An Enharmonic Interval is when there are two notes that differ in name, but that are actually, the exact same note (C sharp and D flat.) They have the same fingerings, the same sound, they are on the same place on the staff. They are the same thing just with a different title.
I'm going to get pretty honest with you here today. Probably because I realize that nobody reads this anyways and that it's pretty much for myself more than anyone else.
I have become an Enharmonic Interval, without even realizing it. I thought that I changed notes, even changed my title, but my life hasn't really followed suit.
What do I mean by that?
I have given myself this title of Christian, and now I find myself wondering if I've really changed anything at all, or just what I've named myself.
I've never really understood the enharmonic interval. I've always thought it was a little weird, and a little stupid. Why would somebody give one note another name? It just complicated matters, and makes me second guess myself when trying to play my sheet music.
I don't really understood why I've changed my title and not my life either.
I feel kind of like I'm going to throw up because I realize what I'm about to get into right here, and I've added some music that reminds me of my past to add to the dramatic effect. And it's working.
Well--here goes I suppose.
I write this blog behind a persona. I'm "The Trumpet Player". I glamorize my life so that none of my secrets leak through to the internet and some predator comes and takes me away, and so that I can seem like I'm something I'm not. Which I'm actually really good at.
Do I play the Trumpet? Sure. Are all the stories I tell true? Absolutely. But do I know any of the music terms I title my posts with without looking them up in a musical dictionary? No. Did the "Bible College" I go to consist of more than fourteen people in my church and half days for eight months? No. Am I as recklessly zealous for God like I try and convince you that I am?
Definitely not.
And that's probably one of the scariest things for me to admit.
Here's who I really am.
I'm a nineteen year old who lives with my parents and is hopelessly afraid to go to college because I think I'm making the wrong decision. I'm extremely insecure and have no real friends outside of my seventeen year old "Flute Player", younger sister, who I'm actually wildly competitive with. I come from what anybody would describe as a "broken home". My Mom raised me as a seventeen year old in University, and my biological dad left when I was probably three. I don't really know the details of it, don't really care. He's back in my life now but is grew up Catholic and seems anything but open to the idea of God, and I'm too freaked out to really talk to him about Jesus.
Great Christian hunh?
Oh, but it doesn't stop there.
I used to be completely enraptured in role playing Me and my best friend gave ourselves up to it and concocted warped stories that I would explain in a little more detail if I weren't deathly afraid that somebody I know might stumble upon this blog. We acted them out day after day after day, with--and without--each other. The reality I had made became more appealing to me than the reality I inhabited.
And I'm still kind of like that. Not in the same way, but I recede into my head to turn over stories I'm writing on a regular basis, and my reality bores me. I daydream, I watch movies, I read books, I write, I draw. Anything to escape this boredom. Nothing is particularly wrong with my life, I have a family that loves me and food on the table, a good church, and stuff. My problems are all my fault. My problems.
The role play thing has made me really good at telling stories, and really good at pretending. And so I pretend. I think I even fool myself.
I get up and read my Bible, listen to Mark Clarke podcasts, pray, every morning for an hour. I go to church, I tithe, I know the appropriate place to shout "Amen" in a sermon, and I studied under all the Pastors for eight months so I know them, in a sense.
I'm also extremely introverted and shy, so they don't really know me.
I know the things not to include in my testimony (I just allude to the role playing, the swearing, the denial of God, the immorality), I know the music I shouldn't listen to (and I don't listen to it), I know the shows I shouldn't watch, the games I shouldn't play, the drinks I shouldn't drink, the people I shouldn't associate with.
And I follow every stipulation to a 'T'. I don't have any tattoos, I haven't smoked, drank, my ear piercings have even gotten infected from every piece of jewelry I've tried to put in so those have grown over.
I've brought a couple people to Christ, though I haven't discipled them so I have no idea what their walk with Jesus is like because it doesn't show outwardly. (Though mine does and that doesn't mean my heart is changed so take from that what you will.)
I am prideful, and I judge other people because they don't do the things that I do that make me seem Christianly.
"You only read your Bible five minutes every couple days? Well--looks whose a heathen now."
I'm mean to people when they make me uncomfortable, and stupid around the people that I want to like me. I'm shallow, I'm selfish. I want other people to fail so that I look better. And for a little while, I feel better when other people aren't as good as me at something.
My sister is my biggest rival. She's extremely nice, people like her, she's smart, she's talented, she knows where's she's going with her life. (EMR, on her way to being a paramedic. How noble is that?) She doesn't like school, which has always been my one-up on her, but with her course now she's doing extremely well and I feel like my identity is being robbed because that's what I found myself in. How smart I am, how good I am at everything I put my hand to. If I don't have that, I don't have anything.
Except Jesus. And that doesn't seem to be enough for me. Because here I am wondering, do I really have Him? He would be enough if I did. I know that, because all the knowledge I have of the Bible lets me know that Jesus was enough for the people that were whipped, beheaded, put in prison, because of Him. He was enough for Paul, the Pharisee who was converted on the road to Damascus, and was put in prison, persecuted, stoned, and eventually killed for the message of Christ. He was enough for Gideon who took three hundred men into battle in the dead of the night, and for Elijah the Prophet, who called down fire from heaven to challenge hundreds of worshipers of Baal.
Some of that information might be inaccurate. I know my Bible but not perfectly, and apparently not enough for it to change me.
I mean--I changed. At first. I feel like it was real at first. Or at least--maybe it was?
I don't know what my decision was motivated out of. Here's the readers digest version of my conversion. (How'd you like that little rhyme thing I did there?)
I grew up in a Christian household, like a thousand other people out there, and had a relationship with God. Pasting memory verses on foam castles in children's church, and raising my hands during worship. But then something happened and I decided that I thought this whole schtick was stupid. I didn't want to be a Christian. It was a myth, a fictitious tale, much like the story I was writing with my friend about our role play characters. And then that myth became more real to me than God did. I used new age philosophies like "the secret" to try and manifest those characters into reality. I almost cut holes into the back of my shirt so that when my wings sprouted, I could slip them through the fabric. (Have you ever read Maximum Ride? Yah, I wanted to be genetically engineered to have wings just like the flock.)
I know there was demonic activity working in my life, and if you think demons are something Christians make up to scare people into this "Jesus stuff" I'm going to tell you you're wrong and I don't care what you think if I talk about them. They're real.
I wanted to run away from home, just so that I could get picked up off the street in the black Lamborghini of my main character.
And the crazy thing? I was so good at lying, so good at pretending, that my mom and step dad didn't even realize that I wasn't the good Christian girl I was putting on the mask of. Smile, bat your eyelashes, say things like "fellowship", "Redeemed" and "Our Heavenly Father", and you're fine.
Then we moved. My step dad was posted because he's in the military and I had to freaking go with him. What the heck was with that?
I rallied against the idea, and still continued to role play with my friend over the internet. Then I found people just like me.
See that's the thing, you'll always find someone to participate in your sin, so you can't ever run from it. You have to give it to God, and that's what I'm so desperately wanting to be able to do now.
But back to the story.
I kind of role played at school, though of course, not with the characters me and my best friend had created. No, I did other things. Conformed to their patterns, while always pretending to be some character or another. If it wasn't the immortal teenager with drinking problems from my stories, it was the good girl at home, or the person who didn't care that they were drowning in the confusion of moving while I was at school.
I had this journal thing that I wrote in. That's always kind of been a consistent in my life. Not that I consistently write in a journal, but I always seem to come back to one method or another of journaling because writing seems to be a good way for me to process stuff.
Well my Mom found this journal, and in it I berated her, I swore, I talked about my characters, I ranted about how I hated everything--life itself.
She didn't realize I was so messed up, and when she flipped out on me, something inside of me broke.
Sort of.
The rest of me balked. I decided that she couldn't control me, and that I was going to do whatever I was going to do anyways.
And she read my journal again, weeks later!
And that time was the first time I ever really considered killing myself.
You see, I'm going to get a bit psychologist on myself here, but I think because my Mom has always been the only consistent authority figure in my life, I value her opinion more highly than anyone else's. So when she said how badly I had hurt her, threatened to send me away, stuff like that, I felt more cut to the heart than ever before. I crumpled on my floor, and sobbed after she had left.
I don't know why I suddenly cared what I did to her. I certainly didn't before, when she had first gotten angry. I didn't when I critiqued her, and said terrible things about her in my journal, and otherwise. But I did, and then I got scared.
Her brother had gotten run over by a truck when she was young, and died during surgery for a couple of minutes. And he explained this scenario about going to Hell and having Satan standing in his hospital room, puking and saying "I've got you now," or something like that. And Mom had told me that story before and I suddenly felt convicted and like Hell was waiting for me.
Turn or Burn philosophy, right?
I have to interrupt the story here for a second to say that I know it sounds weird. I'm not naive, I don't think that it's normal for people to have this idea in their head. I don't know how it works, but I know that it's real. Whether that's some kind of distorted, drug induced idea of dark, supernatural activity or a legitimate encounter with the devil, I don't know, nor do I particularly intellectualize about it. Something evil is out there, and don't pretend it's not. You know, deep down inside, that people that torture individuals for pleasure, and burn babies, and kill people of a different race because they are "inferior", are doing something wrong.
Well that something, that darkness, freaked me out. And so did Hell. And I knew that Jesus was this ticket out, and so I asked Him for a "Get Out of Hell Free Card." Which--isn't being a Christian, and maybe that's a shock. Being a Christian means giving yourself to Christ, not asking to be saved from Hell. See, Hell isn't for people, it's not this incentive to be a Christian. It's punishment for the powers of darkness, and was never intended for us. But when we decide that we don't want God, then that's what we get. Separated from Him.
And you're like "Oh well, if God's good then why wouldn't He just let us exist in this 'so called' afterlife, without Him? Why this Hell place?"
BECAUSE GOD IS GOOD! SO YOU'RE EXISTING OUTSIDE THE PRESENCE OF GOOD! YOU'RE LEFT IN THE PRESENCE OF EVIL!
I'm sorry. Except that I'm really not. I'm finally saying (typing) what I feel like typing without freaking caring about what other people are going to say or think! I'm not perfect! I get it! I don't deserve heaven, and I'm not claiming to. I'm saying that Jesus allows us to enter heaven when we say "Take me!" And that's what being a Christian is. It's loving God, not because you're afraid of Hell, but because you're in love with Jesus. You don't love you're spouse because you're afraid of being alone. You love you're spouse because you love them, and that should be enough.
Which brings me to a point I haven't made yet, but should have.
I don't know if I was really *saved when I became a Christian because I was afraid of Hell.
*Being "saved" is just the Christianese word for the moment you decided to accept this Jesus stuff as being worth giving your life to.
