Category: My Husband Rocks

Before The Accident

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John Mayer TrioA friend reminded me that I haven’t put up a BubbleGum post in a while. It’s not that I haven’t had anything to say. Kisa loaded me up with secret shows (gotta love new music), John posted a halarious video on his site about illegal dogfights off stage (the part about Brutus getting loose is the best part), there’s a buzz about The Breakup  (he was too smart for her, IMHO), and then there’s that haircut. (Now, he completely reminds me of a certain artist – don’t hate me SB, but in some pictures the resemblance is uncanny, um…creepy even. Sorry!)

What I can talk about is something a little more profound, something a little more BryanAdams straight from the heart. I forget what show it was but BubbleGum was chatting with the crowd as he often does. He started off with something funny but then launched into about only having one life to live. Go ahead and groan. You’ve heard this from me before. It’s the only life you’ve got so live it to the fullest, blah, blah, blah. But, here’s a different take on it. This is life as you know it, as Bubble says “before the accident.” Okay, so it may not be an accident per se, so fill in your own blank. Life before ______. Here’s an example: Some people blame their current beliefs, actions, downfalls, whatever, on September 11th and they preface defensively with “before 9/11 I didn’t…” So, now you know what I mean. Tomorrow you could be hit by a car and paralyzed from the waist down. Your days become separated into “before the accident” and “after the accident.” I know all about this. I hear a date, say 1995, and I immediately think, “three years after dad died.” I’m constantly doing the math. There are other dates that trigger that response, too. I think everyone has a timeline that resonates a “before” and “after.” But, But. Here is my question. How are you going to live your life before the next accident?

BubbleGum said many tomorrows from now your topics of conversation will circle around how many medications you have to take and how you can’t remember what you had for dinner the night before. You might need diapers, a walker, or hearing aid. Many tomorrows from now you will be saying, “before I got old…” It’s a different kind of accident, an unavoidable one at that, but one to consider.

Cooking It Up

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I have been a cooking fiend. Last night was scallops and spaghetti sprinkled with chili peppers, cilantro, garlic and olive oil. Skewers of toasted sourdough and mozzarella cubes drizzled with garlic, lemon juice and butter. I’m addicted to gratins and fresh herbs lately. Fish poached in coconut cream and sesame seeds. It’s time to break out the smoker. Hickory chips are waiting to burn. Baked beans with smoky chipotles and bacon simmer with sweet brown sugar. It’s summertime, after all. Aint it funny how I’ve become so consumed by food?
I have a friend who can only be described as my food friend for we only meet for meals. Nothing more, nothing less. We don’t talk on the phone. We don’t see movies. We place all of our conversations in the company of food. Something new to talk about only goes with something good to taste. He wants me to try a deep fried hamburger. He’s the same one who wanted me to try goat testicles
Food circles my life and winds in and out of my days.
To celebrate the Closer I have wine (Merlot, of course) followed by one perfect RingDing. Kisa gets the other one. We lick chocolate off our fingers and smack our lips for a treat too small.
Before Rebecca shows it’s gourmet pizza and maybe now a rootbeer float after. I just need to find a better beer.
Then there are roadtrips. They require bottled water and smoky, salty beef jerky.
Monhegan means crab apples straight from the tree, blackberries from the bush, mocha whoopie pies and lobster by sunset’s dying glow.
If I lived in New Jersey I would want a Creations salad, a spicy italian sub or better yet, a shopping spree at Delicious Orchards. Picking perfect plums, soft gouda cheese and crusty sourdough bread. A picnic by the sea.
If I lived in Colorado it would be a Chipotles burrito chased by Fat Tire – bar none.
My most intimate moments are prefaced by food. Sharing spoonfuls of something good leading to something better. Leaning in over linguini to confess something deep.
Food has always hidden my denying ways. Picking walnuts out of a waldorf while breaking up; bringing the rest home to my sister. Holding an oversized mug of coffee with both hands, steam hiding my face as I hear about the cancer that is killing you. You can’t see my tears. Flinging tomatoes to swooping, squawking seagulls, pretending not to hear, yet I listen.

Feed me.

