uncollected thoughts

Greetings from a muggy Sunday night in Atlanta. I just logged onto Blogger to see if I could remember my password, remember how to post. I feel like I've been in a creative drought lately. I'm ready to come out of it. Is that something one can do simply by intending it? Well, I'm here, and I'm trying.

I'm not here to write about anything in particular, just bits and pieces floating through my brain. Welcome to the blotter.

(1) I went to a funeral on Saturday for a young man I'd never met. Alex was the 22-year-old son of a woman I know through my contradance community. Alex's mother, Linda, is a petite Southern firecracker of a woman. Until Saturday, I don't think I had ever not seen her smiling. But the funeral was crushing. After a long struggle with addiction, Alex died of a drug overdose. I gather that his death was quite unexpected. He'd been in and out of recovery programs; I suppose he seemed to be making progress. And then he was gone. Linda sobbed and sobbed on Saturday. I didn't think I'd cry at the funeral, but I did, just because I hated to see Linda so sad. A mother should never have to bury a son.

(2) In a strange way, I feel oddly excited about the increase in the cost of gas. Yes, that sounds kind of sick. But being a good Socialist-hearted American, I find it interesting that we are finally starting to encounter some checks in our extravagant waste of fossil fuels. Wendell Berry wrote a splendid article in the May issue of Harper's that gets right to the issue, noting the psychological shifts that are accompanying the end of cheap oil:

…That human limitlessness is a fantasy means, obviously, that its life expectancy is limited. There is now a growing perception, and not just among a few experts, that we are entering a time of inescapable limits. We are not likely to be granted another world to plunder in compensation for our pillage of this one. Nor are we likely to believe much longer in our ability to outsmart, by means of science and technology, our economic stupidity. The hope that we can cure the ills of industrialism by the homeopathy of more technology seems at last to be losing status. We are, in short, coming under pressure to understand ourselves as limited creatures in a limited world.

I wonder sometimes what it would be like for American filling stations to sell gas at $10/gallon, like they already do in some parts of Europe. If we couldn't drive everywhere, would not our lives become significantly simpler, smaller and quieter? Yes, $10/gallon gas would necessitate some major life changes and some major inconveniences for most working Americans. But I think many of those shifts would be incredibly healthy for us in the long run.

(3) I've been working way too much lately. The financial freedom is nice. The disconnect I feel from my artistic life is not so great. I don't like who I become when I work too much. I become this machine, a hyper-productive, stressed, anxious, furious footsoldier. I continue to seek balance in this area. I miss taking photos a lot.

(4) I'm continuing to enjoy getting to know a couple of women neighbors in my apartment building. We went to Birdi's a couple of weeks ago and I had a "faketini" called the Christini Milkshake. $8.75 for vanilla vodka, white creme de cacao, Kahlua, and cream. I don't really care for elaborate drinks, but this thing was seriously delicious. I've been thinking about that drink for two weeks now. I'll try to steer the group back there and take photos next time.

(5) My older brother is spending the summer in Oregon and I miss him.

(6) I'm getting my hair cut on Tuesday and I can't wait. I haven't had it cut since March and I'm looking especially pitiful. I'm going back to the woman who did this to me — but this time we're going to have a Come To Jesus conversation before she picks up the scissors.

Thanks for reading this far. It's good to be back. Hopefully it won't be three months before I post here again.

Rivers and Tides

[cross-posted on my Gaia site]

Last Christmas, my friend Kathy gave me a copy of the documentary Rivers and Tides, about the work of Scottish environmental artist Andy Goldsworthy. I'm a little embarrassed about how long it took me to get around to watching it. I'm so glad I finally did.

At first blush, this documentary is 90 minutes of footage of a man playing with sticks, snow and rocks. Beneath the surface, this is a very compelling and beautiful story of a man who has found his life's work making beautiful sculptures from the elements. His work is designed to be ephemeral -- he'll spend a day or two or three developing a piece of art, only to see it melt, thaw or be carried out with the tide.

His work offers a window into the transcendent in nature and illustrates the extreme fragility of the world around us.

