today my computer deleted all of my contacts. Just like that - gone. sigh. It took me a minute and then I thought "this is kind of nice - a new start". So as of now I only have email addresses for people who have emailed me in the last 7 months. I guess that's appropriate.

Hagar.

Let's talk about Hagar. She's an anomaly to me - it seems that her reputation precedes her as one not quite as righteous as Sarah. But I can't get her out of my mind - and it seems, to me, that in the beginning that was not so.
She was Sarah's handmaid. Without a choice in the matter she was 'given' to Abraham as a wife, to bare the children Sarah could not have. So when she does get pregnant, granted, she gets a bit haughty with Sarah and "looks on her with deceit". Sarah gets mad and "deals hardly with her". Okay - so she lost her humility. I can see the sin . . . but there must be so much there not written because it seems Hagar is a very spiritual woman. She runs away and finds herself at the well, where she stops to have a very legitimate breakdown and spend a few moments with a good cry. An angel of the Lord appears to her (see, spiritual woman) and asks her 'why the tears?' She answers and he proceeds to comfort her by saying 'well, go back to the situation, humble yourself and be at the mercy of Sarah.' Hard stuff. But she does it. What character she must have. He then bids her goodbye by telling her that yes, she is with child, and the child whom she will bare will be at arms with all those around him. Not the greatest blessing to be given.
Years later Sarah does conceive and out of fear for Isaac's life both Sarah and Abraham throw Hagar and her son Ishmael out. Can you imagine - miles and miles of desert and you alone with a young child? I'm just having a hard time seeing the bad side of Hagar here. Every book I've researched sides with Sarah - and there must be something there because ultimately she is the one chosen to carry the royal lineage. And in reality, I think there must be an amazing repentance story to be read here. I would like to believe that in the time between Ishmaels and Isaac's birth that the beautiful miricle of a heart changing occured, that Sarah grew to be the righteous woman that was heir to be mother of countless numbers.
I just can't forget the other part though - the woman who was eventually cast out. There she is, sand and sun -and she begins to cry and pray unto God. He opens her eyes and she finds a well of water, which sustains the both of them until they can continue into a new land.
I'm still mulling over it all - but as of yet my heart really goes out to Hagar, the woman servant who was given a life without choice.

You cannot stay on the summit forever; you have to come down again . . . so why strive to climb? Just this: what is above knows what is below, but what is below does not know what is above. One climbs, one sees. One descends, one sees no longer, but one has seen. There is an art to conducting oneself in the lower regions by the memory of what one saw higher up. When one can no longer see, one can still at least know.”

- Rene Daumel

some distinguish between courage and foolhardiness in that a courageous person overcomes a justifiable fear for an even more noble purpose. If the fear is not justifiable or the purpose not noble, then the courage is either false, or foolhardy.
- Wikepedia, Free Encyclopedia

I opened the door inside this morning and found I had forgotten how strong I am.

wouldn't it be interesting if we got a bill every month from our gaurdian angel?
"oh, shoot. Man, I knew it was dangerous but I didn't think it would be that expensive!" . . . .

Yesterday I ran into a friend of a friend of a friend who said that sarah had asked mauri if she had seen me lately and mauri had asked a different sarah, and that sarah said yes. Then mauri poured into her eyes with all seriousness and said "is she okay?" . So sarah, the second one, told me she had reassured them, but the whole thing in general caught me by surprise. Of coarse I"m okay. I've never been so happy - has anyone else ever gotten married? It's amazing how quickly your life get's brighter, even when you thought it was bright before. So here is the announcement. I am still really glad I did it. :) Things are good, and when I say good, I mean the good that goes all the way down to your bones - like the belly laugh of an old black jazz singer. I realize I could be the next candidate for the ultimate slacker award - - - blogging less, calling less, lunch with everyone less . . . but, and I emphasize, this is in no way an indication that I am not happy in being married. On the contrary, I have become obsessed with the obliviousness I have found in being so caught up in Brent. So there it is - let the grapevine be informed.

the wet heat of july

ah, the familiar feeling of change. The winds are blowing again . . . this season of rest and release has filled me up inside and now the clock is calling my name. To aspen. a new paragraph in this new chapter. But the old is still there and I am battling without ever drawing my sword. This is a turning point: to walk ahead and pretend or to look back and begin to heal. Either is possible, but only one will build.
Yesterday I sat surrounded by concrete and heard what I thought was an answer to prayer deteriorate before my eyes. I should have known - concrete never supports life. The rest of the day was deflated and numb. Where is the right place?! My heart just doesn't know yet.
Later that night I leaned against an old oak tree under the stars and listened to a familiar voice from a chapter of hell in my past. It was beautiful to hear the calm that met me half way back then, now, in the new pages. I think it was good for both of us, to speak again and laugh like we understand . . . still. He is going down the river. The amount of irony in all of that is shocking. The river holds me humming in it's waters. I have left all that wet, and been baptized anew. But so much is still there and I need Him these days. I need Him.

I am human this week.
What does that mean? It means that I am full of mistakes, and find myself over and over again disappointing who I know I want to become. it means that I am quick to yelp, slow to listen, quick to blame and point fingers, get angry and always it seems I forget to forgive. I am slow, slow, slow, to be the person I would rather be. Why? I at myself inside - why am I acting like this?
Yesterday was the first day I failed as a wife. How many more will there be? I had every opportunity to love him anyway, put my justifications aside and be the first to say I'm sorry. He beat me to it . I was still fuming over in the corner - still upset at the nothings. It's aggravating, falling short of the better part of me.
I will keep trying, which, after a good nights rest and a long deep prayer, is about the only good thing left.

we are nomads, the two of us.
you, me and the thermarest
ipod hippies
ibook junkies
river rats that bleed with the stars,
love the sun on our skin
the thrill of a good view -
bring it on Mt. Olympus, Moab Mexican diners, and DuWayne's Cement Driveway.

"This is the best summer of my life" he laughs into the phone

Nate wishes he would have slept on the porch outside too
we had a good idea, he said.
and the sound of the mountains lulled us to sleep
you, me, the thermarest . . . and Toby.
What about Lake Powell and the mornings that set rock on fire?
The boat was named and baptized - Golden Dragon, Matt deamed.

Alice says there are a thousand good places to experience eating, just in the backyard.
Nate says God answers prayers in simple ways.
Music is being worked on, even if the Utah Symphony is jagged
I'm screaming in Barbeque's - how I love them, how I love them
and We finally got you a ring.

