Rain

I tend to think I do a pretty good job in avoiding media-induced panic.  I can brush off the swine flu; crime and murder and war slide off me like water off a duck's back.  There are a few things that get to me though; a few things that wake up that fear deep inside my belly and make me wonder if I am seeing the beginning of the end.

The Deepwater Horizon oil spill was one.  It got to me; I cried.  I'm embarrassed to admit it now, especially because nature is doing such a damn good job of cleaning up on it's own (http://www.physorg.com/news/2011-04-scientists-gulf-health-pre-spill.html), but I was terrified for a few months there.

One other thing that makes me feel that way is this drought.  I can see the world around me; the town thirty miles west of me basically burned to the ground.  There were two or three days last week when the whole city was covered in a light fog, except it wasn't fog, it was smoke.  Maybe it is my liberally-biased  history teachers prediction that leads to this fear; he told us that our children or grandchildren would be fighting wars over water.  This drought was bad enough that I could picture that happening.  The rational side of my mind knows the amazing power of nature, and knows that there's really nothing I can do, other than try to reduce my carbon footprint (gah... I feel like such a yuppy typing that), but that little imp of fear was worming it's way into my mind.

But it rained today.  And it was amazing.  It wasn't nearly enough to make up for what we haven't had, but it was something, and it felt so good to have raindrops splash against my skin again.  I have always loved the rain, and I had begun to miss it, in what seemed to be an almost physical way.

The fear is not gone, but I have comfort.

Band Season

It's fall, and for the first time since I've lived here, it actually looks like it.  I can imagine the trees are changing colors because it's September, even though I know it's only because of the drought.  I have always loved autumn, and though I have given up the wonderful colors and smells of a northern(ish) autumn, I have been lucky enough to exchange it for the joys of having a school with a marching band right by my apartment.

It's a small enough school, with a small enough band that it is never invasive but rather, quietly drifts into hearing.  I can barely hear it when I step out to smoke, but I've taken to walking just so I can walk by the school and watch the band practice.  Last fall, I would ride my bike to work past another marching band.  They had five tuba players, none of who were near as short as I am.  It brought back fun memories.

I miss creating music; I always do this time of year.

If I had the money, I would go out and pick up a guitar right now.  Or maybe a trumpet.

Now, I've never been a great musician, and good is probably stretching it a bit too.  Music, like many things in my life, has always been something I'm more enthusiastic about than good at.  I've always been fascinated by music though, and that has only grown as I have gotten older.  I am amazed at the power of music to make people feel.  I am astounded at the countless varieties that exist.  I am baffled at the thought of how very little of the music created by man has survived--we have paintings, and writings, and bones to tell the stories of our ancestors, but not their songs, though I read somewhere that singing is older than speaking as far as communicating with each other goes.

In a movie I saw recently ("The Cave of Forgotten Dreams") a group of explores found flutes in a cave that also contained the oldest known cave paintings.   They played the Star-Spangled Banner on the prehistoric flute.  It took my breath away.

Music is  one of the things that has the ability to make me feel human, to make me feel connected to humanity, and at the same time feel so connected to myself that my very heart seems to beat in time with a song.  I miss being able to help create it.

Ah, well.  I can always sing along with the radio.