Wednesday, June 18, 2008


Yesterday was my first harp lesson in over a month. I've missed them. I really need another pair of eyes and ears (an experienced set of eyes and ears) to help me identify those areas where I can improve. It's critical as a harpist. Most people, bless them, are so enchanted with the sound and the aesthetics of the instrument that they rarely identify poor playing. You have to be a harpist in order to appreciate the work another harpist has put into his or her presentation.

So Carolyn, with all her praise and sharp instruction, is my best asset for where I want to go. We're both acclimated to the charms of the harp. We're far less likely to be blinded by its intrinsic novel quality. We can examine my abilities for what they are, then find ways to improve them so that I can become far more able.

It feels marvelous to be drifting away from simply spending my time dreaming and wanting to really practicing. Work will set you free. (I feel less apprehensive about using those exact words in English rather than German).

My teacher lives literally right around the corner from both The London Market and Elizabeth's English Tea Shop and Bakery in Salt Lake City. I went into The London Market to treat myself to some chocolate digestives (they're cookies, not laxatives), some blackcurrant jam, and a bag of sherbet lemons. I had the wildest flashback as I was walking out the door. The door surface is covered in magnets of Underground and London street signs of various sizes. Then I could hear Joanna Lumley's voice so clearly in my head, saying, "The next station is South Kensington. Change for the District and Circle lines to other destinations. Please mind the gap." The euphoric wave of memory was most welcome and pleasurable.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

Near Comatose in the Morning

Death. I'm so put out. I wanted to keep the "morning" thing going. For two weeks in London, I was in the habit of going to bed early and getting up typically at about six. I loved that. I have never been a morning person, but that kind of habit, once developed, was heaven. I had the most quiet and uplifting hours of the day all to myself.

Now, this morning, I'm up early for work (we open at six), and I feel like I've been shot in the head at close range. Damn. Maybe I just need another week or two of visiting places that all close at five to get myself back into the divine routine. I really hate that "The Golden Girls" doesn't come on until 11. I'm sure that doesn't encourage my early bedtime much.

I'm trying to find a comfortable sleeping position in these office chairs. There's not really anything to support the head, so I find it's more comfortable to sit crooked in the chair and just let all my limbs hang dead over the side. It works, until someone comes in and I actually do look like I've been shot in the head at close range.

I bought a journal yesterday. A small one with lovely flourishes and ornamentation. I can't stand that I spent $15.95 on a blank book when I can make such beautiful ones myself. But I just won't write in my own. I've tried it. I can bookbind so beautifully--this, I know. But writing in a book I've made myself has just about as much appeal as eating a meal that you've made yourself; someone else's always tastes better.

Half of the reason my trip was so lovely was because I wrote everything. I didn't have to keep some enigmatic collection of feelings and thoughts in my head. I got to make them real by writing them. Aside from its utility, I don't care for it much. It just takes too long, and my hand can't keep up with my head. But like it or not, it's a cunning little exercise that makes my life better. I can spend $15.95 in a heart beat in order to improve and bring order to my life.

I detest infatuations. They ruin everything. I love a nice, peaceful, uninterrupted life. You really like someone, and it's all turned on its head. Most people like to run with their emotions, feed into their intrigue. Me? I'd just like to get back to my "To Do" list. Passion is so unproductive.

Friday, June 6, 2008

My procession...

Do you ever think about what it might be like to enter heaven? I'm not talking about feelings; we all know that it will be bloody wonderful. I'm talking about what it will look like.

I really hope heaven is plastic--that it becomes whatever people want it to be. I plan my own ascension just as one girl might plan her own wedding. I want it to have the feel and majesty of a stately procession or a coronation. I want to walk through rows and rows of gothic arches, as one might find in a cathedral. I want to be wearing white, naturally. And for kripes sake, I don't want my hair back. Heaven, to me, would simply be not having to shave my head. It will just stay shaved.

My sister had us siblings listen to some music in the car the other day when we were driving back from the airport in Texas. One of the songs was "Pie Jesu," a movement of Gabriel Faure's Requiem. Slow. Peaceful. It made the soul stand still in reverence. I thought to myself, "This is what I want sung as I meet the Lord."

Now, I just need to decide what we'll all have for refreshments afterward.

Big Headed Generation

So, my aunt says that technology has made us arrogant. We're diluted into the notion that the world is interested in our lives, our blogs, our Facebook and MySpace pages. Ouch! Two people at the most read my blog--this I know. Even most of my own siblings couldn't care less, each of them having browsed through my postings maybe once, only picking up on anything every third sentence. This I am okay with. But I've been tearing myself apart, trying to figure out if I've ever "diluted" myself into thinking that people are checking my blog every morning to see what Aaron's up to. Nobody wants to feel that stupid.

I hope I'm one of the people that just blogs anyway. I have a co-worker who is about to give birth soon. I don't check her blog every day. I wonder how few or how many people read it. Even if no one did, it's one of the most beautiful blogs. She periodically writes letters to her unborn daughter, mostly talking about her baby kicking, straining her system, her preparations for the birth, and how she is so excited to meet her daughter that she can hardly stand it. If no one read any of that, she'd blog anyway. And it'd still be one of the most beautiful blogs.

My boss is about to leave soon. She's one of the most wonderful and well-rounded people I know. If I were ever going to have children, I'd want a daughter just like her--happy, kind, and always seeking for the wisest path. Her blog is just about the only way I'll be able to keep tabs on her and her family. Her blog is always a joy, filled with stories of her darling children, details on the progression of her and her husband's life and career, marvelously punctuated with moments of truth. If no one ever took the time to check in on her life, I hope she'd blog anyway. She needs to write such beautiful things.

Then, some people hardly write; they just post photos and videos. A former coworker of mine had twin boys last March (his wife had them, but he pays for them). They post photos and videos every now and then to keep their families updated. I'm so glad they have a blog. I never really had much to do with this former co-worker, so there's no way that I'd otherwise get to follow the growing up of two of the most precious little boys you've ever seen (no politeness, no exaggeration). If no one ever checked in to see how big those little squirts were getting, I don't know if they'd blog anyway.

Another co-worker of mine is bursting with ideas. He always keeps his mind working on what can be done to improve his life, improve the future for his family, and improve the nation and world. Not everyone agrees with his ideas, but he suggests them anyway. He blogs these ideas (just the one's that he doesn't have to worry about someone stealing) to get them down, out of his head. He lets his mind take him all of the good places that it wants to both in learning and creativity. With such a busy mind, he has to get these thoughts and ideas out. If no one cared to see what he was thinking or inventing, he'd blog anyway.

You see, no one wants to inconvenience someone else for a relationship. I often wonder how those are formed anymore because there's just not time. We all have a routine for surviving the day. We most of us have an adequate safety net built up for when things crumble. Parents are only called if something's wrong. Friends are invited to come around only when we're bored. Siblings are for birthdays and Christmas. Any more than this and you feel like you're intruding. No one wants to ask for time anymore because we know from experience that everyone's just too busy trying to get ahead. We're working like heathens to get to a place where our "life can finally begin."

I'm glad people blog because I can still look in from time to time without taking away from what people want to do or who they want to be with most.

Me? I'll blog anyway.