THANKFUL FRIDAY

My friend Sarah introduced me to Chappell Roan back in July and I’m obsessed. I am always a sucker for a female artist who is not afraid to sing explicitly saucy lyrics. This artist does not disappoint. I had her playing on Alexa while I made Michael and I breakfast a few weekends ago. Michael was in the shower and at one point he came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. He was looking at his phone while clutching an imaginary strand of pearls and then said “Have you been listening to these lyrics?!?” I replied “Yes!” and then continued to sing along. He obviously has never been paying attention when I’m playing Missy Elliot or Liz Phair or Wet Leg. I could go on. I want to erase the primitive ideas suggesting that women artists are or should be demure and at the most, PG-13 rated.

I’d like to make the argument that Pink Pony Club is the Girls’ Just Wanna Have Fun of this generation. But more inclusive.

And I heard that there's a special place,
Where boys and girls can all be queens every single day. -Chappell Roan

I am excited and energized by the new artists that have been introduced to me over the past several years. I think it’s easy to settle into the old songs and musicians we know and never open ourselves up to something new. I mean, I still listen to the bands who were my favorites as a teen and young adult. I had The Sundays playing while we got ready for work just the other morning. Even though it’s been a hot minute since the last time I listened to the Flaming Lips, I may have gotten a little jealous about a friend who got free tickets to a concert recently. The Flaming Lips put on a religious experience of a show. But I love it even more when I have a friend ask “Have you heard of…?” and it is someone new to me. Then I listen to this new to me artist and most of the time I fall in love and their music plays on a loop for weeks.

Because there’s more to it than just the joy of experiencing a new artist.

It’s about the joy in sharing. To have a friend who discovers a new artist and then likes that artist so much, they think you will also like them is a gift. It’s like they have found something that makes them feel joy and they want to share that joy with you. This is not limited to music. There is a reason suggested posts about cute animals and hunky firemen show up in my Insta feed. I liked one reel from my friend Wilson ages ago, hence hunky firemen. I’m not mad about it. To share something that brings you joy with others is an act of vulnerability. There’s a certain amount of trust involved with an underlying fear of judgment. “Please don’t make fun of me but I really liked this thing.” I am grateful to be trusted by so many people.

I will never make fun of you.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

In 1996, Chris and I drove to Kansas City, KS to see Sting in concert. It was the Mercury Falling tour and our first concert together. We had no idea who the opener was going to be and when Tracy Chapman stepped out onto the stage, Chris and I turned to each other and practically squealed with glee. Tracy Chapman was the icing on this cake of a concert. The two women sitting in front of us left the concert when Tracy Chapman left the stage. They paid Sting amount of moneys to see her and I don’t blame them. Seeing Tracy Chapman step out onto the stage to sing her song Fast Car with Luke Combs at Sunday’s Grammy’s made every one I know burst into tears for good reasons.

Chris’s birthday was on Tuesday.

Tuesday morning, while getting ready for work, I asked Alexa to play songs by David Bowie. There is not an obvious link between Chris and David Bowie. We loved Bowie’s music and it was often featured in our daily playlists. We never got to see him concert, which is a bummer, but we never really talked about the possibility of going to a Bowie concert (mostly because we figured we could never afford it). My link with Chris and David Bowie is a bit more subtle. Many of you know that David Bowie died of liver cancer in 2016. Some of you may not realize that Bowie died two days after celebrating his 69th birthday. Chris also died of liver cancer within days of his birthday and it’s taken me a long time to say that this is how Chris died. For years, when asked, I’d tell people that Chris died from a large tumor on his liver that was wrapped around his bile duct. It felt (sometimes feels) that “liver cancer” is too simple of a description and the word ‘cancer’ implies that it can be removed and treated. None of these were options for us. There was no excision of a tumor or chemo treatments. We were handed a sheet of paper containing a list of phone numbers for hospice care.

Chris died four days after celebrating his 41st birthday.

Concerts were our church. Movie scripts were his scripture. Girls on Film by Duran Duran started playing in the car on my way home yesterday and I sang along with Chris’s lyrics “Dogs on stilts”. I don’t think I can sing it any other way. Chris lacked the ability to carry a tune, but was more than skilled in linking a tune to a scene. In December of 2011, Chris and I saw our final concert together, Florence and the Machine. He was very sick and in a lot of pain, but we didn’t know then about the tumor or the cancer. He spent most of the concert sitting on the floor and we did not stay for the entire show. The morning Chris died, I drove to work in hopes of getting an hour or two of tasks accomplished. Hospice had settled into our home by then and Chris was comfortable. His mother and brother were there, so I thought this would be a good time to step away for bit. As I made the drive, Dog Days are Over by Florence and Machine came on the radio. I was at my desk for ten minutes before they called me to tell me that Chris had passed.

