A necessary condition of early season gardening in the northeast is having the flexibility to move annuals in and out frequently. After a weekend of enthusiastic planting and placing pots of young flowers and over-wintered topicals all about the yard I moved every last one of them into the garage to sleep for the night. I repeat this any time the forecast calls for temperatures that drop to within ten degrees of a killing frost. I’ve learned the hard way that a forecast is only as good as the microclimate your plants are in. Better safe than sorry.
So after a weekend of major yard work and roughly 40,000 steps inside an acre, Monday was a day working in front of the computer and on the phone. I can’t say my body minded the rest. In fact, moving the plants back into the garage was the most exercise I had all day. I’ll remedy that today with a long walk to earn the planned take-out taco’s on this Cinco de Mayo. The days of moving all day long are gone, but I was reminded of how much I missed them.
Overnight temperatures were actually pretty mild. I was overly conservative moving the plants. So it goes. I needed the movement more than the annuals did. I’ll move them twice more today, and tomorrow probably, and so on. It’s a small toll for the body, paying immeasurable dividends for the well-being of the mind. I’m back at it for another season, and I quickly forget what there was to complain about.
Eighteen containers and pots jammed in here, but who’s counting?
I’ve seen the challenges, the ten albums that have influenced me. Such things frustrate me because I don’t want to commit that much of my time to posting daily to social media, yet intrigue me because music is a good chunk of who I am. So in my typical stubborn fashion, I’ll just run with the concept here. Forget the rules! Instead, I’ll honor ten of the many albums I could have chosen, but with live YouTube performances of one (or a medley) of the songs from that album. Why play by someone else’s rules anyway? So here you go, ten albums that have influenced me, in a slightly different way:
Pink Floyd, The Wall
When this album dropped I’d just moved to a new town at the fine age of 13 and was myself dropping into a new school system. The radio played Another Brick In The Wall constantly because it’s catchy and short, just the way radio likes a song. But the gold in this album lies deeper, and in extensive listens. A lot of people point to Dark Side of the Moon or Wish You Were Here as favorites, and I can’t argue either choice, but for me it’s The Wall. I’m sure I could find a Pink Floyd live performance, but since I’m breaking rules let’s go with the version that still blows me away with two other favorites, David Bowie and Eddie Vedder in the 12-12-12: The Concert for Sandy Relief performance:
U2, War
A close second in my formative years was U2 exploding in my world with War. Sure, not their first album, but this was the one that MTV rallied around, especially with that foggy, rainy Live at Red Rocks EP that we’ll call War, part II. U2 picked me up from my awkward teenage years and carried me into my adult life with stepping stone albums from Joshua Tree to All That You Can’t Leave Behind to How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb to No Line On The Horizon to Songs of Experience. All worthy candidates for this list but I’m only picking one per artist. Frankly, I’m wondering why they haven’t been more active during the pandemic rallying the world with a flag. I’ve been lucky enough to see U2 perform this live many times, but there are two performances I wish I’d seen with the sweaty masses, the Super Bowl performance and their Red Rocks performance. Let’s go with flag waving Bono and the youthful band playing the edgy rebel song/not a rebel song Sunday Bloody Sunday:
Eagles, Hotel California
I can remember this album dominating the airwaves back in the 70’s. I was just a kid then, figuring out what I liked, mostly being influenced by whatever I heard playing the most. The Eagles and Fleetwood Mac seemed to be playing the most, carrying Southern California culture to the world. The album is the band at their peak, and it eventually destroyed them, but what a trip. You could make a case for a number of songs for favorite, but I’d be lying if I didn’t come right back to the title track:
Pearl Jam, Ten
If The Wall came at me in a time of massive change at age 13, this album did the same ten years later, as I was out of college and figuring out what next. Next involved finding myself in an impulsive, bad marriage and alone in New York. But there’s a reason for everything. I eventually found my way to a much better life, and this album was a bridge for me across the chasm of crazy I found myself married to. This version of Black resonated particularly well for me during that time:
Beatles, Abbey Road
Everyone who is a Beatles fan has their favorite Beatles album, and mine has always been Abbey Road. I was listening to it constantly when John Lennon was shot, and it shocked me as it shocked the world. The driving force with Abbey Road was Paul McCartney, and the medley was a good example of making something amazing out of a bunch of scraps. But let’s not forget the masterful contributions of George Harrison, my favorite Beatle, with Here Comes The Sun and Something. The album, like me, turned the 50 mark and keeps going. The irony of Come Together being the last song the Beatles recorded isn’t lost on me either, but that medley, capped with The End, is what most people think of when they think of Abbey Road:
Steely Dan, Katie Lied
If one album grabbed me in the middle of my college years, it was Katy Lied. And the song that the title was derived from, Doctor Wu, remains one of my favorite Steely Dan songs. I once dated a girl who loved Steely Dan, and I went out and bought every album they ever made so I could keep up in conversation. I’ll call that my “Steely Dan phase”. Anyway, I never did see them live, and I think it’s because I really like the studio product and don’t want to ruin that. Twisted logic, perhaps, but so it goes.
