Goodbye to Alan Arkin

 
I was so sad to hear that the great Alan Arkin died
I adored him in so many of his classic early roles
Later he enjoyed an impressive resurgence
Winning a Best Supporting Oscar at 72
And because he spanned generations
And was relatively beloved, as actors go
Lots of folks know of him
But for me it was different, personal
Because he changed my life
Not a film of his but words from the man himself
Altered the course of my life
So when I say I loved him
I say it as person tremendously honored
To have known him a very little
And to have moved by him immensely
This is how it all happened
Years ago, inspired after reading his memoir
An Improvised Life
I felt energized and wanted to do something
Something bigger than what I’d been doing
I signed up for what turned out to be
The first of many interpersonal workshops
I would eventually attend
Weekends of hippie Nor Cal eye gazing vegan dancing
Plus hot tubs
I loved it and took easily to this new world
The work was big and deep and new to me
In terms of spiritual and emotional growth
My doors were blown open
At this retreat, I brought another Alan Arkin book
Halfway Through the Door, obscure, published 1979
On the Sunday morning, I woke up at dawn
Unable to sleep, with no one else up yet
So I read, and when I finished the book
A strange thing happened
Singular in my life so far
Mysteriously the workshop work
And the end of the book combined
In some unprecedented way
I don’t know what happened exactly
But suddenly and without warning
I was looking straight into the abyss
You may have heard of it
I’m talking about THE abyss
The one we avoid all our lives
Because we know we will have to look someday
And we don’t want to
Because it shows whatever we most fear
I wasn’t planning on gazing into it
But it happened anyway, and how!
I won’t go into details because
First, the experience was ineffable
And second, this is about Alan Arkin, whom I am coming to
Anyway this abyss-gazing
(and subsequent breakdown and phoenix-style rising)
Rose directly from Alan’s words being there
To guide me at exactly the right moment
This moment began to alter the course of my life
Not only did I face a fear of many lifetimes
But also the whole experience motivated me
I was seized with a desire to attend
One of Alan’s improv workshops
Which he still taught from time to time
I googled and poked around, found an old article
With his wife Suzanne’s email
I wrote, and she responded very kindly
Adding me to the improv weekend waiting list
And soon after I found myself in Santa Fe
With 19 other people of various backgrounds
Some actors, some not: professionals and dalliers alike
I myself had only a smattering of experience in improv
And none at all in taking direction from Alan Friggin’ Arkin
(Yes, we all played it so cool but still!)
He explained our objective
Yes, we would do scenes
Aiming for authentic moments
(not funny per se but, instead, real)
But his true goal was for each of us
To be able to let go of ourselves
And experience that elusive ecstatic flow state
That mysterious moment of zen during which
You are not acting but rather being acted
You aren’t playing the music; it is playing you
Alan said it much better
We all got the idea
The exercises began
Alan was attentive, focused
Generous in giving fair and honest feedback
Pro acting notes as well as personal emotional reactions
Praise dolled out only if and when you truly earned it
At first I did okay
Then to my horror, I made a goof
During an easy group beach improv
I accidentally picked an activity to mime
That was typical for me but atypical of the general public
And therefore too attention-getting
This earned me a call out
“I don’t think Brad Pitt would like to see
A background actor stealing his scene”
Which was a valid point but I felt so embarrassed
Oh no, did Alan and the class think I was grandstanding?
I honestly had simply lacked perspective and imagination
I felt like explaining myself but recognized that would be
A selfish use of valuable class time
So I swallowed my pride and accepted the feedback
But the incident had knocked me off my game
Escalating feelings began to arise
I did not belong here
I was not good enough
I was not good at all
I struggled along as they spun into a web of doubt
That ensnared me while I wrestled with the homework:
Outline a group scenario to perform on Sunday
Featuring a non-human (a god, animal or superpower)
Easy enough
Except I hit a complete and total blank
Not a single interesting scenario
Or character could I conjure
A late night walk in the craggy motel parking lot
Led to an awkward fall and a badly scrapped knee
I bled and cried in the Willie Nelson-themed room
Feeling pathetic, depressed, creatively useless
Mercifully, the next morning I came up with this:
My improv would be about a dog (played by me)
Who was unrequitedly in love with her human
(A handsome, emotionally unavailable playboy)
As we gathered to start the day
I was still an insecure shrinking wreck
But Alan kindly checked in with each of us
He asked, how did the homework go?
Was I ready to perform my scene?
I explained briefly my creative misery and despair
“It was a long dark night of the soul” I explained
“Oh, good! That’s normal” was his relaxed response
“Saturday night of this workshop is always
A long dark night of the soul
You are right on track”
This activated my courage enough to carry on
I cast my actors, my scene being one of the first up
