Monday, August 31, 2015

Just Go for It

Today I had an interview of sorts. It was cute. I was asked five questions


1)      What would I do if I won a million dollars?  
2)      What fictional place would I like to go?
3)      What time would I like to go to in a time machine?
4)      Who would I like to have dinner with?
5)      What age would I like to stay at?

The million dollar one threw me because I don’t usually buy a lotto ticket and I never really put into words what I would do if I came upon a shit load of money in my life. If I won the lottery I would buy a house give some to the local animal shelter and travel for a week or two at a time. But a million, that has limits so I better make it good, right?

So I said I would buy an apartment in Paris and write poetry and travel Europe.

I also have a saying that it doesn’t matter, the money will come if it’s really meant to be, so why don’t I drop everything and do it, go to Paris (or England as my French is marde) and see Europe and write poetry about it.

The truth is I tried to do it post university, and I tried to teach English overseas, both endeavours fell through. SO I got two cats a job and a singing teacher.

SO the opportunity and will is there to try again sometime but I made other choices in life that I have to respect.

One of the questions I wasn’t asked was. What would I redo In my life? Answer: I wouldn’t give up on music, the two times, I did.


I would have tried to take it in university and not cared if I was told I wasn’t good enough, I would have tried anyway, and when I moved home I wouldn’t have stopped singing for 9 years and lost what little voice I had. So if you’re standing at a cross roads think what would I do if I had all the talent? What would I do if I had a million dollars? 

just go for it. 


Saturday, August 29, 2015

Guitar with No Strings




There’s a towel on my dripping wet hair as I stand out on the cabin deck and stare at the lake, the sun is going down and my brain starts remembering everything that happened today. I hesitate for a moment there are things that have happened in the past that I don’t let run freely in my mind and I hope that they will leave me alone on such a complete day.
On the lake shore he sits, the fire he has been working on for the last 15 minutes has grown in a nice dome shape for us to roast veggie dogs and vegan marshmallows on.  He brought his own hot dogs but he said all marshmallows are vegan so he knows mine would taste good.
The dream I had last night when I was alone came back to me. One older, and a virgin, said that she wouldn’t have sex with just anyone because she wasn’t willing to be abused, love hurts she said she understands that, but doesn’t want to get abused, the other one as if to prove her point correct said she had a free sex life and sometimes there were things that hurt more than love should have that sometimes it was messed up and violent.
I tried to understand which was right and which was wrong and realized I had to stop somewhere in the middle open and free yet cautious. So when he came down the beach, sandals and socks a guitar and said he too was here alone bordering between boredom and being overwhelmed with things to do. He had to keep moving he said the view from the rented cottage was great but he had to keep moving keep thinking.
He didn’t want to find me.
But I told him I sing a bit and that I tried to make a fire on this august night but the only thing crackling were the crickets.
I joined him again down by the lake and he began to play Bell Bottom Blues I’ve listen to the album 24 nights millions of times and knew enough to sing a long and hummed the phrases I didn’t know. Then he let me pick a song I knew I picked Leavin’ on a Jet Plane we sang for a while and he headed back to his cabin and I to mine.  I walked by the next morning, to the location of his cabin, down a trail I’d never been, I followed his sandal in the mud.

There was nothing there but an old barn and in guitar with no strings.


Monday, August 17, 2015

Just Be Me

Any work I did on myself was to make myself likeable to the boys, to everyone really. I thought if I watched movies and listened to conversations I could decide what boys liked, what people in general liked and what they didn't like and I would be sure not to do what they didn't like. But people still got mad at me even though I was pretty sure I was striving to be the perfect person.

I can stop doing that now and just be me.

There’s been so many things and places and people who have come right out and said they didn't like me that it’s built in, the shame and the lack of confidence. Though, I fight all the way, Like when one boss sad “NO one here wanted you to get the job, but don’t let that get you down.” I kept going, feeling entitled, I had won the job by points and it was mine. And I kept going in confidence, but it broke me down a bit. I knew everyone already had decisions made. And one bad morning when a co-worker out of nowhere told me to quit because I didn't like the job, I did quit. Not really my own decision. But, I guess I probably never really did get the support I needed.

On a whole I don’t worry about whether all the boys like me but in my mind I want to be ready for “that one.” OK I want all the boys to like me so that I can have my pick, but that’s never worked either.


I just have to be me, do any fixing that needs to be fixed and not worry about who I'm doing it for: do it because it makes me happy and healthy.

Plus I just need to be me.


Monday, July 20, 2015

Mr. Jones


|Tonight I was sure I heard the neighbour complain about my singing. Spray my window with their garden house. I think of my friend who always comments on how happy I get when I talk about music, my whole world lights up and jumps through my eyes.
 
Don't turn away from me, don't say words that are going to only hurt you in the end. Because me, I'm learning to fly. Don't you want to see the transformation from caterpillar to butterfly, the magic of ugly to beautiful?
 
Don't misunderstand this noise, it's my heart waking up, has your heart never awakened before, sometimes it needs to scream in order to hit the high notes and then and then, it is beautiful. Loud but beautiful.
 
Don't you want to hear my voice soar, see my heart magic. That's what I want for you, without the drugs, without the hate.
 
