make time…

March 30, 2009 at 8:00 am (Uncategorized)

“…the most regretful people on earth are those who felt the call to creative work, who felt their own creative power restive and uprising, and gave it neither power nor time.”
mary oliver

Make time today to cultivate your creative self.

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tree…

March 26, 2009 at 9:00 am (Uncategorized)

I was thinking the other day in the car about how I have always viewed my spiritual life as a house that I’m building. I started with a certain foundation (Roman Catholic in my case) and have moved up from there. Always seemed like a natural progression to me. I’m a person, I need a house right?

But this new idea came to me. I wonder if our spiritual lives are NOT a house we build but a tree we plant and care for.

Houses are somewhat expendable, really. We don’t live in one house all our lives like generations past. We are transient folk. Movin’ on up. All that.

Trees, though are alive…and rather than foundation they rely on roots. Foundations are stationary, staid, as permanent as we can figure how to make them. Roots, though, roots are alive and moving and digging in and getting deeper.

Roots go down as the branches go up; reaching and pulling and blooming…and shedding too.

Trees in winter, bare and empty. I know what that feels like in my spiritual life. It is a season. Winter. It is as necessary as Spring. I can live in my house and never feel the Winter but also never feel the Spring. If I don’t know the scarcity of winter how will I ever understand the richness of spring, I wonder.

So today, I’m shifting my thinking and starting to see my spiritual life as a tree, planted and rooted. Alive because something OUTSIDE of me exists…not because I was able to discover how to pour cement and pound nails and paint drywall…you know?

I’m sure there’s more here. It’s a start though. A new way to see things, like getting glasses I didn’t know I needed.

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The Glass Factory

March 23, 2009 at 9:00 am (The Glass Factory)

I love the idea of glass…how it goes from one substance to another.

I think about what I know about this process, which, I admit is not a lot but enough to get my brain going.

I love that it begins with sand.
I love that it takes heat to bring change.
I love that what comes of it is something fragile
something potentially transparent
something new.

And see? Life, like sand, can slip through my fingers…so to me the process of songwriting is the application of heat on life,
turning it into something fragile
and potentially transparent
and new.

So that’s why I’m calling this project The Glass Factory. The Factory is us, here…
Part of this factory, the mechanism is you, the listener and commenter.
Part is the technology I have to explore and put in place.
Part of it is the talent of my friends who have agreed to help me out on this in person, in real life.

(Don’t worry…we’ll be as “green” a Factory as we can, I promise. Believe me, I plan to recycle as much as I can here.)

that’s what I got today…

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worksong…

March 20, 2009 at 9:02 am (Mid-life Crisis, Ordinary Time, poetry among friends)
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In my community we talk about our “work” which loosely translated amounts to whatever issues we have at any given moment. It’s about seeing what’s “mine” and what’s “not mine.” It’s a part of the language, it’s a piece of the conversation.

One phrase I toss out a lot in response to “I don’t know” is “well, what if you DID know…”

So in light of that and also having witnessed some hard stuff a friend is battling I wrote this set of lyrics yesterday.

Liking it a lot. Once I get a decent home recording thing set up I’ll post snippets of some demos.

Worksong

Don’t like to be alone
But don’t like feeling crowded
So there’s a telephone
On the bedside
And don’t like over loud
But don’t want over quiet
So where’s the middle ground
I don’t know

And if I did know
I’d write a novel
And if I did know
I’d write a song
Empty my pockets
On the table
I take the yoyo
You take the breakdown

Don’t want to take my time
Don’t want to hurry either
So there’s another dime
On the floor
And don’t like over head
But don’t want over heady
So where’s the middle ground
I don’t know

And if I did know
I’d write a novel
And if I did know
I’d say a prayer
Empty my pockets
On the table
I take the bible
You take the breakdown

And if I did know
I’d write a novel
And if I did know
I sing this song
Empty my pockets
On the table
I take the playtime
You take the breakdown

©ADC 2009

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integration…

March 17, 2009 at 2:52 pm (Uncategorized)

A while ago I started this blog as this sort of anonymous, literary type and that ended up making me crazy to be honest. Little by little I’ve integrated more of who I am in this blog and it’s been good.

So, in light of that as I begin to get my next recording project underway I thought I’d take a page from Imogen Heap’s book and try to post updates on the project as it starts to unfold.

Ack. That scares me.

But ok, that’s one thought. Part of this is that I’m going to try to get my ReverbNation profile linked up and a micro player onto the blog…so bear with me…it’ll come as it does.

Right now, though, Miles is screaming in my ear as I type…so, more later on that I suppose.

In the meantime check me here for downloads on some tunes of mine…a few at least to start with…

Angela Doll Carlson

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you need us…

March 12, 2009 at 2:53 pm (Uncategorized)

Recently I was reminded of this episode of Gilligan’s Island. A rock band, “The Mosquitos” have landed on the island to work on a record and find themselves so the castaways decide to show them they’re hip by being rockstars in the hope that the band will take them along when they get picked up.

Sadly, The Mosquitos end up loving The Honeybees but felt threatened by them so alas, they left them behind.

rock stars…sheesh.

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care…

March 9, 2009 at 12:21 pm (Ask Mrs Metaphor, Ordinary Time, Radical Thoughts, expanding your view)

Someone turned to me at a party recently to enlist me in his tirade about the possible changes to the way the deductibilty of charitable contributions are calculated. At that moment I had to wonder about that discourse so I didn’t answer him right away.

“Don’t you agree though? I mean, this will shut down non profits all together!” he spat at me.

Now, I run a small non profit. It is, of course underfunded, I expect that. I budget for that. His tactic was meant to hit a nerve I suppose. It did, but not the one he expected.

Here’s what I think. I wonder what kind of narrative we’ve adopted in our culture that bases our desire to GIVE based upon what we GET. I personally, do not give money to charity because I will get a deduction for it. Many times I give and do not declare it as a charitable contribution. I give to my church because “tithing” is part of my faith narrative. I give to charitable organizations because it is part of my personal desire to support good causes. I have to believe that MOST of us who give to charities have this conviction, I have to believe that.

I may be wrong, I often am wrong in fact but it’s in my basic nature to think the best of people, to hope for the best in people. So to put out there into the world the idea that non profits will disappear because the amount I can claim on my taxes will decrease just degrades all of us. It imagines the very worst possible nature for us, as americans and as citizens of the world as well.

Can we not think better of ourselves? Can we not bring each other UP instead of down on this? I say that in light of the tax changes (if they happen) the response ought to be a hope in the goodness of people.

It’s an issue of care. We must begin to see ourselves as a people who value CARE more than money, more than politics, more than personal gain. If we do not become a country filled with people of care then we are indeed at our own end and no amount of legislation can cure us.

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scrabble…

March 4, 2009 at 8:00 am (Radical Thoughts, Social Commentary, expanding your view, random musings)

“life is scrabble”
There, I said it.

I’ve been playing Scrabble on my iPhone lately, well, a lot actually. Last night I realized this great truth. It all depends on the tiles you get. Last night, I kid you not, I had three I’s, two A’s, one U and an E. I knew I could trade in letters but I just couldn’t bring myself to do so. I liked the challenge of having to make words with no high scoring letters, at least I liked it for a little while then it just sucked rocks. Still, I could not allow myself to trade up. I supposed I’m just stubborn like that.

I did not overcome my circumstances, my pitiful Scrabble tile pull…I lost to the blasted computer by a wide margin. I had perseverance down perfectly but the tiles never got better. I just didn’t have anything with which to work.

Now conversely, the next game I played I raked in the good tiles. I found the best spaces and I maximized my words with the finesse of an artist. I rocked. Big. I broke 300 before I broke a sweat. My words were not extraordinary but the tiles and the placement just seemed to keep working out. Sometimes I think the game is rigged. I do.

This morning as I dropped off my son at preschool I was thinking about those tile draws. You know, life is not fair. It is not even. It does seem to play favorites. As I looked at some of the parents in Miles’ school who are recently laid off and read about the trials of people across the country who are suffering the most in the economy I’m reminded that I keep getting good tile pulls. I just do. Sure, I HAVE had moments when I am besieged by all vowels but frankly those times are transient…they are the exception rather than the rule. Even sitting holding a pretty good hand at the game right now I have to wonder if the game is rigged.

