Amy Lu's View

Happy Chinese New Year!

It’s the Year of the Ox, so I celebrated by finishing my latch hook of a…llama? 

Um, yeah. Okay, it was just a coincidence that I finished this llama on the day that Chinese New Year’s Festival began. I really only know that Chinese New Year started because Garmin gave me a badge for doing a workout. 

And I mean no disrespect to Chinese New Year, or Oxes, (I’m woefully ignorant of both–well, I don’t know anything about llamas, either, come to think of it) but right now I’m willing to grasp at any chance to celebrate anything (and to have a blog post topic). 

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I also learned from my mother, an elementary school teacher, to “celebrate” (or at least put up tacky decorations for) whatever holiday was at hand. Now, I’m pretty sure she was unaware of Chinese New Year (at least for most of her life–we’re talking rural Wisconsin many years ago) but I think she would still appreciate seizing the opportunity. 

Although…I’m actually a little annoyed with February for going overboard with the holiday action: Chinese New Year, Valentine’s Day, Presidents Day, AND Mardis Gras all in one week…slow down there February! Don’t be such a festive overachiever! Ration those holidays a bit so they last a little longer.

Okay, I wasn’t actually likely to celebrate Presidents Day (besides being happy to have a day off and thrilled that Trump is no longer president–hmmm, maybe I SHOULD celebrate! Well, I did wear my Wonder Woman sweater which looks very patriotic) or Mardis Gras/Fat Tuesday (another holiday that I didn’t know about until my 20’s and although it’s a cliche, every day feels like “Fat Whatever” day in lockdown), but still. 

I also want to give a little love to the much maligned Valentine’s Day. Yeah, I get it’s super commercial, and the emphasis on romantic love and heteronormative coupling can be pretty damaging (or at least annoying). Sending nothing but peace and love to single folks and those who just aren’t interested in the whole Valentine’s Day paradigm, but it will always hold a fond, sentimental place in my heart way beyond its “romantic” connotations. I remember loving Valentine’s Day, and finding it a hopeful sign that winter was actually winding down, way before I was praying for a boyfriend. I do certainly like a little “romance” but I also just love the whole Valentine’s Day aesthetic–hearts and pink and purple and all that. And I love getting and sending Valentines. 

But back to Chinese New Year (which I appreciate for lasting 12 days so I have more or a window to get a more or less timely post in). 

When I think of what an ox represents, the first thing that comes to mind for me is “strength”–as in, “strong as an ox.” 

Strength seems like a good thing to pause and appreciate–the strength I get from friends, and Chad, and the podpets. Strength I get from online socializing and entertainment and church, and latch hook. The strength to keep going through these strange days and and the strength to NOT drink the whole bottle of wine (okay, that’s a bit symbolic because I am usually drinking wine out of a box right now and/or drinking bourbon) and/or eat the whole box of crackers (#lowbar). 

One of my favorite tank tops that I frequently work out in is a Women Run the Cities shirt that sports the motto, “Where strong is beautiful.” I am far from embodying this sentiment (I’m physically not very strong and I usually hope for thinness rather than strength) but I still aspire to strength–physically and symbolically. (MAYBE by this summer I will have a bicep or two to show off when I wear a tank top).

AND of course, being vulnerable and admitting you’re grumpy, cranky, or just in general a bit of a mess, can be strength (OR just self absorption–it’s a fine line that I struggle with).  

AND if there is ever a cute colorful latch hook kit of an ox I am all over it. Or a latch hook kit of Joe Biden, as long as the colors are purple and pink.

AND if there ever is a Year of the Llama, I am all for a year of extreme adorableness (although, again, being totally ignorant of llamas other than seeing them at the Minnesota State Fair they could actually be total bastards). But I’m also all in for a Year of the Cute Bastards. Cute Strong Sentimental Bastards. 

Send me a card for that.  

Oh, and in case you are wondering…according to the Chinese Zodiac, my sign is the Year of the Dog. I’m not sure how closely I fit the traits of someone born in The Year of the Dog, but 2020 was definitely “The Year of StanLee.” 

