WESTERNER

I turned right onto Troost, heading north to work. I suppose you could say that it was still early morning hours, though by the time I’m leaving my house at 8 AM , I have done thirty minutes of exercise, fed the animals, opened the chicken pen, showered, dressed, packed my lunch and had one cup of coffee while checking email. Mornings have always been my best time of the day. The day before, I spent an hour with tech support on a microscope, washed the dog, emailed IT, cleaned the bathroom, emailed IT again, dusted and vacuumed the house, emailed IT again, and took the dog for a walk all before lunch. It’s the afternoon where I start to fall apart. This particular morning, I turned my car onto Troost and about a block later, I noticed a young man walking down the sidewalk in my direction. The young man was of medium build, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties. My first thought of him was ‘hipster’. He sported a scruffy beard and a dark fedora similar to Indian Jones. He wore a long duster of a coat with a plaid button down and jeans. His shoes were boot like. The man, at first glance, made me think he was in costume. In a sense, he was. We all wear our own version of a costume. Mine is somewhere between seasoned yoga teacher and early 90s teen. Michael leans towards lumberjack. This young man’s look leans towards 70s Western.

His look was enough to trigger my imagination. I thought about him as I continued on with my commute, speculating about his life. I decided that he had a look of surprise at being awake at this particular time of day, that in fact, he had never actually made it to bed. He had spent the evening and early morning hours in a dark coffee house filled with cigarette smoke. He had stayed up drinking coffee while chain smoking and philosophizing with a group of like minded individuals. They had talked and argued and agreed and discussed until suddenly, blinking, they all realized that the sun had come up. Someone in the group yawned, while another stretched their arms overhead. My 70s Cowboy, stood and cracked his neck to one side. He stubbed out what remained of his ash laden cigarette before reaching for his hat and coat. As he shrugged into his coat, he tells the group that they should do this again next week. Then, placing his hat on his head, he walked out into the cold morning. He took a moment to savor the morning air and then started his walk home.

He triggers a song lyric loose in my brain. This cowboy’s running from himself and she’s been living on the highest shelf. Yet there is something nostalgic in this made up life I have given him. It harkens back to my own younger years, falling asleep on some raggedy old couch while voices of discussion railed on and on around me. I have never been able to stay up past midnight, but I would do my best and hope that I was absorbing the words flowing around me while I dozed. Eventually Chris would nudge me and walk me back to my dorm room or put me to bed in the room we shared in our first apartment. I always, desperately wanted to be able to hang because this was when all of the schemes and ideas would show up. Plans would be hashed. Brilliance would be revealed. I wanted to be a part of every moment of it. Not to contribute, but to be a witness to the marvels that would flow out his brain.

All the times I fell asleep are moments I missed.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Tonight!

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I gave Michael a Christmas list last year to give him some gift ideas. One of the things on the list was tickets to see the New Pornographers. I really wanted to go to this concert and I knew I would not buy those tickets for myself. Michael and I don’t listen to the same kinds of music and so I am hesitant to drag him to a concert where I know he’s going to look for a corner to curl up and nap in. I knew that the New Pornographers was that kind of a concert, so I was surprised that he actually bought two tickets for me for Christmas. When he presented me with the tickets, I told him “You’ll enjoy it! Neko Case is in the band. You really liked that concert.” What I didn’t tell him was how much the two differ in musical style. They were playing at the Truman, which is a small warehouse venue near downtown. We walked in Wednesday night as Diane Coffee, the opener, was crooning into the microphone. Standing near the back of the crowd, Michael turned to me and said “I’m really surprised by this crowd. They all seem to be about our age.” I shrugged and said “yeah…the band’s been around since 1997 or something like that.”

We found a spot near the front right of the stage. I could see backstage and kept pointing out every time Neko Case walked passed the half open curtain. Then we waited for them to clear the stage and set up for the New Pornographers. I suddenly felt like something was missing and I pulled my phone from pocket as I realized what that was. I opened up messaging and pulled up Todd’s number and sent him the following: “We are at the New Pornographers concert and I can’t help but feel you should be here.” He responded a few minutes later expressing how much he wished he was there. Then I was flattened by a nostalgia tsunami. There was a time when most of my concert going experiences happened in small warehouse venues and half of the time Todd was right there with me hopping up and down to the music. When the Flaming Lips released Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, they played at the Coca-Cola Plex in Bricktown. You tag on the words ‘Coca-Cola’ and you would think this to be a big arena, but it really was just a little bit bigger that a roller rink. Liz Phair was the opener and Todd and I ended up standing on a slightly raised area in the back. Family of the Flaming Lips stood next to us. I remember overhearing conversations as the band played. “Isn’t that your claw-foot bathtub?” someone asked while the video for She Don’t Use Jelly played in the background. An older woman that could have been Wayne’s mom replied “Yeah, they pulled it out of the upstairs bathroom.”

