It's completely cliché, but the sky is bigger in Texas. It just is. Today's was cloudless and a crisp cornflower blue. The pecan trees are bare, the fruits of which have been gathered from backyards and given as gifts to family and neighbors. I took pecans for granted until I moved to New York. It pains me to pay so much for these nuts that dug into my bare feet anytime I ran outside. The annoyance becomes a commodity.
I feel that way about my voice, too. I remember my brothers complaining to my parents, "why does she have to sing ALL the time???!!!" The annoyance becomes a point of pride. I sing all the time because I have to. When I don't sing or if I'm sick and can't sing, I go through a type of withdrawal and I become distracted and irritable. Sometimes I wonder what's wrong with me until I remember that a few days have gone by and I haven't really sung or practiced. The withholding of expression obscures my full-functioning, present self. Weird.
On this first day of a new year and last day of my guest blogging adventure, I'm so glad to have had the lovliest week of cross-discipline creativity. Thank you, Stacey. Attempting to articulate a few aspects of my musical life has been really fun for me. I remember the agony I felt in school when faced with writing assignments. If I may confess, my fourth grade book project was actually written by my mom. I procrastinated until the night before it was due and had a the kind of meltdown that only a spoiled ten year-old can perform. I never could look Mr. Self in the eyes after that. Mr. Self, if you're out there, I'm really sorry, but ultimately glad to report that my mom didn't have to write any of this for me. The annoyance becomes pleasure.
