Finished Tattoo

So, I forget about my blog these days. I have rhythms, I find, of being so thoroughly excited about my own life that I can just blog away. And there are other times when I feel like being semiprivate or blogging just becomes an irritating chore.

It didn't help my blog that we had the Internet taken away from us at work. Our performance was just too sad to merit priviledge. So, I didn't write or check blogs that often. Crystal dear, yours is always the exception; your readership is partly due to those amazingly cute little twits you're raising.

Now, I can read all of your blogs on my phone. God bless the 21st century!

My mom got to come for a visit this past week - the positive end of a trade-off from losing my Grandpa. The dear man - he passed away at 87 from renal failure. It wasn't totally unexpected, and it wasn't completely sudden. It was simply his time to move on. He provided his family the wonderful opportunity to gather together and share company without hard feelings.

And on Friday, I got my birthday gift. I don't turn 27 until later in the month, but my tattoo artist had an opening, and I had to take it. After a year of waiting, my family paid to have my tattoo finished. The guy did such an amazing job. See for yourself:





It's the absolute spitting image of my little boy. Marvelous!

--Blogged on the run using my mobile.

The State of the Onion

So, I had a this blog post. It was about starting lessons with the principal harpist of the Utah Symphony. I never followed up on it. I had my third lesson with her this afternoon. Let me tell
you how it's been.

I've been completely intimidated. A teacher is a deal-breaker; when you're looking at getting into a conservatory, you must have a teacher recommendation. If you don't, you will never be invited to audition. Looking like an idiot in front of your teacher will stop you dead in your plans in addition to bruising your ego. There's more at stake here.

In the very first lesson, we started changing everything about my technique. All my instruction so far has been in the Salzedo method. It seems to be the preferred method here in the US. But outside the US, people just don't use it that much. In the UK, people learn more of the Russian and French methods. So, that's how Louise plays, and she thought, just by looking at how I play that I might benefit from it.

Why am I telling you all this? It's changed everything. I was skidding on an oil slick (or so it felt like), and now everything has slowed way, way down while I rework all of the essentials. I can't just jump right into music like I thought I'd be able to, but these new approaches--I have absolutely no doubt--are going to make me a more efficient player. Yes!

What's my main concern? I just don't want to frusterate or bore the snot out of my new instructor. Tuesdays are days of fear; I never feel like I've practiced enough, and then I'm so sure she's going to drop me as quickly as she agreed to take me as a student.

But--good sign--she did give me pears from her tree in the backyard after this last lesson. Does that make us friends? And then, we started talking about "practice ruts." She said, "I know. I was practicing this piece we're doing with the symphony, and it felt like I was getting stuck. And I thought to myself, 'What would I tell Aaron to do at this point?'" Lovely! It made my day. It wasn't fake. It wasn't patronizing. It just made me really feel like her student, relationship solidified.

--Blogged on the run using my mobile.

Good Cop / Bad Cop

It seems to me that General Conference just ends up being one big game of "good cop/ bad cop"; one speaker makes you feel so marvelously encouraged about life, and you can bet that the very next one will give you a horrible tongue lashing. It's a dynamic that, quite frankly, makes me tired, and I end up falling asleep. I bet I only caught half of the talks. Leave your comments if you think that I missed anything particularly important.

I tend not to be as excited about Conference as most. I know that it's a thrilling time for everyone in my church--to hear worldwide leaders of our church speak to all twelve-some-odd-million at the same time. But for me, it's a reminder of my list of "nots." I already know what I should be working on. I know my own weaknesses very well. It never is a glorious help to hear about them again. It's like someone is standing over me, shaking their finger, saying, "Bad dog, bad dog, bad dog!!"

So, I look for lovely distractions during the tongue lashings (like blogging about Conference) while I wait for the "good cop's" turn to speak.

I think I'd be able to like this better if I were on my couch, wrapped completely up in a comforter, with a bowl of Blue Bell Rocky Road icecream.





--Blogged on the run using my mobile.

Immense Good Luck!

High as a friggen' kite, my friends! I am stoned on my good fortune. You know why? This lady returned my call while I was on my lunch break:

That's Lady Louise Vickerman, Principal Harpist for the Utah Symphony and Utah Opera. We had a lovely little chat this afternoon, and she agreed to take me on as a private student! Wild!

Not only is it amazing to get the chance to study with someone of such prestige, but she's Scottish; she's done all of the Associated Board of the Royal School of Music exams that I am getting ready to finish in March. From her experience, I'll have a marvelous chance of finishing with distinction (that's an actual grade, by the way).

I was so worked up before she called me back, and I was so sure that she just wouldn't take me. So it just makes the marvelous blessing of being taken on as a student that much sweeter! Everybody have a drink on me to celebrate! (But I will need receipts submitted if you expect to be reimbursed). And let's make all the drinks virgin; I don't want any pasted SOB's on my account.

Jamba Coupon

I offered, and no one took me up on it. It's buy one, get one free for kripes sakes. So rather than trying to email it to anyone that wants it, I decided to post it on my blog. Just print it out and take it in. I've done it four times now, so I know it works (just not at the one in the WILK). I'll delete this post after it expires.

Not in the mood

I'm really not in the mood to blog--ever. I used to be so good about writing, back when my life was interesting. Now when I go to work (which is the only place I have the internet), I just surf. A bleeding waste of time. I'm even betting that this post will remain unfinished, saved as a draft until I eventually delete it because I just completely lost interest. It's happened many a time before.

But I feel disappointed. I must write something on my blog to get people to visit. Otherwise, they won't get to see and enjoy my beautiful new layout that I spent so much time and energy on. I'm quite proud of it.

Water. They tell you to drink plenty of water in order to be healthy, but they don't tell you that you'll spend more time in the bathroom eliminating all of the liquids you don't need that you will spend actually living your life. If you get all of the water that your body needs, you will need a catheter in order to still lead a productive life.

I don't really like wearing bracelets, anklets, necklaces, bandannas, etc. The less crap I have hanging on my appendages, the better. However, my littlest sister, Robin, made me a simple little bracelet from hemp, and I love it. It's a precious part of my daily ensemble. And everyday, I wear Pitsol's puppy collar around my ankle. I will always make exceptions for lovely people and precious dogs.

Dreamweaver. I took a class in Adobe Dreamweaver so that I could build websites from scratch. I hate having to depend on these ruddy "website builders" that allow you to do only basic functions, never giving you the opportunity to make your website unique. Well, one of my supervisors at work heared that I knew a bit about Dreamweaver and solicited my help on rebuilding one of our operator resource pages. I knew everything. I was so pleased. I know this means nothing to most, but it made me happy--just like being a kindergardener, taking the milk money to the cafeteria and bringing all the milk back myself.

Music is hard, especially when you are trying to maintain a second instrument. I play the harp beautifully--not perfectly, but beautifully. I have progressed at an accellerated pace, and now I have a solid footing. I used to play the cello before I played the harp, and now (after three years) I've been practicing the cello regularly. Taking up a second instrument requires a hefty step-stool. Otherwise, there's no way to get off your high horse. By being very accomplished in one instrument, you are under the illusion that it will be very easy to pick up a second. Not so. You do have a handle on the rudiments of music, yes. But you still must teach your muscles to work in another way. It's a bit humbling, so it must be good for me.

I have this little disease. It think that the techical term is avarus sapius, but in laymans terms, it's called greed. You see, it doesn't really matter how much I have, I always seem to want more. My family has this example: we would always say "If we only had a bigger house, there wouldn't be such a mess everywhere. We'd have a place for everything." At the time, we were living eight people to a 1,2oo sq. ft. house. But the Roundys (a family in our church) had a huge house, and it was always a mess. It just goes to show you, more doesn't mean better. You'll still have the same ruddy problems as when you had less. The solution? Buddhism teaches that one must modify their wanting. My intent is to apply that that principle by finding fulfillment in doing, not having. And so far, I'm losing. Any ideas?

A time to blog...

So, do we like my new layout? I do. I'm so turned on (creatively--let's not have dirty minds here) by my new layout that I thought I'd actually write something. After all, blogs are not for looking at but for reading. Let's see how I do after three months of not having written anything.

I found that I only ever write what's on my mind if I'm interested in what's on my mind. No self-obsession = infrequent posts. When life is just life, I write nothing. That sort of builds this expectation that life has to be like a movie. How often do you see someone sit down on the toilet with their crossword in a movie? Never. Not because it's inappropriate but because it's boring. Everyone wants shooting and love-making--nothing in between.

So, the time since my last post has seemed like three months worth of "toilet-sitting," except for these highlights:

I got to go home for a day or two. My little boy is just as slobbery as ever. And the other doggy is warming up to me as well. Toward the end of my stay, all I was good for was a vigorous scratch. I would come outside, the pooches would come to the door to greet me, and then they would turn over on their backs and paw at the air until I started scratching.

He has such a big, flat tongue that when he goes to lick you, you get slapped in the face. He's the most awkward and precious dog.

I try to play dead, but he never believes me. He can't smell rigor mortis, so he just sniffs and licks my face until I get up and scratch him.

I'm tired of writing already. More later, I guess