I set the initial framework, not knowing where it would lead
(That’s the point of improv, after all)
But to my relief, the story turned out
Rather wonderful, sweet without sentimentality
Alan gave extensive feedback after each scene
And mine had been quite touching, he said  
Which was very nice to hear of course
But the real significance of my success was
Everyone else started casting me as their non-human
Which meant I got to play a lot of parts
I was asked to play another dog, part of a pack
And a monkey prosecutor during a jungle trial
And the Incredible Hulk’s talking goat
And though I did not realize it until later
The prior night’s suffering
Had broken me down, cracked me wide open
I had given up, letting go of any idea of being any good
My old ego had been scrapped away like the skin on my knee
Leaving me free to fall into the work with abandon
I was not playing the animals, they were playing me
I said nothing but Alan noticed
“Wow, another great animal from Kar
How can you do them all, and so good?”
He had a lot to say about my goat specifically  
Because that scene had gone very weird
An odd poorly-formed concept to start
Then it went way off the rails
But somehow it hung together
And was also extremely funny
Mostly due to my goat, which had come from
From some unknown place inside me
Easily, naturally, without any thought
But just as Alan was reflecting on this
He interrupted himself:
“Kar, do you know you are bleeding?”
I looked down to see my shin covered in blood
My makeshift paper towel and masking tape bandage
Had disintegrated from all the crawling around on all fours
The wound was worse than before
Though I had not even noticed, nor felt a thing
We took five while a classmate patched me up
After which, naturally, I played yet
Another character on my knees
This time, a worshipper of Baal, talking to Yahweh
(played by a wickedly wise and smart woman)
This scene quickly took a serious turn
She and I followed where it led
We locked into it and went deep
I fell into the moment
Nothing else existed and yet
I could also feel the audience falling into it with us
I was aware and yet not aware of the hushed tension
We had captured the room
We were riding some wave
Words came out of me
They came from me but they did not come from me
I had no conscious knowledge of what to do
But I knew exactly what to do
Right until the end
When I ended prostrate before the angry god
In fact, I had been facing Yahweh the whole time
The audience out of my sight
But the long silence before the applause
Told me all I needed to know
It had been glorious
There were more scenes and then it was over
I had to catch a plane, I was first to leave
During the last break, I said goodbye to Alan
There was a little time, so I quickly told him
Of my experience with the abyss
Thanked him for his writing
For his words that set me
On a fresh and critical direction
He listened like few people ever listen
It’s not easy to react when someone says
“Thank you for changing my life”
(I’ve been on the receiving end, so I know)
But he heard me
He was right there with me
He received my gratitude completely
Then he shifted and reflected on my improv
I had done very good work
“Especially that last scene,” he said
“I was very moved by what you did
It was…it was…”
He was at a loss for words
“It was really something” he finished
He choked up a bit
I heard the catch in his voice
“You really got to something…here”
And he placed his hand on his heart
We didn’t have words, just a mutual gaze
I understood him as he’d understood me
And just like I’d been aware and unaware
While acting in the scene
I was now totally in the moment
With this man who was a simple human being
Sharing with me a perfect moment of love and connection
And I was also aware that this was that same man
I’d been seeing on screens my whole life
One I had admired immensely
He had been one of those actors that
I don’t remember ever seeing for a first time
He was simply always there, like a favorite uncle
But that actor was this man, this very same person
And if I had it in me to move such a great actor
If I had it in me to move such a great soul
Then I must have at least something going on
This gave encouragement to my inner artist
Like nothing else could have
All that shame, doubt, worthlessness
The desire to give up
The feeling that what I had to say wasn’t worth saying
The sense that I was failing my own creative spirit
(Which is my core, my favorite part, my mission)
All that stuff that got in the way of the music playing me
All that began to shift
It did not go away like poof!
But it began to go away
The transformation took time
But it had at least become something
I could look at, and work with
Did my faith in myself as an artist or as a person
(Same thing, really)
Waver after this? Certainly
But it never flagged quite so deeply again
Because when doubts arose
I could remember Alan
Hand on his heart
Catch in his throat
Evidence that it happened at least once
So it was possible, whatever the it is
I might have had a life where it was not possible
But because of Alan, that was definitively gone
One of my personal gods had blessed me
There has been no going back
He is gone now
And I grieve
But I feel a bit of his great spirit stays on in the world
Certainly I shall always remember him
For, these days, I do keep a flame of love for myself
Burning at all times
And Alan’s fingerprints are all over
The match

