Amy Lu's View

“How can you be bored during a marathon?”

Chad posed that question to me in the days before I was scheduled to run my fourth marathon, as I was anxiously obsessing about how I would do. Among my litany of worries was how I would deal with the boredom. 

I was just as surprised that Chad DIDN’T get bored while running a marathon (he’s run five so he knows what it’s like) as he was that I DO get bored. How can one not get bored while doing anything–much less something that can feel uncomfortable and tedious–for over four hours? Not necessarily for the whole or even the majority of the time, but at least for periods?

I think Chad’s secret is being present in the moment–even when there are over four hours worth of moments. 

And being in the moment during a long run is tricky for me–I want to be present, but not SO present that I can’t stop thinking about how tired or hot/cold or uncomfortable I am. (Luckily, I’m usually not in significant PAIN but there are definitely moments of “ow” for me).

On regular runs, long or short, I distract myself as much as possible by listening to audiobooks and thinking about what I’m going to eat and wear after the run. But during the marathon (or any race) I didn’t want to be as checked out as I get when listening to an audiobook–it just seems like a not great idea  (it would have also been hard to hear an audiobook consistently over the cheers and music and whatnot of the event). So I followed my usual race procedure of listening to my own music on my phone, and that did provide some entertainment and inspiration but it wasn’t a problem if it got interrupted by ambient marathon noise. 

I didn’t aspire to run the marathon with Chad’s level of mindfulness, but I did have a goal to be at least more aware and appreciative of the experience. I set my intention with a new temporary tattoo that I applied to my forearm on Marathon Eve that said “How is this moment perfect?”

But I did keep doing it, with moments of boredom and beauty, pride and doubt, and diversionary thoughts of what I would eat (and drink) later in the day, and where I could wear my medal. 

I used to shy away from the word “perfect”–perfection is unattainable, right? But in the last several years I’ve been reconsidering my definition of “perfect.” I haven’t settled on a new meaning yet (and that could be an entirely different post) but I am trying to consider how life (and all the people and things and experiences and feelings in it) can be worthy and meaningful and beautiful, even, or especially, when things don’t conform to my simplistic ideas about perfection. 

I don’t have a good grasp of what I mean by perfection, but I’m pretty sure I’m not going to find it if I’m not paying attention. 

So how did I find perfection in my marathon moments? In the beauty of the fall colors of the trees, in the sun reflecting off the lakes, in the blue, blue sky. I saw perfection in all the spectators cheering on their loved ones, and cheering on me, a total stranger. 

Listed like that, in one short paragraph, my perfect moments seem slight. But they added up and were enough to get me to the finish line. 

Maybe the most perfect thing about any of these moments is that they simply were–that I was able to do and be a part of this weird and silly and preposterous event. 

Did I get bored? Yes, yes I did. Or maybe “bored” isn’t quite the right word–What word means “I am SO OVER THIS and can’t possibly keep doing it?”

When I was in 8th grade, a friend told me that I looked like a rabbit in my class photo. 

That wasn’t exactly the look I was going for. 

This memory surfaced recently when I was playing gangster moll Edna Murray in the latest Landmark Center history play.  

Edna’s nickname was “Rabbit.” Well, “Rabbit” was  one of her nicknames. Edna was also known as “The Kissing Bandit” and “The Triple Escape Queen”–but those names don’t conjure up any awkward junior high memories. 

Unlike 8th grade me, Edna didn’t have any insecurities about her appearance. Or, maybe the real Edna did, but my Edna, despite her rather unsexy nickname of “Rabbit,” was a vixen who wholeheartedly reveled in the attention of the Barker-Karpis gang members without any second thoughts. 

It was a short but challenging scene. While it’s great fun to portray a flamboyant character, I find it hard to convey that confidence and physical grace. I found being graceful especially challenging in heels (even small ones) the week after I ran a marathon. 

I went right from playing Edna to playing Marcia in a monologue that was part of a one-act play festival (or I could say I was in a short one-woman show). Marcia was another woman who, like Edna, craved attention. Marcia was an aging theater actress suspected in the murder of her lover, who was completely upfront about hungering for adoration.

“Let me be blunt…I came here and I was adored. People stopped me in the street and asked for my autograph. I didn’t care what I needed to do to keep that feeling…Just don’t take that feeling away from me.”

