My prrreccciiiiooouuus...

About four years ago, it was decided that I would sell my piano. (and that's about the nicest way I can put it...) My piano wasn't anything special in terms of value; It was a small apartment-size Canadian-made piano with heavy keys and a solid cast iron frame. This soundboard frame was amazing -- I swear this piano could survive a bomb blast and still stay in tune. In all the 20 years that I played it, it was tuned once and stayed beautifully tuned throughout.

Unfortunately because of this amazing cast iron component; it was also a beast of a piece to move and this ultimately lead to Mr.F. requesting that it no longer belong to us. I wasn't happy to comply, but sometimes you do stuff cause you love someone (like move a beastly instrument to it's new abode a half dozen times) and this was my turn to be the one to make a sacrifice. The idea at the time was that I would get to purchase a smaller keyboard or digital piano in it's place -- something that wouldn't break a back when it came time to move again.

It was a great consolation idea, but the years went by and it seemed that the extra money was hard to come by. Or, when it was there -- it was hard to decide to spend it on something as frivolous as an instrument just for me.

I have missed playing a lot. Not just as an outlet for that creative or sensitive side of me; but also because it was often one of those elements that was a huge spiritual connection for me, too. And while I've felt the absence of this in my life, it's definitely been on my mind and heart a lot this past year more than ever.

Which made the timing absolutely perfect this Mother's Day, when I opened up a card to find a printed photo of a keyboard and a note about starting a search for what I wanted. Cue tears. And, this past Friday, after a bit of a search and a rather dramatic set-up to be able to buy it; I purchased a keyboard workstation that is beyond my hearts' desire. This thing is amazing. Dreamy. It blows my mind that it is mine.



Unfortunately, I don't have it just yet. I bought it used and a friend in another city did the transaction for me. It's going to be a few weeks before I see her and can pick it up from her. So until then, I am walking around with a goofy smile on my face and wondering just how it is that I was able to go all this time without playing... cause it's pretty much all that's on my mind.

Leap Year Take Me Away.

It's been almost three weeks of illness and crud here in the Flutterby home and my oh my... this place needs to be rescued in the worst way.

In fact, I'm surveying the damage from my spot here at the dining room table -- the Kid's school books are spread everywhere and there's dishes from lunch on the table and island, the living room has been covered with materials for the Princess' big school project and there are two small boxes of "cabin stuff" that I have yet to find a home for after my parents dropped them off in the midst of the Crud Days a week and a half ago. And then let's look a bit closer to see the dust bunnies and toast crumbs (arghhh... the bane of my existence... TOAST SHOULD BE A BANNED SUBSTANCE. Says I.) and various and sundry items that need to be put away (hmmmm... Tylenol, bearing press, remote control for DVD, invoice book, more cold meds, bath salts -- and that's just the island countertop. WHO LIVES IN THIS PLACE??? It is UNFIT, I tell you!!!!) And let's not even talk about laundry. I may weep.

So, I think that with the remainder of the superfluous 24 hrs gifted to me by this day, I am going to embark on the Glamourous and Exciting tasks of resurrecting some standard of housekeeping to this abode.

Anyone happen to have one of those Animation Enchantments? Like on Beauty and the Beast -- I could really use some talking teacups, mops and brooms to help me out with this one.

The One Where I'm Going Slightly Crazy With Busyness.

Yeah. I've been busy. Super, super busy and I've about had it with the busyness.

And as much as I'm sure you're all dying to hear all the mundane, ridiculous things that have been filling my days, (what? I thought you guys liked hearing that stuff!!) I'm going to skip that part lest my head blow up and splatter it's brain-ish contents all over the wall behind me.

I'm going to talk about really important stuff instead.

Derby.

Ha hahaha. Got you all there... Don't think I didn't hear that collective sigh. Don't think I didn't see you roll your eyes and make little swirly Crazy-Lady Gestures beside your head with your non-derby loving fingers.

But seriously? I do have derby stories.

*chirp chirp* *silence*

Really, readers? That's all you can give me? Crickets chirping and silence in response to the temptation of DERBY stories??? Really?

I expected more.

*sigh*

OK, the truth is, I really don't have anything to write about. But I'm feeling bad for neglecting this little blog. I'll try really, really hard to find something to write about.

Promise.

I still can't believe you didn't want to hear the derby stories.

:)

Fond Memories of Sabbath-Past

Lately I find my mind tripping over remembrances of the many Friday nights spent observing and celebrating Shabbat in the last years.

As this year has run by at break-neck speed, I'm sad to say that our tradition has slipped by the wayside for the most part. I find myself more than a little bit homesick for some of those staid, peaceful moments and traditions that marked a space that I tried valiantly to set apart as an island of time in the week.