Buffalo Steve

Somewhere in East Texas

At a tiny museum 

Barry the local curator

Shared trivia and lore from times past

I wasn’t so interested to begin with

But the very first exhibit utterly charmed me:

A respectable collection of typewriters

I used to have a small collection myself, I said

A bulky, impractical hobby

Barry was impressed, and later told us 

About a friend not far from town 

Who owns a herd of buffalo

And if we told him Barry sent us

We might get to meet some buffalo

We finish the tour and though I think

My family wanted some lunch 

I was already on the phone to Steve

Who invited us right over 

Said he’d leave the gate open

I’d always been drawn to these giant shaggy beasts

I hustle my father, my brother, his girlfriend into the car

Ten minutes later we are shaking hands with Steve

We ask the sort of questions you might think

I’ll share his answers, though I don’t recall the order

He has a herd of 49 bison

(Technically bison = American and European beasts

Buffalos = African and Asian ones, but Steve said 

You can use the terms are interchangeably, colloquially

And I like buffalo so)

He has a herd of 49 buffalo

He moved out to East Texas specifically

To own a herd of buffalo

He was just a kid, 7 or 8, when he saw his first one

And he just sort of fell in love with them

But went on with his regular life

For many years, down in Orange County, in Tustin

(We’re from Orange County too! we said. Small world!

Also surprising because Steve had quite a Texan accent)

Eventually he retired and thought

It’s now or never for my dream of buffalo

He decided to search for a ranch

Found the one we were standing on

Bought 15 buffalo and so it began

Steve raises them for fun, not for meat  

He does have to sell some because they breed

And he can only keep so many

You cannot make money breeding buffalo, he tells us

It’s an expensive hobby

He shows us the corral with the pregnant females

One was sold and the new owner better come ger her soon

For Steve will not move her and the calf, once she birthed

The buffalo cows weigh around 1200 pounds

The bulls about 2000, which Steve prefers

They can get to 3000 but that’s an issue

Because, he says delicately, then it’s a problem

For the ladies during mating season

Steve shakes his head

And I can only imagine the struggles he’s seen

But now it’s time to meet the herd

We pile into what looks like a miliary-grade golf cart

Me in front with him, everyone else in the back

He plops large plastic bowls in our laps

Full of protein-rich pellets, basically buffalo treats

And goes over the rules

They are big animals and wild

They are gentle and don’t want to hurt you

But you are small to them

They won’t even realize what they are doing

They don’t know about such thin skin

So keep an eye on their horns when they are close

Don’t stick your legs or arms out of the vehicle

Because if they innocently just push against you 

And your arm is between them and a metal bar…

Steve trails off and we get the idea

Limbs can snap like a twig around ton-sized beasts

It sounds scarier than it is, Steve reassures us

And if they get too close, just put out your hand

He makes the universal sign for stop

He says, don’t ask me why this works

But it does

I find it both magical and reassuring that 

Buffalo can be stopped with a single common gesture

(I suddenly picture myself arresting wild animals

With a flourish, Gandalf-like

But equally I don’t actually wish to try my luck)

