Category: Family, Parenting

  • Things Have Changed

    Things Have Changed

    dylan_concert

     

    People are crazy and times are strange
    I’m locked in tight, I’m out of range
    I used to care, but

    Things have changed

    -Bob Dylan, “Things Have Changed”

     

    In 1991 I went to my first Bob Dylan concert. 1991 kicked off what would be called the “Never Ending Tour,” as Dylan has been touring continuously ever since. I saw him every year for almost a decade, some years twice. Some concerts were better than others, but I loved every one: for the songs played, for seeing a legend in action, a piece of musical history; for the company I kept.

    Twice in those years I saw Bob Dylan with my father, the only two times he saw him in concert. My father loved Bob Dylan and I grew up on the songs of the outlaw folk singer. My father would leave me notes that said things like “Went to the video store. Will be back in time for dinner. The pump don’t work cause the vandals took the handles.”

    I watched the Dylan documentary ‘Don’t Look Back’ until I wore through the tape in the VHS cassette.

    The year after my father died I saw Dylan again and he played our favorite song, ‘Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright.” I cried and cried and cried and I think it was the first time I really, truly accepted that my dad was gone. It’s worth noting that’s the only time I’ve heard Dylan play that song.

    In college I wrote a paper about Dylan. It was in theory about the influence he had on modern songwriting, but the part that had meaning for me outlined how Dylan’s lyrics tap into the human consciousness. They may seem nonsensical, but coupled with the music that feels like we’ve heard it before and the intimate nature of his voice— not a lovely voice at all, but so raw and personal, and causing us to lean in and concentrate on the lyric— his songs resonate with something complicated and musical within our souls. That part of us that longs to be a poet, a philosopher, a knower of which way the wind blows.

    It always reminds me of the Emerson quote: “Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string.”

    In 1991 I went to my first Bob Dylan concert. I was 15. Tonight I went to my 16th with my son. He is 15.

    It’s been nearly a decade since I last saw Bob. He has aged a lot in that time, his voice has grown even more rough. His variations on the songs I love made me laugh out loud.

    I’m always amazed by how small he is. Given his enormous impact on my life, and the world of music.

    Bright lights behind and a cowboy hat on his head mean you can’t take a decent picture of Bob singing on stage, but that’s OK.

    He opened with ‘Things Have Changed’ and closed with a brilliant ‘Ballad of a Thin Man.’ In between there was a jaunty, jangly ‘Tangled Up in Blue’ and quiet ‘Visions of Johanna,’ and a bunch of other songs that I didn’t know or only vaguely knew— I stopped obsessively listening to new Dylan albums around the time Jake was born.

    When I was 15, I knew every line of every song he sang (my knowledge of the Christian years was a little holey, but he didn’t play any of those). Since then, Dylan has mostly gravitated to a gangster rockabilly type of show but I don’t mind. I overheard a lot of people complaining that he didn’t play his old battle hymns, but come on. He built a career on not giving a crap about what his audience wanted to hear or hoped to see; the man is entitled to play the new songs he cared enough about to record on new albums.

    His clothing and dance moves are reminiscent of your grumpy grandpa doing an ironic imitation of Michael Jackson’s ‘Smooth Criminal.’ He didn’t play guitar; when he played he stood behind a piano. But every so often, he’d bust out that harmonica, and oh. my. god. it was sensational. While his voice and frame may reveal his age (72) and the years he’s been on tour, the harmonica is ageless and huge and soaring and reminds you that this is a man who has been making music for over 50 years, made over 30 albums, has been touring continuously for over two decades. He is a force who has touched so many hearts and influenced so many lives.

    Is there an artist today that my son will see at 15 and be emotionally affected seeing again with his own 15yo child? Maybe, but I don’t think so. I think Dylan stands alone in that respect.

    After the concert my son turned to me and said, “Thanks Mom.” I assume he meant for the cost of the ticket and the tshirt I bought him.

    I hope that it was because he understood how much it meant to me to share this with him.

    I saw Dylan in concert for the first time when I was 15. Tonight I took my 15yo to see Dylan in concert for his first time, and probably his last. It was in the same venue.

    Tonight was important. It was some sort of closing of a circle.

    In religion, you have faith that performing certain rituals literally transport you to participate in a sacred time and space.

     

    Do you know what I was smiling at? You wrote down that you were a writer by profession. It sounded to me like the loveliest euphemism I had ever heard.
    When was writing ever your profession? It’s never been anything but your religion.

    -JD Salinger, ‘Seymour: An Introduction’

     

    The music of Bob Dylan, in many ways, is my religion.

    One day I’ll be gone, but Dylan’s music will bring me closer to my children. As it did and continues to do for the memory of my father. They’ll hear the words and feel the music, and I’ll be there with them. These sorts of connections are important, and far between, and I’m so grateful to have experienced this one.

     

    May you grow up to be righteous
    May you grow up to be true
    May you always know the truth
    And see the lights surrounding you
    May you always be courageous
    Stand upright and be strong
    May you stay forever young.

    -Bob Dylan, ‘Forever Young

     

  • Two Walks in the Woods

    Two Walks in the Woods

    hiking with kids

    Into the woods, each time you go,
    There’s more to learn of what you know.

    -Stephen Sondheim, Into the Woods

     

    We live on the border of a nature preserve— we have trails starting right off our property that connect with state park bike trails and foot paths that sprawl all over Delaware and Pennsylvania.

