Monday, June 18, 2018

Most Things Break

Including Hearts. The lessons of life amount not to wisdom, but to scar tissue and callus - Wallace Stegner.

So begins a brand new journey for me. This time, it won't be on a train, or driving to some distant location. This won't be geographic in nature, but raw, undiscovered emotional territory.

Following the fatal illness of my mother, my priority shifted to taking care of my father, who was diagnosed with Dementia shortly after her passing 5 years ago. The next two years, I had nobody to lean on emotionally because my values were so different and I was forcing myself to do the kind of responsible, grown up things a good family upbringing instills within an empathetic person, and I was only able to carry out those tasks alone. I was in a fog during the time my mother passed. Near daily trips to West Hartford from Northampton. Watching her very slowly waste away from COPD. Shut off from the world on oxygen, while my father sat in his chair watching soap operas, his face often behind a newspaper, hiding his helplessness. And there I was, sitting silently between them, occasionally making eye contact with my mom, who would immediately shift her gaze away.

She and I knew the end was not far away.

She knew a lot of things I would find out about later.

The family home would be sold, my father is in a rest home, a fragile shell of the strong, supportive man he was for so long. People can cling together for life... or drift apart. They may want to live the life they envisioned for themselves. If that involves someone else's life? Perhaps that makes it more meaningful for some. But some people aren't wired that way. Perseverance and determination during moments where a bond gets tested can either strengthen or wear away what holds two people together. After a few years of hard testing, I found myself with no mother, a fading father, a broken marriage, and now my own home is on the market.

Life was a suddenly blank canvas... and the paint and brushes were gone.

I had been bouncing around between Rhode Island and friends on the outskirts of Northampton. Performing a constant string of shows with several different acts and on my own. My life was now in hyperdrive. Whatever time I wasn't onstage was either in clubs or with people I otherwise would be with at a club. It was both a needed distraction from my rudderless life, and a glimpse into what my life could become down the road. Both terrified and ecstatic, my feelings would ping pong back and forth between the two. A raw and guarded passion for life, and for the company of those who sought the same.

It was a Beautiful Disaster.

Security is hard to find, or even feel when you think you've got it. Negative experiences can shake up anxieties and question the difference between wants and needs. By October 1st, the constant uncertainty was wearing away at my patience and stability, until I swung by the house on my way back from an outdoor show one night to find it empty. Everything was gone that I hadn't already taken and put into storage back in April.

So I brought a camping cot, and I slept that night in an empty house I had owned for 15 years.

My life felt just as empty, because I wasn't the one in control of it.

As painful as it was, I was going to work as hard as ever to change the course of it.

9 months later, summer is here again. I think of where my life was at this time last year, and of the solitary moments I had up in Greensboro a few summers before. Having a sense that in a few years, I would probably be living like I am now.

What was that going to be like?

A lot
like this.

Saturday, April 22, 2017

Big Rock Candy Apple

   In between my Artist Retreats to Greensboro, Vermont: I have also made regular treks to New York City. When looking for adventure, you really can't find a more inviting place to find culture and excitement. Numerous friends of mine live and perform here, and I try to make the trip down enough so that I at least feel like I am part of the scene... even if I don't live here.

I had tickets to see a rather odd show in Jersey City and a friend of mine was willing to take part. I was already prepared to make the trek, and this made it easier to pull the trigger on.

    So I made my usual jaunt from the Metro North Train to Grand Central Station, and settled into my unusual accommodations at the quirky Jane Hotel in the West Village.

Formerly accommodations for merchant marines: The Jane has since become something of an antiquated party place for bohemians and singles, as well as European travelers and folks on a budget. I managed to tie a pretty good one on exploring the West Village and the Literary haunts of the likes of Dylan Thomas, Jack Kerouac, Jim Morrison and others at the historic White Horse Tavern.

After the crazy party that followed back at the hotel: I woke up alone in my very tiny room, not quite sure where I was. By the sound of the city outside... I quickly realized I was in Manhattan. 