I wanna hear one song without thinking of you… -Me and My Dog by Boygenius

I have carried a trunk full of guilt and anger over Chris’s last morning for years. I should have been there. He’s such a jerk for choosing the moment I leave the house to draw his last breath. What kind of idiot am I for thinking I could ‘step out for a bit’? If I’d been there would he still be breathing? That is a particularly horrific thought. A day and a half before Chris died, he stopped being the sharp witted person we all knew and loved. He was unconscious and incoherent. The Chris we all knew and loved had already left the building. Chris didn’t choose that moment to leave out of spite or meanness. It was just his time and it was easier for the both of us for me to not be present. My presence made it harder for him leave and he really needed to leave. Knowing this is why I don’t carry that trunk around with me all the time now. I might move it from one place to another from time to time. It is always in the room with me, but I am no longer carrying it every waking moment.

The day the doctor handed us the phone number for hospice care, I was forced to recognize that there was nothing I could do in this situation. Being put into this absolute position broke my brain. It didn’t happen all at once. It took phone calls to various cancer centers and the inability to get Chris’s pain managed for it to sink in. There was nothing I could do to fix this. With time, I’ve started seeing this as less of a failure on my part and more of a surrender. When I tell my students to surrender to their final relaxation it is my cue to them to give in and allow for relaxation. There is a floaty feeling that happens when your body completely sinks into your mat and you have surrendered. It is not dissimilar to the feeling I have when I set down that trunk of guilt and anger.

I am often asked if it ever gets any easier, this whole grief thing, and I still after all this time don’t know how to answer. There is not a day that passes where I don’t think of him or miss him terribly. But I have surrendered myself to the reality that Chris no longer has a physical presence on this planet. That particular reality has become part of that trunk I sometimes move around. The answer to the question of ease has a yes and no answer. That trunk is heavy and takes up space, but it is filled with things I can’t completely dump. On the days I’m carting that around, my answer is no. On the days when I’m not carrying it, but I can see the trunk in the room, my answer is yes.

There is gratitude to be found in the surrender.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

In my Self Care Circle group, we’ve talked a lot about ways to incorporate movement and cultivate joy in our every day lives. Roze gave us all the gift of the one song dance party where for one whole song, you dance with abandon, like no one’s watching. I’ve never been shy about moving my body to a beat, but I did find it important enough to remind myself to get up and dance. So I put it on my calendar and every day at 2:00pm, I get an alert that it is time for a dance party at my desk. I scheduled it for this time because I start to get sluggish and sleepy in the mid afternoon. It might not make sense to force myself off my butt to dance when I’m slumping, but dancing is an energizing exercise. So at 2:00pm, I can be found shaking off my mid afternoon slumps by wiggling my hips and flailing about like a wacky wavy inflatable tube guy.

There’s a scene in Beetlejuice where he makes a group of people at a dinner part start dancing. I’m sure you are familiar with the scene, but the dinner party guests all start involuntarily moving their bodies to the beat of the Banana Boat song and looking all confused. I become one of those dinner party guests, except with less confusion, whenever a song with a good beat starts playing. I can’t help myself and do not ever wish to help myself. At concerts, I will look around me while I’m flailing about and see most of the audience just standing motionless. I want to grab ahold of the nearest person and yell “MOVE YOUR BODY! HOW CAN YOU STAND STILL TO THIS BEAT! I MEAN, CAN’T YOU FEEEEEL THIS MUSIC?!?!” That’s the thing. I don’t just hear music as much as I feel it physically inside my body.

Every morning when I get out of the shower, I poke my head into the living room and say “Alexa, play some music.” Because there are three of us on this music account with various listening preferences, I usually have to poke my head out into the living room again and say “Alexa, play a different station.” This week, I told her to play songs by the Scissor Sisters. I have danced every morning this week while brushing my teeth, putting on makeup, drying my hair and getting dressed. Then Josephine and I dance while I’m getting her goodbye treats and I pretty much dance right up until I ask Alexa to stop so I can leave the house.

This simple act of adding music that makes me dance to my mornings is what has made this generally normal, just a week kind of week, more than just a normal week (side note: on two separate occasions this week, I had at least one article of clothing on backwards). I often sneak vegetables into our meals because getting Michael to eat something other than corn is challenging. Well, adding dance music to my mornings is like sneaking in vegetables, except in this case joy is replacing kale. I have been sneaking joy into my life each morning with dance music.

I highly recommend it.

Also, I highly recommend kale.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Every morning, while Michael and I are getting ready for work, I will tell Alexa to play some music. Sometimes I tell her what to play, usually a playlist that I have curated of music that both of us enjoy hearing. Sometimes, I just let Alexa decide what we’re going to listen to. When it’s our birthdays, I ask Alexa to play songs from whatever year we were born. The first time I did this, it was Michael’s birthday and the first song to start playing was one by Creedence Clearwater. I don’t remember which song it was, but I looked at Michael and said “So….this was 1975?”

