In Summary: * The audio links I've been given to listen to tonight's Houston Texans game didn't pan out, but I found the game is being televised by a local NBC affiliate. So I'll be watching the game on TV like a normal person. How 'bout that!?

Prayers, etc.: * I have a daily prayer regimen I try to follow throughout the day from early morning, as soon as I roll out of bed, until head hits pillow at night.

Health Metrics: * bw= 225.53 lbs. * bp= 144/86 (63)

Exercise: * morning stretches, balance exercises, kegel pelvic floor exercises, half squats, calf raises, wall push-ups, BP breathing exercises, pilates

Diet: * 05:30 – 1 banana, 1 little cupcake * 09:00 – cheese and saltine crackers * 12:00 – beef chop suey, fried rice * 15:15 – 1 fresh apple

Activities, Chores, etc.: * 04:10 – listen to local news talk radio * 04:45 – bank accounts activity monitored . * 05:10 – read, write, pray, follow news reports from various sources, surf the socials, listen to musc, nap * 12:00 – watch old game shows and eat lunch at home with Sylvia * 13:10 – tuned into 1070 The Fan, Indianapolis, ahead of this afternoon's Football Friday Show. * 17:00 – tuned into 95.7 The Fan, Houston's Sports Station, for pregame coverage then the radio-call of tonight's Texans/Panthers NFL game

Chess: * 08:05 – moved in all pending CC games

Eu sempre considerei a vida que tenho atualmente privilegiada, ao ponto de ter medo e questionar o porque tudo é tão perfeito, e questionava se a vida me estaria preparando uma grande provação e sempre achei que seria uma provação pessoal, ou no meu relacionamento ou com mais medo de dizer mas que me passou pela cabeça com o meu filho. Nunca em momento algum pensei que a provação seria com o meu pai, nunca pensei que seria a sua ausência precoce que me tiraria esse brilho de vida perfeita. Sei que não há vidas perfeitas, e se parar para refletir bem, não é a ausência dele que me tirou a vida perfeita, pois por mais doloroso que seja ele seguiu o que seria o ciclo da vida. E pensando ainda mais não acredito que a minha dor, a minha saudade seria menor daqui a 10 anos… a verdade que ele sempre foi e sempre será parte de mim e sempre me fará falta, fosse ele antes, agora ou depois… quando amamos muito alguém o mundo sem ele pesa e parece incorreto seja em que altura for…

Quando fiz 5 anos o meu pai ofereceu-me uma bicicleta. Era a primeira vez que tinha bicicleta sem rodinhas de apoio, na época estávamos a viver em países diferentes, ele voou com uma bicicleta embrulhada para me oferecer. Eu sentia imensa falta dele, do meu ídolo, ve-lo chegar rasgou um sorriso que até hoje sinto. Lembro-me das primeiras tentativas clássicas, eu a tentar equilibrar, ele atrás a segurar o banco, eu a ficar confiante e ele a correr comigo até ao momento em que sinto como se voasse e quando olho para trás ele tinha largado e olhava-me com todo o orgulho do mundo. Nesse segundo a minha confiança tremeu, uma coisa é arriscar com ele a segurar, agora arriscar sozinha? Eu estava a conseguir mas e se deixasse de conseguir? Tenho guardado em mim esse misto de emoções, a felicidade de conseguir junto com o receio de o estar a fazer sem ele. Engraçado que tenho muitas memórias desse tempo, das emoções sentidas, das experiências e das dúvidas mas dele nunca tive dúvida. Mesmo estando longe, para mim ele estava ali, mesmo sem internet, sem telemóveis eu sabia que ele estava comigo. Talvez se perguntar à minha mãe ela vai dizer que não foi bem assim que sofri a sua ausência, mas de algum modo esse sofrimento não foi o que ficou, o que ficou foi ele a ensinar-me a andar de bicicleta, foi ele a chegar sempre com um presente que para mim parecia sempre o tesouro mais precioso, junto com o seu bigode que me enchia de cócegas a cada abraço e cada beijo. Tenho até hoje a caixinha de música que me ofereceste naquele dia de verão quando me foste visitar. Essas memórias já eram passadas ainda quando aqui estavas, mas de alguma forma parecem ainda mais distantes agora, como é possível que o conceito de tempo mude também com a tua ausência? Como um acontecimento já vivido parece que de alguma forma também foi perdido com a tua partida? Ainda tenho a tua caixinha de música e o amor que me deste junto dela... Quero dormir a ouvi-la com a esperança que de alguma forma isso me traga um pouco de nós. Desde o dia em que foste voltei a sentir a mistura de sentimentos: eu sei que consigo, mas o receio de conseguir sem a tua presença é real. É uma sensação avassaladora, que se há 37 anos atrás a conquista superou o medo de fazer sozinha hoje o cenário é diferente, talvez precise de mais tempo, de mais alento, de mais memórias para conseguir ter a coragem de vibrar com as minhas conquistas sabendo que não estas ali a segurar o banco mas que estas em mim, no meu sangue, no meu olhar e em todas as conquistas que a vida me dá.

