There once was a website of which I was a part that asked contributors to associate memories to particular songs. They could be funny or sad or poignant. They closed down their open shop a little while ago and turned into an online magazine, as best I can tell.
In any case, I had a musical memory experience yesterday. I'm not quite sure if it's funny, ironic, or (fill-in-the-blank). Reserve judgment until you hear said story.
Musical knowledge required leans towards the country side of things. Travis Tritt has a song called Drift Off to Dream. I used to think that it was a super sweet song, and for the most part it still is. The first verse, however, clues you into the stereotypical lonesome protagonist, alone with his drink at the bar, hopeful for the love yet-to-be.
That was our song. When I say our, I don't mean our in the current sense. She is a past love, one whom I talk to perhaps once a year. Last time we spoke was over the summer. She'd found out that I was engaged and gracefully congratulated me.
Yesterday, I was driving in my car when Drift Off to Dream came on the radio. I couldn't help but laugh because of my destination: the courthouse. The purpose? To get our marriage license. This our is in the present and future tense.
Though she's in my past and I harbor no residual regret or feelings toward her, our song still tugs at my heartstrings. Emotional memories get stored away in a different part of your brain. They are often illogical, and many of mine in Gainesville forced me to leave. I couldn't take seeing reminders of my past when I was trying to move into the future. Those daily reminders of past-tense our memories were more than I could bear at times. It often left me feeling alone in groups of friends, but unlike the lyrics, never with my drink at the bar.
Since I left, I decided to no longer let my past dictate my present happiness. I found happiness within myself and was able to find love to make it grow. I truly couldn't be happier.
When she and I finally met at the courthouse that afternoon, I told her about the song coming on the radio. She and I shared a laugh as we crossed the street to many more to come.
Showing posts with label past. Show all posts
Showing posts with label past. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Sunday, April 26, 2009
crowns
From the opening lines of the play, I knew I was in for a better show than the other time I'd seen it. The play is called Crowns, and we went to see it at the Lincoln Theater on U Street on Friday night. To succinctly summarize it, it's a historical musical on the origins of women's hats in the black church. Having been to so few black churches in my lifetime, I had to take their word for it.
Every Sunday, when we went to church, Grandma always had on a beautiful hat.
"Mmmm, hmmm," rose the agreement from the audience. It was altogether entertaining and enlightening. The costumes were vibrant, the voices were incredible, and the production was top-notch. I guess that's the difference between the community theater production I saw in the park in St. Pete and this merry band of professional thespians we saw on Friday.
The play opened and closed with an old hymn called, ""When I've Done the Best I Can, I Want My Crown." In this simple hymn, it explains the title of the play beautifully. For the entirety of the play, that point is built upon. We see that the hats that these women wear to church are based in part on African tribal custom and slave history, as church was the only place that slaves were allowed to congregate. Do right by the Lord on earth, you'll be rewarded with a crown in heaven.
I've racked my brain trying to come up with a subject that would hit home as closely as it did for the mostly female audience. I felt a little kinship with the plot line of My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Greek and Italian families aren't a whole lot different. Following our family reunion a few summers back, I saw just how true that could be. Perhaps My Big, Loud Italian Reunion? That's only a familial culture thing, though. This play clearly struck a chord that went beyond individual families. I could identify with some of the subject matter based on my years in Alachua County, but being white and male, I couldn't grasp the cultural significance of it beyond what the plot was.
It triggered a brief Florida memory in me. Otis, the head custodian at my old school, lost a family member (I think it was his mother, but I can't recall) a few years ago. I was one of three coworkers that went to her memorial service. It was a blistering hot day. The church was packed with people in their Sunday best, crowns included. Crowns illustrated why perfectly.
I need to start going to church again. Any local recommendations?
Every Sunday, when we went to church, Grandma always had on a beautiful hat.
"Mmmm, hmmm," rose the agreement from the audience. It was altogether entertaining and enlightening. The costumes were vibrant, the voices were incredible, and the production was top-notch. I guess that's the difference between the community theater production I saw in the park in St. Pete and this merry band of professional thespians we saw on Friday.
The play opened and closed with an old hymn called, ""When I've Done the Best I Can, I Want My Crown." In this simple hymn, it explains the title of the play beautifully. For the entirety of the play, that point is built upon. We see that the hats that these women wear to church are based in part on African tribal custom and slave history, as church was the only place that slaves were allowed to congregate. Do right by the Lord on earth, you'll be rewarded with a crown in heaven.