Yesterday, when I asked Alexa to play the hits from 1976, the first song to start playing was Don’t Go Breaking My Heart, by Elton John and Kiki Dee. All the songs that followed were similar disco roller skating songs, with the exception of Paul Simon’s 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover. As I swayed my hips from side to side, dancing to this music, I thought “this explains my love of roller skating.” It made me chuckle. I am a toddler of the seventies with my little toddler ears hearing the Bee Gees swirled together with Eric Clapton and Alice Cooper. I am a child of the eighties where I started to lean towards punk rock and alternative artists while still tuning into the tunes of Debbie Gibson and Tiffany. I am a teen of the nineties with grunge and hip-hop and still more alternative music.

I’ve been fortunate to be part of such diversity of musical influences.

I received so many messages of love yesterday. Even the Cabbage sent me a birthday text. Thank you. My dear friend Amani called to FaceTime, which we’ve never done with each other before. I have to tell you, when her live face popped up on my phone, my heart leaped. It was such a joy to see her and laugh with her and oh, how we laughed. I’m sure the people in my office were wondering what the heck was going on, particularly when I got up to draw on the whiteboard to explain to Amani something about work. Which then we laughed even more. It was like we just picked up where we left off from camp. I usually cringe at the idea of talking on the phone and FaceTime makes me want to put a bag over my head, but this was so so nice. I am softening when it comes to communicating by phone and FaceTime.

My birthday is one of those days that tend to be difficult, but not because I am turning a year older. It’s just difficult. Some of you know why and the rest of you don’t need the depressing details. I approach the day with the no expectations and no sudden moves. I just sit back and take in all the well wishes and what a blessing it is to have so many messages of love that I can’t keep up with all the thank yous.

So, with all of the intact parts of my heart, I thank you for the messages of joy.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

We were out running errands and I cued up a song that I thought the Cabbage would like. Cibo Matto came on singing about “searching the city for SyFy Wasabi.'“ The Cabbage started laughing and said “How do you find these bands?!?” I then had to tell her the Cibo Matto has been around for a while and that I’m pretty sure they’re not together anymore. Then Michael said “No, really. How do you find these bands?” I just shrugged and said “I don’t know”, but Michael pushed the subject. I told him about hanging out at a dance club called the Icon when I was in HS. I did not elaborate, mostly because I wasn’t sure how to elaborate. Sometimes I feel like I made those moments up, like the Icon wasn’t real or that I didn’t spend late weekend nights flailing around the dance floor to alternative and techno music. I remember that the Icon had these giant speakers and there was always a group of goth kids sitting on top of them looking down on all of us flailing about.

But thinking on it, the Icon is not where I first heard of Cibo Matto.

The music I listened to then and sometimes even now was not easy to find. Radio listening choices where I grew up were country, classic rock, heavy metal, a top hits station and gospel. Mostly country and gospel. Indie alternative music did not have much of an audience. The Flaming Lips have more fans that live out of state (and country) than they have within their home state of Oklahoma. If I tuned the radio to an obscure AM station late at night, I could sometimes pick up a college radio station that played songs by The Smiths, Bjork and the Pixies. I would write down the names of artists and then search the music store for tapes. I would listen to those tapes over and over until every word and order of each song was memorized. I gravitated towards people who also liked this kind of music and from them I would learn about other bands. My friend Amy in HS, who was a year older and who I thought was the coolest (still think she’s probably the coolest), she had long red hair and then she shaved the bottom half of her head. She introduced me to the Melodramatic Wallflowers, a band no one probably even remembers.

From Chris, I would gain a greater appreciation for Oingo Boingo, Pink Floyd and Dire Straits. I met Chris right around the time I was really into Sting and the Police and we would listen to Ten Summoner’s Tales over and over in his dorm room. I lost my virginity while the Fields of Gold album played through the speakers. Traci would be the one to introduce me to Belly and the first time we were in a car that had satellite radio, we squealed at finding FRED radio. The two of us sat in a not too crowded area at a Snow Patrol concert once. It was the tour they did with the release of Chasing Cars. We were the only two in the audience who knew their other songs and our enthusiasm earned us VIP passes to the front of the stage for the end of the concert. Todd was responsible for the Shins and possibly Wilco. Cibo Matto came from a woman I worked with right after grad-school. I am fortunate enough now to have access to a public radio station that continuously plays music by independent artists.

The long answer to Michael’s question is that I found these bands by surrounding myself with people like myself. None of us really fit into any mold. We were popular without being popular. A mix of all the members of the Breakfast Club. Our choice in music keeps us all curious and willing to share our finds. “Oh, have you heard of…? You need to check them out.” I get texts like that from Chad all the time. I can link most of the artists I listen to to the people in my life, even to people met in passing or strangers. Robin and Neko Case. Talaura and Josh Ritter and every new musical to hit Broadway. Katrina and the Bee Gees. Randy and Joe Cocker. Dad and the whole Hollywood Cowboy genre. Mom and old musicals. Potatobiker Amy (which sounds like it’s own band name) and Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros. Sarah and Lizzo. Jason and Lo-Fi Chill. I mean the list could go on forever.

