I've had a weird thing about cemeteries as long as I can remember. As a child, I was fond of objectively creepy things; spiders, snakes, mystery novels. Add in teenage angst and a few emo bands that wrote about death and mausoleums and I was a lost cause for all things sunshiny.
When I was younger, I have a memory of going to a graveyard with my mom. She brought charcoal (or maybe dark, thick pencils...I can't remember), and paper. We would find headstones that had indistinguishable text from old age and the wear and tear of the weather. She showed me how to place the paper on the face of the stone and rub the charcoal in such a way that if I was careful, I could reveal the hidden names and epithets underneath. It was magical, in a way...a secret power. Now I am fortunate to live a few blocks from the largest cemetery in Chicago proper, Rosehill Cemetery. It is 350 acres large and houses over 100,000 graves. That's a lot of dead people, considering some of those must include mausoleums and family plots. The primary mausoleum, which looks a lot more like a museum than a crypt from the outside, contains the bodies of some of Chicago's most successful and wealthy dead: The Montgomery-Wards, the Shedds, and the Sears families. John and I go walking there at least once a week, sometimes more. We know some of the places where famous people are laid to rest, and sometimes we discover new spots. I like to walk by the Schwinn plot and send silent thanks for my bike from time to time. The tremendous irony of my love of cemeteries is my crippling fear of death. I don't know where it comes from. Maybe one hospital stay or painful accident too many (I wrote on this for my Skiing and Skating post). Maybe, also, it's because I have just begun consistently loving life a few years ago. Shout out to John. Whenever I think about dying, my chest clenches and my stomach churns and I break into a sweat. My mind races, and I go into hypochondriac mode, wondering if I have any new health issues that will usher me towards the light more quickly than I'd planned. It's no fun. So, with any fear, I suppose it's a process of staring it in the face or sitting with it quietly until it's just another thing in the room, rather than some enemy or assailant. I think that's why I'm subconsciously attracted to cemeteries. That, and their natural beauty, especially in my otherwise urban neighborhood. Rosehill Cemetery has tons of trees and flower beds. It's actually quite peaceful. I'm off to my next task. Living doesn't leave me much free time, but I'm enjoying it any way. Until tomorrow, stay safe, stay well, and stay kind. Much love, Cassandra
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Holy crap, have I had a lot going on lately. I am so pleased to have a full studio of piano and composition students, and I just heard I'll have my old job back when it's time. The weather is getting better, so I'm able to see more friends outside and have a social life (though I'm certain that I am more awkward than before). I can't believe how busy I feel, and I made the very conscious decision years ago that no way, no how, was I ever going to have kids. Nothing against kids; I'm just selfish with my time. (Shout out to all of those parenting in a pandemic.)
With the newfound business comes anxiety, and I realized throughout the course of the pandemic that my anxiety is much worse than I thought it was. I spend afternoons wondering why my hands are shaking and nights staring at my bedroom ceiling, fighting the urge to fidget on my phone. Sometimes it all accumulates and crashes on me the moment I let my guard down. You know the times: the perfect afternoon days, the deliberate once-weekly clearing of the schedule. It's like my brain knows when I'll have the space to have a panic attack. Thanks, buddy. Even conversations seem more stressful now. Maybe that's why I have been spending more time with writing lately. It's almost a way of experiencing dialogue, but with myself. And I'm always safe with myself during these talks. I can hit delete, I can back up content that I want to have forever (those who know me well know that I have an awful memory from my PTSD) and I can be truly honest, fearlessly, because I can call it art. That's a pretty cool space to occupy. Speaking of mental illness (woohoo! That's going to be a common thing in these posts. Sorry/not sorry) I came to a realization while working on my latest book two days ago. I won't share too much of the story, as I like to keep my creative cards close to my chest until it's time to play, but it's about the nuances of a romantic relationship. As I was trying to discover more about one of my characters, I wrote "the little hurts create the big hurt" on my whiteboard, which is actually a purple board. I don't know where it came from; it just popped in my head, and was entirely in the context of the story I'm trying to tell. Then, I realized that little brain blurt was true about real life too. I am diagnosed with complex-PTSD, which means prolonged bouts of trauma, lots of isolated traumatic events, or in my case, a little of both. I regularly get frustrated with my brain and my body. Why does it react that way? Why does it become incapacitated at times? Why can't I make it feel better? I can't put my finger on an isolated incident, but I know now that little hurts create the big hurt. I am sure that many of you can relate, whether or not you have PTSD. Relationships end because there are enough little hurts to terminate them, right? Enough mean kids tease you on the playground and you develop a mistrust of your peers. I can think of a plethora of examples. So perhaps the big hurt is healed at the root: the little hurts. I'm trying to isolate all of the painful minutia of my life, rather than focus on the major ones (assault, abusive relationship, etc.) and that's been interesting. I'm thinking of the friend who didn't pick up during the bad relationship, or the colleague who made a comment on my physical appearance after the assault. I don't know if it's going to work, but it's certainly a fascinating experiment thus far. I'll keep it up. Oh, and I have a few thank you notes to write to my fictional characters. Until, tomorrow, stay well, stay safe, and stay kind. P.S - Have you listened to Animal yet? It's all about this s***. All I want you to do today is listen to my new single, Animal, on Bandcamp and/or Spotify.