I've racked my brain trying to come up with a subject that would hit home as closely as it did for the mostly female audience. I felt a little kinship with the plot line of My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Greek and Italian families aren't a whole lot different. Following our family reunion a few summers back, I saw just how true that could be. Perhaps My Big, Loud Italian Reunion? That's only a familial culture thing, though. This play clearly struck a chord that went beyond individual families. I could identify with some of the subject matter based on my years in Alachua County, but being white and male, I couldn't grasp the cultural significance of it beyond what the plot was.
It triggered a brief Florida memory in me. Otis, the head custodian at my old school, lost a family member (I think it was his mother, but I can't recall) a few years ago. I was one of three coworkers that went to her memorial service. It was a blistering hot day. The church was packed with people in their Sunday best, crowns included. Crowns illustrated why perfectly.
I need to start going to church again. Any local recommendations?
Friday, April 17, 2009
big, loud italian dinner
Oh, how I miss them! Way back when the Sopranos were still on the air, back when I lived in my first college apartment (probably the most posh pad I lived in!), we made a weekly tradition of Sunday dinner. Brian bought The Sopranos cookbook and every so often, we'd make a recipe from it. From scratch gravy, chicken cacciatore, lasagna. One thing that was never in short supply was the good friends and flowing beverage. By the time 9:00 rolled around, HBO was a little bit blurry, our belts were a lot bit tighter, and a warm afterglow of a good night permeated the room.
I miss that camaraderie. I suppose that's why I try so hard for '80s movie night to be a success. It was initially, but trying to do it weekly in D.C. is a bit tough. Once a month is more doable for most, though the number of occasions with more than 4 attendees are few and far between.
Flash to tonight. Big, loud, Italian dinner resumes. I actually didn't have enough chairs. First time I've had that many over for dinner. What'd I make? My Pinch-of-this, Pinch-of-that Sauce over homemade gnocchi. Yeah, that's right. I made gnocchi from scratch. To be fair, I had 3 pairs of hand to shape them properly and cook them up right. For what occasion did we undertake this elaborate meal? Mom's in town.
Want the recipe? I learned it from my mom, who learned it from hers, who learned it from hers in turn. One of those, yeah.
Peel the potatoes, boil them. Put them through the potato ricer. Let them cool enough to handle. Knead with some flour. How much? Enough. Add an egg to bind them. Roll the dough out on a floured surface, and cut them into knuckle-sized morsels. Drop them individually into boiling water. They're done when they float. Sauce 'em and serve 'em. Mangia!
Notice how that recipe doesn't really have quantities? Yeah, that's how I learned it, and that's how I remember it. Just like polenta. But that's another day, another meal.
I miss that camaraderie. I suppose that's why I try so hard for '80s movie night to be a success. It was initially, but trying to do it weekly in D.C. is a bit tough. Once a month is more doable for most, though the number of occasions with more than 4 attendees are few and far between.
Flash to tonight. Big, loud, Italian dinner resumes. I actually didn't have enough chairs. First time I've had that many over for dinner. What'd I make? My Pinch-of-this, Pinch-of-that Sauce over homemade gnocchi. Yeah, that's right. I made gnocchi from scratch. To be fair, I had 3 pairs of hand to shape them properly and cook them up right. For what occasion did we undertake this elaborate meal? Mom's in town.
Want the recipe? I learned it from my mom, who learned it from hers, who learned it from hers in turn. One of those, yeah.
Peel the potatoes, boil them. Put them through the potato ricer. Let them cool enough to handle. Knead with some flour. How much? Enough. Add an egg to bind them. Roll the dough out on a floured surface, and cut them into knuckle-sized morsels. Drop them individually into boiling water. They're done when they float. Sauce 'em and serve 'em. Mangia!
Notice how that recipe doesn't really have quantities? Yeah, that's how I learned it, and that's how I remember it. Just like polenta. But that's another day, another meal.
Monday, April 13, 2009
going big
Last week gave me some reflection on how going big has changed since I first started writing here. When I first staked my blogspot claim, the website hadn't yet been acquired by Google, I still occasionally blogged on Myspace, and I was going to South Korea to teach English. Oddly, I think it was also after that plan had begun to fall apart. That plan was completely Go Big. Never been in a foreign country for more than a few days, and Canada really isn't too different in such a short trip. Then I wanted to live in the Far East? "You must be crazy," crossed the lips of quite a few friends and acquaintances.
Thus began the Go Big philosophy. I chose D.C. because...well, I rarely give the same answer twice. Threw a dart. Jumped ahead two years in my life plan, which isn't really a plan after all. Needed a change. Love seasons. So, I moved solo. No job, no home, few friends and family to help get settled.
