WoundedHealer

2nd Year Curly-versary: August 2010

Brother-Sister Love

 

The way I used to say, "I love you."

 

I've since learned to use my words. I love my brother.

 

 

 
 
   
 

Longing

I miss teaching. I miss being around 3 and 4-year-old children. I miss Kayla and Ruben and Lexi – my favorite students ever.

I miss my long, relaxed, layered, tri-color highlighted hair maintained in a roller-set for body and bounce.

I miss the red horse where I used to sing DeBarge songs. I miss the tire swing. I miss the elephant slide.

I miss my Barbie dolls. I miss freeze cups and Fortune Bubble. I miss riding my bike and roller skating. I miss Tiffany - my first best friend.

I miss having my morning juice while the dew was still fresh in the summer – the only few minutes it wasn't unbearably hot just before the sun came out full blast.

I miss watching Daddy's garden grow. I miss reading for hours on end under a ceiling fan.

I miss wild strawberries and honeysuckles. I miss dandelions. I miss Mommy's tulips. I miss the scent of magnolia blossoms.

I miss Victoria's Secret Exotic Bouquet fragrance. I miss Victoria's Secret Roses fragrance.

I miss Bath & Body Works peach fragrance. I miss Bath & Body Works Freesia room spray.

No, I have not fallen off the face of the earth

I know. I didn't write a May newsletter and now it's June. I know. I haven't posted since April – Jazz-oetry Month. I know. I haven't updated my Novel-In-A-Year project. I know. I haven't competed in any contests. I know. I haven't written down anything I am grateful for. I know. I haven't written many words. I know, I know. But I have reasons – not exactly excuses, but kinda sorry nonetheless.

My website and my blog looks janky. I want to change it – I have researched new color palettes and worked on creating a banner and updating my logo and looking for cute new buttons and … well, I just have some half-done jankiness to show for it.

I haven't fallen off the face of the earth. I've been life's punk. I've been whining about my new goal – 25 books in a year. And I've been whining about the tips in the writing resources I've been studying and been whining that my writing is not as good as I thought (according to the tips in the books). I've been dealing with other people's issues (I tend to be a sponge, over empathizing with others and taking on their pain deeper than they experience it themselves), and my issues as well. I've been researching my family (I can go back to the freed slaves, the white man, the full-blooded Indian/Native American, and back to people born in 1846). I've been having nervous breakdowns over my car – trouble in March and then it was hit while parked. I never knew how much I like my car, my silver puddin', until she was in the shop being repaired and I had a rental car that I hated. I've been mourning long, relaxed layered hair. I've been mourning the weight gain – I am back at my biggest and haven't been here since 2002. When your foundations don't fit, and hurt, it's time to go up a size but I just don't want to be measured again until I lose some weight. Stupid – I get it – but you aren't rational when you are in mourning.

I've spent nights crying, weeping, sobbing, in grief of dreams not yet achieved, of my own slothfulness, of my own self-pity, and of my perceived lack of everything I need. I got celibacy blues. I'm manic and then I'm depressed. I've been fussed at by doctors and walked away still not following their advice which is simple and has proven to work in the past. I can't focus. I have no drive. And I dream of being anyone but me, anywhere but here, and everything I'm not. Basically it's been a bit of a pity party but has lasted more than a night.

What am I going to do now?

I still feel no drive. I still feel no encouragement. I still feel lost. I still miss my fickle muse. I still miss the true essence of my creative self.

Eh, I'll just update you on the project that I am managing to remain focused on – reading 25 books this year.

I thought I was a big reader. People told me I was always reading. They told me I was reading at 3 and haven't stopped valuing books since. They tell me I'm great and I got boastful. And then I heard a person who was a self identified slow reader mention that he still manages to get in 70-80 books a year. I was like, "There's only 52 weeks in a year!" And at the same time I thought, "I thought I was big time when I got in two novels in a month." Actually I can read several novels in a month when I spend hours reading over weekends. But then I have times where I don't feel like reading at all so it all balances out for me. Anyway, I thought 2-3 novels a month was a manageable goal. I am far behind in my goal but am convinced I will be able to achieve it. So my list of what I've read so far is in the frame on the side. I am working on Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison this month.

