Jessibird

Ah, adolescence. Depression and isolation? Yes indeedy. How do any of us get through? It’s enough of a bummer to start really taking in the horrible state of the adult world around you, without having to struggle for your own sanity.

Let me be clear: my material circumstances were great. I had a loving family and a comfortable home. My relatively happy kid self (I must dig out unhappy teen photos later):

At twelve or so, I was on a downward slide. I was feeling increasingly sick and exhausted. I knew instinctively that I had unusual health problems, but they were too vague and mysterious for the doctor to diagnose. (Turned out to be weak digestion plus resulting malnutrition.)

I dreaded turning thirteen. For one thing, I didn’t want to turn into a “Girl” who “Likes” “Boys.” I wanted everyone to keep being kids and keep playing with each other. But the pressure was coming on. I had to make sure that “Boys” would accept me as a “Girl” to be an okay person.

Then there was the looming specter of adulthood. College, perhaps a PhD, was expected of me. And then I’d have to make a living somehow, though I had no idea what I wanted to do.

These terrors helped trigger a decision to diet. I became anorexic and fairly skeletal. It didn’t really improve my life, though I thought I looked better (I didn’t, but anorexia is a delusional disease) and felt marginally safer in my right to exist. Getting skinny—surprise!—didn’t cure my fears, didn’t end my sadness and cynicism and isolation.

I clung fiercely to my escape mechanisms: studying, science fiction, music, and sugar. I spent many hours curled in fetal position in my dark bedroom, wishing for oblivion.

My sister helped me stop starving myself, at least. But otherwise, I kept sliding down. It wasn’t till I was about fifteen or sixteen that I hit the bottom of my lonely well. I knew I wasn’t going to kill myself, so what to do? I guessed I had to live, somehow.

I made a very conscious and determined decision to turn my twisted self outward and relate to other people. Thus Jessi’s Smiling Project was born, though I had no name for it. I knew I needed baby steps, though.

Smiling Project

Stage 1. Make eye contact with and smile at everyone
Stage 2. Say hello to them
Stage 3. Ask them questions about themselves

I had to make this commitment over and over again. It was difficult to smile when I felt sad, say hello when I felt like crawling into a corner. Every day after school, after a day of trying to connect with people, I’d come home and head for the stereo.

My mom had Judy Collins’ Living album. I’d slap it on the turntable.

Judy Collins listening instructions

1. Set the needle to the beginning of the fifth track
2. Listen, crying heart out, till the end of the track
3. Repeat

Okay, okay, here’s the mp3!

Judith’s Song (Open the Door)

Sometimes I remember the old days
When the world was filled with sorrow
You might have thought I was livin’, but I was all alone

In my heart the rain was fallin’
The wind blew, the night was callin’
Come back, come back, I’m all you’ve ever known

Chorus:
Open the door and come on in
I’m so glad to see you my friend
You’re like a rainbow comin’ around the bend
And when I see you happy,
Well, it sets my heart free
I’d like to be as good a friend to you as you are to me

There were friends who could always see me
Through the haze their smiles would reach me
Saying okay, saying goodbye, saying hello

Soon I knew that what I was after
Was life and love, tears and laughter
Hello my good friend, hello my darlin’
What do you know

(Chorus)

I used to think it was only me
Feeling alone, not feeling free
To be alive, to be a friend

Now I know we all have stormy weather
The sun shines through when we’re together
I’ll be your friend right through to the end

(Chorus)
(Chorus again, sung to plural friends this time)

After catharsis, continue with Smiling Project.

That, my friends, is how I survived adolescence. How about you?

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I was at work a little while ago when my housemate’s email arrived with the news that Hen died today.

She was found stuck under a bush in the yard, and he wasn’t sure whether she broke her neck while trying to get out, or died of exhaustion as she struggled. He buried her and made plans to build a small cross on her grave.

Yes, Henrietta was a hen. I think it must be an occupational hazard for domestic birds to die from, well, stupidity.

Go tell Aunt Rhody,
Go tell Aunt Rhody,
Go tell Aunt Rhody,
The old gray goose is dead.

She died in the millpond,
She died in the millpond,
She died in the millpond,
Standing on her head.

Hen was a good chicken and a good hen. She was definitely Big Sister to her foster sisters Oprah and Rickie. She was at the top of the three-hen pecking order; she was always the first to gobble up any grain or leafy green goodies. She laid the biggest eggs of the three, I believe.

She was also closer to her human adoptive mom than I have ever seen a chicken be to a human. She would hop up on Amba’s shoulder or even her head.

We will miss her. If there is a Great Chicken Yard Up Yonder, I know she’s there scratching for big juicy bugs.

Sigh. I’ll have to eat my words over at Rantasaurus about taking care of chickens so they won’t die.

Wanna know something weird? When I got home, the first song that came up on my shuffle was Sacaron Agua by Amparanoia. Take a listen, there’s a rooster crowing in it.

Amparanoia – Sacaron Agua

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I rejoice in small town connections.

Just in the past week, I’ve seen or spoken with so many old friends, co-workers and acquaintances: a woman I did childcare with ten years ago, now a mother of three; an old friend who has been through tumultuous times, and from whom I was estranged for some time, but is now doing well; a fellow folk dancer from back in the days I was a contra dance junkie (Hi Tina!); someone who treated me with tender loving acupuncture some years ago; the list goes on.

All of these were chance encounters much more likely to happen in a small town.

So here’s to small towns, and on that note, I introduce you to a song celebrating a (presumably very small) hometown and mourning its demise: Our Town, by Iris DeMent.

I’ve seen Iris in concert a few times and was always too far away to see her very well. I could have sworn, a couple of times, that she was crying as she sang (did anyone else have this impression?). Whether she was or not, that’s how teary and plaintive her voice can sound. It’s great to see her expressive face up close in this video, and while I don’t detect any tears, there’s certainly plenty of emotion.

At any rate, I can hardly listen to the song without tearing up myself. I think that even if I’d never lived in a small town, I would still be affected. I grew up in Southern California in the small town of Laguna Beach; I still get sentimental remembering the sage-scented sandstone canyons inhabited by lizards, bats and hawks, and the eucalyptus-shaded neighborhoods with cooing doves. The song is about the loss of something familiar and dear, which must be a universal experience.

I hope you enjoy this touching ballad with sweet harmonies from Emmylou, who as usual is exquisitely attentive to her duet partner and exercises perfect timing.

Please watch below the fold. If you’d care to leave a comment, I’d love to know your impressions.

Read the rest of this entry »

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