Great quotes from Brent in the last 24 hours.

"I'm not lazy, I just pick my times to work"
"I wish I was a dragon-rider. I think I could be. All I need is a dragon. That wasn't supposed to be funny".

"She says 'no one will love you more than me'
I look at her, she looks at me.
I think she's waiting for me to believe."
- John Legend

Monday.
Got to school by 7:30 am
Rehearsed the concerto with the orchestra.
Danny came to listen.
Talked it over with Danny. He loves my new violin.
Quartet rehearsal.
Taught a lesson
Went to the Gym
Practiced
Stravinsky rehearsal.
Performed entire Soldier's Tale for a good audience.
Nate and Cami came.
Left school at 10:30 pm

Tuesday.
Slept in.
Cleaned the house, packed the boxes.
had a slight melt down because I was tired and stressed, cried a little. Brent was very nice to kiss my face all over.
went to school.
Practiced and felt much better
rehearsed quartet.
performed quartet for our grade, did well.
Danny amused me with his "No! Oh my Gosh Melissa" as he slapped his head with his hand.
went to class.
performed the chaconne for the class.
Left class early.
Practiced more.
Went home.
Finished the 20 page paper

Wednesday.
Rehearsed with the orchestra and had weird memory slips.
Dealt with the sick feeling of being nervous.
Got in my concerto dress.
Played it slow and centered my nerves.
Performed the concerto with the orchestra.
Angie, Sid, Linda, Dave, Tara, Claire and Brent were there.
Lots of congrats from friends.
Went home.
Finished packing and cleaning.
Brent had done all the laundry and cleaned the whole house.
Taught two lessons.
Made dinner.
Went to the LIRR to catch a flight to Utah.

Thursday.
Arrived in Utah
Ate tortilla chips as a treat.
Went to the gym.
Danced to loud music for 20 minutes because it's a good workout and because I felt like dancing.
Bought Christmas cards, made christmas presents, listened to Jazz.
Went to wedding reception for Libbie.

Friday.
Made Brent a sack lunch like most wives would do everyday.
Christmas shopping.
Started studying for graduation exams.
Started learning notes to Sonatas. New rep :) yes.

8:38

Being married means that you now can screw up royally. Congratulations.
Being pregnant means that you agree to give up your fine body, and sacrifice it to the greater cause.
Being away means that half the time you are alone. A word that echoes with a hollow sound.
So, Thomas Kramer, why do we do things that are hard?
I’m not pregnant, but I am married. And today I did screw up royally.
I remember when I could count how many times I’d really done something worth erasing while being married. Now I can’t remember how many. It’s a license to know someone well enough to hurt them very much, all in a dose of raw reality that you never knew existed. There are too many things to pray for these days. . . . it’s overwhelming to kneel. Which means, of coarse, I’m doing it all wrong.
I play in church on Sunday. Maybe it will bring some clarity. Then rehearsal. Then another rehearsal, then another rehearsal, then a student, then another rehearsal and then the performance. That’s Monday. Tuesday means another rehearsal, and another performance, and then Wednesday is the big day. Before that though I need to pack everything, box it up and hope that the contract goes through. Meanwhile Nate and Cami are in town . . . to see New York and to come to one of the performances. I miss Brent. I look at the mirror and wonder if I ever will be that strong woman that I imagined myself becoming.

Merry Christmas New York!

does anyone else ever think of weird things when they're sick? Like why exactly do radio stations attatch themselves to letters? The classical station in NY is called 96.3 FM - WQXR.
WQXR? I don't get it. what about a random assortment of letters would help people want to listen to them?

Last week, I felt like I was climbing this.

Since getting married,

I have learned that TV, in moderation, can be a fantastic thing.
I've come to really appreciate laughter.
It's occured to me that, believe it or not, I think I'm compulsive.
I've come to love just knowing he cares, all the time.
Buying sugar cereals at the grocery store is regular.
My fridge is filled with things I would never eat.
I love the surprise of a bed already made.
When I go shopping, I browse the mens section.
Communication has become a degree I'm earning.
I've come to learn the aweful feeling that comes when you waste money.
I can cook three meals at once.
It suddenly matters to me if the house is clean or not.
I understand how hard it really is to be selfless.
I know how badly I want to be that.
I sleep in past 6:30 on the weekends.
I've learned that what other people think doesn't matter.
But to me, what he thinks does.
I'm learning the meaning of tender.
I now drink Diet Pepsi's when I need a really really big treat.

announcement.

Lincoln died and I now live alone again.

from my journal one year ago . . .

"I’ve discovered a sexy and wholly new element unique to the city: the feeling of someone calling you a cab.
With several different options, it all consists of:

1) The suave flick of the wrist, one or two fingers extended:
This is used most often when you know see a cab from afar and know you will be answered.

2) The frantic running in heels towards the road, both hands waving in the air: Used when in a panic to get to an appointment on time, during rush hour, or just to draw attention.

3) Just get in. Often used at a stop-light where there is an empty cab. No notice or acknowledgement needs to be made between driver and passenger – just casually open the door and step in. It’s a rather odd trip – try it sometime.

4) The general and most common: raised hand slightly above ones head. Can get tiresome, so used only in situations that you know you won’t be waiting more then five minutes. Feels a bit like elementary school, but most memories are reminiscent.

5) The quick and high-pitched whistle:
Unique to Brent.
He steps out onto the road, scans the cars for the familiar yellow cab – looks at me with a quick wink and lets out the sharp blow. The taxi cuts across three lanes of traffic and pulls to a stop. He opens the door, throws that irresistible look, and I climb in. He leans over the door, telling the driver to “take her to 74th and Broadway”, and hands me some cash. Then the moment when New York’s energy weighs heavy, suspended with a gaze that will swarm in reality the minute I look away. The driver weaves into traffic and maneuvers into formation.
very romantic, eh?

