I remember a time, when I was 15, 16 or so, when insomnia ruled my life. I literally would stay awake for hours every night. Sometimes exhausted, sometimes burdened with the thoughts of the day, sometimes just simply not tired. I memorized the shapes the shadows from the headlights of passing cars would make on my wall, and followed the light with glassy eyes as the light moved faster and faster around my bed room walls .. .my own personal light show.....
Now I almost think I would sell my soul for an few hours of deep sleep. Just a few. That's all I will take, I promise.
That is just one of the things that have evolved in my life in the last ten years since I pushed myself out of the nest and joined "the real world." I have been dealing with that a lot lately, the "holy s***, I am almost 30." I am responsible now... I have two small children to take care of, a full time job, finding alone time for my hubby and I, bills . . . . I still can't sleep, but for different reasons.
I went to a concert last night. . . I have gotten really into concert photography lately and there was this great band from Utah performing and I wanted to help them out.
There is a certain rush you get from going to a concert, and it is even better when the show is in a small, underground club with 30 people. The lights, the smell, the people. We are all friends, though we've never met. If you get knocked down I'll pick you up, and you'll do the same for me. There is just this unspoken code that we all follow. This is the only place where some fit in.Some people want to close down all these little clubs. ... saying music promotes violence... I would argue to the contrary, music soothes the savage beast. But that is a different blog...
Looking around last night at all the high school kids, especially the 14 year old girls who no way in hell walked out of their houses wearing what they were that night, I thought, "is my time over? Am I too old for this? Do I stand out here?"
Back in the day my friends and I went to this little place called the Roach. Believe me, it was aptly named. But it was amazing. We saw bands like System of A Down, Static X and Sevendust before they were big. I crowd surfed, I got in the pit with the boys. Not because I wanted to be cool .. . but because that was and is who I am. There is a rush that comes with floating around on top of a crowd, trusting the hands of complete strangers, that no drug can provide. I knew it was not normal for a girl to be into this stuff...I was supposed to be listening to techno and light jazz right?
But my group of friends have always known who I am, and for that I am grateful, and some of the best nights in my life have been spent in a little warehouse on First Ave. in Pocatello.
Last night while I was watching the familiar chaos before a show, sound checks, extension cords and last minute make up checks from the groupies, I wondered if I still belong to the club.Do I still "get it?" The code could not have changed that much in the last 10 years, right? What would these high school kids think if I got in the pit and showed them how it's done?
I love my family. I would not trade what I have now for the world. But every once in awhile I need some reassurance, something that reminds me I still have the passion for a live show that I had when I was "young." I got that last night.I felt great, and it has stuck with me all day. Thanks to the amazing bands who have let me into their worlds via an interview and hanging out at a show, I have some GREAT rock n' roll stories from some of the most famous rock musicians of the last few decades, and some of the most talented local bands from Idaho and Utah.
It does not matter how old I get, I will always know who I am, and the people who matter in my life do too. Now I think it is time for me to try that sleep thing . . .
Friday, January 29, 2010
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Memories from great grandma's house
I remember my great grandma Anderson's house from my childhood. It was right down the street from my house, somewhere in between Thomas, Riverside and po-dunk nowhere West of Blackfoot. The front yard was shrouded with bushes and trees, making it dark enough to scare any child from it's shadows. The porch was on the side, and the several fountains that lived there were always running, providing hours of entertainment and soaked clothes.
Their house was the only one I hav ever seen that had a garden indoors. Rather than have pots in plants, there was a gray brick wall with dirt in the middle that supported what must have been 50 philidendrons, ivy, and other tropical plants. For a child, it was an indoor jungle. All the grand kids wondered why we all could not have a built in jungle at our house.
The back room houses a wood burning stove, but since we were never there in the winter I don't know if they ever used it. There was a tin, or box (my memory has already started to fade) filled with Lincoln Logs. REAL Lincoln Logs, not the modern plastic so-the-kids-don't-get-splinters Lincoln Logs, the real wooden deal. They were scarred with dings and dents from countless forts, garages and barns.
