Wishing for Denver but Getting on the Road with Smokey

Today, I find myself wistfully thinking how nice it would be to have a bit of Denver in me. John Denver, that is. "All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go...." I just can't quite imagine that. I have a few more days til that has to be the case, but no matter when I get packed, fully ready is something I don't think I will be. In one sense I'm very ready to go: Eight years is a long time to be away from home, especially when your heart knows it's away from home, and misses home and the familiar on a daily basis. But in another sense, I'm not ready. I don't want to say goodbye to the dear friends I've made in those eight years. With Smokey Robinson, I find myself asking, "What's so good about goodbye?" The question is a very real one, one which I will consider as I continue to pack up my belongings in anticipation of the long journey ahead of me.

Endings ... Beginnings ... But Friends are Forever

My time in California is drawing to a close. As I look around the area I've called home for four years now, I think of the memories made, the conversations had, and the people met in that time. This is a time of endings, but also a time of new beginnings. "Beginnings are scary. Endings are usually sad. It's the middle that counts the most. Try to remember that when you find yourself at a new beginning. Just give hope a chance to float up. And it will..." I'm sad to be closing some of the chapters in my life with my move out of California, and I'm scared about the transition I'll have to make into some new chapters, but I know that the future is a bright one.
In one week, I'll be playing in my last official gig with Oak Jam, friends I would never have imagined finding, but friends I am so thankful to have. The music won't stop, however. Not only will they keep playing together (I hope!), but I would like to reunite and play with them again, sometime in the future when I'm back in California for a visit. They've taught me so much, and not just about music, but about life, and laughter, and friendship, and trust, and hope. It's been a good few years that we've been playing together, and I'm really going to miss those two evenings (or more) each week of their music and company. We've laughed together, some tears have been shed, we've had fun making music together. I really do believe that my Oak Jam family has put the "fun" in "dysfunctional"! And I know that the friendships I've formed with each member of this wonderful, eclectic group are friendships that will last forever.

When I am an old woman...

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickles for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

~Jenny Joseph