I appreciated Joy’s testimony where she expressed her gratitude for failure, which I have done so much of lately. I was struck the other day by the idea that God often gives us trials so that His hand may be manifest. And so, again my heart turns to God and is quieted by knowing failing is righted through Him – that it draws me closer to Him, and that I am a tryer - which means I am often a failure. . . but trying I will not stop.
I feel like Christ wants us to get to know Him better – a process we can choose to commit to through trial, although sometimes it is easier to just shut off. Brent added, “and to get to know ourselves” . .. which is beautiful, to me – to think that whatever happens, we prove ourselves to ourselves.
The President spoke words on solitude and how in all the epic moments in Christ’s life he was significantly alone. I think of my own solitude, and how often I feel like the city is swallowing me whole. His words helped me to realize what a milestone NY is in my journey: Forging through the paperwork, commuting miles, hours of practicing to finish my degree even after getting married and having my husband so far away . . . this is not easy. The solitude is often suffocating and for a moment I thought how oft our Savior stood alone, and how well he knows my own little feelings of loneliness.
So it was a beautiful Sunday where I was reminded of the good of Failure, given some perspective in aloneness, and how, after we live through it all – we really do learn how strong we can be in Him.

over six months now - how has it been so long already?

I can't help but notice how different we all are.
These experiences that fill our buckets - whether sought after or involuntarily spilled over us . . .
we are who we chose to become after stirring the pot of things we didn't want to happen
into a brew that inevitably others look at and examine.

To me, the most beautiful are those who take the worst stenches
given to them and plead,
crave,
wrestle through the roughest patches to
save hope
and recommit to covenants
with a broader mind
and a softer heart.

This week, here's to:

rain
the glory of an oven
driving to the grocery store
learning to love sleeping in.
Season Premiers.
finding a new violin - :)
lots of lasagne.
Logan, where the rain smells green.
how chick you feel when commuting via airplanes
how tired you feel when commuting via airplanes
getting my computer back from the shop
Lincoln staying alive while I was away
max who would rather swim.
Soldiers Tale and lots of listening
having church in the new chapel
back to humid new york,
until wednesday

Three cheers for Melissa's second major melt-down since moving to New York.

the power of consistency

"O heaven! were man
But constant, he were perfect. That one error
Fills him with faults; makes him run through all the sins:
Inconstancy falls off ere it begins."
- the Two Gentlemen of Verona, William Shakespeare

happy and satisfied

Tonight was a gorgeous evening. I left the gym after dark and walked across the campus lit with golden lamps through mediteranian archways. The grass spread out before me, the fountains caught moonlight. . . I almost laughed outloud. I'm in New York and it feels like Logan. Ah the peace that space brings. The air hinted today that autumn is around the corner. I can't wait, It is my favorite season. It seems that everything is good today.

Welcome Lincoln

Brent and I are in two locations while I finish school. He lives in Utah, where my Grandparent’s have kindly taken him into their free ‘mother-in-law apartment’ downstairs, and I live here in New York, just minutes from the airport by subway (yeah – no taxi fee!). We see each other three out of four weekends a month, with lots of long phone conversations in between. As you can imagine, it was a difficult decision and came after lots of prayer and fasting – but, like most situations that are right, things have just fallen into place. The only problem so far is that I've gotten lonely. Not crazy lonely like the kind that leaves the world dark . . . because I've been to that place; no, just kind of dissappointed to come home to an empty apartment kind of lonely. I miss Brent.
It’s a new thing when you are starting out in a fresh area and don’t know a soul. So, yesterday I got up, got dressed, and promptly marched myself to the pet store and bought myself a friend. I can’t tell you how much I wanted a puppy, but with being out of town so often to go to Utah, I knew how impossible it was going to be, so I settled for a Crowntail Betta and I named him Lincoln, after a good man, and my favorite place in New York – the Lincoln Center. He is blue and red and has lots of personality. . . for a fish. He gives me someone to say hi to when I come home anyway. Cami called and said I had made her sad when I told her I had bought a fish for a friend. I reassured her that I'm not that desperate. But he is the coolest fish I"ve ever owned.

