Music Unheard/Spinner Bottles

Today I wrote all morning (words, not music) and planned to sing in the afternoon. I had a solid two hours available and I was looking forward to singing at Pape Station again.

Of course, I'd had to get myself into the mood. Often, when I'm preparing to sing somewhere, I have to consciously boost myself out of the introspective doldrums. Usually, in the course of doing vocal warmups, tuning my guitar, packing it into the case with CDs, capo, tuner and so on, I find myself feeling more positive about the upcoming performance. By the time I'd done that today, I was feeling more energetic about the prospect of busking.

You'll notice I didn't mention packing my guitar strap.

Damn.

I did this once before. That time, I went all the way back home for it (which takes about 45 minutes and requires a long and heavily-loaded walk) and came back to sing. Although some musicians play in the subways sitting down, and I might have been able to find a small box to use as a seat (or used my knapsack), I don't do this. I'm a tiny person to begin with. If I sat down, I'd feel nervous about being trampled. Also, the optics aren't good; I can't afford to look even a notch more needy.

So I went home. This time, I didn't plan to return. It was hot, I was tired, and I wouldn't have as much time to sing as I'd hoped.

As I boarded the bus southbound, I wondered about all the other unheard music in the world. How much art is not being made, because something important was forgotten, carelessly left on the side table during a moment of distraction? How much music is not being played because of things that are lost, or that were stolen?

Do we have enough time to recover such things? What happens when we just let them go?

This afternoon, I'm writing this, which I wouldn't have otherwise.

+++

This also seems a good time to mention the Spinner Bottles.

About halfway up my Pape bus route, there's a tree that's decorated with Spinner Bottles. I know that's what they're called because there's a big sign telling me what they are: "Spinner Bottles!"

They're for sale, these Spinner Bottles. (Keep saying that over and over again. It takes on a funny nonsensical looping rhythm much like the things themselves. Spinnerbottlesspinnerbottlesspinnerbottles......)

They seem (from what I can tell, as I look at them for a couple of seconds at a time out the bus window) to be made of large plastic pop bottles that have had long strips cut through them lengthwise. These strips have been pulled out to catch the wind, and they spin on an axis while hanging on a string. They also have decorations, like flowers, on them or in them. I'd say there are thirty bottles or so hanging from this tree.

Does anybody buy them?

I've always wondered.

Then today, as I took the Pape bus home, I noticed another house, across the street and down a bit from the first one, with three Spinner Bottles, spinning away on the front porch.