I’m finally able to get some exercise again. Swimming seems to be the best bet for my leg and I’ve been amazed at all the data my new Apple watch captures from my swims – total laps and yards, average and peak heart rate, yards of breaststroke versus freestyle, active and total calories expended. I did 1400 yards on Tuesday and 1500 on Friday – picking up the pace quite a bit on Friday as I got comfortable that my leg would handle it. All that technology is great and we currently have a week long competition going between Diana, Alicia and me to see who gets the most exercise and burns the most calories. McD is quite upset that she doesn’t burn as many calories for the same amount of effort – as I’ve told her, it takes a lot less effort to move her little body around than it does mine.
I saw this crazy video of Katie Ledecky balancing a glass of milk on her head while she swims a full lap. What amazing body control and balance:
The nagging and prodding all got too much and I succumbed to Physical Therapy on Tuesday. My therapist, Shenpagavadivu Sathiyamoorthy, 
thankfully goes by Shenda and was very thorough in understanding my situation. She’s probably nowhere close to winning a most vowels in your name contest, but should at least get a bronze star. Taking a baseline of my recovery, she had me walk in the corridor for 2 minutes and noticed that my left foot turns out when I walk and my weight is all on the outside of my foot. I explained that’s the way I’ve always walked since breaking my left ankle in University. She thinks that running in that same way put the strain on my left hip as it tried to compensate for my foot turning out, causing the stress fracture. Interesting. Now we start the exercises to strengthen everything and work on turning that left foot back in.
We’re hoping that the bathroom remodel woes are mostly behind us now. The steam shower installation is complete and all the peripherals appear to be working now. Diana and I had to play a very hands on role in supervising the initial plumber and helping him to correct his mistakes. All that remains is some argy bargy with the plumbing company over how much they would like to charge us for the first plumber 
that didn’t know what he was doing and spent way too much time redoing and troubleshooting his work. Diana will take the good cop first pass at that and hopefully bad cop K won’t need to make an appearance. The bathtub may be able to come inside from the front porch soon.
Will and Christine moved to a new apartment this week – a penthouse in the same building as his old one. He’s quite excited about the 20 foot vaulted ceilings, the extra bedroom, and the mountain view.
I finished “Blood” by Allison Moorer this week and I can’t remember being as affected by a book since Joan Didion’s “Year of Magical Thinking” and “Blue Nights”, as you’ll be able to tell by the number of quotes and comments that I’m sharing. The way that Moorer conveys her emotions over the years as she continues to deal with her tragic upbringing is beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time.
“I call the B-25 Daddy’s guitar because that’s what it is and always will be. It’s a 1964 Gibson. I’ve played it on every record I’ve ever made.”
A guitar as old as me that’s still going strong. Clearly a very good year.
“I keep it out where I, or anyone who comes into my house, can pick it up and play a tune. Daddy would like that, I think. I don’t treat it like a precious thing, but it is even though it’s so scarred.”
Even after the devastating pain and suffering inflicted on Moorer by her father, she still plays his guitar. A great example of the healing power of music.
“Guitars are mysterious. A person can practice playing one for a lifetime and never really figure out how they work.”
“Music was second nature to Mama, while Daddy had to work hard just to be an average songwriter, singer, and player. He probably had more talent for other things – but the desire to make music was deeply in him, even more than it seemed to be in her. He always looked to her for the right chord when he couldn’t find it and for the harmony parts he couldn’t hear. She was just plainly better and more naturally talented than he was. It made him deeply frustrated because she had something he didn’t but wanted badly. He despised the part of her that didn’t treat her talent for music as the most important thing in life besides, of course, him.”
This is an extreme version of the feeling I have with people who squander a natural music talent and ability. I have to work very hard to make something sound half way decent, while so many others can just sit down and do it with zero effort. And that is quite frustrating.
“Daddy’s main disease was alcoholism. But I don’t think it began and ended there. I have more than a suspicion that there was very likely something else going on, something else that didn’t allow his mind to operate properly. Normally? I don’t know what normal is.”
“Was he bipolar? I know he was depressed. His moods swung violently. He was unpredictable. He did dangerous things. I’m pretty certain he didn’t care if he lived or died. He would come up out of the misery every once in a while and when he did it felt like the sun was shining directly on you and only for you. That’s what his happiness felt like. He’d deliver a sweet “That’s my girl” and a pat on the back or the head when he was pleased with you. But that was only every once in a while.”
“He didn’t like competition. Everyone loved her. So he shrank her. He shrank her until she almost disappeared. She decided that she didn’t want to disappear anymore. Then he disappeared her for good. No more speaking too much, no more personality, no more competition, no more chance that she might possibly have a life outside of the one she had with him.”