We’ve all misheard song lyrics. When I was a bookseller in the mid-90’s I peddled countless copies of “’Scuse Me While I Kiss This Guy: And Other Misheard Lyrics,” and I’ve had some doozies of misheard lyrics myself. I even had a little blog post about it in the early days of the Pandemic. 

But I think Chad wins for the cutest misheard song lyric ever. 

When Chad was just a little Chad (about seven or so) he thought the line in the song “Jet Airliner” by the Steve Miller Band was “Big Old Chad and the Rhino” instead of “Big Old Jet Airliner.” 

“Oh Big Old Old Chad and the Rhino, Don’t carry him too far away.

Oh, Big Old Chad and the Rhino, ‘Cause it’s here that he’s got to stay.”

–“Big Old Chad and the Rhino”

The Rhino is the least ridiculous part of that, as Chad was neither big or old in any sense. 

As a birthday present for Chad this year, I thought it would be a hoot to surprise him with a rendition of “Jet Airliner” as “Big Old Chad and the Rhino” for our church Zoom coffeehouse. 

I was inspired by our friend Polly recently doing a kickass version of the song “Amy” by Pure Prairie League. Of course I love that song because it’s called “Amy”*–even if the sentiment expressed towards the Amy in the song is ambivalent at best. My enthusiasm for “Amy” led to a discussion about how we didn’t know any Chad songs, and I thought, “Ah-ha! I know ‘Big Old Chad and the Rhino’ “. 

Fun idea, but as usual, execution of my plan was harder than I thought.

It was really hard to keep the song a surprise during quarantine when we’re both always home and to find a time and a place to practice when Chad wouldn’t hear. Eventually on Saturday (coffeehouse day) he asked what I was doing that night and I said I couldn’t talk about it. He then purposely wore headphones and hung out in the basement so I could practice. So I guess the surprise itself was ruined–he knew he had a surprise–but he was genuinely surprised by what it was. 

And, as frequently happens, the song itself was harder to perform than I expected it would be. Mostly I was stymied by trying to sing the melody, which was more complex than I thought a goofy 70’s tune had a right to be. In the end I decided to just barrel through with the assumption that my audience probably wasn’t all that familiar with the song beyond the chorus.

I also decided at rather the last minute–Saturday morning on the day of the show–that I couldn’t just change the lyrics to the chorus. No, for the song to have any chance at lyrical cohesion, I would have to also rewrite at least some of the rest of the lyrics for the song to create a narrative whole. 

Um, yeah. Copyright issues aside, as we’ve learned from some of our theatrical experiences (including a recent show at the Landmark Center) coming up with new lyrics and making them fit into the existing melody and rhythm of a song can be awkward at best. 

Still, I forged ahead, and transformed “(Big Old) Jet Airliner” from a song about a 70’s rock star deciding he needs to give up life on the road to a song about Chad always being very happy to be at home in Minneapolis with me.

I even worked in a reference from our beloved podcast “TBTL” about Chad spending time with his “Eleven” (spouse) in quarantine. Original lyrics: “But my heart keeps calling me backwards, As I get on the 707.” My lyrics: “But his heart keeps calling him backwards, in lockdown with this Eleven.” Yes, I was pretty proud of this bit of lyrical acrobatics. 

“Big Old Chad and the Rhino” is an ode to domestic bliss…as long as you don’t think too hard about it, or wonder what is up with the Rhino. I’m sure it’s a metaphor for something really profound and deep. 

*OMG I just learned from Googling that the song is actually called “AMIE”!! I tried to spell my name “Amie” when I was kid but my mom told me to knock it off because that was pretentious. Okay, I don’t know if she actually used the word “pretentious” but she definitely conveyed that sentiment. And I’m not saying it’s pretentious for people who actually were given that name to use that spelling but I agree with my mom that it was/is/would be pretentious for me. 

On an unseasonably warm Sunday afternoon in early November, I had my last sticky bun at Smith and Porter, one of our favorite local restaurants/bars. (Yes, we were enjoying our Biden/Harris election victory drinks and sticky buns outside on their patio for COVID safety). 

