I can never, ever, never ever, complain if Chad doesn’t notice if I’ve changed my hair or if I’m wearing some exciting new outfit.
Two days after Chad recently shaved his beard, I became aware of this only because a friend mentioned it on a Zoom lunch call. In my defense, it’s not like Chad had an extreme lockdown Grizzly Adams beard or anything, so there wasn’t THAT much difference between “Chad with beard” and “Chad sans beard.”
Hmmm, I could maybe sell that argument if this wasn’t at least the third time this has happened in the last twenty years. The first time it happened, Chad thought maybe I was purposely attempting to mess with him. Nope. I just was, and remain oblivious (maybe self-focused/narcisstic is more accurate).
I mean, Chad is very handsome with and without a beard, so what’s the big deal, right?
Beard
No Beard
Chad’s different facial hair options
Actually, I DO remember when I first saw him with a beard: thirtyish years ago when I visited him when he was studying abroad in Costa Rica. He didn’t tell me about the beard before I got there, and between the new look and the setting of a new country (complete with a language I didn’t speak) I was rather overwhelmed and kind of freaked out.
So my current nonchalance about Chad’s facial hair could be taken as a sign of my current calm and relaxed state.
Chad claims he didn’t do this on purpose, but he actually shaved his beard on the day that beards had been the topic of our Zoom lunch meeting conversation. The middle-aged plus ladies on the call agreed that we were NOT fans of the currently popular lockdown/Grizzly Adams/hipster beards (thankfully we were all older women and/or lesbians and not likely to date men with said beards) but that Chad and the only other man on the call had very attractive, well-kept beards.
I could be embarrassed for not giving proper attention to my beloved, but perhaps I should actually get credit for busting gender stereotypes (as the stereotype is that men don’t notice the appearance changes of the ladies in their lives).
Um, yeah.
Honestly, I don’t expect or even hope that Chad notices changes in my appearance…I just want him to praise my appearance and remark on my beauty, style and loveliness. I don’t care if he thinks I look the same day after day–as long as he tells me I look amazing.
In fact, I probably get most annoyed at Chad for being TOO observant–and commenting on aspects of my wardrobe, hair, etc., that are a little off. Or noticing that I’ve changed my outfit several times before leaving the house/logging into the virtual meeting.
Let’s just say I WON’T be the first to notice if Chad is replaced by an alien/clone/robot that looks more or less like him. Unless said replacement is noticeably complementary…and then I may just decide a little hostile takeover of the world is worth having my ego stroked.
I WILL be sure to NOT let the replicant on any Zoom calls with observant church lunch folk.
(The text of the story I shared at our most recent church storytelling evening–via Zoom. The theme was “Becoming.” This even has some bonus material I didn’t have time to include).
The spectators lining the race route on that beautiful spring morning enthusiastically cheered as my friend Stephanie and I ran past.
When Stephanie proposed we run the 2K Get in Gear race, I was dubious. Sure, I had been “jogging” a bit on and off for a few years, but actually running a race seemed like a big next step.
Chad assured me that 2 kilometers–only 1.24 miles–was really not that far to run. I could do it. So I stifled my doubts and we registered.
And here I was, running my very first official race as the onlookers clapped and whoo-hooed. Cries of “Great job!” “Way to go!” and “You got this!” filled the air.
Okay, the spectators were really there to cheer on their children, but they were also very supportive and encouraging to all the runners in the race–even to me and Stephanie. They didn’t judge us (at least not openly) for being the only adults in the race not running with their offspring.
Yes, for my very first official race, we had accidentally signed up for a 2K Fun Run intended for children and families. Honestly, I’m not even sure I would have realized we were running a race for kids if Stephanie hadn’t noticed and pointed it out. I can be rather oblivious, especially when I’m running, and I was definitely focused on myself and my nervousness about being able to run 2 whole kilometers.
As we crossed the finish line, Stephanie and I rather sheepishly accepted our medals. I was a little embarrassed, but also still happy. Since I didn’t even know if I could finish a 2K I took satisfaction in my accomplishment.
My very first medal (found it right before reading my story–it’s so cute!) and that medal by my most recent medal (2020 Mustache Run Half Marathon)
Of all the identities I currently claim, none surprises me more than “runner.” How in the world did I, the adamantly anti-exercise child and young person, become a runner who has finished three marathons, at least seven half marathons, and several more 10 mile and 10K races?
