In the Ryman, this was sublime. It’s my favorite song right now.

The little fool dancing on the edge of a cliff.

You’re going to forgive me for this, as you know how I am on Sundays.

I got the grand opportunity to hit the Ryman for a second time last week on Wednesday night. I have an amazing friend, Ashley, who works “in the industry” and scored front-row seats for the Swell Season show. I’ve never been that close to the stage at the Ryman. I’ve always been content in my usual balcony seats, where the sound soars up to meet me. This night was the perfect night to be up close and personal. Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova–the couple from Once–are a real-life couple, and being just a few yards away allowed me to see exactly the looks that passed between them. It was like being in the movie a little bit.

Anyway, Hansard is so cute and Irish, and his banter kept everyone charmed throughout the show. Interwoven with his wit was a heartfelt sincerity that often led into one of the songs. In introducing a song that hasn’t been released yet–the title of which I can’t remember–he was describing the head/heart conflict and how the two don’t really communicate. He said the head is “culture,” while the heart is “nature” and like “a little fool dancing on the edge of a cliff.”

I got a lump in my throat, and it stayed there the whole show. Of course, as an artist and free-thinker (and Irishman–gotta give proper credit to my own heritage), he seemed to be saying we should spend more time with the dancing fool than within the confines of reason.

It was an inspiring night in so many ways. And leave it to music to pull some things toward the surface that would make me think too much. See–I’m dealing with the head/heart thing at the moment. But, then again, I think it’s something we’re all always dealing with, it’s just some of us are–or choose to be–more aware of it.

I’m an INFP. As such, says Wikipedia, I “value harmony and integrity in human relationships, seeking unity of mind, body, and spirit but often find these values to be out of step with the more concrete pursuits of the rest of the world.” It’s a very apt description of my personal struggle. Many people I love see things as cut-and-dried–if I want to do this, or if I feel strongly about it, I should just do it. Part of me agrees, but then…there’s the integrity thing. The principles thing. The thing where I want what I know is right to jive with what my heart wants. They just don’t always.

So, I compartmentalize. I intellectualize, and keep my stances firm “on paper.” Off paper, though, I come alive. I dance with reckless abandon with the fool on the edge of the cliff. Problem is, regardless of whether I’m dancing or intellectualizing, someone will be disappointed in me. Someone will get hurt. And I–I will be hurt either way. It’s just how things have seemed to go since I’ve been pursuing life on my own.

Somewhat relatedly–over a year later, I finally bought that necklace I told you about. It fits my neck perfectly. I had no idea when I first mentioned it how much more, even, it would mean to me when I finally got it. I didn’t have the money, but I bought it anyway.

Dancing and wandering. That’s me, now.

Oh hai, blog.

I got the internets at my new place now, so maybe I’ll blog more. Maybe not. I stymie myself pretty easily when I think about blogging these days. I feel like if I don’t blog as often as I used to, then I should make it good when I do. Only I just seem to have time for a Feel-Good Friday every so often these days.

So…I’m just gonna start writing and see what happens.

I had an amazing weekend, the details of which I don’t even know how to express here. I had the BEST time at the Nashville blogger meetup organized by the best hostess evar, Ginger, on Saturday night. I’m not even going to try to mention everyone I finally met and everyone I got to see again, but it was a beautiful night. It truly was.

Sunday night, though I hadn’t slept all weekend and was NOT ready for the beginning of the week, I went to the Ryman to see Jenny Lewis and Conor Oberst. Okay, wow. I really was mainly there for the former–I dig both Rilo Kiley and Jenny’s solo stuff. I have a strange addiction to her voice. The way it filled the magnificent Mother Church, though–it was luscious. She was captivating, just as I knew she would be.

Conor Oberst, though–I’ve had mixed feelings about him for a while. I’ve thought he was just a wee little bit too indie/hipsterriffic for my tastes, and I never bought the whole “new Dylan” thing. Anytime he’s popped up on my iPod, though, I’ve had to admit the lyricism is pretty spectacular.

Sunday night, he blew me away. Absolutely made a believer of me. Consider me a convert.

