The Bride of Shopocalypse

I'm glad I have the chance to type this in - talking is not really an option.

A very strange idea.  Singing for an entire day would be no strain on me at all.  Music comes naturally and strongly to my voice with no trouble.

But it's really hard for me to talk for a long period of time: eight hours yesterday and five hours today.

There were a few more difficult, more challenging problems to work through with folks.  Still, we got through it - though it must be observed that all of us are starting to look a little peaked.

I have to let my voice rest tomorrow.  Maybe get the humidifier out.

I'm not thrilled by the humidifier.  It works - the technology behind it is so simple it can't not work.

Still, I wish my throat and sinuses had adapted to the strain better.  We've just been so intensely busy that I've not really had time to focus my voice in a lighter range.  Perhaps now I'll pay more attention.

I'm dog sitting Chief the Wonderdog tonight.  We walked down to M's apartment, where I'd left my cheater spectacles after our Christmas dinner.  I hadn't even seriously consider that they might be there.

Oh well - nothing of great philosophical import.  The streets are wet - ice and snow crust over the brick of the sidewalks, making them a little more dangerous.

Amazing to think that a week ago we were tensing for the blow of our first snowstorm.

What kind of changes will  we face next?

Shopocalypse Now

Well.  Frankly this picture has nothing to do with the events of the day but it's an inspiring one, isn't it?

Boxing Day isn't an official holiday here in Maine as it is over the border in Canada.  I remember reading about it in my very first Sherlock Holmes book, back when I was in Fourth grade or so.

As I write, with more than an hour 'till closing I'm sure the Orchard is humming - perhaps not as crazed at at the peak of the day starting around Noon, but probably still going strong.

After the enforced quietude (read "hangover recovery") of Christmas Day and having a late dinner with my colleague M it made sense to phone over this morning and ask if help was needed.

The short answer was "get out here and we'll figure out for how long later in the day".  You can't argue with that.

So saying I took my courage in hand and headed over in Mrs. Beadle - who simply started right up.

Getting logged in and powered up was the work of a moment.  After that it was an amazing blur of people and problem solving.

This is the best part of working at the Orchard.  You see anyone crazy enough to be shopping on Boxing Day is also willing to accept that such shopping is going to be, in a word, crazy.  You'd have to be in order to put up with the lack of parking, crowds and increasingly empty shelves.  

So people (usually) don't go crazy.  They just put their heads down and bull their way through.  

And that is what makes it so much fun.  You get to help people solve problems and work through to a better place.  We really are changing lives.

Or at last we're making a reputation for maintaining - at least, where the public can see us - a sense of calm, of politesse, of sang froid, of listening to our customers and making their lives better.

I had at least three sets of German customers.  One French.

No Cherokee.

So - even though we were lost in a sea of demanding humanity we didn't lose our basic humanity in the face of such overwhelming odds.  People were pretty chill - considering.

I'm going in tomorrow afternoon, Saturday - in the thick of the day.  I am intensely curious to see what happens next.

Taking Lunch

MobileMe gallery is here.

Well, the weather changed.

It turned cold - not too cold but cold enough.

It turned rainy - not too rainy but rainy enough.

The final result is that this whole part of Maine got hit with an ice storm, causing a fair amount of mayhem.

A lot of people are wandering around the Mall right now - most of the county has lost power, even the cable TV is out.

Four social outlets profit in this situation - bars, movie theatres, fast food eateries - and the Mall.

Which is where I am now.  

All told the first part of the day was quiet.  I spent most of it at home making phone calls to other people I knew would have been affected by the storm in some way.  Everyone is fine, either warmly ensconced or safely arrived home.

This still left me with the chore of driving in to the Mall and getting to work at the Orchard.  It looks like most of Cumberland county is here - maybe the bars are full - or the teenyboppers  have parents who are just as bored.

It was a very straightforward drive out - I had no trouble until the penultimate light before the Mall at Clark's Pond.

