Musical Interlude

I had plans for yesterday; the get-some-things-done-around-here sort of plans. But when a friend of mine called mid-morning to ask if I wanted tickets to the afternoon's symphony concert, it suddenly became far less important to me to get some things done, and I happily accepted her offer. (I'd been toying with the idea of buying tickets for the last month and a bit, but just never quite managed to climb far enough out of my rut to actually do something about the notion.) 

I cleaned myself up, dusted off my good clothes (Literally, dusted them off - it's clearly been a while since I went out anywhere formalish. *sigh*), and put them on. I drove down to the Kauffman Center, climbed up to my seat, and sat down with a satisfied sigh.

There's something about live music. I have several ways to listen to high-quality sound at home, but. To my ears, the sounds from the speakers can come close to the sounds in a music hall, but to my soul, the recordings are missing a core something. I'm pretty sure it has to do with the sound waves the instruments create together as part of their magic.

As the concert began, it took a bit for the magic to take hold; my thoughts are used to running amok these days - there aren't many competing voices in my world. But then, but then. 

The stream of sound from the voices and instruments swirled around me and settled in my core, silencing the voices in my head. I sat up straight, put my feet on the floor, closed my eyes, and let the music carry me away. I can't tell you what I thought of the rest of the concert, because I had no thoughts. There was just the music and the moment. 

I wasn't familiar with the pieces on the program, so I had no notions of where the notes should be headed. Rather, I was free to let go, to just drift in the current of sound, to let it carry me where it would. 

I came back to earth a few times, and leaned over the rail to watch the movement of the orchestra as they worked together to create the musical current, but those moments didn't last long. The pull of the waves was too strong.

As my brother told me in a text the other day, after I sent him a bad joke*: What is matter, but a collection of atoms, which consist of concentrated energy, which can be construed as a particle or a wave. We are both matter and a wave. Because we are a wave, we are music incarnate.

I can buy that. (Please forgive me for switching metaphors here.) I can believe the music of the concert picked up the threads of my lonely song and wove them back into the fabric of the song of the Universe for those timeless moments, leaving me refreshed, and with a tenuous sense of my connection to the Is.

Music Is.

*The joke was: You occupy space and have mass. What does that mean?  Answer: You matter.

The Last Box

It's been 11 years since I packed up my house on Valentine Road and started off on a new path. It's been nine years since I landed in this house, about six since the remodeling project was essentially completed and I went through everything I'd tucked away and decided that the items within the stash of remaining boxes still fit in my life, or not.

OK. I went through ALMOST everything, but there was this one box. It contained assorted odds and ends from a small set of shelves that had been tucked into the corner of a seldom-used closet in the old house. I didn't ignore the box. Every so often, I'd open the flaps, take a look inside, be unable to decide what to do with the contents, then promptly close the flaps so I could tackle it another day.

This past week, I decided the time had come to empty the box for once and for all. Its contents certainly weren't doing anyone any good by living in the back of yet another closet. So, I opened it one last time and spread the contents across a bed.

It was a true box of treasures, complete with a stash of fifty cent pieces and a two dollar bill. There was a girl-shaped piggy bank I got for Christmas back in the early seventies, a true classic, but with its paint chipping off across the back. There were two Barbie dolls, along with several outfits (?). My calendars from 1982 - 1984, along with a letter from Mary B (one of my best friends then and now),  briefly put me in touch with my just-finishing-college shelf. 

I found the lacy blue shawl I wore to prom. I'd stashed the yearbook from my senior year in high school, a smattering of school pictures from my then-friends, and a random notebook from some class. There was a bowl that Libby made for me in her pottery phase of life, a small basket Joe made for me at Scout camp, and the guest register from my mother's funeral. 

I reread a letter from my dad with tears in my eyes. The pages didn't contain any news of import, but in the words he'd written, I could hear his voice echoing across the years.

Nope, I'm not surprised I've never emptied the box. I've wandered far from my roots, and to be able to physically touch these pieces of my past unearths dusty, but valuable, memories of my younger self - no small gift.

