Ram Jam thank you ma'am
Once a month, we head off to a jazz club called the Ram Jam in Kingston for an open mic session. The first we went to, back in the spring, we didn't arrive in time to sing, and sat at the back sinking into our seats wondering how we would ever dare given the standard was as high as it is...
Gradually as we have got better and the scene more familiar, it's become a monthly fixture. 50% of the time it goes tits up for me - I count the band in too slowly and a swing becomes a ballad, or I trip up getting onto the stage... you know the sort of thing, but when it goes well - it's such a rush.
This week I looked around and realised why I love it. There are some wonderful characters there.... old, young, male, female, fat, thin. The oldest of our singers is famous for picking some 60s anthem everyone knows and giving it some groove by shouting it in his own inimitable style. In spite of being well into his 70s and having to lean on the drums to support himself, he always gets us up joining in the chorus and waving our arms.
Every now and then we attract an up and coming pianist as part of the trio and this week was Joe Stilgoe who is tipped to be another Jamie Cullum and that just tips it over the edge from fun to fantastic (together with lots of swooning from the ladies of a certain age).
Tomorrow night is the culmination of a few months of practise at these open mic nights with Heather, Elise and I doing our first gig. In the words of the song, "I couldn't be any better or I'd be sick".
Comfort
It is sad but true that my mood has improved immeasurably since my house got comfy again. There are still manifold loose ends, including the requirement to crawl into the corner of my bedroom to get dressed because I have no curtains, but now one of my pleasures of the day is nestling into my electric blanketed bed, staring round at my lovely pale boudoir.
Aside from bereavement (which has to be the worst and no I don't want one please), I have been through most of the things they say are most stressful in life over the last couple of years. I have to say that living on a building site, which doesn't even make it onto the list, is worse than moving countries, houses, jobs and splitting up. (Some might be tempted to think it was a bit of an odd split of course as we still speak, but hey we're happy).
Meantime, she who is both cantankerous and delightful at the same time has already made her mark as a diva. When asked who at nursery would like to stand up in front of the class and sing, she shot up and apparently sang a note and word perfect "Twinkle, Twinkle". What a star.
the patron saint of lost causes
You can tell I went to a convent school
I was just about at the end of my grumpy tether last weekend, in spite of a trip to sunny spain which we all felt hit the spot, my spot was well and truly supurating by the end of my first week back. When oh when was I going to stop wading (Ok exaggeration) through plaster and sawdust to find a clean pair of pants? Was I ever going to have a bed in my bedroom rather squeezing past it upright in the corridor?
Then in walked (St) Jude - in the mumbling guise of my next door neighbour who happens to be a freelance set designer, in between two contracts and eager, after the chimney episode, to be neighbourly. For a very cheap price, he just came in and with grace and ease (contrasting with my huffing and puffing) just did all those big jobs I couldn't see an end to. Friday saw me and the (even cheaper) moth scrubbing carpets so that the bed could finally go back into my room. Snuggling down with my new electric blanket in a pristine, pale girly boudoir, I was happy as Larry.
Ok there are still lots of bits and pieces to finish, but what it is to feel at home in my own home again. The little minx is at grandma and grandad's this weekend, and me and the girls have spent all day singing, practicing two group numbers for our gig which is now only one month away... Tonight I'm performing in a restaurant in Kingston. Unbelievable.
Reasons to do the happy dance...
I'm extremely grumpy. I'm hating living in chaos and the gig is more stressful than I could have anticipated. Nothing to do with artistic differences dahling - merely that the three of us have very different ways of going about things - no wonder bands have hissy fits with each other.
Yesterday the building inspector insisted on a particular fire security measure which meant all the doors and their frames had to come off - trashing not only the door painting I had already done, but the adjacent walls too. The chippie got sawdust absolutely everywhere (again) so I didn't even have any jim jams. Then I spilt a bottle of paint brush cleaner on the carpet. Oh and Rosie was in a really bad mood all day and experimenting with new ways of saying "No". ("Not today", "Not yet", "no thank you darling", "no my poppet", or, as is more usual. "NO!!!" shrieked raucously)
This morning I was asked how I could do a blog entry about the works without mentioning the amount of help I have had. I've been very grateful it's true, but I can't be satisfied - I just want it finished. I keep trying to feel better and failing.
