a fighting chance

But they tell me that love is for the bold, and so we must love whole-heartedly and fight for future relentlessly until the battle is won. Because the weakhearted never seem to achieve much, and I want the world.

Exciting

Thursday, January 14th, 2010. What's the most exciting thing to happen today? Well, that all depends on your perspective. Some might say, "Why it's the uniting of The Miss Cheryl Slack and Mr. Landon Ford;" while others may turn their heads toward the blue skies and overflowing sunlight. Maybe it's how some people's Thursdays are others' Fridays...and then how Friday has a lot of neat plans all related to the weekend, and a big city--not so big as others I've known, but still a pretty good substitute. I was in Salt Lake a few days ago and decided that I'm just beginning to understand it's beauty and the mysteries of metropolis. I don't know. However one defines anything depends on their perspective and experiences really. I mean, if you were a dog, you'd love the scent of beef, but then again, I'm a human, and I still love the scent of beef...bad analogy, but you get what I mean? Right? Of course you do.

Someday I'd like to become a surfer. Maybe I'd have a lime green wet suit to go with it, cause, not everyone else does...Wind surfing, now that's more like it. I saw a group of wind-surfers this summer off of Jetty Island, near Everett, WA. They were pretty sweet looking. Someday, I will meet them all, and we will surf together. My brother's a surfer, and this I envy slightly. But he's pretty cool, so I guess it's ok.

As far as the-most-exciting-thing-to-happen-today goes, that's all yet to be discovered. I could wake up and find myself in Asia tomorrow morning, and that would be pretty exciting. I'll leave it all to chance and then review/process any events that occur within the next 13 hours.

Dear Arthur,

baby carrots don't really grow that way, they're just cut up from bigger carrots!!

Wow,
Alex

ps: http://arthurandalex.blogspot.com/

One Last Look at a Genius

I saw a man the other night; a gray haired, black man in a collar-less suit and he played jazz piano for bread and butter. Of course that may be an understatement, since we are talking about Ahmad Jamal, a graceful 80 year-old classic musician admired and respected by none other than legendary trumpet player, Miles Davis, along with several others (courtesy of wikipedia); and I heard him in a quartet just 17 hours ago. It was incredible.

The first set included a few experimental tunes, that caught my ear, though I enjoyed the second set more, with an increase in upbeat rhythm and swing. I wanted to get up and dance, but unfortunately my self-consciousness stopped me. The most interesting lesson of the evening though, was found in observing the man, this ancient musician, who may pass away within the next ten years or so.

He was so elegant, calm, and relaxed. I liked how he always took time to introduce the other musicians and then ended the line with "and me," in a sort of comic yet, personal or intimate way. We weren't at an Ahmad Jamal concert, Ahmad Jamal was playing in our living room after dinner.

Following the performance, the patrons gathered in the foyer where they purchased albums and waited for the artist to sign. I was in a group of friends when Ahmad walked through the crowd and sat down at a table, ready to begin. I would have liked to talk with him, to shake his hand, and discuss music. I felt like I easily could have, if it weren't for the line. I imagine that he would have listened to me, and he would have mentored me. Mr. Jamal seemed like a character who understood the meaning and importance of legacy, and I'd like to think that he would eagerly pass on any wisdom through youth. True, I'm no uprising jazz musician, but somehow that idea struck me, and I felt it to be true.

Ahmad Jamal, in his elegance and grace, signed those CDs that night for the people. It was all too regular for him by his mannerisms, yet despite the normalcy, he seemed to enjoy it, and was cool. Music is what he did, does, and he loves it. He didn't seem prideful either, just accepting of the role he'd chosen in life, and was happy with it.

Unfortunately we didn't stay to meet him, but we did cut through the crowd on our way to the door. I turned my head for a final glance, one last look at a genius.

Old Shoes

Come thou Fount, is one of my favorite hymns.  I can't wait until it's put back into the hymnal someday, not that I have any special knowledge that it will be, but you never know.  I saw a rip in my sunday shoes this morning.  A sad little tear across the side of the toe.  I was sort of sad, because that meant I had to buy new ones, but glad because then I would get some new ones.  Then I thought about the Christmas of my Freshman year.  I had bought the shoes with my mom from a Target store.  Our family was smaller then.  Next I recall an old boyfriend commenting on the shoes, saying that he liked them, and that they must have been from Target, being the Mossimo brand.  That was several years ago.  He loved shoes.  I like shoes, especially colorful ones.  I also love grilled cheese sandwiches.

Oatmeal

I'm eating oatmeal because it's good for me, and while doing so, I think about my undying optimistic outlook on life.  I can't help it, that's who I am, and "that's how I roll" as someone once put it.  Optimism is what keeps me alive.  When everything topples over, when the rain dribbles down that hole in the ceiling and onto my head, optimism is what gives me hope, and I suppose that's a kind of faith too--faith in God that it's all gonna be good no matter what.  It always has, and I've never regretted a trial.  Never.

So I'll put on my yellow converse, and wrap myself in a blue peacoat.  I'll grab a bag of pretzels and I'll walk to work.  I'll put in my 20 hours and I'll feel good, because tomorrow is so unpredictable and I like the spontaneity of it all.  Life is good.  Call it my motto, but it keeps me alive, and going.  God is good.

On air travel: 010310

Iconoculture and Anderson Cooper; two unrelated names from an airplane magazine, both related to career fields of interest to me. The airport was extremely empty this evening and the security officer said that I looked confused. I replied with, "oh no, I've just never been in the airport when it's this empty before"--when in reality, I really just wanted to know how the 'Gate' sign could possible read A, B, C, & S...I mean S doesn't even come after C? so why not put it with D, E, F?...but then I learned that this meant South Satellite or something when I took the little subway train.

My lack of car has led me to experience frequent travel by air and the complementary beverages have caused me to choose orange juice or ginger-ale as future habitual airline drinks of choice from now on. I'm not sure why, but I think it's because I like them; and a Thank You!--I shout out to the person who proposed some other snack besides peanuts--probably an allergic. The plane rustles with the opening of cookie and pretzel bags, while I enjoy a cinnamon carbohydrate myself. I have this red purse that sits beside me, as the window seat, 9a, must not have been sold this evening.

I'm not sure why that red bag has decided to go on living, the hand-sewing needle repaired straps holding on for dear life, but it does, and so I carry it whenever I want to appear more feminine. It's huge and just screams "fill me" with its pockets and snaps. As of now it harbors:
-my cell phone
-ipod
-mittens
-Alice in Wonderland
-pens
-a notebook
-lotion
-marking crayons
-a wallet
-coin purse and the timeworn leather billfold of my grandmother. I like it because it reminds me of her.
Then of course you'll find some keys, lipstick, headphones, etc. I love that purse, and perhaps my next one will be red too.

The orange juice is almost gone now, and I know we're getting close. I adore flying.