I Just Called to Say...

It’s only a week until Nathan, my eighteen-year-old son, leaves for college. I thought this last week might be about us spending a little more time together; however, I think that the Mom in me was playing some sort of joke on me. Of course, I could have said to him, “I need you to be home, so I can get used to you not being here,” but, seriously, did that make any sense? Nope.

Earlier in the week, Nathan texted me. “Can I go to Long Island from the 19th through the 24th? I love you.” Iz, my eight-year-old daughter, always called me “Mumma” and used her baby voice when she wanted something from me. For Nathan, it was stronger, because he knew I loved him and wanted him to do what he wanted to do for the most part, unlike his Dad.

His Dad had long been the bad cop. I had long been the good cop; however, I think when looking back, that as the good cop, I was not taken advantage of. As the good cop, I received more information, except where it concerned girls, and, most importantly, I earned most trust from Nathan.

As parents, I know we’re supposed to lay down the law. In hindsight, I had always wished I could share more with my parents. I never wanted Nathan and I to be “friends,” but I did want him to know that he could tell me most anything.

The “anything” might upset me. But, I’d always state my position. I'd be supportive in the context of my position, and let him know that no matter what I was always here for him, even if it meant driving to some location late at night, because he couldn’t drive.

When I looked at Nathan’s text, I was a bit disappointed. But then, some switch must have turned on in my 5’10” body. The switch was labeled “Time to Let Go.” I texted him and said, “K.”

It was funny, because while I was feeling the loss of my little boy, I felt I was gaining a wonderful new man in my life. He was going to drive his ’00 RAV, which just rolled 190K miles, to New London, CT and then take a high speed ferry to Long Island. How did I know the mileage on Nathan’s car?

Last night, when he left to go sleep over so-and-so’s house, because there are "only TWO weeks left,” which was the excuse given as to why he couldn’t stay home, I asked, “How’s the RAV running?" I then quickly asked, "What’s the mileage now?” He responded enthusiastically, “Good. It just rolled 190K!”

He seemed excited at the mileage. He was driving a car that my Dad bought in 1999, which I inherited in 2000 with 10K miles on it. Given that he was leaving soon, I had told him I was taking him off my car insurance.

He immediately said, “What? Are you getting rid of the RAV?” I laughed and said, “No. I’m going to save $1500 while you’re away. When you come home, a phone call gets you back in the RAV.” He said, “Oh, okay, because me and the RAV are going places!”

I loved that he loved the RAV, a ten year old car that for all intents and purposes had seen much better Kelly Blue Book days, but was now only seeing the best days of its life. Nathan loved it so much, a car that belonged to a man he didn’t really know at all but still loved. It warmed my heart in a way, because it had been the very same way I had felt about my father, his grandfather.

I texted Nathan today and asked him what time he’d be leaving for Long Island. He said 4pm. I texted him back and told him that I transferred $100 into his account.

He said, “Stop giving me money!” I had to laugh, because against bad cop’s wishes (his Dad), I had been paying for his gas all Summer. I told him that it was vacation money and that he should buy flowers for his hostess. Though, I’m sure it’ll be spent on Arizona Iced Tea, Dunkin Donuts, and pizza.

I texted him and said, “Text me when you get there.” He said, “Just text me at 7pm. I’m a forgetful creature.” I said, “Only one more week of being forgetful. Then you have to start remembering a lot!”

After picking Iz up at 5:30, shopping for groceries, feeding cats, and cleaning litter boxes, my phone meowed. I saw Nathan was calling and was a bit concerned that something was amiss. I answered and Nathan said, “I’m in New London. I’ll be in Long Island around 8pm.” I said, “Okay, I’ll call you at 9pm.” He said, “Okay.”

He was “forgetful,” but he had called me to tell me where he was. I never asked him to. While he was going away to college, it was good to know in this small window before college that he still felt that I was his Mom and he owed some explanation.

When he called initially, a Stevie Wonder song queued in my head. By the time my conversation with Nate was over, I realized that “I just called to say I’m in New London,” meant so much more. Sometimes "I'm in New London" meant "I love you. And I mean it from the bottom of my heart." ♥

In Your Eyes

Life is funny. That’s so trite; however, today I realized that while life can be humdrum and challenging, it can also hand you these little glimmers that sparkle. And, the light from those sparkles can always guide you through the darkest tunnel.