Steve explains how to feed them

They have long black tongues which they stick out

Place a pellet in there, he says, and they will do the rest

It’s like feeding a quarter in a meter, he explains

And don’t worry - they don’t really have front teeth

Your fingers will be fine

We bump over matted grasses and muddy tracks

Through several gates

Which seems odd once Steve tells us

Buffalo can run 35 miles an hour and 

Can easily jump six feet

The nearby fences are rather low, maybe four feet high

Confused, we clarify

So….they can jump away and run off anytime? 

Oh sure, says Steve, but they just don’t

Another buffalo mystery

They are piling up

We are now in the middle of the herd

As promised, it’s a lot of buffalo surrounding us

Lazing about, most dozing in the hot sun

They start to take notice but are not sure of us yet

Steve points certain ones out, or calls to them

Sometimes using a name, sometimes a number

(They all have numbered ear tags) 

When I ask about this, Steve says, only some have names

Yet another mystery

Steve cautions, most of them don’t like to be touched

But one of the bulls, Gentleman Jack, he doesn’t mind

He’ll be the first to come over

And sure enough Jack soon arrives

I feed him the pellets, feel that long rough black tongue 

I pet his dense scratchy fur, reminiscent of sheep’s wool

I get buffalo slobber on my shirt

Oh joy! To be close enough to get slobbered on!

Steve points to a spot on Jack’s shoulder

Pull his fur right there, he directs me

I do and a handful comes off

They are shedding for summer, he explained

For a while we feed Jack and others that come and go

There was Lizzie Borden, who tends to butt – she’ll give you forty whacks

Pink, whose tongue is pink, just a normal variation

Early, his very first bull, who recently lost a fight to Jack

Bulls can toss each other completely in the air, Steve says

We marvel again at their size and strength

We meet some of the smaller cows too

He recently lost Betty, one of his favorites

You can tell when he speaks of her that he misses her dearly

I begin to notice the differences in the herd

Distinguishing males from females, calves from adults

I get a sense of buffalo attractiveness

One pretty cow has beautifully expressive brown eyes

Sweet long lashes, horns with a graceful symmetrical curve

And a curled mop of hair as fluffy as a poodle’s

The contrast with Jack, the reigning bull, is undeniable

He’s gruff and tough, with splintered dirty horns

That have seen some action

A face mottled with rust-colored dust 

Jack seems to even sport a sort of matted buffalo unibrow  

Steve tells us they are social creatures

It’s torture for them to be alone

Which explains why they are huddled near each other

Despite having an enormous field to run about in

It’s time to head back now

And on the way I ask how often he visits the herd

Just about every day, he says

I don’t know what I would do without them

I know they are wild beasts, they are not tame

Of course you’re not supposed to snuggle up next to them

But I do it anyway sometimes

I go sit against Jack and I read

I take Old Yeller, you remember that book

I read Old Yeller out there with Jack, Steve confesses

And this confession could have been weird

It could have come off creepy or corny or confusing

But instead it’s touching

I’m moved like hell by 

The love this man has for his buffalo

They were his secret dream

They lit him up inside but 

He almost didn’t do it

He almost gave up on it

And though there’s no profit in it

Though there’s no real point to it

He followed his dream

His pride in them was obvious

So happy to show them off, like they were his kids

We of course get the benefit of being up close

To these dangerous, mighty, gentle beasts

I never expected to be in a buffalo herd

I never expected to touch those great shaggy heads

(A thing I have always wanted very much to do)

And I’m grateful for Steve sharing his buffalo friends with us

But more than that I see 

The good that comes from following one’s dream

No matter how odd, impractical or superfluous it seems

It doesn’t have to be grand

It doesn’t have to change the world

No need to get rich or famous

No need to win, no need to achieve anything

Steve’s dream was basic: live with buffalo

That’s all

100 acres in the middle of nowhere, Texas

You’d probably drive right by his ranch

Never realizing you just passed 

A slice of paradise

At least it is for one man

Is it really that simple, I wonder?

