To the Graduates: A time capsule of life and advice

From a time when we could attend commencements in person and get sunburned. Photo by the author.

"Bloom where you're planted."

// attributed to St. Frances of Sales, Bishop of Geneva (1567-1622)

Graduation ceremonies were pretty different this year. Instead of baking under the sun or freezing in the rain, friends and family members sat in front of their computers, dressed in their caps and gowns. Their names were not mispronounced in front of their classmates and colleagues. Speeches were shorter than usual, since giving (or watching) Zoom speeches can be ... well, you know. Acting as dean, my cousin moved the tassel of his daughter’s mortarboard from one side to the other. She and many others have graduated, but this year's milestone was muted by pandemic, injustice, and unrest.

In these strange times, I offer the words of friends who, four years ago, shared glimpses of their college lives with me. For various reasons, those words had been forgotten and unread until now -- but I am so glad I rediscovered this treasure trove. Although these friends wrote during pre-pandemic times, their stories remain relevant. They spoke of uncertainty and disillusionment. They spoke of hope, and even assurance, in the midst of the expanse of life ahead of them.

Here I have included a curated portion of their responses, which are lightly edited but still speak for themselves. I only regret that, for attention span's sake, I am not able to include more of the words and stories I received. (I originally asked sixteen questions.) Some of the participants permitted me to use their first names or first initials, while others chose to remain anonymous. See the bottom of the post for some more information about them.

Whether you are in the class of 2020, the class of 2016, or are simply going through a transition, I invite you to explore this time capsule with me.

And in the time-honored tradition of graduation songs that stir up memories and nostalgia, I've included some musical accompaniment for this look to the past, in order to look forward.

Late night tracks / Jean Chaumont

From a September 2016 concert with pianist Michael Bond in Hopewell, New Jersey

Recently I've been on a bit of a jazzy kick, thanks to the movie musical La La Land. My feet have been tapping ever since I left the theater. That opening scene alone is worth the watch, but the rest of the soundtrack is a great repeated listen for its splendid fusion of jazz, pop, latin, and bits in between. For better or worse, I find that Ryan Gosling's character and I have a similar taste for big band jazz. I like my horns brassy, my rhythms quick, my saxes sassy. (Fun fact: No body doubles for that pianist!)

And yet, I'm drawn to tonight's listen: a more melodic and contemplative form of the genre, courtesy of French guitarist and composer. Jean Chaumont. It's not exactly music to fall asleep to. It's no Kenny G (thank goodness -- no offense, KG). Clearly it's kept me awake. It's thoughtful, sometimes challenging, hitting me in a way I can't quite place.

Miscellanea, etc. / 01 Dec 2016

Even though Christmas music has been blasting in stores since mid- or even early November, I haven't been ready. Hearing Mariah Carey belting "All I want for Christmas is yooooooou" typically brings me delight (particularly in this context), but these days I cringe. Forget "Jingle Bell Rock." My ears are only ready for gentler seasonal music like the Nutcracker suite, or possibly Vince Guaraldi's jazzy Peanuts Christmas soundtrack. That's about it.

I'm not usually a grinch by any means, as Christmas is one of my favorite times of the year for festive and religious reasons. I've just been tired of the overflowing intensity of the news cycle and our world in general. First there was the election and the frenzy leading up to it -- now still ongoing. Then Thanksgiving whirled by, with the holiday-ness of the holiday season being thrust upon us without as much as a pause.

But perhaps December 1st and the creeping crescendo of cold weather makes it more "okay" to embrace winter and Christmas to come. I am slowly coming around to it. It feels more okay not to be "ready." Advent started this past Sunday for many Christians, and I am embracing the side of it that is about the long journey to Bethlehem.

So as a reflection of my (and perhaps your) mixed state, in this edition of miscellanea you'll find some articles about and not about the holidays:

Late night tracks / Fantastic Negrito

These days if I can't fall asleep, the last thing I want to do is stare at a computer screen. There are all kinds of studies these days that talk about the havoc wreaked by screens and modern electronics on our sleep cycles (for teens and the rest of us).

But here I am again, and my music of choice tonight is Fantastic Negrito. I might have first heard about him on NPR, but those are vague recollections. It was his first single, "About a Bird" (above), that hauntingly drew me in. I bookmarked it. I also bookmarked an article on Consequence of Sound, detailing his life story and the genesis of his album The Last Days of Oakland. I read it. I was intrigued. I then kept going, listening to the album in its entirety. I took a chance on him.

A birthday observed

The Tall Man and Grandpa in 2013, celebrating their birthdays and love for blue checkered shirts

I've always been a birthday person. Or maybe it's more accurate to say I am a birthday observer.

