six strings that sing, wood that hums against my hipbone

i use that title a lot. it's written on my guitar case in silver sharpie.

you know how you find a place that just seems right? like it's a home to you?

well, last night i saw T play at swallow hill, and realized i should have been going there the past 21 months.

mike t 028
michael tiernan

first of all let me say, that T is an AMAZING songwriter and has such beautiful technique and skill with his guitar. he's every bit as fun and engaging and funny as ever. he's a good guy.

i miss having live music as an integral part of my daily life. that's 99% of why i switched from a french major with international relations dreams (really? and now i'm in grad school for what?) to music therapy. was because i missed the live music. so i got tons of it in new orleans and athens. granted, two very different types of music, but i got it just the same.

when i was a music therapist i got to make music every day. i got to sit on the floor with my shoes off and play the spiderman theme on my guitar. i got to dance, play with a xylophone (i still have the stairstep xylophone that mina's mom gave me when i went to naples, fl in 2000) read books, pound on the drums... it was a good life - but not challenging enough.

but being at swallow hill suddenly reminded me of an appendage i'd let wither. i play my guitar every few weeks. i go see shows, um, never. i haven't played an open mic in 7 years.

i've been thinking of joining swallow hill since i moved to denver to go to shows, to use their facilities, to take banjo and mountain dulcimer lessons - but in all likelihood i'm leaving denver in a few months. i don't have a banjo or a dulcimer. it seems silly.

so it is my promise to myself that the next place i move i will seek out and find the acoustic music in that city (unless it's a town of 25,000 on the mississippi river in iowa) make music and find some happiness within it.

About this blog

erratically updated for food, yarn, or other nonspecified reasons