Monday, September 29, 2008
Just Like WALL-E
Otto was explaining WALL-E to grandma, and he said, "WALL-E has lots of junk in his house. Like us."
Thursday, September 25, 2008
With all those berries...
We made a berry tart. Max was a bit disappointed, as he was hoping for one more like the raspberry tart he eats on a regular basis at Cafe Selmarie. Theirs has a chocolate base and an apricot glaze. Ours...did not.

Otto enjoyed his "no berry" version.

Max's finished plate.
And with the remaining pound or so of berries, we made jam.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Fall Field Trip
Last weekend, we headed west for a little weekend road trip to participate in some autumnal activities: hayrides, apple picking, goat feeding. First we hit Caledonia for Angelic Organics' fall open house and picnic (this is the CSA who provides us our vegetables for half the year). We were late to arrive and missed most of the picnic, and we almost missed the final hayride (we were waiting patiently for about 30 minutes on what turned out to be the wrong hay rack), but we got our farm tour...and some pumpkins to boot. We climbed on the tractors, we fed the goats, we caught ladybugs and grasshoppers. We watched our long shadows as we walked through the fields and admired all the beautiful vegetables. We were the very last car in the lot by the time we finally said our goodbyes.
We spent the night at the Stratford Inn, located right in downtown Sycamore, where 10 years ago Martin and I stood and watched a parade during their annual Corn Fest. It was too early for that this year, but there were other things to capture our interest, such as a newly opened hot dog and ice cream shop that is open until 3 am and receives lots of traffic even in those very early morning hours. Indeed, we witnessed that traffic through our hotel window all night long, and in the morning the town was pretty busy too, with the early morning rush to the bakery (which of course we joined). It was one hopping little town. We had a funny dinner at a little restaurant called The Palette, where we had cheese fondue and crepes, and we had to at least give them a nod for grand ideas, if not so much for their execution.
The next morning, we were off to Hinckley to visit the small airport there for their annual pancake breakfast. We saw and got to stand beside and touch so many little planes and gliders, and Martin even discussed the possibility of a glider ride for a future visit. Lots of fun for all. Even if the boys still thought the most exciting part was finding an abundance of ladybugs on the sun-warmed airplanes.
And then we were off for more of our adventures: to Waterman, the neighboring town, for our annual trip to pick apples and raspberries. We have been going to Honey Hill Orchards for years, and although we've tried some other places, this one is still our favorite. We picked Cortlands and Jonathans and got a bag of Honey Crisp from the barn (too precious to allow them to be "You Pick," which I completely understand). We also picked 2 1/4 pounds of raspberries (I think Max might have picked and eaten a good 1/4 pound in addition to that). They boys were really excited about all the picking, and even though Otto doesn't even like raspberries, he told me he was picking more for me to eat because I love them so much. "I'm tired but I'm going to pick some more for you." He was really good at getting the just right red berries, and was happy that his low to the ground stance was so good for the job. Max managed to have a pretty full bucket despite all the eating, so I'd say we have two quality little raspberry pickers on our hands.
Yes, you've seen this trip before, but this time, there's a movie. With music by One Ring Zero, since nobody does "wandering the hay maze" music better than ORZ.
We spent the night at the Stratford Inn, located right in downtown Sycamore, where 10 years ago Martin and I stood and watched a parade during their annual Corn Fest. It was too early for that this year, but there were other things to capture our interest, such as a newly opened hot dog and ice cream shop that is open until 3 am and receives lots of traffic even in those very early morning hours. Indeed, we witnessed that traffic through our hotel window all night long, and in the morning the town was pretty busy too, with the early morning rush to the bakery (which of course we joined). It was one hopping little town. We had a funny dinner at a little restaurant called The Palette, where we had cheese fondue and crepes, and we had to at least give them a nod for grand ideas, if not so much for their execution.
The next morning, we were off to Hinckley to visit the small airport there for their annual pancake breakfast. We saw and got to stand beside and touch so many little planes and gliders, and Martin even discussed the possibility of a glider ride for a future visit. Lots of fun for all. Even if the boys still thought the most exciting part was finding an abundance of ladybugs on the sun-warmed airplanes.
And then we were off for more of our adventures: to Waterman, the neighboring town, for our annual trip to pick apples and raspberries. We have been going to Honey Hill Orchards for years, and although we've tried some other places, this one is still our favorite. We picked Cortlands and Jonathans and got a bag of Honey Crisp from the barn (too precious to allow them to be "You Pick," which I completely understand). We also picked 2 1/4 pounds of raspberries (I think Max might have picked and eaten a good 1/4 pound in addition to that). They boys were really excited about all the picking, and even though Otto doesn't even like raspberries, he told me he was picking more for me to eat because I love them so much. "I'm tired but I'm going to pick some more for you." He was really good at getting the just right red berries, and was happy that his low to the ground stance was so good for the job. Max managed to have a pretty full bucket despite all the eating, so I'd say we have two quality little raspberry pickers on our hands.
Yes, you've seen this trip before, but this time, there's a movie. With music by One Ring Zero, since nobody does "wandering the hay maze" music better than ORZ.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Record Rains
The rain continued all weekend long. We thought we'd cheer everyone up with a visit to Lula. But it didn't entirely work.

Have I mentioned that rainy weather really affects all of us? We are a deeply sensitive bunch. At least the Caiman enjoyed the pancakes.
After we all finally managed to eat something, we were much happier. We went to the park to run around in the rain. And we went to the pet store to check out some potential new roommates. So far, we're still not ready to commit to anything, but the kids had a lot of fun watching the gerbils. Otto was sort of sad seeing all the empty fish tanks for sale, and he said, "looking at all of these tanks makes me think of Tad." We got some bird seed for our outdoor pets, which seemed to satisfy everyone for the time being.
