Tag Archives: family

Autumn, Mourning, and Community Chorus

1 Reply
Autumnal morning mist over Lake Champlain rises and becomes clouds

Dear Reader has probably gotten used to the fact that it is no longer summer. We fought its departure for a good while, having enjoyed such a glorious August here in Vermont. We did not want it to end. But: time marches on.

The low autumnal sun blinding us both outside the post office, an acquaintance mentions how weird it got once both her parents had died. October is weird for me. My parents died a few years apart, a few days apart, in October. I don’t mourn them together, I do it separately.

I mourn not having shown my mother enough gratitude over my lifetime. The woman was not thanked enough. I understand that this is not uncommon, but it’s also not okay. A mother said to me, “Oh, we don’t expect a lot of thanks!” But hell if most don’t deserve it … the diapers alone, which to this day I believe fall mostly into the hands (so to speak) of the mothers. I wish I could sit down with Mommy and thank her for every single thing. It would take hours.

I mourn my father’s loss of eyesight years before his death. He was so brave, walking blind to choir rehearsals at night. Once he told me, regarding my politics, that I was “just not that smart.” Well, Fathah, you were just not that smart walking around blind with no indication that you were blind, in a town with elderly motorists with not-great vision of their own! The man gardened and cleaned gutters on ladders, blind. The neighbors thought we were “letting” him do this. He was unstoppable. I’d find an old family photo to mail him and remember suddenly: Wait, he can’t see. Heartbreaking.

Admittedly, I’ve never been good at dates. I tested terribly in Social Studies when it came to dates of battles or peace accords or presidential terms. My own life is a mystery to me in terms of what years I lived where and did what. Parents have it easier, I say, because they can carbon date events based on their kids. (“Tobias was a toddler, so it must have been the early 2000s…”). I don’t even try to remember my life dates any more. I check my resume for that.

But this year at least, perhaps like Dear Reader, I have my parents’ dates of death (“the other DOD”) down cold. I’m going to honor each in some way, on their days. Maybe I’ll read to Fathah from my humble book, which he was so damn proud of though he couldn’t see it, despite a nuclear orange cover. And I’ll make a long list of Mommy’s many talents, presents, and services she provided for decades — undemanding of accolades and improperly compensated for same. I will thank her. It will take hours.

And then I will move on, knowing that if I’m alive in a year I’ll do it again. I endeavor, generally, to be cheery; I feel it’s our duty not to drag others down. I’ll do things that make me happy, and hopefully others. Sing and dance and laugh and goof off. Poke the stick at the tiger. Be fey and surprising and mischievous. Do pranks. Distract others from global unrest, from the miseries of their own lives. Let others do these things for me. Why not? Life is for the living. Those of us that are still here can and must exchange good energy.

To that end: if you’ve been thinking of joining a community chorus, it’s not too late, even if they’ve had 10 rehearsals. Community choruses are very forgiving; there’s always someone who will help you catch up. No auditions!

What I love about a community chorus is it’s like a train pulling out of the station. You’re not positive you really want to do it, so you’re jogging alongside of the train as it pulls out, just in case you decide you want to get on. It starts picking up speed. You have to trot faster as you ponder the pros and cons. You’ve invested a bit of energy and time now, and you’re leaning more towards Yes – just as it’s gaining real velocity and the pressure is mounting (from the other altos, or the person who collects the money). So you decide, ah hell, I might as well see where this thing is going, and you scramble aboard the moving train. You commit.

You meet experienced travelers, along with hacks like yourself. You realize there is no way you are going to pull off 14 songs, the way rehearsal is going. You dump this metaphor.

Rehearsal gets longer. You attend additional, desperate section rehearsals in an effort to pull it together. The director culls the songs you’re really destroying as a group. There’s still some doozies, in Latin or gibberish or a capella or with crazy-weird notes. At the eleventh hour you’re scrambling to learn your parts, which means rote memorization via some quality time with YouTube. You’re practicing in the car, the bathtub, the emergency room, the Port Authority bus terminal.

On the eve of the performance, chorus members are soiling their finery in abject terror at what might go wrong – it’s show time! Then somehow … your beloved, underdog community chorus … knocks it out of the park. You switch metaphors.

It’s a grand slam. The tenors, by God, they’ve learned their part and they’re belting it out, all six of them! The announcer bellows, FREE HOT DOGS FOR THE ENTIRE STADIUM. Your audience goes berserk over the hardest piece, the one the whole chorus never dreamed it could pull off, wondering why the heck the director wouldn’t cut it. The apple comes out. The fans go wild.*

Aren’t you glad you got on that train, Slugger? Good autumn, good mourning, good music making, and good day.

*Only knowers of Shea Stadium will get this reference.

Ann Aikens hosts a radio show, “Mostly Useless Advice,” on WFVR at royaltonradio.org. Her useful book of advice, A Young Woman’s Guide to Life: A Cautionary Tale, is available online and in Vermont shops, the audiobook on Amazon. She has written her Upper Valley Girl column since 1996. Find more of her writing at uppervalleygirl.com; speaking events at annaikens.com.

