fast fwd.

Dear Concerned,

I don't actually think they were simpler times; I think we just forgot all the myriad complications.  Once in a while, I get a glimpse of it, out of the corner of my eye; a kind of 'true memory' and it is pretty awful: there is doubt in abundance, and confusion; worry & sorrow are there too.

I am suggesting a kind of fast forward, no, not to the end of the pandemic, I mean something more utilitarian than that even:  I mean, what does it feel like to tell about now in a year or a week?  Let me try:

Everyday, with regularity, I searched for good news.  All I ever found were more reasons to worry.  From the people I knew, I received comfort of all kinds- I tried to send it in return.  I wrote, I called, I sent messages and packages.  I made things to give.  Making masks depressed me, not because I didn't want to wear one, but because it felt like such a tiny little blow against the enormity of the danger.  I did not like the virtual ways we used to connect.  Looking at myself felt silly and it sapped all my confidence and energy.  It turned me into a self-conscious 12 year old, which is something I did not want to be again.  The phrases and language that blossomed annoyed me- 'at the end of the day,' 'pivoting to the new reality,' 'the new normal.'  Why wouldn't people use a language of honesty, of candor?  Why did they hide behind these rubbishy jingles?  I studied daily the numbers and data- it was like a kind of ritual, a kind of penance and a way to bear witness.  People actually took to the streets, but things seemed mired in absolute endless repetition.  Everything fell apart, but it was all just barely taped together anyway.  What was hardest, was trying not to inflict suffering on others.  This is always so, but it seemed even harder than usual: why the hell were we even trying to work 'online?'  None of this make-work mattered much.  The real scare lay in what we were going to do with ourselves if nothing was required of us- it was alternately scintillating and frightening.  There was no reason to do much of anything.  I discovered that I communicate with words, but that isn't even half of the information in a conversation.  The flattening of interactions revealed how our culture and society obscures the elemental levels on which we actually function:  smell, small tells of movement, infinite and invisible physical cues.

And that, is some of what I will have learned, later, in the future.  Back in the olden times.

living in twilight

Dear Ones,

I just got off the phone, and I wanted to send you the song for today, and to send you this amazing image of the Telefontornet of Stockholm, circa 1890.

Your song today has a touch of melancholy & maudlin melodrama, and much of the grandiose, symphonic loveliness of Electric Light Orchestra.   Not everyone goes in for that, and so, you needn't stay on the line if you have somewhere else to be, some other song to listen to today.

Oh, and one more thing, she said, when she rang off:  "Have a good one!," and that is where I want to pick up our next conversation, and soon!








PS
Close and regular readers will notice that Dodo links to YouTube uploads of music often favor low view counts.  If you noticed, you can probably guess why: here at the Dodo, we love the imperfect, the ignored, the overlooked, and the seldom visited.  We dig the weird offshoots of the internet search that can be found on page 8 of the results.

convention

Dear Missing Music,

It's been a while since the day has had a song, but this is undoubtedly the song for today.

Amazement.

Dear Friends,

This just in from a co-worker, and oh!  It is amazing!  You will gasp, laugh, and weep at the beauty and whimsy of it all.  I am reading a book, which I know you would love, called The Book of Delights, and I think maybe this film of Polly Verity heralds the beginning of a new Dodo Feature: The Delight of the Day.   It won't be everyday, of course, just like the song of the day; you will get it when it comes, and no sooner, but, be ready to be delighted!

808

Dear Eights Again,

Your song for today.

Hang on to your joy.

800

Dear Lucky Eights,

Sometimes I wonder why I am telling you these things.  I guess it's a sort of whistling in the dark, but I don't want to just entertain you; although, that will do in a pinch.  Would we have loved a life working as a Tele Skater Girl?  I wonder.  The old things always look so good when you are sitting here in the now with your plastic devices and your instant, cord free communication.

I heard a fellow on the radio some years ago talking about working to live versus living to work, and he said that when people made the joyful hobby they had into their livelihood, the fun quickly drained out of doing it.  I ask myself very often if that is how I would feel, looking out at a large rink full of 8 year olds having skate birthday parties on a Sunday.  I try to imagine the difficult customers I might get; Drunks maybe?  Frat boys?  Inline booted hockey hellions?  What about when the roof leaked all over the wood floor?  Would I still find joy in skating everyday to songs like this one, which would be my actual job?   I sure hope I get to find out one day.

A film to celebrate the 800th day of skating: