music, media & other random musings

Memorial Day Ramblings

I just bought music for the first time since.. I seriously have zero recollection. 2008? 2009? I've been renting music since 2002? 2003? (If anything this writing has confirmed, my memory and previous knack for remembering dates no longer exists.) Rhapsody was my choice then, as the pickins were slim. Today it's one among many. But back then, mobile wasn't an option. So I used Rhaposdy as my daily radio station, then decided what I had to own for that trip between work & home. Now subscriptions live seamlessly and ubiquitously and I usually have no need to buy. Almost. Vampire Weekend and the National's new releases arent available on Rhapsody or Rdio - my two primary accounts. They are on Spotify, but I only have the free account, so it won't stream into Sonos. LIke I said, almost seamlessly... . So what choice did I have?  Well, lots actually.. I chose Amazon, and took advantage of using Amazon Cloud thru Sonos for the first time. Oh, those little geeky details make me so very happy...  As for the music... only half into Vampire Weekend - which I really really dig. Can foresee it being on the proverbial turntable for a while. Amongst a few other goodies waiting in line - Daft Punk & Wild Belle to name a few - which I'm psyche to hear...   

Back from the college graduation of my oldest neice, Jessica. Great reason to celebrate - and we did. My

brother and his crew came in from LA and my sister's family - including the new graduate - were also all there, of course. There's something about family - and siblings - that if you're lucky enough to have, get along with and truly like - is a bond that just can't compare with anything else. Not even your very best friends - including those you grew up with. Frank Bruni wrote a timely piece on the subject on Sunday. I feel very lucky to have my siblings in my life - along with their incredible kids who I adore unconditionally and their spouses, which through time have most definitely become more brother and sister than in-laws. It makes special occassions that much more special...

The themes of graduation: completion, sense of accomplishment, the future & all its possibilities.. all powerful, meaningful. But if those kids in the graudation class were anything like me - they have zero idea what any of it means right now. Majora Carter gave an amazing speech: be uncomfortable was the message. Live outside your comfort zone, strive for more. I found it super moving. (More so than the less authentic, rambling Josh Whedon - albeit with similar themes - which was disheartening as he is paid to be a storyteller)... But not sure if that kind of sentiment can sink properly into the bones of a 22 year old. They're still trying to figure out what their comfort zone is. At least I was.. 

Week ahead: Psyched to try a Citi Bike - just activated; more Breaking Bad. Late to the party - but with NetFlix you're never far from a new TV drug. This is mine. Season 1 was SOO good.. Season 2 begins tonight - for me; On the TV note, Mad Men is wacky this season. Still incredible. But definitely odd.

Looking forward to a short work week ahead - what's not to like... Summer has officially begun - and i DO love that summer feeling - and Jonathan Richman. Download 01 That Summer Feeling

 

Hey Jude

It's been one year to the day since I last wrote about my mother. I know only because it's my birthday - same as it was 365 days ago.  Amazing how that happens, whether you like it or not. 

When the Jude (as we playfully liked to call her) was alive, I admit I never particularly connected my birthday to her. In hindsight, I imagine it was somewhat shortsighted and a little 'all about me," as she did in fact give me life. But now that she's not here, that connection seems to resonate in a way that it never did before.  

Last year I celebrated my birthday weekend in LA with my brother and his family. On my "big day," I woke up feeling sad and recall feeling compelled to finish something I had been trying to write since she had died. As I sat on the bed typing away on my laptop, with my niece Ruby sitting beside me playing Angry Birds, I found myself trying to hide my tears from her. But she's a smart, sensitive girl. We didn't talk about it, but we both knew. Knew it was somehow about Grandma Judy. 

