Time for a Pelvic Zoaz adjustment

Something significant fell into place this afternoon. Like wiping the condensation from a mirror after a long shower. I joined the church choir. Now, i need to explain that for the past three years I have thought about it but never been able to until today. Whenever i intended to join in the past i felt an almost magnetic push away from the choir, and I couldn't understand why. Until now.
While highschool in general was okay, the various choirs I sang in throughout my four years at Highland High remain some of my favorite memories. They (the memories) vary from hilarity(cerebral spinal pumps, gnomes keeping time on the crown of your head, mass moonings, things like that) to the profound ("You are the New Day", "Prayer of the Children", etc). There's nothing like feeling the music really come together, when voices blend and you can feel the resonance deep inside. When a complex mass of notes and dynamics become an expression of all that is good and right. Most of my truest and lasting friendships began there.
I think the reason i was so hesitant to join the seven other brave souls, is simply that i expected all of those things all over again but knew somewhere inside that i shouldn't. I feared dissapointment. I think that i was trapped in an ideal that prevented me from enjoying the experience for what it really is. Ultimatley, Choirs are about the music and the people, the expression.
While unlike my highschool choirs we weren't in tune, on tempo, or for that matter on the correct verse all at once i did notice some common threads. The sopranos talk incessantly, the altos are a wee bit ditzy, there aren't enough tenors, and the basses are mostly made up of guys who "just sing real low" (George Hatch). I seriously doubt there will be any mass moonings or lectures about our pelvic zoaz needing adjustment, but who knows there might be a few of those refined, dynamic musical moments down the road. I'll keep you posted.

A look back at bachelorhood

Hindsight truly is 20/20. In the six months before my wife and i were married, i lived alone in a near empty apartment with an air mattress, my tv, and a bottle of mustard in the fridge. I was, in a sense completely self-absorbed, encapsulated by low expectations. I ate when i was hungry, i slept when i was tired. There was no driving agenda, no to-do list, nothing to worry about above and beyond work and spending time with my soon to be wife. Life was in a word, simple.
After we were married things obviously changed. Instantaneously, there was an agenda, there were chores, the mustard bottle was joined by vegetables, milk, and casseroles. At first it seemed like a million new variables had been plugged into my life equation, guaranteeing a life spent feverishly working out the solution to the ultimate question: How will i ever be able to do everything? I was happy. I just couldn't see how it was all going to fit together. I knew where i wanted to be and what i wanted to do, but i couldn't see the map.
Fast-forward two and a half years. I am in school now, working two part time jobs. Anna gave birth to our first child two months ago. The fridge is still filled with casseroles ( i really enjoy the one she makes with tater-tots on top), i clean the bathroom and kitchen (i have actually come to enjoy the dishes), and there are twice as many bills to pay. Things are tough, and yet when i hold my baby girl or feel anna's hand in mine, the load seems to temporarily lighten. If only for a moment, things are simple again. Those moments are the fuel of my life. I wouldn't trade anything for a return to my bachelor days. Although during the time she and the baby have been out of town, i haven't cleaned anything!

Some call me Maurice

There's something euphoric about screaming down the highway in your wife's mustang on a friday afternoon. Is it the fact that tomorrow morning i can shut the alarm clock off, or even my better, rip the plug out of the socket instead of heading off to class? Maybe it's the growl of the engine and knowing that i can pass anyone i like, whenever i like (That may not sound like anything earth-shattering but its pretty great if you normally drive a tired old lunch box on wheels - 91 s10 Blazer 180,000 miles on the odometer/238,900 = three quarters of the distance to the moon). I think the frosting on the cake was Steve Miller's Greatest Hits pumping out of the speakers and the wind in my hair. The Joker, The Smoker, The Midnight Toker. Let's not forget The Space Cowboy nor the Gangster of Love. They were all there. It reminded me of another fall day, and another reckless paced drive down the highway. I seem to remember weaving in and out of orange construction cones (a gauntlet of sorts)thrity or fourty miles above the speed-limit. Perhaps i will have to dedicate future blogs to the near death experiences (yes thats plural) i had while driving my first car. Bruce (RIP).
For now, i will head back down the highway. Studying awaits. Oh Joy.

Up to my Eyeballs.....

When it rains it pours....I used to think that i understood this phrase. Perhaps i was wrong. Like Piglet, i find myself in a proverbial river of things to do, with a finite amount of time to finish them in. It will pass I'm sure, but for now i am bobbing up and down in the river. I admit that this isn't much of a first blog, but everyone starts somewhere. For now, i will return to my studies and work with the hope that dry land is near.