Michael and I do not listen to the same kind of music. Our separate playlists are as different as night and day, but even this has had me going out of my listening way to discover new music that I think we can enjoy together. It comes down to surrounding myself with people that encourage me to stay curious. That’s the long answer to how I find these bands and I am grateful for all of it.

MY EMBARRASSING CONFESSION

Wise

Back during my experiment in online dating, I was virtually approached by a disturbing number of inappropriately young men. Twenty three was the number all of them chose to represent their age, but I am 99% sure all of them were lying. I will admit that there was a part of me that was curious about being with a younger man, but a reasonable amount of younger. Not young enough to be my kid young. The idea of a twenty three year old boy seeing and touching this naked body, horrifies me. I need a man who’s lived a little, had some experiences, seen some things. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with this body. It is a perfectly fine neoclassical body, one that has not ever birthed a child. So, I got that going for my vagina. It’s just that boys that age when I was that age were really good at making fun of a girl’s body. I expect a certain amount of cruelty from boys between the ages of fifteen and twenty six. I also lack the energy or desire to be some boy’s sexual educator.

Then Harry Styles entered my life.

He first came to my attention when he hosted SNL last year. Before his appearance on SNL, all I knew of him came from snippets of gossip and tabloids, things that never really got my attention. Then he shows up on SNL and I couldn’t help myself. I was completely charmed. I was so charmed that I started listening to his music. His ‘Fine Line’ album has been playing on loop for days now. I’ve added his ‘Adore You’ song to my love song playlist. I’ve added him to my list of hair I want to run my fingers through. He comes across as goofy and silly, but has the capacity for seriousness. I believe he might be smarter then some might give him credit for. He also has a look about him that says that he does not need a sexual educator. That in fact, he could probably teach me a thing or two. I would totally let him touch this neoclassical body.

And this not only surprises me, but it embarrasses me.

I don’t know how this punk alternative radio girl turned into a pop radio cougar. In the last two years, I have added artists such as Kesha, Beyonce, Taylor Swift, Lizzo and now Harry Styles to my daily musical listening. My reasoning is that the music makes me move my butt. I’ve never been the one to stand still on the sidelines of a concert. When Michael took me to see the New Pornographers, I was the only one in the middle of the crowd moving my body to the beat. I can’t help myself. Music moves me physically and emotionally.

I just wanna dance like a mutherfucker, yeah! - Kesha, Boogie Feet

In the case of the above musicians, the music is just light and fun (mostly). It allows me to be silly and ridiculous when life is so serious and heavy. There is no age you can reach where suddenly you cannot be silly and ridiculous. This is not a method for clinging to a younger version of yourself. It is a preservation of the current version of yourself.

So yeah, I’m gonna just let Harry walk through fire for me and adore me, because why wouldn’t you?!?

HOLDING IT TOGETHER

Natural habitat

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I dreamt that I walked into a room that was littered with peeled oranges and macaroons. They were strewn all around the floor like rose petals. As I walked across the room, I looked down and noticed a ring poking out of the merengue of one of the macaroons and I bent down to pick it up. Then there was a man kneeling beside me, asking me to marry him. I stared at the ring and said “Of course. Of course I’ll marry you.” When I looked down into the man’s face, I saw Chris looking up at me with that sappy look he could get some times. Smiling. Big puppy dog eyes filling with tears of happiness.

I woke up feeling guilty.

A few weeks later, I had the dream that I always have about J. There was a mistake and we had been sent a body to burry because the Powers at Be had thought it was J. Except it wasn’t him. J had been wandering the desert and now he was finally back, trying to re-enter our lives as it is now. I was elated to see him, but worried about how he was going to take to all the changes that had occurred in his absence. Again, I woke up feeling guilty. Since that dream, I have been waiting for Dad. The power of three. I am Ebenezer Scrooge. You will be visited by three ghosts. I am still waiting for the third, wondering when Dad will show up.

I had an appointment with my chiropractor yesterday. Since the day was so nice, I rode the scooter, flying down the nearly empty streets. My soul lifted with the breeze. I arrived at my destination and my chiropractor was so happy to see me. The joy was mutual. It seems ridiculous how the sight of a familiar face you haven’t seen in weeks can illicit such joy. I practically skipped back my session on the roller table. I sprayed the table with disinfectant and wiped it down. Then I laid back and closed my eyes while the roller moved up and down my back. I was surprised to feel tears well up in my eyes and leak down the sides of my face. It came to me then, just how hard I have been working to hold it all together and holding it all together not just for my own benefit. On the outside, I look like I am handling all of this with ease. My insides tell a different story.