Maybe because it was starting to get chilly and I pulled out the same coat I had been wearing the previous November. Or because the trees in the park started to hint at the winter to come. Or maybe it was just because I knew the anniversary date was nearing and I had looked at the calendar. Whatever the reason, come early November this past year, the memory of finding out my mother had brain cancer, through to the 5 weeks later when she died, weighed heavy on my heart and in my head - in a way that wasn't the same as even a few months before. I've often felt anniversaries and other markers of time can feel forced, and other than because the calendar says so, somewhat random. So I found myself surprised at how this one year mark effected me. (Naturally, my close friends weren't - and had anticipated it way before I felt it.) My sister and I texted, talked. Nothing really to say, just a nod, an acknowledgement that a year had passed since then. 

On the anniversary date of her death, Shari (my mom's friend since they were 10), my sister and I all lunched at Gramercy Tavern to toast to her, to celebrate her life. So, for a few hours, we could all share Judy together. I think it's then that it occurred to me. All the markers of time we use as reminders - birthdays, anniversary, etc - are days that every one of those that loved her, will use to remember her. And maybe some even have their own unique anniversaries, ones they remember as a special date. But this date - February 20th - is mine and my mother's alone. And now that she's not here, just mine, alone. Mine to think of her, remember her, miss her. And I do. 

I met a new friend for coffee a few weeks ago, and in telling each other about our lives, she told me her father had died 4 years ago. And then I shared that my mother also had died recently. When I told her when, her response was "still raw." She's right. Perfectly worded. I'm still constantly aware of her absence, even if i don't always feel the pain. It ebbs and flows. But when it hits hard, it seems to spring from nowhere. An image, a memory, a smell, a random thought? Most of the time I have absolutely no idea what brings it on, just something in the recesses of my mind that pushes it to the forefront. For a moment or two (or as long as I allow myself to indulge), it can fully cover me with a deep and profound sense of loss, emptiness and sadness. Other times though, a thought or memory, even one that brings a smile to my face, just fleetingly comes and then goes, as if she were still alive and living around the corner. 

But she's not. And sometimes it's not sadness I feel, just pissed off - pissed off she's not here. I want to pick up the phone to gab with her about nothing at all important, to call and say "Hey Jude, what's up? How about Obama? Or Whitney Houston? Or the clothes in the Style section? Or what do you want to do to celebrate my birthday?" The funny thing is, I know exactly what she'd say to all of it. "Obama's back, so sad about Whitney, love those shoes, how about dinner & drinks at that new place.…" I knew her so well, I can actually have the conversation all by myself. Not quite the same exactly. Of course, all conversations weren't wonderful. Like all relationships, ours wasn't perfect. When it would come to conversations where I shared the more important stuff, the details of my life, wanting her opinion or support, she didn't always deliver. At least not in the way I had wanted anyway. Perhaps my expectations were too high, or she was just unable to emotionally connect with me in the way I sometimes needed. And it was those times when she could truly annoy the shit out of me. Ironically, I miss those times too. Well.. sort of.  

There are also the conversations we never had - so many things I wish I'd asked her about when I had the chance, and things I know I'll want to ask her about with each passing birthday. Frustratingly, because of the brain cancer that killed her, and the quickness with which it affected her, we never really got to talk about what was happening to her, how she felt, what she knew, or to really say goodbye. That's a conversation I'll always regret not being able to have. 

Much of the memories of those 5 weeks we lived her death are fuzzy and hazy - probably because most of it I'd prefer not to remember. But there were some moments that I remember vividly. Some painfully tragic, like when my sister and I knew we had to end her misery and spent 10 hours feeding her morphine, our mother aware just enough as we began, to pat my sister's knee indicating yes. Others, more humorous, you had to be there moments, things no one would appreciate except us - making me, my sister and brother howl 'til tears streamed, giving us just the antidote we needed to get through.

So today, even if me and the Jude can't chat on the phone, or enjoy a few drinks and a dinner at a cool new haunt together, in my head I'll be playing out a conversation we won't have, couldn't possibly have. A good one, that includes understanding what she was thinking and feeling during that time - and the time leading up to it. Hearing everything I know she wanted to say to me in those last days, but wasn't able to. Telling her those funny stories I know she would find as hilarious as we did. And updating her on all the mundane details of life she's missed out on in the last 14 months - the political race, finally putting Harry down, the Good Wife (her TV favorite), Downton Abbey (would have been her new fave), the Oscar race, spring clothes, her/now my apartment, our family gossip, etc. - all the things I know she'd want to gab about. 

One of my mother's classic quotes - summing up her fatalistic view on life, is - it is what it is. As much as I feel her absence, life does go on. One without her here on my birthday. But she's always in my heart, and even if today I have to have the conversation only in my head, that will have to do. On this, our day. 

Harry, RIP

Friday, my sister wrote a sweet post about my dog, Harry. Aside from a few minor mistakes in some of the details of Harry's arrival on my doorstep, she got it right. Harry most definitely had the life and was treated like a prince. Lived in LA and the West Village, vacationed in upstate New York and the Hamptons, and for years was the office dog, always with lots of love - and crumbs of food. He had it better than a hell of a lot of people.

He was a sweet, quirky dog. Although he was in a little body, he always had a big personality and an even bigger heart. He clearly had stamina like no other - 18 years. And he could have lived longer. But what we're allowed to do with dogs, and not people, is decide when life isn't really living any more, but just getting through the day. Harry was leaning towards the latter - and probably for far longer than I wanted to admit. But death is pretty fucking final. And it's not so easy to make that call for someone who won't tell you if that wag of his tail means he is happy and wants to live or his inability to find me in the apartment was causing him serious amounts of anxiety and unhappiness. I know it would have been hard to make the call at any time, but since my mother died only 6 months ago, I think the indecision was a bit more pronounced. After two cancelled appointments to "put him down," I called in my sister. Since she and I went through my mom's tragic ordeal together - her consistently more accepting of the inevitable - I had to have her "make me do it." I made the third appointment knowing she would be at the vet waiting for me - so theoretically couldn't not show up...    

In all the years I had Harry, I can't count the number of times people referred to Harry as my child, me the mother. It's a weird dog person thing. It always annoyed the shit out of me. I loved Harry to death (literally, it seems), and he was a definite member of the family - but he was a dog, not a kid. Never going to be able to talk, to feed himself, to venture out on his own. Other than caring for someone, tending to their needs, and wanting for them to be happy, I never compared the two situations. Caring for a child is clearly way more intense and wrought with decisions never have to be made for a dog. But on the flip side, a dog is essentially two years old forever. Harry never said let me do that myself or I'm off to hang out with my buddies, can I get some cash.

So for 17 years, I've been planning life around Harry and his schedule. His walks, his feeding, my travel, and any last minute invites... it was all about Harry being tended to. It sounds like I minded - but I didn't. I adored him, and him me - unconditionally. It is what we love about our dogs. They are always there, happy when you come home, happy when you pet them, feed them, walk them - happy to follow you around the house. And I loved him for it. But 17 years of doing - and having - anything is a very long amount of time. That 18 pound dog filled the house in a way that made him feel gigantic. And now his absence makes the place feel vastly empty.

Walking into the apartment without him is as odd as knowing I don't have to get home to tend to him. Friday afternoon I stopped by my friend Christina's to visit with her and see her brand new baby girl. I stayed through dinner into the early evening - no need to rush home. Yesterday I took my friend Jane up on her offer to come out to West Hampton - because I could, for the first time in 17 years not having to decline a last minute offer because what was I to do with Harry. 

It's all something to get used to. And I won't lie that there is some freedom to it. Especially as the last few years Harry's doggy dimentia worsened and his interest in me lessened. Less relationship and more resonsibility. But it didn't stop me from having a good cry on Saturday morning as I had to throw away his unused dog food and dog treats. His collar still sits on my counter - which, eventually, when I get around to it may be a bracelet for myself. And so too remains his dog bed. Couldn't seem to throw that out yet. It's like the seat for Elijah. I know he's not coming back - but a little reminder of what he was.  

My Mother Was

It’s hard to believe that only recently my mother was the “young 73 year old,” living her life, mentally sharp, interested, active, meeting friends at new restaurants, playing bridge, going to movies and plays, walking the streets of New York, feeding its economy by spending at all the best stores and nail salons. It’s hard to believe that only months ago she was always at the other end of the phone. But my mother was, and isn't anymore. On November 5th we found out she had brain cancer. And on December 16th she died. 

I’ve tried to sit down and write this, write something, many times over the last few months, but never got very far. Initially I think I had wanted to give life to her memory, and then maybe in some small way to honor me, my brother and sister for the experience we had all gone through together. Other times, just to clear my head. But today is my birthday, a day that was naturally as much hers as mine. Also a day when, year after year, I could always rely on the first call of my day to be from her. Today, filling the silence with words about her, seemed like the right time to try to finish this, whatever this is.  

The numbness from the shock and the emotionally exhaustive 5 1/2 weeks we spent watching as each day she disappeared a little more has worn off. But in its place, has come a strange, long mix of emotions. Initially I just felt “off,” for lack of a better term. It was time to go back to work, get back to life, so my body went through the motions. But my brain didn’t always follow. I found I couldn’t concentrate very well or pay attention to anything for very long. I can’t count the number of things I lost or misplaced during that first month. The “off” phased into a feeling of disorientation, just couldn’t find my balance. My brother described it in terms of DNA, half of it suddenly disappearing. For me, it felt like a missing limb. I knew she wasn’t there, but it felt like she was. And in her absence, pain and sadness. Now, I'm just trying to make sense of how someone is here - and then not. 

There is definitely some comfort having my siblings, Jerry and Joanne, around. Both to share in memories of her, and process the whole thing. Although we all had very different relationships with my mother and are coming to terms with it in our own way, we’re all tied together in ways that go back far beyond the last few months. And the loss is profound for each of us, even as it manifests itself in different ways. 

Random memories of her come at the oddest times and for no reason at all other than she is clearly top of mind. At the gym, in a meeting, on the subway... thoughts of her through the years, when she was sick, and the weeks before that, of the signs that might have been a clue there was something wrong. 

My mother was a dichotomy of many things, as we all are. She was sweet, sensitive and very easy going, but also quite judgmental. She was very opinionated, but didn’t always feel it was her place to interject. (Sharing her thoughts with others instead of the intended target.) She was very loving, but could also be aloof at times, putting up just enough of a wall to keep her in her comfort zone. She could be very giving, but also unbelievably self-absorbed. She was creative, but also very smart with a good business head. She was quite weak in some ways, while incredibly strong in others - and brave too, braver than she gave herself credit for. Actually a real survivor. She just didn’t see herself that way. Ultimately, she had a very good life, fortunate in so many ways. But too often she viewed life through the lens of a half empty glass.  

Regardless of the negative traits - some of which unfortunately she passed right along to me - I loved my mother deeply. She was incredibly cute, often quite silly and could really be very fun. Loved a party and a drink. Loved exploring new things, loved food & cooking (something she was excellent at), loved her kids and adored her grandchildren. My mother and I talked all the time, many times a week, if not daily. We enjoyed the city together, we traveled together, talked about nonsense – stories no one else would care about or listen to - and at times, we also annoyed the shit out of each other. In the end, although not always in the ways I wanted or needed her to be, she was there, always. For good, for bad and for everything in the middle, she was my mother - and I miss her. Especially today. 

My brother and I have birthdays two days (and two years) apart. And this year, I am celebrating with him and his family in L.A. Although I didn’t get the call from my mother this morning, appropriately, the first birthday greeting I got was from my youngest niece Ruby. She is sweet, sensitive, looks very much like a Solomon and loved Grandma Judy deeply. A picture of her and her grandmother sits by her bed. And she misses her too, so we reminisced and told funny stories about her the last few days. As Ruby says, sometimes it really feels like she is still here, like she was just on a long trip. 

