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 26: What is a Project?

Every Zoom class is weird in a different way. Most of my students showed up, but they were all sans video–understandable, as it’s an 8 a.m. class (I was looking a bit grizzled myself). I checked to see if they could hear me; they ALL used the chat function to affirm. I asked if they were doing ok, if they had any questions about the research paper they’re writing, if they had anything interesting to report. Five count. Nothing. So I proceeded with a stimulating discussion of (drum roll!) MLA style, pausing every five minutes to check for comprehension–and to check the participants. They remained “in the Zoom room” for the whole mini-lecture, but other than affirming again later that they could indeed hear me, they made no comment. I wished them well and encouraged them to reach out anytime for help, waited a five count, then said goodbye. Ghostly.

The Boone County Historical Society is encouraging its citizens to contribute to their project documenting the COVID-19 crisis as we’ve experienced it. You can step into the project by completing an on-line questionnaire that’s actually pretty enjoyable. Think about it.

Nicole made 52 peanut butter cookies yesterday. She said she made 52, that is–I counted them myself and there were only 44. In other food news, is there anything wrong with having a grilled cheese sandwich every day? I don’t think so. Has anyone tried putting pickle relish on one? I have done it thrice (Wickle’s Wicked Relish, of course) and I believe it’s for real.

My project was hammering back in some wayward nails on the back deck. I know: I need to raise my game when it comes to projects. I also applied five new bumper stickers to my pickup and ran some old electronics out to recycling, only to find the place was closed. I hadn’t driven for about three weeks, so it felt good to get out, though I discovered there’s no exit south onto Rangeline off of 63 if you’re heading north from the Paris Road exit. (This is more gripping than an MLA citation style mini-lecture.)

I unfortunately had to experience a clip from yesterday’s briefing. Every day a new low. My music-proxy response?

Started some new books in the evening–our rule is, if we’re not putting in physical effort, it’s not a project. Since I’m nearly 60, I read 4-6 books at a time to keep my mind and memory in shape (plus I like to have a choice every day). This batch is going to be great: Sandburg’s Chicago Poems, Don McLeese’s critical bio of Dwight Yoakam, Martin Duberman’s update of his monumental Stonewall. Reading is essential armor when fighting this plague.

Streaming for Shut-Ins:

An album by a masterful jazz pianist that lives up to its title.

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 23: Sound and Vision

We, like you, have stumbled upon (or been forced to observe, rather) several habits in this sheltering that I think we’re going to keep when we are liberated. Nicole is a great cook, but she also works her butt off AND we both are tasteaholics who love supporting our many local restaurants, so we haven’t ever eaten in all that much. However, by my calculations, we’ve only gone out to pick up food once in the last 27 days. I’m here to tell you: homecooking is great. Yesterday, she sautéed some fresh asparagus, fried some new potatoes, and grilled some cheese sandwiches (with, instead of butter, Blue Plate Mayonnaise)–that was just lunch. Dinner was chickpea tikka masala with basmati rice! Now, I don’t just sit around like Henry VIII, fork and knife in fists that pound the tabletop! Our deal has always been that she can make as big a mess in the kitchen as she wants; I’ll clean up and put up everything. Feels about even, but I know I get the best of it–plus I’ve lost weight while never feeling unsatisfied. Ok, I’ll stop…

This was our first “flipped house” of the plague. That’s when the feline-o-phobe dog and I go downstairs and the cats come up. So it was “Music in the Man Cave” for me.

I loved“Fame,” “Golden Years,” and (especially) “Young Americans” (that song tortured me) as a teen, and“Let’s Dance”always kicked ass no matter HOW many times I heard it lifeguarding that summer in Monett, but I was never a massive Bowie fan at the time. However, reading’s always been a corrective to my waywardness, and after taking in David Bowie: A Life (by former Ziggy crumbsnatcher Dylan Jones), Rob Sheffield’s On Bowie, and Sasha Geffen’s Glitter Up the Dark: How Pop Music Broke the Binary, I’m fully on board. Better late than never. I listened to his work alllll afternoon. And hit up Discogs for some CDs I surprisingly don’t have.

Speaking of music and habits, I recently hit my Apple Music limit of 100,000 songs in the ol’ iCloud library. So I just blew the whole thing up and started anew. I need to remember to only “Add” what I need, and that the entire contents of my external drive don’t have to be (can’t be) in my library, too. #nerdalert

Random facts of COVID-19 impact: 1) My garage door opener fixed itself on its own after I ignored it for two weeks. Word to the wise looking to save money. 2) We decided to cancel our lodging in Lawrence in late June for theFree State Fest(this year, John Waters and Boots Riley were among those scheduled). It ain’t gonna happen, we’re fairly sure. And if it does, we won’t be inclined to attend.