Jack Johnson, In Between Dreams
Deep into adulthood, I discovered Jack Johnson with his debut album providing a bit of joy in the dark aftermath of 9/11. Deep into marriage, I smile when I hear this song, and like much of the album it remains in constant rotation on playlists well after the album released. Sure, I could have put a Led Zeppelin or Rolling Stones album on here in this spot, but they don’t dominate my playlists the way In Between Dreams has.
Billy Joel, Turnstiles New York State of Mind, Summer, Highland Falls, and I’ve Loved These Days are the foundation of this album, with Say Goodbye to Hollywood being the “hit”. Like others on this list you can make a case for other albums by the artist – certainly The Stranger deserves consideration as the “best” Billy Joel album, but for me, Turnstiles is the one that takes my breath away, and that seems like a good indicator of where it stands on my list. You definitely know you’re listening to a 70’s album when you go deep, but isn’t there charm in that too?
Jimmy Buffett, A-1-A
Yes, I am a pirate, thank you. And a Parrothead too. This is another album that’s charmingly locked in the 70’s, but once you get past A Pirate Looks at Forty and the string of songs that follow (Migration, Trying to Reason With Hurricane Season, Nautical Wheelers and Tin Cup Chalice) remain my favorite block of songs from Buffett on any album. Life is more than angst and anger and melancholy, and there’s nothing like some beach music to get the party started:
Bruce Springsteen, Born To Run
I really started listening to Bruce somewhere in my early teens, with this album and The River dominating my record player for a long time. Born to Run has a restlessness to it that resonated for me then, and does again. Like U2 Springsteen is one of those artists I’ve stayed with through every stage of my life. I particularly love this version of Thunder Road, with a young Springsteen singing a stripped down version in a darkened London venue. You really feel the power of his voice – Bruce is one of the great rock and roll voices, and this performance highlights that:
Who stood here, on this foot-worn knob of ledge looking out on the valley below? Not just today, but one, two or three hundred years ago? I wonder about such things.
One hundred years ago a young couple, riding up from the mills of Lawrence or Haverhill, getting out of the city for some country air. This spot would surely be an attractive picnicking spot for quietly plotting their future together. A mixture of plowed fields and young forest creeping back in. A fine spot to debate the wisdom of the start of Prohibition or the long-overdue right to vote for women.
Two hundred years ago, a farmer surveying the land for as far as his eyes could see all plowed fields and grazing land fenced in with large stone pulled all too frequently from the soil. Did he think about his stone walls cross-crossing the land marking his time here long after he left this earth? It was a hard life working the rocky soil. This ledge might have given him a moment’s rest in a lifetime of long, grinding days.
