rock me to sleep

for several years i’ve been having trouble falling asleep. i can be completely exhausted, to the point where i can hardly keep my eyes open, and when my head hits the pillow i am suddenly wide awake with my mind running in a million different directions. maybe this isn’t a recent phenomenon – i remember having the same problem in high school. back then one of my favorite remedies for sleeplessness was to put on my headphones and listen to music, and usually i would drift off as it played. of course, the headphones weighed about 90 pounds and were on a curly cord that stretched tightly across my bed from the stereo on my desk – i couldn’t really move my head or they would fly off. and when side one of the record was finished i had to stumble out of bed in order to turn it over. ahh, the good old days.

thankfully, we now have the ipod. a few years ago i discovered that even if i lay in bed and read until i’m virtually dozing off, i often still need the ‘musical sleeping pill’ that i discovered in my teens. and oddly enough, i’m still listening to the same albums to help me fall asleep. through exhaustive (no pun intended) research, i found that listening to current music, as much as i love it, doesn’t have the same effect, because i find myself perking up and paying close attention to all the minutia in the songs – in a sense, i’m listening too hard to relax. it only works if i take one of my tried and true, life-long favorites that i’ve heard a million times. i guess because i know them inside-out and outside-in, they are both familiar and comforting and take no effort on my part to hear.

usually, i lay in bed, pick the album i want, push play, and close my eyes. and even though i haven’t played these albums on vinyl for who knows how long, i still find myself thinking “side one is almost over and you are still wide awake! relax!”. the first song from side two will start, and the next thing i know, i’m groggily reaching up to figure out what is wrong with my ears. then i realize the music is over, the ear buds are still in place, and i have no recollection of the past 4 or 5 songs. i carefully put my ipod on the table by the bed, and fall back into a deep sleep. amazingly, this happens night after night and never ceases to surprise me.

lately i’ve started wondering: what happens with all those songs that are piped into my head even though i’m dead asleep and have no memory of them later? after a life of listening to side two in my sleep, am i building up some subconcious repository of musical information that will burst forth unexpectedly?  i mean, i already know these songs inside and out. maybe i should get some mp3s of french lessons and learn that instead. would i one day wake up babbling in french? right now it seems like the best i’ll get from my subliminal experience is the ability to spontaneously relate everything i see to a joni mitchell, carole king or laura nyro song. oh wait, i already do that. maybe now i know why.

as time goes by

i save things. i save a lot of things. i save a ridiculous amount of things. or maybe, i save an amount of ridiculous things. some of it for sentimental reasons, like every single letter i’ve ever received from every single friend i’ve ever had. some of it gets saved for information, like all my old notebooks with song ideas scribbled randomly thoughout the pages. some of it gets saved out of habit, or is it compulsion, or an inexplicable attachment? more likely a combo platter of all three.

a few years ago i realized i come by it honestly. my friends have all heard the stories of the house i inherited from my parents, which came with the shocking realization they kept every single thing they’d ever touched. i swear, i never ever noticed before it was all handed down to me. there were stacks of sheets and towels, virtually everything i had slept on or dried off with from college all the way back to grade school. i called it ‘the greatest hits of my life, in bedding’. even scarier, i found a huge box of bedspreads and throw rugs from my grandparents house, unopened since they were packed in 1976. this was next to my old toy box, which contains every toy i ever had. next to that, a box with the horse costume my brother wore for halloween in 5th grade, next to a stack of luggage that may need carbon dating to be properly placed in history. and all this is being edged aside by the growing pile of boxes containing my own ‘magazine collection’. over 30 years of rolling stone. 25 years of interview. 20 years of vanity fair. i like to call this my ‘pop culture reference library’, though as i’m adding to the stack i usually just think of it as ‘an illness’. in the adjacent room are my vinyl lps, which i’ve been collecting since i was in 4th grade. it is my most precious thing, and chances are good you can randomly pull out anything and i can tell you where it came from: albums my grandmother bought me as a treat when we’d shop together (“every picture tells a story”, “deja vu”), albums i sent away and waited by the mailbox for, albums i got for christmas or a birthday or that i found in some wierd used shop for 99 cents. this is one collection that isn’t growing, though once i get a new turntable, all bets are off. and did i mention it weighs about 9 tons?

