Rare Bit Blogging

It’s been a tough few weeks with some vertiginous highs and lugubrious lows. In terms of weddings it’s been my quietest summer yet, which has felt incredibly uncomfortable. 2 years ago I had 42 weddings. This year there’s a mere 15. I keep an eye on wedding trends and whilst I’m delighted that saxophonists, violinists and guitar/vocalists are having a field day, playing a non trending instrument leaves me in an uncomfortable position. I’m hardly going to take up the sax am I?

So I thought I’d apply for some jobs. To my great surprise I was offered 2 interviews. My interview technique was rusty to say the least (non existent actually) and the first interview was a good experience. I made some mistakes and learnt from them. The second interview really surprised me. I prepared both interviews very seriously but for the second one, I became emotionally invested. I only realised this with hindsight. I really wanted the job.

My diligent preparation served me well and even though I was terrified, I thought I’d done myself justice. I got an email the day after the interview to say I didn’t get the job. I had a wedding the following day. I had to keep it together. Inside I was imploding.

Upon reflection it was because I’d put so much of myself into both the presentations I had to prepare. It did feel like a rejection of my very self. I politely asked for feedback but I didn’t get any. It would have been really helpful. I spiralled into a toxic web of negativity which lasted a week but I’m over it now. The job went to someone who was a better fit. That’s all. This was just practice.

There is a poignancy about pushing myself out there as I get older. I feel I have a lot to offer and I have lots of experience, but I also come with an acute awareness of my shortcomings and weaknesses and I wonder who would want to employ all of me, not just the best bits. What about the flaky me, the exhausted emotional post menopausal psycho-bitch who usually gets locked up securely in the car until the end of a gig when everything’s packed away and she can rant and rage (not always – sometimes it’s sing and laugh) all she likes on the journey home. Who would have that?

I would and I do.

My birthday was a bit of a flop. I went for a walk and sat on a huge boulder

and I stopped thinking and worrying for an hour. Then I cooked myself a deliciously simple dinner and I watched a film. I decided to give myself the rest of the week off. I needed to recharge. No job searches. No planning. No practice. Just a shortlist of programmes to watch if I felt like it. After 4 evenings of zoning out, my brain turned to mush and the late nights were taking their toll. It felt like Christmas and not in a good way. I fell asleep with a book in my armchair and napped a lot. I wanted to work out but my body wasn’t on the same page and I overdid it. Talk about disconnect.

I got myself a last minute appointment to get a much needed haircut. I hadn’t been since last November! It was good to go to Leeds but I’d had enough after 2 hours. City girl I am not.

By Friday I was ready for some work and I’m building my stamina up again for this month’s weddings. I feel refreshed and my ears and heart are very much ready for some music.

Last week was great. The heatwave was most welcome and it only got too much for me on Friday afternoon. My mood was buoyant and I had loads of energy. I did 4 workouts, I walked every day and I practiced each morning.

In contrast, this week has been really difficult. My mood plummeted along with the temperatures. It was time to take stock of my situation.

I went about my business as much as possible and despite feeling like a person of no particular value, I managed to give a reasonably good introductory lesson to a new student. She loved it so that’s the main thing. It’s worrying how my mind can twist things so negatively when life is challenging.

In an effort to distract myself and cheer myself up, I managed to haul myself to the cinema on Thursday morning to see Tuner.

It appealed to me because of the musical theme. I gave it 6/10 – there were some interesting ideas, an excellent cast and some great acting but it became hackneyed and I rolled my eyes at some of the cheesy musical cliches as well as the forgettable finale.

I made an important telephone appointment yesterday and I accepted some volunteering. I also managed a workout. I spent the rest of the day pottering in the garden, tidying up as much as I can. Exposure to soil and the physical nature of gardening helps and by 7pm I felt I’d done a decent day’s work, even though it still looks quite chaotic. Natural is perhaps a kinder way of putting it.

Practice is out of the question this week. My next wedding is at the end of the month. Both the latest fayres were successful from the perspective of on-the-day engagement and I enjoyed playing. I had genuinely positive chats with 5 sets of people (“we’re definitely going to book you”) but as yet no replies to my emails. I have retreated into my cave to recover and regroup.

I can’t survive like this artistically or financially. I did some maths and I don’t think I’ve ever earned minimum wage. I did even more maths and at this rate, I’m going to run out of money in 10 years time even if I scrimp and save more than I already do. I don’t feel sorry for myself – it’s just an honest assessment.

If you asked me what my ideal job is, I’d tell you I’ve already done it – being an orchestral musician. I loved it so much that most of the time, I couldn’t believe I was being paid. So that’s a really positive note right there. No regrets. The money was always secondary.

I am convinced there’s enjoyable work out there for me that will offer me just enough financial security. I also know I’m going to have to explore several different avenues and learn to spin more than one plate.

In the meantime, I walk to gather my thoughts and cultivate any lightbulb moments of inspiration.

I saw on the news that the NHS is offering rewards to people who walk 26 miles a month. What about those who walk that in a week? Do we get bonus rewards (say a voucher for free broccoli) for our workouts?

