Enjoying The Cold

John Wise and Caroline Wise

Since December last year, Caroline and I have enjoyed over a dozen opportunities to bundle up against the cold. This is my reminder that these days do exist because soon, our temperatures will pass 90 degrees (32c) and won’t come back down until late in the year. We were already thinking these days were over when, to our surprise, it dipped down to 37 degrees (3c) yesterday. On with a base layer, fleece, shell, gloves, and beanie for our early morning walk.

The fleeting nature of cold here in the desert southwest was driven home this morning when we were able to head out sans heavy jacket, beanie, and gloves as it was a toasty 52 or 11 Celsius. While we can still expect a relatively cold day in the near future, it’s unlikely we’ll see another morning in the 30s, so this is a kind of celebration in addition to a reminder that we have enjoyed the cold. When our mid-day temperatures start to approach 115 blistering degrees (46c), it’s easy to wonder if we ever escaped the heat even for a minute.

Congo Mask Exhibit at The MIM

Congo Mask Exhibition at the Musical Instrument Museum in Phoenix, Arizona

Last year, we had hoped to visit the Musical Instrument Museum a few miles from home to take in an exhibit that traveled to the US across history from more than 8,700 miles away. The MIM, as it’s known, was featuring masks and some of the musical instruments that are used by the people of the Congo in Africa. The exhibit was supposed to end many months ago, but due to the pandemic, it was extended well into 2021.

Congo Mask Exhibition at the Musical Instrument Museum in Phoenix, Arizona

As a matter of fact, we were supposed to head out of town this weekend, but Facebook caught my eye with a post from the MIM featuring the face of an old friend I used to work with over 20 years ago. His name is Frank Thompson, but more about him in a minute. We’ve been in the rest of the museum enough times that I didn’t really need to spend our morning in the main exhibit and wanted to linger checking out these artifacts from the Congo. You might recognize part of the instrument above as a finger piano, also known as a Kalimba which is from the Mbira family of instruments originating out of Zimbabwe. This particular piece is called a Kisantchi and was used by the Songye people; it’s made of a thin piece of wood as the foundation for the plucking element, while the gourd acts as a resonator.

Congo Mask Exhibition at the Musical Instrument Museum in Phoenix, Arizona

These are some of the memories I’ve chosen to travel with me towards that day when I will have experienced my last moments as a human being in this form. Should I be so lucky, Caroline and I might one day, 20 years from now, go through some of these blog posts and have the chance to celebrate how fortunate we were to have witnessed these pieces of art with our own eyes, and so I continue to blog and share.

Congo Mask Exhibition at the Musical Instrument Museum in Phoenix, Arizona

Short of being able to afford the time and money to visit the Congo for ourselves and arrive just as any particular celebration would be happening for us to see these types of costumes used in their native environment, this is the next best thing.

Caroline Wise at the Musical Instrument Museum in Phoenix, Arizona

Let’s get back to Frank Thompson and his project AZ Rhythm Connection. Frank’s here today leading a socially distanced drumming session, and the idea of a group activity after our year mostly isolated had us coming to the MIM and skipping out on a weekend trip that would have taken us up near Sedona or down to Douglas, Arizona. Seeing Frank on a glorious sunny day and having him guide us through some drumming patterns was heartwarming. Caroline and I each had a drum supplied by Frank, as did the other 20 of us for the 11:30 session.

Musical Instrument Museum in Phoenix, Arizona

Everything to this point was perfect. While Caroline visited the gift shop, I dipped into the concert hall in which we have seen approximately 70 acts over the years since the MIM opened. This was the first time in a year of isolation that my emotions of loss hit so hard. I took seat number 10 in the fourth row, where we’ve sat on many occasions, and felt the solitude of a place that should be vibrating with life. While the player piano bleated out some crap renditions of pop standards to a weak accompanying track, I thought about the occasions we’d talked with fellow music enthusiasts seated around us. The spotlight illuminated emptiness that wasn’t to be filled with the gongs of some Gamelan music, the cello of Interpreti  Veneziani, or the modern classical sounds of Kronos Quartet. We’ve experienced Dick Dale here, had our first encounter with the throat singing of Huun-Huur-Tu, and enjoyed the Ukrainian folk music group DakhaBrakha, and the Tuareg musicians from the Sahara Desert region of northern Mali known as Tinariwen.