Three hundred years ago, this ledge might have offered tactical advantage for the Abenaki still fighting for this wilderness of old growth forest. This high ground offered a place to ambush a hunter up from the settlements. But by this time they’d been driven further north and west, and this wilderness would soon be transformed wholly, as the entire continent would be. The Abenaki surely saw the threat of encroaching settlements. Could they imagine all the changes that would come?
I wonder about such things now, as I stand with ghosts on this ledge, hearing their whispers. It is indeed good land, slowly returning to its original state. This ledge could tell her secrets given the chance. And now I’m just one more story, standing atop an old knob of granite, thinking I might live forever, but the ledge reminds me of the folly in that belief.
“I steal swiftly from behind the blue horizon, To cast the silver of my foam upon the gold of his sand, And we blend in melted brilliance.”
People are quick to condemn those who crowd the beaches as they re-open, but I understand the lure of the surf. I feel it too, and I’m eager to get back to the surf line once again. But not in the company of hundreds. That’s people watching, not surf meditation. I seek the quiet beach at dawn, when the world is sleeping off the frenzy of the night. The quiet whisper of frothy ocean meeting shifting sand. Of footprints washed away like yesterdays.
“Many times have I danced around mermaids As they rose from the depths And rested upon my crest to watch the stars; Many times have I heard lovers complain of their smallness, And I helped them to sigh.”
I need to wrestle with the surf again soon. To dive into a crashing wave and let it sweep over me to the waiting sands in their infinite dance. To hear again the music of the surf and to dance in the foam and churn of sand and salt water. I was born an amphibian, no matter what the birth certificate noted. I’m closer to the truth between the water and land.
“In the heaviness of night, When all creatures seek the ghost of slumber, I sit up, singing at one time and sighing at another. I am awake always.”
– Khalil Gibran, Song of the Wave
There’s magic in this poem, and I fought the urge to just post the entire work here (Google it and you’ll see a wealth of tributes). Gibran knew the song of the surf too. He grew up in Lebanon, moved to Boston at 12 and skipped back and forth across the ocean during his education. He knew the surf and what was beyond the surf line and over the horizon. He knew the fragility of life at a young age, losing siblings and his mother while he was still a teenager. He died too young at 48 and sailed one last time from New England to Lebanon, where he remains to this day, as he wished. But I wonder if secretly he planned it that way, for one last sail before he was buried. I’d like to think so anyway.
I’m doing my best to get rid of things, and for the most part I’m making good progress on this front. But we all need those essentials to get through the days, and some of it grows quickly to be your favorite stuff. Anyone who knows me will recognize the tendencies on the following list: work, walk, garden, music and coffee. Shocking? Anyway, here are five things I’ve picked up over the last couple of years that have grown into my favorites:
G-Pack Pro Standing Desk Converter – I’m working from home a lot right now, and candidly I don’t like sitting on my ass all day. It’s not good for you, and that nags at me the longer I’m parked in front of my desk. So this winter before any of us thought we’d be social distancing I purchased this sit/stand desk converter. And I’ve found it to be remarkably easy to use. I simply press a lever, pull the desk up or push it down and I don’t miss a beat in working for hours on end at my old desk, now new again. I have a laptop and monitor on one side and a Mac on the other and it just… works. Wish I’d gotten this thing years ago.
AeroPress Coffee and Espresso Maker – I’ve written about this coffee maker before, and frankly I don’t know what I did without it. Making an entire pot of coffee is wasteful and prompts me to consume more than I should. The AeroPress makes a great cup of coffee, every time, in close [enough] to the time it takes to make a K-cup. And there’s a ritual associated with it similar to making tea that is quite satisfying.
Sony WH-CH700N Noise Cancelling Headphones – Purchased for flights, but really handy in this social distancing world where there’s a conference call happening in the dining room, a class discussion happening on the porch and me listening to tunes between calls in the office. Comfortable, rich sound and immersive.
DeWit Welldone Serrated Trowel – I spoiled myself with this trowel. Feel the heft of it, the quality: This is a lifetime tool, and it makes the ritual of planting a joyful experience with a tactile assurance that it’s up for the task. Gardening is my escape, and I don’t need the distraction of crappy tools when I’m doing it. This trowel is pure bliss.