In May, fed up after a couple of months of maintaining a reasonably well mown but rather dull lawn, I decided I’d try rewilding some of it. I loved it as soon as I did it. It looked harmonious and it made me smile.

It took a while to decide in which direction I’d take it but I reassured myself that, like a bad haircut, it’d grow out. I was momentarily worried that the neighbours would think I was being lazy but it actually takes as much effort as mindlessly mowing once a fortnight. It definitely uses less electricity and it takes more thought and intention.

After a month I noticed that some new and exciting species had joined the resident white and purple clover:

A couple of months later the tall grasses are looking wild and hazy, and when it’s windy they really come to life.

This morning when I looked out, there was a flash of red. Look what decided to come and live in my garden:

Having a guest to stay last weekend prompted a yard tidy and I bought 3 bright cheerful geraniums

and this week a fiery dahlia joined them in a colourful chorus

This year the peonies were prolific

and the magnolia grandiflora has several gigantic buds about to burst into aromatic bloom.

By this morning another poppy has popped up! What next?

I had a brilliant weekend. A good friend came to stay which proved to be the very antidote I needed to chase away much of the residual negativity following recent events. I love entertaining and having guests means a really good clear out, a proper tidy up, a deep clean and a fresh start.

I had prepared a simple dinner and we chatted, well, like old friends. Suddenly it was 11pm.

Saturday’s activities started with a jaunt up breezy Pule Hill and a good look at Simon Armitage’s Snow, carefully carved into the stones halfway down.

It’s such an enigmatic setting for a poetry reading. On the way down we encountered this remarkable looking insect:

Then on to the open day at Dark Woods coffee near Slaithwaite where we refuelled in the busy mill.

It was getting hot so back we went to HQ to rest and refresh before an early dinner at Norman’s.

My first taste of their small plates last summer was unforgettable and I had been keen to find an excuse to return.

It was almost full at 5pm. We ordered from a mouthwatering menu. I don’t drink alcohol and I wanted something refreshing but not overly sweet. Our waiter suggested a Botivo spritz.

It complemented the plump juicy Gordal olives perfectly:

Plate upon plate of appetising delicacies arrived at our table. Look:

Replete from our feast, we walked steadily up to West Nab. The barn owl swooped enigmatically nearby.

Sitting on the magnificent stones at the summit watching the sun set as perfectly as a scotch egg yolk was a great way to celebrate the summer solstice.

Most visits chez Rare Bit involve a good few hours at Yorkshire Sculpture Park. A haven of creativity immersed in nature, it never fails to deliver on so many levels.

We started in the Chapel where a cascade of thick Rapunzel-like braided tendrils streamed out of the window above.

Inside the cool chapel, the scene was slightly more menacing:

Then on to the Weston, bypassing Damien Hirst’s humongous statues, where there was an intriguing exhibition called Rise featuring rope.

We spent a lot of time in the park looking at the outdoor sculptures. We didn’t see everything but we did see the latest work by Damien Hirst. Regardless of whether you love or hate his works, they definitely incite discussion.

Finally we went to the Underground Gallery to view Hold This Earth, a new exhibition by indigenous North American artists.

It was way too much for me to take in so I’ll be returning to have a proper look. Meanwhile:

I’m still feeling quite raw after yesterday’s county court hearing. The joiner who did such an appalling job of fitting my kitchen a year ago made a claim against me for not paying him the full amount. I made a counter claim in response for his shoddy workmanship and sh**y attitude.

We had mediation in March but we couldn’t reach an agreement. After months of gathering evidence and preparing the case I was very much ready to bring matters to a conclusion. Despite having a strong case, I felt uncertain. I was right.

In the end, after some to-ing and fro-ing and extreme discomfort on my behalf, we were encouraged by the judge to call it quits. It’s a relief since this matter has been at the forefront of my mind for over a year now and I was desperate for closure. I’ve let so many areas in my life slip, especially my career.

One minute the judge was kind, then he laid into the claimant for not formatting his evidence correctly. He proceeded to inform me that he hadn’t even received my evidence bundle. I handed it in at the court office personally! In any case, if the additional documents I’d emailed subsequently were anything to go by, I hadn’t followed the (easily missed) formatting instructions either! With hindsight, it’s interesting that we both missed these crucial instructions.

I was shocked and disappointed. It meant he didn’t have any of the information I had painstakingly pored over for hours, fastidiously fact checking and sifting through minutiae which dredged up uncomfortable feelings from that traumatic time, carefully adding the case number to each document, re-reading, re-reading. I felt overwhelmed, sick to the stomach. It was as though my whole world was being pulled down from beneath me. Weeks of work, arduous hours spent at the laptop for nothing.

After the judge left us in the courtroom to attempt to resolve matters between us to no avail, he came into the oppressive chambers a third time and proceeded to tell us that if we didn’t resolve matters there and then, another trial could take months. We’d have to pay for an independent expert to inspect my kitchen and even then it was likely I’d lose. It could affect our credit scores. He also said that if we wanted to adjourn, he could decide in favour of the claimant since he didn’t have my evidence bundle. He really laid it on thick.