I started to do this behavior modification stuff. I had this big thick binder filled with pictures (albeit poor ones) that I had drawn of my characters, torn up, bloodied and bruised from their encounters with tortuous experiences I had decided to "put them through". Pictures of them with weapons, with needles, with sharp teeth and fangs. It was screwed up, and so, I ripped them up. And I started to read my Bible, and pray, and stuff like that. And whenever I tell this part of my testimony everyone gets really excited. That's because this testimony is a lot different than the one I tell other people (and it has ended up not really being the readers digest version anyways.) And when I tell my story to other Christians, this seems to be the turning point of my life. I started living for God.
And maybe I did, I don't know. But where I am right now tells me that I was just changing behaviors Pulling up my moral bootstraps by myself, and deciding that I was good enough for God now.
But we never are good enough for God, it's by His grace that He chooses us to come to Him. And He says "Hey, by the way. I died so that you could be saved from how messed up you are." I'll never be perfect, but Jesus always was, and He stands in front of all my failures so that all God sees is His perfectness, not my lack of it.
It's hard to explain, and hard to understand, and I want to understand it but I don't really know that I do. Because here I am doing the same stuff I was doing four years ago, and no one is any better for it.
I follow all these religious rules, and say "Hey! Doesn't that make me a Christian?"
Except that's stupid. Because Christianity isn't even supposed to be a religion. It's supposed to be a relationship with God. A friendship, a marriage, a father and child, a servant and master, all rolled into one. So here I am doing religious things for a not religion. It's like me saying that I should be married because I can cook. Maybe I can do something that's in some roundabout way involved in a marriage, but it's not the central aspect and it doesn't have anything to do with having a relationship with someone!
Okay, so praying and reading your Bible and going to church all bring you closer to God. If you already have a relationship with Him. If I'm doing all of this and I don't love Him with my whole heart, and am not doing it to know Him better but to be good enough to get into heaven--well. That's like calling someone you don't know everyday and saying that you know them because you call them everyday.
What you fail to mention is that you're leaving a message on their answering machine everyday, not talking to them.
That's what it's like.
And I want to get out of this place! I want to stop leaving a message and I want to go over to God's house, knock on the door, and come sit down for supper. GET TO KNOW HIM! Not know about Him. Not read His magazines, and memorize his stats, brush up on the latest gossip on God. I can know the Bible inside, outside, upside-down, and have know idea what the person that authored it (God) is really like.
I'm reading this booked called "Not a Fan" right now, and every chapter I read just reinforces that I'm a fan of God, not a follower. I know a lot about Him, but I don't really know Him. I wouldn't give up everything for the creator of the universe, even though He gave everything for me.
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
I can't do it on my own. I can't do it at all. I just need God to take over, and I don't even know how to go about asking Him to do that.
I don't want to obsess over my weight, trying to find my identity in those stupid numbers on the scale, getting frustrated to the point of eating disorder when they're too high. I don't want to sabotage my sister to feel better about myself, or die internally every time someone says something bad about me because I'm so dang insecure that a word of rebuke send me spiraling out of control. I don't want to care so much about what other people think about me and what kind of "Christian" that I am, that I don't share the gospel, God's good news, word about Jesus, with others!
I have became this fake, plastic, porcelain, Christian doll. Nobody sees what God does in my life because I don't let Him do anything. And I'm fake. When something happens I spew out all these Christian-isms, I give them the "right answers" so they don't think I'm a bad Christian. "All things work together for good", "I just need to trust in God", "Pray for me." None of these things are false, none of these things are bad, but they just become so ritualized that they don't come from the heart and we don't mean them.
Fake. Plastic. Doll. Who am I going to bring to Christ? Who wants to be like that? I don't even, and I'm trying to convince others they should join me in a pew to pretend everything is okay?
No. I'd say that this changes now, but I'm not even in control of that. God needs to do it, and you'll know it when He does. I pray He does.
-I am the Trumpet Player and I want to be a Christian. A real one. A follower of Christ, no holds barred, love with abandon, don't care what others think, Christian.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Friday, July 26, 2013
Dolore
To play con dolore is to play with sadness, and I suppose that would have to sum up what my post is about.
I'll start with the less obvious of the two things that have been causing me to play my tune con dolore lately. I've been reflecting, just on life, and I'm not entirely sure I'm happy with it. Not that there's anything particularly wrong in my life, don't get me wrong, I'm just not satisfied. I want to be living a fulfilling life, one that spends itself for God and for the other people He has put in my life. I want to venture on evangelistic endeavors, and see hearts and lives changed for Jesus Christ.
But I don't.
And I thought to myself, isn't that the most important thing? What have I been doing with my life? If I were to die today, what would people say about me. Sure I'm ambitious, dedicated, hardworking, whatever. I get good grades, I excel at stuff. But would they say that I'm hospitable, that I love God, that peoples lives were changed by me? Not even by me. By God working through me?
I doubt it.
And then I got to thinking about people in my life, and the people that I don't really know. Don't really spend time with. And the list is extensive. I spend time with the people that are immediately around me at the particular time. And then they all fall away and I'm left--this island unto myself.
Maybe I'm just being dramatic, but it's made me sad. Con dolore.
I also went to my Auntie's funeral today. It was actually a celebration of life, so a lot better than a funeral, but still. It's really weird that she's gone, and I never really spent a lot of time with her. She invited me out to her acreage to spend a couple days and whatever, and I never went. Which sucks. Because now I can't. And I feel like some kind of impostor, grieving that she's gone. Her sisters can grieve, her husband can grieve, her children can grieve. Who am I that I'm sad that she's gone? I didn't know her like everyone else did. And even though I wish that I did, I didn't, so how can I be sad? I feel like I'm pretending, even though I'm not.
I don't know.
But to add to the depth of the instruction to play Con Dolore today, I learned that my great grandma died. It's weird, I feel like it's not going to stop there. This sadness, the death. I feel like we're starting some kind of weird phase, and I'm scared about it.
I'm just--not so much myself right now and I wanted to vent a little bit. Get it out there. Play my song with as much dolore as possible, and share it with the world. It's this catharsis of sorts. Purging of emotion.
I know it probably doesn't make much sense, but I just want to change. Be someone better. Be someone different.
I don't know if that even makes any sense.
Well--hopefully God just uses this feeling to break me, change me. Turn my meaningless string of sad notes into a song that will impact others. That's all a Trumpet can ask for, right? That their song reaches somebody else? Or are we supposed to play with the intent to be heard by one?
--Trumpet Player
I'll start with the less obvious of the two things that have been causing me to play my tune con dolore lately. I've been reflecting, just on life, and I'm not entirely sure I'm happy with it. Not that there's anything particularly wrong in my life, don't get me wrong, I'm just not satisfied. I want to be living a fulfilling life, one that spends itself for God and for the other people He has put in my life. I want to venture on evangelistic endeavors, and see hearts and lives changed for Jesus Christ.
But I don't.
And I thought to myself, isn't that the most important thing? What have I been doing with my life? If I were to die today, what would people say about me. Sure I'm ambitious, dedicated, hardworking, whatever. I get good grades, I excel at stuff. But would they say that I'm hospitable, that I love God, that peoples lives were changed by me? Not even by me. By God working through me?
I doubt it.
And then I got to thinking about people in my life, and the people that I don't really know. Don't really spend time with. And the list is extensive. I spend time with the people that are immediately around me at the particular time. And then they all fall away and I'm left--this island unto myself.
Maybe I'm just being dramatic, but it's made me sad. Con dolore.
I also went to my Auntie's funeral today. It was actually a celebration of life, so a lot better than a funeral, but still. It's really weird that she's gone, and I never really spent a lot of time with her. She invited me out to her acreage to spend a couple days and whatever, and I never went. Which sucks. Because now I can't. And I feel like some kind of impostor, grieving that she's gone. Her sisters can grieve, her husband can grieve, her children can grieve. Who am I that I'm sad that she's gone? I didn't know her like everyone else did. And even though I wish that I did, I didn't, so how can I be sad? I feel like I'm pretending, even though I'm not.
I don't know.
But to add to the depth of the instruction to play Con Dolore today, I learned that my great grandma died. It's weird, I feel like it's not going to stop there. This sadness, the death. I feel like we're starting some kind of weird phase, and I'm scared about it.
I'm just--not so much myself right now and I wanted to vent a little bit. Get it out there. Play my song with as much dolore as possible, and share it with the world. It's this catharsis of sorts. Purging of emotion.
I know it probably doesn't make much sense, but I just want to change. Be someone better. Be someone different.
I don't know if that even makes any sense.
Well--hopefully God just uses this feeling to break me, change me. Turn my meaningless string of sad notes into a song that will impact others. That's all a Trumpet can ask for, right? That their song reaches somebody else? Or are we supposed to play with the intent to be heard by one?
--Trumpet Player
Friday, May 31, 2013
Piu
Piu is simply a musical term for more. And there has been so much more that has happened in my life since I've last posted that I think 'more' is the appropriate term for today's post.
Let's start with the most crazy, radical thing that I can think of since my last post.
I went to Kenya!
That's right, Africa my friends. Your little blogger is now a world traveler, a missionary, a nineteen year old, fresh out of college, person who has been to Africa.
Yah--I thought that was building to something a little more creative too. But it didn't.
It was an amazing experience, one that I know has changed me, and shaped me, and made me somebody different. I'll level with you for a second here, I didn't really want to go to Africa. I knew that we would have a missions trip at the end of our year, and I was excited about where we would be going. When it was revealed that we would be going to Kenya, I wasn't sure what to think.
Great--Africa. I've never wanted to go to Africa. I kept picturing these mud huts, and bugs, and the desert. I knew I wouldn't be prepared for the culture shock I would experience upon going there. But I knew that God was in control of the whole thing and that whatever He had for my class in Africa, it would be good. I didn't have to stress or worry, I just had to go and know that He would work.
Everyone that I told I was going to Kenya exclaimed excitedly that whoever has been to Kenya always wants to go back. My thought process was "okay, sure. But those people who go to Kenya generally want to go there in the first place and that's why they want to go back."
Nope. I definitely want to go back. I want to take everyone I know with me so they can experience the life-changing thing that is a trip to Kenya.
So much happened and I would like to tell you all about it, but at the same time, I feel like that will take a very, very long time, so I should just mention that I've been to Kenya and then expand on it later.
Keep you wanting Piu.
I thought that was clever.
I came back from our trip and graduated from Bible college. I said goodbye to some of my friends, but not for very long. I knew I would see them again at Church and that we would all be closer for the trip that we shared with each other.
Something interesting, turns out B Flat is a Trumpet, and one who has been put in my band for maybe a little bit more than a couple of songs. Me and her are very much alike, and she is actually an incredible person. She's super sweet, and has a great heart. She has had some rough times with guys in the past though, and I really think she deserves Amoroso, not me.
