Generations of Creativity

What a weekend I now have behind me!  After months and months of hints about being invited to a local jam session, my time had come.  I hung out in a basement while a few guys worked on perfecting songs that were to be performed the next day.  We had a guy on base, drums, and two on guitars.  I had auditioned with a band about a year ago that was never going to work out.  Still, it got my appetite whet for singing with a band.  The lead guitarist showed me a list of songs and we bounced a couple back and forth.  I sang for him in his computer room while the rest of the band practiced.  When I was done, I heard applause in the other room.  I breathed a sigh of relief, because all of them are so talented.  Everyone insisted that I come sing in the front room.  I sang Carol King's "You've Got a Friend," and Bonnie Raitt's "I Can't Make You Love Me."  I felt I secured a spot in their minds as a real singer.  Now the challenge remained:  Could I pull it off in front of a hundred people?

I think I did.  The loud applause still rings in my ears.  I wasn't comfortable enough to let it all hang out, like the band wanted.   I did play it safe in certain spots but felt that was better than hearing my voice unexpectantly crack.  Then I sang back up for "Lay Down Sally."  I loved it.  I felt a part of the band, like I had a special membership that not many could sign up for.  Even days later, my body is still itching to get in front of a mic and sing my heart out.  I don't know when they are practicing again, but I pray it's soon.

The other half of the weekend was spent running my daughter to ballet rehersal and then her recital.  She has been nervous all these months to be on stage.  When we arrived for rehersal, not many dancers were there yet.  Madeleine walked out on the stage, and never looked back.  She was hamming it up for the small crowd that was there, and they loved it.  So, on Sunday she was itching to get on stage and perform. (I guess it's in the genes...)  She brought me to tears seeing her perform in front of hundreds of people and not be nervous.  She is now convinced she wants to try tap lessons and gymnastics.  Let me just pull that pocket change out of my wallet now...

 

 

Not so much the teachers pet (more like the anti-pet!!)

When can you dislike someone you've never met?  When it's your online professor.  I had it easy with my first two classes.  I am now in Essay Writing and Critical Thinking.  My Critical Thinking professor is a gem.  She's very helpful and encouraging.  The Essay Writing professor is the exact opposite.  If there was a way to be annoying and debasing in a forum, she wrote the book.  I am convinced she is premenopausal, menopausal or postmenopausal.  Whatever the stage when some women go off their rocker and act bipolar (to put it kindly). 

She virtually yells at her students.  Since she can't yell at us in a classroom, she uses lots of exclamation points.  This week she said I've done near perfect work, and then yelled at me twice.  I got in trouble because I added a P.S. to a comment I posted.  She said, "Can we keep it professional please!"  Then she yelled at me for doing my assignment wrong.  I finally had to say something.  In a forum that is just for her and I, I wrote, "In business communication, we learned that using an exclamation point can mean you are yelling.  Is that what you intended with your exclamation point?"  I should have added a few !!!! in there just for emphasis. 

 

The school year was just a bad dream...

Our family is settled into "summer."  I love it.  I love not getting up so early and not being on such a ridgid schedule.  Julian's not the only one that's taking a break.  Once he would get home, I would have the daunting task of keeping him on track with his homework while preparing dinner.  I have always been an anti-schedule person.  I'd love to be, it's just something I've always struggled with.  It comes much more naturally to take each day as it comes and enjoy it. 

I feel for those parents that don't get summers with their kids.  Growing up, each summer was filled with adventure.  My childhood friend, Justin and I would ride our bikes all over creation.  My cousin Kim and I would stay up late (or all night).  When we were about 11, we fondly remember taking a walk at 5:oo a.m. just to say we did it.  My mom stayed home with us and we were allowed a lot of freedom over the summer.  I want to give my kids a sense of that, or at the very least, a moment to feel bored after such a hectic school year. 

The last weeks of school this year were very hectic.  Julian did well overall on his grades and he is officially a fifth grader.  We visited Harrisburg for his class trip, which was more interesting for the adults than the kids.  We had a brief tour of the state capitol that included sitting in on the House of Representatives while they were in session.  You may wonder, what do they do all day?  Well, for our brief 15 minutes they discussed: Should firehalls that host bingo nights allow smoking?  Big issues.  After a lot of rhetoric was passed around, nothing got resolved.  I always wondered what Harrisburg looked like.  The furthest west I had been was Penn State twelve years before for a Tori Amos concert.  I found it to be clean for the most part and small compared to Philadelphia and Reading.  It looked like not a whole lot goes on there.   

I was shocked by how "mature" his classmates were compared to him.  Everyone on our tour bus had a Nintendo DS and spent the ride texting eachother.  Of course, Julian and another boy had just a plain old Gameboy.  It was a good thing for the most part, because some kids were texting inappropriate words to eachother.  It was just a shock how one year can change a class.  Last year on the third grade field trip, I found everyone acting age appropriate.  Now, there wasn't a day that went by when Julian didn't ask me what a certain curse word meant, or what did the punchline mean to an offensive joke they told on the bus. 