It is good, isn't it.

Brent is singing in the car. He would be very mad to know I put this on my blog - but I love it, I mean - he's belting some forgotten song at the top of his lungs on our drive to powell.

As I was walking
through green, over brown, inside blue
smells of water, willows
birds call back and forth
horses breathe clean through the air
the sun is setting in quiet glory

I realized
my head is clear
my hands are worn
my body brown and agile
music runs through me in and all around
space fills
family heals

and that I
am.
totally here in this moment
not somewhere else
not halfway with it

but whole
present
complete
full
happy

air fills my lungs
sunlight fills my eyes
I lift my arms and sing

Linda says a ripe watermelon should thunk at a high A.

mothers day 2006: learning the growth that helps us become

Wife.
afternoons. adorable. actions. understand a once-bachelor. breath. breathe. become. build. communicate. care. cook. compromise. clean. creative. don't mind dirt. dream. efficient. economical. funny. forgive. gyno. grateful. give. groceries. goals. happy. helpful. honest. interested. intuitive. inspirational. initial. joke. kitchens. kinship. kind. laugh. laughable. light-hearted. learn. lovely. love. meliss. mind myself. muscles. neat. nice. name. nature. near. nickels. open. odorless. offer. peace. people person. prayer. quick. quirky. reasonable. resourceful. save. serve. soft. sensitive. tough. tender. talk. talker. thank you. united. virtuous. validate. willing. welcome. xenocryst. yin. zeal.


Mother.
accept. artist. brown. bake. bandades. create. cuddle. compassion. consistent. cope. carry. carry on. driver. establish. enthusiastic. fair. forgive. fix. groceries. gain. guidance. hero. healer. hiker. infinity. instilled. imagine. insist. insure. jest. kiss. kindle. love, love, love. learn. listen. merciful. mature. never complain. negotiate. nest. newspaper. organize. principles. persevere. potter. qualified. quench. release. support. self. selfless. smiles. super hero. stable. teach. tireless. thick. thinker. talker. understand. valiant. valued. values. versatile. vital. warm. worn hands. wrinkled. wise. x chromosome. yours. zenith.

Married Life: FANTASTIC.

six days and counting.

That’s it. I’m complaining.
Planning a wedding sucks - Constantly relying on other people who bail or don’t return your phone calls
I’ve never been this emotional before – up and down and all around. I’m not like this, normally. But I’m not normally trying to move, practice, take midterms, deal with crazy roommates, plan receptions, and sign in books, and not get enough alone time, and get too much alone time, and not enough practice time, and too much studying, and deal with the details that I deep down do not care about. I feel like a tight rope inside. When did this begin? Last week. When the packing began. What is it with me and not liking to be on the move? You would think that as a free spirit this would pertain to physically moving as well – I’ve lived out of my car for years. But there is something about being grounded that comes with having my things in place, with a routine that I can choose to break if I feel like it. Having things in boxes and staring reality and huge changes in the face is enough to make anyone feel like they are going to hyperventilate. Its been a big year - a lot of work . . . and I’m feeling the pull of it all.
All these questions about how many tables we’ll be using, if I want a throw away bouquet in addition to my ‘real’ one, what shade of cream to dye the smallest girls dresses. I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care. What I care about is him. I care if he smiles, and if my muffins make his day brighter. I care that he loves me, and that he tells me I’m enough – even when I don’t feel good that day. I care that he wants to be with me, forever. I care that he loves me even when I am hard to love – and that he doesn’t give up on me, ever. That he’ll hold me and kiss me all over and somehow make me laugh when I want to tare someone’s eyes out - that somehow when he touches me everything in the whole world rights itself and is okay. I care that he loves to make me smile, I care if he has eaten that day. I care about how I can help him feel how I see him. I care if he gets enough sleep and if he was able to watch tv and talk to the guys, because I know how much he loves it. I care a little bit about the weather on our wedding day – and that is about it when it comes to the white, the old, and the new. Engagements suck – let it be known. My advice is to have the shortest one possible.

ahhh. wow, what a weekend. I'm learning that I need to set aside some time to write - its just not getting done these days. I think its a result of having someone I tell everything to - I allow myself to purge audibly and don't stop to dip the pen in ink. Today I could write a novel. I hope to be able to, one day.
11 days and counting.

get this. I learned today that the cat woman downstairs has TWO floors for her apartment. I knocked on one door and she cracked open the door one floor below - which I thought odd since at the time I didn't think that was her apartment. How can one woman fill an apartment that is two stories so full that she can't open the door? This woman is amazing. She of coarse claimed she wasn't dressed and couldn't let me in - which I know isn't true because she was dressed. So how am I going to get the mechanic in to fix the intercom so the whole building can know who's at the door? Good luck because she can't open the door and she will not let us go in there. Probably best for all humanity if we just allow the intercom to stay broken.

Here's what I don't get.

People who feed the birds.
I mean, common people. I love animals - but pigeons are like rats . . . they are everywhere, and they don't have a brain, and they will survive if you don't feed them. And they are full of disease. I know because when I moved here and I was in withdrawals from my dog and my horse I thought about capturing one and forcing it to be my pet. But then someone informed me about the disease. Good thing, I could have been a gonner. So lets stop feeding the birds, eh?

boxes

moving, again. I love the routine of conference weekend, the saturday you put your hair up in a beautiful cloth wrap and clean clean clean as the familiar sounds of voices over the pulpit echo through the rooms. This year brent is moving and half his stuff will be stuffed into my apartment for the next two weeks until we get married. I think I will enjoy having his clothes around - it will fill my room with the smell of him. Its warm in new york today and the sun is shining. Amazing how great weather makes everything that much better.

who do you respect more?

Bach, who stayed devoted his entire life to God, never left his small town in germany more than 20 miles, wrote some of the most cleansing and inspirational music that has ever been performed, and wasn't at all concerned with the math behind the notes,
or
Handel, who beethoven spoke of when he proclaimed him as "the greatest of us all", known as a swinging bachelor who traveled the world and was the favorite of girls and kings, and then ended up with the Messaiah - a work proclaiming the Glory of God in irresisitable sweeping melodies and fugues

?

19 days

2 1/2 weeks until I get married.
Learning, I'm learning. I have so far to grow but I'll keep trying.
At this point most everything seems irrelevant unless its the wedding.
Can you believe we're in the final stretch of year one?
Half way through - how is that possible?
I'm having nightmares that going to Aspen ruins my mairrage.
I have a roommate who is crazy . Who can relate?
Ready to upgrade.
we found an apartment in the west village. Its cozy and unique and our first home.
I feel overwhelmed with love.

"You did not cut your hair by yourself again. (through fits of laughter) The month of the wedding?! Brent, oh my gosh"

I want to be beautiful at 53. I want to have long hair with streaks of silver running through the brown. I want to look wise and wear blue rock jewelry and have great art hanging from my walls, thick singing melodies from the stereo, and candles and fresh bread everyday. I want to be someone people seek out to talk to - a listener who hands them a warm cup of tea with worn leathery hands and sits on the porch wrapped in a blanket as they unload and laugh and trust as we swing back and forth and let our feet dangle. I want to feel beautiful – full of bear hugs, homemade cookies and mornings in the country with a garden growing zucchini. I want the lines around my eyes to be accentuated when I laugh - to tell of years of growing pains as I embrace the genuine that comes with beginning "old". How does someone like me get to be someone like that? How does a New Yorker who never makes time to call just to say hi or even entertain the thought of interrupting the practicing to ask my roommate how she is – how do I, so ungrounded, racing frantically from one train to the next, become wise and centered?
I look at her and I think "she's beautiful". But she wouldn't be a lingerie model. Does that mean I don't need to feel gorgeous everyday? Because I'm the one that looks in the mirror fifty times and always leaves with a dark cloud filling my mind. Do I ever feel "good enough" - do I ever have enough love? I'm a tangled mess of expectations and self-criticism with an uncanny talent for disapproval of my everything’s. The voice in my head jibbers all day long - always "not enough, Not Enough." And I don't want to care anymore if I feel beautiful or skinny or tan. Why do I allow this black out in my mind - when really the people I see and think are beautiful are none of these things?
God, make me more than I am. Clean this mind that gets so caught up and confused. Help me see me how you see me.

can you imagine opera in Italy? "its not just the singers on stage singing" he says "everyone is belting the arias - everyone knows them."
How would it be?

So much depends on the lighting.
Can you think of a spring day when the sun came through the window and the whole morning seemed full of white light and the smell of bread?
Sugarhouse was a room filled with light . . . such hard times and yet I look back on them and I remember the lighting in my room, the smell of wet dirt, and feeling in shape.

march 20th in the two thousand six

I get married in less than one month.
Can we believe that I'm getting married?
Nonie is home - her voice is high and sings with frenchness in between her syllables. I smiled when I heard it over the phone.
Ann is going to switzerland, Andrea to London. Stephanie is doing the grad auditions. Ah the grad auditions.
How amazing to watch as life unfolds in patterns for everyone, swirling and interlocking between us all like an intoxicating smoke.
When is Emily Jane coming to New York? I'm ready for her to visit.
Spring is coming to New York. Its not warm, but I feel it in the air.
Yesterday I spent hours in the violin shop. My violin is being born - I played it white and dusty and imagined it beautiful with varnish. I played a Strad and a Guineri, with thousands of years being strung out on every note. I sat down and felt like blood had filled my heart to the point of explosion.
"I can smell it" he said. "give me one year - one year." he said we had a contract, not to do with money. I wanted to shout "where do I sign?" - anything to attatch myself to his knowledge.
wow, what an amazing point in life.

Today Nelda sent me Robert Frost:

You'll wait a long, long time for anything much
To happen in heaven beyond the floats of cloud
And the Northern Lights that run like tingling nerves.
The sun and moon get crossed, but they never touch,
Nor strike out fire from each other, nor crash out loud.
The planets seem to interfere in their curves,
But nothing ever happens, no harm is done.
We may as well go patiently on with our life,
And look elsewhere than to stars and moon and sun
For the shocks and changes we need to keep us sane.
It is true the longest drouth will end in rain,
The longest peace in China will end in strife.
Still it wouldn't reward the watcher to stay awake
In hopes of seeing the calm of heaven break
On his particular time and personal sight.
That calm seems certainly safe to last tonight.


its perfect, isn't it? So grateful for good friends.

Brent came home and it got warmer.
70 degrees in New York today - I'm going outside to let the sun baptize my winter skin.
Open the windows and let the air in
dust off the shelves and renew

I’m not afraid of anything, I just need to know that I can breathe
I don’t need much of anything, but suddenly. ..
I am small and the world is big
All around me is fast moving, surrounded by so many things
Suddenly. . . .

I am young and I am free
But I get tired and I get weak
I get lost and I can’t sleep

Would you come if I was faltering?
Would you cry if I was falling?

She can’t listen, she can’t hear me.
Hearts are swollen and heavy with pain.
He is gone - in my dream he is flying.
Looking up I wonder where I left my wings.

How does it feel? How does it feel?

Things I know. Things I feel.

I know that I am loved.
I feel alone.
I know that I am strong.
I feel needy.
I know that its a product of a bad situation - with a three hour time difference that can put a rift in anyones schedule.
I feel like I don't know any more ways of saying "its not enough".
I know I've reached a stress level of high frequency and sometimes I can't hear much else.
I know I am full of pride.
I know I need to do better, even when its hard.
I feel like I just want to be held.

frustrated. . . frustrated. . . frustrated.

basically I'm pretty sure I'm eating my death when I buy grapes at the fish stand in Flushing. but where else can you get them for 47 cents a pound?

when was the last moment you melted?

The second theme in the first movement of Brahms concerto on Friday - Zimmerman and the slowest heartbreaking melody - what a combination.
Walking home from Carnegie tonight - the city lights beautiful above me, stopping to turn in a circle and look up at all those windows with a big smile.
I passed a line of cairrages and couldn't help myself: dipping my nose to his, I inhaled the best scent on earth: warm horse.
The first moment he said "I do, I love you."
A warm peach, some vanilla yogurt, and a half hour to just sit and think.
The first morning I rolled over and saw the diamond on my hand.
Reading Nephi's beautiful psalm: "Oh Lord I have trusted in Thee, and I will trust in Thee forever . . . therefore I will lift up my voice unto thee; yeah, I will cry unto thee, my God, the rock of my righteousness. Behold, my voice shall forever ascend up unto thee, my rock and mine everlasting God."
A feather pillow and cold bed covers after a really really long day.
I opened my phone tonight and his text looked up at me: "I adore you."

