Amanda's MindSay Blog

Ish Fishy Ticklish?

amarobro — 2005-01-27T09:01:07-05:00

That is one depressed little fishy.

Which is why I picked him. I'm not sure yet if I can change that whenever I want, but I like him, in a sort of odd way. This is sad, but after spending so much of my own time wallowing in depression, I now think anything sub-sentient that acts depressed is just silly.

The world deserves to have itself laughed at. Whether in comic humor, or just sheer wonder. Have you ever noticed that? Some people (I'm one of them!) use a laugh to express everything that they don't have another expression for. I think they're more interesting than those who just blank an expression if it isn't preprogrammed. It's like their little default switch - I have no idea what the correct response to that is. Screensaver!

Then again, if you really do have no response to that, laughing about it makes you a bit of a loony.

And I would know.

We live in a world of wonder. And no one sees it. It's like they've stopped noticing. I can understand being desensitized, almost. You are in the midst of it every day. But that's what sleep is for! You go to sleep, and all you see are the things you already know, in dreams.

Dreams are just taking your mind, shaking it up, and turning it over to let the pieces fall out on the floor. Then you take a random number of pieces, and put them together any way that you like.

But it's all information that you already know. I had a discussion with a friend today, starting on the topic of a man who has gone without sleep for twenty years. But, said friend seemed to believe that you gain energy from sleep. No!! You get energy from food!! Sleep is to heal you from everything that's happened to you during the day, or prepare you for what your body's going to do to you tomorrow (a deep concern during the teenage years). If sleep is there to give your body a chance to recover, dreams must be to give your mind a chance to recover.

So, you let the sores and callouses from everything that's assaulted you today, just float away. Drop off, slide from you, whatever. And then, the next day, you can be prepared to experience a whole new face of wonder.

I don't know why people assume that growing up means you have to take everything for granted. Look around you!! We live in a world of fire and life and stars and night and water and steel and people who dream!!

Fishy Dreams, and stranger things

amarobro — 2005-01-27T09:01:00-05:00

That was the title of one comic book, by Berke Breathed. He was the artist who conceived the notion of "Bloom County". Fun strip. Mostly featured in the 80s. My favorite character was Opus.

Anyway, I suppose I got a little carried away yesterday. I can get excited about almost anything. I love having these great waves of emotional spectrum. You see so much of the world, from so many sides.

At some point, though, I had to learn to control those, or go on medication. This is Amanda's disclaimer - you can see some amazing things when you refuse to be normal, but there are consequences.

Anyway, dreams are almost as cool to me. Probably because I'm fascinated by people. You take what a person has seen, heard, remembered. Then, you record it, but in bits and pieces. And then you play it on randomizer, and let them put it back together with their own personal flair on what they think matters, but it's their subconscious doing the choosing. Good stuff!

This fishy has nothing but dreams. He doesn't get out there and see what all there is out there. What he does see, he's protected from, it can't hurt him. He's got the clean water and the glass keeping him safe. It's also distorting what he sees.

And he's got a three second memory, so he can't dream about much.

Then again, he hasn't got eyelids, so he might just dream about whatever he sees while he's sleeping.

I don't believe in safe. Or I do, but...well, look at this. Every action has a similar and opposite reaction, right? You have the choice to do whatever you want, feel whatever you want, go wherever you want. That's your choice. You just have to understand that there is a consequence for every single action that you will ever take in your life.

I can go to school, or not. If I want, I can go to one of my classes in a wetsuit! (In all honesty, I've gone to THREE classes in a wetsuit.) I can stay home and tell my parents I was there, or that I made a new sculpture on the kitchen counter entirely from pop tarts! I can talk to the little fishy!!

Yes, that last one does have a consequence.

And it's all because I am prepared for the consequences. Or I'm not! And then, there will be a reaction to that!!

I love life, can you tell?

But, if you want to understand all of something, you have to explore all of it. Ms. Frizzle really was right, "Take Chances! Make Mistakes! Get Messy!" It's your choice to stay in the fishbowl. The chances of you getting hurt are really much less there, and it's safer, and you can have fun there. The chances of learning anything new are rather limited, unless something new gets introduced into your safe little fishbowl.

I should get all of you castles. There's a lot you can learn about a castle. Some people can look for shapes in the stone that they're made of. Some people can come up with the most enchanting stories with just a single nugget of inspiration at the bottom of their bowl.

And then, I will leap from my high dive, and go tumbling, tumbling, tumbling into the water of your bowl. And you will be scared of me, but in time, I will tell you stories of a world you've only seen distorted through glass. And I will ask you to come swim the oceans with me. And one of you will say yes.

Underwater Time

amarobro — 2005-01-29T11:01:21-05:00

Fishy looks a little flat today. Kind of oily, perhaps? Yes. Or maybe it's just that whole oil-painting look.

Fishy does not do word association. Fishy looks depressed. Fishy is low energy.

Everybody seems pretty low-energy today. Maybe it's just the January blahs. Everyone gets them, every year. Towards the end of January, not quite February. You're so tired of the snow, and the cold, and the falling down on ice (or sliding into things). You just feel like you're wandering through your life without a purpose, and it gets hard to see anything beyond what touches you.

Fishy can't get January blahs, because he is safe in his bowl, and has no idea what snow is. For that matter, I'm pretty sure Fishy doesn't know what January is.

BIG NEWS!! It's not January anymore!!

Nope. I refuse to allow it. See, that's the great thing about us. We're the future. And, for my age group, the imminent future. Well, if we're the future, but we're currently existing in the present, we must be able to control time to some extent, or have a hand in it! Right?

I can't put it to July - that would make it too easy. Just skip right through the rest of the school year. Besides, then I wouldn't have my birthday, and that would lock me in the past. My birthday is in spring, so I'm supposed to be another year older come summer. But, if we skipped straight ahead to summer, I would be the same age I am now, having not had my birthday. This would lock me into the past, but I am the future! We'd be living in a present that wasn't accurate, and since it was my hand that brought us forward, and I'm the one with the age problem...let's just leave it at "the strands of time would snarl."

And Father Time would ground me. Again.

Fishy does not really have a concept of time. He remembers things for three seconds. You have to remember the past to have a concept of the future. Fishy just waits for the flakes to float down.

I will make it early March. Minnesota begins to thaw out a few weeks later, so we remember the drudgery of January, skip through February (unless anyone REALLY wanted to have Valentine's Day - why we made the holiday celebrating love in the winter and not the spring is a mystery but Fishy does not care because Fishy does not eat candy), and enjoy the feeling of being able to breathe again - but there is yet work to do, and challenges to overcome! Early March would be good. Yes.

Fishy does not care either way. Fishy's bowl is inside, where it's safe. The people can call it whatever they like. He just wants his flakes.

Language of Emotion

amarobro — 2005-02-01T08:02:34-05:00

First and foremost, I am a musician. It's in every fiber of my person. I move to the rhythms in my mind, my life has a soundtrack that curves to every emotion and feeling.

I'm listening to the soundtrack of Phantom of the Opera. There are tears pouring down my face. Actually, they've slowed, because now it's on Music of the Night - it's one of the ones I loved before I ever saw Phanton - it was one of my songs. I compose the music of the night. Actually, I wish I did.

At any rate, it's a safe refuge for me, because it's familiar, and a little more gentle. Everything else I love on this score leaves me gasping for breath. I cry every time I see Phantom. I am not a crier by nature.

That's why I can't do anything but cry. I can't even pretend to conduct this score as I do everything else. This is what I want to do. I want to make the most amazing music that has ever been. I would do almost anything for it.

It's hard, because I have two friends who are so much more talented than me, in so many different areas. Neither one of them are carrying music into their career choices. I would sacrifice nearly anything to be a better musician.

That's part of why Phantom moves me so much - at one point, Christine has to make a choice between love and music. I can't imagine having to make that choice.

They are far more talented, and far more involved, and it's like angry pain to me, because they're not planning to make it the primary focus of their lives.

It fills me, overflows me, leaves me clinging to the wall. Music...music...music...I wish I could make the world hear what's in my mind. I would make the most amazing music the world has ever known, but I can't make it yet. More must be sacrificed. And it will be.

Music...

Playing with Matches

amarobro — 2005-02-11T02:02:10-05:00

I took today off, for no real reason.

Mom had the day off, too, so I slept 'til about noon, she made me breakfast (she offered to, normally I prefer foraging for myself), and I showered, and we've been spending most of the afternoon together.

Much of this time was spent on match.com. So far, I know three of the guys who have photo accounts in this area, who are between the ages of 18-21. Most of this time was also spent laughing at guys. We've reached the following conclusions:

1) Everybody on match.com is very laid back, except for one pyro, who we considered setting up with a pyro girl we found (we were comparing photos - girls usually post much better photos than guys do).

2) If you can spell, you've got better chances. Honestly, just run whatever you enter through a spell-check, otherwise you look like an idiot.

3) You have much, much better chances if you post a photo of yourself. Note that I said "of yourself".

4) Said photo should not include anyone else, especially not if you're hanging onto them, or anything suggests that you might have been dating.

5) Said photo should also not include anyone who may be confused with you. There was one of three different guys standing together in front of a fireplace. We have no idea which one has the account.

6) If you can, go for the face shot, not the body shot. And smile!

7) Put a shirt on. Please. It's an automatic turn-off. You could be a very sweet, sensitive guy in reality, but if you are one of the six guys on the site without a shirt, you look like a moron.

8) Quality lighting and color can also raise your chances quite a bit. If it's off your driver's license, your passport, or your webcam, you probably don't want to use it.

9) There are two guys on this site who look like me. One of them disturbingly so. Post a weird photo, expect weird results.

10) Please, do not tell us that you own an $185,000 house, car, whatever. If you own your own dwelling, that's fine. If you insist on telling us how much it cost you, we do not believe you, and we immediatly shunt you off to the side for too much financial concern. Keep in mind, most of us want someone we can be interested in as a person.

11) Telling us your height is fine. Telling your weight is weird. We can make a rough guess from the photo what your height is. Assuming you followed the rest of common sense and went with the face shot, we can't tell your height so much, so that could be useful.

12) This is more for girls, but never say, "I've been hurt a lot in the past..." because it is usually followed in everyone's mind by, "...and I want you to make it all better." There are guys who honestly do want to protect and care for you, but if you tell them the relationship is going to be work right from the start...it can have negative consequences.

13) Never be a self-proclaimed "romantic". Romantic is in the eye of the beholder. This goes for a lot of other adjectives, too. Before you post what you've written, read through it and imagine what you'd think if it was someone else's.

A big part of it is also, tell the truth. There are a lot of different sides to the truth, so which side you present is based on who you want to attract. I could tell people that I'm dark, deeply disturbed, and a little psychotic. This is sometimes true. I'm a waterskier, a musician, and a runner. Also true. I'm a little weird and goofy, I like to look at the sunny side of life, and I can often be over-enthusiastic about things. Ding ding ding! You are correct, sir!

The most interesting person I found on that particular search said he was nineteen, a little weird, and a computer geek. He had a good face shot from a funny angle, and his expression wasn't one to push you away. You never know which parts of yourself people will like best.

Love is not a game

amarobro — 2005-03-07T08:03:34-05:00

My sister has likened what I do with guys, to a kitten playing with a grasshopper in the grass.

Here's the grasshopper. Sproing! Spring! Bounce!

Kitten's eyes get bright, fixate on it, pads quickly over to the bug, looks at it eagerly, tail lashing.

Grasshopper: Leap!

Kitten: Pounce!

Grasshopper is slightly stunned, like, "what the blank just happened?"

Kitten is nonplused at this lack of movement. Circles grasshopper a few times, bats at it.

Grasshopper is frightened, tries to spring away, but finds that one leg has been crushed, and ends up jumping sideways for half the intended distance.

Kitten happily leaps upon the grasshopper, further breaking it, but it's still mostly alive.

Grasshopper twitches, spasms.

Kitten: Bat, bat bat, trying to incite another reaction.

Grasshopper:...

K: Bats a few more times, until the realization that this one will offer no more entertainment comes. Pads sadly off.

Grasshopper #2: Spring. Bounce. Sproing.

This is why I can't date anyone!!! Kitten doesn't really realize that this is hurting the grasshopper, she's just playing a game with it, and is sad when the bug doesn't want to play anymore. Bad Amanda! No more boy-killings!

Sigh.

Another Truth

amarobro — 2005-03-23T09:03:28-05:00

Three things are needed for excellence in anything. Talent, passion or enthusiasm, and practice.

Music, I have some talent, insurmountable quantities of passion/enthusiasm, and not as much practice as I should have.

Track, on the other hand, I have little talent, decent enthusiasm, and almost more practice than I want.

Two out of the three are required to really be any good.

Drawing, I have a little talent, I think, a goodly amount of enthusiasm, and I practice often.

Sean is one of those people who seems to have an amazing amount of talent in everything he tries, and a good amount of enthusiasm - but there are some he just doesn't practice. This drives me crazy, because he really is better than me with his sax, but he doesn't know it because he doesn't practice.

Piece of a thought-train

amarobro — 2005-04-02T10:04:57-05:00

Finals week is OVER!!

Stress is no longer put on hold to be dealt with at a later date! Stress is GONE!!

For a day or so, anyways. :)

This is also good, because it means I can finally clean out all my old papers and recycle them. I love being able to clean, organize, and get rid of junk. It's such a cleansing feeling. :-P

I'm one of the better arguments I know of that OCD is contagious. My best friend has it to the point where she rearranges her room about once a month and is constantly getting rid of stuff. Although I've always enjoyed organizing, I was never this compulsive about it. I think most mental weirdness is "contagious" if you admire the person who has it.

Now, who do I know who's schizophrenic?

Listen

amarobro — 2005-04-11T11:04:14-05:00

Throughout my day, just living my life, I keep noticing things, or making little observations. And I want to share every one with you, pore over them, ponder them, banter back and forth, be silly, be serious, laugh together, wonder about it, or mock the world and act like aloof cynics, only to collapse laughing again. Just to hear what you would say when I said this, or how you would answer to this observation. Just to know what you think, how you think, what you're feeling right now. Just to hear your voice, and make you laugh again.

But I get home, and realize I've probably called you every night this week already, and we both have work to do. So I jot it down, what I learned, and what I'd ask you, forgetting that tomorrow is another day, and I will learn another dozen things, and want to talk to you about every one.

Just to hear what you think. Just want to hear about your day, and what you've learned in the past. Just want to know you better. Just to talk to you.

Ravenous

amarobro — 2005-04-25T04:04:39-05:00

Wow. Trumpet-friend's arrogance must be rubbing off, because I honestly think I'm an amazing musician.

I actually know quite well that I'm not, I'm actually just mad because we haven't been given any new or challenging pieces for our concert, and it looks like we won't be for the rest of the year. But I am flying through every piece, fingers flying, and for some reason, owning my section.

I need a musical challenge like a lion needs an antelope. I would come up on it running, snatch it, take it down, and bury my teeth into it. I am so starved for something to work on.

Give me sheet music!

Frust. Frust frust frust.

amarobro — 2005-05-04T09:05:51-05:00

Gah! I want to draw and I have no mechanical pencils!!!

And believe me, I've checked.

I can't draw with standard pencils!!! It looks terrible! It doesn't feel right!!

I'm varying between characters here. I'm either going to do a Merlin, "Blow me to Bermuda!", Emperor-llama-in-the-rain, "Mememememe," or Fairy Godmother, "And would somebody bring me something deep-fried and smothered in chocolate!"

Exhilaration

amarobro — 2005-05-10T04:05:32-05:00

Does anyone remember what it's like

To race over the hill on your bike

And you stand on the pedals, throw back your head, and fling out your arms

And suddenly you're flying through the air?

No?

Maybe that was just me, then.

Silly Manders

amarobro — 2005-05-12T02:05:31-05:00

*hushed voice*

Guess what?

The little spacey sci-fi animals are back!

I drew a strange bunny on my chem test today!

Yay!

*pads away*

bonk. bonk. bonk.

amarobro — 2005-05-23T09:05:39-05:00

I want to do something! Be something! Go somewhere! Be! More than sitting and dreaming. Anyone can sit, most of us can dream. I'm tired of dreaming! I want to do!

I'm so frustrated, because I have to sit here and let my mind and muscles atrophy while I do homework. Even Band has lost all challenge, because we're rehearsing our pieces for graduation.

Okay, let's all get together and admit it now: Everyone hates Pomp and Circumstance. You're a graduate, you're a band member, you're the parent of two graduates, whatever. We all hate it.

I've been rewriting a version in my head that involves some triplets right where I would normally put them...but when Dad heard me singing it, he laughed and said that some people wouldn't be able to march in time with it. If you can't count, it's very simple: Watch the person in front of you.

This goes for the dork two columns and one row over from me in marching band. The point of marching in time seems to have completely eluded him. You're a sax player. You do not get to BE a musician if you can't count! That's what percussionists are for! He doesn't go in step, and his strides are long. We're supposed to roll-step the whole time, and he just ambles along. He also has no clue who he's supposed to line up with, and it's driving me nuts, because this is too easy, and people who don't pay attention and get a clue are the REASON that the powers-that-be keep it easy! We're actually not playing while walking, we're simply walking in rows, and then we stop and play. And then we walk, and then we play.

I want to go to JM. So bad. Just for the band, that's all.

I am desperately hoping that the RCTC band has something more challenging. I can't drop band, simply can't. And I understand that there will always be dorks - often, I'm one of them. But, really, this is stuff we should have covered in, I don't know, seventh grade, perhaps? The pieces we could have managed then, so probably eighth, ninth at the latest. But, most of us don't start marching until our junior year.

Head. Bonk.

Argh!!Q!

Dum Vivimus, Vivamus!

amarobro — 2005-05-25T05:05:43-05:00

I used to make it my mission to make everyone happy. That was my job. Not to please everyone, go out of my way to sacrifice whatever I needed so that the appetites of the world would be appeased, no - but to put a smile on the face of every person who came in contact with me.

A worthy goal, you'd think. The single problem was that I didn't allow for any mistakes. I couldn't have bad days, because then someone who came in contact with me could be pulled down, not lifted up. It's remarkably similar to declaring that you're going to make the sun shine all the time, and just push the clouds off somewhere else if they threaten with rain.

Even if you're the happiest person in the world, it's denying your humanity to think that all of your days are going to be good ones. We're given a full spectrum of emotions to experience. If you limit yourself to the 'positive' ones, you can't truly understand what they are. You can't see something as well if you only stay inside it. Your happiness can even get kind of rigid and stale.

Is it odd that it makes me happy to be sad sometimes? I say that, and the only comparison to it that I can make is walking in the rain. I almost enjoy walking in the rain. You see the world differently - everyone's hurrying through it, they're uncomfortable, they want to get out of it, and almost no one takes the time to notice anything but the sidewalk block in front of them. You don't have to be in any hurry, you're just walking bareheaded with your hands in your pockets, watching people with their heads down, watching rain fall and make the world wash brighter and darker at the same time.

There are few things that make me feel as good as making someone laugh. Someone I like, someone I admire, someone I've never seen before in my life, someone who's chipper, someone who's just tired, and especially the people who are hurting. When I'm tired, I feel better after giving a friend a shoulder rub. When I'm having a blah day, a sad day, an angry day, or a bouncy day, I love making people laugh.

It's not about being happy all the time yourself. Those people are scary. Part of it's, yeah, I love life, love being alive. To really understand being alive, well, I guess you'd have to try it for awhile and then be dead and look at it from the outside, but that probably won't work out so well. So, the closest we can come is to explore everything on the spectrum. The high, exciting points of life, like landing a jump on the lake, and doing something difficult when you've got everything to gain and everything to lose. The intense parts, like stress from work, or knowing that you have to make a decision that you're afraid to make. The quiet world, taking a moment with a book, and half-napping against the person you love. The low, hopelessness of having nowhere to go, and having no one left to listen but two friends and God.

It is to love. To make music. To create. To help. To fall. To laugh. To sleep, and dream. To run. To watch. To listen. To fear. To play. To cry.

I'm new in this world. I haven't learned all the knacks yet. But from what I've learned, that's what it is to be alive.

Some Children See...

amarobro — 2005-07-02T03:07:40-05:00

Thursday, I had a pancake that made me wish I was blind.

There's this neat little cafe place that I found by the Peace Plaza, called Mac's. You should all go there. They have really good Greek food, and amazing pancakes. Okay, so their entire breakfast menu is good. It's very cool.

There's a girl I'm going to meet in college. I don't know her yet, but we will have met on a chance encounter, like sitting two seats away from each other in a class that bores us both, or while we're checking out the same guy, I'll walk into a pillar, she'll laugh, we'll catch each other's eyes, and go to lunch. We will start meeting regularly, either Thursdays before class, or a random evening during lunch, and we will go to Mac's together, and laugh and talk, and grouse, and be friends. Time will pass, she'll change her major, and soon meeting at Mac's is all we'll have anymore. Then I'll transfer to another school, and we'll never see each other again. And Mac's will still be there, with good gyros and amazing pancakes.

Really, that was my first thought when I took the first bite of that wonderful pancake. Actually, I had three, but the first gave the most vivid impression. See, when you're blind, or you've lost one sense, all of your others become so much more heightened. Your hearing gets to be almost scary, you can sense things without realizing how you're doing it. There was so much more in that pancake that my taste buds could have told me, if they were as sensitive as what I was born with. If I had been blind, that would have been the world's most amazing pancake.

I was mentally jotting a note about this, and something else occurred to me. See, that same night, I'd had an interesting event with my contacts. I'm incredibly nearsighted, we've always called me half-blind. Since second grade, though, I've always been able to wear glasses or contacts. So, I don't really think any of my other senses are more attuned to compensate, since there's nothing to compensate for, exactly. But I think, because I know the way I see without "corrective lenses," I see the world a little differently than I would if I'd been born with normal sight. I notice odd things, perhaps, or try to take in everything at once, and I do mean everything.

Do you do that, too?

There's so much to see, so much to hear, so much to explore and feel. This world is incredible, and yet it's supposed to be a fallen one. Can you imagine what it would have been like before the Fall? Could we handle it?

