song writing as an illness

Last night was perfect.

Our friend Catherine came over to help us make apricot fruit leather out of some nickel-sized apricots we picked off Jeff's tree.

Stacey surreptitiously left her guitar out in the hopes that Catherine would just forget where she was and what she was doing and, out of habit, pick up the guitar and start playing... It didn't quite happen like that, but after a bit of prodding, Catherine did agree to play us something... after we played her something.

I knew that Catherine had written some songs and I'd even heard her band play a few of them. She told me (Stacey had to keep her curfew and go to bed) she was going to play a more recent one, and she then proceeded to play the most simple and beautiful song I've heard in a long time about a cowboy. The lyrics were perfect and the the tune was beautiful. When I asked her how one writes a song (cause believe me...I have no clue) she said she doesn't know either...that her songs just come to her all at once and she spends a couple hours feverishly writing it (or "vomiting" it out, as she said) and then it's over...like the stomach flu, I guess.

After she left, the melody and the few words I could remember from the song followed me to bed. I awoke with only a few bits remaining but continued to go over them as I showered and came to work. Now, as I type this, all memory of the song are gone (welcome to my life, and my memory). My horrible realization is that youtube is not there to bail me out. I can't even just look up the lyrics online...there's nothing. The internet has failed me today, and I'm not sure that's ever happened before.

Do you think she will come sing the song to me every night before I go to bed? Maybe it'd be easier for her to just record it...there's a great idea :)

my life in repair

I have been living proof of global warming ever since I got old enough to realize life has a myriad of opportunities for anxiety. That age of awareness came early...at least by 6. When the pilot on our flight to Hawaii came back to meet me and pat me on the head but the only thing I cared about was...but, who is flying the plane?! I don't need sky diving to live life on the edge...I can live it sitting on the edge of my chair at my computer day in and day out. My life is definitely a thrill ride.

I have found, however, that the disasters that require the most deodorant are the imaginary ones. For example, many of these high anxiety imaginings seem to relate to my cars. About 3 years ago, I thought pepe-jeb, my little '83 subaru was dying...it was just a bad feeling I had about him...plus he was smoking a lot when we drove together. My mourning was so acute, a roommate even took me to lunch once...that's how bad she felt for me. It turned out that the auto shop fixed him up for free (the smoking was their fault) and he lived to see another day/year and a half. Then, my shop told me pepe needed a part that wasn't made anymore and was very difficult and expensive to find rebuilt. He would continue to run, they explained...but would probably just get worse and worse after a while and that I should start thinking about getting a new car. My worst nightmare incarnate. This time, though, I handled the factual news better than I handled the imaginings in my head the year before...Interesting.

I was able to wait a few months, and then find the perfect car to replace pepe. It worked perfectly for me.

$2000 in maintenance and repairs, and less than a year later...I find myself in a similar situation with my newer, "more reliable" car. I was certain her life was coming to an end. Or at least, that she would need thousands of dollars worth of life support to bring her back. But, this last monday, I took her to my shop and they just cleaned the throttle a bit and told me that seemed to have done the trick. Once again my car had defied death! I skipped into their office to pick her up and only then did they deliver the news that though she is running fine now, she will most likely need work on the crankshaft later. I'm only guessing that's expensive because they
1. didn't tell me how expensive it would be
2. didn't look me in the eye as they said it.
3. said "hopefully it will be a while before we see you again...er...eheh..." as I left dejectedly.

No matter...once again, I have been given this gift of time to get used to the idea. And I have found that it is time that makes any loss bearable (even monetary).

lessons from flaming george

yes, yes...I know it's gorge...i just like george better.

Apparently 101 tries is the key to getting up on a wakeboard.
Not 100....101.

Talking calmly doesn't necessarily get the point across to raft members that a large rock is looming ahead so they need to paddle.

I should never go river rafting again....
you'd think after 3 years of river rafting ocd, I would learn.

Jenni also suffers from my same rafting ocd tendencies.
Thanks, Jenni...I'm glad I'm not alone (though she might control it a little better than me)....

A thermarest isn't as comfortable as it used to be.

I can develop a tolerance to Tylonol PM.

Forcing those riding in your car to listen to your music doesn't mean they will be converted to it.

The purple earplugs are the cheap ones.
they don't work...use this information to your advantage.

Cleaning a chicken encrusted deep dish dutch oven in the dark isn't nearly as fun as it sounds.
and dang, it sounds fun, doesn't it?

Brushing your teeth while camping is overrated.

My hair can NOT go more than a day without being washed.
no how, no way.

I need to build up a grease tolerance in my hair.
maybe by starting to only wash it every other day?

It's totally ok to use shampoo in a lake.
hopefully no fish died.

As long as there are 5 people that enjoy hanging out together, any ward activity can be fun.

i saw you in the parking lot and ran up to slap the back of your car and it wasn't you....