My Good Friend RootBeer Float

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This was a night of obsessions. No other way to put it. First it was M coming up from NY, then it was G&S meeting up after their charity walk, then it was R&C taking a break from weekend chores and weekend work-too-hard, then it was S&J finding their way to Bishops. Finally, it was meeting up with J&S so the eleven of us could cheer on Rebecca. I got to hear yet even more new songs (new to me, maybe old to others..I don’t know). They were still great.

1.) Just a Boy (?) – First time hearing this one. Not sure I’ve got the title right.
2.) Miss You – title track off the “new” album. I can’t help but sing along.
3.) On Your Way Down – I love the word beast in this song. It’s so startling.
4.) Yours – I don’t know why but I keep calling this song “Reason Why”
5.) Nothing Left To Take – (which I call My Mistake)
6.) Walking Backwards
7.) Tell Kyle – another new one that is so so sad!
8.) Divorced – I admit, I requested this one. I wanted S to hear it.
9.) Sonnet #30 – Who doesn’t love Shakespeare put to music? The applause was awesome!
10.) Quiet Hands – another request
11.) Miss Innocent – I wanted to ask Rebecca if she had seen Paul McCartney’s commerical with the mandolin.
12.) Gin

I love getting together for Rebecca shows. I love meeting for basil & tomato pizza and eating it crust first. Ripping it apart into cheesy bites, cornmeal dusting my paper plate as we laugh and gossip and catch up. I love seeing amazing friends come together to support the music, even if isn’t their “type.” I took pictures of the couples, capturing their warmth, mine for keeps. One of the best parts of the night was kisa buying a cd and offering it up to anyone who wanted it. Rebecca told me I had married a good man and all I could do was smile. I know.

After the show 7 of us went to Friendly’s because I was obsessed with having a rootbeer float. People joked about me being deprived but I wasn’t the only one who hadn’t grown up with these strange concoctions. Someone else in our group admitted to having one for the first time “just the other day.” HA! Although it wasn’t as exciting as I thought it would be. Someone told me I didn’t have the right kind of rootbeer. Who knew?
We finished the night watching Mr. Nash’s Drum video and talking about small feet, crazy people, “popping out” (what kind of friend are YOU?) and the Japanese tourist. Laughing too hard for my own good.

Respectfully Yours

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I was talking to someone dear to me when all of a sudden she said something so truthful to life I nearly lost my breath. It resonated with me hours later, echoing in my head like the fading sound of a rung bell. I don’t remember how we got on the subject, or even why she said it. The initial thought was lost amid the words of chatter, but what remained was, “I would never post anything bad about my husband on the internet.” There it was. What I needed to hear. What I will believe for all eternity. Words taken right out of my mouth.
I know this woman who rolls her eyes and is quick to complain when the subject of her married-for -life partner comes up. It makes me squirm, twisting to get out of the way of vows turned sour. Why does it hurt ME when someone is ugly about someone not me?
Today, I told my husband I was on the verge of mental not wellness. Seriously feeling unbalanced…like I was coming unglued somewhere secret. Telling him was like picking at a scab and letting him peer into the disgusting, bloody wound – just trusting he wouldn’t turn his head. When he didn’t I knew I was right. He has pockets for my secrets.
I don’t understand what makes us take people for granted. What makes us assume they will always love us, no matter what we do? I thought of the woman who criticized and ridiculed her husband. If he did the unthinkable, died or just disappeared, what would she do? Where would the roll your eyes attitude go in the face of abandonment? If I had to crawl into bed with that fear I wouldn’t sleep very well.

