Friday, February 7, 2014

February 7: Austria - Part One

My now ex-husband, at the time boyfriend, went to work in Austria for over six months while we were dating. I went to visit him for a few weeks, staying outside Vienna in Hinterbrühl. It was a dichotomous trip. I was over the moon to visit Europe for the first time. On the other hand, I was alone for most of my vacation, as he was working. I was left to my own devices to explore the region.

Nothing tastes better than when shared with someone else. I don’t cook grand meals to eat them alone. I love to watch the pleasure my meals can create for someone else. The conversation that accompanies the food adds to its flavor. I love to dine, not eat. The same is true of experiences in general. Nothing felt lonelier than exploring a foreign country alone.

I was around 25. I remember feeling grown up then but when I look back, I was in-between. Not girl and not woman. I find it odd we only assign “tween” status to young girls. We are so often tweenish, aren't we?

I’ll tell you something funny. I was so glad to go, and am grateful even now that I did, but when I think of being there what I feel is hollow in my heart. That aching hollow you get inside sometimes. What loneliness feels like, I guess. A phantom pain. It’s not an easy time to remember. But there was beauty too. And so I share it.

I went from Des Moines to Minneapolis. I spent three hours in Minnesota before heading on an overnight flight to Amsterdam. I had a seven hour layover in Amsterdam before finally getting to Austria. I decided to explore the city as much as possible. I’m so glad I did. It felt brave and cavalier at the time. It was a good confidence booster.


 I walked past stands of tulips which were heaven (it was March) on the way to the curb. The skies were gray and the air was crisp (around 45F). I hailed a taxi and asked the driver what I should do with seven hours. He said I should spend it with him – it was too beautiful of a day to work anyway. He proceeded to drive us to a Bulldog where we had a drink. We then strolled along the canals to visit an exhibit of Van Gogh self-portraits and through a flower market. We listened to street musicians in the Red Light District. It was magnificent. Everyone was incredibly friendly in Amsterdam. The taxi driver returned me to the airport just in time to board my flight to Vienna.

I got to Vienna in the evening. I left customs and went toward baggage claim where my ex was to meet me. My heart was filled with butterflies and excitement – reunions are my favorite. He wasn't there. The bags were delayed in coming out. After 45 minutes, I got my suitcase. I had attached a brightly patterned scarf so no one would mistake my bag for their own. It was rather tattered. He still wasn't there. This was in the era before cell phones. I had no way to contact him to find out where he was. He arrived a few hours later. I was sitting dejectedly atop my suitcase wondering if I should go get a hotel on my own or just buy a ticket home and scrap the whole thing. He’d been skiing and was late picking me up because the day had slipped away from him.

I was not pleased. I tried to not be a sour puss, but can you imagine? It’s your partner you've dated for years at this point, who has been across an ocean? All you want is to run into their arms. But they were busy with something else so don’t make it on time to get you. No regret. No shame. Just matter of fact I was doing something else but am here now. Hindsight may be 20/20, but I cannot tell you that I wouldn't have gone on a single date with my ex, because that would eradicate my daughter as she exists today from my world. I can tell you I’d have worked less at making his being late ok for him. I was hurt quite terribly by it.

We got my bags to the car and starting heading out of the airport parking area. The car broke down. My ex, who was a mechanical engineer, mind you, had stopped for gas right before picking me up. He put regular gasoline in a diesel car. Yep. Killed it. It was a company car. Lovely.


This photo is me sitting in the car waiting for a tow truck to come haul us away. Me disappointed by the greeting I got at the airport. Disappointed and yes, disgusted. I’ll admit it. I could not believe my ex couldn't figure out he’d been driving a diesel car. I mean, they sound different. The car had a big notice on the gap cap with “Diesel only” on it. Many cars in Austria run on diesel. You had to go out of your way to find regular gasoline. Mechanical engineer is not brain surgeon but really?! That might be the 24 hours of travel followed by sitting alone in tears at an airport talking. But I doubt it.

Airport security after verifying we weren't terrorists stopping traffic for kicks and giggles called a tow truck. The tow truck driver spoke no English. He did not know where to take the car (and us). We didn't know either. We looked in the glove box and found the dealership where the car was purchased. We decided to tow the car there. We all rode in silence for an hour or so.

