Peace, Love, and Music

A lot has been happening in my life. Not a lot of writing, but a lot of other stuff. Good stuff. I'd like to share it with you. Another day. Because I need to take a few moments and celebrate an anniversary.

Forty-one years ago today (and yesterday, and tomorrow), The Woodstock Festival took place. Was I there? *sigh*, no. I wasn't even born yet. Would I have been there had I been born then? Hell yes!

I know many things about this festival, probably more than many of the people who were actually there. The advantage, I suppose of being a product of the information age and a fanatic. I have the DVD, special edition of course, commentary and all. I have books about it. I have read as much as I possibly can on the internet. Last year, on the 40th anniversary, I spent the whole weekend on the couch, watching VH1 Classic and their tribute to all-things-Woodstock and the bands that were there.

What is it about these three days in my life? How does this effect me? Well, for one, I wasn't there. It is just one more thing on my list of born-too-late-for... But things tend to happen to me, both good and bad during these three days. It is the time when I hit the wall, so to speak, with a very bad behavior nine years ago, and turned my life around. I have gotten some of the best jobs I have had in August. I tend to move in August, once five years ago and again last weekend.

But most of all, it is what it is supposed to be. Music. It is another day (or three) that reminds me that peace and love is possible, if I strive for them. If I keep my mind focused and my side of the street clean, I can have peace and love with all of mankind. When I cannot find that focal point and my mind doesn't clear, I can listen to the music and figure it out. I want to always be of service to mankind for the greater good. Whether it be for a group of 2 or 400,000 to 500,000 (estimates vary on the actual number), I can practice love and tolerance, and spread love to those around me.

I would like to leave you with Creedence Clearwater Revival's John Fogerty's words on preforming at 3 a.m, 41 years ago today, at the Woodstock Festival:

"We were ready to rock out and we waited and waited and finally it was our turn... ...there were a half million people asleep. These people were out. It was sort of like a painting of a Dante scene, just bodies from hell, all intertwined and asleep, covered with mud.  And this is the moment I will never forget as long as I live: a quarter mile away in the darkness, on the other edge of this bowl, there was some guy flicking his Bic, and in the night I hear, "Don't worry about it John. We're with you." I played the rest of the show for that guy."

Attempt #3,562,947...and more than ever before!

My life is filled with music and musicians. I love it. I wouldn't have it any other way.

In addition to what I hear on the radio, I have a generous supply of people who I cherish that supply me with the thrill of live, sometimes personal, concerts. There is something that happens to me when the music starts. I have attempted to it into words many times, with very little success. It is just too intense, the emotion swallows me before I can get the words out.

Here is my attempt for today. We'll call it attempt number 3,562,947. Just for the sake of a title.

I had the honor of going to the Melissa Etheridge concert last night with my big sister and best friend, Joy. The super honor is that this is the second time we have seen her. There is little better than live music, but live music in a room with several people with the same burning inside is incredible...
To hear a songwriter share their soul and life's work is possibly one of the greatest gifts to receive. The small pieces of their lives they give in between songs intensifies the expirience.

Not that I have to even say it out loud, but Melissa rocked! I mean, she ripped the place apart! I wondered how she doesn't break a guitar every night, how she still has a voice, how her throat isn't split in half! I got stuck in a hypnotic trance more than once, in fact, probably for most of the night.

First it's the drums. My feet start, and set the pace for my body to follow. My head starts to bob a little. The guitar starts. My arms move. My torso follows.

Then I'm gone. I don't hear anything but the music. I don't feel anything except where it takes me. And where that is is different every time.

So right now, as I write this, two of my favorite people are performing. This is the first of about five live shows with them this week, including a jam tomorrow with just them and my boyfriend. All I have to do is sit, listen, and pet the dogs.

I can't think of a better week.

As my feelings erupted when the music started tonight, the words "WRITE NOW!" came screaming to my head. So I obeyed. I figured if I was able to get even a piece out, this could be way more successful than any prior trial. It feels amazing to write this much about music. My insides are, as per usual, exploding with emotion as the guitars go and the harmony reigns supreme.

I feel alive.

I feel content.

I feel enveloped

I feel love.

I feel free.

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Talking for Hours

For those of you who think I've been too busy to write because of my crazy online-dating schedule, you are sort-of right. But mostly wrong.

