Friday, February 20, 2009


Three years ago today, with a little labor and a slight push, The Half Note was born. Like most babies, it was small and cute, and of course I could only see it for what it was, never imagining what it might become.

Three years ago today, I was a woman who lived with her husband and child. I was loved, respected and supported, and I was dying inside. I was close to my family and friends, but no one, except perhaps my mother, could see the light in me was a flickering bulb--a far cry from a girl destine to shine.

Three years ago today, I posted much of what I post now. Astrology, an ode to coffee, a quote by Gore Vidal and a remembrance of my dad.

I was unaware that by writing the things that were funny in my head, they would become funny in my heart, or that by posting an image of a flower, I could smell a flower. Each day of my week became an excuse to open my eyes and take notice, of every window in every building on every block in my town. A man carrying roses became a story, a crayon drawing became a pulsating piece of art. I could hear a song when two dogs barked, and how the sparrow singing alone made a melody.

I was unaware that by uncovering my past, I would remember my past--and when I remembered my past, I would remember me. I was unaware that when I spoke of my ideal marriage, I was holding my breath, trying to convince myself of the very things I expressed.

For the next six months I posted sleep quotes, sex quotes, and declarations of love. There were cartoons and confessions, famous painters and favorite films. Jokes were told by a magical child, anecdotes and love notes, and then I wrote this.

The baby took her first step.

The Half Note
has been my dirt and decor, my grief and my grace. It's been an immersion into the deep waters of fantasy, and the flimsy lifeline that floats close to wherever I am. It's my quarter note, my whole note, and my thirty-second rest, my place to dry off when the wolves have their way, and my refuge after a friendless night.

Three years ago I could not see color on canvas, hear music in a song, or taste sweetness in a kiss, but now I wear white dresses, board planes and arrive unannounced. I ride in cars with rock stars and talk about reality--I eat red licorice and figs and I fall in love.

The Half Note
is my perfect note, my conductor and my eyes, and even when the orchestra travels an erratic path, I am always returned--scarred but unscathed, brave and alive, in perfect time.

Now I can hear the violins, let them play it loud. Add the flute, it's graduation day--I think we're ready for something sweeter, I think it's time.


shawn said...

Happy Birthday ... thanks for contributing to my journey as you've shared yours ... and thanks for the extra-ordinary wisdom you shared from the moments of your life ... you and Half-Note are valued friends ... and as a loyal friend and fan, I love ya for it !!

Ned said...

and as always
as you ever were.

Tai said...

Lovely. It's you.

runnerfrog said...

There's the number three again.

I wonder if a three year old pisces child blog can get along with an aries baby one.

You've had a child, planted a "three", and you're writing a book, what else can you ask for.

itzktb said...

With gratitude,



michaelatcddstamps said...

thank you for writing all you do. A reality check and a confidence boost for some of us because maybe it shows us we are no alone in the thoughts and feelings and aspirations we have.


itzktb said...

Thank you, M. xxo