I also want you to check out the work of my collaborators, Spenser Forwood, Jordan Jenkins, and John Charles Weston. This single was supported and put out by Odd Pop Records - I highly recommend sending your music there, or following their social media! Now, go out there and fight one of your mental beasts! Until tomorrow, stay well, stay safe, and stay kind. And listen to Animal. Thank youuuuu. Much love, Cassandra I just finished reading Stephen King's half-autobiography, half-manual on how to write, "On Writing." It was phenomenal, and incredibly inspirational as I continue on my journey of trying to be a better writer.
One of the major takeaways is something that I've heard in every creative self-help book, which reminds me of my favorite Merce Cunningham quote: "The only way to do it is to do it." King recommends writing 3000 words or more every day. I am close to that goal with some consistency, but here's the caveat. Because I am also teaching and preparing to go back to gigging, my "free" aka my creative work hours are a little more slim. I haven't been reading much at all. I love reading. It's probably in my top three favorite activities, along with hanging out with John and traveling (especially internationally. Airdrop me anywhere and I will glom onto the thrill of adventure and find my way around, I promise you). I have frequently wondered why I haven't read more over the past year, especially with the free time. I fielded this question to a friend who absolutely had the answer. It's an escape, and escapes can have the potential to feel shameful if they're executed in excess. Alcohol, weed, TV, junk food, whatever your bag is...if you've ever gone on a binge or bender, you know what I'm talking about. I could have been cleaning the apartment if I didn't watch three seasons of "X". I could have gotten up earlier if I didn't have that last drink. I could have done my taxes if I wasn't catching up with an old friend. Once again, I lift a proverbial glass to the vices. Reading doesn't have negative side effects. It makes us smarter, and through the learning process, it makes us kinder. Empathy and education go hand in hand. (I will die on that hill. Fight me.) It helps us understand our fellow humans and the world around us. So strike that one off of your "vices" list, now. (P.S. My friend Bill wrote a song about what you should or shouldn't be doing. I highly recommend that you listen to it now.) Here's the thing: Life experience makes you more interesting. (That's another hill that I will die on.) Without having loved and lost, publicly wept after missing a connecting flight in Barcelona, and partied with strangers in the belly of a cruise ship, it's possible to be missing a flavor in the stew that is you. Of course, sometimes money is tight and/or we make the responsible decision to kick drinking or reckless spending for a period of time. We need a substitute activity. What better than reading? You can experience all of those things you don't have the money for, all the calories you shouldn't be eating and the drugs you shouldn't be doing-- right at your fingertips--through someone else's lens (...and body. Thank goodness, as I'm a huge Hunter S. Thompson fan). I can see the arguments for movies and television as well. I'm a fan of both, and admittedly have watched more in the past year than I probably have in the rest of my lifetime. The magic of a book is in the occasional lack of detail; it's the unidentified mushroom, the lack of detail in a character's hair color, the confusion as to the motivation for a crime. There is so much beauty in the obscuring of the minutia, or perhaps the timely revelation of it. I'm having a fantastic day. John and I took an 18-mile bike ride, including a quick stop at a patio for a coffee/beer, respectively, but the highlight was a few minutes at Myopic Books. That's my favorite used book shop in the city, and I always come home with a treasure trove. My pickings today included two Stephen King books (yes, dad, I'm catching up...), Oscar Wilde's "A Picture of Dorian Gray", the Guns N Roses biography, and Timothy Snyder's "On Tyranny", which should be a quick read. On deck before I get to these selections are: "The Sunflower", "Mrs. Dalloway", and a few family heirloom finds. I really love reading. In fact, my new book (eek!) is a drama/romance novel, and the main character is based around her love of books. So I'll consider all of these purchases and all of those slippery hours on the couch with 400 pages pinned up by my fingertips "research". That'll give me the mental pass to continue the deep dive. What are you reading lately? I love suggestions. Until tomorrow, stay well, stay safe, and stay kind. Much love, c This Friday, 3/12/21, my recently remastered single, Animal, will come out for your streaming pleasure. I haven't "released" anything on a major platform since I was sixteen, but that's a whole other story for another time. Anyway, I'm pretty excited.