A vida dá voltas. E nessas voltas nunca imaginamos as rasteiras que nos esperam. Partiu o melhor do mundo.

“um pai é o primeiro amor de uma filha” tão clichê, tão verdade. A minha paixão por ti é tão forte que mesmo tudo estando mal, no meu interior eu achava que na manhã seguinte você ia ter resolvido. Afinal você é o meu pai, você resolve tudo e se você está presente tudo vai ficar bem. Você era sempre a minha âncora.

Existem várias formas de lidar com situações difíceis. Eu tento resolver. Não sei como mas vou atrás e tento resolver. Mas não consegui resolver e perdi quem nunca pensei perder. Tive que chorar. Chorar a sua perda dói muito. Todos os dias dói. As noites são longas, parte delas doem, parte delas lembram, todas elas sentem. “Sou grato por ser seu neto avô” que forte você está sendo meu filho e que revolta nasceu em ti por a vida o levar.

Vejo as suas fotos e vejo o quão sortuda fui. Sabem o que é ter alguém que olha para nós como o meu pai olhava para mim? Prestem atenção nos olhos dele. Eu vejo esses momentos e sinto até agora todo o seu amor chegando. Como você é poderoso Pai. Como fui amada e como te perdi.

Nos últimos tempos conversávamos tanto, de nós , da vida, dos medos e do que amávamos. Fazer o seu dia? Era Te contar as últimas façanhas do seu neto, e nessa hora o seu sorriso orgulhoso me preenchia. Você era tão orgulhoso dele, da pessoa que ele está se tornando. Se você amava estar perto das pessoas, como poderia o seu neto não ser parecido com você? A sua gentileza com todos era tão natural. E o seu neto, sem perceber, segue os seus passos com a mesma sinceridade.

Uma parte de mim foi embora. Mas aquilo que você me ensinou ficou. Decisões difíceis foram tomadas, simples mas difíceis. A minha bússola? O que o meu pai faria nesse caso. Sabe o poder disso? Obrigada. Você me deu uma bússola que mora no meu coração. Te prometo passar essa bússola para ele.

Voltei para aqui pois queria dar ao nosso menino o privilégio de crescer do seu lado. De te ter como uma referência, acho que acertei afinal: “eu sou grato por ser seu neto avô”

Não sei do amanhã, sei que o céu está em festa, sei que o vazio da saudade vai ser muito difícil de lidar. Mas no final do dia eu sou sua filha e pai te prometo vamos dar um jeito de continuar.

Eu raramente pensava na morte. Sendo mais correta, raramente conseguia pensar na morte associada à minha realidade, pelo menos à realidade mais próxima, ao meu dia a dia. Na madrugada que percebi que o meu pai não iria sobreviver foi um choque. Um choque em como eu não percebi isso pelo menos 24h antes, eu vi o estado dele, não era normal, eu vi a falta de evolução e acima de tudo, eu vi o olhar. O olhar de quem está a morrer muda. Eu não sabia, ou optei por ignorar... A minha experiência anterior mais próxima da morte foi com animais e nos animais os olhos, os movimentos até a forma de respirar muda e não por sofrimento é uma respiração quase de despedida, que tranquiliza de alguma forma o corpo.

Nas ultimas 48 horas, a respiração dele mudou, o silencio dele aumentou, ele estava totalmente capaz e consciente e comunicativo quando estava com os amigos e família, mas comigo mudou, deixou de responder a perguntas retóricas, ou a temas que perguntamos apenas por cortesia e sabemos que a resposta não muda em nada. Ele passou a falar o que considerava realmente necessário. Olhando para trás isso assustou-me, e talvez o medo estava lá mas para mim aquele homem era invencível, eu acreditava piamente que seria apenas uma questão de tempo para ele resolver, afinal ele é a pessoa que me ajudava, orientava acalmava e dizia que se ia resolver mesmo quando eu não acreditava. Como poderia eu ver o meu porto de abrigo a desmoronar-se? como poderia acreditar que não seria uma tempestade passageira mesmo quando tudo estava fraco e abalado. Nos últimos 46 dias da sua vida a nossa relação também mudou, e mudou varias vezes nesse curto período de tempo. Ele teve a coragem de aceitar ser eu a tentar resolver algo quando antes era ele a resolver tudo, ele viu que conseguia mexer-me como nunca imaginou e dar-lhe respostas que ele precisava mesmo quando essas não eram as melhores. Ele confiou e acreditou e deixou-me conduzir da mesma forma como eu sempre acreditei e deixei ele conduzir até aos 46 dias antes. Essa mudança de relação criou uma conexão que eu nunca tinha experimentado, foi poderosa, eu sabia o quanto o amava e o quanto ele significava, mas ali eu percebi que esse amor era ainda maior e mais transcendente, nesses primeiros 15 dias eu percebi o quanto seria capaz para o ter sempre comigo. Nesses 45 dias eu acreditei piamente que iríamos resolver. Ironia do destino ou não a única coisa que tentei resolver por ele não consegui. Dou por mim a repassar cada decisão, cada detalhe, dou por mim a voltar mais atras e tentar perceber onde deveria ter intervindo antes, onde deveria ter insistido... Possivelmente não seja um comportamento muito construtivo e para ser sincera não me julgo, antes de pensar tarde ou cedo, penso que consegui criar momentos entre nós os dois únicos, que só nós sabemos, pois olhando com detalhe de alguma forma intervim bem antes dos 46 dias... Ouvi partes da vida dele que nunca imaginei, ouvi sentimentos dele que me fizeram abraça-lo, vi-o exposto e a sacrificar muito dele sem nunca se ter martirizado e a saber aproveitar o bom da vida mesmo que nem sempre tenha tido as melhores escolhas. Depois da terceira cirurgia dele, a nossa relação voltou a mudar, ele voltou da sala e nos olhamos nos olhos e conectamos de novo de uma forma que nem consigo expressar, eu senti a dor dele tão dentro de mim, e ele sabia que eu estava a senti-lo a abraça-lo, naquele momento fomos um. Não sei se alguma vez tinha sentido isso de forma tão presente como naquele momento. Esse momento durou cerca de 5 minutos mas para mim representou uma vida, um ciclo, algo transcendente que nunca tinha sentido antes. Incrível como mesmo apesar da dor, o amor sempre nos une, o amor sempre ganha. Na madrugada em que ele morreu os olhos dele voltaram a mudar. Essa foi a única vez durante esses 46 dias que chorei à frente dele, ele já não conseguia falar, a mente dele estava perdida, eu a acreditar piamente que tudo ainda se podia resolver olhei-o nos olhos com os meus inundados em medo e pedi-lhe para ser forte, naqueles segundos ele saiu do caos mental e fixou os olhos em mim. Os seus olhos falaram, despediram-se de mim naquele momento: “filha não vai dar”. Eu não ouvi. Eu nesse segundo não ouvi isso. Depois dele morrer voltei a esse momento e só ai pude ouvir o que aqueles olhos que mesmo nesse momento de dor e medo me olharam cheios de amor e de orgulho fazendo-me sentir amada. O meu pai teve uma vida maravilhosa, de fazer inveja aos maiores aventureiros que a humanidade já viu, criou relações únicas, tornou os meus sonhos e de muitas outras pessoas possíveis. Neste momento imaginar o meu mundo sem ele é assustador, eu sei que vou seguir, eu sei que vou continuar a dar o melhor de mim, mesmo sem o poder abraçar.

