Nothing happens in the middle of the day. People talk about being a morning person or a night person, but I never hear anyone say, “I’m a solid 11 – 4 type of guy.” “I’ll take a quality 1:37 pm on a Tuesday over anything else.” I don’t know, maybe there’s a missed opportunity in there.
I am a morning person. I used to burn the candle on both ends, but I’ve come to appreciate getting some sleep. I like the quiet of the morning. I like, when I can get it, the slow rise and waking of the world. I’ll still stay up late for a concert/show… and maybe with different people I’d have different patterns. This weekend was arts fest here. A lot of people come into town to see the different artists’ booths, listen to bands, and drink. A lot of students return. A lot of alumni also return. It’s a smaller version of a football weekend crowd, and maybe a little less annoying (only because of the art). By 11 pm (when I’ve had enough and am heading home), the bars have lines 50 deep. I’m ok with missing out on that scene.
I’ve been walking into town these past few days. I feed and walk the dog early and head in around 3:30 or 4:00. I walk because I want to get back into shape (I just bought a scale and well…). I also walk because I don’t want to deal with traffic or parking. It’s a couple of miles and takes about 40 minutes. I’ve been going in because it’s something different to do. Between bands, I’ve been popping into a pub that I like. There, I talk with out-of-towners or the bartenders. The other night I helped a young woman win third place in trivia. She’s a recent PSU graduate with a degree in textile arts. She used to work at the bar and came back from Pittsburgh for the weekend to pick up a few shifts and make some money. Last night I talked with a guy who works for IBM. He used to live in Pittsburgh, but was relocated to the Boston area. He stopped at Arts fest on his way back to Pittsburgh where he’s helping his brother care for his dying father. Another guy talked to me about beer and music – he has special access to some very hard to get beers – his brother is in the business. His wife seemed upset that he had been drinking as much as he was and that she would have to babysit him. He has trouble walking (bad hip) and doesn’t need to be stumbling. On one of the corners outside of the bar, a small group of women were protesting Roe v. Wade. The main speaker was fiery and feminist. One or two guys stopped to heckle them. I watched for a bit when a young guy (22) walked up to me and asked me what I thought. I said the hecklers should probably shut up and move on. He seemed to agree with the overall message that the women were delivering, but was upset that they paint all men as being jerks and oppressive. He thinks he’s one of the good guys and doesn’t like being lumped in with the bad guys. I suggested that now might be the time for “good guys” to stand quietly to the side in solidarity. It’s not about us, and for too long we’ve been the ones with the megaphone. I said I’m ok with being lumped in with the bad guys if it helps get the message across. He seemed to come around to a different way of thinking. I suggested that we don’t need to speak, we don’t need to defend anyone’s honor, we don’t need to make this about us. We need to listen and ask how we can help.
I spent most of my arts fest time outside listening to bands or in the pub. The music was ok – some bands were better than others. One of the headliners last night (there were three different stages) played covers of a lot of the songs that are played at the football games. I couldn’t really take that – it felt like such obvious pandering (and I really hate the song “Sweet Caroline”). On my walk home last night, I walked down a wooded path. It’s a long, paved bike path with a steep hill that connects my neighborhood with another neighborhood. At night, it’s really dark and the only thing one can really see in terms of footing is the yellow line that separates the two lanes (though in the dark it’s not really yellow, but instead a washed out milky white or that faded glow-in-the dark type of yellow-white-green). I choose to walk it in the dark and think about our language of darkness. We use phrases like “enveloped by” and “sink into” as though darkness is something that happens to us and not a place we choose to be. I found this language to be inadequate, but couldn’t come up with anything better. As I came to the saddle in the path, the low point between the two hills, I came up to an opening. In the daylight, this spot has a gravel path that heads off in another direction and tall grasses on one side. In this almost field-like opening, hundreds, maybe thousands, of fireflies sparked in the night. Tiny fireworks popped off all around me. It was the type of thing I’d want to bring someone back to – a moment of quiet wonder that other people should see or experience.
I’ll go back to the festival today – if only to pick up the painting I bought but didn’t want to carry around. It’s a silly little thing, but it caught my eye every time I passed it. It’s a painting of a white cartoonish bird with a speckled tail riding a thin red bicycle through a park. The artist paints on things like burlap sacks and other materials to provide texture and depth. The painting reminds me a something French or maybe something out of Frog and Toad. Several years from now I’ll probably have buyer’s remorse. There’s no real story behind my purchase, I don’t personally know the artist (she’s not even local – she’s from Georgia)… it’s just a painting that caught my eye as I practiced my art show walk on a crowded sidewalk on a summer day.
Unfortunately, two nights in a row of getting home close to midnight and being woken by the dog before 6 am have left me wanting a nap here mid-morning on a Sunday. I am a morning person except when I’m not.
The deeper thoughts that briefly plagued me this morning (still plague me as I explore) – the ones that go beyond a recap of the past few days, were/are about accomplishment or change and these past few years. The thinking began with my big boy breakfast. I imagined catching up with one or two exes – perhaps the woman who called it my big boy breakfast (or maybe I called it that and she latched on to it). She and I haven’t spoken for a year or two now. I think the last time we talked, she had just bought a house outside of Philly – actually, I guess we texted more recently than that – I vaguely remember telling her about the dog. I started to think about how little I might have to say – how boring I might be. I haven’t learned a new language. I haven’t taught myself the guitar or the harmonica. I haven’t gone on any exotic trips to foreign lands. I haven’t had wine in a Tuscan villa or gone snorkeling in the Caribbean. I haven’t fallen in love or fallen out of love. I haven’t published my book. I haven’t bought a house or learned to surf. I started to think about the one or two other people (mostly women I dated and know of my weekend breakfasts) who would be equally unimpressed with my… lack of flashy progress? years of stasis? hum-drummery? It seems that no matter the amount of time that has passed, my answer to the potential question of “what’s new?” would be “oh, not much.” Standing by the toaster oven waiting for the waffles to toast and the eggs to fry up, I felt small in front my big boy breakfast. I could imagine each of these women saying with a hint of pity mixed with disdain, “I see you still have your big boy breakfast on the weekends.” How utterly unimaginative it all felt, how completely parochial. I have moments, not often, when I’d like to live an outsized life. In those moments I start to wonder what’s holding me back? Last fall, I had said I wanted to travel to California in the winter and maybe Spain or Paris in the spring. The furthest I’ve gone is the Jersey Shore to the east and Pittsburgh to west. I haven’t really traveled since my trip to Savannah a year ago – a trip I might not have taken on my own…
Which might be at the heart of feeling a little inadequate or small. I sometimes need the pull of someone else’s gravity to drag me out of my doldrums, to inspire me to live a little more boldly or adventurously or even to color the mundane in extraordinary and new ways of seeing. I’ve spent the past few days immersed in music and conversation and art. I came upon a field of fireflies lighting up the late night sky. I write about those things here, but that’s where the trail ends. The bartender at the pub was saying something along the lines of “all the good things happen late at night or early in the morning, and it’s nearly impossible to catch both.” Some days, when I’m on autopilot or mired in the routine of my weekend breakfast I start to feel like I’ve lived the past few years shuffling through a series of Tuesday afternoons.