May Gray, Mayday, Morning Dew

Also lilacs, brain fog, The Grateful Dead, and a book called SPARK

May 01, 2021

“May: the lilacs are in bloom. Forget yourself.”
― Marty Rubin

In this issue:

Brain weather: mostly foggy with spurts of sun
May Day, Allman Brothers, and The Grateful Dead
Claudia Kalb’s new book about the spark that ignites special people
Going Home

The Weather in My Brain

In my part of the world, there is something called “May Gray,” soon followed by June gloom. The marine layer moves in and sits over our houses for a few hours at the beginning and the end of each day. Sometimes, if the layer isn’t in the mood to shove off, it sits around all day sometimes for weeks at a time.

Right now a marine layer -- a fusion of fog and some kind of atmospheric “front’ -- is enveloping my brain despite the surprisingly blue sky and near-80 degree temperature outside. I am not (too) worried. It seems to be part of the fallout from my second vaccine shot on Monday. Something similar happened the first time -- fatigue, achy, and a stubborn layer of brain fog that lifted as suddenly as it arrived. I spent a lot of time starting one task only to be distracted by bright shiny objects that led to more distractions until I ended up with a little chain of fun things that had nothing to do with / completely forgot what I was about to do.

Perhaps you’re thinking that’s what’s happening right now. You may be right.

Anyway. Both shots are behind me and as I look back at a week that cannot be called productive, I find myself with a collection of most accidental discoveries that shine through the murk and I want to share some of them with you - think of this newsletter as a metaphorical May Basket - a collection of goodies for you. There is no chocolate. I am eating all of the chocolate now because I believe it helps me focus. I need to believe this.

Lilacs!

Lilacs are the scent of home, of spring. They are the blooms that everyone back in New England wait for. The crocus first, then the forsythia, and then the lilac — these arrivals are how spring is measured. I found this bunch in Trader Joe’s and grabbed them. They started to lose their petals almost immediately but I have gathered every single fallen one, put them in a bowl, and sniff deeply every time I pass it. I wish I could share that with you but this photo is the next best thing.

M’aidez! May Day, And Walking Out in the Morning Dew

I had no idea that the distress call “Mayday” originated in 1923 with a Brit, the chief radio officer for Croydon Airport in London who thought it worked because it sounded like “help me” in French (“m’aidez!). I discovered this while reacquainting myself with May Day, the spring celebration which involves maypoles, baskets, and all things spring but also the superstition that it is good luck to wash one’s face in the morning dew of May 1. I will if you will.

Or, I’ll settle for traveling back in time as I’m doing right now as I type these words while listening to the Allman Brothers sing “Walk Me Out in the Morning Dew.” The opening chords sent me hurtling back to my 15-year-old self and I’m cringing as I feel her inside me starting to move in a romantic haze around the living room where the communal stereo was set up. The adult me thinks this version by the song’s writer Bonnie Dobson or this one by Long John Baldry is better but I discovered that a whole raft of folks think The Grateful Dead did it best. You decide.

Confession: I do not love the Grateful Dead

I tried. All through high school, college and beyond, I tried to love the Grateful Dead. I don’t hate The Dead. I just don’t love them and for a long time that felt like some kind of dirty little failure I had to hide. I even tried immersion therapy in my thirties by attending a concert with my sister who has followed them across the country and would attend consecutive shows on consecutive nights because, unlike me, she loves The Dead. Maybe it would have helped if I’d gotten high but I was paranoid. I had a work function the next day and there was a drug testing policy. I spent the whole time trying not to inhale second-hand smoke that filled the arena in Boulder. I’d need to inhale deeply and directly in order to survive another, interminable interval of improvisation called “the space.”

Not Dying, Just Dormant

“Like a plant. Or a volcano.

I am waiting to be activated.” - Austin Kleon

I loved this blog post by Austin Kleon “I’m not languishing, I’m dormant.” Thank god for garden metaphors. And gardens.