It's hard to see your baby grow up. So at least for the next couple months, he becomes all mine again.

 

A Strange Bedfellow

Bravo to the ones of you who have not abandoned my blog, especially after the last post.  As those of you know, I am not all doom and gloom.  There are periods that are worse than others and sometimes there is a need to express myself in my darkest moments.  Thanks for hearing me out and enduring with me.  Now onto bigger and brighter--It's been a full week!  It started out with me tearing my hair out because both of my final projects were do for my two classes.  I got the final grade for my Business Communication...A-.  Not what the A+ perfectionist in me wanted but hey--I'll take it!  The jury still is out for General Ed. 

The next day I was asked to do third shift for the wonderful couple I sometimes take care of.  I had told them I couldn't do third shift in the past  since I could sleep through any cry for help.  Since they were so desperate for someone to fill in, they didn't mind.  Also, a week before Marian was rushed to the hospital with multiple problems.  She was still in the ICU recovering.  So it was Don and I.  He has his mind pretty much in tact.  His wit is sharper than the average person. We watched the Phillies game together and talked.  He told me the story of how his own father was troubleshooting a submarine problem in WWI with Thomas Edison!  He figured it out before Thomas did.  I love storied like that.

Then we "settled" in for the night.  I was told by his daughter I didn't have to wake myself up throughout the night to check on him.  I just had to keep one ear open just in case.  I would sleep in Marian's bed which was the twin across from his.  I would've slept in the reclining chair in the living room, but I was afraid I wouldn't hear him at all then.  It was midnight and we said goodnight.  Then I heard whispers.  He was talking so low I couldn't make anything out.  He finally told me what he was saying and that was that.

Then he started whispering again, but this time in his sleep.  It became full fledged talking at one point like he was on the phone.  Sometimes he would actually answer me back.  I'd say, "Don, are you talking to me?"  He'd say, "No, somebody else."  I couldn't tell if he was trying to be funny, but then he'd just continue on talking.  This went on most of the night.  I would slip in and out of consciousness. I'm not sure how much sleep I really got. 

If there is one thing I've learned about (my) life, it's never say never.  There are things that I've sworn I would never do: waitress while pregnant, live in the town I now live in, and work in any capacity overnight.  I got through it.  For my next post, I know you want to hear all about the fourth grade field trip to our state capital.

Heavy Company

After great pain, a formal feeling comes. The Nerves sit ceremonious, like tombs.

                                                                                ~Emily Dickinson

I would rather this site be used for celebrating life, but it is also used to work out my deepest feelings.  I have always been a pensive thinker, seeing poetry in all aspects of life.  Joni Mitchell said it best, "When you dig down deep/ you lose good sleep/ and it makes you heavy company."  The poetry that pricks the subconscious bringing inner most emotions to light has always touched me more than say a poem about a flower.  Right now I feel I'm in a hypersensitive state, almost too conscious of things around me.  Things that I should let go of I still feel within me.  This past year has hit me too hard in many aspects of my life, for a person that is already a sensitive soul to begin with.  I just feel like retracting myself because I can't stand another blow.  Someone told me recently that being of French background is a curse because you feel everything.  What part does depression play as opposed to genetic makeup?  Yes, I said the D word.  I thought that was all behind me but I'm forced to deal with the fact that it's upon me again.

As far as people go I'm not holding grudges.  Yes, we all make mistakes.  Yes, we should all forgive one another.  I get that.  It's not a question of that.  You can forgive someone that beat the crap out of you, but the bruises take awhile to heal, and they still cause pain.  Does this mean I'm a recluse?  That I've sworn off people?  No, I go about my day like everyone else.  There is a wall around my heart though for its own protection.  And to be honest, only therapy will make it go away. Until that happens usually writing poems helps, but this time around gardening really helps too.  Geez, you know I'm getting old when I start talking about gardening.  In addition, I have become all to conscious of my own shortcomings and how they affect others.  Yes, the logical thing to do would be to correct them and be a better person.  The real me just wants to crawl under a rock and stay put. 

There are many good things in my life right now that I will share soon, I just had to get this out in the open.  It's not easy for me to put this out there for you to be reading.  Some people are more empathetic than others.  I just figure life is not all rainbows and bunny rabbits for anyone.  Sometimes it's better to deal with the less appealing aspects of ourselves than pretend they don't exist.  If I am relating to one person out there so they don't feel as alone, this post was not in vain.

...see?  I even feel a little better getting this off my chest.