I want to see everything. I want to feel everything. I want to hear everything. I want to do everything. I have anywhere from another two seconds to another eighty years to do everything. Life isn't about being blind. It's about what happens because you can't hear, because you can't see, because your ESP isn't as finely tuned. There's so much out there, and all some of us can notice is what we can't see.

Mmmm

amarobro — 2005-07-04T12:07:03-05:00

For the last two mornings

I have woken late

And smiled sleepily to the sun through my window

And I rise to feel the breeze on my skin.

And as I stand

My hair falls softly across my face

And I catch the scent

Of a strange flower

Of wood smoke from a fire

And you.

Bon Driving!

amarobro — 2005-07-29T03:07:47-05:00

Well, seems I'm off for a few weeks.

I may be able to post something once or twice in this time - going to my mom's hometown, where all of the buildings are older than this state. That's part of why I like the library there. Okay, that, and it's the only place with free internet access that I can get to. Actually, I don't think there's an Internet Cafe anywhere in the whole city - it's not exactly a place you go to for a visit. It's a place you go to to retire, or establish your business.

As you can imagine, I spend a lot of time exploring, because there is no one anywhere near the age of twenty that I've encountered, and I've been there at least once a year since I was born. Sigh. My bike and I get to know each other quite a bit, and I return back to the house every day with my butt hurting.

I actually like my relatives - my favorite uncle is a goofball who's still mostly nineteen, and my grandma's somehow real, not like a storybook bake-you-cookies tell-you-you're-sweet grandma. You watch her, listen to her, and you realize that she's lived through a life that isn't what you dream about for yourself, either tragically or hopefully, and it's so much more real for all that.

My view of the world is tinted because I view it through my eyes.

I managed to scuff my leg up pretty badly a week ago - I took a picture of it the other day when I was playing with my camera, I'll post it if I get the chance later. I took a spill while running down a gravel hill - it got steeper than I expected in quite a hurry. The original injury was almost exactly the size of my hand, if my hand curves around my calf like that. It's just a big scrape, and so far, it's limited my adventures, and increased my social life. It hurts like a small demon is clinging there whenever anything touches it (unless I'm running a lighter-than-light touch over it in some sort of play that I don't fully understand), so I can't risk any accidents. But EVERYONE wants to know what's happened. You'd think they'd know me well enough to recognize that I had another adventure. My youngest sister has developed an especially annoying habit of coming in to stare at it every night while I'm reading before bed, and also happily announces about twice a day (while staring at it), "I think it's getting worse."

Actually, it's healing, but slowly. The infection is minimal, especially for something this large, but where the scab's been breaking off (with help from me, yeah. Scabs are impossible to resist!) around the outside, there's pink scar tissue. It should fade away within the year.

However, EVERY relative I have is going to ask, "What happened?" in exactly the same way that everyone else has, and there will be a lot of, "Oh, you poor thing!" *grinds teeth* Mom wants me to interact more with the family this year, she says I'm too antisocial, especially with our relatives. I think antisocial is relative, but that's hardly the point here.

But, I'll be back in a few weeks!

Thoughts Waiting When I Came Home

amarobro — 2005-08-16T10:08:48-05:00

So, we got back around 3 in the morning yesterday.

Which was perfectly fine with me. I was a happy little clam, because I probably slept for fourteen out of the eighteen-hour drive it takes to get from there to here.

Although we had the dog, so it takes longer. Need more time at rest stops, etc. The beast needs a chance to run. Oh, and say hi to every other dog on the lot, no matter how much you instruct him against this.

People fear canine confrontation when the canines are attached to them.

I woke up all bright and perky around seven. This seemed rather odd, since I've been making excellent use of the summer and not having work by sleeping 'til nine-thirty or so every day. On vacation, it was usually ten-thirty or eleven before I'd get up.

Went up to Kwik Trip to get milk and OJ for the family. Gas is supposed to jump to 2.70 today - if any of the other RCTCer's are interested in putting together some sort of carpool situation this fall, bless you. Got back to greet my sister at the top of the basement steps. "Dude...you are way too...morning..." This was sometime after nine, and she was kind of out of it, and flapped at me with a shooing motion.

Somehow, being with all of my relatives makes Mom reminiscient about her own progeny when they were small enough to carry. Well, that happens about once a week anyways (the reminiscing, not the carrying), now that two of them are taller than her, but I learn more about my baby stories when she's talking with her mom and I'm there. Seems that this contentment I constantly carry is not as new a development as I'd thought, nor is my penchant for being alone and working on my own things. Interesting.

Something else I've noticed - I have to constantly have new challenges. Usually self-established, but I can't exist doing nothing but mooching off my family. For example, before we'd left, I was making plans for about six different things I want to accomplish. One is the next "Iron Amanda" event (I am not exactly athletic, and I have to build up to these things), there are a few things I want to change in my room that are going to take a fair amount of work, and between me drawing and me music there are several other challenges. Simply existing is not enough, I need to have something there at all times to reach for.

This probably needs emphasis in my mind because I'm seeing the opposite attitude in most of the guys right now.

Need to find my RCTC folder - I can't remember my online id, and it's in that. Chicken feathers!

"Ischu!"

amarobro — 2005-08-28T11:08:19-05:00

Okay.

I've been kind of sick for a week. Annoying, sneeze-whenever-it-wants-you-to (which is doubly annoying, because I never sneeze just once, and my sneeze is incredibly high-pitched in relation to how low my voice is), keep sniffing all through class, constantly need tissues (and just as constantly can't find them), being constantly cold, and waking up every night about two hours after I fell asleep because I've got my own version of sleep apnea - my throat closes up, but I try to keep breathing and give in to the "Pixie Cough".

The Pixie Cough is quite a bit higher than I expect any cough to be. I'm thinking this is because my throat both tightens and forces air out at the same time - faster air, smaller space, higher sound. It really does force it out, I'll just be gently exhaling as usual, and suddenly there'll be this catch and kick in my throat.

I get this every single fall. I think it's stress-related, honestly, because I can't think of any reason for it to start mid-August except for me starting class two weeks earlier than what I'm used to. I've been diagnosed with bronchitis once, pneumonia twice. I'm shooting for tuberculosis.

Does anyone have any recommendations for getting better faster? I'm not big on anything having more control over my body than myself. Today, I consumed about 4500% (I'm estimating - it may have been only 4200%) of the Vitamin C I'm supposed to take in, I've been drinking my OJ, dressing warmly, actually wearing pajamas (yeah, yeah, shut up - warm at night is actually kind of nice), washing my hands every hour, eating my chicken soup, working on getting to sleep at a decent hour, trying to get my exercise in...any other suggestions? I do not like this at all.

Blarghy. *toddles off to bed*

Today in the Dells

amarobro — 2005-09-04T12:09:33-05:00

The four of us went to Noah's Ark today. For Brian and me, this plan began early this week, and stayed up in the air of uncertainty until last night.

I fell asleep in the sun, and learned that Brian's dreamed of waking the same way.

I learned a few things about what exactly my love is afraid of, and how far certain fears extend to.

I have learned that I do NOT like watercoasters. Black Anaconda is a definite uh-uh.

On the other hand, during the line waiting for Black Anaconda, the beginnings of a relationship between Amanda and Chris were firmly established. At this point, Rahni still needs to be there, it's more of a three-way-relationship, but that's far better than anything else we've had this week. My best friend's marrying this guy in a week, odds are good that it would be a good thing if we knew each other.

I got sunburned. This is no surprise. This happens every single time I go to Noah's Ark. At least this time I put on sunscreen, so I'm not sporting that lovely rose-lobster hue that Amy will most likely remember.

I am a slow waker. Rahni is slower. This I've actually become accustomed to - when I spend the night at her house, I always wake up first in the morning, and just watch her, usually grinning. It's only a matter of time before I start harassing her to get up, and she's so cute when she refuses. I'm not certain, but this may have been the first time Chris saw how long Rahni takes to come alert.

We went to Denny's later.

Got nice air off the Plunge. Went on Point of No Return, bruised my glutes. Ow. Major ow. I was having trouble walking for a little while after that. Stingray was a good idea, kudos to whoever thought of it. Original, fun, and a little freaky. To the member of our clan who refused to go on it, I now see why, that drop is rather frightening. I'm the gung-ho do-everything person, and it freaked me out.

I don't like heights. I like my fear of them even less. So, I'm constantly challenging it, trying to banish it. I'm not going to let a fear control me - if it's a rational one, I shall consider it an advisor.

We were listening to Phantom most of the way there and back. Okay, first we were listening to Silly Songs with Larry, which is fun because I know all the words and have a blast, and everybody else in the car sings with most of them, but not fun because they're all in a tenor range, and I'm doubtlessly a low soprano. It starts to hurt after awhile, and my fear of being heard gives in to the notion of singing in a comfortable range.

"All I Ask Of You" will now always make me think of Brian. And that's just a little too romantic and predictable. Sigh. Why not one of the other crazy zany songs? Actually, there are a couple Barenaked Ladies ones that do, too. Hmmm. Okay then.

Everyone in my family has one musical that somehow 'belongs' to them. Rahni asked me if I could borrow my sister's cd of Phantom. Phantom of the Opera is Elizabeth's musical, the tragic, Gothic romance appeals to her nature. I absolutely love the music, as Brian observed, I always have some very strong reaction to it. Occasionally, when I'm in the house by myself, I'll stay down in my room with it on my cd player and just listen to the whole thing and cry. I wish I could make music like this. I wish I could have been one of the people making this music. My musical is actually Beauty and the Beast - it's a little more silly, it has the underlying notion that love can change all things, and I'm fascinated with Beast's character. I like the story of The Phantom of the Opera, and I love the music of the musical, but they're telling a different story in the musical than the real one. It's still a good story, but it's got the wrong title. The musical should be Christine and the Phantom of the Opera. Tips a hat to the fact that they're telling a different aspect of the same series of events. If you ever read the book, most of it is about the terror that Erik was, but a lot of it was also at least hinting at the tragedy that he was. Christine came in to embody that tragedy - he had no morals, but he had some idea of what love was. You knew from the beginning that Christine could never feel anything greater than pity for him, but when he held the card of her music vs. her love, it's tough to know which way to go.

My favorite part of Beauty and the Beast is either when Beast intercedes in Belle's fight with the wolves - even though they just had a terrific fight, he goes after her into the storm - or when he lets her go free so that she can be with her father, believing that she'll never come back, knowing that she doesn't know about the spell at all, and he's just doomed himself to remain as he is for the rest of his life.

First time I've missed a lightning show like that. Looks like it was pretty fantastic, and I decided to be asleep on Brian instead. Well, actually, I think I kind of abused him as much as I do my pillow. As my mood shifts in my dreams, different positions no longer satisfy me. I started curled up with my head on the inside hollow of his shoulder, and figured out about three other ways to lie on the back seat of Chris's car without taking off my seat belt. I think he was singing, or humming, I could feel the vibrations but couldn't quite hear them. Voice vibrations are very different than any other vibrations in a person's body, especially when you know their voice well. I think this is the case with all people, but as I fall asleep, my hearing gets more sensitive, but my brain isn't picking it up as well - paying more attention to the Inner Ear, as it were. You know how, when you're driving and doing a bunch of other stuff at the same time, and listening to the radio, and then you get to your friend's house and you go in and hang out for awhile (yes, go in and hang out, go English prepositions), and then you come back out and start the car, YOUR MUSIC IS ABOUT THIS LOUD!!?! That's what it's like falling asleep with Chris's tapes playing. It's just a little louder than I'd like when I fall asleep, but when I wake up, I can't get back to sleep.