Let’s Figure This One Out Together

2 Replies

In the Bleak Midwinter

Oftentimes, this column starts as a handful of tips I’ve gleaned over a month, via reading and conversations. I cobble a column together for Dear Reader around those tips, tying them together with an emerging theme. The theme becomes the title. It’s not an intellectual process; it just unfolds. Let us see, together, where this one goes, shall we? I’m curious myself.

This December, for many, was a month of x-treme holiday busy-ness (performances, volunteering, religious services, gift-getting and making, and decorating—which always unearths some cry-worthy old family ornament or photo or child’s art). Many felt the holiday prep time too compressed this year, a full weekend shorter than usual. I think this is why people kept saying, “It doesn’t feel like Christmas.” Or maybe that’s just the age of the crowd I run with. 

With all the socializing, there was much discussion of the Current State of Things, at home and abroad. There was some hopefulness, a lot of apprehension, and less faith in governing bodies and corporations (and people) than I’ve ever heard in my lifetime. Maybe that blasted pandemic rocketed us into not just a new direction, but a new dimension entirely. In 10 years it’ll all make more sense. Like when a presidency or marriage is later re-evaluated in the longer scheme of history. Too soon to tell.

For now: some tips. Then let’s see if we can extract the columnular Theme, which so far remains unclear.

Hang Out with Others if it Kills You
You may have over-mingled last month. But while allowing less time for solitude and wintry deep thots, spending time with the right people is a sane-making distraction at the least, and a whale of a good time at the most. Get in the habit of getting together, no matter the temperature, before that nasty Cabin Fever kicks in.

Jar of Thanks
There is a free magazine available in churches (stay with me here). “The Upper Room,” written by ordinary folks worldwide, has a daily Bible quote with an uplifting personal story from the “ordinary” author. The one for New Year’s Eve was by an American who writes on a slip of paper every day something he’s thankful for, and puts it in a jar. On New Year’s Day, he empties the jar and reads them all. I started mine, in a funky vase that catches the light. Dear Reader can start one late, who cares? It’s proves a lovely way to end the day. I bet it’ll make New Year’s Day a real bawlfest. “Oh, remember that? How dear! Boo hoo hoo.” Can’t wait.

Make Goals, Not Resolutions
Attainable goals. Not, “I’ll go to the gym every day for 5 years.” (Or: making a list of your accomplishments in the prior year can be more fun.) My main goal, if I may reveal: to feel cheery in the face of all manner of reasons not to be. Despite terrible things happening, it does no one any good to feel hopeless or lousy. Acknowledge the event, do something about it if you can, then shift gears. Wish me luck, I’m not good at this. Others are. I’m open to advice.

Lie to Yourself
…in the mirror and say, “Damn, I look better already!” Maybe you do.

Spread Reasons to be Cheerful 
The New York Times, which keeps stats separate from the FBI, calculated in 2024 an actually far lower rate of murder than in recent years, along with other violent crimes. It’s not often you see “violent crimes” or “murder rate” in a piece meant to be uplifting, but there you have it. Now go look at NASA’s Image of the Day. Exquisite or weird, each is mindblowing and broadens your perspective.

Share Helpful Tips
Here’s how to glue different materials together, suggested by a techie whiz kid I know.

How to fix your own devices: Nearly every appliance and electronics device, large or small, bears a plate or panel with the model# and serial#. Take a photo of it. Then go to www.partselect.com, where you can search by brand, model/part, or symptom.

Good Deeds
… are as strong a medicine as laughter. Focusing on others, not yourself, and ameliorating someone else’s situation, well, what’s better than that? It’s even in The Wizard of Oz: “Back where I come from there are men who do nothing all day but good deeds. They are called phila… er, phila… er, yes, er, Good Deed Doers.”  They must be very happy people, Mr. Wizard!

Have and Cause Laffs
Years ago, a colleague’s son visited his grandmother at Christmas time and saw her miniature nativity scene. Upon returning home he remarked, “Grandma’s Jesus dollhouse is really cool.” 

A friend who’s half Jewish/half Catholic celebrates both holidays. When her kids were young, the rabbi from Chabad House arrived unexpectedly. They couldn’t not invite him in, so they all maneuvered him to keep him from seeing their Christmas tree. “Check out our new painting!” or, “Oh look, a bird!” Still cracks me up.

I highly recommend hanging around people who have contagious laughs (Anderson Cooper?), and listening to the recent “Fiasco!” episode of the This American Life (now on podcast). These true stories of fiascos are hilarious. I was laughing so hard I almost drove off the road.  People who drove past me then also snickered. It made me feel we were all in this together, which we of course are.

So, what does Dear Reader think these ingredients create thematically? The pieces seem to be this: help others, and spread good cheer, hot tips, and big laffs. Which we will definitely need in 2025, which promises to be a weird one. How we start the New Year is important; start early on establishing new habits this year. (I began my year with a snowy walk and a nap. Not bad!) Adversity has been and will always be there, as will wrenching stories of ills befalling others.  Our good spirits and good deeds are the best antidote. We are indeed all in this together.  

I have absolutely no idea how this can coalesce into a succinct columnular title. Wait:  I think it’s the one I already wrote; just make it about the year ahead instead of about this humble column.

