Day 364, March 15, 2021

Texas

Tonight's soundtrack: George Benson, Chet Atkins, Earl Klugh on Soundstage, 1978

I arrived in Amherst in 1993. Coming in off the Turnpike, it seemed like an impossibly far distance, for Massachusetts, and by the time I reached the gas station in the nether reaches of Pelham, I was certain I was lost and asked for directions. In the days before GPS and cellphones, all we had were gas station directions and AAA Triptiks.

When I first arrived, before classes started, I got a job delivering auto parts across the region, just me, the little Nissan pickup truck, and a well worn map. That experience helped me get a sense of the geography of the region, and I also learned that smash up derbies were a real thing. I thought they were only in movies. It did take me a long time to actually see one in person, but I learned about it and the Big E, and those kinds of things from my co-workers. I explored things slowly, so I didn't make it to the Big E until much later. Imagine all those wasted years when I could have been walking around a fairgrounds eating a turkey drumstick! Slowly, I increased my orbit and over the years lived in Shutesbury, South Hadley, Amherst (again), Leverett, Lake Pleasant, Greenfield, Colrian, and Montague. 

Even more than the festivals and geography, the thing that has defined the valley for me has been the people. And those first years, I was surrounded by my MFA classmates. 

We were a surprisingly tight knit group for an intense and short period of time. Just as suddenly, many of us went off in our separate directions. Some of us didn't move away, but even so we lost touch and moved on to different circles of friends, and new passions and activities.

But that early group of people were part of what made the valley seem so wonderful. We read each others' work, ate meals together, philosophized about the world in our offices, as we walked to the cafeteria, as we hiked in the woods, and as we imagined our various futures. It was always so nice to have a group of friends who were kind and willing to care for one another. In that moment in time, I think we were all good people. Of course there would be subsequent moments when we were idiots, jerks, and bad people. But in that moment, in those first years in Amherst, we were all good people. All our foibles were relatively small and our hearts were big.

I learned we lost one of the group today. I am sad to realize how long it had been, even though we did not live far from one another. Life becomes complicated and busy, and people move in different directions, but I am also starting to realize that there are periods in my life when I virtually disappear from a community and start anew. I realize that happened with my MFA friends as I transitioned into becoming a luthier and ended taking up with a whole community of craftspeople. And later, I transitioned into teaching and other groups of communities. 

When I was in high school, I kept a little black address book. For some reason, it wasn't used alphabetically, but chronologically (despite having alphabet tags on the edge of the pages). Everyone I met and wanted to keep in touch with, entered their name and address after whomever had been added last, and in this way, I retained all the people who were in my life in the quaint home phone landlines and mailing addresses. To stay in touch with someone was much more of an intentional action, to sit in a phone booth and make an actual call using a pocket full of coins. Or, to sit and write a letter by hand. There was a whole world of graphologists who after reading a letter would scrutinize the other's handwriting trying to discern attentiveness, or love, or nonchalance. I'm sure my lazy scrawl caused great moments of consternation. 

Those early years of letter writing were always loaded with careful intention and emotion. I fell in love easily and wrote each letter as a lover, where I presented a crafted sense of self, that was witty, or funny, or utterly sincere. I crafted my writing voice writing letters. I was reminded that I talk very slowly, recently, and I wonder if some of my colloquial pause comes from that tradition of letter writing, the pause and consideration before committing a sentence to the page or the conversation.

Today is too rapid-fire anyway, with all those people sending out aberrant tweets that need to be excised later. Maybe the pauses are good and healthy. 

And maybe we need to reach out to some of those people we remember. Just to say hello. And thank you.

Take care,

Leo

The snow is gone, but it is still quite cold!