How I Spent September

My Favorite Book

For the past seventeen years or so, when someone asked "What is your favorite book?" my response has been the same: Tom Robbins' Skinny Legs & All.  I discovered the book at 17 (coincidentally, exactly half my life ago) on a recommendation from a mentor writer dude who worked with the theatre workshop I did in the summers as an older teen.  Yeah, that was long winded.


Well, I still love that book, and re-read it last year and fell in love again with the central characters, Randolph 'Boomer' Petway III and Ellencherry Charles.  I jumped right back into the Middle East vs. Midwest debate, the conversation surrounding what is and isn't art and how we know, the divine as feminine/masculine or ungendered save from the gaze that rests upon it.  So many things to love, and yet...


I find myself turning from this old text in favor of another book, one that has sold infinitely more copies, one that will never go out of print, one that is most likely in more houses than any other book in pint, one that has more editions than I will ever be able to count let alone peruse in my short life.


I am, of course, talking about the dictionary.


Go ahead.  Laugh.  I'll give you time.


Still giggling?


Composed yourself?


Good, let's go.


Oh dictionary, how I love you.  No matter what mood I'm in, you always have something new to show me, some new word I've never heard of to make my head spin, some etymology that shakes me right down to my flip-flops.  I have multiple copies at school, including one on my desk that is part of the game my students know I love to play--Go to the Dictionary.  When they ask the definition of a word, rather than give them my own (usually mostly accurate) definition, I say, "Let's Go to the Dictionary!" I want them to learn the proper definition, not just my own that has inevitably been filtered through my own experiences with the word, and I want them to see that there can be real joy in discovering something new each day, even if it's as simple as a definition.


My bedside table has a drawer full of reading material I'm working: magazines, poetry collections, a novel, a book of essays, and yes, a dictionary.  Sometimes, for fun, I sit down with it and circle the words I don't know, amazing myself that there are still parts of this language I haven't encountered.  And my journal--that little leather limb I carry everywhere--is filled with definitions I've come across, words I've looked up, or terms I want to use as titles.


Tonight, watching the sunlight fade over the fence, the sky a study in pastels, I have my favorite dictionary by my side--a big red mother I got off of a remainder table at Barnes & Noble a few years ago.  It is open to the As, pages 8 and 9, beauties like 'acetic' and acidulate,' 'achromatic' and 'acrostic.'


It may be that, after seventeen years, my brain and heart have just about had it with old Tommy boy and skinny legged Salome, or it may just be that, as I get older, my fondness for language and the richness that resides in words has grown, deepening like a wine stain on a linen tablecloth, to a place where I can no longer deem a text 'favorite' unless it is the one that is continually evolving as new words are added and old ones removed.


You see, like me, the dictionary is improving with age, ever watchful, ever watched, ready--when you least expect it--to teach you something new.

I Have Never Been Cool

I have never been cool—at least, not outwardly so. From the outside, I’ve been performative, loud, opinionated, but never cool. I always had something to say and, as a kid, I had no tact so being the girl with the world in her mouth tended to make me, if not exactly an outcast, definitely not someone who flew in the cool blue circles of awesomeness.


On the inside, however, I have always felt like there was a cool little secret no one knew about: I have excellent taste in music. I know, I know, some people say this about themselves and it is totally false. They tout the transformative powers of Milli Vanilli and the subtle strains of Celine Dion all while celebrating Michael Bolton’s entire catalog. I’m not going to say I haven’t rocked out to “Girl You Know It’s True” or sung along—way too loudly—to “I’m Your Lady” when they’ve come on the radio, and like every red-blooded American girl my age, I did in fact at one time own a Michael Bolton tape, but none of those artists speaks to my taste level.


Like the designers on Project Runway, I have been influenced by many things, but my taste is most defined by what I loved as a kid—a young kid. In my house, there was always music. Dad plays the keyboard (not exactly right to say piano when the instrument in question is a behemoth Hammond B3), and my brother is a drummer so there was always music. I sang for years, and we were as likely to be listening to one of Dad’s many bands rehearsing (country acts Caught in the Act and Richwood, blues Rebel Miles, classic rock Lix—yeah, Lix) as we were to Mom’s records. I remember The Allman Brothers, The Beatles, and Van Morrison from a young age. I learned really early on that you can’t just have a good beat, you have to have something to say, and sometimes the best thing you can say is “Let It Be.”