It wasn’t just that I was lazy about being physically active–sure, there was some of that, and I definitely didn’t like to sweat or breathe hard. But mostly I was deeply unsure about moving in and using my body. I always remember feeling uncoordinated, self-conscious, and even afraid with and about movement. I never learned to ride a bike or swim, and I never climbed a tree.
Okay, maybe that’s not entirely accurate–as a young child, around 6 or 7, I did like to run– according to my brother at least. I don’t really remember this, or at least I can’t be certain what are my actual memories and what are my taking his stories and making them my memories. But he likes to tell the story of how I did run and he would make sound effects from the “Bionic Woman” tv show to accompany me because, just like the bionic woman, I was running so fast it just looked slow.
But if true, that sporty interest somehow evaporated, and for most of my youth I definitely identified myself primarily with my mind–my body was mainly just a vehicle to get me from couch to refrigerator or to grab my next book.
I don’t think that first 2K race seventeen-ish years ago marked my transition from non-runner to runner. It’s a nice marker to point to, and hopefully a somewhat amusing story to share, but becoming a runner, like I think becoming most things is, has been an ongoing process. I do know I started running around 1999 when we moved to the Twin Cities and have kept at it in some way, shape or form. And somewhere along the way, I stopped protesting that I wasn’t a runner and qualifying what I did as “just jogging.” I embraced that I was a runner–not a professional athlete or anything, but I moved my body faster than walking on a somewhat regular basis, and was therefore a runner.
While I don’t exactly know when or how I became a runner, I have some clear ideas about what being a runner means for me. It means trusting in a process to accomplish goals, and tackling things in phases rather than trying to do it all at once. It’s trying to do my best given my current circumstances, and not having to always compare myself to others or even myself to feel successful. It’s being obsessed with my heart rate and protein and carbohydrate consumption. It’s having gross toenails. It’s decorating my arms with temporary tattoos of inspirational quotes. It’s noticing the same garbage adoring my running route. It’s being inspired by the cheers of strangers at a race and moved beyond words by friends who come out to watch me run a marathon. It’s feeling embraced by the running community and belonging to a runners’ Facebook group and feeling totally at home when I shop at our local running store. It’s having dresser drawers overflowing with race shirts and decorating our Christmas tree with race medals. It’s posting unflattering selfies where I look all sweaty and red-faced. It’s being filled with gratitude that I am able to run and realizing my privilege compared to those who can’t run safely because of race, health, or economic circumstances. It’s listening to hours and hours of podcasts and audiobooks. It’s having the confidence that I can do things that I never thought possible.
Being a runner doesn’t mean I always make healthy choices, and in fact, some of my running behaviors aren’t necessarily all that great for my body or mind. Sometimes I run when I should let my body rest, or run just to burn off empty calories. I don’t always, or even mostly, run to do something good for my body but to try and wrangle it under control. But even when I’m not running for great reasons, I think I still appreciate my body more than if I wasn’t running.
Maybe I most felt like a runner last year when I wasn’t running because of an injury. Even though I wasn’t able to run, I had hope and faith–at least most days–that if I was patient and just kept moving, kept walking and riding the stationery bike, that I would eventually be able to run again. And I did. Slowly, at first, and for only short distances, but I was running, and was able to do it for longer times at faster paces. More importantly, even when I wasn’t running, I didn’t lose my runner’s mindset or heart.
Sometimes people ask me if I’m going to keep running, even if I’m not in-training for a race. The answer is unequivocally “Yes.” Or maybe, it’s more accurate to say I’m going to keep on being a runner. Aging and other circumstances beyond my control may limit how much, and how fast, I can run, and a day will probably come when I can’t run at all. But I have every intention to keep on running as long as I can, and to keep being a runner even when I can’t actually run.
If nothing else, I think I’ve already accumulated a lifetime of t-shirts and medals to play with.
I’ve never grown flowers, but I’ve certainly worn them. Or rather, I’ve worn a ton of clothing made from floral prints.
A grand example of this is my “vintage” dress from high school that I recently wore at online coffee house when I made my triumphant showing as a piano soloist with my performance of my childhood classic, “Nocturne.”
I unearthed this dress a few months ago when Chad and I were clearing out some treasures buried in our upstage storage space. For the most part, I was strong and jettisoned many of the boxes of old clothes from high school and college. But I decided to keep this dress that was in relatively good shape and felt like something I could wear without feeling totally uncomfortable (turns out it was a little itchy).
