Ordinary Beauty

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?

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.

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 :-)

Damn. Things are really on a roll.

This was yet another evening nestled in the midst of genius, enjoying the work of the 13 female performing artists who concocted and presented “Mercy Ride”, a well-woven tale of life, love, growing up, and growing up some more.

I left the theatre feeling sad and happy all at once–a deep sensation.

Again, I encourage you to take this in. It plays again tomorrow night, tickets here.

(And if you miss it, at least you can catch one of the stars, the lovely Tinka Jonakova, down at Hattie’s Hat for Sunday brunch. Well, she was keeping the coffee cups filled the last time I had brunch there.)

I woke this morning with confetti in my hair–thanks to some passionate dumb-ass clown who was protesting the abuse of animals in the circus, the Circus Contraption no less.

What animals? The mermaid? The cockroaches? The geeks?
Clown comes running in, screams something, and explodes a cannon of confetti.

In case you missed it, there’s still time to catch it. And you ought to.

Show to End All Shows. It’s Circus Contraption so of course there is some twisted genius subtext there. Let’s just say that parody and dark humour weave throughout the show–and giant cockroaches wrap it all up.

Show

To

End

All

(shows)

The problem with commuting in a convertible, is that when I go to work in the morning the sun is in the east and when I drive home at night the sun is in the west–so the sun always shines on the same side of my face–the righthand side, which is now sunburned :-)

I’ve just woke up from a post-root canal nap. No one has fun having a root canal, but I lucked out with being referred to Mark Freeman–who has now worked his magic on my teeth three times.

Yikes. Three times with an endodontist. In only six months. Well, a couple of my teeth had reached the point where they needed special attention, so my (amazing) dentist, Don Jayne, sent me to visit Dr. Freeman.

An endodontist is someone who becomes a dentist and then spends an additional two years studying the special needs of teeth. And right now I am soooo grateful for endodontics.

Let’s just say that if you need root canal work and you are anywhere near Seattle, call Dr. Freeman. I think the only reason I didn’t go out of my mind with anxiety while I was in the chair, is because I totally trusted him. First, my (amazing) dentist whom I trust wholly, recommended Dr. Freeman. Second, third, and fourth–Dr Freeman and his staff started taking great care of me from the get-go.

The first visit to his office was arranged because I had a tooth go crazy all of a sudden. I was out of my mind with pain (and I usually handle pain quite well) and there was a lot of telephone calling between my dentist office and Dr. Freeman’s office and me, getting things set up so I could be treated ASAP. Lisa at his office was great–she must have made twelve phone calls just to get me squared away with an appointment.

Once I was in the chair, Dr. Freeman was gentle and jovial, checking in with me, but with a light manner–and with this and that little thing, it was clear that he knew his stuff. When he started drilling and poking around in my tooth, it was even more clear that he was The Man to see for endodontry.

It’s never a good time in a dental chair, but I relaxed, fully confident that I was going to be so much better off when I walked out of there than when I walked in!!

Whirrrrr Whine Buzzzzz. He worked for a long time on my mess of a tooth, and when he was done, he kindly, quietly, recommended that I return to see him about the molar right beside it.

And that’s what we did today. Finished up a root canal on tooth number 19, a tooth that had an old root canal, circa 1975. That’s ANCIENT compared to the dental technology and techniques that exist today. So it made lots of sense to me that a “perfectly good tooth” might need fresh, modern attention.

Fortunately for me, Dr Freeman made a really good call when he recommended I see him about No. 19. Once he got in there it was obvious that 19 was going the way its neighbor had, and it was “a miracle” that I wasn’t in dire pain from it. We have before and after x-rays, and oh my, what a difference–even my untrained eye can see how much cleaner (and probably healthier) the new root canal is.

So, that’s all a long-winded way of saying, go see Dr. Freeman for your root canals! If you’ve got to go to dental hell, you really ought to go in good hands.

Just got home from this show. Still mostly speechless. What I CAN say though, is if you can make the show tomorrow, you truly ought to go. Last show in Seattle, 2:00, Mother’s Day, May 11. Go.

Genius.

Lightness.

Inspiration.

Last night the Black-haired Boy and I celebrated the second anniversary of our first date with a re-enactment–a voyage to Cirque du Soleil.

“Voyage” seems most apt as all the sailing metaphors kick in–sail away, swept away, transported …

I love the circus. You might already know that. What I don’t know–in words–is, why. But the thought of attending a circus makes me bubble up inside and I will clap and jiggle about with a very un-mitigated joy.

So I almost cannot stand myself right now–Cirque du Soleil’s “Corteo” last night, “Aurelia’s Oratorio” on Saturday, and the opening night of Circus Contraption’s “The Show To End All Shows” in just two weeks.

I so very much want my own circus tent, an undulating spiky-topped one with stripes, perhaps orange and crimson stripes. I am scheming to make my (humble, plain) laundryroom into an ode to circus. I’ve already hung both modern and vintage circus posters in there and am currently pondering how to drape the walls to give the sense of being inside a circus tent. I wonder if I will go so far as to strew artificial elephant poop about the floor?