—Marcia’s Lament by Brian Cern

Why do some people, particularly women (and Toads, see my previous post), seem desperate for attention and adoration? What does it mean to be a confident and powerful woman? How is a woman’s power impacted by societal expectations about a woman’s age and career? 

These are all interesting questions, and just the tip of the feminist-tinged questions about gender and power that are raised by the stories of Edna and Marcia. And while I did ponder these questions a bit while I played them, my most pressing questions included:

• Is my over-the-top Southern accent for Edna TOO over-the-top?
• How can I deal with my static cling issue with Edna’s dress?
• Do I look like I’m drinking too much gin/vodka as Marcia? (not a moral question but don’t want the audience to worry that Marcia is going to pass out)
• Am I going to trip in these very modest heels? Even if I don’t trip, am I going to look highly uncomfortable and awkward? (which wouldn’t fit Edna or Marcia)
• Is my fake hair color more or less appropriate? (I tried to down down the unnatural red color for Edna to be historically plausible, and figured Marcia could get away with some gray roots)

But maybe the biggest question I wrestled with is/was: “Should I be concerned that I love playing these characters, especially Marcia, soo much?”

I’ll be blunt now: I adored playing Marcia, and didn’t feel like I had to dig too deep to connect with the character. My inner Marcia apparently isn’t all that buried. And to hell with fake self-modesty, I think I rocked Marcia and audience members seemed to agree. I got more than a few comments that I seemed “natural” and “at ease.” (I even “self-directed” my performance of Marcia, in that I didn’t invest the time to get too much feedback from others and didn’t have an official director as I was trying not to bother Chad with his studying and such). 

And while playing Edna was challenging, playing Marcia felt easy. Maybe the difference is simply because Marcia sat down most of the time so I didn’t have to worry about falling. (Did I mention I am not a beautifully coordinated creature, to quote a line from one of our favorite plays?)

Playing Marcia may have also been easier for me because it was a monologue–while I love the energy and interplay and support of acting with others, there is something simple and empowering in being totally in control of a scene, for better or worse. This really plays out with lines: If I mess up my lines in a monologue, I don’t have anyone else to save me, but I’m not taking anyone down with me. 

Does my joy and comfort in playing Marcia reveal some psychological issues I should examine?

Perhaps. But as I reflect on this, I realize the most important question to me is: “When can I have a role like Marcia again?”

Hmmm, this post didn’t quite go where I thought it was going to. Not that I had a great plan for it–I mostly wanted to write something and I had this little bit about the nickname “Rabbit”–but I ended up with another disjointed exploration of my psychological foibles. 

I may just have to accept that psychological foibles are my consistent through line–something 8th grade Amy, Edna, Marcia, and present Amy can identify with. 

*I feel I can make this joke as I was a Women’s Studies minor in college.

If extraterrestrial cultural anthropologists are studying contemporary American society, they probably think extroverts and introverts are mortal enemies. Or rival NFL teams. 

I don’t want to be a hater or rile up any argument. I do think we should all be careful not to assume we know what another person’s thoughts or experiences are. 

Personally, when I think about what seems to be a central question in the extrovert or introvert definition, “Do you get energy from being with others?” I’m a little flummoxed. 

I love performing in front of people. I love feeling like I’m connecting with others. I love having people notice me and feeling that I’m special. I love organizing social events, big and small (although never fancy or complicated, no “entertaining “for me) and bringing people together. I seem to be good at conversations and including others in the social experience. 

But I’m often wracked with anxiety after any social interaction, particularly the anxiety that strikes between 2:00 and 4:00 in the morning when unwise amounts of alcohol have been consumed: Was I kind? Was I honest? Did I listen? Did I judge? Was I interesting? Was I an asshole? Did I steal the spotlight too much? Did I leave someone out? Was I too afraid to speak my truth and share my story  and make a real connection?  

One aspect I find so hard about vulnerability is how do I honestly share my tough experiences and insecure feelings without making a conversation just about me. It’s not that I’m afraid of looking weak, I just don’t want to inappropriately monopolize the conversation or bring everyone down.

Am I an introvert or an extrovert? I don’t know, but I’m a people pleasing performer who has learned from the pandemic that I’m not responsible for the social lives of others. And it’s okay if I miss out on some social activities. 

