Woodwind Brasswind is an amazing site for people who enjoy either of these types of instruments and offer new and used items, a place for educators and have a music room. They also ship to 90+ countries which is pretty amazing! Right now they are excited to promote G. Schirmer Diller-Quaile First Solo Book New Edition By Diller Standard.
Diller Quaile has a very hefty index which the website lists the “Contents: Ah, Mon Beau Chateau · All the Birds (German) · Autumn Song · Baa Baa Black Sheep · Berceuse · Bohemian Song · Bring a Torch, Jeannette, Isabella · Cock-A-Doodle-Doo · Cradle Song · Dutch Tune · Early One Morning · English Folk Song · French Jig · Frere Jacques (Are You Sleeping?) · Hippity Hop · Hop, Hop, Hop! · Hot Cross Buns · Hunting Song · Hush, Little Baby · In Springtime · Irish Air · Jack Be Nimble · Jack Sprat · The Keys of Canterbury (English) · Lament (Moravian Folk) · Lavender’s Blue · Little Bo-Peep · Little Jack Horner · Lullaby · Morning Song (French Folk) · My Country, ‘Tis of Thee (America) · Nachtigall (Nightingale) · The Old Chateau (French Folk) · Pierrot · Pussy Cat · Raindrops · Ride a Cock-Horse · Russian Folk Tune · Russian Song · The Shepherdess · Sing a Song of Sixpence · Slumber Song · Song of the Sword (Moravian) · Spanish Folk Song · Star of the Sea (French Folk) · Sur Le Pont D’avignon · Suzy, Little Suzy (Humperdinck) · Vicar of Bray · Waltz.”
WWBW is proud to stand by their products and are excited to offer a no-risk assurance of total satisfaction and low price guarantees on their products to everyone who orders!
I never knew that I could or would learn to be ashamed of my nakedness again, looking at my body and feeling like it should be hidden under layers of shapeless clothes, covering the saggy-breasts and stretch marks caused by having babies, the extra weight and even cellulite on my bum and hips becoming something that make me hate the mirror all while I am supposed to sit there and look into that same piece of glass and tell myself I am beautiful and loved, when a month ago I felt beautiful, I felt loved, and now I can barely look myself in the eyes without seeing the ugliness that everyone else must see when they look at me.
I wash my face and brush my teeth and when I lock eyes with my own tears well up and trickle down my cheeks, leaving a salted surface that feels like it’s eating away the very flesh that no one should be seeing anyway.
I am ugly.
I’ve never thought those three words before. I have thought I am fat. I need to lose weight. I have health issues. I have stretch marks or what I once called lines of love since they were formed while I was growing a child inside of me with months of bedrest keeping my weight out of control.
Yet today, and right now, I want to cover the mirrors in a shroud of black. I don’t want to see my reflection, or to be seen by anyone at all. I want to tape over my webcam just in case it accidentally gets turned on so that no one can be disgusted by the “what” that I have become. I toss on clothes despite being uncomfortably hot while covered in layers of thick blankets that already hide my body, just so I don’t have to see myself.
Like my ugliness is so appalling I shouldn’t even glance with my own eyes.
A month ago I was supposed to go in and get my annual check up and asked the nurse if my doctor could do it because he knows my scars and wounds and I don’t want anyone else to see them, now I won’t be making the appointment at all because I don’t want to disgust him with my nakedness, having to touch me through latex-free gloves and swab samples from the parts that are hidden away that most definitely shouldn’t be seen.
Last night I wore a long shapeless tunic with sleeves that met my hands and a skirt that met my ankles and I felt disgusting and exposed because I was wearing flip flops instead of something that would have covered me completely, like a pair of boots.
And yet, I am supposed to believe I am beautiful and all I want to do is hide.
Words cut deeper than any razor, knife or scalpel ever could. My confidence went from healthy to non-existent but it’s not anyone’s fault but my own because I am emotional and twist the words so they hurt instead of taking them to mean whatever they are “supposed” to.