If only, she was.

 

More Thanksgiving

 Big family meal, excellent food, but always too much of a good thing... Thankfully it's only a once a year thing. Here's my sister cutting the beautiful, extremely large turkey - but in our family, it's not the bird, but the good stuff coming out of it that's the real treat.

Being somebody else

I've been hanging out in the Hamptons, Amagansett specifically for the last four days.  My sister and brother in law have a house out here, but as they're gone for the month, squatting rights have been ceded to me and my mother until they return. 

Being out here with my mom over the weekend, didn't feel all that different than when my sister, the kids, etc. are all out here.  A little quiter, sure, but the same activities more or less. With nothing in the house to eat, we got up, went into town to get a coffee and muffin at the Golden Pear and then over to Citarella to stock up for the weekend. We hung at the house, lounged by the pool, read, threw some chicken on the grill, made a salad and eventually made our way to the beach for a walk. Evening hang wasn't too different, except we moved ourselves to the sofas inside.  Sunday, also more of the same but today we had more to keep us occupied with the Sunday crossword and planning our menu for our guests that would be arriving for the 4th. More lounging, more reading - we made grilled fish for lunch, made a stop at the beach, did a little browsing in Amagansett, had an early dinner at the Clam Bar and then I took my mom to the train.  Then quiet. 

I live alone, so am used to the solitude.  So being out here in a big house with no one else other than my doddering old dog, didn't feel all that odd.  In fact, I'd planned it that way. Three days of beach solitude. When driving out for the paper Sunday morning I found Acoustic Morning on 96.6 - a great mix that included Elvis Costello, Liz Phair, Keane, Bowie, the Cars, Michelle Shocked and an old fave, Jonathan Edwards' "Shanty".  I heard it and smiled immediately.  This was the track - It was exactly the mood I was going for for my three solo days.  A simple plan that included reading, writing, music, beach, some exercise and baking - cookies and pies for the upcoming 4th and well... the kind Jonathan is singing about.  Three days of bliss... doing everything i love doing.. couldn't need it more right now. 

On Monday morning I got up and went into town for Mark Tuthill's kick boxing class, one of the exercise options I hadn't experienced out here yet.  On my way, stopped at Goldberg's bagels for my NY Times and afterwards, drove back over to the Golden Pear for ice coffee a quick squat on the bench to do the paper (really don't like the Golden Pear at all - need to remind myself of this!).. and then over to Citarella again for a food re-stock. Driving around here, going to exercise, people watching and window shopping in East Hampton, getting fruits & veggies from Vickie's are all activities I've done many times before with my sister over the years.  But I've never done all these activities alone. I don't have a house out here - isn't even a remote possibility based on my financial "situation" - and in general, just don't live this life. The women at exercise, although seemed mostly to be locals, were all married, talking about their kids and school, etc..  The people in town, all dripping with money - even if they were in exercise gear, you can just tell.  And it's not just the big rocks on the women's hands that give it away.

Being single, and well, not financially in this class, no matter how well I can get myself around here, makes me feel like an outsider.  I whipped around in the jeep - which is a total blast to drive - but as much as I was totally digging it, it felt like I was playing "dress up." Wearing the shoes of my sister's life.  Which, believe me, isn't a bad thing at all.  She has the life - but it's not mine - so it's sort of weird.  But, admittedly, sort of nice at the same time.  Just like little girls put on their mothers' clothes and make-up to make believe they are something other than they are, sometimes even as an adult it's just nice being somebody else... 

The Kids Are Alright

My nephew Josh is 12.  I absolutely adore him, could eat him up!   He is, and always has been a sweet, gentle soul, smart, insightful and loving.  And he's always good for a big bear hug and a kiss, which I love.  (I'll be very sad when he's too old for that!).  Although I don't get to all his events, I do love it when I can make it... Last night he and his band had a gig at the Bitter End. And I was there. 

