It's been three days since my last confession, Friend. I have so many sins to confess I don't know where to start. So, I'll save those for the book. For now, let's again focus on the joys.
The last week or so, and even moreso the last three days, have added up to one of those periods when you look at your professional life, and say, "All this work, so much stress, and for WHAT? Maybe I need to rethink the way I'm doing this career."
You see, this musical life. Like many jobs, it's a profession that's hard to leave at the office, because, well, you are the office— particularly if you are a person who always carries a cell phone. Which is just about everyone.
Yesterday: Noontime, realized I hadn't yet booked a babysitter for Thursday night's gig. A pub gig I wasn't enthused about and had sort of forgotten about, perhaps on purpose. A gig that had dropped very low in the priority list because the semester's start took over. When Soul Mama booked the gig, she didn't know that she would soon add two more courses to her workload. And besides, Soul Mama's been out four of seven nights a week due to gigs the last coupla weeks and this particular gig would take both Soul Mama and Soul Papa this time. Not good for Mini Me, in our estimation. So, while my conscious was figuring out how to manage a four-class semester at Bridgewater, my subconscious decided to ignore the gig and hope it would go away.
It came back, yesterday, around 12:00. And guess what that meant? 45 minutes of frantic phone calls, trying to find subs for the gig, all while Mini Me was persistently begging me to play horses. And in between the horse requests, the honest and hopeful request, of "Who's going to babysit me?" Aware of how this impacts her. I had planned to be a stay-at-home Mom, and while reality intervened with that fantasy, reality does no good to assuage guilt.
Heartrate up, stomach in knot, no solution for Thursday night. So I said, "F(*&$% it," (not out loud), packed our buckets and spades, put on a swimsuit, and took Mini Me to the beach. Turned off the phone. Hit the waves, and slowly, glory descended on a sunbeam. The two of us spent three hours at the ocean's edge letting the warm September waves crash over us, filling buckets with wet cold sand, laughing, and playing ring-around-the-rosie in the surf. Ah, glorious, glorious sunny September afternoon. We came home, jumped in the tub, ate hot dogs, and then when Soul Papa got home, I left for class, where I proceeded to learn how to make bumblebee sounds into a trombone mouthpiece. (Sorry, that had to be my practice for the day. Full disclosure here.)
Driving home, I heard an interview with the editor of Ted Kennedy's autobiography, True Compass, which was just released yesterday. In that book, Teddy wrote about the meaning of the sea. He said that the ocean is where religion, spirituality and the physical all come together.
Yes. I thought back to the day at the beach and realized it was one of those days I'll never forget. The intimacy of just spending a few hours alone with my favorite wee one, the phone off, the world far away. A place where I could pause long enough to hear the voice of the eternal, the ephemeral.
Healing--and far more important than a nighttime pub gig. There just may be a lot more beach days and a lot fewer nighttime pub gigs on the Lindsays' itinerary in days to come. So... perhaps you will join us for our last one for the foreseeable future: The Snug, Hingham, MA, Halfway to St. Pat's Party, starting around 9sih... :)