Today, a bit of life is being had at the Musical Instrument Museum, but what it really shared with us today is how empty the void is. Like the masks in the exhibit, there is nobody behind them, and here in the museum, the general public is largely missing. The music echoes out of the past and might tease our memories, but the vibrancy of those who bring us into the ecstasy of rhythmic celebration is sadly not to be experienced right now. And while this has been true for the entirety of the past year, this was our first occasion to confront this reality with our own senses.

Can’t Get You Out of My Head

Can't Get You Out Of My Head

We recently finished watching the Adam Curtis documentary titled Can’t Get You Out of My Head. We almost quit halfway due to a bunch of perceived loose ends that we feared could not be resolved, but we persevered. The six-part series starts off exploring some coincidences that connect various events in our global history over the past 80 years. If it weren’t for this being a recommendation from a trusted friend, I would have given up. There were moments when it felt that the tangents were too tenuous to ever be stitched together in a meaningful way.

This should not have been said with any hint of certainty because in the eighth hour, it all came together for me, and while I never enjoy reading about spoilers, here I am about to do just that. Of course, I can claim this is for my own edification as the number of people who read these missives is small enough that the random chance that I ruin this series for anyone seems infinitesimally small. With that being said, do not read further if you don’t want my half-witted analysis of the documentary before you watch it for yourself.

Part 1 begins by looking at cultural changes that are unfolding on the post-World War II global stage and how politics and power are shifting with the times. We learn of Jiang Qing, who was Mao Zedong’s wife, and how she wanted to perceive herself in a man’s world and how she would set forces into play that would affect the communist state to this day. As the filmmaker takes us on a journey through the evolving world of China, we learn of Ethel Lillian Voynich, who wrote The Gadfly, which was carried around by millions of youth in the communist block. She was the daughter of George Boole, who gave us Boolean logic regarding her married name of Voynich; she was married to Wilfrid Voynich, owner of the famous eponymous manuscript. What’s happening in the documentary (unbeknownst to me at the time) was the role stories play in moving society.

This is ironic as it was just a few weeks earlier that I learned of Jemma Rowan Deer, Ph.D., who had recently published her first book titled Radical Animism, which talks about the role of storytelling in shaping the narratives that influence the direction of humanity, specifically her desire to inspire others to communicate stories that will help protect the environment. With her endeavor ending up as a textbook, it was priced a bit too high for me to delve into, which was compounded by the fact that this is the author’s first commercial effort. So I wrote her, and to my surprise, she sent me a PDF of the book for free. I’m yet to begin reading it as I’m trying to finish a book about the 17th-century French priest and philosopher Nicolas Malebranche first, but that’s another story.

Continuing with Can’t Get You Out of My Head, the filmmaker in part 2 looks at violence, from both protesters and those in power, to affect social change and how these efforts have proven futile. Part 3 pulls back the veil on how money and conspiracy play their parts. Conspiracy and uncertainty are themes that run throughout the series, so I shouldn’t imply that this is specific to part 3, but it was here that I started feeling this was swinging too deeply into conspiracy, and I considered giving up. What kept me going was the thread Adam Curtis was weaving that kept returning to the dissatisfaction and anxiety permeating societies around the earth.

In part 4, we start looking at the psychology of those who are being controlled by the power of governments and politicians. Let me note that finding complete copies of parts 4, 5, and 6 is currently quite difficult due to content that is in dispute with various copyright holders, and even the edited versions you are likely to find are typically of inferior quality. Now with more than four hours invested in the series, we’d slog through the rest regardless if we get dropped off in utter frustration that the work goes nowhere other than posing some questions after observing a bunch of interesting coincidences.