I received an abundance of response to my post about online dating. Not many on here, but friends that read it sent me emails, texts, and a choice few actually picked up the phone to say “DO IT! DO IT NOW!”. I mean, it's the computer. What is the worst that can happen? I didn't have to actually follow through with anything. And it could provide plenty for future blogs at the very least, right? Right. So I did it.

I got plenty of response once I actually put up my list. As it was on this blog.

So, for the weak at heart, maybe scroll down. Past the next part. It is a short summary of some of the responses I got. It's gonna get raunchy up in here. The part in parentheses are my own comments to their comments. (I did not directly comment to any of these freakazoids. So the parentheses are my thoughts. No one's feelings or egos were smashed due to my sarcasm. For once.)

Please feel free to add your own comments to this absurdity below...

But...if can handle the heat, feel free to stay in the kitchen. (Not that I cook. I just have always wanted to use that phrase...)

“Hey. Like your face.” (Um, wow, did you read any of what I wrote?”)

"You look very f*ckable." (Wow, how do I look that way?  If I do, it's an accident.) (p.s. he didn't put an asterik in there...)

“Hello.” (“...and I say good-bye.”)

“Hit me up. I kan make you sqirt.” (First, you can't spell. Second, not up to you.”)

"You look interesting."  (That is not a compliment.)

“Like what you have to say. I have custody of my kids, is that a problem?” (UM...YES, it is a problem.)

“Wanna hook up?” (No.  Not with you.)

"Where's a good place for you?" (Good place for...?  Sleep? In my room.  Food? Anywhere that has good mashed potatoes.  Reading? Starbucks.  For you to meet me? In hell.)

“How bout we meet up. I think I could love you.” (If you meant about, as in you can't spell or, when using slang, cannot use apostrophes correctly, then no. If you meant bout as in a bout of illness, then, well, still no.)

"Sex?" (Female.)

“Hey. Your profile is great. How about you get in your car and meet me up here?” (YOU ARE OVER 2 HOURS AWAY IN ALABAMA!)

“I could make you scream!” (Are you an axe murderer?)

“Do you like to travel?” (Not with strangers.)

"I'd like to go hiking in the woods with you."  (Ok, because that isn't just creepy and asking me to walk to my death in my hiking shoes...)

“Cum over.” (Either this is a play on words or you really can't spell. Either way, not interested.)

OK, that's enough for now. I mean, I need to have some more blogs in the future, right?

There's some good news, though. An interesting tid-bit of information. The completely unexpected happened. I met someone! I actually got out from behind the computer screen and went to Starbucks to meet someone. And it has not only been one of the bravest moves of my entire life, but also the best decision yet.

His particular listing was a list. Everything on his list matched what was on my list. After about four days of constant emailing back and forth, we ventured into the world to see each other in person.

Let me stop here to tell you, I really had no intentions of meeting anyone. I had no hopes or dreams or fantasies about this actually happening. I honestly did this to prove to myself and everyone else that the world is full of scuzzes and I will, undoubtedly, end up alone or settling. (read: alone) So, imagine my surprise, I found a list that matched mine.

Starbucks. On my turf. Safe. A Starbucks I frequent, so they know my face. And it isn't unusual for me to randomly run into a friend from time to time there. I knew that meant I couldn't be alone. And I know there are three ways out of that parking lot, so if it went really bad, I could jump out of there and he wouldn't be able to find me.

Turns out, I didn't need a safe turf. I didn't need a friend to rescue me. I didn't need an exit plan (or three). We sat there and talked for FOUR HOURS. I'm not exaggerating. FOUR HOURS. And it felt like fifteen minutes. We have loads in common. We make each other laugh. We could finish each others' sentences almost immediately.

We had coffee on the Wednesday before Memorial Day, and made plans for a short day hike at Vickery Creek for that Monday. It didn't end up being short - we had a ten-hour date. I don't think I have ever had a date that lasted so long. It was an amazing day.

So, yes, we are dating. Yes, the list worked. Yes. Yes. Yes. To everything. As time passes, he learns more about my list and how he fits into it. And I learn more about his and how I fit into it. What a nice fit for both of us. Now both our profiles are down from the dating site, we are committed to each other.

Here's the weird thing. He lives and works less than twenty minutes from me. We have probably seen each other tons of times. I have a whole different perspective on fate now. Meeting people is timing, not circumstance. We are ready for each other - in ways we might not have been a year or two ago. Being super picky has led me to him, and him to me. By putting my OCD, my musical-spirituality, and teeth-obsessed self out into the open, I have found a man that can relate to me and understand everything without a word. A man with whom I can have a conversation with for ten hours or more. A man who enables me feel comfortable being me.

