:: anne in the attic ::

Create Your Own Countdown

:: Sunday, February 26, 2006 ::

I've always wanted to own a music store, period. No noble notions here to provide a gateway to creativity to the masses or some such thing. Nope, the love itself is purely dreamlike and selfish. I love the silky feel and deep resonance of a sleek acoustic guitar, the dark and regal majesty of a grand piano, and the countless possibilities for instrumentation all around us. From the honey-dripping cello down to the plunky mbira, the sweet, ethereal lap slide to the deep and dirty resonator: I love them all. I would sell them all with love in my heart and faith in the musician that abides in all of us, all-the-while with a slight pang of sadness as each one, adopted by its new companion, went out into the world to be loved and worn, perhaps passed through many hands, and sing its song for all who would listen. For this, I would spend my life.

:: Anne 8:30 PM [smartass remarks] ::
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The fashion trend for a couple of years now in both clothing and advertising seems to be that everything is silhouetted in pastels. I don't know if the Apple iPod ads started it, but they certainly are the most prominent example. Unusual and opposing color wheel hues are also coupled, such as light blue and orange or brown, or white with lime green. It's somewhat retro, but still incorporates today's technology and culture. People are wearing wrinkled floral Oxford button-downs one size too small, hoodies in said colors with said designs, shoes that look like the Nike prototype Steve Prefontaine might have worn. And most of this points to a coastal lifestyle, it seems, or way urban and definitely sunny. It's very L.A.

Why do I mention this? Because lately, I seem to notice all things California. The aforementioned nostalgia has not abated. I dream of a home in the California coastal woodlands, private but near the coast and a community strong with musicians. I dream of a pastoral setting to create my work and invite others in to partake. I dream of wooded acreage with paths and streams, small grottos and clearings, where the deer walk right up to the house. When I was very young, my parents had a cabin in Trinity county somewhere, next to a stream where Kirk would fish while my mom bathed me in one of those old metal washbasins. (There used to be photographs. I wonder what became of those.)

The road trip I took two years ago this April allayed my pangs for a while, but I sense another trip coming down the pike soon. I may just use my pending purchase from the Lark in the Morning music folks as an excuse to take a little jaunt south of the Oregon border. I spent so little time in the woods and so much in cities and simply on the road on the last trip-- maybe this time, I'll explore the castles and counties around my childhood stomping grounds. We'll see if I can work it in. Maybe if I think it's too much for Zooey, I'll rent a car and just go on one of these upcoming vacation weeks. Lark in the Morning also runs a music camp in the Mendocino Woodlands in the summer-- where we used to camp with the Unitarians and the Sufis in the 70's!-- perhaps I'll look into doing that in the summer of 2007 (unless I want to give up my December vacation to get one in August THIS year, dunno yet). But I have got to do something-- I'm just itchin' to go exploring in my nostalgia. Wish I had two consecutive weeks in the Northern California coastal woods.... The way to feed my soul these days is through the senses, it seems. To walk beneath the giant trees and smell the verdant life around me, to hear water and wind and sky, to see the light dance across everything during the day and creep in the serene blue of the night, to feel the earth push up against my feet as I go-- these are the longings that fill my mind of late. Ah, Spring Fever, I see that you have arrived.


P.S. Happy Birthday to my little blog, who is 3 years old this month.

:: Anne 5:51 PM [smartass remarks] ::
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