Perhaps that's selfless of me, and perhaps me and Amoroso were just never meant to be, you know? I'm at the point now where I just wish I hadn't wasted so much time talking about him. But I'm not going to make the same mistake, and continue talking about him. I'm just going to say that I'm glad him and B Flat are so compatible, and I hope they make each other happy.
I also got accepted to University, I'm all enrolled in classes for the Fall, and I'm going to take my Bachelor of Education. Mold young minds, as I always say. I've always loved school, and even now am feeling the tug of academics. Sitting around playing the Sims all day is hardly my idea of intellectually stimulating. (Though it is fun.)
I moved back in with my parents, and my family, and barring any unforeseen circumstances, am going to be staying with them until I complete my degree. Rent free baby! That's the way to do it!
I mulled around the house for the first three weeks that I was here, and it's a good thing I helped with dishes and stuff, otherwise I might have been kicked out. Just kidding, my parents are pretty tolerant. They realized I was kind of trying to find a job. I had applied and was just waiting to hear back from a couple.
I got hired at the fitness centre as a recreation leader, and am now molding young minds to play sports. Fitness is one of my favorite things, so it's pretty sweet that I get to teach kids sports and fitness.
It was actually really cool. I had just finished reading this book about confessing with your tongue God's promises, and speaking life into situations. So I spoke in faith (not really believing that it would work) that I was sick and tired of not having a job. "Tomorrow I'm going to hear about a job. I might not have a job tomorrow but I'm going to know about when I'm going to get one."
The next day I got a phone call to schedule an interview for the job I now have. Way to be! God's actually really cool, and has put into place a spiritual principle about reaping what you say. Which is cool. Why would He do that? Why would He give us that creative power and potential? Just because He's awesome I guess.
I have also been to the movies with my friend from school. She's a hairdresser, but I feel like she's in the creative scope of Oboe. Some people can't stand her, and you only really need one of her, but she's amazing. I've pretty much loved her like a family member since I started getting to know her. She has this great heart, and this complexity in the simplicity. She might be mistaken for a Clarinet, but you only need to spend a few seconds with her to see the difference. She's not afraid to make herself heard, or to make her opinions known, but that's part of what she brings to the table. She has so much to add, she has so much to be. She's just awesome, that's all I can say.
I've also been to Iron Man 3 with my Uncle and my sister, the Flute. I'd say my Uncle is a Guitar, because he plays the Guitar, but he's actually pretty shy and quiet. I'd say he's more like a bassoon or something. He's one of a kind, and when he makes a noise, it's a characteristic sound. You can't mistake him for anyone else. The bassoon, though big, deep, and intimidating, has a softness about it. There is an almost soothing quality to its rumbly sound. And you know the weird thing? I've always kind of associated the Oboe and the Bassoon. And I kind of hope the two of them could associate themselves too. They're the same age and everything.
Anyways.
I also went to an indoor amusement park with my sister, saw The Great Gatsby with her, ate in the food court, did some shopping.
Tomorrow I have a CPR and First Aid course for work, which actually brings up another funny story.
When talking to my Dad I have been doing this thing where everytime he needs an example for a name, I tell him 'Bradford.' Well when I called to book my CPR course the guy said "Hello, thank you for calling, this is Bradford."
I almost freaked out! I was so happy.
Simple minds perhaps?
Anyways, I suppose that brings us to here. I'm sitting at my computer, blogging again despite my long absence. But that's the thing I guess. Blogging doesn't have to be rigid and restrictive, and I like that.
Well, I'll be back with Piu, soon I would anticipate. But it doesn't matter if I am or not. This is my blog.
I love it.
--Trumpet Player
Let's start with the most crazy, radical thing that I can think of since my last post.
I went to Kenya!
That's right, Africa my friends. Your little blogger is now a world traveler, a missionary, a nineteen year old, fresh out of college, person who has been to Africa.
Yah--I thought that was building to something a little more creative too. But it didn't.
It was an amazing experience, one that I know has changed me, and shaped me, and made me somebody different. I'll level with you for a second here, I didn't really want to go to Africa. I knew that we would have a missions trip at the end of our year, and I was excited about where we would be going. When it was revealed that we would be going to Kenya, I wasn't sure what to think.
Great--Africa. I've never wanted to go to Africa. I kept picturing these mud huts, and bugs, and the desert. I knew I wouldn't be prepared for the culture shock I would experience upon going there. But I knew that God was in control of the whole thing and that whatever He had for my class in Africa, it would be good. I didn't have to stress or worry, I just had to go and know that He would work.
Everyone that I told I was going to Kenya exclaimed excitedly that whoever has been to Kenya always wants to go back. My thought process was "okay, sure. But those people who go to Kenya generally want to go there in the first place and that's why they want to go back."
Nope. I definitely want to go back. I want to take everyone I know with me so they can experience the life-changing thing that is a trip to Kenya.
So much happened and I would like to tell you all about it, but at the same time, I feel like that will take a very, very long time, so I should just mention that I've been to Kenya and then expand on it later.
Keep you wanting Piu.
I thought that was clever.
I came back from our trip and graduated from Bible college. I said goodbye to some of my friends, but not for very long. I knew I would see them again at Church and that we would all be closer for the trip that we shared with each other.
Something interesting, turns out B Flat is a Trumpet, and one who has been put in my band for maybe a little bit more than a couple of songs. Me and her are very much alike, and she is actually an incredible person. She's super sweet, and has a great heart. She has had some rough times with guys in the past though, and I really think she deserves Amoroso, not me.
Perhaps that's selfless of me, and perhaps me and Amoroso were just never meant to be, you know? I'm at the point now where I just wish I hadn't wasted so much time talking about him. But I'm not going to make the same mistake, and continue talking about him. I'm just going to say that I'm glad him and B Flat are so compatible, and I hope they make each other happy.
I also got accepted to University, I'm all enrolled in classes for the Fall, and I'm going to take my Bachelor of Education. Mold young minds, as I always say. I've always loved school, and even now am feeling the tug of academics. Sitting around playing the Sims all day is hardly my idea of intellectually stimulating. (Though it is fun.)
I moved back in with my parents, and my family, and barring any unforeseen circumstances, am going to be staying with them until I complete my degree. Rent free baby! That's the way to do it!
I mulled around the house for the first three weeks that I was here, and it's a good thing I helped with dishes and stuff, otherwise I might have been kicked out. Just kidding, my parents are pretty tolerant. They realized I was kind of trying to find a job. I had applied and was just waiting to hear back from a couple.
I got hired at the fitness centre as a recreation leader, and am now molding young minds to play sports. Fitness is one of my favorite things, so it's pretty sweet that I get to teach kids sports and fitness.
It was actually really cool. I had just finished reading this book about confessing with your tongue God's promises, and speaking life into situations. So I spoke in faith (not really believing that it would work) that I was sick and tired of not having a job. "Tomorrow I'm going to hear about a job. I might not have a job tomorrow but I'm going to know about when I'm going to get one."
The next day I got a phone call to schedule an interview for the job I now have. Way to be! God's actually really cool, and has put into place a spiritual principle about reaping what you say. Which is cool. Why would He do that? Why would He give us that creative power and potential? Just because He's awesome I guess.
I have also been to the movies with my friend from school. She's a hairdresser, but I feel like she's in the creative scope of Oboe. Some people can't stand her, and you only really need one of her, but she's amazing. I've pretty much loved her like a family member since I started getting to know her. She has this great heart, and this complexity in the simplicity. She might be mistaken for a Clarinet, but you only need to spend a few seconds with her to see the difference. She's not afraid to make herself heard, or to make her opinions known, but that's part of what she brings to the table. She has so much to add, she has so much to be. She's just awesome, that's all I can say.
I've also been to Iron Man 3 with my Uncle and my sister, the Flute. I'd say my Uncle is a Guitar, because he plays the Guitar, but he's actually pretty shy and quiet. I'd say he's more like a bassoon or something. He's one of a kind, and when he makes a noise, it's a characteristic sound. You can't mistake him for anyone else. The bassoon, though big, deep, and intimidating, has a softness about it. There is an almost soothing quality to its rumbly sound. And you know the weird thing? I've always kind of associated the Oboe and the Bassoon. And I kind of hope the two of them could associate themselves too. They're the same age and everything.
Anyways.
I also went to an indoor amusement park with my sister, saw The Great Gatsby with her, ate in the food court, did some shopping.
Tomorrow I have a CPR and First Aid course for work, which actually brings up another funny story.
When talking to my Dad I have been doing this thing where everytime he needs an example for a name, I tell him 'Bradford.' Well when I called to book my CPR course the guy said "Hello, thank you for calling, this is Bradford."
I almost freaked out! I was so happy.
Simple minds perhaps?
Anyways, I suppose that brings us to here. I'm sitting at my computer, blogging again despite my long absence. But that's the thing I guess. Blogging doesn't have to be rigid and restrictive, and I like that.
Well, I'll be back with Piu, soon I would anticipate. But it doesn't matter if I am or not. This is my blog.
I love it.
--Trumpet Player
Monday, January 7, 2013
Da Capo
Happy (belated) New Year everyone! So much has been happening, and I apologize, but blogging has kind of been the last thing on my mind. But today, here I am. And I'm going to start Da Capo. From the beggining.
It was about a month ago I'd say, December 13th or so, when things went awry with my brother. It was finals week, a thursday morning, when we received the call. I was getting ready, and had time to look at the phone with a confused look on my face before picking it up. My Gradnma had picked it up at the same time and it was a shocking, gut wrenching, terrifying thing when my Mom said to pray, that my precious brother had a stroke.
I'll be honest, it didn't really make any sense to me. I didn't know what that meant, I didn't know what to do about it. I continued to get ready for school, my whole world kind of fuzzy, dream-like. I told my friend from school, and she said she would drive me and my Grandma to the hospital. I went.
It's hard to remember, but I don't think I saw him that day. He was in for surgery, a life-threatening surgery that hadn't been done on someone as young as him before. I waited in the PICU waiting room, where he had been when it had first been determined that he had a heart condition, before he got the surgery for his artifical heart. I stayed with Mom who was crying on and off. She told me the tragic story, kept saying how terrible it was.
He had called for Dad around six thirty or seven in the morning and then he started to whimper and breathe hard. Mom told him that Dad was sleeping but she could help him, and what did he need? Did he have to go to the bathroom? He just continued to whimper and suck back laboured breaths. Mom told him he couldn't do that, he was scaring her.
In the dark she said it was hard to tell, but the side of his face looked like it was drooping. She flicked on the light, and it was. She called for the nurses, said she doesn't remember exactly what she said but something about there being 'something wrong,' and that my brother 'was having a stroke'.
The doctors later said that 'the stars had aligned' and that there was 'good luck in the bad luck' with how everything afterwards had transpired.
