esprit de l'escalier

Hopeful

Every heart is a package, Tangled up in knots someone else tied*

I saw Josh Ritter and his band play tonight at the Southern Theatre. The night was beautiful. The venue beautiful (I do have a soft spot for vintage theaters.) Tina, Julie, and I walked to pizza beforehand, then to the venue, then back to my house at the end. Living near downtown has its perks. Warm spring nights do too.

Long time readers might remember that I'm a fan of his. Tonight wasn't my favorite of his shows, though I did enjoy it quite a lot. I adore his new album. Since I have seen him play last, he's moved on from his divorce, found a new partner, had a baby. His newest album, The Beast in its Tracks, is full of the most hopeful, redemptive songs about failures in love. There are barbs in there too, but over all it is not bitter. Listen to "Joy to You Baby" over on his website. It's beautiful.

I realized tonight that I have been going to see Josh play his music for almost ten years. I just searched this space for old blog posts, and let me tell you, I am somewhat embarrassed by my 24 year old self. But I also kind of miss that zeal. I was telling this to Tina and Julie on our walk home. I have seen him play so many times, but now it's like I'm catching up with an old friend. His music was so important to me in my mid-20s, when I felt so at sea about so much. You cling to music when you are young in a way that you do not as you age. Music is still deeply important to me and something I want to share with people I love, but it is just not the same as it was. I am not the same.

I think about this especially because of a song he sang, just him, towards the middle of his set. He asked for all of the lights to come down and stepped out in front of the microphone, in the dark to sing "Thin Blue Flame." Now, I'll get to why this song is important to me in a minute, but you have to understand what a ballsy move this was. This is a long song. Powerful, but LONG. And he had the entire audience silent, listening. I closed my eyes and just let it wash over me. (You can hear it here. Scroll down, it's the second to last song on the album.)

This song brought me back to 24 again. Back then I was part of the community on his message board and got some preview copy of this song. I used to listen to it on repeat as I would drive around Chicago. When I hear it, I see a specific place on Western Ave, nearing my old apartment where I lived with Natasha and my brother. If I was up at a friend's house north of us, I could get through the song twice as I made my way south, home. After I had fully absorbed the record version, I heard it live, with two drummers, blasting at the big crescendo. I was floored.

Tonight it was stripped down and spare. And as I listened I thought about how a musician's relationship with his or her songs must change as they change and age. I thought I was hearing more emphasis in different places than before. It made me happy to have been able to listen in a little on his journey. That is what being a long time fan feels like. Like I said above, like I'm checking in on a friend, and finding him well and strong and full of hope. Thank you.

 

*From an old song of his, "Kathleen," that he plays live a lot and has become a rollicking anthem to young love. The lyric got stuck in my head and I felt it fit.

Hello hello

Good grief. It has been two months since I last visited this space. I didn't mean to step back for so long, but here we are, at the beginning of the new year. I'm writing from my friend Natasha's apartment. The new year has started off sunny here, and I am happy to be amongst some dear friends. Yesterday I drove from Erie, PA where I was visiting with some dear old friends, Mariah and Matt, who just had a baby. Mariah and I were talking about how we make sacrifices to spend time with the people who are important to us, because, as she said, isn't that what life is about? The moments that make life worth living are the ones we spend surrounded with the people we love. I think it was appropriate to be reminded of that at the start of a new year.

I found 2012 to be long, full of ups and downs, and I'm excited to start 2013. There are many things I am looking forward to and I'm optimistic for a good year. I hope to be in this space more. I hope to be writing and sharing photos and doing more creating in this coming year. I will share more of my adventures. I hope you share yours with me too.

These photos are a little old. Actually, they were taken soon after my last blog post. My friends Elaine and George and their growing family visited and this is from a hike we took with the littles and some friends of mine.

I wish you all the best in 2013!

