I get tons of entertainment from my kids!  They really do say the darnedest things sometimes.  But it’s all probably a reflection of their upbringing in the end.

Mr. W found a beautiful dead butterfly laying in the parking lot on the way out of Starbucks last week.  Picking it up to show the girl, he explained that it was dead, so she could touch it.  Of course my mommy-senses perked up at all the possibilities of where this conversation was going to end up, you know, with a DEAD butterfly and all, but thankfully the girl was satisfied in the knowledge that we were going to take it home and love it so it can be all-better.  awwww.  Then she left it in the car.  In 95 degree weather.  For 3 days.  Yeah, if that butterfly ever did have a chance in being loved back to all-better-ness, that went out the window with the first temp above 80, my dear.  And then she stepped on it.  Crumpled butterfly wing-fragments all over my carpet.  She was sweet enough to tell me that she found this pretty butterfly (apparently forgetting I was there) and it was for me, but she stepped on it so it’s dead now.  awwww. 

The next day in the car with my friend Y, apparently she brought up the butterfly again and asked what dead meant.  The boy, being all old and wise and stuff, piped up and said, “Well, it’s when you go to sleep and don’t wake up again.”  Wha?  Y freaked at this, waiting patiently for the howling fear to commence, wondering how I would react to a clearly terrified daughter when I returned to my children (I think I was in the rest stop or something on our road trip), hoping the terror wouldn’t strike until bedtime that night so she could claim ignorance to the whole situation from the safety of her own home.  Thankfully, the girl is a sometimes little slow because she hasn’t yet realized that, yeah, she is forced to go to sleep every night…

On this same trip, iPod on shuffle, Fergie’s London Bridge begins.  You know, the one that starts “Oh shit.  oh shit.  oh shit…”  Doesn’t she realize that horrible moms like me allow our children to listen to this stuff?!  So the kids begin singing along because that’s what they do, and the lyrics are oh so clear and simple.  The boy, realizing the words he’s saying, pipes up that “shit” is indeed a bad word.  And the conversation commences.  “Shit is a bad word.”  “Shit is a bad word?” “Yes, shit is a bad word.  Right mommy?  Shit is a bad word, right?”  “Yes, hon.  Don’t say that word.” “See [sister], shit is a bad word.”  “Shit is a bad word.” “oh, shit.  oh shit…”  “Shit is a bad word.”  I don’t think I have ever heard “shit” said so many times in so many completely serious, yet totally comical ways in my life.  Y and I were doing our damnedest to not bust out laughing right there, thereby encouraging even more use of the word. 

Some may argue that I shouldn’t let my children listen to such obscene music anyway and it’s my own darn fault (yes, I’m assuming these are the same people that say things like darn and drat and oh, sugar).  So let me WOW you with some more mommy-of-the-year stuff.  My kids have seen both AVP movies (Alien vs. Predator) and thought they were completely hilarious, they enjoy music not only by Fergie, but also Eminem and Disturbed, they’ve been known to miss breakfast completely, then eat nothing but cereal and French toast all weekend, I read them both George’s Marvelous Medicine (the one where George, the precocious little 8 year old, replaces his grandmother’s medicine with a mixture of every chemical, cleaner, cosmetic, and animal pill he can find in his house, boiling it on the stove no less, which results in complete hilarity instead of the imminent death such antics would actually cause) over the summer, and last night we all played Quake (a first person shooter in which you and umpteen other people compete with random levels of weapons to kill each other as many times as possible in some sort of multi-level arena.  First with 25 kills wins) together, in full gore mode.  It was actually pretty cute as the girl wanted nothing more but to see all the blood when you blow someone’s body up after killing them, and the boy let out an evil little chuckle every time he managed to kill one of us.  They make mama proud!  Now where is my darn award!