When we dropped the car at the dealership, my ex found a payphone where he called his employer to tell him he’d killed the car and where it was. The tow trucker driver and I were left in the truck in an uncomfortable silence. He was in his 50s, had a scruffy face, puffy eyes (it was around 2 in the morning by then), and no patience for stupid Americans who couldn't fill a car’s gas tank properly. So the seconds ticked by in silence. He was growing impatient – I could feel his desire to be home. To crawl back into bed. Finally to break the tension, I reached over and turned on the radio.

This song was on. Thank you, Lenny. The driver looked at me. I looked at him. He pointed at me and giggled. Yes, giggled. We sang. It was not my most elegant duet, but it was delicious. He only knew the refrain. It was more than enough.

My ex came back to the truck. We turned the radio off and drove to the hotel in silence. The thing in retrospect that resounds with me is that a sullen man awoken in the night to rescue strangers brought me more comfort than my ex did at the time.

There are some beautiful moments I had in Vienna. I’ll share those tomorrow. Tonight I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Lenny Kravitz.



Thursday, February 6, 2014

February 6: Kate Hudson envy

I’m not a jealous gal, but Kate Hudson has gotten to be with a few musicians that I adore. Chris Robinson would likely be too liberal in the sex, drugs and rock & roll arena for me to handle. Matt Bellamy, at 5’7” could be a bench press toy for my 5’10” in my stocking feet self. But both gents are talented artists. I’d love to watch them jam any old time. To inspire a song or two? Icing on the cake… Lucky Kate.

Progressive / space rock doesn't generally make my soundtrack, but this song is kind of addicting. Give it a listen and see what you think.



Wednesday, February 5, 2014

February 5: Sounds of Childhood

One of my favorite childhood memories made with my sister and step-sister was the summer where we put on musical productions. I was around 9. We had a record player, a curtain for a backdrop, and choreographed moves that make Beyoncé look like an amateur. OK, perhaps we weren't that polished. But we had a lot of fun prepping for the show and singing along with records.
 
The songs that I remember most vividly were from a Super Girls triple record compilation album. It had such classics as Stop in the Name of Love, Leader of the Pack, Chapel of Love, and It’s In His Kiss. We would put together a set list and then decide who was going to front each song and who’d be on backup. It was quite an endeavor.
 
My very favorite song on that album was Lollipop, because of the popping sound you get to make in it, the clapping and the choral round at the end. Kids love learning to make new sounds. Aria spent a month learning to snap her fingers. Click her tongue. Blow and pop a bubble. Whistle. The clasped hand fart. Beat boxing. Currently we’re endeavoring bird calls with our hands.
 
Needless to say, when Aria was about 3, we sang this song a lot. Tell me you can listen to this song and not want to stick your finger in your mouth and create that pop? No way.



Tuesday, February 4, 2014

February 4: 90s Rock Girls

There is one of those Facebook quizzes going around that tells you which 90s alternate rock girls you mesh with best. Go ahead – take it. It’s highly scientific, I’m sure.


It was no surprise to me that my results came back with Tori Amos. Clearly my flannel preference would lead me toward this result. No other 90s rock girl could be closer to my heart. I heart Tori.

I cannot even begin to tell you how many times I listened to the Little Earthquakes album. It spoke to shadowed corners in my soul. Her lyrics make me ache. Brought instant tears. Said dark, forbidden things I couldn't myself.

I saw Tori perform at the Paramount (Cedar Rapids, IA) in the 90s. She was brilliant. Her talent was bigger than the venue – overwhelming to witness. She’s also quite an odd bird. I would forgive her anything because of what she can do on a piano.

This song is perfect for a snowy Tuesday. This song is perfect. 



Monday, February 3, 2014

February 3: Briar Patch Memories

Do you remember this from Out of Africa?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rtX9iNlopbk

Oh I adore this movie. Brilliant Meryl. Robert Redford. Sweeping musical scores and stunning scenery. A strong woman taking on new frontiers. Timeless.

