music have you been listening to, in or out of your mind?

Oh. Muh. Goodness.

Once, long ago, for the span of a few minutes, perhaps a few hours, I wanted to be a ballet dancer.  My grandmother, being her usual kind, sweet, compassionate self learned of it and wasted no time in telling me why I could never...

Too fat...

Too slow...

Too clumsy...

Too tall...

Too graceless...

Too much of too many things that a dancer cannot be, and not enough of any of the things a dancer must be.

What made me think of this?  The video below...which prompted the sudden intense regret that I am not also a ballet dancer, if only so I could move with this man with such power, grace, and intensity.  Sigh.

I can watch him, though...over and over again.  Join me - I don't think you'll regret it.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Leading Into Yule

I have been so busy...I can't even catch my breath!  Things are rough, here at the casa, but life goes on.  Yule is coming, and I thought I'd post some old videos I made and share a little music with ya.  Enjoy...or don't, your choice.  Whatever you celebrate, I hope it is marvelous.

Who Wants Music on Monday?

I'm taking the kids to the park and running a few errands, so here's a little musical interlude for ya.


A blast from the past:

This one always makes me smile:
 

Another bit of musical yore:


 I hope you have a tolerable Monday!

Clouds In My Coffee, Clouds In My Coffee

I was at this concert with my Dad.  On of my few memories of time we spent together.  I love this song.


Bonus points if you know who this song is about...

Who Wants Music on Monday?

Hey, don't get excited (or horrified), I'm just pre-posting some things so I don't feel like it's all echo-y and tumble-weed-y in here.



Some day I wanna sing with this woman...

Let the Caterwauling Commence!

Since we're so close to Yule, I thought I'd be ridiculous and re-post some videos of Yule caroling. They aren't top quality, but they're what I have - between cats meyowling along because they thought I might be injured, the clock bonging away, the TV randomly coming on, the Evil Genius randomly wandering through, and the phone ringing, I had to reshoot a number of times, and my voice went away after an hour or so.

Anyway, here are three for your amusement.







If you want the lyrics, I'll e-mail 'em to ya. As always, I shot these with my trusty Kodak Easy Share CX7525 (now with a new! rechargeable! battery!!). Kodak doesn't know I exist, do for FTC purposes, I ain't disclaiming anything.

Happy Thanksgiving

The More Things Change...

...the more they stay the same.

Ready for a bit of irony? Here we are in the first post since my little Facebook rant, and what am I doing? Posting a video that my Aunt posted on Facebook. Hah!! I hope the folks who made it don't mind too much...I felt compelled to nab it because they filmed it where I grew up, rode my bike, bought lobster rolls and coffee frappes (pronounced "frap", not "frappay"), and got half-eaten by mosquitoes and deer flies. Ah, good times.

So, take a look while I blather on down below:

I was watching this and thinking about how very long ago I was back there, in those woods, biking those same roads, past those same stone walls. I was thinking about a time when I could look at the future and feel a sense of wonder, of optimism, that anything was possible.

And then I realized that yeah, I never felt much optimism about my future. I was too busy believing the people who raised me when they told me, directly and indirectly, that I was stupid and useless because I could never quite manage to live up to what they wanted me to be - the best I could manage was to be myself, and that just wasn't enough.

As with the town where I grew up, not much has changed in my internal landscape; the feelings are the same, I'm just living somewhere else among different people now. Still being made to feel I'm not wanted, and stupid, and useless...just by a different cast of characters.

Right now, today, in this moment, I am thinking I'm done answering anything but "fine" when anyone asks how I am. Right now, today, in this moment, I am thinking that it would be best for me to say "nothing at all" when asked what's on my mind. It seems like anything other than "Everything's wonderful"is something of an imposition. I already feel like a useless time/energy/resource suck - I don't need to feel it any deeper. Right now, today, in this moment, I am wishing that I could somehow manage to cease existing, cease being worthless and unwanted in my own life, cease being such a fucking burden on everyone around me. Right now, today, in this moment, I am wishing I didn't feel like a fat, feckless, pointless waste if matter who just does everything wrong and gets in the way.

This is not about you, it's about me and my stupid misfiring neurons, the mental illness that never gives me a moment's peace (like my children, but far less cute and cuddly than they are).

If I made you feel bad, sorry - go watch the video again, it'll make you smile. Anyway, it made ME smile...

I Will Remember

Photo found here and copied entirely without permission but not without respect.

