Carol Kroll

2 forms of freedom…

Before I get into the context of this photo…

I need to discuss my first form of freedom located here:

I know. How can a bike be freedom? Oh but it is. Check out my sweet basket!

I now can go up to our local “market” (aka as the glorified Shell station with groceries) and pop them in my basket and viola! This excites me to no end. I have wanted a basket FOREVER. And now I have one. Too bad LuLu is a 65LB black lab and can’t fit in there like Toto.

I felt so incredibly European when I rode home from the bike shop this morning after they repaired my back tire, with my bag slung over my shoulder and the sun beaming down on me like a beacon.

I also need to point out that I break several rules when I ride my bike.

Please keep in mind that I live literally in the middle of nowhere and ride during the morning when everyone is at work already. That being said, I usually don’t wear my helmet AND I listen to my ipod (if I perish exercising, that will truly be the most ironic statement ever mind you)

It is just that the motion plus the music makes me feel truly alive. And free. Kind of like when I am playing rockstar on a stage, as a matter of fact.

Hm.

That just dawned on me.

Very interesting.

It’s pure euphoria. Riding my bike with music and rocking out onstage which involves (albeit lame) movement on my part and music. Can I have that in a bottle please? No. The drug companies and street pushers haven’t picked up on this quite yet. I will have to settle on my bike and pipedreams.

Speaking of that, this afternoon after a long grueling trip to the grocery store crammed with the most oblivious people on the planet and one way-beyond-irritable spouse, instead of slipping into some sort of downward domestic spiral that may have required alcohol, I instead pretended the beginning of this afternoon didn’t happen (denial is an incredibly underestimated river in Egypt I am discovering) and laid down some vocals for Sweet Jelly, our drummer Anthony sent me several days ago.

Anthony has been working very hard behind the scenes with our recording process, and I wanted to devote my full attention to laying down the best vocals I possibly could. Polishing up Here We Go, is what we are working on right now.

The internet is, and always has been, a wondrous and glorious thing for Sweet Jelly. Living 2 hours away from my bandmates, I feel this set-up is going to work out really good for us (finally).

However as I was losing myself and repairing the damage that was done at the grocery store earlier, the outside world was making this euphoric musical journey a challenging one this afternoon. What seemed like every 15 minutes, someone would ring our doorbell and hand out election flyers (3 times this happened). I am fine with the flyers, but why do I have to come to the door and receive them? And since ALL of our windows and doors were open, how do I even try to explain what it is I am doing? Singing at the top of my lungs while all the music action is taking place inside my headphones? They really must have wondered when they waltzed up our walk. So in context, unfortunately, this is the face our uninvited guests got every time I opened the door.

“Hi, can I help you? No really, how can I help you? Oh good, more paper. Election? No I haven’t heard. President. You DON’T SAY.“

Here is me realizing there is someone (again) at the door mid-verse.

…right before interrupting this…

…and this…

…and this…

Oh and my neighbors were trying to have a cookout behind us today, but I am afraid I may have ruined that too as, once again, our windows are all open and when I sing, well, I’m not exactly quiet. Sorry neighborhood. Oh hell, what do I care. They all know I’m in a band and look at me all cock-eyed when they ask about it while I cut the grass, make my garbage pilgrimage to the curb every Wednesday night or get my mail. Might as well humor them with loud vocals sans instruments on a quiet sunny September Sunday afternoon.