Kuriosities

I feel like the title of this entry. Full of just…bluck. That residue that lays thick like sludge on your skin after interacting with a not nice person. The kind who smiles a too bright smile, who makes their voice all insincerely sweet, all the way making sure that even though they seem to be being pleasant, that you leave feeling like poo. My daughter B was with me for this particular meeting, and picked up on it right away, and so keenly. And if an 11 year old child can pick up on the fact that your social interaction was anything but kind, then why bother with the pretense of niceties? Why bother at all? Anyways, I wish this person well, and told them so. Sincerely wished them success and congratulated them on their accomplishments, not because I had to – but because I meant it. The work they had done was impressive. But that being said, I’ll not be going back for more “pleasantries”. And although they were interesting to work with in the past, that is where that will be staying. Adieu, sans regrets. But it did remind me of why I love art – there was so much that was beautiful and inspiring there – but not the art scene. I’m not made for games of one- upmanship, they rub my heart the wrong way, and leave it bruised. I go in open and full of hopeful possibility, and leave feeling closed up tight. Just blargh.

New song this week at guitar lessons, House of the Rising Sun,  and a nifty pentatonic scale to practice. And practice this week I shall, as life got in the way this past week and I did not practice the much needed time and have become clunky and awkward. My teacher showed me all sorts of nifty stuff that can be wrung out of that one scale so I am inspired to learn it, and give it the time it deserves. Listening to someone play though…it just transports me. Sometimes during my lesson I want to close my eyes and just listen – really listen- but then I would miss all those tricks and watching fingers, and how they move, and how to make those sounds myself. And that is what I really want – to make the sounds, to be a part of those sounds. I want that very badly, so instead I stay very focused. There is a blues fest in Ch’town this weekend which I will be looking up and see what I can see. And that will be when I can close my eyes and just listen, not my lessons!

A silly little song for an eleventh day, which means very little if anything at all, but I am reading Alice (again, outloud to my little one) and very much in the mood for riddles and nonsense rhymes- and maybe this will actually become an odd little song. I will go fetch my guitar now and see if it can wash this blucky feeling from my soul, return me to where I was before I walked through the door, return a little song to my heart so that maybe I will sleep, and dream of oceans, green and deep (and pure), and me in their midst, afloat and intensely content.

A Waiting Song

Eleven boats will sail before
grounding on this shore, eleven
days I hold my breath until my
heart rubbed sore, will see you back again.
Will see you back again.

The eleventh day will find me
gazing at the sea, the waters blue
then green, then black by turns, reveal
a truth to me, and I will wait till then.
I will wait till then.

Hmmm….also another clockworks record player pendant sold, and before they are even on sale yet! Hopefully this bodes well of things to come…

Some pics… rustic talisman bracelet:

I was shown these this week, and thought them beautiful. When erotic images left something to the imagination, and held something left of the romantic…also, the girl in the picture’s feet are smudgy with dirt, which is somehow so human and tender to me, and infinitely endearing.

PS: If you didn’t read yesterday’s blog, don’t bother. Most of it is incredibly dull (although the stanza from JW’s poem is lovely), but I am leaving it there as a marker, that some days are dull, some days I completely lack in anything interesting to talk about, or I am prone to talk about interesting things in very uninteresting ways. More likely the latter. I am imperfect. (which is good – my feet are also smudgy at the moment, which means that they have tread places today and felt the earth beneath their soles - all good)

PPS: Tomorrow I will also FINALLY write about my visit to Toronto, and the adventures found there, and the lovely people met, some infinitely more so than others (lovely, that is). But tonight I am too tired, and soured from that earlier encounter, and the evening of tomorrow seems a better time somehow. A new evening not yet traveled and waiting for a tale…