now, though, there is a ray of sunshine (finding me, no doubt, among a huge stack of boxes). in the early 80’s i started my retail career in a very urban-trendy card and gift store. one of the owners more brilliant moves was to start carrying swatches, long before anyone had heard of them, when they cost less than $50, before you could buy them in a department store. i went crazy, and with my employee discount ended up with 7 different models. do i need to add i still have them all (stored in a woven grass basket, saved since 1978)? yesterday, while reading my newest met home magazine (archive of approximately 20 years in the basement) about a designer who had worked with swatch in the early 90’s, i got curious to see if any of his designs were collectible. i looked at ebay. i looked at vintage swatch sites. i looked completely stunned. my 1980’s swatches now sell for anywhere between $250 and $450. each. one model i own is nowhere to be seen, which i assume means it is even more rare. most importantly, i suddenly feel completely justified for ‘collecting’. i had heard some older issues of the andy warhol magazine were now quite valuable, and i’ve seen many of my prized albums selling for significant amounts of money. but paying my mortgage with a couple of swatches? never imagined it. of course, i’m not going to part with them…yet.

i’ve been so worried about funding my retirement, but it no longer seems implausible. need a new car? sell a stack of architectural digest! feel like a vacation? sell a rare yoko ono album and a couple of frank zappas! time to buy groceries? here, have a pile of cds! suddenly, the world is my oyster. i wonder what i can get for the red plaid pillowcases i slept on in junior high?

the w word

people talk about the F word. they skitter around the N word. they whisper about the C word. but no one ever mentions the W word.

i’m single, and have been for some time. i tend to be fairly quiet, a little clumsy conversing under pressure, and totally incapable of flirting – which means approaching someone interesting to me is next to impossible. ever so rarely, i run into someone i’m incredibly attracted to, and i somehow summon up the power to try to make inroads and an impression. sometimes, the conversation starts to flow, i’m feeling erudite and confident, things are comfortable and moving right along. about the time i think “wow! this is really going great!”, the other person blurts out the W word. “WE made a great dinner last night….WE are taking a vacation next week….” in my mind, everything screeches to a halt.

sigh. sometimes, i hate the W word.

the sporting life

i am fascinated by the way human beings have the natural instinct to band together in groups. there must be some drive in our shared dna that compels us to form clubs based on mutual interests. small, large, obscure, local, nationwide, worldwide – people often seem to need a banner under which they can congregate, interact, be part of something bigger. i guess its a way of creating a social setting that is instantly comfortable thanks to a common theme shared by everyone involved.

last saturday i drove 2 hours into the mountains west of denver to a small town built next to a beautiful lake. its an old colorado resort, still relatively unspoiled. theres a long way to go before it reaches the glitzy heights of vail or aspen, which makes me perfectly happy. its nice to know some of the charming, little towns are somewhat intact. the occasion for the trip? i was singing at the annual gala for the “yacht club” – a rather major misnomer considering the size of the lake, the boats docked there, and the fact that their rustic headquarters itself is smaller than any yacht.

after checking into my motel room, i changed into my formal attire and drove the length of main street (4 blocks?) to the venue: the yacht club, a 2 story building perched on the marina at waters edge. the party theme was ‘at the movies’, so there were the pre-requisite life-size cardboard cutouts of celebrities and the oscar statue standing around on the grounds. there was a large screen hung in an outdoor pavilion and another in the very raw ground floor space of the building showing a video of movie stars accepting their academy awards. i think there were a few sad crepe paper streamers and balloons hanging about. things were better upstairs in the ‘formal’ room, which looks like a log cabin with a very tall peaked roof, and was actually quite charming. as i pushed my way through the large crowd to the bandstand, i was amazed that everyone was so glamorous. doubtful they were locals – more likely they were upper-middle class denverites with weekend houses and yachts….err, boats, in town. one beautiful woman seemed to be channeling donna karan (and i mean that in the best, most fashionable way). a man, in a perfectly fitted tuxedo, was so model-handsome that i couldn’t take my eyes off him. this was not what i expected at all. there was a profusion of teenagers, all very glam and lohan-esque, clearly enjoying their grown-up night on the town. such as it was.

the band kicked in at 9, and after the first half-hour i was getting concerned. very few people were dancing, even to our foolproof, everyone-always-dances-to-it songs. it was mostly teenagers standing around in ragged groups, swaying or bobbing up and down, while the adults stood at the perimeter chatting – a mystifying feat considering our volume level in that small room. i noticed a couple of older men near the bandstand, dressed like twin admirals, observing the scene. at 10 pm, one of them stepped over to the bandleader and tapped his watch. it took us a full 2 minutes to finish the song, and he appeared more and more anxious before we hit the final chord. i realized he looked exactly like robert rauschenberg, though i doubt rauschenberg ever wore a double-breasted, gold buttoned navy blazer, white slacks and white deck shoes. this guy belonged on a dock in greenwich, not the colorado high country. he yanked the microphone from the bandleader and sternly announced that it was 10 pm, and time for anyone under the age of 18 to be escorted home by their parents. he was obviously the man-in-charge, the stodgy grandpa who upheld the rules and ruined the evening for anyone underage. adding insult to injury, he announced that “the food is now being served…for the adults”. he handed the mic back to the band, and we continued the music. i never saw grandpa rauschenberg again, but he clearly knew what he was doing – after the teenagers left, the adults packed the dancefloor for the rest of the night.