Crawling through the grime of the city that dries me up until its flaking off my skin.
Up to my ears in noise and commuting – screaming patience to myself on the trains as they rumble through the tunnels, rocking back and forth as they slowly make their way to where I need to be. Routines and clockwork – tick tick ticking away.
No time to do anything but what has been thought about and planned.
16 hour day yesterday, today, tomorrow . . . everyday.
Calling the caterer . … flourist . . . seemstress. . . . cleaning the house. . . . cleaning the house again. . . . showing the house . . . advertising the house . . . looking for a house . . . returning more wedding phone calls . . . sending mass emails for chamber orchestra . .. studying for history tests. . . gigs that pay measly bucks but its always such good music I can’t say no. Concerts at the Lincoln center as the cold wind whips across my face - running its fingers through my hair mockingly.
I’ve been to the pet store twice now in an effort to buy something to keep me company while he is away for 10 days – both times images of moving three times in the next 6 months leave me empty handed.
But I could get two birds for $20!
“You don’t even really want a bird”, Adam says. But he is leaving on a cruise today – he doesn’t need someone to sing to him in the mornings. I am here in New York, and wouldn’t mind a little singing.
A warm day in a sunny car with the windows down calls to me – haunts my dreams. I turn my face away reluctantly. Brent is swinging the golf club on fields of green. I put my headphones on and turn up the music – flooding my mind with thoughts on being supportive and enduring the long days.
I miss being missed.
So today I allowed myself an hour. I called the most indulging place on earth – the spa. I arranged for an appointment. $110 and 65 minutes later I emerged a new person. Can anyone even begin to think of anything better than a good day at the spa? It renewed my firm conviction to one day become a certified masseuse, it calmed the lonely energy, rejuvenated my weighty soul and gave me every reason to smile. I don’t even care that it was ridiculously expensive – worth every dime. Is there anything as great as mango exfoliation and an oatmeal mask on a bitter cold gray NY day when everyone you know is skiing or sun bathing and you feel like somehow you are stuck in a bubble that only knows work?
Does this make me high maintenance?
I don’t think so – even the hippiest of granolas enjoy earthy masks to rejuvenate their vibes.
So let it be known – we all deserve a day at the spa. My advice: indulge. ;)

There is something very intriguing about the word Balance.
Implications of straddling. .. reaching . . pulling . . . being pulled.
Balance is staying centered.
But without conflict there would be no reason for its existence.

a man on the subway today saw me reading a text book and handed me a highlighter. Just there he was, opening his briefcase and giving me a yellow pen - as if it was the reason he got on the train this morning. I have to admit, it was shocking - a kind deed in the middle of new york city. . . but it made me reflect and smile at least a dozen times today. Awful nice of him - and the pen rocks.

hey sir dunky!

rule no.1 : write, speak, dream in affirmations
even when this comes so difficult to me. I am learning. . . . slowly . . . learning. its good for my soul - my performance teacher says it will effect my subconscious in a positive way. And Brent loves affirmation. Two good reasons to get better at it.

rule no.2 : always always always be grateful for good friends that never let you forget them.
i miss my emily price's. oh the days when I took chamber gatherings for granted.

rule no.3 : take deep breaths and when needed, shout loudly "planning a wedding sucks!"

rule no.4 : to rent an apartment in nyc is to rent a closet. but hey, the closer to be with you my dear.

rule no.5 : I still want a nose ring. A nose ring or a red hound dog. Its going to have to be one or the other.

rule no.6 : do we ever feel as old as we are? I don't feel old enough but I like it.

"There is a basin in the mind where words float around on thought and thought on sound and sight. Then there is a depth of thought untouched by words, and deeper still a gulf of flormless feelings untouched by thought. Lawd, you know mah heart. Ah done de best ah could do. De rest is left to you." - Their Eyes Were Watching God

Fairway on 74th and Broadway

"excuse me, excuse me" I bump around the crowd trying to make it to the frozen corn.
They glare back at me - bundled up with violin on my back, duffle bag across my shoulder and food basket filled with fruit, as if thinking to themselves that I must be breaking a law - taking up this much space.
I laugh and think about how much clean air there is in Aspen. If they are that worried about it, why don't they move to where they can have as much of it as they want?

Its rainy today. . . . The picture of the beach stares back at me from the desktop.
I'm finding peace - there are some things that will always be personal.

"I'll go where you want me to go, dear Lord,
I'll be what you want me to be . . . "

Its a good day.

Melissa : "I have this eye twitch thing going on again"
Brent: "ah, the old eye twitch. .. yes, yes. I wonder if its chronic . . "

walking down 76th on my way to teach a lesson. . .

passing the jews as they come out of synagogue . . . a fresh direct van weaving its way between parked cars . . . the driver hitting the side view mirror on a little jeep . . . "ahhh! mazeltoff!" shouted one in surprise "that was somebody's mirror!"

I'm sad today.
feels like I need to speak in japanese to have the freedom to say what I want . . .
like if I say it in english it just won't be heard, only the colors will be seen and sometimes that can get you into trouble.
I can't go into the city without that which lets it all slip off me. I drown.
Sometimes there is a crevis inside as big and as flowing as Iguacu.

"aint nothing left at all, at the end of being proud. . .
I've had some time to think about it . . .
and watched the sun sink like a stone. . .
I've had some time to think about you . . .
on the long ride home.

One day I took your tiny hand
put your finger in the wedding band
daddy gave a piece of land
we made ourselves the best of plans . . . . ."

I woke up with a ring on my finger
rolling over - a sigh of "wow" and a smile
Thailand's bells and chimes sing in my mind . . .
beaches of sugar sand and water the color of air.
Golden buddah's . . . monkeys that eat out of your hand . . .
I learned last week elephants are gentle and have funny looking feet.
I'm getting married to that man there,
he's kissing my smiles.. . . making me double over in laughter . . .
swimming through fountains and rust orange canopies . . . mint water and thai food . . .
yes, that one there - the one with shiny eyes.
He says he loves me . . . Loves me very very much.
I hold his hand and smile back. I'm wearing his ring - and I take a lot of big sighs because I'm not sure when I've ever felt this much for someone.
They say it gets even better.
They say there will be hard times, and good times, lonely times, and fun times.
I say I want to spend it all with him . . .
we ride the elephant through the jungle.
They say stuff like this takes faith.
and I think of moving to salt lake where I didn't want to be. I think of taking audtions that were scary. I think of moving to Aspen, where I didn't know anyone. I think of leaving my horse, and my dog, and my friends and moving to New York City. Liz says "its amazing to look back and realize that every major decision you've ever made has lead you to this one person." And I sigh again. Because I am so blessed to have been brought to him. And so blessed to go to a school I love, studying the music I love . . .
So I'm getting married.
Namaste.

