Ordinary Beauty

Okay, first of all I have to love-hate a state whose abbreviation is MO.

Nevermind that were it not for MO, I wouldn’t have the adorable husband that I have (he, being born in STL, MO).

He is at The Pageant in STL, MO at this very moment, as I sit here in Seattle. And at this moment, he is probably listening as Rundgren & band sing, “One step, higher, higher” although if there was an opening band, Rundgren is probably right in the midst of declaring, “Now I’m mad“.

Before my dear flew off this morning, we had a long chat during which I tried to convince him that I have no issues with him stalking Todd Rundgren; it’s not something I have any interest in doing, and I cannot really “relate” to it. But it’s what he wants to do, and just because I don’t feel such compulsion (for Rundgren or anyone else) doesn’t mean that I don’t get it. As I’ve said before, Rundgren and his work had a gigantic, positive, life-changing effect on my husband in his youth–and the music is hot these days, too.

Besides, thanks to certain connections in STL, this time there’ll be an All Access pass to glue onto my dear’s black linen jeans, although he swears he will forego the back stage stalking for the better sound quality that will be found in front of the stage.

Oh, and then tomorrow night he’s off to VooDoo in Kansas City.

I know you have been waiting breathlessly for pix from the big ReFirement party. Hope to have some Flicker links soon. In the meantime, this is what the transition looked like:

Okay. Perhaps I’ve been a little too hard on the FANS, lumping all FANS together, when really only some of them are aptly labeled “stagnant”. I mean, some people really just are passionate about music and musicians. With all due respect I ought to acknowledge that. So.

We had amazing seats at the show tonight. Inches from the stage. So close I could read the label on the hem of Todd’s black T-shirt (Calvin Klein). And The Triple Door is such a civilized venue. Really a different place than Aladdin Theater. Plus the food and cocktails are amazing.

But those are just the perks.

No “music reviews” from me on tonight’s show. I’m not so qualified for that. But I can give you a “people” review.

Todd was not so cranky as last night. In fact, I couldn’t say he was cranky at all. All the musicians seemed happier, seemed more delighted, pleased with the music they were concocting. And, I liked the show much more; I always find joy in watching people create something together, and I love it even more when they are obviously finding joy in it themselves.

And when the creation is tinged with genius … I love that the most. So, I pretty much loved tonight.

I hope many, many copies of “Arena” are sold, and that many, many ears hear this music.

My husband has been demoted from the category of FAN. See, I didn’t really know what a FAN was until encountering the crowd at the Todd Rundgren show last night. I’m just a little out of the loop on this aging rock star, aging FAN thing.

For example, in the audience last night there was “Rick” (name changed to protect the innocent) who came decked out in Todd T-shirt, Todd laminate, and some other pieces of Todd paraphernalia that I can’t quite recall. Rick joined the 50- and 60-somethings who were worshiping at the stage. And you know, I’m sorry, but some of these people really seem to be stuck in the ’70s.

Todd was clearly pissed. He ragged on the venue and the promoters–railing on about lack of monitors and legs broken en route to the dressing room–but that was the least of “it”. The real temper was in the tunes.

He humored us for awhile, playing classics from the “Utopia” days, but then he moved on into his present-tense passion, material from the new “Arena” CD.

He opened with, “Mad” followed by “Afraid” and it wasn’t pretty. As in, as he pointed out later, no blue-eyed soul.

Loud. Speedy. Complicated. Loud. Todd’s vocals summarized the tone–lots of screaming and wailing, underscoring the words of the songs.

I don’t know how he does that; one moment vocalized angst and the next a loving purr. Then more Loud & Complex. Rather like life, I can see.

Part of life is that, people age. Rock stars age. Some of them stagnate and play all the old tunes forever. (I suspect that to be a FAN you have got to stagnate.)

Some people, such as Todd Rundgren, continue to grow. If we’re lucky, we grow with them.

I have always been attracted to geeks and dorks (defining “dork” as a geek with artistic tendencies). With only a few exceptions, the men I have loved have been musicians or scientists (or both). Dominique, who invented a new approach to division and taught himself how to play drums. Dr. John, ER doc with guitars in the attic and watercolor paints in the studio. Michael, “invisible” bass player. David, man of many strings. Greg, inventor of languages and fond of stringing his 12-string backwards, for the joy of relearning it. Randy, former Eagle Scout, now wreaking havoc with camera and code.

