Flexing your Music Ear

Last night on our Saturday dinner date, my SIO and I were half way through our Margaritas, when Ben Harper’s “Steal My kisses” started playing overhead.   I began swinging in my seat and singing along when suddenly I decided to change the lyrics.  I do this often.  Something SIO finds extremely funny.  It was my kind of music and I intended to enjoy fully.  Changing the lyrics just adds to the fun.

“You know, we are going to have to start hanging out in more bars that have live music.”  I grinned.  He laughed and told me he knew he was a bad influence. “Why?” he asked.  “It’s for this new project I have started.”  He went on to tell me how picky I was about my music taste, it’s one of the reasons I  change the lyrics to songs.

Picky?  Me? 

Every Thursday we go to a particular bar that has karaoke and we sit there and judge the performances, judge mind you, never perform.  He has some training and so do I.  He always threatens to get up and sing but hasn’t yet.  I won’t. I refuse. I’m a chicken. <Cluck Cluck>   I am very vocal about what I don’t like: most country (There is a ton of karaoke country…why?), bluegrass, heavy metal, not a huge Janis Joplin fan (he wants to call off the relationship over this statement), the list goes on. 

He asked how I could possibly make an unbiased decision about music that I dislike?  I went on to explain that he knew my musical background ground:  piano, organ, voice and choir.  I know my music.  I know talent when I hear it. I still know what it means to be musically talented. It doesn’t mean I have to like it.  Cut me some slack here. 

His area of expertise is much farther into the  general talent area than mine.  He sees it on a daily basis, on a broader spectrum too.  He is the perfect partner to accompany me on the journeys into the musical night live of our town and beyond.

So were going to flex our musical ears together.  Hopefully I am going to be swinging in my seat, and if he gets bored he can start up the Soundhound app on his iPhone to see just how good the band is really playing.  I think we are in for some serious  Ear Flexing of the Musical kind.

  Peace. NEPB

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=beQdeKWDjNQ    ( Ben Harper- Steal My Kisses )  be prepared to Dance!!!

No Regrets - Dear Friend

After posting yesterday’s blog,on my need to make Manwich, I received a personal note from an old friend, a comment regarding unrequited love. He had attached a very sad song.

 I sat this morning, organizing my desk, sorting through papers, tid-bits of notes that I jot down when I get ideas for writing, looking at old photographs. I had Sting playing my favorite album, a song played, the words were similar to that sad song he had sent.  I thought back to my freshman year.  I never knew how my friend felt.

I was young  and foolishly head over heals in love with his friend.  It was the reason I was so far from home at a college I had no business attending. When I was dumped, he stuck by me, taught me to play the guitar and was a big brother to me until I made my way back home to Virginia and another University.  We lost touch and somehow reconnected through Social Media, you know the story.

I didn’t always see the easy path and certainly didn’t see what was right in front of me back in the early 80’s.  Too blinded by being dumped, I never would have believed that this young man had feelings for me. 

We are cautioned constantly to plan for everything: look before you leap, buy life insurance, plan for your financial future.  We tell our children not to fall for the first girl/boy that comes along “they will break your heart.”  We cautiously tell them, remembering our own heartbreak.

Well what’s the fun in that?  We need these experiences to grow, to learn, to live.  I certainly did.  I learned several times.  Looking back I have a few regrets, the good out shines the bad by far.  I have 5 beautiful children and I would not have them had I not made some of those bad choices and then tougher choices.

I have chosen a much different path than that of my friend.  I am a different person now.  I have to keep moving forward, no looking back in regret.

You are right old friend, “it ended long before it could begin”.   No regrets.

Peace.  NEPB

The Manwich of my Relationship

It had been a stressful 3 days; the diagnosis was in, not the greatest news. It was not totally unexpected, sprung on me yes, but I was beginning to get used to this.  It was how this relationship worked:  my significant other (SIO) and I.

We are fiercely independent. Never wanting to worry the other with trivial things, but yet we seek each others opinion often, even on trivial matters.  As for the major issues of this week, I wanted, correction: I expected a little more. Yet neither of us is willing to give in to this war of independence.

I was explaining this to my friend.  I had been in touch with her daily, updating her throughout, explaining my frustration, with the lack of information. This morning I called again to update her.  The stress finally getting me to me, I gave in and the tears began to flow. “ Why couldn’t he let me do the littlest thing?”  I sobbed and laid my head on the steering wheel.  It was unlike me.

Explaining further to my friend, I recalled how her husband returning home one weekend, complained of illness.  He was “dying” and needed his favorite food… Manwich.  We scurried off to the grocery store to purchase the ingredients. I was completely shocked. My friend is an excellent cook and she was being asked to prepare Manwich?  I remember her shaking her head in disbelief but she prepared Manwich for her “dying” husband (He recovered fully from his sinus infection).