What's Animal all about? A lot of things. Here's the easy part. On the surface, it's about a chance encounter with a mountain lion in the rolling hills of coastal Pacific California. I was on Artist Residency at Djerassi (see March-April 2018 blog posts for specifics on how amazing that was...) and I was avoiding a specific hiking path on the property because I was told that a family of mountain lions resided around that area. On one of my last days I decided that I was paranoid and opted to hike it. Caveat: almost every hike I took was a solo one. I loved my community time with my fellow artist residents, but I'm a loner at heart and also leaned into the solitude. On this particular afternoon, I left my phone and headphones at home, settled into the rural landscape and sad to be leaving. Once I got deeper into the tall grass I heard a snarl. It was like a growling kitten, but about two octaves deeper. I saw some of the leaves, taller than me, rustle and then slow. I raised my hands above my head, screamed at the top of my lungs, doing and odd stomp-dance in place, and sprinted all the way back to my studio. I was dripping with sweat when I arrived. I Googled mountain lion growls, and sure enough, they matched the sound I heard in the wilderness. I paused for a moment of gratitude and called John. "Are you sure?" He asked. "Yeah, I'm sure. Listen to this!" I sent him a short Youtube clip that showed what a mountain lion growl sounds like. After he heard it, I affirmed: that was exactly what I heard. I checked with my residency director who confirmed that she had picked up several startled artists from that exact area of the property who'd encountered the mountain lion family as well. That was all I needed. I poured myself a glass of wine and sat down at the beautiful baby grand piano to write. As I mulled over the language of the song, feeling badass as hell, I realized that this experience wasn't so different from the many instances in my life where I had been cornered, attacked or coerced by powerful or not-so-powerful men to behave in ways that would ultimately be damaging to me. I thought -- what if I was the mountain lion, and they were the little 4'10" woman walking by? It might not have ended so well. Weakness of the mind always results in weakness of the body, and my mind is sharp. As I get older, I settle into an odd strength. I feel in control of my surroundings, my relationships, and to a certain extent, my future. I know what I want, ya know? If I can stand up to a mountain lion, I can stand up to a sleazy agent. I can stand up to the pressure to do something I don't want to do. I can stand up to myself. Animals know how to do this. It's a survival technique, and I'm a survivor of many things. What better confirmation of growth could I have been gifted? So, yeah. I realized that day...I'm an Animal amongst the Animals for the first time. Anyway, that's the story. Don't wear it out. I won't. Ask any other questions if you have them. I'm an open book. Until tomorrow, stay well, stay safe, and stay kind. Oh, and stand up to your personal mountain lions. The key is to be louder than they are. Much love, c Today was day two of beautiful Spring weather here in Chicago. My weather app read 63 degrees Fahrenheit, but in the sun, it felt much warmer. (I just checked again; it's almost 70. Woohoo!) I was down to workout leggings and a tee shirt by the third hole of round one at our usual disc golf course.