For the record, he flosses as much, if not more, than I do. Amazing how you get exactly what you ask for, when you're not too shy to put it out there.

Spirituality in 604 Steps

I am no longer a casual hiker. It is official. We started The Canyon Climbers Club this weekend.

Our friends, Mike and Christine, had their engagement party at Amicalola Falls on Saturday. Tara and I talked about it and decided we should get a room to stay and hike on Sunday. After all, Amicalola is on the required hiking list for the club!

Of course, I waited until the last minute to book a room. I always wait until the last minute.  I seem to always think there is more time than there actually is.  (Just ask my friend, Kelly - she will tell you about the panic attacks she has had leading up to our many trips, New York, Florida, etc.  I am not a good plan-ahead type of girl!)  Anyway, this was not the best time to be a no-plan-ahead kind of girl, as a bunch of family came to the party from out of town, and needed rooms and cabins. When I finally called, the nice lady that answered the phone. The conversation went a little like this:


Nice Lady: “I only have one room left. Would you like it?”
Me: “YES! Er, yes, ma'am, please.”
Nice Lady: “It's a king bed, on the first floor. The view is nice.”
Me: “PERFECT! Er, okay, thank you very much.”
Nice Lady: “You really lucked out. We are booked for the whole weekend, even the cabins are all full.”
Me: (Thinking: 'I KNOW! My friend is having an engagement party and I'm a dumbass for not booking this shit earlier!!!') Speaking, “Wow, that's great. Thank you so much.”

We got a room. Barely. Thank god!

Saturday morning, we begin the drive up. After a few obligatory stops on the way, we are headed north. In the car, with coffee, smokes, and conversation, we are headed out to celebrate with friends and then on to conquer a goal feels amazing.

Saturday was gorgeous. There could not have been a better day for an outdoor party. The music, as always, was rockin'. The scenery was great. Good food. I met lots of great people and laughed a lot. We had a couple hours between the band's final song and the bonfire. Tara and I decided to try our luck at finding a Starbucks. The GPS said it was only 6 miles away. WRONG. It was 26 miles away. Not 26 highway or city miles...26 COUNTRY miles. We were late for the bonfire. It didn't matter. It was fun. And worth every minute!

Sunday morning, we woke up to pack and meet Pam and Ric in the dining area for breakfast before our big hike. Ahhh...the hike. 604 Steps up. And then down. Two miles total. But a strenuous two miles it will be. We took a lot of stopping breaks. Water, pictures, sit down. Water, pictures, sit down. Hike. Hike. Hike.

But, oh, the journey is well worth it! The waterfall is a sight to see. It is amazing to see this beauty up close and personal from all angles and levels! We reveled in every moment. There were silly pictures and fun pictures, pictures alone and pictures together. There are pictures without any of us in them – the beauty around us too great for human tainting.

There were times when we split off from each other, Pam and Ric enjoying the moment together, Tara and I enjoying...and other combinations of the four of us. Even times when we were all somewhat separated – just enjoying this in our own spiritual way. Together and alone, we all felt something that powerful.

I deeply enjoy the conversations that happen on the trail. It has been my experience (even though I'm not a seasoned hiker) that, though I may already know the person I'm with, a conversation on a trail is much more intimate and personal than in the outside world. It opens people up and brings them together. There is a sense of unity, of wholeness that takes place there.

Once we reached the top, we were suddenly invigorated. Our exhaustion lifted some, and the joy of the climb filled our lungs and our beings. Walking down, the lyrics were light, our hearts filled with pride. The other side of the waterfall is earth and woods, with berries and trees and nature. We even saw a couple buzzards overhead. Nature in all its wonder.

Once in the air conditioning of the visitor's center (ahhhhhhhhh...air conditioning!), Tara and I got our first punch on the Canyon Climbers Club Cards, and Pam and Ric bought their own membership! They will be hiking the other three trails along with us!

More spiritual expierences are sure to come, as they did Sunday.

Inspired. But stuck.

I had this inspired sentence on Saturday.  I have been working working working to make it into something.  But, sometimes, a sentence is just a sentence. 

As James St. James once said, "It's really a shame you can't publish a sentence. I'm convinced it would be a best-seller."

