Bike Shuffle 2/16/11

I've decided to try and describe one thing I see each time I ride my bike. Today it was the sky: If there were a trumpet for the eyes (as opposed to the ears) it would be sunlight that shoots through the clouds. This photo doesn't do it justice (it was much more pronounced in person) but all I had to take a picture with was my iPhone. I opted to stop so I could show you.

I think this may be good for me in more ways than one: I wanted to ride again today just to see what would come up on my iPod. In other words, it was a big motivator! I figure I have some stories to tell about music, and if that's what gets me writing, then so be it.

Today's playlist is definitely more representative of my current musical taste.

1. Awake My Soul – Mumford and Sons

2. Be My Thrill – The Weepies (saw them earlier this year at Momo's and they were fantastic.)

3. Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds – The Beatles

4. Everybody’s Doin’ It – Bob Schneider (For those who don't know Bob Schneider, he's an Austin guy who can't seem to shake the title "Sandra Bullock's Ex-Boyfriend." Another thing locals know is that you'd better find out who he's playing with before taking people to see him. He does excellent acoustic folk/pop, but he also plays with a band called The Scabs. And when he plays with them the lyrics are uber-raunchy. It takes quite a bit to make me squirm, but some of their stuff will melt your eyelashes! However, he's an incredible musician and some of his music is so beautiful it could make you cry. Here's a video if you want to get acquainted.)

5. Down in Flames – Mindy Smith

6. Comes and Goes – Greg Laswell (Greg Laswell was one of my favorite finds of early 2010. Okay, I didn't find him. My husband turned me on to his music. I wore Laswell's album "Three Flights From Alto Nedo" completely out. And just so you know, my music IQ went up substantially when I married Craig.)

7. Sleeping – Glen Hansard (One of my first dates with my husband was to see the movie "Once." I think we saw it the weekend it came out and I really latched on to the album, before it hit the charts. Later that year we saw The Swell Season at Stubbs and they were *$%#@ amazing! However, once they were all the rage I was over it. I still love Hansard's music, but I'm not on the bandwagon. I hate bandwagons.)

8. Meg White – Ray Lamontagne

9. Get Back – The Beatles (Yes, I'm a big Beatles fan. But I became a super-fan when I saw Cirque du Soliel's "Beatles Love" in Las Vegas. It's on my bucket list to take my girls to see it. If you like The Beatles and haven't heard the Love album, you're missing out. You can read the story behind it here.)

10. The Chain – Ingrid Michaelson

11. Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy – Queen

12. Bad Dreams – Joni Mitchell (I love Joni because I love my husband a lot, and he's the biggest Joni fan I know. No, really. Anyway, any song of hers makes me think of him.)

13. Dream Lover – Eliza Gilkyson (This song was inspired by her husband, Robert Jensen, who is a journalism prof at UT Austin. He wrote a book called Getting Off: Pornography and the End of Masculinity. Both he and Eliza are liberal activists and see this as a feminist issue." Dream Lover" isn't one of my favorite songs, but it definitely showcases her songwriting abilities – esp. lyrically. Here's a link to a recording of it. I have no idea what the site is, but the audio is decent quality!)

14. Looking Out - Brandi Carlile (Favorite lyric in the song: “Some people get religion/some people get the truth/I never get the truth")

15. Make You Feel My Love – Adele (This song was written by none other than Bob Dylan. His version and Adele's version couldn't be on more opposite poles!)

16. Bigger Than My Body – John Mayer

I only rode about seven miles; had an adorable little two year-old waiting for me and I couldn't wait to get to her.

Signs of Life

Late this afternoon I took an 8-mile bike ride. Sometimes people get all impressed with that, but really it’s not that far at all. I think it took me about 45-50 minutes but it seemed like 10. Why? Probably because it was a gorgeous pre-spring day (what else do you call 73 degrees in February? The air is warm but all the trees are still completely naked and perched on dead grass, spindly limbs reaching for a brilliant blue sky.) I put my iPod on shuffle and for the first time in a long time just lost myself in living. I rode through a very large park near our house and took in the sights as I listened to whatever came through the headphones. Some of the songs made me think of fond memories, though I enjoyed the variety of all the others too. Yes, I skipped a few, but for the most part I let it be.

I. Love. Music.

Love.

I rode mostly on trails and sidewalks (more like a boardwalk) and at one point just thought about swinging my arms around in the wind, so I did. And I sang at the top of my lungs.

I passed a field full of little kids playing T-Ball, none of them probably over the age of six. There was so much life in that wide-open space, children screaming and laughing and looking for their parents on the sidelines. It felt good to be racing down a hill and letting go of all the shoulds and have-to’s of the day, bouncing to the beat as I steered my bike in S’s on the sidewalk. The sun was beginning to set and I realized I needed to go home. But I didn’t want to. I was enjoying being alive, being here, on planet earth. I’m grateful that I can hear music, that my legs work, and that I’m able to lose myself in life again – even if it’s only for a moment here and there.

Grief is a weird thing. Even though I’ve not cried lately or dwelt on the death of my mother, I know it has clogged up my soul somehow. I haven’t been able to write. To read. To pray or meditate much. To create. On my way home I thought about starting to chronicle here what comes up on my iPod when I ride my bike, and suddenly I got excited at the thought. For the last six months I haven’t been able to blog to save my life, possibly because I don’t really know what to say. I feel stuck. So perhaps if I write about my bike rides and the music that fuels them, eventually I will get un-stuck.

I am tempted, sorely tempted, to edit this list because I’m afraid you’ll judge me prematurely. So don’t think you know my musical taste by reading this list.

And don’t be a hater.

Honky Cat – Elton John (Honky Chateau was one of my favorite high-school albums)
Sweet Lorraine – Patty Griffin
Close to You – Carpenters (Yes, THE CARPENTERS! They were the first concert I ever went to. And they remind me of my mother in a big way.)
Way to You – Brandi Carlile (She’s my current singer/songwriter crush.)
While My Guitar Gently Weeps – The Beatles
Dreamboat Annie – Heart (The Wilson sisters have no equals.)
Wrapped Up in You – Wayne Kirkpatrick (One of the most syrupy pop songs on the planet. And it always makes me want to dance.)
Cuckoo’s Nest – Nickel Creek
Cowboy Take Me Away – Dixie Chicks (This makes me think of my daughter Anna, who sang this song in her middle school talent show. I smiled all the way through the song, thinking of her all those years ago.)
Angelina – Dave Berkley
Silver Lining – David Gray
Evil Woman – ELO
One Way or Another – Blondie
English Trees – Crowded House
Winter Birds – Ray Lamontagne
Holy, Holy, Holy – Ashley Cleveland (Over the last few years I haven’t been able to listen to much gospel music. It carries too much baggage from religious circles I’ve been a part of in the past. But Ashley transcends all of that; people who don't even believe in God at all love her. She’s actually in town doing a concert tonight, but I didn’t really have any desire to go. Instead I just put my bike in the garage and stood in the driveway, listening while I took in the nearly-full moon. Here's a link to the recording if you're interested in checking my opinion.)

Blowin' in the Wind

Earlier this year I made a promise to myself that I would post a new blog entry at least once per week. And for a short while I was able to keep it up. But alas, things fell to the wayside again and now it's been six weeks since I've posted anything new. It wasn't that I didn't want to write, it's that I was trying to pack too much into my impossibly full days. It was only after I graduated from college last summer that I realized that I had earned 48 hours of college credit in 15 months, all while starting a new business, meeting long-lost siblings for the first time, and caring for my increasingly sick mother. The ebb and flow of life's circumstances have been extremely erratic for me over the last few years, and especially the last 12 months. There has been lots of joy mixed with generous helpings of stress and sorrow.

But I digress.