I put the bowl in the kitchen where it will get used, and will find the Barbies another home. The yearbook, letters, and photos went with the other papers I've saved over the years. I took one more photo of the shawl and the piggy bank, thanked them for the memories, then gently added them to the trash bin - the days where they could be handled without falling apart are past.

It feels good to have that box emptied, its contents properly dispersed. I think it's all a part of moving on from this liminal space I've hung out in for too long now - I feel both anchored and free.

Onward!

Three Years???

Fall has arrived. It's a subdued season here this year, the colors muted by lack of rain. But I have still been enjoying the cooler days, the way the angled October sunlight highlights the shadows. 

My calendar tells me it's been three years already since I last pursued gainful employment. My Covid-addled brain (even though I've avoided suffering through a bout of the disease, it's still managed to mess with my mind) doesn't see how that is possible. I've clearly entered a time warp. It's the only logical explanation for the fact that it seems as though I last walked out the door of the office about six months ago.

If I think about it, I know where the time went. Year One was working on the castle. The first half of Year Two was spent in Covid isolation, the second half, peering out my windows to see if it was safe to go outside yet. And in Year Three, I've finally started to figure this retirement gig out.

I partially blame Covid for the fact I'm still (??!!?) struggling to find my balance in a world where I get to choose how to fill all of my days, not just the weekends, holidays, and occasional breaks from work. I mean, this is something I dreamed of, longed for, back in my days on the work treadmill.  How is it that I'm still seeking balance three years after I set myself free?

The good news part is the part where that sought-after balance is much closer since I joined the gym this past summer. It turns out that I need people, even if they're just casual acquaintances, as a regular part of my days. I'm not sure how the link works, but since adding the classes there to my schedule, I've begun to break my internet black hole addiction (again). I've begun to channel my inner Vic (that's my dad), so that some days find me happily puttering away; no real goal in mind but to see if I can get this thing in my hands to match the vision in my mind. Some days, I even manage to make progress on the items languishing on what I've begun to think of as my wish list (as opposed to my to-do list).

Some rare days, I feel the same sense of freedom I did back when I was wandering the country in my camper van. It's a good feeling, filled with a sense of possibility and wonder. 

I like those days. They give me hope. 

Car Troubles

I really can't complain. For most of the fifteen years I've owned my StealthMobile, it's given me very little trouble. I've given it decent gas and regular oil changes, and in return, I turn the key, and it runs. It's been a great gig from my perspective.

But my car is getting older, right along with me, and these last couple of years things have started wearing out on it. Most recently, it developed a coolant leak, which I got fixed, but right on the tail of that, I started getting a random "CHECK CHARGING SYSTEM" message from the car.

The first few times, it just flashed on, then off within thirty seconds or so. This was August so I blamed it on the heat. Never mind that it's been plenty hot before and I'd never seen the message previously. I can get into denial just as well as the next person.

Sure enough, ignoring the problem didn't make it go away, and the message started popping up more often, for longer periods of time. Figures. Not wanting to keep flirting with danger - eventually that alternator was going to finish breaking - I brought the car into the mechanic to get it replaced when I returned home from California. (again. I'd replaced it just two years ago, but their theory is that the coolant leak managed to get some liquid where it didn't belong, and electronics don't like to take baths. Made sense to me.)

It took a couple days to get the parts in and get the car back, but when it was done, the light was gone, and the engine was purring. I figured I was good for a while.

Or, not.

It was just four days later. I was driving home from the hardware store on a beautiful fall day. I had the top down and was feeling proud of myself for making good progress on my outdoor projects. As I drove, I smelled a hot metal smell, but thought nothing of it. A LOT of my neighbors are doing home improvements, and I figured someone nearby was working on a something.

Still clueless, I pulled into my drive, put the top back up, and started to pull into the open garage. As soon as the top went up, that hot metal smell got worse. Uh, oh. 