(Okay, I'm not sure if he really said it, but Seth Green said it in Party Monster.  But whatever.  Here's my sentence.)

"I shall never take music for granted."

There.  My bestseller.

Officially. Out. Of the box.

Never again. I am never going outside my little box again. Never.

Did I mention NEVER?

Remember a few blogs ago, when I said I wanted to clean out my ipod and make room for some new/different tunes? Well that's never going to happen again. From now on, I'll just spend the money and buy a new iPod when the one I have is full. Steve Jobs, you now officially have my soul. I guess you need it, as you sold yours a long time ago...

Let me back up.

This morning, I innocently plugged in my laptop to charge it, preparing for my out-of-box-stepping at lunch. Then, I plugged in the USB for my iPod. Then, a little box shows up (as it always does when I plug in my iPod) “Scan Device or Continue without Scanning”.

So, yeah, you guessed it. I hit the wrong one.

My iPod FORMATTED.

ERASED.

EVERYTHING.

My life is over.

Okay. Not really.

But it felt that way when I clicked on the first playlist to delete and it was empty. Here's the thing. I don't buy my music from iTunes. I get it elsewhere. I don't buy my music from iTunes because I refuse to give my entire soul to Steve Jobs. So, there is no emailing iTunes and saying, “Um, please send me my library because well, apparently, I'm a dumbass.”

So it's back to the drawing board. I still have some music on my hard drive. Thankfully, I am so obsessed with The Beatles that I will never delete them. That's a lot. And I have the entire collection of Simon & Garfunkel, and Paul Simon. I have a couple other random albums stored on my computer. Then, there are my CDs. Unfortunately, there isn't much to do with them, as I haven't bought a CD in over five years. So now, I must go elsewhere.

Mission accomplished, I suppose. I told you that I wanted to clean out my ears and get a fresh start. I did just that. Step out of my box? Check. Big mistake? Double Check.

So, for the next few evenings. I'll be crying over my computer trying desperately to find the music that I was not going to delete. And, though I will not be purchasing them from iTunes, I will utilize the “Genius” function to see it there are any fun titles based on what I have inserted on my newly-empty iPod. Maybe this could be fun!

Later. When it's done. That's when it will be fun.

I will say, I am excited to have three new bands on my iPod. Kelly has given me Vampire Weekend. (You may remember them from my post about the Oxford Comma song.) That song was the only one by them I had, and only because it was about the Oxford Comma. But, I now have two of their albums on my iPod and am excited to hear more from them. Then, there is Marva Wright, a blues singer from Louisiana. I found her through my friend Pam, and this woman can sing the blues like crazy! There's a feeling of being in a smoky bar, maybe in the 50s or 60s, when she is singing. I believe she will bring delight to many of my journeys.  And then there's Lady Antebellum.  Amazing.  Guitar riffs and vocals that will blow your mind.  Thanks, Ric, for the suggestion.  Thanks, all of you, for your expansion of my being.

On that note, if any of you have any suggestions, please send them onward. I am looking to fill my life with my old standards, and find some new ones.   With your comments, I promise to try to find your suggestions and give it a listen.

So much for not ever getting out of my box again.  I think maybe this could be an interesting new path. 
So here's to new beginnings. New journeys.

Soul Revival

I thought I would try something different. Break out of my little box. I thought I could not be controlling and just let fate take over.

Apparently, I still need some work.

I put my ipod on shuffle.

The first few songs were great. They were songs I hadn’t heard in a while. There were some songs I hear all the time that I really enjoy. This is going to be fun!

Then, a song my ex put on busted through my speakers. Flip.

Chapter 14 of a book. Flip.

A slow song. Flip.

A good song! Ahhhhh…

A song I really wasn’t interested in today. Shit.

Here is what I learned. I have a lot of shit on my ipod. A lot. Of shit. It’s time to do some housecleaning. Ear-cleaning? After all, it is dangerously close to its 30 gigabyte limit. I could make room for new stuff, or rather (since new is not so much my thing), some different stuff.

I am a little crazy about music, which may explain why my ipod is so full of, well, you know what. When I hear a song that I like, I must find out who sings it. Then I must listen to the entire album that song is on. That is how I decide if I truly like the song. A song is a chapter to me. The album is the book.

And, like many books I have read, I read other books by the same author. Likewise, I find as many albums by the same musician and listen to them. In order, just like I read chapters from a book. I feel there is a progression in music. One album relates and grows from the one previous. It is amazing to feel and hear and be inspired by the growth of the artist, to see how far they have come since their last release, the transitions, the risks taken.

Having said all this, there are two randomized playlists on my ipod. One, I am totally getting rid of. It is a mix of hip-hop, rap, and other loud beatbox music that I used to work out to, but no longer do. (Joan Jett has taken that job.) It is just obnoxious at this point in my life. While it was fun to hear some of it in my travels, I am never going to listen to it enough to justify the space it is taking up.

The other playlist is random rock songs. They are like that one line in the Shakespeare play that you love, that totally works in your life, but the idea of reading the whole play to get to that line makes you want to jump off the tallest building you can find. I’m keeping that playlist.

I did, however, find some gems I hadn’t heard in quite a while. How about these apples?

“Coat of Many Colors” by Dolly Parton (This still brings tears to my eyes.)

“Randy Scouse Git” by The Monkees (Why don’t you be like me?)

“Oxford Comma” by Vampire Weekend (For the record, I give a fuck about an oxford comma!)

“The Lemon Song” by Led Zeppelin (Squeeze my lemon…)

“Wish I Was a Kellogg’s Cornflake” by Simon and Garfunkel (I'm a citizen for boysenberry jam fan!)

“She Believes in Me” by Kenny Rogers (Don’t laugh. I’m from Nebraska for christ’s sake!)

"Meet Me in the Dark" by Melissa Etheridge (Anything by Melissa is good for me. And makes me want to give my BFF a big hug.)

And, possibly the biggest treat of the day was hearing “All I Wanna Do” by Sheryl Crow. There are too many good memories attached to that song to even start.)

So, even through the sigh, flip, sigh, flip, I had some goodness. My mind was flooded with happiness and my soul was revived.

I went on a hike today with the woman whom I have been referring to in this blog as “my long-lost dear friend”. I am no longer referring to her as that. It was like no time had passed at all. We talked all day and enjoyed the beauty around us. It was amazing, my heart is filled with gratitude that life is a circle and love conquers time and space. I am privileged enough to experience it all. Long-lost no more! She is now just my dear friend, Olivia. There is less than an hour between us now, not an entire country! And I couldn’t be happier to have her back!

I’d like to thank all the little people…oh yeah, I am the littlest person in the room!

I’m pretty new here. I am still learning my way around, constantly adding and deleting to my layout, and still cannot fix the formatting in my comments.

In spite of my newness (or perhaps because of it), I have been given an award! My long-lost dear friend, Olivia has bestowed a blog award upon me. Honored. I am truly honored.

However, in order to be deserving of said reward, I must do two things.

First, I must pass it along to seven fellow bloggers. That is the easy part.

I feel nervous about the second task. I must reveal seven truths about myself. All at once. For all the world (okay, for the very few of you who read my ramblings) to see. Since I am trying my best to take the fear road of Face Everything And Recover, instead of F&%# Everything And Run, I’m going to put seven truths out there. Maybe you’ll respect me tomorrow anyway. Maybe not. Either way, it was a fun night, eh?

1. Is Ivy Bliss my real name? This is the easy one. Yes. Ivy Bliss, in all its bad-ass-ness is, in fact, my real name. I am not famous, nor do I possess the self-confidence it would take to change my name to something that cool. First name, Ivy. Middle name, Bliss. Last name, irrelevant, unless you are my doctor, work at the DMV, or the bank. My last name is irrelevant because you will not be able to pronounce it or spell it. And it just isn’t as cool.

Buddy Hackett. He is how I got my first name. His daughter’s name was Ivy and my parents met them when they worked at a ski resort in Colorado. Apparently, they had the Lorraine McFly moment, “Ivy, what a nice name.” (okay, she said Marty, but we are talking about me here)

A waitress. That’s where my middle name came from. I am adopted. My parents were on the way to the agency to pick me up and they stopped to eat. Because, the kid can wait, we're hungry! Whatever, mom. Thanks for making me lay in that crib in the orphanage while you noshed on some grub. Back to the story, they had already settled on Ivy, but had yet to come up with a middle name, and their waitress’s name at said restaurant was…yep, you guessed it…Bliss.

So there you go. My name. 

2. I am deeply attached to notebooks and pens. They are my tools for writing. I find it difficult to be creative if I am not hunched over a one subject, wide rule, spiral bound notebook with my medium blue papermate flexigrip pen (the one with the cap, not the clicker) in my hand.  (And usually a cigarette in the other.)