at the end of the evening, after 4 hours of singing and jumping around like an idiot, i was exhausted. as i walked to my car among the drunken partygoers, i thought about what drew them together. did any of them actually own a yacht? not on that lake, at least. yet they gathered, dressed in their best, gave awards and speeches, shared their common interest. it was such a small moment in the scope of the world, but they laughed and drank and danced and celebrated together. how very human.

cease and desist

on saturday i was talking to a friend who is in aa. we were sitting down for lunch, both of us starving. he told me it was a good thing he was eating because he was starting to get cranky and edgy. then he smiled and said “hungry. angry. lonely. tired….halt”. i thought about this for a second and told him that made a lot of sense. he repeated: “Hungry. Angry. Lonely. Tired….HALT”. again i told him what amazingly simple and sensible advice this is. about 24 hours later i realized it is also an acronym. luckily the overall concept is easy for me to grasp, even if the catchy presentation is not.

i understand how important this advice is for someone staying sober. any of those four conditions seem like prime excuses to take a drink in order to alleviate the feelings the conditions create. but i also started thinking what great advice it is for everyone, period. i am certainly prone to all kinds of unpleasant behavior when i’m hungry or angry (and it’s usually both, one after the other) and the solution is simple: eat. i’m also prone to unpleasant and destructive behavior when lonely – usually mental cruelty, all directed at myself. i’m hardly ever aware of it as it happens, and after all these years i am still amazed how much better i feel when i pick up the phone and call someone – often i don’t even realize how lonely and isolated i’ve been until i make human contact again. the tired part is the thing that creeps up on me and is hardest to detect. i always think i can keep going and going and only after i find myself in an emotional frazzle do i realize i’m exhausted. 

until now. regardless of what kind of self-destructive behavior you favor, this simple phrase can work preventive miracles. thanks to the catchy acronym ‘halt’, i’ll be so much more aware of whats going on in my head and why. as long as its hungry, angry, lonely or tired. if its something else, i’m back to square one. but this is a good, solid start.

the (too much) information age

i was reading a magazine tonight and came across a word i had never seen before: oversharing. it appeared in 3 different articles (maybe they were demonstrating the concept?) and i predict we’ll start seeing it more and more. rightfully so – it seems everywhere you turn there is someone ready to spout their story, spout their opinion, spout their scalding criticism. for every fascinating story on the internet, there are scores of people crouched and ready to comment and criticize after it appears. with information moving at the speed of light, each person seems to scream louder and more outrageously than the last for attention. alongside that, reality tv has spawned a whole new breed of wanna-be celebrities and experts, all willing to say and do too much to make themselves known.

before i start sounding like a cranky, old-fashioned coot, i have to say i love the internet. still, there are times when i wish things weren’t quite so available, quite so accessible, quite so immediate. as a kid, when there was some big musical event (for arguments sake, lets say woodstock. i was pretty young, but i remember it was covered by the papers in a way no rock event had been before) all you knew was what you read. there was more about it later in a magazine; the album and film finally showed up over a year later. i remember being frustrated and wanting more detail as it happened. i never could have imagined then that one day, immediately after a concert, you could sign on and read/listen/watch the whole thing on your computer. its fantastic to be able to do, but part of me misses the mystery, the not-quite-knowing, the imagination required to fill in the blanks. really, there are no blanks now. ironically, i have discovered visual records online of the very events i once longed to attend when i was a teenager – and while its amazing to see them, i can’t help but think how empty my imagination would have been if i’d had the ability to click onto it just hours after it ended. maybe i’m too much of a daydreamer, but there was something magical hearing about woodstock and filling hours trying to picture what it was like, what the bands played, the feel of the whole thing.

and last, to that new word. with everything so available, people are willing to share more and more of themselves in order to stand out in the huge global amphitheater, to make their voices heard. what can you do to make people pay attention? how can you come across like an individual? don’t worry. i realize the irony of me spouting off about everyone spouting off. as much as i hesitate to embrace it all, here i am…oversharing.

