It seems not much "piques" my interests these days. I've settled into a decidedly deep rut and the normal creature comforts that soothe my savage beast are without merit. I am singing again, which is great. I need to sing, it's like air to me. Sounds corny but it has been such a part of me for so long that when it left me I felt like I was drowning. My dear coach spoke to me about finding my fire and I know where that fire is but am having a hard time finding the kindling to keep it going. But I do it, even if it's not the most inspired of musical adventures I do it. It's like going to the gym on a cold morning or eating that spinach you know you need. It is a part of my routine and I'm trying to honor it.
I had an amazing weekend with some of my framily in Philadelphia. One of them lost their Mother this past fall and we had some time to speak about our journeys. She said that since her Mother has passed she has found this new urgency in the way she interacts with her children. She understands how short life is and wants them to seize absolutely every moment, quickly, for there simply isn't enough time for all the beauty of this world. I haven't quite had the same reaction. For me it seems time is too long on this earth and all I crave is to be with my Mother again. My friend is further along this grisly path than I am and I hope for that spark of recognition that reveals to me the magical wonder of this sphere. But for now I slog to the practice room and try to appear like the cracks in my facade aren't obvious. I have no children to pass this knowledge too. I'm just myself, swimming in this sea of molasses.
My coach told me that grief has a rhythm. I couldn't agree more. Today it is that slow, insistent, pounding that won't let me heal or move on. It engenders regret and immobilizing sadness.
As they say, dear friends, the beat goes on. Tomorrow I'm praying for an upbeat.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Wearing O' the Green...
Happy St. Patrick's Day to you all dear friends!
I've always enjoyed this holiday. Being an Irish lass I believe it's never a bad thing to enjoy your heritage and lets face it...who doesn't adore green beer? Growing up I considered St Paddy's day a "button" holiday. My Mother was a whiz at making every holiday seem special. From her spectacular decor to making sure we all had cute little green buttons to wear to school on the 17th. Mom adored themes. Seems she wasn't the only one because of the plethora of products out there to adorn each holiday. In recent years the amount of said items seem to have quadrupled in size. One can hardly walk into a shop without seeing some festive display here and there. Well, I embrace it! We should celebrate every day and if that paper mache leprechaun hat garners some good will, I'm all for it.
Finding the joyous spirit in these little milestone days isn't as easy as it was a few months ago. My family had a bionic Christmas this year. We MADE it happen amidst the sea of doctors and hospital visits. Mom rallied on Christmas and I count this last one among one of my favorites. We were all together and every gift was so thoughtfully given it made the moments seem to last. Maybe we all knew it would be our last together, I don't know. I can honestly say that I didn't expect Mom to pass as quickly as she did. In many ways, I'm still in shock. I actually picked up the phone to call her today. I've heard of this happening but I never understood it until this morning. It was a stupid cooking question, one of the many I always had for her. At any rate, reality sunk into my bones and I stared lost out the window for a few minutes until I realized it was the 17th and I must wear my claddaugh ring and don my favorite color...green.
So what if my green is tainted by a little blue this year. I'm a woman from a long line of Irish souls whose grit and determination was always seasoned with an easy laugh and an open door. I'm off to finish my cabbage and to celebrate with a green beer or two. My Irish eyes are smiling even if my heart is a little empty this year.
Erin go bra-less dear friends! Oh wait...that's a spring break "button" :)
~Mel
I've always enjoyed this holiday. Being an Irish lass I believe it's never a bad thing to enjoy your heritage and lets face it...who doesn't adore green beer? Growing up I considered St Paddy's day a "button" holiday. My Mother was a whiz at making every holiday seem special. From her spectacular decor to making sure we all had cute little green buttons to wear to school on the 17th. Mom adored themes. Seems she wasn't the only one because of the plethora of products out there to adorn each holiday. In recent years the amount of said items seem to have quadrupled in size. One can hardly walk into a shop without seeing some festive display here and there. Well, I embrace it! We should celebrate every day and if that paper mache leprechaun hat garners some good will, I'm all for it.
Finding the joyous spirit in these little milestone days isn't as easy as it was a few months ago. My family had a bionic Christmas this year. We MADE it happen amidst the sea of doctors and hospital visits. Mom rallied on Christmas and I count this last one among one of my favorites. We were all together and every gift was so thoughtfully given it made the moments seem to last. Maybe we all knew it would be our last together, I don't know. I can honestly say that I didn't expect Mom to pass as quickly as she did. In many ways, I'm still in shock. I actually picked up the phone to call her today. I've heard of this happening but I never understood it until this morning. It was a stupid cooking question, one of the many I always had for her. At any rate, reality sunk into my bones and I stared lost out the window for a few minutes until I realized it was the 17th and I must wear my claddaugh ring and don my favorite color...green.