Apparently something, I guessing a powerline, had blocked off the traffic.  This led me down a side road approach to the Mall, along with a long, somewhat harried line of cars going in both directions.

The effort was justified by seeing two big - big - wild turkeys on the side of the street, next to the Comfort Inn.

They were working the ice-covered grass, scratching like dangerous chickens, completely unconcerned with the traffic passing mere yards away.

I had to volte face and pull over - as bewildered drivers passed me in both directions.  I'm glad no one honked or the birds might have bolted.

They might have bolted but I'm more inclined to think they just didn't give a rat's ass - they just went on about their work.

For all I know, they're still out there.

The First Evening of Autumn

I have crossed the Rubicon - taken steps into a new place and I have to say I really have had fun while doing it.

So, here I am at Blue, waiting for a dessert I can neither stomach or afford, really - the only part of me  being fed is my soul.

Outside - not only tonight but back to Wednesday - the evenings have become cooler, the air stiffening, becoming more crisp.

The picture here barely captures the complexity of sunsets against the high clouds of the early evening.  

I am drawn to walk the streets of the town, listening as the wind in the leaves becomes a drier, more complex sound.  

The sound calls the magic at the center of my soul, calls it closer to the surface of my face, makes it glow more richly in my eyes.  People see it, I'm convinced they do.  Friends join hands in their hearts with me, we become co-conspirators - we pass around melancholy and boisterousness in equal measures, like we're drinking amber wine from shared goatskin.

You never know quite what is going to happen at this time of year.  The leaves are preparing to change, Nature is taking a great deep breath as it prepares for Fall.

We opened the Orchard this morning - I will write about that later, the memories are still not formed yet, all I would do is describe what happened and the whirlwind of meanings would be lost.

All told I am grateful for what has happened.  It is so hard to just accept it, to breathe it in.  I had a moment of pointless, selfish distress yesterday - what saved me was the wonderful thought: "just be here with your friends, just be here.  The rest will come."  

And that saved me.  The shocking truth was that I needed to just be there - be myself and be present and the rest would settle out.

Well, I suppose I should finish up - tomorrow will be another day and I need to get some rest.

Rails in Rust and Grass

Facebook gallery is here.

As noted elsewhere I have a fascination with old rail lines - spikes, rails, bridges, ladders, engines and other detritus.

My favorite summer job was in the 1975 where I supported myself in marching with the Valiant Knights of Enid, OK by working for the local Kiwanis club.  

My task was to help rebuild a huge miniature railroad in Meadowlake Park in the South of Enid.  The line had been washed away by a flood the Summer before and our job was to restore it.

The man in charge was a crusty old ex-railman named Bill Haney.  You could tell he had worked his way around the West by swinging a sledge and had the work ethic of a man whose paycheck grew based on how much steel he laid in the course of a day.

We didn't stand around a lot.

The neat thing was Bill's insistence that we make it "look pretty" - that just getting the job done shouldn't be enough.  There was more to this than the paycheck.  Or, more precisely, the cash he doled out at the end of each day.  

Now that I think of it it strikes me that maybe he was trying to teach us something, pass on wisdom as an elder - or a father - conscious or not. I never heard that there was a "Mrs. Bill Haney" - I'm sure there probably was and I'm equally sure that it's no damned business of mine.

Still, he made it a point to give us a chance to do really good work.  Maybe I learned more from that job than I thought.  The Valiant Knights won second place in the 1975 VFW nationals in LA that year, though everyone else was at DCI in Philadelphia, the first PBS broadcast - but my first thought, when my parents came to collect me afterwards, was to take them to ride on that silly train.

I still think well of the experience - a Google satellite photo is here.  You can just make out the train line.

Perhaps this is a reflection of the fascination with trains I've had since childhood.  

I suppose it all served to move me to head down to the Fore River waterfront - the part along Commercial Street that has no lobster pounds, no boat chandleries, no antique shops - the part that has pretty much nothing but scrub growth and rusting metal left from it's days as a switching yard for the Grand Trunk Railroad.