Something about this documentary touched some pretty deep chords in me. After sitting down somewhat skeptically and watching the documentary with just one eye over the first ten or fifteen minutes, I got completely drawn in. There is so much that I admire about what this man is doing. I rewound certain parts and watched them again and again. I got out the second DVD and watched a bunch of the additional footage, the kind that certifies your standing as a bona fide fan. And I had to stop halfway into the video and get out my journal and write:

"Here's a guy who is basically doing pure art. He's working in deep connection to a landscape and he seems to be working for no particular audience. The elements are so pure. Water, sun, earth. He is doing it to achieve a greater understanding of the transience of life. It's not about scoring xyz gallery or spinning his grant application in the right way with the right phrases. It is about pleasure, learning and beauty."

Over the past couple of years I have noticed the increasing volume of drumbeats in my head. The drumbeats calling me to The Great Work. This Goldsworthy video was another wakeup call.

I'm not even sure what I mean by The Great Work, and I feel more than a bit foolish talking about it here. But the idea isn't going away, so it's probably time to try to poke at it some more.

What it's not:
This is not about spraypainting my name ("Class of '92!!!!") on the caves of Lascaux. This is not some Salieri-esque dream of immortality. I don't wish to be famous or rich. I don't care about making some mark on the artistic world that will never fade away.

What it is:
It's a desire to create something larger and more honest and more direct. It's a desire to bring more truth to the table. It's what Mike Scott was getting at when he wrote a song called "The Big Music" for The Waterboys 20 years ago:

I have heard the big music
And I'll never be the same
Something so pure
just called my name

Why fill your life with hundreds of your dumb snapshots when you can take three or four or just one really good photo. I think that we have the opportunity to speak more truth, we should.

(For me, "truth" is still a word that has a lot of sticky Christian tentacles attached to it. Certain Christian groups talk about the world's "truth" and about Jesus's "Truth," and about how the only enduring Truth is that found in Jesus Christ. I don't believe that anymore, and I'm trying to reclaim the concept from the church. Truth is turning out to be something much more beautiful and powerful and startling and life-giving than I was ever able to see before.)

In all of its breathlessness and recklessness, Annie Dillard's Living With Weasels grabbed me by the scruff of my neck about fifteen years ago and it still hasn't let go:

"We could, you know. We can live any way we want. People take vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience--even of silence--by choice. The thing is to stalk your calling in a certain skilled and supple way, to locate the most tender and live spot and plug into that pulse. This is yielding, not fighting. A weasel doesn't 'attack' anything; a weasel lives as he's meant to, yielding at every moment to the perfect freedom of single necessity.

"I think it would be well, and proper, and obedient, and pure, to grasp your one necessity and not let it go, to dangle from it limp wherever it takes you. Then even death, where you're going no matter how you live, cannot you part. Seize it and let it seize you up aloft even, till your eyes burn out and drop; let your musky flesh fall off in shreds, and let your very bones unhinge and scatter, loosened over fields, over fields and woods, lightly, thoughtless, from any height at all, from as high as eagles."

blogging elsewhere

I'd like to invite you to join me at a new site where I've been blogging for the past couple of months: http://romanlily.gaia.com/blog

This site where I've been writing is formerly known as zaadz.com. It was just bought by the lifestyle/fitness/etc. company Gaia, but I still think of it as zaadz. They offer some nice blogging tools and writing prompts in the form of Questions of the Day. I like the feel of the community there. My biggest hesitation with closing down this site and embracing the zaadz site is that commenters are required to have a Gaia login in order to leave comments. That is a bit of a downer, because I know what it feels like to have create-a-profile burnout.

But I'm thinking about letting to of this site. I have felt a little unmotivated for a while about writing in this space. I like the sense of connectedness I get over at Gaia.

I'll decide later what to do with this site, but in the meantime, if you have any interest in reading some more recent entries from me, come on over!

it's time for music!

It's that time you've all been waiting for — time for my favorite songs of the year. Yessss!

Yeah, there's a lot of other stuff I could write about in this space, but I am working hard to put the break-in behind me and move forward. To be honest, I am finding it upsetting to think any more about the break-in than I already have. 

So I am here to share some delicious songs with you. I hope you enjoy.