On commuting and reading

Yesterday and today I went to a conference held in downtown Columbus, at the Convention Center. I bused to and from each day and was thinking on today's ride home about how much I missed riding transit regularly. I do love walking to work, don't get me wrong, but as I stood in the bus shelter tonight, reading my book, I forgot how I enjoyed riding transit. When I lived in Chicago, I rode the train everyday, and sometimes the bus. What I miss is the not having to think about my transport and the reading. Really, this post is about reading and how I miss the chunks of time I had everyday to devote to it, as I commuted to and from work. There was a good period of time where I got really into short story collections, because they were the ideal length for my commute. I read so much. I miss reading that much. I do not make time for it at the moment, and I should.

Currently I am slowly reading two books, and they are both very good for the short little morsels of time I am giving them. The first is Several short sentences about writing by Verlyn Klinkenborg and I am not quite halfway through with it but can safely say that I love it. I got it from the library, but I am going to buy a hardcopy of it, because this is a book I will want to read again. Really, I think you could just pick it up at any point and read for a bit and be perfectly happy. It is about writing, reading, noticing, and thinking about all three. It's written in sort of a free verse format, which I adore, and which makes it great for reading it in little bites, as I have been doing over lunch or breakfast. It's useful and already has me thinking about my own writing (and reading and noticing) habits. I want to give it to several people. I keep talking about it. Check it out. Here's the first page, to entice you:

Here, in short, is what I want to tell you.

Know what each sentence says,

What it doesn't say,

And what it implies.

Of these, the hardest is knowing what each sentence actually says.

 

At first, it will help to make short sentences,

Short enough to feel the variations in length.

Leave space between them for the things that words can't really say.

 

Pay attention to rhythm, first and last.

 

Imagine it this way:

One by one, each sentence takes the stage.

It says the very thing it comes into existence to say.

Then it leaves the stage.

It doesn't help the next one up or the previous one down.

It doesn't wave to its friends in the audience

Or pause to be acknowledged or applauded.

It doesn't talk about what it's saying.

It simply says its piece and leaves the stage.

 

This isn't the whole art of writing well.

It isn't even most of it.

But it's a place to begin, and to being from again and again.

If you write at all, for work, for fun, or read, or love language, or know anyone that does, pick it up for you or a friend. It's really excellent.

The second book I'm slowly reading is Walt Whitma's Song of Myself, which I also think lends itself to slow consumption. I have two copies: one from the library by my bed and a cheap-o Dover edition by the toilet. I'm reading it slowly, and often re-reading passages as I go. I love it. I have also been trying to incorporate more poetry into my life, and I find a poem (or snippet of one) before bed is an excellent tonic for the mind.

Finding joy

I was reminded this weekend how important it is to find joy in our lives. Saturday night I huddled with a small gathering of people beneath a large tree as a wind storm swept around us. The branches creaked above us and we moved closer together to hear two people pledge their lives to each other. To be each other's port in the storm. Sunday I gathered with a church full of people to celebrate the life a wonderful man who loved knowledge, music, and his family. It was a ceremony filled with song and stories about his life. He found joy through music and shared that joy with others. This is the quote the family shared with all of us, from Carl Sagan: "Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known." Be curious about life and share the joy you find.

Longing for the beach

I have been full of anxiety lately. I can feel it right now, itchy under my skin. I want to go to sleep, but I know I'm going to toss. I had a rough day, because I was not feeling well. I'm hoping that my stomach pain and acid has more to do with me over doing it Saturday night than me getting a stomach bug that is apparently making the rounds.

I did have a great weekend, though. Friday night I hung out with a mix of new and old friends playing Cards Against Humanity, which is like a twisted version of Apples to Apples. When I left my face hurt from laughing. Saturday was a beautiful weather day. The weather was cool and it felt like fall was coming. I bopped around town, visiting with friends. That day ended with a party at Chung Hall to celebrate their renovated kitchen. I have really great people in my life, but I overdid it on the meat (delicious ribs by Andy and burgers by Tony) and whisky... Which I'm hoping is still torturing me and not some stomach bug. Sunday I beat back a hangover with a hike in the Hocking Hills. It was another glorious weather day. But I still wouldn't mind escaping to that beach up above. I hope my stomach improves and my anxiety dissipates.