I sat this morning, crying in my car asking why my SIO wouldn’t let help him.   “I want to do this tiny little thing for him. I just want to fix his “Manwich!” almost shouting into the phone.  Realizing what I had said I started to laugh hysterically, tears streaming down my face.  I dug around in my car for a napkin, anything to wipe away the tears.  My friend laughed loudly at my absurd statement.    

She’s heard me say it time and time again.  “I want my independence and boundaries”.  I want to pick up and go as I please, answer to no one.  My SIO wants the same.  We both roll our eyes when friends ask when we are getting married. We are not, don’t ask again.  Having been down that road once before, neither of us has a mind to go there again. 

So why can’t I fix “Manwich”?  It’s his boundary and I’m not suppose to cross it, like my own that I protect as I do my children, fiercely!  Last night, checking in on him, I asked what he needed:  cleaning? laundry? food? I was gently reprimanded for even suggesting such things.  Boundaries.  I left him to rest in his boundaries, no “Manwich” prepared.  He was safe and sound for the time being. I had done all I could for him that day.

There will more of his boundaries I will have to cross in the next few months and he knows it. We will deal with this as he allows.  I will try not to be so fierce; try to put myself in his shoes.  Try.

I hope he likes “Manwich”

Peace.  NEPB

The "Aw" Car

The light was turning yellow; I slowed to a stop and waited.  A familiar shape appeared on my left. I knew the color, year, make and model. I could see the Michigan Tech and United States Maine Core Decals still remained on the rear window.  It was rustic beige 4 door late model VW Jetta.

The windows were rolled down. I knew why on this hot summer day. The air conditioner had been disconnected long ago; deemed a gas saving move by an eccentric mechanic. My eyes roamed from bumper like a woman eyeing a pair of diamond studded shoes.  I may have been hanging out my car window, I don’t remember.

My longing gaze caught the attention of the driver, who looked in my direction and then quickly looked away.  The light continued to hold us in suspension.  I wanted to reach out and touch the car, hoping to bring back something, something lost to me.  I looked at the light, still red.  I looked back at the car; the driver was looking at me, a strange expression on his face.  Did he think I was trying to pick him up?   No not him, just the car.

Suddenly the light change, he drove away and with it the tangible reminder of my Father’s eccentricities. 

Daddy really liked that car. It had a manual transmission so not just anyone could drive it. It was the best car for teaching a new driver; something we insist upon in our family (I’m saving that for another blog). He liked to fix it himself, until his hands gave out.  It looked like Hell.  He never washed it, never. The decals on the back window were his Pride and Glory:  Michigan Tech and United States Marine Core.  He had put these here to represent my twins and whenever anyone asked he proudly told them about his grandchildren.  He would go on forever about their accomplishments.

When Daddy died we made the hard decision to sell it, we were not sure anyone would actually buy it.  It sold quickly.  I was shocked and saddened.  I hoped that someone would take care of Daddy’s car just as he had.  A few months ago child #4 and I were putting groceries in the car when he said “There goes Grandpa!”  I looked up to see Daddy’s Car cruising down the road with a pizza delivery light on the roof.  It was an “Aw” moment that was shared with the family.

Yesterday’s sighting sent me into that “Aw” moment again.  I drove to the grocery store with misty eyes.  I was missing my Daddy more than ever; the car was a painful reminder.  At least someone was taking care of that one eccentric memory and has not fixed the air conditioner.

Peace.

NEPb

The Me Ride

Everything came together perfectly: there were no children, no pressing chores, no personal commitments, no personal injuries, and the weather was perfect.

We have a bike friendly town, two bike repair shops, a University campus with more bike racks than parking places for motor vehicles. Any where you turn there are paved paths for walking and as I see it, BIKING.  An old railroad line has been paved and turned into a trail connecting our town to the nearby town.  It’s extremely popular for biking and hiking. 

  

This morning I found myself in the best possible situation.  I could go for a bike ride my way.  I didn’t have the children with me complaining that one was going too fast, the other too slow.   There was no complaining about not wanting to take this trail,  or being hungry or tired.  It was my bike ride, all mine.

As I hit the first long hill, breezes blowing in face, I started thinking about writing this, and then about other projects I was writing.  “Darn, you are procrastinating again.”  And then again to myself “But you need this time to clear your head.”

Do we ever get over the self loathing, the guilt of leaving things unfinished when we are out treating ourselves to quiet time?  I had to clear my head of all guilt to enjoy my ride, my quiet time.  Focus on me. 