THE dress
Excavating the dress
As I pondered what to wear for coffeehouse (yes, I do give a relative amount of thought to that) it occurred to me that it could be the perfect opportunity for this recently discovered floral extravaganza. No, I don’t think the time frames quite line up, as I think I was 16ish when I wore that dress, but the theme of nostalgia seemed appropriate.
I think this was even a “special occasion” dress–IF I remember correctly, I wore it to a sanctioned “school dance.” I think it was my high school’s one and only, and solidly unsuccessful, Sadie Hawkins dance. For me, the highlight of the dance was the pre-dance dinner at Chi-Chi’s with my two platonic frienddates (we were all very clear about that) and my mom, who was chaperoning the dance (not so sure my mom, was clear on said platonicness and thought her daughter was quite the player–#WhyWasn’tThisAJohnHughesMovie?)
Of course, I took some selfies in the dress, and they’ve been some of my most popular posts on Facebook (“popular” being relative). Some friends asked if it was a “Laura Ashley” dress–I’m not sure when I became aware that Laura Ashley was a thing, but I was pretty unaware of brands as a teen (and continue to be, outside of Target brands and Brooks for running stuff). I also think I would have been way too cheap to buy Laura Ashley and would have been rather surly about doing so. I’m still too cheap to spend money on snazzy brands (except Brooks) although now I realize that buying cheap clothes raises a ton of environmental ethical issues.
(Fun fact: Laura Ashley DOES still exist…or rather has been resurrected? I’m sure y’all can Google into that if interested…)
The label on my dress is “Champagne West” which I haven’t successfully Googled anything interesting about. I don’t remember where I bought it, but I have a dim inkling of a women’s clothing store at the Highland Mall that I liked to frequent that might have been a possibility. (It WAS a special occasion dress so I don’t think I got it from Shop-K-oh).
I even learned that “shooties” are a thing–apparently the type of boot that I’m wearing in my selfies. I discovered this particualr pair at Target pre-pandemic and ended up with three pairs in different colors and I adore them. I even wear them frequently around the house during lockdown because they are comfortable and easy to take on and off and wearing shoes, even with sweatpants or leggings, does make me feel like I’m making a effort. Plus, I hate having cold feet and do not expose my feet to the elements until it’s in the 80’s (so yes, I did briefly break out sandals yesterday and I do love you all, but your talk of and pictures of open-toed shoes in weather that’s less than 70’s makes me shudder).
My post also started a bit of a discussion of being able to fit into clothes from high school. For me, wearing something from high school doesn’t feel that successful since I was on the squishy side back in the day (#DietOfEntireTombstoneFrozenPizzaConsumedInOneSittingAccompanied ByMountainDew).
But this dress that inspired an entire blog post is only one of the many floral fashions I have owned and do own (I actually made a conscious effort to lay off the flowers at one point because Chad had reached a saturation point. I think he got a little tired of feeling like he was married to an old lady’s couch).
Perhaps my next blog challenge will be an ode to some or these blossoming beauties…Hmmm. Do I need to finish the Frog and Toad challenge first?
I didn’t expect that my blog would tilt so heavily toward being an “Amy Plays Piano” blog, but write what you know, right?
My blog posts about playing piano/keys are not actually about that, at least not in the sense that one would learn anything about playing piano or get some helpful tips. My posts mostly explore the following ideas:
“Why did I choose this song to play? Is there a sentimental reason?”
“Wow, the lyrics to this song are much weirder than I ever guessed!”
“How hard was this song or me to play? How nervous was I?”
I wasn’t necessarily planning on yet another piano blog post so soon after the last one, but then I heard on the Current Monday morning that it was National Piano Day (or maybe that’s International…definitely “outside of my house” Piano Day). So I was contractually obligated. (Yes, I have a contract with the blog deities).
And my latest Zoom Church Coffeehouse performance was notable because I successfully played the solo, “Nocturne,” that I’ve been practicing and agonizing about for weeks (maybe even months).
I’m not even sure when or why I decided to re-learn this song to play at coffeehouse. At some point I rediscovered the sheet music and since trying to play it wasn’t a total disaster, I kept at it. I don’t know exactly how “Nocturne” compares to the other piano solos I’ve recently done (there was no level to it!) but it certainly felt more complex and challenging.