I handwrite all my blogs, then type them in. I hand-wrote every paper I wrote for school, even the ten-pagers. I type later.

Yes, this takes a lot of time. But, it is how I work. I love scratching out mistakes. I love the hurried feeling I get in my wrist when I am in the middle of a great flow. But most of all, I love how my handwriting changes as the words go on.

In spite of all this, I love my computer and wish more people and companies in the world would be paperless. What a friggin’ oxymoron I am!

3. I love to take pictures.  I struggle to find the time to find beauty in my life.  I tend to be hyper-obsessively-focused on my life.  And that makes this difficult.  When I am behind a camera, I feel free.  I have made a committment to myself to take pictures of at least one beautiful thing a month this year.  And by one beautiful thing, I mean a roadtrip (even if just for a day) to see a place I have not seen before, or a place I have been, but not appreciated.

4. I love dogs. I feel more comfortable around dogs than I do most people. I am fortunate to be a house sitter for many people and their dogs. I appreciate the loyalty and unconditional love dogs give and strive to be more like that.  (Yep, that's my dog and me!)

5. I am shy and reserved. All my friends are loud and out-spoken. I am fiercely attracted to outgoing people. I suck at small talk. My theory is that they compensate for me, and others, in turn, think I am great at conversation. As long as I am not responsible for the small talk, I can play along. I feel amped up and more alive when I am with these types of people. It is easier to be social.

I prefer deep conversations, and they come as a result of the small talk sometimes, and that is good.

6. I believe in music and that it heals. In many ways, I believe it has saved me over and over again. The power of music feeds my soul and reinforces my life every day. It brings me to a place I am still hesitant to put into words, but I can feel the sound on my insides, and I internalize the words. 

7. I used to love to write. This blog is my attempt to get that feeling again. So far, it’s working.

Well, I guess that wasn’t so bad. Thanks again, Olivia. You are everything I want to be when I grow up! (If that should ever really happen!) To all the bloggers I bestow this award upon, don’t forget your list and thank you for encouraging me to write on!

Guess I should start typing!

And now for the awards!

http://thatrebelwithablog.blogspot.com/ - My inspiration for starting and continuing this blog. I am glad you are back. We will make time for each other.

http://gentlysaid.blogspot.com/ - Thank you for all your good words. I think we share humor in many ways.

http://murrbrewster.blogspot.com/ - You are funny and wonderful. Thank you for your support and comments.

http://psychedelicsister.blogspot.com/ - Your pictures inspire me to take more of my own and see things others don’t.

http://lizzysends.blogspot.com/ - I have just found you, but I like your style.

http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/ - I love the Fonz, too! ;)

http://jkoyanagi.com/ - You are an amazing talent, and I enjoy every sentence!

My Bobbin’ Brain and How I Got This Hole in My Cheek

When I was eleven, my cousin got married. I was the rice girl - back before they knew rice made birds explode - and there was some drama concerning my dress. Other than that, the only other thing I remember about that wedding is a song that played at the reception. I was minding my own business, socializing and being cute (I mean, being myself), and this sound came out of the speakers and everyone around me starting tapping their feet, or getting up to dance.

“Just take those ol’ records off the shelf, I sit an’ listen to them by myself, today’s music ain’t got the same soul, I like that ol’ time rock n’ roll…”

I was transfixed! This is an awesome song! How come I had never heard this song before? Where can I get mine???

Unfortunately, this was the age before downloads and itunes. (This was even before the age of (affordable) CDs!) There was no way to just google something and have the information in front of my eyes in seconds. I could not find out who was singing this magical song! But I stored the melody in my memory, stored the sound of that voice, and continued with the party.

