Good Chaps, Good Gaffes

Here's a question: Do angels read blogs?

I woke up from a dream this morning in which Rob told me off-handedly that Leslie (Norris, a favorite friend and poet, deceased now) had recommended a piece from my blog—was it a review?—to a couple of men, somebody named Dan and a fellow whose name escapes me now.

"REALLY?! What did he say? What was it he read?" I cried.

Though I begged to know more, Rob wouldn't answer. He was busy with his own projects, his day.

Still, I was thrilled and shocked. Leslie reads my blog? And he found something he considered worth sharing?

So now I'm wondering about angels and if they read over our shoulders. I'm thinking yes, of course. Seems it would only make their ministering jobs easier and more interesting.

If that is the case, dear Leslie, and you should happen to one day scan my blog, I hope you will find this message: We miss you and Kitty so.

As for the rest of you reading over my shoulder, I hope you explored the above links, particularly the ones that will take you to audiopest, Rob's blog. Lots of fun sound files and good words there to enjoy. You're welcome.

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Here's a statement: I love KBYU-FM. I love its music, programs, news, music hosts, and announcers. You might remember a few days ago I blogged about a young woman who tripped over her tongue while reading the morning headlines and telling Classical 89 listeners about the world's largest living organism. She said something so tragicomically inappropriate that it changed the course of my entire day, which had been dragging to that point. Thank you, thank you, belly laughter.

I was so inspired by that great ab workout that I sent a message to the station, offering my hilarity, gratitude, and condolences. I got a a very pleasant form letter back which struck me funny as well given its tone:

Dear Georgia, Thank you for taking the time to write. We always appreciate hearing from those interested in our station and its programs. Thank you for writing to Classical 89. We appreciate hearing from supporters and are happy to hear how much you enjoy our programs. Those of us who work at this station truly appreciate the kind words of encouragement from you and other viewers. It affirms that our efforts are having an affect -- that our programs are being enjoyed and making a difference. This is a big part of our mission, and we're glad to hear we are reaching you. Thank you again for writing. We hope you continue to enjoy and support Classical.

You certainly are reaching me, but it doesn't sound like I really reached you. Did any human being read my email? Oh, well. Ha.

Ah, but then yesterday I got a message from Program Director Eric Glissmeyer:

Dear Georgia: I also heard the newscast that morning. It was kind of horrific, and kind of funny at the same time. Glad you got a kick out of it!

What a good sport. His note tickled me, but then this morning I got another message, this time from News Director Wes Sims: 

Georgia, Thanks for your encouraging comments about our student newscaster’s gaffe on the air. I’ve had my own embarrassing moments in broadcasting, so I was understandably sympathetic. (My personal best was a statement that a gunman was charged with assault with a deadly woman.) We’re glad you listen to Classical 89 … hopefully not just for our mistakes.

Tell me—how could I not love this station? I recommend you give it a listen too. Best classical music anywhere, and great people tending it.

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By the way, I made a new audio discovery yesterday. I found out one of my pet A/V sites has an internet radio station. I listened for a while as I did some plodding work and was "excessively diverted." An entertaining mix of sound captures—music, voices, odd gleaned stuff—all very random tracks. Some of it you'll love, I'm guessing. Some of it may get too weird for your taste. Let me know how you fare.

Nighttime questions

POP QUIZ:

1. How far would you walk if it meant you could get away from yourself?
2. If you found a Hostess Ding Dong lying in the grass (still safely in its plastic) would you take it home to share with someone, find a place where you could sit and enjoy it by yourself, or leave it on the ground for the next person (or hungry dog or bird), never looking back? What if it was raining?
3. If, up ahead of you on the sidewalk, there was a homeless man animatedly fuming and gesticulating to some unseen person while he made up his sleeping bag bed with great care on a city bench, would you approach and pause to wish him a good evening, or would you quickly jaywalk to the other side of the street, waving a stupid hello from the center line, taking no chances?

