Mix tapes. Those time capsules for the ears and hearts of youth.
When people made custom music collections for each other and called them cryptic things that must have meant something, those were the days. To catalog a few, I remember making cassettes called Voice of the Eyes, and I received a two-volume set called Immortality for M.E. They now live in a box with others called Canon of Proportions, Masala of Nift Bresiliance, Truckin' and Shake Well Before Using. And others. Does this still happen? Is there cover art for play lists? How does one collage or hand-letter these auditory feasts?
A few years back when I received a playlist, it came announced in an email that it was in dropbox for me, and it was called Miss Hailey Sings the Blues. It was a bit of a chore to download and discover it, but the thrill was pretty much the same. Minus the handwriting and cover art.
As I recall, mix tapes were magnificent tributes to something you had, something you wanted, or something you never wanted to forget. I took a closer look and listen to my Immortality collection on a long drive tonight, a double cassette collection of a pure slice of the early 1990's. It was an 18th birthday present. Remember how important it seemed to hear and mean every word of every song on tapes like that? That thing about decorating the covers and listing some songs with twisted words, and messing with the artist names to be clever, or ending with a ghost track that ignited either panic or pleasure with it's surprise appearance.......the patience it took to make a reveal like that! It sounds like an archaic form of communication considering the ubiquitous handheld device days upon us now.
What I remember about Immortality from back in the day was that it was eclectic and surprising and loud.
What I loved about it tonight, 21 years later, was how eclectic it managed to be with its ballads, lullabies, nostalgic nods to music from our parents' era, loud and contemporary and even local (Completely Grocery, anyone?) and hallmarking pretty much everything it was to be a teenager that year. REM figured prominently, but so did The Beatles. Along with Led Zeppelin, Live, Simon & Garfunkel and Hendrix and Marley. It was a fabulous birthday present with staying power! I had not listened to it in nearly two decades, but I could still sing along arguably well to every song there on the auditory feast. Even with the forgotten ghost track. "Oh, you know, I will." Those magical Beatles ;).
P.S. I wonder, is there such a thing as a mix tape from the 90's that doesn't feature at least one track from the Indigo Girls?
Friday, October 10, 2014
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
Holding Space for Dirt and Chaos
I like vacuuming. And I like mopping my kitchen floor, which is much quieter.
Heck, I even like hand washing the dishes (I love hand washing the dishes, actually).
I find it satisfying that for the effort of half an hour I can produce a visible difference in tidiness by racing a loud machine all over the floor, or getting it wet and moving the water around. It's crazy, but I often start an ideal Sunday morning that way. It's my way of getting ahead and making my morning mess in a neat place. It's so much more fun to mess up a tidy space than a disheveled one.
But I haven't vacuumed my home since my house guest was here.....six weeks ago.
It's not too awful, but I can tell.
And today I told a doctor I sometimes vacuum - when she asked me about exercise. I said so because it seemed funny, but it also struck me that I probably vacuum more regularly than I intentionally exercise. And then I thought how crazy that was, because of course the afterglow of a quick run or long walk or hour of yoga or dance easily outshines a thorough vacuum.
But I digress. Because despite how much I like the afterglow of a good prance-around with the sucker-upper dirt-collector, I simply haven't done it in ages.
The practical part of me knows this is mostly because it is loud, and I most often notice the need to vacuum when I am sitting down, which is usually early in the morning or after dark - neither of which are noise-friendly vacuum traffic times. But I have had a handful of conscientious moments in broad daylight when I have stared down the debris on my carpet instead of storming it in the past six weeks.
The philosophical part of me thinks this has something to do with holding space for dirt and chaos. When I have a little chaos around, it's oddly comforting if I know that there's more than me feeling disarray. It sure is nice to know and see that not everything stays all neat and tidy all the time. I know this is going to change in a fit of momentary need for a tidier living room floor, but for the meantime I am holding the space for dirt and chaos.
If my carpet has some inanimate affliction, it feels less lonely that I have some too.
Heck, I even like hand washing the dishes (I love hand washing the dishes, actually).
I find it satisfying that for the effort of half an hour I can produce a visible difference in tidiness by racing a loud machine all over the floor, or getting it wet and moving the water around. It's crazy, but I often start an ideal Sunday morning that way. It's my way of getting ahead and making my morning mess in a neat place. It's so much more fun to mess up a tidy space than a disheveled one.
But I haven't vacuumed my home since my house guest was here.....six weeks ago.
It's not too awful, but I can tell.
And today I told a doctor I sometimes vacuum - when she asked me about exercise. I said so because it seemed funny, but it also struck me that I probably vacuum more regularly than I intentionally exercise. And then I thought how crazy that was, because of course the afterglow of a quick run or long walk or hour of yoga or dance easily outshines a thorough vacuum.
But I digress. Because despite how much I like the afterglow of a good prance-around with the sucker-upper dirt-collector, I simply haven't done it in ages.
The practical part of me knows this is mostly because it is loud, and I most often notice the need to vacuum when I am sitting down, which is usually early in the morning or after dark - neither of which are noise-friendly vacuum traffic times. But I have had a handful of conscientious moments in broad daylight when I have stared down the debris on my carpet instead of storming it in the past six weeks.
