Flower of the Night, #SoCS

This is the thing.

March has arrived and I am back to my regularly scheduled

Stream of Consciousness Saturday

after a busy couple of blogging months.

The heat seemed to be absent when I woke up earlier, but that’s all set right and so there’s no frozen fingers as I type this now.

I’ve decided to take a blogging break during the weekdays, to focus on some other writing (un-blog related) and for focusing on practicing my violin, which I have rented for the next two months. I begin lessons, officially, starting this Monday night.

I am working toward finishing my memoir. Also, I have the baseline for an essay topic for an online publication I’ve wanted to contribute to for a long long time. Come September will be ten years since my sister and I bought a house, with the help of our very generous parents. I think this should make an excellent subject. Next I must brainstorm further ideas.

I keep seeing publications I would like to contribute to, but I must prioritize and sort out what can be worked on first and what can wait. There are a few things, possibly in the works, in the early stages. I hate to jinx myself at all.

I am nervous about my violin lesson in a couple days time. I waltz around my kitchen, kind of like dancing as if nobody’s watching, but instead I’m holding my violin proudly. I stop for a brief moment to question the risk in doing this, as I could very well drop the instrument or whack it on a wall that I do not see.

Not my violin and so I slow myself down, curb my enthusiasm a little bit, but I hold the bow outstretched into the middle of the room. I don’t know what it is exactly, but something about holding both in my arms/hands just feels right. Holding a bow, I guess I can understand, to a point, how it must feel to hold a gun.

That’s a rather drastic statement for me to make, but the item I’m holding couldn’t wound or kill. Yet, I feel a strong sensation run through my arm, into my hand and the fingers I’ve likely placed wrongly in position.

🙂

I prefer to compare it to holding a wand, like I’m a character in one of Rowling’s Harry Potter novels. The bow chooses the player. When I hold it, I can detect its power at a deeper level, at the core of the bow in my hand, which can (if utilized in just the right way) produce beautiful sounds which is better known as music. Or, magic.

I attended a violin recital at the University of Western Ontario last night. It was not packed, as most attending may have been students. However, let’s face it, Friday night and most of them were out doing something a little more exciting.

Depends on with whom you’re posing just such a subjective question.

🙂

I liked that it wasn’t a crowded event and we got excellent parking. I sat in my seat and let the music take me away somewhere. I closed my eyes and let the two playing the violins and the piano accompaniment whisk me off into a dream-like state of bliss, all unsettled thoughts of US clown-like candidates forgotten for a time.

The violin players were a UWO music professor and a visiting musician, all the way from Brazil.

The first part was the three of them, then the piano was absent, and finally the guest played solo.

First half was sharper and I was transferred back to the mid-20th century. Some of the time I felt like I was an actress in a silent film, with violin as the soundtrack.

Then, I was in a Disney movie from the 40s or 50s. Perhaps I was little Bambi, being chased through the forest.

Next moment I was half expecting the “WEE…WEE…WEE” sound of the shower curtain being yanked aside, as Mrs. Bates began her wild slashing of poor, caught-off-guard Marion Crane.

At one point I heard someone in the audience clicking away, trying to get a few pictures for Instagram or Snapchat, but the professor immediately put a stop to that, with a stern reprimand and wave of her bow. Kids these days!

I was entirely unaware how one is to conduct oneself at a violin recital. Do I clap? When do I clap, if at all?

I was told to clap only when other people clapped first. No problem there. I did just that. I even heard a few little cheers, from someone behind me, but not sure that was ideal.

Then the player from Brazil stood up, speaking in his thick accent, and tried his best to explain the pieces he was about to finish off with. One, he said, was a piece really anyone could create. Perfect! That’s me.

I imagined, as he played, I composed it. I pictured myself up on that stage. I had listened to how the two violinists complimented one another in their playing. Fast paced. Slowed right down.

The last piece was called “Flower of the Night” and I tried to imagine, but all that came to mind was a scene from an Anne Rice novel.

His solo stuff felt much warmer, more romantic sounding, and I melted into my seat, eyes closed, and let the sound flow through me. I’ve never been to Brazil, but I felt as close as I may ever get, as he played his last notes.

I left giddy and inspired to keep trying. Likely not ever progressing to the level of those I heard last night. I continually ask myself and am asked what my eventual goal for learning to play violin is. I am thirty-two, to be honest, and I don’t intend to go pro. I just want to be able to close my eyes, hold that bow to those strings, and feel the music.

So what have I been up to? What am I up to really?

#SoCS

Oh, you know…little of this…little of that.

The Trouble With Being Real, #BeReal, #1000Speak

I usually do a

#1000Speak

topic reveal here, on my blog, a few days to a week before the 20th of every month. I didn’t do one for July.

Perhaps that’s because it is summertime and there’s a lot going on. It’s possible I forgot. Or, maybe, just maybe I couldn’t narrow down a topic.

This month’s subject is “acceptance” and I struggle to accept a lot of things, including myself, on a daily basis.

I am scared to let down my guard with people and in my own head. I don’t know what I deserve. I don’t know how to fully accept and embrace who I am, in this given moment in time.

It’s been a movement lately:

#BeReal,

In a world so quick to judge, just #BeReal,

and

The Village Needs To #BeReal

I am on the periphery of the physical stuff this is referring to. I don’t take selfies and I am not even on Instagram or Snapchat.

I include a photo when and where I can, here, but I don’t know how to embrace and accept myself, in these ways, when I can’t even see myself.

this photo is of brian, dad and you on the stairs in front of the apple.

I am not alone on this line of thinking. Here another visually impaired woman says it better, in one short blog post, than I probably will here:

A Thousand Words Are Worth More Than One Picture

I know acceptance must be a deeper thing than the physical and the visual. I guess I have an advantage, not to be distracted by the rest of it. I guess, but I don’t feel let off the hook – not really.

I am all about being real, as the hash tag prods. I don’t like anything I sense to be shallow or fake. I get very uncomfortable around such pretences and I tend to grow critical. I don’t like that I am so, but I guess we all are, in a way.

I want us all to be our authentic selves, but I can hardly not start with me.

I know I am genuine and all that, but how to accept who, what, and where I am, at this current moment, is the hardest of the hard tasks I ask myself to complete. Yes, I expect that I should complete it, but I know it’s the ultimate work-in-progress.

A lot of the blogging world can be unreal. It is a bunch of humans, but they are hiding behind their computers, fiercely typing away. Then, images are sent out into the world. Back to the blog to try and #BeReal for anyone who happens to read.

Any real connections that are made are usually far beyond me, but not always.

I don’t get distracted by the perfect beach photos plastered all over social media, of celebrities posing for the camera because it’s their job. I don’t know how to look like any spiffed-up version of myself. I don’t even know, from day to day, what I look like in my bathroom mirror.

I don’t wear makeup, not trying to impress anybody. I don’t wear it, because I am not afraid of stepping out in public with blotches and circles under my eyes. Or perhaps, I don’t know but that I should be afraid.

I don’t simply capture moments in time where all’s well. I come here to be as real as real can be. I wish I had more freedom in the rest of the world to do the same.

I wish I weren’t so paralyzed by fear and concern. I don’t accept this status, as it is. I won’t accept anything like what I have accepted in the past. I will be real with myself and anyone else who thinks they can handle it.

I think I can be me, whatever that is, and then I will attract what I put out into the universe.

Words are my most valuable tool in a world of photoshopped images. I can be real with words. I can write about the parts of myself I find hardest to accept and those I know full well are my greatest assets.

God grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change;
The courage to change the things I can;
And the wisdom to know the difference.

–Serenity Prayer