Posts Tagged ‘vocal work’

Three More Weeks of This?

June 17, 2014

How the hell am I going to get through it?

That thought came unbidden again as I settled myself down for a quick rest before tackling the daily drudgery or daily living.

Which really is not drudgery until you get so slowed down that you, or I should say I, I get tired after walking, WALKING! the laundry to the garage.

Little did I know that by the time it was ready to be folded I would have to take a nap to recover from it.


I had to take a nap to recharge myself.

Then again, I did a lot of “walking” today.

First time in the house using the crutches about half time.

This is pretty much what the doctor had told me would happen, 7-10 days on the crutches, then I would be able to start walking in the boot, and with some time and patience, now, damn it, now, I would be able to walk with one crutch, then none at all.

When I am inside I can do the none at all about half time.

I go real slow, however, there is no going fast.

“Wow, you’re getting fast on those,” my friend said, referring to my bright bling bling gold crutches, when he picked me up today to take me to the Inner Sunset and then to do some grocery shopping after.

I am, but I get tired faster than I want to.

Although, last Monday all I could do was sit and softly cry and be misty eyed watching the frog scroll in through the park as my friend shopped for me, this time I was able to go in and lend a hand.

Well, maybe not even a hand.

For by that time the novelty of walking on the boot had more than wore off and my ankle was letting me know quite clearly that it was not having much more of it.

I used the crutches throughout the store and I don’t know if it was that, the lack of my list, which I realized later was in my purse, the getting out-of-the-way of other shoppers, (wow is everyone so self-involved?  I have never seen so many folks standing in the aisles looking off into nowhere or having blithe conversations with friends, totally blocking the way) I caught a larger path with the crutches, or the need to get in and out as fast as possible, to less inconvenience my friend, but.


Sticker shock at the register.

I did get myself a few treats, nice avocados, a bag of cherries, a bag of Four Barrel coffee, a pre-made roasted chicken, but damn Gina.

Of course, I normally don’t buy that much pre-pared food, but I was getting winded and tired and wanted to be done with it.

I had been a hero.

I did my laundry.

I grocery shopped.

And now, I’m done.

Who the hell needs to worry about the weeks ahead?

I can barely make it through the store.

I have a lot of healing to do yet.

Despite my head saying, hey, look, you’re doing great, let’s go back to work.




I cannot imagine what it would take out of me to climb the stairs to change a diaper, let alone two boys who are active and engaging and bright and, uh, active, I can’t go back yet.

Silly head.

I do miss the boys though and I was thinking I should ask for a visit, that might be nice,  meet them somewhere, maybe close by, I don’t know, yet, that’s a little outside my bailiwick at the moment.

Wrangling boys or wrangling my schedule.

“Now’s a great time to look at that list,” she reminded me this weekend.

That list is my list of creative projects and things I want to be working towards, things I want to do, not things I like to do, but things that I want to do, and so many of them are creative things.

I have my book to edit, a book proposal to write, hats to make, songs to write, poems, I had an idea for a vocal album that  I want to flesh out, there’s really so much that I can be doing.

Once I recuperate from laundry and grocery shopping, I’ll get right on it.

There is time.

There will be time, there will be time

To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;

There will be time to murder and create.

Murder those old ideas about what I can and cannot do, to unlearn the lessons that have caused me untold nightmares of self-flagellation for so damn long.

“He said, ‘shit or get off the pot’ so I did,” he told me last night recounting how he started making music and singing three years ago after “whining” about it for the previous ten.

I don’t want to be ten years in and still bewailing the book not being published, the song not being written, the poem in my heart still lingering, like yellow fog smudged and dirty corralling through the channels and chapels of my arteries, I do not want to corrode myself and my creativity out of fear, because it just won’t be good enough.

I do deserve better than that.

And as I sit, frozen peas at hand, ankle up on three fluffed up pillows I can allow myself to start the walking there too.

Not the walking on my ankle, it needs a damn rest, but those small, tiny steps that lead somewhere, not seen as much, but they add up, they do, those tiny actions that suddenly lead to a work, an oeuvre, a body of my own creating.

I have it in me, it just gets drown out in the clamour of getting ahead and getting my way and getting from point A to point B as fast as my bicycling legs can go.

Which right now, is nowhere.

I have some folks I need to chat with, some avenues to explore, but I will be getting out that list tomorrow and I will start small and take an action, any action will do, towards a creative goal.

And in between ruminations I will rest, ice, compress, and elevate that ankle.

This may be the last rest I get for a while.

Take advantage of it while it’s here.

Things are a shifting.

I want to be prepared for them.

Rested and ready for the next long walk on the path.

It’s only up from here.



Hurry Up, Quick Now

December 22, 2013

Get this post posted.

Get writing, go, go, go.