The anethesiologist wasn't currently occupied, and was ready for them when they wheeled my brother in. In addition, they had managed to catch the stroke within a four hour period. That window apparently helps to make the chances of recovery that much better if you can deal with the clot in that time period. The surgery went super well, they got nintey eight percent of the clot out, and were able to have my brother in the PICU again within probably five hours of the stroke.
The bad news? He was taken off the transplant list because in the state he was in, he wouldn't be able to support a new heart, even if one came. But, he was on his way to recovering from the stroke. Even though there had been a massive step backwards, he could start taking tiny steps forward again.
I went back to school on Friday, and finished the final exam on my class on the book of Joshua, as well as the test on the book of Acts that I had missed. That night, I do beleive, I went to the house near the hospital where my Mom was staying. It is a facility that is specifically designed for parents, and the families of pediatric patients who need to have access to the hospital at any moment. There are huge kitchen areas, a kids room, a gym, entertainment rooms, a library. It's an amazing facility, truly.
I stayed for the first week of my Christmas break, stopping off at home occasionally to grab a few new outfits, or workout. Now, I would be lying if I said that I totally enjoyed staying there. It was good to have that time with my Mom, but it was hard too. She wasn't herself, and was suffering from the trauma of having found my brother while he was having a stroke. She would wake up in the middle of the night while having a panic attack, or would start crying out of nowhere. She would be fine one moment, and a complete mess the next. She would say that she didn't understand, she would say that her kids were her life, how could this happen? She would say over and over that she just wanted God to heal him. She would ask me, again and again, if I really thought he was going to be okay.
What could I do, but tell her yes, I really believed that. And I did, but I was just as scared as anyone after his stroke. What if I was wrong? What if that feeling I had, that certainty that he would be okay, was just a different form of denial?
We received some good news a couple days later. My brother would be put back on the list for a transplant, at a higher status. That meant he could recveive a heart from anywhere in North America, not just from our country. But, it was a catch twenty two. Unless a perfect heart came in the next two weeks, they didn't want to do a transplant. They figured it would pose more risks to my brother than anything. At the same time, the doctors thought that it was risky for my brother to be on the heatware now because there was the possibility of another clot forming/being in the decive and it could go to his brain and cause another stroke.
We were all a little on edge.
Then, he started to throw up, and throw up a lot. Then he started to vomit blood. To be honest, I got mad at God. Wondered why He would let this happen. Wondered if He cared. Wondered if He really could just heal my brother's heart in a miraculous turn of events. And if He could, why didn't He? But, it wasn't my place to question God, or doubt Him, or ask why He wasn't doing things the way I thought they should be done. I heard it said once that asking God why contains an arrogance and pride that implies that you somehow deserve and answer. Who are we to God that we should ask Him why He does what He does? He knows better than we ever will, and we just have to trust Him, even when it doesn't make sense.
My brother went in for a scope, and they discovered that he had a contagious bacteria called CDIF. That was what was causing him to throw up so much, and the throwing up caused some superficial cuts on the walls of his stomach. But, that was the best news we could have gotten. It wasn't fatal, it wasn't tragic, it was good news. They knew how to treat him now, and he could start getting even better. He was put into isolation, and we had to wear gloves and gowns to see him, but it was a small price to pay. I am a bit of hypocondriac, so I must admit that I washed my hands rigerously after seeing him, and I didn't bring in a whole lot to his room, just incase. But that didn't mean I didn't see him, and certainly didn't mean I didn't love him. I visited him one morning, just me, while my Mom and Dad went to go check the house that they would be moving into in a month and a half. He slept most of the time, but I watched him, my heart swelling in my chest. I tousled his hair, pulled his blanket up around his shoulders, grabbed his left hand, which stayed clenched a lot after his stroke. I just knew he was going to make it. God would take care of him.
He was taken upstairs again, back to his old room, and a whole bunch of his old nurses were there to say hello, and welcome him back. He was still in isolation, but that was almost a blessing in disguise. It meant that he needed a nurse to be with him at all times, and that helped put everyone a little more at ease. He was well taken care of.
At the end of the week I went home to pretend that things were somewhat normal. My other sibilings were coming to the city to stay with me and my Grandparents for their Christmas holidays. I couldn't wait. To have the busy-ness, the hustle and bustle, my family, around me? That would be wonderful. A great distraction. Something good in the midst of the bad.
When Christmas Eve rolled around, my siblings went to 'The House', to be with Mom and open up some presents. I had invited my biological Dad (we'll call him The Drummer, for ease of understanding), his mom and my step-mom to the Christmas Eve service at my church. It was fantastic! I couldn't help but watch The Drummer, and my other family to see how they liked it. The Drummer and my step-mom aren't saved, and it's kind of hard to know about my Grandma on that side. She used to be Roman Catholic, but kind of is more holistic than anything now. I so desperatly want them all to see that God is amazing! That He doesn't have to be boring, sit, stand, pray, kneel, the way we try and make Him. And the Christmas Eve servie was a good way to introduce them to my church, and the exciting God we worship there, without being too 'in your face this is church yo!'
They said they enjoyed it, which was great, and then they drove me to 'The House' to be with my Mom and siblings for the rest of the night. I opened up my presents, distrubuted those I had bought to my siblings, and then crawled into bed. It was a strange kind of experience. Different, I suppose, is the best word to describe it. My Dad wasn't there (not The Drummer, but my step-dad), and neither was my youngest brother. It was strange not having Christmas with my whole family.
But, in the morning we went to the hospital to be with the rest of the family. My littlest sister couldn't come though, because she was sick and my little brother was really suseptable to sickness. If he even caught a cold it could be not good. Like--really not good.
So Christmas was spent with most of the family, in a hospital room, in gowns, gloves, and masks, because my Mom was paranoid that we were carrying sick germs. It became a joke later, that she was being over-protective and that we would be masking up because we had been around people who had been around people who were sick. It made her laugh when we later told her one of the nurses asked us why we were wearing masks, because we didn't need too. But we were happy to oblige, and it was for the best anyways.
My Auntie had dropped off some homemade perogies, smoked turkey, and cabbage rolls for Christmas dinner for my parents at the hospital. We all ate some, though my brother couldn't hold down that food, so we ate outside his room while he was sleeping. In the evening we went home because he was falling asleep, and me and my sister ate some of the dinner my Grandma had made, and we watched the Avengers with my Uncle, my Grandma, my Grandpa, and our two younger siblings.*
*I have four siblings. My youngest sibling, in the hospital, a nine year old sister, an eleven year old brother, and a sixteen year old sister who also happens to be my best friend ever and the Flute player.
Me and my sister, the Flute, spent so much time together while she was here. She really, REALLY, loves Anime, so we watched a fair bit. We also drew some pictures, wrote, talked, walked to the store about a hundred different times, drank some Starbucks, watched movies with the family. It was fun. One of my favourite things though was definitely Thursday. I have a best friend who I've known since I was in kindergarden, and she's probably a Tuba player. I know the Tuba has a negative connotation, like the nerdy kid plays the Tuba, but I'd like to kill that stereotype now. The Tuba players I know are all very self assured, confident, don't care what other people think about them, and very skilled. They are gutsy, strong, and an essential part of the band. That's my friend.
Now, it doesn't seem like a Trumpet, a Tuba, and a Flute, would go together that well, but they do. Me and my sister walked over to the Starbucks near my house and met up with the Tuba. I got a Chai Tea Latte, my sister got a Caramel Machiatto, and the Tuba got a Double Chocolate Chip Frapaccino. We walked over to a bus terminal with our drinks in tow, and bussed it to the biggest mall in the city. We bought ourselves some frozen yogurt, and walked all around the mall, talking, laughing, joking, making jabs at eachother, and all around having a good time. When we had finished looking at everything there was to see, we bussed over to the Olive Garden and had some of the best pasta ever. We laughed so hard when I looked out the window and said that when we were done we should go to the coffee place across the street.
We hit her house afterwards, sitting around and just talking for a bit before me and my sister bussed back to my place and continued to stay up for the rest of the night, watching anime and laughing hard with eachother. It was a good day, for sure.
My siblings went back just yesterday, and I have to admit I was really sad to see them go. They will be moving to the city in about three weeks, but I almost feel as though I can't make it that long. Spending that much concentrated time with them makes me realize how much I missed having them around. Not that it hasn't been a fun, amazing adventure, but I'm a family girl for sure. I think once there here I'll be there, or they'll be here probably every weekend.
Oh yah, and the best part of ever! The Friday before my Thursday almost quartet adventure, I got a call from my Mom.
"Your brother is getting a heart!"
So now, my little brother is the proud owner of a brand new heart! And he's doing amazing on it. He's out of the PICU, the fastest to ever get moved onto the forth floor after transplant, and he's going to be discharged from the hospital to 'The House' on Wednesday!
The crazy thing is, the doctors wanted him to get a heart two weeks after his stroke, because they figured he'd be stable enough to support it by then. Sixteen days after his stroke he got his heart, and had he not been a status 4 on the list from his stroke, he wouldn't have gotten the heart because it came from the international status.
Looking back, it's easy to see God's hand in it all. Had he not had a stroke, he wouldn't have been bumped up, and wouldn't have gotten the heart he did, when he did. It's a blessing in disguise, really. And now he's doing so good. I'm so happy I could cry.
He gets to start Da Capo. A new life, a new heart. It's amazing, and I couldn't be happier.
Praise God!
--Trumpet Player.
It was about a month ago I'd say, December 13th or so, when things went awry with my brother. It was finals week, a thursday morning, when we received the call. I was getting ready, and had time to look at the phone with a confused look on my face before picking it up. My Gradnma had picked it up at the same time and it was a shocking, gut wrenching, terrifying thing when my Mom said to pray, that my precious brother had a stroke.
I'll be honest, it didn't really make any sense to me. I didn't know what that meant, I didn't know what to do about it. I continued to get ready for school, my whole world kind of fuzzy, dream-like. I told my friend from school, and she said she would drive me and my Grandma to the hospital. I went.
It's hard to remember, but I don't think I saw him that day. He was in for surgery, a life-threatening surgery that hadn't been done on someone as young as him before. I waited in the PICU waiting room, where he had been when it had first been determined that he had a heart condition, before he got the surgery for his artifical heart. I stayed with Mom who was crying on and off. She told me the tragic story, kept saying how terrible it was.
He had called for Dad around six thirty or seven in the morning and then he started to whimper and breathe hard. Mom told him that Dad was sleeping but she could help him, and what did he need? Did he have to go to the bathroom? He just continued to whimper and suck back laboured breaths. Mom told him he couldn't do that, he was scaring her.
In the dark she said it was hard to tell, but the side of his face looked like it was drooping. She flicked on the light, and it was. She called for the nurses, said she doesn't remember exactly what she said but something about there being 'something wrong,' and that my brother 'was having a stroke'.
