Apparently to learn a language or instrument when an adult, your chances of developing dementia is lessened dramatically.
You may ask what part of the brain is used in this scenario, so I’ll tell you. It’s the part that hurts. The part that has a direct connection to the outside of your face, that screws up in pain when using it. This is one of the first things my piano teacher told me in our first lesson, last week. So you can imagine my enthusiasm to get to it, so in the end my mind outlives my body.
Yes, I have begun taking piano lessons. After learning through primary school and somehow graduating from a music degree where I somehow passed ‘piano class’ three years ago, I am now at the point where I am ready to learn, because I want to. I have successfully not retained anything that I learnt when it was a task I had to do, but that’s ok. I have now become at one with the challenge of learning a new instrument and have the most important ingredient of self-motivation on my side. There’s one more essential ingredient when wanting something bad enough to do something about it, and that is green envy. I keep meeting these freakishly talented musicians who call themselves, say, a guitarist, but actually play five other instruments and five other variations of those instruments as well. I’m not going to lie, it makes me jealous. I can’t go to another jam session and just sit there, hoping I’ll get the chance to play one of my own songs and everyone will just play along with me. I need to be able to add some sprinkle to everything else.
So, wish me luck. I’m thinking I’m going to need it, because the thought of conventional practice is still swaying between making me feel sick, and making me feel sexy. And I need to get to the sexy feeling, period.
Beth
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Bon Appetit!
It’s amazing how much time you can spend at home just doing a whole lot of nothing, thinking about how much you would like to be doing something, but have no idea what it is you might like to do. It’s also amazing how worthwhile it is to read your local neighbourhood paper or newsletter every once in a while, because every now and then you come across an ad for something that just seems appealing enough to move for. It also helps when it costs very little and is a whole lot of good quality.
Tonight, we Little Stevies took part in a 2 ½ hour Italian cuisine cooking class at the nearby community centre, and it was awesome fun. Byll found the ad, she needed a partner, I can’t cook, so I was the perfect candidate.
It’s definitely one of those things that I would have found extremely daggy a few years ago, particularly if it was something mum had of suggested during her quest to make us join clubs a while back. She said “It’s important to meet new people and spend time doing other activities as well as the band”. Maybe that was mum’s way of communicating concern for how much focus we had chosen to put into such an uncertain career path, having been there and done it herself when she was our age. But for whatever reason she said it, turns out parents aren’t always as crazy as you think they are in retrospect. The thought did occur to me this evening of why I hadn’t done something like this before now.
So we made pasta. Now I know what you’re thinking, pasta, pretty easy dish right? But we actually MADE the pasta. Got the flour, eggs, oil, and salt, kneaded it, thinned it, put it through the machine and ended up with a big plate of fresh homemade spaghetti that we devoured with a cold glass of bubbly rose, under a spell of Italian Oprah. I couldn’t believe how proud I felt and how satisfying it was to eat pasta that I had made with my bare hands. I was really doubtful that I would ever be able to do that. But as good as it was I’m also doubtful I will ever have the impulse to spent hours making a meal with that much detail again. Bless the people who are naturally talented chefs and whom I can simply buy their creations from. Sometimes I think we are just wired a certain way. But I’m still hopeful I will one day be able to cook a meal for my children when I one day have them… Maybe a meal… Maybe… We’ll see…
Beth
Tonight, we Little Stevies took part in a 2 ½ hour Italian cuisine cooking class at the nearby community centre, and it was awesome fun. Byll found the ad, she needed a partner, I can’t cook, so I was the perfect candidate.
It’s definitely one of those things that I would have found extremely daggy a few years ago, particularly if it was something mum had of suggested during her quest to make us join clubs a while back. She said “It’s important to meet new people and spend time doing other activities as well as the band”. Maybe that was mum’s way of communicating concern for how much focus we had chosen to put into such an uncertain career path, having been there and done it herself when she was our age. But for whatever reason she said it, turns out parents aren’t always as crazy as you think they are in retrospect. The thought did occur to me this evening of why I hadn’t done something like this before now.