I didn’t realize then I was having my last Smith and Porter sticky bun. That’s the way it usually is with “lasts”–we don’t know the end is coming or that things are going to change until after it happens and we’re looking back.

Recently we learned that Smith and Porter closed permanently.

Damn.

I’m not a good enough writer to accurately describe these sticky buns or what made them so wondrous. Certainly part of the attraction is that they were vegetarian. I most loved the amazing texture of the buns, but words escape me…were they Gooey? Fluffy? Spongy? The buns were filled with a cauliflower mixture that was just the right balance of spicy, sweet and tangy. (There’s the extent of my career as a food blogger).

We’re saddened not just, or even primarily, by the loss of the sticky buns, or even the smoked Old Fashioneds, we would order there. We’re missing a space we could go and unwind and reconnect (they were right by Chad’s office and StanLee’s doggy daycare so super convenient location for us). We’re missing the chance to connect with the staff who knew us as regulars and the other patrons. (And of course the closure is a huge loss for the staff and we hope they’re okay).

People have lost so much during this Pandemic–everything from loved ones to jobs. So many restaurants, bars and music venues have closed. I’m so fortunate that some of the most significant losses for me have only been the ability to order sticky buns and to wear my pre-pandemic pants.

While we are so blessed not to have experienced any big losses, it does seem right to pause and acknowledge our small ones. 

Yes, we can probably find another place that makes good sticky buns. We will certainly find another place where we like to drink.

But I would like to have as a takeaway from all these losses–big and small–to more fully appreciate what I have now. To appreciate every metaphorical sticky bun as the last. Not to encourage morbidity or hedonism–Not “Extra sticky buns and a double shot!” (well, okay, sometimes that)–but to encourage presence and gratitude.

Ideally, realizing any sticky bun could be my last will lead to paying attention to said sticky bun and the people who create and serve them.

I’m certainly not the first person to espouse the nugget of wisdom that “You don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone.” From a quick Googling it may indeed have been Joni Mitchell in “Big Yellow Taxi” who expressed the sentiment with those exact words, but I’m sure humans have wrestled through the ages with how to really appreciate the transient joys of life. 

While I’m inspired by the idea of the Last Sticky Bun to be more intentional about fully embracing life, I think it’s more than likely I will continue to take delights–both big and small–for granted. 

Still, I’m going to try. 

And I’m going to fondly recall those sticky buns of yore. I’ll savor every delicious memory of them, as well as all the good times and good conversations, and even just okay times we had at Smith and Porter. Thank you, Smith and Porter for your sticky buns, and the whole lovely milieu you created for them. 

Here’s to you, bygone sticky buns. I’ll raise a glass (likely repeatedly and not metaphorically) to you and in hopes of discovering and appreciating “sticky buns” (perhaps metaphorical) of the future.

Are you a list-maker? Or maybe a list-consumer? If so, what kind? Many of us may first think of “To-Do” lists but there are all kinds of lists. I present:

A List of Lists

• To-do list
• Grocery/shopping list
• “Best of” and “Worst of” list
• Top 10 list (which could be “positive” or “negative”)
• Book list
• Reading list (yes, that’s different from a book list…I’m a librarian, trust me)
• Laundry list (which nowadays isn’t usually really about laundry)
• List of ingredients
• Christmas card list
• Vocabulary list
• Checklist
• Wishlist
• Playlist
• Guest list
• Cast list
• Short list
• Bucket list
• Hit list
• Who’s Who list
• Honey do list
• and, I can’t leave out…The Sh#t List (a favorite of my mother’s)

I don’t use all of these types of lists, or at least not that often. For example, I rarely need a list of ingredients, or at least it’s not much of a list:

Amy’s typical recipe list:

• Vegetables
• Faux meat
• Vegetables
• Hot sauce
• Pasta
• Vegetables

And I’m pretty sure a “Honey Do” list would not go over well in the Chamy household. (Although there is sometimes a “Honey Don’t” note on a whiteboard–as in “Don’t put dirty dishes in the dishwasher because I haven’t unloaded the clean ones yet.”)