Ok, all that is actually true, but seriously.  I don’t believe in sheltering my kids forever.  Or at all, it seems… When they started to eat solid food and began to cough a little on a piece of rice or something, to the horror of ex#2 I let them go for a minute.  Of course, if they stopped breathing or turned blue or something I would intervene, but a little cough?  Come on!  How the hell are they going to learn if I cut their rice (and grapes and hot-dog slices and baby carrots…ex#2′s mom…) in to quarters. (no really, she does. quarters.)  If I protect them from all that is make-believe now, they won’t know what’s real later.  And I’m truly convinced if I make them listen to nothing but Barney they will undoubtedly grow up to be serial killers (but then I’d be completely insane by then so it won’t matter to me, right?).  Besides, I grew up on Led Zeppelin and Beverly Hills Cop, all of them, and I turned out just fine.  (something about that last sentence just screams for me to close comments on this one…)

It is truly sad how much soul is lost in our world today.  We, as a whole, are so wrapped up in all the things that aren’t important in our worlds, that we have let true joy fall to the wayside.  Of course, being a sometimes-artsy type, I tend to equivocate joy with more soulful endeavors like art, writing, music, the kinds of creations which are made beautiful, not simply by their existence, but by their creators’ heart and soul as it is put into bringing them about.  Unfortunately, it seems with our (again the collective here) longer working hours, greater demands on our time and energy, and in some ways our money, with our technological advances, we have lost sight of the natural beauty of the world, created or even just nature itself.

Let’s start with the man-made stuff.  When one thinks of the “greats” in art, the majority lie in our long lost history:  Michelangelo, Van Gogh, Di Vinci, Rembrandt, Picasso.  Sure, we have some fantastic artist in our midst today, but can you name one?  Can you recognize their work by sight?  Composers/musicians:  Mozart, Beethoven, Brahms, Bach, Vivaldi.  Even if you want to step forward into more modern times, who can deny Miles Davis, Louis Armstrong, or Aretha Franklin?  That quality of music doesn’t exist anymore.  The heart and soul poured into the piece or song can be feltby the listener in a way that some lyrics may induce from today’s pop/rock ballads, but it’s just not at the same depth as the old stuff.  In writing, what happened to the Dickens, Shakespeares, Vernes, Austins, and Hemingways of the world.  Their language, their imagery, their formation of thought and prose (or poetry) is something that can’t be found in modern writers.  I do love modern writers, but the unbridled exploration of language and its infinite possibilities just doesn’t make its way into print anymore.  In architecture, the sometimes ornate, always stunning works of art that are wrapped around old buildings are giving way to new, sometimes beautiful, but always functional and cost-effective facades.  Even the most minimal pieces of our past (think zen-ish temples and even the pyramids) have more character and simplistic beauty than that $10,000 sideboard from Pottery Barn could ever hope for. 

I think it all comes down to heart.  For centuries, great masterpieces in art, architecture, music, woodworking, writing, whatever were created by hand and by heart.  The creators had the gift and the almost primal need to create and share their creation with the world, not for fame or fortune, simply because they could.  They heard the music in the air, saw the sculpture before ever touching chisel to stone, knew the story and had the words to explain every depth of it, felt the draw of paint to canvas and obliged to bring them together in the poetry that they are meant to create.  These gifted among us (or the past us) weren’t looking for ways to get rich or get a bigger house or marry a prettier girl.  They were there, in their moments of creation, completely surrounded by, I’m not going to go so far as to say peace, because really, I’m sure some of them were those tormented-soul types, but they were surrounded by thier ”now,” embracing it, rolling in it, holding tight and creating something magnificent. 

These prodigies often manifested talent at a young age, and were provided (usually) the means to explore their talent.  Imagine for a moment that Mozart grew up in today’s society.  Most of us don’t have a piano in our homes.  Most of us will never touch a piano except maybe in passing in a music store at the mall in our lifetime.  If this was the world he grew up in, this world would be robbed of some of the most inspirational and inspiring works in history. 

Even when that pure, soulful talent arises in someone amongst us, there is little chance for them in our world.  Mozart began when he was 5.  I can’t fathom my son doing much of anything phenomenal like that at his age.  Not that he isn’t the most wonderful, smartest, sweetest, most talented boy in the world.  Of course, all our kids are.  But in seriousness, what Mozart could do is unthinkable.  Strip away the kids who are bragged on and put on pedestals for their perceived (by-rose-colored-glasses-wearing-parents) talents and find the true anomalies in our society.  Then add the reality that most won’t discover their talent, and if they do, will not have the ability or means to sink into it without scorn (or starving…why do you think they call it starving artist…).  I mean, really.  Editing and publishing costs money.  Paint and canvases cost money.  Pianos and other instruments cost money.  Woodworking tools and wood cost money.  (Yes, there were probably money issues back then, but back then they could also just go cut down a tree for wood instead of going to Lowes, they could mix a palette of colors from nature and stretch out the hide of a newly slaughtered goat or something instead of heading to Michael’s.)  Add to that the competition created by the machines of this world that can do it all faster and more “perfect,” including all that computer-aided music we listen to.  What’s left for the true, soul-filled beauty of our world?