The doctors later said that 'the stars had aligned' and that there was 'good luck in the bad luck' with how everything afterwards had transpired.
The anethesiologist wasn't currently occupied, and was ready for them when they wheeled my brother in. In addition, they had managed to catch the stroke within a four hour period. That window apparently helps to make the chances of recovery that much better if you can deal with the clot in that time period. The surgery went super well, they got nintey eight percent of the clot out, and were able to have my brother in the PICU again within probably five hours of the stroke.
The bad news? He was taken off the transplant list because in the state he was in, he wouldn't be able to support a new heart, even if one came. But, he was on his way to recovering from the stroke. Even though there had been a massive step backwards, he could start taking tiny steps forward again.
I went back to school on Friday, and finished the final exam on my class on the book of Joshua, as well as the test on the book of Acts that I had missed. That night, I do beleive, I went to the house near the hospital where my Mom was staying. It is a facility that is specifically designed for parents, and the families of pediatric patients who need to have access to the hospital at any moment. There are huge kitchen areas, a kids room, a gym, entertainment rooms, a library. It's an amazing facility, truly.
I stayed for the first week of my Christmas break, stopping off at home occasionally to grab a few new outfits, or workout. Now, I would be lying if I said that I totally enjoyed staying there. It was good to have that time with my Mom, but it was hard too. She wasn't herself, and was suffering from the trauma of having found my brother while he was having a stroke. She would wake up in the middle of the night while having a panic attack, or would start crying out of nowhere. She would be fine one moment, and a complete mess the next. She would say that she didn't understand, she would say that her kids were her life, how could this happen? She would say over and over that she just wanted God to heal him. She would ask me, again and again, if I really thought he was going to be okay.
What could I do, but tell her yes, I really believed that. And I did, but I was just as scared as anyone after his stroke. What if I was wrong? What if that feeling I had, that certainty that he would be okay, was just a different form of denial?
We received some good news a couple days later. My brother would be put back on the list for a transplant, at a higher status. That meant he could recveive a heart from anywhere in North America, not just from our country. But, it was a catch twenty two. Unless a perfect heart came in the next two weeks, they didn't want to do a transplant. They figured it would pose more risks to my brother than anything. At the same time, the doctors thought that it was risky for my brother to be on the heatware now because there was the possibility of another clot forming/being in the decive and it could go to his brain and cause another stroke.
We were all a little on edge.
Then, he started to throw up, and throw up a lot. Then he started to vomit blood. To be honest, I got mad at God. Wondered why He would let this happen. Wondered if He cared. Wondered if He really could just heal my brother's heart in a miraculous turn of events. And if He could, why didn't He? But, it wasn't my place to question God, or doubt Him, or ask why He wasn't doing things the way I thought they should be done. I heard it said once that asking God why contains an arrogance and pride that implies that you somehow deserve and answer. Who are we to God that we should ask Him why He does what He does? He knows better than we ever will, and we just have to trust Him, even when it doesn't make sense.
My brother went in for a scope, and they discovered that he had a contagious bacteria called CDIF. That was what was causing him to throw up so much, and the throwing up caused some superficial cuts on the walls of his stomach. But, that was the best news we could have gotten. It wasn't fatal, it wasn't tragic, it was good news. They knew how to treat him now, and he could start getting even better. He was put into isolation, and we had to wear gloves and gowns to see him, but it was a small price to pay. I am a bit of hypocondriac, so I must admit that I washed my hands rigerously after seeing him, and I didn't bring in a whole lot to his room, just incase. But that didn't mean I didn't see him, and certainly didn't mean I didn't love him. I visited him one morning, just me, while my Mom and Dad went to go check the house that they would be moving into in a month and a half. He slept most of the time, but I watched him, my heart swelling in my chest. I tousled his hair, pulled his blanket up around his shoulders, grabbed his left hand, which stayed clenched a lot after his stroke. I just knew he was going to make it. God would take care of him.
He was taken upstairs again, back to his old room, and a whole bunch of his old nurses were there to say hello, and welcome him back. He was still in isolation, but that was almost a blessing in disguise. It meant that he needed a nurse to be with him at all times, and that helped put everyone a little more at ease. He was well taken care of.
At the end of the week I went home to pretend that things were somewhat normal. My other sibilings were coming to the city to stay with me and my Grandparents for their Christmas holidays. I couldn't wait. To have the busy-ness, the hustle and bustle, my family, around me? That would be wonderful. A great distraction. Something good in the midst of the bad.
When Christmas Eve rolled around, my siblings went to 'The House', to be with Mom and open up some presents. I had invited my biological Dad (we'll call him The Drummer, for ease of understanding), his mom and my step-mom to the Christmas Eve service at my church. It was fantastic! I couldn't help but watch The Drummer, and my other family to see how they liked it. The Drummer and my step-mom aren't saved, and it's kind of hard to know about my Grandma on that side. She used to be Roman Catholic, but kind of is more holistic than anything now. I so desperatly want them all to see that God is amazing! That He doesn't have to be boring, sit, stand, pray, kneel, the way we try and make Him. And the Christmas Eve servie was a good way to introduce them to my church, and the exciting God we worship there, without being too 'in your face this is church yo!'
They said they enjoyed it, which was great, and then they drove me to 'The House' to be with my Mom and siblings for the rest of the night. I opened up my presents, distrubuted those I had bought to my siblings, and then crawled into bed. It was a strange kind of experience. Different, I suppose, is the best word to describe it. My Dad wasn't there (not The Drummer, but my step-dad), and neither was my youngest brother. It was strange not having Christmas with my whole family.
But, in the morning we went to the hospital to be with the rest of the family. My littlest sister couldn't come though, because she was sick and my little brother was really suseptable to sickness. If he even caught a cold it could be not good. Like--really not good.
So Christmas was spent with most of the family, in a hospital room, in gowns, gloves, and masks, because my Mom was paranoid that we were carrying sick germs. It became a joke later, that she was being over-protective and that we would be masking up because we had been around people who had been around people who were sick. It made her laugh when we later told her one of the nurses asked us why we were wearing masks, because we didn't need too. But we were happy to oblige, and it was for the best anyways.
My Auntie had dropped off some homemade perogies, smoked turkey, and cabbage rolls for Christmas dinner for my parents at the hospital. We all ate some, though my brother couldn't hold down that food, so we ate outside his room while he was sleeping. In the evening we went home because he was falling asleep, and me and my sister ate some of the dinner my Grandma had made, and we watched the Avengers with my Uncle, my Grandma, my Grandpa, and our two younger siblings.*
*I have four siblings. My youngest sibling, in the hospital, a nine year old sister, an eleven year old brother, and a sixteen year old sister who also happens to be my best friend ever and the Flute player.
Me and my sister, the Flute, spent so much time together while she was here. She really, REALLY, loves Anime, so we watched a fair bit. We also drew some pictures, wrote, talked, walked to the store about a hundred different times, drank some Starbucks, watched movies with the family. It was fun. One of my favourite things though was definitely Thursday. I have a best friend who I've known since I was in kindergarden, and she's probably a Tuba player. I know the Tuba has a negative connotation, like the nerdy kid plays the Tuba, but I'd like to kill that stereotype now. The Tuba players I know are all very self assured, confident, don't care what other people think about them, and very skilled. They are gutsy, strong, and an essential part of the band. That's my friend.
Now, it doesn't seem like a Trumpet, a Tuba, and a Flute, would go together that well, but they do. Me and my sister walked over to the Starbucks near my house and met up with the Tuba. I got a Chai Tea Latte, my sister got a Caramel Machiatto, and the Tuba got a Double Chocolate Chip Frapaccino. We walked over to a bus terminal with our drinks in tow, and bussed it to the biggest mall in the city. We bought ourselves some frozen yogurt, and walked all around the mall, talking, laughing, joking, making jabs at eachother, and all around having a good time. When we had finished looking at everything there was to see, we bussed over to the Olive Garden and had some of the best pasta ever. We laughed so hard when I looked out the window and said that when we were done we should go to the coffee place across the street.
We hit her house afterwards, sitting around and just talking for a bit before me and my sister bussed back to my place and continued to stay up for the rest of the night, watching anime and laughing hard with eachother. It was a good day, for sure.
My siblings went back just yesterday, and I have to admit I was really sad to see them go. They will be moving to the city in about three weeks, but I almost feel as though I can't make it that long. Spending that much concentrated time with them makes me realize how much I missed having them around. Not that it hasn't been a fun, amazing adventure, but I'm a family girl for sure. I think once there here I'll be there, or they'll be here probably every weekend.
Oh yah, and the best part of ever! The Friday before my Thursday almost quartet adventure, I got a call from my Mom.
"Your brother is getting a heart!"
So now, my little brother is the proud owner of a brand new heart! And he's doing amazing on it. He's out of the PICU, the fastest to ever get moved onto the forth floor after transplant, and he's going to be discharged from the hospital to 'The House' on Wednesday!
The crazy thing is, the doctors wanted him to get a heart two weeks after his stroke, because they figured he'd be stable enough to support it by then. Sixteen days after his stroke he got his heart, and had he not been a status 4 on the list from his stroke, he wouldn't have gotten the heart because it came from the international status.
Looking back, it's easy to see God's hand in it all. Had he not had a stroke, he wouldn't have been bumped up, and wouldn't have gotten the heart he did, when he did. It's a blessing in disguise, really. And now he's doing so good. I'm so happy I could cry.
He gets to start Da Capo. A new life, a new heart. It's amazing, and I couldn't be happier.
Praise God!
--Trumpet Player.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Glissando
Glissando: A 'glide' from one pitch to another, a rapid scale progression made by 'sliding'.
A glissando is generally not performed by many wind insturments, being that there isn't the capacity for a wind instrument to 'slide'. I have had a gliss written into my musical notation before, but us Trumpet Players kind of have to fake it. You know which wind instrument can really make the glissando work? The Trombone.
And that, my friends, is why Glissando is the musical term for the day.
"Trombone?" You're asking youself. "I have not heard mention of a Trombone since this blog started."
Yah, well. I haven't really considered the Trombone since starting this blog. But you see, I had this strange dream last night and it involved a Trombone player.
Okay, dream starts: enter this punky looking guy in a black and red T-shirt, and some track pants. He has kind of messy brown hair and he's done something that really ticks me off. I think he crossed my sister somehow, but I can't really remember the innerworkings of this part of the dream. Anyways, I have been beating him up, hitting him over and over until he's bleeding and in really bad shape. And I am not the violent type, so it's kind of shocking that I even dreamt that I did that to someone. But I did. On a cruise ship no less. And I said some pretty terrible things about him being worthless, and incapable of anything.
Fast forward: I am in my elementary school, standing on the stage behind the curtain while a group of people are fanned out on black plastic chairs on the gym floor. There is an audience watching this group (even though apparently it's only rehersal). The main attraction of this group though? A Trombone player who just happens to be the same guy that I had beat up and insulted earlier. He is an AMAZING Trombone player, hitting notes I didn't think a human being could hit. And then, he chokes. He bites it, hard.