Then I got a youtube video from a dear friend telling me what I mean to them and a text from another offering more help.
Suddenly a little ping of light came on and I remembered that yesterday I got my telephone line back and it was the same number as before. Then suddenly the help thing sank in - the babysitting, the painting, the e-mails and texts offering love and support .... and I felt so blessed.
Hollow laughter..
I am one of these people who is always talking about how busy they are. I'm conscious of it, because it is ridiculous. They are all chosen activities, I'm aware when I book them that they will overwhelm me at some point, and yet I do it anyway. Don't like to sit still, don't like to be left out, don't like to let people down... whatever the reasons, they all lead me to take too much on.
I'm very aware that "Busy" is also regarded as a "good" thing to be these days, and I genuinely do admire those people who can sit still, stare off into the middle distance, and twiddle whatever is available as I genuinely don't see busy-ness as synonymous with virtue. Merely that those such as myself who cannot not be busy, are enslaved to.. something.
And whilst I stress through these periods and complain to whoever will listen, I'm aware that I usually look back on them fondly, and I'm sure that "the time Richard moved out, me and Rosie lived on a building site, I rehearsed for my first gig and BT cut me off" will be looked back on in the same way..
There is an edge to this one though. What will it be like when the gig is done, the house is pristine again and I'm back in communication? Will I sit and enjoy my new found freedoms in my made to measure house, or suddenly realise I am on my own?
Displacement
I knew there was method in my madness.
I was speculating that knowing my tendency to take on too much then all of a sudden fall over, that starting a loft conversion, planning for a gig, and launching a new product at work, all at the same time as Richard moves out, might be asking for trouble.
In the event, the new product testing is progressing suspiciously without drama (all down the fact the project manager is not me!, the gig is not close enough to be frightening and the loft is an excellent displacement activity.
I spend my nights alternately stressing about chimney support, whether I should have a bathroom, will it be carpet or laminate, colours of sofa and walls... and getting excited about the new space upstairs and the possibilities it brings.
Meantime, Richard is hauling large pieces of "stuff" out of storage, packing up his clothes and frankly, doing all the hard graft whilst I climb up ladders, make tea for the boys and muse.
We aren't at the stage of cutting into walls inside the house yet, that starts tomorrow, but so far I am thinking that displacement is not a bad strategy....
Summer
With the work quotient rising hugely once a child is in your life, there is a temptation to dismiss them in favour of the never ending chores. For me though, right now she is a catalyst for living in the moment.
I am so aware that this is almost certainly my only opportunity and I make the most of it - enjoying hugely the fact that in the last couple of weeks her progression has been enormous. From odd two to three word phrases we have now moved to full sentences - in fact a running commentary. "Oh look, there's Worcestor. He's lying down mummy. Oh now he's licking. Oh look mummy, there's daddy. Can I have ice-cream? etc etc etc" It's incessant and I find it hard not to focus on it entirely at the expense of the much more erudite conversation of whoever else I am with, so much am I in wonder.
Marisol and I have been looking forward to summertime in the alley for so long. We envisaged long days sunbathing, whilst the children played on the bouncy castle, paddling pool and swing or chased the dogs and cats. In fact of course, there has not been much sitting around, but it's still been the sort of summer you remember for ever. There's been the boat over to the playground at Twickenham, Lammas park splash fountains, Brockets Farm, the Funfair at Richmond, Camber sands and dog-walking.
I've seen lots of friends, been singing aplenty, booked our first gig (in November). Something has been shining on me.
I know we're only in August, but the honeymoon may be over. As I write it's raining outside, the work on the loft has started (early) and I have 6-8 weeks of that and then the decorating to do. Richard moves out any day.
I deal very badly with chaos and muddle and I know there is not much option but to make the best of it.
Still, there is that chatter to fall back on. I hear the things I have said to her being repeated (slightly muddled). And today the inevitable "mummy, oh shit". Ouch.
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