Insult to Injury

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My husband knows the word “rant” all too well. I’ll go on for hours about something until it becomes nothing – the way writing a single word over and over will start to look strange and lose meaning twenty times later.
First it was about blood work. They wanted my blood and made me make an appointment. They told me when to stick my arm out for the needle. But, when I showed up it was all my fault. “You need to follow up on the appointment.” What? Doublecheck the receptionist to make sure I’m really in the book? “Well, even though you had an appointment you need to make sure the doctor put in the order.” What? So, now I’m following up on the doctor? Let me get this straight so I don’t waste 90 minutes on another day. “You shouldn’t make the appointment so soon after the doctor has seen you.” What? The receptionist told me the opening she had available. I just agreed to show up. Now you’re saying I need to refuse her suggested appointment time. Could I be anymore confused? Insult to injury- the nurse called my machine and said they found the drs order for blood work and I can come in “anytime” (giggle, giggle).
Then it was about my car. When they were done, they wanted to leave it behind the building, locked up, keys in the glove box. They wanted me to pay now and pick it up with my husband’s keys later. Behind the building, locked up. My keys would be in the glove box. It’s not behind the building. It’s not locked up (window is rolled down and door is left completely unlocked). Keys are not in the glove box. Only this is where stupid me, myself and moi come in. We don’t notice this for nearly a week. I call the mechanic six days later. “Do you guys have a spare set of keys lying around?” “Chevy Prism?” “Yup.” “Last name _____.” “Yup.” “Yeah, we got ’em.” “And you couldn’t call me?! Can you bring them to me since you said my car would be locked up with the keys in the glove box and NONE of that happened?” Silence. “Hey. You guys told me you would lock it up and leave the keys in the glove box. Since that didn’t happen you need to bring me my keys.” Who knew I had the brass bra? “*sigh* We’ll see what we can do.” Insult to injury – I was late for work.
Then it was my feet. “Do you have anything in a size 5?” “Nope.” “But I see 5 1/2s here.” “Last year’s stock. We’re not carrying anything smaller than 6 on the adult side. Kids has size 5. Check there.” Insult to injury – size 5 didn’t fit. Neither did 4. I’m a 3 1/2 KIDS if I want to shop at Marshalls.

Caught

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Caught on an electric wire I wait on the wind. I am once again alive and happy to be here. I was slipping my grip on priority a few weeks ago but I’m back. A renewed force of power waits while I settle into a new groove. And settle, I will. Just you wait.
There is a new resolve to run my life the way I want, a new resolve to be who I want to be. I am not stupid, I’ve been face to face with this resolve before. My life is a giant circle – losing confidence, gaining ground. Faltering and finishing. Falling down and getting back up. This isn’t the first time I’ve found courage, found strength, found something to be. I’ll take advantage of it while it’s here.
Knitting II was cancelled but that just gives me time to enroll in knitting school – yes school. Courses, textbooks, prerequisites, labs, tests, homework, final exams. The works. I finished knitting I with a green scarf but now I’m ready to jump into the unknown. As a good friend told me, it’s all well and good to reaffirm what I already know (as in the case of knitting I), but it’s another to move into unchartered waters. So, here I go.
Yoga. I haven’t been to Now and Zen Yoga since it moved. I’m embarrassed by that fact. Now that I have this director thing worked out I have time for the more important things.
Kisa taught me some moves on the bowflex. I’ve missed strength training. Okay, I avoided it after a certain meathead left my life, but, but, but I still missed it. I like watching my muscles move, feeling strong and in charge. Peach Shirt still lingers in my memory. He follows me from the grocery store and back from the back. I’d like to be able to kick his azz if it ever came to that. Instead I’ll ignore the ache. In addition I discovered the bike path goes all the way into town – almost 3 miles. Perfect for running. I’ll start tomorrow.

I moved back into the Space, calling up some friends. If I haven’t called on you, give me time. I’m still figuring out where you are! 😉

Dream Sean Away Rowe Lodge

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Every once in a while it’s great to break of out the crate and do something a little different. Kisa, Aimless and I wandered off to Becket last night. Not Ball player Beckett or the Waiting for Godot kind… but the place that hides the Dream Away Lodge.
I could spend a whole blog on where we went, but I’d rather talk about why we went – Sean Rowe. I do have to say a few words about DAL, though. From the very beginning it was a kind of kismet experience. Aimless was talking about going somewhere because her friend worked with someone who happened to be the girlfriend of someone performing. Kisa and I were going to that same place simply because of that someone performing. Unplanned plans. We decided to carpool. We both forgot the directions. DAL is advertised as the place impossible to forget, impossible to find. That’s nearly accurate because the place is out there – in the middle of nowhere out there. Once you’re there, you’re there and you know it. It’s a farmhouse, a restaurant, a bar, a hippie hangout, a family experience, a speakeasy and maybe once a brothel. From every corner of the room, covering every wall, art and artifacts stare back at you (I swear I saw Gehring). Dogs roam freely among diners, cats wait for behind the ear scratches. Fresh flowers on every table, mismatched plates at your elbows. Wander from room to room with your coffee, maybe kick off your shoes in front of the fire. Listen to the music as long as you respect the tip jar.