The internet where I am house sitting seems quite unreliable.

It has just taken nearly twenty minutes to get online.

It could possibly be my computer, as the sounds of it dying are happening.

Yeah, I have Barnaby’s money, but man, oh man, did I just have a thought or three about spending it on a new laptop.

“I’m not dead yet!”

I hear you, little computer that could.

I don’t want you to go down yet girl, I need at least to get this blog done, pay back my friend and start a new savings goal on my online saving account.

New laptop.

Really, how did I ever live without one?

So, this post may be a little rambling and odd ball as who knows how long I will be able to keep the connection.  I am hoping long enough to spit out the 1,000 plus words that I need to do to feel like I have been presentable in bloglandia, then, oh fingers crossed, yes, then, hoping to have downloaded Elf for some holiday viewing enjoyment.


I said Elf.

Hush yo mouth.

I also have queued up Bad Santa, which I have never seen, Scrooged, and The Bishops Wife.  I may, depending, also download Holiday Inn, my top favorite, I mean the costumes are awesome, the dancing fantastic, always reminds me of sitting wrapped up in the afghan my grandmother crochet for me (in the best colors–pink, white, rich burgundy red–a gift for the girl who lived in “Siberia” the coldest room in the house) on the couch in the house in Windsor watching Holiday Inn on PBS, and of course, Bing Crosby singing White Christmas.

I have also never, yeah, I know, how is it possible, seen It’s a Wonderful Life.

I mean I have seen outtakes of it, I have the gist of the storyline, but I have not seen it.

I must rebel somehow.

People look at me so askance when I say that.

I haven’t seen Survivor either folks, but that’s not Christmas themed.

Nor have I been to New York.

“You have never been to New York!” He reared back in his seat, “really, you strike me as so East Coast, but you’ve lived in Paris?”


There’s that and the tickets somewhere being super cheap that have made me wonder, maybe it’s time to hunt up the odd friend or three who have offered me room and asylum should I decide to visit.

I would like to have it off my list of places I need to go see.

This next year could happen.

But first, the computer, the laptop, well, she is having a hard time, then again, she was having a hard time last year in Paris, but it seems worse, and the sound of the fan in my computer no longer sounds like a helicopter crashing and burning, but it sounds really faint and tired and wheezy.

Like its got pneumonia or bronchitis.

I should bring it in to the Genius bar and see what they can do.

Of course that makes me nervous as I assume, me the non-technical person, that they are going to take it and ship it off somewhere and fix it and I will be without a computer for two weeks, which happened once before, but I was not posting a daily blog at that point.

I was blogging, just not daily.

I could blog from my phone.

Man would that suck.

I suppose I am getting ahead of myself.

The internet still has me in its little paws and my computer is gamely chugging along trying its best to host me just another few minutes until I get this up and running.

I want to do some research as I had a little insight and want to do it before I head off to bed or to watch a snippet or two of a Christmas movie.

I was thinking about finding out about voice work.

I got  a really sweet message from a woman today, who I could not recall why I knew her or why we were friends on Facebook.

Sometimes you know, oh, look, we have these certain friends in common.

I met you at Burning Man.

But I couldn’t place her and then she sent a message saying she had met me about this time last year, probably a little earlier since I was in Paris this time last year, and that she was really impressed by my voice and my energy.

She had seen me perform with Sunshine Jones of Dubtribe.

And the message seemed to reinforce some little voice inside that has been peeping up at me about something I have always wanted to do–vocal work.

Now, truth be told I don’t know how it works and I am not sure how I would go about finding out, but I want to explore it.

I love the idea of reading out loud for a living.

Now maybe that’s facetious and I just like to hear myself talk, but really, I like telling stories and I believe I have a good voice, and I have good pronunciation, so that’s like a bonus, you wouldn’t really make it very far in vocal work if you didn’t.

I really enjoyed the time I worked as an intern at KQED, maybe I could do that at another radio station or maybe I can see if there are classes at City College or I don’t know.

But as I was reading out loud earlier, I do that a couple of times a week, it struck me again how nice it felt to do so, just reading out loud, sounding out the words, I used to read poetry to myself out loud in bed when I was wide awake a night and having some existential crisis about who I wasn’t dating when I lived in Madison.

I was not sober.

But I was dramatic.

I think I still have a bit of that flair, and what with the right guidance, maybe this could turn into something fun to explore.

Direct my attention to what you would have me be.

This could be a big pile of ego or it could be something else.

I am going to find out.

Quickly, tonight, if the interconnectivity thingamabob stays.

I like the idea a lot.

So with that I will bid you adieu.

I have surpassed my word count and wish to retire from the blogosphere for a few hours, besides, I don’t want to push my luck with not being able to connect to the internet and get this posted.

See you tomorrow!

Night friends.



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