Even though I have set up a routine for myself, there are moments in my day where things just go on pause and I don’t know what to do with myself. I step away from my desk and walk around from the bedroom to the living room to the dining room. Back and forth. I listen to each squeak, tick and groan of the hardwood floor as I carefully place each step. I sit back down at my computer and fight my way through some exercises in Python coding. I do not have a coding brain and every review question is an exercise in futility. By the time I closed my computer yesterday, my brain felt mushy and I still had to re-take this week’s quiz. You must make a 70% or higher to move forward. Michael had to give me a lesson of true or false statements. It was more than slightly humiliating.

I die at least once a week while on the Oregon Trail or from an Exploding Kitten.

And I am unmotivated to write here.

It seems unauthentic to come here and write because I try to make the content somewhat uplifting. All I have brought you today is list of sad and whoa that I am tempted to delete. I am not deleting it though. Because I know that who ever is reading this is sitting there nodding their head and saying to themselves “I feel so much like this. I am not alone.” And we’re not alone. So do what I just did. Put on your favorite music. That music that makes you move your body. That music that has those moments in it that make you close your eyes and place a hand on your heart and raise the other to sky because it has reached the spiritual part of your heart.

Do it right now.

DAY 9: EDWARD SHARPE AND THE MAGNETIC ZEROS, ALBUM OF THE SAME NAME

Star seeds

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I’ve almost been dreading writing about this album for a couple of reasons. My feelings are complicated and hard to put into words. One day, a long time ago, Amy introduced Chris and I to this band and then a few weeks after that, Home started playing on all of the radio stations. Amy is a trendsetter. We’d sing along as we travelled down the road and play the album Up From Below on loop. The band released Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros the year after Chris died. The first song I heard off of it was Better Days.

Try to remember, that you can’t forget
Down with history, up with your head
For sweet tomorrow, she never fell from grace
We might still know sorrow but we got better days

That song along with Life is Hard falls right in place with Chris’s (and mine) life philosophy and because of that, this album became so important to me.

This is also the same year I met Michael.

Life is it, life is it, it's where it's at
It's getting skinny, getting fat
It's falling deep into a love,
It's getting crushed just like about
Life there's no love, its getting beat into the ground

I had already purchased my ticket and camping pass for the Gentlemen of Roads Tour when Michael and I met. I was so excited for this concert because Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros were part of the line up and Talaura was coming down. When I told Michael about it, he wanted to come along too. He bought a ticket and we travelled to Guthrie. On our way to Guthrie I told Michael about this band. I said “I need you to pay attention and really listen to this band. This is important to me.” He said “okay.”

And then he didn’t pay attention or listen to the band.

That was the first time I realized that things that are important to me, won’t always be important to him. That realization was a bit of a blow to my little ego. Sometimes that realization is still a little bit hard to swallow only because sometimes, in a self indulgent way, I think that what I find important he should also find equally important. Because that is what I was used to. This is a different relationship. Michael and I don’t listen to the same kinds of music. We don’t read the same kinds of books. We don’t always agree on what to watch on the television. We find common ground. When I ask Alexa to play music in the mornings, I am sure to pick an artist that I think Michael will also enjoy even if he doesn’t know the artist. We may not read the same kinds of books, but we talk to each other about the stuff we’re reading. We find stuff on the television that we both want to watch. Compromise. That’s how we are making this work.

I feel the love, I feel the love, I feel the power
It's getting weirder by the hour
The world is fucked up but I want to stay
I feel the love, I feel the love, I feel the power

This album is the gospel music in my metaphorical church. It is a church that teaches the lessons of loving kindness and dancing in the streets. It is a church that reminds it’s congregation that life is fucking hard as fuck, so celebrate dammit! We all have sorrow and sadness, but there are better days ahead. It is the bitter, wonderful sweetness of living; this mixture of sorrow and joy.

I told you my feelings were complicated.

DAY 8: NATALIE MERCHANT, LEAVE YOUR SUPPER/LEAVE YOUR SLEEP

Reach

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Just before Natalie Merchant released Leave Your Sleep, she did a TED talk about the making of the album. She took poems about childhood from the 19th and 20th century and adapted them to music. The way Natalie spins these poems into tunes is at time sad and melancholy and silly and joyful. The first song from the album, Nursery Rhyme of Innocence and Experience, moved me to tears and I can clearly see the girl in pink riding the white horse as she sings Equestrienne. I imagine that avocado Brussels sprout ice-cream from Bleezer’s Ice-Cream has the most awful smell. The whole album is like the up and down of a carousel horse. Her Ted Talk on the two disc album is one my favorite Ted Talks. It’s a fascinating tale of how she put music to these poems and why she chose this poem or that poem, but it is all sweet because you can tell Natalie Merchant is nervous. You can hear a slight tremor and breathiness in her voice as she talks. She seems to hesitate ever so slightly as she moves around on the stage. Her voice is clear when she’s singing, but when she starts discussing the poem and the process, her demeanor changes. She seems less sure of herself.