Well, I had an online business in Iowa. I was blessed to stay home with Aria when she was 18 months until she was almost 3. I got rather lonely and bored while home. My ex traveled for his job so it was Aria and me 24/7 (even then) until the weekends. When we bought our home, it was in the town where my ex had worked before accepting a new job traveling. I used to commute to Des Moines to work so I didn't have an established friend base there. Conversely, I was used to having the instant community of the workplace and lost that being home. I was used to a busy meeting schedule and work that challenged my brain like taking the ACT every day. I wore dresses every day and had access to fancy coffee on a whim. Raising a little girl in a small(ish) town had challenges and many blessings, but was a lonely affair also.

Anyway, the gist is I was bored.  So during Aria’s afternoon nap time, I created an online company that combined many of my passions. Essentially, I brokered heirloom quality art geared toward children. Furniture, wall art, jewelry, lamps and other décor, lots of amazing art, all made in North America by artists who were living their passion. My business was called Briar Patch Heirlooms. I had about 200 artists on the site that I found at buyer’s markets, art festivals and other venues.


I got the idea for the company while strolling through the Des Moines Art Festival while pregnant. I saw this piece of art with a carousel, and snatched it up. I was thinking it is timeless. It could fit in my daughter’s nursery and transition to her home when she grew up. Then I thought about the surge in compressed wood and lifeless décor that is all made in China.

I wanted to show my daughter that people can choose careers that let them live their passion. I wanted her to understand art doesn't just hang in museums – it’s part of our daily lives. Our greatest currency is our creativity as a nation – I truly believe this. I wanted to engender a love of the arts in my little girl, and in others. And thus Briar Patch was born.
This is Aria’s room today with London Carousel above her bed. To check out Jean-Pierre Weill’s vitreographs, visit: Vitreography


Due to divorce, heading back to work, ongoing court woes (and the legal bills that have accompanied over 7 years in court), the economy shift at the time (which made expendable income a concept more than a spending practice), and a general lack of time, I closed my doors. It felt a bit like failure at the time. From my vantage point now, I’m more proud that I endeavored it than that it ended. I learned so much about being a small business owner. I know what I’d do differently. I know that I’d love to try it again in the future.

I also know that I was right to close the business at the time. There was so much going on in my world during and after my divorce. Moving and buying a new home. Transitioning visitation of Aria from every other weekend to ultimately have her 24/7 once again. Taking on a new role at my job. Dating a boy who I thought was a man somewhere in there. Finding just the right pre-school. You know. Living.

We all know what it feels like to be juggling too much. It’s hard to drop anything. We don’t want to disappoint anyone. We don’t want to fail. I had to let go of something. Some things we have to juggle – we have no choice. Other things are not necessary. The first thing I let go of, the easiest thing that wasn't a must, was Briar Patch. It doesn't take much to turn off a website. I wish the bills associated with it disappeared so easily.

As the years have passed, I have become more and more covetous of my time with my daughter. I realize how quickly time passes, and how rare moments can be. I have become a selective juggler. I no longer judge myself by the amount of things I can keep in the air, but by the quality of the things I hang onto.

There is nothing I treasure more than making memories. This song resounds because it’s so true. So much of our worlds are expendable. Replaceable. Not important. I have become laser focused on what matters. Her name is Aria.



Sunday, February 2, 2014

February 2: Memories of Orion

I think I've mentioned before that I grew up in Pomeroy as a PK (preacher’s kid). After my parent’s divorced (I was 5), my mom married a man named Oliver. We spent a short six months in Cedar Falls once they were married so that he could attend seminary there to become a Methodist minister (he had been a UCC one). His first church assignment was to Pomeroy and thus we moved there when I was half-way through first grade.


Growing up in a parsonage is an odd experience. You don’t own the home. You have to care for it like a renter would, with church members doing walkthroughs to insure all is well. I remember not being allowed to put nails in the walls, and so taping posters everywhere. I had Duran Duran wallpaper. It was gorgeous.