So what if my green is tainted by a little blue this year. I'm a woman from a long line of Irish souls whose grit and determination was always seasoned with an easy laugh and an open door. I'm off to finish my cabbage and to celebrate with a green beer or two. My Irish eyes are smiling even if my heart is a little empty this year.
Erin go bra-less dear friends! Oh wait...that's a spring break "button" :)
~Mel
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Make a joyful noise...
Well, dear readers I'm off to my first coaching since my return to New York. I'm so grateful that I will be able to see my coach before he heads off to a gig for many weeks. He and I have been through the fire together and he always gives me a new perspective to chew on. I look forward to the inspiration. One little problem though, I'm not inspired at all. I have not sung since a memorial service I did in El Paso before I returned home. I have no issue singing at funerals. I've done it since I was 15. In college I was on the funeral list at the local funeral home. Many people want music at a service and don't have have musicians in their lives so they rely on the home to find someone. Therein comes the list. Often times I would sing from the back of the room and not even meet the family at hand. I knew the impact the music had on them and it was my great pleasure to contribute, even just a bit, to easing their pain on one of the most bone breakingly difficult days of their lives.
I cannot seem to find my voice in all of the hullabaloo of recent days. It seems like an alien has taken up residence in my throat and someone else's tones are coming out of my mouth. My body feels tight and over inflated with air that I just can't seem to access. It's a frustrating feeling and yet I can't seem to DO anything about it. It is what it is. I'm looking for that warm blanket of a friend to emit it's familiar stream of melody and it seems she has left me high and dry. What comes out is a passionless product of years of study and discipline. Utterly under passioned and flat in intent.
As quickly as the ennui has settled in is how quickly it can change to a little spark. Sometimes we have to trog through things to find that spark. Sometimes the spark is simply made by the friction of DOING that very thing we just cannot seem to find the inspiration to do. Dusting off the cobwebs and embracing the task, no matter how lackluster the first result, the hope of finding ones voice again is too precious to let drop. Whether your voice is in your writing, or calling a friend you haven't spoken too in a while, asking for that promotion or just trying not to hate your job. Slugging it out with the blue meanies is a an important part of existence. It adds those little notches to our heavenly crowns giving us the opportunity to truly be inspired and most noble of all....to inspire others.
I once had someone tell me to "sing the color of the sky". Well, today it is a clarion blue and I will do my best to try to infuse that majestic color into my meager squeaks today. After all it says to "Make a joyful noise unto the Lord"....not make a beautiful well produced, perfectly placed and supported, mind blowing sound unto the Lord. So today I'll start with a few noises. Tomorrow I'll try to make a few more. My muse hasn't left me, she's just taking a vacation. I hope she arrives back fully rested with new energy and inspiration.
May your day be inspired dear friends!
Love,
~Mel
I cannot seem to find my voice in all of the hullabaloo of recent days. It seems like an alien has taken up residence in my throat and someone else's tones are coming out of my mouth. My body feels tight and over inflated with air that I just can't seem to access. It's a frustrating feeling and yet I can't seem to DO anything about it. It is what it is. I'm looking for that warm blanket of a friend to emit it's familiar stream of melody and it seems she has left me high and dry. What comes out is a passionless product of years of study and discipline. Utterly under passioned and flat in intent.
As quickly as the ennui has settled in is how quickly it can change to a little spark. Sometimes we have to trog through things to find that spark. Sometimes the spark is simply made by the friction of DOING that very thing we just cannot seem to find the inspiration to do. Dusting off the cobwebs and embracing the task, no matter how lackluster the first result, the hope of finding ones voice again is too precious to let drop. Whether your voice is in your writing, or calling a friend you haven't spoken too in a while, asking for that promotion or just trying not to hate your job. Slugging it out with the blue meanies is a an important part of existence. It adds those little notches to our heavenly crowns giving us the opportunity to truly be inspired and most noble of all....to inspire others.
I once had someone tell me to "sing the color of the sky". Well, today it is a clarion blue and I will do my best to try to infuse that majestic color into my meager squeaks today. After all it says to "Make a joyful noise unto the Lord"....not make a beautiful well produced, perfectly placed and supported, mind blowing sound unto the Lord. So today I'll start with a few noises. Tomorrow I'll try to make a few more. My muse hasn't left me, she's just taking a vacation. I hope she arrives back fully rested with new energy and inspiration.
May your day be inspired dear friends!