I like sleeping in the car, actually. Always have. I wake up when we slow down or turn. I'm used to long, long car drives. I may have to live six to ten hours away from my family, just because I'm used to twenty-hour car trips twice a year. :)

I have a bunch of new freckles now. Sigh. For some odd reason, I very much liked my neck being totally pale, creamy, and freckle-less. Okay, I had two, but they were cute because they were all by themselves. I have what Brian terms, "Irish skin." I burn. I freckle. I look pale all through the winter. AND MY TUMMY NEVER, EVER GETS DARKER!

I don't actually glow in the dark, like Phoenix, but I bet I could go running in a sports bra most summer nights and be perfectly visible to traffic.

I am sleepy. I shall go to bed. 'Night all.

Sleeping against Brian is very nice.

Tear Ducts Run Dry

amarobro — 2005-09-05T06:09:16-05:00

This is going under the, "Thoughts I will probably be shot for" category.

Ironically enough.

Maybe it's just because I'm nearing adulthood and becoming more aware of the crises in our world, but...does anyone else feel drained? That the empathy is starting to run dry, not because any one disaster is less important, but because we're not an infinite resource?

The last three major ones I remember are the tsunami, the London bombing, Red Lake, and now the New Orleans area. I don't even have enough left to feel for everyone who's been hit by Katrina, all I can get my mind around is the few boroughs in that area.

I'm from NY. We say boroughs. I don't know what you call them now.

Although, in all honesty, Red Lake only made the news because it was nine people. According to a friend of my dad's who's stayed in the area, the school averaged about one murder every month and a half. It's a small town, small school. That's not big enough to make national news.

Which makes a person wonder about how many other schools have that high a casualty rate. How many people are hurting from something that we all would have known about if it was over such a controversial issue, if it was from a more populated town, or if one more person had been killed?

I said something fairly stupid at dinner the other night about Katrina - caused my caustic sister to shoot milk through her nose across the table. Fact is, I think that's how I check to make sure that the world is okay. That, or it's my shield. The whole morning of 9/11, I was alternating between silence and desperately making jokes. As long as you can laugh, there's some measure of hope that things are going to be okay. Laughter buoys us, reminds us that this too shall pass.

I'm sick of the Bush-bashing. I'm sick of the people who can't help and react to it by making things worse. I'm sick of being told that I should feel a certain way about something. I'm sick of hearing only about what's gone wrong in the world. I'm sick of the gay jokes. I'm sick of the Christianity-bashing. I'm sick of all of it.

Please. Somebody out there, just go outside today. Feel the sunshine, or tilt your head back and catch raindrops, or let the wind play through your hair. Somebody go feel what a miracle we live in. Somebody go remember what it is to be alive. Somebody tell me...because I think I'm somehow starting to forget. And I think that's why I can't remember how to feel.

I'm a dork.

amarobro — 2005-09-10T12:09:44-05:00

I'm totally angsting about the way I wrapped her present - whether I should have gone with more weddingish paper, whether I was being too silly and it's something that I should have taken seriously.

My sister is trying to figure out what to wear (she's the accompanist), and has been all week, and she's getting really stressed out.

I keep second-guessing what I chose to wear, whether it's too dressy or not formal enough.

And then I remember who all this is about, and I hear her voice: "I don't care. I just want you to come."

Everyone should know someone like this.

Musician in a Honey Locust

amarobro — 2005-09-13T12:09:36-05:00

I spent most of yesterday on a level with our chimney.

The steel one, not the brick one. I have no idea what the level of the brick one is, it's currently part of a project. Something about poorly installed flashing.

If ever a tree could be claimed as mine, it's that honey locust in the front yard. I love that tree. I love the way it grows, its spirit is kind of like mine. Take off about twenty feet of it one year, and it seems to consider this for about two days. "Oh. Hmm. Okay, I can adapt. Let's go in this direction!" Totally random. If left to its own devices, I think that tree would actually end up killing itself. That's the problem with those totally random branches - they grow into each other sometimes, and create rubs in the bark that can allow things into the tree, like infection, insects, fungus, the works.

So, it's my self-assigned task that once a year, rather randomly on my part, I'll take a few tools up the tree. For reasons I haven't figured out, there are always a lot of dead branches. And it's not as if the tree is sick - this is a strong, healthy tree. It just seemed to say, "Well, that's not working out, stop putting energy into that project," and goes off to grow elsewhere.

I used to spend a lot of time up that tree. Chuck a book up into the first crotch of it, clamber up to there, and from that first crotch, I can go just about anywhere. And the way it grows fits me well - its curves and mine conform, it's got branches where I would normally rest my feet or butt, and it's quite comfortable. I'll sing up there, I'll watch the goings on around the neighborhood, I'll talk to God, I'll plan out what I want to do in my life, I'll work out issues that are bothering me. Trees are very good listeners.

There's a necklace about twenty-five feet off the ground with an A on it. It was left there, settled on a branch that I had to cut, and the nature of this tree is that if you leave anything near it like that, it will claim it and grow so that the thing is part of it. Unless you take that branch off, the necklace is staying there. You couldn't even get it off if you broke the chain.

It's interesting how rarely people look up. The first crotch is not the most comfortable, but it's where I spend the most time because, honestly, I'm afraid of heights. When I'm there, my feet are maybe six feet off the ground. The foliage is not that dense - it's like a big, sunny room, with a lot of windows. You can see straight through the tree, but almost no one ever notices me when I'm up there.

To date, no one outside my family has ever seen me up the tree. Well, Dad's the only one who's come close enough to note the person inside this great sun-and-green dwelling, but somehow Boo knows that I read up there, Grace has seen me go up and come down from it several times, and Mom's seen me jump down from it a few times and spazzed at me because I landed in her flowers once. But with how randomly people come over, you'd think someone would have observed this. Nope, not a one.

It'll mean something if Brian manages to catch me while I'm up there, though. Don't know why. Just know it will.

At any rate, I took off maybe a twentieth of it yesterday. I think a fifth of what was on the ground had been living wood when I cut it - those had been branches rubbing against each other. There's one other problem with that random style of growing - branches have these pretty curves, unexpected joints - and there are still about nine up in the tree that I cut that I couldn't get to fall. They'll come down with the next few storms, and they won't keep growing into each other while they're up there, but it's a little odd to think of them being up there. I like to do my work, let the tree see what it's got to work with now, and grow some more where it pleases.

Dad's been teaching me some basics of tree care. Just the simple things, like angles to cut branches at, how far from a joint to cut, which trees you can cut during certain seasons (You don't want to cut fruit, evergreen, or maple trees during spring - just a bad idea), never take off more than a third of a tree, or the shock will kill it, which branches you should cut, how to encourage trees...I'm continually amazed at how much my Dad knows. I think this is normal for girls, but I tend to partially judge every guy I meet against my Dad. He's an engineer and computer programmer. He's a remarkably skilled carpenter. He's a political humorist. He's a biologist. He thinks before he speaks, and judges the effect his words will have on people before he lets them fall. He's easy-going. He loves life. He tries to live his life to please God. He's a runner. He works hard, and he knows what's more important than work, and when to take time for it.

In all honesty, there isn't a guy in the world who's got a chance in comparison, but to be fair, I don't think my Dad was all of that when he was twenty, either.

Bibbity Bobbity Babble

amarobro — 2005-09-15T08:09:26-05:00

No, I don't have to be coherent this early, why do you ask?

Thursday is my early day of the week - I have to be at the college an hour earlier than any other day of the week. It kind of compensates because Friday's my late day - two hours later. Very nice. But, at any rate, I keep it in mind that it's my early day, by planning out the things I need to take care of the morning. I by no means actually go to bed any earlier. I always plan to. For some reason I'm not entirely certain of, I was in my pajamas by six last night. And I didn't go to bed for another six hours.

I just had the following conversation with my dad:

D. *cheerfully* "Helloo, Sugar Bear!" (his name for me since I learned to walk or so)
A. *sleepy little half-wave*
D. "Big plans today?"
A. *getting a cereal bowl out of the dishwasher* "Nyaga."
D. "Naah?"
A. *confirming* "Nyap."

I have a none-too-serious theory. The creation of multiple languages occurred at the construction of the tower of Babel, right? I've known the story since I was old enough to listen and retain anything I listened to. The story, in short, is that people all spoke one common language at that time. They wanted to build a tower to reach God, to prove that they were equal to him or something. Partway through their construction, God responded by creating multiple languages, and giving them to the people immediately.

Aside from the fascinating notion of the reaction people who'd never considered the concept of words that meant something, that they couldn't understand, my question that I always demanded of my teachers and parents - what was the original language? Did it stay as one of the thousands, or was it lost?

My third-less-serious theory is that everything in this language started with an 'Ny' sound, and was spoken an octave lower, far more gutteral, than our 'true' voice. That's what we revert to when our body's gotten the message to get up, but everything in the cerebellum is still asleep. None of the training we've undergone in our life really makes it that deep, so we revert to whatever our 'natural' state is.

Of course, I explain this theory when I'M half-asleep, so there's a pretty good bet that I'll come back later, and my response will be, "What."

Ah well. Nyaga.

All I Need is Loving You and Music Music...Music!

amarobro — 2005-09-17T12:09:27-05:00

I want to play jazz for the rest of my life.

I want to spend hours a day with my sax, knowing that I'm making it more natural for me to have this slim shaft of wood against my lips than for me to speak. I want the music to flow from me constantly.

I want to dress with the half-dressy flair that I always use for concerts. I want to always walk with the confidence that comes from me playing my sax, doing what I do, knowing that I'm amazing and there's no other way to put it. I want to have that ready smile when I walk down the street, and that casual grin when I walk onstage.

I want to make the most amazing music in the world. I want to be cool and understated. I want to be over-the-top, having a blast. I want to be mournful, wistful, pulling the audience in with what I've made.

I want people to be unimpressed with me. I want to work 'til my lips are numb every night, and have people still not satisfied, because that will just drive me to work harder and make the music better. I want to make people smile and laugh, because they hear the little jokes that I can put in the music. I want people to forget about the musician and get lost in the music that I create.

I want to work hard all day, trying to get ahead in this world, never seeming to get anywhere, and go out and play every other night. Some nights, it won't matter how well I'm received, because I'll be too tired to do anything but act the part. I'll drive home, trying not to fall asleep on the way. I get home, pull into my spot, turn off the car, and lean against the wheel and cry. I go in, fall asleep as soon as I hit the bed. I wake up with the sun, and pull my sax to me to make the music again.

I want to make you feel what I feel. I want to write what you feel. I want to be the music. I am Amanda.

Misty

amarobro — 2005-10-06T12:10:29-05:00

I want to curl up and watch the rain.

I want to snuggle with someone and watch the rain.