I’m wrestling with the extrovert vs. introvert dilemma particularly as I ponder the very last story in my original Frog and Toad Blog Challenge*, “The Dream.” 

At first reading, the story makes me defensive. Toad has a dream where he’s onstage becoming more and more successful and famous while Frog, sitting supportively in the audience, literally shrinks. Frog gets smaller as Toad obnoxiously shouts a variation of “Frog, can you do THIS?” after each of his theatrical triumphs.

Is this a blatant criticism of egotistical performers and narcissistic extroverts?

Maybe, but perhaps also a challenge to think about how we can meet our needs while not forgetting about what connection really means. I think we all yearn to connect with others, but we are all clumsy in our efforts. Do we try to have an impact and show our gifts by taking the stage or baking a pie? 

Sometimes I worry I have an unhealthy need to feel special, but maybe the need isn’t unhealthy but only how I try to fill it.

Why did poor Frog shrink as toad got more and more successful? Perhaps it’s not because fame or success is categorically bad, but because Toad forgot about how important his friendship with Frog was. Perhaps the real problem is Toad didn’t realize that just as Frog was supporting him by being in the audience, Frog needed Toad’s support, too.

I love the phrase “steal my thunder” as in “Sorry I stole your thunder” or “Don’t steal my thunder.” (It’s kind of ironic I love the saying because I hate actual storms and therefore am not fond of thunder). But maybe we can embrace an abundance mindset and accept there’s enough thunder for everyone–no matter where we fall on the extrovert/introvert or mammal/amphibian continuum–no stealing necessary. 

(Again, literally a terrible thought for me as I would hate to live in a world with nonstop thunder).

*Par-tay time…I finally finished my Frog and Toad Blog Challenge (https://amyluedtke.wordpress.com/2020/08/23/frog-and-toad-are-sages/) which I began just a little over two years ago (actually, I’m rather impressed it didn’t take me longer than that to finish). I committed myself to write a blog post inspired by each of the 15 stories in the “Frog and Toad Treasury.” But…there IS another Frog and Toad book not included in the treasury, I’m not setting a new goal just yet, but there could be another five Frog and Toad blog posts in my future. 

It’s one week until the Twin Cities Marathon! 

What I should do during this week to prepare:

• HYDRATE (I can’t successfully do it all in the hour or even day before the race)
• Drink less alcohol
• Make sure I don’t run too much
• Carbo-loading, starting on Wednesday or Thursday (also something I can’t helpfully do if I start the day before)
• Figure out my music situation (usually I run while listening to audiobooks, which I don’t want to do during the marathon because I want to pay at least some attention to the spectators and the scenery and the experience as a whole)
• Go to Target and buy a running tank top (it’s going to be warmer than I expected so I don’t have quite the right shirt)
• Adorn myself with motivational temporary tattoos

Things I should NOT do:

• Drink too much alcohol (idea deserves to be repeated)
• Feel discouraged because I think it will take me noticeably longer to finish this marathon than the previous three I’ve run
• Regret my training choices
• Regret my nutrition strategy (such as it is)
• Obsess about carbo-loading and hydrating related weight gain
• Worry that I won’t be able to find the drop-off point for my after-race clothes
• Dread how cold it’s going to be waiting for the race to start
• Worry that the port-a-potty lines will be terrible

Silly, but mostly harmless, although potentially annoying, things I WILL do:

• Check Sunday’s hourly-weather forecast compulsively
• Tell everyone I possibly can that I’m running the Marathon
• Babble at Chad incessantly about all my Marathon-related hopes, fears, and random thoughts

Something I really, truly, SHOULD do:

•  Try to feel more excited than anxious. 
• Feel extremely grateful that I have the health and time to train for and run a marathon. 

I. Can’t. Do. This. 

That thought kept pounding through my being like a drum beat, which I guess was appropriate, as I was also literally playing the drums. But it wasn’t the drum playing I was worried about–at least not so worried that I didn’t think I could go–but the drumming while singing lead during the impending song on our set list that had me freaking out because I was so nervous.

I love performing. I love drumming. I love singing. So why was I almost paralyzed with performance anxiety at our recent Pigeons From Hell gig at Richfield PennFest, a local outdoor neighborhood festival? 

