Wednesday, January 19, 2011

He who sings....

Scares away his woes. -Cervantes

 When I sing, it tends to not scare away not only my woes, but also any man, woman, child, animal, or unbroken piece of glass within earshot.

Which can be a pain in the rear. I mean, sitting in the car humming along to the radio is fun... Until the driver and other passengers turn the volume up in order to tune me out. Or when my parents say, "Well, you are good at some things... Like reading. But music, you should probably just leave alone." Or when my roommates start singing and playing guitar and sounding beautiful, and I'm sitting off to the side, feeling foolish and getting more cranky by the second.

So when hannaHRose pulled out the bass a few days ago and started strumming on it, and I saw that it was something I thought I could maybe do, I was intrigued.

I'm not someone who asks for help willingly, and I'm not very teachable. (I'm working on it.) So... I was NOT willing to ask hannaHRose to teach me.

Until, that is, I tried to Google it. And realized that reading bass tabs is absolutely ridiculous.

I gave in and asked. And discovered that hannaHRose is a very good teacher, if and when I allow myself to be taught.

So, I can offically (kind of, anyway) play "Seven Nation Army" on the bass.

My left pointer finger is purple, and I can feel my pulse beating in each of my fingertips.

And yet... Even as my brain is telling me that I won't ever want to pick up the bass again, the sense of accomplishment I have right now is reminding me that I will do it tomorrow. And probably the next day. And maybe the next.

Until either I fail miserably enough at musical talent that I want to beat the bass in... Or, I semi-master it and discover that maybe, somewhere, there is a musical gene in me.

I had a solo in this choir concert; there was a slight issue with my voice coming through the mic, which they conveniently "forgot" to turn on. Also, I don't know what's going on with this face, but this is the only picture that exists; I think all the others got deleted because of the painful memories.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

All women become like their mothers.

That is their tragedy. No man does. That's his. -Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Ernest

I've been watching Lizzie McGuire recently. Growing up we didn't have cable, and I don't think I was allowed to watch that show anyway... But every other girl around my age learned some all-important life lessons from Lizzie and her animated other self back in the early 2000's. In every episode, in less than 20 minutes, Lizzie learns how valuable her friendships are, that her parents truly love her, but sometimes screw up anyway, that she is an asset to the rest of the world- even if her world only exists within her school and family.

As I've watched Lizzie interact with her mom (who is kind of a nut-job), and the similarities between them, I've also been noticing the differences. And I realized something.

Yes, Lizzie is like her mom. But she is not her mom.

I'll say it again.

The lesson that I've learned from Lizzie McGuire is that I am not my mother.

Don't get me wrong- I love my mom. She's awesome and has done the best she could with me and my little brother. She's an awesome cook, her baked goods could kill, she isn't afraid of what people think and speaks her mind.

And I have grown up my entire life thinking I have to be all of that, just like her.

And being sorely disappointed.

I can cook and bake, but more often than not, it comes out as a disaster that I don't want to let anyone touch. I am so scared of what people think of me and if they're judging me that I struggle to not spend all of my time trying to not act like someone else, but just accept myself. I don't speak my mind, but rather tend to stay quiet and pretend that I agree with everything that is going on.

I realized... I am not my mother, and I'm not supposed to be. My family, my friends, my future husband- none of them look down on me for it, nor are they constantly comparing me to her.

She is her, I am me, and life goes on.

First family picture.

At the 40th birthday party I planned for her

Saying good-bye right after helping me move into the House O' Bricks