I always had this idea of who Natalie Merchant is as a person because of her music. She left the 10,000 Maniacs because she wanted complete control over her music and she was tired of being the only girl in the band. My impression of her paints a strong, independent force of nature. I have seen Natalie Merchant in concert. I think it was the Ophelia tour. She is everything you’d hope for when going to a concert. She sounds amazing, she’s engaging and joyful to watch on stage. Most people left at the end of the concert before she could come out for the encore. Those of us who stayed, moved up to the front of the stage and when Natalie came back out on stage she made a point to great every one us. She shook hands as she moved through our small crowd and sang four more songs. I thought for a moment she was going to hug each and every one of us. The whole experience was so personal and intimate and beautiful. So years later, when I saw her TED Talk, I was surprised by her nervousness.

That’s the main reason why I chose this album as one of my top ten. Because it made her nervous to talk about it.

She had made this album that is different and unique. It is an album of vulnerability. She made herself vulnerable and in doing so, I saw this woman differently. She was proof that you can have all this talent and creativity, but still be a little fearful of what others might think of your art. As she talks, there is something in her voice that says “please like this.” which is something we all want. When you put your heart and soul into your work and then set it out there for all to see, we all want it to be met with admiration. The talk and the album moved Natalie Merchant from status of another musician I wanted to stalk as a groupie to an artist that I whole heartedly admire.

Because we’re the same.

MODERN LOVE

Instagram post by Cindy Maddera * Nov 9, 2018 at 5:50pm UTC

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My music selection has been all over the place lately. I go from a Kesha station in the mornings to Morrissey in the afternoons. Some times I toss in some Pomplamoose or broadway show tunes. Last week, it was David Bowie. Hours and hours of everything Bowie. Modern Love started playing and for the first time I noticed that David Bowie speaks at the beginning of that song. His speaking voice caught me off guard. I was suddenly struck by the sound of it and immediately regretted not having a chance to have a intimate conversation with David Bowie.

David Bowie died from the same thing Chris died from. Cancer of the liver. I know what Mr. Bowie’s last few days looked like. I think of his wife who had to witness his last few days. I think of a few other women who have had to witness those last few days of their own spouses. I want to squeeze all of them tight and just whisper “I know. I get it.” The image of how they looked in the last few days are never going to leave your brain. It will float to the surface of your memories at random. Michael’s drunk face does it for me. I guess, at least I know what he’s going to look like in his final days. Also the smell of Jason’s Organic henna shampoo does it. It’s a shame because I really liked that shampoo.

The scientist in me finds it fascinating how the soul of a person sort fills the organic spaces like balloons. As the soul shrinks, the body doesn’t get smaller. It gets more hollow. Sunken. The body gets more and more unrecognizable as the person you knew. There are machines that photograph the entire insides of the human body, but there’s yet to be an image of what one could interpret as a soul. Everything has a name and (mostly) a function. The large intestine, small intestine. Heart. Liver. Kidneys. I would be tempted to say the appendix could be the organ that holds the thing that makes you, you. I’ve never known a person who has had that removed to know if they’re different afterwards, but considering that the removal of an appendix is pretty standard procedure would have me ruling out particular organ. I don’t have my tonsils and I’m pretty sure I still have my soul.

Pretty sure.

There’s something there that doctors haven’t seen that keeps us inflated and whole. Something more than air. It is the thing that makes you who you are. I know exactly the moment when Chris was no longer Chris. The same thing with Dad. There’s a part of me that wishes I didn’t witness those moments when the balloons filling up the their organic spaces, started popping. Those popping balloons didn’t even make a sound. No warning, yet I knew it was coming.

I know when to go out and when to stay in. Get things done.

Is that what’s holding our souls steady and in place? Knowing when to stay in so we can get things done?

It’s time to change the station.

INTRO

Trout Hall

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I was introduced to Chris in the summer of '95. In turn, Chris would eventually introduce me to Thai food, Black Adder, sex and a band called Belly. I still love sticky rice and papaya salad. I have a deep appreciation for British comedy. You know how I feel about sex and I have physically absorbed every song performed by Belly. I would listen to them over and over. I have all of the songs memorized. I have the order the songs are listed on the CD memorized. I fell hard for this band. They were my long flowy Gypsy skirt, my oversized flannel. This was my '90s band and after I fully carved the songs from Star into a layer of skin, I went hunting for more. I scrounged every used CD store for every single album I could get my hands on, which were only three. Three albums. I clearly remember asking "but why aren't there any more albums." Chris and Traci, who probably introduced Chris to Belly, looked at me and shook their heads. Traci placed a hand on my shoulder and replied "because they don't exist anymore." 

The band broke up in the Fall of '95, right after the release of King. 

This is the second time I've discovered a band and fallen in love only to have that band break up months after my discovery. The first band was the Police. Though they have not released new music together, I have at least been able to see them live twice in reunion tours. Belly reunited in 2016, but they have yet to make it KCMO or any where close. I am okay with that. I'm just happy they decided to get back together because it inspired a new album, Dove, that was released this year. They have the same swirly sound and cryptic lyrics with the exception that now those lyrics refer to more grown up issues like settled relationships and raising children. I am now in the process of absorbing and adding this album to my other carvings in that same layer of skin. My first listening round made me feel like I was creeping into my twenties again. 