Recently, I felt like I had been going through a dark tunnel. I was ready to write a post called “It’s Always Something.” But, I knew I had to write about a Something, because today reminded me that this something was a "good" always.

Life gives big gifts. But, every now then, Life puts you in an unexpected place, where you might expect to see nothing you expect. It might show you a spectacular sunrise, let you find a crumpled-up $5 bill in the pocket of your jeans when you thought you had no money, or enable you to buy your shirt for 50% off when you didn’t even know it was on sale.

My son, Nathan, will be off to college in two weeks. Sometimes I can’t believe it. Although, with his job, his car, and his social life, I don’t get to see him a lot anyway; in hindsight, it’s probably good preparation for the freshman college year to come.

When Nathan turned 18, and he never looked back. In a way, I was glad my introverted “Just Wants to Stay Home and Play X-box” had become the extroverted “Most Changed,” which his Senior classmates in high school had voted him. But, recently, when I received a text message that said, “Can I stay at Sam’s tonight? I love you,” it was with great regret I said, “Sure. That’s fine.”

I then asked, “Can you at least send me a picture of you, because I forget what you look like?” Of course, even if Nathan wasn’t the extrovert I was, he had my sense of humor. In under ten seconds, I received this:



When I was lucky enough to see Nathan for an hour or more, I was amazed at who he had become. Usually, I'd find him on his bed with his X-box controller and Thunderbolt, our cat, in his lap or stretched out on the sofa eating his two bagels with cream cheese while watching “House.” It was then that I looked at this handsome 6’4” blonde and blue-eyed son of mine and heard a tiny voice that said, “Jeez. I remember when he only took up one third of the sofa! Who is this wonderful man and where did he come from?!”

Recently, when I did happen to catch a glimpse of Nathan, he sparkled at me. When I looked at him, he was the flashlight in my dark tunnel. He constantly reminded me that whenever it was something, he and his sister were my one and only thing; when I looked at either of them, I saw light even when it was dark.

Today, Iz and I headed off to Crane Beach in our red VW bug. Some of you know that I don’t own a red VW bug, but for a few weeks now, I will. I love VWs, but since April, I think VWs stink.

I own an EOS. The part my car currently needs (window motor) is “nationally” backordered. But, I have to pay for a rental (ironically, the bug, which I like to call "rental car irony"), because VW can’t keep up with supply and demand!

Anyway, Iz and I parked in the Crane Beach lot and unloaded our cooler, her beach toys, my beach chair, and our beach tote. It’s funny how I end up with the cooler, the chair, and the tote and Iz only ends up with the toys. It’s never a fair division of labor when you have kids, is it?! And, it never will be, but you accept that, and you know you will always love it, even when your back is breaking.

After we were sure we had everything, we began our trek toward the beach. Iz followed behind me, but then she sped up and grasped my hand. When I felt her firm grip, I looked down at her.

She smiled up at me. I looked into her big beautiful brown eyes, which were definitely something she got from her Dad. They were one of the things I loved about him way back when; they were like a tiger’s eye.

Just then, everything started to sparkle around Iz. It was as if there was no one else in the parking lot except for us; I was Jodie Foster and Iz was David Morse in the movie, “Contact.” I knew that Life had given me a huge gift in this girl and in my son, Nathan.

I looked long and hard at her, and I found myself truly amazed that she was mine, all mine, a beautiful gift sans the bow. As we walked through the parking lot, she never let go of my hand. While it seemed like Life hadn’t been going my way lately, Life reminded me that I had everything going for me and through it all, Iz was always going to be holding my hand and that Nathan would always be loving me even if he wasn't there. ♥

Follow Your Heart

I lost my dog, Monty, in May to lymphoma. It was a tough loss, so tough that I thought I’d never want another dog again. As they say, never say never.

After some time, I thought the phantom Monty pains would subside. Some of the pain was the lack of barking when I pulled in the driveway, the not needing to head out at 11pm for a water-the-old-Xmas-tree-that-was-still-in-the-backyard pee before bedtime, and walking past the box of peanut-shaped peanut butter bones in the pet aisle without tossing one into my carriage. Every day I wondered, “Will I ever forget what Monty felt like?”

