Friday, June 14, 2002

For some reason I've felt extraordinarily tired this week. There are all kinds of things floating around in my head that I mean to put here, but I haven't tied them down with words yet. Soon, soon.

Amanda Hope -- 11:40 PM (linkme)

(and as an afterthought, yes, it did feel rather uncouth to end such a nice evening by going to see Scooby Doo.)

Amanda Hope -- 11:39 PM (linkme)

Page-turning tonight, at Mrs. Goldberg's annual studio recital. I wasn't singing anything, of course, since I haven't been around, and I made no progress whatsoever with the teacher I had at Colgate. But yesterday at my voice lesson Mrs. Goldberg asked if I would be going to the recital, and as an afterthought, if it would be possible for me to turn pages for the accompanist. I'd turned pages once before, at a band concert when Mr. H arbitrarily asked me to do it thirty seconds before the chorus section of the concert began. So I said yes. It was good to feel involved, even though I wasn't performing.

At the Unitarian church again, with so many associations. There were First Parish people there, who I vaguely remembered from when my family used to go to the church, and Mrs. Goldberg's students, familiar of course from the recital last year, friends from high school who I'd kept somewhat in touch with, and people from the BSC chorus, reminding me of the hours spent in the spice-scented Boyden Auditorium. It all seemed so long ago somehow. Was it just last year I was involved in all this? It's strange, the coming back and feeling a bit like an outsider and a bit like part of the group. I don't quite feel like I have a place here anymore. And yet, there is unfinished business to take care of in Bridgewater. Perhaps that's the permanent feeling. Perhaps that's what it's like to be from somewhere -- always having a bit of unfinished business.

Amanda Hope -- 11:35 PM (linkme)

Thursday, June 13, 2002

Song lyrics, whee.

People say I'm crazy doing what I'm doing,
Well they give me all kinds of warnings to save me from ruin,
When I say that I'm okay they look at me kind of strange,
Surely you're not happy now you no longer play the game,

People say I'm lazy, dreaming my life away,
Well they give me all kinds of advice designed to enlighten me,
When I tell them that I'm doing fine watching shadows on the wall,
Don't you miss the big time boy, you're no longer on the ball?

I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round,
I really love to watch them roll,
No longer riding on the merry-go-round,
I just had to let it go.

People asking questions, lost in confusion
When I tell them there's no problem, only solutions.
Well they shake their heads and look at me as if I've lost me mind,
I tell them there's no hurry, I'm just sitting here doing time,

I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round,
I really love to watch them roll,
No longer riding on the merry-go-round,
I just had to let it go ...

~John Lennon, "Watching the Wheels"

Real post later.

Amanda Hope -- 3:40 PM (linkme)

Tuesday, June 11, 2002

At the Mary Timony concert I wasn't a big fan of the slides showing in the background. When they were just pictures of objects floating about it was all right; I was able to look at it as sort of a moving backdrop. But when there were people in them I found them distracting. The people on the screen seemed to be trying to tell a story of their own, and they wouldn't quite settle into the background to let the music speak for them. So they ended up drawing my eye away from the stage and the performers, which was annoying. I generally like to really look at the people as they perform. Sometimes you can tell what their state of mind is, and what their relationship is to the music at that particular moment. When Mary started doing her dance to the instrumental section of Dr. Cat, you could tell from the way she moved and from the look on her face that she was detatched from the motions that she was performing. She was outside the music and couldn't quite keep it in her grasp that way, unlike when she was playing or singing. On the other hand, when I looked at the cellist's face during that same instrumental section, I could tell that she had found the place in the music that I find sometimes, where the music is within you and all around you and every motion is sure and deft as if some greater force, perhaps the music itself, were drawing you to perfection through the mere experience of it. That was one of the best moments of the show, in my mind, and I have no idea what, if anything, was on that screen.

Amanda Hope -- 11:45 PM (linkme)

Sunday, June 09, 2002

I had a wonderful weekend at Mikey's with the old Cushman people. Or, make that a wonderful weekend spent mostly in Dave's car with a significant middle portion at Mikey's with the old Cushman people. It's comforting to balance out the vague unnerving feeling that graduation was somehow the end of the world and I'd never see any of these people ever again. And it was wonderful just to hang around with these people like I have all year and feel content, and marvel at the fact that I feel so happy and so included among them. There's no reason it had to work out this way, but it did. It's almost too much to believe.

Weekends like this remind me of my weaknesses, even amidst that sort of acceptance and contentment, perhaps even because of it. It makes me wonder if I can ever learn to be really happy with the way I behave, equally content with myself and with my surroundings. It makes me wonder if I can ever learn to really live every moment to its fullest, unmarred by some unpleasant incident or another, so I can look back on it and think that I've actually done things right and have in my head a smooth-flowing memory to go back to later. Because right now it's only the quick glance over my shoulder with the thought that I could have lived something better than I did that's propelling me forward. And I know there must be a better fuel for my trip through life than that.

Amanda Hope -- 11:29 PM (linkme)