The philosophical part of me thinks this has something to do with holding space for dirt and chaos. When I have a little chaos around, it's oddly comforting if I know that there's more than me feeling disarray. It sure is nice to know and see that not everything stays all neat and tidy all the time. I know this is going to change in a fit of momentary need for a tidier living room floor, but for the meantime I am holding the space for dirt and chaos.
If my carpet has some inanimate affliction, it feels less lonely that I have some too.
Sunday, October 5, 2014
The day the greatest gift in my single parenting life was my daughter's boredom
On a Friday night when the internet had been out for a few days, my teenage daughter found my love letters.
She was bored. She went looking for one of my journals she remembered finding a few years previously that had first clued her in to realize that I was a human being with similar worries and fears at age 12. Neither of us knew where it landed. Instead she found one box of high school mementos filled with correspondence from my family when I was away at summer camps, play posters, locker signs, a journal, and a few inches worth of letters from friends. The contents of this box hadn't been missed or exposed for 20 years. Not that I had particularly forgotten about the histories these letters told, but I hadn't thought a lot about them either.
My daughter is nearly 16. She is a little bit younger than the era from which the contents of this box survive. Reading letters from my little brothers and sisters and my parents when I was young deepened her sense of appreciation for family ties. Reading letters from beaus and friends showcased the histories of friendships I had - the kinds of friendships she hasn't yet had for herself. Some of these friends I have to this day. And those that I don't have still showed off the fact that people can be important in your life even when they ultimately go. I know when I was young I didn't want to believe for a second that someone that meant the world to me would one day be just a memory. There were actually a few letters I screened first and moved aside, but for the most part it was a pure delight to share these time capsules. I asked her to read them aloud as she went so I could enjoy her saturation and see the moments that arrested her most.
I never anticipated this moment. Sure, I kept these things because I live for the seduction of fiction that one day these letters and posters and mementos might tell a story I never told to someone who cared about me. I also don't have the guts to mess with my own sentimentality. But I didn't see this particular episode coming. I never planned to read my love letters with my daughters. So for my teenage daughter to swoon over an extinct me and fall a little bit in love with my friends and their feelings, that was a gift. As she read, she expressed a lot of desire for building similar relationships. It was heartbreaking and wonderful all at once. And for me, it was purely thrilling to note one thing that hasn't changed about me - the value of verbose and vocabulary I adore still. I'm a sucker for a man with vocab and feelings and a handwritten letter. Like my daughter, I swooned a little too. But even more than that, it isn't that I want these people back in my life: I got to re-admire and share the notion of people with these qualities in my life, and now I get to share liking and wanting this with my daughter. We got a little closer to being friends that night, and all because she was bored.
So the fact that my daughter and I wouldn't be likely high school friends doesn't matter much. We have really rocky moments. We clash in very big ways. The fact that we get to start being friends now, that matters quite a bit.
She was bored. She went looking for one of my journals she remembered finding a few years previously that had first clued her in to realize that I was a human being with similar worries and fears at age 12. Neither of us knew where it landed. Instead she found one box of high school mementos filled with correspondence from my family when I was away at summer camps, play posters, locker signs, a journal, and a few inches worth of letters from friends. The contents of this box hadn't been missed or exposed for 20 years. Not that I had particularly forgotten about the histories these letters told, but I hadn't thought a lot about them either.
My daughter is nearly 16. She is a little bit younger than the era from which the contents of this box survive. Reading letters from my little brothers and sisters and my parents when I was young deepened her sense of appreciation for family ties. Reading letters from beaus and friends showcased the histories of friendships I had - the kinds of friendships she hasn't yet had for herself. Some of these friends I have to this day. And those that I don't have still showed off the fact that people can be important in your life even when they ultimately go. I know when I was young I didn't want to believe for a second that someone that meant the world to me would one day be just a memory. There were actually a few letters I screened first and moved aside, but for the most part it was a pure delight to share these time capsules. I asked her to read them aloud as she went so I could enjoy her saturation and see the moments that arrested her most.
I never anticipated this moment. Sure, I kept these things because I live for the seduction of fiction that one day these letters and posters and mementos might tell a story I never told to someone who cared about me. I also don't have the guts to mess with my own sentimentality. But I didn't see this particular episode coming. I never planned to read my love letters with my daughters. So for my teenage daughter to swoon over an extinct me and fall a little bit in love with my friends and their feelings, that was a gift. As she read, she expressed a lot of desire for building similar relationships. It was heartbreaking and wonderful all at once. And for me, it was purely thrilling to note one thing that hasn't changed about me - the value of verbose and vocabulary I adore still. I'm a sucker for a man with vocab and feelings and a handwritten letter. Like my daughter, I swooned a little too. But even more than that, it isn't that I want these people back in my life: I got to re-admire and share the notion of people with these qualities in my life, and now I get to share liking and wanting this with my daughter. We got a little closer to being friends that night, and all because she was bored.
So the fact that my daughter and I wouldn't be likely high school friends doesn't matter much. We have really rocky moments. We clash in very big ways. The fact that we get to start being friends now, that matters quite a bit.