On to part 5 and a look at the “Lordly Ones,” the controllers in the shadows who enjoy their privilege but are afraid that if the masses understood the exploitation and fear that was dictating their situations, they’d rebel. Society around the world is in decay, and all the consumption and attempts to pacify populations appear to end in failure; maybe computers and artificial intelligence can preserve order.

Systems of information play a large role in part 6. Everyone is telling or selling a story, and we’ll come to understand by the end of the series that humanity cannot entrust the mechanics of order to a select group of corruptible power brokers but that the mass of people has to take a role in creating the stories that might influence better personal outcomes. Flirting with nationalism (due to lack of imagination to see better futures) is the least desirable path and not an inevitable way we must follow, and while Adam Curtis offers a glimmer of hope that we might choose a better direction, the haunting notion of a totalitarian society is lurking right within sight.

So, while not exactly an uplifting 8 hours invested in this bit of entertainment, the idea of storytelling being the central pivot point of what directs humanity certainly resonates with me. This then asks the question, when we continue to fail at creating our own fulfilling vision of life, who do we accept as being our storytellers when we are consumed by a steady offering of horror and fear?

Time, A Recurring Theme

Clock

How do you encounter time?

This morning, Caroline looked for a photo to share with a friend in Germany in a long-neglected old Flickr account we used to maintain; we reveled in the old memories that seemed to fall out of ancient history. It turns out that this look into the past was last updated in 2017, so it is not quite all that ancient. So how did so much time seem to pass in only four years?

It’s all about the experiences we had in the interim. With a pandemic year obscuring just what else was done in those intervening years, I had to check on what’s what. I found that since that last addition to Flickr in March 2017, we’ve been to Oregon 4 times, spending 44 days on the coast. We’ve gone rafting in Alaska for a couple of weeks and flew to Croatia, Bosnia, and Montenegro for more of the same. Strangely, we only spent a total of a few weeks in California; we used to spend that much time over there per year. We racked up nearly 60 days in Europe. Then there was the visit of our niece Katharina, who spent a few weeks with us before returning to Germany to attend university, and of course, we gave her a grand tour of the Southwest. Not counting trips around Arizona and not being extremely accurate in counting our travel dates, Caroline and I were out and about no less than 172 days over the past 1,400 days.

Add concerts, films, talks, seminars, workshops, books, and such, and I’d like to believe we spent a solid 25% of our time during the past four years exploring novelty. While I wish it had been even more, I recognize from many of my conversations and observations of others that Caroline and I lead active lives and are incredibly fortunate when it comes to being able to dedicate so much time to jumping out of routines.

This then has me asking, how do we experience time at home, watching TV, playing video games, and working compared to reading, exploring the world around us, learning, and playing? As we live on a day-to-day basis, it appears that time disappears as though it wasn’t even experienced. Stuck in routines dominated by work, television, and habituated routines with very little else happening in our lives makes time fly with little to no memory of what has passed. I can’t emphasize enough how detrimental I feel that living in a routine blind to new experiences is to the value we are able to draw from life.

But John, you’ve said all this before. That’s okay, this is one of my mantras, and as I age I never want to lose sight of how important my experiential place on Earth is. My diet, daily walks, writing exercises, and making plans that don’t always pan out are all part of the challenge of remaining in a mindset and modicum of health that I should continue as long as possible to be enchanted by the newness I’m able to explore. This is one of those reminders to myself.

The Good Old Days

Coffee Shop

The good old days are dead and gone; as a matter of fact, they never existed. The days I’ve already lived were just days where I found good and bad and not subject to comparison with some mythical earlier times that were somehow exceptional in such ways that I longed for them. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve done things and been places that have blown my mind, but they are not from some idealized time in my life where things were occurring in some such way that would imply a miserable present.

Why is this my topic today? I’m once again in a coffee shop trying to get my writing mojo on because I think that when I step out of my routine at home I’m able to turn on some magical skills that come to me when I’m elsewhere. Well, here I am at the place that is still my favorite nearby java bar, and I’m on the verge of panic, not inspiration. If you are reading this near the day I’m publishing this blog entry, you’ll know we are still in the pandemic days, and at this moment, with me at “my” spot at the counter, there are 11 people in this place without masks forcing me to ask myself, “Why am I here?”

