Chords of Change: My Musical Awakening

From Harry's Music House to Internal Harmony

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I was a 12 year old kid with sweaty armpits and a shagged mullet on the day I walked into Harry’s Music House in Kincardine. The wind off the lake ripped up Harbour street, boomeranged north on Queen Street and sucked the door closed behind me. I could feel my face burn red with agonizing shyness with the slamming of the door and the bell crashing over my head. So much for sneaking in, unnoticed. I heard foot steps pounding up stairs in the back of the shop and the sun spilled through the front windows showering the rows of hung guitars in a warm light. The shop was jammed with amplifiers, snare drums stacked in piles and keyboards precariously leaning against each other, seemingly on the brink of collapse. My name’s Tan, as in suntan, the owner of the foot steps said, with a crooked smile. 

Tan stood tall, his curly hair escaping the confines of his cowboy hat. His twirly moustache extended even further from the sides of his face, and a sizeable belt buckle added to his Western ensemble. As I glanced around the shop, he must have caught me eyeing the row of guitars. He reached up and plucked one from the top row, the light caught his big turquoise ring causing it to sparkle which in turn made me blink in rapid succession. Just one of my nervous facial tics showing itself as he handed me a big shiny dreadnought. 

It’s 1979, I’m 12 years old and my friend Leslie and I are in love with Rex Smith. Long blond bushy hair with wavy bangs, not unlike the way my hair has looked for the last twenty-odd years. I had just finished watching a movie called Sooner Or Later, a coming-of-age film about a 13 year old girl named Jessie who is crushing hard on Richard, her guitar teacher who is played by the musician himself, Rex Smith. There’s a scene in the film where Rex is teaching Jessie a chord but you can only see the upper part of the neck of the guitar. This is why I’ve come down to the guitar shop, to try the chord out and see if I can make it sound anything remotely like she played it. Looking back, I find myself pondering whether Jessie served as a role model for me in some capacity... I mean considering the scarcity of women playing guitar on television or on the radio back then, witnessing this was likely the catalyst that drove me to sneak into my brother’s room, to put my hands around the neck of his Fender Semi-Acoustic and to find those places on the fret board that I’d just learned to put my fingers down on. I’m pretty sure that day in my life marks the first instance I truly experienced the sensation of inspiration.  Eventually my mom and dad bought me my own guitar but it wasn’t until years later. A 12 string Norman... but that’s another story, I’m getting ahead of myself….

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I wrote that piece a while back, attempting to convey my non-fiction beginnings in a more fictionalized style of writing. I'm contemplating whether this approach could be a means to harmonize with my current creative endeavours, reflecting my present moment… my journal type entries and also sharing brief vignettes of my life. I’m still riffing. Oh the amount of typos I just made. Slow down, Brenley. And, be kind. Be kind to yourself and to all the other committee members residing upstairs in my head. Lately, I've been assigning them more names. Pragmatic Peggy emerged this week; she's a relatively new addition to the crew. Meany Jeanie, she came back from holidays a few days ago and wow, did she ever throw some daggers in the mirror. Just to clarify, I'm not losing my mind; I fully embrace the internal family systems and I’m interested in getting to know these diverse characters within me that seek attention. If you haven’t heard of Internal Family Systems (IFS), it’s a therapeutic approach that views the mind as a system of different, interacting sub-personalities or "parts”. I feel like if I can establish a harmonious relationship among these internal parts it will help my healing process and my emotional well-being. I’m inviting them in, each of them get a seat at the table… they are all here to help me navigate me through the shitstorm. 

One of gang enjoys Cannabis, not quite on the daily but well, pretty close to the daily.  Actually, I think a few of my second floor dwellers love a good hit of sativa to put some piss and vinegar in my step.  Just one or two hauls nudging me onto my heels, slowing my pace. I’m more relaxed, my breathing becomes intentional, each exhale a bit longer. And the best bit, suddenly I have a kinder attitude toward myself… less internal chaos. My creativity flows boundlessly and even a break to clean the fridge before returning to what I was 'supposed' to be doing seems to enhance my productivity.  I used to think I was easily distracted and would beat up on myself for it but maybe it’s just all part of my process to GTD. Yep, I bought the book. Getting Things Done. Physical copy even. I flip through it a few times a day here and there. 

Ok, I am all over the place today. 

What Am I Reading :

 

Fresh Water For Flowers by Valérie Perrin. 

What Am I Skimming: 

Getting Things Done by David Allen

Where Am I Writing from: 

A hotel room, Punta Cana, Dominican Republic where it’s illegal to smoke that stuff that grows out of the ground naturally. Like carrots or pumpkins or mushrooms. Mushrooms. Oh we will leave that for another day…

What Am I Learning:

I'm mastering the use of my new Milwaukee Rivet Gun, the only firearm permitted on my person unless I require a heat gun. Come spring, I anticipate using the heat gun to eliminate excess adhesive from the tape I used yesterday. My wonderful partner, Adriana, and I wrapped a large blanket of insulation board and reflective bubble wrap around Violette to prevent the temperature from dropping below zero.

At some point, I'll sort out the exclusive content reserved just for my paid subscribers (thanks a bunch, and I'm definitely not worthy... nope, Unworthy Wilma is not invited to the table). But until that revelation hits me, I hope you'll continue reading and sharing your thoughts.

The Caribbean sea is just a few steps away, beckoning me to go for a swim with my mom. She was a great swimmer. So graceful. I’ve decided to post this at 7:01PM tonight… 14 weeks since I watched my beautiful mother glide right out of the room.