Anyway. With that “heritage” it is not a surprise that the man I am married to is a geek–musician, engineer, photographer, tinkerer. And with all that “heritage” you would quite fairly expect that I would understand being a FAN, a groupie so to speak. But I, um, don’t really know that territory.

My dear spouse however, is a FAN. FAN in all-caps, of a certain rock star who really truly opened the doors of possibility for him.

He was fourteen when he heard Todd Rundgren’s “Utopia”. He says, “the album opened my eyes. It was a doorway to the Rabbit Hole.”

This is his tribute to Todd’s 1974 album “Utopia” being both ahead of its time in content–”Like nothing else going on then”–and, Todd’s full-on hands-on involvement: Engineer, producer, songwriter, performer.

To hear my husband speak of this, there is no missing his passion, and his gratitude, for Todd Rundgren.

Imagine now, my man’s life as a boy child in the midwest–imagine dust and grime, and limited options. To have a musical bent but only the reference points of bad AM radio … and to finally breathe in the novelty and intelligence of Rundgren’s music. Really, “savior” is not too lavish of a credit to give to Rundgren.

I suppose it is a classic story, boy meets (real) music and his life is saved, his life is shaped; as Todd did, he grew up to be engineer/producer/songwriter/performer. However, this is the first time that I’ve lived beside such a living history, and I have a few things to learn to understand.

I am learning to understand, for example, what is a FAN. In this case, a FAN is someone who buys airplane tickets and travels long distances to hear and see his hero perform. Multiple times, same tour. Tuesday, we travel to Portland, Wednesday, we are among the lucky few who scored tickets to the show at The Triple Door.

On the 23rd, he’s off to a show in St Louis, and the 24th, a show in Kansas City. All of this following the show that wrapped up “Toddstock” Todd’s 60th Birthday/Fan Appreciation extravaganza–which explains the photo below–my dear spouse, in Todd’s kitchen, with Todd!

Finally, using my talents for good!

One entire week into “retirement” and now scrambling to get ready for The Inevitable Event next Saturday. This is the party we decided to host annually after we had such a great time at our wedding last year. Drop me a comment with your email address if you didn’t receive the Evite (a whole lot of folks got theirs stuck in a spam filter or something so perhaps that’s where yours is??).

The backdrop I am painting is for the entrance to the party. Quite welcoming, eh?

Here’s one of the things that will keep my busy in my retirement: watching and enjoying the wildlife in my backyard.

You might not catch it at first glance, but in the photograph below, at the top, a mother raccoon is peeking out from between the tree trunks, encouraging her offspring below to climb the tree. The little one did not manage so well.

6:48 a.m. Northern Flicker outside my west window, Hairy Woodpecker outside the east window, and through the north window I can see a raccoon beneath the Western Cedar. (There is no south window.) It is already 54 degrees outside and the cast of the sky gives me hope that at this time tonight it will be plenty warm for al fresco dining.

My life is lush and I love it.

This morning the flickers are landing on the house roof. I’ve never seen that before; is it because of the owl feather?

This morning I found a feather on the ground. Wing feather, large, soft, “striped”.

I believe it is an owl feather. I’ve never seen an owl feather of this ilk–so large and “striped” as this is. But I recognize the velvet quality of an owl feather. And, when I saw it on the ground, pretty much it told me it was from an owl.

Some people believe that owls portend death. Like the “death” card in tarot, I believe that death is symbolic of endings. So it seems only right that I found this feather outside the door of the office which will very soon be my former place of employment.

However, I am not so inclined to view owls as symbols of death, as much as they are so many other things.

Some people want to know what will I be doing, once I “retire”–which at this point is 7 working days from now!

First, I have to mention that I like Michael Meade’s term for this new section of my life: ReFirement. And the playlist I have been working on for my “retirement” includes many songs that celebrate fire and new beginnings.

To my husband’s confusion, I have been spending a great deal of time thinking about this next part of my life. I have been working with Ellen Newhouse to sort through my feelings, fears, and exhilarations about not having a day-job anymore, and having so many hours of the day (and night) open up for me to do with them as I wish.

My dear husband thinks I ought to chill and let my new life unfold. I agree. But as I suddenly realized, I have too many options–so many options that I am overwhelmed. So, I am setting my sights clearly on some things that I want to do with my life, in the near future.