Going Big before I left Gainesville meant planning a climbing trip in 10 minutes, driving 8 hours each way for a day and a half on the rocks. Buying tickets for Bonnaroo with about five minutes of thinking about it. Buying a sword for no apparent reason. Ok, that last one's pretty lame. It was more of a spontaneity spur than anything. I think I'd made it a New Years' resolution a few years back. Something about not being predictable. I think I've managed to keep it.
Taking a big risk in life is always fraught with perils. The big risks these days aren't quite the same. I do my research, then jump in with both feet. Am I still scared of the outcome of these possibly life-altering decisions? Absolutely, but I wouldn't change a thing that's happened since. Going Home's not an option.
I choose go big.
Thus began the Go Big philosophy. I chose D.C. because...well, I rarely give the same answer twice. Threw a dart. Jumped ahead two years in my life plan, which isn't really a plan after all. Needed a change. Love seasons. So, I moved solo. No job, no home, few friends and family to help get settled.
Going Big before I left Gainesville meant planning a climbing trip in 10 minutes, driving 8 hours each way for a day and a half on the rocks. Buying tickets for Bonnaroo with about five minutes of thinking about it. Buying a sword for no apparent reason. Ok, that last one's pretty lame. It was more of a spontaneity spur than anything. I think I'd made it a New Years' resolution a few years back. Something about not being predictable. I think I've managed to keep it.
Taking a big risk in life is always fraught with perils. The big risks these days aren't quite the same. I do my research, then jump in with both feet. Am I still scared of the outcome of these possibly life-altering decisions? Absolutely, but I wouldn't change a thing that's happened since. Going Home's not an option.
I choose go big.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
racism and discrimination
I'm a pretty good teacher when it comes to grading work on time. Writing is the one subject that is difficult for me to review in a timely manner. I guess it's the drive in my right-leaning brain to quantify every decision as it pertains to my students. That's one part of grading at the lower levels in FCPS that drives me insane. It's so subjective in all subject areas, and we're not supposed to average grades. An S is the baseline for satisfying expectations; beyond that, the students need to put in extra effort and excel beyond expectations. To my ears, that sounds like we're comparing the students with one another instead of quantifying their accomplishments. That's not today's point.
I've said in the past how remarkable I find it that each year my students become more and more colorblind. That brings me to this year. With one another, that seems to still hold true. All my students get along with one another: black and white; boy and girl; Christian and Muslim.
It's that point that I can say times, they are a-changin'. It's those folks from back in time that cling to their old ideas and old prejudices that seem to be corrupting my students in their formative years.
Let's link this all together. I finally got myself to sit down to review speeches they'd written in the style of Dr. Martin Luther King in January. We shared the speeches, evoking King's voice and tone as they shared with one another. They had a blast pretending to be someone else, standing on the famous steps of the Lincoln Memorial, inspiring generations to change the biased ways of the past. Unfortunately, I see sadness in their hopeful thoughts. I see racism's ugly head rearing itself towards eight and nine year-olds in my class. I see prejudicial attitudes cutting deep in the very souls of their beings.
...and it pains me to read this. The two students in particular that have expressed such experiences couldn't be better kids. They're both very intelligent, come from homes with two loving parents, and are well-liked by their peers. Why strangers judge them based on the shade of their brown skin or the foreign name they were given at birth, I'll never understand. Fear of something different, I suppose. One of these students was in my class last year, and I can honestly say that I've learned more from him than I think any other students in my past. He is open and honest about his life and his faith, and I appreciate his presence in my class more than he'll probably ever know. As far as the racist attitudes go, other students alluded to them in Florida, but perhaps their younger ages kept them from truly understanding or hurting from them nearly as much.
Old hatreds die hard, I suppose. I pray that the racism and discrimination they've experienced in their young lives is limited to a singular occasion. While they may remember it well, they don't become distrustful and hateful in return. These are of course the thoughts and dreams of a white Christian male, hardly the type that's ever been discriminated against. I haven't walked a mile in their shoes. All I can do is try to see their point of view, and vicariously use their unfortunate tales to help others do better by them.
[Steps down off soapbox.}
I've said in the past how remarkable I find it that each year my students become more and more colorblind. That brings me to this year. With one another, that seems to still hold true. All my students get along with one another: black and white; boy and girl; Christian and Muslim.
It's that point that I can say times, they are a-changin'. It's those folks from back in time that cling to their old ideas and old prejudices that seem to be corrupting my students in their formative years.