Intensity
I don’t remember how old I was when I first played “Nocturne.” For the purposes of coffeehouse banter, Chad and I guessed twelve. I was probably a little older, but I really have no idea. I remember the sound of the song, but I don’t remember the circumstance of playing it. Recital? Competition? Hostage situation? I’m pretty sure I stopped taking piano lessons by the time I got to high school (my sister guesses I stopped when I was thirteen or fourteen).
After I played the song, a kind friend in the audience asked me “Did you like that song when you were twelve?” Once I figured out that she hadn’t asked me “Did you write that song when you were once?” (#MyHearingSucks) I didn’t know how to answer.
What an interesting existential question. What did it mean when I was a kid to like a song that I played? Again, I don’t really remember much about playing this particular song but I’m sure my fondness for any song was heavily influenced by how much I had to struggle to play it. As an adult, I do know that I like the song as a piece of music in itself and loved that I was able to play it. I even felt all artistic and musciany as I was EXPRESSING myself while playing with changes in volume and tempo and all that.
Later my same friend asked me what style of music I would describe “Nocturne” as. My first thought was “70’s” (and “Nocturne” was indeed first published in 1973) but I think whatever the sheet music equivalent of “Adult Contemporary” is the best fit for a genre.
I am heartened to learn that used copies of “Nocturne” are available via Amazon (https://www.amazon.com/Nocturne-Piano-DAVID-GLOVER-PROGRAM/dp/B00ED4C56G). I love the description: “Evocative intermediate level piano solo by HELEN BOYKIN. Part of the esteemed DAVID CARR GLOVER PROGRAM SOLO SERIES.” Yes, evocative! That sounds sexy. And it’s an intermediate level, so I can definitely feel justified in feeling all snazzy about playing it.
I do remember I liked playing songs out of my older sister’s piano books. One of my absolute favorites was Simon and Garfunkels Greatest Hits. But she also had some weird selections, too, like Michael Jackson’s “Ben.” I had no idea that was the theme song to a movie about a rat. No matter how odd, those songs I discovered solely through sheet music (many of them I had never even heard recordings of even though they were pop songs) will always hold a special place in my heart.
But what really holds a special place in my heart is the support and encouragement I’ve received from our church coffeehouse community (yes, please marvel at that transition from a horror movie theme song to my wonderful church friends). Without church coffeehouse, I don’t think I would ever be playing as much piano as I am now or tackling “real” songs from my youth. As one of my friends who also regularly performs at coffeehouse said, (paraphrased), “They’re our church, they have to love us!” True, and definitely one of the benefits of being in a church is having a captive audience, but our community showers us with more support than mere obligation accounts for.
Our next church Zoom coffeehouse will mark our one-year anniversary of this weekly adventure in community, music, laughter, prose, art, silliness, experimentation, and just being together (if not physically together).
I should definitely look into playing “Ben” for an upcoming coffeehouse!
I have mixed feelings about returning to my pre-Covid life.
There. I’ve confessed it.
It’s weird to feel some reluctance and unease about something that is seemingly universally celebrated, but I’m trying to keep it real.
Please don’t get me wrong, I’m not hoping that the pandemic continues, and I am NOT anti-vaccine. It’s wonderful that so many people are now more safe and connected and less restricted in their daily lives. Everyone who can get a vaccine should as soon as they can.
I also realize that my feelings come from a place of extreme privilege and my specific circumstances (no children at home or out in the world to worry about, no loved ones in congregate care facilities, my ability to work at home, access to good technology, etc., etc.).
I loved my pre-Covid life, and I miss many things about it. This past year has been filled with anxiety and loss and frustration, even though I am so much more fortunate than most. If I thought Covid restrictions would never end I’m sure I would be freaking out about that.
I loved my pre-Covid life, but I’m just not sure I’m equipped to go back to it.
I’ve made a lot of changes since Covid, and many of them were weird and hard, but my life now feels pretty full and interesting and meaningful. I can’t quite imagine the logistics of adding commute time and getting dressed and prepared for leaving the house time to my life. And how will I fit everything into my life when I won’t be able to multi-task by combining activities like attending church while tidying up the kitchen? (Yes, I know no one is good at mutli-tasking and it just results in doing multiple things poorly but I’ll take a marginally cleaned kitchen over one that is successfully in disarray).
I think I have a version of imposter syndrome –I don’t feel capable to be the me I was. I look at the life of Amy Before March 2020 and I think “How did she do that?” This imposter syndrome is seasoned with a spicy special sauce of FOMO–not fear of missing out as much as fear of missing opportunities.
Intellectually, I know I have a lot of power to choose what I want to do, or not do, when life returns to the New Normal. But those choices are so hard for me to make. (Again, a sign of being blessed with so many wonderful options).
Holding a literal and metaphorical cocktail as I look towards post-Covid life
I also realize I can take this transition as an opportunity to start re-thinking some of my priorities and choices. And no matter what I want, I can’t exactly go back to being the old me, none of us can, even if we wanted to. This past year has been too impactful and transformative. But I can be more thoughtful about who the new me is. I don’t have to figure it out all at once. I can make mistakes and challenge people’s expectations (including my own) and I will survive if I do regret that I said “no” to something.
I’m posting this confession so friends may understand a little better if I get twitchy during vaccine talk. It’s not you, it’s me. And maybe other people have mixed feelings about what life will be like once Covid is more or less under control, and hearing my confession will be comforting or affirming. You may not have my particular emotional cocktail of self-doubt and guilt, but I do think it’s normal to be conflicted in the face of a big change, even a positive change that we hope for.
I’m posting this because blogging helps me make sense of my emotions and gives me a feeling of calm and control. If I can write about something, especially in a way that’s more or less fit for public consumption (even if that public is mythical) it makes me a little less angsty, at least for a while.
I’m pretty sure that however my life changes (or doesn’t) in the New Normal, I’ll want to keep blogging about it.
At our last online church coffeehouse I played a level THREE piano solo after playing only a level TWO just the week before.
I don’t know if it’s more or less impressive if you know that I first started learning these songs about 40 years ago, with about a 40 year break between now and when I last played them.
One of my lockdown projects has been to spend more time practicing and playing piano/keyboards. Now “more” hasn’t been hard to achieve as I’ve played very sporadically as an adult. But our weekly online coffeehouses have given me the opportunity and inspiration to play keys and sing as a weekly performance. Recently, I decided to dust off my old piano lesson books and to branch out from singing while accompanying myself to playing a true piano solo using sheet music.
Playing from sheet music is both harder and easier than just having some chords to work with, just as playing the piano only has different challenges and advantages than playing while singing or playing with a band. As a kid I only had the working with sheet music solo experience, so breaking away from that and then coming back to it has been really interesting.
Having sheet music means I know what I’m supposed to do–but I might not be able to do it. I don’t have as much flexibility. Only playing piano without singing means I only have to do one thing–but, if I get lost and stop doing that one thing I don’t have anything to fall back on.
Level 2
I made my coffeehouse piano solo debut last week with “Rock-a-rama” from the book “Pop Piano Style Level 2” by Jane Smisor Bastien and James Bastien. “Rock-a-rama” was originally a tune that my friend Jennifer and I performed in 5th grade for the Augusta Elementary School Talent show. (We didn’t win).
Then this week I progressed to the much less interestingly named “Rock Ballad” is the Bastien’s Level 3 book.
Now I have no idea if there is an objective standard that qualifies a piano solo for a specific level, but I am happy to take the Bastien’s word that I have progressed.
My old lesson books–definitley vintage
I’ve actually had aspirations for many weeks of playing a solo called “Nocturne” that isn’t even part of a lesson book. I thought I was close to being ready last week, but on coffeehouse day I panicked a bit and spent the day whipping “Rock Ballad” (which I had been messing around with off and on for a while) into shape.
Resurrecting these old songs is beyond surreal, nostalgia turned up to 11. It’s like visiting a past life, an experience with a surprising physical dimension: playing these songs engages cerebral and muscle memory. Playing these songs is a time machine that takes me back to sitting at the piano in the living room of my childhood home.
Level 3
It’s both dispiriting and inspiring to tackle these songs. Part of me can’t believe I could ever play these songs easily, and it’s frustrating that I can’t read music that proficiently anymore. I have gotten much better at reading music since I’ve started practicing regularly, but I still struggle with the bass clef. Honestly, I’m still playing a lot of by feel. Yes, I could easily Google bass clef to try and refresh my skills, but I’m afraid of thinking about it too much and getting into my head and squashing whatever unconscious mojo I have.
I’m also a little stunned by how moving playing these lesson songs are. Chad even described “Rock Ballad” as hymnlike, which I guess doesn’t mean it’s affecting but that’s my take on it. (He did also describe it as an earworm after listening to me practice it over and over).
No disrepsect intended to the Bastiens, but who knew that songs written specifically to help aspirising piano students could actually be emotionally engaging to play? I’m really impressed that they could meet both objectives.
Chad likes to throw shade at me for not being very disciplined when it comes to practicing music. I don’t have much grounds to argue with him, but my “cram at the last moment” approach is very on-brand for me. As a kid, when I had Saturday morning piano lessons, I usually spent Friday night trying to learn as much as I could as quickly as possible.
Oh, my childhood piano lessons. Thank you, mom, for making it possible for me to have them and “encouraging” me to take them for years and years. And I think it was a good strategy for you not to force me to practice. My mom had an unusual but effective philosophy of “You’re going to do this, and you’re not going to quit, but how you’re going to do this is on you.”
And I think I had the perfect-for-me piano teacher, Ms. Scutle (no, not sure I’m spelling that right). Encouraging, patient, not at all scary, but still able to convey disappointment at my lackluster effort and inspire guilt. I know I let Ms Scutle down many a times.
But mom, and Ms. Scutle, if you could see me now. I’m still playing, still loving it, still finding emotional and creative release in it, even if I’m not all that good at it, and I’m going to count that as a win.
I am trying to imagine the version of the Multiverse where my mom is alive and we’re celebrating her 85th birthday today. In this reality that we’re currently in, my mom died when she was 64 and I’ve spent her last 21 birthdays without her. (Disclaimer: I’m sure I deeply misunderstand the science of the multiverse and am going to make many infuriatingly wrong statements about it).
“I’ve come to find that traveling the multiverse produces the same effect as a gnarly hangover induced by tequila, very distinct from one brought on by wine or whiskey. I have some experience with the former, more with the latter”*
What would my mom be like at 85? Assuming she was healthy, and able to still do the things she did before she died, would she still faithfully watch “Days of Our Lives”? (is that even still on…Googling…Yes! I think it is). Would her favorite food still be cheap gas station donuts? Would she still love to read Harlequin romances? Would she still go on day-long shopping excursions for no real reason? Would she still iron all her t-shirts and sweatshirts? Would she still dye her hair? Would she still constantly ask me what my work schedule was?
Yes, I’m centering myself in my mom’s story. I find it almost impossible to imagine what my mom would be like without the context of how she would be relating to me and my life.
And what would I be like if my mom was alive now? What would I be like if she had been an active presence in my life for the past 20 years instead of a beloved memory? What new things would she have taught me? How would it have changed me if she had been alive to share the past 20ish years with me? Who would I be without this huge whole in my heart?
Of course I can’t know what I would be like, or what my mom would be like, or what any of the people whose lives she would have touched would have been like if she was still living–even if I did have a scientific understanding of the multiverse. I’m sure in some ways I would be a “better” person and in other ways, “worse.”
What I can do is to try and be my best self in this version of reality. I can be inspired from my thirty years of knowing my mom to be feisty and strong and loyal and generous and loving and unabashedly delighted by small joys such as unremarkable donuts. I can be inspired from my twenty years of grieving her loss to be more empathetic and compassionate.
And if I’m feeling particularly bold and weird I can try to imagine that version of 2021 reality where my mom is alive and on Facebook. (I’m not sure if I can even fathom her texting).
*No, I have not read this book, I just Googled quotes about the multiverse. But now I am rather motivated to read the book…and to try more tequila. I AM well-versed in both wine and whiskey hangovers.
I’ve done running streaks and writing streaks, so this year for my birthday, I tried a “fashion” streak. I wore my birthstone color, aquamarine, for 15 days in a row, starting the week before my birthday.
There was no higher meaning to my streak, besides that I’ve always been a little obsessed with theme dressing, especially in honor of my birthday, and I like taking selfies.
And I really like birthdays–my birthday, but your birthday, too. I love a little unofficial holiday and how birthdays are always popping up. I love the inspiration to celebrate all of the little things in life that bring us joy and to be reminded of how lucky we are.
Being intentional about appreciating small blessings seems especially important this year around the anniversary of widespread awareness of Covid and lockdown. My 50th birthday will always be somewhat linked to the pandemic onsent as the Chamy 50th party was the last big social outing I and many of my friends had in 2020.
This year my birthday was obviously very different and pretty lowkey, but it was also really nice–sincerely, in the true sense of the word. The weather was lovely (at least for early March) and Chad and I did an outdoor Happy Hour at a local distillery, got takeout from a favorite local restuarant, and watched the movie “Coco.” (Watching a movie is special for us because we usually watch episodic TV. And yeah, maybe a movie about mortality was a little too appropriate for my 51st birthday but it was beautiful and short and I stayed awake during it–even after Happy Hour).
So I had special drinks and food and entertainment and clothing. (Okay, not really–it was all my own “regular” clothing, but I needed some type of segue).
February 24, 2021
February 25, 2021
February 26, 2021
February 27, 2021
February 28, 2021 (Wonder Woman leggings)
March 1, 2021
March 2, 2021 (Yeah, I know counting Gorgu as teal is a bit of a stretch…)
March 3, 2021: BIRTHDAY (notice merpeople and meranimals mug)
March 4, 2021
March 5, 2021 (I look surprised!)
March 6, 2021
March 7, 2021 (I look sleepy…)
March 8, 2021 (fish shirt for Pisces)
March 9, 2021 (Bob’s Burgers leggings)
March 10, 2021: DAY #15: LAST DAY
The Gallery of Selfies
The “rules” of my streak were rather haphazard and developed along the way:
I got to define what qualified as “aquamarine” and I’ve always been very inclusive for my birthday color–everything from teal to blue-green fits.
I had to actually wear the outfit for at least part of the day–no just putting something on solely for a selfie.
There was no minimum amount for how much of the color I wore, as long as it was noticeable (althought it did need to be more than just jewelry/and or eyeshadow), and I did not need to be monochromatic.
I had to wear something different every day–I could include something I wore previously, but I couldn’t wear the exact same outfit twice.
I could only include one selfie per day (choosing the “best” was not easy! And while I do like taking selfies and am super thankful for my new phone’s portrait filter, some days I just did not have selfie-mojo so committing to one every day no matter what involves throwing out some self-consciousness).
When I started my streak, I had no plans for how long it would last, and it’s just luck (NOT fate!) that I ended up with 15 days, which turns out to be a even number of selfies to fit in a WordPress photo gallery.
I am a little sad that I have clothing that did NOT make the streak, but I ran into limitations caused by weather and working at home–some of my clothing was just too chilly or “fancy/dressy/not comfortable” to wear while working at home in early March. I also had to leave out an old beloved aqua zip-up hoodie that would have been perfect that I can’t find.
I said there was no profound significance to my streak, but is there meaning in the color aqua? Of course…if I consult the interwebs:
The color aqua soothes your soul and creates an instant sense of home and belonging for you. You are highly creative and likely discovered at a young age that you are gifted with many talents. Multiple talents are both a blessing and a curse because at times you may have difficulty choosing which one to focus on or pursue…People gravitate toward your warm and confident demeanor paving the way for you as a natural leader and communicator. You present a pulled-together vibe that attracts attention in all the right ways. Perceptive, intuitive, and sensitive you are a good judge of character and can quickly size-up any situation.
I don’t know if wearing aqua for 15 days soothed my soul, but it certainly didn’t agitate it (well, okay, I did get a little stressed about what I was going to wear). I didn’t really need a sense of home since I was actually at home pretty much the whole time.
Perhaps my aqua streak is most illustrative of how I can create a sense of having a project or a mission out of almost anything. I know many have struggled with boredom during lockdown but I’ll never truly be bored as long as I have to make clothing decisions.
Winter has never been my cup of tea (although I have consumed many, many cups of tea this winter).
Not only do I not like being cold, but most outdoor winter activities seem to require a level of grace and coordination that I’m not confident in trying to demonstrate. Ice is not my friend, or even my benign companion. Yes, I know many runners successfully run in the winter on icy sidewalks and trails, but that’s just not a risk I feel comfortable taking.
Attempting to enjoy winter (on a super warm day)
I’m also not really into activities that involve speed in any way. Not surprisingly, because of the combination of cold and “danger” (at least perceived), I’ve only been sledding once or twice in my life. So I completely get Toad’s resistance to going sledding in the story “Down The Hill”–he would much rather be safe and cozy in bed.