Love,
~Mel
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Home-ish
The concept of home is a flexible one with me. Because of the amount of travel that I do and my transient lifestyle my idea of home as a place is not necessarily the norm. When I started my professional career I thought carrying many items with me would make me feel more at home. Candles, pictures, a ridiculous amount of wardrobe changes and kitchen utensils were standards in my kit. Ironically these things just weighed me down and the introduction of weight limits and luggage fees truly limited my material baggage. But in all seriousness I've carried tailored suits across the country that I've never worn, many candles were left behind unburned and more than one kitchen knife has found it's way into a hotel trash bin. I've been a roadie for almost 30 years. Between choir tours, speech tourneys, vocal competitions and the like I've logged in hundreds of hours of suitcase time. When I was in high school the only extras I travelled with were my pillow and a bag of cheetos...thats it. Maybe a book or two and my walkman if I was feeling luxurious. I learned early on that if you bring it, you have to carry it!
Now that I'm home from Texas and my life has been altered I'm having a hard time finding my home. I adore my apartment. I've lived here 10 years and Ron and I have painstakingly painted, molded, furnished and positioned ever little detail. It is a haven, a safe calm place in a very frenetic city. We can easily host an elegant cocktail party or a superbowl beer blowout without much effort. I have a closet filled with beautiful clothes, a desk stocked with fresh supplies, and a down comforter to entice me. There are family pictures around the room and relics from my travels and that of my family to remind me of the amazing times I've experienced. I'm surrounded by the things and people that I love.
Yet, I feel like I've left something unpacked. I'm not quite settled in. It's true that I have been in and out of my apartment with very little turn around time and one of the tell tale signs of this are the many ziploc bags filled with toiletries that I have stashed in every little corner of my room! Damn that TSA with their 3 oz restrictions! So, I've spent the past few days consolidating 3 oz moisturizers and trying to find my way in my new life. It sounds a bit dramatic but with the events of the past year I'm left depleted and a bit lost. On the other hand, I've never felt stronger. Anyone who survives any difficult hurtles understands that strength can be gleaned from said struggle. But I'm out of sorts. It's as if little elves ventured into my closet and altered everything by just a few centimeters here and there. Just enough to create an unease without any perceptible differences. Are these jeans really this short? Were these heels always this high? I'm sure I put this pair of tights on before without the run in them. The day to day adjustments are draining and my new view of the world is a bit at odds with the Melissa of one year ago.
Maybe it is a sign that it's time to change. To embrace the concept of the fluidity of life and relish it. Making lifestyle changes that will only benefit me in my future. Savoring that cup of coffee or the sound of the one million birds that have seemed to take up residence in the tree right outside my bedroom window. There are very few certainties in life and change is one of them. I know that I have the choice to embrace said variances with the grace and ease that I learned from my Mother or to go kicking and screaming into the abyss. Well, when you put it that way I suppose I don't have much of a choice at all, do I?
~Mel
Now that I'm home from Texas and my life has been altered I'm having a hard time finding my home. I adore my apartment. I've lived here 10 years and Ron and I have painstakingly painted, molded, furnished and positioned ever little detail. It is a haven, a safe calm place in a very frenetic city. We can easily host an elegant cocktail party or a superbowl beer blowout without much effort. I have a closet filled with beautiful clothes, a desk stocked with fresh supplies, and a down comforter to entice me. There are family pictures around the room and relics from my travels and that of my family to remind me of the amazing times I've experienced. I'm surrounded by the things and people that I love.
Yet, I feel like I've left something unpacked. I'm not quite settled in. It's true that I have been in and out of my apartment with very little turn around time and one of the tell tale signs of this are the many ziploc bags filled with toiletries that I have stashed in every little corner of my room! Damn that TSA with their 3 oz restrictions! So, I've spent the past few days consolidating 3 oz moisturizers and trying to find my way in my new life. It sounds a bit dramatic but with the events of the past year I'm left depleted and a bit lost. On the other hand, I've never felt stronger. Anyone who survives any difficult hurtles understands that strength can be gleaned from said struggle. But I'm out of sorts. It's as if little elves ventured into my closet and altered everything by just a few centimeters here and there. Just enough to create an unease without any perceptible differences. Are these jeans really this short? Were these heels always this high? I'm sure I put this pair of tights on before without the run in them. The day to day adjustments are draining and my new view of the world is a bit at odds with the Melissa of one year ago.
Maybe it is a sign that it's time to change. To embrace the concept of the fluidity of life and relish it. Making lifestyle changes that will only benefit me in my future. Savoring that cup of coffee or the sound of the one million birds that have seemed to take up residence in the tree right outside my bedroom window. There are very few certainties in life and change is one of them. I know that I have the choice to embrace said variances with the grace and ease that I learned from my Mother or to go kicking and screaming into the abyss. Well, when you put it that way I suppose I don't have much of a choice at all, do I?
~Mel
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