I actually thought today that I should put on some makeup, not to feel pretty or playful, but to hide the disgusting skin I am in. Instead I stayed in bed all day because no one would want to see me anyway.
Dust in the Snow –October 11 006 –Marisa Slusarcyk
Overthinking all that should be forgot
Took my blood without a second thought
You lied, I cried
Only wish one had died
The pain inside is obvious to see
Branded into her blood ridden lines of three
Push through the window braking hard to stop
I see you, I feel you
And as I come to a slow
Like dust in the snow
Forever it feels you’ll bounce in my head
Get out of me, get out now
You’ve played enough games
Please take your final bow
My heart is broken
But for you it does not mourn
The scars on the outside match those on thee in
The life I have led
Because of you
Is buried in sin
One day you will pay as I do now
God is the forgiving type
But for you I don’t see how
In hell you will burn to ashes each day
Like dust in the snow
I never enjoyed team sports or even understood them. No desire to watch or learn so I find it funny when I am tweeting with Jen into the weird hours of the day and night about baseball, a sport I never played, watched or understand. Yet her passion and love for the game, for the TEAM, the players even if they are on the WRONG team, makes me want to cheer her on, cheer with her, send her crazy “outs” that look insane to anyone who doesn’t click to see the conversation and it’s totally fun.
I am the girl on the yoga mat seeing how bendy I can be. Reading with my leg up the wall while the other one is folded at my side for several chapters before I realize I should probably switch. I love being alone. I need it. It’s my soul time. My time to pray, meditate, sweat it out, think, detox the day away.
I love the idea of being a part of something, but I want to lurk in the shadows and not be on center stage. I experience community in far different ways, and that’s more than okay. Matthew 6:6 tells us “When you pray, go into your inner room, close your door and pray to your Father who is in secret, and your Father who sees what is done in secret will reward you.”
I’m not trying to get bonus points or be better than the person who is leading a huge group. I simply like to keep things small, I like to share with the page and I enjoy that the page shares back. Maybe I won’t ever be on a TEAM that carries a roster or has a starting line, but I know that I am on God’s TEAM and He is on mine!
Why I write is definitely linked to my past. As many of you may know from hanging around through my ups and my intense downs I have been through a TON in my short life. Most of which was very traumatic. I suffer greatly from PTSD and a boat load of the side affects it comes with, like depression, severe anxiety, insomnia, suicidal thoughts, panic, and even self harm.
I have seen a dozen doctors/therapists/counsellors and I am on about a dozen different medications, all of which to help calm me down and hopefully help me to prevent the above symptoms, from getting worse than they are on a “normal” day.
However, along the broken-road I started to ask these very people who were set out to help me how they grew up, what their trauma’s are and I was shocked and felt more alone than ever when EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM told me that they have no experience with trauma but they are “trained to help trauma victims.”
One recommended after the loss of a baby that I go be like a “deer” and grieve in the woods for a few hours, literally shake it off and move on because that’s what animals are born to do. Just shake it off.
Unfortunately, I am not a deer, and unfortunately, I have been in a stopped vehicle while watching a gopher panic as it’s dead spouse lay in the middle of our highway, watching him run back and forth not quite sure what to do, trauma and sadness in the gophers eyes. Finally as he realized we weren’t going to hurt him he grabbed up the one he loved and pulled her crushed body off to the side of the road and into the woods. I am guessing he didn’t shake it off, he was too shaken up.
My heart broke for him as I sat there with a stream of tears remembering my own losses pouring down my cheeks.
I started to write. Not because I felt like what I had to say was of any importance, but because keeping it all in was literally killing me. My heart with an irraddic beat and requiring meds, my body shutting down, the blood stained razor adding another scar or two or three almost nightly. I needed to get the thoughts out of my head, whether they made sense or not.
Years later I call this a brain dump. Where I just open up a word document and let the words flow with no rhyme or reason, or I open a page in my journal and do the same. It’s unfortunate that most of my writings and ramblings are inspired or prompted by pain but it’s my hope and my prayer that in sharing my intimate thoughts, fears, frustration and deep love for Christ that someone who is sitting in a similar situation may find hope, or comfort in knowing they aren’t alone.
