It’s a sunny day, absolutely gorgeous, the African sky goes on forever, life is good. Grab your coat and get your hat, leave your worries on the doorstep; Just direct your feet; to the sunny side of the street. Great song to sing.
Thinking about calling the jazz vocalist and pianist, about lessons, I had visions of welcome, it’ll be a pleasure, I’m free in an hour come on over and musical career prospects opening out, Yes. Soon will be doing backing vocals for Michael Buble and the like.
The conversation went like this: Tring tring tring tring tring. Life can be so sweet, tra la la –
Prospective Teacher: “hallo?” Hmm, not v. happily welcoming. Quite cold and irritated actually. Ackshally.
Me: “Uh, hi, [v. cool, v. relaxed, voice a bit high though], uh it’s Jennifer Stewart, I took lessons with you once, [wish voice would stop squeaking] uh I don’t know if you remember me uh feel free to interrupt any time with yes, I remember you, hi, how are you? Uh are you still teaching?”
Well, this is going nicely.
P Teacher: “No.” Oh. Pause. [subtext “I have no interest in talking to you”] “I’m teaching at university now.”
Me: Um, uh, oh. “Uh, can you uh recommend anybody?”
Un-P Teacher: “Well what are you looking for?” [subtext I’m busy and couldn’t care less.]
Me: “Coaching, help putting a repertoire together, jazz standards [for Christ’s sake don’t mention Michael Buble dream] –
Un-P Teacher: (reluctantly) “[so-and-so] might teach you. I’ll get her number.”
V. humph. Well, I thought it was a good idea and it was but it isn’t any more.
On the way to therapy this morning, a man was riding his bike on the pavement. There not being room for both of us, he stopped, to let me pass. When I did, we greeted each other. It was one of those intimate moments of connection with total, darling stranger. Felt honoured. Love men’s chivalry.
Came home sure that focus is just fine, have moved mountains of crappy rude baggage piled up in my inner chambers. Have chucked it all out, a la angry wife throwing unfaithful husband’s Armani suits, laptop and expensive i-things out window into pond below to join Porsche and husband’s dead mistress.
Okay, so the teacher/mentor thing isn’t happening the way I hoped it might – so far, that is. Maybe I don’t need a mentor. Maybe the money I was going to spend on a few lessons is better spent on buying a couple of well-chosen CD’s to learn new songs from, and possibly getting car fixed. Maybe I need to do this for myself. Maybe I’m still believing that I can’t do it, and I’m hoping a mentor will somehow do it for me. So perhaps not all the baggage is in the pond. That’s okay, it soon will be.
Fine, so I’ll call up the mechanic right now. Tomorrow I’ll go to town and listen to some new music at the music store. Have to do something that’s new and is about forward movement, and is fun. Also, James Bond (who writes on Searchwarp, some really nice stuff) wrote an article (click here if you want to read it) about how to record and put music on your blog. I don’t understand most of it, but can start trying to figure it out.
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