Next up: SPARK-the-book, Yoyo Ma and Yoyo Ma’s sister

The title instantly attracted me to Claudia Kalb’s new book “Spark: How Genius Ignites, From Child Prodigies to Late Bloomers. Leaving aside the idea of genius, the title offered the hope that it is still possible to bloom later than I expected, that there may be a renaissance after this period of fog and dormancy. I listened to Kalb’s launch interview at Politics & Prose on Thursday and found more reasons to dig in. Check it out here:

Kalb delves into the stories of thirteen people who made extraordinary contributions to the world of art, music, science, and business at very different points in their lives. Some, like Yoyo Ma and Shirley Temple Black, were child prodigies. Others, like Maya Angelou and Eleanor Roosevelt came into their own in the last half or, in the case of Grandma Moses, at the age of eighty. In the interview, Kalb described genius more loosely than I might have. For her, it is not a function of IQ. Genius -- or that special something -- is a function of many factors and traits including curiosity, a willingness to move into new areas at every stage of life, and a certain amount of luck and timing. I was struck by this as I searched the Internet for the music of Yoyo Ma who realized that performing in and of itself was not enough and realized his greatest fulfillment arrived when he began to use his music to help others and create a community. His series #SongsofComfort on Instagram and Youtube during the pandemic was a manifestation of this. But it was the story of his sister that reinforced for me how luck or, in his case, the decision of her parents, made all the difference.

Ma’s older sister, Yeou-Cheng Ma was, herself, a prodigy who played the violin until she was a little older than ten. Her parents stopped her violin lessons while allowing her to continue on the piano, apparently because they could not find in the United States a teacher able to continue to work with her in the discipline she trained in in France. She accompanied her brother on the piano when he performed his U.S. debut at the age of seven at Kennedy. She became a medical doctor and now also heads the Children’s Orchestra Society founded by her father in New York. She is unquestionably an exceptional person and special human being. I can’t keep from wondering, though, how her life — and the life of her famous brother — might have turned out had she been permitted to pursue the violin more deeply.

All of this makes me want to know more about the traits that bloomers have in common. In addition, a look at the early pages of Kalb’s book shows the kind of profile writing and storytelling that makes for an engaging read. She’s interested in what makes people who they are and is willing to do the work to understand. If you decide to read the book, let me know. Let’s compare notes in a future edition.

In the meantime, here is one of the first offerings in the series of performances that Yoyo Ma gave free on Instagram and Youtube during the pandemic. This one is Dvořák’s "Going Home.”

I, too, am going home

September is five months away but I have already made plane reservations for that month. I’ve also rented a car, and sent my family and loved ones a detailed itinerary for my first trip back east since September of 2019. That last trip was a tough one -- I spent most of it helping to move my father from his house to the memory care unit of a local assisted living facility. My last photo of him was taken in the garden of the facility the day he moved in. That was the last time I hugged him.

When I go this September it will be to gather with my family to celebrate his life. I can’t predict how I will feel on the day itself. Lately, I haven’t been able to predict how I feel from one day to the next. I do know, though, that this is what I need and want to do. I know that among the complicated feelings that come with finally and officially letting go of my dad, I will be able to hug my mother. I will be able to sit down with my dad’s wife and talk with her or join her for a walk in the beautiful town where she lives. I will be with as many of my brothers and sisters as can make it. I know there will be laughter as well as tears. Making the reservations to travel brought me closer to all of that. I am so grateful for the vaccine that makes it safe to make that trip. Brain fog and all, I can feel things getting better.

I hope you do too. Thank you for reading this week. It’s been a bit of a hodge-podge but hopefully we’ve connected somewhere between the opening line and this one. If not, well, there is always next week! Let me know how you are and what you are reading. As always, the books listed here (and the ones you send me) are, whenever possible, listed on the Spark Community Recommendations Page at bookshop.org where every sale supports local bookstores.

And if you are you are a lifelong Dead Head, I offer my apologies.

Gratefully yours,

Betsy

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