I met Chris when I was nineteen and a little shocked to discover that he was five years older than me. "Is that a problem?" he asked as we sat at a table crowded with our friends. I tried to sound confident as I replied "no" but there was something about Chris that was intimidating. I was not old enough to drink or even get into a bar. Meanwhile, he had lived a whole life while I was still in high school, serving in the national guard (proudly, unsuccessfully) as a medic and working a security gig at the Habana Inn. He knew things. He was experienced. The next few years felt like I was in some accelerated course for life experience just trying to catch up. But I would catch up. Then I would be the one introducing him to new music, dragging him into new experiences. Listening to Belly's new album makes me think that I never finished that accelerated course. Or at least it turned out to be not so accelerated. There's not any real perceived graduation day unless I can predict the day of my own death. 

There's one song on the new album that reminds me of dating after Chris. Suffer the Fools. The song is more about settled relationships than dating. It's about what happens as we age into a relationship, how we put up with things. "I'd rather suffer you, than suffer the fools." I put up with things with Chris. I won't deny it or sugarcoat it. Same way I put up with various things with Michael. I'm sure I'm not all rainbows and lollipops to live with at times either. I suffered a number of fools during the online dating years. Eventually there comes along someone you'd rather suffer through life with than suffering with fools. There's something romantic about it in a Daria at age fourty kind of way. 

THINGS THAT SURPRISE ME

86/365

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Every morning, after Michael leaves, I ask Alexa to play some music. She will come up with some playlist that she thinks I might like and often I will say "Alexa, play something else." Some times I just tell her what to play. Monday morning, I asked for the usual and Alexa said "Okay, how about Kesha's popular songs." I shrugged, thinking "why not?" A minute later I'm dancing in the kitchen and singing into a spatula while making pancakes. I like Kesha. 

This surprises me. I tend to be the kind of girl that likes her music more obscure and angsty. I could cocoon myself up on a gray day with the National or croon along with Morrissey. I could spend all day rollerskating with Arcade Fire. I'd love to have dinner with Neko Case. Even though I am disappointed in Wayne Coyne as a human being, I could still soak in a bathtub of tangerines. When asked what kind of music I listen too, I usually answer 'alternative'. I like to listen to bands you've never heard of. I have always been this way. I will hear one bit of a song from an obscure artist and then totally and completely devote the next two months of my life listening to every single song from that artist. Though I recognize their importance in American music, I have never been drawn to the Pop artist. Which is how I would have categorized Kesha.

Someone recommended listening to Kesha's Rainbow album and I've been hooked ever since. I downloaded the explicit version of the album and I think it's her vulgar swearing that I love the most. It reminds me of being a teenager. Liz Phair's Exile in Guyville was the first explicit album I ever purchased. Even then, I was too young to buy it. I had to have Katrina get it from Starship Records for me. It was not the type of album I could just pick up from the Walmart music section. I would pop that tape into my walkman, put the headphones on and lay on my bed listening to Liz sing about fucking guys and pleading to Mary for help. Each word was a golden nugget and listening to that album made me feel slightly rebellious. Maybe it was my rebellion. Kesha doesn't inspire the dark rebellion in me the way Liz did, but she does make me want to high five someone and yell out "YEAH!" Also, when she sings Praying, I want to weep for her and hug her and tell her that she is the most brave and that guy is going to rot from the inside out. By the way, Praying is not a song of worship. 

Sometimes a girl just needs to shake her ass and have some boogie feet.

Something else that surprises me? I did 108 yoga pushups in yoga class on Saturday. 

HIGH FIVES ALL AROUND!

WHAT'S THE FREQUENCY

Backyard concert series @kingcardinalband

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When we got Alexa, we also signed up for Amazon Music. I spent a couple of days creating a playlist of artists I like to listen to. It is pretty Neko Case and Josh Ritter heavy right now. I am really terrible at remembering band names and who sang what. I have thrown in old favorites like Sting and Morrissey, as well as newer favorites like Arcade Fire and My Morning Jacket (Jim James has made my list of guys who have hair that I want to run my fingers through. I can see a whole photographic series of my fingers tangled in famous hair). My playlist is odd. Just the way I like it.

I remember being very disappointed in my musical choices on the radio during my teenage years because I didn't listen to mainstream music. I wasn't a snob about it. I just preferred bands that didn't get a lot of radio time because they were different and obscure. There was a college station I could barely pick up on the radio. They had an alternative music show that aired on Friday nights at midnight. I would set my double tape deck to record the show and then play the tapes over and over. As an adult, I just listened to NPR all the time with the exception of the brief years of The Spy, an alternative radio station out of Stillwater. It always made me wonder how it was that a band like the Flaming Lips could be born (and reside) in a state that doesn't listen to them. Internet radio came along and changed everything. I now have access to the artists of my youth as well as new sounds in alternative music. 