When I was younger, I kept mental track of my family and friends' special days and always had a card ready to hand deliver. As people dispersed -- moved away, went to college, grew up -- I started mailing them. Then life got busier, and I started sending texts and emails, or the occasional Facebook wall post if I didn't have time for a longer message. The messages shortened and became littered with emojis, but the content remained relatively the same.

For sure, birthdays are special occasions to celebrate a loved one's life. But they've also become an opportunity to acknowledge that person's significance to me, to catch a glimmer of their life. For those I don't see very often, this "hello - happy birthday - remember when? - how are you?" has become the very gateway to keeping in touch, even if our last encounter was in a distant phase of life.

Sometimes you just need to make light

This is a different spin on the Late Night Tracks series.

It's been a bit of a rough few weeks, and sometimes when life gets thick and hairy, you just need a laugh.  To make light.  To find joy in the midst of trying circumstances.  To see yellow in the gray.  And music can be a great source of lightness, especially because it can go on repeat.

Although I'm not a big pop music fan (even though secretly you may find some 90's-to-early-00's boy band music on my Spotify), I somehow really truly like this song by fellow Pennsylvanian Taylor Swift, "Shake It Off" from her most recent album 1989.  One of my students mentioned the song to me, and now I watch the music video every once in a while when I need a laugh and something to bob my head to.  (Surfing YouTube will also bring you to some thousands of parodies of this song, too.  Imitation is the highest form of flattery, right?  Maybe?)

(Edit: That viral 80s aerobics video plus the perfect soundtrack, with some insight into its genesis.  How come our opening ceremonies don't look more like this nowadays?)

I'm also occasionally nostalgic about my ballet days, so watching the dancing is a treat, too - like seeing a baby elephant among, well, ballerinas.  This outtake goes behind the scenes to see how Taylor and the dancers work together on the choreo.  I'm pretty wowed by the fact that she put so much effort into learning - then unlearning - all these different dance types.  The other outtakes are also worth a watch.

And because the album name is an ode to birth years and childhood, as a bonus I'll share a bit of myself from the wonder years:

Guess which one is me?

Late night tracks / Gueldy René

Another late night, and another singer-songwriter!  And lest you think my musical tastes run one genre wide, take a listen.  Gueldy René is different.  In his own words, "My guitar is my weapon, and peace is my goal."  He's fighting prejudice, injustice, corruption, and poverty with his music.  Whew -- makes me feel lazy in comparison!

Gueldy is from Bois Neuf on the outskirts of Cite Soleil, Haiti's largest slum.  The place has a violent reputation, but he and others are trying to change that.  I first heard about Gueldy from friends and acquaintances working in Port-au-Prince.  They launched an Indiegogo campaign to help record his first album, and with the help of many backers he's on his way to the studio!

While I've never met Gueldy in person, his charisma in the video above -- a song written in the wake of the 2010 earthquake (with a great little back up singer) -- and in others makes me like him a lot.  But it's his lyrics and the meaning behind his songs that really launch him beyond just "nice" music.



Here there is a clip from his song "Konbit," a Creole word for cooperative communal labor that is the essence of community and working towards a future together.  The lines that struck me the most:

"The winds of change are coming.

...

Konbit, konbit, to save our nation
Konbit, konbit to save our youth."

The song calls for education, for governmental accountability, for mutual respect, for "democracy free of demagoguery."  Even for clean canals and planted trees.  It seems like a laundry list of impossibilities, but there's progress being made through various communal efforts (like Konbit Soley Leve) and the help of outside organizations to get things rolling.

Back in 2011, I visited Haiti for a research fact-finding trip (or, a "I don't know what I'm getting myself into but here goes!" kind of trip).  The Tall Man (at the time my Tall Boyfriend) and I were too chicken to visit Cite Soleil during most of the week, but we finally threw reservations to the wind when we were given the opportunity to tag along with friends from Haiti Communitere, the NGO we were staying with.

What had I expected?  Maybe something scary?  I had been to various parts of other development countries before, but never in a post-disaster situation and never feeling so out of my element and exposed.  I have written a bit about this before but will write again that what I found was stunning.

One of my favorite photos from the trip

Clean, paved roads.  Planters with trees and saplings along the drainage trenches.  A nascent recycling operation to encourage people to clean out the clogged canals and earn some income.  This was accomplished with the initiative of a then-13 year old who was tired of having his shoes reeking with the stench of sewage and wanted things to be different.

So the neighborhood of La Difference within Trois Bébés in CS transformed over time with tireless work from the community, and more neighborhoods are undergoing change as you're reading.  (There is even a Cite Soleil Peace Prize!)

