The Head and the Heart, #3 of 12

Last night Rick and I went to see The Head and The Heart at the Vic. I discovered them sometime late summer of 2011. I heard them on XRT around the time they did the free show with Iron & Wine. Anyway, we decided to add them to our 12 in 12 and I'm really glad we did.

The show started at 7:30 with the first opening band, but we didn't get there until the 2nd band started. They were called Cory Chisel and the Wandering Sons (I think). Rick and I sat up in the balcony and rested our old feet until the main act.

We settled into what has become our usual spot at the Vic. The floor, at the back, right in front of the next level up. It worked out well for the Jayhawks, and it was pretty good last night to, if you ignore the giant man with the broken arm who positioned himself right in my sightline.

The Head and The Heart only have one album out at this point, 10 songs. There is another song floating around Pandora that they did for iTunes. I figured we would know all the songs as a result. For the most part, we did, but they are working on a new record so they played some of the new songs as well.

3 guitars, a keyboard, drummer and violin. All guys and one girl. They were SO happy to be playing music and would spontaneously jump around the stage shaking their heads like they were at a Dead show. It was fun to watch. They sounded amazing. Towards the middle they played their most popular song, Lost in my Mind, and everyone sand along and they had extra people on stage with them playing. IT was so happy and festive and they were just grateful to be playing the Vic. You could tell. Well, and they said as much.

Clara really loves their song, Sounds like Hallelujah, and I wanted to record a bit of it for her so I was pleased when they played it. Clara is very concerned that we should not be listening to it during Lent, though, because you're not supposed to be saying Alleluia during Lent. I told her in this case, it's probably OK.

Another song that means a lot to me and I love dearly is Rivers and Roads. They ended the first part of the show with that one, and they killed it. Killed. It. It was worth the big fat head in front of me all night and the women who decided they would bring their suitcase purses to the show and stand next to me and then get frustrated when I bump into them. Worth it. The encore wasn't as exciting. We both left thinking it was a great show.

In other news, I discovered the Starbucks iPhone app and can now pay with my phone! I logged in yesterday and discovered a registered card that I didn't know existed that has $8 on it! Score. My rewards and card balance are there and I can reload the card right on my phone. Magic I tell you. Wonders never cease.

The Pay Off

Yesterday was Pulaski Day. That weird day in early March where the city of Chicago celebrates it's Polish heritage by declaring no school.

So, about 8am, when it was time to get ready to go to the gym, the yelling began. I decided to nip it in the bud and pay off my kids to keep them from yelling. Each week they earn one token for doing their chores and then can turn in the tokens for special things they've been eyeing at Target or something from iTunes. Nora's tokens are worth a little more money than Clara's, because Nora does more. I offered them each one token at the end of the day. Clara's goal was to get through the day without screaming and crying rather than communicating with words, and in order to facilitate that, Nora's goal was to avoid antagonizing Clara.

They did a reasonably good job with it. They went to the gym with me. We picked up a friend for lunch and the movie and about halfway through the movie I began to fidget and get stressed out about how much I had to do at home. By the time I got home I was in full on stress mode, and my yelling began. I wanted to complete the reorganizing of the American Girl crap, because in typical fashion Nora lost interest in it after we bought the containers, which sat in the middle of the basement staring me in the face when I tried to work at the computer. I wanted to finish washing all the laundry, unload the gym bag and snack bag, empty the dishwasher and make dinner for us and a neighbor who had a baby. Since we'd just spent the afternoon at the movie, having the girls watch tv wasn't an option. So, basically they moved around the house, making messes that I then moved around after them cleaning them up. I didn't even get to the dishwasher or the dinner making until it was precariously close to the time Clara had to leave for ballet class. Then, while unloading the dishwasher I dropped a wine glass that shattered all over the entire kitchen. At that point, I completely lost my mind and was screaming and sobbing at the same time.

Good times.

Lesson learned. I don't enjoy going to kids movies on days off school. It is a time suck that stresses me out right now. I like to use movies as productivity tools for myself and take the time they're enjoying the movie to move my day along. Especially if it is laundry day and I'm in the middle of preparing for a weekend trip away.

Normally, I get a babysitter for a couple of hours on days off school and I think that will be my plan going forward whenever possible.

