Rhythm Challenged?

So the funny thing is...

I used to play in the high school band!

From an early age, I "pretended" to play

tin drums, trash cans

anything I could pound on,

even my younger brother's head

(when I could get away with it)

There was a deep passion for this

instrument and the act of banging on it...

was probably deeply based in my African roots

( you know, the ones I pretend to have.)

Never had the beautiful six piece

drum set

every kid dreams of owning,

parents wouldn't have the noise.

So in 7th grade I found myself

in the percussion section

at Hermantown High!

(yes, I said, Hermantown)

Some prior instruction would have been

preferred

by me, by my fellow band mates,

by the teacher.

Turns out when they pass out

the "being able to dance gift"

the "drumming gift" is also included as a bonus

(and there are probably others

in this package deal, that I haven't yet

discovered, but I am sure I will)

I had NO rhythm...

None, zero, zilch, nata!

All eyes on me, when the cymbol finale

failed to hit the right note,

time and time again.

But I pretended and pretended

I wasn't actually, "rhythm challenged"

The instructor didn't like me

and frankly had no business teaching kids.

Mean! Mean! Mean!

So much so, everyone

was too afraid to quit.

Even had to do the marching band thing,

which is sort of like dancing

while banging something,

that was REALLY sad!

Finally, when there

was a overlap in my class

schedule, I was able to escape...

Mean Mr. Band Leader and the pretense

of being able to play!

A long time collector of African drums

(again, due to my African heritage)

it seemed, they were to be admired not

necessarily played.

Cause, it was clear I couldn't!

In my living room, under a layer

of embarrasing dust were two books

given to me, six years ago,

along with a beautiful African Djembe drum

(which I had at least, lovingly kept dust free)

Gifts from a significantly wise friend.

One book was "how to play"

the other all about the "healing power" of the drum!

I decided not to muddle thru learning the specifics

(feeling Mean Mr. Band Man's presence)

and instead, discovered

a new and rich language

one without words...

like a heart beat.

...my heart beat..

all heart beats.

Began, by thinking of an emotion

and magic happened

my fingers spoke and moved and created

not musically,

but in pure sound,

poetic, spiritual, ancestrol, primal,

beautiful sound!

The voice of African gods and

anyone else who came before me

and who had beat on a drum

and found their voice,

their heart beat,

the one that simply says, "I am!"

Don't know that I will ever

pick up the "how to play" book,

but for now drumming has become a part

of my morning ritual...

my dawn song!

(thinking my neighbors

aren't too happy about this...

but what can they expect?

They are, after all

living next to a "rhythm challenged"

artist?)

Pam

Piper Rain

Learning to Dance in the Rain

In the past couple months,

been challenged to learn new things...

some would call it a "bucket list,"

for some reason, not fond of that term

(may be cause I didn't see the movie)

A part of reinventing myself

because it was a birthday

that ended in a zero?

More likely!

Determined to take on the big fears...

Swimming, dancing,

steering the canoe, hula hooping

(granted, a minor accomplishment

but still?) Swahili

(in case I make it to Kenya soon)

and most recently drumming.

(Why is this a fear?

that story soon.)

Much of which seems to be about

...rhythm!

In studying the Tao

these fall turned mornings

on my patio...

rhythm, is the common theme

and teaching

and such a struggle for my

feet, hips, hands, my ...

Okay, my everything!

Looks like what I am

trying to learn is all about rhythm!

Metaphor for life?

"life is not about waiting for the storms to pass...

it's learning how to dance in the rain"

When this one came to me

(not mine)

I pondered what others I could

come up with...like

"Life is not waiting for the life boat to come

its learning to float in the tide"

Or this one...

Life isn't about learning how to play "that beat"

but listening to your own drum!

and...

"Life is not about digging up the roots

but believing in the tree

that's becoming"

Okay, that one was kind of lame

but I really wanted to use

this super cool picture of the

root face and...sigh!

Anyone have a better one...

What's your metaphor

for life?

Pam

Piper Rain

Photo by Ed Earley

Ten again and again and...

Seems the older we get the more we

find ways to revert back to our

childhood selves...

(and if we do? Lucky us, lucky everyone)

Reminded recently, of this

when reading my friend Jodi's blog

"License to fly"

(It is a must read, really...

(I am such a fan and her humorous

storytelling inspires me to step it up.)

Seems she loves Halloween...

always has, even when she dressed up

on "dress up day" and no one else in her class did.

Ouch!

So she stated, she is going around town in a

her big black witch hat...

and a laminated mock up

of a license "to fly" complete with a

picture of her in her hat...

some are entertained

and some are not!

I will come back to this...

When the hula hoop came back into my life!

loved it...we were using it as a

paddling warm up...

but it was always bumping along

where it didn't belong...

like down around my ankles.

Had a department store version,

of it in my backyard for occasional use

you know the one with the marble sound,

which actually seemed to

throw me off rather then help,

then the hoop suffered, as most things,

do in the desert " of heat stroke,"

and it cracked in half...

When an old classmate

saw some pics on Facebook

of my attempts to hoop recently,

she sent me a link

to Hoopnotica and all the wonders

that are possible

of hula hooping as adult, is discovered!

I directly, ordered a portable one...

and where are you going to take it?"

a friend asked me

"EVERYWHERE!"

And I am!

It is the cadillac of hula hoops,

truly...one spin and I was hooked...

(if I am your friend...

YOU, are probably getting one for your birthday

or PHD graduation, Valentines or whatever!)

Although, I am not sure yet...

but hoping,

if you are over fifty like me,

and like wine, like me

it might even hoop off

that little "wine belly.

A recent book by Jodi Picoult had

a character that was a writer...

she wrote all over her pants...

this intrigued me and had a

slight familiarity to it...

So I did it as well,

added color to "my pants with words"

and there it was

I was ten again...

(not sure why I am always ten,

and not any other age in these stories?

hmmm??)

Ten, and in one of my many tree houses in 1969

with torn sheets and colored marker ed

hand written words on

everything...curtains, pillows,

probably even the T shirts I wore

all with the famous classic cliche's

of the 60's like peace symbols,

"make love, not war"

(at ten, what did could that even mean?)

and "if you love something blah blah, set it be free

blah blah,"

not really a fan of that one!

At fifty,...I wrote more current

profound things like

"be the sky and

beauty attracts beauty"

Anyways, I hope to run into Jodi

somewhere like Safeway,

with her hat on,

(and the bubble wand holster

she promised to create)

and I will have my "wordy pants" on,

my portable hula hoop over my shoulder

and we will look at one another

with a smirk of familiarity

and "high five" our kid selves

satisfied not to be

the only one

living it large and strange in Havasu!

And may be,

there is a clothing line

in the future for us

called..."When We Were Ten"

and we will wear witch hats

all year long and pants with words!

And why not!??

Pam

Piper Rain

http://creagerstudios.blogspot.com/2009/10/heyshes-got-licence-to-fly.html

http://www.hoopnotica.com/

Waz up 123

Yes,

My feet HAD to be marked

sad, but true...

All my social moments now?

Are about this dance,

learning it, practicing it,

talking about it...

and we have a new language,

to go with it

"waz up 123,

shake-it-and-a-uppa,

roar turn roar turn,

and rock on rock on rock on,"

We fall asleep to them

wake up to them..

(standing in the post office line,

mumbling them,

feet even moving a bit)

and my dogs and cats

have been coerced into participating

when my "feet marking" friends

aren't available...

It seems...I am certifiably?

Thrilled!

We practice and practice

and practice...

in the driveway

(this dance requires a lot of room)

following the only one

who really knows all the moves

and well...

when it is clear I am a liability,

always going the wrong way,

the sharpie comes out.

