daring to smile (sometimes)

I'm here and you're here
Let's have a fling, dear
Well start a new thing, dear,
And giggle for years

My hand and your hand
Are waving like mad, dear
so let's take a stand, dear
and let go of our fears

Perhaps some sad tears, dear, will follow
they do, don't you know, in our sorrow

But smiles like cracks
like rays, to relax
the harsh sadness of life
let's throw off the strife
and giggle our sternness away

I'm here and you're here
Let's try and sing, dear
We'll start a new thing, dear,
and patch these cracked notes

My hand and your hand
Are now here to stay, dear
Let's start a new day, dear
and cover our eyes

Will wish just as hard, dear, as ever we could
And dare to believe what we probably should

The smiles, through cracks
Become rays to relax
The harsh sadness of life
Let's throw off these stripes
and giggle our worries away

wistful christmas wishes

I want the smell of pine trees and musty old barns
Pretty ribbons to tempt my fingers to tie them
A wreath, incomplete, held in place by the hands
Of a forested friend

I want snow in the grass
That is still green, but stunted by the cold
Reminding that the winter's not forever
That someday we'll have different sorts of weather

I want winds frozen by Hell's Gates
I want mountains, Gandalf, mountains
And a snowy, ill-timed hike
With an itchy hat

My snowboots are in hiding
My long underwear's residing
In a cold garage, alone.
They're staying chilled this winter
but they're clamoring for home.

a short listing

Things to do with my life:

-Drink coffee
-Give/get smooches
-Give/get hugs
-Read books
-Listen to music
-Make music
-Pay t3h billz
-Go on walks
-Enjoy the seasons
-Love people
-Pet kitties and puppies

...to be continued.

Falling

You sneaky leaves, I'm catching on
To your attempt to flatter me

The colors, all so vibrant, that you flaunt
Are soothing sights to see

And don't pretend your innocence;
I've caught all those autumnal scents
Of rot and wet and loveliness
That follow in your footsteps


You sneaky trees, I'm catching on
To your attempt to captivate

Your branches slowly paring down
Towards nudity, they herald late
(The end of summer sun)

And don't pretend you didn't know
Your limbs are starting all to show
I saw you lately, letting go
Of all the leaves that hid you so
Effectively

Assembly

These scissors are indelicate things
Ignoring the fine lines I suggest that it follows
Interpreting sideways and frontwards, I swallow
It's decisions
As only a helpless man can

A divot;
It's only
A trivial thing
But only perfection
Not constant correction
Produces
The product
That I want to see

missing

Missoula and Seattle and Tacoma and the mountains,
You places that I'd fit in my pocket, if I could.
The Sound and the Clark Fork and and the rivers that come off it,
The waters that I'd love to linger near
Are sadly far, and far away from here.

 The people that live in and near around you
Are dearer than the features of this coast:
The rolling hills and fluffy trees,
Mosquitos, spiders, fruit flies, bees,
Are much more prevalent than I expected;
The bugs, they bug enough to misdirect a tired rhyme.

 You, and you, and you, and you, I miss.

Wandering

Let's follow these tracks wherever they may lead
Go, my roaming Romeo
Don't return to what you know
You told me once of how you loved adventure and misdeeds
Run and live where they can't find
We'll find ways to pass the time
Eventually

Feeling something

Well, the inevitable has come to pass: though I spent nearly three years resisting it, I must finally throw up my hands and say, "alright, Missoula. You got me." I have become attached to this town. Its rivers, its mountains, its flora, its people. The talk of fires and forests and hiking. The floating and beer drinking and enjoying life. The music. The music I make in it. And the sun (it does amazing things here). I realize now, I think, what happens to people in this place.

I'm realizing that I'll be leaving things that I really and truly love. Playing with Vanguard. Singing songs with people I know. Doing it in the environment that Missoula provides.

And this, of course, would happen right as I'm about to leave. I'm not ready to be torn up by the roots. Because they've been extending deeper down without my noticing. I've been distracted by the good times that cultivate those things, I guess.

Maybe this is good. Maybe this is okay. What did my friend Lindsey say? "I want to feel like I've lived in a place. I want to feel like I'm leaving part of myself behind when I go." Something like that. It scares me to death, that idea. But I suppose at this point I won't be able to help it.