They all seemed to enjoy the movie, though, so that was good. And, nobody really seemed to care much that I lost my marbles. But, it does seem to be happening more than I like lately.

Another thing that happens is that they like to check the boxes next to their chores, even when they don't do them. They like to have the visual symmetry of all the boxes being filled in. Especially Clara. The lists seem to work pretty well, but I still end up doing the majority of the items on the list. They both have been better about putting their shoes away and emptying their backpacks at the end of the day. And, Nora is great about putting away her laundry. The other items are works in progress.

As am I.

Down in the Valley

Clara and Daddy and their devices before the show.

Yesterday, Nora had her first guitar recital. About twenty children performed pieces of music on piano, guitar and/or drums.

Most of the guitarists sat separately from their families, so we weren't with Nora prior to her performance. It's probably for the best, because Rick and I were nervous for her and she would have picked up on it.

We are fortunate to have Nora in a music program that is so nurturing and child centered. Nora has been taking lessons from Mr. Paul for about 9 months now and she practices guitar about 10-15 minutes a day, probably 3-4 days a week. MOst of the time it is without us asking her to do it. She is thriving. The teachers let the children choose the music they want to perform, and the song she chose was Down in the Valley, from her guitar book.

Last week, she had an hour-long lesson to make up for missing one week. She came home really excited because Mr. Paul had started to write out the music for the theme to Star Wars, and she played the first few bars for us. I love to see her excited about something and I also love seeing her work hard at a goal, achieve it and set new goals for herself. She wants to play the whole theme to Star Wars. We want her to learn Darth Vader's theme song, well, except for Clara who claims it would be too scary. Which is strange because she can watch him all day long in The Empire Strikes Back.

Nora did really well with her song. Afterwards, we went to look at new guitars at The Old Town School of Folk Music. She was really happy and excited to be testing the guitars. We ended up at Bad Dog, toasting her first recital with crispy green beans and Shirley Temples.

Making deposits

Time is something that is spent. We spend it doing all sorts of things, eating, sleeping, working, relating to each other. Exercising. Today I had about 50 minutes to complete my allotted workout program for this week, with time in each training zone. It occurred to me that I begin each week with an empty exercise bank and each day I deposit a few miles and a little time and effort into the training zone assigned to me and at the end of the week I get a trophy. Some weeks there is no trophy, and that's ok. This week I've been really tired. All. Week. Long. I just couldn't shake the tired. It probably didn't help that I made a huge deposit of 8 miles into my bank on Monday morning and that sort of did me in for Tuesday and then Wednesday I was still tired and also took my first swimming lesson, which is a different kind of exercise than I'm accustomed to, so by Thursday I was weepy with tired and unable to go longer than a few miles. I can't exactly remember, but I think I ran 5. So, overall this week I've deposited 20 miles into my exercise bank, a little swimming, some weight training, and extra non-running cardio. Not too bad for a week full of tired.

Another thing I've been thinking a lot about all week long is my Grandma Schlater. It was her 90th birthday last Sunday. I've been spending the days this week with her words to my Grandpa. I am continually amazed by her composure and humor and honesty as a young woman during a time of war. Things frustrated her. People annoyed her. Work exhausted her. But, pretty much on a daily basis she sat down and wrote a few pages to her sweetheart, and I am convinced she did it out of love but also because it was her way of contributing to the war effort.

This is a photograph of Grandma with her sisters and brother. The order from left to right, (I'm almost sure) is Johnny, Nettie, Leo, Bernie. But, I may have Bernie and Johnny mixed up. I don't have the actual photo with me at the moment. Anyway, this is the oldest photo I have of Grandma Schlater. I can't find any of her any younger than this one.

In one of the letters Grandma wrote to Grandpa in May of 1943 she mentioned in passing that her brother Leo's girlfriend Salome had just lost her Grandpa.

"Salome's grandpa died today. Pretty old to. Only 89. I'll never get that old, I'm sure."

Nettie Streacker, May 28, 1943

Unnamed woman, Grandma and Salome on June 6, 1945

Well, she did. She turned 90 and apparently had a lot of people there to celebrate with her earlier in the month. We couldn't make it because of Clara's surgery. But, I feel as though Grandma is with me all the time. I constantly think of her, not just because of the work I'm doing reading her words, but also because of the work I do as a mother. I think about how what I do on a daily basis for my husband, for my girls is making deposits into their lives, deposits of time and effort through helping them with school work, making meals, listening to their stories, making sure they know they are important. I think about all the times during my life when I found comfort in my Grandma's presence. Her constancy and her love and support. I try to be that for other people. (Try being the operative word.)