I find him after the performance/rehersal and I apologize profusely about what I said to him. (Though I guess the whole, me beating him up thing, didn't actually happen, and he didn't do anything to cross my sister.) I tell him that he is an amazing player, and then I call him on the reason he choked.
"You were thinking about me, weren't you?" I say.
Note: I am not this self absorbed in real life, and even if I thought someone was thinking about me I probably wouldn't call them on it. I feel the need to clarify that.
He says that yes, he had been, and I reassure him that he's going to do amazing in the performance.
And then apparently we're in love with eachother, and we're looking out this window at this crazy lightning storm. Like--intense. The sky is purple and there are these weird celestial wisps of white floating through the air, with shoots of lightning every now and again. And this tornado starts to form really slowly, which totally freaks me out, but this Trombone guy is letting me know that everything is alright, and I don't have to worry.
I run anyways, dropping down this creepy sandstone tunnel from the bedroom, and trying to get away from the tornado that is potentially going to hit the house (?) that we're in. The Trombone isn't coming though, and I backtrack, and wait out the storm with him.
The room is actually really cool. There's this bed, and these huge floor to ceiling windows that make up the whole far wall. Except the room is kind of octagonal, and edgy, so there are mutliple 'far walls' but the whole thing is just windows on that side anyways.
Anyways, I wake up with this Trombone player in my head. And I feel like I have to blog about it apparently.
I just, found it to be a weird dream. I don't dream about guys very often, or Trombones (though in the dream it had valves and a slide, so it was kind of more like a Trombet). Other musical instruments are a regular occurance and even tornados rear their ugly head a lot. But guys that are in love with me and Trombones? Not so much.
What do I think it means? I don't know. Maybe it's a gliss from one thought process to another. Maybe I have to rapidly slide away from Amoroso to some unknown Trombone. Or rather, maybe I should be waiting for some unknown Trombone and therefore not putting a bunch of time and effort into Amoroso. Maybe it's a symbollic representation of facing my fears for love. (Though I hope not, because even just typing that makes me want to puke. I'm not really a romantic, so that's a little over the top for me.)
Maybe I'm dreaming about it because I've been bashing someone that has real talent and potential, and I'm making them choke. Maybe the fact that it's a guy has no significance. Maybe the fact that he played the Trombone has no significance.
Maybe it was just a dream. What a wacky thought!
I'm a bit of a dream fanatic. I love dreams, I love to dream, I love to remember them, I love to write them down, and I love to read into them. That's just the way I am. I've been thinking about maybe starting up a seperate blog to make my online Dream Journal.
Wouldn't that be something?
But, to spare those of you who aren't dream fanatics like I, we shall move onto other things.
The Glissando perhaps?
I've actually been making a bit of a gliss, in a good way. I have been sliding from Amoroso to French Horn. For those of you who haven't been following my every post, because I'm really just not that interesting that you want to read every day I add something new, that means I'm going from "I'm totally head over heels about you Amoroso" to "I'm going to be a friend to you French Horn, because you're a cool person."
Note: Amoroso and French Horn are the same person, the names just differ with the way I choose to think about him.
And it's been a lot more freeing. Now if B Flat wants to hang out with him, I can shrug it off and go home and blog about weird dreams, and actually study because Finals are coming up. I don't have to obsess.
Though you know what's really irritating? I seem to mention my French Horn in just about every post I make, and that irritates me. I don't want to talk about him every day! But somehow he just always seems to come up in my posts in one form or another.
That bothers me. *Picture me making the most unimpressed face you can imagine right now.* And I mean, I know some of you are thinking "Then just don't mention him."
But what I need to blog about somehow involves him. I mean, how could I talk about the gliss, without talking about the mental glissando I've been making? I just can't. You'll understand one day. When you find that person, and you're trying to understand if they're an Amoroso or a French Horn. It's a really irritating place to be.
But right now he's a French Horn so I don't even care.
I'm not blogging about him right now though, I'm blogging about the Glissando.
My word of advice to you is to be open to it. You may not be a Trombone player but that's okay. You can gliss (or fake it) even if you're another wind instrument. It has a cool effect. And I don't mean be willing to slide from one way of thinking to another with every wind of doctrine that comes your way, but be open to a bit of a mind change. It's refreshing when it's supposed to be. Trust me, if you're making a gliss in the wrong spot, it will sound wrong. You'll know. At least, I imagine that you will. At some point, it'll become apparent.
Well, that's my useless ranting for the day. Again, I miss being an intelligent blogger that doesn't sound like a complainer, whiner, star crossed lover. I'm sorry to admit that I am now a blogger who flits back and forth from legitimate concerns to boy trouble. And the legitimate concerns are quickly becoming fewer, and farther between.
But on that note, our toaster is broken and that feels pretty legit to me. There's this cinnamon raisin bread in the fridge and I'm trying to imagine it toasted, and I can imagine it would be pretty awesome. But I can't find out for sure because, first world problem, the toaster is broken.
Wow. I have to leave before I lose my dignity altogether.
-Trumpet Player (who feels kind of like a kazoo player* today)
*Kazoos, and their players, are kind of crazy. Either that or they're five years old. Both seem to adequetly surmise the degredation of my recent blogging, and the reflection that seems to have on my intellect or lack thereof.
A glissando is generally not performed by many wind insturments, being that there isn't the capacity for a wind instrument to 'slide'. I have had a gliss written into my musical notation before, but us Trumpet Players kind of have to fake it. You know which wind instrument can really make the glissando work? The Trombone.
And that, my friends, is why Glissando is the musical term for the day.
"Trombone?" You're asking youself. "I have not heard mention of a Trombone since this blog started."
Yah, well. I haven't really considered the Trombone since starting this blog. But you see, I had this strange dream last night and it involved a Trombone player.
Okay, dream starts: enter this punky looking guy in a black and red T-shirt, and some track pants. He has kind of messy brown hair and he's done something that really ticks me off. I think he crossed my sister somehow, but I can't really remember the innerworkings of this part of the dream. Anyways, I have been beating him up, hitting him over and over until he's bleeding and in really bad shape. And I am not the violent type, so it's kind of shocking that I even dreamt that I did that to someone. But I did. On a cruise ship no less. And I said some pretty terrible things about him being worthless, and incapable of anything.
Fast forward: I am in my elementary school, standing on the stage behind the curtain while a group of people are fanned out on black plastic chairs on the gym floor. There is an audience watching this group (even though apparently it's only rehersal). The main attraction of this group though? A Trombone player who just happens to be the same guy that I had beat up and insulted earlier. He is an AMAZING Trombone player, hitting notes I didn't think a human being could hit. And then, he chokes. He bites it, hard.
I find him after the performance/rehersal and I apologize profusely about what I said to him. (Though I guess the whole, me beating him up thing, didn't actually happen, and he didn't do anything to cross my sister.) I tell him that he is an amazing player, and then I call him on the reason he choked.
"You were thinking about me, weren't you?" I say.
Note: I am not this self absorbed in real life, and even if I thought someone was thinking about me I probably wouldn't call them on it. I feel the need to clarify that.
He says that yes, he had been, and I reassure him that he's going to do amazing in the performance.
And then apparently we're in love with eachother, and we're looking out this window at this crazy lightning storm. Like--intense. The sky is purple and there are these weird celestial wisps of white floating through the air, with shoots of lightning every now and again. And this tornado starts to form really slowly, which totally freaks me out, but this Trombone guy is letting me know that everything is alright, and I don't have to worry.
I run anyways, dropping down this creepy sandstone tunnel from the bedroom, and trying to get away from the tornado that is potentially going to hit the house (?) that we're in. The Trombone isn't coming though, and I backtrack, and wait out the storm with him.
The room is actually really cool. There's this bed, and these huge floor to ceiling windows that make up the whole far wall. Except the room is kind of octagonal, and edgy, so there are mutliple 'far walls' but the whole thing is just windows on that side anyways.
Anyways, I wake up with this Trombone player in my head. And I feel like I have to blog about it apparently.
I just, found it to be a weird dream. I don't dream about guys very often, or Trombones (though in the dream it had valves and a slide, so it was kind of more like a Trombet). Other musical instruments are a regular occurance and even tornados rear their ugly head a lot. But guys that are in love with me and Trombones? Not so much.
What do I think it means? I don't know. Maybe it's a gliss from one thought process to another. Maybe I have to rapidly slide away from Amoroso to some unknown Trombone. Or rather, maybe I should be waiting for some unknown Trombone and therefore not putting a bunch of time and effort into Amoroso. Maybe it's a symbollic representation of facing my fears for love. (Though I hope not, because even just typing that makes me want to puke. I'm not really a romantic, so that's a little over the top for me.)
Maybe I'm dreaming about it because I've been bashing someone that has real talent and potential, and I'm making them choke. Maybe the fact that it's a guy has no significance. Maybe the fact that he played the Trombone has no significance.
Maybe it was just a dream. What a wacky thought!
I'm a bit of a dream fanatic. I love dreams, I love to dream, I love to remember them, I love to write them down, and I love to read into them. That's just the way I am. I've been thinking about maybe starting up a seperate blog to make my online Dream Journal.
Wouldn't that be something?
But, to spare those of you who aren't dream fanatics like I, we shall move onto other things.
The Glissando perhaps?
I've actually been making a bit of a gliss, in a good way. I have been sliding from Amoroso to French Horn. For those of you who haven't been following my every post, because I'm really just not that interesting that you want to read every day I add something new, that means I'm going from "I'm totally head over heels about you Amoroso" to "I'm going to be a friend to you French Horn, because you're a cool person."
Note: Amoroso and French Horn are the same person, the names just differ with the way I choose to think about him.
And it's been a lot more freeing. Now if B Flat wants to hang out with him, I can shrug it off and go home and blog about weird dreams, and actually study because Finals are coming up. I don't have to obsess.
Though you know what's really irritating? I seem to mention my French Horn in just about every post I make, and that irritates me. I don't want to talk about him every day! But somehow he just always seems to come up in my posts in one form or another.
That bothers me. *Picture me making the most unimpressed face you can imagine right now.* And I mean, I know some of you are thinking "Then just don't mention him."
But what I need to blog about somehow involves him. I mean, how could I talk about the gliss, without talking about the mental glissando I've been making? I just can't. You'll understand one day. When you find that person, and you're trying to understand if they're an Amoroso or a French Horn. It's a really irritating place to be.
But right now he's a French Horn so I don't even care.
I'm not blogging about him right now though, I'm blogging about the Glissando.
