I am trying to figure out what we are all doing about Thanksgiving this year. There are so many variables that it’s hard to find a plan that will make everyone happy. Complicating matters is our car situation and a couple of appointments that I made for my son bookending the holiday.
Originally my plan was to take off the whole week, but now some work stuff is probably going to make that a bad idea. Time is running out on getting things organized though, so whether I like it or not, I am going to have to make a final decision in the next day or two. My family members have all tried to be helpful by saying different versions of “don’t worry about me!” But that’s actually making it harder.
Life would be easier if there were two or three of me. One who can just do the work commute and be at the office, one who can stay home cleaning and prepping, and one who can drive around picking up everyone from their respective spots. Each is time consuming and exclusive. I can’t eliminate one and do the other two. My husband can do some cleaning but he has work too, and only one of the cars can really go any significant distance.
Anyway, tomorrow is likewise jam-packed with obligations so I’d better wrap it up and get to bed.
Yesterday we got a text from my son, who is off at college, wondering if there was a plan to get him home to vote today. Um, no? I had meant to remind both kids to send in for absentee ballots but I kept not remembering and then it was too late. My son registered in school last spring and turned 18 over the summer so this was going to be his first election.
I am always hammering home the importance of voting, in every election, so I didn’t feel like I could say, it’s just the municipal election. There should be no “just” when it comes to voting. And your first time voting is important, plus it’s like a practice run before next year’s critical don’t-even-want-to-think-about-it election. That’s why I drove 45 minutes out of the way after work to pick him up and bring him home for the night. We made the polls our first stop then came home. As a bonus I made his favorite dinner and he can sleep in his own bed.
I am happy to report that our candidates won. It’s nice to have that satisfaction for your first voting experience. Let’s hope there are more days like this in the future!
It’s the first Monday since we set the clocks back and it’s always such a shock to my system to walk out the office and discover it’s nighttime. I was able to get outside during the day for a little bit but I don’t have a window in my office so I forgot that it was going to be truly dark.
I told myself yesterday that I was finally going to see the advantage of the return to standard time because I have this early meeting on Mondays and I’m forever racing to get there on time. I thought now it will be easier to get up because it will be lighter in the morning and I won’t be as tired because my body will still be on the old clock. Uh, not so much. I made it in ten minutes before the meeting, instead of zero minutes or being a hair late.
My daughter graduated from college this summer and now she has a “real” job, 9:00-5:00. Even though she was working full-time over the summer, it was just an extension of the student job she had had for the past three years so it didn’t feel as serious. It has been a rough transition for her. The job itself is fine but adjusting to the fact that now this is what your life will be like – get up, go to a job, come home, eat, repeat – that part is hard. We talked to her on the phone this evening and she joked, “Can’t I be a stay-at-home daughter?” I did not say, “Welcome to the working week, oh I know it don’t thrill you, I hope it don’t kill you,” but I sure as hell heard that in my head.
I think this song cropped up on my Spotify release radar or discover weekly playlist. Even if I don’t have to drive up to the office every day, I still spend a ton of time in the car, and I just don’t have the energy reserves to stay on top of new music. I tell myself it’s kind of like listening to college radio, which is a little hard in the car since their signals are weak and I’m covering a lot of ground.
Speaking of cars, we are needing to do something about our cars and I’m dreading it. They are both old and need some work, and the one my husband usually drives is borderline unsafe. I would like to replace them but what we can afford is not a whole lot better. And how can you trust used car dealers or random internet strangers to be honest about the cars they’re selling?
I was looking online tonight at used cars and came across one that is the same make and model as my current car, not quite as old, significantly lower miles, and a stick shift! That was even the reason the person gave for wanting to sell it, they aren’t good at driving stick. I got a little excited at the prospect of having a slightly newer copy of my car, in a different color, with my preferred transmission, and mentioned it to my husband. He thought maybe the person had been so bad at driving a manual that they’ve done a number on the gears. How can you know? Ugh. Dealing with cars is the worst. I wish I had a close friend who was “good with cars” and able to size them up.