To live, merely move towards

Who and what we love

Even if that happens to be 

Buffalo

After the Ecstasy, The You Know What

Because we need protection from the elements
Humans invented clothes
At first likely crude animal skins
Grass mats perhaps
Later woven garments and fine leather
The poor might only have a garment or two
The wealthy far more
But either way, clothes became
Washable, mendable - and therefore durable
As long as you care for them
If you are lucky enough
(As most modern humans are)
To have a full wardrobe’s worth
Then you are familiar with this process of
Washing, drying and putting away clothes
Which we call “laundry”
What most people don’t know
Or, more accurately, don’t realize until later in life
Is that, unless you are wealthy enough to
Hire someone else to do your work,
You will be doing this laundry
For the rest of your life
It will become a regular thing
A well-deserved cliché
You will do laundry in the best of times
And in the worst of times
You will own garments that
You will wash, dry and store
Hundreds if not thousands of times
The endless repetition will feel futile
It will feel like the very definition of futile
The old Zen expression
“After the ecstasy, the laundry”
Is not wrong
Yet as we feel society fracturing
As we veer radically off the map
Can a slight comfort be found
In the feeling that laundry, at least
Shall always be with us?
Does this drudgery offer us the gift of consistency?
Is the endless cycle of laundry stabilizing, grounding?
Because although the mess is mighty
Our grand systems exposed as freakishly fragile
Laundry is still here
To say look at these miracles:
Running water!
Reliable electricity!
Machines that function!
And the luxury of a space to keep it all
How can I resent laundry
When its very existence implies home?
If there is laundry, there is hope
And how can I be annoyed
At that?