Like I said, we were there for Sean and *that* voice. I was too shy to reintroduce myself from the night with Soul Session so I lurked on the fringe of requests and compliments and just smiled. “Remember me?” just seemed too lame an utterance, especially when the answer would have been “no.”
‘Alone’ is one of my favorite songs. I could have asked him to sing that one three or four times…in a row. Might have annoyed some members of the audience, but I wouldn’t have minded! I’m always amazed that one guy with one guitar comes out with so much sound. I love the illusion of hearing trains and drums and heatbeats, all phantoms to reality. Sean has a new song…I don’t know the name of it – but it’s about crashing a car. It’s intense, mesmerizing and dangerous. I could have stayed all night. Surrounded by homemade pillows and a crackling fireplace, I let the music invade my ears, tangle with my brain and thrill my heart only to escape in the cool night air, uncaptured and unconfined for another time.

I want to go back to DAL – eat dinner with the dogs at my knee, sit by the fire with a glass of Merlot and feel at home, lost in Becket.

Two Sides of Guilty as Hell

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I told my husband I would blog about this. There is no way that I can’t. The irony struck me in the face last night and I’m still reeling from the assault. I should start from the beginning only I can’t. I won’t. Out of loyalty, out of respect I won’t fuel the fire more than it already has been. BUT just so that I’m not another babbling idiot I will say this – my husband is dealing with more crap than he deserves. Someone in his circle of life has been accused of a crime (well, a few) and there is no way this person is innocent. Not 100%. No way in Hell. Anyway you look at the situation this guy is at fault in some way. Whether it’s 5% guilty or 100% it still spells Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. All the way in trouble and it troubles me. It’s a classic case of he said, she said, she said he did. No way to really sort it out. No way to walk away. Can’t deny, can’t ignore. Especially for kisa. He didn’t ask for this, but there it is.

So that’s one side of guilty – here’s the other. My husband received a letter from the DMV – no wait, RMV…No, I think I had it right the first time – DMV. Anyway, the Registry, Division, Department, the something of Motor Vehicles. I immediately assumed it was a registration renewal or something mundane, something ho hum. Disinterested, I turned back to shaking worcestershire sauce and montreal seasoning on the burgers…until I heard him swearing and muttering “‘not again.” Turns out the state of California thinks my husband travels across the country to treat their roadways as his own private German autobahn…and then drives home again…to New England. The RMV/DMV is revoking his license at the end of the month because someone with his same name and birthday drives like an idiot somewhere on the west coast. There are three driving offenses listed in the letter and kisa was obviously at work for every single one. There is no way he is guilty of anything mentioned in the letter. Nevertheless, here’s the kicker – he has to take time away from his already fukced up life to take care of the situation…again. Yes, this has happened before – before I met him. Kisa’s betting it’s the same wackjob who doesn’t know how to operate a moving vehicle. What are the chances?

So. Last night as I was brushing my teeth I was thinking about guilt – the obvious kind and the obviously not. Kisa operates on the fine line of There Is No Way This Is Happening To Me. Yet it is. Two sides of guilty. Drive carefully.

The Great Training Lie

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I used to tell people I trained all by myself for the LLS half marathon. All alone. While it was true that I never made it to a training session (45 minutes away), I never met my coach, and I never ran with a group of like-minded individuals to say that I trained alone is a huge lie. It’s my all-time greatest training lie. So, here for the first time I would like to publicly thank the people who pulled me through 13.1 miles exactly one year ago today.

