1. I did not feel numb today.
For starters, I blazed a trail up and down the basement stairs. We keep the ironing board in the basement and I continued to help Debbie with her mask sewing project, ironing five straps per trip downstairs. Later in the afternoon, our next door neighbor, Jane, rapped on the door and, for Debbie, Jane's visit was a game changer. Jane gave Debbie elastic straps. We'll still need to make cloth straps, but Debbie was really happy that some of the masks will have elastic ones.
2. I'll tell you what else eased the numbness today and made me feel alive. I had contact with three friends from the Whitworth days. The first two contacts were from fellow students, two longtime friends I hear from often, but, each time we exchange messages, it's uplifting for me.
Deborah reminded me that snapping out of feeling numb is a concerted effort. I read this two ways. First, it's an ongoing thing, especially when we're lying low, not getting out much, not doing a lot of the things outside the home we enjoy. I also read her comment this way: snapping out of numbness is something we do in concert with others. I know I can't rely on myself, alone, to snap out of it and feel more energetic and alive. Deborah told me that, after a period of inactivity, she culled and pressed fabrics in preparation for measuring and cutting -- she's decided to get going on making a quilt. I not only loved knowing that Deborah is getting underway with something she enjoys doing a lot, her news also inspired me to keep doing things that I enjoy and to resist becoming a zombie.
I also heard from my spring of 1975 roommate in South Warren at Whitworth, Rich, the Badger, also know as Rocket.
One way he's taking advantage of the way his life has slowed down during the pandemic is to reach out to friends and express appreciation to them. I really enjoyed the way Rich's message took me back 46 years, to how we got acquainted and how we discovered a mutual enjoyment of sports, mocking local crappy radio and television people, laughing about third-rate baseball players and their hilarious baseball card pictures, and watching reruns late at night of Groucho Marx on You Bet Your Life. We had serious moments, too, but mostly I, like Rich, remember how we found a common sense of humor and a common love of the world of sports, especially baseball and hockey.
How could I possibly remain numb recalling all the great times with Rich? Great poker games, music listening sessions, beer drinking sessions, and Don Dirk punching out opponents in hockey games at the Spokane Coliseum.
3. At 7:00 this evening, two Whitworthians from the 1980s, my longtime friend, Bill Davie (who was twice a student of mine at Whitworth) and Marjorie Richards were scheduled to play a concert at the C & P Coffee Company in West Seattle.
But, in this time of pandemic, C & P Coffee is closed.
So, with the help of Zoom, Bill and Marjorie performed their concert live on Facebook, Bill from his home and Marjorie, who was accompanied on several songs by her wife, Nancy Reinhold, from their home.
I didn't know Marjorie at Whitworth -- at least, I don't remember knowing her. I am sure this is the first time I've heard her perform her music. I enjoyed her songs, the subtle power of her singing voice, and her guitar playing style; when she and Nancy performed together, the harmonies were exquisite and, when they were both playing guitars, they played off of each other brilliantly.
I loved listening to Bill perform numerous songs I had never heard before. He's recently completed a new recording called Night Sky and several of the songs her performed this evening appear on it. I can't say much in detail about these songs, having only heard them once, except to say that Bill's songwriting, his lyrics, rhythms, and melodies, always have and continue to this day to move in multiple stirring directions.
Maybe one day I should write a long blog post about all the times and all the ways Bill Davie's life and mine have intersected. When I lived in Eugene, he twice performed a house concert in my home. I heard him perform in Corvallis, Yachats, Deadwood, several venues in Eugene, and I made a memorable trip to Seattle around 1995 to hear him open for Peter Himmelman -- was that venue called the Back Door?
Bill, his wife, Dianne, and I rented a house together and enjoyed a vacation in Ashland in June of 2011; we rented separate cabins but spent a lot of time together on a similar getaway to La Push, WA in 2014 and were joined one evening by Bridgit and Dan. In 2010, Bill and Diane, Bridgit, Susan-Louise, and I spent a glorious day together on the Kalama River at Bridgit's parents' home, talking, reminiscing, and listening to Bill play some songs.
These were among the memories stirring in my mind as I listened to Bill perform tonight. Bill pulled one song out of the deep past. When he introduced his song "Comfort" which appeared on his 1988 album, Phobia Robes.
When Bill introduced the song, he talked about road songs that travel with us and how, years ago, when he drove to American Falls, Idaho to help his grandmother clean out her house after his grandfather died, he listened repeatedly to Kansas playing "Carry On Wayward Son".
I suddenly remembered that Phobia Robes and Bill's next album Gravity were, on several occasions, road trip music for me. My memory of exactly when is a little vague, but somehow those albums connect me with deep feelings I have for my Kellogg High School friends. I know I played these cds on my drive back to Eugene from gatherings with my KHS friends in Vancouver, WA because their emotional content somehow stir up my love and deep feelings for my Kellogg friends.
I can't really explain it. I can say, though, that it was especially satisfying to be sitting in the Vizio room in our little house in Kellogg listening to Bill, having memories of growing up in Kellogg rise up and these memories connected with Bill's and my love of Richard Hugo, the poet who has most helped me sort out my feelings about growing up here, and I thought back to 1977 when Bill was my student in Writing I (Freshman Comp) at Whitworth and one day in class he helped me pronounce Hoboken correctly and, beyond that, something between us clicked and, when I returned to Spokane in 1982 to teach at Whitworth again, Bill was finishing his degree and one morning I fixed pork chops and eggs for Bill and Dave V. and together we watched Breaker Morant and I remember how strongly I felt that this was the life I wanted -- good relationships with students and inviting them over for breakfast and a movie and we probably drank beer with breakfast and it all came back to me tonight as I enjoyed the music and enjoyed my good fortune. I've known Bill for 43 years and I could see the names of people from those Whitworth days popping up on the Facebook feed who were in the virtual coffeehouse listening together to Bill and Marjorie play -- Bridgit, Andrea, Jeff, Mary, Nancy, Al, Brad, Susan-Louise and, in addition, other people I knew about at Whitworth 35-40 years ago, but never met. I loved being a part of it. It also got to me that Kathy was in the virtual house -- maybe Loras, too -- and I thought of all the times we heard Bill Davie in Oregon, at the house concerts and at other venues around and how much fun it was all those years ago to enjoy his music together.
So, yeah, the numbness of the previous day lifted.
By the way, if you'd like to check out Bill's music, click on this link: https://billdavie.bandcamp.com
It's all there.
Helping make masks. Being in touch with Whitworth friends. Listening to Bill Davie and Marjorie Richards' live concert. These are sources of enjoyment stronger than the temporary numbness brought on by the pandemic.
And so is another limerick by Stu:
Sales come in many odd ways.
And our hometown itself had a phase.
Where they'd take lots of their wares.
Outside on tables and chairs.
For a weekend they'd call Crazy Days.
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