last day of finals.
yes yes yes.
I V four three, one six . . . two six five . . . five. two half diminished four three, five six.
numbers and harmonys crammed in my brain.
I seem to be sifting through this instrument that can seem like a type writer . . . just let me run my fingers over silver strings.
Thank you for a hymn that was inspiring yesterday.
Thank you for a flight home . . . to the mountains.
Thank you for friends - amazing how beautiful friends make life.
Thank you for Matt - who says I owe him one letter everyday for the rest of my life.
Thank you for someone who loves me and fills me with white.


twenty two more minutes until final number one.

sometimes I just can't believe it.
I wake up overwhelmed with gratitude more often then I do just normal these days. . .

if you could pierce anything -

I would wear a nose ring in a heart beat. In fact, I have frequent moments when I'm convinced there would be nothing more fun than to march down and buy one. For some reason today was one of those days. . . . I think I'm on at least my fourth episode of unquenchable passion for a nose ring. it used to be these came when I wasn't getting in enough practicing . . . . lack of self expression He used to call it. But these days I'm practicing a lot - - - I think it may be a reaction to fears of putting myself in a homemade box called stable and settled. Maybe I should go with the nose ring . . . I'll be a stable and settled nose ring bohemian. :)

3:42 or 1:42

today a woman in Logan called me to play a gig. I had never met her, and I quickly explained that I have now moved. She was silent for a moment before exclaiming "well . . . we sure miss you!" after hanging up, I had to laugh. Oh the difference between those that live in logan and those that live in new york.

they're selling christmas trees on broadway for $80.
Boston and the freezing cold
New World Symphony and the rich sap of a cellist.
oh how I wish I were a cellist.
now a morning of baking bread . . . the noises of the city quieted on a Sunday
I think I'm in love.
that part makes me smile outloud
the dough sticks to my hands
its worth squeeling about,
worth singing christmas songs loud as I dance through crowds,
worth going to the top of the empire state building and shouting it to the world
worth waking up just to let it sink in all over again - my breath a sigh of contentment
all the things that fill me up inside are still not as good as love

wouldn't it be great if time zones were actually more like time machines, so where ever you were, the whole world was at that time . . . that way when you were in new york and had a day when you were running behind and didn't get your phone calls made, you could call someone in utah and have them call for you, because they are two hours earlier and it would still work out.

. . . .

The woman in a suit came onto the bus to continue her conversation. I sat, hands still muddy with clay . . . holding my music inside me. There’s a whirling noise in my head sometimes. I was trying to figure out what pitch it hums at . . . trying to distract myself from the nonsense demons that won’t leave me alone.
The woman’s words interrupted my thoughts.
“Yahh, Yeup. I know. Ah huh. Well, I’m working on this case – yeah – ten year old sat his mother down in a chair and shot her. Yeah she died. Ah huh. Six out of seven kids. NO Kidding! Can you believe that?
Six out of Seven!!”

Sometimes I just don’t understand.
This city that isn’t me. I love it completely, you know. I’ve learned you can love it completely and still need more – as if the word love is 360 degrees around, rather than the normal 180 for words like dried mangos and your favorite pants. 360 leaves room to miss things while still being satisfied. I wait for the moment I smell cows and hear the sound of kids playing in a pile of fallen leaves. I pray and try to figure out these feelings that come with loosing the big I’s – independence . . isolation, . . . and gaining the things that seem so scary – consistency, companionship. Sometimes in my head I decide to go home, pack my bags, and move to Italy – just to be unattached, because its familiar and in some warped world I try to justify that its more safe . . . but every night by the time I get home, buying a plane ticket just isn't as exciting as analyzing the arches of my feet.

I’m learning a lot about the idea “familiar”. I can see the value in not becoming the Larry in Somerset Maugham’s book. It just takes a lot of deep breathes is all.

Today: Roberts closest moment to admitting he was wrong.
“Oh of coarse! I didn’t play a C natural – you are right. It was more like a B sharp.”

why always the picturesque scenes on the blog? I don't know really. most of them are whims.

renewed appreciation

I had an experience today that really opened my heart and made me determine to do better. There I was, cell phone connected to the ear as I walked through crowds eating Chinese food in Flushing – calling an old friend and professional violinist in salt lake for some much needed advice. I guess you just have to be in that situation – vulnerable and feeling very much like a novice to appreciate how much her sweet and helpful nature were appreciated. It was like sunshine coming through that phone - the way she made me feel welcome and loved, the sound of a mothers voice who bakes cookies and walks with her grand kids to the park. I realized somewhere in between then and now that I need to redouble my efforts in having a good attitude when I serve people. Lately I have faltered in this area - going through the motions, even putting in the hours - but when it comes down to it feeling rather frustrated and like it truly wasn't worth the effort I was putting into it. Whatever happened to selfless service done with a light heart in my life? I have lost it somewhere on the path in gaining routine in a city full of people who don't know my name, protecting time in an overexaggerated battle with prioritizing, and loosing thoughts in the business of day.
I have been reminded.
New York you will not get me glorifying in proud isolation - I will do better at reaching out to the "other", as so beautifully put by Rebecca Mckonkie and her talk yesterday about the phrase "Love One An Other". And so it is. A renewed conviction to be more then I am, and a prayer to God to help get me there.

First reading of Mahler Symphony no. 4:
"read this like you would a bible."

honest to goodness direct quotes from todays trio rehearsal with cellist Robert who I want to obliviate from planet earth.

Andrew: "why are you playing forte there Robert?"
Robert: "because its a cello solo"
Andrew: "no its not, it doesn't say solo"
Robert: "yes it does, right after my pizz"
Andrew: "oh, so arco means solo?"

Robert: "we'd better hurry, we only have five minutes left"
Andrew, looking at the clock, "ten"
Robert: "some see five, some see ten. . ."

Andrew: "Gosh Robert you don't need to get so emotional there"
Robert: "the only important part is my part."
Andrew: "ooookkaaay. cry me a river!"

Robert: "I'm tired."
Robert: "My bow arm is hurting"

Robert: "lllllaaaaahhhhh laaaaaaaaaahhhhh llllllllllaaaaaaahhhhhhh!"
Melissa: "Robert, stop singing your solos".
Robert: "but they're the only good part."