 

the sans-a-belt threat

in 1975, the neighbors who owned the ranch across the highway from us threw a huge party to celebrate their wedding. both had lost their spouses in middle-age, and it was a wonderful thing that they found love again and decided to get married. the party was a happy occasion and virtually everyone in the county was invited, so naturally, you throw a barn dance. isn’t that what you would do? they poured a huge cement pad and built a very, very large metal building as a venue. much excitement and anticipation surrounded the event, and foremost in my mothers mind was “what the hell am i going to wear?”. after much deliberation, she decided to go for what i guess you would call ‘hip western’. we made one, or maybe several, trips to denver to shop. after she realized may d&f just wasn’t going to cut it, i convinced her we needed to go to “jeans west” if she really wanted to find something casual, groovy and fashionable. it was a young kids store and she was in her mid-40’s, but after a bit of coaxing, we went in. as i hoped, she found the perfect outfit: pre-washed bell bottom jeans and a matching shirt-cut jacket, with a standing seam grid pattern on both. she wore it with a red t-shirt underneath and white keds, and looked hipper than anyone there, if you can judge by the amount of compliments she got. i, on the other hand, chose the occasion to debut my long-sleeve t-shirt that was printed to look like a tuxedo, and people stared at me like i was from mars. which, if you think about it, i sort of was in that environment. that was the only time i wore that shirt.

i started thinking about this because the last time i was in new york, i made my usual rounds of all the very high-end fashion stores, doing what i call “shopping for a life i don’t yet have”. i love seeing what is trendy, what is classic, and then distilling it all down for me and my (non-existent) budget. it didn’t take long to realize what i was being drawn to over and over: white jeans. i was crazy about white pants in college – painter pants, jeans, dress pants – i couldn’t wait for warm weather so i could break them out of the closet. so as i stood in bergdorfs thinking about how much i wanted a pair (white! goes with black, navy, khaki. it even goes with…white!) i also found myself thinking “if you wore it when it was popular the first time around, don’t wear it again”. even the memory of my mother (younger then than i am now) rocking the house in her ‘young’ outfit couldn’t convince me i should buy them. that night at dinner i asked my friend cara if i should get a pair of white jeans. “of course”, she said, “those would look great on you!”. when i added “but i’m afraid they are a little too…young”, the incredulous and annoyed look on her face said it all, and then she accused me of sounding just like her mother. worse yet, i realized i sounded just like MY mother.

i really don’t understand why people have this belief they must ‘dress their age’. and who exactly is it that writes the guidelines? why did my mother, less than 10 years after her hip western outfit triumph, start wearing only polyester slacks and decorated blousey sweatshirts? what happened to the adventurous woman who was dying to make a statement at the local barn dance? i keep wondering if there is some hormonal shift that happens with age that will suddenly have me running to wal-mart to buy a pair of sans-a-belt pants and a polyester blend polo shirt. granted, i don’t want to dress like a 20 year old, or a hip-hop star, but when you are interested in fashion, you can’t just abandon all desire to enjoy (and wear) whats in style. or is it out of my control? am i on some horrible collision course with a spinning rack of no-wrinkle nylon shirts and pair after pair of dockers?

i’m going to buy those white jeans, just in case. now if i had just held on to that tuxedo t-shirt.

rudderless (pt. 3)

“with everything you’ve done, you can write your ticket anywhere! hey, what’s your phone number? i think i have a great opportunity for you!” i heard this a lot before i closed my doors for the last time, and i heard it even more after. it was wonderful to have people so optimistic and supportive – certainly everyone else was more confident in my abilities and achievements than i was. a lot of my former customers were convinced they had a perfect position for me, and that gave me much hope. unfortunately, very few of these people actually followed through. i gave out my phone number innumerable times, but not once did i get a call. warning to all well-meaning people wanting to help someone find a career: do not bubble over with excitement and enthusiasm unless you really plan to do something about it. don’t present someone with a potential job unless you know for certain it exists. i was flattered and touched when people volunteered to help, then confused when no one actually did. to someone without a job who isn’t quite sure where to turn, an offer of help is a significant thing. consequently, dropping the ball or never taking it further is even more significant, and far less helpful. did i pursue the people who didn’t reconnect with me? yes, i did – only to be told the position had been filled, didn’t exist or they had forgotten to mention it to whoever in the first place. on the plus side, a few friends did come through, though the opportunities didn’t pan out for one reason or another. still, they came through, and i was hugely grateful. as i began to explore my options, i began to see that owning your own business is a blessing and a curse: you do it all and learn a lot, but other small, independent businesses are already being run by someone with your credentials. worse yet, chain stores (proliferating in denver) appreciate what you know but shy away from hiring someone with a lack of corporate experience. this was sadly driven home when i applied at a contemporary furniture store (in my mind a perfect fit), and after 3 hours of interviews was told i was “too smart” for the job. ummm, thanks, i think. there were so many “perfect” and “meant to be” jobs that came and went, i totally lost my enthusiasm. how many times can you be ready & willing & thrilled about something only to have it fall apart? how do you remain optimistic the next time something presents itself? i never expected anything to just fall into my lap. i also hadn’t expected that all the so-called incredible contacts i made over the years would result in a series of dead ends. and then, as with all things, there was a moment of clarity. actually, its hard to call it a moment of clarity since i can’t recall the specific moment it happened. lets say i entered a phase of clarity: realizing i had to work for myself again, because i love the independence and flexibility, the not depending on someone else. the money horrors and stresses? not so much, but you take the bitter with the sweet. this was a major realization, since working for myself was something i had sworn i would never do again. so much for that decree. somewhere, through the haze of letting go of my former life, the frustration of dead ends and bad leads, i began to see the real path, and knew i was the only person i could count on to put me on it. and when i did, it became absolutely the right thing to do. looking back i see how silly i was to expect it all to happen in a flash, how ridiculous and impatient i was to imagine that after 14 years of doing my own thing i would wake up the morning after it ended knowing where to go next. maybe some people can do that. i couldn’t. and in spite of the lingering scars on my confidence, i feel the ship has righted itself, and i am firmly at the helm. finally. finally.