Let's link this all together. I finally got myself to sit down to review speeches they'd written in the style of Dr. Martin Luther King in January. We shared the speeches, evoking King's voice and tone as they shared with one another. They had a blast pretending to be someone else, standing on the famous steps of the Lincoln Memorial, inspiring generations to change the biased ways of the past. Unfortunately, I see sadness in their hopeful thoughts. I see racism's ugly head rearing itself towards eight and nine year-olds in my class. I see prejudicial attitudes cutting deep in the very souls of their beings....and it pains me to read this. The two students in particular that have expressed such experiences couldn't be better kids. They're both very intelligent, come from homes with two loving parents, and are well-liked by their peers. Why strangers judge them based on the shade of their brown skin or the foreign name they were given at birth, I'll never understand. Fear of something different, I suppose. One of these students was in my class last year, and I can honestly say that I've learned more from him than I think any other students in my past. He is open and honest about his life and his faith, and I appreciate his presence in my class more than he'll probably ever know. As far as the racist attitudes go, other students alluded to them in Florida, but perhaps their younger ages kept them from truly understanding or hurting from them nearly as much.
Old hatreds die hard, I suppose. I pray that the racism and discrimination they've experienced in their young lives is limited to a singular occasion. While they may remember it well, they don't become distrustful and hateful in return. These are of course the thoughts and dreams of a white Christian male, hardly the type that's ever been discriminated against. I haven't walked a mile in their shoes. All I can do is try to see their point of view, and vicariously use their unfortunate tales to help others do better by them.
[Steps down off soapbox.}
Sunday, January 25, 2009
old film from an old camera
prior to my recent purchase of a dSLR, i'd dug out my Canon AE-1 35mm SLR. lo and behold, there was a half-shot roll of film waiting for me in the camera. curious, i went out to finish the roll so i could see when i started it.
turns out it was six years ago, on a field trip, with my first class. the film had aged, but the prints look kind of cool. here's a few of the shots. enjoy! 
Saturday, May 31, 2008
redirected wanderlust
sunny skies inspiration
gives way to hammock-cradled reading.
tales of vagabonding,
wanderlusting,
tramping.
mind wandering to itchy feet,
breezy skies blowing in dark clouds,
foretelling ominous ending for
his trek into the wild.
daegu destination,
wiped just as cleanly as these blue skies.
cleansing deluge washes it all away.
much like florida of past,
in my new virginia future.
Monday, October 8, 2007
just what i needed
though the wounds say otherwise, this weekend was just what i needed. again.
great weather. outdoors. missed friends. big laughs. oh yeah, i guess i climbed a little too. seems secondary or tertiary in retrospect. it was the reason for the trip, but it turned out to be the least of my worries the past few days.
if i can keep up this pace, i may just stay sane in this crazy town. it's hard enough to meet new people in a new place, but with the added pressures of a new job instead of college, it gets lonely sometimes. i'm doing well and staying pretty busy with the few new friends i've made, and the old ones i've reconnected with. last time i relocated like this, it was 1997. it was gainesville, and i got dragged out kicking and screaming long after the ink was dry on my diplomas. of course, in college, you do nothing but meet new people. every semester you get a new crop. between rush week and new classes, if you're halfway sociable, your circle of friends can expand exponentially in a few years. i don't regret the extra time i spent in gainesville. i've made quite a few amazing friends in the 4 years after i graduated. at the same time, though, i was constantly reminded of some not-so-happy memories on a daily basis. perhaps that's why i'm adjusting so well right now--no more ghosts.
great weather. outdoors. missed friends. big laughs. oh yeah, i guess i climbed a little too. seems secondary or tertiary in retrospect. it was the reason for the trip, but it turned out to be the least of my worries the past few days.
if i can keep up this pace, i may just stay sane in this crazy town. it's hard enough to meet new people in a new place, but with the added pressures of a new job instead of college, it gets lonely sometimes. i'm doing well and staying pretty busy with the few new friends i've made, and the old ones i've reconnected with. last time i relocated like this, it was 1997. it was gainesville, and i got dragged out kicking and screaming long after the ink was dry on my diplomas. of course, in college, you do nothing but meet new people. every semester you get a new crop. between rush week and new classes, if you're halfway sociable, your circle of friends can expand exponentially in a few years. i don't regret the extra time i spent in gainesville. i've made quite a few amazing friends in the 4 years after i graduated. at the same time, though, i was constantly reminded of some not-so-happy memories on a daily basis. perhaps that's why i'm adjusting so well right now--no more ghosts.
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