An Eighth Shot of Espresso: Coffee and Creativity on Mum's Third Shift

He regaled us with his tales  as the snow fell outside  the fire crackled in the hearth  as we all sat in utter delight  at the tales he spun to entertain us all. We waited with bated breath the heroes on their journey in fantastical lands of light and dark their struggle against good and bad we cheered at all their victories. A story with song and voice resonating off the walls and rafters a magical performance that is not easily forgotten and remembered fondly at every chilly night.

A writer like me  scribbling words  words and words  for others to read  digest and analyze  An artist like me  paint on canvas  pen on the screen  for others to see  judge and criticize  A musician like me strum softly on strings or warble a beloved tune for others to hear and enjoy sing and dance That is who I see  deep within the depths  of the electronic sea  I smile when I view  their creative works

Nervous  before the curtain rises  all muscles tense in anticipation  dancers keep moving so their muscles  stay limber musicians tune to the perfect note actors pace or visualize their perfect opening night however you prepare for the night the crowd hushes then the lights come up and the audience applause  fills you with a strange calm  as you focus on the performance

(Picture of me strumming a small lyre (6 string+ drone string) at the Carolina Renaissance Faire) Strum the strings invoke the singers of long ago the weight of history all condensed into song an epic tale  told in front of the fire and let the audience sit there, mesmerized by stories of brave warriors and wise wizards who stand in the shadow of the darkness of a cold, cruel world. Let the melody take you on a path where the righteous have already trod and inspire you  to forge your own path where the bards can sing of your legacy.

Strings vibrate my fingers stretch more than one octave over several frets practice they said you'll get it. It requires as much problem solving as a scientific riddle when your bones and muscles don't stretch that far. Smaller keys custom built but sometimes  a normal instrument is still too big to play.

Fingers glide on arpeggios going up and down on ladders made of notes and rests Strings vibrate sometimes join two notes that slide into one another. High tones ring low tones tremble all strung in a code that has lasted for millennia but is still familiar all the same

Fingers on the strings not quite automatic yet accidentally sharps and flats first position, second position Muscle memory not quite there but almost, given time under a watchful eye Melodies stagger brain process the notes translates to a stutter of harmonies that hasn't gelled together So many soft tunes and so many angry arias the emotions are already there just need to be unlocked

Magic rosin coat the strings with even strokes so that the bow can bring out the music within the varnished wood. Turn the pegs slightly, ever so slightly not too much to perfectly capture that elusive note in the series of harmonies. It is time sheet music at hand stage lights are low din of preparation dies down concertmaster stands and bows plays the single note you match your instrument to the rest of the world.

Starting again is never easy But this time it's different. It's because I want to do this not because I have to do this. Endless recitals reminders to practice more because all the aunties ask and so Mom 'asks' for a song It was like a gilded songbird trotted out for a single moment only to be put away again to hear the accolades given to its preening owner. A bragging chip for social credit "You have such a talented daughter." I have to learn the scales correct finger positioning all the foundation that had been skipped or glossed to get faster results I am like a little child again but I start at the beginning and work my way forward.

My art studio doubles as the dining room table. Paints stacked in the corner of the closet. Poems written in the wee hours of the night when everyone is asleep. Sketches hastily drawn between doctor's appointments and daughter's music lessons. The piano book still on chapter two the guitar out of tune the strings gathering dust. It feels like splitting time between demanding lovers running from one room to the next and not devoting enough minutes for a proper relationship. But it is worth the hassle for a moment of peace and thinking all is right with the world.

I watch her on stage in the company of fellow musicians as they tune their instruments and prepare to serenade the audience with lovely music. That could have been me forty or so years ago if I'd had the courage to tell my mother what I wanted to do and how I longed to do it. She was too tired the crowds too exhausting the sacrifices too great Unfulfilled dreams with her own violin she didn't want to open that book. Other priorities school was more important Get straight A's, help the family do what I want you to do then think about what you want to do you with your life. Forty years later my own daughter proudly plays because she loves it and she wants to and I smile and be happy for her and not just for me.

Eight strings paired in two a wealth of tradition Don Giovanni romantic songs on warm Italian nights strings vibrate in tremolo single notes conveying deep love and devotion to ladies fair. bright happy sounds melodic voices chords doublestops on the mountain roads brought over from the Old World to the New. Traditions don't die they live on in song.

I. Music, my refuge I lose myself in the notes Away from it all Just me and my instrument and no one is involved. II. Let melody flow harmony for heart alone and unspoken words. III. Until cymbals clash of real life and its demands crescendo so loud impossible to ignore heavenly time is over IV. Looking at the score: jump directly to the end and play the coda. .

I'm used to frets. I know where to put my fingers to play the correct chords. Years of practice my mind automatically goes where it needs to flowing from one note to the other one piece to the other. All in the same key and in same tempo. But when I switch instruments I must train my body and my fingers again a different mindset a different time.  

Her confidence shines with every note that she plays she's found her calling. A shining beacon under the spotlight on stage the spell of music captivates everyone there all eyes are on her rapture. Just her alone yet she is not all by herself. Orchestra silent. It seems effortless hard work under the surface no one sees the sweat and tears all leading to this moment Forsaking all that might have made her life easy music her mistress. Always plagued by doubt Am I really good enough? Trust your inner voice. Work towards your inner goals Yes, you do have what it takes.

Alone in the studio the paintbrush speaks the music swells the sound of the tumbler as rocks turn into jewels. The vase throws itself onto the potters' wheel the arrangement of flowers please the eye and the mind the smell of the food wafts from the kitchen and whets the appetite. Every stitch lovingly made every warp and weft in patterns. Pixels make people laugh and amaze others with their resolution. These are all reflections of the artist's mind heart and soul. Lovingly created and lovingly shared as an expression of creativity within.

  Two strings dusty and unused for a very long time. Not a great quality they told me but it should suffice for someone who is just starting to play. What matters to me is that it is a connection to who has played before. The blood that runs in my veins the tunes that used to float through the air. It will take me years. It will take a lot of practice. "Headless chicken" screeching until I get the bowing and the fingering just right. But the joy is in the journey In the discovery and the challenge I hope my ancestors smile even if they might cringe as I take baby steps into perfection.

 ( "Write the symphony of a thunderstorm" prompt from The Writer's Retreat Kit by Judy Reeves ) The thunder sneaks up on you. At first it is a low, caressing rumble barely heard, but it sends chills down your spine. You know it's approaching but how or when is still unknown. And then it comes closer gradually louder The winds no longer silent no longer pianissimo Anticipation builds More instruments join in the fray Bass grows louder the rattle of rain the pounding of hail a steady tattoo on the tin roof above. It holds you in its thrall you can't sleep lie awake until lightning flashes thunder crashes It announces its arrival with a chaotic chorus A cacophony of sound that doesn't care for subtlety. Its climax reaches a point before it dies down races to its conclusion with softer chords as it passes on into blessed silence.

A year ago I looked at a mess of music and said "I'll never be able to do this." Chords, arpeggios, flourishes tablature?! A whole new way of thinking a whole new way of moving fingers along the strings muscle memory practice scales over and over and over. Why do we have to do this?! Repetition, while there is music to be played! Tunes to be learned melodies to be shared! But slowly but surely my body knew where to go my ear knew what to hear and it all came together in a glorious symphony. And my soul was in awe.

Vibrating strings in courses of two waves of notes gently travel through the wood Arpeggios, scales single notes, trills vibratos and double stops techniques pay off in the end. There are many ways to read the language of composers gone by and talents to come. Sweet melodies hover in the air ringing in the heart and mind long after they fade away.