However, yesterday morning I paid for my sins in the name of rock and roll. Oberst’s Mystic Valley Band, while tight and soul-shaking, in combination with the Ryman’s sublime acoustics, were also brain-rattling. Y’all know I get migraines. Usually, though, I see them coming and can at least take the edge off.

When the alarm went off at the ungodly hour I have to get up yesterday morning, the room was already visually a little off-balance. My stomach was a little churny, and my head was splitting. When I tried to get up, I stumbled into things. Having only my mobile web on my phone to access the internet, I spent almost an hour logging in to get a substitute on the MNPS website, emailing sub plans (which I learned today did NOT get followed), and intensifying the excruciating pain all the more.

I slept all day, went to the chiropractor, and there was a world of difference when I awoke this morning.

Which brings me to today. I’ve become a teacher that yells. Today was the first day since I started this job that I had the thought “I don’t want to do this.” Life in general has been so much better, and I’ve been so amazed that last year even happened–it’s like a bad dream compared to the life I’m living now. But…the school where I work is not an easy place to work. NCLB, the inner-city environment, a new administration, budget woes, and more all add up to some major stresses that I don’t always know what to do with.

I had a sort of honeymoon period with these kids. And still, every day at least a few of them make me smile and make me glad I do what I do. So many, though, just say such hateful things. I don’t understand that–it’s foreign to me. I let a lot more roll off my back than I naturally would now, but sometimes it just builds and builds and gets to me. Today, right before the last bell, I snapped. I yelled. I never yell. Raise my voice to get their attention, yes. Adopt a sarcastic tone I’m not proud of, of course. But yell? No.

Yelling means not being in control. Yelling means being a mean teacher. Yelling means you let them see they get to you. Thing is, they know it. They use it. 14-year-olds are savvy and ruthless.

And just kids. In the end, no matter how much time they’ve spent in a gang or how many kids they themselves have, they are kids.

I don’t always know how to handle that juxtaposition. The last couple of weeks, I haven’t even wanted to know. I’ve just wanted to sleep.

Okay, anyway. That’s me for now. Thanks for stopping by.

Feel-Good Friday: The White Stripes – Hotel Yorba

This video has no real significance at this particular moment, but I still remember hearing the White Blood Cells album for the first time–the amazing guttural enlivenment, the fun, the weirdness.

This was one of my favorites then, and it still is now. You pretty much have to dance with your appendages flailing awkwardly. Please do.

P.S. Will get back to blogging when, perhaps, I get internet at the new digs.

A brief musing on an anniversary.

Seven years and a few hours ago, I sat in my apartment in Florence, Alabama, desperately trying to reach my best friend in Long Island. I never got through there, but after a heart-wrenching morning, I reached her mom in Memphis. Upon hearing my name, she immediately said the only words I cared to hear: “Holly–she’s okay.”

She had been in the WTC the day before.

I uttered more prayers of thanksgiving than I could count. I still do.

Today, yea even as I write this, she’s sitting across from me, chatting exuberantly in her…way. She’s visiting Nashville for a conference, and tonight she’s staying with me my first night in my brand new place. We’ve spent many a night in brand-new or about-to-be-former residences together, in fact. She’s my best friend.

And I am still thankful. Today, as I have every year since, I pray for those who never got through to their friends or family members that day.

Much happier-ness.

I signed a lease I got my keys I have an apartment! I’m not there, per se, but I could be if I wanted to be. My dad helped me get my bed and my table in this afternoon.

Two years ago, I thought my life could begin again if I could just get my own place in the city. A lot of life has happened in that two years. Thanks for hanging out with me for the past year and a half of it. I had a nice, quiet exhale today as I thought of getting to start not life, but a hopefully-peaceful new phase of it.

***

By the way, it’s possible my grandmother can leave the hospital Thursday if she does not indeed have pneumonia. Things finally started moving .

Humbling.

I try to do this good-granddaughter thing, but more and more, I realize just what a failure I have been at such.

My grandmother is fine. She’s had a few minor but normal complications since I first wrote about her emergency surgery a few days ago–almost a week, actually. She’s had no food, and barely any liquids. Her stomach is still distended, and her hair that she keeps so meticulously permed and styled is matted and messy.