Hi

I'm taking a little break from Nantucket photos. I hope you're not tired of them, because there are still a bunch I want to share. Such a beautiful place. Here's me two times over in my bathroom. They were the last two frames on a roll when I got home. Tonight I'm listening to Bill Clinton speak at the DNC. He makes me miss my Grandmother, who was such a fan of his. Did you see Michelle's speech last night? She is so spectacular. Her use of rhetoric will be studied.

Hope you're all well. I'm tired and feel pulled in many directions. Anyone want to come and help me clean my apartment? It's a disaster. I think living alone has encouraged my worst slovenly behavior. No one is around to call me out on it. Plus, I have reached the place as someone who lives alone where I take my pants off upon returning home. I'm pretty sure this will lead to nothing good. Ah well. Should be good for a story.

Traps of nostalgia

This week I have been feeling sad. I find myself like this on holidays, and yet it always takes me a bit of time to work through what is going on and see what is happening in my head/heart. You'd think I'd have caught on to the pattern by now, but sometimes I'm a bit slow.

Yesterday we had a barbeque/picnic with work. I was sitting with some co-workers I do not often socialize with and I was talking about how much I love the Fourth of July. The town I grew up in loves the Fourth. They have the best parade, tons of block parties, fireworks, big parties in parks. Even people who drive around town at 7 am with bullhorns shouting, "Wake up! Wake up! It's the Fourth of July!" To me the Fourth is about civic togetherness, kindness to strangers, beastly heat, friends, charred meat, dripping popsicles, strangers waving at one another. And now it's about nostalgia.

As I finished talking about why I love this holiday, a usually quiet co-worker asked me what my plans were. "Nothing," I sheepishly replied. He laughed. So did I. But I began to feel that yawning hole inside of me and I began to get sad. My plans to watch my hometown parade soon fell through and I was having a hard time finding people to watch the fireworks with, that didn't involve getting mired in traffic. My friend Julie saved me from myself and sad movies and we caught up with some other friends on the Whittier Peninsula to watch the big fireworks show last night.

Today I had planned to go watch the Doo Dah parade in the Short North, but my friend Tony called me and asked if I wanted to head to his aunt's lakehouse and go on a pontoon boat. I quickly decided to cancel my plans and join him. I'm glad I did, to switch up my day. I needed an out on my nostalgia trap.

Later in the day, after melting and reconstituting ourselves, we decided to go see Safety Not Guaranteed. It perfectly fit my feelings this week. It is all about the seductive nature of nostalgia, and how destructive it can be to yourself by causing you to disconnect from the present. But it's also about finding partners you believe in - people you can trust with your insecurities, who can help you through the hard parts of life, and with whom you can leap into the new and unknown. It was incredibly optimistic. And exactly what I needed to see.

My lesson from all of this is that I need to allow holidays to take whatever form they take in my adult life. I was talking to a friend last night about feeling unmoored. This is a general feeling I have, like I'm in between phases of my life, which seems to be amplified at holidays when I'm adrift from the structured traditions of my youth. I need to remember to enjoy the present. Mooning over the past is not the way to spend today.

Also, go see that movie. Aubrey Plaza is a treat in it.

Some melancholy musings

Have you ever had a song hit you in a soul-crushing sort of way? At the moment Debussy's Clair de Lune is doing that to me. It's simple beauty is torturing me in an exquisite way.

