Dean at Home: The Pandemic Blog

Small Versions of Greatness Tonight's soundtrack: The Miles Davis Septet, Norway, 1971 I woke up early this morning. I'm not sure what causes one to suddenly be awake at 3:30 am. I ended up falling back asleep by 5, and it is not until now that I've started to feel tired. I tried to not look at my phone and read the news, I thought about my morning writing, I considered whether it would be ridiculous to get up and do something. In the end, I read the news until my eyes could no longer focus and then I fell asleep for a few more hours before my alarm called me to the shower. It has been a strange pandemic phenomenon where I find myself exhausted at the end of the day, nearly falling asleep while we watch our evening television, and then find myself waking early. Not usually this early, but often before dawn, before my alarm, before June Bug begins pawing at my face. For a short year I lived in a little house on top of a mountain in Colrain and my second floor bedroom window

I am a Mollusk   Tonight's soundtrack: Meshell Ndegeocello, Rome, 2006 When I was little, my best friend Taejin lived in an apartment complex, the kind with parking lots that were divided up among different sets of units and each parking lot had its own large dumpster. I remember he was telling me how he could turn a soda can into a spaceship. I was enthralled and couldn't wait for him to show me. We climbed inside one of the dumpsters and picked through the soda and beer cans until we found one that met his exacting parameters, which meant it had to be perfect without any indentations. Finally, we found one unblemished can and he brought it out to the parking lot and very carefully pinched the can down the middle. And that was his spaceship. I was disappointed and worried that I had a less active imagination than my friend. I was disappointed in many things at that age. I always wanted reality to match the expectations of imagination, and at that age, I think the imagination i

Finding Joy in an Errand  Tonight's soundtrack: The Stanley Carke Band, Festival de Jazz de Vitoria-Gasteiz, 2017 After work I took a quick ride down to the quickie mart, also known as the Montague Center Mini-Mart. I perseverated on how to get there longer than it took to make the actual trip. In the end I changed into a sweatshirt, my florescent windbreaker, and exercise pants and made the quick ride down to pick up dump stickers and a loaf of bread. One has to be intentional to ride the bike, even for short trips, mainly because it means carrying it up from the basement and getting dressed, on a day like today, in warmer clothes. But I chose the bike to get some fresh air, to get my blood flowing a little, to not use the car. One of these days the choice will be easier when we upgrade the shed or eventually put in a garage, but for now there is that added layer to the process that is almost enough to make one decide to take the car, even though it is only a mile or so away. It i

Life-Changing Magic Tonight's soundtrack: The Muddy Waters Blues Band, Germany, 1978 The house has a light avocado vinyl siding. It is strange that it wasn't until I was actually living in the house that I realized it has a pale green color. I think I came home one day ready to paint one of the doors and suddenly realized the house is not white.  I live in a manufactured neighborhood, one where most of the houses are versions of one another. There is an attached garage here, a dormer there, but for the most part, the houses are nearly identical and I imagine they have the same construction having been moved into place in sections on the back of a flatbed truck. The center of my house has a seam twice as wide as any of the other thresholds. And underneath the siding the plywood/chipboard sheathing is somewhat haphazardly done without any moisture barrier as would only happen in a mass produced factory setting. Over the years, the house has gone through various transformations, c

Spring and the Alpha Boys' Home Tonight's soundtrack: Herbie Hancock and The Headhunters, Munich, 1989 Today a storm came in and for a little while it sounded like a train was passing the house. The sky turned dark and the chickens huddled in remnant piles of last fall's oak leaves. I was on a Zoom meeting that spanned the valley and we took turns hearing thunder roll through the hills. I saw the flash and heard the roar through the computer before the sound traveled the ten miles up to Montague and set Franklin off with his barking and scampering all through the house. The buds are just starting to come out in the trees, so the wind seemed to whip fairly harmlessly through the branches and even the chickens seemed to question the veracity of the storm. They seemed to be saying, "Well, at least it isn't snowing again." In college, I did an outreach program in Jamaica where we worked at the Alpha Boys' Home painting buildings and playing with the children.

Dreams and Rides Tonight's Soundtrack: BSO 100th Anniversary Concert, 1981 Bo Youp Hwang circa 1981 After a relatively sedentary year of not much more than dog walks, I went on my first real rides of the year  this weekend. The e-bike experience is exhilarating and freeing. I was able to go for a 10 mile ride, and the next day a 13 mile ride, both heading over Cave Hill Road past the Leverett Peace Pagoda, and the Dakin Animal Shelter, down to the Leverett Library.  For most of the rides I stayed on the Eco setting, which is the lowest level of assistance, and only bumped it up to the second and third levels when I headed up the long steep hills, and of course turned it off while going downhill. Basically, what this means is that out-of-shape-Leo was able to keep up with his average speed for in-shape-Leo even with a giant hill in the way. I still felt like I was getting exercise, albeit, not at the full acoustic level. And on the last leg of the way home, I did try the turbo level

Liminal Space  Tonight's soundtrack: Beethoven, Symphony No.7, Boston Symphony Orchestra, 1989, Tokyo, Japan I cannot remember the first time I heard a symphony because I was always immersed in the sounds, smells, and flavors of the orchestra. I grew up with Tanglewood and Symphony Hall as my playground. It was a liminal childhood experience passing back and forth from musicians and audience.  My dad, circa 1989. Walking in the musician's entrance at Symphony Hall, once you passed the friendly guard, it felt like when you used to be able to visit the Statue of Liberty and climb the insides up to the crown, or the similar vintage subway stations for the T. Backstage was cavernous and filled with giant dark storerooms filled with sarcophagi-like flight cases for basses and harps, starkly lit fluorescent snack rooms with vending machines and ashtrays, and in the upper levels, rows and rows of lockers tucked in every passage and landing. Some lockers were decorated with stickers of

Keeping the Good Things Tonight's soundtrack: Meshell Ndegecello, New York, 1999  (audio only) Even the houseplants know it is spring! Yesterday, I discovered a new ding on a wall by the front door. It was a good size dent that bent the metal corner bead and crumbled the plaster. I think I might have hit it with a pedal on my new bicycle. There's another one upstairs where a makeshift cat tower fell and hit the half-wall over the stairs. And another one on the drop of the ceiling over the staircase where a bandmate was carrying a conga over his head. Of course, there is still the hole over the bathtub from the leaky toilet, and a few spots where overzealous showers softened the seam where the wall meets the tub surround. I guess I've been saving up so I only need to mix up plaster once and hopefully I will be able to mend all these spots.  I suppose all houses must have these dings and their subsequent repairs, the same way that our bodies carry the scars of errant x-acto k