By the time we got home, we were all cold and wet and ready for a warm bowl of minestrone and a grilled cheese sandwich. I like to spend a rainy afternoon making soup. The kids played Lego and Playmobil, and Martin worked on the back porch (it's slowly evolving into a future playroom).
On Sunday afternoon, we went out to check out the state of the neighborhood. We got about 8 inches of rain this weekend, and many neighborhoods experienced severe floods (there are photos of cars completely covered on some of the local expressways, of basements and yards that are full of water). We were very lucky with our old house, which has held up so well in every storm we've experienced. The kid were happy to check out the water depth in the streets.
If all of the raindrops were lemon drops and gumpdrops...
The lot next to us, which is under construction, is definitely suffering from all this wet weather. Unless they were planning to have a swimming pool in their basement.
We holed up for the rest of the afternoon. We organized all the Lego Minifigures, sorting the heads, the hair, the hats, the weapons, the accessories, the body parts. Wow, we've got a lot of mix and match possibilities! Now we just need a tackle box to keep them in.

Have I mentioned that rainy weather really affects all of us? We are a deeply sensitive bunch. At least the Caiman enjoyed the pancakes.
After we all finally managed to eat something, we were much happier. We went to the park to run around in the rain. And we went to the pet store to check out some potential new roommates. So far, we're still not ready to commit to anything, but the kids had a lot of fun watching the gerbils. Otto was sort of sad seeing all the empty fish tanks for sale, and he said, "looking at all of these tanks makes me think of Tad." We got some bird seed for our outdoor pets, which seemed to satisfy everyone for the time being.
By the time we got home, we were all cold and wet and ready for a warm bowl of minestrone and a grilled cheese sandwich. I like to spend a rainy afternoon making soup. The kids played Lego and Playmobil, and Martin worked on the back porch (it's slowly evolving into a future playroom).

On Sunday afternoon, we went out to check out the state of the neighborhood. We got about 8 inches of rain this weekend, and many neighborhoods experienced severe floods (there are photos of cars completely covered on some of the local expressways, of basements and yards that are full of water). We were very lucky with our old house, which has held up so well in every storm we've experienced. The kid were happy to check out the water depth in the streets.
If all of the raindrops were lemon drops and gumpdrops...

The lot next to us, which is under construction, is definitely suffering from all this wet weather. Unless they were planning to have a swimming pool in their basement.
We holed up for the rest of the afternoon. We organized all the Lego Minifigures, sorting the heads, the hair, the hats, the weapons, the accessories, the body parts. Wow, we've got a lot of mix and match possibilities! Now we just need a tackle box to keep them in.
It's Starting to Rain
On Friday afternoon, we went to Oak Park to hang out with our friend Michele and her baby Tallulah. We had planned to go to Wonder Works. Max has always liked to go to that particular play place on a rainy day. We learned upon our arrival that they were closed for annual maintenance. So we made the best of our visit to Oak Park by paying a visit to Geppetto's. We also hung out at the library (wow that's a nice library!) for a while before Tallulah had to leave us for a nap. Our time with them always seems so short.
We didn't manage to take a single photo of this get together. Instead, I have these photos of the boys at the coffee shop, where we stopped in after our friends left us. It was too rainy to do anything other than eat cookies and watch the cars splashing up the puddles. And it was just the beginning of the weekend of rain.
Upon our return home, the boys staged a concert for their Lego figures (that's Red Kid Boba performing for a crowd of his closest friends).
We didn't manage to take a single photo of this get together. Instead, I have these photos of the boys at the coffee shop, where we stopped in after our friends left us. It was too rainy to do anything other than eat cookies and watch the cars splashing up the puddles. And it was just the beginning of the weekend of rain.
Upon our return home, the boys staged a concert for their Lego figures (that's Red Kid Boba performing for a crowd of his closest friends).
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Mr. Clean
Max told me today that he doesn't like to wash his hands so much, but his body just makes him do it. He said he sometimes gets mad at his body for making him wash his hands, so he'll get his sleeves all wet just to show his body how mad he is. His sleeves are almost always sopping wet, so I suppose he's mad at his body quite a lot. And all that dampness has made for some pretty chapped forearms.
We're wondering when the frequent handwashing will ebb again (it has been an off and on again thing for him for a couple of years, and we're hoping as the weather gets cooler and the air gets dryer that he will go on a bit of a hiatus). However, we are currently going through at least one dispenser full of soap per week, so I don't see an end anywhere in sight.
We're wondering when the frequent handwashing will ebb again (it has been an off and on again thing for him for a couple of years, and we're hoping as the weather gets cooler and the air gets dryer that he will go on a bit of a hiatus). However, we are currently going through at least one dispenser full of soap per week, so I don't see an end anywhere in sight.
In Response
Craig sent me an email and some photos in response to yesterday's blog post. Here's what they were doing while perusing our blog: catching grasshoppers. Absolute coincidence. I love it. Here are the photos they sent me of just what is in their hands.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Open Hands
We saw a sign that said "Open your mind, something might fall in." Somehow, Max kept thinking it said, "Open your hand, something might fall in." And so he sat by that sign for a while with his hand open, looking up at the sky. I loved watching my sweet little boy just waiting for...what, exactly? What could he think might just fall from the sky into his hands? I guess there are some possibilities. Rain. Snow. Dandelion fuzz. A grasshopper. A frog. I think he was hoping a small sparkly jewel would land there, like a magical raindrop. And why shouldn't that be at least a remote possiblity? Lately, we have taken several photos that seem to have our open hands there to display something (Max's tooth, for instance, from a few blog posts ago). I realized we took two of those photos on Sunday.
Max with a ladybug at the park.
Martin with some of our homegrown cherry tomatoes.
And from last week, Max's tooth.
So, what have you got in your hands?
Max with a ladybug at the park.
Martin with some of our homegrown cherry tomatoes.
And from last week, Max's tooth.
So, what have you got in your hands?
Life is Good 2008
Craig made this video of the unschooling conference in Vancouver. I've almost given up on making my own videos of our Portland and Vancouver vacations, since whenever we're with Craig & Co, Craig makes such good movies that I don't need to bother with making my own. And as always, he picks the perfect music, although I thought he should have saved this particular song for his family's imminent visit to Chicago, hee hee. Anyway, here's a peek at Life is Good, 2008.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
We've Lost Tad
When we got home last night, Max walked past Tad's tank and realized he wasn't inside it. Our little frog is about four months old now, and he has been splashing quite a lot these last few days—he has actually splashed water out of the tank a couple of times—and just yesterday morning, the boys and I found a larger tank in the attic and had discussed moving him into it after we cleaned it up. His current tank only has a small hole in the top, about the size of a dime. It was inconceivable that he could reach the hole at all, that he might then actually climb out, and even beyond that, somehow jump off the high table and down onto the floor without meeting his demise. But he was nowhere on the table or the floor or, in fact, anywhere (I'm sure he is somewhere, but he is nowhere we can find him).
We crawled around the house, looking under all the cabinets and appliances, taking everything out of the bathroom (assuming he might go there in a search for water), picking up toys and newspapers and all the clutter that seems to cover our floor. We could not find him.
The kids realized what this would mean right away. Max was the one who pointed out that Tad is a water frog and would not survive long out of the tank. He said he was worried we would find a dead Tad.
I was so amazed that Tad had actually escaped, and I was trying to think of some way to comfort the boys. I said, "Well, he must have been a pretty smart frog to have figured out how to get out. Maybe he is so smart he will find his way to water and be okay." And Otto replied, "He's not that smart! If he was a smart frog, he would know that outside of his tank was no water and he would die if he went out there. He wasn't a smart frog! I wish he was a smart frog!" I couldn't argue with that, it was so right. I should know better than to try to comfort my kids with anything less than the absolute truth of the matter. I suppose it was myself I was trying to console, anyway.
Max pointed out that maybe from inside the small tank of water, it actually looked like the exterior world was water, and that because Tad had never known anything but water, he just thought he could be out there in that other place, that much bigger place, and be okay.
Otto was despondent. He literally laid on the floor and sobbed. He said, "Now we have no pets."
Max said, "All we have are dead ants." (The ant colony we got last year died off after several months as well, but we still have the trails they built and some ant corpses inside.) Otto kept crying, and Max looked around some more to find Tad, but then he told me that if he kept thinking about it, he would cry too (I was amazed that he wasn't crying, he is definitely unpredictable).
Max was so comforting to Otto during the entire episode, knowing that Otto was incredibly sad. Otto had picked out the tadpole in the beginning and felt like it was "his" pet, even though we all shared in him. Max kept trying to say things to Otto that would make him feel better, and finally he suggested that they play Lego Star Wars and fight "the monsters" they have been battling together. Otto agreed this would be something to take his mind off Tad. But when we went to play, the game wasn't working. Otto cried, "Now we don't even have our pretend pets." And more moaning ensued.
Martin was able to fix the technical problem, thank goodness. And the boys played Star Wars for a while, but I kept hearing them mention Tad and then there would be more crying. We looked around some more, but no luck. We put his tank on the floor and a bowl of water near the bathroom in case he could find his way into either of them, but when we got up this morning, he was not there. I called the "Gilly Hotline" and learned that we should have put him in a larger tank as soon as he was a frog. It doesn't say this in our instructions, although there is indeed an order form to get a larger tank from them (and all sorts of options). The operator seemed to think we were downright irresponsible and offered no consolation whatsoever.
The boys have decided they want another pet, but not one that will die if it gets out of its tank. I guess that was too traumatic. We had been talking about getting fish for a while, but since those definitely would not survive if they got out of their tank, I think the boys might veto that idea. (I was getting really excited at the prospect of saltwater fish and some coral and sea sponges and sea stars, and we paid a visit to the Old Town Aquarium, where we oohed and ahhed at everything, but we realized we were not ready for the huge investment of the tank and those creatures before we had responsibly cared for other pets first.)
The boys are more interested in a pet you can actually play with, and of course that makes perfect sense. We had also talked about a rabbit, and this option was well received by all, especially when we learned that they can roam free in the house. But then we also learned that they tend to chew wires and if they roamed free, we would have to do some "rabbit proofing." Since we didn't even do much baby proofing, this didn't sound very appealing.
Otto used the opportunity to present again his case for a dog. I feel like we have failed any test of pet ownership that we have been given. I mean, what kind of pet is so unhappy with his life that he jumps from his tank? Certainly he didn't know he was committing suicide, but man, it's so sad to think of this little frog hopping around our apartment and to wonder where he went, how long he made it, and to have the almost impossible idea that maybe he really did make it out somehow and is okay. It's just astonishing that we can't find him, so I suppose I will hang onto this hope. Maybe he hopped in the toilet and was actually flushed into freedom (of course I don't want to think about what sort of life he would really be flushed into, yuck).