A warm day, a very clear day.  The railyard lies below the level of Commercial Street, next to the river.  One rusted spur leads to a gas tank farm but I don't see that it's been used in a long, long time.  Looking close at the rails will show one set with just a touch less rust.  Just a touch.

You can see where multiple lines used to be.  Certain sections twist and turn - one striking section is a series of "S" curves.  

The yard expands out for a quarter-mile - then condenses again, down by the Merril Docks, heading under Route One and the Veteran's Bridge.  The bridge pilings are covered in impressive graffiti - lost declarative artworks seen only by other taggers, wharf rats and the occasional nosy-parker with a camera and a free afternoon.

I wonder at how much traffic those lines must have carried - they represent a substantial infrastructural investment.  And now they are falling to ruin - I'd say "seed" if they weren't all made of cast steel.

Set aside the question of what we have gained or lost by industrialization.  Just think about the good work of the ones who laid that rail, who made it "look pretty".

I wonder at what Bill Haney would have said about it.

Summer, thy name is Rockland

Facebook gallery is here.

I have driven through Rockland over the years, mostly on my way to Camden which, besides being the film location for the movie "Peyton Place", is more "beautiful" in a kind of Disneyland New England kind of way; Rockland is still very much a working seaport and the starting point for ferry trips to Vinalhaven and other islands.

The Labor Day weekend provided a good excuse to run from Portland ("Silicon Harbor") and the intense training sessions we've been having.  The Store is gearing up.  The tension is palpable.

I'm having the best time I've had in years.

TImes being what they are I wouldn't be caught dead in the town during any other time.  Ah, but Labor Day - or during the quiet season when the leaves are gone and the snows have not yet fallen - those are different matters. 

Now is that magic time that is the very last clear time of Summer.  We've had a notoriously soggy Summer up here - rain almost every weekend; the farmers are afraid for certain crops.

Lettuce seems to have been particularly hard-hit.

TML and BigB hosted an event called "Saltwater Tango", a sort of Summer camp for tangueros - two nights of dancing with camping in the yard of our host, an affable fellow named George.

It was held in a combination house and boathouse on the waterfront of Thomaston.  The top level was for living - and dancing - and the bottom held the business-end of a good carpentry shop.

George and I had a good chat about how our particular stomping grounds had changed - his being Rockland, mine being Tulsa - over the years.  

Change is change - some of it bad, some good - and I hope it's all welcome change.

I also did get a chance to browse around the town.  There is a boardwalk around part of the harbor and it afforded some dramatic views.

You can see much the same from places in Portland, of course - but the context and land were different.

Besides an evening of wonderful dancing I had a chance to indulge my interest in old trains.

Seeing TML play at the Picnic for Alternative Energy was also a not-to-be-missed experience.

Have to run to work now - more later.  This is fun.

Strange days, stranger comforts

There is a Chinese saying, in Mandarin, I think, that says "May you live in the most interesting of times".

Being an inflected language you can shape the words to imply either a friendly wish or a malediction.

I'm going with "friendly wish".

As of today I am three days into intensive training for my new job. Professional discretion will lead me to refer to it obliquely, also out of courtesy to the incredible set of new friends I've discovered.  You can tell from my earlier posts, but as of now I have responsibilities and intend to honor them.

We're working in a meeting room at the Embassy Suites near the Jetport - the name "jetport" probably evoked far away places with strange sounding names back when first built - now it just seems tacky and Chamber-of-Commeracy - if that's a word.

Still, all told it's a nice place and since I grew up near airports it's working out fine.

The work is challenging, a lot to learn in order to deliver the level of service expected.  My colleagues in all capacities are smart, engaging and very present.  You can tell there was a concerted effort to build a team both competent and diverse.

A case in point is the fire incident from yesterday.