I looked at the hood of the car. Was that ....smoke???... coming from under the hood? I killed the engine, popped the hood, and jumped out to see what was up. 

I cautiously opened it fully, ready to run get an extinguisher if need be, just in time to see some last wisps of smoke wafting from the now-blackened windings of the new alternator. *sigh*

I called AAA, and got it towed back to the shop. I was on tenterhooks for a day or so. There was no way to know if the fire had done damage to the rest of the electrical system until they got the car running again, and, of course, it took an extra day to get the replacement part in. I heaved a huge sigh of relief when I found out I'd turned the car off in time to prevent damage to the rest of the electrical system.  *whew*

Right now, I am grateful. This story could have been so. much. worse. Yeah, I had to rearrange my life around being car-less for the second time in two weeks, but. I didn't get stranded on the highway. I didn't burn up the car, or the garage. And, they didn't charge me for the do-over. (I didn't really think they would. We all know alternators should last more than four days.)

Yesterday, I was out driving with the top down, and smelled hot metal again. This time, I immediately took a close look at the dash to make sure all the gauges were in the green, and no idiot lights were on. This time, it really was some nearby construction. 

Trust me. It'll be a while before I again cavalierly assume that any odd, random smells are NOT coming from my engine. 

I can learn.

Beach Dude

I saw evidence of his existence - a thin blanket and trash bag neatly arranged beneath the stairway - as I first carefully made my way down the cliff onto the beach early one morning. I was a bit wary as I stepped onto the sand (stranger danger!), but a glance around showed me there were enough people already populating the beach that someone would hear me scream if trouble arose, so I set my fears aside.

I'd been settled into my coveted shade spot for some time before he strutted from between the rocks behind me, his entrance announced by the rock music streaming from the small bluetooth speaker dangling from one wrist.

He was tall, and looked to be quite fit. His strong physique was highlighted by his once-thick, long, blond hair as it straggled down his sun-reddened shoulders. He wore only a pair of swim trunks, and clutched an almost empty reusable plastic bag in his free hand. He found a nook in the cliff wall just a short way from where I sat, then pulled a Monster drink out of the sack, along with a thin and somewhat grubby towel which he promptly put on the sand to claim his spot.

He took a long swig from his drink, then, still holding it in his free hand, walked to the water's edge, threw his chest out and his arms wide, walking a short ways into the surf. He raised his head high and offered a defiant laugh to the serene blue sky, welcoming the morning. He waited for the waves to recede just a bit, then clambered up and over the rocks, daring the water to wash him off his perch. I didn't have to budge from my spot to know he'd safely made it across because I could hear his music receding as he made his way back up the beach.

He didn't approach me, or anyone else that I saw. He wasn't looking for trouble; was careful to avoid even the appearance of aggressiveness towards the people intruding onto his peaceful beach that cool autumn morning.

He intrigued me, and I mused about his unknown story as I sat watching the waves. The beach is beautiful, yes, but a harsh place to try to call home. It must be hard to be a Have-not (or, perhaps, a Once-had), in the land of Haves. The nearest place to buy food was several miles down the road, and the nights awfully chilly. Though I saw no evidence of it, I hoped he had a stash of warm clothing somewhere nearby.

I was curious about the way he used his music to both announce his presence and secure himself some free space. He could have just quietly blended in - there are plenty of scruffy, long-haired aging surfers thereabouts - but he chose instead to be defiantly loud. I wondered if it was his way to announce to the world that he still exists. "I am!"

I could just be projecting - since retirement, I've struggled to understand how to define my place in the world when there is no place in the world I MUST be. When I left the beach, I tried to carry a little of his bravado with me; the "bring it on!" sense I got from him as he faced the waves. 

Nope, my world is not perfect, but I woke up this morning. There is no handy beach nearby, but I can easily get my hands on my caffeinated beverage of choice. I can raise my face to the sun, and throw my arms wide. I can laugh as I welcome the beauty the day brings. 

I AM!