Lydia's Weekly Lifestyle blog is for today's African girl, so no subject is taboo. My purpose is to share things that may interest today's African girl.

This week's contributors: Lydia, Pépé Pépinière, Titi. This week's subjects: Mini, but Make it Corporate, Ferrari, Personal care products awash with unlabeled toxic chemicals, study finds, and Koodoo Restaurant

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Mini, but Make it Corporate. The mini skirt doesn't have to be vulgar. It can be smart, feminine, youthful and incredibly chic. The trick is knowing where to draw the line—and, more importantly, knowing your workplace. Because being the best-dressed woman in the office is cute. Being the best-dressed woman who still looks ready for the boardroom? Now that's the assignment!!! Pay attention to the hemline: Here's the golden rule: sit down before you leave the house. If the skirt rides dramatically upward every time you sit, bend or walk, it may not be the best office choice. Your outfit should allow you to move, work, climb stairs and sit through a two-hour meeting without constantly pulling your skirt down. Because nothing says “corporate confidence” like being comfortable in your clothes. The Accra Girl Formula For an easy formula, try: Tailored mini skirt + crisp shirt + oversized blazer + loafers/pumps + structured handbag = Corporate mini done right. Shoes can change the entire mood: Want the outfit to look more corporate? Reach for loafers, pointed-toe flats, sleek pumps or modest block heels. Sneakers can work too, especially in creative workplaces, but keep them clean and minimal. And remember, a mini skirt + sky-high stilettos can quickly move the outfit from boardroom to birthday dinner. Add tights when in doubt: Tights are the underrated corporate girl’s secret weapon. They give you a little more coverage, make a short skirt feel more intentional and instantly add polish. Black tights with a tailored mini and loafers? Very chic. Plus, for those aggressively air-conditioned Accra offices, your legs will thank you. Keep the accessories intentional: You don't need a chandelier around your neck just because your skirt is short. A structured handbag, delicate jewellery, classic watch and sleek sunglasses can elevate the look without competing with the outfit. The goal is expensive-looking simplicity. Ferrari is the type of car I would not want to drive through the Ghana potholes, (and in any case I cannot afford one and will most likely never be able to afford one, and as of today I am not sure I would want one), even an Austin Morris Mini, the modern version of the iconic Mr. Bean car suffers here, as a friend who drives one recently found out to her great expense. Engine sump broken. Ferrari is that type of car that needs not advertise, and anyway they claim their customers don't have time to watch advertisements or TV. And they go with the times, and now also offer an all electric model. The first one coming off the manual assembly line auctioned for 40m million USD. For a car. Or go through the normal waiting time, 18-36 months, payment up front. Cheapest? The Amalfi at about 283,000 USD. Which you can then sell the next day for 50,000 USD higher to someone who does not want to wait. Crazy? Because some have too much money Ferrari directly employs about 5000 people, and subcontractors another 8000 or so. At a typical average salary of about 45000 € per year. Happy ending.

Personal care products awash with unlabeled toxic chemicals, study finds. Even products labeled ‘eco’, ‘green’ or ‘natural’ can contain dangerous compounds including Pfas The testing of more than 110 items bought from major retailers like Amazon, ranging from shampoos, moisturizers, soaps, toothpastes, feminine hygiene products, body washes, cleaning products to baby lotions found evidence of unlabeled toxic chemicals in about 85% and even 26% of the products labeled “eco”, “green” or “natural” contained at least one dangerous compound. There were hormone disruptors and carcinogens such as phthalates, parabens, Pfas and formaldehyde. Many of these are linked to cancer, neurological disease, reproductive harm and damage to developing children. Some ingredients may be added illegally, or are due to unintended chemical reaction among ingredients or come from plastic packaging that often leaches compounds into the products. The most widespread undisclosed toxicants fall under the umbrella term “fragrance” or “parfum” on products’ ingredient lists. “Fragrance” can include any of 1,200 hazardous chemicals. The situation is complicated for some small businesses that genuinely try to produce clean products. Some unwittingly buy contaminated raw materials. Current approach to chemical regulation is to assume everything is safe unless there is evidence of harm, instead of testing beforehand to ensure it’s safe. There is no full proof way to avoid undisclosed ingredients, but some simple steps can reduce exposures. Avoiding anything that includes “fragrance” or “parfum” is a good place to start and products that use less plastic packaging have a lower risk of being contaminated. Maybe just stick to or own black soap, shea butter and coconut oil?

Koodoo Restaurant. Hood Hotel, 80 Spintex Road (Behind Robin, Opposite Papaye). Having some business at Spintex I asked a food platform for suggestions where to have a light lunch, and someone suggested Koodoo as sophisticated and serene. Google told me they were open till 10pm but I should have called them, the restaurant itself was closed and we were directed to a 2nd floor swimming pool which also served limited food. We had jollof with chicken@ 145 GHC, the jollof was fine and so was the chicken except that it did not taste like chicken. My chicken salad @ 120 GHC was nicely fresh lettuces, pity they did not add any salad dressing. It took quite some time before our food arrived, service was attentive. All in all I would not go back for the food, but maybe if I find someone to teach me swimming this is a quiet place, out of view. They have swimming instructors teachers as well.

Lydia...

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There is something slightly odd about launching a website devoted to essayism.

The longer I have worked on Essayism.org, the more I have come to suspect that essayism cannot really be discovered through definitions. It has to be encountered in practice. For me, that practice began long before my thoughts dwelt on Montaigne. He was merely a name in school classroom.

As a schoolboy, I was already writing pieces that began not with answers but with tensions. Something in the world would not quite fit. An explanation that everyone accepted seemed incomplete. A relationship between things would catch my attention. Writing became a way of following the question. I would not have called it essaying.

At fourteen years of age, I doubt I could have defined an essay beyond the requirements of school. Yet looking back, I suspect Montaigne would have recognized the impulse immediately. So too, perhaps, would Addison and Steele, who carried the essay from the private study into the public conversation.

The subjects changed over the years but the habit remained remarkably constant. Again and again I found myself drawn less to facts than to relationships. Less to conclusions than to processes. Less to what something was, than to how it had become what it was.

Only much later did I encounter Montaigne himself. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that we became acquainted. Like many readers, I first approached him through his reputation. The inventor of the essay. The retired mayor of Bordeaux. The French gentleman writing in a tower in SW France. The distant figure from literary history.

What I discovered instead was something unexpectedly familiar. Montaigne was not proclaiming doctrines. He was thinking on the page. He was following observations wherever they led. He was examining experience as something unfinished and perpetually unfolding. I recognised the process immediately.

The deeper companionship, however, emerged not through reading but through building. For a number of years I have been engaged in the renovation of a sixteenth-century house in SW France. Alongside it stands a barn whose walls were originally part of the tower house and chateau of the Duc de Treville, the very family into which Montaigne's mother was born. History sits lightly in such places until one starts to work on them.

A beam, a wall, a doorway, a repair carried out centuries ago. Every intervention reveals traces of previous interventions. Every structure becomes a record of change through time. Nothing is entirely finished. Nothing is entirely original. Everything is becoming.

Standing in that barn, looking at stones and the beams that had once formed part of another structure entirely, I found myself asking questions that were unmistakably essayistic.

Not what is this? But what has this become? Not what was intended But what emerged? Not what conclusion should be drawn? But what relationships are now visible? In a curious way, the old stones became companions in inquiry.

The renovation taught me something that years of reading alone could not. Essaying is not simply a literary activity. It is an orientation toward the world. It is a willingness to attend to processes, relationships, transformations, and tensions. The page merely provides one place in which that attention can become visible.

Essayism.org emerges from that realisation.

The site is not intended as a monument to a settled doctrine. It is a working surface. A place to examine what essaying is, how it has appeared in different writers, and why it continues to matter in a world increasingly impatient for immediate certainty.

Montaigne gave us a word. Other essayists developed a tradition. My own contribution, if there is one, is simply to continue the inquiry. In that sense, the site's launch feels less like the completion of a project than the marking of a stage in a much longer journey.

The truth is that I was essaying long before I knew the name for it. Essayism.org is merely where those paths finally meet.

