For the longest time I had been trying to figure out what my first blog entry would be. I had written down some ideas but none seemed to flow, so I placed them aside with hopes that something truly significant would happen, that needed a place to be expressed and later remembered. I never imagined that this would be the way I’d start but perhaps that’s the beauty of it; that it was unexpected and that it shook me in a way that inspired me to write. It’s nothing huge, just something simple that happened to me yesterday that really turned my day around and that kept me smiling for longer than I have in a while.
Yesterday started out badly. Nothing horrific had happened but the accumulation of little things was enough to irritate me and make me grumpy. I had hardly slept a wink the night before and it definitely showed in the morning. I had been tossing and turning and my brain refused to rest. I finally fell asleep close to three a.m. only to get up for class three hours later. I felt nauseous and couldn’t eat anything for breakfast and I didn’t drink my tea because by the time I remembered I had even made a cup it was already cold. I left the house five minutes later than usual and of course I got stuck in traffic. I walked into Anthropology ten minutes late and I tried to go unnoticed. The door slammed shut behind me and it seemed to echo throughout the auditorium. So much for being discreet. Bored heads turned to see who it was walking into class late. It was me, again!
At the end of Anthropology I collected all my things and went to my next class. It wasn’t until two hours later that I realized I’d left my scarf in my seat and when I went back for it, it was gone. I then fell asleep in Spanish and woke up to hear “Mid term on Wednesday.” Things couldn’t get any better. In my fourth class of the day I thought I would die. My hand was so sore from taking notes and the prof was talking so fast I could hardly keep up. I rushed out of History so that I wouldn’t be late for English and I was half way there when I realized I had forgotten my jacket on the back of my chair. I ran all the way back to History, grabbed my jacket and retraced my steps to English. I was getting really frustrated with myself for being so distracted.
I made it through my last hour of class but i had another five hours of work to look forward to. Class finished at 2:50 and as I was packing my bag Alastair called me:
“You wanna go on an adventure?”
“I would love to!”
I met him at the library on campus and we went to the information desk to enquire about the mythical vinyl collection we had heard about. We were told that such a place did exist and that we could listen to anything in the catalogue on vintage turntables and old cassette players. We were directed to the ninth floor and we rode the crowded elevator up not knowing what to expect when the doors opened. I was excited. Finally, something new. I just hoped I wouldn’t be disappointed like I had been all day. We got to our floor and found the Audio Centre with bookcases full of old records. We were blown away and didn’t know where to start. We entered the listening room that looked out over the campus; so high up and so impressive. It was the perfect place to listen to music and look out on the world. There were individual cubicles for you to plug headphones into and turntables so old they had plaques. Donated by Mr. and Mrs. So and So, 1940. A woman working in the Audio Centre showed us how to search for LPs on the Music Database and there was so much to choose from. Alastair picked out four vinyls – three jazz records and one old blues record from 1936. He told me all about the musicians, their background, what they were famous for and their impact on the jazz movement. We fiddled with the dials and put the headphones on. I just let the music enter my ears. Alastair had all the vinyls at home, all but the 1936 Robert Johnson one, so he knew the tracks well. He told me what to listen for and what to anticipate, that the background was just as important as the foreground, and he was right. We spent an hour up there just switching out the records and we finished with Robert Johnson, an American blues musician who had supposedly given his soul to the devil in exchange for tuning his guitar, making him the king of blues. The recording was awful, but only because it was so old. The music was rustic and we just laughed over the static.
Our hour was up and we left the Audio Centre in awe; so glad to know it was there whenever we needed it. We left the University and made our way to Indigo. As I drove, Alastair flicked through a CD that I had burned and we talked about the music. We reached The New Pornographers and their song Challengers. I told him that I thought the song was simple yet so haunting – what they sing about isn’t beautiful but the way they sing it is. He asked if I knew the lead and of course I did, I love the song. He told me he wanted me to sing and that he would harmonize. I gave him a look. I can’t sing. I was so nervous and embarrassed that I almost stalled the car, but I sang, regardless of my fear, and a few lines later he joined in and it actually sounded half decent. Nothing professional of course, but good for amateurs, I guess. By the end of the song I was grinning and it felt good; to share something like that with a person and actually be “in it” even just for three minutes and thirty-two seconds. We weren’t singing to each other but singing with one another and looking back on the past two hours we had devoted to music and sound, it erased my whole bad day and replaced it with joy and appreciation. We said our goodbyes and thanked each other for spending that time together. I hadn’t told him about how bad I thought my day had been going and I didn’t mention, and maybe I never will, how much of a difference he had made from that one phone call, but its the little things like that, that help me get by and get through the not so easy days.
Colville said to me recently that honestly, “life isn’t great, but it’s okay,” and those six words have stayed with me because he’s right; sometimes life isn’t great, at least not right now. But even if you miss someone, or feel alone, or lost or cold at night, it’s the little things like finishing each others sentences, watching the sun go down, lying in the tall grass or singing together in the car that keeps you warm and makes everything feel okay.
This morning I woke up and put on a girly pink dress. I got in my car, rolled down the windows and drove barefoot towards the mountains. The sky owned no clouds and the sun sent me warmth through the windshield. I sang so loud. It felt incredible.
