Last night, sitting in the grass listening to music, I met and talked to a woman whose name I forget. It was something Nordic like Ingrid or Greta. She had a very Nordic / Scandinavian look – by which I mean slender build, blond hair, blue eyes. She was with her husband who might have been Tom or Dave, her young son who had his dinosaur toys (simple hard plastic with splotchy drab colors). Either her father or father-in-law was there too – he had with him his tiny dog Cheech. Cheech and I became friends – he likes scritches on the side of his head and on his back just above his butt – he gives that squinty look of “oh yeah, that’s the spot. Don’t stop.” The boy, who is four and a half, likes all of the dinosaurs. I asked him which one was his favorite, and after a pause I asked if it was the t-rex (he had given me his t-rex toy). He said, “yeah, the t-rex.” I asked, “or is it the velociraptor?” “yeah, the ossoraptor.” His mom chimed in, “and sometimes it’s the triceratops and sometimes the stegosaurus.” “Yeah, triceratops.” Ingrid/Greta and I talked about kids and dogs and being out in public. She didn’t want to get political, but she was upset that COVID has become political. She probably wasn’t sure where I fell on the political spectrum – that seems to matter more and more these days. She was upset that people won’t wear masks or get vaccinated. She doesn’t like that they’re calling this an epidemic of the unvaccinated – she can’t vaccinate her son – she would if she could. We talked about the political geography of central PA. I said I was relatively new, and she asked if I’ve found my people yet. It was the type of question that cuts to the heart of things when you’re a transplant – finding where you fit in.
This morning I sat out on the deck in the warming sun. I worked on a poem about liking all of the dinosaurs. Child-like enthusiasm for everything… a desire to please… and our adult insistence on discernment and bias. I would have been shocked if Ingrid/Greta’s son gave a nuanced answer that could only have been forged by years of witnessing the unevenness of the world. The 4-yeard-old with the 40-year-old wisdom “I like all of the dinousaurs. They each have their unique strengths and flaws – all of them beautiful in their own right.” Yeah, the ossoraptor. Yeah, the t-rex. I wrote and I listened as a neighbor spoke to his wife in a demeaning and mocking way. Mansplaining about how to use the drill… insisting he’s not shouting at her. He wasn’t shouting, but he knew his tone wasn’t landing well. I felt judgmental. I wondered what type of man Ingrid/Greta’s son will grow up to be.
The band I went to see Ted & Molly is an acoustic duo. They played some originals and some classic rock (Stones, Beatles, Dylan). They’re part of a bigger band that I heard at WingFest a week earlier. There was a song that I heard at WingFest that I really liked but couldn’t find. I tried Shazam and googling lyrics… nothing. When I went online to see what Ted & Molly sounded like (to see if I wanted to make the drive), the song I was looking for (Really Miss Your Rain) was the first song that came up – happy coincidence.
It’s been a while since I’ve posted any videos (or discovered new-to-me music). I don’t really have a good way of tying all of this together… Ingrid/Greta’s family, politics, mansplaining, and music. The poems I’ve been writing lately have been equally disjointed. Sometimes, that’s how the story goes. A handful of vignettes that make up a day, a week, a morning, a life. Sometimes the music that you think might build, crescendo, or deliver a moment remains steady and subtle and delivers with a back porch type of simplicity.