Andrew: "Robert, can you play the triplets yet?"
Robert: "not now, my *%@**$# 'n hand hurts"
Andrew: "well, are you going to learn them?"
Robert: "look its not my fault I don't know the triplets"

Melissa: "okay, lets run the first movement without stopping"
Robert: " . . . . . . ."
Melissa: "any day now"
Robert: "just a minute. I had a massage, as I usually do, and he didn't massage my shoulder, so I can't use my arm."

Brent: no seriously, bubble butts are a thing of the future!

10/22/05

quote of the night : "and then your mouth just messes it all up."
want to go to Thailand?
spend a day in Japan
raisens and the thought of going dancing
as the rain beats the window
some things scream romantic
apple tea warm and autumn outside
bought a black and white photo today
went to the white house and thought of you

breathe deep
smile
and move forward



but slowly.

The culinary art of NYC.

"choosing the path of least resistance makes both man and rivers crooked"

to see renee sing manon

running under the warm glow of city lights, framed by the rain that was making the air thick
skirt bundled up in my arms as heels clicked the ground
I looked at you and laughed outloud, declaring "how romantic - running to the MET through the rain!"
you smiled back
because admit it, it was. :)

I recently looked at Nates Blog - who I've never met but seems to know people I know. I have to admit, there's so much there to relate to - one of my favorites being
"While the church is definately true, Jesus hopes people don't act too Mormon in Heaven."
and "He never said it would be easy, but he never said it wouldn't. so It may still turn out to be easy."
- insights he gained from the Sugar Beet Magazine.
Makes you kind of smile in a small way and chuckle, eh?

I live here.

"When each day is the same as the next its because people fail to recognize the good things that happen in their lives every day that the sun rises"
- The Alchemist

it just occured to me that the main boy character in the play is eventually revealed to us as the scarecrow . . . isn't that the one looking for a brain?

mass transit on a morning commute

In a heroic effort I bolt down the subway steps – slipping in between the sliding frames that box people in like sardines.
“Stand clear of the closing doors please”
Somehow I shove my packaged body among my fish friends. It even smells like sardines. The girl to my right keeps her eyes down. She is meditating. Some find peace in this morning ritual, I suppose. The man next to me is covered in chains and tattoos – I’m within inches of his breath. The warm of his day-old cologne passes over my skin. Here I stand, intimately wrapped around and through these strangers – nobody acknowledging anybody – averted eyes as bodies press up against each other . . . until skin touches skin on accident and a quick apology is mumbled.
I clear my throat but you can’t hear it over the rattle of the train, shift my weight and take my place in this ipod culture – shutting out the people I bathe with in this humid heat.
The doors open and everyone begins breathing again, shoving their way to the exits like a tournament round of moveable chairs or whatever we used to play at family reunions.
doors ding and the train jolts into movement.

I realize it's cheesy to put a picture of a sunset on your blog. . . . but hey, give me some credit - its been quite some time since I've seen one.

learning from breathing

today was one of those mornings that you remember with reminiscence in years to come. Lots of visitors this weekend - too many to get up and be productive. Can't run cause I broke my foot . . . can't practice because they are trying to sleep. So I found myself drawn to my bookcase - so many pages filled with thoughts and questions . . . . and often answers. I pulled out the journal from a year ago - and smiled as I read the line "isn't it crazy how much can happen in one year." October and my first trip ever to New York City - how much the exotic lights and consistant music charmed me and left me breathless. I was learning so much - I'm still learning so much. I laughed outloud as I read what I figure is the "sucky path" that seems to be the right path . . . but how oh well because if you try to take the path not right believe me its even suckier. ha. and now its beginning to lighten up here in the city - the air is turning crisper and apples are coming into season. sigh. I love the change of the seasons and how they encourage renewing in our own lives. It was a good morning, although I was pacing for people to get up so I could just get my fingers on strings. Sometimes you need someone to tell you to remember to read.

ode to the love fern

confession:
I killed the fern I bought at Ikea to be adorned in my apartment and make it feel like home. It was adding such nice green decoration to my NYC room. . . . "decoration" being the word to start the suspicion .. . . learning not one month later that anyone who calls a living breathing thing a decoration obviously knows about as much as I do on taking care of it . . . and hense the brittle stem for a plant that I have now. sigh. I'm really very sorry to have not been a better plant owner.

a bit too honest. . . .

a friend and professor at utah state once confessed to the class I sat in that day that he had received a phone call from a woman who had an unmistakable fake accent. It was so strong that in fact he assumed it to be his wife, playing a practical joke. Believing he had gotten the better of her before her cover was revealed, he played along with the joke - taunting and mocking her relentlessly - knowing that any minute her facad would have to be admitted. When the woman continued in this manner without interruption, my friend realized he had made an awful mistake: the stranger was indeed a stranger, and indeed the accent was real. Humiliated, he did what I think is one of the best recoveries I have ever heard of. Dropping the phone, he rattled it around a bit, picked it up again, and speaking in a thick masculine voice, said "I'm sorry! this is Mike Christiansen and that other person was not supposed to be in my office. How can I help you?"
I mean, really, who would have thought that up spur of the moment? You must admit - genius.

from somewhere in Astoria

in some sort of unexpected fluke I get internet on this corner of 30th street and 30th av - in the middle of a part of Queens I've never seen. I'm waiting for the Q18, watching people eat in a small sidewalk cafe as they drink their sunday afternoon coffee. At the moment I'm pretty darn grateful to my violin case, which is currently being used as my bench as I busily type away and wait wait wait for the bus that I'm not at all positive will follow through with arriving. What an adventure it is to take subways you've never taken, and wait for buses you've never seen come. Its a trust issue, I'm realizing. . . . so many things are a trust issue. when it doesn't come, what do you do? well, I know of no better way of getting to where I am going - so I guess you commit yourself to the unknown and determine that if it doesn't work, it must be for some reason beyond what we know. Then comes that poinant moment when we decide what to do with what we have. sitting here on this corner I guess is a living testiment that when it doesn't work, its best to pick yourself up off the cold ground, take a deep breath, gather your insides together, pray for a while until they soften up, and then trust again.
must go - the bus just arrived.

Picasso said once drawing is like taking a dog for a walk . . .

while they're still green . . .

he asked me what I would do if I were to turn over a new leaf and immediately I heard a type writer clicking in my head . . . lists of the things I would change. I remembered a sentence that strung together the two ends of my day last week - that split second when I realized that you can decide how your life turns out. so I guess it comes down to having the time. But if I could, I would

make my runs 10 miles instead of six.
learn how to throw pots.
become a massage therapist.
play the guitar
be a photographer
never be in a hurry with people I love
be a farmer
be a kayaker
never miss a sunrise
I would travel to foreign countries to climb sheer walls and sleep at base camps
never let unruly people taint how I see life, or water down my dreams
write all sorts of beautiful thank you notes every time I have the intention
fly to exotic places to try their food and camp on the beach
I would let go of the pessimist and allow myself the luxury of being a romantic . . . but just for a day.

announcing . . .

the best new purchase of Melissa, on sale at bed bath and beyond for $15.00 - a steal, if I may say so myself - with both wire rack and wooden paddle included - the new fetish and very old tradition of THE PIZZA STONE. Gourmet food at home. wallah!

textures

Sometimes you deserve a hot bath and a night to write - even if when you finally get there you stare at the blank page for twenty minutes before anything at all comes to mind that fits into these boxes called words.

I think about the cat woman downstairs - I think that there are so many people in this world, you better not risk being lonely. They may just forget about you. And I really do wish she would have come out of her door soon enough to get my bread before it went bad. But instead she stayed in there - which kind of bugs me.

I think about John Muir, and how everybody needs places to pray in where nature can give strength. Today we had a lesson on the difference between our thoughts and our actions - I liked the comment from the woman with the beautiful jade and pearl necklace - about how each part of us gives a certain energy to the aura of the whole. so much could be at peace if we all thought of the whole.

People and their questions . . . enough to make me scream, but whatever.

Most of the time I have a strong dislike for the grapevine and anything associated, being part of a checklist, redundancy of mistakes, feeling like a mooch (otherwise known as a smooge), most personal memories of provo, the smell of urine, peter brienholt and jon schmidt and any other so-called musician that could have been substituted in the conversation I found myself having today in the hallway about the Browns and Josh Groban and "don't worry, I'm sure we'll be working together soon" - gag me. But I do very much enjoy homemeade pesto artichoke heart sundried tomato pizza, deep sighs to stretch the lungs, most things blue, the luxory of a good nights sleep, thick conversations that inspire, photographs that are endearing, the feeling of calm when you pray, and the significance that enters your day when you know you have committed everything to Him.

just so you know

because people are cheating, I am now putting the unspoken rule no.1 of blogging down on paper, which is if you look at a blog, you are undoubtably obligated to respond somehow (even if it is nothing but "hey, I was here" - like the writing on the bathroom stall at a junior high.) Because thats what blogging is all about. see that little "post your comment" button at the bottom there ? yup - its really that easy.

reminiscing

Ever Wonder

what it would be like to fly -
how colors would taste -
if you never had to worry about money . . .
if you could live anywhere . . .
what you would do if you could pick anything -
what the president really eats for breakfast every morning -
?

things I am afraid of

that feeling when you're on a roller coaster and you suddenly plummet
getting to the point of forgetting how to have a conversation
loneliness
slipping on wet tile
finding no way to pack all my books across the country
loosing good friends
being misunderstood
hurting people that I care about
having a coughing attack in the middle of a cadenza
giving up what I love, even for a good reason
assumptions
not reaching full potential
not having a place to run
not having the time to run
burning my tongue
missing details
becoming a part of the stereotypical genre I can not stand because thats what we're raised to do
somehow getting to the point where I never making time to write
having the things that I am supposed to do be the hardest things I could think of
people leaving without warning
people asking me to trust them
being cold
working really really hard and never improving
hitting a sensitive tooth
not being in control
being overlooked
watching people I love do things that aren't beneficial and having no voice to change things
making the mistakes my parents made
settling
missing opportunities
disappointing most anyone
forgetting to say thank you
being busy with things that portray me as a stress case
having "me" time seen as selfish
Not being there for someone I care about when they need it
sharp objects
being a tourist
eating a bad grape, or worse, eating a spider
not taking responsibility
doing a job half way
having no explanation
tendinitis
any scene in a movie that is remotely suspenseful
confusion

currently listening to . ..

things I know.

there is comfort in the sureness of someone's laugh.
I am filled with questions.
I love the color blue.
I would rather hike then walk.
I don't ever want to be a romantic.
I love the mountains.
I think we're all just trying to do what we can.
what matters is what we decide to become. there is a lot of importance in the actual deciding part.
I love BBQ's and eating corn on the cob on a summer night.
Most of the time I wonder when I will let all these tangled feelings go.
I know I have a hard time proactively waiting for answers.
I really want rock jewelry but I really don't want to be a part of the crowd that has too much money and "positively reeks of it".
I can't stay here. I will move, many things will move.
She says expectations kill. I wonder if I agree with her.
I sure do have a hard time with expectations.
He says "this is not an excuse, its a reason". And I think . .. aren't they all reasons? The real question is what is fair.
Right now in my life I have a problem with being vulnerable.
I know that most things important right now are based on focus. Focus and consistency - such downplayed words.
I know that my sister andrea likes to play devils advocate so I prove why I think the way I do
I know we all get tired. even the strong ones.
Tired does not equal fear.
sometimes even the free and courageous ones just end up walking around in circles wondering what to do.
I know my favorite treat is dannon vanilla yogurt with fresh sliced fruit.
And that good friends are really what make it all okay sometimes.

what do you mean,

safe?

the art of practicing

"The value of an exercise depends on your state of mind"
- Madeline Bruser

they say at 10,000 feet

drink more water
adorn lots of smelly oily sunscreen
lock your garbage cans because the smell of sunscreen attracks the bears

renditions

wet after a concert that slowly baked us in the hot july sun. definately not a photo you would find on the cover of one of his cds, but what do ya do.

the addiction of a trail

there's something in redeeming your skin . . . to get up in the morning, shed the layers and adorn the ones with poly pro and whicker fabrics, to place the headphones and start the pattern of breathing as your legs move in rhythmic motion. . . . something about the soothing balm of repetative motion that allows your mind to clear.

to set my soul free

"People call me crazy for singing outloud like I do. But I got my song, and if I don't sing it it's going to burn a hole in me."
- Martin Sexton

4th of July in Aspen - a few friends, some fireworks, a night on the plaza . Ryan is trying to show off his new "Aspen Music Festival Nalgene". I had to laugh . . . .

art is subjective

The discussion today evolved into debating the point of music competitions. Kevin was almost sick over it - this exasperated effort, he claims, of putting ratings on such a subjective art. Isn't that what makes it art - the fact that it can be interpreted so differently by every person who views or hears it? Essentially you have two audiences you are trying to cater to - the educated "music student" who will normally be looking into the technical aspect of the playing, analyzing how the phrases were placed harmonically, etc.; and the "not so musically educated" listener prefers music to be a little easier to understand. So with these two groups in mind, knowing both typically make up one audience, essentially what makes a "good performance"? And take this a step further - take it to competitions that are being judged by a panel of professional musicians - put aside the easy points that can be debated such as technique and intonation - and tell me how after that point there is much to debate. maybe this is why competitions so quickly become political - with politics there is some weight that can be argued. . . . but in music, its all internal?