I never stopped moving during that concert and the same could be said for the New Pornographer’s concert. From the moment they took the stage until the moment we left just after their last song, I was bouncing and swaying and singing along to the music. About an hour into the concert, Michael yelled into my ear that he had to go find a seat. He left me near the front, still bouncing and swaying. Only when I knew they were nearing the end did I finally stagger off to find him so we could retrieve our coats from coat check. I zipped up my coat and pulled on my hat and gloves, preparing myself to step out in the freezing temps. Then Michael and I took one last look into the main concert area.

Less than forget but more than begun
These adventures in solitude never done
To the names of our wounds
We send the same blood back from the wars

We thought, we lost you
We thought, we lost you
We thought, we lost you
It will all come back

I turned to look at Michael. He looked down at me and I could just barely hear him when said “That’s nice.” Then we turned and stepped out into the cold.

As we navigated our way through one way streets to get on the highway, I told Michael thank you for spending his evening listening to my music with me. He played it off by replying “I always listen to your music.” I disagreed with him. I told him that when I select music for us in the mornings, I select it with him in mind. More folk. A little bit country. Something he will recognize. The New Pornographers are really outside his musical wheelhouse.

So I meant it when I told him that I appreciated him for spending his evening outside his wheelhouse.

LOVE THURSDAY

Toe pick

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The day is cold and overcast. It is the kind of day that is best spent curled up in a nest of pillows and blankets, a mug of hot cocoa within easy arms reach and a good book. This is really what I'd like to do today. I've just started Cheryl Strayed's Wild and after slugging through the first chapter dealing with the death of her mom, I'm ready to move on to the hiking the trail part. That first chapter was a hard read. Her mom's cancer was the kill you fast kind like Chris's. I just want to read on to the grueling part of her slugging her way along the Pacific Crest Trail with zero previous hiking experience. Instead, I get up and go to work. It is the day of our department Christmas party. We are going ice-skating, which is the opposite of the snuggled laziness that I would have liked. 

I know I have been ice-skating at least once or twice. It seems like something that I would have done in a church activity. Yet it's something that happened so long ago, I don't remember if I was any good at it. Ask me about roller skating. I was a roller skating princess with my own skates and pink pomp-poms on those skates. I could do the limbo and the Hokie-pokie (that's what it's all about). I could skate forwards and backwards and figure eights. Every Tuesday night was dollar night for American Airlines kids and that's where we all went and skated to Debbie Gibson, Tiffany, Michael Jackson, and Cindi Lauper. Sometimes the DJ would toss in some disco, but mostly it was everything you can remember from the 80s. If it wasn't Tuesday, I'd be at the roller rink for some kid's birthday party or yet another church outing. Those Southern Baptists may not be into dancing, but we could out activity any dance party. If it wasn't the roller rink, we all ended up at Crystal's Pizza Place. The pizza and spaghetti were good. Mom loved the salad bar. Dad loved listening to the live entertainment from Hank The Bear. I loved playing skee-ball and watching the Three Stooges in the little theater. All of those places are gone now. I think there was a fire at Crystal's and they decided to take the insurance money and run. The roller rink is now a carpet store. 

I was good at roller skating. I was unsure of how I'd be at ice-skating. Earlier, when we discussed the idea of going ice-skating, someone in our group said "Of course you'll do fine Cindy. Of all of us in the group, you'll probably pick it up the fastest." This is their assumption of me, that I am nimble from years of yoga and have the balancing skills of a cat. Well it's true that years of yoga has made me bendy and I've always had mad balancing skills. I'm not sure if this qualifies me as a natural for the ice and as I carefully hobbled my way towards the ice rink I was feeling pretty positive that I lacked all qualities needed for ice skating. A wave of insecurity and fear flooded me. I am at an age where if I fall, I could really really hurt myself. I could break a hip. Things don't heal back as quickly or as easily as they did ten or twenty years ago. I am no spring chicken. I clung to the wall as I took my first tentative steps onto the ice and I knew I'd be clinging to that wall for the entire outing. I looked up and saw others from my group, ones who had gone on and on about how horrible they were going to be on the ice, setting off right out onto the rink without a glance at the wall. They just stepped out. No fear. And then I thought "WAIT A MINUTE!" I am that no fear girl. I am the cliff diver. I am the daredevil speed demon on a scooter. I am the one that says "Yes! Let's do this!" What the fuck was I doing clinging to this stupid railing?!?!

And so, I let go. 

Happy Love Thursday.