I’m always nervous to some extent when I attempt to play drums and sing, especially the song in question, a cover of an 80’s song called “Shelter” by the band Lone Justice. (You probably don’t know it, even if you were alive in the 80’s, but it’s one of my favorite songs ever and I’m happy to tell you all about it whenever you’d like). I love that we do the song and don’t want to take it out of rotation, but it’s a challenging song for me on many levels. 

But mostly, I was completely discombobulated by the PennFest environment. I’m just not used to performing music in front of so many people that I can see (in an inside setting the stage lights usually hide the audience), even if, or maybe especially if, I know they are just milling around and not necessarily wanting to hear some random band. 

I was also extra amped knowing that the local Hennepin County Library branch had a booth just down the street, so I would also be subjecting co-workers (although we don’t work together on a daily basis) to my dubious musical antics. 

So, I was very tempted to cry out, “Boys, we’ve got to skip this song” (yes, I call my bandmates who are all over 50 “boys,” at least in my head) but I didn’t. Maybe I should have, but instead I mustered up my courage and audacity and we performed “Shelter.” We even did it twice–as we had a super long time to play, we cycled through some of our songs twice. I was slightly less nervous (and buzzed) the second time. 

The things about PennFest that made me so nervous also made it wonderful and amazing (and rather weird and surreal). It was so much fun watching the people wandering by, and to see that some were listening, and sometimes even dancing. Okay, mostly, it was kids–who probablhy would have danced to anything–who were dancing, but I fully embraced my inner story that I was inspiring girls who noticed “Hey, there’s a girl drummer!” (I was also happy to embrace my companion inner story that I was “intriguing”  the older guys wandering by who were thinking, “Hey, there’s a lady drummer!”) 

And the dogs. So. Many. Cute. Dogs. I blame our only real performance melt-down on my distraction over seeing an unbelievably adorable mini-dachshund. 

I was also a little frazzled going into the event because I didn’t know what to expect. Instead of getting a set time to play, we were scheduled to play the entire FOUR hours of the event. We assumed we weren’t expected to actually play that whole time, but I wanted to know what our parameters were. And yes, I’m also a huge rule follower, and I wanted to make sure I was following the rules. As one of our favorite podcast hosts (Andrew from “TBTL”) would say, I didn’t want to get hollered at.

We ended up beginning our set around 2:00. We needed to wait until Chad arrived and got settled after a morning stint giving a sermon two hours away in Hanska (yes, Minister in the Morning, Rockstar in the Afternoon) and we had a brief, but intense, moment of panic when the generator wasn’t working (a reset button was involved). We played until about 4:45, with a half hour break in there while our bandmate John tried to find the beer tent.

(Thankfully, we were conveniently located close, but not too close, to some port-a-potties so I never had to wander away too far). 

We also took a break in an effort to be polite to our neighbors at the event who consisted of a variety of cultural dance troupes. Being next to the dancers actually stressed me out quite a bit–not because I don’t like dancers, but I felt extremely guilty because I’m sure our music overpowered the music they were dancing to and made their lives difficult. 

I was also super sensitive because one of the dancers asked us before we even started playing–we were just warming up at checking sound levels at the time–”How long are you going to be noodling around?” Oh boy, if he was wondering about our warm-up, that couldn’t bode well for our actual playing. And yeah, I not only felt guilty but also a bit peeved and defensive that he referred to our musical activity as “noodling.” 

This dancer-related anxiety was also NOT helped when a seemingly drunk and old, definitely shirtless guy harangued us a bit because all the musical acts were so close together. “Not our decision, dude!”

I honestly don’t know how upset the dancers were, or even if they were upset at all. It’s not like they tried to beat us up after the event or threw rotten vegetables at us. And it really WASN’T my decision to place them next to us. 

Besides the shirtless senior sage, we also had a couple of interesting interactions with the public. One guy came right up behind me, WHILE WE WERE IN THE MIDDLE OF PLAYING A SONG, and asked me if we knew any Johnny Cash. (“No,” and even if we did, that was not the way to persuade us to play it). 

Another guy said he’d give us $5 if we played a Billy Joel song. Sorry, we don’t have anything against Billy Joel, but we just don’t have a deep repertoire. So, we had to settle with only getting $11 in our tip jar. (At least one of those dollars came from a young girl–just about the cutest thing ever. Perhaps a tie with the mini-dachshund). 

