Pandemic postcard #6: Thank you, world

... and the sun is my alarm, and the moon, she makes me dream ...

Hello again, happy 50th anniversary of Earth Day, and happy 30th anniversary of one of my all-time favorite albums, Goodbye Jumbo by World Party. As I grabbed the code to post the video of "Thank You World" below, I saw that the album was released on April 24, 1990. Serendipity ... and dig how songwriter Karl Wallinger sings his hymn of thankful praise to the Earth while seemingly sheltered in place, but dreaming big indeed.

On Earth Day morning, I headed out early to beat the rain. I have some standard walking routes within a two-mile radius of my home: one that takes me to Maple Leaf Park, another that threads through the Pinehurst neighborhood, but I am prone to wandering, especially now. That's how I wound up across the street from a house I had never seen before, with a brightly whimsical sun shining over shingles of inlaid clouds, birds, and fish. When I got home, I looked it up and found this article about the last time it was for sale, plus a better screen capture from Google Maps.

Discovering this house was delightful enough, and the rest of my Earth Day walk was chockablock with Seattle's riotously wild spring pageantry. For every semi-manicured yard, there are countless examples of barely tamed urban landscapes, with flowers spilling out of street-side rock walls and Seussian cypress trees shamelessly flirting with Douglas firs. The Emerald City is absolutely crazy with color and boisterous with birdsong right now, and it's all the better because there is almost no vehicular traffic.

Once the pandemic subsides, I hope the cars mostly stay parked like they are now. I want people to be well and I want children to get back to school, but perhaps people who can work from home will continue to do so, at least some of the time, and people will find ways to get around that don't involve burning up our beautiful spaceship home. These are challenging times, no doubt, but they are making us all more creative in everything we do.

Until next Friday, be well and enjoy your neighborhood, wherever you are.


 

Pandemic postcard #5: Farewell, Kelly

Kelly Yost Hove, 1940-2020

It was the early 1990s, and--about a decade out of college--I had finally become a full-time freelance writer. At least that was my aspiration; I didn't have a lot of work at first. But as a former newspaper reporter in Twin Falls, Idaho, the town where I lived at the time, I knew a lot of people. I'm pretty sure it was Judi the bookseller who alerted Sam and Kelly Yost that I could help them out.

Sam and Kelly ran Channel Productions, a small record label that had two releases at the time, both classical piano collections by Kelly. I signed on to help with writing tasks as well as with radio relations, and it's no exaggeration to say I may not have survived my first year as a freelancer without the Yosts. They had plenty of work for me at a time when Channel Productions was adding artists and going full tilt. (Kelly's recordings wound up selling about half a million copies.) As I got busier with other projects--including travel writing and having a baby--Kelly and Sam were always accommodating, welcoming me back whenever I had some time to give them, often accompanied by my infant daughter.

Sam and Kelly eventually parted; Kelly remarried and continued running Channel Productions. I moved to Boise but we stayed in touch; although Kelly was no longer recording, I helped her get her back catalog onto Amazon, and she served as a job reference for me on several occasions. A few more years passed and I moved to the West Coast. In an email exchange during the summer of 2013, I wished her a happy birthday and she wrote back to say she had closed the business, partly because she had been diagnosed with mild cognitive impairment. But she was 73 by then, in good spirits and ready to enjoy retirement with Kent.

I saw Kelly one more time, in 2018 on a rare visit to Twin Falls. Her memory loss was more advanced by then, but she remembered me and I was able to thank her for all she and Sam had done to help me a quarter-century before. I am grateful I had an opportunity to express that gratitude when I did, for Kelly died on Easter Sunday from complications of COVID-19. She was 79.

Kelly's piano playing mirrored her way of being in the world: She was calm, steady, shining quietly from the inside out. She loved her native Idaho and its natural wonders, and she gained fame as far away as Japan, where she was featured in a documentary film, celebrated as much for her environmental activism as for her music. I was truly blessed to know her and to work with her, and my heart goes out to her husband Kent and her son Brook and to the many others now mourning her loss.

Rest well, Kelly.

 

___

 

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Pandemic postcard #4: Too much to think

TGIF. It is Friday, right? It's after noon and I am still in my PJs. I was online all morning, mostly scrolling through my social feeds, though I also managed some serious reading. At some point, hopefully as soon as I post this, I'll get dressed, wash the windows for the first time this spring, go for a long walk, and try to make something more of this day.