I’m here because somewhere in the back of my mind is the thought that I can visit the good old days. Is this a recurrent theme on my blog? I can’t know without checking previous entries, but I don’t want to be bothered either about how much I repeat myself here. Anyway, I’m not one to want to self-critique during this writing exercise when I should be allowing words to flow. Here, though, is my problem at this moment: flow is difficult in a panic, and when combined with distractions from those who’d like to talk for a minute due to my lengthy absence, I end up elsewhere instead of here on the page.

If this was a routine like it was back in those days, my title references, I would ultimately eke out enough words that I could justify hanging out for hours, but after three hours here today, I’m just now at 370’ish words while remaining in constant vigilance about my distance to others and skeptical of those who are without masks. These are certainly not the good old days, but they are different days, which, in my book, are great days.

Once We’re There or Getting Lost

On the streets of Frankfurt, Germany

The breadth of how much planning is required to not have a happenstance journey into Europe, should we figure out the digital nomad thing, becomes extraordinary. Knowing that I’m already set on 13 base destinations over the course of a year, we have to maximize this opportunity to make the best of our circumstances while still allowing a healthy amount of serendipity to enter our adventure. I suppose what I really need is the knowledge of what our options are before arriving in any given city and having a familiarity akin to already living in each place for some period of time. As I peel the layers back, I find it daunting, and this is just as I’m checking our options in Vienna, a city we’ve already visited.

Biking, hiking, walking, trams, trains, subways, and occasionally boats will act as our modes of transportation. Open-air markets, museums, dining experiences, bakeries, churches, coffee shops, cooking classes, and events will all have to be mapped. Some of this planning will happen more than a year out, while some of it will have to occur in situ as there’s only so much one can glean on the horizon when looking from so far away. The point will be to arrive with a routine ready to be established where we don’t have to wonder daily what we might be doing.

I can already hear the voices of my past who lament that I’m killing spontaneity, but I have to insist that we enrich our experience by shoving two or three times more activity into a precious travel day. While it’s been said here before, we rise with the sun and venture into our world in the quiet of the day as the places we visit are stirring back to life. The rare nature of being able to carve time out of one’s routine to explore faraway destinations should never be taken for granted. We do not invest the time and money to gather popularity or bragging rights that we’ve collected another trophy; we intensely desire our visit to enrich our knowledge and pique our curiosity about the history and cultural amenities that may be unique to a particular destination.

As I write this, I realize how old-fashioned I must sound to those who pass through a location with no other need than sharing a fanciful photo that exemplifies the photogenic qualities of the influencer who’s popularising a particular corner or view. So, are we immune to chasing down the hot and trendy places? Heck no, we’ll gladly pounce on visiting Hotel Sacher in Vienna for a second slice of that famous 189-year-old recipe used for making Sacher Torte. And Horseshoe Bend up near Lake Powell in Arizona? Well, millions now grab selfies from the overlook; look closely at some of their photos, and one day, you spot us, waving from down on the river to those above who are spending 30 seconds up there.

Bitterness is the next realization I recognize, squeaking out my words, but am I bitter? I think I would have to admit that I am. Silly huh? What kind of unrealistic expectations do I have for people to travel with noble ideas of enriching their own lives instead of putting their egos on display? Didn’t I once want my own ego to shine through? Actually, no. There was no platform in the 1970s through the late 1990s that would allow the average person to put their vacuous experiences and fashion choices on display to build a cult of personality around. Well, there was, but not everyone got to be a rock star or famous actor.

I suppose that, to an extent, what I’m complaining about is a nascent change in an economy where social media allows participants to create new avenues of value while I remain on the sideline without the mindset that would allow me to benefit financially from my own exploits.

Well, this went off the rails of the original intent of writing about what we’d be doing once we landed in Europe to live there instead of just visiting. Such is the nature of the old man’s mind grabbing at straws to make sense of the world where NFTs (Non-Fungible Tokens) are driving the price of crypto-art to levels that are making millions for their creators. Maybe I should just focus on the travel planning?