Once more, with feeling

I'm studying voice, and I've reached the hard part: my teacher wants me to sing with feeling.

You see, I'm a living, breathing, walking contradiction. I'm a very emotional person who presents a very even-keeled view of myself to the world; I've spent the past 50-plus years making my shell stronger, smoother, and harder. I don't share my feelings; I'm calm. I'm rational. I handle things.

I do my feeling in private.

How can this be the next step? It's not fair. I love the technical aspects of singing: it's fun to find the perfect pitch, to feel my voice resonating with the guitar or the piano, to make the sound waves match up; I like my breathing exercises; I like learning where my lips, tongue, epiglottis and breath need to go to make a good sound; I revel in warm-up exercises and am startled when I lay claim to a new, even higher, note. I'd be perfectly comfortable staying in this analytical phase forever.

But no.

Apparently, music is about feelings. About sharing feelings. About communicating feelings. I'm having trouble with that; I'm not sure I remember how to do that; I know I'm not comfortable doing that.

But I'm going to try.

Step one is this post; you're not only getting my confession; you're getting a piece of my abstract art. I loved painting abstracts; I loved shutting off my brain and letting my emotions fill the canvas. It was the one thing I let myself do that was completely irrational. But even that became too difficult for me; I set down my paints over 20 years ago.

Today I thought I'd try an abstract in Photoshop. It may not taste like paint, but the feeling is still there.

Remembering why I do this

Here's a shot of my bead mat, as it is this very moment. As you can see, I'm building some components; I don't know yet if they will turn into a bracelet or a necklace, I'm just playing with shiny things today.

I've been at loose ends this summer; I haven't been my usual, driven self. You may have noticed that I haven't written many new tutorials lately; I just can't seem to get myself settled down to draw diagrams, or write directions. I have several projects waiting to be written up, but i've found a million excuses to do something - anything - else. When my resistance to something is this high, I've always found that it's best not to force it; time and tides have a way of coming around again, and I'm sure that one of these days I will wake up and begin writing and drawing diagrams like a madwoman.

But not today. Today I am playing with shiny things.

It's been a rough year; mortality has reared its ugly head, and I've had to face the fact that things change and I won't live forever. Not that I really ever thought I would, but it's just not as abstract a concept as it used to be. No matter how I slice it, I'm in the second half, or maybe even the last quarter. This year, I committed myself to eating properly and exercising; I know it won't make me immortal, but I'm hoping that being in better shape physically will keep me from facing some of the physical problems and limitations I've seen recently in the people I love.

I want to keep playing for a long time yet.

That's why I make jewelry; I like to play. I like to experiment; I like to build things. I like to put beads together, one at a time, and I love shiny, sparkly things. Today I'm playing with gold-plated Delicas, rivolis, an exorbitant number of bitty little Swarovski crystals, and faceted ruby rondelles. You know: all the good things that I haven't used because they were expensive and precious.

I'm using them today.

Because life is short, and everything can all change in an instant, I'm going to start using up all the expensive, too-good-to-use beads.

This is my time.

Well, it's been 7 months

When I started, I believed that I should be where I wanted to be st six months; I know lots of people who've lost more weight than I have in this amount of time. I'm feeling like an underachiever, and I hate that. I want to have all of the excess weight gone now.

I still have to really try to say something nice when I look at a photo of me. I'm very harsh with myself; I know that, and I'm trying to get better, but my first reaction is crushing.

I still look as huge as a house to myself.

For that reason, you're not getting a close-up, clear photo of me in my workout clothes today; you're getting the artsy, darker, smaller, looking-into-the-sun-so-you-can't-really-see-me-very-well one. Isn't the garden pretty?

I sometimes wonder if I will ever feel good when I look at a picture of myself. Oddly enough, the mirror is starting to be my friend; I don't hate what I see in the mirror anymore, so that's a step in the right direction. I'm hoping that it really is true that the camera adds fifteen pounds, and that what I see in the mirror is more truly a reflection of how I really look.

I know I'm smaller. I've lost more than 10 inches in each of the crucial bust/waist/hips measurements, and my legs and arms are also much slimmer and trimmer than they were six months ago. But I'd still like to lose another 5-6 inches from each spot, especially in the bust; I tell myself that my big bust is the reason I look so huge in photos, and it might actually be true.

It's frustrating sometimes, but I'm still at it.

Nice way to start the day

I spent the morning out on the porch, stripping off lemon verbena leaves, loading up the dehydrator, and feeding the blue jay peanuts.

Sometimes I really love my life.

Yes, it's a lot of work to grow and process so much of our own food; some of the tasks are back breaking, and performed under the hot sun, but some of them are totally delightful. This morning was one of the most delightful ones; I took my dehydrator trays out onto our lovely shady back porch and slowly filled up all six with lemon verbena leaves. In between stripping off the leaves, I tossed peanuts to our resident blue jay.

We haven't taken the time to tame this one; this has been an extraordinarily busy summer. But he knows how to call to us when he wants peanuts, and we toss them out for him. He has no problem swooping in and picking them up; he hides them all over the yard, mostly in the lawn.

Next winter, when I'm sipping hot lemon verbena tea, I'll remember this morning.

Lost . . . and found

In many ways, this has been a year of loss for me; some of the losses have been necessary and good, some of them have not.

I was raised to believe that "no one wants to hear about your troubles;" and while I do believe in the power of positive thinking, and the importance of attitude, I have also come to the realization that there are times when I need the comfort of knowing that people love me, even when I'm hurting and sad. I don't think I'm alone in that; I think we all need to be reassured that we're still loved, even when we're not particularly lovable.

"She's just doing that to get attention. Don't give it to her."

How many time have we heard that, or said it ourselves? How many times have we felt resentful towards the people who are doing that to us - or hurt by the people who think we're doing it to them? How can we tell the difference between a play for attention, or a real need for love?

I'm good at asking questions; I don't have any answers. But, lately, I've been coming to the conclusion that it's important to honor our struggles. It's important to validate other people's efforts, and to mourn their losses with them. We all need to be told that it's okay to hurt; that we don't have to keep all the pain inside.

Pain happens; hurt happens; loss happens. I think we need to let ourselves pay attention to that; we don't have to give ourselves over to it, and we shouldn't let other people's trouble overwhelm our lives, but if we can stop for a moment, look someone in the eye, and let them know that we care, we should.

I know how much that has meant to me this year.