You’d think with a lack of children and the inability to take time off to go visit them that I’d be in the catbird seat, wouldn’t you? The reality is I’ve managed to put myself in a position where I’m juggling more things that I’d probably have done if I wasn’t sans-children.
The first, obviously, is work. I still have my daily grind and everything. I have a July sweeps calendar. I have a couple specials I’m helping a colleague with.
Then there’s the musician in me. I let a touring musician stay at my house. I started writing more of my songs that were weighing on me and I’d not taken the serious time to work hard on them. Then – and this one cracks me up – I volunteered to help play guitar in a band for a fundraiser and awareness day for the Human Concerns Coalition. Not that it’s a bad thing, I was really excited.
But being the worry wart I am I looked at the set list . . . then volunteered to sing several songs . . . then realized that I’ve played maybe 1/3 of the songs on the list. Country. Rock. Hair band stuff. None of that had I come to before.
So yesterday and today I was recording, playing, writing and trying to learn all these songs and – in Ringo’s words – I GOT BLISTERS ON ME FINGERS!!!!!”
That being said, I have a hard time saying no and I wanted to do it. I’m singing Long Train Runnin‘ by the Doobies. I get Take It Easy by the Eagles . . . and my biggest worry is Wonderful Tonight by Clapton.
I’ve posted last year how there are a lot of things that I brought to my relationship with my wife that we began to enjoy together. Music was one of those things. The song that Andrea loved the most – one we had at our wedding and listened to over and over again – was Wonderful Tonight. I have practiced it – over and over – and finally gotten to the point where I can sing it without my voice cracking in the middle. There isn’t an eighth note of that song that doesn’t remind me of her.
And it angers me.
It’s like a thief walked into my life and took seminal points and stole away with them. Clapton. Hendrix. Miles. Bird. Every genre has some kind of reference for our lives together. Some I can listen with wistful memories. Others have me a gelatinous mess reaching for the turntable to get away from them as quickly as possible.
So the weekend approaches and I’m going to take my brother’s method of locking myself in the house and learning – over and over again – and hope I can keep up with the rest of the people.
But I sound so much like I’m complaining. I’m not.
It’s an opportunity. I’m still juggling, but I’m not dropping the balls. I’m pushing myself to add more to the group. Now, as long as I don’t add flaming swords and chainsaws I’ll be happy.