Saturday, October 4, 2014
A roll of wrapping paper seduced me at the mall last night.
Yes, a roll of wrapping paper seduced me at the mall last night.
Which is to say, I bought it.
I wasn't shopping, I was exiting the building at a regular walking pace when the item of note caught my attention. I stopped, touched and admired.
It was simple and efficient and satisfying, like any good seduction.
Which is to say, it was also notable.
Making rapid undeliberated purchases is a relatively unexercised muscle for me. I consume plenty of things, but not many that are bought new in the package. And not often without hemming and hawing a fair bit first.
Not much more than a year ago I was operating a family food budget based entirely on food benefits from the state. Which means it wasn't really a budget, it was a sum that lasted as long as it lasted and when it ran out that was the food allowance for the month. My bank statement data is infrequently longer than two inches not because I prefer cash but because I stick to the essentials. I dread buying sponges and dish soap. I have purchased paper towels twice in my life. I have a pretty solid habit of ignoring things that would be nice to buy but not entirely necessary, which isn't so difficult if you ignore the places where these things are sold...and the internet....and glossy magazines....and pretty much the general way of society. I'm that person who it took three visits to the local IKEA to digest the appropriate amount of desensitization needed within the building to actually see any of the stuff begging to be bought, whereas I have a kid who begs to be immersed in the possibility all that unpurchased stuff presents.
So when I saw this wrapping paper, I wanted it, and I instantly proceeded to buy it. Not so bad for a former mall-phobe. Never mind that I have since reinforced my rapid decision with appreciation that a two-toned polka dot pattern is practical and will wrap a gift for most any occasion appropriately, provided it is dressed in the right ribbons for the occasion. I let that roll seduce me.
Who says the mall isn't cathartic?
Which is to say, I bought it.
I wasn't shopping, I was exiting the building at a regular walking pace when the item of note caught my attention. I stopped, touched and admired.
It was simple and efficient and satisfying, like any good seduction.
Which is to say, it was also notable.
Making rapid undeliberated purchases is a relatively unexercised muscle for me. I consume plenty of things, but not many that are bought new in the package. And not often without hemming and hawing a fair bit first.
Not much more than a year ago I was operating a family food budget based entirely on food benefits from the state. Which means it wasn't really a budget, it was a sum that lasted as long as it lasted and when it ran out that was the food allowance for the month. My bank statement data is infrequently longer than two inches not because I prefer cash but because I stick to the essentials. I dread buying sponges and dish soap. I have purchased paper towels twice in my life. I have a pretty solid habit of ignoring things that would be nice to buy but not entirely necessary, which isn't so difficult if you ignore the places where these things are sold...and the internet....and glossy magazines....and pretty much the general way of society. I'm that person who it took three visits to the local IKEA to digest the appropriate amount of desensitization needed within the building to actually see any of the stuff begging to be bought, whereas I have a kid who begs to be immersed in the possibility all that unpurchased stuff presents.
So when I saw this wrapping paper, I wanted it, and I instantly proceeded to buy it. Not so bad for a former mall-phobe. Never mind that I have since reinforced my rapid decision with appreciation that a two-toned polka dot pattern is practical and will wrap a gift for most any occasion appropriately, provided it is dressed in the right ribbons for the occasion. I let that roll seduce me.
Who says the mall isn't cathartic?
Dating Grey's Anatomy
I've had this thing going on for the past several months.
I found a thing I really enjoy.
It makes me laugh some, cry some, and it keeps me wanting more.
It's attractive and endearing and pretty addictive. It also delivers well with occasional surprises and plenty of innuendo.
I like to do as much of it as possible. Sometimes I'm so eager I rush regular things to get more time with it.
It definitely influences my decision-making -- sometimes I also make time for it against my better judgement, like after 10:00 p.m. when I'm already tired and would normally go to bed. So I lose sleep over it too.
I stay up with it instead of sleeping well. And I like my sleep, so that's when I know I need to temper my affection.
When I take a break for a few days, I think more clearly and enjoy coming back to it all the more.
I kind of want to hold onto it and not let it go.
But best of all, I reserve all the rights to make it stop and make it go.
Yep, I'm definitely dating Grey's Anatomy
And I intend to see it through.
I found a thing I really enjoy.
It makes me laugh some, cry some, and it keeps me wanting more.
It's attractive and endearing and pretty addictive. It also delivers well with occasional surprises and plenty of innuendo.
I like to do as much of it as possible. Sometimes I'm so eager I rush regular things to get more time with it.
It definitely influences my decision-making -- sometimes I also make time for it against my better judgement, like after 10:00 p.m. when I'm already tired and would normally go to bed. So I lose sleep over it too.
I stay up with it instead of sleeping well. And I like my sleep, so that's when I know I need to temper my affection.
When I take a break for a few days, I think more clearly and enjoy coming back to it all the more.
I kind of want to hold onto it and not let it go.
But best of all, I reserve all the rights to make it stop and make it go.
Yep, I'm definitely dating Grey's Anatomy
And I intend to see it through.
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