I want to feel loved and watch the rain.

I want to love and watch the rain.

I want to forget and watch the rain.

I want to stop everything and watch the rain.

And instead, I just watch the rain.

Ego Night

amarobro — 2005-10-24T11:10:22-05:00

Wah. I am amazing.

Actually, I'm not yet amazing. I play in a jazz band with amazing. I'm definitely beyond good, though.

I wish it were as easy to write stuff for sax as it is for piano. The trouble with sax is that it always seems to be too basic when you only have one line of melody. That's kind of the way sax is - while we CAN play three notes at a time, it really doesn't sound nice.

Or sassy. Man, I love playing sassy. Mean. Dirty. Whatever. Get the attitude going through your horn, and you have a blast. :D

Ballads can be really good, but usually aren't. It's awesome if you can get the entire section to get into the expression, but the thing is, ballads are all about the expression. Best ballads we've ever done in high school - Georgia on My Mind, and something my sister played half of. Chandra played this gorgeous, amazing solo for all of Georgia on My Mind - she was the Minnesota Honey Queen. And it was good, because not only did she half-write it herself, it was all her emotion going into it. You try and give four, six of us the same melody, try to have us all put the same expression into it - it's doable, if we're dedicated, but it isn't OUR expression. Everyone's personal interpretation is unique, and the problem with group ensembles is that it's no longer about personal interpretation.

I'm actually having fun with this in choir, though. Since switching over from soprano, there's so much more you can do. Sopranos are stuck with being the soloists - and the problem is usually that almost every one thinks that she IS the soloist. Very difficult to blend with. If you can apply that ego across the whole section, so that they think of it as a soprano piece, we can work with it. Altos are stereotypically quiet - this mystified me when I first moved across the choir. It seemed that I was the only one singing - and while I am fantastic at impromptu solos with my sax, I get freaked out when I have no advance warning while singing. But I've learned something interesting - I don't have to use all the volume to lead and try to get the idea across. This is a very bad idea during your first year, I've learned. Rather, I fall back behind Heather and Dawn and a bunch of the others, and blend from back there. And there's more volume behind what we're doing, and it sounds so, SO much better.

I'm a little self-conscious about singing. I'm fairly self-conscious about the piano. The sax? Hah, are you kidding? Yokyu're luc to get to listen to me. This'll be a treat for you - just sit down, I don't need applause yet. :D It's not usually that bad, honestly. But, saxes are stereotypically known for their egos. And a view that involves bending a lot of rules, just because we're us. It's an instrument that adds a new key every ten years, and orchestra left us out of their elite little club. Y'know what? We're way too good for orchestra. We're spirit and sassiness and dirty and mean and emotional and sheer flow of sound that you can't even hope to capture. You guys go ahead and play the music. We ARE the music.

There's something amazing about the voice of the sax. There are few things more painful than those first lessons, and it's among the hardest in the band to keep in tune (y' try to clone brass with woodwind, that's what you're gonna get - and it's better than anything you could have imagined), but when you're good, when you know what you're doing, and it's more natural to have music flow from your lips than word, you can say so much more in that music than you ever could with words. There's a quote that I kept on my bulletin board for the longest time: "Who but the sax can sing love?" Emotions that you can't even affix words to, that have no handles, that you can't describe. That's what we can do. We can take any emotion, and we feel it, and it flows out through this shining part of us and pulls you in until you're as lost in it as we are.

That's why we are who we are. Who but the saxes can sing love?

Summer Rain

amarobro — 2005-11-12T08:11:20-05:00

There's absolutely nothing like a strong storm.

I want to dash out with the first bolt of lightning, and run over the grass plains, try to race the rain and beat it to somewhere. It always catches me, and that's how it wins, and I just grin, and keep running.

I used to do that. If you went out our back door, you'd fly across the neat backyard in the darkness, flow down and over the hill to where the grass is a little more wild, leap the stream, and then you naturally shift into this bounding run that lets you travel quickly and get clear of the high grasses. Land-leap, land-leap, land-leap, like eighth notes with the accent on the second, cut short for hang time. Then you'd dart through the trees, weaving in the darkness, laughing with joy as the wind whipped your hair, and suddenly break free of them into the open grasses. It's not huge, but the field there was at least a quarter-mile before you'd hit trees again, and you'd never make it before the rain would catch you, usually mid-leap.

Mid-leap is the best way to be caught, because you have the exhilaration of flying for a moment, and then the shock of getting hit and half-soaked before you have a chance to gasp. You keep running as the rain passes you, pouring over you, until you can't go any farther, and you just stand, looking up into it.

I love that feeling. The rain lashes your body, hitting your face, pouring your clothes to cling to you, your hair streaming down your back. My face goes to sharp contrast - my eyebrows, eyes, and eyelashes are suddenly so much darker, and my skin pales. You're soaked through and through, and it feels amazing.

When you catch your breath, you go off, sprinting again, eyes narrowed because rain keeps hitting too close to them, laughing in a way that you can't hear, but the lightning catches your grin, and it just heightens your expression. Expressions are superficial anyways, you know what you're feeling, and there's no one out there to share it with - so whatever's on your face is just you needing a release. There's so much you can let go through the leaping and running, but the rain brings so much more to you.

I look soaked, drowned, and feverishly alive when I come back. Eyes bright, unconscious grin, and my hair has lost all of its chocolate and bounce - just streaming black down me, clinging to me. 'Excited' barely begins to describe it.

These hard storms just blast and wash away everything, all the dust of the world that's been bothering you. As your hair begins to fall and let go its natural shape, your mind lets go its natural frets and considerations. You're reduced to what you'd be without the world, just a little shadow-spirit, but blasted to such strength and fiery emotion that it's a wonder that your body can still contain you. That's what it is - you're completely spirit, without concern for mind, body, or heart - just spirit.

And oh, I want to share this spirit with you.

Give Us a Hand

amarobro — 2005-11-28T12:11:59-05:00

Do you ever stop to realize what miracles our hands are? One of my acquaintance-mentors during high school was a surgeon at Mayo. He only works on hands. And that might be more difficult than open-heart surgery, the reconstruction of a hand. Do you know how many bones are in your wrist alone? Do you realize the quiet symphony of the muscles as you do the most mundane of tasks? Think about everything you do with your hands. We're musicians - we adore the strength and skill of the string musicians, the flying fingers of the pianist and woodwinds, and the strength and accuracy of the percussionists. The strings are actually my favorite, because it requires so much strength and subtlety, along with the remembered skills. Muscle memory is simply awesome, but for us, it only really applies to remembering positions (violins, trombones, etc.), and a lot of fingering work on anything with keys. I remember things like "In the Mood" far more by the way they feel than the sounds. But that's just music. I've got muscle memory for the knots we use on the boat. You instinctively curl your fingers to fit around your baby's hand, a few hours after you've arrived at work. Watch the way the joints move while you type, or eat, or anything. We completely take these miracles for granted. Study other people's hands - it's interesting what you see. There's a character that's revealed in this collection of bones, tendons, ligaments, and muscles worked together, and it's not one you're often aware of. Mine are small, and I like them best when I'm working on something - piano, sax, writing, or just getting a better understanding of something. Tracing the lines of another person's hand - again, it feels like an unexpected trust. Except, in this case, it's not that you find it unexpected, but that they do. You don't realize how sensitive you are, how strong you are, and how vulnerable. Running over the muscles and contours, tracing the lines of blood vessels and skeletal structure, calluses and scars, and realizing how much is remembered below the surface of your fingertips. Do you trust me?

Recipes

amarobro — 2005-12-05T01:12:35-05:00

Preparation for the Making of a Good Day:

Wake on your own - this involves actually going to sleep at a decent time the night before, but it's SO much better to wake of your own volition.

Have breakfast with somebody who loves you. Your dad, your dog, your little sister, your girlfriend, yourself, doesn't matter. As long as you know that there's someone who loved you when the day begain, and who's going to still love you at the end of the day, you can get through anything.

Shower with the scent you love. Sing, and have fun with it. Realize that you have time to relax before you take off.

Do one thing that makes you feel just a little sexy. Me, it's shaving my legs, even though it's winter and no one's going to see my calves again until probably April. Gel your hair, leave off shaving, use the lotion you like, wear your satin boxers, it doesn't matter. Tends to make you smile throughout the day when you get a little reminder of it.

Dance like nobody's watching. Sing in the car on the way to work. See the people in your world, note the frost on the trees, or marvel at the blue of the sky. You've got a minute to spare - spare yourself a minute.

Share the smiles you picked up this morning with everyone you see in the day.

Season to taste. Shake, rattle, and roll if desired.

Jabs and Joy

amarobro — 2005-12-09T12:12:39-05:00

Tonight was definitely good - glad we went with being social. I got lost on the way to Jaymi's again, I don't know how. But, arrived to see two of my favorite guys in the world. There are friends you have fun with, and friends who make you feel happy - and when you've got people who do both, life is wonderful. I was well-nigh frustrated with the events of the day when I came in, but I was laughing again within half an hour. Okay, and I was borrowing body heat from Tony again. Yeah, it's partly just an excuse to be in contact, but seriously, he is WARM!

We were working on decorating Jaymi's place for Christmas. My traditions refuse to believe that people all get together and decorate without playing Christmas music, so Micre put the stereo together, I darted out to my car to grab music, and life was good. My Rivertribe cd, and a cd I put together early last December - Jaymi confirmed that my music tastes are rather eclectic.

I have a confession: I like cookie dough. Jaymi set down the law that I must wait to have cookie dough until everyone had an opportunity to have cookie - as soon as they came out of the oven I was munching. :)

Working on the tree with Tony, working on the upstairs 'loft' with Micre, wearing a Christmas tree skirt ("It looks good!" "Really? I thought it was a little revealing."), listening to Christmas techno and Christmas pipes, waiting for cookies, laughing and trading jabs and joy.

For two instants tonight - once while we were both working on the tree, and once while we were standing in the kitchen with cookies (I resent that sippy-cup comment, by the way, love :) ), I caught myself wondering again. A good deal of it's Christmas everywhere, and being raised that Christmas is about family - but I started wondering what Christmas would be like if we were a family. I quickly erased that and went for the less-confusing being-happy-in-the-moment part of life. It's good to be in love during Christmas.

Caught in the circle we'd created with the couch, the chairs, the tree, and the piano, the only light coming from the tree Tony and Sara had lit, we were sitting against the couch where Jaymi and Dan were sitting (one giving the other a foot massage, I believe), I was almost falling asleep on his shoulder, Micre was tapping out the rhythm of the Aborigine carols on my knee, Sara was looking beautiful and for once distantly quiet in the low light, we were talking about music and memories, laughing and thinking - and I remembered - Friends are the family you choose for yourself.

A merry Christmas it shall be - it has already begun.

Something very silly that we'd like you all to hear

amarobro — 2005-12-19T10:12:39-05:00

I am in such a great mood. I am singing. Everything.

Denise is feeling kind of down. We are going to sing together.

We are going to sing the Honker Ducky Dinger Jamboree.

Because we are just that cool. :D

Come on everybody to a street called Sesame
There's something very silly that we'd like you all to see
It's the latest, it's the greatest, it's the only place to beeee
It's the Honker Ducky Dinger Jamboreee!