The other Burns girl

Ah it's has been an eternity by internet standards since my last post.  For two weeks I was driving my sister to college.  Julie you ask?  No...the other Burns girl, Jennifer.  Not many people actually know I have two sisters.  The reason being she never wanted to be a part of my life, or of anyone's life for that matter.  It's easy to live in your own little world and judge people from your own pedestal.  But there's more to the story...

My sister Jen and I are just about 10 years apart, shy of two months.  So, right there that creates a generational gap.  I moved an hour away when she was ten.  Within a year, I was pregnant and married.  She did come to the wedding. She did see Julian once when he was an infant.  The next time she saw him, he was eager, friendly three year old.  I had dropped my mom off at home around the same time she got off the bus from school.  She got off the bus, looked at Julian, went around him, and went in the door.  Ok so you're a wanna-be-goth-chic, does that mean you have to be evil to children too?  That set the stage on how I would feel about her for the next seven years.  It's very complicated as to why she is this way, and why my parents condone it.  I don't understand it myself, since I missed the formation of her as an individual.

Flash forward to two weeks ago.  My mom asks me to take my sister to college.  She doesn't drive, and her friend's car broke down.  Oh, my mom doesn't drive either.  She never got used to not having public transportation when my family migrated from Philadelphia.  I think my mom and my sister think that driving is too big a responsibility on themselves.  I am much more of the independent set like my other sister, so I don't get it.  So I say as long as she gives me gas money, I am able to help her.  She is my sister after all.  Maybe having her confined to a car with me with force her to open her eyes and see I'm not a bad person (oh and my children aren't either).

My plan works!  After two days of this, her heart grew three times it's size.  She had to spend time at my house part of the week, and actually had a good time.  She loved my kids and said she would babysitter sometime.  I'm not going to rush on that offer but the sentiment was good.  She told my other sister, she thought all kids were brats before seeing mine.  The logic in that statement is nil, all the way around.  I think that's why she had no desire to know mine.  I'm just glad to have given her a glimpse into how wonderful children can be.  It's a shame that my son will be ten this year and she's missed out on so much due to her "prejudice."

For everything here I've just mentioned, you'd think we would have nothing in common.  She actually has the goal of majoring in French.  She loves discussing Victorian novels and their signifigance in society (or lack thereof).  Other times, she was far from my reaches of conversation with talk of anime, German techno, and Japanese glam rock.  I found her to be harsh and insecure at the same time.  I don't think we'll start talking on a regular basis.  It's just nice to be able to think of her now with pleasant thoughts in mind.

A Letter to a Punk

Inspired by today's events, I present to you a letter I will never give, to a jerk who needs a wake up call.

Dear Punk,

Did you feel cool giving me the middle finger after almost running over my daughter and me? Do you feel a detached sense of yourself to fellow humans that allows you not feel remorse? Good for you. You will go on with your life hurting many people, emotionally and physically. We almost became the latter. Maybe it's the thrill that turns you on. Do you want to see our blood on your windshield? Do you want the street cred that living in a small town denies you?

Let me tell you what a normal person would have done in your situation. When they drive through a busy parking lot, normal people watch for pedestrians (they are the people walking to and from their cars, by the way). I know big words confuse you.  If they should see one of these pe-des-tri-ans, they don't speed up hoping that person will just move. They slow down knowing they could be charged with homicide. You see, there are people that have little legs called children that can't move as fast as you would like them to. Hard to imagine, but you were one of those helpless little people yourself in a time long ago...like 5 years ago.

I had to yell at you to slow down. Any protective mother would have done so. Someone had to put you in your place. Someone had to tell you no, maybe it's the first time you heard the word. Maybe you felt one up'ed by me in front of your girlfriend. That's why you gave me the finger. Am I supposed to feel threatened now? Am I supposed to feel that now YOU have the upper hand? Will your girlfriend somehow have more respect for you seeing you're a rebel? Don't be so silly. A MAN would have slowed down. A MAN would have seen a child and downshifted. Your age may show you are a man on your criminal record, but you will never be a real man without a level of compassion. If your girlfriend is white trash like you, you've hit the jackpot. If she is wise, she will leave you to seek out real human contact.

I yelled at you that someday you would have children. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you'll demand that your girlfriend gets an abortion because you'll never be able to love anyone but yourself. Maybe someday you and your wife will struggle for years with infertility, crying together after each negative on the pregnancy tests.  No it's a possibility that you may never have children.  But give me the privilege of raising the ones I have.

Jerk.

Your friendly small town neighbor,

Karen

Thanks for letting me vent, readers.  This style of blog writing is not my own.  I was inspired by the mom that writes the blog www.suburbanturmoil.blogspot.com.  She had written a letter to a childless young woman annoyed at her own child's presence.  It's a very therapeutic way of writing. And the moral of the story?  If you or your teen are an aggressive driver...stop being one.  Let your teen know they are mortal.  Dying happens too easily everyday, often for stupid reasons.