When I got married, I thought I was gonna be a rock & roll wife!
My guy was an electric bass player and keyboard player and he was really good. As a sideman, he had already recorded a couple albums with a singer-songwriter buddy from college. One single went to #9 on the Billboard charts. They went to the Grammy's, they toured, some of the tours were hilarious, not at all glamorous and a lot of fun. I didn't have a career or children, so I could go with him sometimes. I liked it a lot.
While I was finishing up a BA in anthropology, he was off at music school studying bass and music education (his parents were paying after all). The powers that be discovered he owned and played baritone sax and suggested he'd get lots more playing experience if he changed to a woodwind performance major. At the time I didn't realize this meant me giving up that dream of being a rock & roll wife. He became a jazz educator/musician and while people think it's way cool, I still sometimes miss the possibility I could someday dress up for the red carpet at the Grammy's.
I must be incredibly clear. It was never his dream. All he has ever wanted to be was a working musician. He would be happy working at a music store if he could talk music and noodle on the shop instruments. I don't know when I realized he didn't care a bit for the fame and fortune of rock & roll or even jazz greatness. Sometime after that realization I went back to grad school, established a career, had kids and didn't think too much or too often about reflected rock & roll glory.
A couple years ago a female student of his wanted to be a jazz wife. His jazz wife. (What ever happened to feminist principles where you never went after another woman's man? I guess I'll save that rant for another time). She tried to convince him it was all my fault he wasn't a famous musician. She couldn't understand how someone so talented could be so unknown. And since she was in love with him, it couldn't be him, so it had to be my fault! I'm glad he's always known that fame doesn't matter to him and could ignore her subtle and not so subtle attempts to . . . do what? what the hell was she trying to do? Actually I saw her emails, I got a pretty good idea of what she wanted! She moved away, we moved away, he's not her teacher anymore, he and I are still together.
But something rather interesting has been happening this coming-up-to summer season. A musician we have both loved for years, who isn't exactly famous, but could be, who doesn't exactly play rock & roll, but it's close, has asked him to join his band on a little more permanent basis. My guy is thrilled! He still doesn't care about the fame. He still is just delighted to be playing really good music and to be appreciated for his talent.
This band, where all the players are amazing, is downstairs right now practicing. Before they arrived, my guy set up the keyboard and started playing some of the stuff he used to play for me. It reminded me of my dreams of standing in the wings of The Fillmore in some fabulous costume, basking in the reflected glory. Our youngest daughter graduates from college on Monday, our son has finished school and is making his own way. It's a little later than I thought and I'd have to get a facelift to look like I did when I had these rock & roll wife dreams. I'm way more realistic about fame and what makes a person really happy. But ya never know! I may get a shot at those dreams after all!
Friday, May 14, 2010
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Fan Blogs Are Not For English Majors
I'm still trying to get myself motivated to do something. It has been awfully difficult. I've been clinically depressed in my life and this is not it. But the behavior is a little too like for my comfort.
As my DH observed, depression is like having the engine turned off. What I'm doing is the equivalent of having the engine idling. And when I find what my destination is I'll engage and take off.
In the mean time, I've spent a lot of time online looking at fan blogs. It's easy, one does not have to expend much energy and it takes me out of myself (someplace I have noticed I have been avoiding for more than a few months). People can get rather passionate about a fav book/movie/fictional character or actor, whew! The comments on these blogs rather astound me. Some of them -- ok, most of them -- are so rude! And not to be unkind, but have these people ever heard of spell check/grammar check?
Before reading some of the comment streams I thought I could be just as catty and unkind as the next person . . .but whoa, I was wrong. Seems everyone has an opinion and they feel they have to express it -- but not in any sort of proper grammatical way. They are painful to read (specially after these past couple years reading my daughter's excellent college essays) and sometimes just plain mean.
I keep looking for the magic key to get going. I'm pretty sure the world of fan blogs is not it! I know I need to engage. I keep thinking if I only knew what the hell was going on with me I would snap out of it. I haven't a clue what is going on and I don't seem to snap out of it. But at least I laugh with myself at my emotional ineptitude. And I write in my personal journal and sometimes I come here and try to make sense.
As my DH observed, depression is like having the engine turned off. What I'm doing is the equivalent of having the engine idling. And when I find what my destination is I'll engage and take off.
In the mean time, I've spent a lot of time online looking at fan blogs. It's easy, one does not have to expend much energy and it takes me out of myself (someplace I have noticed I have been avoiding for more than a few months). People can get rather passionate about a fav book/movie/fictional character or actor, whew! The comments on these blogs rather astound me. Some of them -- ok, most of them -- are so rude! And not to be unkind, but have these people ever heard of spell check/grammar check?
Before reading some of the comment streams I thought I could be just as catty and unkind as the next person . . .but whoa, I was wrong. Seems everyone has an opinion and they feel they have to express it -- but not in any sort of proper grammatical way. They are painful to read (specially after these past couple years reading my daughter's excellent college essays) and sometimes just plain mean.
I keep looking for the magic key to get going. I'm pretty sure the world of fan blogs is not it! I know I need to engage. I keep thinking if I only knew what the hell was going on with me I would snap out of it. I haven't a clue what is going on and I don't seem to snap out of it. But at least I laugh with myself at my emotional ineptitude. And I write in my personal journal and sometimes I come here and try to make sense.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
"It's Not Rocket Science"
I get such a kick out of that phrase. Someone said it to me the other day and it made me smile.
You see, I was raised by a rocket scientist. My dad, a mechanical engineer, worked for a NASA contractor. He was the project manager and part of the team which designed one of the Apollo engines.
Whenever I hear that phrase I think, ". . . rocket science isn't such a big deal." It's not that my dad isn't smart. He is. But he always made me feel I was just as smart as he was. It's kind of one of the neatest things about my dad. And my dad didn't think he was the smartest man. There were always others (electrical engineers as a group, for instance) who he thought were smarter.
His humility about his own intelligence is one of the nicest things about my dad. His intellectual curiosity and kindness are what make him one of the smarted men I know.
You see, I was raised by a rocket scientist. My dad, a mechanical engineer, worked for a NASA contractor. He was the project manager and part of the team which designed one of the Apollo engines.
Whenever I hear that phrase I think, ". . . rocket science isn't such a big deal." It's not that my dad isn't smart. He is. But he always made me feel I was just as smart as he was. It's kind of one of the neatest things about my dad. And my dad didn't think he was the smartest man. There were always others (electrical engineers as a group, for instance) who he thought were smarter.
His humility about his own intelligence is one of the nicest things about my dad. His intellectual curiosity and kindness are what make him one of the smarted men I know.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Why Do I Do These Things?
I do my kids' taxes cuz a) I'm a nice mom. b) I'm nuts. c) I'm a control freak. d) I can't say no. e) all of the above.
I hate tax forms. They make me hyperventilate. I swore I would not do my son's again. He even asked me to ask our tax account to do his, but I dithered, didn't ask her til I thought it was too late, worried it would cost him a lot (she charges us an arm & a leg, but we think it's worth it), so here I am doing his taxes again.
They are done. His were pretty easy and my daughter's were form 1040EZ simple. The state forms aren't too bad and all this is just a rationalization for the reality that I should have my head examined.
Tomorrow I am spending the day in the city. My daughter is being inducted into her college's honor society. (Top 10% of seniors are invited). I will be attending, but this is another one of those multiple-guess answers (see options above), cuz she's not even going. She doesn't want to miss class, doesn't like fusses made over her, who knows why.
Part of my day tomorrow is not multiple choice. It's cuz I want to! I'm going to see The Runaways. I have long been a Joan Jett fan and who doesn't like a little kick-ass female rock & roll? Nobody I want to talk to tomorrow!
I hate tax forms. They make me hyperventilate. I swore I would not do my son's again. He even asked me to ask our tax account to do his, but I dithered, didn't ask her til I thought it was too late, worried it would cost him a lot (she charges us an arm & a leg, but we think it's worth it), so here I am doing his taxes again.
They are done. His were pretty easy and my daughter's were form 1040EZ simple. The state forms aren't too bad and all this is just a rationalization for the reality that I should have my head examined.
Tomorrow I am spending the day in the city. My daughter is being inducted into her college's honor society. (Top 10% of seniors are invited). I will be attending, but this is another one of those multiple-guess answers (see options above), cuz she's not even going. She doesn't want to miss class, doesn't like fusses made over her, who knows why.
Part of my day tomorrow is not multiple choice. It's cuz I want to! I'm going to see The Runaways. I have long been a Joan Jett fan and who doesn't like a little kick-ass female rock & roll? Nobody I want to talk to tomorrow!
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Happy Easter
If the kids were here, we would have had an Easter Egg Hunt. The last one was when our son was in 10th or 11th grade. He was new in school and I'm not sure his friends had ever met anyone as nutty as his mom -- planning an egg hunt for 16 year olds! We all had a blast.
As it was, my husband and I spent today like most other Sundays: church, lunch out, browsing at our fav bookstore (he gets coffee, I read magazines) and a leisurely drive home on the scenic route.
When we returned home one of B's friends had sent him a link to Peeps dioramas. Ya gotta check it out. We were in hysterics. Having read a lot of books to my kids, I was delighted to see their favorites featured: "Where The Wild Peeps Are" And "Goodnight Peep." We laughed and laughed and I had to share it. What will you make with Peeps next year?
Enjoy!!!
As it was, my husband and I spent today like most other Sundays: church, lunch out, browsing at our fav bookstore (he gets coffee, I read magazines) and a leisurely drive home on the scenic route.
When we returned home one of B's friends had sent him a link to Peeps dioramas. Ya gotta check it out. We were in hysterics. Having read a lot of books to my kids, I was delighted to see their favorites featured: "Where The Wild Peeps Are" And "Goodnight Peep." We laughed and laughed and I had to share it. What will you make with Peeps next year?
Enjoy!!!
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Passion
I tie myself in knots because I think I should be passionate about something productive. It's an attitude handed down by my engineer father and probably one I have handed down to my kids.
The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language gives "boundless enthusiasm" as one of the definitions of Passion.
I was thinking, as I was driving, that maybe I have lost a sense of passion, at least the kind that translates into doing something. The kind I remember having in college when we protested about everything -- the Viet Nam war, women's rights, relevancy in classes. We were a passionate generation, everything mattered. Maybe it was being 19, maybe it was the times. Maybe it was having the enormous freedom to go to college and not work full time. Whatever it was, my youth was not wasted on the young! And somehow those passions seemed productive. We were "doing" something -- ending a war, allowing women to keep their own names, reading Malcolm X and Eldridge Cleaver!
But these days I don't seem to have a passion for running a business or making art -- both things I say I would like to do. Those are productive things. But they are not the things that get me going each morning.
My boundless enthusiasm is the same as it was when I was eight years old. Reading and stories! I love stories, whether a novel, non-fiction work, or movie; any thing that sparks my interest and allows me to put myself into a place or learn about interesting characters. I really love to read. And finish a couple books each week. When my daughter was in kindergarten, the teacher asked her what I did. She replied, "My mom reads books." The teacher, who knew me, said, "Oh, is she a librarian?" My daughter answered yes, which I am. But the truth is, "My mom reads books," is probably the truest thing she could have said about me.
I don't read for a living (tho I did love that Robert Redford's character in Three Days of the Condor actually did get paid by a spy agency to read). I don't have a library job, by choice. So some days, like today, I feel just a bit stuck that the thing I do well, and a lot isn't a job or career and takes up a lot of time I think I should be doing something else.
I wish I had a good conclusion to this post. But that's all I've got. I just wanted to write it out.
The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language gives "boundless enthusiasm" as one of the definitions of Passion.
I was thinking, as I was driving, that maybe I have lost a sense of passion, at least the kind that translates into doing something. The kind I remember having in college when we protested about everything -- the Viet Nam war, women's rights, relevancy in classes. We were a passionate generation, everything mattered. Maybe it was being 19, maybe it was the times. Maybe it was having the enormous freedom to go to college and not work full time. Whatever it was, my youth was not wasted on the young! And somehow those passions seemed productive. We were "doing" something -- ending a war, allowing women to keep their own names, reading Malcolm X and Eldridge Cleaver!
But these days I don't seem to have a passion for running a business or making art -- both things I say I would like to do. Those are productive things. But they are not the things that get me going each morning.