I was also intrigued by all the people who took photos and videos of us–with devices that looked like professional cameras and cell phones. I assume the professionals were somehow commissioned by the event organizers or with local media. I would LOVE to see any photos they took, but nothing has emerged on Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter. 

I’m a little more confused and even skeptical about those who had cell phones. Were we really that interesting? Or, as Chad suggested, we’re they sharing with friends in a “Get a load of this train wreck” glee?

We DID have several people ask us for our band name–maybe to make sure they avoid us in the future? Whatever the reason, good motivation to up our social media game. (We were slightly incognito at this event and listed ourselves as “The Pigeons.” We thought “Pigeons From Hell” might offend the family-friendly sensibilities of the organizers. We even avoided using my regular performance drum set with the “Pigeons From Hell” logo on it). 

If any dancers from the day are harboring any residual resentment, our lack of clear branding will make it harder for them to hunt us down and exact revenge. 

I don’t have a good reason for running the 2022 Twin Cities Marathon (about two and a half weeks away). 

That doesn’t mean I have a bad reason (although I really don’t have room in my life for another Finisher’s shirt or medal). I just don’t have a clear, inspirational reason that’s pushing me to reach this goal. 

Running experts and aficionados frequently encourage runners to focus on their “Why” to keep their motivation up. It makes sense–keep your eyes on the metaphorical prize. 

And there must be a good, compelling reason to devote so much time and effort to marathon training, something that is frequently unpleasant and even sometimes painful. 

So I’m a little confused and embarrassed that I don’t have a compelling reason. I mainly signed up for this marathon because even though I’ve run three marathons before, it’s been four years since the last one and I wanted to see if I could still do it. 

That’s an okay reason, but not terribly stirring. It’s actually even rather anxiety-inducing. Yes, I can probably still run a marathon (barring any accidents or extreme events) but it’s also very probable that I won’t do it as well as I have before. 

This time I deliberately chose a training plan (Hal Higdon) that was much less intense, time-consuming, and difficult. This was a good choice because I didn’t want marathon training to feel like a part-time job, but I need to adjust my goals and expectations. It’s not like I ever intended to break any records or even qualify for Boston, but it is hard for me to be okay with not being as “good” or “tough” as past Amy. 

I am now finished with the hardest part of training, and I am soo happy. In some ways, training is harder than the marathon itself–that’s a one and done. Yes, I know the marathon will be tough, especially at mile 17 and on, but, at least right now, what I’m most worried about is standing around and freezing my ass off waiting for the marathon to start (I hate that so much that I almost signed up for the VIP option which includes a heated pre-race tent, but that feels really extra). 

So I’m super relieved and content and proud that I’ve basically finished training (just one more two hour run and anxiety about carb-related weight gain to go) but I also feel like I’m cheating and that I wimped out by not following my previous plan. After all, I only did two twenty mile runs (instead of three 21 miles runs), not to mention my reduced number of 17-18 mile runs. 

I guess this self-doubt leads me back to the question of “What’s my ‘Why’ ”?–Why do I want to do this if I’m not willing to put in the time and effort to get an outcome that’s comparable to my previous undertakings? Why not rest on my laurels–I have three pretty good marathons under my belt–and leave well enough alone?

While no single exciting answer jumps out at me, I do have several small reasons. I think it’s kind of cool that this is the 40th Anniversary of the Twin Cities Marathon, it’s appealing, even heartwarming, to run my first in-person race since 2018, I’m curious about how my easier training plan does play out (it’s almost an experiment), I like the sense of accomplishment training for a marathon gives me, I like getting obsessed about running, I like training (even when I’m so relieved it lets up, maybe because I’m so relieved when it lets up) because it gives me a relatively healthy outlet for my obsessiveness. Maybe I can even approach this marathon with a more relaxed attitude, and enjoy the whole experience more. 

I don’t have one Big Why for this marathon–but lots of little ones. That actually aligns with my approach to other areas of my life. I rarely have a big vision or goal when it comes to everything from work to performances to relationships–just several little moments and reasons. As R.E.M. sings in their cover of the song “Crazy,” 

“There are no answers, only reasons to be strong.”

–R.E.M., “Crazy”

I’ll amend that with “strong/slightly stupid” to fit running a marathon. 