• I am going to aim for Peru. June, 2009. Study a bit of Spanish language. Study a lot of Peruvian history and culture. Ask around for words of wisdom from those who have traveled there.
• Maybe get off my sorry a*s and learn some yoga. Yoga is a large component of the trek to Peru.
• There’s the stuff of my inheritance that still sits in my big-a*s moving truck: that’s got to be redistributed, some to my home and some to other folks. October 10 is my self-imposed deadline for being done with that chore.
• A book. With Robby Pellet. More on that as it comes together.
• Garden. Garden. Garden. Weeds. Schemes for a pond and placing large rocks. Weeds. Bird watching. Weeds.
• Volunteering with Heron Habitat Helpers.

A few more focuses. Perhaps I will visit my brother and sister. Perhaps I’ll see my cousin. And there’s a pair of skates in the back of my closet that really miss me. Plus, fersure, a trek to Wesley and Wiktor’s naked pool party, in August.

I have a crush on the raccoons. The other night I saw the babies for the first time this season. I’d forgotten how immensely adorable they are, with their little tribble purrs, tiny Zorro masks, and a tendency to both stray from mom and cling to her.

We admittedly “encourage” the raccoons, as our friend, Hannah, puts it. We leave snacks for them, on the theory that it’s better for all of us if we voluntarily feed them rather than have them roaming the streets prowling garbage cans. And with the recent appearance of the obviously nursing female (we call her Jane), we’ve been certain to provide for her (and hers).

I have been keeping myself up too late at night, hoping Jane will bring her twins around again.

For awhile I’ve been coveting a certain set of glassware, that I’d seen in a catalog–because I have a particular fondness of sparkling wine, and actually had nothing in my (extensive) collection of glassware that I could use for bubbly on an informal basis.

I mean, check out this description lead-in: “Every flower is unique, as is every guest at your table … ” How can you resist?

Well, easy really. At over 100 bucks delivered, I just could not justify spending that much to indulge a certain dilettante pursuit.

But damn, I kept coming back to the image I’d seen in the catalog, so one day I Googled the product title, “Giardino Etched Glasses”, and several less expensive options popped up.

I plunged. And purchased a set from grounded: garden shop.

When the package arrived (mere days later) I was a little disappointed to find that my extravagance was MADE IN CHINA. I have been boycotting all things made in China, after hearing from friends the degree of pollution in that country. I was a little more disappointed to find one of the glasses with a defect that made it especially likely to tip and spill.

I steeled myself for a hassle, and secured the packaging and packing list, expecting I would have to return the entire lot to correct the defect.

But the customer service at grounded, it rocks. I called. Juli Risner confirmed which of the six different etchings was on my defective glass, and promised to ship a replacement straight away.

That was it, so simple.

The new glass was waiting for me this evening when I got home from work, all packaged in that nice, dissolving packing material, all of two business days later … sweet. (Although I suppose I should look into the possibility that those corn starch pellets are another faux “green” product.)

I’ll be good though, and not use this great customer service as an excuse to indulge some more :-)

Like, very, very illegal.

Driving with a dog on your lap.

Driving with no hands on the wheel.

Driving with your appointment book open on the steering wheel and both hands on the appointment book and a cell phone tucked between your ear and your shoulder.

Not to mention text messaging while doing 65 mph down I-5. For 15 minutes.

Okay, maybe all of that already is illegal. Maybe there should be a way such drivers can be forced to partake of an ACCIDENT simulator–like a flight simulator, but with breaking glass and blood.

Karma is usually quite subtle, but when it’s obvious it’s kinda fun to watch.

So I am tooling down 3rd Avenue when ahead on my left a speed demon in a little black sports car decides to turn onto 3rd Avenue from the side street. It’s not like there was heavy traffic and dicey maneveurs were requisite, but Speed Demon floors it and makes a hard left turn, bouncing up onto the curb in the process and then continuing to barrel down the street.

From behind, I can see what looks to be a wheel go flying off the car and bounce along the grass for a moment, by which point I was near enough to see that it was a hubcub, of a large, fancy (expensive) kind.

I considered the options; how might I alert the driver of the remnant left behind. But soon it was clear that I need not concern myself, as Speed Demon continued to barrel down the street and around another corner, and was so far ahead that only if I doubled my speed could my then own reckless driving would ever unite us.

The hubcab lays there now in the grass. Oh well.

Only 20 more days on-the-job. Last day at the office: June 27th.

It ought to be getting easier to go to work, but NO. Here I am with my cup of coffee and the clock ticking and I am going to have to force myself into the shower and onto the road.