A strange beeping (and with all the technology present in the room pretty much all beeps are rather strange) broke out.  This had an urgency and tone that demanded attention and our managers popped out the doors, holding them open so we could hear.

At which time a Magic Voice announced a fire alarm.  Instructions were given, asking us to wait for an announcement of the involved floor, which, once named, could be evacuated.

That kind of stopped the lesson.  We were still reaching for our water glasses and candy bars when the manager of the hotel stepped in, informing us that we had to leave.

Leave now.

"The first floor is asked to leave quietly by the nearest available exit," the magic voice intoned  If there had been a nearby unavailable exit I think we would have been screwed.  Oh well.

My friend in the PFD told me years ago (he has retired and lives just "next door" to the hotel) that there are over 6 fire engines at the Jetport, but also that all of those machines were reserved for the Jetport.

This didn't bode well at all.

So it took a little longer than one might be comfortable with to hear the sound of fire trucks wailing their way nearer to the hotel.  We all spilled out into the trees as PFD made their appearance.

I admit to being grateful for the interruption - this is a lot of work and the stakes we play for are high.  

Still, it was kind of fun.  There was some spontaneous entertaining, a song or two - then someone suggested getting a "class picture" of the crew and a hotel staffer was pressed into service.

Besides using one of the ubiquitous cell phones I pulled my digital camera out of my eternal backpack and let it be used to snap some pix.  Sadly I can't post it as it identifies folks - the other shots don't really show faces (and I've blurred them just a touch in Photoshop to help).

I did notice that the ladder had a tennis 

ball attached to it.  The driver informed me it was used in sighting the ladder during use.  

The people I'm working with are a wonderful crowd.  Everyone is very, very smart - we have to be.

Everyone is very, very friendly - again, we have to be. It looks like doing this job is going to need pinpoint co-operation and communication and we're just the types.

This was brought home after we left for the day.  I announced and then headed off to the NorthStar for tango - TML wasn't playing but Prof.B was the DJ and she's got quite a collection.

I was dancing with a lady when someone called my name from the door.  It was one of teams from work - over eighty percent of them.  

Sadly I ran my partner's toes over - not good form.

But I will say that it was the first time in my professional career that some folks from work showed up to one one my suggested events.  Before now it just never occurred to me that people would be willing to share.  It was quite a compliment.

I took a tremendous risk during a tremendously vulnerable time in order to get this job and clear out space in my soul to write music and have a richer life.  Against all odds I am cautiously optimistic about how this is all turning out.

My German friend, E., says that this is just the beginning - that the final iteration of this has not happened yet.  I'm willing to grant him this - I also intend to enjoy these moments and live them fully, with grace and presence.

We shall see.

Tuesday Is Less Than A Dog Day

Dogs have it easier than cats but cats are smarter.

You couldn't hitch up a bunch of cats to pull a sled across the Iditarod - it just wouldn't happen.

The Dog Days actually happen in August and are signaled by the star Sirius - the Dog Star that follows the constellation Orion.

As a licensed poodle groomer in the state of Oklahoma I have to say I think that would be pretty cool - if it wasn't so damn hot...

So, "now these hot days is the mad blood brewing".

My interview was yesterday.  I think it went pretty well - I had fun and liked the two guys running it.  There was a background check, of course, which included a credit check - I'm not profligate but neither am I a blue chip.

Well, we shall see.

Works has begun on a new tango.  It's nice to get into that mindset - solving problems and imagining how  it will work is fun.  I dance a lot in the room.

Finally I did go to the gym to run.  I want to start running in longer chunks in preparation for heading out in the street.  Sooner or later I have to reach for a level of intensity that will get me into five mile runs.

I've had a mixed relationship with exercise - mixed feelings.  My dad was a runner in college - he was even an extra during the filming of "Jim Thorpe: All American" at Bacone College just after WWII.  He took off running during a race scene and had to be reminded by the AD that Burt Lancaster (Jim Thorpe) was the one who had to win the race.

After that I stopped by Geno's for a tonic (gin is only for the weekends) and listened to a first rate story teller - Laura Packer (whose website is here) - it was only for a moment as she'd been going for a while, but she really gets her point across.

So it's been quite a day - hopefully tomorrow will be just as full of incident and action.

How was yours?

Looking at the orchard...

Looking at the Apple store in Boston, on Boylston Street.  It took a little walking to get here from the T stop but it seems to have worked out.  I've chatted with some really neat people - and did a quick shot of the staircase.

There is a really neat vibe here.

Everyone is alert to possibilities.  I like that.

The train ride down almost didn't happen - I made it right at 5:59 a.m. and was "encouraged" to run down the ramp to catch the train.  

And that, right there, is a major difference between air and rail travel - you can't jump onto a plane when it leaves the gate.

While on it I discovered a limitation of train travel - the WiFi wasn't working - I offered to fix it but they had an "expert" in yesterday and it didn't happen. 

However I did meet Georgianne Gallagher and Vince Larkin, also teachers. retired and moving to Ogunquit.  They've been summering there for a while and it was neat to compare notes about how we felt about winters both in New Jersey and Oklahoma - in contrast to those in Maine.

I did get a chance to show off my Mac Book to them and the Trainriders Northeast rep - a very nice lady whose name I totally didn't get (UPDATE: her name was Jean - the TRN person going north just told me) - with any luck she'll be on the train going back - of course, the WiFi may not be working on that train either so she may not get on this blog.

So after getting off at the Prudential Center and triangulating the position of the store I've chatted with some Creatives and others - also looked at software (which just doesn't exist in Maine with this level of luxuriance) and getting the vibe.

Right now I have to start back to the train - I have a lot to think about and put together in my head.

I'm blogging from the Apple Store on Boylston Street in Boston.

How freakin' cool is that?

Who the Hell am I kidding....?

... it was really like this.  It's always been like this, wherever I've  been.

It was like this...

Not all the time - but enough to create a strong impression....

the sound of one door closing

"Well, that's all over with".

One of my favorite lines by one of my favorite actors (Sigourney Weaver) from one of my favorite movies ("Dave").

I cannot quite get my head around the fact that my year of voluntary servitude is done.  I'm torn about identifying the town - though I suppose since it's on my website bio there's no point in being coy.

I keep having this stomach-churning feeling - like a bad roast-beef sandwich trying to come back up (to cite the latest example - not working there means my chances of avoiding such another sandwich gone bad have improved greatly...), just a heave from deep inside my body.

I admit that when I got in my car I started laughing uncontrollably - I've been holding it in since being told I wasn't coming back - holding back a heaving sense of relief, anger, confusion, fear and joy, all happening so fast, in such vivid intensity that I could only come home, sleep, rise and teach each day.

It was easy to just stay in that place, to feel it all - even some tears - on the lovely drive back to town.

Thank goodness for the people - teachers, support, administrators and especially the students - who, along with my friends, made it possible to finish with grace and laughter.

I have failed as often as I have triumphed - and I know that some good has come from all of this.  I've rarely been in the position of simply not - being - able - to - do what I had set out to do.  It was an impossible job - and we all sort of knew it...

...but I needed the money - they needed someone to try to make it work - and I couldn't do the job they were asking of me.  

As one of the admins told me, several times - no one could.

If I've learned one thing it's that you have to take chances to be yourself, to be who you are, who you were meant to be.

I think, as of this foggy, foggy evening, sitting in the window of JavaNet, that something has run its course.  A part in a play I was trying to force myself into, something grotesquely unfair to myself, has come to an end.

I am not that kind of teacher - I thought I always wanted to be a band director, that that was the best expression of my need to use my voice - not in singing, but in expressing myself.  Twenty three years of my life have been spent speaking with that part of my voice.

Now another part of me is going to speak...I cannot, cannot, cannot wait to hear what I'm going to say.