In the back yard grew an ancient Weeping Willow tree, the kind you see illustrated in children's books. Long dragging, yellow branches really did make it look sad. But then again, how could any tree with a tire swing be sad? It took some effort, and the flexibilty only a child posesses to climb into, but, if it were not filled with water from an afternoon storm or morning sprinklers the black rubber and thick yellow rope was the best place to spend a summer afternoon.
We drank water straight from the hose . . . it was so cold an actually clean enough to not send everyone who saw us into a panic. That was some of the best tasting water I have ever had.
I never realized that the field behind the back yard was their's too. And my great grandpa had probably spent hours in the vintage farm equipment that now sat collecting rust and bee's nests. Those are the stories I wish I knew now; how that tractor ended up there and the days spent working the earth. The stories we rolled our eyes to as children are the stories we wished we had payed better attention to now. History should never be allowed to die.
The last time I saw my great-grandpa he was sitting at his usual perch, a soft covered rocking chair in the family room of my grandma's house. The thought occured to me that I should hug him and say goodbye. But then, being shy, I figured I would do it next time. Of course, I did not get a next time because he died not long after. My great-grandmother sold the house and moved in with family members.
Awhile later I learned that their old house had burned to the ground. The person who had purchsed it claimed it was an accident, but there was speculation that it was set on purpose for insurance money. As silly as it sounds, I was upset. I drove by, wanting confirmation, and sure enough, the home where I had spent so much of my time was now nothing but a pile of blackened wood and concrete foundation. In a way it was a symbol that everything comes to an end, and a lesson in enjoying what you have while you have it.
I miss that house, but more importantly I miss what it represented. I experienced so many classic childhood "musts" there, and I will always remember those things. ..
Their house was the only one I hav ever seen that had a garden indoors. Rather than have pots in plants, there was a gray brick wall with dirt in the middle that supported what must have been 50 philidendrons, ivy, and other tropical plants. For a child, it was an indoor jungle. All the grand kids wondered why we all could not have a built in jungle at our house.
The back room houses a wood burning stove, but since we were never there in the winter I don't know if they ever used it. There was a tin, or box (my memory has already started to fade) filled with Lincoln Logs. REAL Lincoln Logs, not the modern plastic so-the-kids-don't-get-splinters Lincoln Logs, the real wooden deal. They were scarred with dings and dents from countless forts, garages and barns.
In the back yard grew an ancient Weeping Willow tree, the kind you see illustrated in children's books. Long dragging, yellow branches really did make it look sad. But then again, how could any tree with a tire swing be sad? It took some effort, and the flexibilty only a child posesses to climb into, but, if it were not filled with water from an afternoon storm or morning sprinklers the black rubber and thick yellow rope was the best place to spend a summer afternoon.
We drank water straight from the hose . . . it was so cold an actually clean enough to not send everyone who saw us into a panic. That was some of the best tasting water I have ever had.
I never realized that the field behind the back yard was their's too. And my great grandpa had probably spent hours in the vintage farm equipment that now sat collecting rust and bee's nests. Those are the stories I wish I knew now; how that tractor ended up there and the days spent working the earth. The stories we rolled our eyes to as children are the stories we wished we had payed better attention to now. History should never be allowed to die.
The last time I saw my great-grandpa he was sitting at his usual perch, a soft covered rocking chair in the family room of my grandma's house. The thought occured to me that I should hug him and say goodbye. But then, being shy, I figured I would do it next time. Of course, I did not get a next time because he died not long after. My great-grandmother sold the house and moved in with family members.
Awhile later I learned that their old house had burned to the ground. The person who had purchsed it claimed it was an accident, but there was speculation that it was set on purpose for insurance money. As silly as it sounds, I was upset. I drove by, wanting confirmation, and sure enough, the home where I had spent so much of my time was now nothing but a pile of blackened wood and concrete foundation. In a way it was a symbol that everything comes to an end, and a lesson in enjoying what you have while you have it.
I miss that house, but more importantly I miss what it represented. I experienced so many classic childhood "musts" there, and I will always remember those things. ..
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