2. My calm when all of the chips are finally down; and
3. My willingness to let go of plans when plans turn to nonsense.
Some days God has a more charming sense of timing than other days--so charming I could barf, really. Everything is just fine, but the late Summer release date for which I had tentatively aimed has now scooted into a mid-Fall release date.
And that's just fine. In fact, it's really fortunate.
I lamented the scheduling snafus that caused the delay until Life got messy, and I realized those scheduling snafus and delays were very fortunate. They're making way for me to handle some other things, like painful goodbyes. My dog, Kaya, is in her final days. She's a mystery mix, almost 17. I brought her home from the shelter 15 years ago. Her puppyhood had been less than stellar, and I--a graduate student living alone in an apartment with the world's best cat--was her 3rd attempt at a family. We made an agreement: "You have issues. Me, too. Ebu Cat here is also a total nut job. But, we'll be okay." And we were, for 15 years (although Ebu Cat died in 2012).
Now Kaya is on her way out the door, ready for her next big cosmic adventure. Remember when Fiona Apple canceled an entire tour because her dog was dying? I get it. July is a slow month, and I'm grateful for the extra time I'm getting with my girl before she goes.
Also on the list: the house I rent is being sold and that fate is unclear. So I may use the extra time to find a new place to live and then move. But first, I have a basement and a garage full of my son's old baby stuff. I'd kept it, planning to have another. Plans. So silly. Let it go, P. You're practically 100.
At any rate, it's all okay. Even when it's not. The recording schedule is moving aside, making way for The Big Let Go.
On a lighter note, a few weeks ago, I dedicated at least an hour of my life to playing a shaker, wood blocks, a tambourine, and a guiro. Listen for them in "I'm Okay." In the process, I learned that the egg shaker is the most frustrating musical instrument ever created; and it is physically impossible to play a guiro without giggling.