Merrell Outmost Vent Hiking Shoes – I purchased these shoes to replace another pair of Merrell’s that walked with me in Portugal, Newfoundland, Arizona and moderate trails in New England. The most recent pair have made the trip around Scotland, from Arthur’s Seat to The Storr and Camusdarach Beach. Yesterday afternoon I took a walk in a nearby town forest With trails and ledge wet and muddy from a day of rain. These Merrill’s did the job offering enough reliable traction and water resistance to allow me to focus on other things, like the silent embrace of hundreds of wet hemlocks reminding me that the world will go on.
“I hope you’re haunted by the music of my soul When I’m gone” – Greg Allman, My Only True Friend
There is what feels like a thousand Black-capped Chickadees living in the holly bush next to my deck. They’re the state bird of both neighboring Massachusetts and Maine. New Hampshire, sitting between these two states, opted for the Purple Finch. Don’t tell that to this cast of characters – they don’t much care for state borders and such human concerns. The party never stops in that holly bush. But now and then a solo singer will fly up on a branch somewhere and sing that familiar “fee-bee” song and it transports me back to earlier days. That song’s been playing my entire life.
One of the first things I notice when traveling is the ambiance is different. That’s obvious to everyone when you’re seeing the Eiffel Tower or the Grand Canyon, but close your eyes and listen past the sounds of humanity.. There’s a vibration to any place, a soundtrack playing in the background. Wind, water and trees offer their voice, and of course the local bird population sings their own greatest hits like a house band in a local pub. I’m a bit of a migratory bird myself, stuck in a cage at the moment. But I’ve learned to listen in new places and long for the exhilaration of immersion in faraway places.
With fewer long drives I’m listening to fewer podcasts. I’m reading more, and I’ve grown tired of most of the interviewers I regularly listen to. Instead I favor silence more, or listen to WMVY streaming from Martha’s Vineyard. We all have our greatest hits playing on repeat, but I’ve always sought out new music. WMVY offers music you don’t hear on some corporate iHeart radio station. Respectfully, I prefer to find my own soundtrack. Someday, maybe, I’ll get back to that island. In the meantime I listen to the familiar voices and think about the ferry ride to Vineyard Haven and fried fish and beer at The Newes From America. Island sounds are different from mainland sounds, but for the life of me I’ve lost the sounds beyond the bustle of crowds and the crash of waves. I do need to get re-acquainted, picking up just where we left off like old friends seem to do years between seeing each other.
The music of a place goes beyond the songs played on the local radio station or in the local pub, it includes the buzz of outboard engines or lawn mowers or street sweepers or chain saws off in the distance, of laughter and chatter coming out of open windows, and the birds occupying the local shrubs catching up on local gossip. The place doesn’t hope you’ll remember it, it just keeps on going as it always has, so long as humanity doesn’t bulldoze it all away anyway. I suppose Greg Allman was thinking about his legacy in the lyrics of this song. We all hope we’ll be remembered in our own way. I write and let it all fall out the way it may. Mostly it’s a familiar record I might return to someday. Like fond memories, revisited.
I believe I’ve held onto this post long enough. I think it’s time to release this bird from its cage.
I’m reflecting on the places I’ve been to instead of the ones I can’t get to at the moment. One place that every tourist seems to go to is the London Eye. And so too I made my way into one of the pods last November for my own check on the tourist checklist. Opened to the public in 2000 to coincide with the new millennium, it also goes by the name Millennium Eye. According to Wikipedia, it’s “the most popular paid tourist attraction in the United Kingdom with over 3.75 million visitors annually”. It was once the tallest Ferris Wheel in the world but has fallen to fourth place on the list. That might be true, but I don’t have a burning desire to go on the other three ahead of it. The London Eye has a certain charm the others haven’t earned. Location helps, of course, but there’s also a level of cultural history the London Eye has spun through that makes it feel more timeless than its twenty years.
