Resilience

My dad had a scary day yesterday. He contracted some strange virus and was hemorrhaging and had to get emergency surgery in a very weakened state. He made it through surgery and is recovering and all his vitals are looking good (knock on wood).

My dad is 70 years old. He’s a diabetic. He is missing his right leg below the knee due to diabetic complications and is blind – also due to diabetes. He had been suffering from flu like symptoms for the past month and was severely dehydrated and weak when he went into the hospital last Thursday. Needless to say, it’s amazing he made it through such a traumatic operation.

Due to the health conditions he’s had for the last few years, I’ve had myself in a sort of readied state, knowing That Phone Call could come at any time. I’ve been preparing myself for so long that I actually had this fear that when his time does come, I wouldn’t even cry because I had overprepared and already grieved.

But yesterday I got That Phone Call - well, a version of it - and my fears did not come true. Because I sobbed. I was so scared.

My dad is incredibly tough. The family has joked that, even with all of his health problems, he’s going to outlive us all. He once had an abscess on his jaw and instead of going to the doctor, he just cut it out himself. No numbing device - just sliced it out. Pain has never bothered him.

But still, things were pretty bleak yesterday and I know he’s tired. He’s been tired for a long time. His resilience is amazing.

I always feel like I’m a person who can handle death well. I’ve been around it so often. But after yesterday, I know that when my dad goes, I can only hope to be as resilient as him.

One of My Favorite Things

Two summers ago I was wondering the shoe aisle at Target and came across a pair of plain black flats for $12.99. I tried them on and they had this lovely surprise cushiony feel to them. I had been looking for plain black flats, as most flats I found were either shiny, bejeweled somehow, slightly not flat, or stiff, so I purchased them.

I wore them every day.

I’m not kidding. I wore them every day. Rain or shine.

The cushiony feel went away quite quickly, but they went with everything and were just so easy. By the end of the summer, my wide feet had poked a hole in the side of one of the shoes and I knew they would be no more. I said goodbye and tossed them.

The next spring I found myself, once again, wandering through Target’s shoe aisle (okay, I do this about once a week) and there they were: my shoes! They had come back! Of course, I bought them and wore them every day again. Except this time they wore out much faster. I ended up buying 3 different pairs over the course of the flat wearing season of Minnesota. And for $12.99 a pair, it was totally justifiable for something I wear all the time.

At the end of the season, once again, holes were in at least one of each of the pairs. I was mixing and matching them all season long, just trying to keep up. But, once again, I came out of the season flatless. I thought for sure those would be my last pair. Target (and most shoe retailers) usually don’t keep reproducing the same shoes over and over.

Flash forward to March 2011. There I was, as usual, wandering the Target shoe aisle. I turn the corner and what do I see? My flats! They were back again! Third year in a row. I was so happy. So I bought the first, of what I assume will be many, pair of flats of the season. Now, if the snow and cold would just all go away, I could wear them.

Recovery

My illness is waning. I’d say I’m at about 75%. Sometimes I hover around the 80%-85% mark and then I sneeze or sniffle and it shoots me right back down.

I’m doing everything I can to fight it. I have too much coming up to be sitting around sick. I spent the weekend either on the couch or in bed. I did not step outside once. I watched half of season 2 of The X-Files, all of season 9 of Seinfeld, The Lost Boys, Stand By Me, and Grumpy Old Men. I haven’t watched that much TV in years. I didn’t enjoy it. The programming was fine, I just couldn’t stand laying down and doing nothing all weekend. I like to go out. I like to be active and enjoying life. I was really looking forward to Saturday night sushi and music at the 331 Club, as I had originally planned, but I was stuck at home. If I didn’t have my show on Thursday to get myself well for, I probably would have dragged myself out. But I couldn’t risk making myself worse.

I ate soup and ice cream. I drank orange juice and tea. I took zicam after zicam. I am still taking zicam and drinking tea. I’m getting there.

I really just hate being sick.

Delusional

I’ve got an icky cold. It feels like it might be one that lingers. I’ve been home from work the past two days and finally made it back in today…barely. My head is just not here. I feel like I’ve barely lived these last couple of days. When you’re sick, or at least when I am, it feels like everything stops. There is no bigger waste of time than being sick.

I can’t do anything. I was home for two days. For two days I did not leave the house, and I did nothing. I didn’t clean. I didn’t get the piles of laundry done that I desperately need to do. I didn’t work on anything music related. I just lay on the couch – occasionally I sat at the computer – and watched episodes of Little House on the Prairie (finished season 3) and Weeds (finished season 6) - completely useless to the world and to myself.