There is a well-worn joke in running circles: “I did all this for a free banana?” referring to the banana that is typically given to runners at the end of races. And maybe it IS all for that banana–that banana under those very special circumstances and all it represents.  

So here’s to that post-marathon banana (and the celebratory drinks that will be consumed for at least a week after the marathon). 

When I was in fifth grade, I read a short story as part of the Junior Great Books program by Ray Bradbury called “All Summer in a Day.” (Inspiration for a previous blog post: https://amyluedtke.wordpress.com/2020/04/09/all-apocalypse-in-a-day/).

All these many years later, I still remember that story–a rather horrifying little tale about a girl who misses the one day of summer that her space colony community gets to experience because her bullying classmates lock her in a closet

Thankfully, I didn’t have only one day of summer. But if I did, today, the last day of conventional summer, would have included many of the best things about this summer. I got to sleep in, I got in a relatively pleasant run, we had Pigeons From Hell band practice, and then Chad and I had “At Home Happy Hour” and sat on our deck drinking and snacking and talking. 

I’m trying hard not to be sad that summer is over. (It went so fast that it did feel like just a day) I’m trying instead to bask in all the little joys and beauty of it. It wasn’t the “Hot Girl Summer” that pop culture told us to be excited about last year (whatever that was) but it was a very pleasant “Warm Middle-Aged Lady Summer” for me. 

Okay, I was literally hot when the temperature hit 100 and our A/C was out. Yes, not everything about this summer was pleasant, but still had its charms. I like getting to break out those spaghetti string tank tops (at least for a day or two) and being reacquainted with the sight of my bare skin. 

I am wallowing in wistfulness a bit as the summer ends (it is a deliciously achy feeling) but also trying to wrap it in gratitude. This summer wasn’t particularly noteworthy but it was filled with small wonders. I wish I could capture these delights with poetic and witty descriptions, but I have flashes of memories–early and late morning light, and berries, and white wine, and free outdoor music, and watching random unknown kids run around dance, and feeling like the world is just too beautiful for me to take all in and hold it and keep but frantically trying anyway.

Labor Day isn’t a definitive border. There will still be some warm days and little outdoor adventures and mosquito bites in my immediate future. But there is definitely less light, and it will just keep dwindling. That alone feels like a big loss that makes me sad. I can’t help but regret all the awesome things I didn’t do this summer.

Still, I won’t get too emo about things I can’t control. I am going to squeeze as much as I can out of the waning summer and appreciate the approaching fall (but I’m going to stay in denial about the reality of winter).

Deciding what to consume at the State Fair always causes me at least some anxiety. So it’s no surprise considerable time and thought went into my decision to try a Martini beer. But once I finally decided to take the plunge and purchase the beer (I wanted to try at least one oddball fair offering and I do love salt) I had to again reevaluate my choice–my beverage was garnished not only with an olive (yay) but a piece of salami (boo). 

Yes, I had already decided I was going to play in the pescatarian space and had ordered a salmon wrap (I know, not on a stick but yummy and not greasy) but I was not prepared to embrace mammal consumption.

And yes, by my standards, the salami slice qualified as partaking in the carnivore lifestyle because it was actually in the beer–so the beer was infused with meat (or at least, meat juice). 

Okay, not much meat juice, but I was trying to have some consistent standards–I don’t eat soup or gravy made with chicken or beef broth, after all.

So all this and more was swirling around in my brain, but I pretty quickly decided “Oh f%#@ it, I’m going to take some photos for possible content and then drink this puppy.” And that’s what I did, (after tossing the salami) and it was yummy and salty and weird, and just the Fair experience I was hoping for. 

Full disclosure, I only drank half the beer, because I had already enjoyed two glasses of wine, and I wanted to increase my chances of finding the shuttle bus and then my car. 