But I love using lists when I write. Whether it’s a blog post or an e-mail or a performance review or a journal entry, using a list helps me get ideas out faster without having to worry about finding pesky connecting words to string my thoughts together. Lists help me escape the tyranny of prose.

Lists can be oppressive, though–especially To-Do Lists. Frog and Toad discover this in the story, “The List.” The titular list starts our harmlessly enough: Toad wakes up and feels he needs to get a lot done so he makes a To-Do list, beginning with “Wake Up.” I love that–making a To-Do list of achievable goals that are easily crossed off seems like a wise strategy.

At first, the list is empowering and affirming for Toad. He gets things on the list done and then gets to cross them off and he feels accomplished.

Then the list blows away, and Toad is completely stuck.

It’s like the chorus of the Greg Brown song:

Love calls like the wild birds-

It’s another day

A Spring wind blew my list of

Things to do…away

“Spring Wind” by Greg Brown

But unlike Greg Brown, Toad doesn’t embrace the freedom of losing his list. He doesn’t know what to do without his list. Toad, and his faithful friend, Frog, just sit around in limbo without a list to give them guidance.

Until eventually…they make a new list by writing “Go to sleep” in the dirt.

I think it’s now time to take a look at my To-Do List for the evening. I’m pretty sure the first items on it are “Publish a blog post” and “Drink red wine.”

*Yes, I’m hating on Hall and Oates again-even though it wasn’t on my list of things to do.

I spent the afternoon listening to the Inauguration Playlist (https://www.cnn.com/2021/01/16/politics/joe-biden-inauguration-playlist/index.html).

It has left me humbled, enlightened, confused, slightly critical, and inspired. 

Humbled, because I was unfamiliar with so many songs on the list. Not surprisingly, it was primarily the songs by young and or/artists of color that I didn’t know or didn’t know well. Yes, I know if one looks up “Middle-aged White Lady” in the dictionary the definition will be accompanied by an illustration of me. I know I’m not “hip” but still don’t always appreciate being confronted by that in such a stark way. 

Intertwined with humility is feeling enlightened–and not just about music by young or BIOPIC artists. I’m familiar with the Led Zeppelin song on the list (I grew up in rural Wisconsin in the 70’s afterall) but I didn’t know the title was “Fool in the Rain.”

Confused (or perhaps more accurately bemused) as some of the song choices just seem odd. I’m probably thinking too hard about the lyrics, when this playlist is intended to be a feel good, optimistic for at-home inauguration festivities. (I don’t think it’s intended to be an accurate snapshot of the type of music Joe normally listen to–maybe Kamala, but not Joe). But I can’t help but think that “Whatta Man” is supposed to be about Joe Biden…and while that totally works with the chorus, lyrics in the verses get a little strange…especially “And although most men are ho’s, he flows on the down low.”

I also love me some Steely Dan, and the song “Do It Again” is certainly groovy, but the lyrics are definitely dark (“And the mourners are all singin’ as they drag you by your feet

But the hangman isn’t hangin’ and they put you on the street.”) Maybe we’re just supposed to focus on the title and think about electing a Democrat again in 2024.  

Slightly critical, and only slightly, because really, I don’t want to be a hater here, but I’m just not going to approve of a Hall and Oates song (“You Make My Dreams Come True.”) I know, this is a controversial stand, and maybe someday I’ll have a conversion and finally appreciate the wonder of H&O, but I’m not that yet.

I do also wish there was a Country and/or Americana song or two on the playlist. Not only do I like the genre, I do think it would further the goal of inclusivity–and hey, not all Country fans are MAGA peeps. And isn’t Dolly Parton the only thing we can all agree on as a country?

But oh, I am inspired in so many ways. Inspired to learn more about the artists that are new to me. I’m inspired by the positivity of the music itself–sometimes the literal message of the lyrics, sometimes the feeling of the music, and sometimes both. Most importantly, inspired by the vision of America this playlist represents–diverse and optimistic. 

