Doots and doodles.

Massage last night was very intense. Parts of it were physically painful, and other parts were emotionally difficult. Tears to the eyes but never quite released. Eardrums burning from unshed tears. Dry sobs. Sinuses partially filling but not loosening up enough to be cleansing.

Still, I think we are making progress. Shaking up old griefs and letting crumbs of them go. Me being me, I spend more time trying to figure out what is going on than I do simply accepting the process and letting it flow through me.

It just occurred to me that perhaps one reason I lost Beloved so soon is so that I would have an opportunity to (finally) process a lifetime of griefs that I have either not had time to work through or have had to be The Strong One through. Or the little losses that didn't or don't seem worth bothering the Savior for.

OK, tears now. Still not spilling, but not burning my eardrums either. Honk! Sniff!

Re: doots and doodles. When playing the recorder, one says doot while shaping most notes. Doodle for short notes played in quick succession, such as a run of eighth notes. I realized night before last that on a song I recently learned, I was dooting along madly regardless of the length of the notes. So I went back and started trying to doodle in the flurries. Not pretty. My tang(ue) got toungled. Massively.

Last night I gave the actual playing fairly short shrift. I spent most of my time sight reading for doots and doodles, saying those words out loud, over and over and over. Gradually picking up the speed. Gaining a little confidence. Tonight I'll practice some more, in the hope of doodling smoothly at the speed I had formerly achieved with doots alone. When I am able to do that, the melody will flow more naturally.

Successful doodling on this piece will prepare me for sixteenth notes when they begin to pop up in my lessons. Because you know they will. Eventually I will be wrangling Telemann. Bazillions of itty bitty quick notes in a blizzard of sound. While giving thanks that I am not a violin player faced with a Rossini score.

I once asked another music lover if he thought Rossini hated violinists.

"Clearly."

Doodle-doodle doodle-doodle doodle-doodle doot!