Change (chanjman in Creole) comes with a soundtrack, and one of those voices is Gueldy's.

Good night for now!

Late night tracks / Leyla McCalla

Once again, it's a late night and I'm lazing on the couch, listening to songs on repeat.  And maybe the night has a certain velvety atmosphere to it because just like last time, I find myself serenaded by yet another singer-songwriter.  (Nothing wrong with that!)

Tonight's soundtrack features the talents of Leyla McCalla, a New Orleans-based Haitian-American singer with her hands strumming across an ensemble-full of instruments: cello, banjo, guitar - and probably others that are slipping my mind at this hour.

What I enjoy the most is the simplicity of the instrumentation and yet the richness she is able to achieve with such elements.  Some of her songs are in Haitian Creole (kreyol ayitien), some are in English, some are folk songs or based on Langston Hughes poems, but all are soulful and lilting.  It's like having a living room jam session, Nawlins-style.  And something more.

From her new album released earlier this year, Vari-Colored Songs, one of my favorites is "Mesi Bondye," a folk song sung to the jaunty tenor banjo.  Some lyrics (kreyol and English):

Mesi Bondye, gade kijan la mize fini pou nou. 
Mesi Bondye, gade kisa la nati pote pou nou. 
Lapli tonbe, mayi pouse. 
Tout timoun ki grangou, pwale manje. . . .

Thank you God, look how misery has ended for us. 
Thank you God, look what nature has brought for us. 
Rain has fallen, corn has grown. 
All the hungry children are going to eat. . . .

The conclusion is: let's dance!  That should be the conclusion to many things, right?

I didn't find a great video of this song, though, so included a different kreyol song about the Arbonite region of Haiti, with great instrumentation (plus, just watch the musicians get into the groove!).  And here's another:

I discovered Leyla through the Twittersphere, which is serendipitous and makes me feel indebted to Ta-Nehisi Coates, who happened to hear her music in his friend's car.  (Yes, 140 characters can contain this much information.)  This little episode showcases one of the reasons why I even joined Twitter in the first place: the ability to discover unexpected new things, like bread crumbs in the forest when you weren't even looking for food (or a trail).

Late night tracks / Blair Bodine

Blair Bodine — Rosaline from Michael Batchelor on Vimeo.

This is one of those nights when the Tall Man goes to sleep before I do, and I'm whiling away the time with a mix of business and miscellany.

If you're like me, you have a gazillion tabs open at once, like a "reading/watching" list that always seems to grow when I'm not looking.  Well, these late nights are good for reducing those tabs and actually paying attention to those links I opened to "save for later" (when "later" sometimes means "never").

Well, if I could choose someone to croon me to sleep, it would be Blair Bodine, a singer-songwriter and non-profit gur current residing in Nashville.  If you listen to the video above from a recent recording session with Kettle Pot Tracks, you'll agree!

I remember meeting Blair my freshman year in college, when she became my suitemate.  We discovered that we had grown up just 10 minutes away from each other.  Her smile and mighty bear-hug laugh could fill any space.  Her room was the "loud" one in our suite, with late night jam sessions spontaneously bursting out in the wee hours and, during the day, the activity of an equally loud other suitemate who liked to knock the rhythms of Christmas carols on the wall between our rooms.  My own roommate ("Anne from Japan") and I ("eLo") were a bit more mellow in comparison and attempted sleep at 10 or 11pm each night.  We mocked for going to bed soo early for college freshmen, but that just meant that we got nearly nightly serenades from Blair.

Take a listen ... and another ... and be both inspired and rocked into a happy, soulful slumber.

'Tis the season to...

... love.

Do I think about this, now in the season of Advent leading up to Christmas?  Sometimes, but not particularly.  I've been occupied with wrapping gifts and writing cards, scheduling dinner dates and planning our honeymoon.  None of these are bad things, really, and they do give joy to others and even myself.  But in midst of this, I'm reminded that there are still more opportunities to show love, maybe to those I don't think of first: the poor, the hungry, the thirsty, the lonely, the marginalized, the powerless.

A video by Advent Conspiracy, with a song by Chris Tomlin on the topic.  Enjoy!

Season of preparation

Season of anticipation.

///
via Thomas

[musica] j.montague / fly on

Discovered via the Design & Thinking documentary blog.  The electronica + banjo puts me in the right summery mood.  Instrumentalization reminds me a bit of Sufjan - but unique on its own.  Check out more of Jacob Montague, or get your own cool widget.