This isn't an "I-must-help-you-understand-me" manifesto. I'm done making excuses to myself and to the world at large for what I do or don't do. Rather, I'm leading up to a confession of sorts, one that will hopefully help me get "un-stuck." The truth is, this is the post I haven't wanted to write. My mother died on October 11, 2010, and I knew that I couldn't just ignore it here. However, I wasn't really ready to write about it either (and in many ways I'm still not ready.) So what did I do? Nothing. And yet I know I can't pick up this discipline again without at least acknowledging the death of my mother. How do I talk about it without really talking about it? I don't know, but I'm gonna give it a try.

Anyone who's lost a parent or a spouse or a sibling or a child or a best friend knows that there's a lot of chaos that surrounds death, especially when it's long and drawn out. Caring for the everyday needs of someone who is terminally ill becomes increasingly chaotic and profoundly draining and difficult. Little by little my siblings and I assumed our mom's life: we dealt with financial matters, paid bills, took care of her house and her dogs, drove her to chemo and doctor's appointments and to and from surgeries and scans. We made sure she had food to eat, that her hygiene was taken care of. We kept in touch with her friends and extended family, keeping them apprised of her condition. We communicated with doctors and nurses on her behalf, we took care of her insurance, we shopped for new nightgowns and underwear, we switched out beds, got a walker and a cane and a shower chair – anything to try and keep her safe and as comfortable as possible. But I've learned that when cancer is ravaging someone's body, the efforts will never be enough.

On many occasions I told people that it felt like death was a powerful vacuum, one that was waiting for our mom to get weak enough to snatch her from the earth. She was a fighter who clung tenaciously to this life, if only for a few more days, hours, minutes or seconds with her family. And while she was the one leaving, we all felt the pull. Big time. The fact that it wasn't our turn to go meant that we were by nature resistant to the sheer force of her transition. And if you've ever been in gale force winds, you have an idea of what I’m talking about. The physics of staying upright takes a lot of energy because the wind wants to sweep you up or throw you down. Such are the metaphysical winds that death stirs up. We knew that when the tempest subsided we would all still be here, but after she died our clothes were tattered, our hair was blown and impossibly tangled, and every muscle in our bodies ached from the fight. It's been a month, and for the most part I feel like I am just starting to get up off the ground.

When people ask me, "How are you doing?" I don't know what to say. In many ways it feels like I was running on a treadmill at 200 miles per hour and then all of a sudden the belt just stopped and I went flying. I think I am still flying through the air. I've remained somewhat on autopilot as we've sorted through her things and cleaned out her house. I've gone through the motions of probate, selling her car, donating things to various charities. As I type this, boxes of her belongings surround me, and in all honesty it is overwhelming. Getting in to those boxes means not only finding a place for things, it also means remembering. And I'm not quite ready to do that. In the meantime, while I was consumed with helping her die, things piled up around here. I need to deal with insurance claims (my own), bank issues, and a host of other items that are piled high in my in-box. I need to work, do laundry, clean out the litter box, go to the grocery store, write thank-you notes, do some yoga. I need to exercise. I need to make a long-overdue dental appointment. I need to start thinking about the holidays. I need to wash my car and get some new tires. I need to unpack my suitcase from being out of town last week.

I need to rest.

And yet I think in a way I'm still holding my breath. I guess I'm confessing that I don't know what I'm doing and I don't know what to do next. I understand why sometimes people just go to bed and pull the covers over their heads. But I do know this: I'll be okay. I have a wonderful husband, kick-ass children, awesome siblings and incredibly loving and supportive friends. That doesn't mean, however, that I don't have to walk through the debris of my mother's death. And to some degree I must do it alone. This could take awhile. At least now I've broken the ice here, which will hopefully free me up to write again. As my mom used to say when she didn't want to commit to something, "We shall see."

Image Credit: layoutsparks.com.

