ADD, music, and I am in love with a disturbed person

So, some days having ADD (a racecar brain, as Dr. Ned Hallowell likes to call it) is entertaining, and other days, it just suuuuuuuuuuuuuucks. I desperately want to just cut up fabric and sew, sew, sew. Not only do I have a zillion ideas buzzing around in my overactive brain, I have that fabulous new sewing machine just waiting to embroider whatever suits me. But can I do it? No, because in making room for the new sewing machine, I reorganized the sewing studio, moving out all the non-sewing things, which will now reside in this spare bedroom:


It is all going to fit, because I bought some plastic shelving to put in the closet, and I have lots of drawers to keep things in, and all I have to do is, uh, do it. And if I were a regulation type person, you know, the kind who knows how to exist in the modern world, I would make a list of what needs to be done, and zip right along, CHECK! CHECK! CHECK! and before you know it, that room would be all sorted out and a paragon of organized beauty. Believe me, I CAN make it organized. The only thing is, I do one thing here and another thing there, and then when I don't get it all done I stay up late and then later, until the next thing you know, it's 5:30 a.m. and I have stuff piled here and there and it's all driving me nuts, and so I push it all into piles, throw up my hands, and retire for a few hours of fitful sleep, only to wake and start the cycle again. So why am I dumping all my mess out here for all to see? Well, I figure maybe this will compel me to actually finish that room, out of embarrassment, so that I can then live out my fantasy life of sewing and sewing and sewing. Meanwhile, I had my first TWO sales on Etsy over the weekend, one thing from each shop, and now the shops are even more pitfully empty than they were, so I want to make things FIRST! No, I want to clean that room FIRST! No, FIRST I have to sew up some charming linen storage/gift bags for the items that sold so I have something cute to send them out in. No wait, FIRST I have to go to the tire store to get my new tires. And I can go to the post office while I'm out. Except that before I go to the post office, I have to sew the charming linen bags . . .

Meanwhile, back in sanity land, I was watching the Grammy show last night and thinking, how boring is this????? (even Rick agreed and went to bed before it was over). But I hung on, and somewhere along the way, it turned into a whole different show. First, Aretha Franklin and a bunch of gospel singers lifted it up to the sky, then John Fogerty, Little Richard, and Jerry Lee Lewis rocked the place (Jerry Lee and Little Richard aren't what they used to be, but they are still more than most could hope to be), and Alicia Keys came back not as the sleek diva goddess she often is, but as the raw and raunchy and breathtaking rocker she also is.

But then, oh my gosh. Let me back up a minute. I have heard "Amy Winehouse this and Amy Winehouse that" for quite a while now, from her oft-reported flings with addiction to glowing reviews of her music, but it all floated just on the outside edge of my consciousness to the point that I said to Rick yesterday, "I wouldn't know an Amy Winehouse song if it bit me," hmmm, maybe that isn't the right imagery, but the point is, I don't think I had even heard her sing. Now, don't immediately put me on the old fogey shelf, I do listen to new music! Some new music, sometimes, OK, new music by old fogeys mostly, but still. So anyway, all during the show they kept flogging that Amy Winehouse was going to appear live on satellite from London-during the early boring part of the show, it seemed that they were pleading for us to just stay and we might see something we like. So I stayed up for it, and WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO BOY! She is a genius, a goddess, she is not of this world, I love her! Yes, I suppose she is deeply disturbed and all, but man, I hope she gets herself straightened out enough to stay alive, but not enough to quiet her inner voices or whatever makes those words and those sounds come out of her. And now I'm glad I saw her perform before I heard the music, because as fabulous as the music is, her whole being is her creation. I don't know how she does it--she sings as if she has been possessed by a 63-year-old black woman who has lived on the streets of New Orleans most of her life--and when she talks, she is back to being a fragile 20-something. Just amazing.

One more thing. Vince Gill made the best comment of the night. The background: Kanye West was his usual overbearing self when he collected an award; yes, he is talented, but geez man, have some humility! and he went on and on about how the Grammy stage is his home now, and all the awards he has won, and all the ones he deserves to win, and blah de blah blah blah. So later Ringo Starr was a presenter for the best country album prize, which Vince Gill won, and Vince, in his typically self-deprecating way, said, "I just got a grammy presented to me by a Beatle!" followed up with a grin and “Have you had that happen yet, Kanye?” Even Kanye had to smile at that.