Tomato Soup

It all started with a bad break-up. I mean, a break up of the very worst kind. Think for a moment of the most painful, heart dripping "slice-me-open-and-rip-out-my-heart-with-your-bare-hands" kind of breakup. Yeah - like that. It was July and hotter than Hades in Moab, where I was working as a river guide - eating most things straight out of a can, sleeping on the ground or in a hut without running water or electricity. Then the break-up occured. I had never thought of tomato soup as a comfort food, in fact, I had always avoided it when my mother tried to serve it. But my temporary friend who I haven't hung out with since this particular summer, I think because she moved to Europe with her boyfriend, introduced me to tomato soup. She was staying with the mayor of Moab - in her condo. The mayor, she was out of town, and you can imagine my drooling eyes as I walked into a real live apartment with real running water and nice leather couches, and best of all - AIR CONDITIONING. I took a nice long shower, changed into some comfortable clothes, and went downstairs where my friend had cooked up every type of soup you can order - each in a seperate bowl. Shrug. Who would have thought? We ate the soups, I cried a little more, and we watched a chick flick not worth seeing even once. And for some reason the tomato soup stuck. I can't ever see it without remembering that night. We slept together in a big feather bed, Me, her, and a very expensive looking dog. I got up red-eyed and swollen the next morning and she ran off to work, leaving me and the dog to a beautifully furnished, empty house. I took another shower and cleaned up the soup cans.
Since this day I have reserved tomato soup as my "break up" food. I eat it only in my lonliest, darkest, most self indulging moments. They don't come often - but hey, we're talking tomato soup here. . . who really wants to eat it?
Sometime last week I found a new tomato soup. The thought process went as follows: "hmmm. Tomato soup. That's the break-up food. !!!! I'm married!!!!! Oh my gosh - that means no more bad break ups!!! How did this occur to me only now? But what about Tomato Soup? I'll never eat it ever again?!" glancing over my shoulder nervously "I"ll just buy this one, the cashier won't know . . ."
I came to discover I had stumbled upon a whole new breed of soup. Progresso, Vegetable Classics. Hearty Tomato. (say it with an Italian accent and it makes it much more legitamate). With a full serving of vegetables and a good source of fiber. Tomato soup with PARSLEY, and real chunks of tomato. Last week I learned I LOVE tomato soup. I have returned to the store twice, each time buying the same - making this the third night in a row I have had tomato soup for dinner. I am not sad, I am only a little bit lonely, and Tomato soup is now not a break-up food, it is a staple.

I get internet tomorrow in my apartment. Internet is like Oxegyn - especially when you are married and live alone. School has started and I remember how much I love to learn. I love to hear about the details, how things work and how things happened. Danny says that everything with rhythm works, everything without doesn't. Think of your heart, an engine, the solar system, the music. I am learning to always always always have rhythm. It was a good lesson. I have to run to another class - but tomorrow it will be easy to blog. :)

home.

We found an apartment and today are moving in the last of the things that make it feel like home. It is beautiful. I've discovered the glory of living outside the city - half the rent, only a fifteen minute commute to midtown, HALF HOUR commute to school (this is like a miracle everytime I experience it), and all the trains you would ever need within walking distance. I love it. Hardwood floors, lots of windows, a kitchen I can walk around in . . . . and a neighborhood filled with Latino's ,which means my favorite type of food all over the place. I can't read the menu's because they are all in spanish - but I love where I live and I love my new home. School started. sigh. One more year - half of me thinks it's not long enough, the other half can't wait to just be done. It won't be a hard semester academically - just musically. I play an entire concerto with the orchestra in just a few months. That scares the hell out of me but I'm really really excited. And somehow I need to pull off a recital with all new rep. But I'm ready - Mr. G and his technique exercises did me well this summer.
so here we go - one more new chapter. :)

where are we?

Today it's raining. - - - The days country songs are written about: rainy sunday afternoons. But not really because I'm in NYC, and mostly country songs talk about front porches and pastures - things NY doesn't know much about. It dawned on me today that I don't know much about where certain people are. I mean - where the heck IS Sarah Graves? Did she make it to her new home, has James started school? What about Jamie Prince - what exactly is is the update with her and this boy that I've only heard referred to as her "friend"? Meagan and Randy have a kidlet and I've never even seen her. What about the emily's - Is Jane back at Peabody yet, and how is it going? I mean - I'm loosing the details here. It was interesting - first I was just going, living on and on without, then it occured to me in a sudden inspired moment and now it's driving me crazy.
So, while I'm at it, and for my own good - here is my position.
I live in New York. I don't have a house yet. I have spent all day praying I will find the right one. First it seemed easy, but then a thousand other options seemed to spring up and now too many opportunities is too many question marks. Maybe by tomorrow night I will have a place to call home. I am married. I love being married. My husband lives in my grandparent's basement on 33rd South in Utah. They had a tornado go through their backyard a few weeks ago and it took out all their beautiful trees - including the ones I like to sit next to when I'm on the phone. So many blogs about trees that are now gone. I am buying a new violin. There are two with me that I am waiting to decide between. I love them both, right now. This is a complicated mess I don't want to write more about now. My horse is in a pasture in Logan. He loves it there, until it gets cold. Then I will pray for a new place for him with a warm stall. My truck is on it's last thread. School starts on Wednesday, with orchestra at 9:15. I just want a place to put my things and begin my scales. I need scales today - it would do my insides nothing but good.

today in rehearsal

Zinman: "No, no! the Chinese block - it's not right."
Percussionist, hitting a few different blocks: "Do you want a high pitch or a low pitch?"
Zinman: "Lavender!"

My commuting history

why is it that I always seem to be living between two places? My life is a commuting journal - with the miles ticking away as I sail with the windows down in my trusty toyota. The two of us have flown past plenty of fields golden with wheat, the sprinklers shattering sunlight across the rows. 278.74 miles from Salt Lake to Victor, ID where my summers were filled with milking the cow, weeding the garden, building fence, stripping rails, swimming in ponds, hiking with the boys, games of capture the flag, huckleberry shakes, music until the morning, hot summer romances, and a freedom the winter left me starving for. 82.76 miles from Salt Lake to Logan - from free laundry and mowed grass to the sheer Wellsvilles where I loved and laughed with the granola hippies. 468.3 from Salt Lake to Moab and then back again. . . Every weekend fighting the oars against wind to pull out of the river in time to drive 5 1/2 hours to see a boy who kissed my forhead and told me he hoped and I loved. Time unwound like a spool of thread and I found 2005 and 2006 brought 410.51 miles between Slc and Aspen, CO where I met everything that makes me me in a small town and big music school. Back and forth to get to the temple; to see the man who kisses my mouth and takes me equally with ups and downs. He wraps his strong arms around me and tells me I am amazing. Worth the drive? He is explosions of laughter, moments of yellow, and a warmth inside everytime he looks at me like that. It fills me up, fills me up with white - I would drive it a million times without ever wondering why. Moving to New York began the commutes in the stale air of planes. 2172.85 miles and 4 1/2 hours in the air. Today is one week out from the next series of commutes. I take a deep breath and close my eyes as I try to bundle up inside and prepare my mind. three weeks on, one week off - thanksgiving break, and then to get to the end of December. To stay focused, riding all the breaks in between as part of the rhythm, without allowing them to detatch me from consistancy, studying in my mind, ipod attached to ears, lessons on mini discs, music packed in the carry on. I can do this. I can do this. This takes courage. To live in New York - and this time to brave it alone. With that feeling of responsibility weighing on me - responsible for a lot of debt, a lot of credit cards, a lot of jet blue points, a lot of rent and new york priced groceries. And to be a "non conventional wife". He smiles and says it will be okay. He says he believes in me.
That degree is calling to me from the other side - another year to learn, to play in concerto night, to keep the music growing inside of me. I want this badly.
I guess when it comes down to it, I'm a natural at commuting.