I was a Mom at home with my kiddos those years and often based my schedule for the week around preparing our home for sabbath. Monday - Wednesday were rather Normal days for the most part -- just doing the regular, daily stuff a house and children require. Thursday morning was different, though. After getting the Princess off on the bus, the little toddling Kid and I would crank up some music on the stereo (Travis Tritt if he got his way... silly Kid) and he would be my cleaning buddy. Well, he'd try for a while.

Some days it worked great and I cherish those memories of his chubby little hands rinsing dishes and setting them on the drainboard for me or following me with the duster in hand. He LOVED to vacuum (a love which has sadly diminished over time... *sigh*) and would come running when I started the old Filter Queen up, if only to turn it off so he could press the button again. And again, and again.

Other days it didn't work so well, but I've worked really, really hard and spent a lot of money in therapy to forget those ones. :D

It was a full day of cleaning and running laundry and changing linens and airing out the house and I loved sitting down in the evening after a shower with a Pepsi in hand and kids in bed. (Which is absolutely a secret of womanly contentment... a few hours where the house will not be destroyed as quickly as one tries to rescue it.)

Friday was a bit more laid back if I had done my job properly the day before. But this is Real Life and this is Flutterby we're talking about, so there was usually always a job or two from the previous day's To Do list that got pushed over.

I always tried to plan something a bit more special for supper that night, and usually made someone's favorite dessert (hats off to all you moms who make dessert every night -- I'm just not that committed). I was also attending a fellowship where potluck dinners were a weekly occurrence... (yummm!) but this also meant prepping a main course and either dessert or salad to bring the next morning. Add to that baking two loaves of fresh Challah bread -- a traditional egg bread that is likely the most awesome bread you will EVER, EVER have, I swear it -- Friday was pretty much dedicated to the grocery store and the kitchen and trying to keep the kids (well, mostly just THE KID) from tearing apart all my housework efforts from the day before.

And, if all went well, Mr. F came home from work to a table set with our best dishes and my Grandma's heirloom glass candlesticks, wineglasses and some relaxing music playing. The kids were bathed and I hopefully had managed to be somewhat presentable.

Traditional prayers were shared and the Princess' little voice added to mine in the Hebrew blessing over the lighting of the candles. Ancient blessings were spoken over the children and over both Mr. F. and I and we were reminded of the Sacred in a very powerful and poignant way as we marked the beginning of a day "set apart"; and there was evening and there was morning...

If all hadn't gone well... let's just say the picture was less than perfect and there may or may not have been quiet tears of desperation falling from my eyes during the prayers while the Kid hollered and banged his cutlery and the Princess whined about how hungry she was.

Equally as important a tradition was the apres-supper viewing of America's Funniest Home Videos after supper. I'd finish dishes as the beginning credits ran and the kids would hop around the living room, mimicking all the bad falls and spills from the show. To this day, I still totally heart that show.

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All these memories have been on my mind lately. I'm not sure if it's cause my babies are all grown up now, and how I sometimes long for those days of chubby fingers and moments spent reading stories on the couch with a little round head tucked under my chin. Or maybe cause I'm dissatisfied with my harried schedule this past year since starting work during the day, feeling that there's not enough time to tend to things like I'd like to. Or perhaps I'm missing that touch of the Sacred in my week. In the scope of all things, I'm not sure just how important it was/is to say those certain words at those certain times or observe certain traditions; but I know how they made me very conscious of a specific rhythm in life. A rhythm not determined by what I wanted to do or how I wanted to spend my time; but one determined by a particular understanding of how, perhaps, God wanted things ordered. And I can't help but think that that was a good thing.

A good thing that I kind of miss.

Cuts You Up.

Sometimes I'll hear a song for the first time, only to have an odd sense of deja vu over a lyric -- particularly metaphors -- that I've used in my journalling or writing before. Whatever the reason for this collective shared consciousness, be it fanciful or explainable, it never fails to spin my head a bit.

I first heard this song just yesterday. Apparently it's been around a long time (think 1990), albeit a somewhat obscured existence. I've not had opportunity to listen to Peter Murphy's larger body of work, or appreciate his artistry -- which apparently is great and notorious. (but, what would I know...) -- the jury is still out as to whether I can say I "love" this one. But, hearing this song brought one of those deja vu moments to me and for that alone it deserves some blog space.

Long live the metaphor.

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While I may not absolutely LURRRRVVVE this song as a whole, I will say that I am awed by the man's glacial eyes. And possibly the carved cheekbones.

Bluster and Fuss

Tonight I feel like ranting on the medical profession. For their lack of care and understanding, for their shoddy parameters of good sense. For putting good people through bleeping bleeping hell and uncertainty.

But because tonight is the night it is and because tonight we got the news we did; I will just let it go and breathe and feel that all is freaking Right with my world.

Cause it is.

Little Baby, I can't wait to meet you; you have remarkable, strong parents and they just fought the hardest fight believing in you and loving you. JJ, keep up the great work making that niece (errr, or nephew as the odds may have it) of mine. May the weeks fly by now that the drama is over.

Peace. Be. Still.