I have many memories associated with being a PK that are incredibly warm. Oliver preached at 3 churches, including a country parish (Zion), a church in Jolley, and the Pomeroy church which was next to the parsonage. The people that inhabited my world because of this connection were loving, warm, caring souls. We had very little money, and I remember them giving us wood to burn in our stove (seriously), used clothing, and copious amounts of baked goods. I had adopted grandparents that for a little girl desperately missing her grams and gramps were heaven. I will share more about those memories sometime this year, I'm sure.

What brought me back to the Pomeroy church last night was Orion. I dropped Aria off at a friend’s yesterday evening. When I got home, I spent a good half hour freezing in my driveway. I couldn’t take my eyes off the night sky.

I have been in love with the constellations, with Orion particularly, since I was a kid. There was this evergreen conical shaped bush along the church that had a perfect nesting space within it. I used to spend hours in there. I read books in the summer. I wrote (bad) poems there in my pre-teen angst. In the winters, I’d sneak out with a blanket to hide amongst the boughs of the tree and look up at Orion.

As only youth can tell it, I had a story about Orion. I dreamt of a galaxy, a whole separate world that existed on Orion’s belt. I’m not alone in these fancies. There is much lore about that belt.

“..those three stars of the airy Giant's zone,
That glitter burnished by the frosty dark” – Alfred, Lord Tennyson

In my dream, that world up there was where I belonged. I so often felt misplaced in my childhood. Ours was the only family with divorced parents in my school. I remember educating classmates on step- versus half-siblings. On the myth that was my dad they never met but heard about often. I thought differently than others. I was never home in my home. I can’t well vocalize what made me feel that I did not belong to this earth. I just knew I didn't.

I used to stare up at that belt and wish and pray that I could go to a home my heart could feel home within. Be centered and loved and the person I was meant to be. I’d give my prayers to the night sky, and then my human body would betray me in the cold and I’d have to go back inside.

The Pomeroy church was torn down a few years ago. I went back in 2008 (I hadn't been there since 1990 when a friend and I drove a VW bug from Belle Plaine so I could show her from whence I came). 

The church was still standing then, but my bush was gone. I felt its loss. Orion and his belt still remain, though, as do the memories made under those boughs.

This song invokes that little girl hiding in a bush in the bitter cold. Praying to feel home.



Saturday, February 1, 2014

February 1: Cotton Candy Dreams

Sometimes when you go through a difficult situation, it can stir up sorrow. Talking about the past brings it to the present. This can be a beautiful thing (remembering our happiest moments is like giving ourselves joy again and again). It can also be incredibly unhealthy, if the focus is on something that wounded us.

Our minds are funny little places. I had a difficult day, and my sleep found me seeking refuge in cotton candy memories. Moments of fluff without great substance but with instant impact. Sugary goodness.

The dream was about a pre-mama Andrea with the whims and cares of a 20-something. A dalliance from the Wig & Pen in Iowa City floated through my sugar-induced visions. It wasn't the guy that brought me to the 90s in my dreams.

It was the carefree way I felt that led me to that girl in that time. She was on fire. She might have had five bucks in her pocket and no retirement goals but wow, could she have cared less. She had a beer, some pizza, the Bangles on the jukebox and some karmic connection with the bar manager. She had delicious possibility if only for a moment.

She hadn't gotten divorced yet, been humbled by that “failure”. Hadn't seen her daughter go through an emotional cycle that hurt worse than any pain she’d ever experienced. Hadn't been in “the system” for six years trying to do what was best for her daughter. Her spirit was all untamed mustangs galloping across the plains. Untamed. Unfettered. Believing everything was going to be amazing, not just ok.

The dream left me a bit wistful about youth, which is rare for me. I’m much more comfortable in my present-day skin than I ever was when I was younger.

It reminded me of this poem, which I love.

“Have you forgotten what we were like then
when we were still first rate
and the day came fat with an apple in its mouth

it’s no use worrying about Time
but we did have a few tricks up our sleeves
and turned some sharp corners

the whole pasture looked like our meal
we didn't need speedometers
we could manage cocktails out of ice and water

I wouldn't want to be faster
Or greener than now if you were with me O you
Were the best of all my days”
-  Frank O’Hara

It was a little bittersweet to wake from all that glittering potential. This song feels right today, and so I share it with you.

Ane Brun - Do You Remember