I guess you know we'll have to become the dream, that's the only way to face the fear.
Leave the neighbourhood behind, let them worry about the height of the grass, and the price of the land. I'll shovel and rake for you, but let me sing, for goodness sakes let me sing.
 
I listen to my heart, and I rise, like magic I rise, high into the sky.
 
Tonight I hear you whisper, as I walked by that I'm not really a writer, cause I don't get paid. And not everyone likes my pen, not everyone likes when I write.
 
Don't you realize, that mess of words, lifts me up from depression and so I keep writing.
 
Don't think I do it to impress you, to earn your money. Your kind words make my heart sing, but that's not why I write.

I write to keep up with me, you see, my heart is my own; Mr Jones
 

Wednesday, July 15, 2015

Night Mares

not my photo or picture

Just in the middle this evening. I've been coming home from work this week singing for an hour and going to bed exhausted. I have a practice, to prepare for my recording session, so I've been singing and video taping like crazy



The nightmares have become worse as the week went on, last night was unbearable. Tonight, I sang for 1/2 an hour and came out to the writing room and proceeded to journal. I needed it.



There's all this newness this year that is young and fresh: that is me following my heart, so much happiness when the child inside gets to sing, but there's a lot of the old me hanging on, because this child still needs an adult.



Writing is my adult, facing the fears of the world sinking under the water and all the boats I've come in contact with sit under the ocean, they're all parts of me.



I walk through the desert of life. I am dying of thirst, and come across a well. Excited I look in but it is poisoned and polluted. I have to choose between death and death, which way would I like to die?



The pictures on my camera are of chopped up people, in my dream I am trying to show you the pictures I took, I know they are in there, I don't remember the body parts, I don't know how they got there, how all those pieces got separated, don't know what they mean to me as a dream. I just laugh and throw the camera to the side.



Sunday, July 5, 2015

My Baby Grand


I hunt and peck the notes, like a wild child. Each note I sing with passion. So much emotion I find in my heart, in my voice, in my song.

Years ago I caught the last stringed high note, hit the pitch like a wild batter.

I rested, exhausted in body and mind. It was the kind of awkward silence felt by a stranger waiting for his curtain to rise.

I sang and sang, then fell into tiredness.

Descending into the ocean, to the plucking of the his cello, leaves on a breeze, falling among the trees.

I play the keys but no sounds. The strings of the baby grand have all been cut by garden shears, wire cutters.

In a red stemmed glass, I catch sight of my face, I lean into the droplets of sugar. Glass after glass, I know all the pain can be fixed. I just need a few new strings.

Me, the only one listening, the only one speaking, me, writing on my bed. Free, legs bent at the knees and bare feet sway in the air.
The silent baby grand leads to tunes on the laptop. My finger tips choose the letters I need.

I hear my voice again in my words. I whisper “I couldn't have done it without you...”

The baby grand sitting in the living, the glasses of wine, now I make decisions by myself, I do it, by writing, by dreaming, by myself.

It took years to buy strings and play again. I relearn the notes, from the wild children I know, I hear old patterns and start new ones.

All the while I look for the monster that cut my strings, that created the silence.

He was the one who took me to the dance, my ears cupped with his hands, saying “I couldn't have played the dance without you.”



“...But I could have done so much more.”
 

The Air The Walls


My name is Kendra. I am 5 years old. The kids at school pick at me because I'm the biggest kid in the class. They say I'm different. That's all I know. Is what other people say. I don't know I'm allowed to know myself. I research the books, and the looks in others peoples eyes and try to be who they want me to be.



I have a pony, no one else has a pony, they have each other, and I think I'm not special because I'm not like them. I don't see how lucky I am, just how distant I am. I learn to talk to the walls, to the air.



My name is Kendra, I am 10 Years. There aren't friends in my life. Only my mom and dad. When people come over I sit with the adults. The kids in my house play with each other, at parties and potlucks. I sit with my mom and her friends. Learn how to be 40. When we're not at school we're at the local shelter, another mile between me and my classmates. The adults at the shelter don't realize they're my only connection to humans. We too are different. I learn to talk to the walls, to the air.


My name is Kendra I am 40 years old. But I never survived the teenage years. The person I was, as a child, was so different than who I was at 20 and 30. It made me sick, emotional dark and sticky, tired all the time in this constant push and pull. I was told I could be anything I wanted to be, so I tired to be everything, and the person, everyone else wanted. SO I'm 40 going on 12, always 12.



So I have my favorite spot, in the sun porch, a glassed in front room that is perfect in the early morning as the sun crawls up over the corner of the house and shines pink through the window.



My favorite space has 2 cats and a piano; As I learn to love them, I learn to love myself. Like a 12 year old, over and over again; A 12 year old and her kittens.



Today I woke up and looked at my hands and my heart, I don't look at my face. I love me as I am in my imagination. I can't bear to hear other people say no to my friendship, because I am different.



Today I woke up after a long night with friends my own age, I woke up with another set of hands, another beating heart, beside me. He looked into my face and said I was beautiful and I believed him. And then he left. I talked to the walls, to the air.


My name is Kendra, my favorite is love. And I must be growing up. 40 Going on 40. I am different and that's OK.
 
I've never said that before.