Take Me Out to the Ballgame

I went to a baseball game last night
I’m not much of a sports fan
But have always appreciated baseball
Slow, graceful, civilized
One thing at a time
One player at a time
Compared to the mad gang rush of basketball
The crushing heaps of football
Baseball is relatively kind
Plus, very few sounds can compare to
The satisfying thwack
Of leather ball hitting wooden bat
What better way to spend
One of the last warm summer nights
Than watching a minor league game
With my marvelous friends
Who all by the way know
Much more about baseball than me
All I know about baseball
I learned from folk singer Dan Bern
A baseball fan if there ever was one
He has a full double album of only baseball songs
And that ain’t even all of them
So I do know about Merkel’s boner
Pete Rose and Bart Giamatti
And I can almost rattle off
The year by year home run totals of
The great Barry Bonds
Because Dan wrote a song that lists the stats
Also I live in San Francisco
You can’t not be exposed to the Giants
I was in the city during
The 2010, 2012 and 2014 World Series wins
And trust me, you couldn’t miss it
Anyway
That’s about all I know
I do understand the basics of the game
Runs and strikes and balls and so on
I’ve seen a half dozen games over my lifetime
And those 15+ viewings of Bull Durham
But compared to most Americans
I am more or less a baseball beginner
And as we know
Beginner’s luck is a real thing
Meaning if you never or only rarely done the Thing
When you do finally do the Thing
It will end up being atypical, anomalous
Unexpected in some way
The person who never gambles wins the jackpot
The *one* time they stick a dollar in
That sort of thing
In the spirit of beginner’s mind
This baseball game was exceptional
Weird in a fun and exciting way
Here are all the unusual things that happened
First off, it happened to be September 11
So before the anthem
A group of servicemen with flags came out
And we had a moment of silence
I am pro-moments of silence
Moments of silence give me hope
And they are especially moving with a crowd
It was not a very packed ballpark but still
It was a lot of us to be peacefully silent together
So that was special
Then the very first batter was up
I think there was a couple pitches
Before he hit a dinger
Yep, the first hit was a home run
Then the visiting team scored
Seven more runs in the first inning
My friends were all off getting beers and water
So I was left alone to wonder
Is this normal?
I seem to remember other games
It took a while to get to 8, if they even got there at all
Eventually more things happened
I got to see a rundown or
A pickle as it’s sometimes called
Which was very funny
I saw a double play, that was fun
After dark, a ball hit one of the stadium light poles
And bounced back into right field
Then during the seventh inning stretch
Our little group of friends got on the megatron!
Well, it’s minor league so
We were on the average-a-tron!
We were the last ones to pop up
And they stayed on us for a long time
Then there are these certain players
Who have been designated ahead of time
So as to possibly trigger extra rewards for the fans
One guy is the Double Double Batter
And if the Double Double Batter
At any time during the game
Hits a double
Then they give out free In’n’Out Double Doubles!
And then the Double Double Batter
DID hit a double!
It turned out that they did not pass out
Actual burgers to everyone
But reps came into the crowd with gift cards
And passed them out to the fans
To get one, you had to cheer really loud
Which we did
And got our free Double Double
My friend who lives local and goes to games all the time
Says it’s pretty uncommon occurrence
There is also a Beer Batter
And if he gets struck out at bat
Beers are half price for the next 15 minutes
And then that happened too!
Sadly it occurred after last call so no half price beers
But still impressively another uncommon occurrence
And then someone stole home!
Which I am told is extremely rare
Quora says that in 2018
Only 27 players tried stealing home but got caught
Only 15 players tried and succeeded
That’s only one *attempt* per 1035 innings!
Literally less than 1 in 1000
Even fewer make it
This guy made it
Everyone was very excited
Even me
Mostly because everyone else was very excited
I don’t know why there were so many oddities
I like to think my friends and I were in the flow
Having such a good time that
The Baseball Gods smiled upon us
I am grateful they chose to shower us with wow
There was one final non-standard event
But first you should know
The San Jose Giants churros are a real thing
My friend talks dreamily about them a lot
They are famous, these sugary crunchy cinnamon treats
In fact, the team’s logo is literally a churro guy
Holding what I think may be a churro bat
And for five games every season
The team turns into the “San Jose Churros”
As you might imagine
We anticipated dessert for a couple hours
Until, finally ready, we experienced the truly extraordinary:
The churro booth had closed down early
What? Oh no! No churros for us!
And it was all going so well
Still, rather a minor setback overall
I can’t complain
We were all so happy
No one really minded the absence of churros
Oh well, we said, who cares?
What a great game!
What a great great game!
And guess what?
During the last inning
We were given random free tickets
To come back for a playoff game
So we can probably get some churros
After all

Losing My Focaccia

Walking by local bakery Arizmendi
I stop to grab something for dinner later
Something to go with the salad I have planned
Their daily focaccia special looks amazing 
It is still warm from the oven
Then at the car I fumble with my keys
And somehow the bread slips its bag
And lands face down on the sidewalk
I make an involuntary sad surprise sound
Two passers-by witness the impact
What a bummer, they say
Five-second rule, one says
Are you kidding, the other replies
I mean, it's a sidewalk
In the Mission!
I agree
Once warm cheese has hit pavement, it's all over
But more than that
My mood also hits the pavement
Two people I know have recently passed away
And now this dead bread has me practically crying 
It was so lovingly made
So carefully prepared
So very suddenly and pointlessly ruined
I can't stand the sadness 
I can't stand the loss
But at least I can go back to the bakery
The focaccia is already sold out
I ask for a slice of the daily pizza instead
While the clerk rings me up
I mention I just got - and dropped - some focaccia 
Wish I'd been able to try it, I say
She doesn't say anything 
But turns back and grabs another slice
Hands it to me with a smile on her face
Her simple kindness 
Her touching attempt to make up for the loss
Brings my heart to its knees
We can never ever get back what's gone forever
And that hurts
But someone giving out a little bit of unlooked-for love
(and, this case, pizza) 
Sure as hell helps

