Let’s pack our bags, get out of this town

May has been one of those particularly busy months, the kind when you realize it’s the 18th of the month and wonder if you remembered to pay rent. (I did.) It really started back in April, with back-to-back three concert weeks, birthday celebrations, six of eight weekends out of town (that stretches till June!), meals out and more. I can’t much complain, mind you; my trips have taken me from Seattle to St. Augustine, for work and for play. (I’m fortunate enough to frequently combine the two.)

But of course, I’ve found myself spread a bit thin. I’m tired, and this round of mayhem won’t end for at least three more weeks. Last Monday encapsulated that exhaustion. I stepped off the plane from Seattle around 4 p.m. and arrived home by 4:30. Four days of constant walking and experiencing rendered me mute on the couch for a few hours, but by 7 I was up and on my way to trivia before catching the tail end of a friend’s birthday dinner. Come Tuesday, I was pretty tired.

I’m trying to find a balance here, something I suppose I’ll be striving for all my life. There’s work, there’s friendship, there’s pursuing new challenges, and somewhere in this mix I hope there’s time for me. Just me. I need that (quite a lot of it actually) to succeed at anything else.

I claimed yesterday for myself. I returned home from another weekend trip and quickly busied myself with cleaning and cooking. But after a few hours I gave in and did what I really wanted to do: hopped on my bike in the rain. I met up with a friend on the trail, then headed to the grocery store (back to the practical) before visiting another friend for coffee. The alone time on my bike followed by one-on-one conversations? Both essential parts of a good day, I think. I then returned home, skipped church (something I rarely do!) and cooked a fairly balanced dinner for myself. I completed a writing assignment, took a bubble bath and read, for pleasure, before bed. Save for skipping out on church, it was nearly as balanced a day as I can imagine. 

Getting up at 4:30 a.m. probably helped.

Where do they all belong?

Since I brought her home two weeks ago, my bike Eleanor Rigby and I have stuck to riding the neighborhood streets. There’s a quick route up one street and down the other, totaling a mile per lap. I’ve quickly learned that everything in Birmingham really is a hill. My neighborhood run is convenient, but it’s almost entirely up hill one way and coasting down the other.

It’s a nice way to fit in a 20 minute ride after work. But even with the gratification of flying downhill, the monotony has already set in. So today I took Eleanor on her first trip out of the ‘hood.

I drove to a nearby park, unloaded E.R. and replaced her front tire, then took to the trail. And quickly turned back around because I realized I was coming up on a foot traffic only bridge; my only option was to bike on the street until it reconvened with the trail. From then on, I was immersed in the experience. Even riding with traffic on the way back didn’t bother me.

I didn’t ride any farther than I normally do. My route totalled about three miles. But I rode for almost twice as long as usual, and was pedaling nearly the whole time. I’ve been back at my apartment for several hours now, but I’m still daydreaming about that quick little trail. I can’t wait for a weekend when I can stay out longer and explore more trails.

Let’s go ride a bike

Sometimes I joke that life would be easier if I weren’t passionate about so many things. And I’m not going to say I’m passionate about cycling (it’s been a day!), but that borderline obsessive personality comes out whenever I get interested in something.

On the evening of my first day as a bike owner, I parked it in front of my computer and googled Nishiki and Nishiki Pueblo. It seems that people have a strong allegiance to their Nishikis, mourning the fact that they sold them, even well after they’ve moved on to fancier bicycles.

I’d say I did OK. (Thanks, again, Elisa!)

But I also panic any time I drop a bit of money on something. My bike was crazy inexpensive, and the helmet wasn’t much more. Still, before bed last night I was worrying about whether I’d made a wise decision, whether I would ride my bike enough to justify the purchase, whether I’m going to get into a terrible biking accident tomorrow.

This morning I woke up and pouted because it was raining. I wanted to ride my bike today! In other words, the panic had passed.

I only got to ride for five or 10 minutes today, in the alley behind Elisa’s apartment when I went over to pick up Eleanor. I thought about riding from her place to church (less than a mile), but it was supposed to resume raining around the time the service ended. It didn’t happen, so I drove for no reason.

Still, I’m excited. I have a bike in my car (need to change that!), and I’m contemplating where to ride after work tomorrow. I also realized that if I ride semi-consistently for two months, I’ll have gotten my money’s worth. (I spent the equivalent of two months at a gym on my bike and helmet.) And already, another friend has asked Elisa to keep an eye out for a bike for her. Add another one to the list, Bike Mom!

