beautiful, funny, sad & true

One of my musician friends hates the phrase ‘mixed bag’, but I’m going to go ahead and use it (albeit with my tongue planted firmly in my cheek), because that’s what this week has been. After a debilitatingly sad couple of weeks, I’m finally feeling able to go and do all the things I normally do. Wednesday night was the play-reading group, and I feel like that’s what brought me back to life. The play we read was the story of a quirky pianist (so naturally I played piano) who had lots of children, and the story was set in an Irish Catholic neighborhood of Chicago, around the time of Prohibition. Very well-written and humorous, and I got the honor of reading the lead role. After that, two of the guys from the group and I went out and talked, and shared a basket of French fries, and caught up on each others’ lives. It was nice, and genuine, and I appreciated it.

Thursday I raced over to my favorite new sushi place to meet Genie-Wa. She’s here visiting her mom and interviewing for jobs so that she can move back here again, which I for one am very glad about. Her rental car was a white convertible, and after some trial and error, we finally figured out how to put the top down. Perfect timing, too, because the seemingly interminable months of shitty, depressing weather are finally starting to break here in Portland, so I’m sure she’ll have plenty of opportunities to race around and enjoy it.

As we were heading our separate ways, my hospitalized friend called. Since she doesn’t have a phone in her room, she has to walk clear across the building into a public area, and sometimes there are people milling around, and other times the place is empty. Sometimes people are using the phone, so she has to walk clear back to her room and try again later. She spends most of her days sleeping. Weekends are particularly long, because the doctors aren’t on duty, so I’m going to go visit her this morning, actually, before my afternoon cello gig and evening accordion gig. These will be the first shows I’ve played in over two weeks. I had to back out of four different gigs since this happened, but now I feel ready to play again.

Last night I went to Slabtown to see three bands; Lasers All The Time, Shim, and Hockey. All amazing. I already had Hockey’s CD because the drummer works with me. I first listened to their CD in my car, and I was so impressed with it that it stayed in constant rotation (as they say in radio jargon) for two weeks.

I was supposed to meet my dad for breakfast at 9:00 this morning. Around 8:00 I heard a strange tapping on my door. It wasn’t a knock, but it sounded like someone was tapping my door with something wooden, or maybe metal. Freaked me out, because strange knocks that early in the morning, particularly in my hidden apartment, are almost never because of good news. So I nervously opened the door, to find my dad on my doorstep. “Would you believe. . .I’m early?” he asked. Sheesh. Naturally, my place is a complete disaster area, because I haven’t been home for the last three nights, and I just rearranged my furniture and everything, so I felt nervous about the early-morning knocks, and also about the disarray of my place.

The visit went okay, though. He asked about my friend, and asked a bit about what our relationship was like, and how she was doing, and seemed (somewhat uncharacteristically) empathetic and understanding. But again, he was nice, and genuine, so I certainly appreciated that.

I’ve noticed quite a few blog visits from two different places recently; one of which is in the Portland area, and the other is in the Bay Area. I have a pretty good idea of the places that the regular readers are from, and of those of my friends who read this blog, but these are both new ones. If you’re one of the long-term readers of BFST, you’ll understand why I raise an eyebrow at sudden bursts of energy like that. That’s all I’ll say about it.

Took my cello in for a quick and easy repair the other day. It has a ‘wolf’ tone, which is a common affliction for cellos. It’s hard to explain, but certain notes make the body vibrate excessively, and the horrible, warbling tone it produces when that happens is called a wolf. I don’t know why it’s called that, but I’m just glad that it’s minimized now. They never completely go away, apparently. The repair guy said that the cello instructor at the main university here in town has a cello that’s worth nine hundred thousand dollars, but it has that wolf tone, which was minimized by sticking a piece of a wine cork down between the body and the tailpiece. So funny, and now I have one there too.

And now it’s time to drive out to the hospital.

OneYearAgo

My friend got moved to a new room today, on a different floor, with different nurses and stricter rules about calls and visits. She called while I was driving home on my lunch break, so I didn’t know that my phone was vibrating. She sounded worried and sad in her message. She said she’d try to call back this evening, and wasn’t sure how I’d even be able to contact her. She left a number, which I called as soon as I got her message. It was busy, so I kept trying and trying. After a couple of minutes, I finally got through, but instead of my friend I found myself talking to a disoriented stoner guy.

Worried. Concerned. Frustrated.

Dammit.

Thursday night I talked on the phone to my friend, and she said that she’s feeling good enough for a visit. Thursday night I had a dream that I can’t recall the details of, but it involved her, and we were consciously making an effort to be as close to each other as possible. We would walk in various places, slowly, with one of our hands on the other’s back or shoulder. We would sit somewhere, either to rest or to admire a particular view, and our legs touched because we sat so close and turned toward each other. It was a very beautiful dream, and much more based in reality, in a way that the vast majority of my dreams are not.

I went to visit her last night. After a long hug, we sat and held hands for two hours. We talked about big things and small things, sad things and funny things. We talked a lot about this experience. She had some questions, and so did I. I tried to limit the discussion about my own shock and pain, because I didn’t want to distress her further. There will be plenty of time for that discussion in the future. She seems to be making good progress, but she’ll be there for a while. I’m going to visit her again tonight.

Monday was a day of huge leaps of recovery for my friend. The drugs she took seem to have pretty much cleared out of her system on that day, and since then she’s been talking, and crying, and walking a little, and slowly but surely getting her strength back. She was able to use the phone yesterday, and we had the chance to talk for about half an hour. She sounds and seems like her usual self, but she’s still got a very long road ahead of her. Some of the things we talked about were heart-wrenching.

I found myself feeling guilty that I hadn’t found her earlier. She had been lying there not for an hour or two like I had guessed, but for more than a day. That broke my heart. Someone told me this morning that “you never know what good is going to come out of all this,” and while it may feel like a hollow platitude, at least it’s better than some of the strange or even hurtful things people have already said to me.

I finally got the chance to talk with CincinnatiFriend, whose opinions I value more than anyone’s, especially in matters like these. She put it into perfect perspective by saying that the only people we can help are the people who want to be helped. If they’re intent on harming themselves, they’ll find ways to do it, and they can be very crafty about hiding the warning signs. She also said, essentially, that the only way we can deal with difficult things is to do what we can with the information that we have available to us. Hindsight is always 20/20, and we shouldn’t use our newer knowledge to beat ourselves up later.

The biggest truth of all, though, is that I’m just incredibly thankful that my friend is alive, and that she’s in the right place, both geographically and emotionally, to get the help that she needs.

I have to hand it to Tossed In for coming up with the best opening line of a blog that I’ve read in quite a while.

“Considering it was Hitler’s birthday, today was so-so.”

Cracked me up. And silly me for missing such a special occasion. How should someone celebrate that, anyway? What do you get for someone who’s responsible for the deaths of eleven million people? I ask you.

Anyway.

The mixing with Andrea went great, and we’re really satisfied with the results. Special kudos once again to DrummerAdam, who completely ruled on those songs, and every time I listen to them, I’m reminded of that fact.

Saturday I was awakened by a strange knocking sound. I got up and walked into the studio, to find a robin sitting in the tree outside the window, staring in at me.

I also couldn’t help but notice how much snow had fallen overnight, so I walked out front to find this tranquil scene:

I must’ve been quite a sight, in my long-sleeved T-shirt, pajama pants, and Doc Martens with no socks. Well, sometimes looking ridiculous is a small price to pay for the sake of Great Art.

I was the first one awake, since I’d slept (or should I say NOT slept?) in my sleeping bag on the floor in the drum room, so I dinked around online for a while, until everyone else woke up. Once they did, Andrea and I went for a walk through the golf course, to take pictures and just get some fresh air for a while, after being cooped up inside all the day before.

We both took about a million pictures, and good thing we did, too, because all the snow had melted by mid-afternoon.

After we were done with mixing, I drove the hour back to Portland, showered, changed my clothes, and then went on a really great date. We were lucky enough to get two rainbows; one in its actual form, in the sky – “Hey, that’s a good omen!” she said – and the other in sushi form; a rainbow roll. It was a wonderful evening – “Let’s do that a whole bunch more times,” I said – and here’s to a ‘whole bunch more’ weekends just like this one.