Fast forward, twenty-two years. Saturday, February 27, 2010. I know now that Bob Seger sings that song. I have known for a long time now. I have several of his albums in my collection, and his greatest hits album is on my ipod. Starting yesterday, Bob has dominated my brain. My head is filled with “you’ll accomp’ny me…, workin’ on the night moves…, turn the page…, and, of course, ol’ time rock n’ roll…”. During my two hours in the car so far today, I have listened exclusively to the Bob Seger Greatest Hits from 1994. And it isn’t enough! I can’t wait until my journey home tonight, when I get to listen to more Bob! Why the sudden obsession with Sir Seger? No idea. Not one freakin’ idea. I mean, I like him, I’ve always liked him. And I listen to the album from time to time, but rarely do I have a compulsion to listen over and over and over again. Just another urge in music. Take it or leave it. But my recommendation is to get out your Bob Seger and rock out. Now.
Now on to the hole in my cheek. I am, of course, exaggerating (I’ve been known to do that). I don’t have a hole in my cheek. But it certainly feels like it. And it is totally my fault. I went to get my eyebrows waxed today. First of all, I would like to say that yesterday, they didn’t need waxing. It always seems like they pop out in the middle of the night, full length -and suddenly, from nowhere - UNI-BROW!!! If anyone has any insight into how exactly this happens, I would appreciate it.
Back to the story. I drove up to Calhoun today to go to the outlet mall and meet Kelly after she got off work. On the way, I realized my eyebrows had, once again, grown overnight. Not knowing anything about Calhoun, I stopped at the first nail salon I saw – the one right across from the outlet mall. As this was an unexpected pit stop, I wasn’t quite prepared, and didn’t go through my normal stages of routine gear-up for eyebrow waxing. (Yes, just one more routine in my OCD life. For more information, read yesterday’s blog.) The routines for waxing are few yet extremely necessary. They consist of a series of deep breathing exercises (about five minutes), and gum. Gum is essential. I bite down just before the waxer rips the strip of paper off my brow in anticipation of the hurt that never actually comes.

Usually, having done my deep breathing, the bite is slight and with the gum strategically placed in two spots between my back upper and lower teeth, there is little tactile notice of my biting.

Unusually, (read: today) I did not breathe. I did not put any gum in my mouth. And when the waxer put that strip of paper on my eyebrow, I chomped. HARD. I tasted blood. Distracted by the pain and that creepy salty taste, as well as trying my best to not cry in front of everyone in the salon, I barely noticed him do the other eyebrow and then tweeze the crap out of the few stubborn hairs that are never removed by wax.

Resigned by my lack of routine, insulted by my own negligence, I walked out of the salon and spit blood like Ivan Drago (that 20-foot tall Russian guy) when Rocky finally got him.  (And couldn't help but think, "If he dies, he dies...) 

So now I have this pain in my mouth, this knot in my gut, and a resolution to never break routine again. No matter how last minute or taken off guard I am. Hopefully, I can keep the resolution. Pain, as they say, is a great motivator.

Paul Simon is [GASP!] wrong...

My mom has a lot of opinions.  Many are about me.  Some are good.  Some are not so good.  Some I agree with.  Some, well, I just don't. 

Then, there is the one that is really worthless.  It's about my hair.  She hates my hair.  She can say this because I am adopted, and my hair is in no way her fault.  There is no genetic (or other) factor linking my hair to her.  To her credit, it is big, crazy, and unruly.  Oh, and I have two (yes, TWO!) cowlicks - one dead center in the front, and the other is dead center in the back.  So the only place to conceivably part my hair is straight down the middle.  But, then again, why is my hair such a point of contention?  This, especially since she has not had to do my hair on a consistent basis for well over 27 or 28 years now, I do not think I will ever know.

I do agree with her on one big thing.  I was born at the wrong time.  (Mind you, this is not her fault either, as she did not birth me.)   I was born in 1976, on the downward slope of the era I feel so attached to.

Never been lonely

Never been lied to

Never had to scuffle in fear

Nothing denied to

Born at the instant
The church bells chime

And the whole world whispering

Born at the right time

Sorry, Paul, this is one song I can't wrap my head around.

Yes, I'm a hippie.  I flash peace signs and wear bell-bottoms.  I listen to the music of musicans who are more frequently mentioned in the AARP magazine than Rolling Stone.  "Remastered" appears on nearly all my cds.  The bands I like either don't tour at all or go on reunion tours.  "New release" is not in my vocabulary.  I say things like "peace" and "groovy" (and have been known to say, "far out" on occasion).

My friends are also mostly all older than me.  I find a commonality with the people in the generation above mine.  I find my bonds and my soulmates within the people who grew up listening to the music I did (only in their case, it was new) and wore (notice the past tense) the same type of clothes I wear (notice the present tense).

I also watch reruns.  I love All in the Family, the Brady Bunch, the Partridge Family (oh, god, David Cassidy...god god god...), One Day at a Time, Mary Tyler Moore, Maude, Donny and Marie, etc, etc...anything from the 60s and 70s.  I think this is Ted Turner's fault.  When I was little, TBS ran reruns of all these shows from 4-8pm, Monday through Friday.  And due to my midwest upbringing, I had plenty of indoor time, November through March.

My feelings and attitudes also run deep in that time.  I feel every Beatles song deeply, the riff of Clapton's guitar, the lyrics of Paul Simon.  It seems that the music that I like has defined me as a person.  As I like a generation of music, I like other aspects about it, as well.  As I am moved by the cry against the social chaos of the message, I find myself emersed.  Janis Joplin was my idol for a while...until her insides became too toxic.  But her voice still takes me into a trance.  I have dreams of John Lennon.  I can turn on the Allman Brothers and literally pass my exit - by miles.

I am not a musician.  I am a fan.  I cannot play the guitar, but nothing soothes me more than the sound of one.  I have no vocal talent.  But a voice can carry me deep and far.  I am, however, a writer, and every lyric means something.  Every word must have meaning.  Every beat held a little longer than the last or a cut short has a poetic style to me.  I express myself through writing and I feel the expressions of others in theirs.

Isolated as I feel (real or not), in music, I am free and among friends.  And, on the rare occasion when something cosmic or meant-to-be happens in relation to this, I am on fire.  On one such time, I stumbled upon a book.  This is a book I will refer to often over the blog, so get it now. 

The book is called I Found All the Parts: Healing the Soul Through Rock 'n' Roll by Laura Faeth.

Got it?  Remember the book name, and hers.  It will be on the test.  OK, no test, but it will show up.  I can almost 100% promise that.  I promise because this book jerked me like only music can.  Coinsidence that it is actually about music?  I don't know.

First, I want to tell you that I did not find this book in a bookstore, or on one of my mad hunts online for something different to read.  This book landed on me.  On a rare day that I had the ipod off and was listening to the radio (the classic rock station - duh) on my way to work, there was an interview with a guy who had this genius marketing plan, and the product he was marketing that particular day was this book.  I listened to the whole interview and when I got to work, immediately got on the Barnes and Noble website so I could go get this book at lunch.  THEY DIDN'T HAVE IT!  Think, Ivy!  Think!  How do I get this book? 

Wow, you'd think I had never used a computer before...

I googled the name of the book and came to her website (wow, was that hard? I'm amazing sometimes!) and ordered it that day.

This book rocketed my out into outerspace.  FINALLY!  Someone feels the same way about music that I do!  FINALLY!  Someone gets that god exists out there in the realm of rock music.  FINALLY!  Someone feels the same way about music I do.  I began to write down things from the book.  I began to text message phrases to my musician friends.  I finally just ordered a copy of the book for one of them because I couldn't possibly recite the whole book to him! 

Through I have friends who love music as I do, even friends who are musicians themselves, I still have this perpetual feeling of alone and unique.  This book effectively erased that.  My conception of god was validated through reading this book, a conception I have been trying to figure out for years.  My quest is far from complete, but god and music and life and love and health are all inner-related.  And I know that beyond a shadow of a doubt, not just through my experience, but also because of Laura Faeth.  With her permission, I have posted the link the her website, as well as the picture of her book cover.

Every healthy part of me is because of music.  I was pretty severly hurt last year, hardly able to move, and I laid on the couch listening to VH1 Classic.  My first outing (while still in pain), was to see my friends' band.  It was the first time I was not in pain in weeks.  I just stood there against the wall, with my eyes closed, listening to the music, feeling the vibration of sound against the wall, and I was free. 
In my darkest mental states, music has been there, riding me through.  Pulling up out of myself and my funk, to bring me back to life.

Thank you, Laura Faeth, for re-affirming my beliefs, and for making me feel not so alone.

To those of you reading this, I want to warn you that music is everywhere I am.  Sometimes, a random song lyric becomes a phrase for me, and I don't even realize it.  So if you read something that sounds familiar, it probably is.  And I like to talk about it.  I may relate some of my dreams and feelings while listening to a particular song or artist.  I hope you can tolerate it. 

My current read is a book I learned about through Laura Faeth, entitled The Spiritual Significance of Music by Justin St. Vincent.  The link to his site and picture are also reprinted here with his permission.  It is very cool so far.  I'll let you know.  Once again, this is a book I had to google to find.  But totally worth it. I guess the lesson is lessons must be sought.

Sorry, Paul, I was not born at the right time.  I'm glad you were.  You are one of my inspirations.