I haven't even done my usual morning free write, and it will be noon in seven minutes. Oh woe (not). I felt like coming here, instead. This will be my "morning" free write, and I'll use the other place to work on the carnival scene. It seems silly to have all these different places. I would get more done if I just stopped this, just wrote off line all. the. time. But, eh, this is my shiny, new toy.
Or at least a slightly glossier version of my other attempts to blog (only glossier because it's newer).
I am listening to glorious piano music by a 17-year-old high school senior named Tristan Allen. Amanda Palmer (of Dresden Dolls, "I'm engaged to Neil Gaiman," fame) "discovered" him. Since I follow her "tweets," I feel like I've discovered him, too. Yesterday evening, the two of them played a concert in Berkeley I think, but it was also in my living room because they had the concert set up to live stream anywhere to anyone who could or would.
I sent my daughter the link (we sometimes sit next to each other on the sofa and send each stuff through MSN Messenger when we're not ignoring each other to do our own things), and she watched the concert, envied that boy's skills and did her Algebra II homework. She also practiced a little snare music to the piano music (didn't quite work, so she quit, fell backward onto the carpet with her arms, hands still clutching drum sticks, stretched out over her head. And she simply listened).
I'm listening to Tristan's album, which I bought digitally yesterday and downloaded. Now. God. so beautiful.
I envy the skills, the gifts that allow people to make the kind of art that people can hear or hold or see.
(I can only make the kind of art that people read, and sometimes....well. I question whether most of what I make is "art," but I'll never stop, can't stop, don't want to stop, shouldn't stop.)
My daughter is more an artist than a musician (oh, her pencil portraits!), but she's a damned good musician. As soon as the concert was done and she had finished her homework, she went to the piano and continued sight reading her way through "Mad World" (we like the Gary Jules version from Donnie Darko) and ... what? Super Mario Brothers game theme song. The latter cracks me up, the origins of it. The piece is actually great fun and not as easy as "Mad World," so probably better for working her amazing brain.
Listening to this music now keeps my fingers bustling over the keys and sends my mind into dusty corners it hasn't visited in a while.
I'm thinking about Paris a bit this morning because my Girl and I watched Amelie last night. She is taking first year French, and I have a smattering of French left over from 1975-1976 and college courses (and the mid-1960s when my daddy was stationed at U.S. Army hospital near Paris).
She loved the film. It is now one of her favorites. When she gets more French, she will hear the lines that the subtitles don't include, and the experience will be even richer.
She has vanished, I think up to her room or maybe she is showering? I don't know. I'm inside my music but writing about her. Funny, that.
We did get that much needed and much hoped for snow day. I did get the call at 5:23 a.m., did creep up to her room exactly as I said I would last night.
It just occurred to me that I never finished writing about epiphanies. Well, I had them. I know what they are. I suppose that's good enough, that I didn't forget.