(Should have been two L's)

Didn't we all have things that

growing up,

we really wanted

to believe we could do

and probably tried

and it turned out so wrong

that even tho the embarrassment

didn't kill us,

we wished in that moment,

it had

and thats what is remembered

in every cell of our being...?

Mine, was in high school,

when I got an invitation

to participate in a beauty pageant,

(few know this,)

think it was Betty Crocker thing,

and probably randomly

came from a box of cake mix!

Picture hippie jock introverted poet me?

in a pageant!!

I did it, for my mom

cause she wanted the beauty queen

kind of daughter and the not

the very strange one she ended up with.

ha

I had my hair permed which

turned out badly,

my eyebrows waxed

which also turned out badly,

My talent?

was reading a poem I wrote

to "Nadia's Theme" while surrounded

by all of my adolescent paintings,

also a distaster...

And we had to dance,

on stage, in front of thousands,

in heels and a long flowing dress

never did get the moves,

always going in the wrong direction

and was finally asked to just help

with "things" back stage!

Stuck to being my hippie jock self

after that!

This time I don't want to help back stage

I want to dance!!

And after last nights rehearsal

and a complete run thru

(this routine is 6 minutes long,

an eternity when trying

to remember what comes next)

I announced...

"okay, this is possible

won't be pretty, but it is possible."

On the way out the door

my "tattle tale friend" says ...

"at least you found a use

for those man hands of yours"

thanks...

I may have two left feet but

my hands make pretty

good zombie claws!

Gotta take the gifts

where ya can find them!

Pam

In search of Steffani

So my trip to Taos continues to

take on more layers

and chapters and levels

and magic...

Magic that brings together...

art, technology, communication

the past, the present,

artists now and then

and random gifts...

Two new books about Georgia,

are on their way to me...

it was after writing about

the spiral staircase to no where,

that this image

of her orange ladder

to no where...

a supposedly familar piece,

one I didn't know,

shows up in a magazine,

where I am staying...

so simple yet seems to say

"climb, believe,

imagine a way to the sky

see what happens."

Okay, it is final, I love Georgia!!

I am an official fan!

(refer to previous blogs to catch up)

So I also, felt inclined to find Steffani,

(now that I found Georgia)

the woman who wrote the Taos note.

I had dubbed her "note girl"

to friends and fans...

(sorry, Steffani, I am sure

your much more than that)

Being a fan of Facebook,

many (non-users) have asked "why?

I don't get it...who cares?"

But Facebook is magic...

a phenomenon...

it connects,

brings home long lost friends,

ones, who we used to sing

the Sound of Music with, in a cemetary,

or run miles, side by side with,

maybe even sat inside a hollowed out

wash machine in the rain,

(actually, I am still looking for "them")

and sometimes, those friends

we didn't know

we were missing or looking for

and then there are those we

have just begun to be inspired by!

I have learned that there

are portable hula hoops,

that an old boyfriend is famous

and still so sweet,

a collection of class reunion pics,

I missed

and wished I hadn't...

and someone who even

wanted to be like me in High School?

(OMG, have you seen my H.S pictures?)

and most significantly this...

I found a note in a tree

written by an artistic woman

teaching in Houston,

created for herself, to be inspired by

and return to...

a woman, also not a fan of Georgia,

until she read a book

(the one I ordered)

and found herself in Santa Fe/Taos

searching for Geogia O'Keefe

like me...

With Facebook, I sought to find her

and say thank you,

(intially, it was thru her student...thanks Ryan)

That I have...

and she is a kindred spirit,

one I expect and hope to know well.

Randomness, creativity,

and the internet met

one another tonight

and assisted in an exchange

of amazingness... how cool is that... really?

So do you have a story?

There has to be other's?

Who is your artistic hero?

I welcome your sharing...

and do you ever wonder...

would she...Georgia

have been on Facebook,

would DH Lawerence

have had time to blog,

would Vincent have stopped painting

long enough to have a website

and what if he had felt supported

by his fan page?

...well, that is a whole nother blog!

Thanks for reading!

Piper Rain