  • My mother. Her story of losing her mom to cancer (at MY age) broke my heart and built resolve in its place. I would not have even considered the venture if it hadn’t been for her. One of my favorite “mom” stories is not only did my mother research hotels with gyms so that I could train on the road, but she diligently tried out every exercise machine in said gym to keep me company while I ran for 90 minutes. One of my favorite mother-daughter conversations came out of that training session.
  • My sister. Race day she brought her whole family to NH stand in the pouring rain while I tackled the thirteen. She has friends who run more important, full marathons yet she made me feel like my run was a big deal to her. Running was that much easier knowing she was waiting at the finish line.
  • My husband. He got donations from coworkers to help with my fund raising efforts. He stuck to my diet better than I did. He stuck to my training schedule better than I did. He became my Miyagi after I got hurt, taping my knee before every run, coming with me to PT appointments, riding along side me when I ran, all the while asking, “how does the knee feel? Talk to me.”
  • Dr. John. Even though my knee was blown, he kept saying “We’ll get you through this.” My weekly sometimes twice weekly visits with him made me feel better about how I was taking care of the patella “issue” (because as John says life is one big issue).
  • Sarah. Her endless enthusiasm for my endeavor was infectious. She remained supportive even after I showed signs of giving up. Her attitude kept me positive every literal step of the way.
  • Gregory. I asked a bunch of people for music advice. I needed driving beats that would carry me through the harder miles (okay, the hills). Greg was the only one to come through. It the end, it was his drumming I heard the loudest and loved the best.
  • Bessie & my dad. Their ghosts were the angels that sat on my shoulder, whispered to me in lucid dreams and fueled my waking imagination.
  • Ruth. Her pragmatic approach to my bellyaching was to say simply, “you can do this.” Nothing more, nothing less. Sometimes, that’s all I needed.
  • Honorable mentions: Nick, Rebecca, Carolyn, George & Joanie. All of them picked up running because of me in some weird way. Rebecca and Carolyn went on to run in some pretty important races and Nick (the guy who hated running) could probably kick my butt in a distance race these days. I am proud those still running. You guys rock! My knee has crippled my ability but not my spirit and I run through your endeavors.

So, while I SAY I trained alone, really I didn’t. I had an army of support. I am proud of what I accomplished one year ago today and I have every person mentioned here to thank. Couldn’t have done it without you.

Together

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I’ve been thinking about relationships as of late. I think it’s because in knitting class we talked about what it means to be married and widowed at the same time. Married for life even through one half’s death. My swan of a mother is still that way, married for life despite walking through it alone.
When kisa and I took a walk today we discussed what exactly was a liveable life. We were talking about careers and work that could take us away from each other for long periods of time. I was firm in my belief that I didn’t get married to be alone. Kisa is my glass half full, my sunshine on a cloudy day, my resuscitator when I want to flat-line, my better half. I couldn’t untangle my heart from his if I tried.
A friend of mine got engaged over the weekend. I’m excited for her. (Can’t wait to see the ring!!!) After hanging up the phone Kisa and I had fun remembering our first years together – the interesting “date” at the bar, moving in together (what is this stuff???), getting engaged (one of my all time embarrassing moments), getting married…all of it including the mistakes we made, all the fun we had finding our way together. Despite all that I still think now is the happiest time of our lives.
I wish my friend well. This is only the beginning. As they say, the best is yet to come.

Capturing the Machine (For Brian)

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(photo by Monica)
Sometimes I think of circumstance as a devilish way of linking what will be. Que sera sera. Almost a year ago I lamented that I needed a road trip. I blogged & begged friends far and wide appealing to their sense of adventure, “…come join me. I want a trip to NY…” No one came. Living was too much of a commitment on the calendar on life. Yet, kisa found a willing adventurer and the adventure began.
Who knew that by introducing a coworker we would be one day making a professional video for Greg?
Rewind to July 2006. On the trip home Rob asked “now…how do you know Greg?” Was he curious because I was having a furious conversation, arms waving widely, tears barely contained? I don’t remember all that I said to Rob, nor all that I didn’t say. I know I finished with “he deserves all the best…” or something like that. Then my Knight took over with an idea. Let’s make a video. We could use the studio late night. Yeah! We could use a couple of cameras, crazy lighting and cool sound. Yes! It would be simple. Back and forth they discussed. I could only sit back and listen in amazement. I only gave birth to an emotion and watched in awe as it went on to greatness. My one and only contribution was giving it life. Such was the conversation between kisa and Rob. They incubated the plan for nearly nine long months, though. Sat on it through downsizing and corporate confusing, just waiting for the perfect moment. They had to keep me at arm’s length when I started to be too impatient. “It’ll happen. It’ll happen” became my mantra. 
April. The plan hatched into reality. I was allowed to invite one friend. Greg and Monica showed up around 9:45pm bringing Mike with them. After the kit was set up we hit an anticipated road block – the news had to be shot live. This is when we went out for coffee and I being the crazy driver I am nearly had everyone wearing their lattes. Still feeling red in the face about that one!
Once the news was finished (11:45pm) we could continue setting up. In rolled five cameras complete with operators for two of them. The other three were stationed strategically, the coolest being an overhead shot (from my last blog). To top it off we had two unexpected hands to help with setup and audio (thanks, Bob & Al!). It was an impressive night. Rob, the original plan-hatcher stayed in the director’s booth, giving direction to the cameramen (kisa & Pez on headsets) while the groupies sat ringside. Can I say I was in heaven? Selfish, selfish heaven. All I could think was “I’m getting a private Greg show! I’m the luckiest drum fanatic in the world!” I was surrounded by great friends and amazing drumming. I couldn’t have been happier. We ended the night sometime after 1:45am. I have a pic of Pez wheeling away a camera and the clock above the studio reads 1:51.54
Late this week we were able to send Greg a copy of the raw footage. My heart races watching it. I can’t wait for the finished product. When Greg decides what parts he likes Rob will edit it down. Then Greg will have a visual resume. But, we’re not done with Mr. Nash yet. Not yet. Everyone involved talked about a “next time” admitting they had not had this much fun in years. They’re talking different lighting, different camera angles, different techniques as if this time was just a practice run for the next time.

