Cloister Commentary, Day 27: Small Circles

Sheltering in place is sometimes hanging out on social media and gathering wisdom from friends, or gathering wisdom friends have have gathered and hope to pass along. My pal Ken Shimamoto is both a wise man and a discerning gatherer, and this quote he shared from composer Arvo Part really resonated with me, especially after I said (sarcastically) to two other friends in phone calls (see below) that we have passed beyond the COVID-19 “honeymoon period.” Here is the quote, which I must pass on to you:

“This tiny coronavirus has showed us in a painful way that humanity is a single organism and human existence is possible only in relation to other living beings. The notion of ‘relationship’ should be understood as a maxim, as the ability to love. Although this is truly a high standard, maybe even too high for a human being.

Our current situation is paradoxical: on the one hand, it means isolation, on the other, it brings us closer. While isolating ourselves, we should be able to – we are even forced to – appreciate our relationships in a small circle and to tend to them. All of this we have to learn before we expect, or even demand, love and justice from the whole world. In a way, the coronavirus has sent us all back to first grade. Only once we’ve passed this test can we begin to think about the next steps. This is a very long process.”

Sheltering in place is sometimes hanging out on the blower, jabbering, sparring, plotting, and speculating with old friends. Yesterday, I had great conversations with two unique individuals I have known for almost 30 years. My former student and longtime fellow hip hop head Alex Fleming spoke with me as he moved vehicularly through his hometown of Chicago. We compared theories about the other mess we’re in besides COVID-19; we talked about caring for, loving, and jousting with family; we groused about the simple fact that it is difficult to have an intelligent discussion with an elder (the kind of person we are both geared to respect) when he does not know (or often care to know) the historical background of the issue; we compared notes, agnostic to Christian, on the positive value of Biblical lessons and the modern failings–and bad bargains–of evangelism; we didn’t even get to music (other than Chicago’s International Anthem label, and that was just me raving), but we will next week. We closed by singing the praises of George Frissell, whose Classical Ideas and World Religion class Alex took in the early Nineties at David H. Hickman High School here in Columbia, MO–and whom I owed a return call, which I made when Alex and I closed. George and I did our usual: breaking down the most recent Better Call Saul episode, and threatening to watch it and its companion series all over again, again. George’s favorite characters: Mike, Kim, and Nacho. My favorite characters: Nacho, Kim, and Mike.

Sheltering in place is sometimes just sitting on the couch with your soul mate, watching some quality programming, sipping tea, and eating five of her peanut butter cookies a piece. I must say that, having read Celeste Ng’s Little Fires Everywhere, Hulu’s given us a winner of an adaptation, though one episode remains. Should you choose to watch it, you will see some of the best acting done by (presumably) teenagers in quite awhile. Episode 7, in particular–the penultimate one–showcased these youth nailing very complicated and realistic scenes so effectively both Nicole’s and my nerves were jangled afterward. As far as the adult acting goes, Reese Witherspoon has delivered a classic hateable performance (Ng’s original conception of the character is not so much so), and Kerry Washington’s spot-on as one of the more complex streaming TV protagonists I’ve ever seen.

You all hang in there, and attend carefully to your small circles.

Streaming for Shut-Ins:

I’m sending this out into the air for this just-COVID-19-snatched jazz master Lee Konitz.

Cloister Commentary, Day 25: Glitter Up The Dark, Will Ya?

After sleeping on the couch again (it has to do with our dog’s mysterious ailment, which requires an Elizabethan collar and my nearby presence at night), Nicole surprised me with two hearty slices of avocado toast that would have powered me all day. I quickly forgot about the couch.

I was supposed to have a project, but I do not think vacuuming the carpeting counts. Mostly, I spent the day finishing Sasha Geffen’s Glitter Up The Dark: How Pop Music Broke the Binary (notice how I keep referring to it? it’s an old teaching trick…), a terrific book that I may require of my students next semester if one happens.

Meanwhile, Nicole created an altar / art installation in the basement closet of “The Kitten Room.” That is something to be proud of.

Installation

We decided to eat out again, and tried one of our long-time favorite spots, La Terraza. We love several different Mexican restaurants in town; they are each subtly different, and I prefer LT’s chili rellenos, while we both prefer their margaritas. “Curbside margaritas,” you say? “Indeed,” I answer: 32 ounce “travelers”! Those and the food went great with the tensest “Better Call Saul”(spoilers in link) I’ve ever seen.

La Terraza

Streaming for Shut-Ins:

Continuing to mourn Hal Willner. Back when this was released, it helped push me off the high boards into the deep end of Monk’s pool of inimitable compositions. Willner’s guests range from Donald Fagen to John Zorn, from Dr. John and NRBQ to Shockabilly and Steve Lacy, and believe it or not, not only isn’t it uneven but it actually holds together. Dig it.

Cloister Commentary, Day 4: A Marathon, Not a Sprint

This was a bit of a rough one. Nicole and I had decided several days ago to limit ourselves to two hours a day of COVID-19 news and research–this is a marathon, not a sprint–but it was difficult under the circumstances to disengage. The situation was not helped by a press conference we watched. The speaker was not the least bit inspiring, encouraging, or reassuring; in fact, he appeared unfamiliar with public speaking; inexperienced in either reading from a text or talking extemporaneously and authentically to his audience; at sixes and sevens when reaching for vocabulary (a septuagenarian, one would think by now, would have acquired a decent sized one by default); and unable to convince himself, least of all his audience, that his predictions about time were realistic. I felt shame and embarrassment for him (and us, to a degree), and as I reached for the remote, the local news station abruptly broke from the conference as if reading my mind. Oh yes, too, we were further depressed to see the agents of disaster capitalism stretching out their bony, abandoned-by-God fingers to claw more money into their coffers at such an opportune time (for them).

BUT. Simple pleasures.

Twining’s Irish Breakfast Tea (I have it in the afternoon). “Flipping the house”; we have a dog that’s hostile to cats upstairs and five cats downstairs, and we frequently reverse that. Starting new Benjamin Franklin-inspired journals. Reading about union victories in Chicago in the past–and yesterday (look it up!) Talking to a very cool teacher named Kelly Penn on the phone. Going for a walk in the sunshine. Eating very green and buttery peas for the first time in a long time. Finishing a book, and adding a new one to my stack, thanks to my ward councilman Mike Trapp. Admiring the parallel hijinks of Saul Goodman and Mike Ehrmantraut. And, of course, applying some musical salve…

Streaming for Shut-Ins: Thanks, Matthew, for the nudge! It’s not the full record, but the track is almost 25 (dazzling) minutes long. This musician evokes OTHER worlds: