Bubble bath musings
7:56 p.m.
Yeah, right.
As I mentioned previously, I have been doing a lot of "dipping" into bannered diaries. Some of them are gawdawful. Some of them are actually really good. Today I discovered melomane. She's witty, writes very well with good spelling and syntax, and she has a conscience. I've added her to my favourites, and intend to read her with relish. It also helps that her name means "music lover" in French, and I have reason to believe she has a working knowledge of that language. She works at a women's shelter, and sees the seamier side of life, dealing with battered women and children. It takes a very special person to do that kind of work and I admire her for it.
Today was spent mostly at the Quadra, making corrections to Hubby's new piece for solo guitar. He's used the Don Quixote story as a loose programme, after having read the entire work by Cervantes last summer. It became a little bit of an obsession, as do most things he does. His latest read is Dante's Divine Comedy. He's just finished Purgatory and will soon start on Paradise.
But back to the guitar piece. I copied the score over the weekend, and I don't mind telling you that I hate copying guitar music. There is so much stems up/stems down stuff, and the fingerings and string indications and fret numbers are numerous and space consuming. On top of that, he had left out most of the dynamics and other marks of expression, which he added during the proofreading. So today I not only corrected my copying errors, which were copious, but also embellished the score with his additions. I have, no doubt, made more errors, which will be found upon further proofreadings. Also, the printer has been acting weird. When I print good copies of music, these days, I'm using the heavier stock paper that we bought for the inkjet printer, and the laser printer has a habit of chewing up every fourth page or so. Drag.
I just remembered one of the bubble bath topics. I was thinking of A.S. Byatt's novel Obsession, which I adored. It was my first Byatt novel. I've read much of her stuff since then, but my heart always has a soft spot for the first book of an author I've read. In it, the wife of the poet keeps a diary, which she writes for posterity, knowing that it will become an important document, as her husband is a famous poet. As a result, it is "air brushed" in the sense that there is nothing in it that could be used against them singly or as a couple after their respective deaths. The lack of children is explained as "not meant to happen", and she never alludes to the fact they they have never once in the many many years of their marriage consummated their relationship physically. She doesn't mention her husband's transgressions, nor the children resulting from them, but makes their relationship seem perfect. It is only Bayatt's telling of the story that emphasizes what a sham their marriage truly is.
Well, this got me to thinking about writing in a "public" diary. My husband and son both asked me what I write about, and I answered rather evasively. Hubby was concerned that I would reveal family secrets (as if we have any, ha ha). I think he's more afraid I'll make him look bad. Son doesn't see why I would write stuff for strangers to read but I won't tell them. Well, I do talk about stuff with them, but mostly they just tune me out when I start to blather at length about calorie restriction or the benefits of a vegetarian diet. They've heard all this before.
Now, when I have to vent my feelings like I did the other day after our terrible fight, that is another story. It's like the day I took the train back to Moville from TO after my father died. I was so fraught (isn't that a great word?) with emotions regarding my father, and the fight I just had with my brother, that I poured out my heart to the woman sitting next to me. Six hours a captive audience, the poor woman! But, it turned out that she had just come from meeting her biological mother for the first time, and had a need to unburden herself as well. It was perfect. We were sympathetic listeners to each other's stories without getting involved and emotionally wrapped up in our separate plights. As I said, it was perfect.
And writing in a public venue like diaryland is just like that. There is a cathartic experience in the unburdening of oneself at the keyboard; and the knowledge that you are not in a vacuum, that somebody might actually read these words and maybe even reach out to you across the vast distances of cyperspace to comfort, offer advice, or just be sympathetic, is a very comforting thought.
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