How can I begin to explain how much I love Aspen? Renee's voice melted me, filled me up, and then melted me again. Hillary Hahn is worth listening to over and over and over. And then you eat breakfast with these people. You see them hiking, you sit next to them in Beethoven concerts. Ms. Hahn signed my Bach. Ms. Fleming lightly shook my hand and laughed outloud when we described her brother as a soft teddy bear. The mountains sing here - every corner is bursting with wildflowers. The nights are crowded with stars, like each one is fighting for it's own space up there in the sky, the temperature nestling into a light 50 degrees. During the day the air warms right up and a thousand windows let the chitter chatter of practicing musicians slip from their frames. The air is bursting with inspiriation and I drink drink drink every chance I get. ahhhh.

today my computer deleted all of my contacts. Just like that - gone. sigh. It took me a minute and then I thought "this is kind of nice - a new start". So as of now I only have email addresses for people who have emailed me in the last 7 months. I guess that's appropriate.

Hagar.

Let's talk about Hagar. She's an anomaly to me - it seems that her reputation precedes her as one not quite as righteous as Sarah. But I can't get her out of my mind - and it seems, to me, that in the beginning that was not so.
She was Sarah's handmaid. Without a choice in the matter she was 'given' to Abraham as a wife, to bare the children Sarah could not have. So when she does get pregnant, granted, she gets a bit haughty with Sarah and "looks on her with deceit". Sarah gets mad and "deals hardly with her". Okay - so she lost her humility. I can see the sin . . . but there must be so much there not written because it seems Hagar is a very spiritual woman. She runs away and finds herself at the well, where she stops to have a very legitimate breakdown and spend a few moments with a good cry. An angel of the Lord appears to her (see, spiritual woman) and asks her 'why the tears?' She answers and he proceeds to comfort her by saying 'well, go back to the situation, humble yourself and be at the mercy of Sarah.' Hard stuff. But she does it. What character she must have. He then bids her goodbye by telling her that yes, she is with child, and the child whom she will bare will be at arms with all those around him. Not the greatest blessing to be given.
Years later Sarah does conceive and out of fear for Isaac's life both Sarah and Abraham throw Hagar and her son Ishmael out. Can you imagine - miles and miles of desert and you alone with a young child? I'm just having a hard time seeing the bad side of Hagar here. Every book I've researched sides with Sarah - and there must be something there because ultimately she is the one chosen to carry the royal lineage. And in reality, I think there must be an amazing repentance story to be read here. I would like to believe that in the time between Ishmaels and Isaac's birth that the beautiful miricle of a heart changing occured, that Sarah grew to be the righteous woman that was heir to be mother of countless numbers.
I just can't forget the other part though - the woman who was eventually cast out. There she is, sand and sun -and she begins to cry and pray unto God. He opens her eyes and she finds a well of water, which sustains the both of them until they can continue into a new land.
I'm still mulling over it all - but as of yet my heart really goes out to Hagar, the woman servant who was given a life without choice.

You cannot stay on the summit forever; you have to come down again . . . so why strive to climb? Just this: what is above knows what is below, but what is below does not know what is above. One climbs, one sees. One descends, one sees no longer, but one has seen. There is an art to conducting oneself in the lower regions by the memory of what one saw higher up. When one can no longer see, one can still at least know.”

- Rene Daumel

some distinguish between courage and foolhardiness in that a courageous person overcomes a justifiable fear for an even more noble purpose. If the fear is not justifiable or the purpose not noble, then the courage is either false, or foolhardy.
- Wikepedia, Free Encyclopedia

I opened the door inside this morning and found I had forgotten how strong I am.

wouldn't it be interesting if we got a bill every month from our gaurdian angel?
"oh, shoot. Man, I knew it was dangerous but I didn't think it would be that expensive!" . . . .

