Meditation on Singledom

Perchance, she for whom the phone rings may at once find herself in the aura of the accepted, the dream of the dateable; and perchance she may think herself so much better than she is, as that they who are about to text her, and see her state, may have caused it to vibrate for me, and I know not that. Must all of singledom be shallow? The cell phone is accessible, multipurpose, so are all its functions; all that it is communicates admittance and recognition to all. When the single girl accepts the call, that action concerns the roommates; for that acquaintance is thereby connected to that body which is the local surroundings too, and infused into that organization whereof we seek to be a member – the TAKEN. And when that call is dropped or that chat deleted, that action concerns me: all society is of one service-provider, and is one on-going tête-à-tête; when one number becomes unattainable or unavailable, one contact is not deleted, but placed into the memory card of the former friendships or the databank of the dropped acquaintances; and every contact must be so upgraded; society employs several models which assist the user in the jump towards acceptance and popularity…as well as marriage. Such a minuscule mandate for communal connection is compulsory. Some buttons and keys are activated, some by touch-screen, some by thumb-grease, some by voice-activation or wireless remotes; but the cell phone’s hand is in every camaraderie and relationship, and its hand shall bind up the outcasts of all our scattered megabytes of invitations and flirtations. As therefore the phone that rings to a gathering calls not upon the queen bee only, but upon the worker bees to come, so this ringtone calls to us all; but how much more me, who am brought so near the dream wedding by this pixel.

There was a categorization as far as cliques (in which both hobbies and favorites, appearance and hygiene, were mingled), which of the invitations should ring to game nights or movie outings first thing on the weekend; and it was determined, that they should vibrate first that arose the latest. If we understand aright the rules of society and dating of this device that rings for our evening excursion, we would be glad to make singledom ours by staying out late, in that application, that it might be ours as well as hers (the ladies’ man or serial-dater) whose indeed it is.

That web-access doth bond her that thinks it doth to her destiny, the lonely with the social butterfly, the unnoticed with the bell of the ball; and though the lack of confidence intercept the signal again, yet from the moment the invitation is received this occasion wrought upon her brings, he is united to her soul mate. Who perks not her ear to the ding when it chimes? But who takes off her headphones for a glimmer of the desired caller? Who bends not her arm under the desk to conceal the twinkle from the screen in class when the professor ceases to observe? But who can remove the addiction from that party which is sounding the Siren call, as to the traveler Odysseus, from within the confines of the library stall?

No social rendezvous is private when one has roommates; every conversation, look, or encounter is not meaningless; it is all a part of the hoped-for fairy-tale ending. If a message be censored and contrived by the company, the lonely is the more obscure, as well as if she had never developed a personality on her own; any friend’s influence upon me reduces my true desire to achieve, because I am involved in the all-nighters and sleepovers, and therefore never cease to know for whom the phone rings; excuse me, for it rings for me now.

Neither can we call this a begging of misery, or a borrowing of wallow, as though we were not unaccepted enough of ourselves, but must retrieve more from the next dinner-group, in taking upon us the duty of the party planning. Truly, it were a forgivable desire if we did, for popularity is a ringtone, and scarce any man hath enough of it. No night-owl hath peace and quiet enough that is not matured and ripened by the sensation of the ring and made fit for dates and goings-on of the ward. If a girl carry an iPad in her purse, or a laptop in her backpack, and have not updated it into the most modern technology, her reception will not be enhanced as she journeys. Distraction is divine in the nature of it, but it is not score in the Sudoku, or the Album in the Facebook, that draws the attention, except we get nearer and nearer our goal, acceptance, by it. Her rival may be sick, and covered in zits, and this tribulation may lie in her eating habits or hygiene, as yellow teeth and sloppy eye-liner, and be of no use to her; but this phone, that tells me of my roommate’s popularity, propels and enhances the guy-girl-ratio: if by this consideration of another’s popularity I take mine own into contemplation, and so secure myself, by making my advertisement to my fellow singles, who are my only competition.

I have CONFIDENCE...in me!

What will this day be like? I wonder.
What will my future be? I wonder.

It could be so EXCITING to be out in the world, to be free
My heart should be wildly rejoicing
Oh, what's the matter with me?

I've always longed for adventure
To do the things I've never dared
And here I'm facing adventure
They why am I so scared?

A captain with seven children
What's so fearsome about that?

Oh, I MUST STOP THESE DOUBTS, ALL THESE WORRIES
If I don't just know I'll turn back
I MUST DREAM of the things I am seeking
I AM SEEKING THE COURAGE I LACK

The COURAGE to serve them with RELIANCE
Face my mistakes without defiance

Show them I'm worthy

And while I show them
I'LL SHOW ME

So, let them bring on all their problems

I'LL DO BETTER THAN MY BEST

I have CONFIDENCE they'll put me to the test

But I'll make them see I have CONFIDENCE in me

SOMEHOW I WILL IMPRESS THEM

I will be firm but kind
And all those children (Heaven bless them!)
They will look up to me...and mind me

WITH EACH STEP I AM MORE CERTAINEVERYTHING WILL TURN OUT FINE
I HAVE CONFIDENCE THE WORLD CAN ALL BE MINE
THEY'LL HAVE TO AGREE I HAVE CONFIDENCE IN ME 
I HAVE CONFIDENCE IN SUNSHINE
I HAVE CONFIDENCE IN RAIN
I HAVE CONFIDENCE THAT SPRING WILL COME AGAIN
BESIDES WHICH YOU SEE I HAVE CONFIDENCE IN ME

STRENGTH doesn't lie in numbers
Strength doesn't lie in wealth
Strength lies in nights of peaceful slumbers
When you wake up. -- Wake Up!

It tells me all I TRUST I lead my heart to
All I trust becomes my own

I have CONFIDENCE in CONFIDENCE alone
(Oh help!)

I have CONFIDENCE in CONFIDENCE alone
Besides which you see I have CONFIDENCE in me!

Encomium of Musicals

Prooemion

Where would the 50s and 60s be without movie musicals?  Dead!  What would happen to social-life if there were not the background music and dancing?  Dead!  Mute and mime and speed and time should be revered with reverence if preferred and receive the railings if ridiculous.  Without music, there would be no dancing, and without dancing there would be no musicals, without musicals, there would be no life.  A musical is the breath of life – the loss of breath by the dance, and the life of the lyrics.  Hence, life would be meaningless without musicals.  Can you imagine not seeing a man walk down the street without getting his “groove on” or a woman having just been asked out by the man of her dreams simply telling the story without singing it to the local woodland creatures?  For my part, by introducing some reasoning into my speech, I wish to prove the popularity and, having exonerated the Etude from its exile, release the reason from the reprise.  Mindless moments of meaningless meandering might be miserable if it were not for the magical musings of a miraculous musical.  What more can be said?  Nothing, the silence has been magnified by the sound…the sound of music. 

Narration

After the caveman beating his chest, came the court jester’s timbrel.  After the court jester, came the plunking harpsichord.  After the harpsichord, came the Salvation Army band.  After the band, came the silence…the silence of the Silent movie.  These silent megaphones blasted the world with the love and the war, but not the sound.  Musicals got their start after the Silents graciously stepped aside in order for such a splendid and flawless piece of art; no fault.  They just realized that the world could not live without the song AND dance.  The sun will come out tomorrow, but the moon will set on the sound of music if it had not been for the advancement of the age.  Soon after, many other countries decided to pride themselves on their culture and produce their own kind of musicals.  Having the lush color of a Bollywood just enhances the joy that is felt when seeing life played out with such pleasure and leisure.  Simply singing was hyper-drived into third gear by adding dancing WHILE singing, what a pleasure.  What a splendid feat of the imagination!  No longer were social clubs to be the only source of lovely singing voices of those who stood in extravagant gowns and audacious head-pieces of audacious creation.  The whole world saw and accepted.  The musicals were the signature on the contract to sell the world’s soul to the Fates.  Throughout the fifties and sixties, audiences were enthralled by the sheer-genius of the “sung-en word”…normal life became intercepted.   This genre of performance has lasted from the early 1900s until the present-day when many of the “classics” are being remade and rebooted.

Proposition

For either by the intercession of the gods or by the survival of the fittest, mankind has learned to admit how lost they are without musicals.  One can live without internet and news, no need for games or sports, not a single story can be told without music. Musicals are the mastermind of the music, the genius of the glee, the fabulousness of the fame, and the dreams of the dance.    

Proof

You can live without internet and news.  Such menial things cannot possibly begin to influence the way your life is lived.  They are just mediums for a false mask to be placed upon your personality or the happenings of the world around us.  The news is only filled with tragedy and sorrow anyway, so why not delve into the lush beauty and supreme majesty that is found within the bars of a musical soliloquy.  You can endure the coldness of a mother-in-laws kiss, but can you survive the solitude of the silence?