It takes 30 minutes to make the trip around, and that feels about right to me. It’s slow enough that you can take your time getting a picture but fast enough that you aren’t getting restless. I took the ride with some random strangers and some close family. It’s interesting to experience the trip through other’s eyes, one very uncomfortable with heights who chose to stay right on the bench in the middle, the rest of us walking about to the edges of the glass pod looking around at seemingly all of London. Circling slowly to the highest point, you’re struck by the magnificence of the city around you, and the beauty of the Thames River as it flows below. It’s worth the money to experience this, and I’m grateful that I went.
March was the 20th birthday for the London Eye. It sits empty for the first time since it opened. Tough way to celebrate your birthday, I’d say. By my math, there have been roughly 75 million passengers in that time. That’s a lot of souls spinning around in that bit of sky. Mine amongst them. It’s a staggering statistic, and one the architects and engineers who built this magnificent machine can point to with pride. The experience was just as amazing for me in year 19 1/2 as it was for the first passengers in 2000. A chance to fly above the city, marveling at it all. But I took some of that time in our glass pod in the sky to examine this extraordinary structure supporting us on our slow turn. This amazing time machine of glass and steel and wondering, wandering souls collectively awestruck for two decades and counting. Surely a generous share of awe must be given to the London Eye?
“You have to assemble your life yourself – action by action. And be satisfied if each one achieves it’s goal, as far as it can.” – Marcus Aurelius, Meditations
I wrote an entire blog post alternating between English and French to practice my French. But I relied heavily on Google Translate to accomplish the task, and frankly it felt too much like cheating to me to publish it. I’ll attempt it again another time, but with me slogging through it, not by typing an entire sentence and having it translated for me. Handy tool when you really need it, but there’s no soul in that. And no satisfaction when it’s done.
There’s value in the work. Learning by pushing through the challenges. Becoming better over time. I learned that rowing in college. Bloody knuckles from getting pinched on the gunwales when the boat suddenly tilted to port (likely my fault for lunging too far out). Bruised back from catching an oar handle of the starboard rower behind me (from bad timing on one or both of our parts). Blisters upon blisters on the hands (a necessary evil, for as you harden your resolve through thousands of strokes your soft skin must adapt too). All of it is paying your dues in blood and sweat and time. Maybe a tear or two on those especially cruel rows when coach would have us turn around and do it again. But the work payed dividends, and changed me in the process.
And so it is with other work we must do. Lingering projects that won’t finish themselves. The blessedly passé commute to work. You know sometimes it will suck, but get on with it already. Working when you don’t feel like it. Cleaning up the dirty dishes and cleaning the bathroom and washing the clothes and weeding the garden and picking up the branches after a windy night on the edge of the forest. And it turns out the mind stops protesting and you get into the routine and you see the finish line and push on through until you’re finally, blessedly, done. Until tomorrow.
And that’s life, one task at a time, repeated. Sure, a little rest and relaxation is nice too, but the mind and body weren’t built for sloth. We all need to get on with the work at hand. And so I try to move, try to keep up with things, try to make the most of the time at hand, and save the little life hacks like using Google Translate for when I really need it. There’s value in the work, and we know it instinctively.
We all know people who skate through life, not doing much, talking a good game, telling the world how much they’re doing and how important their contribution is…. but in your gut you know they’re full of it. Really, you don’t have to look too far for a great example of that. But that’s not us. We pay our dues. Look at the pictures of nurses with scars on their face and the backs of their ears from wearing a mask all day, every day. Who are we to complain when the world is full of people paying a tougher toll than us? Do the work. Pay your dues. Even when you feel you’ve earned the right to relax a bit, pay your dues anyway. We’ll all be better for having endured.
For my next trip around the sun, if I may be so presumptuous, I’ll try harder to meet the Aurora Borealis on its terms. Maybe finally catch those evasive Northern Lights, I really do need to meet up with them this time around. I’ll travel again to faraway places. Places previously unknown to me that caught my imagination in a travel article or a book. Places that Google street view hasn’t posted online. I know these places are out there, I’ve tried in vain to reach them with a mouse before.
