There was once a wee child whose parents, in a pique of sound reflection (let us hope) said ‘no’ to his request for a snack.

Half an hour later, he presented them with a 3-D peanut butter and jelly sandwich of paper, crayon and hot tears. His defiance, of course, broke his parents’ hearts.

Fast forward two decades and find the young man, hungry for the magical (so we hear) iPad. He manipulates cardboard and glue into a spot-on replica of Apple’s fabula rasa.

His brother had his way of making miniature civilizations from snips of paper as a kid. Now he builds castles with elegance and code. The brothers launched a lovely new app before the iPad hit the streets.

Last night I saw seven dancers build magic for a rapt turnout of patrons. Verb Ballets worked experimentally with seven modern composers and seven choreographers. I once wished I were a dancer, until the day I noticed it wasn’t so much dancing I craved as the energy, the originality, the doing. I love how dance talks to me about making something with life and limb.

This week I forsook paying gigs for the sake of some timeless space. I now have two songs I didn’t have before, one of which requires considerable left hand practice to get certain guitar figures right. The double gift of song creation: if you really want to play what you hear, you’ve got to work out.

The best part of this week is reading a book, Women’s Lives: Multicultural Perspectives. I never took a women’s study course, so my mind is blasted into bits of revelation. Through this lens I notice, in a recent podcast, how male indie musicians call their female counterpart a ‘girl’ while kidding her about how prepared and smart she is. This alone suggests a place for me in a music culture stuck in gender roles long expired. Let’s name this place defiance.

Which brings us full circle to the child’s response to obstacles. He didn’t sulk, wheedle or yield. He played it smart; he made himself some art.