rudderless (pt.2)

“hurry up, goddamn it! i don’t have all day!!”. i often yelled this and other expletive-laden commands at cars in front of me while running errands during business hours. it was partly a joke i had with myself – poking fun at my own impatience and self-importance. its true though, i was always on the run, under some kind of deadline and anxious to reach the next destination. about a month after my store closed, i found myself yelling “i don’t have all day!!” only to realize that i did, in fact, have all day. i had managed to salvage enough cash, along with unemployment, to give myself a few months cushion to decompress, recover and regroup. there were days & days in front of me with very little, or nothing, to do. owning your own business means never really leaving it behind, no matter how long or distant a vacation you might take. after 13 years of running in high gear, the sudden halt was a total shock to the system. it must have been 6 weeks before i could shake the daily 5:30 urge to call the store and see if we’d had a good day. i frequently found myself reaching for the phone to call and ‘check in’. its not surprising that about the time i realized once and for all i no longer needed to do this, i also began to realize how much of my identity i had lost. my personal relationship had imploded 4 years before the stores closed, and i had spent those 4 years totally focused on work. with that gone, i was staring down an unfamiliar emptiness. i’ve never been a person prone to utter happiness and joy, so this complete lack of direction, the total blank slate, combined with all-consuming worry about my long-term finances, left me in a frozen and dark place. a great friend offered me a part-time retail job that made a huge difference in my attitude – not only did it get me out of the house and connecting with the human race, the money helped my budget woes. on my days off, i continued making lists and plotting my time to fool myself into thinking something was going on. how could i come up with a new career when i was so busy rushing to the grocery store or searching out cd’s on the internet? how can you concentrate on the distant future when just deciding on dinner takes all afternoon? looking back, i see how i tricked myself into feeling busy and vital totally out of self-preservation. not only did i create the illusion of a schedule, it also served to distract – as much as possible – from the fact my head was spinning and unable to focus on my next move. i could berate myself now for not “bucking up” and immediately seeking out a future career. i could castigate myself for being a spoiled brat and thinking i deserved the time off even if it was financially irresponsible. but the bottom line is, losing a business you’ve invested with every ounce of yourself, and losing it almost overnight, is a body blow from fate that i don’t wish on anyone. i gave myself 6 months to decide what i wanted, but it was only at the 6 month point that the smoke started to clear, i could see any kind of path at all, and the real work of moving on could begin. (continued…)

sprung

i’ve been seeing little hints of it for the past couple of weeks: a few green sprouts peeking out of the dirt, the trees looking a little swollen and beginning to bud. its staying light longer, and in typical colorado style we’ve had hot, sunny days followed immediately by wet and snowy weather. but there were more and more signs that winter was fading. yesterday i parked my car, got out, and was hit with the overwhelming sensation that spring had arrived in full. i felt the heat of the sun, the breeze was damp and cool with green grass and a faint scent of blossoms. all at once my body told me, with certainty, spring is here. as always, i sighed and inhaled and felt grateful that i made it through another long, cold winter. maybe its because i’m a summer person, or maybe it’s my taurean connection to the earth (wait, did i just write that?), but the moment i first sense the undeniable presence of spring, i feel lighter and happier and more alive. i feel like i’m coming out of the dark tunnel of winter into the light. it always makes me hopeful.

indeed, i made it through.