The road to recovery has not been helped by the lack of sleep I’ve been enduring when every night this week, my dog has decided to get up repeatedly and wander the house. I’m not sure what’s wrong with him. He’s old. He hasn’t had any of his pain pills all week because, during the waking hours, he seems fine. But I think he might be hurting at night and just can’t lay down for that long. So, I’ll give him a pill for the next couple of nights and see if that helps.

But back to being sick…there is something about being ill that makes you feel like you’ve lost your mind, or at least I feel that way. Everything stops. You live in this weird little world where all you know is the sickness you feel in your head. I end up feeling bad for everything. For missing work, for not helping around the house, for being gross in all my sickness, but at the same time, I don’t care. Like I said, the world seems to stop for me and I don’t really believe things are going on as normal outside my den of sickness. My husband comes and goes. I speak to him briefly. He even brings me goodies to help me: Fritos, ice cream, soup, Sprite, Advil…but I just feel like our conversations are only happening in my head. I made the mistake of watching Inception again while I’m feeling this way and related to the feeling of delusion and a dream state a little too closely.

I have a show next Thursday that I’ve really been looking forward to. I would really like to get a practice session in before then, but I certainly can’t sing right now and my energy level is next to nothing. I can’t even think that I might not be better by Thursday. I will be performing no matter what, but it would be really nice to feel well while doing it.

To top all of this off, my dad is in the hospital. He’s been sick for about a month and my sister that he lives with finally brought him in. He has an infection in his colon. He’s lost over 25 pounds. He was severely dehydrated. I spoke to him yesterday and he sounded much better, but for a while there, I was certain that this was it and I’m really not sure how I would deal with that.

But for now, he’s being cared for and things look like they are getting better.

So, here I am, back at work. Sick.

It finally caught me. Now I’m the gross one sneezing and blowing my nose and infecting everything. I hate being that person. And, as usual, here’s the songs that are helping me get through the day:

1. “Oh, Sister” – Dan Bern
2. “Present/Infant” – Ani Difranco
3. “Josephine” – Tracy Bonham
4. “Alice Springs” – Liz Phair
5. “Hate” – Cat Power
6. “Five String Serenade” – Mazzy Star
7. “Erase Your Monkey” – Grickle Grass
8. “Rayner Park” – Rank Strangers
9. “Second Intermission” – Ani Difranco
10. “Everybody’s Baby” – Dan Bern
11. “Teeth” – Lisa Hannigan
12. “Feed the Tree” – Belly
13. “Liquid Diamonds” – Tori Amos
14. “Best Days” – Blur
15. “Fox and Hound” – Haley Bonar
16. “The Mess We’re In” – PJ Harvey
17. “Black Sand” – Jenny Lewis
18. “Jack Kramer Wood Racket” – Dan Bern
19. “City Middle” – The National
20. “Blue Light” – Mazzy Star
21. “Carbon Reactor” – Birds of Virginia
22. “Lord, Don’t Slow Me Down” – Oasis
23. “Made You Move” – Lykke Li
24. “Fuck and Run” – Liz Phair
25. “Black Gold” – Soul Asylum

Ladies represent! They’ve really come out to play today.

I Want to Have a Party

At some point over the weekend, something triggered a need to have a party. I have no idea why I suddenly want to have a party, but I do. I don’t know what would happen at this party. I don’t know who I would invite. But I want to have a party.

But, do I really? Parties are incredibly difficult. I mean, I’m past the age now where a party consists of a keg and my favorite CDs on shuffle in the CD player. If I were to have a party, I’d have to buy wine and bottled beer – and a variety of each. Red wines and whites. Dark beer, light beer. Water and soda for the non-drinkers. I would probably have to pick up some vodka or some sort of alcoholic mixer for the people who like those drinks.

And that’s just for drinks. When you go to parties with people my age, you have to have food. Not just chips and dip. You need cool finger foods that people can rave over. You need homemade guacamole and hummus. Fancy fruits and veggies. Dessert trays. Something no one has tried before. Planning the food is incredibly stressful.

But, let’s say you get all the food and beverages perfect. Then what? Will people even show up? You send out your Facebook invite to the selected guests and each day (okay, let’s be real, several times a day) you check to see who has accepted, who has maybe’d themselves, and who – gasp – has declined. You watch the declines double in numbers from the accepted. You fear that the people who you are still awaiting replies from will see these declines and think the party will suck. You wonder why they can’t just say whether or not they are coming because you need to make sure you have enough of those awesome foods and beverages. But, secretly, you also fear that they might all show up and that even though you want your party to be a success, you mistakenly couldn’t whittle the guest list down and you really don’t want 200 people at your house. Or do you?

Because, once these people show up at your house and you’ve handed them the drink of their choosing and they’ve sampled the food menu, what are they going to do?