As my favorite Kanye West and Fall Out Boy tunes blasted from my portable JBL, I felt as though I was in another dimension where things were normal. I could play outside, dance (awkwardly) in public and feel happy without feeling worried that I was breaking any health and safety rules. Sure, the ground was muddy and the usual angry drivers honked away, but it just felt good to be, and to be outside today, even with the plethora of pre-thaw goose poo on the ground. It's been rough, but I'm starting to get the feeling that the payoff from all of these dark months will be sweet. Like, really sweet. I'm ready to don my cheapest, finest sun dress and park it on our rooftop with a margarita, like, 359 days ago. I'm ready for a sunburn! I'm ready to be uncomfortably warm and concerned about my body odor in public! Bring it on! Unfortunately, I'm still waiting for my vaccine, but today was a nice confirmation that when that time comes, I might get a little bit more of a mental lift than I thought I would. I've been diligently dreaming and fantasizing about travel, lavish indoor dinners, and breathing heavily on my friends' faces again. I know we're not quite there, but I am starting to feel a pinch of hope, which isn't something I've felt in awhile. Don't you find it funny that within a month and a half of a different administration, one that embraces science, is seeking cooperation, and finds its roots in empathy, we have a vaccine rollout plan and an end in sight? Everyone vaccinated by July? Perhaps large concerts or music festivals come late summer and fall? I don't think it is a coincidence. I like to give credit where it's due, and in the case, I can't give much credit to the former administration. It's not a partisan thing; it's again, facts, empathy, and a politician executing their duty to their constituents: service. Part of service is listening. The other part is acting in the best interest in the most amount of people. In the case of Covid, the answer should have been an easy one. I'm glad we're finally getting the solutions that are, unfortunately, overdue. I'm glad that we're getting some eco-friendly legislation passed as well. I'm glad about a lot of things that, as a citizen and not a political mastermind, seem like no-brainers in terms of treating people with basic humanity. I try not to make things political, but as Britney Spears said, "Oops, I Did It Again." Anyway, back to the lovely day and some exercise. I think I've effectively tweaked something in my back from not playing for so long, but my serotonin levels are up, so I'll take it. I hope you're all feeling a bit better if you're like me, living in a more seasonal area of the country. And if not, I hope you feel better just knowing that millions of Americans are going to have protection against this virus so we can all move forward. Oh, I also look forward to getting my job back, thanks to the people who are following safety protocols, dealing with a bit more social distancing and mask wearing, and for god's sake, respecting public safety guidelines regarding travel and large gatherings. Y'all are the real heroes. Until tomorrow, stay safe, stay well, stay kind, and wear your damn mask! Much Love, Cassandra Today's entry will be fairly short and bland, dear reader. I recently updated my MacBook Pro to try and make some of its programs work faster and in return it gifted me with an onslaught of problems. After a rough morning (I'm feeling under the weather...the jury's still out on whether it's a head cold or depression), I managed to do some reading. After that I took a long walk to Lake Michigan with John and worked on a recording. Then I taught for about four hours straight, made some phone calls and tinkered with my MacBook. I even got sent up to the senior tech-smart-person! That's how important I am.
The sixty degree weather was a nice breath of fresh air, though. John calls a day such as today "the day", meaning, the day when winter is completely over for sure, and spring is on its way. I really hope that's the case. It's been a long winter with no thanks to the pandemic. I've enjoyed spending my days writing my second novel, which (teaser!) is a variation on a Romance novel, but it's not all that cute. It's a medium that I haven't tried before, so it feels very vulnerable and uncomfortable, but it feels right. Now that we're through "the day" I look forward to writing with the windows open or up on the roof or out on the balcony. I apologize for the scattered post, y'all. It's been a doozy of a day, and I didn't even get to my book. My brain is turning into mush, so I might leave it here...I promise something juicier tomorrow. Otherwise, flip back to yesterday's post, or the day before. Those are better. Damn technology issues, gobbling up 2 hours of my night. Welp, until tomorrow, stay well, stay kind, and stay safe. Let's all go take a nap. Much love, c This morning, John and I took a walk with two of our friends, another couple whom we are so lucky to know. Everyone had coffee (not me, though! I get the zoomies) and we strolled around Ravenswood enjoying the sunshine and beautiful weather. We talked about movies, books, projects, and how much we missed traveling. (Good lord, I miss traveling.) It was a wonderful way to start the morning.
Some relationships take work, especially in our pandemic-informed world. Sometimes you have to pick up the phone or tune into the Zoom meeting, and sometimes it's frustrating based on whether or not you like the person on the other end...but we do these things because there are certain societal expectations: work obligations, social obligations, the yearly Holiday call, etc. And then there are truly effortless relationships. These are the ones you drop what you're doing once you see the contact name light up your phone screen, or the ones that make you smile as you put the hangout into your calendar. The key to these relationships being flawless isn't necessarily having everything in common. I've realized that it comes down to one factor. It's all about being comfortable with being yourself, and both parties totally accepting each other as they are by creating space in conversation to speak and to listen, and most importantly to hear. Hearing also manifests in body language. For example, a phrase like "I see that you're looking a little blue today," when the other person isn't ready to say it can be a wonderful way to show that you're listening. It's a basic acknowledgement of the human experience, and it works healing magic. If I am being honest, I spend most of my time only being a pale shade of myself. I sit quietly over long dinners, entertain small talk and redirect it to take the spotlight off of myself, listen through my phone's receiver, only giving feedback to show that I am listening and that I care, and definitely turn down my quirkiness I have learned to embrace as I get older. I don't know exactly how I became conditioned to act this way, but I think the answer is somewhere in between the church pews where I was expected to be silent and sit or stand whenever someone told me to, and the barroom career I developed where I have to be someone else to show the room a good time. I'm not complaining. It's just a fact of life. We can't be all of ourselves all of the time (especially not in professional situations) and our ability to Chameleon our way through different situations is actually pretty cool. It can be a survival technique or a way to win at poker every time. It can even be fun. All I'm saying is that I'm grateful to have a couple of friends who let me feel entirely like myself every time. The relationship is effortless, the conversations are mutual and easy and extremely wholesome. I'm just feeling thankful right now, and John feels the same way, so I can be confident that the awesome-friend factor lies with these two lovely, kind people who were up for coffee and a walk this morning. If you stumble upon this, thank you. Until tomorrow, stay safe, stay well, and stay kind. Much love, Cassandra I never thought I'd return to teaching piano. I swore it off during my Master's program, mostly because the free time in my Master's program was gently (sarcasm) padded with several students as well as six+ gigs per week. After a 7am alarm, a rushed thirty-minute dress-n-run, an hour commute, and an often-hungover, but always exhausted $5 breakfast at the South Loop's Dunkin Donuts location, I'd barely make it to class on time. At 9:30am I would find my usual seat in Electronic Music class and try to get through the lecture's heady contents. After dismissal, sometimes I'd take a quick 15-minute nap in the studio next door, hanging onto the day by the skin of my teeth. Then, I'd go through my classes until 5 or 7pm, grab food, and hit the bar to work until 2am. I'd crash around 3 or 4, get up, and do it all again.
I did this during my undergrad as well, though I'm not sure if I worked harder then, or during my masters. Chicago is a different beast than Kalamazoo, but all I know for certain is that I was tired. I was tired in high school, too. In my 29 years, I don't think I've had much time to simply chill. Even as I write this, I'm coming off of 5.5 hours of private piano teaching, 2 hours of livestreaming, and an hour phone call. After all of that, I still have a few thousand words to plow through to hit my daily goal and this is a Pandemic with "free time" to burn. Do I have an off switch? And if I do, would someone please tell me where it's located? I'm finding ways to make every minute count. It's in my blood. It's how I was trained. I paid off my student debt in 2019. This is because I worked my face off in a relatively lucrative, yet abusive field starting at the age of twenty. I have, at times, felt resentment and confusion surrounding talks of student debt forgiveness. Where's my 10-50K check for time/life/friendships/opportunities spent on singing in bars to clear my credit score? I paid my dues! (Stay with me, my fellow 90's kids. I'm on your side.) I'm a millennial living in a major city who owns a home. I also owe the years of insomnia and anxiety to this as well. I think we need to place more value in the accountability of our education systems to ensure that students who go into debt can get out of it. I got to my financial status (not great, just stable...) in a field that is only tangentially related to my degrees. I don't compose for money. I don't perform art music for a living. I write and perform pop songs. I will do another post about the rungs of accountability and possible solutions that I believe in for everyone who paid to attend higher Ed. But right now, the crispy, candy-coated M&M-like outer layer is this: Student debt means money, yes. But more importantly, it means the emotional debt assigned to the minds and well being of college students. No one should have to pull all-nighters to please a professor, let alone endure degradation for one. By signing up for a career path, one should be guaranteed a job, or at least a shot at one. And for god's sake -- why is college so damn expensive these days? And the branded colleges that might get you a better shot at your dream gig...? They're unattendable (yes, I created that word) for most middle- and lower class families. How can we aim to thrive when most of my peers struggle daily with anxiety, depression, perfectionist complexes, and self-medication to turn off academia? Student debt means the repercussions of mental health for years to come. Student debt means the fear of unemployment. Student debt means giving of yourself beyond the resources that you have. College is a paid service. Often times, it doesn't pay dividends. There must be a solution, or at least a middle ground. I think smaller class sizes are a start, but that's for another post, dear reader. What did you get out of school? I'm honestly curious, and I'm open to experiences unlike my own. As far as my payout, I got some great friendships and a few extra tools in my toolbox, but we all deserve more than that. I am a curious person by nature. I love to read, write, and study whatever catches my attention. I will always crack the next book I can get. I will always turn on NPR to hear what's going on in the world. I will always splurge on museum tickets or concerts or travel. I was probably always going to be okay. But I always felt like I needed the diploma-stamp of school to validate me. I know this is a divisive issue, and a painful one for many. Some will call it a privileged conversation. Some will think that I'm being snarky or out of line. This type of post certainly bars me from higher-ed gigs in the future. But it shouldn't. therein lies the f***ed up paradox of academia (just like the starred-out use of an expletive in a vErY rAtIoNaL ArGuMeNt). Debate should be not only entertained, but welcomed with open arms in these institutions, as well as their hiring panels. Prove me wrong. I'm here for it. And by the way, I'm extremely qualified with a MM + 9 years' professional international gigging experience in several genres. *Yawn* But I'm sooo self involved! And I refuse to play by the rules, that is, after I played by them for many years. So I'll keep hanging around here and sharing my thoughts, expecting to be shut out of the very circles I graduated from with nearly 4.0 GPAs. In the meantime, I just want a few trauma-fried brain cells and 100K back. Is that too much to ask? This post was sponsored by my own homemade Yellow Scorpion and Scotch Bonnet pepper hot sauce: Spicy. Until tomorrow, stay well, stay safe, and stay kind. Much love, c I'm struggling with writing today. That's natural and fine, but I'm going to try and put the words down.
I stayed productive for most of the morning and afternoon. After my usual morning writing exercises, I had a sound check for my Songwriter Sunday, followed by a doc appointment and a few errands. One of these errands included picking up food for my lovely leopard gecko, Athena. (If you've never seen a Dubia Roach, definitely Google them, but don't be afraid: they're far quieter and less smelly than crickets.) The other involved picking up a package that had been shipped to an old address. One of these errands involved a very kind person who reached out to me via Instagram and let me know a delivery had been sent to his apartment with my name, address and apartment number on it. Wild! We chatted for a few days before I knew it was legit and I made my pickup. He was so sweet and congenial. It restored a bit of my faith in humanity, if I can use that old trope. Today was a good day because I felt like it was normal to run around and perform errands (double masked, of course). I usually hate going to the doctor's office, but today it gave me something to plan for; to be ready for. I'm feeling a bit spent from the six vials of blood drawn from my arm, so I might let myself relax a bit extra tonight. I know it's not a *huge* deal, but my pre-doc blood pressure and my post-doc blood pressure readings were entirely different; the latter dropped back down to normal. My anxiety is a very real thing and I'm trying to honor whatever my body is up to these days. Right now, my anxiety monsters are rallying for a Netflix night. (Don't forget to visit my post: "In Defense of Vices". Takeout and TV, here we gooooooo.) So, reader, I apologize for the short post, and I hope to get you something much more snackworthy tomorrow. Today was too exciting for this old lady. Until tomorrow, stay well, stay safe, and stay kind. Much love, c |