Sing to me

Working on another song today – some acquaintances in a digital happy hour check-in Wednesday night told me to go ahead and just make a whole album about my feelings right now, because plenty of artists have done just that, and, did I know that Gwen Stefani did that with the one album she wrote about her bass player, and then they went on tour with the album but she was already with someone else? – I was embracing the tweeting birds and the sunlight outside, by spending the afternoon on the front porch swing, guitar at my side.

I eventually had what felt like a solid foundation for a song – it just needed some touch-ups, and perhaps a line-change or two – and I was playing and singing through the whole of it to see how I felt about it, see what stood out as lacking or needing to change, etc.

Partway through, I sensed something, and looked up to see someone standing at the bottom of the porch steps, leaning around the bushes (which block most of the porch from being seen from the sidewalk) somewhat to see me.

I stopped immediately, yet calmly, and greeted the person kindly.

I noticed that he was shirtless and potentially thin – bushes made it hard to tell if he was just slim or actually lacking in nutrition.

“Can I help you?” I offer.

It then turns out that, no, he is not homeless, but had been exercising at one of the nearby parks, and was heading home to where he lived nearby.

He had heard what he thought was the radio, but then he couldn’t figure out where it was coming from.

Eventually, he realized that it was live music – someone was playing guitar and singing somewhere very nearby.

When he figured out where, he just had to come closer to listen.

He then used various phrases to say that he wanted me to sing and play for him now, even though I already had been singing, and still would be singing, if he hadn’t creeped up to my porch…

Now, I totally did a version of this while on my bicycle ride Wednesday evening, so I am careful with judgement here, however, I didn’t go up to the person’s porch and freak him out – I pulled over across the street and listened to the music coming from a second-floor window.

Anyway, I let it go, since he isn’t coming across as dangerous at present, and I allow him to talk.

I answer a question he asks about what I had just been singing/playing, and then sit, with very few phrases leaving my mouth, for probably the next ten or fifteen minutes, listening to this guy going on and on about things.

Sure, it was interesting the first time you mentioned about your mom encouraging you to do country western music, instead of hip hop or rap, like you had always imagined, and I think it is great to let stereotypes be blown away at times, but did you have to tell me all of that at least three times each?

And please, stop trying to sound philosophical – pet peeve here – when you really aren’t… you actually have some great points of philosophy, but you don’t even seem to notice it, and, instead, BS elsewhere, and end up sounding somewhat stupid (which, you clearly aren’t so bad off, due to the real points, but you are really not helping yourself here).

Also, it really feels like you’re working hard to flirt with me… did you not listen to the very first things that came out of my mouth, about how the song I was just singing is based on the idea of how I miss a guy and want to be where he is, instead of here??

I would have thought that an obvious sign of my likely disinterest in any other guys, which would include you…

At least he put his shirt back on early on in the conversation(?)… interaction.

I’m being snarky, I know… I thought it was sweet, but also a bit annoying that it kept going on for so long, especially when I had just been so focused and excited about where I had just reached with the song.

I kept reminding myself to let it go, and to allow this interaction to happen – perhaps one of us needs it more than the other.

And he ended up singing to me from two country western songs he likes to sing.

He definitely has the timber of country western music down, and so I can see why his mother would have encouraged such an endeavor.

I told him so, too, and encouraged it myself, allowing him the idea of pursuing it, only should that be what he wants and feels called to do.

And then he talked a while longer, and I knew I was done… bugs were starting to show up, and I was committed to finishing this song and getting a recording before I went back indoors.

So, I kindly told him that I was getting back to work, and that I wanted to do that on my own, and I wished him home safely and wished him well…, and, of course, I was prepared to tell him that I wanted him to leave, if it weren’t already clear to him from the somewhat direct words (since he had already missed the opportunity before, when I had said I wanted to get back to work, but allowed him to stay if he wished [I really didn’t mind that part, but minded when he started talking to me again, just because I had stopped playing for a minute, which had been to work out some lyrics]).

And so, I got back to work on the song, finally, forgot to fix the beginning, and recorded it all, anyway.

I got a great version recorded, but lawn guys started mowing across the street right in the middle of the recording… I kept going, just in case, but I mostly knew it wouldn’t work.

I hoped for the best, but it didn’t work out as a good recording, so I had merely been wasting my finger strength for the day, unfortunately.

Finally, after a few mess-ups, I got a recording that was mostly accurate and good, and, since my fingers were already struggling during that recording, I knew it was the last play for the day…, so, I let it be.

Perhaps I’ll do the changes to the first line, if and when I do a real recording for an album…. for now, though, I am okay being satisfied and done with this song for a while.

And I do like it… I just wish I had caught it about the first line before I ran out of finger strength.

Oh, well… everything turns out perfectly somehow, so there’s clearly something perfect pushing all of this into place today. 😛

Fingers crossed for that perfection to show up sooner, rather than later. 😉

Post-a-day 2020

Out of nowhere

…I taught dance this weekend.  It was utterly ridiculous in circumstance – 11 girls at noon on a Saturday, in the middle of their celebrating a bachelorette party weekend, and in an airbnb house that kind of looks like a drug house from the outside.  I had met two of them at the rodeo, and I had offered to show them for free how to two-step (since they’re interns, and interns typically have minimal money), when they had asked where to learn it.  I genuinely began the lesson by asking with what level of intoxication I was dealing, and they loved it.  (Surprisingly, it was rather low, but they had just had a lazy start to the day, I guess, because mimosas were definitely happening.)  By the end of it all, I was clear that it wasn’t about how well they all danced, but that they loved what they were now doing, thanks to me.  And, to be fair, a good handful of them could actually two-step (and some even polka) decently as lead and follow by the end.  And they could identify the difference between a two-step and a polka.  Not bad for the middle of a bachelorette party weekend.  🙂

I really enjoyed it.

Post-a-day 2018

Ouch!

I bruised my pinkie toe today, it seems.  It might actually be fractured, due to the style of pain, however, the impact didn’t seem to have enough force behind it to have caused a fracture, which is fortunate.  Sitting here on my bed at my mom’s house, thinking about how that happen today, has me recall the last time something similar happened while I was living here.

I was on my way to Worlds, as we call it in the community.  “Worlds” is short for United Country Western Dance Council World Championships.   (See? “Worlds” is easier.)  And it is relevant that I tell you the full name of the event.  I promise.  I had participated in and scored high enough in other events throughout the year in order to qualify for Worlds, and I was incredibly excited.  It isn’t every day that one competes for a world title, and it isn’t even in every life, either – this was an honor and a privilege, and I was ready for it.

Therefore, when I managed to hook my toe underneath me on a stair as I rushed back downstairs after having run upstairs one last time to grab something small that I’d forgotten, my mind was reeling with concern.  I was in extreme pain, and I curled up to the floor, crying, holding my foot, barely even able to make contact with the toe.  I almost couldn’t think straight, or even at all, such was the disturbance.  “If I just broke my toe, I can’t dance,” was about what I said to myself, asI was  curled up around my toe.  I prayed in a way that I didn’t know how to make selfless, and I also prayed that that would be okay for this occasion.

I realized, as my brain power began to return to me, that my fear and concern was compounding the intensity of my crying, and that the physical pain wasn’t quite so bad as I’d been thinking.  Yes, it absolutely hurt, but a large part of any impact’s pain is the initial set-in, going from comfort and ease to pain.  That is, it hurts really badly at first, but then calms after the initial shock, and then the pain begins to subside exponentially.

And such was the case.  The extreme pain was real, but was not the full cause of my tears – I was dreadfully worried that I wouldn’t be able to dance, and all for that pair of socks, or whatever it was I ran up the stairs to grab.  My toe continued to hurt for a while, – maybe even the rest of the day – but it was doing well by the time my day to compete came around.  I have been forever grateful that my toe was spared and my dancing was blessed.

If you win at Worlds, you get a specific jacket, and your name is embroidered on it.  I still have mine.  ðŸ™‚

Post-a-day 2017