Yesterday I ran into a friend of a friend of a friend who said that sarah had asked mauri if she had seen me lately and mauri had asked a different sarah, and that sarah said yes. Then mauri poured into her eyes with all seriousness and said "is she okay?" . So sarah, the second one, told me she had reassured them, but the whole thing in general caught me by surprise. Of coarse I"m okay. I've never been so happy - has anyone else ever gotten married? It's amazing how quickly your life get's brighter, even when you thought it was bright before. So here is the announcement. I am still really glad I did it. :) Things are good, and when I say good, I mean the good that goes all the way down to your bones - like the belly laugh of an old black jazz singer. I realize I could be the next candidate for the ultimate slacker award - - - blogging less, calling less, lunch with everyone less . . . but, and I emphasize, this is in no way an indication that I am not happy in being married. On the contrary, I have become obsessed with the obliviousness I have found in being so caught up in Brent. So there it is - let the grapevine be informed.

the wet heat of july

ah, the familiar feeling of change. The winds are blowing again . . . this season of rest and release has filled me up inside and now the clock is calling my name. To aspen. a new paragraph in this new chapter. But the old is still there and I am battling without ever drawing my sword. This is a turning point: to walk ahead and pretend or to look back and begin to heal. Either is possible, but only one will build.
Yesterday I sat surrounded by concrete and heard what I thought was an answer to prayer deteriorate before my eyes. I should have known - concrete never supports life. The rest of the day was deflated and numb. Where is the right place?! My heart just doesn't know yet.
Later that night I leaned against an old oak tree under the stars and listened to a familiar voice from a chapter of hell in my past. It was beautiful to hear the calm that met me half way back then, now, in the new pages. I think it was good for both of us, to speak again and laugh like we understand . . . still. He is going down the river. The amount of irony in all of that is shocking. The river holds me humming in it's waters. I have left all that wet, and been baptized anew. But so much is still there and I need Him these days. I need Him.

I am human this week.
What does that mean? It means that I am full of mistakes, and find myself over and over again disappointing who I know I want to become. it means that I am quick to yelp, slow to listen, quick to blame and point fingers, get angry and always it seems I forget to forgive. I am slow, slow, slow, to be the person I would rather be. Why? I at myself inside - why am I acting like this?
Yesterday was the first day I failed as a wife. How many more will there be? I had every opportunity to love him anyway, put my justifications aside and be the first to say I'm sorry. He beat me to it . I was still fuming over in the corner - still upset at the nothings. It's aggravating, falling short of the better part of me.
I will keep trying, which, after a good nights rest and a long deep prayer, is about the only good thing left.

we are nomads, the two of us.
you, me and the thermarest
ipod hippies
ibook junkies
river rats that bleed with the stars,
love the sun on our skin
the thrill of a good view -
bring it on Mt. Olympus, Moab Mexican diners, and DuWayne's Cement Driveway.

"This is the best summer of my life" he laughs into the phone

Nate wishes he would have slept on the porch outside too
we had a good idea, he said.
and the sound of the mountains lulled us to sleep
you, me, the thermarest . . . and Toby.
What about Lake Powell and the mornings that set rock on fire?
The boat was named and baptized - Golden Dragon, Matt deamed.

Alice says there are a thousand good places to experience eating, just in the backyard.
Nate says God answers prayers in simple ways.
Music is being worked on, even if the Utah Symphony is jagged
I'm screaming in Barbeque's - how I love them, how I love them
and We finally got you a ring.

It is good, isn't it.

Brent is singing in the car. He would be very mad to know I put this on my blog - but I love it, I mean - he's belting some forgotten song at the top of his lungs on our drive to powell.

As I was walking
through green, over brown, inside blue
smells of water, willows
birds call back and forth
horses breathe clean through the air
the sun is setting in quiet glory

I realized
my head is clear
my hands are worn
my body brown and agile
music runs through me in and all around
space fills
family heals

and that I
am.
totally here in this moment
not somewhere else
not halfway with it

but whole
present
complete
full
happy

air fills my lungs
sunlight fills my eyes
I lift my arms and sing

Linda says a ripe watermelon should thunk at a high A.

mothers day 2006: learning the growth that helps us become

Wife.
afternoons. adorable. actions. understand a once-bachelor. breath. breathe. become. build. communicate. care. cook. compromise. clean. creative. don't mind dirt. dream. efficient. economical. funny. forgive. gyno. grateful. give. groceries. goals. happy. helpful. honest. interested. intuitive. inspirational. initial. joke. kitchens. kinship. kind. laugh. laughable. light-hearted. learn. lovely. love. meliss. mind myself. muscles. neat. nice. name. nature. near. nickels. open. odorless. offer. peace. people person. prayer. quick. quirky. reasonable. resourceful. save. serve. soft. sensitive. tough. tender. talk. talker. thank you. united. virtuous. validate. willing. welcome. xenocryst. yin. zeal.


Mother.
accept. artist. brown. bake. bandades. create. cuddle. compassion. consistent. cope. carry. carry on. driver. establish. enthusiastic. fair. forgive. fix. groceries. gain. guidance. hero. healer. hiker. infinity. instilled. imagine. insist. insure. jest. kiss. kindle. love, love, love. learn. listen. merciful. mature. never complain. negotiate. nest. newspaper. organize. principles. persevere. potter. qualified. quench. release. support. self. selfless. smiles. super hero. stable. teach. tireless. thick. thinker. talker. understand. valiant. valued. values. versatile. vital. warm. worn hands. wrinkled. wise. x chromosome. yours. zenith.

Married Life: FANTASTIC.

six days and counting.