Every time, I passed a dog, my heart beat Monty. It could be a pug, a breed I was never fond of, or it could be a mutt with one erect ear, one floppy ear, a curly tail, and a long lanky body with short legs that made it look like it was the dog owned exclusively by Mr. Potato Head. All dogs led to the fact that I no longer had one.

When I periodically needed a break at work from trunk groups and call detail records, I’d resort to surfing the Internet. If stressed, I’d go right for shoes at http://www.zappos.com/; uncontrary to popular opinion, I do have quite a few pairs of shoes. Contrary to popular opinion, I don’t really buy a lot; all of my shoes are what I like to call a “collection” that I’ve amassed over a period of years.

Usually, I spend 20 minutes perusing the shoes. I find a few pair of shoes I like, and then I put them in my “cart.” But, I usually never end up buying them; it’s a virtual shop that soothes the savage shoe shopping beast, because by the time I click “X” on my browser window, I realize that I want them more than I need them.

Last month, given a very canine state of mind, I passed www.zappos.com and hoped to scratch an itch (not caused by a flea bite) at http://www.petfinder.com/. Every day at lunch, I found myself typing “dog,” “Corgi,” and my zipcode in the Advanced Search box. Instead of adding the Corgi-Chihuahua or the Corgi-Jack Russell mix to my cart, I’d make the dog a “Favorite” via my web browser.

When someone would enter my office, I’d immediately click “X” on my browser window. I don’t know why, but part of me felt like I was looking at something I shouldn’t be. It wasn’t like I didn’t walk in on people all the time at work looking at golf clubs, used cars, or Facebook; it felt like I was cheating on Monty. This led me to start calling what I was viewing “dog porn.”

One day, one of my friends caught me by surprise when I was looking at a Corgi-Dachshund mix wearing a blue plaid sweater vest whose name happened to be Stewart. He asked, “Are you looking at dogs?” I said, “Shhh. It’s my dog porn!” He looked at me strangely and then laughed at me just like he always does.

He left and then I happened upon a Corgi-You’reGuessIsAsGoodAsMine mix named Spencer. I had looked at about as many dogs as I had shoes in that month. As Spencer sat there smiling at me, he said, “I’m Monty but without all that barking.”

I thought, “This is my dog!” I went home that night, and that’s when I made one of my biggest parenting mistakes. After a stressful day of work, I grabbed a glass of wine, parked myself in front of my desk, and began to look at dog porn, particularly Spencer.

I sat there totally enamored of this pooch. Deep in thought, I wondered what it would be like to have Spencer sitting next to me, to run my hand down his soft-looking coat, or to take him for a drive around the block. Suddenly, I heard a thud.

Iz had landed at the top of the stairs. I had to hide my dog porn, but there was no time! In under three seconds, Iz was staring at my laptop saying, “He’s so cute! Can we get him?”

If anyone knows my daughter, you know that she is my “mini me.” She likes everything I like, she likes to do everything I like to do, and we share a love of all creatures great and small.

I said to her, “Ahhhhhhhhh, well.” She said, “Oh, please, Mumma.” In my defense, she pulls out the “Mumma” card when she wants something.

I sat there and pondered it all. I had really missed having a dog, and I know she did, too. With a second glass of wine and Iz on my lap, it seemed like the right thing to do as we filled out the adoption application.

I hit “Send.” I said, “Well, we’ll have to wait and see.” Iz said, “I think he’s great. We’ll call him Spence!”

The next day, I received an email from Spence's dog rescue asking us if we’d like to come meet Spence. No longer an under-the-influence Mumma, I thought, “Okay, this is it. I am getting a dog.” We want a dog, so we’re going to get one.

I arranged a time that Iz and I could meet Spence, which was the next day. We had to drive all the way to Quincy, but Spence was worth it. Iz was all excited, but in the scheme of things, she and I were the only ones who were excited when we heard from friends and family things like “Life is easier without a dog.”

That morning, I felt a huge wave of emotions. Were the critics right? Or, was what I felt in my heart right? I hemmed and hawed over whether I should subject Iz to anymore “dog talk.” She sensed this that morning and said, “Mom, follow your heart. It’s okay if you say no.”Amazed by my 8-year-old’s wisdom, I chose to follow my heart and ignored everything my head was saying to me.