I’ve never watched her use the bathroom before. It’s not, you know, something I do–it’s not something most people do with other adults. Not when they’re well and fine and have the luxury of personal space and privacy. But she doesn’t have that right now. So I had to help my 78-year-old grandmother onto the potty, as she I’m sure had done for me twentysomething years ago.

As I mentioned, this is a woman who has had two babies, two mastectomies, and a hysterectomy. This is a woman who counts fat grams and mows the lawn (with a push mower) and teaches Sunday school on a regular basis. She has her eccentricities–oh my, does she ever–but she’s usually not much of a complainer. This morning, though, I’ve watched as she’s bemoaned the pain of an inflamed incision and an IV pumping stinging potassium through her delicate veins.

Thing is, she’s going to be okay. I know she is. She’s not here because she’s in danger–she’s here because the danger has passed and they have to make sure she heals from it. I’m not worried about losing my grandmother any time soon like I was, briefly, a few days ago. I’m thankful that that’s the case. It’s just not easy to watch.

And then I think about her rushing up to Virginia at the news of my impending birth, and bathing me and helping my mom during the first few days of my life. I think about her and my grandfather’s helping put me through college. I think about all the thousands of dollars they’ve spent on shopping trips in Nashville several times a year when I’ve come to visit as I’ve grown up. It makes me feel painfully inadequate and kinda weak as I sit alone in her hospital room, not at all sure what to do for her when the pain hits.

So, I blog. She’s sleeping now, and I’m so glad she’s getting the rest. She’s going to be fine. She’s strong. Me? Not so much.

Feel-Good Friday: Red Hot Chili Peppers – Can’t Stop

If I’m gonna keep doing FGF, most likely it’s actually going to have to be on Thursday. No telling what I’d come up with at 4:30am on any given Friday.

This one for a few reasons. One is sentimental and I can’t really talk about it here . One, though, is in honor of my new apartment, with the line “Eastside love is living on the West End.” Though I won’t be actually living on West End, the main road I’m living off of turns into West End…so, it counts.

Plus, it makes me move around in the most frolicksome and useless of ways, and that wins.

“Can’t stop the spirits when they need you/this life is more than just a read-through.”

:)

:)

My grandmother had surgery, and she’s fine now. Her colon was all twisted up. They untwisted it, and it’s all good . At times, it looked like it could be so much worse. I am so thankful. Thanks for all the well-wishes I’ve gotten on here and Twitter and elsewhere. I’m gonna go join my family in her room now.

From the waiting room.

As I’ve been documenting on Twitter, my grandmother has been having a pretty serious health scare over the past couple of days. We still don’t know what’s going on, but the possibilities have run the gamut from colitis to cancer. Yesterday, when taking the prep for a colonoscopy, she started having terrible pain and–there’s no delicate way to say this–nothing would come out. And, nothing has yet.

No tests they’ve run have told them anything. I left the waiting room last night with the information that she was being put in the hospital, but not much more than that. (Special thanks to Ron and Ginger for chatting with me through the waiting period last night. For that matter, special thanks also to local hospitals for having wifi.) Throughout the school day, when I’d check email, my mom would have updated me letting me know my grandmother was still fine, they just still didn’t know anything.

Tonight has been harrowing, as we got this phone call around supper time saying the X-rays were troubling and she might need emergency surgery. The next thing we knew, the words “tumor” and “cancer” were being thrown around. If you ever meet my grandmother, please never say “cancer” to her–she lost her mother when she was 12 to such, and her twin sister and older brother to the same a few years ago. She’s had breast cancer herself twice. It’s not something that needs to be just tossed out there, especially by a doctor, unless it’s a very real possibility.

We raced to St. Thomas and met up with my aunt and grandfather there. My aunt tearfully told us what the doctors had been saying. I’m going to withhold further comment on family at this point, as it’s still a sort of high stress time, and I would tend to have a diarrhea of the mouth (or keyboard) issue.

***

Well, after writing that last sentence, the doctor came back again and said they did indeed have to do the surgery, that none of the tests are telling them what they need to know, and they’re concerned. Now I’m in the waiting room all by myself. The surgery just started.

Oh me.

The hardest part is watching my grandfather. Well, the whole thing is hard. I’m optimistic, though. It’s scary. My grandmother is 78. A few days ago, she was mowing the lawn. I have faith that she will again.