That’s it. I’m complaining.
Planning a wedding sucks - Constantly relying on other people who bail or don’t return your phone calls
I’ve never been this emotional before – up and down and all around. I’m not like this, normally. But I’m not normally trying to move, practice, take midterms, deal with crazy roommates, plan receptions, and sign in books, and not get enough alone time, and get too much alone time, and not enough practice time, and too much studying, and deal with the details that I deep down do not care about. I feel like a tight rope inside. When did this begin? Last week. When the packing began. What is it with me and not liking to be on the move? You would think that as a free spirit this would pertain to physically moving as well – I’ve lived out of my car for years. But there is something about being grounded that comes with having my things in place, with a routine that I can choose to break if I feel like it. Having things in boxes and staring reality and huge changes in the face is enough to make anyone feel like they are going to hyperventilate. Its been a big year - a lot of work . . . and I’m feeling the pull of it all.
All these questions about how many tables we’ll be using, if I want a throw away bouquet in addition to my ‘real’ one, what shade of cream to dye the smallest girls dresses. I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care. What I care about is him. I care if he smiles, and if my muffins make his day brighter. I care that he loves me, and that he tells me I’m enough – even when I don’t feel good that day. I care that he wants to be with me, forever. I care that he loves me even when I am hard to love – and that he doesn’t give up on me, ever. That he’ll hold me and kiss me all over and somehow make me laugh when I want to tare someone’s eyes out - that somehow when he touches me everything in the whole world rights itself and is okay. I care that he loves to make me smile, I care if he has eaten that day. I care about how I can help him feel how I see him. I care if he gets enough sleep and if he was able to watch tv and talk to the guys, because I know how much he loves it. I care a little bit about the weather on our wedding day – and that is about it when it comes to the white, the old, and the new. Engagements suck – let it be known. My advice is to have the shortest one possible.

ahhh. wow, what a weekend. I'm learning that I need to set aside some time to write - its just not getting done these days. I think its a result of having someone I tell everything to - I allow myself to purge audibly and don't stop to dip the pen in ink. Today I could write a novel. I hope to be able to, one day.
11 days and counting.

get this. I learned today that the cat woman downstairs has TWO floors for her apartment. I knocked on one door and she cracked open the door one floor below - which I thought odd since at the time I didn't think that was her apartment. How can one woman fill an apartment that is two stories so full that she can't open the door? This woman is amazing. She of coarse claimed she wasn't dressed and couldn't let me in - which I know isn't true because she was dressed. So how am I going to get the mechanic in to fix the intercom so the whole building can know who's at the door? Good luck because she can't open the door and she will not let us go in there. Probably best for all humanity if we just allow the intercom to stay broken.

Here's what I don't get.

People who feed the birds.
I mean, common people. I love animals - but pigeons are like rats . . . they are everywhere, and they don't have a brain, and they will survive if you don't feed them. And they are full of disease. I know because when I moved here and I was in withdrawals from my dog and my horse I thought about capturing one and forcing it to be my pet. But then someone informed me about the disease. Good thing, I could have been a gonner. So lets stop feeding the birds, eh?

boxes

moving, again. I love the routine of conference weekend, the saturday you put your hair up in a beautiful cloth wrap and clean clean clean as the familiar sounds of voices over the pulpit echo through the rooms. This year brent is moving and half his stuff will be stuffed into my apartment for the next two weeks until we get married. I think I will enjoy having his clothes around - it will fill my room with the smell of him. Its warm in new york today and the sun is shining. Amazing how great weather makes everything that much better.

who do you respect more?

Bach, who stayed devoted his entire life to God, never left his small town in germany more than 20 miles, wrote some of the most cleansing and inspirational music that has ever been performed, and wasn't at all concerned with the math behind the notes,
or
Handel, who beethoven spoke of when he proclaimed him as "the greatest of us all", known as a swinging bachelor who traveled the world and was the favorite of girls and kings, and then ended up with the Messaiah - a work proclaiming the Glory of God in irresisitable sweeping melodies and fugues

?

19 days

2 1/2 weeks until I get married.
Learning, I'm learning. I have so far to grow but I'll keep trying.
At this point most everything seems irrelevant unless its the wedding.
Can you believe we're in the final stretch of year one?
Half way through - how is that possible?
I'm having nightmares that going to Aspen ruins my mairrage.
I have a roommate who is crazy . Who can relate?
Ready to upgrade.
we found an apartment in the west village. Its cozy and unique and our first home.
I feel overwhelmed with love.

"You did not cut your hair by yourself again. (through fits of laughter) The month of the wedding?! Brent, oh my gosh"

I want to be beautiful at 53. I want to have long hair with streaks of silver running through the brown. I want to look wise and wear blue rock jewelry and have great art hanging from my walls, thick singing melodies from the stereo, and candles and fresh bread everyday. I want to be someone people seek out to talk to - a listener who hands them a warm cup of tea with worn leathery hands and sits on the porch wrapped in a blanket as they unload and laugh and trust as we swing back and forth and let our feet dangle. I want to feel beautiful – full of bear hugs, homemade cookies and mornings in the country with a garden growing zucchini. I want the lines around my eyes to be accentuated when I laugh - to tell of years of growing pains as I embrace the genuine that comes with beginning "old". How does someone like me get to be someone like that? How does a New Yorker who never makes time to call just to say hi or even entertain the thought of interrupting the practicing to ask my roommate how she is – how do I, so ungrounded, racing frantically from one train to the next, become wise and centered?
I look at her and I think "she's beautiful". But she wouldn't be a lingerie model. Does that mean I don't need to feel gorgeous everyday? Because I'm the one that looks in the mirror fifty times and always leaves with a dark cloud filling my mind. Do I ever feel "good enough" - do I ever have enough love? I'm a tangled mess of expectations and self-criticism with an uncanny talent for disapproval of my everything’s. The voice in my head jibbers all day long - always "not enough, Not Enough." And I don't want to care anymore if I feel beautiful or skinny or tan. Why do I allow this black out in my mind - when really the people I see and think are beautiful are none of these things?
God, make me more than I am. Clean this mind that gets so caught up and confused. Help me see me how you see me.

can you imagine opera in Italy? "its not just the singers on stage singing" he says "everyone is belting the arias - everyone knows them."
How would it be?