One of the main themes of the early months of the 1943 letters is homesickness and how both of my grandparents suffered from it, because at the time Grandma was living with a family in Columbus, working as their housekeeper. My Grandma refers to her nephew Jimmy a lot in her letters. He amuses her and entertains her and she loves to be around him. One night she kept Jimmy with her overnight while everyone else was gone. She would always tease us and ask, "Don't you just want to come home with me?" Maybe she wasn't teasing. Maybe she really did want all us little kids around her all the time. Probably. When Grandpa got the letter about Jimmy being with Grandma overnight, he asked if Jimmy got homesick, and then remarked, "Probably not. How could anyone get homesick with you." It is so true. There is nothing that is as comforting as those moments with Grandma.

When my brother Luke was born my sisters and I essentially moved in with my grandparents for a while. I don't remember exactly how long, and it wasn't normal for us to stay there for weeks on end, but, it didn't seem abnormal either. Because of Grandma. She kept us busy working in the yard. She took us for walks. We went to visit her sisters. My friend Lynn lived down the road, so I would sometimes pack a bag and go stay the night there.

She had the power to make things "OK." Like that time my Dad had a cop crumple up his Driver's License for being out past curfew, and Grandma didn't think it was justified and didn't want Dad to get in trouble with Grandpa, so she ironed the Driver's License for my Dad. She made it OK. When Luke was sick and the grown ups weren't sure he would make it and my parents needed to focus on that, Grandma took the sisters and kept us busy and in line and made it OK for us.

Speaking of comfort. I'd do just about anything to be in the middle of a Grandma sandwich again, like I was the day I graduated from Miami. What a blessing that was.

I do my best to hold on to what both of my Grandmas have taught me. Hard work. Taking time for people. Generosity of self and spirit. I have Grandma Schlater's constant refrain of "I can't complain" in my mind, although I do a lot of complaining. At the same time, I am cognizant, that in reality I have very little to complain about.

One of the reasons Grandma had so many people show up to help celebrate her 90th birthday (over 90 people, I was told), is because she has spent her life giving to others, making deposits of herself, her time, her spirit, her gifts and her love, into the hearts of lives of others. I aspire to to that. I can only hope that if I make it 90 I will have one tenth of the love given to me that flows daily for my Grandma Schlater.

The Happiest of Birthdays to you, Grandma. You are undoubtedly and, overwhelmingly, loved.

This table

I have a thing about tables.

In graduate school, we read a book called The Power of Place, by Delores Hayden. The book is really about urban landscapes and public memory, but what it did for me was remind me that there truly is power in a place. Places provide the setting for memory. Events instill a place with meaning. What happens in a place matters.

Part of the assignment related to reading that book was a three-page essay on “Sense of Place.” To this day, I remember my essay. I wrote about my Grandma Schlater’s kitchen table.

Because I’m a saver, and am reasonably organized, I was able to locate a hard copy of this essay that I wrote 11 years ago on a computer that is long gone from my life. Submitted on November 19, 2001, the essay argues that the events that took place at that table at 128 Woodhaven Drive created a sense of place for me. The ritual of post-dinner coffee drinking and story telling made connections between the generations seated around that table.

“The meaning derived from the place and the ritual is carried outward into the world, remembered and reinforced each year during the holidays. One day I will no longer have the opportunity to sit at my Grandma’s kitchen table and participate in that family ritual. However, the place and the ritual have taught me that it us useful to look at places as simple as kitchen tables for the larger meanings they may hold for us as individuals and for the context they provide for our place in something larger than ourselves.”

I remember a story I heard at Rick’s Uncle George’s funeral. George’s son, Jim, who is also Nora’s Godfather, told a story about how his parents emphasized the importance of eating dinner together and how they also made Jim and his sister Nancy feel that what they had to say during dinner was important. Their place at the table was honored and respected. I remember Jim saying that his parents really “listened” to them at dinnertime. No thought or story was given short shrift. Uncle George always valued, and told, a good story.

After my Grandpa Weigandt died, Grandma moved into a much smaller house. She was unable to use all of her furniture in this new place. One of the pieces of furniture that didn’t fit was her dining room table. Nobody else seemed to have space for it, and, as I mentioned before, I have a thing for tables. And, I couldn’t believe that none of my cousins wanted this table. It was too good to be true. This table was the site of every Thanksgiving of my life until I was 26 or 27. Every. Single. One. We may have also gone to Grandma Schlater's for Thanksgiving every once in a while, but we never missed a Thanksgiving at Grandma Weigandts.

This table sat in my sweet Grandma Weigandt’s dining room for my entire life. I believe she bought it at a garage sale when I was a baby. I never knew her house without this table.

So it was, in the summer of 2001, Rick and I rented a pickup truck and drove to Indian Lake for the weekend, all the while listening to a recording of Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson on Storytellers. On our way back to Chicago, we stopped and picked up the table from Grandma’s basement. We drove the rented pickup back to Chicago and I think Rick wept with frustration at one point because the traffic was so hideous.

This table.

Years later, Rick and I hosted our first Thanksgiving at this table. We eat dinner every night at this table. Hours of homework have already been done at this table. Dinner parties. Baptisms. Easter celebrations with friends. Birthday parties. First Communion. This table has seen a lot of meals. As Sara has said, “If only that table could talk.”

This table.

For years, I have wanted to have this table refinished. It’s been damaged by hot meals, burned by candles, and stained with water. I’ve searched for over a year for someone who I trusted to refinish this table. And, who would refinish it for a reasonable price.

And, in walked Tito Moreno.

Seriously. That’s his name. An antique store in our neighborhood recommended a guy named “Arturo.” That was it, Arturo and a phone number. I called Arturo and his first language is not English. I explained my situation to him and thought I’d never hear back. I looked elsewhere. I let it go. Then one day in January my phone rang and the caller? Tito Moreno.

Turns out that Arturo works with Tito. Tito is the front man. I could tell instantly he is a good soul. He wears cologne, a jacket and tie. And a beret.

Tito and Arturo came to pick up Grandma’s table last week. He called me yesterday to tell me the table was ready to deliver. A friend was here with her kids eating dinner. I told her, “You have to wait to meet Tito. He is special.”

When they brought in the table, I nearly wept. It looks beautiful. It looks almost new, but not new. Restored. My friend didn't really remark on Tito, but she did say, "Oh, it's beautiful. They don't make tables like this anymore." The table is restored beyond what I ever knew it to be. In a way, that made me a little sad. All of the familiar marks are gone. But, then, I remembered the essay I wrote about my other Grandma’s table. About the meaning created at that table. The new finish doesn’t erase the meaning the table holds for me.

During this season of Lent, I’m struggling with how to bring myself back to the present, to teach some reverence for the season and for the sacrifices that have taken place on our behalf. I keep coming back to the everyday moments, how can they be instilled with more meaning? How can I bring more significance to our daily rituals? This long-ago written essay reminds me that the ritual of sitting down together for meals, sharing stories of our day, hopes, worries, praying before a meal. This is important. The ritual of our nightly meal will carry my girls out into the world with the knowledge and understanding that they will always have a seat at this table. That their thoughts and opinions, whether agreed with or not, are important at this table.

The fact that two sweet men named Tito and Arturo restored my sweet, sweet Grandma's table means that for the rest of my life I will sit here, at this table, eating, drinking, and sharing my life with my family. Some day, one of my girls will take this table and all of the meals and moments shared with them out into the world.

Never forget the power of place.

Recovery

Clara had her tonsils removed last week on Wednesday. She did pretty well while at the hospital and once we got home, she was a good patient. She developed an allergic reaction to something, so we stopped the narcotic almost immediately and she has been on a rotating schedule of tylenol and motrin every three hours for the past week or so. She does not like it when we try to wake her up, especially if it is for the motrin. She definitely prefers the cherry flavored tylenol, but the bummer is the motrin lasts longer.

Towards the end of last week she got hives. They came on Thursday and then were gone on friday and then back again on Saturday and then have been gone ever since. Her pain was the worst on Monday and Tuesday of this week, I think she notices the wound healing. Yesterday she complained of jaw pain and a headache all day.

