The Waitress.

I am writing a lot lately but not playing songs for anyone (except one person). Am waiting for two grant notifications, waiting for upcoming grant deadlines, waiting for my guitar to be repaired, waiting for the perfect ontario macintosh apples to arrive in Kensington Market, waiting for so many significant things.

It is funny that life seems to center around waiting and arriving. I wrote this a long time ago now:

Another year goes by
The circle turns into a line
he drives me by the seaside and I dream of going nowhere.

These lines are followed by the chorus it makes me a little sad. I suppose it does make me a little sad. There is a quiet acceptance in a period of waiting that I suppose can make one a little sad at times. Maybe this is why we keep ourselves so busy - I am not part of a waiting culture, we are a culture of instant access to information, answers, and tweets. Maybe I need to learn how to "wait" (am trying to teach my little dog this, but in a different context as he exuberantly storms ahead of me on our walks).

Although I can't speak for anyone else (and certainly not my plucky little dog) I would like to learn how to be a better waiter (waitress?).

Another line from a song of mine:
and the afternoons are
after all then
not so sad...