So much depends on the lighting.
Can you think of a spring day when the sun came through the window and the whole morning seemed full of white light and the smell of bread?
Sugarhouse was a room filled with light . . . such hard times and yet I look back on them and I remember the lighting in my room, the smell of wet dirt, and feeling in shape.

march 20th in the two thousand six

I get married in less than one month.
Can we believe that I'm getting married?
Nonie is home - her voice is high and sings with frenchness in between her syllables. I smiled when I heard it over the phone.
Ann is going to switzerland, Andrea to London. Stephanie is doing the grad auditions. Ah the grad auditions.
How amazing to watch as life unfolds in patterns for everyone, swirling and interlocking between us all like an intoxicating smoke.
When is Emily Jane coming to New York? I'm ready for her to visit.
Spring is coming to New York. Its not warm, but I feel it in the air.
Yesterday I spent hours in the violin shop. My violin is being born - I played it white and dusty and imagined it beautiful with varnish. I played a Strad and a Guineri, with thousands of years being strung out on every note. I sat down and felt like blood had filled my heart to the point of explosion.
"I can smell it" he said. "give me one year - one year." he said we had a contract, not to do with money. I wanted to shout "where do I sign?" - anything to attatch myself to his knowledge.
wow, what an amazing point in life.

Today Nelda sent me Robert Frost:

You'll wait a long, long time for anything much
To happen in heaven beyond the floats of cloud
And the Northern Lights that run like tingling nerves.
The sun and moon get crossed, but they never touch,
Nor strike out fire from each other, nor crash out loud.
The planets seem to interfere in their curves,
But nothing ever happens, no harm is done.
We may as well go patiently on with our life,
And look elsewhere than to stars and moon and sun
For the shocks and changes we need to keep us sane.
It is true the longest drouth will end in rain,
The longest peace in China will end in strife.
Still it wouldn't reward the watcher to stay awake
In hopes of seeing the calm of heaven break
On his particular time and personal sight.
That calm seems certainly safe to last tonight.


its perfect, isn't it? So grateful for good friends.

Brent came home and it got warmer.
70 degrees in New York today - I'm going outside to let the sun baptize my winter skin.
Open the windows and let the air in
dust off the shelves and renew

I’m not afraid of anything, I just need to know that I can breathe
I don’t need much of anything, but suddenly. ..
I am small and the world is big
All around me is fast moving, surrounded by so many things
Suddenly. . . .

I am young and I am free
But I get tired and I get weak
I get lost and I can’t sleep

Would you come if I was faltering?
Would you cry if I was falling?

She can’t listen, she can’t hear me.
Hearts are swollen and heavy with pain.
He is gone - in my dream he is flying.
Looking up I wonder where I left my wings.

How does it feel? How does it feel?

Things I know. Things I feel.

I know that I am loved.
I feel alone.
I know that I am strong.
I feel needy.
I know that its a product of a bad situation - with a three hour time difference that can put a rift in anyones schedule.
I feel like I don't know any more ways of saying "its not enough".
I know I've reached a stress level of high frequency and sometimes I can't hear much else.
I know I am full of pride.
I know I need to do better, even when its hard.
I feel like I just want to be held.

frustrated. . . frustrated. . . frustrated.

basically I'm pretty sure I'm eating my death when I buy grapes at the fish stand in Flushing. but where else can you get them for 47 cents a pound?

when was the last moment you melted?

The second theme in the first movement of Brahms concerto on Friday - Zimmerman and the slowest heartbreaking melody - what a combination.
Walking home from Carnegie tonight - the city lights beautiful above me, stopping to turn in a circle and look up at all those windows with a big smile.
I passed a line of cairrages and couldn't help myself: dipping my nose to his, I inhaled the best scent on earth: warm horse.
The first moment he said "I do, I love you."
A warm peach, some vanilla yogurt, and a half hour to just sit and think.
The first morning I rolled over and saw the diamond on my hand.
Reading Nephi's beautiful psalm: "Oh Lord I have trusted in Thee, and I will trust in Thee forever . . . therefore I will lift up my voice unto thee; yeah, I will cry unto thee, my God, the rock of my righteousness. Behold, my voice shall forever ascend up unto thee, my rock and mine everlasting God."
A feather pillow and cold bed covers after a really really long day.
I opened my phone tonight and his text looked up at me: "I adore you."

Crawling through the grime of the city that dries me up until its flaking off my skin.
Up to my ears in noise and commuting – screaming patience to myself on the trains as they rumble through the tunnels, rocking back and forth as they slowly make their way to where I need to be. Routines and clockwork – tick tick ticking away.
No time to do anything but what has been thought about and planned.
16 hour day yesterday, today, tomorrow . . . everyday.
Calling the caterer . … flourist . . . seemstress. . . . cleaning the house. . . . cleaning the house again. . . . showing the house . . . advertising the house . . . looking for a house . . . returning more wedding phone calls . . . sending mass emails for chamber orchestra . .. studying for history tests. . . gigs that pay measly bucks but its always such good music I can’t say no. Concerts at the Lincoln center as the cold wind whips across my face - running its fingers through my hair mockingly.
I’ve been to the pet store twice now in an effort to buy something to keep me company while he is away for 10 days – both times images of moving three times in the next 6 months leave me empty handed.
But I could get two birds for $20!
“You don’t even really want a bird”, Adam says. But he is leaving on a cruise today – he doesn’t need someone to sing to him in the mornings. I am here in New York, and wouldn’t mind a little singing.
A warm day in a sunny car with the windows down calls to me – haunts my dreams. I turn my face away reluctantly. Brent is swinging the golf club on fields of green. I put my headphones on and turn up the music – flooding my mind with thoughts on being supportive and enduring the long days.
I miss being missed.
So today I allowed myself an hour. I called the most indulging place on earth – the spa. I arranged for an appointment. $110 and 65 minutes later I emerged a new person. Can anyone even begin to think of anything better than a good day at the spa? It renewed my firm conviction to one day become a certified masseuse, it calmed the lonely energy, rejuvenated my weighty soul and gave me every reason to smile. I don’t even care that it was ridiculously expensive – worth every dime. Is there anything as great as mango exfoliation and an oatmeal mask on a bitter cold gray NY day when everyone you know is skiing or sun bathing and you feel like somehow you are stuck in a bubble that only knows work?
Does this make me high maintenance?
I don’t think so – even the hippiest of granolas enjoy earthy masks to rejuvenate their vibes.
So let it be known – we all deserve a day at the spa. My advice: indulge. ;)