 

Learning to love Hip-Hop

I don't like Hip-Hop. People understand this about me as much as they understand that I don't like shellfish. No, I'm not allergic. No, I don't like lobster. No, I don't like shrimp. Yes, I eat some fish. And, yes, I do know what I'm missing because I've tasted it all before and I don't like it.

The story with Hip-Hop is usually much more aggressive but similar just the same. Yes, I enjoy poetry. No, Hip-Hop is not the same as poetry. No, I don't have anything against Hip-Hop. No, I don't believe it's all about drug dealers, murder, and the "b"-word. No, I am not making a political stand against Hip-Hop. I prefer lyrics be sung and most Hip-Hop is rap. Yes, it is possible to be from Memphis and not like Hip-Hop.

Anyway, I recently decided to embark upon a self-study of Hip-Hop. I enlisted the help of people who enjoy the music and were willing to give me a song list of about 10 songs or so to listen to and who understood that I enjoyed a good vocal hook to be, uh, hooked, to the song. What happens to me is as I listen to the rapped lyrics I get either sleepy or annoyed and don't really hear what is being said – sometimes I miss the benefit of great lyrics. The other issue is I miss out on metaphors, similes, and slang because I am not focused on what the artist is trying to say.

So, my pre-lesson for Hip-Hop was to go to a children's book that Nikki Giovanni edited that had an audio component – Hip-Hop Speaks to Children: A Celebration of Poetry. I zoned in on a classic Hip-Hop track, Rapper's Delight by The Sugarhill Gang. I own that track in its entirety – all 13 minutes – and started listening to it in the shower. I can recall my older brother and sister talking about how Mama bought that album for them and wrote out the lyrics so they could learn to rap along with the artists. I wanted to listen to anything that was Hip-Hop that I already had some connection to as a warm-up for my ears to lyrics spoken to a beat.

Lesson Learned: I still prefer poetry or spoken word to Hip-Hop. It is not the same thing. However, moving on to Lesson 1.

Billie Holiday vs. Madeleine Peyroux

Again, I hate to make the comparison in this manner ("If you like this, you'll love that…") but here I go again – another jazz giant of yesteryear and one of today. When I finally began to research classic jazz vocalists, I remember buying a CD that was half Ella Fitzgerald and half Billie Holiday. For reasons I won't go into here, I put both artists away after comparing them on that CD. Billie Holiday was hauntingly melancholy and Ella Fitzgerald was sweet and lovely. I later pursued Ella Fitzgerald more and Billie Holiday less. Ella's voice settled on my heart almost instantly but I find the mood has to be just right for Billie Holiday. I love her with a cold glass of fruit tea on a hot dusty (and humid) day. I love her in the country. I love her on a rainy day. I would love her in Paris – for some reason I feel like her voice would be perfect on French lyrics.

The contemporary who I am comparing Billie Holiday to (as I cringe from the possibility that the act of comparison can be an insult sometimes) is new to me – but not to the Jazz World. Madeleine Peyroux sounds very similar to Billie Holiday – they both have a husky croon that sort of meanders through the lyrics of a song, seemingly to work parallel to the music instead of in conjunction with the instruments. I am making my first Madeleine Peyroux purchase today through iTunes. Because she has several albums previously released I am going to purchase a few songs from each album. If a love affair ensues, I will ensure that my collection reflects that adequately.

Ella Fitzgerald vs. Jane Monheit

I've not kept it a secret that I love Ella Fitzgerald. I can be sitting in a restaurant, like Tavern at Phipps Plaza or Capozzi's Decatur, and be in animated conversation (because I am a storyteller) when I hear Ella's voice – and then I pause, sometimes mid-sentence, and acknowledge that she's singing. I smile, my dinner guest usually chuckles, and then we can continue. While I enjoy nearly everything that she sings, I most prefer her voice after Chick Webb died, after she started doing ballads, and before the eighties. She was swinging lightly and I love the clarity in sound and choice of music for that time.