Going to the Fair was a mosaic of interrelated decisions–not only about what to drink and eat: 

• Where to park: the first Park and Ride spot I tried was FULL, as was the second, but then I found moderately close street parking by that lot
• What pictures to take: So many quirky photo opportunities…and of course I wanted to get the iconic shots to prove I was at the Fair! But, I also wanted to actually experience the Fair and not just take photos.  
• Where to take selfies: I basically threw in the towel on this one, and just took a lot of selfies, even if I looked tired and sweaty, and even if I didn’t have something on a stick. I did try to limit myself from stopping traffic or getting in other people’s way.
• Whether or not to wait in line for seed art: After years of being married to Chad, I have learned to despise lines. Nothing is worth more than a five person line. BUT…the line wasn’t too out of control, and I had to have some of those iconic shots after all.
• When to wear a mask: Definitely on the bus, definitely while viewing seed art. 
• What free music to listen: Ended up just catching a couple of tunes at the Schell stage, and I think I saw Turn Turn Turn…which OMG I just learned while Googling them features Adam Levy (very “famous” Minneapolis musician)
• How long to stay listening to Styx: I’ve heard of people just hanging out outside the Grandstand to hear the concert for free, and I actually could hear the music really well from the entrance near the West End. I don’t consider myself a Styx fan, but they definitely have nostalgic appeal for me, and it was so lovely hanging out and slowly making my way out of the fair and listening to “Come Sail Away” and “Mr. Roboto” and…joy of joys, “Renegade,” a cherished song from my childhood. 

All this decision-making was both easier and a little bit scarier because I was attending the fair solo and making decisions by myself. While I do make decisions by myself all the time (I am a bona fide adult after all), I don’t usually make them when it comes to navigating large scale events and outings. So I felt pretty accomplished after successfully maneuvering my way through the crowds and choosing where to go and what to eat/drink and what to do without any input. 

I also felt surprisingly relaxed. I tend to agonize over decisions (maybe not the typical ones or even big ones but certainly frequent and inconsequential ones) and spend way too much time thinking about how my actions affect others–even, or especially, when they don’t want me to. This “concern” for others doesn’t usually stem from altruism or generosity or empathy–it’s just me centering myself in other people’s stories, usually when they couldn’t care less. 

So I just embraced being the star of the Amy State Fair Show, and it felt grand. Too much fun and drama and excitement to fit on a stick. 

Can a pair of pants save the world?

No.

But they can give strangers the opportunity to do something nice for each other. To make each other’s day, maybe even several days. 

This is just a little story about how I procured a pair of pants that I really wanted thanks to the kindness of a stranger. 

The pants in question were “Tonight Pants,” so named because they are lounge pants intended to be worn “tonight” or whenever one wants to be comfortable.*

The pants were a “thank you” gift awarded to donors who gave to the podcast, “Too Beautiful Too Live.” We are dedicated fans of “TBTL” lucky enough to have some extra cheddar on hand so of course we made a donation big enough to qualify for both of us to receive a pair of Tonight Pants. 

Chad’s pants came first. Yay! They were just as awesome as we had hoped they would be–a cheery bright blue made out of a soft polyester, with pockets!! And, the pants were adorned with little drawings of…pants! Yes, so clever, so meta. 

I knew mine would come soon, so I excitedly waited. 

And, they did come. But, they were the wrong size. 

Argh! I was so bummed. This was not a case of “Well, they’re not really going to fit optimally but I can make them work.” This was a case of “These are literally not going to stay on my body.”

I checked my email for the receipt. Yes, I had indeed ordered the correct size that I wanted, so this wasn’t user error. 

I immediately emailed customer service about the pants error, but also posted something in our TBTL fans Facebook group. I knew my fellow fans (known as “Tens” because TBTL has tens of listeners) would understand my emotional journey of being so excited to receive my pants only to be disappointed by getting the wrong size and would commiserate with me. 

I was also secretly hoping that one of my fellow fans would be able to remedy my situation. Maybe someone accidently got an extra pair or something that I could buy from them?

Within an hour, a fellow Ten, Jaime, had indeed offered to send me a pair of Tonight Pants in the size I wanted at no cost–not even asking anything for shipping! All she asked was that I send the pants I had on to someone else who wanted them. 

A whole little “Pay it Forward with Pants” commenced. I think at least three TBTL fans (myself included) ended up with pants we otherwise wouldn’t have had. 

(A little rant here…the customer service for the organization that distributes TBTL tried to blame me and say that I had ordered the wrong size and sounded put out because I wanted a different size. Come on, I get that mistakes happen but let’s not blame the victim. And yes, it was very satisfying to respond “Never mind, a fellow Ten had my back.”)

It feels hokey to say “I’m sharing this little story so we can all remember that although the world often feels scary and mean, sometimes people just do nice things for each other” but sometimes the truth is hokey. 