On a white board in a mountaineering store

"If you want to improve, be prepared to feel inadequate all the time"

All sorts of Topics

I've found that I get into an interesting conversation on more then a daily basis - usually with my pianist whose name is Kevin, but who wishes he had a more artistic name, like Andreas. He's an interesting one. Anyway, I've decided that since these topics have become, at times, heated discussions, what better way to expound then address them in a blog. So here is the first, I"m sure, of many.
On a hike to the Maroon Bells, the topic came up of clapping in between movements. My argument was that its annoying and awkward, for the uneducated person who made the mistake, and for those who hear the noise slowly teeter out in a pitiful array of embarrassment. His argument - well stated, I must admit, was that Chopin himself commented in a letter that he was disappointed with the lack of applause he received in between the first and second movement of one of his performances. So obviously there are famous composers out there who, even as far back as Chopin, not only expected applause, but appreciated it. This led us into all sorts of discussions on concert etiquette, which we'll leave for another posting, but the idea still stands that applause, encouraged or not, is an issue.
We finally agreed that the performer can induce part of the audiences response - nobody wants to start hammering away if the artist is still exposed to the moment of the last sounding notes ringing in overtones. Which is true, but I have to insist that classical music has a standard of conformity for a reason. I think its refreshing to be in an environment that encourages etiquette and a simple role of protocol. He says half the reason its a dying art is because the modern teenager regards the concerts as stuffy. But why should we lower the standard of our concerts to the typical rock concert image of today? I guess Kevin can have his raging mosh pits in between movements, but I will stick to the general comment before the program starts to keep it quiet until the piece is finished - when, as far as I'm concerned, all the cheering, clapping, hootin, hollerin, and foot stomping can be had.

May 5th - June 5th 2005

sat by a fire overlooking the Andes mountains in southern Chile
explored and hiked ancient Mayan ruins in Guatemala
shopped in a street market in Honduras
Drove from one end of Utah to the other in one day
Played Celtic music in Orem
Pulled off the side of the road somewhere by Parowan to sit on my tailgate and watch the sunset
Laughed out loud when I learned the gas station in Nephi has an actual oil painting in the womens room - framed no less
Recorded the music for the new Nauvoo pageant
Played yet another wedding.
Rode my horse through fields of yellow sunflowers in the hills of Logan
Learned that there is nothing more rewarding then old friends and the laughter that fills you up and sends you smiling when you are with them.
Ran the CO river in the red sun of Moab.
Judged the Miss Rodeo Draper Competition in , well, Draper.
Said goodbye to Vern.
Hauled a lot of hay.
Slept in the hayloft one last time
Slept in Millcreek canyon for the first of many times.
Recorded the new MoTab CD
Found a new favorite restaurant in Moab - Mexican, of coarse - - and outside!
Survived my own "fire swamp" with a bizzilion mosquitoes looking to massacre me on site and even identified an original platypus rock.

10 reasons why the GMC Denali should be melted into oblivion

10. WAY too many little computers
9. it locks its own doors on you
8. Every time you get back in, its reset the dang seat position back to straight up and waaay forward. arrrgh.
7. It only pretends to pull objects, Really it doesn't.
6. Every time you turn it off, the mirrors all re-adjust to reflect just the part of the road you don't need to see.. . . turn it back on and start all over again.
5. Three flat tires in two days. Need I say more?
4. Lots of snow and mud . . . no 4WD. Found that out the hard way.
3. What happens when you are in the middle of nowhere and need to haul horses off the mountain . . . and suddenly the auto-ride goes out? If it were a normal car no such ride would be needed, you know?
2. When you are backing up the side mirrors swivel to what they think you want to look at. Who says they know what I need to see? I hate not being in control.
1. After those three flat tires, dead battery stranded me yet again, not that I was going anywhere, obviously.

conclusion: too much money put into too many little things presents something that can break in too many ways. I say stick to the tried and true and trusted regular 4WD trucks.

smells worth letting in

wet wood at a high elevation
Pine Trees
BBQ Coals
The Desert after it Rains
sage
skunks. I love the smell of skunks, believe it or not.
campfires, of coarse.
the smell of a new book
Alfalfa. especially just after its been cut.
horses muzzles - the best is when they've been out to pasture - the perfect combination of horse and grass. mmmm.
rain
fresh cut lawns
the river
a wet deck in the hot sun
tamarisk trees

in retrospect

"There are years that ask questions, and years that answer." - Their Eyes are Watching God

getting somewhere

I'm all over the map these days . . . emotionally filling my lungs with the anticipation of moving, while my arms are full holding onto the things I'm leaving. I feel like the Lord is pampering me with moments of summer - he must know that I'm leaving to a place without mountains and need to quench my thirst before that fast. Every time I turn there is an image I want to burn into my memory and breathe in the moments when I may be short of breath. Sunsets . . . warm summer evenings with kids running on green lawns . . . the smell of horses and hay . . . lilacs and barbecues . . . the drone of a river . . . the companionship of dogs . . . the temperature change through a canyon in the morning . . . legs straddling the peak of a rocky ridge with a valley of green spilled out in front of me. I close my eyes and let it sit inside until its comfortable there - these images of home.
Lately I've been running around crazy. Not any more than usual - but my energy in places that it normally isn't - rather than focused on my fiddle, I find myself concentrating on the people who I take for granted - their eyes somewhat panicked that I'm actually going away. Its been a good change, although today I locked myself in a room and refused to let anyone make me do anything else because I just needed to practice.
The smells and colors of South America still linger on my lips. It was a beautiful vacation - one that prompted so much passion about the grit that makes me me . . . and the ambitions that won't leave me alone. I'd better live for a long long time because I'm never going to get it all done otherwise. I have this mental image of my grandma - +70's whirling past me on a zipline through the jungle. If you have blood like that in you, there's a better chance for you to live long. Good thing.
I feel like I could write forever . . . but we're rehearsing in about three minutes. Ah Dvorak.
Must go.