Typical. I spent much longer than I wanted to trying to write a post about how fraught it is to open your mouth on a topic like Gaza/Israel, and the stupid app glitched and I lost the two carefully worded paragraphs I had agonized over. To sum up, in case it wasn’t clear, I don’t condone the terrorist attack nor the Israeli blockade and bombing of Gaza and I think it will only fan the flames of hatred. It feels like the rush to make someone pay for 9/11 and look how that turned out. I found this article by Abraham Josephine Riesman and S.I. Rosenbaum to be an informative plea to not go down that path. I can’t help but feel like whipping everyone into a frenzy is what people like Bibi are counting on. There will be no criticism. You are with us or against us. I don’t want to play into the hands of fascists. I want terror attacks, genocide, and hate crimes to stop.
I will also say that it is not helpful to demand that everyone participate in what is basically performative activism. I recognize silence is also a statement. But we should not be expecting people to be exposed to a constant barrage of bad news, then immediately turn around and declare an opinion. It’s a huge contributor to the mental health crisis our kids are facing. There is pressure to be aware of everything that’s happening and to be in a state of perpetual anger about it. Kids are bullied for saying the perceived wrong thing and they are bullied for saying nothing. The pressure to get it right and do it fast is wreaking havoc on society.
That’s two less well-written paragraphs and that’s going to be it. I now return you to the usual bullshit.
Back in September, I took myself to see Low Cut Connie for my birthday. I was so pumped when the show was announced at one of my usual venues, and on my actual birthday. What a great present! I will admit that I hadn’t listened to a lot of their songs before buying the ticket, but I had heard great things about their live show and I thought spending my birthday at a slightly raunchy, straight-up rock ‘n roll show in a small club, definitely sounded like my idea of a good time.
They did not disappoint. I danced my ass off and was a proper sweaty mess by the end of the night. If you ever hear they are playing somewhere near you, go. I am not usually that into bands that are piano-forward, nor ones that veer close to a Bruce Springsteen kind of vibe, both of which Low Cut Connie does, but their stage presence is infectious. And not just front man Adam Weiner, though he surely is the driving force behind the antics, the band is right there with him.
At one point he told a story about doing a show in a dive bar in the Midwest. His guitar player noticed some skinheads with swastikas tattooed on the backs of their necks were standing in the back of the bar so they hightailed it out of there. That experience led him to write a song about it, “King of the Jews” and now he has released a film that looks to be part documentary, part concert film. There is a write up about in Rolling Stone and I’m pasting the trailer in below.
I encourage you to read the article about the film here. I have not wanted to say anything about the Hamas terrorist attack and subsequent bombing of Gaza. It seemed obvious to me that not all Palestinians support Hamas and not all Jews support Netanyahu and his apartheid policies. I am not nearly as informed as plenty of other people and I have nothing to add that someone more knowledgeable and more eloquent hasn’t already said.
Recently, however, I have read about some pretty shocking (to me) anti-Semitic incidents here in the US, in places where I would have thought it unthinkable. Jewish friends would probably tell me that was incredibly naive of me. In the Rolling Stone article, Adam Weiner wrote something I thought was worth sharing.
“It’s hard to know what to say about such things,” Weiner continued. “By and large the world generally hates both of us, Jews and Palestinians. Ultimately, they don’t really want us in their countries. It’s the kind of prejudice that can either harden you to violence, or turn you into an artist, someone who paints the world from the margins. I hope for more art, and less violence. Art can heal and connect us. Violence only destroys. Art can lead the way forward, if we let it.”
There was a frost last night, first one of the season. It was 75 degrees on Saturday. This is why we just have coats of various weights hanging out in the hallway year round.
Last year I took to wearing a coat my son had outgrown. You know how teenagers would rather freeze than be caught in school with a coat? I hated that it hardly got any use, and I didn’t have a good in-between coat, so now it’s mine. I put it on this morning and instinctively shoved my hands in the pockets. One pocket had a bunch of napkins from some fast food place, the other pocket had an Aldi quarter. I always enjoy that little moment of acknowledgement. Sometimes it’s a revelation; that’s where my good chapstick went! Most often it’s just a nod and a smile. It’s me, the napkins and Aldi quarter person, gearing up for the day. It would be nice to pretend that the me of spring was thinking ahead for the me of fall, but really it is probably just the reverse of the weather situation we had this week and I hadn’t expected it to be the last time I wore the coat for the season.