This morning she went to school for a couple of hours. I enjoyed the time alone and ran 8 miles and did 15 minutes on the elliptical. I took the extra time and drove to the drive-thru Starbucks for my post-workout iced Latte. I showered in the peace and quiet. I started the laundry and then went to pick her up. She ate lunch in her bed while watching her new favorite movie, BOLT. And now, you can find her lounging on the couch watching Jake and his pirates. We have a busy afternoon of swimming and guitar and homework, so it's good to rest up.

Watching and living through this recovery with her has been an interesting process for me. Clara seems to have a high tolerance for pain and she doesn't really complain very much, so you have to watch her carefully for cues. I have felt sorry for her, because one day, she started weeping, silent tears falling down her cheeks saying, "Mommy, please, can I have a sandwich?" She must have been starving. She hasn't really enjoyed the ice cream only diet very much, and really, she'd prefer a turkey sandwich, an apple and some chips, please. Next week she can go back to her normal diet. Luckily, she enjoys eating soup and pastas.

I think the thing that happens when any of us is sick or recovering from something, we just want to feel normal again and do things we enjoy. On FRiday, as I made dinner I heard Clara coming up the stairs and saw her in this outfit.

I could tell she felt better. But, a few minutes later, she was back in bed resting. I'm hoping that next week will be back to normal. It is an ever-elusive 5 day school week and I would really like to take advantage of all five days, please.

Until then, the recovery continues....

Mind Meld: Blue

This past week has been a doozy. Clara had tonsil surgery on Wednesday and did really well until Thursday when she broke out in hives. Friday was better and so Rick and I went along with our plans to see the Jayhawks at the Vic.

But, it was a tiring week, so instead of going for a drink before the show, which started at 7:30pm, we stopped for a coffee. We're not 28 anymore.

I used to live around the block from The Vic and I've seen a lot of shows there. I saw Barenaked Ladies there with Sara and Bryan and we walked home with mac and cheese in our hair. I saw Widespread Panic there in the late 1990s. I've seen Old 97s there. I've seen lots of shows. Sometime in the recent past, and by that I mean the last 10 years, they've built a parking structure for the Vic. It costs $26. That's more than it would cost us to take a cab there and back. We were going to bite the bullet and park in the garage and then at the last minute we found a free parking spot on the street. Kismet.

The Jayhawks have gone through a few iterations and when I've seen them in the past it was always minus Mark Olsen, one half of the magical harmonies that come to mind when someone mentions the Jayhawks.

I consider myself a casual fan of the Jayhawks. I'm always happy to hear them on a playlist and their music always brings back fond memories of being young and newly in love. But, I'm not a super fan. By that I mean it's not necessary for me to elbow my way to the front and box out some other person for the set list. I like to leave room for super fans at the front, unless I'm at an Old 97s show. In that case, I am the super fan.

Anyway, we settled in about halfway back from the stage. Far enough away so that my phone had a hard time focusing in the dark. Close enough that we could see the action and interaction of the band members. The keyboardist was giddy with happiness at certain points. It was fun to watch.

I knew most of the songs. Or, at least they sounded familiar to me. The Jayhawks have a distinctive sound, a meshing of guitar, drums, keyboard and voices. It's not a pounding guitar, it's more soulful and almost mournful. Their songs are also somewhat subdued, there is a longing and sadness to many of them, even the ones with a quick beat. I think that is why I liked them so much in my 20s, when I was sort of lost and not sure where I was going.

About halfway through the show, I decided to attempt a few photos. It was pure luck I had my phone out when I heard the familiar chords and words "Where have all my friends gone? They've all disappeared." I hit record and got the beginning of Blue. Then, I stopped recording and soaked in the magic. That transcendent belonging I always feel when I'm at a live show and the crowd sings along loudly and the band is so happy. Nothing like it.

I kept thinking to myself, "It was worth it just to hear this song."

After the song, I turn around to Rick and he says, "That made coming totally worth it."

Mind Meld.

We enjoyed the rest of the show and then we decided to stop for a beer at the bar where we met. Just for old time(rs) sake. It is a totally different place now, different name, different type of clientele. But, it was fun and a great way to end a great night of live music. Two shows down, ten to go. Next up: The Head and the Heart at the Vic in March.