But, my mind is blown. No one needs to tell me I take things for granted. My didactic moment is this – I took this night for granted. I didn’t consider what this night might mean to anyone other than myself. Can’t wait to do it again.
Never underestimate the power of doing something for someone else. It might mean more than you’ll ever know.

Happy Birthday

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I have been thinking of you all day. You are 70 today, or you would have been if 9/21/92 didn’t mark another kind of day. Happy Birth Day. But sadday, too. Can I tell you I miss our breakfast table morning talks? There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t think of something to tell you, something to ask you. Am I living this life right? Where’s the Chilton manual for that? While I question this life, I speak of you often – telling stories of navigation lessons gone awry and near disaster driving lessons. Remember when I almost put the land rover in the ditch? You live on in my fondest, most cherished memories. Just today I told the Clean Your Room Story. My audience laughed and said you were right to throw the bed through the ceiling. As usual, you were proving a point. I was a rebellious, bratty child.
You ran with me today. You were in my head as I tackled five miles. I think that’s the thing that would shock you the most, dad. I’m a runner. Me. The child with her nose in a book, inside on a beautiful sunny summer day. I still can hear you telling me to get my butt outside. I can still remember how “put out” I felt by your insistence of “get some fresh air.” You probably knew that while I begrudgingly obeyed…I brought my book with me. Anything athletic was out of the question for this book worm – slug. But, now I run.
Dad, I need your help with so many things lately. I’m in denial about a friend’s cancer. I’ve just spent three days with like-minded professionals and somehow I can’t put myself in their league. I feel like I’m in the kiddie pool when I know I can swim. I really can’t but that’s neither here nor there. I worry about so many different things to the point of heat blisters and bald spots. I get lost staring at kisa playing Guitar Hero II. It’s distracting. You would not believe this world we live in. Kids have wheels in their shoes. You would want to trip them. There’s a guy on the Internet, his name is Justin and his whole life is on the web…Dad, his whole life. Then there’s Twitter and something called Second Life. So many things I wouldn’t even know how to begin to explain to you.

But, forget all that. If you were here we’d make meatloaf and have angel food cake for dessert. Happy birthday.

I Spy Too Shy

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I wanted to take pictures straight up, head on, face forward, but lost my nerve. When I finally faced face I focused off center. I’m still shy because I still feel groupie. Period. So, I took pictures like a lesson in prepositions – around, behind, along, beside. Never really in front though. Next time will be better. When I breathe.
This is one of my favorite pictures from the night. It’s how I felt the entire time – there but not completely believing it. There but in a surreal state of pleasant surprise. Lurking on the fringe. Who knew it would be that cool? Who knew it would be that elaborate? Five cameras, five professionals. Audio. Director. Cameramen. Groupies. But, that’s not why it’s been almost a week and I’m still talking about it. It was a night filled with a room full of friends.