July 4th : The best view in the "house"

Yesterday, a festive group of GCFers and friends neatly staked out a great spot along the Memorial Dr. side of the Charles River to watch the fireworks.  Thanks to Sam, Yong, and Mark, our area was well claimed, big enough for ~30 people, and - perhaps most importantly - directly in front of the fireworks barge.  We had plenty of food, games, and good conversation to keep people going through until the concert's start and then the fireworks at 10:30pm.

This was my first 4th of July celebrated in Boston, and it was a splendid one.  We were right near one of the main speaker towers and screens broadcasting the Boston Pops performance from across the river.  When the US Army Field band came on with their marches in full swing, it made me nostalgic.  "Stars and Stripes Forever," in particular, has long been a favorite.  Once upon a time I could actually play that piccolo solo ... can't imagine getting back into shape for that again, but who knows?

For Steph, who didn't see the smilies

I was very impressed with the 1812 Overture, the fireworks that followed, and then the main pyrotechnic display to end the night.  What a great show!  Here are some snippets from the night :

Study break

One track in the eclectic soundtrack accompanying late night thesis prep work ...

Makes me want to take a weekend trip.

[K'chea 3] : A happy bday beyond language

27 isn't a particularly notable number when it comes to milestone birthdays, but I have to say that it was probably the most unique celebration in recent memory. When else would you have a chorus of Cambodian primary school students serenade you?  I was somewhat hesitant to share my "one year older" news on the trip, particularly since we'd be heading to our group's new work site and I didn't think turning the focus on myself would be particularly appropriate.

But lo and behold, during our introduction to the Phoem Kok Primary School (the site of our constructed latrine), Savoeun (our contact at Habitat for Humanity) said something in Khmer to the kids and subsequently announced to me that they would be singing on behalf of my birthday.  I was really touched by this gesture, and even though I couldn't understand a word, it was still a great and completely unexpected way to celebrate.

That night after seeing the site, we had our first of many dinners at the local "5 star" restaurant owned by Sinouen, a woman who exuded a kind of strength and defiance both in the kitchen as master chef and in the "dining room" as proprietor.  Putthy (or, affectionately known as Thy Thy) whipped out an English-Khmer birthday song along with a handful of candles, and then we ended the night with a visit to a carnival at the local wat (= temple).

Splendid!

Rapid prototyping food

We're not quite at the level of a Star Trek replicator, the band Ok Go did introduce rapid prototyping - in the form of a laser cutter and thousands of slices of toast - to illustrate this music video:


Last Leaf

OK Go | Myspace Music Videos

(via the Food Section)

Oh the joys of stop motion and lasers...

Nothing else will do

Early mornings inspire these sort of songs.

Dwelling in song and rest

This song, especially the very simple piano intro / interlude and simple lyrics, speaks to a bit of how I've been feeling lately.

(Thanks to one of those mass emails sent to our fellowship email list ... good thing I didn't delete it, or else I wouldn't have discovered Audrey Assad.)

Faith among fall foliage

Once upon a time last year, we debuted the GCF worship band :

 After a year and a circuitous path taken ...

... and perhaps another circuitous route taken this year as well ...

... the worship band shuffled around, gained some new faces and retired other ones, developed diversity across schools, and adopted version 2 in this year's grad retreat back at Toah Nipi :

Lesson?  Great is God's faithfulness!  I will snatch a verse shared by one of the other band members, that encapsulates the joint effort well:

For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ.

1 Corinthians 12:12

11 of us, (literally and figuratively) under the leadership of the man friend, were enabled by a common Spirit to find time and practice together, harmonize and blend, listen for each other's melodious (and occasionally discordant) sounds, rehearse 3 worship sets, and even simply get along as brothers and sisters.  I was personally thankful for the opportunity to experience God's joy through worship with such gifted musicians, and amazed at the limitless grace given even when our practice time was short or when logistics didn't coast out as planned.  It was also humbling to have to surrender: surrender my role as worship leader to those equally or likely more competent, surrender the need to be needed, surrender perfection...  among other things.

But in return, the gifts given far outweighed and surpassed any prior expectations.  :]

Outside of worship, the retreat was satisfying - not physically restful, but a good time spent gaining insights into the woman at the well, canoeing on the cool water while singing Disney songs at the top of our lungs, hiking in literal loops and circles to Massachusetts and back (and getting minimally whipped in the face with stray branches), laughing hysterically at absurdities during a rowdy game of Psychiatrist, and eating delicious foods made by willing hands ...

... which are are among my favorite things :
good fellowship, good food, good praise+worship, all in the great outdoors of Creation (with ample crunchy leaves underfoot!).

These are the days

What a way to wake up in the middle of a long studio night-day: