It's early morning. I did not sleep as well as I usually do. I am happy it is Friday. It is supposed to storm today and bring the temperatures down from the 90's. Summer is slowly fading, and some trees have already begun to turn. I hope to go for a run or hike this weekend, weather permitting. I have many projects I would like to start. One of them is creating an analog photography club. I would like to make posters to hang around town, but I don't have a printer at the moment. I need to settle on a name as well. A new store is opening in the arts district. They will focus on all things analog and even have a small film processing studio on site. I hope to partner with them and get more connected to other artists in the area, particularly analog photographers.
A rainy day off. I was supposed to take a trip to a museum in Greenville with a friend, but their clutch went out, so we are meeting for breakfast and bookstore browsing instead. They live an hour away from me, so it's difficult to make plans. They are the first friend I have made since moving to a new town. It's usually not difficult for me to make friends, but the people in this new town are very close-knit and not easily acquainted. We work in the same niche field, and we're both queer and in interracial relationships, which makes us misfits in the Bible Belt. I am looking forward to our conversations today.
I think it has finally stopped raining. The mosquitos and roaches have returned. The weather is warming again. I hope my peppers ripen soon. The habanero plant is giant, but summer is almost over and only this week did I notice bits of green peaking from the wilted flower. This evening, we had to make our own fun locked inside again. I played some vinyl, rolled a joint, and had family time. I feel slightly guilty, since I have told myself I would only smoke on the weekends, but I just really felt in the mood after days of gloom.
Saturday has arrived. Vern called Hassana late last night to see if she could help him at the farmers market this morning. She left early to catch the bus so that I could sleep in and not worry to drop her off. It's kind of nice having the quiet house to myself. A rare occurance! Somebody left their puppy outside, and it's been crying all morning. The cicadas are still humming, so summer isn't over yet. I've been eating peaches everyday for breakfast. I've started making my own yogurt to cut back on costs. I've found that if I don't eat yogurt, spicy food starts to upset my stomach. Now I understand why they call it "heartburn". I like chile too much to give up, so I must commit to yogurt every morning. Not too much. About a 3/4 cup of yogurt, a sliced up peach, apple, or berries, and fresh honey on top. It's delicious, but not filling for long. My friend Wes invited Hassana and I for dinner tomorrow. He is making us spaghetti and meatballs. I would like to take a dessert. I've never made tiramisu, but I think I'll try this weekend. First, I must bake a batch of lady fingers. It's best to make them ahead so that they can get a little stale and soak up more of the coffee. I hope Hassana brings eggs from the market. If not, I'll have to think of something else. Maybe shortbread cookies.
Wes is one of two friends I have made here. He is 94. He drives a Wrangler like me. He lives alone on 15 acres, but he is losing his sight and his hearing. His late wife was a pianist, piano teacher, and composer. Her name was Penelope. He built her a log cabin for her music studio. She had two Baldwin grands. She would use a microphone that housed a memory disc to record on. She would set up another microphone to amplify her piano through their sound system. Wes has given me several of her CD's. I'm amazed at the quality. She edited everything herself. I really enjoy her music, too. She was a very gifted pianist and composer. There are so many composers in this part of the country. It's quite inspiring.
It is Monday again. Work is slow this month. People seem to be scheduling more appointments for September. This weekend was a productive one. Hassana and I went to look at a Chevy truck for sale. She needs a vehicle, and a truck would be a very handy tool for transporting piano actions, farm tools, camping equipment, kayaks, etc. It is a 2002 Chevy 1500, extended cab. The seat adjustments are electronic, and the circuit board seems to be bad, so the seats are stuck in a position too far for my short legs. I hope it can be easily fixed. It's a V8, so the gas mileage will be miserable. It is otherwise in very good condition. I can tell it's been garaged most of it's life. No rust, minor bumps and scratches. The couple selling it seem very nice. We will officially buy it tomorrow after I get a cashier's check from my bank. It's a huge expense, but I'm making an investment for Hassana. It's impossible for her to get ahead without a vehicle. I told her that if this vehicle starts losing the household money, I will need to sell it. I hope she can find work soon.
Do you ever get in a fight with your partner without even knowing what happened? One minute life is good, the next minute it's all spoiled and you're wondering how y'all got there. Well, I know why. Communication. It's so difficult. Add the layers of cultural differences and language differences, things spiral. I hate it, because she is my best friend, and now I can't talk to her about the mundane because she is far away (emotionally). We both have our traumas. Relationships seem to highlight our traumas. They are the dumping ground of baggage. Will you tidy it up, or keep adding to the pile? It's easy to lose sight of the important things. The truly important things in life. Why y'all got together. The shared beliefs. The support. How you should strive to make each other's lives easier. When it becomes imbalanced, things get stressful. Things are very imbalanced right now. She has been without work for over 2 years. It's not her fault, and I know she has been trying, all while fighting the usual depression that comes with unemployment. I feel worn thin. I feel like I've carried this relationship for so long, but I'm starting to fatigue. I need some care, some provision. She was so romantic in the beginning. She made sure I knew she was thinking of me. Now, the gap has been widening. She is so distant. My cup is running dry.
Summer is ending and depression is beginning. It's still hot out, but the leaves have lost their vitality. Soon, they will start to change to yellow, mustard, burgundy, bright red, orange, and all variations in between, before they drop to be swallowed back into the earth. My cousin died. Liver failure. Her husband shot himself, and she jumped straight down the bottle. It was shocking how fast alcohol destroyed her. Her husband was a cop, and when she would occasionally dm me, it was these long, incoherent rants about his pedophilia. I wish I could call her crazy, but there is too much evidence in her grief. His family accused her of shooting him, but I doubt the police department would have let any wife get away with murdering one of their own. I worry about her son. He's a good kid. No one should have to lose both parental figures in such a tragic way. I'm not sure my aunt will be able to survive her grief. It seems my whole family struggles with alcohol and depression. Last week, I read "The Jungle" by Upton Sinclair. I picked it while looking for books about Lithuanian history. It was written in the early 1900's about a Lithuanian immigrant who works the meat packing factories of Chicago. It's a socialist manifesto, which became very obvious in the final chapters. It's brutalist realism was hard to read, but I did enjoy the book overall. Maybe my great-grandmother worked in the Chicago slums. Maybe that explains her violent nature. Maybe it takes several generations to shake off the trauma of leaving your homeland in search of a better life, only to be ground up and spit out by the great corporate industries of America.
I made a decision today. After research, networking, more research, thinking thinking thinking, and a couple warning dreams, I have decided to not pursue the harpsichord wire business. I am discovering that the historical keyboard world is heavily gatekept by some problematic individuals. They all are involved with the educational and historical institutions. They do not like outsiders unless you have paid your due. I refuse to pay. I have knowledge they do not have. They have knowledge I do not have. The difference is they want to capitalize on their knowledge. I want to share. There is still a way to maintain a healthy, successful way of life while ensuring the future of your trade is passed down through the generations without exploiting the younger ones. As we learn and grow and step into more elder-type roles, our focus needs to turn towards the youth. I want to make a sustainable way of life for the future. This does not happen when knowledge is kept by the few.
Instead, I'm going to pick up a new hobby. It may turn into a business, it may not. I have always been drawn towards the rosettes of harpsichords, guitars, and other historical instruments. The rosettes are cut from calf vellum and layered. Vellum is very expensive, so I will find some nice, heavy, cloth-based art paper to practice with. I will need to invest in a punch set. I would be able to use the punch set for other things like felt and leather. Maybe I can punch some fine piano felt just for the hell of it.
Next weekend, we are driving to Marietta to see Hassana's brother and meet his wife, daughter, and new-born son. The naming ceremony is on Sunday. He got us a hotel for Saturday night. Sunday, we will drive to Fort Mountain and camp for the holiday weekend. I am looking forward to it!
It is cool this morning. There is a chill in the house. Not an unpleasant one, but a sign that summer's end is nearing. The farmer's alamanac predicts a long, cold winter. I thought last winter was long and cold! The thing I hate most about winter are the short days. I can handle the cold much better if the sun is up. I've begun to run again. Since I have left the west coast, I have not found an exercise routine that I like. No more surfing, swimming, and quick hikes up remote mountain ranges. There are plenty of nice trails here, but they are crowded and not very strenuous. I've been unable to find adult-sized monkey bars to hang from. That was my favorite upper body workout. Climbing trees isn't cutting it. I think I'll be able to keep up running in the winter months. If I start making decent money, maybe we can go up to the mountains for some cross-country skiing or snowboarding. That might make the winter more bareable.
So much has happened this past week. We drove down to Atlanta in the Chevy. Halfway there we stopped at an Eastern European restaurant, formerly a BBQ joint. They still had some decorations up from the previous owners, but added a TV playing Russian music with beautiful landscapes and inspirational sayings. I ordered potato dumplings and some kind of beet salad. Hassana ordered a beef pie pastry thing and dolma. The food was great. I think a lot of Eastern Europeans work the farms in the western Carolinas. We made it to Atlanta around 7 and met Hassana's sister-in-law. She had food prepared for us even though she was home alone with a toddler and a newborn. Hassana's brother was at a wedding. We left before he returned home after Hassana found us a place to stay (since her brother hadn't).
Because it was a holiday weekend, most hotels were booked. We came to a Rodeway Inn. An Indian man greeted us, checked us in, and gave us our keys. Dogs were not allowed, so we had to sneak Frankie in and pray she didn't bark. As we were unloading the truck, I watched a woman in a neon green tube top and matching tight skirt lead a slouching man to a room upstairs. Hmm. There were several men hanging around the motel, popping in and out of hallways and doors. We made sure to leave nothing in the truck. The room was stuffy, but clean. We slept in our sleeping bags on top of the comforter. Hassana got up to find some teens trying to break into a car and hiding from a police car that pulled up. We didn't have much rest, but at least it wasn't as bad as the place in Las Cruces!
I couldn't wait to get out in the morning. I wanted to hike along the Chattahochee before the naming ceremony, but it seemed everyone had the same idea for their Sunday morning too. The parking lots were completely filled at the first two trailheads. The third was across the river at a National Forest station with a rafting outfit and beautiful trails. Wildflowers in bloom, butterflies, banana spiders, and everyone with their dogs! The calm before the storm.
So. The naming ceremony. I was expecting a baptism-like ceremony in a church with a potluck after. It was sort of like that, minus the church and water dunking. Hassana and I prepare the room, which was the clubhouse in their apartment complex. We make an arch of balloons and decorate the walls and various shelving. We are not seasoned decorators, so the overall affect was a bit sad. We leave to gather anything left at the apartment, plus the key lime pie I made, and head back to the clubhouse. It was full of clapping and singing by the time we got back. The room turned hot and stuffy fast. Children crying and screaming and running everywhere. Men and women belting in easy harmony for Jesus. A pastor who wore all black with a clerical collar like a Catholic priest was at the helm. He said a prayer. Another hymn was sung. He holds the baby, who was perfectly asleep the entire time, and blesses him "May you be the head, and not the tail. May you be at the top, not the bottom." Etc, etc. More singing. Hassana's brother was dressed in all white, with a big white robe that he carried. Black shiny shoes adorned his feet. He was quite striking. His wife was beautiful. She did not look like she gave birth a week and a half ago. Her dress was gold and glittering, with a matching hat, and a emerald purse and matching slippers. Their 2 year old was just as beautiful, but she cried for hours, maybe mourning her babyhood.