Many of my family have served their country in the various branches. My brother was in the Army, but thankfully got out when yet another gopher hole tried to eat his ankle. Don't ask. My Uncle was in the Air Force, even flying Air Force Two for a while. My Grandfather was in the Coast Guard during World War II. I have a cousin in the Air Force. I believe he flies Airforce somethingorother from time to time. I have a friend who was in the Army during the Vietnam War (conflict, my ass!) - I never once resented the calls at three-o'clock in the morning; nightmares shy away from friendly voices, from reason and reassurance. Another friend was in the Army until it broke his back - literally. He survived, but not his plans for a lifetime in the military - they don't want broken people, no matter how useful or clever they are. Someone's family is jam-packed with folks who've served - mostly Navy, I believe - and deserve some respect and thanks. So...thanks.

For a history of this day, go here. Or here. Or here. In a nutshell, Memorial Day is for remembering the fallen. Veteran's Day is for honoring the living. That's why they get two days, and so they should. Men and women stand up and make targets of themselves to maintain our freedoms every day of the year, so the least we can do is take two days to tell them "Thanks. Thanks for acting against human nature and protecting me and mine. Thanks for losing an arm, a leg, a life so that I don't have to."

It's not about the politics. I'm non-violent. I don't think war is ever a reasonable response to conflict. I won't forget, though, that people have laid down their lives so that I may stand on a street corner protesting (I never would) them, or denigrating (never, ever!) them for their service.

Perhaps one day, we won't have any new graves to decorate. Until then, I remember and (as best I can) I honor.

Hello

Houseguests coming today. With any luck, they'll see some of this:

Music on Monday

I've had a couple of songs stuck in my head the last few days. I used to listen to this fellow with Mum, especially on road trips - always liked his songs. Added bonus, he makes me laugh, which is nice on a grey, threatening-to-rain Monday.





And one more...



How's your Monday shaping up?

For Mum

A bit of levity...we used to watch this cartoon together. This bit cracked us up.

Hey, You...

Sometimes a song says it best.
~~~~~

Meanwhile, the Evil Genius, Sprout and I are hauling the keylime bars and brownies I baked yesterday off to K2's place for her son's birthday party.

What're you up to, today?

Deep Impact

Fair warning: Long winded vent following.


What the above has to do with this post...I dunno. Well...actually...two lines stuck in my head: "Others have excuses, I have my reasons why."
~~~~~
Story time, boys and girls.

When I was young(er), I was sent to boarding school. It was in New Hampshire. I was there for four years, through eighth-ish grade, the last level the school had. I say "ish" because the school didn't use the traditional grading system, and I was actually educated beyond eighth when I left, but the public school I was to attend when I moved put me in ninth based on age.

While at the school, certain things took on greater importance to me than they'd had before.

Things like mail - a letter was gold, a package sent a kid over the moon. I've recently learned that it's not unlike that for someone in prison; it's a connection to the outside world, proof that someone, anyone, still knows you exist...and more, that they care. I still have a few of the letters I received while at HES (the school).

Phone calls were good, too - once a week, we could receive phone calls from family, and we waited for those calls like hyenas waiting for a crippled gazelle to finally stumble and fall. The phone would ting and heads would pop out of rooms, a sort of prairie dog effect. Again, it was a connection, a reminder that we had families who loved us.

Visits were best of all. At any time, family could arrange to come visit, although weekends were the usual and most popular visitation time. I looked forward to visits from my family, although they were few and far between - Mum lived here in Redneck Central, I was at school in Nude Hamster, Dad lived on The Island and my grandmother was busy doing...umm...grandmother things. Mum wrote regularly, my grandmother came up once in a while, and Dad...well...

One Thursday, Dad called. It wasn't usual, and I was delighted to hear from him. We talked for a bit, and he told me he was coming for a visit.

I looked forward to that visit for weeks. When the houseparents made special weekend plans, I opted out because my father was coming to visit, and how could I go do...whatever? Plans were made, and I awaited his visit with growing excitement. From today's perspective, visits would have been boring - maybe go out for lunch, maybe hang out and talk for a while, maybe go to the library or into town to walk around - but we lived for them.

Friday night came, and the dorm phone rang.

I knew.

It was Dad, calling to cancel. At the time, he ran a charter fishing company, and he'd had a last-minute booking. He couldn't come up that weekend.

My father had his reasons why...but to me? They were excuses. Weak ones. Excuses that told me I meant less than everything else.