Now if through the first, you have not been convinced, now comes the predetermination to meditate on the real response of entertainment.  No need for games or sports. The beat is boring without the excitement of the next verse.  The physical exercise and teamwork that is supposed on the soccer field or professed on the tennis court cannot be compared to the heart-pumping, knee-slapping, head-bouncing physical exertion in a musical.  It is a proven fact that dancers and singers are as agile and fit as an athlete.  Just look at the abs of an alto or the buffness of a baritone.  A ballerina can stand heads and TOES above the crowd of a football team and a tapper can draw more attention than the squeak of sneakers on the basketball key.

But if it is impossible to live without the joy, it is clear that not a single story can be told without music.  Look at the variety, or lack of, in the everyday movies – guy likes girl, chases girl, convinces girl, sleeps with girl, leaves girl, the end…OR guy hates guy, challenges guy, fights guy, chases guy, kills guy, gets girl, the end; literally, THE END.  The same story segments are rundown and played out so much that each and every movie can reveal the boring lifestyle of a screen-writer as it is played out in his work.  Now take a musical; the stories vary as often as the harmonies.  Many a story has been called, but few have been chosen to receive the honor of the music.  Who could have predicted the end of Doris Day’s Calamity Jane, the twist in Bye Bye Birdie, the relationship-revelations of Mamma Mia, the love-triangle of Wicked, or the hidden menace of Kismet.  The stories are real, the rulings are final…this is Judge Judy (Garland).

I both deem and define all music as the meter of the mind.  Love and hate, virtue and vice, joy and pain, all fade and dissolve into the wholeness of the harmony.  Cadence can be condensed, Baroque can be borrowed, dynamics can be denied, and the falsetto can be finished, but the interval is never interrupted.  The key signature is always turned in the lock of the heart.

Epilogue

How then can it be otherwise answered that life cannot be lived without a Libretto or a Ligature? Now, your mind has been melted, your heart has hyper-extended, and your feet have flittered down the street.  Your stomach has done as many somersaults as the dashing leading man, your palms are permanently indented with the crescent moons of your nails just like the ones mirrored in the star-struck eyes of the beautiful girl in love.  I have by means of speech removed any shadow of a doubt that the lyrics and the dance bring existence its romance.  You and your parents have found common ground on taste as you choose to move to the dark side of their childhood, permanently.  Your life has new meaning as the songs trickle through your memory all day.  You find a new beat in your step.  You have been transported to the world of musicals and converted to the power of the dance.  I have observed the insensitivity of the individual towards the show-tunes and have tried to end the enduring enmity; I wished to whisk the wasteful into a wonderful wildness of the well-in-tuned.  Welcome to the real world!

Speeded-ddddd

I've been realizing something lately....I am fast.

I walk fast

I eat fast

I type fast

I read fast

I shower fast

I get ready fast

I fall asleep fast

I get bored fast

I find something new to do fast

I conjure up new ideas fast

I think fast

I play games fast

I clean fast

I work fast

I'll be home for Christmas...NOT only in my dreams

My first couple weeks home after my mission included so much fun and family that the time seemed to zoom past.  It was great to be back...especially in time for Christmas.

 Going to the Temple after the 18month hiatus

Seeing the Nativity display at the visitor's Center

(this one's from Chile) 

 Finding my dad's twin (the one on the left)

Enjoying the lights 

Driving cross-country to spend Christmas in Utah.  Homemade presents are the best.  For him, a license plate blanket for her, new outfits 

Skyping with Baby Brother as a WHOLE family 

That's what Christmas means

That Christmas we learned exactly what the season is supposed to mean. We now knew how important our family was. We’d learned how much we didn’t need the toys and gifts. That year, our family grew closer than ever before. That is a Christmas that I will never forget. Just as if a photo album had been made, I can recall each and every detail of that momentous year when everything I ever knew, and ever will know about Christmas changed forever.

I was only ten when we moved to the Emerald Isle. The lush hillsides coated with permanent rustling grasses and untouched valleys. The all-seeing Sapphire sphere above, encrusted with fluffy cotton balls, encircled the beauty of this permanently medieval land of gold and fairytales. This new home was filled with moist air, open skies, and a funny sounding English. The language was quite a linebacker to tackle. Take a can of English, a knife-tip of redneck, an ounce of fairytale, a cup of sunshine, two tablespoons munchkins sucking helium, a teaspoon of Guiness beer and a large helping of redhead and you’ve got IRISH…Gaelige to be exact. Okay, so not quite, but that’s what it felt like to my untrained ears. It was all foreign and unknown to me.