Our Chamy inauguration “party” is probably going to look pretty much like most Wednesdays do for us–Chad will have Geek Night (role playing gaming, online in the pandemic world) and I will drink too much and blog.

But I’ll be listening to the playlist in the days leading up to and following the inauguration, and it will help me feel connected to something bigger than our little NE Minneapolis enclave.

I have lost my black fleece-lined leggings!

This is a personal tragedy on a grand scale: 1) I hope to do some cold weather running in the foreseeable future 2) I’m cheap and they were relatively expensive and 3) Due to chip and booze weight gain, I don’t have many other “pants”/leg coverings that fit (certainly not of the non-elastic waistband variety).

So I am in a perfect situation to empathize with Toad’s predicament in the story, “The Lost Button” (Frog and Toad blogging challenge #6). 

As the title probably suggests, Toad loses a button. His faithful friend Frog tries to help him find it, and presents him with several “lost” buttons, but none of them are Toad’s lost button. Eventually, Toad realizes his button was in his home all along (a variation of the “Wizard of Oz–Red Shoes Can Take You Home At Any Time” theme). He uses all the newly acquired “lost” buttons to bling out/bedazzle a jacket for Frog. 

We, the readers, learn: a) Make a positive out of a seemingly negative situation b) Explore all options before freaking out and c) Don’t underestimate the psychological and spiritual value of accessorizing.

So the mystery of the Toad’s lost button was solved, and deeper universal truths were uncovered. 

I’ve never really considered myself a mystery fan. Sure, Sherlock Holmes and Agatha Christie are fine and all, but solving a mystery is too much like playing a game or doing a puzzle. You have to pay attention to details.

But I don’t think I’m giving mysteries–or myself–enough credit. While I’m not typically into whodunnits, I am interested in psychological mysteries. Why do people (& okay, I usually mean Chad) do the mystifying things they do? (Why does Chad put food in the microwave without starting it?)

I’m also interested in the mysteries of the universe–where is the missing giant black hole?

And no, I’m not going to tackle political mysteries–this is probably not the best place to try and figure out why people believe in Q-Anon. 

“What is a mystery you can’t seem to solve?” is another Live Wire radio question. Psychology and astronomy aside, the most perplexing unsolved mysteries of my life have always been wardrobe-related. Yes, due to poor organization and rarely actually putting my clothes away, I am constantly losing my clothes. (“Losing one clothes” should be a problem that arises from much more exciting and sexy circumstances).

My most persistent and long-lasting wardrobe mystery is: What happened to my The Current hoodie?

More than 10 years ago, I had, and lost, a hoodie with a logo for The Current (89.3 public radio) designed by Adam Turman. 

I have looked, and looked, and looked, to no avail. Did I leave it somewhere? But where? Hoodies aren’t like jackets–they’re hard to casually take on and off and discard. I’m pretty sure one of my friends would have noticed and said something if I left if at their house….Did I accidentally donate it to Savers?…Did it slip through a wormhole (maybe this is an astronomical mystery afterall?) Did the Deep State steal it? (Oh yeah, I promised not to go there).

I think I have more or less come to terms with the disappearance of my hoodie and the reality that it’s gone and I’ll never know what happened to it. (Although on my deathbed it might be my “Rosebud”). 

I still have hopes for finding my black leggings. 

I have much less hope for being able to once again fit into my non-elastic waist band pants. 

*One of my favorite and most deeply meaningful spirtual songs by Iris Dement (altough I learned it through a David Byrne/Natalie Merchant cover). It can also apply to missing articles of clothing.

Imagination is a good thing, right?

My first response to this question is a resounding “Hell, Yeah!”

I’m pondering this question because our church’s theme for January is “Imagination.”

I even have a bit (okay, a lot) of a prejudice against people who seem to have little or no sense of imagination. But maybe that’s just defensiveness–“Sci-Fi/Fantasy” is my favorite genre of entertainment and art, but it seems to be frequently maligned, so I compensate by pitying those poor souls who have no ability to suspend disbelief.