Open Source Activism

I've always meant to be an activist. Like many Americans I actually do care about this planet and the people on it, and am often disturbed by things like poverty, genocide and toxic waste. I've even gone as far as contacting organizations that are devoted to such causes, hoping to find a feasible way to get involved. But sooner or later my sincere intentions are hijacked by the tyranny of the urgent, and life returns me to my regularly scheduled program. At times it feels something like a cross between The Amazing Race and The Simpsons.

I grew up in an age where the experts and rebels were the ringleaders, and the rest of us mostly just jumped on the bandwagons they sent our way. My kids can hardly fathom a world where ideas were spread primarily through lectures, demonstrations, printed matter and folk songs. To them, it's perfectly normal that a quick Google blog search on toxic waste yields 179,531 results. To me it is astonishing that there are thousands of people all over the world who are speaking out and connecting over this issue. I find it even more remarkable that I can jump into these "conversations" at any time.

Blogs are just one example of what many are calling "open source activism," which is built upon the premise that the problems in our world are public domain. I first heard the term while interviewing Justin Dillon, the musician-turned-filmmaker who made the 2008 movie Call and Response. This thirty-something guy happened to read an article in the New York Times about human trafficking. Some time later he was playing music in Russia and ran into some women who were giddy about job offers they had received from the United States - offers that sounded an awful lot like the ones described in the newspaper article. He said that an alarm went off in his head that sounded much like a summons. This was somehow his responsibility. So what did he do? He wrote a song about it. He did a benefit concert in his hometown. And then he had an idea to put together a "Concert to End Slavery." Dillon approached Walden Media and asked if they were interested in getting behind the effort; surprisingly they said yes, and a rockumentary was born. One day this guy was largely an unknown singer/songwriter playing whatever gigs he could get; when I talked to him he was about to catch a plane to Bahrain to speak at a United Nations conference on Human Trafficking.

What a difference a song makes.

One thing I've noticed about open source activism is that there is no ownership, there are no celebrities, and there are no rules. Nobody calls a meeting to decide who has the "best" idea or approach. No one person gets the credit for making headway. It's a movement where thousands of streams collide to form a river, where a host of stars conspire to illumine the night sky. Open Source Activism exemplifies the ancient Hebrew concept of Tikkun Olam, which affirms each individual's responsibility to repair the world. This ideology flies in the face of the notion that we're obliged to gather enough time or money or bright ideas before we can officially make a difference. In Dillon's case he didn't have a clue where his song would take him, but he had the wherewithal to give what he had at the time.

Open Source Activism isn't a new concept, but somehow it seems new to me. Could it really be as simple as emptying the pockets of our chaotic days and spending the loose change on something that matters? Is it enough for today that I recycle the moldy plastic container in my refrigerator instead of throwing it out? Can I consider myself an activist if I choose to buy products that were made by people who were treated fairly? Yes, and yes. As my friend says, a little bit of something is better than a whole lot of nothing. Contrary to the plural pronoun that regularly graces casual conversation, there is no "they" who are going to fix things.

It's me.

It's you.

We the people.

And a Little Child Shall Lead Them...

Somehow they know. Maybe God whispers to little kids, telling them things that take us grownups months and years to face. Last Tuesday morning my nineteen month-old granddaughter, Haven, walked up to the refrigerator, held her arms up toward my mother's picture, and said "Please?" Her mom got it down and handed it to her. She proceeded to walk around with it all morning, kissing it as she went about her business.

Who knows? Maybe it was the exact same time my brother and I were with our mom at the oncologist's office that morning, hearing the news that she has two to three months to live.

We knew that this day would come, but that foreknowledge still didn't make it any easier to bear. Last weekend Haven and her mom (my daughter, Amy) came in to town to spend some time with the family as we prepare to say goodbye to my mother (who is also known as Nanos, because that's what my children and grandchildren call her.) Late Saturday afternoon all three of my daughters and both granddaughters stopped by my mom's to see her. Mandy's daughter, Piper (age two and a half) can sense that things have shifted, and she's been a little more prone to stand on the sidelines (rather than referee the game, which is usually a beautiful feature of her extroverted personality!) She just took it all in and apparently came to her own conclusions.

