You know it’s a good weekend when you drink like a fish on Friday, wake up on Saturday at 2:30 in the afternoon without an appointment to rush to and feel refreshed and productive on Sunday. It’s been one of those weekends.
The spring season has simply infected me. This weekend especially I have felt nothing less than fertile. And I don’t mean in the sense that I want to procreate right this second, it’s more of a feeling like anything can spring forth. What a glorious feeling!
Today I spent the morning taking in the cherry blossoms at High Park with Ivana. Afterward she helped me pick the perfect baby gift for a friend I’ll see later this week. I had just enough time to head down to the opera house for opening afternoon. I had the privilege to see the dress rehearsal for Orfeo and I was simply astounded by the singing. It still tickles me that I work in an industry where the highest form of the art is the singing. Jazz musicians well, they don’t hate singers, but they certainly don’t consider us musicians, so when you read critics describe singers and how they use their instruments it makes you pine for that recognition and devotion.
Of course, you have to earn that recognition and devotion, and I feel very much like a beginner, still. I have no formal training. What I learn is from osmosis and my own experience, but I can’t help but want that same reverence applied to my craft. I look to Ella and her own influence, which is the horn section. Words to live by as far as I’m concerned.
Ah, of course. My musings always turn toward the art of music. My life wasn’t always this devoted to it, but it seems that it’s all I can think about now at this age. I wonder if I’ll ever attain a position where I’m exalted for my work. Lofty aspirations, I know.
But one can always dream, and on a fine Spring night such as this, my dreams will certainly be vivid.