emclaire.tx's blog

This Eclipse

Eclipses are one of my favorite astrological events because the metaphor is so visually perfect. Something crosses over the light of the moon and things get dark for just a while, and then the light comes back. You may or may not realize it was only your own shadow all along. But everything is different because of the shift. Change is coming! That's what my personal astrologist has advised me about the eclipse of June 26th. It's certainly welcome. I have been looking for change in pretty much all areas of my life. Lately I feel like I'm stuck in the dark moment of an eclipse, waiting until my own shadow lifts from the moon and I can see the reflection of sunlight again, even in the dark of night. I'm ready for the big reveal, Susan Miller. I'm ready for what's next to eclipse what has already passed.

Pushin' It

Yesterday on my drive home, my truck sputtered to a stop in rush hour traffic. I sat there for probably a solid minute in total panic before I jumped out to try push it off the road and into the Hooter's parking lot nearby. The cars behind me had become annoyed at missing the green light, having to wait through another red. They reved their engines as they passed me by like I was garbage in the roadway, a nuisance. It's pretty much impossible to push a truck, even a small one, any distance by yourself. For one thing, someone has to steer it. For another thing, it's not light. I channeled all of my frustration and fear and outrage and used it to push my truck about two inches uphill. A very nice man finally stopped and helped, and then two men appeared out of nowhere, eager to help. I managed to keep from crying until I got home later, but I've had trouble shaking the feeling of standing behind my truck in traffic, pushing with all my might and getting nowhere while all the cars whiz past me, annoyed that I am interupting their commute. I'm having a hard time letting go of what it feels like to be powerless and left with no resources but my own physical strength.

It was a traumatic day is what I'm saying. And it comes all too soon after a similar traumatic day just about a week ago when the truck broke down in traffic and three men appeared out of nowhere and decided to push my truck (with me in it) three blocks away to their house by gently bumping me with their truck. I had a really hard time collecting myself after the three men and I finished screaming at each other when my steering column locked up and their truck pushed me to the curb, and I couldn't steer myself out of the way of oncoming traffic. Fortunately, it was slow moving traffic, and the whole scene was probalby more comical than anything to the people around.

Car trouble is what I've been having a lot of lately, so I'm trying to think about what there is to gain or learn from it. Over and over I keep asking myself why this is happening to me, and other than some kind of karmic punishment for some long forgotten sin, I come up with nothing. What I've concluded is roughly this: it's impossible to push a truck by yourself,  but it's important to hold back your tears, get out of the driver's seat, and try with all your strength. And help will come along. 

Reel to Reel

Last Saturday I took a walk up to Guerro's for late afternoon Margaritas. On the walk home, I found myself in a terrific mood. If you haven't noticed, Springtime is the best time. My whole neighborhood is perfumed with jasmine and honeysuckle and mountain laurel. All this rain we've been having has made everything grow, and I swear you can smell things growing. So, I was appreciating these smells, and appreciating the effect of residual light just a while after sunset, and appreciating how good it feels to take a walk after drinking margaritas. All of a sudden, I noticed something. It was a large wooden panel looking box that had all kinds of knobs and switches on it, and what looked like two tiny turntables. I examined it in the half light, and upon closer inspection realized that I am not a person who can figure out anything about machines that have knobs. I was definitely sure it was some kind of machine. The knobs said things like "volume," and "treble," which are familiar in theory, but still mostly meaningless.

It was sitting in a pile of modest treasures, like dusty acrylic paintings of flowers that were either copies of "famous" flower paintings or paint by number. And broken vases and some tiles and I think a bottle of some kind of metal cleaner. The dude whose house it was wasn't even moving out. He was sitting in his living room on the other side of a giant window, the kind that lends a doll house kind of feel to his living room when you look in at night and everything is lit up inside. He was having a beer and listening to that program that comes on KUT on Saturday nights that I always listen to called Twine Time, which is always exactly what I want to listen to come twine time, which is Motown. Anyway, the dude with the junk lives two houses down from me, but he's a stranger. After looking through his garbage and stealing a listen to his tunes, I think I like this old guy. Peeking in his house, I was amazed because everything is immaculate and yet it is almost completely full of shelves of books and records and objects. My house is also completely full of shelves of books and objects, but is hardly neat and organized. I imagined that his collections are in some crazy order. Like by rank of how much he loves them. There was a hand painted sign that said "free" in smallish letters propped against the tree under which he had carefully placed these items. You would have had to have already decided to take this shit before you got close enough to read the sign and realize you were being given it.

So I lugged my machine over to my car, and drove it tp be inspected. First friend says "Dude, I don't know. Film. Ask my girlfriend." So I ask the girlfriend who says, "Dude, I don't know, this is audio. Did you ask my girlfriend?"
"Yes. She said ask you. She said it's for film."
"It's for sound." I'm on the edge of my seat at this point. The one question I have about this machine is overwhelming all other thoughts. "Can I make something with it?"
"Make what?"
"Anything?"
"I don't think so. I think it's for editing. It looks cool though. You should keep it."

Later, at the bar, I tell my other friend about what happened. About how sure I was that I had discovered treasure, but how it turns out it's really actually just junk that looks cool. And junk that looks cool is ok, but it's not my favorite. Junk that has no use is always sad to me, like it's in a permanent coma, and we're keeping it around for us when it would rather be buried. I told my friend and when it was time to go I offered to show her my machine. When she saw it, her face lit up, and she told me that I can record with it. I got so excited I could barely take it, even though I don't play an instrument, and I don't have any kind of tape to record onto, and I don't know what to do to make it happen. But my head spun like this machine was serendipity, like I'm a person who is going to make some kind of recording that's really going to mean something, like anything can happen now, now that I have this machine.

That was Saturday night, and I still haven't taken it out of my car and brought it inside to check if it works when I plug it in. Every time I get in the car, I look back at my machine, and I marvel.