Iz and I pressed on and drove to Quincy to meet Spence as planned. We found our way to his house, knocked on the door, and he came bounding out knocking Iz flat on her back, and licked her into a giggling frenzy. Spence’s foster Mom told us she had to run an errand and handed us and leash. She asked, “Would you like to take him for a walk?”

Iz and I left with Spence in hand. I finally knew how it felt to drive him. He handled pretty smoothly though was a bit jerky in places due to still being a wild and crazy pup.

When we arrived back at Spence’s house, we entered the backyard. Spence’s foster Mom showed us how he like to jump at the water coming out the garden hose. Spence was clearly a lovely and talented guy, and then I suddenly realized something was terribly wrong when Iz hugged him.

Spence had so much energy and love; so did Iz. I had a lot of love, but at this point in my life, did I have enough energy and, most importantly, the time for Spence.

Standing there wanting so much to make him ours yet wanting so much to make a good decision, I had no idea what to do. I asked, “You still need to get his health certificate, right?” She said, “No. I have it. You can take him home with you now.”

I said, “Oh. I’m unprepared,” because I knew that the fact that Iz and I loved him was good, but it wasn’t everything. She said, “Go home and think about it.” I said, “We will. I’ll e-mail you tomorrow.”

When Iz and I got into the car, she said, “Mom, he’s great.” I said, “Yes, He is wonderful.” He hadn’t barked once the whole time we were there, he loved to be touched (Monty didn’t like to be picked up or have his hindquarters touched), and he just seemed to be the “woof” to our “meow.”

As we drove home, I recalled how I acquired Monty. It’s was 2000, I was terribly lonely yet in a relationship, and my father was a few short weeks away from dying of colon cancer. I was at the mall one night, and I thought right before I was about to leave, “I need to go to the pet store. If they have a Corgi, I’m getting it.” And, that’s how Monty came into my life.

Distressed at not knowing what to do and more so for having drawn Iz into my web of emotional dysfunction, I said to Iz, “Let’s go see my Mom and Dad.” We ended up in my hometown, went to Duck Soup to buy coffee, and then went to the cemetery to visit with my Mom and Dad. Finally, we headed to the street I grew up on so Iz could play at my elementary school playground and see the house I lived in.

It’s true. Kids do see dead people; okay, well, most kids don’t see dead people, but they see things that most of us don’t. Every 30 minutes or so, Iz asked, “So, have you decided about Spence?”

It was so hard to keep putting her off. And, I felt so guilty for not being able to give her an answer. I, being the parent, should have a well-thought out answer to her question. But, I didn’t.

As the time passed, I felt more confused and more guilty that I had brought Iz along for this ride. My intentions has been good, but I was constantly questioning my intentions. When I put Iz to bed that night she asked, “Have you decided?” I said, “No.” She kissed me good night, and I knew I had to make a decision.

After she fell asleep, I pondered the pros and the cons. Unfortunately, there were more cons than pros, not because of the dog, but because of my life. I knew I couldn’t give such a vibrant guy the vibrant existence he deserved; Monty should have had far more outdoor time than he did. And, ultimately, I knew Spence was a furry band-aid for the extreme loneliness I had felt every day for many years.

I sat down at my laptop. I’m sure a sighed a million sighs. And, I wrote the following note to Spence’s foster Mom:

It with a very heavy heart that I write this, but I think I'm doing the right thing for primarily Spencer and then for myself. I *love* Spencer, though the more and more I played with him today, the more and more I realized how much attention he needed. We have no "dog parks" nearby, and I work full-time.

As I drove home, I realized I loved Spencer so much that I didn't want such a vibrant dog to be stuck snoozing inside the house by the backdoor every day. Monty had a good life with us, but I think he snoozed more by the back door than was out playing and romping. I also realized that I was getting a dog because I was lonely, and I had to address that issue first rather than apply a lovely furry band-aid.

I hope that's all not too much emotional information, but I wanted you not to think me crazy for not taking such a WONDERFUL dog, and I wanted to make the best decision. I wish I had worked out these issues before I went to see Spencer for Spencer's sake and my daughter's, but *alas much of wisdom is gained in retrospect.

*That was something my Mom had actually written in a letter to my cousin, Laura, who became a Mom at 18, about parenting; fortunately, it came back to haunt me, not making me feel as badly as I might have for bringing Iz along on my emotional canine ride.