    We’re extremely lucky, but we really haven’t ever taken full advantage of these resources that are literally right in our backyard. So, the first weekend of March we ponied up for a Delaware parks license (good for all the DE state parks) and hit the trail.

     

    hiking with dogs

     

    Indulging in my favorite— tossing pebbles in the creek.

    This was Karma’s first walk in the woods and I’m pretty sure she loved it. Everyone we passed was taken by the sight of a Saint Bernard trotting along the trail.

     

    white clay creek

     

    There’s all sorts of cool things to see in White Clay Creek State Park; here we were looking at the remains of an old bridge. Jimmy seemed upset that he couldn’t see what we were looking at (Karma, of course, is just as tall as the kids when she’s up on her hind legs), so Jake gave him a lift.

     

    tree sign

     

    I love stuff like this— flowers growing from cracks in sidewalk, birds nesting in the crooks and crannies of building facades— visions of nature reclaiming its territory.

     

    arc corner monument

     

    The next weekend we hiked out to the Arc Corner Monument, where Delaware meets Pennsylvania at the end of the curve; an area called the Wedge. (Picture shows either side of the monument. I didn’t take a photo of the top as it was covered with bird poop.) It is, I think, one of the boundaries of the Mason-Dixon line.

    This video goes into how the Mason-Dixon wasn’t a line so much as 3 line segments or a curve, and attempts to illustrate where the Mason-Dixon hits in this area. I say attempts because I watched it twice and I’m still not sure I’ve completely got it.

     

     

    Interesting fact from the video that I didn’t know even though I grew up in Delaware: since DE never seceded from the Union and was considered a “Northern” state, the slaves held there weren’t freed when Lincoln emancipated the South. When I read a bit more about it, I found that DE seemed progressive on the slavery issue— it was early to ban slave imports and slaves sold out-of-state were automatically freed— but that was more to keep in-state slave trade profitable. Delaware had the largest (proportionally speaking) free black population of any state, but also had really horrid attitudes and codes of conduct towards them. Perhaps unsurprisingly, not something they really emphasized in history class.

    Anywho, our next hike will be to the Tri-Corner, where Delaware, Pennsylvania and Maryland all meet. When I explain where I live, I like to say “within hiking distance of the DE-PA-MD tricorner;” even locally, this is a geographically confusing idea to a lot of people. Anyway, you can probably throw a rock or a carefully-banked paper airplane into DE from our backyard.

     

    400px-Delaware-wedge

    Fun with maps!

     

    Unlike the week before, which was pretty windy and bitter, this second hike was warm and filled with sunshine; I stripped down to my tank top and was still sweaty. It’s funny how 50 degrees in March can feel like heaven, but 65 during the summer means long sleeves and sweatpants.

     

    hike

     Nature-made clubhouse?

     

    rock climbing kids

    Rock formations = nature’s junge gyms

     

    hike3

     

    “I bet there’s good eatin’ on that fresh grass,” Jeff said. “Yeah?!” I replied, thinking of ramps and garlic scapes and a possible delicious, albeit illegal, bounty.

    “For, like, deer,” he finished. Oh. Right.

    The first greens of spring are amazing, they don’t even seem real. So bright and electric and full of vibrant life.

    We set out into the woods for a bit of exercise, a bit of history. But for me the best part was seeing the signs of spring, keeping me going through those last few wet, cold and dreary days of winter.

     

    Image (8)
     

    “Into the woods, each time you go
    There’s more to learn of what you know.”

     

    It’s true. It doesn’t matter how many times you go into the wood, you always take something new away.

    Even if it’s just a renewed hope that you can get through this— whatever “this” means to you right now.

     

    It’s the first day of spring, one of the most joyous days of the year for me.

    I can’t wait to get outside.

     

     

  • Today my baby brother turned 30.

    Today my baby brother turned 30.

     

    To the outside world we all grow old. But not to brothers and sisters.

    We know each other as we always were. We know each other’s hearts.

    We share private family jokes. We remember family feuds and secrets,

    family griefs and joys.

    We live outside the touch of time.

    -Clara Ortega

    My brother is 30 today.

    We have a relationship as I imagine many siblings do. We don’t talk a whole lot, even though he lives ten minutes away. But when we do we could go on for hours, about anything and everything, as if we’d spent no time apart.

    At seven years apart, we were never especially close as children. By the time he had become old enough to be less of a child and more of a friend, I was already a teenager and one foot out of the house, which I cringe to recollect today.

    I should have been there more.

    Sometimes it’s scary how similar we are, shaped by our common experience growing up in the same house and going to the same school. Sometimes I read things he has written and it takes my breath away. It sounds like something I wrote myself.

    My brother takes care of me, even now when he has a beautiful family of his own. He checks in. He nods understandingly or gives me the look that says I’ve gone too far. He cheers me on as I conquer my fear of the water. He changes my oil, fills my wiper fluid.

    He has a daughter so beautiful that I want to put her in my pocket and keep her small forever. I see echoes of him in her. I see glimpses of me.

    We don’t do affection, although I know the affection is there. We speak fondly of each other. The horror of the months after our father’s death, my mother’s death soon after, forged something between us that no time or distance will ever erode. We survived together. We’ll do anything to spare the other living through that kind of pain again.

    But sometimes you need to do more than just know the bond exists… so here you go.

    A token of my love for my brother. On his birthday.

    Let’s not speak of this ever again.

     

    *NOTE: My husband didn’t realize there’s a slideshow, and I figure he’s not the only one. Start at the first pic and go through- they’re captioned!*

     

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