I was going to title this post "feeling sorrowful," and then "feeling alive," and then "feeling wary..." But it's all of those, and more. It's a huge flood of emotions: happiness, sadness, gratefulness, silliness, loneliness, vibrancy, confusion, terror, contentedness... and so many other things. I'm scared to move. Not only because I'm going to New York City (which is terrifying in itself), but because I will be leaving Missoula. Missoula feels safe now. Which I suppose is reason enough to make my way into the rest of the world.

Pandora just threw Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide" at me. How fitting. "Can I handle the seasons of my life?" it asks. I know I can. And I will succeed. I'm confident in what I'm doing. I'm excited and thrilled by the possibilities the City holds. I just need to break out beyond this beautiful, endearing, last best place. I'm pretty sure it will be here waiting for me when I need it.

Futile

Rhyming and not quite rhyming. I call it stylistic. Or something.

It creeps ever closer

And so. We are moving towards New York... in that jobs are being sought, visits are being made, plans are just (just) starting to become mapped out in our minds. And it's so loose and looming that everything seems intimidating. Even thinking about it is intimidating. But the summer is approaching. Soon, I won't have the excuse of school to hide behind. Soon, I'll have to apply to every job I can, treating each application as if it could be the diamond in the dunghill of resumes these people have to sift through. It's exhausting to work up that much fake-excitement about being an administrative assistant. Even if I am applying for a job at Carnegie Hall.

Conveniently, I have some wonderful references. Thankfully, I have a supportive family and husband. Sadly, I'm starting to realize that leaving Missoula means leaving Missoula. And all the people I know and love. I actually made friends here at some point along the way...

I've been trying to remind myself (when I forget) that I should enjoy every moment for what it is. The rain. The time with friends. Times I get to be by myself. Times I get to walk outside. Taking in those moments is a big part of being content, I think. But it is hard to avoid the feelings of impending sadness. They say, "you're leaving soon! Look at how much you'll miss!" and then I wallow. (Isn't that a great word? wallow. Like slopping through big puddles of mud. In rain boots. Kind of fun, if you think about it.)

But why, oh why, wouldn't I instead spend my time enjoying the next few weeks, months, whatever we have, in the space I'm in right now? Why can't those thoughts be a motivating factor, reminding me to really enjoy the moment? Let's mark a turning point here. Time for enjoyment, not wallowing. Even if it is a fun word.

but it's still pretty

This April snow is dampening my mood
I don't appreciate the way it moves around the skies like it belongs

And now it's blanketing its wet self on the ground (which willingly accepts its fate)
It's Easter eve tomorrow, but the dogwood's blooming late
It can't accommodate
This April snow.

Impatience

Y'know what I want to be able to say?

"New York-based."

Doesn't it sound lovely?

It's a tantalizing thought, taunting me towards the trophy my thinkings are tightly twirling around. (sucky alliteration! woo!)

Also, holy crap Briana Cowlishaw. I'm infatuated. I want all of her music. And her song writing abilities. Maybe I could steal them.

feels like high school

Around 'bout the sun my mind wanders
Tendrilling thoughts
drilling 'mongst the forgotten light's fingers

Haven't you heard of the way that light peers around corners
It's really quite awful,
it fills quite a lot of
the space that it doesn't intend to

(I see you.)

maybe it's remembering

I'm feeling the need to be active. To get out. To do something. Something like yoga by the river (not sure exactly how that would work out... where do you lay your mat?). Something like hiking the M. Something like climbing a tree. The birds are up there. I like trees too. Why shouldn't I join them?

I have the urge to run and fall and scrape my hands on the sidewalk. I want bruises and cuts and scabs from playing outside and maybe getting into that space behind the shed that's a little too gross and dirty and dangerous. I want the wind knocked out of my belly because I accidentally let go of the branch I was swinging on and fell to the ground stomach-first. Perhaps I just want to be 6. This is a possibility.

I want to unleash my energy on the world around me until I'm spent. And then I will go back to being responsible and rational and reserved. But I want some moments where I can be a chicken with my head cut off. Please?

Also, I wish I could have a spring break, too. Harrumph.

Academic Flashback

Do normal people get the urge to write philosophical/musicological commentary on social issues? Just curious.