My word of advice to you is to be open to it. You may not be a Trombone player but that's okay. You can gliss (or fake it) even if you're another wind instrument. It has a cool effect. And I don't mean be willing to slide from one way of thinking to another with every wind of doctrine that comes your way, but be open to a bit of a mind change. It's refreshing when it's supposed to be. Trust me, if you're making a gliss in the wrong spot, it will sound wrong. You'll know. At least, I imagine that you will. At some point, it'll become apparent.
Well, that's my useless ranting for the day. Again, I miss being an intelligent blogger that doesn't sound like a complainer, whiner, star crossed lover. I'm sorry to admit that I am now a blogger who flits back and forth from legitimate concerns to boy trouble. And the legitimate concerns are quickly becoming fewer, and farther between.
But on that note, our toaster is broken and that feels pretty legit to me. There's this cinnamon raisin bread in the fridge and I'm trying to imagine it toasted, and I can imagine it would be pretty awesome. But I can't find out for sure because, first world problem, the toaster is broken.
Wow. I have to leave before I lose my dignity altogether.
-Trumpet Player (who feels kind of like a kazoo player* today)
*Kazoos, and their players, are kind of crazy. Either that or they're five years old. Both seem to adequetly surmise the degredation of my recent blogging, and the reflection that seems to have on my intellect or lack thereof.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Diese
Diese is the musical term for the 'sharp sign'. A sharp (or flat) when not written in the key signature, is reffered to as an 'acidental.' It's a note that crops up unexpectedly, and is noted for the player with the Diese.
My life has kind of been running into a lot of Dieses lately. Accidentals that were not written into the key signature and I had not been anticipating. Some of them, sound great. I've really been enjoying the flourish that I've been able to use while playing a sharp. Some of them, have been downright horrid. I wonder to myself "why on earth did the composer put a diese right there? Surely he didn't mean to make that note a sharp." Some of them, are truly accidents. Notes that weren't supposed to be sharp, that weren't noted with a Diese, that I accidentally played sharp anyways. Whoops.
It happens. I'm really just hoping that there aren't too many more in the near future though. I'd like to keep to the key signature and not have to remember which fingering is a G sharp as opposed to the regular G. I'd like to continue on with life without having to make all these split second decisions, and figure things out.
You know, when you have a Diese, sometimes you have to check your fingering chart because it's a weird note that you've never seen before or had to play all that regularly. Being a Trumpet Player, you'd think that I don't run into that problem very much. Well, you'd be wrong. I know there are only three valves on a Trumpet, but sometimes you hit a note and for the life of you, you can't remember which valve you're supposed to press. Is it one and two? Two? Something odd like two and three? And you have to think about it. And sometimes, by the time you remember which valve to press, the note has come and gone and you have to figure out where everyone else is.
I used to be the only Trumpet in my band for a season, and if I missed a diese, you could tell. I clashed with the rest of the band, hardcore. You see, if there's another Trumpet, you clash with the other Trumpet, but they can kind of cover you because they sound good with the rest of the band. But if it's just you? Call it a day, because your missed sharps are going to stand out.
I think I need another player right now, to cover for me. Those Dieses have been giving me a run for my money.
Which Dieses? Well obviously my brother, French Horn, B Flat, but also some of the things I have been saying and doing have been coming up sharp. I'm just--not on my A game. Not playing the best. I'm getting a little bit overwhelmed by all the Dieses, I'm missing some, I'm botching others, I'm making up my own.
I would really like another Trumpet Player. It's a little easier when playing with someone else to handle a page full of Dieses. You can listen to them, hear how the piece is supposed to sound, watch their fingering, ask.
But I'm a solo Trumpet right now. Have been pretty much forever. Not that I don't have family and friends, I do. But they're other instruments. My sister is a Flute, a lot of my friends are Saxophones, or Bass players, my grandparents are probably Clairnet players. I don't have that truly compatible Trumpet Player.
B Flat is from another band entirely, I don't enjoy playing with her. I can't have her being my cover. She's here for a couple of songs, arguing with me over the Divisi, and that's all.
French Horn is a French Horn now, I'm pretty sure he's not a Trumpet.
I just need another Trumpet. God, you're the Conductor, can you please bring in a permanent player? A student teacher? Another First B Flat Trumpet, or Cornet, or something? I'm really just at a loss here.
I'm not asking for a page without Dieses. Those happen, they make the song cool, they clash in the best way possible sometimes. They make the music make sense. Have you ever listened to a song without any sharps or flats when there are supposed to be sharps and flats? It sounds weird, awkward, not good. I'm not requesting that the Conductor takes away this sheet music. The music is fine.
It'd just be cool to not be the only one playing it in my particular insturment group.
The thing about me is that I learn best by hearing. I have issues reading music sometimes, until I know what it sounds like. I can't just sight read, like most people, I have to know what I'm playing before I can make it sound good. So having another player is like a dream to me. I can hear exactly what I'm playing, and know what it sounds like, and play it. Once I have the sound in my head, I can read the music fine. I can get through the piece, by myself, no problem. But until then, having that other player makes it easy, enjoyable, fun to learn new music. When I'm by myself, I want to freak out. "What is this supposed to sound like, and why doesn't it sound like that?!" I ask myself.
And right now, with all these Dieses, I'd love someone else sitting beside me, blasting through those notes so I know what they sound like.
But for now, I'm the only...
-Trumpet Player
My life has kind of been running into a lot of Dieses lately. Accidentals that were not written into the key signature and I had not been anticipating. Some of them, sound great. I've really been enjoying the flourish that I've been able to use while playing a sharp. Some of them, have been downright horrid. I wonder to myself "why on earth did the composer put a diese right there? Surely he didn't mean to make that note a sharp." Some of them, are truly accidents. Notes that weren't supposed to be sharp, that weren't noted with a Diese, that I accidentally played sharp anyways. Whoops.
It happens. I'm really just hoping that there aren't too many more in the near future though. I'd like to keep to the key signature and not have to remember which fingering is a G sharp as opposed to the regular G. I'd like to continue on with life without having to make all these split second decisions, and figure things out.
You know, when you have a Diese, sometimes you have to check your fingering chart because it's a weird note that you've never seen before or had to play all that regularly. Being a Trumpet Player, you'd think that I don't run into that problem very much. Well, you'd be wrong. I know there are only three valves on a Trumpet, but sometimes you hit a note and for the life of you, you can't remember which valve you're supposed to press. Is it one and two? Two? Something odd like two and three? And you have to think about it. And sometimes, by the time you remember which valve to press, the note has come and gone and you have to figure out where everyone else is.
I used to be the only Trumpet in my band for a season, and if I missed a diese, you could tell. I clashed with the rest of the band, hardcore. You see, if there's another Trumpet, you clash with the other Trumpet, but they can kind of cover you because they sound good with the rest of the band. But if it's just you? Call it a day, because your missed sharps are going to stand out.
I think I need another player right now, to cover for me. Those Dieses have been giving me a run for my money.
Which Dieses? Well obviously my brother, French Horn, B Flat, but also some of the things I have been saying and doing have been coming up sharp. I'm just--not on my A game. Not playing the best. I'm getting a little bit overwhelmed by all the Dieses, I'm missing some, I'm botching others, I'm making up my own.
I would really like another Trumpet Player. It's a little easier when playing with someone else to handle a page full of Dieses. You can listen to them, hear how the piece is supposed to sound, watch their fingering, ask.
But I'm a solo Trumpet right now. Have been pretty much forever. Not that I don't have family and friends, I do. But they're other instruments. My sister is a Flute, a lot of my friends are Saxophones, or Bass players, my grandparents are probably Clairnet players. I don't have that truly compatible Trumpet Player.
B Flat is from another band entirely, I don't enjoy playing with her. I can't have her being my cover. She's here for a couple of songs, arguing with me over the Divisi, and that's all.
French Horn is a French Horn now, I'm pretty sure he's not a Trumpet.
I just need another Trumpet. God, you're the Conductor, can you please bring in a permanent player? A student teacher? Another First B Flat Trumpet, or Cornet, or something? I'm really just at a loss here.
I'm not asking for a page without Dieses. Those happen, they make the song cool, they clash in the best way possible sometimes. They make the music make sense. Have you ever listened to a song without any sharps or flats when there are supposed to be sharps and flats? It sounds weird, awkward, not good. I'm not requesting that the Conductor takes away this sheet music. The music is fine.
It'd just be cool to not be the only one playing it in my particular insturment group.
The thing about me is that I learn best by hearing. I have issues reading music sometimes, until I know what it sounds like. I can't just sight read, like most people, I have to know what I'm playing before I can make it sound good. So having another player is like a dream to me. I can hear exactly what I'm playing, and know what it sounds like, and play it. Once I have the sound in my head, I can read the music fine. I can get through the piece, by myself, no problem. But until then, having that other player makes it easy, enjoyable, fun to learn new music. When I'm by myself, I want to freak out. "What is this supposed to sound like, and why doesn't it sound like that?!" I ask myself.
And right now, with all these Dieses, I'd love someone else sitting beside me, blasting through those notes so I know what they sound like.
But for now, I'm the only...
-Trumpet Player
Friday, November 30, 2012
Ed
Ed is simply the "musical term" (for lack of a better word) for 'and'.
And that's the only word I can put to today. It just seems to have been that questioning, "and?" sort of a day.
So, I was out late last night, helping my friend tear down after a woman's night at the church. The night was tons of fun, with lots of great food and great people. The tear down was actually fun too. I told my friend that it felt more like I was cleaning up after an event at my house than at the Church. That's just how much like home the sanctuary feels to me now. It was pretty cool, for sure.
But by the time all was said and done and I was in my bed, I think it was close to midnight. So this morning when my alarm went off at six fifteen, I set it for another twenty minutes later. "And?"
And I slept for another twenty minutes.
Then I got up.
I know, this is so riveting you can't beleive that I didn't pick a more exciting musical term for today.
Then I caught a ride with the French Horn* and went to school. It was an amicable ride, nothing particularly exciting or not exciting about it. "And?"
And then I went to school.
*That is, Amoroso, for all you who missed my explanation yesterday about why he's a French Horn now.
School was alright. We had two of my favorite classes in a row, but the students in my class were talking so much and it was driving me crazy. I just wanted to listen to the super intense lecture the teacher was giving about the Nephillim, but I had to listen to all these side remarks from the people all around me instead.
It was frusterating.
"And?"
And it was frusterating, what else can be said about it?
Then I came home. My Grandma and Uncle went to the hospital, and I just kind of milled around for the afternoon, studying, showering, and doing the other things that needed to be done before I could go myself. Except I'm going tomorrow so I've decided that I'm just going to stay home tonight. I think I had kind of pre-determined that before I even got home, but there was the chance that I might go anyways. There still kind of is, even though there wouldn't be much of a point now. It takes about an hour to bus out there, and an hour to bus back. (That's if you're lucky and make the connecting busses without any grief.) And the busses stop running at eleven, so I'd only be there for a couple hours before I'd have to turn around and come back.