Spence’s foster Mom wrote me back saying that she had wished all people made such informed decisions when it came to pets. While that was nice to hear, it didn’t make me feel any better. I wanted Spence, and I knew Iz did, too; it felt like a lose-lose situation.

Though in retrospect, as my Mom had said, seeing Spence was the right thing to do, but letting him go was the right thing to do, too. I had to go through the emotional motions; that was a win-win, though I still wished I hadn’t involved Iz. I knew the most important thing for me, and eventually for Iz too, was to get unlonely instead of applying a furry band-aid to a gaping heart wound.

The next morning, Iz asked me about Spence again. I looked at her and before I said anything, she began to cry, because she could see a person who had loved and had already felt that loss. We both cried together; I told her how sorry I was, and that we’d get a dog when the time was right, though I knew I still had a lot to go through to make the time right.

I think you realize you’re a good parent when you know that you’re not a perfect parent. I also think a pinnacle point in any parent-child relationship is when a child realizes that the parent is not perfect either. Iz didn’t understand my reluctance about Spence, but she understood that I wasn’t perfect, and she still loved me anyway even when I had followed my heart. ♥

(A few days later, I checked Spencer's page on www.petfinder.com. He was still smiling at me; good doggie! He was now titled "Spencer, a newly adopted dog." He found a home; good doggie! ♥)

Ouija Phone

I’ve had a particularly stressful last few weeks at work. Given that I work in high technology, I should expect it. But after all these years, it still makes me want to stamp my feet when things go awry at the last minute.

In high technology, we like to think we are playing 18 holes. More often than not, we were only playing 13. Unfortunately, I was never good at golf; thus, it is all usually Parcheesi, Cricket, and horse shoes to me.

At 5:45pm tonight, I received an e-mail. There was yet another change when I had to meet a deadline on August 2nd. I shrieked, “Aaaaahhhhhhhh.”

Earlier in the week, I wrote the engineering manager of the next release. I gave him my demands, among them champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries delivered daily to my cube. He replied, “You’re very demanding, Jean!”

The funny thing is I had never ever been very demanding in my life. Actually, that was probably my biggest problem in life, especially where it concerned my relationships. I told him that I had a new attitude recently; it was “Ask for everything in hopes that you get at least one thing.”

Anyway, my co-worker, who had been most helpful today, asked, “What, Jean?” when he heard my shriek. He then came over to my cube. I said, “Have you ever had one of those days when you just want to phone home?”

Puzzled, he just looked at me strangely. I decided to help him out by telling him a story. I told him about a particularly bad day I had at the same company a few years ago when I said out loud while in my cube, “I want my mother.”

When I came in the next morning, I had a voice mail message. I began to listen to it. When I heard a person speaking like Mrs. Doubtfire, I thought, “Surely, this must be a joke.”

When I then heard, “I’m Esme, Sarah’s mother,” I knew it wasn’t a joke. My co-worker, Sarah, who was in the cube next to me, had gone home, told her Mom that I had a bad day, and her Mom had called me. Esme said, “So, feel free to call me whenever you have a bad day.”

Today, I don’t think my co-worker knew what to make of my story. I let him off easy by saying “Thanks for all of your help.” I then glanced at my phone thinking, “I still really want to call my mother.”

While I knew I had many wonderful girlfriends to call in this moment, somehow I just wanted my Mom, which seems really odd to say given that I'm in my 40s. While I knew my Mom wouldn't say anything different than any of my friends, DNA made me desire family. It wasn’t about the consolation; it was about the connection.

Whenever I have a really bad day, I go visit my parents in the cemetery. I know they’re not there. But, it’s the only place I have them now, and more often than not, I still find myself standing there and needing them more than ever.

After my co-worker left my cube, I felt slightly silly for my “phone home” babbling. But I knew, some day, he’d understand. I didn’t want it to happen to him anytime soon, but some day, he’d understand more of what I meant when he couldn’t phone home anymore.

I sat there in my office and thought if Maxwell Smart had a phone in his shoe, then why can’t Verizon offer the Ouija phone? “Great Great Great Great Great Grandma, can you hear me now?” At least, everyone should get a gift card card that gave them 10 after-life phone calls, I thought.

When I left work tonight, I knew that card would never be a reality. I phoned home, and Iz answered. When I heard her voice, I knew that home was definitely where the beating heart was and that via DNA, it would always contain the hearts of those that beat no longer. ♥

Cougar Camp

I never went to camp when I was little. Well, I did go to a camp for one Summer as the camp nurse’s daughter. I spent a Summer in Saco, Maine with my Mom and my two siblings.

My brother, Jack, was old enough to be a camper; however, Julie and I were only old enough to be the “nurse’s daughters.” When I got older, I wondered why on Earth my mother packed us all up for a Summer and left my Dad at home. So, one day I was bold, and I had asked my Mom about “that Summer.”

She simply said, “That was the Summer I thought about leaving your father.” I said nothing. In her response, enough was said.

If truth be told, it wasn’t a bad Summer at all. I liked eating in the dining hall, drinking “bug juice,” (a dumbed down name for Kool-Aid), and buying candy with a punch card at the camp store. It was also the Summer I learned about the monthly curse when a young girl came into the infirmary yelling in pain.

I said to my Mom, “Oh, no. She’s going to die!” My Mom said, “Oh, no. She just has cramps!” Being a nurse and one not to shy away from anything medical, my Mom whipped out a book on menstruation the next day holding Julie and I as her captive audience for an hour or so as she flipped through the pages and asked every two pages or so, “Do you have any questions?”

I was a bit horrified by the whole puberty thing I have to say. Julie and I had no questions. But, in hindsight, I’m glad my Mom was who she was especially in that regard; kids need to know these things, and, in a perfect world, their parents need to be the ones to tell them these things and be there for them when they do have questions.

Anyway, I sit next to a lovely young man at work; he’s only 22 years old, yet he’s smart, polite, self-confident, family-oriented, compassionate, and I think he’s going to be a Vice President in the corporate world by the time he's 26. Sometimes I want to say to him, “Your parents have done so well!” but I restrain myself, because like with Nathan on Facebook, I don't want to be deleted via the Internet or via cube space. The other day, he muttered to himself, “If it keeps raining, maybe the running camp I coach will be cancelled.”

Being an avid runner, I asked, “You coach a running camp?” He said, “Yeah,” and then he popped into my office and then told me to Google the camp. He then said, “Here’s what we do,” and handed me a sheet that broke down two hours worth of camp by minute intervals during which all sorts of sprints and drills would occur.

When I saw the word “suicide” next to one drill, I laughed. If there was ultimate fighting, then this must be ultimate running. I then said to myself, “Two hours of running around like this? That sounds like fun.”

I asked, “Is this just for kids?” He said, “Well, it’s for ages 10 to about 20.” I said, “Oh.” He then hesitated for at least 5 seconds, and it was not like him to have immediate words, and said, “Well, when we had our meeting the other night, we were thinking of starting a cougar camp.”

I laughed out loud. I said not knowing what to say, “I thought cougar camp was sitting by the pool drinking Cosmopolitans! Err, well, when you do that, let me know.” He looked outside (the storm had passed) and said, “Well, I’ve got to get going.”

I sat there still laughing. Then I thought, “Does he think I’m old?” And then I thought, “Does he think I’m a cougar?”

Up until then, I always thought a cougar was an older woman who looked like a younger woman. I googled “cougar.” Apparently, I was wrong.

I told a friend about the fact that someone had suggested I attend a Cougar Camp. He said I should knee this young man in the groin for such an insult. It was funny, but I wanted to hug the young man for thinking I was an older woman who looked like a younger woman.

My friend was adamant about the fact that I was insulted. But, I knew this young man well, and I knew he’d never insult me. As I read the definitions in context of young men, I knew the only young man I was ever after was the one I was related to, who was my son; and, I was only after him to save more money, clean his room, cut his hair at least every three months, and get the oil changed in his (MY) car every three months.

I read further and wanted to think I was someone who had her “shit together,” but, alas, I wasn’t. I had actually been trying to get my shit together for the last seven years. Obviously, I was only a very slow “shit together” cougar. Perhaps I was not even a cougar but a tortoise!

If truth be told, my friend’s reaction made me feel a bit badly but only according to definition. In my heart, I knew my cube neighbor meant no harm. I would strongly consider attending cougar camp if it ever was open to enrollment, because I had already taken my definition of "cougar" and who I really was to heart. ♥

Bring In 'Da Noise, Bring In 'Da Funk

Blog soundtrack (not for the faint of auditory heart!)

Noise. You can love it like the sound of Billie Holiday singing “Crazy He Calls Me” or you can hate it like when your neighbor is having gravel dumped into his yard at 7:30am on a Saturday morning complete with the beeping backing up truck. One of the most interesting experiences I had last night was when dumping gravel became as pleasing as Billie Holiday singing.

A week or so ago, I saw my brother, Jack, for a Fourth of July celebration. He casually mentioned that he was going to playing at some venue with his friend, Steve. Jack had recently begun to learn how to play the drums, so I thought, “He’s playing in a band. ”

I said to him, “Oh!” thinking that it would be really nice to watch my brother play. I asked for the details, and he mentioned an event notice on Facebook. I told him I’d think about attending; however, when he said, “Well, I might be banging on a coffee can,” I only thought, “Oh, he’s a little doubtful there will be a drum kit there for him.”

During the middle of the week, I e-mailed him to tell him that I’d be attending after saying “Yes” to the event invitation on Facebook. He then replied, “I think it is funny that you are going to a noise fest.” I read his sentence again trying to read, “I think it’s nice that you’re are going to a jam fest.” But, when I read it again, I knew I was going to a noise fest, and I thought it was pretty funny, too.

If I didn’t know it then, I did after I read Jack’s, “You might want to bring ear plugs. I hear the shows are loud.” Ear plugs? I only thought the Rolling Stone roadies who stood next to those huge speakers needed ear plugs. The last time I wore ear plugs was, well, I had never worn ear plugs; and, as far as I knew, ear plugs went with no outfit that I owned!

In preparation, Jack told me to go to http://www.youtube/ and search for +DOG+. I did, and I watched the first video shown. At first, I looked high and low for audio subtitles, but when I saw one of the guys slam down a metal sheet, I thought, “This is something I could totally get into after a
l-o-n-g and frustrating day of documenting custom destination and subdestination mappings for Call Detail Records!”

One of the best things I like about music is sharing it with people. Actually, I’m open to most things, and I especially like when people open me up to things I never would have heard of had it not been for them sharing it with me. After absorbing +DOG+’s noise, it reminded me of some other noise that I really loved.

I e-mailed Jack back and asked him if he had ever heard of beatboxing. When I saw Imogen Heap (electronic) a few years ago at the Paradise, a musician named Kid Beyond opened for her. I loved Imogen’s show, but Kid Beyond mesmerized me with his ability to produce all these sounds sans instruments and, in the link I sent to Jack, be a drum set.

Jack then told me that he thought it was going to be “fun to beat on something.” After watching +DOG+’s video another time, I had to agree. Jack then said, “I think I will be beating on something and was thinking of bringing a saw.” The more I read, the more intrigued I became.

When I was driving home from work yesterday (big deadline), I was trying to think about all the things I had to do to get out of the house to make it to Jack’s gig. I needed to shower. I needed to bring my camera, and I needed –crap– ear plugs.

At 4:54pm, I pulled into the Aubuchon store in my town. I walked in and was greeted by a teen employee who looked very happy that I walked in only so he would have something to do. I asked, “Where are the ear plugs?”

I thought he might look at me funny, but he jumped off of the large cardboard box containing a table saw and said, “Follow me!” I followed him for about 100 feet, he stopped, and then he pointed to Aubuchon’s ear plug section. They had the single serving, the party pack (a set of 6 ear plugs), and the single serving with the head band.

What to choose? What to choose? Having never had to accessorize with ear plugs, I chose the party pack, thinking that any noise fest newbies, like me, might need a helping plug. Fortunately, Jack had warned me, but others might not have had such pre-fest brotherly love imparted upon them.

I went to the register with my party pack. It reminded me of buying condoms but in a totally different way. I expected to feel somewhat guilty thinking that this young man is wondering what a person like me is doing with 6 sets of ear plugs.

Instead, he punched a few buttons on the register, said “$3.69,” and then said “Have a nice evening!” If I had perhaps bought the party pack of condoms, I knew I’d be having a nice evening. But, with the party pack of ear plugs safely tucked away in my purse, I wondered what the hell my evening was going to be like!

At 7pm, I got into my car, and courtesy of my Droid found my way to the venue. I was somewhat irritated that the GPS, who I named Gertrude on the way there, had a tendency to repeat herself over and over again. After I heard “Take Exit 35A toward Nashua, NH” about five times, I said out loud, “Chill, Gerty. I know!”