Because I've been thinking a lot recently about a few things. Like...
Jazz as popular music
The role of jazz in the institution
The creativity of individuals ("finding your own voice")
The evolution of jazz
Jazz as historical music
The role of art in popular music (or, the role of art towards the public)

Mainly, today it struck me that the institutionalization of jazz (i.e., how we now treat it in the classroom like we treat classical music: as something to be studied and taught in an academic manner) might have begun the stifling of jazz as popular music. And because we have this "institutionalized" view of jazz, perhaps we're not as open to the way in which it is evolving in the modern world. This could be wildly off the mark. But it's just a thought.
And on a related note, I don't feel that students of jazz have been able to be sufficiently creative because of the way they are introduced into a rigid system that says "this is jazz." They aren't encouraged to find their own voice (but teachers don't realize this, I think). They're encouraged to mimic other voices (transcription, transcription, transcription). Not that that's bad. And I don't think the intent is to stifle. But after being told to mimic exactly what "the greats" have done, students fall into the trap of idolizing their favorite artists and aren't focused on becoming individual artists themselves.
However, maybe that is just my excuse for not becoming obsessed with certain artists like other people do. Or for being lazy about transcription. I don't know.

But the question, I think, is what are we supposed to do with jazz? Where is it going? Where are WE going as jazz musicians? Are we learning things that are relevant to our careers as musicians...?

Also, where is the meeting point for intellectual music and pop culture? What is the role of innovators like Philip Glass in popular music? Is there room for art, real art, in popular music? Can the general public be expected to listen to someone like Aaron Parks and like it? Should they? Or do we over-intellectualized music nerds want to think we're doing something "special" by making something that is highly inaccessible? Is there value in making something in such a narrowly understood niche? Should good art be accessible, categorically? Oh, the questions of modern culture!
(I took a philosophy class on aesthetics. You'd think I would have concrete opinions about things like this.)

Anyways. I blame a lot of these thoughts on Robert Glasper and Esperanza Spalding,who are trying to do fantastic but also popular things with jazz. And I think this is incredibly interesting. Whether or not they are successful... I suppose that remains to be seen.

Hm. All these ideas and questions are bouncing around in my head... I suppose I'll have to keep thinking and exploring.  Who knew the I-need-to-write-a-paper urge would follow me around after I quit real school.

Longing

This slight change in temperature has kick-started my warm-weather longing.
I am ready for sandals. And sunshine. And shorts, skirts, and tank tops. Not to mention swimming, floating, and eating ice cream in sundresses.
I am especially ready for the way the sun shines through a canopy of maple leaves in the early afternoon during the summer. That sun-in-the-middle-of-the-sky sort of dappled light is one of my favorite things in the world.

In the absence of these things, however, I will be going out this weekend to buy some tan-in-a-bottle. For some reason, I feel like this will console my summer-hungry feelings.
You see, I don't mind being a white, pasty Montanan in the wintertime. But when I get this warm-weather longing, I am no longer satisfied with my ghostly pallor. Since the sun is obviously not providing an adequate amount of toast-age, I will be turning to my local drugstore for some skin color satisfaction. And this will give me just enough of a glow that I will feel at least marginally satisfied. It will be a reminder that summer is coming. And that reminder will be "good enough."

Y'know what else I'll be doing this weekend? Probably making this baked spinach. (I just started exploring Smitten Kitchen, and holy cow, am I enamored.)

On another random note: my tea bag brought me this message this morning. "Grace brings contentment," it says. A good thing to remember.

Lastly, TGIF.

It's a Passion

I've said it before and I'll say it again: I love music. I'm particularly enjoying Cyrille Aimée today.

Check out "Dindi" on her bandcamp, and "Sunny Days" on her SoundCloud.

Inspiration

I bought this necklace a few weeks ago to remind myself where I'm headed. It struck me as kind of cheesy, but I knew as soon as I saw it that I needed to have it. Interestingly, I feel like my practice has picked up since I've been wearing it. Turns out I'm not immune to kitschy inspiration.

Other interesting tidbits: it's a scrabble tile (I'm playing a bit of a game with life at the moment) and the letter on the back is an E (for East Coast, eh?).

ode to coffee

Oh coffee, you silky brown goddess of the morning. How I love your gently insistent aroma when I pour water over your grounds, and the taste of you as you slip over my tongue. You wake my senses to the morning world around me. As the sun's rays creep over the mountains, you creep through my body, warming, illuminating, gently whispering that it is indeed a new day.

Oh, coffee. You remind me that simple pleasures are the best.

warming

February sun, your vibrant rays

Your gently rising arc

Entice my fleece-bound layers 'part.