If there's ever been a time to practice compassion for ourselves and others, it is now, as the days stretch into weeks and the weeks stretch into months, with no clear answers ahead. Like many of you, I have harbored some ambitious plans for this period of isolation. Mostly, I'd love to read more, but my eyes can only read e-books for so long; I miss going to the library for physical books. I miss ballgames and seeing people and going to the movies. So I waste a lot of time reading random stuff online, doing social media, and trying not to should on myself.

There will be no sudden resurrection this year, and no miracles, and yet we can plan to easter this weekend--yes, Easter as a verb in the face of death and uncertainty. As the Rev. Scott Alexander once preached, "Easter is a decision to live with hope -- fully, recklessly, courageously -- even in the face of death and despair itself."  I haven't been able to locate his original sermon on the topic, but here's one he gave last year in the same spirit (and I may tune in for his sermon this Sunday to hear what he has to say on the topic of Easter in the time of pandemic).

I would love to be more productive and proactive and useful during this time, but other than a few volunteer shifts at the food bank and a few feeble attempts at finding paid work, I don't seem to have it in me. (I can't even fathom how parents and their children are managing. My blessings and admiration to all families.) I will use my weekly news and social media sabbath starting tonight to at least try to tap into my inner reserves of solitude (as opposed to loneliness) and creativity.

Maybe I will consider what would happen if I extended my weekend sabbath into next week, placing myself beyond the news and the endless stream of social media connection that is a lifeline, to be sure, but is also so much chatter and clatter. My absence and silence would mean nothing to the world; it could mean a great deal to me.

When despair for the world grows in me ... well, take it away, Wendell Berry

Pandemic postcard #3: Reality sets in

Hello again. How are you this first Friday of April? Wasn't it interesting that April Fool's pranks seemed in short supply this year? We definitely need moments of levity, but foolishness seems out of order in these very weighty times.

For me, this was the week when the reality of the pandemic--and its accompanying economic crisis--really hit home. As I write this, the world COVID-19 case total has passed one million and people are dying at an alarming rate. I was especially sad to learn we have lost songwriter Adam Schlesinger, whose smart work with Fountains of Wayne and snappy title tune for That Thing You Do! have brought me lots of joy over the years. If I need a smile, as I did when I got this news, I need only watch this scene of a band hearing its song on the radio for the first time. Talk about joy. Thank you, Adam. (And please hang in there, John Prine.)

I mentioned last week that a longtime magazine client of mine had abruptly shut down. This week, I confirmed the not-unexpected news that my top editorial client--another travel company--has no work for me for the foreseeable future. I haven't yet joined the official jobless roll; my state's jobless benefits site says it hopes to have information on how self-employed people can apply by mid-April. Meanwhile, I plan to start volunteering at my local food bank next week. They really need help and I have too much time on my hands. They are having people work six feet apart, and you can only volunteer one week at a time to limit any possible exposure to COVID-19. It feels a little risky, but I am healthy and it is a way I can be useful.

Meanwhile, I have also opened an online bookstore through Bookshop.org, a new venture that just launched in January, primarily as a way for small independent bricks-and-mortar bookstores to have a website, but also for authors and other lit lovers to buy and sell books. I have named my shop The Optimist, and its featured selections are books that I have personally enjoyed over the years--"timeless books and books for these times,"as I put it. I'm also featuring some of my photography on its pages. So if you are looking for a good read, please have a look. Your purchase will help me weather these tough times and it will benefit indie bookstores across the U.S., too.

Here are a few other things that got me through this week:

Long walks, as always. I average four miles a day.

Plenty of sleep

Lots of time to read (and spending a little less of it on the news and social media)

Mariners classics baseball, often accompanied by a solo game of Bananagrams

A concert-from-home by Josh Ritter

Online church each Sunday

Watching the classic movie Groundhog Day (An aside: It's only been a month or so, but I miss movies in the theater.)

I mentioned above that reality hit home this week, but here's something else we all know: As bad as this pandemic is right now, we will get through it. Stay safe, be well, and be kind. See you next Friday.

Another kind of food pantry. Pinehurst, Seattle, March 2020