David Marshall Skerries

:)

A little bird through the window

Tonight, another NFL preseason game. If all goes as planned, I'll be listening to the Carolina Panthers playing the Houston Texans over 95.7 The Fan, Houston Sports Radio. I'll tune into the station an hour ahead of the start time of 6:00 PM CDT to catch pregame coverage before Kickoff.

And the adventure continues.

Pernah gak sih kalian ngerasa capek banget kalau harus berhadapan sama orang yang apa-apa dijadikan ajang kompetisi? Energi yang harusnya bisa kita pakai buat tumbuh bareng dan saling dukung, malah habis cuma buat meladeni tensi yang dia buat sendiri. Padahal, hidup dan proses belajar itu bukan panggung balapan tempat kita harus selalu menang dari orang lain.

Kadang kita udah berusaha banget buat jaga hati—belajar legowo saat hasil belum maksimal, dan bisa tulus ikut seneng pas liat temen sendiri sukses. Tapi begitu liat ada orang yang sebegitu insecure-nya sampai gak sanggup liat orang lain sedikit lebih unggul (bahkan untuk urusan akademik sekalipun), hal itu bikin kita sadar satu hal: rasa percaya dirinya emang se-berantakan itu. Mereka sibuk membandingkan karena merasa pencapaian orang lain adalah ancaman buat diri mereka sendiri.

Mungkin ini emang cobaan pertemanan yang datang bukan untuk merusak hari kita, melainkan buat ngajarin kita satu hal penting: belajar bikin boundary (batasan yang tegas).

Kita gak pernah bisa mengontrol atau merubah cara orang lain berpikir, tapi kita punya kontrol penuh atas kedamaian hati kita sendiri. Kalau kalian lagi ada di posisi yang sama dan mulai ngerasa lelah mental meladeni tipe orang seperti ini, coba terapkan beberapa langkah ini:

-Jangan Masukkan ke Hati (Don't Take It Personally)

Pahami kalau reaksi atau sifat kompetitif mereka yang berlebihan itu sebenarnya cerminan dari rasa insecure dan masalah di dalam diri mereka sendiri yang belum selesai. Itu bukan tentang kamu, tapi tentang perang di dalam kepala mereka.

-Tarik Diri dan Batasi Interaksi

Kamu berhak memilih lingkungan dan aura seperti apa yang mau kamu serap. Gak perlu berdebat atau membuktikan apa-apa. Cukup merespons seperlunya, lalu alihkan energimu ke hal-hal yang lebih produktif.

-Fokus pada Progress Diri Sendiri

Satu-satunya pembanding yang adil adalah dirimu yang kemarin, bukan orang lain. Tetaplah melangkah dengan ritmemu sendiri tanpa perlu terdistraksi oleh riuh balapan yang diciptakan orang lain.

Pada akhirnya, mari kita sama-sama berdoa agar selalu dikuatin. Semoga kita dijauhkan dari rasa capek yang bisa bikin kita balik benci, dijaga hatinya biar gak ikut-ikutan beracun, dan selalu didekatkan sama orang-orang yang hatinya lapang—mereka yang paham betul kalau keberhasilan orang lain itu sama sekali gak akan pernah mengurangi porsi rezeki atau takdir sukses nya sendiri.

I spent months, if not years, thinking about publication architecture, essayism, essaying, inquiry, disposition, and the relations between them.

When I went to look for a domain name the market's contribution was:

Essayism.org: $7 Essaying.org: $4300 Essaying.lol: $1.50

Which immediately raises a question: What exactly is being valued here? A merchant says traffic. A marketer says keywords. A domain investor says scarcity.

An essayist notices that none of these is the same thing as meaning.

In a strange way, that's a Montaignian moment. An apparently trivial fact becomes a point of entry into a larger inquiry. And if I'm being honest, I'd rather own essayism.org than essaying.org even if they were the same price.

“Essaying” describes an activity. “Essayism” describes a territory.

The former tells people what you are doing. The latter invites them to ask what the thing is. That's much more interesting.

And, after all, every good essay begins with someone noticing that the thing everybody values is not necessarily the thing that matters.