Anyway, I set the Ipod to Shufflin’ last night and discovered that, if someone were to pick it up and scroll through the last hundred songs, I would finally look—outwardly—cool. Well, I think so anyway…aren’t we always at the mercy of our own definitions of things like that? (That’s probably another blog post) I can’t believe how many little mini-narratives there are running through this—my life is nothing if not metaphorical, even when it comes to my music.And yeah, I get that there’s a lot of Ani & Ryan Adams—I make no apologies for that.


For now, here’s the hundred (with a few links in case you're interested).



1. Love Is All I Am, Dawes
2. Dear Sara, Anders Parker
3. If I Needed You, Lyle Lovett (Townes VZ cover)
4. Coming Up, Ani DiFranco
5. Fade Into You, Mazzy Star
6. Pulse, Ani
7. Waiting for Superman, Iron & Wine
8. Closer, Joshua Radin
9. Flowers in December, Mazzy Star
10. Gordon’s Message, Gordon Gano (Violent Femmes)
11. Self-Evident, Ani
12. Honey, Stay Awhile, The Rosewood Thieves
13. Lisztomania, Phoenix
14. Amy, Ryan Adams
15. Because the Night, Patti Smith
16. Gossip In the Grain, Ray La Montagne
17. Banjolin Song (live on Balcony TV), Mumford & Sons
18. If You Let Me eb Your anchor, Dawes on Daytrotter
19. Right Place, The Mynabirds
20. Medicine Ball, Rogue Wave
21. Faithless Street, Whiskeytown
22. Never Forget You, Noisettes
23. Nobody Girl, Ryan Adams
24. Avenues, Whiskeytown
25. Bodyguard, Dawn Landes
26. Oh Quiet Night, Will Stratton
27. Diner, Ani
28. Ten Thousand Words, The Avett Brothers
29. Speed of Sound, Chris Bell
30. No One Can Hold a Candle to You, Morrissey
31. Incomplete & Insecure, The Avett Brothers
32. The Devil Had a Hold of Me, Gillian Welch
33. Worthy, Ani
34. Find the River, Pickin’ Series-Pickin’ on REM
35. War on Machines, Blitzen Trapper
36. Face Up & Sing, Ani
37. Gratitude, Ani
38. Friendly Beasts, Sufjan Stevens
39. Comes a Time, Neil Young
40. Starting Now, Ingrid Michaelson
41. Rome, Phoenix
42. I Would Be Sad, The Avett Brothers
43. Banjolin Song, Mumford & Sons
44. Ground Beneath My Feet, Sherwood
45. Stormy Weather, Echo & the Bunnymen
46. I Don’t Know Why, Colin Hay
47. Jacksonville, Sufjan Stevens
48. Suffragette City, David Bowie
49. Hazards of Love Pt. 1, The Decemberists
50. Restless, Langhorne Slim
51. Moon Song, Patty Griffin
52. Tired of This Life, Dawn Landes
53. What Light, Wilco
54. Letter to Elise, The Cure
55. 10:1, Rogue Wave
56. Ruination Day Pt. 2, Gillian Welch
57. I Made a Resolution, Sea Wolf on Daytrotter
58. Just Like Honey, Jesus and the Mary Chain
59. By the Time the Sun Goes Down, Langhorne Slim
60. The Last One, Cary Brothers
61. Little Lovin’, Lissie
62. Never Enough, The Cure
63. Spirit, The Caesars
64. When the President Talks to God, Bright Eyes
65. My Heart is Broken, Ryan Adams & the Cardinals
66. Not Where You’re At (But Where You Will Be), The Rave-Ups
67. Little Lion Man, Mumford & Sons
68. Dance Me Around the Room, The Steel Wheels
69. Living in the Promiseland, Willie Nelson
70. Orion Town 2, Frontier Ruckus
71. Love Is All I Am, Dawes
72. Fields of Gold, Eva Cassidy
73. Napoleon (2007), Ani
74. Train Ride, Lyle Lovett
75. Father & Son, Cat Stevens
76. Filipino Box Spring Hog, Tom Waits
77. We’ll Sweep Out the Ashes In the Morning, Emmylou Harris & Gram Parsons
78. Hard Headed Woman, Wanda Jackson
79. 40 Day Dream, Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeroes
80. Time Will Do the Talking, Patty Griffin
81. House Where Nobody Lives, Tom Waits
82. One Flight Down, Norah Jones
83. Vodka, Victoria Hart
84. Garden of Simple, Ani
85. Next Big Thing, Ani
86. Mutiny, I Promise You, The New Pornographers
87. Old, Old Song, Ani
88. The Wind, Cat Stevens
89. In My Own Eyes, Brandi Carlile
90. Knuckle Down, Ani
91. If I Were the Man You Wanted, Lyle Lovett
92. The High Road, Broken Bells
93. Blue Light, Mazzy Star
94. Big Time In the Jungle, Old Crow Medicine Show
95. I’m Coming Over, Ryan Adams
96. Don’t Be Sad, Whiskeytown
97. Baby Boomer, Monsters of Folk
98. Strawberry Wine, Ryan Adams
99. Bird On a Wire, Leonard Cohen
100. Sister, I’m a Poet, Morrissey

