Hurricanes, families, etc
Here’s what came up on my phone when we landed today:
We’re back in New York for the week, and also the earth is trying to kick us off the earth.
I can’t really blame the earth. If I were the earth, I would also try to kick us off.
Thankfully we’ve been just small, nimble and lucky enough to maneuver through as best we can so far. But it feels just slightly more than coincidental that José and I have happened to be in so many Noah’s Ark esque situations of late. We arrive in The Netherlands: Record breaking floods hit, but not where we are. We arrive in Greece: Record breaking heat and fires sweep the island we’re on, but not where we are. And then, of course, Hurricane Henri and all here in New York. The phone alerts. Etc.
I’m not trying to make light of extremely serious situations. All of this is a real fracking crisis. But I am tongue in cheek saying that (1) we are a little bit cursed so don’t invite us to your country (2) we control the weather.
(Also it’s Sunday again. How is it Sunday again?!)
I had a whole furious angry diatribe of a ttalk that I wrote on the flight here this morning. I sounded off about how difficult life has been as a working musician in all of this. I cursed a lot and angry typed on the tray table. Who knows, maybe there’s a time and a place for me to vent to you about our very unique experience someday (lmk in the comments, because I’m honestly curious to hear).
But as soon as I landed and (mask) hugged my beloved parents, much of that whole fury melted. I love airports because you’re constantly seeing families, loved ones, reuniting. Airports are one of my favorite places on earth. Less so in the pandemic, but I still try and hold on to the love as best I can. Love for deep, poetic beauty next to mundanity next to electric possibility next to next to next to.
Airports, even in this mess, lay bare the painful and complicated part of it, lay bare my forever truth: I absolutely love human beings. Love us even when I hate us. One of the hardest parts of this pandemic has been trying to hold space for the way I’ve seen us act. The choices I’ve seen us make or not make. Trying to make sense of new facets of humanity I’ve seen on the ground now as we maneuver through 12 different countries (so far!) handling COVID.
There’s so much. But now, floods and all, is not the time to get into it. This may instead be the shortest taali talk of all time. It is 7:11 pm, EST. I’ve been on the porch with my parents and José for hours, watching the dangerous situation that merited the phone alert. At around hour five I realized I should get up and write this.
(I see now why I loved Greece so much: It felt like home. Here’s a photo of hour four in my Marcy/Michael hang, aka the fruit/cheese/coffee course).
It’s good to be back. Towards the end of the hang (which will start again as soon as I press send on this because there could only be a thirty minute break between lunch and dinner), my mom came out with a large loaf of bread because she needed to know how much José would want over the week. It needed to be documented.
Look at those bobis. Have you ever seen two greater bobis? I’m giving myself permission to cut this talk short so that I can go enjoy their bobiness.
Love you love you love you and see you next week
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