My boundless enthusiasm is the same as it was when I was eight years old. Reading and stories! I love stories, whether a novel, non-fiction work, or movie; any thing that sparks my interest and allows me to put myself into a place or learn about interesting characters. I really love to read. And finish a couple books each week. When my daughter was in kindergarten, the teacher asked her what I did. She replied, "My mom reads books." The teacher, who knew me, said, "Oh, is she a librarian?" My daughter answered yes, which I am. But the truth is, "My mom reads books," is probably the truest thing she could have said about me.
I don't read for a living (tho I did love that Robert Redford's character in Three Days of the Condor actually did get paid by a spy agency to read). I don't have a library job, by choice. So some days, like today, I feel just a bit stuck that the thing I do well, and a lot isn't a job or career and takes up a lot of time I think I should be doing something else.
I wish I had a good conclusion to this post. But that's all I've got. I just wanted to write it out.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Waiting
It is such a relief I can write this blog again. I have also started to write in my journal again. I kept waiting to feel like writing or blogging. I kept waiting for the perfect time or idea or something. I would compose posts while driving, but get home and not post. I have no idea what allowed the storm to pass, but I'm awfully glad it did.
About six years ago I went through a very tough time in my life. It was filled with despair and loss and I truly felt I would never get over it. During that time I wrote in my journal daily, sometimes hourly. It was a necessity to keep from completely falling apart, but also a record of dark times. And at one time I couldn't bear the thought that that much misery was floating around in words in a journal . . . so I ripped it all up. There were a few pages I am sorry I got rid of. They were not despairing, but thoughtful insights -- even the beginning of a short story I thought I might write about the whole miserable experience. Destroying that journal and tossing it out was a good thing and I have even come to peace about the few pages I used to pine for. I didn't want that much hurt to reside anywhere.
But after the destruction, I was not able to use a journal for a long time. I would write, desultorily, but never with any help coming from it. Writing has always been cathartic for me. It allows me to see what is really going on. Sort of like writing out involved dreams and then going, "ah ha! I know what has been bugging me!" Losing that medium was tough. I felt adrift.
I have known for the past couple months that I am in a state of waiting. Have you ever read the amazing poems of Lawrence Ferlinghetti? I discovered him in college and fell in love with I am Waiting and the oft repeated phrases " I am waiting. . ." and ". . . a rebirth of wonder," which have always spoken to me at the very center of my being! Over the years it hasn't bothered me to wait, for I know that the rebirth of wonder will appear. Of course, wonder fades and waiting starts up again, but knowing that never discourages me. Even at my lowest, even when I think I just will never be a trusting person ever again, there at the back of my being are Ferlinghetti's lines
Right now all I'm waiting for is Spring!
About six years ago I went through a very tough time in my life. It was filled with despair and loss and I truly felt I would never get over it. During that time I wrote in my journal daily, sometimes hourly. It was a necessity to keep from completely falling apart, but also a record of dark times. And at one time I couldn't bear the thought that that much misery was floating around in words in a journal . . . so I ripped it all up. There were a few pages I am sorry I got rid of. They were not despairing, but thoughtful insights -- even the beginning of a short story I thought I might write about the whole miserable experience. Destroying that journal and tossing it out was a good thing and I have even come to peace about the few pages I used to pine for. I didn't want that much hurt to reside anywhere.
But after the destruction, I was not able to use a journal for a long time. I would write, desultorily, but never with any help coming from it. Writing has always been cathartic for me. It allows me to see what is really going on. Sort of like writing out involved dreams and then going, "ah ha! I know what has been bugging me!" Losing that medium was tough. I felt adrift.
I have known for the past couple months that I am in a state of waiting. Have you ever read the amazing poems of Lawrence Ferlinghetti? I discovered him in college and fell in love with I am Waiting and the oft repeated phrases " I am waiting. . ." and ". . . a rebirth of wonder," which have always spoken to me at the very center of my being! Over the years it hasn't bothered me to wait, for I know that the rebirth of wonder will appear. Of course, wonder fades and waiting starts up again, but knowing that never discourages me. Even at my lowest, even when I think I just will never be a trusting person ever again, there at the back of my being are Ferlinghetti's lines
I am awaitingI don't know if I've found what I was waiting for. I do know I have come to a place that is more centered. I can write again in a way that is healing and makes me smile. I've almost gotten to the place of seeing how to maintain both the pretty pink blog, which is all smiles, and this much more honest one.
perpetually and forever
a renaissance of wonder
Right now all I'm waiting for is Spring!
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