I stumble down the back stairs, half-awake, looking for coffee... and discovered this opulant, elegant room with nobody in it.

 (These walls do actually talk)

The rest of my 
adventure was more of the same: exploring
 and sampling the sights, sounds, and tastes of Greenwich Village. Despite all of the walking and reveling I did, I barely scratch the surface. That did nothing to take care of the itch that persists, and Summer has not even arrived yet... so I anticipate I will be back before my next Summer trek to Greensboro, Vermont.

Monday, September 5, 2016

The Bridge: My Fourth Summer in Greensboro.

Four years ago, I stumbled upon the summer resort village of Greensboro, Vermont: A peaceful small town in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont a dozen or so miles from the Canadian Border, and Summer home of writer Wallace Stegner.

The next year, a brand new organization in town called the Greensboro Arts Alliance and Residency was born, and I attended their first social gathering at the Lakeview House, while staying in a cottage at Highland Lodge, overlooking the shores of Caspian Lake. The following year, I took a train to White River Junction and drove a rental to Greensboro and Westmore (to stay at the Willowvale Inn). This time around (in a quest to do something different each year) I found a place in the nearby town of Hardwick, and made it my base for the latest meeting, which was being held at the Highland Lodge, funny enough.

My apartment was located on the first floor of a giant mansion near the center of town.

(I would love to come back someday and record in some of the massive, high-ceiling rooms there)

With a rushing river outside my window, and the center of town on the other side, it was a very interesting place to hang out, and my host, Sara made sure I was set up very nicely.

One of the routes that I would take to cross the river into town was along a wooden suspension bridge that would vibrate and sway underneath the rushing waters as I walked along it. 

At The Highland Lodge, I walked around the equally ancient building and made note of a furnishings, which almost always includes a piano.

At the writers forum, Young Adult Author Katherine Paterson was the featured speaker, she has had three movies made from her books so far, and one of them is titled "Bridge to Terabithia". Having this bridge symbolism occurring on multiple fronts, it made me think of the journey I made to Saskatchewan, and now the trips to Greensboro.

Where was it all really taking me? I wondered.

 I am still deep in the process of adventure in search of (and discovering) the meaning and some of the secrets to his gifts of articulating and making sense of life, and doing so in such brilliant and colorful detail. Most of the people in the room seemed to be in touch with this meaning and their own gifts as well. It is a small group, but its a small town, with some big-hearted and generous people.

The common traits we all possess is our being drawn to the same energy of creativity, which drives us to then go out and accomplish what it is that inspires us all so. As I wandered out into the night air afterward, I had become friends with more of these individuals, and became that much closer to the soul of the Northeast Kingdom, and the wellspring of inspiration that flows like the waters that feed serene Caspian Lake.

Tuesday, July 26, 2016

Fourth Time Around

Making Arrangements to return to Northern Vermont for the Greensboro Arts Council Writers Conference.

Staying at the Hotel Coolidge and then venturing to Hardwick the next day to visit nearby Caspian Lake, located in Greensboro. 

Last year, I took the train, but this time around, I am going o split up the drive and take in a few places I missed last year, like the Main Street Museum.

This will be the fourth year I have ventured into the Northeast Kingdom, as the search for Wallace Stegner continues. 

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

Searching For Wallace Stegner - All The Difference.

 I will remember the sound of peace and quiet that surrounded me in White River Junction and at Willoughby. The sight of the mountains and the Northern Loons swimming past me in my kayak. The summer rain that would come and go, sometimes in a fury, but never staying long. The clear skies at night and the bright stars that looked close enough to touch.

 I would try to hold onto some of that peace and tranquility as I rolled back home on the Vermonter, which again was about half full. Through Bellows Falls, and Brattleboro, we picked up more passengers, and would soon be in Massachusetts where I could anticipate getting back home.

I will return next year to Greensboro, as I did the year before and I will again be challenged to find a different way to spend the adventure. Perhaps I shall return to the Highland Lodge, but doing it by train like I did 6 years ago just to talk about Wallace Stegner with the precious few people who knew anything about him is what made the adventure stand out as something a little more special. Robert Frost had written about "The Path Not Taken", and I chose the one that has made all the difference.     