Their doctor may never have lost a baby or been raped, or experienced a trauma that they are willing to share, but I am, and its sad and scary how many have reached out to me to tell me they have been raped too, so many men have told me they were abused as a child after reading my words, some of whom claim they have never told anyone. I love that my hurt is allowing other people to hand their pain over and share in it and be understood rather than feeling alone and lost.
I believe the statistics are that 1 in 3 women are sexually abused at some point and 1 in 10 men. Of course those numbers aren’t accurate because they are based on what’s reported and I can sadly say that it is more like 9/10 people have been sexually assaulted or abused in some form at some point in their lives, whether it was a full fledged rape, molestation or something that made them feel uncomfortable, the line was crossed and 90% is simply too high.
Yet I am eager to learn and to listen and to offer guidance when the person asks.
So I write not only to cleanse my own brain of the pain that has plagued my soul since I was that 12 year old cold in the snow, but I write for those who have never shared and for those who have never been hurt and want to understand what they can do to support the ones in their lives who have been hurt.
I write because it protects me from myself.
I write because it’s a documentation of where I have been and where I never plan to go again.
I write because it’s my pained poetry, a tortured prayer where I know that God can see my soul through the blackness that often covers my heart and He can and will provide me with peace.
I was hanging out over on Musicians Friend again and saw the akai renaissance and was really amazed by all one can do with a very cool machine that uses the power of your computer and your imagination to create music. It can also be used as a stand alone, has so many built in features and all sorts of things that a professional would DREAM OF! I am really excited about this. To think, I am simply looking for a Mic and some decent recording software and stumbling across something as awesome as this!
If you are into production or simply want to create your own sound this is definitely something you should consider!
I take a deep breath and point my bottom up in the air wondering how attractive THAT has to be and sorta laugh to myself how awkward yoga can look and how good it can feel. Even though I am not feeling well I decided to hit the mat and sweat it out and lift up my spiritual energy, centering it, refocusing it on the one who created me in the very beginning and saw that I was good.
It has been easy to be down over the last few months. I have felt a ton of pressure in the little things and a lot of slippery serpent heads slithering their ways into my thoughts and creating anxiety and fear, and a lack of trust. In the last session of Hello Mornings, which I have loved for years and even lead a group with Jen from Faith Mustard Seed in for several sessions. This intimate group of people I thought I could trust and ask for prayer in were the ones I went to when I found out my cousin had another baby born asleep. Before anyone had even commented or offered prayers in the private group I was being tweeted about it and my faith in a female lead church community collapsed -hard.
At the same time I had just finished a course in ministry and had received grades high enough to earn me a scholarship. I haven’t logged back into the site since to see what I would like to take, I haven’t even requested a copy of my transcript or diploma for the first course.
Women are supposed to be building each other up, for ever we have helped one another -raise babies, pray, stay strong in faith, cook meals for other families and even offered to help cook or clean for our female friends and acquaintances when they needed it the most.
We are supposed to be lifting each other up and instead this crazy world of social media, on every platform, has become a game of trying to be better or look better or take better photos or eat better foods or pray better. A game of my way is better than your way and the most beautiful of people from Facebook to Twitter to Youtube have worked hard to cut those life giving umbilical cords to the One who always loves and always pulls us up by showing us their ugly sides.
It is hard to not be pulled down when in the back ground they are spreading rumors, exposing your private moments and your broken-hard is exposed for the entire world to see.
I am having to remind myself daily as I check in with my soul that my faith in Christ has not changed, but my faith in humanity is definitely in question. It is so much easier to slam the laptop closed and keep it all inside, locked away inside the confines of my mind, but like the Queen song says “I want to break free” and in order to be healthy, I need to.
I am definitely on the defensive, my stress levels high and every one who I was trusting as my “church” community whether in real life or online has fallen into this line of wonderment where my PTSD is triggered and I have to ask myself “can I trust you?”
As I raise my hands up and breath in deeply and lift my heart I know that I am being held by God. And that is all that really matters.