When Things Work

Last night the power flickered once or twice

Then became something else

Lights on for a bit would suddenly become brighter

All over the house, not just one room

This took a while to verify

(Intermittent issues are challenging that way)

But eventually it was clear something was wrong 

I called the PG&E emergency line

Explained what was happening

And also mentioned that 

Years ago when we first moved in

The same issue occurred when a ground wire

Outside the house came loose

And a giant surge went right through

The surge protectors and fried our appliances

Including our TV which burst into flames 

A fire we all and the house survived

So once fried twice shy

I was understandably nervous

PG&E asked me to shut off the main power

And wait - but not long!

Loren called me almost right away

He asked me to describe the issue

He was there in like 20 minutes

He was so nice 

Cheerful and competent at midnight

Shining his head lamp all over the place

I see the problem, he said

Shouldn't take long

And it didn't

Some beeping and flashing

And that was that

He had me turn the main power back on

Turn on all the lights 

And microwave a glass of water to test it all

No flickers no surges

Loren nods

Looks like that was it, he says

Waving goodbye with a smile

Good old Loren 

He came, he fixed, he left

All in less time than it takes for 

My groceries or Indian food to arrive

And I have to say

In these days 

When structures and services and supply chains

Seem to be falling apart

And basic health and safety 

For the average citizen

Doesn't seem to be such a common priority

It was reassuring to participate in 

Something That Worked

Ah, it is possible!