You just WISH you could have a sister like mine. :D

...

She just added out of the blue, "Do you shovel coal, in da night?" Yes, singing.

Oooh! Ooh! Fun!

Saw a monster in the mirror when I woke up today
A monster in the mirror, but I did not run away
I did not shed a tear or hide beneath my bed
Though the monster looked at me and this is what he said!

Snow Morning

amarobro — 2005-12-21T12:12:04-05:00

The dog's been yipping about something, I head out to check what he's up to. Maybe he treed another raccoon, or maybe he's just cold and wants to play. I understand some of dog-speak, but his excited barks and his hopeful barks are difficult to differentiate from inside the house.

The snow blankets the world in purity, marred only by my dad's footprints from last night - a sign I delight in. All is well in this corner of the world. The usual sparkles of white have caught the rising sun, and as I turn to glance up the spill of powder down my street, a thousand gems of blue, red, green, blue, red, yellow, blue throw the light to me.

Smile, blinding them back with their own light. The dog's waiting, head cocked, ears pricked, watching me. He makes some mothers at the park a little nervous - there's definitely something about him that looks wolfish, but he doesn't know it. He just wants to be with people.

He leaps as I approach, I call a word to him and gesture twice, and he complies quickly, wiggling his entire body into the snow in exuberance. I laugh, and he laughs with me. Clip the leash to the ring on his collar, scratching and petting him a bit, glorying in the warmth of his fur. He just looks at me adoringly, totally getting into this business of being petted. Once more around his ears, then unclip the lead line from his collar and leap towards the house.

We always race each other, and he always wins. What can I say, he's got four feet to kick off with, I've only got two. He barrels in through the garage door, I whip through, hitting my mom's car with my body just as he slams into the (firmly shut) basement door. He looks back at me, an eager question in his eyes, as I firmly close the garage door and run to him, tripping over a loose rake. He doesn't blink as it hits the floor, just pants to be let in.

As soon as the latch is loose, he knocks the door open, dancing wolflike across the skid-inducing cellar floor to snatch up his deflated volleyball. I whistle a quick note, and he dances back to me, the pink misformed rubber toy in his teeth. He almost waits patiently as I unclip him, and then spanks the ground in unmistakable, "Play!"

Some banter between the two of us, and I send him into his kennel. Go to pick up my Chai-Chai and bring her in. She doesn't appreciate the interruption to her nap, but seems quite amenable to the warmer climate of the house. I stand with her before the glass playroom door, looking out at the snow. Blue shadows still fall across it, but the sun has risen and the jewels are once more nothing more than white.

A Day

amarobro — 2006-01-24T10:01:31-05:00

Oh, it has been a day.

Not a good day. Not a bad day. But a day nonetheless.

I woke up at a time that should have been manageable. I have no idea what it was, but my body insisted that it was far too early. Very well, I could manage sleeping in for another half hour. Stalk across my bed, reset the alarm, fall back into my pillows, flip the covers back over me.

I had a dream about Riley, from Buffy. He couldn't remember who I was. Which was probably just as well, since I couldn't remember much of anything.

Mostly finished my breakfast. This is unusual, I'm usually very thorough about breakfast. Had a good morning discussion with Mom. Posted something on another blog. Got all my stuff ready to go, grabbed a snackie for later, headed out. Totally forgot the three cds I have to return to three different people.

Got a reminder that I have to change Rachel's oil this weekend, planning on Saturday. Sigh.

Speeding a bit from time to time, because I ended up leaving the house late...sort of.

Got to my English class on time, to learn that I've possibly chosen a rather lame subject for our upcoming essay. But, after a bit of brainstorming with a few others, decided it was my best option. As it's not anything that particularly pulls at the heartstrings, as those of the others will be, I'm probably going to go the usual route and be particularly descriptive. So, I don't have a great topic, but at least I have a topic, and I've got the essay roughly mapped out.

Tony's still sick. Sigh. This means I have to be nice to him and stay out of his space. It also means that I get to watch him while he sleeps a lot, which I like, but then I just want to cuddle up and sleep, too. I refer you to having to stay out of his space. I hope he feels better soon - he does not appear to be having fun.

I spent the hour between English and Choir working on figuring out my future schedule. I like to have things like this planned out in advance - getting the big rocks in, as it were. Once I know which rocks I HAVE to have in there, I can figure out which ones I have to put in SOMEwhere, and go from there. Yay for having all of next fall's schedule planned out - there are three classes that are 'somewhere' rocks, and one of them's going to go in there, it'll just depend on how the others fall then. Not yay on finding that I'm going to have to take two tech classes - one of which I already tried and dropped. Technically, I have an alternative, but it's worse. The problem is not strictly the classes themselves, but the fact that I'm slightly intimidated by most of the technology, and there's no text for the class. Classes I have trouble with, I really need a foundation of review to hope to pass, and if there's no text, and not really any notes...what exactly are we reviewing off of?

Meh. I shall cross that bridge when I can. Odds are I'll just schedule twice as much lab time as I 'need', and make sure at least one of them is right after the class. I've also got a downside that, thanks to my efforts (or lack thereof) last semester, I've thrown myself off by a year in a class. The problem with this is that, as of Fall 2007, I can't get help from my parents anymore for tuition. Elizabeth starts college then. I was trying to figure out what all I could slide into the two summer sessions, but really, neither one would buy me anything, as the class I need 4 semesters of is only taught in fall and spring. Oddly, this is somehow comforting - once I know what the issue is, how the cards lie, I can see what I've got to work with and find a way to turn it to my advantage.

Choir went moderately well - Heather doesn't come in on Tuesdays, and Ariel was late. I think the three of us are the strongest altos (I make no comments on Dawn and Carissa - Dawn does not sing with us, and Carissa treats freshmen with disdain, so I don't know what they sound like). So, yay for getting to sort of lead the section, but not yay for uncertainty (Ariel is always on pitch, and I tend to follow Heather more than she seems to realize). There's one piece that we're singing that we did in Concert Choir. This is good, because it means that I'm familiar with the music. This is bad, because I didn't switch to alto until after graduation. So, I know the soprano part of the music. 'Tis fun, though, because part of it's in Hebrew. I did a solo in Hebrew one year for contest, and it's very fun to pronounce.

Spent most of the time with Micre, come to think of it. He's warm. Very warm. I puzzled him about this. We were kind of beating each other with a pair of misshapen drumsticks that Tony let Micre have. This led to 'sparring' after choir, except, I've been pretty tired for some reason, and ran out of energy fairly quickly.

I went off to one of the practice rooms after choir to try to nail down the alto part on said song in my mind. Practice, practice, practice - for some reason, key changes are really throwing me off today. Wander back to the music area - yay, there's no one in the band room. I head in, and turn off all the lights. This is my favorite way to play - or with the spotlight Scott had the other day. That was just plain cool. But in the 'darkness', you see things so much differently. You can still see the piano keys without too much trouble - light comes in through the windows - and the rest of the room is dark and clear - but it feels like it's yours. Anyone else who comes in has to take a minute or two to let their eyes adjust, and you can see everything and know where it all is.

I spent about an hour or so in the dark, playing and singing. Singing's going better, I figured out something I've been doing wrong, but I was having an off day on the piano. Every time I changed a chord, I would stumble. Bit of a pity, really, because I figured out how part of one of the songs I made up is supposed to go at the end. My brain knows it perfectly, but I haven't yet built the muscle in my arms to be able to manage it.

Every three songs or so, I would leave the bench and hit the floor, just to stretch and give my arms/hands a break. Twisting my torso, I can usually get my back to crack about nine times each way, and this feels better. Sometimes I just fling myself down and stare off towards the ceiling, listening. On one occasion while stretching today, I snapped a clasp in my bra. It's my favorite, too - the fun purple one. Argh.

Micre came in after a little while to listen - he loves listening to anyone play piano, and really doesn't care whether it's someone as talented as Tony, average like me, or just someone on the basics. I keep pointing him in the direction of the Beginning Piano class, but he can't work it out currently.

Tony came in shortly after. I think I only played two songs, because, as I said, I was really having an off day. Still had the lights off, the two of them were on the second step, and I slid to the floor on the lowest level of the room (the band room floor is set with ripples sunk into it). Tony fell asleep very soon, I was drowsing a bit, and Micre had no intentions of sleeping at all. He was thinking too loudly. Very disturbing. :P

I grumbled mentally about my bra issue a bit, and went off to request a paper clip and a helping hand. Joy, one of our clarinets, very nice girl, was quite helpful, and remedied the problem very nicely. Padded back into the band room, went back to napping. Micre left after a bit, I tossed Tony's mittens back at him (he'd tried to hit me in the stomach with them before falling asleep), came up and bothered him for a little while.

I'd agreed to give Micre a ride to work, and he'd invited Tony along. Yay. I'm thinking I'm going to have to stop listening to Savatage in my car, at least while driving. It tends to result in an attitude, and not paying attention. I thought I had far more clearance room than I did, and swung into the car to my right while I was backing out. I actually picked the other vehicle up off the ground with my car.

I think that's the first time I've ever cursed like that in my life.

But, regarding our two cars - mine had some of his paint (red on burgundy converts to pink), and his had no visible damage. I left my phone number under his windshield wiper anyways, very irked with myself, headed off.

I totally forgot which turn was Micre's, so I pulled an interesting little maneuver at a traffic light. Get to his house, he goes in, I consider just folding my arms over my steering wheel and trying to seethe instead of cry, but this is not particularly helpful. Sigh, get out, regard the damage. Yep. Pink. I'm not so concerned about my car, but the problem is that my parents pay my insurance. And, this may come as a shock to you (doubtful), but I really, really hate confrontation. I'm already enough grief on the financial issues because my parents are paying all of my tuition this semester (last semester they paid a third of it), managing my car insurance, my cell phone, all of my basic needs, and I'm still unemployed. I'm not particularly pleased with all this, but, as Chris has explained, "Enjoy it while you've got it. This is not a time for pride, this is a time for thanksgiving."

So, on the way into Arby's, a friend shows up. Yay! Just randomly - she'd recognized Micre by his hair first, then figured the dark-haired lassie had to be me, and i.d.ed Tony by his coat. Yay! So, that was a fairly fun dinnertime. It was the first time I'd really eaten since breakfast.

Mocha shakes have an effect on me, okay?

Pretty tired, just listening to Tony describe some of the cool stuff going on around Steeplechase, watching him.

Driving home, it wasn't until I was outside of Rochester that I figured out what the problem was with my weather seal. I'd noticed that it wasn't tight after we left Micre's, but it wasn't on the impact side, it was on the driver's door. I tried to reslam that door about four times. Then, finally, on the highway, "Oh!"

The other night, I went to the gym with Dad for an hour. We followed this up with McDonalds. I'll have you know that I don't really run to lose weight - girls have a far more difficult time losing weight than guys do, anyways. It's mostly to counter the chemical imbalances that result in my pseudo-schizophrenia and depression - as long as I'm doing something fairly involved three or four times a week, I can stay pretty rational. But, I got home, and my calves were rock-hard. Next day, still the case - as though I could feel the bones in my legs.

So, it made sense that I'd take a long bath, right. I totally failed to take into account how tired I was, and fell asleep six times and almost drowned myself before I realized, "Okay, this is not a good plan."

I fell into bed around 7:30. Slept 'til nine, then decided, "I said I'd be online, I better show up for a little while." I'm planning on heading back to bed around ten.

My body, my schedule, and I need to have a three-way conference regarding this notion of sleep. My body's put in a request for more hours, I need so see what my schedule actually requires for evenings, and see if some compromises can be made in the middle of the day, if nothing else. Last semester, we came to an agreement that was basically seven hours a night, and an hour and a half or so between classes. For the most part, this worked. This semester, we've still got to be going on an hours per day basis, otherwise I'd stock up on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and just manage through Monday and Wednesday.

Argh. Must...sleep...

Beginning of Happiness

amarobro — 2006-01-27T12:01:06-05:00

Well, today started okay, but the events of major Amanda-impact didn't start happening until after choir. Everything was fairly good up to that point.

For one thing, I totally forgot that today was Thursday and I was supposed to go pick up Rahni. Not good. But it was okay, because Chris was home and brought her, so I got to see both of them! Anyway, I was spending the time in between band and choir rewriting a piece that Elizabeth wrote awhile ago. It's a pretty song; I'd like to sing it with Heather - but Elizabeth's notation is bizarre. This is taking me a few days to do, because I'm not very good at notating music. I think I'm going to ask Tony to proofread it after I'm done - part of the problem is that I run out of space for both stems and text between lines, so anything higher than an F I stem downward, even though that's the soprano part. So, I'm working carefully, painstakingly, trying to get this right and spaced as she has it (no easy task - wildly different handwriting), and Seth is making a general nuisance of himself. Slammed the table, interrupting thought process, etc. I was pretty snippy with Tom for bothering me, too - I couldn't deal with everyone who had something to say about it. That one I am sorry for.

I was also getting very depressed, because a few of the others were talking about the Florida trip. I've been incredibly excited for this, but we need at least thirty-two people to be signed up by tomorrow, and as of lunchtime today, we had twenty. So, trip was really looking as though it wasn't going to happen, and I was getting frustrated because I couldn't get any real work done. So, I made the critical error - I went upstairs.

Honestly, I was just looking for John and a quiet table. John's one of my best friends, and has known me through many of the ups and downs of my high school life. Sympathetic, understanding, intelligent - he's an awesome guy if you need someone to listen to your troubles.

Unfortunately, Bordelon noticed me being down before John really clicked on it. This'd be the guy who informed me that what I thought was truly important was of little concern to him, and since before the breakup, we kind of lost touch with each other - we don't know each other anymore. He came out while I was working (I'd folded myself across a chair by the window), and I really didn't want to talk to him, for obvious reasons. I gave him mostly silence and a short sentence or two in answer to direct questions, and he got frustrated and left, frustrating me further.

By the way - I've figured out another part of why I'm never around when Bordelon's girlfriend is there. It's not really her lifestyle - as far as I can tell, it's fairly similar to a few of the other girls' I hang out with. It's more like her general vibe, and what she always seems to be saying that she isn't saying. Being around her, I feel like I'm stuck-up, unwanted, dowdy, naive (in a bad way). As though everyone in the room is intelligent, yes, but the things I've concerned myself with, and the areas I'm brilliant with - they don't matter in the 'real' world. Being around her personality makes me feel as though I'm completely undesirable in the eyes of everyone.

John came by looking for me a little while later. It's good to be able to talk with a friend who understands the concept of working and conversing at the same time. He expressed interest, I willingly showed him what I was doing, we talked about what was bothering me, and while it didn't make things better, I was able to relax and give him a smile when he left again.

Still moody and frustrated because I know I'm notating this incorrectly, I headed back downstairs, put my sax together, and played out some pretty mood in one of the practice rooms. The sax was made to play emotion - any emotion you play on it is either pretty, or cool, and expressed well if you're familiar with your horn. I had the lights off, and it was just luck that I glanced up when Rahni and Chris headed by - turned out that they were looking for me.

Rahni's probably the person in the world who can always take away some of my depression. Not all of it, but it's enough. I was pretty down all through band, not helped a whole lot by Seth (I have a pet peeve. You don't eat food while you're playing a wind instrument. You can wait half an hour - you were late to band anyways). Really not helped because when I'm depressed, I'm a terrible musician. Seth was actually better than I was today. Not happy.

But, afterwards, I played piano for Rahni - first time I'd really played all day. And, man, so much of what's troubling me, plaguing my mind, just falls away as my fingers play and fall across the keys. I biffed a few things, yeah, but playing for Rahni isn't like playing for anyone else. You know she's a talented artist and a competent musician, but she notes things about your strengths that you didn't think about, and it never feels like something you have to make measure up to her. When you're playing for Rahni, you're not proving yourself, you're giving a gift, and that's why you want it to be good. That's why I can always sing for her. I never sing and play piano for anyone. I hope I can someday be that kind of audience.

Rahni and Chris liistened, commented on a few things I'd done - we'd talk some, I'd play some, talk some, play some. The shadow, while still hovering over me, had lifted.

They headed home, invited me to join them when I was finished - Rahni understands that sometimes I just need time alone with a good piano when I'm vexed. Working through things, letting it go, trying to let it go - Florida, Bordelon, feeling like I'd never be able to please anyone the way Bordelon's girlfriend can please any guy in the room, frustrated over Elizabeth's piece, homework projects I was trying to plan out, friends I wished would come on the trip - arpeggios really let you get out a lot of frustration.

Tony came in quietly, while I was tinkering around with a simple melody in octaves. Some sort of greeting, me playing around with something I'd started in the practice room the day before, and he offered a mild word of praise on it. It clicked something of my usual sax-ego, that someone I praised and admired thought an idea of mine was okay, and I could actually acknowledge out loud that someone I disliked had made me doubt my worth. Actually, I kind of poured everything out. Tony listened, and instead of arguing with any of the statements I'd questioned, offered a thought that underlined the whole issue, and made me think about it the way I normally would.

And, yeah, there's still so much that can be consoled through physical contact that can't be handled with words. He was lightly stroking my neck and my back, and we were talking through it, and somewhere along the way, the sunshine returned. Back in action. :)

Called Rahni, asked if we could still come over, yay from her. First time I think Tony's ridden with me in my car - sooner or later he's going to figure out my cd-changing habit. I change the cd every time I get in the car, unless it's a new one I'm working on learning. The rest of my driving habits...meh. He was there for the number I pulled in the parking lot, and that's probably the worst thing I've done while driving.

We watched Victor Borge. All four of us laughing together, contact, settled into him - realized that doubting any of these relationships was ridiculous. Rahni made cornbread, Chris cut himself on a can, and my true loyalties between the pair were revealed. We're going to need awhile to get through Victor Borge, but that's okay.

Tonight, our Jazz Band had a gig. Just something at one of the schools in Roch, but it was to start at six. Chuck had told us that he'd be locking up the music department at 5:30, but Tony, being 'Chuck's prodigy', has a key. So, when it was insisted that we stay and eat something, we figured we'd still be able to make it. It'd be tight, but it would be okay.

This was before we realized that the band had NOT, in fact, taken the set with them. Dashing back and forth, rearranging things to fit, working against time - oddly, that was fun! We managed by some interesting twist to fit everything in Tony's car, without it being uncomfortable. I'd been sent to grab the other sax folder (Heather already had ours), grabbed the percussion music Tony'd forgotten, too (though, I didn't know for certain he needed it, I just figured it wouldn't hurt), got my sax, we packed the set in what Tony says has to be a record for two people, and were on our way.

Yeah, we were only, what, a half hour late? The trouble is not that I was late - I'm a sax, and not one of our primary saxes. Yeah, there was in issue that our primary saxes didn't have music, but, Tony was the one we needed. And the set, true. But, we were mostly a kind of 'pre-show' thing, so it was sort of okay. Sort of.

Gym acoustics are terrible. Particularly for any kind of band. You usually can't focus on the director for some reason, so you're listening for percussion. The problem is that, with the way things echo, the sound of the beat takes a little while longer to get to you. And people wait to land on the beat, they rarely blast ahead with confidence. And, even if the percussionist is doing an awesome job, the band's going to slow up, until he's the minority out of the new tempo that's been created. So, a rough cycle - everything gets slowed down. Fun gig though - kids are great. Scott should have been dancing more.

Took everything back afterwards, got Simple Plan stuck in my head (actually, not the song we were listening to, but the next one on the disc), headed off to Bilotti's. Tony was oddly late - he'd left before me, but didn't arrive until we were all settled. Not sure what was up there, but okay. Had a generally fun and raucous discussion with Ariel, Kent, and Scott. At some point, it got too off-color for me, headed out to join something hopefully fresher. Just talking with Jaymi, Chuck, and Tony, and life was good.

Hehe. I took Jaymi's phone. And I put it in Heather's coat. Hehehe. If only she would have cooperated and turned it off before Jaymi called.

Much talk and excitement of the upcoming trip. Stories from past years, hopes for this year. I've been working on Heather all week - I really want her to be there. More than any of the other friends I've made in choir - she's like a sister. I can't be this excited and not have any of my social sisters (as opposed to biological) there. Who's there to delve into the secrets of the universe with if not one's inmost girlfriends? This'd be my first time spending this much time away from my family since at least my junior year - so many new universe-secrets to ponder!

Yay for being hugged. Yay for hugging. And an amused irony for one's director and sister-friend to drive by and demand a show whilst you're hugging. :)

Drove home, little antsy about my fuel, but I came upon a K.T. where I hadn't realized there was one, so that was good. Sang "I Don't Wanna Miss a Thing" the whole way home, imagining one of the many places I'd like to sing in. Yay for confidence, yay for music.

And yay for being loved and loving without having to change who I am.

Pants and Pirates

amarobro — 2006-07-05T07:07:03-05:00

Today, I was cleaning all the junk out of my car. It was recently brought to my attention (when we threw everything into the front instead of the back where I could ignore it) how much stuff I'm really carrying around. Got rid of about half of it, went through my trunk too.

Anyway, the cause of happy-joy is that I found my favorite pajama pants! I s'pose, not my favorite, but my favorite for when I need pajama pants that don't look ridiculous. They're the only pair I have without either penguins or polar bears on them. And they're neither overly fluffy nor cottonstarchy. They're just the right material for lounging in. Very nice.

I'd been looking for them for months. Turned out they were in the backpack I take to the gym. I'd been looking for this backpack for awhile, too. Oops.

Also, on a random whim, I redrew my pirate. Pirate Jenny used to be how I'd get a certain variety of ya-yas out. I'd go off on the high seas, where I was the only girl captain anyone had heard of in these parts, and I was the best, and I'd have adventures there while the rest of the math class napped. Quite a few involved Captain Carleton - my nemesis. He sat in front of me in math, and next to me in band. We had an interesting friendship in high school, but he and Pirate Jenny had been best friends as children, and sworn enemies now. The British Royal Navy wouldn't accept me because I was a girl, so I went off to do my own captaining, my way. Carleton was very much by-the-book, one of the best officers the Royal Navy had, and considered my turning pirate a personal insult.