Toad is eventually coaxed into going sledding by his friend Frog because Frog promises to be on the sled with him. And with his courage buoyed by the presence of his friend, Toad ends of up having a great time sledding–until a bird points out to Toad that he is actually sledding all by himself (because Frog fell of the sled a ways back).
Thanks, bird.
Once Toad realizes he is on the sled all alone, he freaks out and crashes. But before that, he DID have an awesome time sledding, and maybe he even will try it again someday?
Like Toad, I have often found courage because I have backup–from friends, family, bandmates, co-workers, castmates and friends from theater, fellow MSUS church members, fellow TBTL podcast fans, my Facebook running group, and Chad.
Knowing that I’m not alone has inspired me to try everything from ziplining (okay, one “adventurous” thing I’ve done) to singing a solo to taking a promotion.
Knowing that I’m not alone can also be a little stressful–while I love having the support of others, I also don’t want to let them down. This is especially true when it comes to performance, when everyone in a show or a band is supporting, and relying, on everyone else.
If I had the skills and patience, I could try and create a Venn diagram to show how all my various communities of support overlap. Or maybe a web of connection holidng me in its center would be a better visual.
Our theme at church for February is “Beloved Community.” When I started this post, I didn’t think it would be about community–I thought it would be mostly about courage (and a chance to complain about winter). But as I’ve been writing I’m discovering how much “community” IS about “courage.”
Not only does community give us courage, it also takes courage to be in community. This can happen in profound and important ways, as in MLK’s idea of “Beloved Community” that calls us create a just society. But “beloved community” with a small “b” is important, too. Sometimes we need those mundane times when we’re nudged to get out of our comfort zone (to go sledding, either literally or metaphorically) or just do something we’d rather not because it’s important to someone who is important to us.
So go ahead, try something new or scary or uncomfortable–someone’s got your back. Just watch out for naysaying birds.
Sometimes all it takes is a trivial accomplishment to make me feel quite proud: I felt rather successful recently when I made my hair really big.
I have aspired to “big” hair in some incarnation throughout my life (I WAS a teenager in the 80’s). Of course “big” is relative, especially in regards to hair, and varies greatly by time and place. My definition of Big Hair probably wouldn’t even get on Tammy Faye Bakker’s radar (yeah, I could have gone in a lot of directions with my choice of a Big Hair Celebrity icon but decided not to spend too much time agonizing over my selection so please just accept it and move on).
Most recently, I have sought a version of Big Hair that is some variety of messy hair “bun”. Perhaps part of me is trying to embrace the librarian stereotype.
My attempts to construct this look are usually thwarted–I don’t have the skills or hair texture to achieve my dream. Or maybe I’m just too lazy–I’m sure I could get lots of bun creation tips on YouTube, but I really resist doing research or following directions. I also don’t want to use too much hair spray.
But somehow, all the hair stars aligned recently and I experienced Big Hair Triumph and created a big (at least for me) “bun” for my Zoom coffeehouse performance. (Disclaimer: I am using “stars aligned” with artistic license and NOT to imply that I believe in fate, destiny, true love, or double spaces between sentences).
My best guess at the hair bun equation looks like this:
Unwashed hair (X 3 days) * 2 minutes of teasing + a smidge of hair spray = maximum Amy Hair Bun Height
Hmm, maybe a recipe would have worked better to capture the process. Or a haiku. Either way, I doubt I’ll be able to recapture the glory.
At least my unicorn Bun can live on in selfies.
Big Hair from different angles (I swear my bun was higher than I was able to capture in a photo. Or maybe I was just high on hairspray).
Which leads me to another quasi-mathematical/artistic/spiritual mystery: Why am I so frequently wearing my one and only plaid flannel shirt in my best selfies? I DO like the shirt (it sports a big She-Ra Warrior Princess design on the back) and it is in some of my favorite colors, but plaid flannel is not my usual look. (I did deliberately choose it for this particular coffeehouse performance because I felt flannel fit the hoe-down feel of my song, “Home” by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros).
I guess my She-Ra flannel shirt is just so awesome that donning it increases the chances that I’m going to feel snazzy and be more likely to think I look stylin’ in selfies. (I won’t say wearing the shirt makes it more likely for me to take selfies because that would be like saying the shirt makes me more likely to breathe).
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