Parties these days require some sort of theme – a purpose. The last party I threw was for my CD release. I had bands. The party had a reason to be. I don’t want to have bands at my new party. Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to that, but that’s a whole other logistical issue that I just don’t know if I want to deal with at this time. So what would we do? Stand around and talk to each other? That seems weird, doesn’t it? Why is that? What is so strange about a group of adults having drinks, eating foods, talking, and listening to the awesome playlist I spent weeks putting together for the party? Because, I would have to make an awesome playlist.

I’ve always entertained the idea of having a game night party. I know people have game nights all the time. But I wanted to have one that consisted of many games being played throughout the house. Trivial Pursuit in one area, Twister, Rock Band, cards in another. People would then have something to focus on. An icebreaker. I understand it’s awkward to go to a party that you might not know a lot of people and walk in and try to find a place to park yourself for the night. You only ever end up talking to the person you came there with. Mingling is impossible.

But, at the same time, forcing people to play games all night seems a little cruel. So then what? What would be the purpose – besides a group of people getting together in a non-bar and enjoying each other’s company?

This is the stress of a party and why I probably will not have one.

Songwriting

I've been having a good run with songwriting lately. When I finished the album last year, the writing well dried up, but it seems to be back. I have about 6 new songs emerging and forming and becoming what they are. It is such an incredibly exhilarating process. What starts out as just me sitting in my den plucking away randomly, absentmindedly on the guitar somehow turns into a song with lyrics and melodies and choruses and different parts and different instruments...well, I never used to understand how it was done, but now I see that it just is done.

I've been writing with someone else, as well. A drummer/lead guitar player. It adds a whole new dimension to the process that I never thought I'd be able to do. I hesitate to call myself a musician. I know nothing about music beyond the chords I'm playing. I don't know how they are supposed to progress. I don't know scales. Anything beyond the 5th fret is a guessing game for me. He knows this stuff and, in my opinion, adds a professional vibe to the songs that is very much needed.

I'm such a crazy huge fan of music, which is a weird thing to say, I think, but I'll say it anyway. I've always just listened to songs and sang along and loved them and it's so strange for me to be writing

my own songs. It changes the way I listen. I hear things in a different way. I notice the tiniest little additions - bells, echoes, random background noises - that I never paid attention to before. And all it does is make me want to write more.

Without trying to get too sappy and self-help-y, I'll just say this: If there is anything you want to do that you are, for whatever reason, not doing...Do It. This music thing has changed my life. Even if no one else listens. If no one comes to my shows*. If no one buys the album(s). It has made me so happy just to do it. I truly believe everyone needs some sort of creative outpouring to be truly happy in life. Whether that's music or writing or painting or woodwork or building or dancing or coloring in a coloring book...find what makes you happy and just do it.

*Okay, it is really nice when people come to my shows. So, you'll be there, right?

Cars Part 4: A Corsica For a Week

A while back I had started a series of posts about the various cars I’ve owned in my life. Thrilling topic, I know. I guess it’s more for me than anything. I forgot about the topic…until now. So here we go.

After my Mercury Tracer was towed away and left in an impound lot where I could not afford to get it out, I was left carless. I was unemployed at the time and living in the city, so I didn’t really need to get anywhere. But, still, I’d always had a car and the thought of not having one was very uncomfortable for me.

My sister had just bought a new car and had her old late 80s/early 90s Chevy Corsica just sitting at her house going unused, so she offered it to me. She told me that it had a few problems, but it should be enough to get me by.

As always, not the actual car. But it looked just like this...with a lot more rust.

I went to pick it up and opened the driver’s side door and a rush of oil stench came back to me. It was like someone poured oil all over the inside of the car. I sat in the driver’s seat and looked at the mess next to me: Piles of dust and dirt and scum sat on the dashboard. I couldn’t believe she had been driving this thing. But, beggars can’t be choosers and off I went.

My sister lives in the small town of Norwood Young America and I was living in Minneapolis at the time. This is about a 45 minute drive (I cannot remember how I even got out there to pick the car up). I was about 10 minutes from my home when the car stalled on me at a stop light. It had felt very untrusting as I was driving home, so I chose to stay off the freeway and took a back way into the city. I turned the key multiple times and finally it started up again. But for the rest of the way home, it stalled at every light.

I got home and looked at the monstrosity I had just driven home. It was covered in rust. The inside, as I said, smelled of oil and dust. And now there it was, sitting outside of my apartment, waiting for me to buy it insurance and gasoline. Waiting for me to replace whatever was causing it to stall. Did I really need a car?

I’m fairly certain I drove it for about a week. The smell was terrible and I always had to have the windows down. I was afraid to smoke in it as I feared the spark of the lighter flame would ignite whatever that oil smell was. Eventually I drove it back to Norwood Young America and gave it back to my sister, somehow got back home, and spent some time carless. I do not remember this carless time of my life. I am seriously straining to recall how I got around. I have no recollection.