For my next trip around the sun, if good fortune should shine upon me, I’ll rest a hand on the trunk of a Sequoioideae, but first I’ll learn how to spell it without copy and paste. I once spent a week within an hour’s drive of Redwood National Forest and never bothered to go visit. Some excuse about work, I suppose. I don’t recall that mattering in the end anyway. Touching a redwood tree and looking up to the sky would have mattered far more.
For my next trip around the sun, if the stars align and I make the full trip, I’m going to celebrate the graduation of my first born and prepare for the graduation of my second born. The world has changed in ways that seemed fictional not too long ago, and presents challenges that you and your generation will rise up to meet. I hope my generation and my parents generation does the same and you have something to build on. The world isn’t fair, we all know that, but a few generations collaborating on solutions to the world’s problems seems a logical next step. The world is ready for non-violent transformation. Will it begin with now?
For my next trip around the sun, should I be so bold, I’ll strive more. Strive for more meaningful contributions, strive for more engagement in conversation, strive to be more disciplined in the food and drink I take in, strive to be more consistent with the daily habits that make a difference today and for however many trips around the sun you have left. We all know what we should do, how many do it? I strive to do it this time around the sun. You know I’ll write about it, so feel free to poke and prod me should I fall behind.
For my next trip around the sun, if it should come to pass, I’ll savor more. Savor the sounds and sights and smells that make up the moments of the day. Sip a little slower, chew a little more, slow down just enough, look up from the phone and see what’s happening around you. Savor the time passing by instead of grabbing it tighter and watching it escape anyway, like beach sand in a tight fist. Savor the long walks and the long talks and the short moments that catch your breath.
For my next trip around the sun, should the gods look down upon my favorably, I’ll look up more. Look up at the sky to track our progress over the next year. Look up old friends you don’t talk to nearly enough. Look up at the stars and learn to identify them by the way they align with other stars from our unique perspective in the universe. Look out, up and out again as the sun rises, warms the skin and the earth around you and drops down again below the horizon, as we all must do eventually. And so you begin another trip around the sun. Where will it take you?
When this is all over with I’m going to a favorite breakfast place and settle into a deep conversation with my table mates, offering artful-disguised-as-clumsy banter to the waitress who’s heard it all before but plays along anyway, and savor eggs cooked by an unseen savior who hides just on the other side of a small window. When this is over that’s what I’ll do.
Last night we watched the crescent moon reluctantly drop down in the western sky, coaxed along in a slow dance of wonder by the stunning beauty of Venus. I burned an entire wheelbarrow of split wood in a pagan tribute to the dancers, sending sparkling tributes upwards to the heavens. My breathing raspy from the wood smoke and my mind calculating the cure for one too many gin and tonics before I turned in for the night. The pandemic hasn’t robbed us of this ritual just yet. May these nights last forever (maybe with less gin – sneaky spirit that it is).
The morning after such celebrations is a great time to go out for breakfast and make new memories over super-heated coffee. Perhaps that’s why I miss it so right now, or maybe I’m just ready for close banter with the outer circle again. We make our splash in this world and our ripples ring outward, intersecting with other rings from other splashes and others still, all bouncing off one another in a continuous dance across the surface of our lives. Social isolation removes the bounces, and we just ring across the surface touching nothing. Offering deeper moments with our immediate circle to be sure, but we need the interaction with others to influence our concentric circles. There’s only so much introspection you can tolerate without testing out ideas on the rest of the world.
On their own the crescent moon and brilliant Venus are striking, but when they dance together it becomes something breathtaking, something… ethereal. So too we might offer our own mark on the world as individuals, but need others around us to truly illuminate our place in the universe. So there you are; two analogies in one blog post, blended together and served piping hot, like that coffee would be. Cue the waitress rolling her eyes.
