Remember joy? It was a thing we used to have a lot of, and we talked about it heaps, back in the day. Then over the last year or so; not so much. So many new words and phrases have jumped into our vernacular that it seems we have forgotten some of our old faves.

And we’ve stopped writing and posting about our favourite things too. At least I know I have.

Things have gotten so serious and scary and strange, that telling you a story about how yesterday I thought I’d like to move to the country, so I drove for over an hour, some of it on dirt roads, to get to the old Kandanga School, a property that I thought I’d buy. When I go there, I realised: it was IN THE COUNTRY. Which meant there was country things like flies and dirt and cows, and not so much non-country things like cafes and homewares shops selling pinch pots and Witchery stores. It turns out that I don’t like the country quite as much as the romantic part of my brain thinks, and Country Road is really nothing much like country roads.

With the world doing weird-world stuff I feel a bit frothy talking and telling about the millions of things that go through my head (why does Woofa the shitcat sit on the back of the couch instead of on the couch, how did that wispy white cheek-hair grow to five centimetres when I only plucked it yesterday, should I start a combined chiro-cafe-bookstore called Crooked Spines, or should it be Aligned Spines, or should I also sell records and call it A Few of My Favourite Things and be done with it?)

So on my drive to the country I played Dan Zanes tunes on the way there (from when the kids were little and Hayls was alive) and Hamilton on the way home (now that the kids are older and Hayls would have loved the MadKing songs) and I remembered a little of who I was before the crazy stuff began. I remembered that I liked to go to cafes and drink coffee (only one or I can’t sleep) and write stories. I remembered that I liked to breathe deeply, to look a the sun shining on peoples’ faces and to talk to strangers about unimportant issues. I remembered that I am not a scientist or a researcher or a biochemist, I’m just a Mum with kids that I want to hold close for as long as I can, and take care of them the best way I know how. I remembered that I like it when people are kind.

So no, this blog doesn’t tackle the big issues. It doesn’t tackle any issues. But it does carve out a little space of joy for me, and so that’s what I’m doing from now on. Bringing back the joy.

Joy to the world.

What brings you joy? I’d love to hear…

…From The Ashers

I have a kid who loves musicals. The schadenfreude that my friends have over this is something just short of proper evil. I fell asleep at Phantom of the Opera. I read a book during Jesus Christ Superstar, and I created an entire study/life timetable during The Boyfriend. The only musical that has ever really captured my full attention is Rocky Horror, and I guess that probably says more about me than the show.

Having a kid who loves musicals means that instead of spending our evenings seeing cool bands, shocking comedians and important movies, we see people prancing about the stage and singing things that they could easily just say, with songs that always end with a big ‘bomp’ (just in was you didn’t know that the song was ended).

Having a kid who loves musicals means that she is IN musicals as well. I have written before about the surprising magic that happens when you watch a group of actors bring a show to life- the frizty energy backstage before the curtain raise, the almost rapturous delight as they take their final bows. Humans humaning towards a common goal is always an honour to experience, and acting is no exception.

Having a kid who loves musicals of course means that we are going to see Hamilton. On paper it sounds strange and yes, I had to initially watch it with an IMBD blow by blow explanation of the plot and the history, but once you understand what the heck is going on, and that there are double castings (so actors can get killed off and come back as someone else), it is strangely compelling. We are going in August, so as is my wont, I’m learning the songs. And they are earworms.

Slogans, song lyrics and advertising jingles have always been my crack. I have a brain that is constantly talking to itself, arguing, defining and rejecting ideas it doesn’t like, so to penetrate the membrane and get inside, things often have to find the back way in. Which is what song lyrics do. I don’t take much notice of the music, but I suspect it has a Trojan horse effect for me, hiding the punch of the pop, until it explodes into my limbic system- that place where emotions all hang out together.

Hamilton has weasled its way in. Lin-Manuel Miranda, that clever, clever writer has woven riffs of songs from my early twenties with new lyrics, making old music and even older stories into a fresh new fabric. The familiar snippets of tunes just outside my conscious reach means that I allow the next layer to be implanted. Its entirely tricksy and almost the G-word. If not genius, it’s definitely inspired.

Three phrases have wormed my ear most significantly: The world turned upside down. I’m not throwing away my shot. You will never be satisfied, I will never be satisfied.

The world turned upside down: over and over again, in this post-2020 year, I’ve found reason after reason to sing these three lines.

I’m not throwing away my shot: I’ve used that more times than I care to admit, noticing moments of joy that I would usually rush past. Taking opportunities I might usually squander. Living more. Being more. Taking chances. Adding richness. Not throwing away any shots I have for being present.

You will never be satisfied, I will never be satisfied: this one’s the kicker. Of all the lyrics in all the songs (and there’s more than twenty of them) this one is the one that gets me every time. When is it ever going to be enough? Is there ever enough? Will I ever be enough? It’s the question that keeps me awake at night, enveloped in the love and warmth of an amazing family, home and life, and yet still wondering: is there more? Is there something else that I could be doing? Have I done enough?

So just as I suspected: musicals suck. They make you think all the thoughts and question all the things, getting in and under your skin until they end, or you end: BOMP.

What about you? Do you love musicals? Are you satisfied with what you’ve got?

…From The Ashers