Tell me about your first good deed of 2025. How was it, exciting? I’m certain it was. Good year, Dear Reader, good good-deed doing, and good day.

Ann Aikens is an author, columnist, speaker, and blogger. Her darkly comical book of advice, A Young Woman’s Guide to Life: A Cautionary Tale, was published in 2023, her Upper Valley Girl column since 1996. Find contact info and bookshops at annaikens.com; her blog is uppervalleygirl.com.

All Aboard the Holiday Express – Feel Good or go Sleeper Car

Leave a reply

My Thanksgiving column had to be re-written because it didn’t make it into the paper. This starts differently and has minor improvements IMHO. Posted for posterity!

The Holiday Express pulled out of the station in September (Labor Day, Yom Kippur, International Talk Like a Pirate Day, World Beard Day), then chugged through October (Halloween, Samhain, National Name Your Car Day – I’m not making these up), and has now pulled out of the November station (Veterans Day, National Vinegar Day, Thanksgiving).

While some of us have had low-key Thanksgivings in recent years, some enjoyed wild ones. I envy your big-group noise and merrymaking and even the fighting. It makes me wicked nostalgic. A quiet Christmas I don’t mind, but Thanksgiving is supposed to be full of joyful hoots as people walk through the door, with lots of chaos and exploding casseroles.

A friend lamented when his daughter left for college, “Where did 20 years go?” For me it is, at this time of year: where did those beloved people go, those sacred homes, those raucous laughs of holidays past? Those kids all growed up. We all growed up. Sigh. Do you ever wish you were a kid again? Our elders, so many of them now frail or gone, back in charge? 

I looked up “nostalgia” and found the craziest assortment of definitions, ranging from “a sad longing” to, for real, “mental illness.” The latter does make sense. Because if you wallow in a sad longing for the past long enough, you are probably 1. Ignoring the bad things about those times, 2. Experiencing mental anguish, and 3. No longer living your life.

An odd detour in an alleged humor column, I realize. Stay with me.

Alas, many best-loved beings have left the building. Favorite musicians, actors, friends, lovers, pets, family, neighbors. The world seems a giant mess. While nostalgia implies a glossing over of history, I feel that my own generation’s past was, in fact, lovelier – before the major disasters (you know the names) that imperiled our overall sense of safety and trust in humans, no matter where we live. At least in the US, by and large, life was easier back then. We just didn’t know it. The oceans, lands, air, and wildlife now at risk. Homeless tent cities common. And there is so much hate now. Or else we see more hate, due to the devil that is 24-hour news on TV and other screens. I say, some nostalgia is legit.

In our messed-up powder keg of a world, it’s difficult to remain hopeful or sane. Especially as it seems there’s little be done about much of it, by us ordinary people anyway, aside from writing checks and voting. It’s distressing.

But I have discovered this: that making an effort to feel good can actually pay off. It’s not easy sometimes, but worth the attempt. I went to see a magical band at Chandler, helped collect gifts for kids, and baked for a dear friend. I went back to choir. Do you know that singing in groups (even small) increases your oxytocin and other good brain chemicals? Head to a tiled bathroom for some doo-wop harmonizing with your housemate(s).

When you feel good, you feel somehow … loved.  And conversely, when you feel loved, you feel good. If you’ll allow me to wax Cosmic here: feeling good allows great amounts of what some call the Life Force to flow through you. This makes you healthier physically and emotionally. This makes you better able to navigate illness and difficult situations. Energized. Motivated. Resilient. So feel good if it kills you. Hang out with people that make you feel loved and loving. Okay, maybe for now you’d rather lie around feeling like holy hell. Go right ahead, but don’t do it for long. It’ll make you sick.

Like many of you, I always dug Thanksgiving because my mommy put on such a good one and because it’s non-denominational. We’d host people who had nowhere to go, much as my loud family’s antics were no doubt technically embarrassing. The guests didn’t seem to mind. We all laughed and laughed. I miss every single person in those blurry old Instamatic photos, whether they moved away or died or just grew up. In recent years, I’m the person with nowhere to go for holidays. Someone always invites me in.

In an effort to feel good, and in so doing make others feel good, this Thanksgiving I endeavored to focus more on who’s here than on who’s not. I’m carrying that to each remaining stop on the Holiday Express. 

What I suggest this holiday season to you and me both is this: really marinate in communal happiness. No matter how small or random your group, no matter how holidays of years past appear happier in your mind, feel the love right where you are. When at the table, honoring the memory of beings we adored who are now gone, really savor those that are here. Right here. Love the one(s) you’re with. And if you just can’t deal at all this year, get into your berth solo in the Sleeper Car. It’ll be over before you know it. 

Feel good. Spread love. Bring leftovers to someone left out. Or invite them in? Good day. 

Ann Aikens’ darkly comical, uplifting book of advice, A Young Woman’s Guide to Life: A Cautionary Tale, is available at Amazon & Vermont shops. She has written her Upper Valley Girl column since 1996. Find shops at annaikens.com; sign up for her blog at lower right at uppervalleygirl.com.