There is something very intriguing about the word Balance.
Implications of straddling. .. reaching . . pulling . . . being pulled.
Balance is staying centered.
But without conflict there would be no reason for its existence.

a man on the subway today saw me reading a text book and handed me a highlighter. Just there he was, opening his briefcase and giving me a yellow pen - as if it was the reason he got on the train this morning. I have to admit, it was shocking - a kind deed in the middle of new york city. . . but it made me reflect and smile at least a dozen times today. Awful nice of him - and the pen rocks.

hey sir dunky!

rule no.1 : write, speak, dream in affirmations
even when this comes so difficult to me. I am learning. . . . slowly . . . learning. its good for my soul - my performance teacher says it will effect my subconscious in a positive way. And Brent loves affirmation. Two good reasons to get better at it.

rule no.2 : always always always be grateful for good friends that never let you forget them.
i miss my emily price's. oh the days when I took chamber gatherings for granted.

rule no.3 : take deep breaths and when needed, shout loudly "planning a wedding sucks!"

rule no.4 : to rent an apartment in nyc is to rent a closet. but hey, the closer to be with you my dear.

rule no.5 : I still want a nose ring. A nose ring or a red hound dog. Its going to have to be one or the other.

rule no.6 : do we ever feel as old as we are? I don't feel old enough but I like it.

"There is a basin in the mind where words float around on thought and thought on sound and sight. Then there is a depth of thought untouched by words, and deeper still a gulf of flormless feelings untouched by thought. Lawd, you know mah heart. Ah done de best ah could do. De rest is left to you." - Their Eyes Were Watching God

Fairway on 74th and Broadway

"excuse me, excuse me" I bump around the crowd trying to make it to the frozen corn.
They glare back at me - bundled up with violin on my back, duffle bag across my shoulder and food basket filled with fruit, as if thinking to themselves that I must be breaking a law - taking up this much space.
I laugh and think about how much clean air there is in Aspen. If they are that worried about it, why don't they move to where they can have as much of it as they want?

Its rainy today. . . . The picture of the beach stares back at me from the desktop.
I'm finding peace - there are some things that will always be personal.

"I'll go where you want me to go, dear Lord,
I'll be what you want me to be . . . "

Its a good day.

Melissa : "I have this eye twitch thing going on again"
Brent: "ah, the old eye twitch. .. yes, yes. I wonder if its chronic . . "

walking down 76th on my way to teach a lesson. . .

passing the jews as they come out of synagogue . . . a fresh direct van weaving its way between parked cars . . . the driver hitting the side view mirror on a little jeep . . . "ahhh! mazeltoff!" shouted one in surprise "that was somebody's mirror!"

I'm sad today.
feels like I need to speak in japanese to have the freedom to say what I want . . .
like if I say it in english it just won't be heard, only the colors will be seen and sometimes that can get you into trouble.
I can't go into the city without that which lets it all slip off me. I drown.
Sometimes there is a crevis inside as big and as flowing as Iguacu.

"aint nothing left at all, at the end of being proud. . .
I've had some time to think about it . . .
and watched the sun sink like a stone. . .
I've had some time to think about you . . .
on the long ride home.

One day I took your tiny hand
put your finger in the wedding band
daddy gave a piece of land
we made ourselves the best of plans . . . . ."

I woke up with a ring on my finger
rolling over - a sigh of "wow" and a smile
Thailand's bells and chimes sing in my mind . . .
beaches of sugar sand and water the color of air.
Golden buddah's . . . monkeys that eat out of your hand . . .
I learned last week elephants are gentle and have funny looking feet.
I'm getting married to that man there,
he's kissing my smiles.. . . making me double over in laughter . . .
swimming through fountains and rust orange canopies . . . mint water and thai food . . .
yes, that one there - the one with shiny eyes.
He says he loves me . . . Loves me very very much.
I hold his hand and smile back. I'm wearing his ring - and I take a lot of big sighs because I'm not sure when I've ever felt this much for someone.
They say it gets even better.
They say there will be hard times, and good times, lonely times, and fun times.
I say I want to spend it all with him . . .
we ride the elephant through the jungle.
They say stuff like this takes faith.
and I think of moving to salt lake where I didn't want to be. I think of taking audtions that were scary. I think of moving to Aspen, where I didn't know anyone. I think of leaving my horse, and my dog, and my friends and moving to New York City. Liz says "its amazing to look back and realize that every major decision you've ever made has lead you to this one person." And I sigh again. Because I am so blessed to have been brought to him. And so blessed to go to a school I love, studying the music I love . . .
So I'm getting married.
Namaste.