He's been playing with this band for a few year now.  Originally called the Four Fellas, the band includes Max Fried (guitar), Will Balasam (keyboard), Ben Irving (vocals, guitar) and Josh Wilson (drummer.)  But when they brought in a girl for a lead singer, Taliana Katz (also on bass), they changed the name to White Label. They've definitely improved and I like the girl vocals - she totally nailed Pat Benatar's "Hit Me with Your Best Shot."  Their playlist also included Bowie's "Rebel Rebel," Dylan's "All Along the Watchtower," Arctic Monkeys "Florescent Adolescent," The Who's "Baba O'Reily" and they bclosed with Journey's "Don't Stop Believing." Although they've got a laid back style, I'm pretty sure they were psyched... as they should have been.  The Bitter End is a great place to see a band - and I imagine a pretty cool place to play too!

Josh rocks... but the bummer part of being a drummer - hard to get a great picture! 

Revisionist History

The mind is an incredibly powerful little engine.  When public figures or politicians "flip flop," there is a always a record of their past statements to prove their current change of heart, especially now in the digital age when every deed and action is captured for eternity. But in personal and family lore, memories of past events are harder to qualify. Every member of a family is almost assuredly affected by particular events uniquely, based on their own personality, place in the family (birth order) and their age when a particular event occurred, among other things. And years later, in recalling these events, there is almost always a powerful "rose colored" filter that limits our ability to truly remember.  Maybe we choose to remember something a particular way because it suits our current situation or possibly because the memory was just too painful to remember the way it actually happened. Either way, the filter is most often times unconscious, and we truly believe our own recollections. The brain, and the heart, are our greatest protectors...

I am the middle child of three and I am still intrigued by how each of us individually recalls our family and our parents growing up.  Some of our lore is obvious and agreed upon, both the events themselves, but also how each of us individually felt and reacted to these situations.  And there are other events that we have just come to "agree to disagree" on, as our memories, or our assessment of those memories, just don't sync up.  Either way, those different perspectives have also become part of the lore and over the years I've found it interesting to hear their thoughts, as they are most always thoughtful, intimate and often times remind me of things I've forgotten, forcing me to think about my own "filtering ability. " But recently, one of my siblings provided me a perspective on our parents that I found so the opposite of what my recollections were, that I had to call my other sibling for verification.  Was it my memory that had so faltered?  Had my own particular brand of rose colored lenses made me that blind?  I got confirmation that my memories were in tact, but I still feel unsettled by it. 

In my head, I know this information shouldn't affect me at all.  It has truly nothing to do with me, now or then.  But yet it does. And then it occurred to me just how integral my siblings memories are to my own truths. We each have our own history and set of memories to rely on. But I'm finding that their memories have helped define my past as much as my own.  As a family, we are intrinsically tied together as a unit, but we're also made up of the uniqueness of the individual relationships. The family I grew up with, and its dynamic, formed the foundation i was built on, informing much about what i am and how i came to be, same as it is for most, i imagine.  And although this particular "revelation" wasn't even directly about me, somehow hearing that one piece of the puzzle, one of the relationships defining our whole, might be completely different than what my memories indicate, makes the foundation feel untrue, unstable. So then what of all the truths that have stemmed from that? I actually do believe my memory is correct on this one (naturally. but i did also get confirmation...). But that my sibling remembers it this way at all is just as upsetting as if it was really true. Somehow the belief alone alters the fabric of reality, as perspective can often times be more potent than truth. 

I do know that none of this actually changes the past - my memory of it, or the truth as it was.  But yet the past, especially when related to family, ultimately can, and does, creep into the current dynamic. And so on this day, when our family will be getting together to celebrate mother's day, i can't help but think about how important my siblings were in my life growing up, but also how important their perspective and memories are to my own history, and understanding of it. My memories are my own, as theirs are theirs. But somehow the collective unconscious of all three of our memories feels as relevant, powerful and influential as my own individual recollections .