So we made pasta. Now I know what you’re thinking, pasta, pretty easy dish right? But we actually MADE the pasta. Got the flour, eggs, oil, and salt, kneaded it, thinned it, put it through the machine and ended up with a big plate of fresh homemade spaghetti that we devoured with a cold glass of bubbly rose, under a spell of Italian Oprah. I couldn’t believe how proud I felt and how satisfying it was to eat pasta that I had made with my bare hands. I was really doubtful that I would ever be able to do that. But as good as it was I’m also doubtful I will ever have the impulse to spent hours making a meal with that much detail again. Bless the people who are naturally talented chefs and whom I can simply buy their creations from. Sometimes I think we are just wired a certain way. But I’m still hopeful I will one day be able to cook a meal for my children when I one day have them… Maybe a meal… Maybe… We’ll see…
Beth
Sunday, September 4, 2011
The end of a great time
I was watching what looked like a handful of glitter that had been thrown onto black paper, from the small aeroplane window as we flew into LAX last night and thought of the way Conner Oberst from Bright Eyes explained coming home from tour.
“It’s like everything turns from techno colour to black and white. You’re no longer a super hero anymore.”
That’s exactly what was happening right in that moment. That was the last glimpse of techno colour that we would see for a little while and I couldn’t help but feel a small amount of fear and discomfort about that. Why did I fear coming home to the place where everything is familiar and comfortable? That didn’t seem normal at all. But I guess that’s what is so romantic about touring. Nothing about it is normal; nothing at all.
In our last two weeks in Canada, we continued playing shows all over the place. We had the very best time playing Summerfolk and Ottawa music festivals, did our own headline show at the legendary Hugh’s Room in Toronto and began to fall in love with that city which is so comparable to Melbourne. It’s an extraordinarily exciting feeling when you see people reacting positively to your music in another country. Whether it was in a moment of looking out into a festival audience and seeing tears in peoples’ eyes during Grandma Song, or having one of our own songs requested by a youthful bunch of girls who sat out in the pouring rain just to see us play, or hearing the kind words people would say to us after a show as they bought a CD, every single time it was thrilling and moving, and gave us that much more confidence and motivation for what we are doing.
I’ve spoken about first times before in previous blogs, but truly nothing compares. The first time of anything tattoos our memory like life chapter headings that are willingly or unwillingly used to compare everything else we do against from then on. I can’t wait to get back again and watch the seed that we’ve planted grow. Thank you to every person who played a major or minor role in making this trip what it was – a true success.
Beth
“It’s like everything turns from techno colour to black and white. You’re no longer a super hero anymore.”
That’s exactly what was happening right in that moment. That was the last glimpse of techno colour that we would see for a little while and I couldn’t help but feel a small amount of fear and discomfort about that. Why did I fear coming home to the place where everything is familiar and comfortable? That didn’t seem normal at all. But I guess that’s what is so romantic about touring. Nothing about it is normal; nothing at all.
In our last two weeks in Canada, we continued playing shows all over the place. We had the very best time playing Summerfolk and Ottawa music festivals, did our own headline show at the legendary Hugh’s Room in Toronto and began to fall in love with that city which is so comparable to Melbourne. It’s an extraordinarily exciting feeling when you see people reacting positively to your music in another country. Whether it was in a moment of looking out into a festival audience and seeing tears in peoples’ eyes during Grandma Song, or having one of our own songs requested by a youthful bunch of girls who sat out in the pouring rain just to see us play, or hearing the kind words people would say to us after a show as they bought a CD, every single time it was thrilling and moving, and gave us that much more confidence and motivation for what we are doing.
I’ve spoken about first times before in previous blogs, but truly nothing compares. The first time of anything tattoos our memory like life chapter headings that are willingly or unwillingly used to compare everything else we do against from then on. I can’t wait to get back again and watch the seed that we’ve planted grow. Thank you to every person who played a major or minor role in making this trip what it was – a true success.
Beth
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