Something Old

I've been digging through some older pieces and came across this one from last spring.  It's based on the picture at the left, a print by Susan Meiselas from her book  "Carnival Strippers".  Who knew women did that in the seventies--stripped at carnivals?  I don't remember that little attraction at any carnival I ever attended, though--to be fair--my memories of carnivals start somewhere in the 80s.  


Anyway, the structure (sections) feel a little forced.  I don't know if there's another way to do it, but I thought I'd ask you fine people for suggestions.  Help appreciated.

Land Speed 


1
Carnivals in Guthrie are popular with the kids, their
fingers still sticky in the white of winter as they picture
pink puffs of cotton candy they gnashed between
uninsured teeth through June and July. Their parents--
Guthrie locals who never made it out--spend summers
wandering the grounds and squinting up at lights that,
when they were kids, glittered like promises. 


2
It’s been four years since the Munich Olympics, four
years since Jenny watched, breathless, as the American
from Oregon with the scraggly hair and bushy mustache 
pressed into the wind, his body moving like the gears in
her grandfather’s watch, arms and legs marking time
around the great track that would, eventually, beat him. 
Four years since she’d graduated, four years of remembering

the track stars in high school with quick feet and quicker
mouths, their ropey arms that pinned a girl against cracked
back seat vinyl til she was dreamily defenseless.  Those boys--
who knew about stamina, who held their breath and kept their eyes
open when they kissed so they could see the finish line instead
of groping around for it in the dark--those boys were long gone.
They’d run out almost before the graduation caps hit the ground.   


3
Billy Howard came to Guthrie a week ahead, scraggly hair, bushy
mustache, a smile with as much grease in it as there were teeth. 
The advance man, he’d come to pay off cops, secure licenses,
chat up local girls who had nothing but Guthrie beauty school or
disappointing marriages to look forward to, their best days behind
them.  He needed girls for the strong show and knew moony eyes
and broken hearts were best for that kind of work. 


4

Jenny’s been flying for a week or so. Summer is long and from up
here Billy could be the American runner who died last year. Drowsy 
from the drugs someone always has on hand, she squints at the lights, 
those false stars, tells herself it's not so bad. Every night she dreams
of running.  Shaking like a windblown leaf on her box, sleepily spinning
in opposite directions as she tries to break the land speed record, her legs--
wheels beneath her--spreading wider, circling faster as the crowd roars on.     

Up

Sometimes the only way to quiet all the rattle in my heart is to step outside.   The view from my backyard is easily one of the most spectacular things about my life.  As I write this, neighbors to west pitch horseshoes under an ever-ripening sky.  Lavender banks of cloud dissolve into swirls of light above my fence, a backlit sunset more lovely every time I look up than it was just a few seconds before.  This photo, taken at sunset Thursday night, attests to that.

As a kid, I didn't spend a lot of time outside.  There were neighborhood kickball games and the boys across the alley behind us came over a lot--I was often the only girl in our playing.  I was the only girl on our block, and though I had some friends who lived within walking distance, I would have always preferred--if given the choice--to be left alone to read a book.  In fact, when I learned to drive, I couldn't find locations I'd been traveling to my whole life, including my grandparents' house.  I'd had my head buried in books so long, I hadn't ever really bothered to look up.  There were worlds within my head that were so much more magical than whatever was passing by the car window, or the front porch.

Ani DiFranco wrote: 

when I look around

I think this, this is good enough
And I try to laugh
At whatever life brings
Cause when I look down
I just miss all the good stuff
When I look up
I just trip over things

My whole life, it seems, I've been missing stuff and tripping over things.  And, for a very very long time, I let those missed moments and those trips make me feel badly about myself.  Now, though, I'm trying to realize that whatever I miss or trip over doesn't matter, as long as I am paying attention to what I'm focused on--up, or down.  We can't judge ourselves for the things we miss out on, the little failures, the missteps.  Goethe wrote "As soon as you trust yourself, you will know how to live."

My wish is that we rely on the wellspring of inner strength within each of us so that we can begin to trust ourelves and in so doing, know how to live.