We all, no matter our circumstances must remember that we need a little “me” time.  Time to gather thoughts, clear the cobwebs and get ready for the next challenge that life throws at us.

Personally days like these are rare for me.  I savor them like that Key Lime yogurt  I eat every day.  I’m going to take full advantage of it and feel no more guilt and have no more battles with myself for the rest of the day. 

Now where are those tees?  I am heading for the driving range to beat up a few balls.  I hope I don’t hurt anyone.

Peace.  nepb

Daddy's Authority

Our parents teach us many lessons through the years: many we didn’t know we were learning at the time they were being taught.  My father was a Chemical Engineer; directions and rules were to be followed pretty much to the letter, there was no room for the ridiculousness. My mother worked as a secretary, her career was more about customer service and seeing that people were treated fairly and politely.  Thursday, rules, fairness and the ridiculousness went head to head with my Mother leading the fight.

Now about Mom: As a child I would cringe when she had something she had to return.  She never backed down from a fight. If it was defective, hell or high water, she was getting her money back.  I remember particularly an Aigner purse. It was the early 70’s in Durham; the maroon dye was coming off and getting all over anything that came in contact with it.  She took it back to the store.  I walked out into the mall, too embarrassed to stay in the store while the manager and Mom went round and round over that purse. She was never rude or used foul language, but she argued her case, and won. 

Thursday evening picking up my daughter, she informed me of her visit to the local Cable Company. She was paying her bill and picking up another digital converter box that she discovered she needed.  Six or so months ago the company had switched their system and everyone was required install this device. The only information needed at that time was address and account verification: Easy. 

This time was not so easy.

The clerk on duty Thursday took Mom’s check, checked her account and informed her that William, the account is in my father’s name, would have to come in and sign for the box. My mother was astonished.  She informed the clerk that William had been dead for 3 years, and had never, in their 30 plus years of being clients, signed for anything in that office.  The clerk told my mother she would have to come back with a death certificate at another time.

As I’m sitting in my mother’s living room listening to this story, my mind is racing back to the past.  All those times when she gave managers, clerks, wait staff, anyone who provided bad service the “what for”.  And Daddy, what would Daddy say?   I pointed to the bookcase where Daddy’s ashes resided.  “Well there he is.  Take Daddy with you tomorrow, that’s what Daddy would say if he could talk.  Let him sign for their little .50 cents box of plastic”.  Before I knew what I had said she was laughing and agreeing with me. 

I wondered to myself if I was setting her up for time on the sixth floor.  Would they lock her up as some crazed old woman?  Gosh, I hope not.  “Better take someone with you Mom, It’s not every day, that someone walks into a cable office with a dead man’s ashes”. 

Now I can see financial institutions, real estate dealings, and other legal matters needing proof of death, but this was for a 3 inch piece of black plastic.  An elderly woman who has had an account for over 30 years was asking for one more box. What did they think she was going to do with it? Sell the secret technology to our enemies?  Contact alien stink bugs?   The whole situation made me mad.

Mom took “Daddy” for a ride Friday morning.  She took my son with her as well.  She picked up the little box.  The women in the Cable Company had a really good laugh, as did Mom. They will get many miles out of this story.  As for Daddy, I know he would have done the same thing.  He taught us lessons about ridiculousness,  not to put up with it.  Mom still has some lessons to teach me.  I hope I am good student. 

NEPB  peace.

The Invisible Microphone

I fully admit I am critical: of others, strangers, friends, family and myself.  I too often put that invisible microphone to their face and ask “Did you really mean that?”

What gives us the right to be so overly judgmental of people?  Is it the blaring broadcast of media?  It is handed to us shiny exquisite devices so we are never out of touch with media’s judgment:  So we too must judge, right?

Click the comments section of any online news article today and you will find hundreds of people judging others for their comments. Many of the harshest comments are made back and forth between people who do not even know each other: Strangers judging strangers in a heated online battle ground.  It is a cruel view of the world.

I sat on the steps the other morning judging myself, contemplating this blog.  I had asked tough questions of my friend, I wondered was I too critical, was I too blunt?   Isn’t always best to wait until someone ask for your advice/judgment?  Have I become an abuser of the invisible microphone?

In my professional life, I have attend classes on Critical Thinking, that is how NOT to be so critical.  I do this very well in my professional life; I have work hard to apply it to my private life.  One of the biggest lessons learned is to listen:  Just listen.  You don’t always have to put that microphone to their mouth, you don’t have to comment, criticize, or judge, just listen.

There is so much criticism and hate in the world today; it’s no wonder we are caught in the trap of the invisible microphone.  Think before you speak, think before you pass judgment and criticize.  

 Put away your microphone for just a day and feel the freedom and relieve of being a kinder, gentler person.

Peace.