(6) "Sanssouci" — Rufus Wainwright. Lord knows how I love this man. 2007 saw the release of Rufus' decadent Release the Stars, an dazzling album with the same lavish production that characterized his splendid Want One album and the cryptic Want Two. "Sanssouci" is probably my favorite song from the album, a playful little number about love and longing and boys in hotels. The song features a charming flute part, a sort of trilly, lacy little flute line that makes you feel like dancing around in a tutu. Over the summer I was rewarded with the sight of seeing a big muscular man wearing pin-striped circus pants playing that flute part at Rufus' Atlanta concert. That was a good day.

One of my favorite lines in the song is almost a throwaway, a casual line in which Rufus sings I'm tired of writing elegies to boredom. When this song came across my radar in the spring, that line felt like a strange revelation, a clue on the path. I took it as encouragement to broaden my horizons, to jump into something unexpected and scary. As silly as it sounds, I felt an implicit endorsement from Rufus when I quit my horrible soul-eating job at the Very Large Multinational Corporation a few months after discovering this song. 

(5) "Flightless Bird, American Mouth" — Iron & Wine. I've been following Sam Beam since the days of The Creek Drank the Cradle, and I was happy to welcome this album to the fold this year. "Flightless Bird" is a beautiful, hymn-like waltz that closes The Shepherd's Dog. This song captures all that I love about Iron & Wine. The images of simple purity in Beam's music suggest a transcendent beauty that always waits just beyond our awareness.

(4) "The Part Where You Let Go" — Hem. I'm growing terribly predictable by adding a Hem selection to my top songs list each winter, but I can't help it. They're one of my favorite bands and one of the groups I turn to most frequently when seeking solace. They're like comfort food, except without all the guilt and calories. This song found me in June when I was leaving the stability of that soul-eating but lucrative day job and entering unknown territory. There were a number of occasions over the summer when the chorus reduced me to a quivering pile of tears.

(3) "Miracle of Five" — Eleni Mandell. NPR's delightful Song of the Day feature brought Eleni Mandell to my attention for the first time this spring. Her entire Miracle of Five album is full of sweet, folky songs like this one, with easygoing guitars and some sleepy saxophones. This is a very pleasing album.

(2) "Either Way" — Wilco.

Maybe the sun will shine today.

The clouds will blow away.

Maybe I won't feel so afraid.

I will try to understand 

Either way.

The childlike simplicity of these lines that open Wilco's album Sky Blue Sky took my breath away when I first heard them. The clarity and courage in those lines becomes even more significant when you realize that the person who wrote them, Jeff Tweedy, suffers from major depressive disorder and panic attacks. The lines seem like the best kind of therapy, a promise to just accept each day with open hands. Perhaps it was the knowledge of Jeff Tweedy's ongoing struggles with depression that led me to somehow link these lines to my thoughts about Bob, my friend who killed himself in August. I think this song was borne from deep vulnerability, and that's what I like best about it.

(1) "Australia" — The Shins. I loved all of The Shins' Wincing the Night Away album, but this song especially. The joy and abandon of this song buoyed my spirits throughout the year. It's been years since I came across a song this singable. The entire first half of this Wincing album is about as close to genius as contemporary pop music gets.

Honorable mentions:

- "The Storm" — José Gonzalez (this was a Friday Night Lights soundtrack favorite — thanks to the producers of FNL for their fantastic taste in music)

- "What Is a Soul?" — M. Ward

- "Is There a Ghost" — Band of Horses. I bought Cease to Begin this month after seeing that the album made it into the top 10 of Paste magazine's Top Albums of 2007. The album feels like what would happen if The Ocean Blue and My Morning Jacket got together and had a big fight and then decided to be friends. Melodic, bouncy rock and some really lovely harmonies.

- "Goes Around" — Rockfour

- "The Story" — Brandi Carlisle. The way Brandi's voice cracks at the climax of this song never fails to give me shivers.

Well, that's my story. Let's hear what you've been listening to for the past twelve months.

amusing

I took my car in to the mechanic today so he could look at some things. My check engine light was on, and it had been a while since I'd had the car serviced.