My seven-dollar domain registration of essayism.org may be a case in point. 😊

David Marshall Skerries

listening to dark tranquility and working like a machine right now,

We carry our fear inside,

A space that holds the darkness,

We stretch our skin around,

To cover the Abyss

And I didn’t know I had this much mojo anymore, I couldn’t believe it when running the route, because my whole body felt rusted, every movement was provoking a resigned protest from this body I’m in

It’s not the one I would’ve chosen, but it is mine

And the sun did me some good, like an exorcism with this running around getting nowhere, it’s supposed to feel this way

But the curse has lifted

And with this sun shining down on me, I enter into the week end

Our Father Who art in Heaven Hallowed be Thy name Thy Kingdom come Thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven Give us this day our daily Bread And forgive us our trespasses As we forgive those who trespass against us And lead us not into temptation But deliver us from evil

Amen

Jesus is Lord! Come Lord Jesus!

Come Lord Jesus! Christ is Lord!

The apiary be Scottish run to mute Late December this hugger And seeing simply rise What time in Hearst for Will Enough of oak And seeming simpler For five octet and lane And pasture by the law Economy forever- and nines to the Moon Giving ray to God And night shall let us be- the end of war.

The band is getting back together!

For anyone who doesn’t know, Keri and I have been collaborating online with folks all over the world for years. I’ll write a song, get crazy about it, hear a friend or favorite artist on a part, send them a proposal with a nice demo and idea for the song, and they say yes a lot. I am so fortunate to get to do this. I feel very happy about the work done so far. It has taught me a lot about not just music but working with people. I desperately need all the skills I can get in that area. I don’t get to spend much time around people and don’t even really know how. It’s been that way for years, I don’t expect it will magically change. So not only is music my creative outlet, it’s my social one too.

I do find a purpose with me and an acoustic. But by the time I ask someone on a tune, that purpose has been had. That song has probably made me cry. I have thought about the words a lot. I have placed things where they should go. I get fulfillment out of all that. But I don’t get to hang out with buddies. So I share it. I like hanging out with buddies. Win/win.

A hot mix takes a moment

I have come across some amazing technicians, one of them is probably a genius. I get so wow’d with their mixes, it just blows me away. Sometimes, to be honest, the mix is all I hear. I have to listen to the song several times, over time, to get critical about the song again because the wrapping paper is so shiny. This is where conflict can happen. I wanted to talk about that.

When you think about “rules”, think about “roles.”

I think one of the most important rules about collaboration in music I have picked up over doing it many times is established roles. If you have a two-man team and one is a tech and one is a creative, those folks should trust each other with the roles they want to do. In order to do that, a conversation or agreement helps; “I’ll do this, you do this.” If you stick to that, people often are happy and want to work with you again. This took me a long time to learn. I hope you are taking notes.

“You write a song, I’ll mix it.”

The areas where I have had the hardest time in this regard involve a tech and a creative dynamic. I mentioned I know a technical genius. He is not a creative one, at least in my style of music. That’s okay. I theoretically make the decisions regarding creativity. If he steps on my toes there, it may lead to resentment. It might not even be at final mix time, for me. All the other stuff sounds so good, I can’t focus on the creative aspects when I first get a mix. Sometimes, I may not be resentful until afterward. When I hear a demo, for example, and the drums are in different places. I want to hear my impact on the song and the decisions I made. So I end up listening to my versions after all that work with a genius. It’s not because they sound any better, (they don’t). It’s the drums on the bridge. It’s every bit as much my fault as it is his, this resentment. I hate it.

There is a better way. 

We make rules not just so we can be civil. Rules help us not get hurt and they also help build trust. Not everyone will follow them. But in what I do, most folks do follow them. 

When I was a retail manager at a major hardware store chain, I took a test for a position and was asked in a subsequent interview, “what is the number one cause of turnover?” I had studied their material, so I knew the answer they wanted. It was training, or lack thereof. This chain had figured out 30 years ago that folks feeling incompetent made for a miserable work environment. So they trained me on training folks.

Communication, really. Oldest thing.. not getting better.