I wonder how much of this will remain with the boys into adulthood. I still remember the deaths of many of my fish when I was a kid, holding little funerals for them and everything. It's definitely a traumatic thing to lost a pet. I can't imagine committing to something like a dog. I can't imagine a dog being really happy here in our apartment. What if he also makes a break for it? Maybe if we do finally leave the city for the country. That seems like the place for a dog. Until then, we're going to have to reconnect with the dust bunnies, the only pets we really seem to know how to keep.
We crawled around the house, looking under all the cabinets and appliances, taking everything out of the bathroom (assuming he might go there in a search for water), picking up toys and newspapers and all the clutter that seems to cover our floor. We could not find him.
The kids realized what this would mean right away. Max was the one who pointed out that Tad is a water frog and would not survive long out of the tank. He said he was worried we would find a dead Tad.
I was so amazed that Tad had actually escaped, and I was trying to think of some way to comfort the boys. I said, "Well, he must have been a pretty smart frog to have figured out how to get out. Maybe he is so smart he will find his way to water and be okay." And Otto replied, "He's not that smart! If he was a smart frog, he would know that outside of his tank was no water and he would die if he went out there. He wasn't a smart frog! I wish he was a smart frog!" I couldn't argue with that, it was so right. I should know better than to try to comfort my kids with anything less than the absolute truth of the matter. I suppose it was myself I was trying to console, anyway.
Max pointed out that maybe from inside the small tank of water, it actually looked like the exterior world was water, and that because Tad had never known anything but water, he just thought he could be out there in that other place, that much bigger place, and be okay.
Otto was despondent. He literally laid on the floor and sobbed. He said, "Now we have no pets."
Max said, "All we have are dead ants." (The ant colony we got last year died off after several months as well, but we still have the trails they built and some ant corpses inside.) Otto kept crying, and Max looked around some more to find Tad, but then he told me that if he kept thinking about it, he would cry too (I was amazed that he wasn't crying, he is definitely unpredictable).
Max was so comforting to Otto during the entire episode, knowing that Otto was incredibly sad. Otto had picked out the tadpole in the beginning and felt like it was "his" pet, even though we all shared in him. Max kept trying to say things to Otto that would make him feel better, and finally he suggested that they play Lego Star Wars and fight "the monsters" they have been battling together. Otto agreed this would be something to take his mind off Tad. But when we went to play, the game wasn't working. Otto cried, "Now we don't even have our pretend pets." And more moaning ensued.
Martin was able to fix the technical problem, thank goodness. And the boys played Star Wars for a while, but I kept hearing them mention Tad and then there would be more crying. We looked around some more, but no luck. We put his tank on the floor and a bowl of water near the bathroom in case he could find his way into either of them, but when we got up this morning, he was not there. I called the "Gilly Hotline" and learned that we should have put him in a larger tank as soon as he was a frog. It doesn't say this in our instructions, although there is indeed an order form to get a larger tank from them (and all sorts of options). The operator seemed to think we were downright irresponsible and offered no consolation whatsoever.
The boys have decided they want another pet, but not one that will die if it gets out of its tank. I guess that was too traumatic. We had been talking about getting fish for a while, but since those definitely would not survive if they got out of their tank, I think the boys might veto that idea. (I was getting really excited at the prospect of saltwater fish and some coral and sea sponges and sea stars, and we paid a visit to the Old Town Aquarium, where we oohed and ahhed at everything, but we realized we were not ready for the huge investment of the tank and those creatures before we had responsibly cared for other pets first.)
The boys are more interested in a pet you can actually play with, and of course that makes perfect sense. We had also talked about a rabbit, and this option was well received by all, especially when we learned that they can roam free in the house. But then we also learned that they tend to chew wires and if they roamed free, we would have to do some "rabbit proofing." Since we didn't even do much baby proofing, this didn't sound very appealing.
Otto used the opportunity to present again his case for a dog. I feel like we have failed any test of pet ownership that we have been given. I mean, what kind of pet is so unhappy with his life that he jumps from his tank? Certainly he didn't know he was committing suicide, but man, it's so sad to think of this little frog hopping around our apartment and to wonder where he went, how long he made it, and to have the almost impossible idea that maybe he really did make it out somehow and is okay. It's just astonishing that we can't find him, so I suppose I will hang onto this hope. Maybe he hopped in the toilet and was actually flushed into freedom (of course I don't want to think about what sort of life he would really be flushed into, yuck).
I wonder how much of this will remain with the boys into adulthood. I still remember the deaths of many of my fish when I was a kid, holding little funerals for them and everything. It's definitely a traumatic thing to lost a pet. I can't imagine committing to something like a dog. I can't imagine a dog being really happy here in our apartment. What if he also makes a break for it? Maybe if we do finally leave the city for the country. That seems like the place for a dog. Until then, we're going to have to reconnect with the dust bunnies, the only pets we really seem to know how to keep.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Manifestation
I have been in an "Andrew Bird cloud" for the last two days. Yesterday was a rainy, dreary day, and it seemed like a good one to listen to "Weather Systems." I spent much of the day reading various interviews and watching YouTube videos of him, and of course writing up my blog entry about the concert. In between those times, I somehow listened to five of his CDs. Oh, and at some point in between all of that, I played Legos with my sweet boys and fed us all something.
The concert was so intense and amazing, I guess I was unwilling to let it go away. I was still trying to wrap my mind around an experience that was, well, mind-blowing.