Hitting the high notes

These are moments from this weekend that I would not trade, not even (collectively) for a more timely exodus to Oregon (though I'm dying to get out of here):

• Eating bean and cheese pupusas with lots of that delicious cabbage-jalapeño slaw and mysterious sauce on the side, at the El Salvadorean restaurant right around the corner from our house 
• Hiking up to the magical field above Big Springs, in the moonlight, shiver-me skirt-draft notwithstanding
• Catching over eight garbage bags' worth of possessions and releasing them to either be purchased again by some lucky thrift shoppers or picked up with Monday's garbage
• Putting on safety goggles and becoming a sawdusty superhero, Auntie with a Chainsaw, during today's extended family wood splitting party at my in-laws' house
• Watching loved ones work together harmoniously, the bigs and littles, and seeing Mum smile at us and her new woodpile
• Introducing The Tribe to La Michoacana Mexican Creamery, particularly the littlest girls who chose their cones by color and not flavor—Two scoops, please: make them Pink and Really Pink. 
• After more than a week spent fussing around with my mop of a so-so beauty school spiral perm, finally figuring out how to cope with it so my hair can be nicely subdued without adding crunch or yielding to frizz (Thank you, Bumble & bumble.)
• Attending the delightful dress rehearsal of Mozart's Die Zauberflote (The Magic Flute) and seeing people we love onstage, offstage, and in the audience—wonderful! (You really should see this opera if you can.)

A rather long ramble about listening

Yesterday I was given the opportunity to speak briefly to a group of women about the beauty of storytelling as family history. Oral tradition. Asking, remembering, speaking, hearing, sharing—all aspects of listening. In preparation for the assignment I dug out some old family recordings—one I made of my grandmother singing, back when I was just 8 and trying out my first cassette recorder; another I made of her answering my awkward interview questions, 32 years later; and a cassette my mother recorded for me a few years after I'd left home—a Southern story, to honor Christmas—the only piece of her voice I have left. The first two I mentioned made me laugh out loud and got me singing and sniffling. My mama's tape wiped me out less than a sentence into the thing. It's incredible how powerful just the sound of someone's voice can be. I couldn't listen to Mama's tape yesterday and still be able to concentrate on getting ready for my little class. So, I stuck with Gram's singing and drawling, and the tracks I played for the women to introduce my topic seemed to charm them all. 

Yesterday I also blogged that I'd like to hear your adoption stories; I'd like to even begin recording them next month, if possible. (By the way, did you know that November is National Adoption Month? Neither did I till today. Synchronicity. Must mean I'm on the right track with this idea.) I am thrilled that a few people have responded, writing bits of their own and others' stories. I hope that some will feel brave and interested enough to share their voices as well. 

Today Rob and I spent three straight hours with a friend, recording him at the outset of what is already proving a strange and romantic international quest for... well, I'm sworn to secrecy for the time being, but I'm hoping some day to persuade him to let me write the screenplay once he's survived and recovered from his journey, has (hopefully) come off conqueror, and feels ready to share his secret and sell the movie rights. 

This evening Rob and I visited our favorite local library and came home as usual with unreadably large armloads of books. (I was trying, on my way out to the car, to imagine how many thousands of pounds of books I've checked out and carried off in my lifetime. I hope when I die I'll get the answer to that question. One of the books Rob happened to spot was a book on music that is really a book about listening. It spoke to me before I even cracked the cover: I love you. You love me. Buy me for your li-bra-ry. Then I read the intro and first essay. Yes, indeed. I already know who's getting this book for Christmas. What I love about it is that right away it started in talking to me about something I've been fuzzling over a while: Why do some people seem so unable or unwilling to listen? And no, I won't exempt myself from the question; sometimes I am guilty of being the non-listener. If it wasn't late and I wasn't writing from my bed with my mama's quilt thrown over me and my laptop, I'd be mining and including some quotes from the book right now.

I am excited to help my sister-in-law and two friends record some oral history in a few weeks. The more listening and facilitating I do, the more I want to do. Rob has started calling us recordists. I've suggested sound hunters, and that applies sometimes, but it seems that we are merely becoming listeners. Nobody's paying us to do this yet(?), and really, I almost feel I should be paying others for the privilege of hearing their stories. Maybe listening itself is at least partial payment. 

Other interesting listening moments today:

• While recording our friend, capturing as well the sound of a (our) whining dog, and of Rob's parents talking in our backyard
• Hearing another person's hidden fear
• Horses in fields on either side of the road, running excitedly to parallel clearings, waiting and listening to yet other horses approaching, clop-clop-clopping far off down the pavement, with riders astride
• Allowing ourselves to be engaged by an old man on the Jordan River Parkway Trail and hearing his reminiscences about photographing sunsets, canoeing, traveling, and his big plans to develop museums and science centers around Utah Lake as well as historical monuments along the Provo River Trail 
• Walking on one of the last quiet country roads in our town, stopping right in the middle and listening to the wind, the bugs and other animals, and the falling night
• Paying attention to body signals
• Paying attention to brain alarms
• Receiving comfort
• Noticing body language, hearing the unspoken, understanding subtext
• Weighing options and saying yes to simplicity
• Catspeak
• Appreciating the hush of my old knitting needles made of some material that doesn't click when it meets itself
• Unpacking the car late at night, being surprised by two small boys razor scootering down the middle of our street, one of them calling me by name

Silent triad, speak!

This is really something. Please visit the link. Please listen. Please read. Tell me what you think. I can't get enough. Nowhere near enough. 

I've been thinking for a while about recording adoption stories, starting my own collection. My Rob has been thinking about it too. We attend the monthly adoption workshops required by both state law and the agency we're working with, and in those we frequently get to hear adoptive families speak about their experiences. Last week we attended the October class and the entire time was devoted to a birth mother panel. Three brave, generous, beautiful women came and spoke about their journeys as they chose to place their babies for adoption. I don't know how to quantify how much love I felt for those women. No pity, no judgment, just deep admiration and awe. It was a sacred night, I felt. I was overwhelmed by love.

I think that November is going to be my month to make a start on this pet recording project. I'm already going to be conducting and/or facilitating three different interviews next month (non-adoption-related), so the ol' mic and recorder will already be fired up and ready to roll. If you think you would enjoy talking out your adoption story, please let me know, and maybe we can figure out when to chat in the coming months. I don't know that our discussion will ever end up on Transom.org or anywhere else important, but even if just you and I are the audience that's enough to make it worthwhile. If you can't or don't want to talk face-to-face, I can always record you over the phone or probably Skype (just give me minute to figure it out). Whatever part you've played in the "silent triad"—birth parent, adoptee, or adoptive parent—or as a different kind of participant, I am all ears. 

If you want to email me and discuss this more, my address is pogofig at gmail dot com.

I'd love to.

Life can be so utterly likable sometimes

Beauties of the day—

• Soon after I crawled out of bed feeling unwell, I turned on the radio just in time to hear the single most nightmarishly wonderful glitch ever uttered by a young female announcer. The fact that she misread breaking news about the world's largest living organism on KBYU-FM, of all stations, only added to my hilarity. I laughed myself simultaneously sick and well and felt much better for the ab work. Poor girl. She managed to mostly keep her composure long enough to finish her report, but I could tell she was about to choke. I imagine when she was finally off the air she probably burst out laughing and then threw up. 
• Today was Day 1 for me of my 21-Day Meditation Challenge from the Chopra Center. It was a good 12 minutes. Care to join me? (Thanks for telling me about this challenge, Robin.) 
• I enjoyed a brief but fun Facebook exchange with one of my favorite people on this planet. (Do you know who you are? I do, at least.)
• I wrote a four-page stream-of-consciousness letter in one sitting. With my bright orange Aurora fountain pen.
• Lovely, funny, generous Charla came to visit on Leland's Flying Pigeon and brought us a great big bag of freshly-harvested salad greens. 
• It was finally chilly enough tonight to wear my best old sweater when I went out for a walk with Rob (which deserves a bullet point all its own, really).
• We picked perfectly crisp sweet apples from a neglected neighborhood tree and brought home enough for apple crisp tomorrow (if we can stop eating them tonight).
• Rob ordered The Book of Imaginary Beings and it arrived today. I can't wait to read it!
• Oh, and I nearly forgot—I discovered this beautiful quote:"If you hear a voice within you saying, You are not a painter, then by all means paint and that voice will be silenced." —Vincent Van Gogh

I think I'll blog now

Rolling around in my head tonight: I'm not who I was but I'm exactly the same person I've always been. 

To misquote performance artist Laurie Anderson, "Paradox is exactly like where you are right now, only much much better."

Hey, wasn't that some kind of magic on the calendar yesterday? 10-10-10. Whoever dreamed such a date? It would have been the perfect time, I guess, to make a fresh start on something—in my case maybe a neglected blog (ahem). But last night after getting the urge to hang around again here On Bright Street, I decided to wait for today to come and break the spell—today, the 11th, a day old donut, the morning after, when the count went all awkward again with that extra 1. However you choose to write the date—a la American 10-11-10 or European 11-10-10—there was no parade to welcome it. Nobody I know of gleefully Facebooked about it or ever stared at a wall clock for a full 60 seconds, celebrating the special minute that added the maximum amount of perfect numbers to an already flawless lineup. Nah, this day's just been one homely Monday with not a single mystical power to recommend it. 

It's been exactly two months since I last wrote here. That's pure coincidence, nothing intentional, I assure you. I'm simply ready to break the long silence and abandon my latest round of notions about pulling the plug on this blog. Might as well leave it be. It's not bothering anyone that I know of. 

I'm back for more and I'm glad it's a plain ol' awkward day. 

Hi.