Some of the things I learned have carried over into music. This is where I get the “know your roles” tip. If every crew member has a firm grasp on the task at hand, you are ahead of the game. This is usually in a proposal for me. I will have a clearly laid-out purpose for them being on tune. The only time when this gets a little murky is when I hear someone’s presence but can’t quite spot it. They will help me with that, usually. People on our tunes often write their own parts. In my imagination, I can hear how they sound, just not exact notes. So from the get-go, folks know exactly what’s expected and can think on their role. That’s the goal. A lot of collaborations, even “successful” ones, are not this smooth. It’s because of communication. I know it’s cliché, but it is.

The wonk of silence.

As a trucker, a retail manager, and other things in my past, I can tell you communication is essential for good work from multiple personalities. On creative projects especially, a wavelength helps. That doesn’t happen over the web without words flying around. I’m not saying every project has to blow up a chatroom. But I am certainly saying, if you aren’t chatting with coworkers, the work environment is wonky. Expect wonky results. 

Flaking is fine. But don’t expect a pat on the back for it!

I know a lot of talented recluses. They may only send a sentence a day. But if they are into it, they know other folks on the project need the updates, not just me. I’ve been on a record with 23 people, all over the world. It was excruciating at times, just waiting to hear from people. I can’t afford to call them back. It took years off my life last time. It wasn’t the recluses, either. It was the socialites. I don’t mean to say I have anything against them. I have flaked on my fair share of collaborations. But I don’t expect a callback when that happens.

“I thought I hired you to mix?”

Out of all the folks I have worked with, I have come into the most conflict with hiring technical assistance who put in creative assistance. I can even be very clear from the outset, “I make creative decisions, you make technical ones.” I have paid a lot of money (by my standards) to get robbed of those decisions. I have mixed words with wonderfully talented technicians not on setting the compressors, but when the drums come in. Okay, look, as a technician, if a creative is paying you for their vision to come to life, if you rob them of their decisions, you rob them of their vision. Don’t charge them money for that. Your ego is already profiting off their work. Charging them for that is like double-tapping the ATM machine.

I’m a freaking song factory!

So now I am doing it all myself. That’s really the reason I am transitioning to analog. It isn’t as hard. I can have 3 good options in analog setups for something like compression. I can have 100 or more in a computer. I take the 3. Sorry to the folks that want the 100. It’s a compressor. 

Decide, make a move, hear the result.

When I work with analog gear, I can feel and hear the impact of my decisions easily. I think it, I turn the knob, I hear a difference. This, to me, is gratifying in a way computers are not. In a computer mixing situation, I am often selecting from menus to find something that sounds right without having much direction in my head. In an analog mixing situation, I’m finding I hear what I want in my head first and make it happen. There’s only one way I want to work from now on, and it doesn’t include a screen and unlimited options. 

It’s an older model, but it still checks out.

I am taking on tech and creative roles. So, for my situation, the fewer tech options, the better. I want to focus mainly on creative ones. Computers don’t let you focus on other stuff these days. A software company’s goals are to make you use their software for as long as possible. When I am writing tunes, I am not into that. So I had to customize the tech side. It’s old and lean, but it sounds nice. I am okay with that.

If you hear me, contact me. Thanks.

I am very fortunate I get to do this. It is something I never would have anticipated in my life even five years ago. Things happen. If you are struggling and want to talk about analog treatment or creative input on your music project, just know I never charge for that stuff. It’s also take it or leave it. You’re in charge. I just like trying to help creatives get over humps. No biggie. 

If you hear me on a song, singing…guitar…lyrics…bass…fretless bass…djembe… anything…don’t hesitate to give me a shout on the ole email; thekintnersmusic@gmail.com. I don’t charge for that either. It’s fun for me to hang out with musicians and work on other folks’ projects. 

I want to be supportive, if I can help somewhere, just holler at me. 

Kelly Kintner, Editor

The Horse’s Mouth Magazine

I am learning new songs, writing new ones. The Kintners have a double album in the works. We are on schedule for Christmas release.

I wanted to leave a song here, Friday and all.. This is “Smoke and Mud.” It was a massive collaboration. So, in the spirit of that. Thanks!

Also, still lots of free codes for latest release by The Kintners, “Some Folks.” Enjoy.