Were I the sort of on the ball person who routinely washed the coats and stored them away once it was likely they wouldn’t be worn, I’d have those little aha moments before they went into the laundry. But I like it better this way. I’ll hate putting those coats on soon enough. Might as well rub my fingers over that Aldi quarter and take a second to reminisce.
Hello friends. It is November. Every year I think, I really can’t do this thing; it’s silly, no one cares, and I know I will crap out at some point. However, I worry if I don’t even show up, people will think I’ve disappeared altogether.
The state of the world is so awful and chaotic, and I don’t feel remotely qualified to speak on any of it. No one needs my two cents anyway. At the same time, ignoring current events and posting about music could come across as the oblivious, self-indulgent, ignorant musings of a privileged, white, middle-aged woman. I feel like my regulars know that’s not what I’m about but I am conflicted. This is my place for celebrating the power of music, and songs that have held me together. In dark times I find music is even more necessary than when things are going well. But it is so very dark and I am worn down by everything.
I don’t know where this leaves me, but I wanted to say, I am not gone.
Today my best friend sent me a link to a video from some VH1 program back in 1987. It was a VJ doing the usual VJ thing with Natalie Merchant there to chat about things during the breaks. It was super awkward because the VJ clearly didn’t know anything about 10,000 Maniacs and Natalie clearly didn’t want to be there, but there she was. You can watch the whole thing if you want to but I am going to link to the relevant part at the mark here. Go ahead, watch him ask Natalie about her shoes.
Ok, it kind of drags on a bit but I want to talk about shoes. Natalie’s shoes, my shoes, people’s perceptions of shoes. First of all, I love that Natalie says they are her dream shoes. I also have had dream shoes. Shoes where you find them and you immediately feel like you are complete. Shoes that state, this is me, I am grounded in these shoes. For me, my dream shoes said to the world, everything you need to know about who I am can be read by looking at my shoes. And you should always look at people’s shoes. Always. If, like the interviewer, you are puzzled by my shoes (or Natalie’s shoes), well, sorry, you just didn’t get it. The shoes will speak to the right people in the right way. I have based my life on it. “When you greet a stranger, look at his shoes” is good advice that has never steered me wrong.
Natalie said her shoes remind her of her grandfather’s shoes. My shoes were old man shoes too. Literally, they are men’s shoes. And let me tell you, Natalie Merchant is tiny and finding shoes in her size is probably no easy task. My old man shoes were a men’s size 6. They rarely come that small. What’s great about them? They are sturdy. They are practical but not in a “practical shoe” way. There’s a tiny bit of a heel but not like a woman’s shoe heel, it’s the whole back part of the shoe so it’s stable. And they lace up so you can make them nice and snug, unlike the slip-on nature of so many women’s shoes. They are a little dressy but they are comfortable. You feel strong and confident in a good pair of shoes like that. Perhaps most importantly, you will not look like everyone else in these shoes.
When I got to college I think I had some regular sneakers, maybe a pair of Keds, and probably a pair or two of flats to go with skirts or dresses. I’m sure I had boots for the winter but after two years getting schooled up in Maine as to what is appropriate footwear for snow, they were likely nothing like the boots my classmates in Pennsylvania wore. By my sophomore year I was really on the hunt for “my” shoes. There is nothing like the conformity of your peers to make you long for something that will set you apart. I knew exactly what I wanted but I had no idea where to find it. I had looked in thrift stores and the big army/navy store I. Goldberg’s in Philadelphia, but I kept striking out. I didn’t want combat boots, I didn’t want Doc Martens, I wanted something more refined, slimmer.
My work-study job was in the theater department as a dresser. Sophomore year the spring musical was Sweeney Todd, set in Victorian London, with a large cast and a good number of male roles. We made the costumes in the costume shop ourselves but one day I came in and saw they had been to the storage space off campus and come back with shoes for everyone. There they were. MY shoes. Black, lace-up, ankle height, low-stacked heel, old man shoes. I asked where we had bought them and was given the name of a men’s shoe store down by the bus station in Philadelphia, near Chinatown. When I finally had enough money saved up I took the train into the city, found the shoe store and left with my dream shoes in hand.
I wore them everywhere with everything. Summer, winter, rain, no matter. I had to have them resoled twice and the heel repaired once. I felt invincible in them. I loved nothing more than taking some $20 bills, folding them in thirds and putting them in my shoes, then lacing them up tight and heading off on adventures; sleeping out for concert tickets, taking the train up to New York or Providence. No one was ever going to guess I had over $100 in my old man shoes. Eventually they developed a crack by my pinky toe that was their undoing. I went back to the shoe store in Chinatown and bought a second pair, though they had changed ever so slightly, now with a cap toe design, that was just never quite as comfortable as the originals. I still loved the second pair but at some point I must have allowed my mom to get rid of them because I wasn’t wearing them any more.
Fast forward to middle-age and not being able to wear heels but not wanting to wear what look like orthopedic shoes either, I started looking for my dream shoes again. I had a couple of different attempts with women’s shoes that were ok and I felt sufficiently comfortable in them, but they were a compromise. I tried a pricey pair of Frye boots that looked online as if they might be close enough to work but when they arrived and I tried them on they were not right. Too pointy, the heel just a tiny bit too high. I sent them back and resigned myself to my sensible mom shoes but couldn’t stop hearing, “Oh, how do I feel about my shoes? They make me awkward and plain, How dearly I would love to kick with the fray…”
Then just after Christmas of 2019, I was looking for something on Etsy and lo and behold, someone was selling my shoes. They were a tiny bit too big (a men’s 6 1/2 now being the smallest they make), a little bit too shiny, and they had the cap toe that my second pair had, but they were the actual real Stacy Adams shoe that I wanted, at less than half the price. I was trying hard to not let myself spend the money on them but my husband said I never spend money on myself and I should get them.
They arrived in January of 2020. I wore them to the office a few times but they were on the stiff side and the leather sole on the carpeting coupled with being a bit too big meant I kind of felt comically slippy in them. I was determined to break them in but not really sure how to go about it. When the pandemic arrived and shut everything down, I put them away and didn’t really think about it for a year and a half. I wore almost no shoes at all during the 18 months I worked from home. I was either in slippers or flip-flops around the house and sneakers if I went out for a walk or the infrequent forays to the store. Once we were ordered back to the office in the fall of 2021, the other shoes I used to wear all the time to work had become so uncomfortable I could barely walk in them. It was time for my old man shoes to come back out.
While I would prefer to be working from home full-time, on the days I have to go to the office I lace up my shoes and look down at my feet and it gives me the little boost I need to get out the door. The snug fit around my ankles shoring me up both physically and emotionally. I see them and I see the memories of my old shoes and all the places and things I did in them. I feel like I have my armor suited up for the day, my trusty shoes ready for anything. I may be a middle-aged mom at a desk job but you can look at my shoes and know that’s not the whole story.
Not sure what I was expecting to find when I went looking for this video but this wasn’t it. Sometimes I think I shouldn’t rely on YouTube as the source for the music I’m posting but they seem to be the most reliable and least objectionable.
This week has felt extra long. The Smile concert was just on Monday but I’d swear it was last week. I’m going to blame the early darkness because I can. Then next week is a short week with Thanksgiving in there, so that will mess up my sense of time even more.
They arrived in January of 2020. I wore them to the office a few times but they were on the stiff side and the leather sole on the carpeting coupled with being a bit too big meant I kind of felt comically slippy in them. I was determined to break them in but not really sure how to go about it. When the pandemic arrived and shut everything down, I put them away and didn’t really think about it for a year and a half. I wore almost no shoes at all during the 18 months I worked from home. I was either in slippers or flip-flops around the house and sneakers if I went out for a walk or the infrequent forays to the store. Once we were ordered back to the office in the fall of 2021, the other shoes I used to wear all the time to work had become so uncomfortable I could barely walk in them. It was time for my old man shoes to come back out.
Noisy Cats 