Then the food was served. So much food. Puff puff, jollof rice, fried rice, salad, egusi, pounded yam, chicken, and fish. Everyone eats and brings tupperware to take the leftovers home. My pie was melting fast, and the Nigerians were too scared to try it. The church goers were polite, but distant. They stared at us like they had never seen a interracial lesbian couple before. The pastor did not approve. How dare we disgrace Jesus Christ in his presence! He kept pronouncing "Jesus" like "Cheesus". They were a part of ECWA (Evangelical Christians Winning All), which felt really cultish. I can see how immigrants would fall prey to these organizations. They offer community support, and I could see that Hassana's brother and family were well taken care of. Nobody seemed particularly joyous or genuinely happy, though. Just tired and going through the motions. The men and the women naturally segregated. The women tried to make polite conversation with Hassana. The men didn't dare approach. I was ignored. It started to really sink in what kind of culture Hassana escaped from. These people would easily stone us to death in certain parts of Nigeria. The children were sweet. I liked how they were allowed to run around and be kids. We were the only ones eating pounded yam with our hands, and a little boy kept scolding us for getting our hands dirty. We certainly made a scene.
We left when the wine started to pour, and went back to Hassana's brother's apartment. We tidied up the place, checked on the dog, and waited for the party to arrive. The men came first with all the chairs and coolers from the ceremony. I helped carry the chairs back, and I could tell that made the men uncomfortable, but they were happy for the help too. The gender roles are so extreme! I almost took my skateboard out with my dress on to really give them a show, but I liked my dress too much to risk a rip. We packed up so that we could make it to the campsite before dark. We were given so much food, it fed us for over a week. Hassana's brother and sister-in-law were grateful we came. It was good to meet them too. Her sister-in-law was very good to us.
Now, for the camping. We get to Fort Mountain right about 30 minutes before sunset. It had been raining steady for some time now, with no signs of stopping. A ranger helped direct me to the platform tents. I thought we would be able to pull the truck right up to the site, but no. We pull into a dirt lot, where a volunteer camp host was at. He gets out, sees what site we picked, and asks "Number 5?! Gee, you really want to be away from people. That's at the top of the hill! Lemme get my raincoat and I'll show you". We hike across the street, down a guelph, across a stream, and up up up. I get the idea, thank him, and run back to the truck to unload everything. It's still raining steady and the sunlight is nearly gone. We had to make 3 trips each to get all our gear to the site. Luckily, the platform gave us some shelter, so we had a dry place for the tent and our belongings.
In the morning, the rain had cleared, but it was still too wet to make a fire, so we settled for some warm coffee and breakfast. Our campsite was great. Far enough away from people, but close enough to run to town for supplies. We spent the first day recuperating from Atlanta. The second day, we hiked a 9 mile trail that turned into a 10 or 11 mile trail due to an insufficient map. We saw 3 bears on the hike, and when we returned, I noticed one of our bins was overturned. A bear had raided our site! I thought we secured everything in the bear box, but we forgot the coffee grinder, and the bear really wanted that caffeine! It ripped a hole in the tent, tried to chew a propane canister, and took apart the grinder. Shockingly, nothing was broken. Hassana finally understood why we had to be so careful securing things away from the tent. We made our dinner and relaxed by the fire, giving our feet a rest.
Early the next morning, just before dawn, we hear a bear at the bear box. It's trying to get inside. We hear the latch opening. We hear a giant bang. Hassana smells jollof rice. Did it get in? We swear we closed it up and latched it properly. Hassana, the dog, and I are at the screen of the tent listening and waiting. After some time, maybe just five minutes or so, the bear leaves. We wait until the sun has risen to get out of the tent. Frankie immediately charges into the forest to chase off our intruder. We see that the bear had knocked over the bear box, ripping it from the concrete slab, but it didn't get inside. It had gotten one latch open, but the second latch held tight. Our neighbor camped out at #4 had packed up and left. He must have been spooked. We pack up camp, then head to the lake for a waterfront picnic, then make the scenic drive home. All in all, a great mini-vacation.