It’s been a week since I embarked on this chapter of my
life. I missed the plane that I was rushing to get. I had been sitting at the
wrong gate, another example of how perspective controls everything. I had seen
a ‘9’ when it was really a ‘6’….or they changed the gate after I sat down to
wait and saw that Phillip Seymour Hoffman had died, reminding me of a Frank O’Hara
poem about the day Billie Holiday died.
The Day Lady Died
By Frank O'Hara 1926–1966
It is 12:20 in New York a Friday
three days after Bastille day, yes
it is 1959 and I go get a shoeshine
because I will get off the 4:19 in Easthampton
at 7:15 and then go straight to dinner
and I don't know the people who will feed me
I walk up the muggy street beginning to sun
and have a hamburger and a malted and buy
an ugly NEW WORLD WRITING to see what the poets
in Ghana are doing these days
in Ghana are doing these days I go on to the bank
and Miss Stillwagon (first name Linda I once heard)
doesn't even look up my balance for once in her life
and in the GOLDEN GRIFFIN I get a little Verlaine
for Patsy with drawings by Bonnard although I do
think of Hesiod, trans. Richmond Lattimore or
Brendan Behan's new play or Le Balcon or Les Nègres
of Genet, but I don't, I stick with Verlaine
after practically going to sleep with quandariness
and for Mike I just stroll into the PARK LANE
Liquor Store and ask for a bottle of Strega and
then I go back where I came from to 6th Avenue
and the tobacconist in the Ziegfeld Theatre and
casually ask for a carton of Gauloises and a carton
of Picayunes, and a NEW YORK POST with her face on it
and I am sweating a lot by now and thinking of
leaning on the john door in the 5 SPOT
while she whispered a song along the keyboard
to Mal Waldron and everyone and I stopped breathing
I love that poem; My thesis for Dr. McCall was on
Frank O’Hara, and I spent a good deal of time with him that semester. He is one
of the imagists, and this poem is very much a list of experiences linked to the
major image, the “NEW
YORK POST with her face on it” leading us to Frank’s memory of hearing her sing. That’s
what made me think of it, because that is how I felt when I set down my
suitcase, computer, and yoga mat in the airport waiting area for gate 9 instead
of 6. We have seen so many great artists succumb to this type of escape from
the planet. I would start a list, but it would be so depressingly long…I remember first seeing him in "Boogie Nights." Brilliant actor.
I
listened to the news report for a while and then put in my headphones.
They
were just repeating the same nonsense, like they always do.
I
had lots of time at the airport, so I spread out my mat and did a little yoga,
then I posted my last blog.
That’s when I realized that something was not
right.
A plane had landed and people had come off,
but they hadn’t called for boarding.
I
inquired of the status and realized my mistake.
By
the time I made it to the correct gate…it had closed.
I
was informed that federal regulations require the doors to be closed 10 minutes
prior to take off…
Expletive!
Breathe…
My
first concern was that Keith and I had an 8 hour drive from Portland to Eureka,
so I called him first. He was so calm that it rubbed off on me. No problem. Get
a later flight.
After
a little worry that I would not get out until 9:30pm, we managed to find a
flight in an hour and a half, only a slight delay.
Lesson:
This was not a problem worth getting worked up over; everything worked out
fine.
The
drive was quite beautiful. Keith was tired from his travels and work, so after
we stopped for a sandwich in Eugene, Oregon, I took over driving.
He
had rented a hybrid so it was interesting starting it with a button and then
not being able to hear the engine, but it drove like a dream, very smoothly. Last
time he asked me to drive, I was scared. The roads here can twist and turn,
plus it gets DARK. It wasn’t long before he took the wheel back because I was
driving so slowly.
This
time, however, I trusted the car and was able to enjoy driving. I just relaxed
into the momentum, feeling the curves with confidence that even if I could not
see what was around the corner, it would still be fine. In Texas, you can almost
always see miles and miles down the road. Here, you sometimes can’t see 100ft.
There are also rocks and cliffs and tall trees in the way; no such thing in
most of Texas…it’s pretty flat. That’s also a good metaphor for how I felt: I
had been so worried about what was around the corner; I had to learn to have
faith. Just listening to the helicopter pilot isn’t enough. One must have the
courage to take that leap with conviction.
Once
I decided to move to Eureka and do this internship, everything fell smoothly
into place, just like Michael said it would. I have tried to stay open and say,
“Yes, and…” like we did in Improv—accept and add to it.
It
works.
I
have an apartment with a bed and a great space for doing yoga. I think I am
going to try to keep it spare. The space has great energy and fantastic views.
It is also right next door to where I work and where Keith lives, so the
commute is fast. I am loving the work and getting settled in. We gather for
conversation and a shared meal four nights a week, so there is a strong sense
of community.
I
feel peaceful and happy.
Namaste’
ya’ll!
Welcome to Eureka, Ruthie!
ReplyDeleteYour neighbor,
Keith