I tend to get caught up with one artist at a time. I remember buying a new album from someone and listening to it over and over. At that time, in this moment, it was the only music I wanted to hear. I am known to do the same thing with food. Ask my mother about poached eggs every day for a month. I fixate. Recently, I was fixated on the National and Michael hated them. Hated them. If we were in the car and one of their songs would come on, he'd turn it or make fun of it. Michael and I don't share the same taste in music. His playlist is old country and folk and 1980. I pulled the National from our joint playlist and soak them up when I'm on my own. Matt Berninger's deep voice hits me somewhere near my breast bone and I am reminded of sulky teenage moments. If I had heard his voice as a teenager, I would have spent my days imagining that his voice was indicative to his love making skills. Matt Berninger is the guy I would have followed around from gig to gig in hopes that he would notice me. Really notice me. 

I switch back and forth between stations recommended to me because of my recent music choices and the playlist I am creating on my own. The recommended stations are a nice because they introduce me to something new or remind me of artists forgotten. Just the other day I remembered to add some R.E.M. to my playlist. I remember having my first fairly grown up conversation with my brother over the song Losing My Religion. R.E.M.'s music always made me feel like I should be trying harder for something good like the environment and human rights. Beautiful and at time haunting, their music made me feel all things. I added them to my playlist and then started to wonder why they're not still around. What ever happened to Michael Stipe? He's got a really long beard now, does sculpture art, and still dabbles in music.

If you're curious.  

The Cabbage is all the time asking me what kind of music I listen to and I am always at a loss for words. She doesn't understand what alternative means. Occasionally I will point out a song and an artist and tell her "this? this is important. pay attention." I'll turn up the radio and start car dancing and singing, to which she rolls her eyes. If she learns anything from me, hopefully she learns that the unconventional is cool and that sometimes you have to listen outside the radio. 

OKLAHOMA IN KANSAS CITY

Hey @mistikae we're seeing that band you told us to go see. #annieoakleyband

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Misti sent me a message last week that a band they know was going to be playing in KCMO on Friday and that we should go see them. I had heard Misti talk about the band before, but I didn't really know their music. My first thought was to blow it off. Lately, as in the past year or so, I finish a week exhausted. Really, by Thursday I am already thinking about naps and wondering why moving my body is so difficult. When Friday rolls around, I just want to go home and not move from the couch. So the idea of going to a concert on a Friday or doing anything on a Friday sounds totally unappealing. It is also really really hot here. We've been seeing a hundred degree temps with 60% humidity. It's like walking around in a steam bath. I love it but I don't want to move around in it. I just want to sit naked, but wrapped in a towel, with a drink in my hand. No sudden movements.

So I totally surprised myself when I suggested to Michael that he meet me at work on Friday so we could scooter over to the Brick for dinner and a concert. It helped that this band, Annie Oakley, was playing an early show and that the Brick has vegetarian chili dogs. With Fritos on it. And tater-tots. Any way, the food was good and music was nice, which made it all worth tolerating the heat. Annie Oakley are so young, but they have a beautiful sweet and mature sound. Their mom is their manager. I introduced myself to her while the girls were setting up and talked about how small the world really is and how we knew Misti. After the show, Michael and I bought a couple of stickers from them to put on out scooters.  Michael and I rarely have an opportunity to have dinner and see a show. I have gotten choosey about going to concerts partly because of the price of tickets these days, but also because I know I would be going alone. Michael and I don't really listen to the same kinds of music. He's never even heard of most of the bands I listen to. We both can agree on alternative folk (sort of). 

I had forgotten how enjoyable it is to listen to a band in a small intimate setting. It was nice to go to a local bar and hear some sounds from my Oklahoma home.

THANKFUL FRIDAYS

I'm sitting here today asking myself "what am I thankful for today?'. And I'm not really sure. I suppose I'm thankful that I came to my senses and didn't wear that sweater with the ginormous turtle neck that I had started to wear this morning. That thing would have driven me crazy all day. It's the simple things really. Last night, on the drive out to the lake studio to teach my class, I looked a bit mopey. Chris asked me what was wrong, and I replied that I was just tired. We finally reached that area of the city were we can pick up the Spy and Cousins from Vampire Weekend was playing. Suddenly, I was on. That song always makes me want to dance like a fool. So I danced. In the car. Like a crazy person. And I was happy. I got to work this morning to hear John grumbling about Max's poor attitude and I thought about the salt cleanse. I remembered that song from yesterday and plugged the earphones into the iPod. While I looked at mice prostate samples on the microscope, I danced. I sang. I found peace and joy in my present moment. So today, I am thankful for the music in my life that brings me joy, that moves me to dance and that can even bring me to tears. I am thankful for all the years that music has been an influence in my life and being able to associate a certain memory to a certain song. I am thankful for the smile those songs bring to my face.

Be thankful for the music and dance like a fool.