I am still absolutely loving the time I sit at the piano and try to play pieces that I played so very, very long ago. As I struggle though the songs, making one mistake after another, my fingers clumsy with age and no practice, I think of how much better I played when I was ten or eleven or twelve. Please understand- I was never any good. I had no illusions about that nor did my teacher (or my mother, for that matter) ever encourage any false belief in my abilities. And now I am absolutely certain that I have zero talent at playing music but somehow, it is still such a pleasure to try. After an hour though, I seem to lose focus and my mind wanders and my fingers stray onto the wrong notes even more and I know it is time to stop.
But for that hour, I am doing something only for me. I would rather dig a ditch from here to Sacramento than allow anyone to listen to me. And I think of that frequently as I try to play- that anyone listening would die of the pain of my awkwardness, my sheer inability to create anything resembling pleasing sounds.
I especially think of all the musicians I know and love and how they would shake their heads and never bring the subject up again out of their love and embarrassment for me.
Still, somehow all of that does not interfere with my pleasure. I guess it's a little bit like a non-artist doing paint-by-number and getting enjoyment out of that, even though it is as far from actual art as... well, my playing is from music.
One of the things that happens as I struggle through these songs is that a visceral memory of living in Roseland comes back to me. Different memories than my usual ones. My dreams, too, find me in Roseland, strangely enough often at the house of my best friend Lucille and why, I do not know. I don't recall her having anything to do with my piano playing although it's possible that as I was doing my enforced daily practicing, I was thinking of her and her house and how I would so much rather be there with her, playing, than sitting at the piano in our living room, making the same mistakes over and over.
I had a go-to-town day today. Jessie and I met at a Goodwill and did a little shopping. She got a few things and so did I. I got a long sleeved purple T-shirt and a nice, very pale lilac sweater which, although made entirely of acrylic, is soft and will wash easily which is important in my life. Also warm, which is good because it's about to get a lot cooler here. And I can wear a sweater I got at Goodwill with my overalls and not feel the least worry about snagging it or staining it. These things are important to me these days.
I made Jessie pose with a dress I found which I deemed to be the most hideous thing I saw there today. That may or may not have been true but it was pretty awful.
I could not figure out what the fluorescent orange belt strip with metal studs in it was doing there. The knit of the fabric was actually fairly interesting.
WHAT THE FUCK?!
Can I say that the Senate is doing a good thing?