When Gerty made sure, after 5 times, that I was in the right place, I pulled over and parked on the road across from the venue. I was in a sketchy section of Lowell, and I seriously wondered if my car would be outside when I came outside after the gig. But, I threw caution to the wind and said, “Hey, I have insurance, and if it gets stolen, perhaps I can get at 2008 instead of this used 2007!”

I locked my car and crossed the street. I didn’t know exactly where the venue was, as Gerty only told me I was near it. As I walked down the sidewalk, I looked in an open door, and I saw my brother, Jack.

Yeah, it was definitely a 1+1=Jack’s gig equation. I walked in, and I looked around. There were about 10 people scattered across two rooms, and I walked back to greet Jack, who greeted me with a big hug.

I had no idea what to expect of the night, and despite any expectations, it was really good to get a hug from my brother who had expected to see me. He and Steve had set up their table of noise tricks; Jack showed me a miniature drum set and a small piece of metal that he was going to whale on with his drum sticks.

I went to stake out my space and parked myself on a folding chair. As time passed, the room became more crowded, and not too long before show time, Jack came over to sit with me. He said that he had never had to be in front of this many people before.

I was a bit surprised by his admission, though, like my profession (technical writer), he largely dealt with people one-on-one being a goldsmith. I told him that he’d do fine. And, then I shared my only public speaking experience with him; I had to explain the new documentation strategy to 75 HP people who were fed up with our archaic one.

I said that I was scared to death; however, unlike Jack, I had baked two batches of my butterscotch sprinkle cookies the night before to sooth the savage audience. I told him that while I shook in my chinos, I knew that half their attention was directed toward their coffee and my great cookies. I’m sure this was no consolation to Jack, because he had no cookies and, unlike me, he had no great plan to improve noise (or in my case, documentation).

I said, “You’ll do a great job!” It was all I had, and I knew he would. Did I really know that? No, but I knew he would, because after so many years, you don’t know these things, you feel them.

The first noise-icians came on. The leader of the Noise Pack described what they were going to do by saying, “When I was little, I heard this sound. I got out of bed and my brother asked me if I had heard it, too. I went downstairs to ask my Dad about it. He had had a drink or two and was half asleep on the sofa and told me that it was only an airplane. I thought it was aliens, and so here are the sounds that I thought I heard that night.” Fifteen minutes later, I felt as if several times in my young life that aliens had indeed landed at 188 Haynes Road in Sudbury!

Three guys stood there and banged on things, hit buttons, and made noises. I was tapping my foot as they did. When they finished, I clapped my hands together hard, because their noises were indeed what an alien invasion would have been in my head.

Steve and Jack went on after them. As Steve wrapped something around his mouth with tape, I had visions of Hannibal Lector. When they started, I had no idea what to expect, but that’s what I liked about these noises. Like life, did you ever know what to expect?

Steve began. Jack improvised with his drum set and a small piece of metal. I sat there watching, listening, and thinking, “This is not odd. This is the sound of life when you’re trying not to listen.”

When they finished, I clapped. No, I didn’t because I had to hit the “Stop” button on my camera. The audience went wild, and then I heard a “Fuck yeah,” and I thought that’s the ultimate compliment that any artist can receive.

After they dismantled their stuff, Jack and Steve sat down with me. Steve gave me the thumbs up. While I was a Mom to much younger children, I wanted to hug them both and say, “OMG! You were so good!” but I just smiled instead.

The next noise-icians came on. While they were warming up, I thought, “Ear plugs now!” When they began, I let the ear plug party pack invade my ear space. While they were “playing,” I closed my eyes a few times, and I thought, “Wow, this is what it’s like to be on the Amtrak Northeast Regional train…but louder.”

This group was the loudest by far; however, when I closed my eyes, I was with them. I was sleeping and hearing gravel dumped, I was on the train when it was going 70 mph down the tracks, and then I was dying thinking this is what the white light sounds like but only that much louder. And, I loved it.

Jack and I weren't that close when we were growing up. Last night, I realized that perhaps my brother and I were closer than life would have us believe. Neither of us was good at public speaking, yet we both loved music, were laid back, and we appreciated noise, in whatever form in came in, even after all these years. I love you, Jack. ♥