ETA: Introducing Eleanor Rigby

Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door, who is it for?

When Elisa and I became friends, she was getting more involved in living a local lifestyle. We joined a community supported agriculture group together, reveling in the glory of fresh, local produce each week. She planted a garden outside her apartment’s back door. And she bought a bike, a beautiful cruiser she named Kevin Bacon.

These were things she’d been interested in for some time, but her involvement quickly took off. In particular, that was true for her cycling. Before long, Elisa began riding her bike everywhere and upgraded to a commuter bike, a friendly, sleek guy she named Mick Jagger. Recently she and some friends launched a bicycle co-op. And after months of listening to her talk about the joys of bike riding, I made a deal with her: Find me a cheap bike that fits me, and I’ll try riding.

So she did. And today, I became a bike owner.

My bike, Eleanor Rigby, is a blue Nishiki Pueblo, a hybrid that needed just a little love. Elisa and a friend tuned her up, but the back wheel needed a little more work than Elisa could provide. So this morning I picked her and Eleanor’s back wheel up and we drove to the local bike shop.

I left my apartment brimming with excitement and anticipation. I’m a very risk-averse person; sometimes I get nervous driving the same route I take every day. But I want my recreational biking to be more than riding around my (very small) neighborhood five times a day. I hope to load Eleanor into my car and take her downtown on weekends, when the streets aren’t filled with traffic and when I’m likely to waste a lot of gas just running around.

While Elisa spoke to the bike mechanics, I got fitted for a helmet. (Helmet hair be darned! I technically purchased my helmet before my bike. It’s that important!) And after we returned to her apartment and replaced Eleanor’s wheel, I was ready for my first ride as an adult bike owner.

Elisa kindly offered to join me on the one mile trip from her apartment to the birthday party I was attending, and her presence really did help me feel more comfortable with riding down a semi-busy street. Even so, it was an easy ride, mostly downhill and flat, with only a block uphill. And the rewards were sweet: Two friends and their children were climbing out of their car when I pedaled up. I was the talk of the party (OK, save for the precious 1-year-old whose birthday we were celebrating!), and I felt pretty darn great. Intrinsic motivation is great, but a little outside motivation helps too.

After the party came the ride I was nervous about. I was meeting friends to play at the science museum downtown, and had decided to ride the two miles to my coffee shop. Although the museum is only five blocks farther, I knew I would feel comfortable leaving my bike locked to a meter outside the shop. And frankly, I always want coffee.

I set out from my friends’ house with warnings to be careful and to call them if I needed any help. A recent doctor’s visit confirmed that I’m healthy, but as I pedaled through the streets of downtown I was quickly reminded that healthy and in shape are two very different things. Even riding on the flat roads wore me out. I had to stop twice and quickly finished the tiny bottle of water I brought with me.

But I felt so accomplished as I pedaled over the bridge (a hill!) and crossed from Southside to downtown. I spotted a girl in a pink shirt pedaling toward me and knew it was Elisa. She joined me for the final three blocks to the coffee shop, and I’ll admit, I didn’t feel quite so awesome as we pulled up. I was sweaty, my dress was sticking to me and that two mile ride had kicked my butt. My best guy friend walked up, laughing at me (I’d already warned him that this was how I would arrive), and after locking my bike I went inside and threw myself across the counter. “Water!” I said, panting. “I need water!”

Another friend who rides had cautioned me to take it slow as I began riding. Only ride when you want to, he said, and don’t let anyone push you into doing more than you’re ready for. Bike nerds can be pretty hardcore, and he didn’t want me to become disenchanted before I really got going. So after playing at the museum, I decided to lift my bike into the back of a friend’s truck and get a ride back to my car. Five and a half miles on my first day would have sounded more impressive (OK, even if it’s not very far on wheels!), but loving my bike tomorrow is more important.

As he lifted my bike into his truck bed, my friend identified the source of my troubles. My back tire was scraping the bar that held it in place. No wonder those two miles were so tortuous! “Do I get superhero points for riding with it like that?” I asked him. He said maybe not. But I am even more motivated to keep going, and that’s enough for today.

Oh, and the other lesson from my first day as a bike owner? Pigtails are definitely the way to rock a lilac and white helmet. If you pass me on the street, be kind. I’m new at this.

Made with love

Sometimes an idea is worth copying. This is me, jumping on the bandwagon.