I was also thinking how strange it was that Andrew Bird lives (sometimes, anyway) right here in Chicago and that I have never seen him, even though I am pretty certain we frequent the same local restaurant. As we were driving around today (listening to more Andrew Bird, by the way), I had a strong feeling we would see him. I thought perhaps we would drive past him on his bike, and he would hear his own music floating out of the windows and glance at our polka-dotted car with our sticker covered windows and our unschooling bumper stickers and just take a moment to consider just what sort of people were these fans of his, anyway?
But I had completely forgotten this feeling as we were wandering the aisles of Whole Foods, in a very unorganized fashion, as is our wont. Suddenly Andrew Bird walked right past me, and it just took my breath away. He went straight to the bulk bins, and I hesitated for a moment and considered if I should actually approach him and invade his privacy or just feel satisfied that I actually did see him.
You'd think after I'd basically manifested this meeting, I would have considered what I might say. And you'd also think after yesterday's lengthy blog post, I'd have my thoughts in some sort of coherent fashion and would be able to say something observant or thoughtful or the like. But instead, I just sort of fumbled my way through an interruption (I will not say introduction, because I forgot that part and just sort of blurted out something like, "You probably hate this sort of thing, but we saw you at Pritzker Pavillion," and I don't even know what I said after that. I don't think I even managed to say how much I was truly blown away by the show (although I suppose it was apparent). There was some gushing: I think I told him I had been obsessing about him since Wednesday, which is probably not the right thing that a star stuck fan should say to an artist that she has followed to the bulk bins. I think I also told him that Max had liked him from an early age (as usual, hiding behind my children to try to find my own comfort zone). At least I didn't go so far as to tell him Max is also interested in the violin, and by the way, where did he take those Suzuki lessons? Then I'd really sound like that pushy parent who is more in control of her child's musical interest than the child himself. I also refrained from asking him if he really did throw away all his action figures when he was a boy. With a house full of Star Wars figures and a child who does like a turn at Operation, that lyric piques my curiosity.
Instead I asked him about the line "salsify mains" from a song whose conception he wrote about on his blog. As soon as I was outside, I thought of several things I would have liked to say or ask, such as the confusion about "Plasticities" when it was introduced as a new song in Wednesday's concert, or to tell him how much I love "Measuring Cups," one of the songs I would have really wanted to hear live. Oh, and that gives me an opportunity to post EVEN MORE Andrew Bird lyrics, because these are the lyrics that come to mind when I think about what school would do to my lovely little boys, what conventional society as a whole could do to crush them. These lyrics are another confirmation that intense and sensitive little beings like Max and Otto could really lose something in this world where labels are quickly applied, children who are "different" are not often appreciated or tolerated, where spirits are crushed on a daily basis in order that they fit in with the rest of the broken spirits, because, presumably, that makes the world easier for everyone. And every day I am so happy that we are following this path, that my boys are living in freedom, that their beautiful oddities and really shiny spirts are fully in tact.
Get out your measuring cups and we'll play a new game
Come to the front of the class and we'll measure your brain
We'll give you a complex and we'll give it a name
Get out your measuring cups and we'll play a new game
Can't have the cream when the crop and the cream are the same
Liquid or gas no more than the glass will contain
When you talk about the hand of glory
A tale that's rather grim and gory
Is it just another children's story that's been de-clawed?
When the tales of brothers Grimm and Gorey have been outlawed
I think they're gonna make you start over
You don't want to start over
...
Put your backpack on your shoulder
Be the good little soldier
It's no different when your older
You're predisposed
That's all for questions now
The case is closed
Anyway, despite my deep admiration, I was my usual awkward, scattered, fast-talking, nervously-laughing self. He was very kind and truly patient with me, but it was probably way too much frenetic energy for his very mellow evening of grocery shopping. I almost always feel like I'd better get my sentences out quickly before the listener is bored or annoyed, that the faster I get things out, the sooner the listener can be relieved and be on his/her way, but then why should I bother to speak at all? Often, I will decide that is the better route, to not speak at all. I wish I could have been much cooler and just said something along the lines of, "That was a mind-blowing performance. You are amazing." But since I wasn't at all cool, I'll focus on this amazing thing: I actually ran into Andrew Bird within hours of thinking that I would. It makes me feel like I could manifest almost anything—and that of course makes me slightly nervous. It occurs to me that if I really do want to manifest something, I'd better be darn sure I will know what to do with it when it appears.
The concert was so intense and amazing, I guess I was unwilling to let it go away. I was still trying to wrap my mind around an experience that was, well, mind-blowing.
I was also thinking how strange it was that Andrew Bird lives (sometimes, anyway) right here in Chicago and that I have never seen him, even though I am pretty certain we frequent the same local restaurant. As we were driving around today (listening to more Andrew Bird, by the way), I had a strong feeling we would see him. I thought perhaps we would drive past him on his bike, and he would hear his own music floating out of the windows and glance at our polka-dotted car with our sticker covered windows and our unschooling bumper stickers and just take a moment to consider just what sort of people were these fans of his, anyway?
But I had completely forgotten this feeling as we were wandering the aisles of Whole Foods, in a very unorganized fashion, as is our wont. Suddenly Andrew Bird walked right past me, and it just took my breath away. He went straight to the bulk bins, and I hesitated for a moment and considered if I should actually approach him and invade his privacy or just feel satisfied that I actually did see him.
You'd think after I'd basically manifested this meeting, I would have considered what I might say. And you'd also think after yesterday's lengthy blog post, I'd have my thoughts in some sort of coherent fashion and would be able to say something observant or thoughtful or the like. But instead, I just sort of fumbled my way through an interruption (I will not say introduction, because I forgot that part and just sort of blurted out something like, "You probably hate this sort of thing, but we saw you at Pritzker Pavillion," and I don't even know what I said after that. I don't think I even managed to say how much I was truly blown away by the show (although I suppose it was apparent). There was some gushing: I think I told him I had been obsessing about him since Wednesday, which is probably not the right thing that a star stuck fan should say to an artist that she has followed to the bulk bins. I think I also told him that Max had liked him from an early age (as usual, hiding behind my children to try to find my own comfort zone). At least I didn't go so far as to tell him Max is also interested in the violin, and by the way, where did he take those Suzuki lessons? Then I'd really sound like that pushy parent who is more in control of her child's musical interest than the child himself. I also refrained from asking him if he really did throw away all his action figures when he was a boy. With a house full of Star Wars figures and a child who does like a turn at Operation, that lyric piques my curiosity.
Instead I asked him about the line "salsify mains" from a song whose conception he wrote about on his blog. As soon as I was outside, I thought of several things I would have liked to say or ask, such as the confusion about "Plasticities" when it was introduced as a new song in Wednesday's concert, or to tell him how much I love "Measuring Cups," one of the songs I would have really wanted to hear live. Oh, and that gives me an opportunity to post EVEN MORE Andrew Bird lyrics, because these are the lyrics that come to mind when I think about what school would do to my lovely little boys, what conventional society as a whole could do to crush them. These lyrics are another confirmation that intense and sensitive little beings like Max and Otto could really lose something in this world where labels are quickly applied, children who are "different" are not often appreciated or tolerated, where spirits are crushed on a daily basis in order that they fit in with the rest of the broken spirits, because, presumably, that makes the world easier for everyone. And every day I am so happy that we are following this path, that my boys are living in freedom, that their beautiful oddities and really shiny spirts are fully in tact.
Get out your measuring cups and we'll play a new game
Come to the front of the class and we'll measure your brain
We'll give you a complex and we'll give it a name
Get out your measuring cups and we'll play a new game
Can't have the cream when the crop and the cream are the same
Liquid or gas no more than the glass will contain
When you talk about the hand of glory
A tale that's rather grim and gory
Is it just another children's story that's been de-clawed?
When the tales of brothers Grimm and Gorey have been outlawed
I think they're gonna make you start over
You don't want to start over
...
Put your backpack on your shoulder
Be the good little soldier
It's no different when your older
You're predisposed
That's all for questions now
The case is closed
Anyway, despite my deep admiration, I was my usual awkward, scattered, fast-talking, nervously-laughing self. He was very kind and truly patient with me, but it was probably way too much frenetic energy for his very mellow evening of grocery shopping. I almost always feel like I'd better get my sentences out quickly before the listener is bored or annoyed, that the faster I get things out, the sooner the listener can be relieved and be on his/her way, but then why should I bother to speak at all? Often, I will decide that is the better route, to not speak at all. I wish I could have been much cooler and just said something along the lines of, "That was a mind-blowing performance. You are amazing." But since I wasn't at all cool, I'll focus on this amazing thing: I actually ran into Andrew Bird within hours of thinking that I would. It makes me feel like I could manifest almost anything—and that of course makes me slightly nervous. It occurs to me that if I really do want to manifest something, I'd better be darn sure I will know what to do with it when it appears.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Andrew Bird in Millennium Park
After 10 days of almost nonstop sun and heat, the skies were cloudy yesterday, and it looked like a rainy night. We had been planning to see the incomparable Andrew Bird (violinist, guitarist, whistler, poet, Dr. Stringz, bicyclist, wonder) at the Pritzker Pavillion, the outdoor venue of Millennium Park. It was something I was really looking forward to, and as the skies darkened, I was feeling very sad, already preparing myself for the end result, that a) we would not even venture downtown, or b) we would go and get caught in a downpour, grab all our boys and all our stuff and make a run for it, missing the bulk of the concert. But neither of those options proved to be true. When I consulted with Martin at about 3pm, I was prepared to let my dream for the evening go, but Martin, thank his lovely little heart, said, "I think we should go." And so we did.
It was the most lovely evening. The skies were cloudy, but they were the perfect moody accompaniment for Andrew Bird, and only the tiniest bit of rain fell from the sky. It was cool, a hint that fall is really on the way, and we gathered on our blanket with our lawn chairs and our spread of yummy food—homemade bread, luscious farm tomatoes, grilled corn (now off the cob), cheese, and lots of cookies and crackers and the like for the boys. It was the perfect event to "end" our summer (although we're still hanging onto it).
The acoustics there are really good, although it was a bit too loud for the boys. It was hard to hear ourselves talking to each other, which sort of drowned out the few times they said they were done and ready to go (although their body language made it pretty unmistakable). But truly, it was a long night for them, as there was also an opening band, the Occidental Brothers Dance Band International, who lived up to their name (people were dancing and having great fun on the lawn). So we did leave the blanket and run around in the park for a while between acts, and the boys had enough fun there to carry them through to the main event, thank goodness, because I just couldn't pull myself away from it. Otto actually fell asleep, and Martin walked with Max around the park and took a closer look at the stage. We managed to make it until the very end, and I was so very happy with my darling boys for giving me the gift of this concert, which I really loved.
Here is Max at the moment he realized it was live music (we were a bit far away). He suddenly asked, "are people playing here or is it music?" which is his way of asking if it is live or recorded music. And when I told him it was live, his eyes got so big, and he stood up, and Martin had to pick him up and show him the band.
On our little intermission, we headed over to "The Bean," formally known as Cloud Gate. We love this sculpture and always find new ways to have fun with it every time we visit.
A group of people were having a photo shoot with the bean.