When I deleted MyThatSpace I went through all the motions of saying yes, I really want this account gone. Yes, I really, really do. Then I realized I left a letter behind. Luckily, they gave me 48 hours to clean out my locker. If I could have gathered all the special notes, the Frankie pics, the sweet things people have said, I would have. Instead, like a crazy lady I ran back into the burning building just to save one thing. Words of sincere friendship. Not the BS you read in lyrics, or the kind of empty gratitude you get in an email because you’ve written a check. Not the double-standard, two-faced, fake-smiling you get because you are constantly trying to bring someone else up. No love for who you are, simply because of you.

I was taught a lesson in kindness last week. It has taken me six days to think it through. Just because you think something isn’t a big deal, no skin off your nose, that doesn’t mean it isn’t to someone else. Does that make sense? Acts of kindness you shrug off could make all the different to someone else.

The Letter or It Was Something You Said

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I took a day off from writing to collect my thoughts. I didn’t want to tell my friend my mind was blown just as much as his. For different reasons. For the same reasons. But, I’ll get to that – eventually.

I was going to blog about the whole experience. From top to bottom I wanted to relive the whole night. It’s this urge I have. I always want to be the life reporter that I profess to be. There is no denying this one night’s experience was one of the coolest things I’ve ever been a part of and my head is still reeling. But. Big but. I find myself thinking along other lines. About other things. Writing has always been a big part of who I am. From gawd-awful love letters in the 5th grade to confessional blogs at 2am some 27 years later. I have always expressed myself with words. Usually it’s the writing, not the reading, that sets me free. Not this time. I read three things this weekend. Three very different things all with the same theme: friendship. This time it was the reading that unburdened me.

In the 8th grade I had a penpal who shared my same writing philosophy. Our motto was, “No letter left unanswered!” So, no matter when or how I wrote she would write back. Always. Our second motto was, “give what you get.” So, if I wrote a “letter” on the back of a gum wrapper I’d get juicyfruit mail in return. “IGOO57C” was a common sentiment (think Eric Clapton circa 1982).

So, like I said I read things this weekend. You said something to me. You deserve something back. Stay tuned.

Ophelia Revisited

gr4c52 Comments

NatalieI go through phases. Musically obsessed, I will listen to one artist over and over again until something takes me off course. I am not exactly sure what dictates this audio gorging, but I’ve always been this way. Ask my mother and she’ll tell you about an ABBA cassette I wore out in the 7th grade. Get me hooked on something and I don’t give it up. Won’t give it up. Ever since kisa was able to get bootlegs of BubbleGum I have been in his audience for months now. Sometimes I’m the back, absently humming along. Other times I’m right up in the front row, screaming my heart out. Daily doses of BubbleGum. Two nights ago I watched Any Given Thursday back to back with a New York show from earlier this year, trying to reconcile 2002 with 2007. I still can’t believe it’s the same guy! Just last night kisa found a secret show, something recorded at 1am. Intriguing.
Recently though, thanks again to kisa, I’m back to my Natalie obsession. Almost like coming full circle. It started in 1998 and most recently came around again when my knight put a gigantic, humungous pair of headphones on my head and said something about Noise Blocking Technology. The latest. I couldn’t hear him. Not one word. “Your lips move but I can’t hear what you’re saying.” His mistake was pushing play and letting the cd spin. I couldn’t hear him, didn’t want to hear him… for Natalie had begun to sing.
I admit it. I have missed this voice. I have missed the anger, the passion that always bubbles up from somewhere secret when her lyrics hit me. Tonight I relived Live in Concert (1999). Natalie has always conquered the tough subjects in her songs. I could sense the rage simmering as Natalie sang, “there’s a world outside this room and when you meet it promise me you won’t meet it with your gun taking aim” (Gun Shy, 1987). She was talking to her baby brother about joining the military but all I could think about was Cho Seung-Hui. What made him meet his world with a gun taking aim – just days before the anniversary of Columbine? Would this tragedy get to Natalie as much as 4/20/1999 did? Would she write about Seung-Hui as she had about Harris and Klebold? Tell me. What makes someone’s hatred so untouchable, his alienation so absolute? When does taking aim become the only answer to desperation? I’m hoping Natalie explores the unexplicable because it’s time to hear her voice again, to hear her ask the tough questions.