Granted, some make it…usually, it seems, in the music world where there is still some appreciation for talent.  But even then, it isn’t recognized in nearly the same way.  Take that expiriment in the DC Metro back in 2007.  They put Joshua Bell, a world renowned, highly talented violinist in the subway with a $3.5 million Stradivari violin for 43 minutes, just to see what would happen.  This 30-something man, who coincidentally began at age 4, who gets paid $1000′s per minute to play worldwide, made $32.17 that day for his trouble.  A handful of people paused and tossed him some change.  One man stopped for 3 minutes to listen.  Most didn’t even seem to notice.  One woman actually recognized him, having attended one of his concerts earlier in the year and was shocked by the response of her fellow Washingtonians.  We don’t even recognize recognized talent when it’s right there in front of us, wailing away on a $3.5 million instrument!  One thing that was observed, however, was that every child that came through stopped (or at least tried to) and looked and listened to Bell play.  So what does that say?

I think our world of too busy, too much, not enough is a learned adult phenomenon.  I think we are all born the same, 100 years ago, 1000 years ago, or today.  I think that innate connection with nature and purity and the soul and all their beauties is there from birth, but it’s our lives that push it out of us.  Of course in the end it’s up to us, isn’t it.  We can go on with our “musts” and our “needs” and all the other illusions that drive us through life, or we can stop and listen to the music, see the beauty, feel the soulfulness, and find the words to describe it all with perfect descriptive clarity.  And if we aren’t lucky enough to be born with that gift of natural talent, at the very least can we stop and appreciate and support and stand behind the ones that are, for they are the last of a dying breed, the last of their kind, the last to bring that true, soulful beauty to us.  (Go hug a band-geek today!) 

I should totally be doing hon mework right now, but, eh, y’all know me.  I actually slept last night (yea,  melatonin!), but that means I can’t use tired as an excuse.  At least everyone can rest easy that 2am wasn’t killed last night in a fit of rage…  I’m just not getting my homework at all.  Discrete math…whatever that is…sucks.  You know, I totally love math and all it’s predictability and hard-core logic.  (yeah, I just referred to math as hard-core.  What of it?  So what if I may possibly be a slight nerd!)  But the discrete part seems to mean that the actual function, formula, makes-sense-ed-ness is sitting on the down low so the user (me) is totally clueless.  But I got 100s on my last two assignments, so apparently I’m hiding my cluelessness pretty damn well.

I bought (acquired) Dave Matthew’s new album when it first came out, Big Whiskey and the GrooGrux King…whatever…  Anyway, I finally got around to listening to it, and it’s pretty damn good.  I’ve been looking for things that speak to me lately, music, books, movies, and have been floundering miserably.  I pick up a book, or more accurately download a sample to my Kindle…the greatest invention ever (Sorry Girly!), and read it but nothing really grabs me like I want it to.  Same with music.  I’ve been picking up music here and there, hoping for something that I can just sit and listen to over and over.  The last I found was Maroon 5, Songs About Jane…love that album!  It just felt right.  But, alas, the 5 was played out (it’s been like 2 years or something since it came out!) and I’ve been trying to move on but with nothing to move on to…until I found Dave. 

I’ve had a hot and cold relationship with Mr. Matthews and his merry band.  I know, I know.  He has quite the following, kind of like The Dead in their day.  But I just didn’t really feel him.  I did like the first album, and Crash Into Me will always hold a special place in my heart, but on the whole I’m kind of like eh.  Something about this new album gets me though.  Maybe it’s just the place I am right now.  Maybe I’ve matured, musically.  Whatever the reason, I’m really digging it! 

And never fear, I still have thoughts of mah man when I listen…occasionally.    You and Me may just make an appearance at our wedding (if I get my way) because it just fits.  Anything, baby!  You and me, together.  We can get through it all!  (And maybe we can teach our kids to fly!)