I'm grateful for emergency lines that function

And for all the Lorens out there 

Nurse Loren and Teacher Loren 

Farmer Loren and Waste Management Loren 

Thank you for knowing what to do

And doing what needs to be done

To keep us safe, fed, functioning, flourishing

I feel reluctant to praise PG&E

Yet credit where credit is due

Thank you for responding 

And please keep the Lorens coming

Back at the Open Mic

I went to my first open mic in 18 months
Such a long time since I last performed
I wasn’t nervous but I have been rusty
Those weekly hotel happy hours (all gone now)
Had kept me in shape, musically speaking
But open mics are returning, slowly
I drove across a major bridge for this one
Arrived on time, fourth to sign up
Except the method for the line up
Was neither time slot nor ordered list
Instead, bizarrely, all names were tossed into a jar
Selected randomly, a few at a time
So you never knew when you might be up
One thing about performing is when
You have yet to do it
It’s not as easy to relax as it is when
You have done it
Better still if it is over and *also* went well
But over, generally, is what you are aiming for
If you want to relax
I kept not getting called
It was not only not over
I didn’t even have an idea of when it was going to be over
However here I was finally seeing strangers up on stage
Sharing a table with people I did not know
In this case two friendly 23-year-olds
Who attend weekly as listeners only
They were giggly and funny and said
“We like the old man energy”
(In fact, it was mostly older men, and
Apart from two women in group acts,
Eventually I would end up being the only
Female-appearing, female-voiced person
As well incidentally the only ukulele)
But that was later, after I watched
Many performers come and go
I was having a good time
A lovely venue it was, excellent sound
Affordable drinks and friendly, quirky folk
For instance, a gentle large grey-haired Elvis got up there
In full white Elvis jumpsuit, rhinestones and all
With his mask pulled down, he sang his heart out
He sang over the recordings, instead of tracks-only version
The voice of our Elvis not quite drowning out the King
Our Elvis also sang My Way, and he really did do it his way
Enthusiastic, committed, special, weird, charming
All the regulars loved it, the girls at my table
Hoot and holler and tell me
“Elvis is a staple. He’s the best”
The host even bumps him to the front of the line
So Elvis can catch the bus home
But for me, there’s no home in sight
I don’t even make it on before the featured band
Who take the stage and crank up their rocking covers
The noise level rises
The place is packed
It’s a merry time in a bustling bar
Part of me rejoices to be in such a place
(Thinking of the times I said
“What I wouldn’t give for even a shitty open mic”
When not a one was to be had)
Part of me is wearing down
In fact, the majority of me has sunk beneath
The drink and meal and the unknowing and the waiting
It’s one thing to know you are last
It’s another to wait for it all night
The band is done, the crowd thins
I’m not next nor next, until few are left
My two faithful new friends have sworn to stay to the end
(Mostly to watch the trainwreck set of the “egdy” bad comic
Whose inappropriate set, they say, is traditionally the closer
At this supposedly all-ages show)
I am finally up next
I am also dead last
(Except for the comic and a real latecomer)
Almost no audience is left
And as I tune up in the back
I feel like crying
I’m not sure why
Sadness, the moment reminding me of all I’ve missed?
Disappointment, watching the room empty out?
Frustration, all the names called when I was there fourth?
Exhaustion, the energy drain of waiting to be next for three hours?
What do I do, suddenly verklempt and on next?
The show must you know what so I rally myself
I march onstage
The host apologizes personally as I plug in
And then publicly acknowledges me as having patiently waited
So the audience left cheers like mad
My two girls scream my name like we’ve known each other for years
And as I look out into the blackness
(For well-lit stages are blinding, airbrushing away any audience)
I feel immediately much better
The host gives me a new mic condom, which I use
I introduce myself, as well as my first song
“The Tom Hiddleston Blues”
The lone Loki fan reveals himself with a whoop
But I end up vamping, having suddenly blanked on the opening line
Eventually I stop, explain I forgot the lyrics, and play my other song
(Which I can play without thinking)
And during which I think about the Tom Hiddleston Blues
And finally remember the line, then sing the song
I feel increasingly better to the point of incredible
(Ah! the welcome tightrope stimulation of performing
Having to be aware of and do multiple things at once
In front of a roomful of people all watching you)
I nail both songs
The sound system is great but so am I
I don’t blow a lyric, a chord, a strum, nothing
My pitch is spot on
The room is silent, listening, locked in
It’s like I never left and OH MY GOD did I ever miss this
I realize as I’m up there that I missed it so much
I kind of can’t even handle it
I’m casually singing but I’m swirling with relief inside
It took me decades to even admit
I wanted to be a singer, a songwriter, musician
Another decade to do it
Then a few years of open mics and happy hours
Until poof! Gone!
I never pretended nonchalance regarding the shuttered venues
I ached for it all awfully and I said so
But standing there, finally returned to the sacred stage
I saw I held back most of the missing it
For it would have been too awful to feel it all
Yes, I missed offering my little songs to the world
But mostly I missed all the strangers
I used to encounter and love
In all sorts of places
Even if briefly (often briefly)
The people I sang in a circle with
The people I waltzed with
The people I danced ecstatically with 
The people I improv-ed with
The people I did wild crazy things with
At festivals and fairs and workshops and shows
So many single-serving friends, ships in the night
So many faces familiar from years of acquaintanceship
Members of the same tribe, names known or not
Connection, sweet connection, the thing we’ve all missed
But while some people do it with co-workers mostly, or family
My love avenues have been heavily populated with strangers
I see now that somehow the people I didn’t know
Were the ones that I missed the most
I got offstage to wild applause
And lots of kind words from quite a few kind people
I wanted to cry again
But this time I knew why
I remembered what this kind of happiness feels like
This special kind: the one that comes from
Feeling alive in a lively world
After a long, long time
Of not
(Also I’m glad to report, the very next day
To my own astonishment – for I have been sadly watching myself
Slog through an epically unprecedented stretch of writerly unproduction –
I finally spit out my first creative piece since Before Times:
This)