What I haven't mentioned as much is the first time I met Jane Monheit, metaphorically of course. I was literally flipping channels, heard her voice, and sat in reverent silence while she performed. I immediately purchased her second CD (although it was my first) and though I don't notice her music playing in public, I reach for my Monheit collection each spring.

I don't really dig the whole "If you love this, you'll like that" marketing approach used in bookstores, music stores, and with perfumes (my mama was very much into knock-off perfumes – I have no idea why). But I understand the value – for newbies to certain genres, those lists and comparisons are helpful in guiding your way toward a song, performance, or artist you most likely would not have found without already being immersed in the culture and up to date on sometimes obscure current events. What I don't dig about it is, like mama's knock-off perfume, it is implied that one of the items being compared is the quintessential and the others are substandard by default.

Anyway, I compare Ms. Monheit and Ms. Fitzgerald to one another for the purpose of assisting a newbie to find the jazz sound that you love. These artists both have similar voice qualities – uber feminine, delicate, and sweetly soothing. I love them both.

Jazz-oetry Break: Ella and Langston

As a preschool teacher, I enjoyed managing naptime because I needed that downtime in the same way the students needed a break. While I was teaching in Georgia, I wasn't always afforded the opportunity to manage naptime so I would get in my car on my lunch break, drive through the beautiful historic Virginia Highlands area, and park near a row of houses that sat on a hill with ivy covered lawns. This was especially nice during overcast days. I would sit in my car, listen to Ella and read Langston.

Ella Fitzgerald, Love Songs: The Best of the Verve Song Books

Langston Hughes, The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes

I'm a little bit soul, I'm a little bit jazz

I love this performance. Neither of these artists is considered strictly jazz and the song they selected is not strictly jazz. But since Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holliday, and numerous strictly jazz musicians recorded it, it's filed under Jazz – Classic Jazz at that – in some places.

Jill Scott, George Benson, Summertime by Gershwin from Porgy & Bess.

 

 

Jazz and The Cosby Show

Everybody wanted to be a Cosby Kid. Our version of the water cooler conversations was standing in the lunch line talking about The Cosby Show. But I didn't want to be a Cosby Kid – I wanted to be Claire!

Anyway, it was watching The Cosby Show that stirred my innate affinity for jazz. I just didn't have the capacity to take the tiny bits he shared in his show and find the gateway into the world of jazz at the time.  I grew up with the Cosby Kids (I would have been between Rudy and Vanessa in age) – so what I knew of Bill Cosby was Picture Pages and Fat Albert – not the standup comedian and the recordings of Hicky Burr, thus I was oblivious to his contributions to the jazz world and his love for the art of jazz. Now that I'm older and since the internet has been invented (it really bothers me that I can actually remember when email and the internet started), I take advantage of what he shared with us.

There was an episode that introduced me both to Nancy Wilson (played Denise's mother-in-law) and Moody's Mood For Love. The episode with the apples planted the seed that would grow into a great appreciation and love for Coltrane and Ellington's In A Sentimental Mood. I met Joe Williams (played Claire's father) from that show and found out that A Man Ain't Supposed To Cry. And there were a lot of other indirect introductions to artists like Nina Simone – who I swore was the music coach for Vanessa but found out later that was actually Betty Carter. Listening to Lena Horne sing I'm Glad There Is You led me to Sarah Vaughan because I prefer her interpretation. And hearing the constant phrase, "scat like Ella Fitzgerald" drove me towards my forever love of The First Lady of Song.

So I must pay homage to The Cosby Show for setting me on my journey towards filling the void that R&B, Hip-Hop, and Soft Rock left in my musical soul.

Go to 4:00 to hear Claire (Phylicia Rashad) and her father (Joe Williams) sing a song that you cannot buy anywhere!