I’m not religious, but happy Easter anyway. He not busy being (re)born is busy dying.

Streaming for Shut-Ins:

Such sound and vision.

Cloister Commentary, Day 22: Grasshopper

As I mentioned yesterday, I videoconferenced with the two Mizzou teacher interns I am supervising this year. Their student teaching journey was abruptly truncated by COVID-19–they are still assisting their as they are able with grading and virtual lessons–so we discussed the possibilities they’d encounter next fall: content challenges and limitations, stressed students with fragile economic support, explaining what is happening right now in the context of their instruction, isolation (if teachers can’t yet work in person in the fall). The potential environment is daunting, and I do not envy them. I usually let them do the talking, but I did offer them each these words of advice: try to find a crusty old veteran who still has ahold of their joy and sidle into a “grasshopper” role. Nothing helped me get my footing better; it’s not that I avoided my fellow greenhorns, but “the older guys know what it’s all about,” as someone once sang. They helped me dodge several potholes–right, Bob Bilyeu?

Nicole and I started some new shows: HBO’s adaptation of Richard Russo’s novel Empire Falls, which I just finished reading; Netflix’s The Stranger, recommended by our go-to Anglo-American TV critic Susan McDermott-Griggs; and another Netflix item, Self-Made, an impressive limited series tracing the life of Madame CJ Walker, who’s played by the always-great Octavia Spencer. It’s got fire, spunk, wit, and a surprising style and soundtrack–plus Tiffany Haddish, who threatens to steal every scene she’s in.

Streaming for Shut-Ins:

Sample an early ’80s album by Nina Simone that was just reissued and might even surprise big fans if they haven’t heard it.

And: if you want to sample Self-Made‘s soundtrack?

Cloister Commentary, Day 21: Blithely

I am writing these to a) share how Nicole and I are making our way through this crisis, and b) keep a record of our journey so we can look back when we have better perspective. Sometimes, though, when I re-read them, I’m dumbstruck by the good fortune that allows me to move about securely and comfortably in my home environment, and I feel a pulse of self-loathing that just makes me want to stop writing.

But–no matter how blithely I may seem to move through my days, I’m all too aware that we were in trouble before COVID-19, we’re unbelievably vulnerable now, and we’re surrounded by many (who happen to have access to the buttons, levers, and strings) who have only scorn for vulnerability. So…one can carry that around all day, into the night, and as dawn breaks. Frequently, I can’t turn my projective mind off; I do stay (and have stayed) well-informed, and that information constantly feeds the projector. Today, I video-conference with the two student teachers I supervise, and I know I won’t be able to help from asking them to project what their teaching environments will be like in the fall, and how they hope to respond to their students who’ve been hit the hardest.

I am so grateful for the books, music, laughs and love that allow me to be distracted meaningfully and healthily from these concerns. If it does seem I’m responding too blithely to our troubles, perhaps I am, but a quickened heartbeat has been disrupting my sleep.

Streaming for Shut-Ins:

Maybe we need to talk to the spirits.

Cloister Commentary, Day 19: Please Don’t Bury Me

This stuff can kill us, is killing us at a very rapid rate. If it doesn’t, something else will, we are assured. It’s just that we’re getting reminders at a rapid rate, too, from thousands we do not know to the few who we imagined could live forever (they may, through their work) but understood could not, like that old crust John Prine. I’d like to recommend his work to those unfamiliar with it, because it has the soul nutrition we need to put these days in perspective. Take, for example, the mortality song I have shared below, which he wrote before he turned 30. A grinning, shrugging, generous acceptance–and an invitation to kiss his ass goodbye.

In other news, Nicole and I moved the lawn furniture out into the backyard and onto the deck. That was a simple action that made us both feel good, and gave our external felines Goldpaw and BB hope for more strokes than usual. I actually executed a decent Zoom class–I just said eff it and used my phone–and participated in two other video sessions, with some Stephens folks (having to lean on it more heavily than this part-timer, they’re tiring of it but are digging in) and my parents, to whom I told the vanilla-ice-cream-loving penguin joke (this time). I tried to tell it to the fabulous furry Frissell brothers, George and Lee, via text–in short bursts to match the timing necessary if we had been together in person–but Lee let me get all the way to the verge of the Paragraph Four punch line before he inserted it himself (George had told it to him long ago). Never trust a Texan. I won’t tell you the one he told me, a COVID-19 joke worthy of Ken Weaver’s immortal but scarce Texas Crude.

