Silence

I can't speak.

Some kind of illness perched in my sinuses over the weekend and, feeling pretty much over it, I sang for 3 hours with the band last night. This morning I can't talk, sing, or do anything other than mouth words.

This happened last year, but I remember being able to at least scrape through a phone conversation. No such luck today.

That this has happened twice in a year is very scary to me. I take for granted that I can sing. I don't work on the technical aspects of it really. I tend to get petulant when folks focus on it too much. When someone remarks "nice voice," he or she might as well be saying "nice ass": thanks, but that's not really up to me. You know how long it took me to find a rhyme for "souvlaki on a stick?" You know how much mental energy it takes to produce a record? Sheesh.

I'm convinced this forced silence is meant to teach me something. (1) Don't be a dolt and get careless with your voice -- like it or not, it's the tool of your trade. (2) You're talking too much and not listening. (3) Take some of your energy off the music. Relax a little.

Dovetailing nicely with these real or imagined imperatives are my 2 new hobbies. One is resurrecting my old, beloved jeans using a few well-placed iron-on patches and embroidery. I used to embroider simple flower designs as a teen, but now that I found this site there is new hope for unskilled artistes like me. Patterns!

The second hobby is more like complex chemistry: making my own bath products. I've gotten so picky about what I will and won't put on my skin, because it smells like chemicals and so forth, I've practically backed myself into a corner. So far I've made organic tea tree-lavender bath oil . . . heavenly for nervous folks with sinusitis. Next stop: bath salts. I'd really like to make my own lip balm, but I think Paula's annual brew will be worth waiting for.