Later that night Mandy was putting Piper to bed. At one point Piper said, "Mommy, I'm sad." Mandy asked her why she was sad. "Because Nanos is tired," she replied. "I need to go and see her."

Two year olds can't comprehend death, but yes, Piper, Nanos is tired. She's been battling ovarian cancer for three and a half years, and she's put up a hell of a fight. Truth is, we're all very tired. Helping a loved one battle the disease is one kind of energy, and saying goodbye is another (though the two undeniably overlap.) Just about the time you're hitting the 26th mile after years of chemo and hospitalizations and blood transfusions and accidental falls and more CAT scans, MRI's and diagnostic tests than god himself should have, the marathon staff changes the road signs and points us in a different direction. They say, "Death: 26.2 miles."

And we are all plodding along. As a family we are blessed to have so many people who are cheering us on and handing us cups of cold water. We've been extended so much kindness and grace; people cook us food, send us texts/emails, and ask if there is anything at all they can do. And it really helps to know we are so loved. My niece posted a video on my Facebook wall today, just letting me know she was thinking of me; it meant a whole lot. But the bottom line is that there's not much anyone can do. We're walking our mom toward death and none of us has ever done it before. It's scary. Sad. And though I can say without reservation that my siblings and I are deeply, fiercely committed to running this race, we still have shin splints, bruised feet, and are out of breath. I'm rarely at a loss for words, but for now I can't figure out how to convey how overwhelming it is to help a loved one face a terminal illness. That said, I can't even imagine what it's like to be the one facing it. And to think: it happens to people every single day.

Music Nirvana

My husband and I have spent the afternoon, evening (and now wee hours of the morning) listening through Rolling Stone's top 500 songs of all time. We still have 100 to go, but what a great playlist. Check it out here. I need to make myself a playlist from this playlist.

Say Cheese

It's happened to us all at one time or another: we're walking down a long hallway or sidewalk and we pass a stranger. With all the kindness we can muster, we smile widely and offer a greeting of some sort. And what do they do? Sometimes they smile back. But quite often they scowl or look away. When that happens I often feel like I want to take it back, as though giving a smile away to someone who clearly doesn't appreciate it somehow diminishes me. Really? Giving away kindness is only worthwhile when a person reciprocates?

A few years ago I was falling deeply in love. I had just gone back to school full-time and between classes I would call my boyfriend (now husband) to catch up. One day I was particularly charmed by whatever he was saying and as I was walking across campus with my phone up to my ear, I wore a huge smile on my face. And though my face was only lit up because of what he was saying, I noticed that an unusual number of people were smiling at me. Only later did it occur to me that they were smiling because I was smiling at them first.

I've been trying to practice giving away smiles more often. I still get insecure at times and want to protect myself by looking straight ahead with an aloof look on my face. But I make deals with myself: Smile at the next five people you see, and decide in advance that it won't get under your skin if they offer a less than favorable response. Somehow if I go in to it with that mindset it seems easier. I suppose it has to do with expectations, i.e. "If I am nice to you, you owe it to me to be nice back." Problem is, sometimes we interpret things wrongly. A scowl might be saying, "I was just diagnosed with cancer and I'm scared to death," or "I wonder if my husband is having an affair" or "What am I gonna do if I get laid off?" It may also be saying, "I'm worthless." In short, peoples' unfriendly responses probably have very little to do with me.

Here's my challenge: take an hour or an afternoon or an entire day and purpose to smile at people more. And then see what that does to you. Does it feel draining? Energizing? Do you feel like you've given away parts of yourself that you can't get back, or are you somehow changed by offering kindness to strangers? If you actually do it I'd love to hear what happens.

And if you want to hear a nice rendition of Charlie Chaplin's song "Smile," you can do so here. I love it.

Photo Credit: Muffet on Flickr
Liscensed under creative commons