Short, contained note: it’s all I can do to keep from screaming at our judicial, executive, representative, and military leadership right now, but fortunately, Mike, I tucked away The Inchiridion the other day and found the necessary restraint. I suspect you may have returned to it in recent hours. Your leadership deserves no screams, only praise.

Streaming for Shut-Ins:

I like to offer full albums, but this single song is a must for the moment.

Cloister Commentary, Day 1: Happy Anniversary, Here’s Your Pandemic!

My good friend Ken Shimamoto, probably remembering that, in 2012, I began documenting daily what I then thought was my last year of teaching, suggested yesterday I do the same for this science (non-)fiction fix we’re in. That seems overwhelming, but I’m going to take his advice and just write what comes to mind and not fuss.

My head is daily spinning. Its preoccupations have grown from the immediate (“What’s the best way to teach these kids remotely?”) into the long-term (“When will I see my friends and family again, and how will this change us?”), from the rational (“This too will pass.”) into the paranoid (“How will we be exploited this time?”). My revelation-flickers have been both comical (“I need to at least have a stretching routine!”) and horrifying (according to Brecht-Weill, food is the first thing morals follow on). I have more ideas than I know what to do with, but for once I actually have plenty of time to do them, so to speak. In a weird way, and I know I’m not alone, in the explosion of change I feel more alive and more clear-eyed; for a second time in recent memory, a big national scab has been ripped off, and it is time to deal or die. But then there are also kitty litter boxes and windows to be cleaned! Don’t scoff at mundane rituals: what the tortoise sees as sustenance, the hare hops past unwittingly.

I’m lucky to be cloistered with my soul mate–it is our 28th wedding anniversary today. We have always liked spending time with each other and have hardly been averse to seclusion, so we seem to be well-equipped for the task at hand. Reading together in silence we both find exciting, we share music and viewing preferences (reggae and Rickles roasting yesterday), and we are immune to each other’s imperfections (#snorers). But the first 7-10 days of this adjustment have brought us to the necessity of rituals–not just exercising, but writing, meditating, working (new kinds of work), and especially helping. We’ve joined a local Facebook group that is networking concerned citizens in order to help each other and wrestle with COVID-19, and a crowd-funded effort to keep our local healthcare heroes well-fed seems to be in the offing. I’ve volunteered to mentor local students (kids or adults) who need reading or writing help, because I am not sure classes will ever resume in person before summer.

One of my biggest worries is if, as a nation, we are equal to the level of personal discipline required to arrest this virus as quickly as possible. All I can do is make sure I’m trying and succeeding.

From Mary Oliver, some worthy words:

Oh, to love what is lovely, and will not last! / What a task / to ask / of anything, or anyone, / yet it is ours, / and not by the century or the year, but by the hours.

And: Streaming for Shut-Ins.

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:

Cloister Commentary, Day 7: The Old Normal

A mere week has passed–actually we’d been cloistered for maybe three days when I started writing–yet, though I’m not a meme dude, I must steal this from one Nicole found (I’m paraphrasing):

“In the rush to return to normal, take the time to consider what aspects of the old normal are worth rushing back to.”

That’s a motto I can live with. Before I even saw the meme, I’d found myself taking inventory: I need to write more, we need to eat out less, we need to be more engaged with both our immediate and more broadly local communities, I need to not just shove things in drawers and forget them for 15 years, we need to rattle the damn cage for a better disaster safety net, we need to fight to ensure the most vulnerable among us are accepted into our arms and protected–wait, this is getting dangerous…

We struck out for the grocery store, though I just rode shotgun and read in the car. When we got home, we put some time into making sure everything was clean, and the whole ordeal was so stressful drinks were in order. If you must know, we had a “Tequila” Sunrise made with Maker’s White (a bottle of which was another of our cleaning discoveries earlier in the week). Pretty effective.

I can’t urge you enough, if you’re a music fan, to support “virtual” live concerts. Unsurprisingly, they are growing in number, and, thanks to programs like Facebook Live, you can “attend” them with friends. Speaking of safety nets, the average musician does not have much of one in the best of times, so do your part to support them in these critical ones (most have a PayPal link through which you can pay for the privilege)–and pledge to do a better job when we get out of them. I am going to do my level best.

We checked out TIGER KING on Netflix, at a couple friends’ urgings. Neither Nicole nor I are sure we need to spend our finite seconds of life staring at that. That is all. We had wanted to watch the Folger Theater production of MACBETH currently offered free on YouTube, but the resolution seemed foggy. In the end, we settled for “Key & Peele” re-runs and glimpsing our filth uncle John Waters on “Law & Order: Special Victims Unit.”

Streaming for Shut-Ins: the terrific debut album of one of the greatest ’80s-’90s bands you may have never heard, or heard of.