When a tree falls in the forest...

...and no one is around to hear it, and there's a songbird sitting in it, does it make a sound?

Of course it does. Don't be silly. What do listeners have to do with anything?

They have a lot to do with everything, in fact, but back to the original question.
Doesn't matter who listens for sound to occur, but it does matter who listens for sound to mean something.


One of the biggest struggles of my life has been with sensing that I am not being heard and understood.
Enter; the written word. Co-starring: music!
When I sing, people listen. I have noticed this recently.
When I write, people read. I have noticed this recently.
I am a slow, slow person.

Well, thank you, all; you're so patient.
I guess I need to start a newsletter for my family; perhaps they will then pay attention and read, too!
It would be a printed version, hence the need of the fallen tree. Then they could each have their own copy, both for practical reasons and for posterity.
(I could sing it to them, then perhaps they would understand what is required of them in this little family.)
It would be like one of those pioneer woman diaries; but it wouldn't, because life is pretty different now.
I bet it was dreadfully difficult to be heard and understood in the middle of the prairie; your neighbors speaking another language, maybe even hostile; no marriage counselors and books on relationships at the ready. No TV, computer social networks, cell phone; no nothin'. Just you, and some paper, and a few other people if they hadn't died yet. If you were one of the fortunate ones. A couple of pieces of clothing to wash now and then, hopeful a working shotgun to clean regularly, a row to hoe, mmm-hmm, perfect, now I'm feeling guilty ever complaining about anything. Perfect!

But if I feel like complaining anyway, I can sing about it. Apparently the drama involved is pretty effective. Or is it the sound of the voice? Don't know, don't care; I just enjoy it so much, it doesn't matter.

I have found that it does matter to me, very deeply, though, if folks understand what I'm communicating when I sing. So it doesn't make sense to sing in a forest where no one is around to hear; nor in my bedroom with the door closed, which is much more probable.

I left the forest. I like it out here. I like when you enjoy what you hear, and when you let me know it.

Someone felled my tree, and I have flown off to a happier roost. (Thank you, "Tree Feller"!)
You probably didn't hear it fall, but you can hear me singing at a coffee joint, maybe near you.

On "doing pretty good"

Ha!
I did pretty good last weekend. (Okay, "well" is proper, but I'll pull out my poetic license if you want to see it.)

At our city's annual festival, WHFR had tables of promo CD's; dollar apiece, a bag for $10. (You know I went for the bag, right?)
Knowing WHFR, (89.3 FM and www.whfr.fm) and not knowing much about most of what I was seeing, I was excited anyway. :) (Hey, they play some wonderful and some really far out stuff!) I figure, that's a pretty good use of almost half of my discretionary spending for the month; me wanting to listen to different music and all.

My 2nd listen; "Love Big, Us Small" by Jan Krist. So, if the rest is garbage, I did well,(I mean, good!) Enjoying this a lot! Really nice disc.('Tho, I doubt the other stuff in the bag is all refuse; I see some intriguing material in there...)

Ha. Sometimes things work out pretty well,(I mean, good.) Mostly they do, for me. Really. How can I complain? A little (bigger than I'd like) leak here, a temporary pain there, a lot of mess. Whatever. (That's negotiable and disposable.)

I am surrounded by wonderful.

Good music in my head, good love in my heart, beautiful kids, a man of integrity. (He's pretty cute, too.)

I guess "doing pretty good" didn't start last weekend with a bag of CD's.

I've been doing pretty good for a long while. Sometimes, takes some little something to remind us.

To remind me.

Don't post on facebook when you're mad...

... and other smart ideas.

Make sure there are no objects in your hand when you scream at child.

Put a pillow over your head when you bellow obscenities.

Make sure the windows are closed, too. Pillows have a way of moving rapidly.

Get it all out in one session; saves time and energy.

Do not, under any circumstances, look victim in the eye until the carnage has passed.

Upon completion of necessary tirade, quickly self-intervene with rational measures:
Disengage from artery of victim.
Do not drive for 2 hours, unless a matter of life or death.
Do not dispense punishment or judgement for 24 hrs.
Do not self-mutilate, deprecate, or agitate.
Do pray ferociously.
Do reflect upon God's gracious mercy.
Don't call you mother; she'll remind you what a lousy mother you are.
Do not communicate with negative people.
Do not call father of said children home from work, unless there is morbidity involved.
Do not message him regarding his spawn; he has work to do, and that's not fair.
Remember that children are a blessing.
Try to visualize and remember bringing them home from the hospital, (as opposed to sending them back to the hospital.)
Do not, under any circumstances, tabulate the exact cost of their damages at this critical time.
Do begin preparing to assess necessity for apology, and begin visualizing it's formation, if possible. This may take some time; it's okay.
Breathe.
Deeply.
Find some good music and a cup of tea.
Do not despair.
Please.

Rhyme time; (thyme? Wait...)

...have you seen Webster's Rhyming Dictionary?
(Who are you, anyway? I should address you; "Dear Imaginary Friend"...)

This thing is weird. You have to relearn the English language to use it.

I picked it up at Target the other day for a dollar; don't actually think I need it, seeing as how I have made a thousand legitimate rhymes in the past few months just using my thinker. I couldn't resist, though.

240 "ism" words, give or take 1. Including: me-tooism, hooliganism,(there's a great song waiting to happen,) Quakerism, Shakerism, (very popular,) paroxysm (note the lack of the letter "i"! Special!) snobbism, botulism, (Yum!)

I am so inspired. *snoring*
Wait, I don't snore; I talk in my sleep.
It would probably be in rhyme if it were comprehensible.

Would Mr. Webster be okay with these lists of words not being in alphabetical order?
I think not.

Need to know what rhymes with EW?
"Whoop-de-doo, Xanadu, bolt from the blue (used that last month already!),Brian Boru, Cardinal virtue, cornflower blue (that actually inspires...) didgeridoo...

It may be handy at some point. I'm sure it will. But I could've gotten a nice chai...
oh well. We all know Starbucks is more than a dollar, and one can never have enough books. Wait...

Wait; I think the cornflower was worth the dollar... I can feel it....

Okay, 'nuf said.

BABY.

Baby, baby, baby. Oooo, baby-baby. Baby, baby, I'm taken with the notion...
To say it 300 times!

Some people say not to use it in songs unless you absolutely have to, whatheheck ever that means.

"I ABSOLUTELY need to say baby here! Like, there's no other endearing term or possible rhyme!"

Some folks take themselves seriouslier(sic!) than they should. :)~

You know what?
I started writing songs SPECIFICALLY so I could legitimately say baby over, and over, and over, and over. Ok, that's not entirely true; but I think it's great fun, and has been in a jillion songs that I like, and dang it, it's mine to use and abuse, too.

Baby blue, baby pink, baby diapers, baby stink
Baby come, baby go, baby please, baby don't
Baby to the beat, baby to the end
Baby takes the heat, baby be my friend
Baby love you, hate you too; baby, can't get enough of you
Baby on a beach, baby on a bed
Baby blue eyes, baby just said...
Baby, gotta leave; baby, one more night
Baby can't do that, baby don't fight
Maybe, baby I can't make another rhyme
But maybe I'll say baby 20 more times
Baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby.

There.
I feel better.
Hope someone's unhappy; glad it's not ME!

(Baby, it's NOT cold outside! HAhahahaha!)

Hope Stands

Hope Stands
(A 21st century folk tragedy)
It started out with about, 10 to 15 verses; many, like the old songs often had. I decided I could make my point a lot quicker, so I tried.
Did I succeed?

Hope is standing at the door/She wouldn’t feel right just walkin’ in
It was her home before, but she’s not livin’ here anymore/she stands knockin’
Oh, oh

Feels like forever while she waits/wonders if he’s still around
He was her man before, but he isn’t anymore/she stands knockin’
Oh, oh

While she waits, he’s in there alright/dancin’ with an angel of light
Hope starts to walk away, but somethin’ makes her stay/ her memory is knockin’
Oh, oh

Hope stands, tears a’ fallin’ down/to the icy cover on the ground
Snow sparkles in the night; pulls her coat around her tight/her memories are knockin’
Oh, oh

Haven’t seen each other in a year/She’s been livin’ there, he’s was livin’ here
Snow took his sense away, that’s why she couldn’t stay/her knees are-a-knockin’
Oh,oh

While she waits, he’s in there alright/messed up by his mistress in white
Dropping the syringe, all finished with his binge /does he hear knockin’?
Oh, oh

Wonders if someone’s at the door/while he’s slumpin’ down onto the floor
He hears a thousand things, like a rush of wings/His heart is a-knockin’
Oh, oh

Hope stands, silent and alone/half hour gone, frozen to the bone
As he slips away, the dark to dawn gives way/No more knockin’
Oh, oh

While Hope was standing at the door/No, oh, oh/Hope/No, oh, oh

Robin Monterosso May,2011