Every time I read this, an emphatic whispered “yes” echoes in my head.
I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling fingertips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear and liquid slow.
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song sung to rest the tired dead
A song to fall like water on my head,
And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!
There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.
I spent the last few days with my brothers. This means that I spent an afternoon learning to say “My name is Nadine” backwards. I then recorded the backward phrase and played it in reverse. The most hilarious English you’ll ever hear.
I also had a discussion about disproving mathematics. (And had another conversation that concluded that the worst possible way to die is to drown while doing math. Agree?)
So these are sort of random, but they’re reflective of my experience in Orillia.
Sarcasm
Jake and Amir are like my adopted brothers. They would fit right in.
Drummers Are Cool
Joel is a drummer. He introduces me to drumming talent I wouldn’t otherwise encounter. Like this guy, who covers Sum 41’s “Fat Lip.” He plays 10% faster than the original recording. And is brilliant. And even EATS while being brilliant.
Bonus: Travis Barker, arguably one of the most famous in-a-band drummers today, made Soulja Boy kind of enjoyable. Waaaaaaay better than the original.
Real Men Wear Plaid
Nathan gave a speech on plaid at Bible college. He included this commercial in his presentation. This is a real man, boys. Be like him.
For those of you assuming I have a perfect relationship with my younger siblings, I should disclose that I instigated a little physical violence over a TV-watching issue last night. (Olympic ice dancing trumps funny reruns, boys.) Yep, I can still be 9 when it’s convenient.
1. I was downstairs in the family room with my parents, watching ski cross (stressful!) while playing Scrabble. Crazy times in Orillia. Upstairs, my brothers were discussing very important things. I know this because I overheard the following:
“…the world’s greatest guitar player who can crawl through a log and talk to a bird.”
2. I had been kicked out of the bathroom, so I was doing my hair in front of the hall mirror. I made one of those “I hate my hair” faces. Joel tried to make me feel better:
“If I saw a girl walking down the street with the same hair as you, I’d say, ‘Hey, you have the same hair as my sister.’”
3. Nathan helped illustrate the awkwardness that comes when people don’t know the difference between “self-conscious,” “subconscious” and “unconscious”:
“My unconscious thinks I’m subconscious about the way I look.”
4. We were talking about infidelity and forgiveness. Someone’s husband left her for a young girl. Joel couldn’t resist:
“Mom, someday I’m going to leave you for a young girl.”
5. Um, and my mom may have called one brother “lame boy” and the other “bottle neck.” But I wouldn’t dare incriminate her in such a public forum….
I have a fear of slippery gravity. And of flying through the air while my feet are strapped to a board. And of smashing my face into the side of an icy hill. That said, last night’s Olympic snowboarding event was AMAZING.
Shaun White is my new sports hero. Partly because he has superhero nicknames: “The Flying Tomato” or the Muppet-friendly “Animal.” (His hair deserves its own medal.) And partly because he wore plaid. But mostly because I have never seen anyone do what he does.
Aside: His Rolling Stone interview after he won in 2006 makes me want to eat nachos with him. Is that weird? I think he’d be a fun nachos friend.
He’s like Michael Phelps. Or Usain Bolt. He’s in some sort of magical league of superhuman athletes. And when he won, as one commentator pointed out, his reaction was like that of a little kid who just got everything he wanted for Christmas. Happy, happy, happy.
I’m inspired by people who love what they do. Their joy is contagious.
So while I cheer for Team Canada, I make exceptions for awesome.
P.S. I would like to thank Nintendo 64 for teaching me everything I know about snowboarding.
P.P.S. I also super-love Alex Bilodeau. EVERYONE does. I didn’t breathe for his entire run. And then I cheered. Out loud. I want to hug his entire family.
I was doing laundry this evening, lugging my wardrobe to the back door of the house, when it hit me: The Disney songs blaring through my wall were coming from A GIRL’S APARTMENT.
Boy Behind the Wall is no longer behind my wall. He’s gone.
Sure, he was loud and obnoxious. He swore at the TV in the middle of the night. He once left his radio playing at top volume for over 48 hours. He had sex far too frequently for my liking. He liked to party on Tuesdays.
But he was also a proud Canadian, admirably loyal to the Leafs. He was a Bon Jovi fan. He could barely play the guitar, but this did nothing to deter him from serenading me through the drywall. And when girls came over, he’d switch the tunes from classic rock to Enya. I think I heard him cry once. Not over Enya.
Five years is a long time to know someone solely for their sound life.
In saying goodbye, I will post the only conversation of his I ever transcribed. He was also the Boy Behind the Bathroom Wall. And he and his girlfriend had pretty serious fruit issues.
BBTW: What are you doing?
GIRL: I’m going to wash my body.
BBTW: I’m f***ing naked and you want to wash your body?
GIRL: You were eating watermelon!
BBTW: This is my f***ing life!
I like Valentine’s Day. I really do. I’m not bitter or melancholic or man-hating or lonely just because my city is painted pink and red. And in a couple days, chocolate will on sale. Zero complaints.
If I didn’t have to write this weekend (temporary story of my life), I’d make these. Because love and laughter go hand-in-hand.
When I was 8 1/2, I wrote my first fan letter. It was to Kurt Browning. I loved him. Who could blame me? In 1992, the man had shiny pants, crazy hair, the most charisma I’d ever seen on the ice, and he looked like, well, Canada. I was proud of the man.
The Albertville Olympics were the first Olympic games I remember being excited for. And when the Men’s Short Program aired, I was glued to the black-and-white TV set in the family room.
He had to win.
And he fell.
I have a strange memory. Because I remember how I felt, not the specifics of his performance. I remember running into the living room, hiding any reaction that was splashed across my little face. I sat at the piano and pretended to suddenly care about practicing. For the first time in my life, I played the piano because I was sad. Because I was disappointed and frustrated and wanted to hug a stranger and didn’t know what to do about it.
That same piano still lives with me. His name is Doug. From my tears for Kurt to my confusion over boys who cannot skate at all, he’s seen me through…life.
Ladies and gentlemen, the event that first turned music into therapy:
Every time I read this, an emphatic whispered “yes” echoes in my head.