I told him it was ok, that I understood, that I knew it was important. We finished the call, and I went to my room and cried where no one would see or hear and bother me. I missed out on the weekend activities, spent much of the time alone in the woods talking to the trees and trying to figure out why I didn't matter.
~~~~~
Yesterday was T's birthday. For weeks, Bird has asked me if he could spend that day with his dad. For weeks, I have been asking "So, how 'bout it, can the kid spend the day with you?" For weeks, the answer has been non-committal. Finally, a few days ago, T called and said he would come get Bird and keep him overnight.

After confirming that he really was coming, I told Bird.

He was over the moon.

So yesterday, T called and said he would come in the evening. Bird was excited all day. When T called at 6 to say he was on the way, he also told me he couldn't keep Bird over night...he'd had a last-minute call to work.

I was...annoyed. Disappointed. Not going to be the one to tell Bird. T could tell him when he got here. I was also glad that, once again, I had NOT made any plans that hinged on being without an Evil Genius. I may be crazy, but I'm not stupid - I have come to expect these things.

Bird took the news well enough...but that, combined with the painfully short visit (about an hour here at Casa de Crazy, at least half of which T spent talking to me or texting/making/receiving calls on his phone) hurt him. He'd hoped to have his dad's birthday with his dad, a sweet thought...and he got a fraction of that.

He sang Happy Birthday to T (Without being coached or prompted by me, might I add?), eventually walked him out to his car, and came back inside...a very quiet boy. He spent the rest of the evening snuggled up to me on the couch - I let him stay up a little late and watch a show on what Earth might be like without a moon, put an arm around him (despite holding a sleeping Sprout), shared some Cheese-Its, and talked about what we were watching.

I know work is important. I know that income is necessary in today's society. I know that T's inability to tell people "I can't. I've made plans with my family." contributed to our divorce - coming in last place gets a little old, even when you're used to it. I also know that he's not trying to hurt Bird; he loves his son, and I do not doubt that for a moment. I know all of these things.

But Bird was hurt...is continually hurt when his father doesn't come until late in the evening to get him and brings him home early in the day, or cuts visits short to work, or goes to work while Bird is visiting, leaving the kid with his (T's) mom for most of the day - and while she adores him, it's his father he wants to see and be with.

Every time his father lets him down, I have to pick him up, pick up the slack, try to assuage hurt feelings, make it better (because I cannot make it right).

T has his reasons why...but to Bird? They're excuses.

And despite my best efforts, he is beginning to wonder why he doesn't matter.

Feblueberry

Feblueberry.

Blah.

The month Mum and I keep saying we're going to boycott. Mum just about is - she's going on a 20 day cruise. I'm not jealous, though - while I'll miss her (the person with whom I commiserate most about Feblueberry), I know she'll have a fabulous time and I have a Sprout here at home to distract me.

Feblueberry...the month I was born. The month people die. So many death-anniversaries on my calendar. One on my birthday - I was present when he died, sang him out with friends.

This is never an easy month for me. The beiges wake up and kick my arse up one week and down the next.

Today, the first day of my blah-est month, my baby girl is a week old. Holy wow. One week ago today, she was born.

So...while I will be struggling to keep my head above the post-partum hormone waves and dealing with the usual "aww, carp, it's that time again" feelings, I will have this wee baby to hold and cuddle, to love and cry over.

Have you ever had a baby hold you down? Tiny thing, she pins me and won't let me up until I am completely blissed out on baby fumes (not to be confused with the odors occasionally emanating from her nappy). I hold her for hours while she sleeps, doze with her nestled in my arms, or fall back to sleep staring at her cuddled up on her Papa's chest after her morning feed. Sweetness.

Someone is a terrific Papa. While I know he's just being Papa...I feel it important to make sure he knows I think he's wonderful. We all need to hear it when people think we're doing fine.

Below is a video I shot while we were still at Redneck Central General Horspital and Sock Emporium. He had no idea I was filming with my little Kodak Easy Share. Fair warning...you may find yourself melting a bit...

Yes, Yes, Another Video

I was out running erands yesterday and put the iPod on Gordon Lightfoot, 'cause I dig him and like to sing along (when I can make out what the heck he's mumbling - my diction teacher would have had a field day with him!). One of the lyrics to the song below caught my ear...

"Deep in the dark of a burned out soul, there's a few good second-hand dreams..."

Nice...



What're you listening to, today?

Rootless

Don't take it personally...it's not directed at anyone in particular. I'm simply tired in ways that defy my ability to speak of, and certain phrases from this lovely song haunt my mind.

Sometimes I'm blind and I just don't see.

I wish that life, that this life that I'm living, would let me out if it hates me so.

I'm awfully tired of hanging on to something that clearly doesn't want me. Why fight, why scrap it out, why roll in the dirt and dust and struggle when it just gets me another kick in the teeth?

It'll pass. It always does.

And some day I'll get it right, this damned life of mine. Hopefully before I ruin anyone else's any more than I already have. If you're part of the collateral damage...I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you on that far away some day, if you'll let me.