Waiting for the dance to start

What an interesting way to live one's life.

I'm playing phone tag with a possible new job - and a possible new life.  It would be so cool to go to a new place while staying in the old place.

So, in the days since my last post I've taught a man how to speak...and not shout.

I've taught kids how to see what they're looking at 

I've taught kids how to hear what they're listening to.

I've escaped from something - something that was holding me back and I wish I had time, right now, sitting here in the NorthStar, to tell you what it was.

But it's fluttering inside, like a bird getting ready to fly out of a nest its already left.

It's amazing how you either keep up with this or you have to speak metaphorically and try to sum things up.

Well, we shall see.....

Knock, knock...

In general, a very rich day.  Some are full of incident and activity - others unfold as a set of large strokes that paint a simple but forceful picture.

Today I taught a man from Africa about knock-knock jokes.

One of my worries has been several "cardiac events" in response to stress - is it purely emotional or does emotion unmask a condition "appropriate" to my age?.  This led me to visit my doctor's office, give a list of symptoms and submit to an EKG to start the process of diagnosis.

IT takes ten leads, taped to wrists, ankles and chest - the nurse was helped by an assistant - a very tall, very big African man from the Sudan.

The nurse said she was Native - Cree, Blackfoot and Passamquoddy - pretty much a mix across the northern tier of the country - I was just Cherokee.

So as I was being "led" I asked Esa, the assistant "where are you from" - "Africa".

I laughed.  "That doesn't help much.  She's Native and that narrows it down to around 500 different tribes".

Esa smiled and said "the Sudan".  "Zubehata!", I replied and he smiled a really big smile.

"Stay down and don't move during the test".  "No knock knock jokes?".

"No", replied the nurse.  "What is a knock knock?", Esa asked.

We had to act it out for him - which brought added poignancy to the moment I finally asked him (after the test was done) "Knock knock"

"No one is home".

"Stop it, Esa.  Go with me.  Knock knock".  "Who's there?"

"Esa".  "Esa who?"

"Esa the doctor come into the room through the door"

It took a second.  Those wonderful eyes went totally blank.  I thought that knock knock jokes are a test I use to decide if someone is really worth knowing - if they can find joy in puns and language then they get onto my list...

...and Esa made it.  The roar of his laughter and the brightness of his smile suddenly lit the room.  He laughed at the pun and repeated it for us both.  It seemed to get funnier.

These last few weeks have been very stressful - it feels like the tension pushed my nerves to "11" and they haven't learned how to get back to "1".  It felt so good to laugh, to laugh until tears came - not so much the joke but the release from all the tension, the return to joy.

I helped teach a man from Africa about knock knock jokes.

Who knew?

It's cloudy in there, and all white...

Today is recovery from the last two or three weeks - 

which are the capper of the last two or three months - 

which are the summation of the last two or three years.

A question came up in a story on MSNBC - asking students in a program where they wanted to be tomorrow, next week and next year.

I honestly don't think I've ever formally considered such a question.  Or it was something that was so obvious that I didn't really take time to think about it.  Today, being in such shaky shape after last night's rousing season finale concert, I should do so.

Besides which, seeing the doctor will answer some questions as well.

This has been an amazing period of time.  Perhaps I've come to the end of the innate, unthinking programming that's driven me for so long - now, perhaps for the first time in memory, I know enough about who I am and what I want to take control - scary though that thought may be.

Off to the doctor.  We'll see.

"All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of thing will be well".

Thank you, lady Julian.

Who do I send the card to?

For a perfect day like this?

For students who take chances and strive?

For friends who sit in the garden and chat

under a perfect sky, framed

by the Springtime leaves of the freshest green

that catch the yellow of the Sun?

For children making mud pies and

needing to be scrubbed in

the rain barrel;

marking your best khaki pants 

with their hugs and feet.

Who do I send the card that says 

"thank you, I see what you're getting at"?