I turned on Pandora this afternoon to a classical station to drown out some background noise. I was on a tight deadline and had a couple of documents that needed to be finalized. Somewhere towards the end of my work the lilting notes of Debussy came on and, well, for lack of a less melodramatic phrase, crushed me. My chest got tight. I put it on hold, finished the document, and buzzed out of my cubicle to take care of loose ends, trying to shake the song off. But the melody was stuck in my head, and I hummed it to myself around the office, and hummed it more on my walk home, as I started to craft this post in response to the song, myself, and the week I have had.

This week I found myself repeating, "Life is about managing expectations, yours and other people's." I still think it's true, but I've also been saying to myself as a protective charm. Sometimes getting your expectations set straight is not exactly what you had hoped for. 

As I walked home today I was thinking about who I am, how I project myself in the world, and how other people interpret and respond to me. I realized that we are all a little like pieces of art, be it paintings, photography, poetry, other forms that do not start with the letter "p." We put ourselves out there with certain intentions, but people react to you because of what is in them. When you look at a painting, you do not react solely based on the painting, but because it strikes a chord with you.

I think that is the same with people. Last night I went to a friend's birthday party and caught up with a friend who I don't know very well and who just returned from spending several months in Europe. He was one of those people I met and we were instantly friends. Sometimes you luck out and meet someone and it's as if your inner selves see each other and know each other and give each other a big hug. Sometimes it's harder to figure out what the other person is thinking, even if you know there is affection there.

My point is, if I have one, is that you do not always know how other people are responding to you. Sometimes you have to ask or present your honest opinion of them to them and hope for an honest reply. It is not easy being honest, but I think it is important to try. That is my long, rambling, vague way of talking about why the melancholic music of Debussy made my throat catch today. And also for me to try and inarticulately work through some feelings rolling around my head and my heart. Thanks for listening. Here's Debussy to take us out into our weekends...

Under a cloud

I have not been feeling myself lately. I have been waking up in sour moods that have been hard to shake. I realized today, after spending the morning grumping on Twitter about seemingly everything, that this was not about waking up on the wrong side of the bed. It was really about Frank. I was telling my mother about my moods and she interrupted me to tell me that the cat has really affected her too. I am fine most of the time - as long as I can be distracted - but alone I find myself falling under a cloud I can't shake. Tonight, as Mom and I watched our program, I sat and picked all of the burrs out of a fleece blanket Frank used to sleep on. It always seemed like a losing battle to do so before.

I feel odd writing about it or talking about what I'm feeling. For one, it seems too personal to share, and for two, it seems decidedly boring. Who wants to hear about me randomly crying at my desk? I want to write about other things - like the fun things I got up to this weekend that were all about art - but I just wanted to acknowledge the cloud.

My mom and I are off tomorrow on a roadtrip to Philadephia. Dad is meeting up with us, and we're all feasting with my Aunt and her family. She and her husband have recently moved away from near us to Philly. I'm excited to go to the Philadelphia Museum of Art, to meet one cousin's new baby, and catch up with everyone. I also hope to walk a lot. To try and lose this cloud.

A little stuck

I want to thank you all for the kind thoughts about Frank. I'm hopeful he's okay. I talked to my mother today and as she was out passing out flyers about Frank, a neighbor said she saw him Monday. I am pretty sure he's around, I'm just not sure why he hasn't been home. A feline walkabout, I guess. I'm going to spend most of Saturday at home, and I plan on looking for him. And let me tell you, I've already googled "cat gps." But really. Thanks again. I'll keep you posted on any new developments.

My flickr friend Jas has a great post today about complacency and it had me realizing that only I can get myself out of the creative rut I've been in lately. I have been uninspired and have stopped at the lack of inspiration instead of pushing through it. I haven't felt like writing or taking photos or following through with any of my crafty plans, so I haven't done anything. Just sat around in my funk. Well funk be damned! So here we go, another monthly blog challenge to myself. For the rest of this month, I'm going to make myself to write, photograph, or make something every day and document it here.

And now for something completely different. A Log Lady and a Lumberjack. (Photo by Esther Hall.)