After a few adventures, I drew Pirate Jenny Morgan, or at least, her outfit as I wanted it. I wasn't very good with proportions then. I'm still not very good at drawing, but it came out roughly decent. That was during my...sophomore year, I believe. Today, I redrew her, sword drawn, standing on deck of the Sea Tiger, a great storm off the side. I very much like how it came out. I need to draw more deck junk, and then I'll lay the floor of the deck itself, but besides that, I'd say it's done.

Mind ye, I've little knowledge of ships and sails, so the sails I've got would be more like a clipper ship than a traditional pirate vessel, and it's not very accurate. But I very much like it.

It's another one where I used the whole page. My mental balance manifests itself a bit in my drawings - when I'm most stable and at-ease, I'm using the whole page. When I'm stressed, my drawings lack focus or setting. The whole-page ones are kind of rare, and I very much like them.

Can You Hear Me?

amarobro — 2006-07-16T12:07:01-05:00

Can you hear me out there?
Cause if you can hear me out there,
Check this one out

_{This is the one we've all been waiting for...}

Everybody tell me how to be heard

Every little boy needs a girl

Every little nest needs a bird

You came in from the storm
You came and made me warm

You made me cry, and made me smile for more

Love is something I adore

You saved my life - a smile will keep me warm

Planets will be dancing as the moon plays violin

Step into forever on the bright side of the sun

Run wild and tell me you're mine,

I can never remember your name

So now, give me your love in celebration
Of life and love, of fascination

Mother, Mother, can't you see?
Something's wrong inside of me
Every time I try to say the words,
They don't come out right

How will we ever know?

_{Some are weak and some are wise, and summer comes as no surprise}

"Excuse me, sir.
Could you tell me how to get to the real world?"

Summer whispers in the wind -

- I can hear the angels calling

Hey, guardian angel
More light, we're falling in love

Falling in love won't make you blind

Deep down in the sea of her, life is surrounding

They call it falling in love

You, you were on a moon, moonbeam
Me, I was on a star

I was only trying to say
You're a million miles away
I can see you dancing anyway

A pretty little moonbeam; do you dream of love?

Jenny had a vision of her mother dancing

Tell me which way the rain bows

You can lose your head
      You can lose your mind
               You can lose your way
                Keep your eyes and still be blind

Jenny loves Johnny like the earth and sun

Johnny loves Jenny like the wind and sea

Jenny loves Johnny like the wind and sun

Johnny loves Jenny like the earth and sea

In the middle of forever, we can all be free

Jenny was real, but almost not quite

Jenny concealed all but her smile

I said I loved you blindly, and I do
We're only two strangers in ways we shall say

You always caught my eyes where the dreams peter in

Here is the water, the one that rushes from our hearts into the sea

Endlessly hoping to be

They said that we could walk on water
They said that we should knock on wood
We did none of these things,
and they said we could sing
So we sang about falling in love

They said we were getting smarter
        They said that we were something new
                We were none of these things,
                        And they said we could sing
                            So we sang about a hundred and two

Oh, can you walk on water?

Matadors, monkeys, a million balloons
As we walk through the sea to the sand

Knowing full well that we're perfectly tuned
As we skip through our hearts hand in hand

Will we all meet again at the end of the world?
The end of the world

Good morning!

amarobro — 2006-07-27T10:07:21-05:00

My mom's coming home!

I only work seven hours today (and thus will have time after work to do something I want to do)!

Tony's home tomorrow!

There is a happy dog in my backyard!

Joe came by this morning!

I have my favorite Enya song on repeat!

Dan-Dan's on!

My sister fell asleep with me last night. :)

I'm going to Winona again tomorrow - keep hopes high!

I got a flower at our last performance - my first time ever getting a flower after a performance!

Sometimes, it's just good to start your day with the things you're happy about. :)

Silence

amarobro — 2006-09-22T09:09:29-05:00

October 12th, 2003

Silence. It's so loud in your ears that you're deafened by it, and you can't tell.

I'm running. Seven other girls arranged on their own paths, beside the one I've been placed upon. I can feel the tension in me, the heart that tries to leap from my chest, the air drawn in with so much force - a storm in my throat. I see their mouths moving, the girl who drops her nachos, the kid toying with the football, the parents and other teams standing, praising us, making demands of us that we would demand of them. We see, but we do not hear. We feel, but we do not hear. We are deafened by silence. Distantly we feel the surface beneath us, distantly do we feel our pain, but silence rushes by us, around us, letting nothing touch us. Our race is virtual reality on mute.

I fall, and crash, sliding and burning to a stop after the finish line. Second in my heat isn't enough to place, but neither the pain nor the award concern me. I can hear again. With the friction bringing me to a stop, or perhaps as early as the loss of control, I dropped out of the dream. Now shock of feeling air rush back into my lungs, feeling my heart again, hearing all that's going on, really seeing anything that isn't a white line, blocks out the pain of bits of rubber gravel embedded in my knees, my hand, my arm. I'll be smudged for the rest of the day, but the world is real again.

Silence deafens you. You can hear silence. Does silence occur when sound leaves, or does it force sound away?

But if it's something you can hear, it's something you can feel. And thus, something you can dance to, play the accompaniment to, harmonize with.

I think I should like to see the score for silence.

What We Can Learn from Lawn Care

amarobro — 2006-09-27T09:09:51-05:00

Lesson from today:

If you still have food in your mouth, do not attempt to start a lawnmower.

The result is most likely hilarious to bystanders, but unpleasant.

Lesson from Groceries:

amarobro — 2006-09-29T10:09:02-05:00

Lesson from today:

A gallon of milk (enclosed in a plastic container), when dropped from a height of about four feet, will explode.

(By the way - this one wasn't my fault.)

Red Red Mii-iii-iine

amarobro — 2006-11-19T12:11:06-05:00

Today at work...

I was the embarassed sporter of a quite-unexpected nosebleed. It lasted for twenty minutes. And it started just a minute before my lunch break.

(According to Chris, three hours later, I still had the bruises where I'd been pinching the vessels in an effort to encourage clotting. Oops.)

Later, I received a rather nasty papercut off of a chandelier box. I had to shut down my lane for a bit in order to seek medical care.

And between the two, my period decided to surprise me.

Clearly, something out there wants my blood.

Today's Mystery

amarobro — 2006-12-09T01:12:45-05:00

My cell phone went missing the other night. Caused a major miscommunication and me getting home way late thanks to some brouhaha with my sister. Couldn't figure out where it went, the two of us concluded that she'd set it down somewhere in my lair when she wanted to use my charger. My lair eats things. Frequently. I have to keep things on top if I know I'm going to need them within the next two days.

By the time I woke up this morning, it had turned up - the kid had her amazing finding skills working again. Yay for the munchkin, but I can't figure out HOW it got there. In a potted plant. On the back deck.

What????

Beautiful World

amarobro — 2008-07-19T01:07:03-05:00

There is so, so much that is beautiful in this world.

My work, my life, my dream, is about helping people. About taking something that's not so great, and healing it. Sometimes all I can do is listen to someone hurting, but contrary to the implied definition, even that's not a passive experience. Unless I'm having a selfish day, I'm always looking for something to give, something to do, some way to help.

Until the moment when I break out of the trees, and my words are stolen by a painted sky, over a forest so dark it's been reduced to two dimensions. The lake carries deep secrets of beauty under a glassy surface, a surface that permits no entry because disturbing it would be beyond criminal. There's a line of amber in the middle of the shadows, revealing that part of that flat black treeline is an island. Beauty and darkness blending into something beyond the definitions of each.

The morning I go out for a walk in the mist on the shore. The waves are crashing, running in and out as though searching for something in the gravel. The brightly wet rocks slide from under my weight, and the sky is impassively gray, too great to be aware of the tiny crustaceans that skitter and slide higher up the shore, demanding safety. The whole world seems to be waiting for something, and maybe it's just for me to leave, so that it can celebrate in its riotous joy. A promise of a terrific storm later. Can a storm have emotion? It seems to promise beauty and emotion, but in such a way to defy both terms.

The hushed open-air cathedral of the trees, with the long grass that invites all and tells nothing. High enough on the hills that the wind is your companion, and only a hawk soars over you. Dusty leaves enjoy their new settings, and the smell of the woods dances tantalizingly past your eyes. Lying down in that long soft grass, the earth accepting your weight, gazing up at the tall pale trees. There's a song here from before we knew notation, and so we'll never be able to take down the notes. Elusive and welcoming. Beautiful.

Only fifteen feet from the surface, and it's a totally different world. The floor is carved by a different master, the ceiling is in constant motion. A valley so deep that darkness seems to bleed out of it, reaching to pull you in and hide you forever, whispering the secrets that will make you forget the sun. Startled life that darts away from your form into better hiding. Sound you can't remember when you break the surface again. Beautiful. Beautiful.

There's nothing I can do, no words I can say. This was a place where I'm not going to be serving, where I'm not going to be helping or making anything better. The only thing I can possibly do here is view, drink, perceive. I'll be something of a holding receptacle for this moment.

That's all I can do - sit, listen with my eyes. Why? I won't have the words to tell anyone else about it later. I can't capture the sound, the taste of the air and convert it. I'm not a painter or a sculptor, to be able to convey this. Even the act of taking a picture would seem to interrupt something, to turn the focus back on the little person down here.

I'm not sure I know why. Maybe it's something I need to see to be all right. Maybe it's just because to see this and walk away without taking it in would be completely wrong. Maybe I'll be able to come back here and bring someone else with me. Maybe it's something that will teach me to love better, somehow. I don't know. I just know that this is beautiful, and I need to take it in.

Never Die...

amarobro — 2009-03-28T03:03:51-05:00

Things That Never Die

The pure, the bright, the beautiful
that stirred our hearts in youth,
The impulses to wordless prayer,
The streams of love and truth,
The longing after something lost,
The spirit's yearning cry,
The striving after better hopes—
These things can never die.

The timid hand stretched forth to aid
A brother in his need;
A kindly word in grief's dark hour
That proves a friend indeed;
The plea for mercy softly breathed,
When justice threatens high,
The sorrow of a contrite heart—
These things shall never die.

Let nothing pass, for every hand
Must find some work to do,
Lose not a chance to waken love—
Be firm and just and true.
So shall a light that cannot fade
Beam on thee from on high,
And angel voices say to thee—

"These things shall never die."

-Charles Dickens

One of the pieces we're working on at the moment has taken Mr. Dickens' words and simply set them to a lovely flowing melody that gets passed around the different sections. I'd not heard this one before, and I haven't figured out how to read the whole thing yet. Just a line - what do I think of as "the pure, the bright, the beautiful?" The longing after something lost, I can grasp that concept, for what it means to me in my life. I remember the friend who was there for me when my friend died, or my own deep sorrow when I knew I'd done wrong and wished to make it better. I'm still learning what it means - really MEANS - to be firm. To be just. To be true - true to what? I want to ask.

I keep going over it, a line at a time.

I read a piece of it, and get into that line, or that thought, and thinking of everything else that we have that fades or is destroyed or somehow lost...there's a lot of hope to be found in believing that the future world, whatever it's made of, will still have these.