Once, when Riley and I played a game of actually, in real life Scrabble she was frustrated by her tiles. “All I need is a G and I’d have a great word.” I had a G and so I gave it to her and just asked that she toss a tile my way. She made an excellent word and probably she beat me but it seemed as though it turned the corner on her game. It gave her a leg up. I didn’t mind losing. I win a lot of games and none have been as satisfying as the one in which my 11 year old beat me because of a donated G.

Maybe this is where it makes all the difference…what we are willing to risk, what we are willing to part with, what we are willing to give up for someone else.

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scars…

March 2, 2009 at 11:19 pm (Mid-life Crisis, Ordinary Time, expanding your view)

I have a great scar on my left knee. I earned it while learning to ski. It was, in fact, my first day on a pair of skis. My husband is an avid skier so he spent a short time with me on the bunny hill. He insisted that I’d get hold of the idea after running down a couple of times.

Basically, it scared the crap out of me. I felt so very out of control. I had no idea how to steer, how to stop, how to have fun in the face of this terror but I soldiered on. This went on for about an hour, maybe two, I can’t quite remember…we headed out to the next level up.

It was only a short ride up the ski lift…another skill set altogether in my book. I could have spent the day learning how to get on and off the ski lift, to be honest. We took our first run down and I went PAINFULLY slow. I remember that well. My husband was a real sport about it, he truly was. I survived that run and felt a little more at ease with it all. I don’t know why I continued except that it was something I wanted to do with Dave. I wanted to be a person he could go skiing alongside. I was not really enjoying it yet but I continued on.

We went down a few more runs and I gained a little confidence. I was doing really well. I mean it, I really was. It’s important to me to say that. I was getting very tired though. It was getting cold on the mountain and we decided to take one last run before the slopes closed.

As we began the hill I was suddenly seized with fear. It was as if I stopped believing anything I felt I had learned that day. I froze up and then I fell. Badly. I went ski over ski and leg over knee and then I heard a “pop” and there was pain. I had been studying that weekend for my certification to become a Personal Trainer. I knew right away which ligament had snapped. I saw it report to me in my head like a ticker tape stock report, “Anterior Cruciate Ligament.” Damn.

It didn’t hurt that bad so I tried to stand up. No go. Dave flagged down a passing skier and asked him to send the ski patrol. It was getting dark. It had grown very cold. I had in the back of my mind the fact that Sonny Bono had died the day prior on a pair of skis. Honestly, that’s what I was thinking.

Ski patrol showed up and strapped me to a sled and we headed down. Once I got over the embarrassment of my predicament I suddenly felt freer and safer than I had all day. I trusted this young kid leading me down the mountain implicitly. I had to restrain myself from saying “Whee!” I wasn’t sure what he’d make of that.

So, down the mountain, up to the ER to confirm my suspicion and then back to the B&B to live out the remainder of my holiday on crutches.

I had it repaired a few months later. I call it now my bionic knee. A hamstring tendon resides where the poor broken ACL used to call home. It’s hard to explain but I’m proud of this scar. I’m proud for a number of reasons.

First, I’m glad I went skiing that day. I wish I had spent more time learning but that’s not what happened. What happened is that I did not spend time learning, I jumped ahead and then I suffered for that choice.

Next, we have already discussed here my phobia about hospitals and doctors and yet I had the surgery. I got my bionic knee. I guess, for me, this is about hope. I want wholeness. I want to ski again one day.

I suppose what this speaks to me in a bigger picture of my life is this idea of accepting what has been and keeping it close to me. Seeing where I made my mistake. Building up then where I am weak and being willing to live in the hope of what the next thing might be. I like this scar of mine. I feel I earned it well. It speaks to me even now about what the future holds…more challenges, more mistakes, more scars to be sure but perhaps I’ll grow wiser as I go, perhaps I’ll grow stronger and less fearful as I begin my next run down the snowy hill.

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