Waiting for my miracle to come
So here I sit staring at the TV
watching ordinary people who just won the lottery
Holding a check it takes four of them to carry
They are blinking at the flahsbulbs I wonder why it isnt me
I always wished I'd find a pearl in one of these oyster shells
But that shit only happ[ens to somebody else
Everything is easier for some
I'm still waiting for my miracle to come
Why do some people get their faces slapped
While others have the aces fall into their lap?
Everything is easier for some
I'm still waiting for my miracle to come
Waiting for my miracle' cuz anything is possible
Everything is cyclical and my turn could be comin' round
Could be any minute now the sun is peeking through that cloud
I'm gonna catch my ray of sun
I'm waiting for my miracle to come
excerpted from "Miracle" © Cathy Richardson
Saturday, August 28, 2004
How do I make you understand this?
I came out of the womb wanting to be a musician. And yes, I may be a musician today, but to what extent? Playing coffeehouse gigs for $36.00? A few really good gigs? Playing community theater at $25.00 a show? Is this success? I may be a musician, but should I not judge my level or ability of musicianship on my success, or lack thereof?
Over the years I've met a lot of guys who were stock brokers, salesmen, teachers, etc., and they all had a great collection of guitars, upwards of 30 or more guitars. They always liked playing, but took jobs where they could make a great living. They weren't players: they were hobbyists who could afford a lot of really expensive guitars. For the record, the more guitars a guy owns, the worse a player he is.
But me, I'll be holding down a day job soon. Full time, bennies, whatever. Maybe a legal assistant, a sales person, bookkeeper, I don't know. And the difference between me and the guys who own a lot of guitars is this: They were stock brokers with an expensive hobby. They couldn't play. They never were players. Me? I'll be a player who couldn't and didn't make it. It's one thing to wish one could have been a player. It's another to be a player, and not be able to make it.
I came out of the womb wanting to be a musician. And yes, I may be a musician today, but to what extent? Playing coffeehouse gigs for $36.00? A few really good gigs? Playing community theater at $25.00 a show? Is this success? I may be a musician, but should I not judge my level or ability of musicianship on my success, or lack thereof?
Over the years I've met a lot of guys who were stock brokers, salesmen, teachers, etc., and they all had a great collection of guitars, upwards of 30 or more guitars. They always liked playing, but took jobs where they could make a great living. They weren't players: they were hobbyists who could afford a lot of really expensive guitars. For the record, the more guitars a guy owns, the worse a player he is.
But me, I'll be holding down a day job soon. Full time, bennies, whatever. Maybe a legal assistant, a sales person, bookkeeper, I don't know. And the difference between me and the guys who own a lot of guitars is this: They were stock brokers with an expensive hobby. They couldn't play. They never were players. Me? I'll be a player who couldn't and didn't make it. It's one thing to wish one could have been a player. It's another to be a player, and not be able to make it.
Wednesday, August 25, 2004
Saturday, August 21, 2004
Dragonfly Medicine
So I get in my car today and I hear this wicked fluttering sound. I turn and see a dragonfly fluttering at my passenger window. Then it comes around to the windshield and heads toward me. So I roll down my window and put my hand to the right of it, and attempt to gently guide it to the window.
While I'm kind of pushing it gently along, it decides to alight itself on my finger, instead of head out the window. And there it sat, on my index finger. For a very long time. I moved my finger around and stuck it out the window, and twisted it around and back and forth, but it was quite content to stay there. For a very long time.
The dragonfly has been showing itself to me a lot lately, and I always say, "Damn I wish I can remember what the dragonfly symbolizes in native american animal medicine." But I never remember, which is why it flies into my realm on a regular basis. I clearly need reminding.
So now I'm going to bed, but before I do, I'm going to dig out my animal medicine cards, and for the umpteenth time, I'm going to read what the dragonfly is trying to tell me. Maybe I'll remember this time.
So I get in my car today and I hear this wicked fluttering sound. I turn and see a dragonfly fluttering at my passenger window. Then it comes around to the windshield and heads toward me. So I roll down my window and put my hand to the right of it, and attempt to gently guide it to the window.
While I'm kind of pushing it gently along, it decides to alight itself on my finger, instead of head out the window. And there it sat, on my index finger. For a very long time. I moved my finger around and stuck it out the window, and twisted it around and back and forth, but it was quite content to stay there. For a very long time.
The dragonfly has been showing itself to me a lot lately, and I always say, "Damn I wish I can remember what the dragonfly symbolizes in native american animal medicine." But I never remember, which is why it flies into my realm on a regular basis. I clearly need reminding.
So now I'm going to bed, but before I do, I'm going to dig out my animal medicine cards, and for the umpteenth time, I'm going to read what the dragonfly is trying to tell me. Maybe I'll remember this time.
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
Here she is!
So here's the story.
A week after Tigger died everyone was telling Kelly "you gotta get another cat", and she was all like, no I don't! And she was talking to me about it, saying it would be a long time before she felt ready, but when the time was right she wanted another tabby with similar markings to Tigger, and it had to be a rescue, and it had to be a kitten.
Well, the VERY NEXT DAY, doesn't the other vet at her clinic come waltzing in with a mommy tabby kitty and her two tabby babies who apparently were dumped in the woods behind his house? So he brings them in to clean them up, check them for FIV, leukemia, worms, mites, blah blah blah, and says they'll hang on to them until they can adopt them out. So it all works out that the little girl pictured here has seemingly been designated by the universe to belong to Kelly. Her name is Louise. Doncha just wanna love her up?
So here's the story.
A week after Tigger died everyone was telling Kelly "you gotta get another cat", and she was all like, no I don't! And she was talking to me about it, saying it would be a long time before she felt ready, but when the time was right she wanted another tabby with similar markings to Tigger, and it had to be a rescue, and it had to be a kitten.
Well, the VERY NEXT DAY, doesn't the other vet at her clinic come waltzing in with a mommy tabby kitty and her two tabby babies who apparently were dumped in the woods behind his house? So he brings them in to clean them up, check them for FIV, leukemia, worms, mites, blah blah blah, and says they'll hang on to them until they can adopt them out. So it all works out that the little girl pictured here has seemingly been designated by the universe to belong to Kelly. Her name is Louise. Doncha just wanna love her up?
Thursday, August 05, 2004
So Much To Say
But who has the fucking time? I have to tell you about our trip to Niagara On The Lake, post the photo of the beautiful flowers Kelly sent me on our anniversary, post pictures of Kelly's new kitty and the wild story of how this kitty came to her out of the blue in need of rescuing, and tell you about messages received from the "other side", namely from Tigger.
I also have to update my website, send out my monthly newsletter, clean this pigsty house of mine and whatnot. But instead I'm packing to leave yet again for a gig in Ohio. Leaving in an hour. So see ya.
But who has the fucking time? I have to tell you about our trip to Niagara On The Lake, post the photo of the beautiful flowers Kelly sent me on our anniversary, post pictures of Kelly's new kitty and the wild story of how this kitty came to her out of the blue in need of rescuing, and tell you about messages received from the "other side", namely from Tigger.
I also have to update my website, send out my monthly newsletter, clean this pigsty house of mine and whatnot. But instead I'm packing to leave yet again for a gig in Ohio. Leaving in an hour. So see ya.
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