The days past and the months rolled over to one another just like any other year. Before starting the rotation all over again, the year put itself on pause for December to enact its entire program. Europeans know how to do Christmas right! There’s more of a sense of family and calm in the holidays. Each piece of the season has a deep-rooted or even ancient meaning. December 23rd should have been just like any other Sunday. We go to church (or as we kids liked to think suffer through sitting still in uncomfortably annoying chairs watching old women sniffle and old men snooze) come home, eat lunch, light the advent candle, and play games.

That morning, I overheard mom and dad talking in their bedroom. This, eavesdropping game was one we enjoyed playing, especially around Christmas. Who knew if we’d hear a present mentioned, or discover the location of a hidden surprise? We were blind treasure-hunting pirates following an unseen map; the directions deciphered from between the floorboards on a rickety ship on a stormy sea. This clue, however, made absolutely no sense – something about gray, an eye, and a doctor. That’s all I got! Downtrodden and deflated, I returned to my room with no new information. After school, instead of heading home, we drove to Dublin; a place that sounded dubious only because its name started with those letters. Odd change of direction, but I just assumed it was part of the suspense that lead to the ultimate surprise. Maybe a gray puppy, I’d always had my eye on of those.

Christmas Eve found us entering a white building that rivaled the Tower of Babel in height and the language spoken therein could’ve had even the Brother of Jared asking for a translation. The doctors and nurses stared at scribbles and scratches on clipboards. My then 6-year-old brother drew better than they did, but I didn’t dare point that out, we were walking down endless hallway after another until finally we reached THE door. Once inside, my brother and I were given coloring books and reading books, and told to sit quietly in the corner. That recluse by the radiator was welcome when compared to the nurse’s face that stood sentry duty in the corner while mom and dad sat interrogation-ready across the table from the doctor. All their words made no sense until the headline of my daily news report slipped from the lips of the doctor, “surgery in the morning…not leaving tonight…stay at least a week”. The room began swirling in the lake now forming, but trapped by an invisible force in front of my pupils. The doctor’s meaning finally constructed the Lego tower in my mind. Dad was not coming home with us tonight, nor would he be home tomorrow. CHRISTMAS WAS CANCELLED!!

Over the previous week, dad discovered his vision morphing into prime seats at a gray wall paint-drying festival. The doctors decided that a detached Retina took precedence over our family. How dare they!

The whole hour long drive home my brother slept, but I gathered the salty precipitation on the shoulder of my favorite handmade dress with the ruffles and bows, now limp with dampness, trying not to let mom know I was still awake. I didn’t understand; Christmas meant receiving things, not giving them…especially not giving your dad to Dublin. They didn’t need him, I DID!

Early Christmas morning, the presents lay untouched, the tree unlit, the house frozen as though the movie was paused while the watcher went to the bathroom. We’d slept in our clothes that night, having been too upset and tired for mom to get us to sleep in our own rooms. Why was dad not coming home for Christmas? As soon as we arrived at the hospital, I had a dialog of what I was going to chew the doctors out about, but it all seemed useless when I saw my dad lying there motionless with bandages all over his head. At that point, all I could do was cry. The brave oldest child façade was as temporary as the gauze turban my dad wore. I had transformed into a scared 3 year old. I didn’t understand nor comprehend anything that was going on around me. He wasn’t coming home and I sensed he was in pain.

The next week slimed across the sidewalk like a slug on anesthesia infused antihistamine. The tree, presents, stockings, cards, and joy of Christmas was still “to be continued…” as we brought dad home. He could do nothing but lie on the couch face-down and grow scraggly facial-hair. Everyday flowed as the day before; a permanent Groundhog Day. We spent every night reading stories, listening to movies, and describing every detail of our art homework to him as he lay patiently and painfully in the same position. From that day on, we understood the true meaning of Christmas. I knew, in my limited professional and business experience, that this Christmas was my favorite of all time because the holiday had nothing to do with the gift-wrap, store windows, overplayed songs, expensive debt inducing items, or checked-off wish lists. It was all about our family, the memories, and the meaning behind the day. I learned what Christmas really needs to be about.