It would have been foolish to press the matter further. We both reluctantly agreed to call it quits. It was devastating but there was nothing else to be done.

It took a while for things to really sink in but by today, I’m glad it’s behind me. I can genuinely say I don’t care about this cursed kitchen anymore, or this house for that matter. It’s just a house. It no longer feels like home.

I woke up thinking I’m ready to move on from here. It’s time for a new chapter. A fresh start.

It’s been a tricky Spring so far. Bookings have continued to fall and I’ve been preoccupied with the exciting and more often terrifying prospect of exploring different ways of earning a living. I love playing and music has always been the central focus of my life, but never has there been a more challenging time in terms of bringing in paid work. I must’ve played 10 fayres recently resulting in no bookings, so I can’t help questioning if there’s something wrong with my playing. I don’t think there is but perhaps people pick up on my underlying despondent energy. I’ve come to the conclusion that fewer people are getting married and the cost of living crisis is truly taking its toll. This has in turn taken its toll on me.

I have a busy fortnight now and I’m deeply grateful for that. Of course, my car decided it was a good time to play up and it started to make a worrying grinding noise last week. I took it straight to the mechanic who said it’s the clutch. He can’t fit me in until next week. I found it somewhat unhelpful when he said it might do another 100,000 miles or it might just pop tomorrow and when he advised me to use it as little as possible. The car survived last Saturday’s wedding so if I can do tomorrow’s very local gig, Monday’s church ceremony and get to the hotel to play for the wedding breakfast, I’ll be delighted and my car can enjoy even more time off.

I took my mechanic’s advice and walked to all my meetings and appointments this week. 25 miles so far and I’m relieved my feet and body are still strong enough. I chose a good week to go carless:

Yesterday was the best though. Straight after teaching I walked to my appointment in Marsden:

The hills were alive!

In the words of Isak Dinesen “The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea”. Got 2 out of 3, and moorland water is a fine substitute for the ocean.

I went for a walk after practice yesterday. I walk most days, not particularly far but it’s a vital part of my routine. On my way down I suddenly saw the sky and a few stars. At 4pm? I hear you ask. Yes, I slipped on some mud on a slope and fell on my back, jarring a shoulder that was already sore from playing the previous evening. I was practicing multitasking – I was on my way to the recycling bins and I had my backpack on with one glass jar in it. Just my luck I thought as I fought back tears and swore, more at the shock of falling than anything. Thanks to my padded sit mat, the glass jar remained intact but I bruised my spine.

I started to worry about my bones. I fall occasionally and I try to see it as good practice for getting up and carrying on. It’s also quite reassuring – nothing broke so my osteoporosis can’t be that bad.

I am struggling this winter though. January seemed to last forever and February feels twice as long again. I need to diarise things to look forward to. I want to get the court case out of the way first though. There’s a chance I’ll lose in which case I’ll have fewer options. I’m desperate to escape. I keep burning out, mainly from overthinking but my body makes hormones for a reason and when they’re depleted, so is my stamina, mood buoyancy, focus and energy.

I do have days where I’m content and almost vibrant. On Tuesday (the sunny day) I passed through the little cemetery up the road. I had previously noticed clusters of crocuses and snowdrops through the wooden gates. Some graves had flowers bursting abundantly through the patchy grass and dead leaves.

Part of me likes to imagine this unmarked grave holds the remains of a kind and gentle old soul. That’s why such beauty thrives here. Gotta keep believing…

Never Offer Your Heart to Someone Who Eats Hearts
Alice Walker

Never offer your heart
to someone who eats hearts
who finds heartmeat
delicious
but not rare
who sucks the juices
drop by drop
and bloody-chinned
grins
like a God.

Never offer your heart
to a heart gravy lover.
Your stewed, overseasoned
heart consumed
he will sop up your grief
with bread
and send it shuttling
from side to side
in his mouth
like bubblegum.

If you find yourself
in love
with a person
who eats hearts
these things
you must do:

Freeze your heart
immediately.
Let him—next time
he examines your chest—
find your heart cold
flinty and unappetizing.

Refrain from kissing
lest he in revenge
dampen the spark
in your soul.

Now,
sail away to Africa
where holy women
await you
on the shore—
long having practiced the art
of replacing hearts
with God
and Song.

In my writing group last week, the tutor brought in a plate laden with slices of crisp green apple and halved cherry tomatoes, an interesting combination. We were encouraged to write about anything that arose. Here’s what I wrote:

Oh cherry tomato, you are so red

You grow on the vine and not in a bed

I pick you so ripe right before you burst

You make my soup better for sure, it’s not worse.

I mix you with onion, get tears in my eyes, I add

garlic and basil, a snip of fresh chives

Because you’re a fruit you could be confusing

You make good gazpacho, you sure take a bruising

I sneak you in salads, I smuggle you in

To a number of dishes, your flavour’s a win

Tomato you’re sweet, you’re tasty, you’re tart

You’re small you’re petite, you’re a work of art.