Of course limiting “imagination” to just being able to dig vampires and superheroes and Time Lords is pretty unimaginative. And imagination isn’t always positive. As I touched on in my last Frog and Toad blog post, imagination helps us see and consider all types of possibilities–both positive and negative. It can fuel our anxiety and our optimism.

Imagination helps us to identify with and have compassion for others…whether they be fictional aliens or Republicans. And in doing so, we learn more about ourselves. Imagination also allows us to get lost in made-up scenarios where the Big Bad Other is out to get us.

Imagination makes life more full, and interesting, and meaningful…and also stressful and scary. It helps us do great, and terrible, things on a personal and communal level. It empowers us to create and work and play and love and hate and fear and be brave.

AND…stories about vampires and witches and space travellers are just way more cool and interesting and compelling, and I can’t help but feel smug if you don’t get that. I just can’t imagine a reality where I wouldn’t be self-righteous about that.

For my third installment of pondering my life in 2020, particularly as it was impacted by the COVID pandemic, I’m considering the Live Wire question: “What have you learned about yourself?”

Several things I learned about myself weren’t revelations–pandemic life has highlighted things about myself that I already knew. Such as:

• I think a LOT about eating and food and plan my days around acquiring, preparing, and consuming food. Plus, I eat for entertainment (which I think is slightly different than eating because I’m bored).
• I like having (and feel I need to have) a “project”–anything from blogging to a maintaining a running streak to performing at virtual coffee house.
• I really like performing! Thank heavens I’ve been able to do online performances–yes, they lack the connection between audience and fellow performers, but they’ve been an important (and convenient) outlet and I’ve developed new skills.

The biggest and most surprising thing I’ve learned about myself is that I actually like spending a lot of time at home. I mean a LOT of time. Thanks to my fortunate circumstances and my ability to work at home and get everything I need delivered, I can go weeks without getting in a car or setting foot in a building other than my home (Yes, I do go outside–although there have been days this winter when I’ve only taken out the trash). And I’m–mostly–okay with that. I don’t seem to miss running errands or having casual contact with strangers the way many people do.

I also seem to have a higher than usual tolerance for living my life via screen. I’ve rarely had that feeling I’ve heard others express of “Lord, I can’t take another moment of Zoom (or whatever).” I even hope that many (although not all) of my work, church, and entertainment life will remain online in the after times.

A less far-ranging but highly surprisingly thing I’ve recently learned is that I like Wild Turkey (the bourbon, not acutal wild or slightly domesticated turkeys that wander around NE Minneapolis, setting off StanLee and intimidating me when I run. I still hate those assholes).

No, it’s not surprising that I like a bourbon, but I had it my head that Wild Turkey was not a “good bourbon.” This has been a deep-seated, long standing assumption with it’s roots in college. Chad had a couple of unfortunate experiences with Wild Turkey when we were in college, so for 20 plus years I have associated Wild Turkey with bad alcohol that one drinks in college. And, I knew nothing about bourbon in the early 90’s, and I’ve never liked turkeys, so it was easy to be prejudiced.

Turns out, Wild Turkey is a totally acceptable and enjoyable mid-level bourbon. This is a pandemic-related discovery because my efforts to clean out our basement kitchen (part of our larger Pandemic-stay-at-home effort to declutter) led me to try the bottle of Wild Turkey that had been languishing there.

I have no idea when we got this bottle. That remains an unsolved mystery.

Maybe I can expand my new-found appreciation of Wild Turkey to a more far-ranging discovery about myself. I can re-think long held assumptions, and learn to appreciate new things. I can be curious and brave and try questionable foodstuffs.

AND the whole Wild Turkey revelation reinforces something I knew about myself before the pandemic: I’m terribly cheap and can’t stand the thought of wasting something. That really does seem to exlempify my pandemic related learning: Confirming something I knew about myself while also allowing for new discovery.

To paraphrase Popeye, I am what I am…but who knows what I might be?