Hello, Again

JOY - Tawny Chatmon 

There are about a million songs with hello as a title or as a lyric or a principal theme.  Several of the million are in regular rotation in one or more playlists I have created over the years.  Suffice to say, it is a popular theme; happy, sad, ironic, sarcastic, ethereal, literal, or metaphoric--hello can cover many grounds.     

So, hello, it's me, I'm still here.  

Too Sharp to B Flat

Photo by Amol Art 

My son ("The Actor") is, through a variety of means (youtube tutorials, books picked up in thrifts, and one-on-ones with working musicians) learning to play the blues harp as well as acoustic guitar.

He's played on the streets to the delight of passers-by, he's participated in open mic type jam sessions at one of the few spaces featuring live music, he has held guest appearances with some featured acts.

The actor has been having a grand time learning, jamming, building his repertoire. Though he isn't striving to become a working musician he does anticipate having music in the mix will further enhance his résumé.

Today is the anniversary of the actor's birth. He continues his slice through time with his usual grace and aplomb; staying in tune and razor sharp to the bone.

 Happy 34th birthday to Bluesman slash Actor.

#MicroBlogMonday Check out Mel and others!

Hit. Miss.

Our schedules are in sync lately. We keep running into each other during the morning commute. I was hoping that her reason for leaving earlier these days meant she wanted time before checking into the office, to sit and have a sip in the park across the street from our respective work places. But I haven't seen her there. 

Yet. 

I know she sees me, our eyes meet, hers sparkle. I hope mine do the same. Yet, she gives nothing more away. I'm reluctant to do much more than smile, nod. It is the bus and even the friendliest of conversations are awkward on the bus. Especially our bus. Too many school children free-ranging their way to school. At least, hopefully, school is the eventual destination. 

Two weeks. I get off two stops ahead so I could get in extra steps, go get coffee and then to the park to sit, sip, and think. I know she can see me from her office, I don't know that she cares, I think she does, I hope she does. I don't know why I'm not more forward. Yes, I do.  

Hurt. Fear. Wrong. 

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And thus ends the snippets of a re-curring dream, the snippets culled together to form a narrative. Is it just a story? Or more? 

Welcome to Monday. 

Random questions: How many times do you have to unsubscribe before it "takes"? How many times do you give it before complaining?   How long do you give websites you are not so familiar with to load before saying, "F" it and move the frack on, several seconds, one minute, more . . .? 

#MicroBlogMonday 

T = together. time. . . .

Daughter has Mexicana radio flowing, soup simmering, grill fired up, sous chef Cinnamon at the ready. Son has stories. It is fun to be on the sidelines, watching, listening, learning, laughing. May your day be spicy or sweet, whatever your heart and soul desires. Happy Thanksgiving.