Hard to imagine someone who wants to shrink their wife. But there are a lot of them out there. Then the story gets worse, in my opinion:
“What happens when you hit your daughter: First, she will bond to you out of fear, mistakenly thinking she has done something wrong and if she can just manage to not do it again or somehow please you, you might not hit her or anyone else anymore. She will even think you will love her properly if she can earn your approval. She won’t realize this is impossible. Then, she will either do that with every man she comes within a hundred feed of for the rest of her life or until she learns not to (this will take much doing), or she will despise them with such vehemence that she can barely stomach one around. Sometimes she will do a combination of both of those things, working herself into a pattern of push and pull. I love you I hate you, I need you I don’t need anyone, that will drive her a little crazy. She won’t understand at first, if ever, why she only attracts other masochists.”
And then some more positive commentary on music and innate ability:
“I was always a stickler for details even as a girl, and noticed that someone had hit the wrong chord upon first hearing the recording. When I revealed this to my sister, she looked at me like I had three heads. It was true that I was almost missing the point entirely, but the little things meant everything to me. I’d pick out the smallest details on a recording and would often fixate on them, waiting for them to come around every time I’d listen – a faraway harmony part, a double-time strum on a guitar, the acoustic upstrokes between every spelled-out letter on the chorus of “D-I-V-O-R-C-E.” The details always connected me to the ground and reminded me that even if everything else around me was too unpredictable to depend on, I could count on the records to not vary. I could trust them, and not a whole lot else.”
Moorer’s records are always impeccably produced and the paragraph above partially explains why. The only record I remember bugging me every time I listen is “Easy Money” by Rickie Lee Jones. The double bass is alone in the intro and quite out of tune – how does that happen? I love the song but the bass always bugs me.
“That I cannot cancel my love and attachment to them is a testament to the bonds, good or bad, of blood. It’s fascinating to try to figure it out, though, and I have a hunger to do so. It’s medicine, a balm for the wounds still healing. I need a balm. Sorting through it makes me tired in the deepest part of myself.”
Talking about her son, John Henry, who has appeared in the background of some Hayes Carll livestreams, and who has non-verbal autism:
“He is here as an angel. He is sometimes of the sort that tests my patience, fortitude, and endurance, sometimes of the sort that ruptures my heart, sometimes of the sort that makes me feel like every part of me that has any good in it will burst through my skin from the way he makes it increase in size. I am here to learn to allow him to redeem me.”
About making music with her “Sissy”, Shelby Lynne:
“The sound of our voices blending as only those that belong to siblings can buzzed through them just as it did us. Our voices are like two halves of a whole, and when we sing together we make one thing. It was electric. My chest and ribs vibrated in that perfect way that notes coming from my toes can make them do. Sometimes I think I live for that feeling.”
The other siblings that come to mind when reading that paragraph:
“I watch my friends and H. with fascination as they talk about what their folks are up to, how they annoy them, how they love them. I try not to cry when H. speaks to his folks on the phone, and cover up my longing for just one conversation that he’s having. I am jealous and I am sad. I am lonely.”
Sometimes simple phone calls are so precious. We don’t always recognize that at the time.
My last quote from “Blood”:
“Guns: I am farther away from them now than I have ever been. The sight of a gun unnerves me – all that shiny metal clicking and clacking, heavy in a hand. Maybe that’s how much fear weighs. It weighs as much as the gun you tote. you think you can ward off your fear if you have one.
I do not like firearms around me. I will cross the street if I see a copy because they carry them. I don’t like the sounds they make, I don’t like the damage they do, I don’t like the power they possess.”
Continuing on the musical front, I heard this great cover of the Grateful Dead’s “West L.A. Fadeaway” by moe. I love the jazzy elements of their jamband sound.
I heard about this NPR listening test that let’s you see if you can really tell the difference in high quality audio recordings. There are 3 choices for different styles of music and each is at a different audio quality (sampling frequency). I got about 70% correct indicating that I really can’t hear high frequencies well enough any more to be able to tell the difference. Put on some headphones and see what you think:
https://www.npr.org/sections/therecord/2015/06/02/411473508/how-well-can-you-hear-audio-quality
Staying with NPR, they put on what they call Tiny Desk concerts – performances at the desk of one of their reporters. Those have obviously gone virtual these days. Here’s one from Lucinda Williams. Such an unabashedly Southern accent and she always has excellent guitar players:
https://www.npr.org/2020/07/27/894685942/lucinda-williams-tiny-desk-home-concert
And here’s the Tiny desk contest winner for this year – Linda Diaz has such a gentle and smooth sound with a good message for now:
This John Hiatt song just popped up on Spotify as I was writing this post. Listen to Ry Cooder’s slide guitar – Wow!