I love my mechanic. I've been seeing Rick for years. If he told me that he would need to charge me $5,000 to service my differential, I'd probably believe him and write him a check, even though I don't really know what a differential is or what it does.

This morning, when I dropped off the car, I asked him to look up the information on my car and tell me when I should plan to change the timing belt. The timing belt is a little rubber loop that is helps the valves in the engine fire at the proper times. The part itself isn't that expensive, but the timing belt generally lives in a terribly inaccessible place in the engine, so when you replace the timing belt, it ends up costing a ton of money, because the mechanic has to basically pull the entire engine out to get to it. I have to plan a few months out with the timing belt, because I can be confident that it's going to cost about $1,000 to change it.

Rick called me this morning. "Well, I've got some good news and some bad news." (This is how most of my conversations with Rick begin.)

I asked for the bad news. It was pretty bad: the car needs some obscure but important oxygen sensor unit. I have no idea what this part does, but the part costs about $600. Crap.

Then I asked for the good news.

"I looked up the information on your car to find out when they suggest you change your timing belt," he said. "I found out that your car does not have a timing belt. So you will never need to replace it."

"You're kidding!" I almost shouted into the phone. I was thrilled.

Then I stopped, and laughed, because I am pretty sure this means I've reached adulthood. The thought of not having to eventually pay for this car repair brings me to the same level of happiness that I have when Rufus Wainwright gives a concert, or when I get together for dinner with good friends.

Adulthood is amusing.

the gratitude list

Back at home after enjoying Thanksgiving dinner with my family in the Atlanta suburbs. It was a wonderful meal, with both my brothers attending. This year we were also joined by my boyfriend, Rob, and my brother's girlfriend, Ana, who made a couple of scrumptious side dishes for our feast.

It was a really good day.

Things I have loved or appreciated recently:

- The way Ana's entire face lights up when she is talking about food she loves. She gestures with her hands, her eyes widen, and you feel your own pulse quicken at the thought of potentially tasting the food she's describing.
- The chance to enjoy very good food with Ana and Scott... they are discriminating food-lovers with terrific taste in food. Dining out with them really tops my list of yummy and fun things to do. (Last night I took them to Feast and they really enjoyed it.)
- The way my parents have made such an effort to welcome Rob and Ana into their lives. My parents have three children. Two of those children chose partners and married, and both of those marriages ended. Clearly, this was not part of what they wanted for us. But they are rolling with it and finding a way to enjoy "Plan B."
- Being able to make a living doing things that I really like.
- Being able to take photos every day of things that interest me.
- Actually knowing what to do with the photos once I have taken them (really enjoying getting to know Lightroom right now).
- A growing sense of spaciousness and permission to explore my creative dreams. That sounds really corny, doesn't it? But it's true. I am really grateful for the opportunity to develop my creative sensibilities.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

goodbye to a friend

This morning I found out that Bob is gone. Bob is the friend I wrote about here. And that's a photo of him, taken by his wife Judy. His body was discovered, some time this past weekend, in the woods where he disappeared in August. It is apparent to authorities that he took his own life, probably on the same day that he disappeared.

In the three months since Bob vanished, I've discovered more information about some of the circumstances surrounding his disappearance. I found out about some major obstacles he was facing in some of his most important relationships. There were a lot of personal issues troubling Bob that I knew nothing about. But the thought of Bob killing himself is profoundly upsetting. I feel like I want to go back to the park where he disappeared, to sit down with him and just talk things out for a while. What I'd really like to do is talk him out of it.

I'm not really sad yet. Mostly I'm just mad. This feels like a profound loss of talent and heart for the world. Plus a damn fine dance partner for me.

It is so painful to know that some part of Bob really thought that ending his own life would be a good idea. Nothing could be further from the truth.

There was some small part of me that hoped that Bob was still alive. That he had just decided to go somewhere quiet to collect himself for a while.

A few weeks ago I even found myself hoping (irrationally) that Bob was alive, that he was Googling himself somewhere in a public library in the middle of nowhere, and coming across the journal entry I wrote about him back in August. Just so he would know that I was thinking about him, that I missed him. That sounds silly now.

Bob, I hope you are happier where you are now. I miss you.