I know this is a really greulling blog post to read. I'm sorry. It's a pretty boring one to write too. I want to post something but I don't really know what's happening with me right now. It's not that I'm bottling my emotions per-say, but I just don't really know what I'm feeling. I'm not sure if I'm feeling anything.
I think the reason I held onto Amoroso/French Horn is because I knew how I felt about him. All giddy and whatever when he talked to me, ticked off and envious when he talked to B Flat. It was pretty clear cut.
Since I've let go, and decided to set aside all those Amoroso feelings for now, I have no idea how I feel about anything.
My brother. He's in the hospital and I can't do anything but pray, and believe he's going to be okay. But how do I feel about that? Angry? Not really. Upset? Not even. Helpless? Sure, maybe.
My parents, they're stuck at the hospital, trapped in this perpetual world where they have to deal with every slightly good, slightly bad, or neutral thing that happens to my brother. I'm worried about my Mom, I'm happy my Dad is coping okay, I'm thankful for all the little good things that happen, and I praise God for them.
I think.
See the thing is, there's really no intense emotion rolling around inside of me right now. I have my moments. The ones where I'm rejoicing because God is so good for taking care of my little brother. The ones where I'm breaking down because having him playing video games is the closest thing to normal that we've had in awhile. The ones where I'm flooded with guilt for not going to the hospital every second of my life, the ones where I'm admant that I never want to step foot in that building again. The ones where I'm fearful for the future, the ones where I'm positive everything is going to be amazing, and I'm believing God for complete, miraculous healing.
But right now.
Ed.
There's nothing before, there's nothing after, there's no indication of how I'm supposed to play this part of the song or even what's coming.
I'm at a loss. I've been talking with one of my friends from school, and she's been telling me that it's okay to rant to her, it's not good to bottle my emotions, and all that. But today I realized--it's not really that I'm bottling my emotions it's more like--I don't know how I feel.
I guess that's part of the reason I really wanted to blog something today. Even if it was a repetitive strand of meaningless sentances ending in Ed and expectation. Because I want to sort out what's happening.
And still. I don't know. I feel completely at a loss. Now that I've stopped distracting myself with Amoroso feelings, I realize I don't even know how I feel about Amoroso himself. Do I even like him? As a human, sure. He makes me laugh when he's noticing that I'm sitting right beside him. Do I care if him and B Flat get together? Sure, maybe. But I think for the most part that's because that would mean he wasn't the person I thought he was.
But no one ever really is, are they?
I don't know. My sister is coming into the city tomorrow (or perhaps tonight), and I just really want to talk to her. I can gush my stupid Amoroso business, I can vent my irriation with my indifference towards everything, I can rave about the confusion that's happening inside of my stomach with my brother.
But I need someone to just--be here. Talk to me. It's not that my friend isn't good enough, it's not that I don't trust her, it's not anything like that. It's just that we don't have that kind of time to go over the innerworkings of my being. She has a family, which brings with it a huge element of busy-ness. And she's working through a lot of her own feelings right now. We're mutually there for eachother, but me and my sister pretty much are eachother. She'll know what I'm talking about when I tell her that I have no idea how I feel about this whole thing.
And, of course, I can pray about it.
I seem to have forgotten that is an option. God knows me better than I know myself. Surely He'll be able to help me figure this out.
Nevertheless, I can't wait to see my sister. I've missed her a lot. When she was here, we we're in and out, up and down, swirling around, the hospital. We didn't really have any time to just communicate with eachother. And that's what we're the best at. She's the one who knows every single, deep, dark, dirty, secret about my life. And she still loves me. Which is pretty cool. We have our spats, but God definitely pre-destined us for eachother, and we're pretty great friends. She's such a blessing to me.
Though I have to admit it makes me crazy that she's in Karate and keeps talking about it. I love you Flute* but stop rubbing it in!
*She's a Flute player, through and through. Not nearly as cool as a Trumpet Player, but pretty okay anyways.
So I suppose if I want to put a positive spin on this (to offset my negative spin yesterday) I'll say this. Even if you don't know what's before, or what's after, your Ed, there's still time to figure it out. What do I mean by that?
I think right now we're just getting handed a new sheet of music and we haven't figured out what all the musical terms are yet. I mean, I'm sure there is something before the Ed, and after it. Maybe its Amoroso Ed Legato. Maybe it's Andante Ed Brillante. Who knows? But we have time to search it out, learn the music, ask the Conductor. We have time to practice. There's no pressure.
"And?"
And once we know we'll make a beautiful song together. Just you wait and see.
-Trumpet Player
And that's the only word I can put to today. It just seems to have been that questioning, "and?" sort of a day.
So, I was out late last night, helping my friend tear down after a woman's night at the church. The night was tons of fun, with lots of great food and great people. The tear down was actually fun too. I told my friend that it felt more like I was cleaning up after an event at my house than at the Church. That's just how much like home the sanctuary feels to me now. It was pretty cool, for sure.
But by the time all was said and done and I was in my bed, I think it was close to midnight. So this morning when my alarm went off at six fifteen, I set it for another twenty minutes later. "And?"
And I slept for another twenty minutes.
Then I got up.
I know, this is so riveting you can't beleive that I didn't pick a more exciting musical term for today.
Then I caught a ride with the French Horn* and went to school. It was an amicable ride, nothing particularly exciting or not exciting about it. "And?"
And then I went to school.
*That is, Amoroso, for all you who missed my explanation yesterday about why he's a French Horn now.
School was alright. We had two of my favorite classes in a row, but the students in my class were talking so much and it was driving me crazy. I just wanted to listen to the super intense lecture the teacher was giving about the Nephillim, but I had to listen to all these side remarks from the people all around me instead.
It was frusterating.
"And?"
And it was frusterating, what else can be said about it?
Then I came home. My Grandma and Uncle went to the hospital, and I just kind of milled around for the afternoon, studying, showering, and doing the other things that needed to be done before I could go myself. Except I'm going tomorrow so I've decided that I'm just going to stay home tonight. I think I had kind of pre-determined that before I even got home, but there was the chance that I might go anyways. There still kind of is, even though there wouldn't be much of a point now. It takes about an hour to bus out there, and an hour to bus back. (That's if you're lucky and make the connecting busses without any grief.) And the busses stop running at eleven, so I'd only be there for a couple hours before I'd have to turn around and come back.
I know this is a really greulling blog post to read. I'm sorry. It's a pretty boring one to write too. I want to post something but I don't really know what's happening with me right now. It's not that I'm bottling my emotions per-say, but I just don't really know what I'm feeling. I'm not sure if I'm feeling anything.
I think the reason I held onto Amoroso/French Horn is because I knew how I felt about him. All giddy and whatever when he talked to me, ticked off and envious when he talked to B Flat. It was pretty clear cut.
Since I've let go, and decided to set aside all those Amoroso feelings for now, I have no idea how I feel about anything.
My brother. He's in the hospital and I can't do anything but pray, and believe he's going to be okay. But how do I feel about that? Angry? Not really. Upset? Not even. Helpless? Sure, maybe.
My parents, they're stuck at the hospital, trapped in this perpetual world where they have to deal with every slightly good, slightly bad, or neutral thing that happens to my brother. I'm worried about my Mom, I'm happy my Dad is coping okay, I'm thankful for all the little good things that happen, and I praise God for them.
I think.
See the thing is, there's really no intense emotion rolling around inside of me right now. I have my moments. The ones where I'm rejoicing because God is so good for taking care of my little brother. The ones where I'm breaking down because having him playing video games is the closest thing to normal that we've had in awhile. The ones where I'm flooded with guilt for not going to the hospital every second of my life, the ones where I'm admant that I never want to step foot in that building again. The ones where I'm fearful for the future, the ones where I'm positive everything is going to be amazing, and I'm believing God for complete, miraculous healing.
But right now.
Ed.
There's nothing before, there's nothing after, there's no indication of how I'm supposed to play this part of the song or even what's coming.
I'm at a loss. I've been talking with one of my friends from school, and she's been telling me that it's okay to rant to her, it's not good to bottle my emotions, and all that. But today I realized--it's not really that I'm bottling my emotions it's more like--I don't know how I feel.
I guess that's part of the reason I really wanted to blog something today. Even if it was a repetitive strand of meaningless sentances ending in Ed and expectation. Because I want to sort out what's happening.
And still. I don't know. I feel completely at a loss. Now that I've stopped distracting myself with Amoroso feelings, I realize I don't even know how I feel about Amoroso himself. Do I even like him? As a human, sure. He makes me laugh when he's noticing that I'm sitting right beside him. Do I care if him and B Flat get together? Sure, maybe. But I think for the most part that's because that would mean he wasn't the person I thought he was.
But no one ever really is, are they?
I don't know. My sister is coming into the city tomorrow (or perhaps tonight), and I just really want to talk to her. I can gush my stupid Amoroso business, I can vent my irriation with my indifference towards everything, I can rave about the confusion that's happening inside of my stomach with my brother.
But I need someone to just--be here. Talk to me. It's not that my friend isn't good enough, it's not that I don't trust her, it's not anything like that. It's just that we don't have that kind of time to go over the innerworkings of my being. She has a family, which brings with it a huge element of busy-ness. And she's working through a lot of her own feelings right now. We're mutually there for eachother, but me and my sister pretty much are eachother. She'll know what I'm talking about when I tell her that I have no idea how I feel about this whole thing.
And, of course, I can pray about it.
I seem to have forgotten that is an option. God knows me better than I know myself. Surely He'll be able to help me figure this out.
Nevertheless, I can't wait to see my sister. I've missed her a lot. When she was here, we we're in and out, up and down, swirling around, the hospital. We didn't really have any time to just communicate with eachother. And that's what we're the best at. She's the one who knows every single, deep, dark, dirty, secret about my life. And she still loves me. Which is pretty cool. We have our spats, but God definitely pre-destined us for eachother, and we're pretty great friends. She's such a blessing to me.
Though I have to admit it makes me crazy that she's in Karate and keeps talking about it. I love you Flute* but stop rubbing it in!
*She's a Flute player, through and through. Not nearly as cool as a Trumpet Player, but pretty okay anyways.
So I suppose if I want to put a positive spin on this (to offset my negative spin yesterday) I'll say this. Even if you don't know what's before, or what's after, your Ed, there's still time to figure it out. What do I mean by that?
I think right now we're just getting handed a new sheet of music and we haven't figured out what all the musical terms are yet. I mean, I'm sure there is something before the Ed, and after it. Maybe its Amoroso Ed Legato. Maybe it's Andante Ed Brillante. Who knows? But we have time to search it out, learn the music, ask the Conductor. We have time to practice. There's no pressure.
"And?"
And once we know we'll make a beautiful song together. Just you wait and see.
-Trumpet Player
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