There are so many reasons we love TBTL–listening to it is a little daily ritual we share, it gives us conversations topics that usually don’t result in us bickering, it helps us keep somewhat aware of pop culture and what’s trending on TikTok, and it made me “famous” when I made it to the TBTL YouTube talent show in 2020: (https://amyluedtke.wordpress.com/2020/06/08/i-hope-you-like-this/). TBTL even gives me inspiration for blog posts and as the podcasts hosts would say, #content. 

Of all these wonderful reasons, one of the things we love the most is the opportunities it gives us to connect to other TBTL fans. These connections are often simple and mundane–exchanging holiday cards, interacting via Facebook, or just hearing others’ stories and messages via the TBTL podcast–but they all add up. 

And the pandemic and the turmoil of the last couple of years has definitely helped us all realize the importance of connection and human interaction–and a really comfy pair of lounge pants.

*Chad would argue that “whenever” NEVER includes when one is out of the house. I disagree, but that’s a topic a for our as-yet-non-existent-but-I-have-dreams-and-aspirations-who-wouldn’t-want-to-listen-to-Chamy-inside-jokes-and-long-standing-bickering podcast.

“I haven’t heard you yet, but I think you’re great.”

–Bella, young fan/potential fan of our band

Wow. That statement conveys such optimism, such possibility, such encouragement. It was proclaimed by Bella, a girl of about eight who lives in the neighborhood where our band, Pigeons From Hell, practices in our lead guitarist’s garage. 

Imagine living in a world where more people were inclined to think things were awesome without any evidence. 

Wait, yeah, we can probably think of many examples of that NOT working out so well, but let’s try to think of it as the enthusiasm and openness of a kid, not the uniformed fawning of an adult. 

Bella connected with us as we were packing up our gear after practice (okay, John, Chad and Mike were packing up, I just had to grab my recyclables) because her cousin had been listening to us and called her over. 

Bella’s cousin (we didn’t catch his name so let’s go with Dylan), about 12 years old, DID hear us play and had actually been listening to us for quite a while, as he was riding his bike up and down the alley. 

As I watched him riding back and forth while we were practicing, I thought, “Wow, that kid must be really bored.” But then Dylan shouted “you’re really good” and eventually stopped to talk to us after we were done. He enthusiastically explained that he was in fact intentionally riding up and down the alley so he could listen to us. 

It’s hard not to wonder if Dylan was paid by someone to come and boost our egos. Instead of a singing telegram, we had a cycling fanagram–a pre-teen on a bike to come and praise us.

Dylan told us that he was from San Diego and was visiting his cousins, and that our music sounded like what they play in California. He asked about how long we had been playing (eight years?, with many different lineups), where and when we play (nowadays, usually in Mike’s garage, sometime on the weekend), and what our band name was.

He said our name was so cool that he was going to name his kid (presumably of the future) “Pigeons From Hell.” Well, it’s a gender neutral name and they can call the kid “PFH” as a nickname. (We did try to explain that “Pigeons From Hell” is a song lyric from “Back on the Chain Gang” by The Pretenders, led by Chrissie Hynde. I hope he followed through on Googling it).

Our band mate John said the interaction made his day. Absolutely. It probably made my week (and this is not because I’m expecting a crappy week.)

I blogged last fall about a great encounter we had with some unexpected fans who randomly heard us practicing (https://amyluedtke.wordpress.com/2021/09/19/garage-band/), and I’m thrilled to be able to add to the “compliments we get from strangers while practicing in the garage” series. There’s the connection, and the affirmation, and if I’m bold enough to think it–the inspiration. 

Especially with and from and for Bella and Dylan. I don’t have many memories of seeing adults doing things that seemed cool and just for fun when I was a kid. I hope it’s beneficial for them to see that with a bunch of strangers they happen across, even if they do have other areas in their lives when they see adults just playing and having fun. 

I am certainly inspired by Dylan and Bella. Yes, I’m inspired by and excited to have fans of any age under (almost) any circumstance, and there is something inherently special about having kids look up to you. I’m also inspired by their enthusiasm, and their willingness to share that enthusiasm with some old people they just happened to encounter in an alley. 

And Bella may be on to something…it might be easier to think our band is great before you actually heard us.