birthdays

At the end of his 13th birthday (long after he should have fallen asleep), S let me know his day had been a disappointment. Not terrible, just not as special as he'd hoped.

At first I felt defensive--hadn't I woken up at 6:30, gotten him breakfast and made his lunch? Special trip to Target to buy hazelnuts for the homemade chocolate hazelnut cheesecake. No hassling about excessive video gaming after school. Dinner out--not Tucanos, as he might have wished, but an enormous bacon, cheddar cheeseburger (Iggy's). Free ice cream sundae to himself, plus said cheesecake later. Received everything he asked for (a couple video games) and more.

Later I thought about what I could have done more--I could have made a big breakfast instead of getting Costco cinnamon rolls out of the freezer. Could have made a more special lunch, or taken him out. Could have decorated with balloons and such.

Daughter A recently announced that she wants a big bunch of balloons and/or flowers delivered to school on her birthday (in spring). I'd actually had a similar thought a few days earlier, when one of my students received a balloons and flowers in class. But then I thought that other kids would feel jealous. Maybe that's the point, and my kids are usually the ones feeling jealous. This morning I thought, maybe I should deliver balloons to S today at school, but then I thought, he's in 7th grade, attending a high school, and I'm his mom. Not cool.


I'm not going to beat myself up too much--I've long realized that while I'm reasonably good at a number of things, celebrating holidays in memorably excessive ways is not one of those things. I'm working on it.

simplify

So far this experiment isn't going well (I'm not writing, and, well, thanks, Anna, for being my audience). One positive, though, is that I am thinking about what I might write much more often than is here evident.

Last week I missed two book groups. The first, in my new neighborhood, read A Gift from the Sea (Anne Morrow Lindburgh). I read it several years ago and still had my copy--got about halfway in and decided to follow Lindburgh's advice and simplify my life; therefore, didn't finish the book and skipped the group. Another day I might have opted for the social interaction, but had several commitments that day and felt E and I deserved a quiet morning at home.

The second group, in my former neighborhood, read Tuesdays with Morrie. Liked it the first time, but not in the mood to face it again (or cry through book group, which I would have done, particularly since one of our members is in the middle of chemo).

6 research papers down and 40 to go. Sigh. Can't wait until next semester, when I'll teach only one section and have a grad student grading half the papers.

Sufjan concert

Went to Sufjan Stevens concert last night with N--he's the fan. To me, many of Sufjan's old songs sound like he and his friends got together to drink and record a jam session. Last night he played his new stuff: mostly techno-sci fi, which could be great if you're into psychedelic meandering. But I'm not into that, nor would I expect his fan base to be. Sufjan has a nice, clear voice, and punctuated the set with short acoustic pieces that contain lovely harmony--the kind of songs that have always been my favorite of his. He has a friendly stage presence, and talked about his creative process, explaining that several years ago he got tired of his music and decided to abandon melody and traditional songs and experiment with sound.

I guess it's not surprising that artists would get tired of doing the same thing forever, and Sufjan has always been independent, not commercial. But for a while I couldn't help feeling that he'd betrayed his fans--we'd paid to hear and dance and sing to his folksy, melodic, banjo tunes, and instead got repetitive, self-indulgent synthesizer music. It reminded me of a couple things: 1) Modern art--some people might find it brilliant, but the masses are perplexed (I don't always align myself with the masses, but here I will); 2) Writing as a mode of self-expression, rather than a means of communication--which has it's place, but that place is usually private, not public.

As far as I can tell, Sufjan was writing his music for himself, not his fans. Perhaps that's always been the case, and perhaps he's as surprised as anyone that he has fans who pay to buy his records and see him in concert. I think he is aware of his audience in that he thanked us for sitting through his new music and rewarded us with a few old songs at the end of the show. I'll take that as an apology and be glad that N wasn't too disappointed.