The first five people to respond to this post will get something made by me. This offer does have some restrictions so please read carefully:

•  I make no guarantees that you will like what I make.
• What I create will be just for YOU.
• It will be done this year (2009).
• It will be something made my own two hands.
• It might be a mix CD, a knitted scarf, stack of cards, a poem, baked goods, an original photograph … the possibilites are infinite.

In return, all you need to do is post this on your blog or facebook and make five things for five other people.

Stranded in a fog of words

On Jan. 3, I filled my iPod.

I didn’t see that milestone coming. When I finally bought an iPod two years ago, I intentionally purchased a model I thought large enough for my ever-growing music collection, but not so large that its capacity would go to waste. I expected the device to break before I ever needed more than 30GB.

When I added the albums that pushed my music collection over that 30GB mark, of course I panicked. “I need a new iPod!” I thought. “Do I have money to bump up to the next size? What am I going to do?”

I quickly came to my senses and realized I was being ridiculous. I love being able to carry every album I own everywhere I go, but I don’t listen to all 17.7 days worth of music. I would be scared to count how many of those 6,352 songs I’ve not listened to even once. So maybe the problem isn’t that my iPod is too small, I concluded. Maybe I’m the problem.

I cleared enough music off my computer to ensure my iPod and iTunes would sync, and in the weeks since I’ve continued the spring cleaning. I only listen to one track from Amy LaVere’s album; though so many people loved it, it never really clicked with me. Off it goes. I load albums I’m sent for review, but if they don’t make the cut? Delete. 

The following weekend I applied the same mentality to my apartment. I have more clothes than I need, and so many that I don’t wear. My trunk was quickly overflowing with bags earmarked for Goodwill. My bathroom was next on the list. I had developed a tidy collection of samples: shampoos, lotions and anti-aging creams (lots and lots of anti-aging creams). Just because I might need this cream someday doesn’t mean I need to store it today (besides, by the time someday rolls around, the cream would have expired). I bagged them up and took them into work, where my coworkers quickly claimed the products and put them to use.

It felt good, this cleansing ritual. And it’s ongoing; I’ve got clothes I’ve set aside, waiting a few days to see if I really can part with them. If I don’t wear it, why do I own it? And I’ve continued to edit my iTunes as new music comes in.

But there’s one area of my life where I can’t seem to break the hoarding cycle. Books.

Last weekend was the Friends of Emmet O’Neal Library Book Sale, and I certainly did my part to support the library. By the end of the weekend I had bagged up 80 books: 35 for one of my best friends, 44 for me and a crossword puzzle book for my grandfather.

And I’m unashamed. It’ll take me a while to read all of those books, especially combined with my already-lengthy to read list. And OK, I’ve instituted a book buying fast: I am not allowed to buy books again until Feb. 22, 2010 (or next year’s Emmet O’Neal book sale, whichever comes first). I need to read through some of what I already own, and no doubt I’ll continue to acquire more freebies. (I’ve got a knack for it, well, a knack and Paperback Swap.) I’m allowing myself three exceptions, because you just never know when something fabulous will be published. I hope to have read at least a significant chunk of this year’s book sale purchases by this time next year.

Even so, books are one thing that I just can’t get enough of.

Book Sale Bargain Day Finds:

1. Beowulf translated by Burton Raffel
2. Travels with Barley: A Journey through Beer Culture in America by Ken Wells
3. The Archivist by Martha Cooley (OK, I totally bought this book based on its cover.)
4. The Best American Magazine Writing 2002 
5. Name All the Animals by Alison Smith
6. On Writing Well by William Zinsser
7. The Best American Essays 1990 edited by Justin Kaplan
The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne
8. I Feel Bad about My Neck by Nora Ephron (OK, I’m too young for this book. But I like Nora Ephron.)
9. Watership Down by Richard Adams (My book club read this a few months ago. I … didn’t.)
10. Peace Like a River by Leif Enger (See above.)
11. Stern Men by Elizabeth Gilbert
12. The Reivers by William Faulkner
13. The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver
14. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time by Mark Haddon
Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt
15. The Case of the Missing Books by Ian Sansom (Again I must confess: I bought it because of the cover. It has a date due card on it. And it talks about books.)
16. The Summer of the Great-Grandmother by Madeleine L’Engle (Because I have friends who OBSESS over her work)
17. Before Columbus Foundation Fiction Anthology edited by Ishmael Reed
18. Bel Canto by Ann Patchett
19. Still Life with Woodpecker by Tom Robbins
20. Reading Rooms: America’s Foremost Writers Celebrate Our Public Libraries with Stories, Essays, Poems and Memoirs edited by Susan Allen Toth and John Coughlan
21. Sister Age by MFK Fisher
22. Ray in Reverse by Daniel Wallace (Because I dig Daniel Wallace)
23. The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen
Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil by John Berendt
24. Leaving Home by Garrison Keillor (I have, um, never read or even really listened to Garrison Keillor.)

My fingers wrap around your words

Tonight I broke into a little dance when I left the library.

Sadly, that’s not an entirely unusual thing; I think it’s becoming an annual tradition. The occasion? The Friends of Emmet O’Neal Library Book Sale.

Last year was my first visit to the sale, and the trip resulted in the purchase of 36 books for $7. I’ve been talking about the event ever since.

My strategy this year was to begin with the Friends Preview Party on Thursday night, then return on Sunday for last-minute bargains. With my fellow bibliophile Monica in tow, I wrote my check to become a Friends member, grabbed a book tote and faced the books.

I intended to use today only for books that were absolute must-haves. I’d already snagged a few while volunteering with the Friends group over the past month, and I knew there would be plenty of classics left on Sunday. I’m running out of shelving space in my tiny apartment, and frankly I haven’t finished reading all of last year’s purchases. (Perhaps I should tally that number!) 

$54 later, I was set for the night. There was only one book in my stack that I questioned its must-have value, but it was a $2 purchase–so why not?

1. Downtown Birmingham Architectural and Historial Walking Tour Guide by Marjorie White, the Birmingham Historical Society
2. The Art of Eating by MFK Fisher (includes Serve it Forth, Consider the Oyster, How to Cook a Wolf, The Gastronomical Me and An Alphabet for Gourmets) (one of the big finds of the evening! Can’t believe I only paid $2 for this)
3. Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg
4. Big Fish by Daniel Wallace (yes I’ve read it, but I didn’t own it)
5. Chez Panisse Menu Cookbook by Alice Waters (this is the other big find!!!)
6. Wayside School is Falling Down by Louis Sachar (I loved these books as a child!)
7. A Thin Difference by Frank Turner Hollon (have read two of his books, big fan, plus he’s a Bama boy)
8. The God File by Frank Turner Hollon
9. Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein (for $2. SERIOUSLY.)
10. The New York Times Large Print Big Book of Easy Crosswords (for my grandfather!)
11. Endless Feasts: Sixty Years of Writing from Gourmet edited by Ruth Reichl
12. Early Days in Birmingham: A Printing of the Original Papers of the Pioneers Club whose Members were Eye-Witnesses to the Events of the Founding of the City (I just thought that was too cute to pass on! I love Birmingham history.)
13. Somebody Told Me: The Newspaper Stories of Rick Bragg
14. Leaving Birmingham by Paul Hemphill (one I’d been hunting for two years!)
    
15. The Prince of Frogtown by Rick Bragg
    
16. Gilead by Marylynne Robinson
    
17. The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down by Anne Fadiman
    
18. Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar Nafisi

It’s so hard to reason with you

I’ve been so caught up in the Beatles lately that a friend or two has called me out on not listening to anything else. That’s not entirely true; though there was a week when I listened to literally nothing but, I’ve also been hard at work critiquing CDs for the magazine I work at.

But I have been listening to the Beatles so much that analysis of songs worms its way into my daily conversations. Today I told a coworker that I’m working on my bachelor’s in Beatles. For the longest time I thought I was just catching up with the rest of the world. Then last night I watched Across the Universe and was (appropriately!) delighted by details like the Cavern’s appearance in an early Liverpool scene. That’s when it clicked. Virtually everyone likes the Beatles. But everyone is not going to recognize that arch over the stage. 

And so tonight, when I want to ramble on about how great “Please Please Me” is, I’m turning to the Internet at large instead of emailing the same four people or calling my dad with my enthusiastic blather. I keep thinking that I’m the last person to jump on the Beatles bandwagon, but the truth is that there will always be someone new. Nearly 50 years after their first album, the music still grabs hold of un- or under-exposed listeners.

I bought Please Please Me (1963) and Let It Be  (1970) two or three weeks ago, bringing my studio album collection near completion. (I’m still without With the Beatles. My birthday is July 5.) Throughout my career as a Beatles fan (a ridiculous statement, I know, since it’s been less than two years since I bought my first album), I’ve always preferred later Beatles. The deeper they got into their careers (and everything that went with that), the more engaging their music became. I’ve listened to Please Please Me seven times through, as compared to Let It Be nine times. It’s not a huge discrepancy, but it’s to be expected.

But I’ve listened to the single “Please Please Me” probably four times today alone. I tend to be pretty naïve when songs are about … sensitive subjects. I was out of college when my (younger!) sister explained a line in “Baby Got Back,” a song I’d heard more times than I cared to over the course of eight years. 

That’s not the case here. I know exactly what John is saying. And that’s OK. The lyrics aren’t the point either, not for me, not on this song.

I tend to think of the Beatles’ early work as more innocent, with songs like “I Want to Hold Your Hand” and “She Loves You” jumping out. But this track destroys those, even though “She Loves You” will always hold a special place in my heart. “Please Please Me” feels so much more authentic to me, more gritty and true, and more so as I continue to read about the band. And I am obsessed with the guitar on this song. Absolutely obsessed. 

If only I’d been alive in the 60s. If this song is still affecting people nearly 50 years after it was written, I can only imagine what I would have been like witnessing the band in action. I would have been the screaming, bawling girl on the front row.

Instead, I’m her circa 2009, sitting in front of a computer and daydreaming about a time before I was born.

It’s a small world after all

We often joke that Birmingham is the biggest small town, and I’m constantly stumbling upon proof–even in other cities! Three cases in point:

1. Last May I was in Nashville to interview a local band, Wild Sweet Orange. They were touring nationally in support of their then- soon-to-be-released debut LP, but the tour wouldn’t carry them back to Birmingham until well after my deadline, so it was up to Nashville for me! As we chatted, I began the Birmingham six degrees game by asking what high schools they attended. Sure enough, two of the band members attended the same high school as my best guy friend from college–and the wife of one was his date to a high school dance. Small world.

2. My friend Elisa has gotten really into cycling over the past year, and has even launched a blog and a co-op specific to that interest. This weekend she and another Bike Skirt girl met a fellow bicycle blogger for coffee. That cyclist? Is my concert buddy and fellow editor from Nashville. Small world.

3. Not so long ago, a photographer friend spotted a facebook status in which I mentioned my best friend from high school, Scarlett Lillian. Amelia was so excited to realize that a photographer whose blog she followed was a long-time friend of mine. But take it a step further: Right now Scarlett is in Atlanta for a party. She texted me to say she’d met a photographer from Birmingham and immediately asked if he knew me. And of course, I adore Caleb Chancey.

It’s a small world, after all.

I trust you if you say its good

 

During my church’s women’s retreat earlier this month, we were split into small groups and given some ice breaker questions to aid in the getting-to-know you process. I laughed when I read one that asked what I’m passionate about. I’m a terribly enthusiastic person—not indiscriminately, to be sure, but when I really care about something, everyone around me knows it.

That’s how I ended up spending Friday lunch in the basement of Emmet O’Neal Library, sorting books for the annual Friends of Emmet O’Neal Library Book Sale.

Last year Elisa and I wandered through that very basement on the final day of the sale. It was intended to be an interlude between moving her things between apartments. It was instead the highlight of a cold February day, and we returned to her place with 36 books between us. The grand total at checkout? $7.

I’ve been raving about the sale ever since. Then last week I received a voice mail from one of the Friends folks, asking if I could run this year’s sale in our events calendar. I’m generally shy about calling strangers, but I immediately returned her message. The Friends sale and fellow book lovers dispel introversion.

And now I’m a library volunteer. Friday I was shown how to organize this year’s books and given access to piles and piles of donated books. It’s slow work to start, because I’ll stop as I drop books into their respective sections and examine the shelves. I’ve been looking for a copy of Paul Hemphill’s Leaving Birmingham—could it be hidden in the Southern writers section? What untold treasures are tucked into the massive trade paperback section? I’m told it’s easier to stay focused as you spend more time at the library. We’ll see.

I left my first day with three books to add to my 2009 book sale list: A hardback copy of The Prince of Frogtown by Rick Bragg (though I ran an excerpt and interviewed him last year, I only have the review copy); Gilead by Marilynne Robinson (which caught my eye at my book club’s book swap earlier in the week); and The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down by Anne Fadiman (who wrote a great book of book-related essays, Ex Libris). I’m told that the Friends group is the sale’s best customers. This year, I’m afraid you’ll have to count me among that number.

 

This is why I'm not allowed to spend much money on books ... a glimpse of my to read shelf. No, I have not finished reading the books I purchased last year.

This year’s Friends of Emmet O’Neal Library Book Sale will be held Feb. 20 to 22.