Searching For Wallace Stegner - Stay Frosty.

  Part of my adventure in Northern Vermont was to not only write and sight see, but to get away from some of the stresses surrounding work back home. It was my hope that as few days away would recharge my batteries, and I would come back refreshed and inspired. However, anytime my phone rang, it was about work.

I was hoping the second day would smooth over all of that.

I had passed by Lake Willoughby in my travels last year and decided this year I would make sure to stop. I had booked a small room at the Willoughvale Inn and Bed & Breakfast, which overlooked the crystal clear glacial waters with its mountains and sheer granite cliffs rising out from either side. My room was in the back, and had a private entrance, which was nice, because I was able to keep some privacy, and hoped to get some writing down. However, seeing that there was a fleet of unused canoes and kayaks by the water... writing would have to wait.  I walked to the waters edge grabbed a small kayak, put on a life vest, and paddled out to the middle of the lake to snap a few bucket list pictures.

Now that I have that out of the way. Lets get a bite to eat.

There is not much in the way of food out here in this past of Northern Vermont. You have to find a general store, and I did mange to get some wine, cheese, crackers and fruit, as well as a couple of deviled eggs. Wolfing down the eggs, I realized crackers and cheese wasn't going to get the job done. Since the bar was right on the other side of my wall, I decided to make my way over and order a burger.

The bar had a wonderful view of the lake and mountains, so I finished my burger, ordered a Manhattan, and enjoyed it out on the porch watching the clouds change color with the setting sun.

Monday, August 17, 2015

Searching For Wallace Stegner - Miles To Go.

Lake Willoughby was to be the second stop of my 48 hour journey. Waking up to the sound of a train in White River Junction got me active pretty quickly, and I had some time to kill before my rent a car was available. Drank some coffee from the lobby, grabbed a juice and scarfed down a breakfast bar I brought with me.

Checking out of the hotel I sat down and waited for the rental company to pick me up. I was able to see just about everything that happens in town by looking over either shoulder. Soon a car with the word THRIFTY on the side of it pulled up. Guess that would be my ride.

Rising up the highway with the mountains of New Hampshire and Vermont rising as well, it looked like I would have a good day in Greensboro for my writers conference. Getting off the highway in Saint Johnsbury, and retracing my path thru Danville and in to town. Pulling the car next to the tent where the conference was to take place, the rain started falling. Figures! I was a little early, and I waited for the shower to subside, before grabbing my laptop and making my way into the dark tent.

During the conference, I noticed that even though Wallace Stegner is mentioned often, and is one of the reasons that the writers series exists, the locals don't really care quite as much about what he did outside of Greensboro. I am the resident expert about his life in Saskatchewan, and to a smaller extent, in California and Utah. In this small, lovely Vermont town, the people are mostly focused on their own, and were less enthusiastic about the outside world beyond the Northeast Kingdom. "Fair enough" I thought. It really is about them and their town, so I sat back and listened to three elderly gentlemen talk at length about memoir writing.

One of them then looked at me and noticed my laptop. It was then that I was referred to as being part of the "new generation of writers" in Greensboro. I explained that my penmanship is horrible and my hand cant keep up with my thoughts, so blogging and writing on a laptop is much better suited for my short attention span and sloppy handwriting. He knew I was a little caught off-guard, and told me later that Stegner once told him that he was considering quitting the business of writing because he couldn't find a good fountain pen anymore. These men were giants at their professions, and I am really just a pretender among them, trying to get noticed somehow, in an effort to figure out where it could lead to next.

Writing to make sense of it all.

I paid close attention to them as they spoke, hoping I would learn something among their golden words. As the conference ended, a huge rain storm struck, and nobody could hear their conversation with the sound of the downpour on the canvas tent. It was time to wrap things up, and so I took my laptop, and briskly walked to my rented car to head to Lake Willoughby.