We had our own photo shoot, and we kept playing around the sculpture as the sun set and the sky changed colors and all the lights in the buildings started to glow. It is a magical time to be in the park.
We tried to capture a photo of us all inside the bean, where there is a 12 foot arch. It's not very evident behind us, above us, but our reflection is somewhere way up above us. (This photo is especially for you, Gillian.)
The crowd had grown quite a bit while we had been in the park. We arrived just as the WXRT announcer came on to tell us it would be simultaneously broadcast on the radio. We got back to our blanket. And then it began.
It is hard to put into words how truly phenomenal it is to see Andrew Bird live. Many times he would record a bit of music and then loop it (using this funky spinning victrola like thing), so that he could put the first instrument down and move onto the next one, or sing or whistle or whatever additional thing he wanted to do. He has largely been a solo artist, compiling all these sounds together with his own tight control, so it's an amazing thing to watch it all come together. It's more akin to watching Laurie Anderson perform than other, more "regular" concert experiences, but even that doesn't explain it. There was sort of a hushed reverence as we watched him creating things for us.
He didn't say very much, which fits his personality perfectly. Even in his own introduction of himself, he managed to muffle his last name, so that it was barely audible. But he said a few things which were enlightening, one of them being how really happy he was to be on this stage, which he had dreamed of playing even while it was being built and where he did get to play a brief 15 minutes upon its opening. It was the perfect place for him, and I kept pinching myself that he was playing in this beautiful location where we could actually go with our kids, where we could listen to him and see this amazing city behind him.
His lyrics are really fascinating, and his subject matter strays from what might be considered more typical topics.
Overprescribed
Under the mister
We had survived to
Turn on the History Channel
And ask our esteemed panel
Why are we alive?
And here's how they replied
You're what happens when two substances collide
And by all accounts you really should have died
Yeah, it's a lot of dark matter, which is also coincidentally the title of one of his songs. But somehow the way he sings them, they are just beautiful. Perhaps haunting and beautiful is a better way to describe them. He didn't actually sing this one, and I was trying to limit myself to lyrics from songs he performed, but I'm going to break my own rules and put some of those here.
When I was just a little boy
I threw away all of my action toys
While I became obsessed with Operation
With hearts and minds and certain glands
You got to learn to keep a steady hand
And thus began my morbid fascination
We were pretty close to the front of the lawn area, but it was still too far to see anything on the stage, except for the fact that there were the monitors. Yeah, three flat screen monitors adorned the stage. Oprah had been there earlier in the day, and apparently she left behind lots of lovely things, such as those. So even though we couldn't see everything that was happening, we could see a bit of it, and for that I was thrilled. Live footage of what was happening on stage was broadcast for most of the concert, and for a few songs, there were additional treats. For "Lull," they played a video, and they sometimes there was a sort of collage of the live footage and various images (for instance, there were lots of images of the looping spinning horn-shaped thingy, for which there must be a proper name, but darned if I know it) so that the footage of the band would get mixed up with that and make for wild and wonderful stage pictures.
Being alone
It can be quite romantic
Like Jacques Cousteau
Underneath the atlantic
A fantastic voyage
To parts unknown
Going to depths were the suns never shown
And I fasinate myself
When I'm alone
Oh, and this video of "Imitosis" is a pretty good introduction to Andrew Bird, if you aren't already a fan:
Why do they congregate in groups of four
Scatter like a billion spores
And let the wind just carry them away
How can kids be so mean
Our famous doctor tried to glean
As he went home at the end of the day
In this nature show that rages every day
It was then he heard his intuition say
We were all basically alone
We were very happy in to our spot, watching the sky grow darker behind the stage, noticing how the color of the structure changed with all the different lights. Everyone was mostly sitting on the lawn (and by this I mean, the people who were on the lawn were sitting instead of standing, not that the seating area was empty—as far as I could tell, the seating area was packed), so we had a nice view of the screens and a very tiny view of the live musicians.

This isn't our song, this isn't even a musical
Think life is too long, to be a whale in a cubicle
Nails under your cuticle
You're gonna grow old, you're gonna to grow cold
Before the sun can deliver you
And today was supposed to be the day
Molecules decide to change their form
Laws of physics lose their sway
And youthful indiscretion now is suddenly the norm
With the good kids sprouting horns
Today was supposed to be
Not just another day
Was supposed to be
Today was supposed to be opposite day
I dreamed you were a cosmonaut
of the space between our chairs
and I was a cartographer
of the tangles in your hair
He revealed that he was very superstitious and had felt like he was losing his voice during this performance, but then remembered he had forgotten about the monkey. He held up a cute little sock monkey, dressed in a suit similar to the one he himself was wearing. He gently set the monkey down behind him to watch over the show.
He also explained he was having some violin trouble: it had "exploded" with the weather, I think he said, and also that it exploded again on stage. He lost at least one string, and I saw so many bow strings flying around as he played that it looked like he had just gone down the slide with it, and all its hairs were electric with static. But he told us it would be okay, he just wouldn't be able to play any high notes. I am admitting my musical ignorance here, but I couldn't tell that high notes were missing. It all still sounded fantastic.
And there was one confusing moment for me when he introduced Plasticities, one of my favorites (oh, but there are so very many favorites), and he said it was a new one from the album due out in January. I think that perhaps the song he had just played was the new one (and when looking back, I am pretty sure he had just played something I didn't know, so that is probably the answer to all this), but I thought he introduced Plasticities as new, and I geared up for it and then was confused. That's something I do really love in a live show, to hear a bit about the song before I hear it. It's the bonus of being there, but I don't really expect much explanation from him. Whatever the explanation, it sent me into a moment of wondering, wondering if it was possible that he had confused the two albums, the one he has just released and the one he will release in January. It must be quite something to keep it all straight, when the music is pouring out of you all the time. He once wrote on his New York Times music blog "I never worry about the melodies drying up. Since I can remember, I’ve had melodies in my head. I chew my food to them." I love this image, and it gives me new appreciation of my little Max, who is always humming some sort of melody. But somehow, in the middle of all my confusion, I managed to enjoy Plasticities anyway.
We'll fight, we'll fight, we'll fight
For your music halls and dying cities
They'll fight, they'll fight, they'll fight
For your neural walls and plasticities
And precious territory
My favorite part of the concert was when he played "Fake Pallindromes." It was toward the end of the concert, and as soon as it started, hundreds of people came rushing from everywhere on the lawn, running down to the front of the lawn area, standing and dancing and screaming and so excited to hear that song, some jumping the barricade to be in the pavilion. I assume there was a similar frenzy happening closer to the stage.
My dewy-eyed Disney bride, what has tried
Swapping your blood with formaldehyde?
Monsters?
Whiskey-plied voices cried fratricide
Jesus don't you know that you could've died
You should've died
With the monsters that talk, monsters that walk the earth
I could no longer see the screens, all I could see were the backsides of many enthusiastic fans, but somehow I could not help but smile and laugh and be so moved by this display of excitement for the song...and this truly unique and amazing person. After a minute, I decided I also wanted to stand and see and dance and all of that too, so even with a sleeping Otto sprawled across my lap, I stood and watched the rest of the concert that way.
At the song's end and met with all the cheers, he said, "Thank you. Seriously. You don't know how much that means to me." You got the feeling that he was thrilled and somehow surprised to have such an enthusiastic response. Maybe his lyrics reveal so much about his inner thoughts that he is truly surprised when they are so well received, that people "get it" and "get him," at least as much as you can get anyone else, especially someone you only understand through fragments, or in other words, not really at all. And maybe it's the same for the music itself. "Seriously" was such a good choice of words, since that seems to be his general disposition. I was thinking of my sweet little Max with his serious and sincere disposition and wondering what sort of child Andrew Bird might have been. I'm always curious about these things.
The last song he played was "Tables and Chairs," and as he announced it was the last song, I think someone yelled out "will there be snacks?" because he said with a laugh, "Yes, there will be snacks."
Don't you worry about the atmosphere
Or any sudden pressure change
'Cause I know that it's starting to get warm in here
And things are starting to get strange
He looped a bit of violin so that it would play over and over, and he (and the band) left the stage. People kept chanting "Andrew Bird," and finally, after what was at least five minutes and probably more, the band came back out. It was the first concert I had been to in a long time where the band really made you want the encore, and it felt so right. He and the band sang an a cappella version of "Some of These Days," from the album "Thrills," which was indeed thrilling for us, since it was the album which first introduced me to Andrew Bird, so many years ago. (You know you're going to miss me, sweet darling, I'm going away.) I had actually seen him live during that album's release, with our dear friend Wendi, and I had no idea what I was getting into when I went, but she assured me that I would like it. She was so very right.
And then he thanked his parents for putting him in Suzuki when he was a kid and for always supporting him, no matter what he was doing. He is so sincere about everything that it's just very moving. He said, "this will be my last song," and he played an instrumental piece, I think it might have been the music for "Weather Systems." It was a more subdued but very complex piece that left you feeling strange and wonderful, just as the whole experience rightly should. The screens went to wavy lines, and that was it.
It was the most lovely evening. The skies were cloudy, but they were the perfect moody accompaniment for Andrew Bird, and only the tiniest bit of rain fell from the sky. It was cool, a hint that fall is really on the way, and we gathered on our blanket with our lawn chairs and our spread of yummy food—homemade bread, luscious farm tomatoes, grilled corn (now off the cob), cheese, and lots of cookies and crackers and the like for the boys. It was the perfect event to "end" our summer (although we're still hanging onto it).
The acoustics there are really good, although it was a bit too loud for the boys. It was hard to hear ourselves talking to each other, which sort of drowned out the few times they said they were done and ready to go (although their body language made it pretty unmistakable). But truly, it was a long night for them, as there was also an opening band, the Occidental Brothers Dance Band International, who lived up to their name (people were dancing and having great fun on the lawn). So we did leave the blanket and run around in the park for a while between acts, and the boys had enough fun there to carry them through to the main event, thank goodness, because I just couldn't pull myself away from it. Otto actually fell asleep, and Martin walked with Max around the park and took a closer look at the stage. We managed to make it until the very end, and I was so very happy with my darling boys for giving me the gift of this concert, which I really loved.
Here is Max at the moment he realized it was live music (we were a bit far away). He suddenly asked, "are people playing here or is it music?" which is his way of asking if it is live or recorded music. And when I told him it was live, his eyes got so big, and he stood up, and Martin had to pick him up and show him the band.

On our little intermission, we headed over to "The Bean," formally known as Cloud Gate. We love this sculpture and always find new ways to have fun with it every time we visit.

A group of people were having a photo shoot with the bean.

We had our own photo shoot, and we kept playing around the sculpture as the sun set and the sky changed colors and all the lights in the buildings started to glow. It is a magical time to be in the park.

We tried to capture a photo of us all inside the bean, where there is a 12 foot arch. It's not very evident behind us, above us, but our reflection is somewhere way up above us. (This photo is especially for you, Gillian.)
The crowd had grown quite a bit while we had been in the park. We arrived just as the WXRT announcer came on to tell us it would be simultaneously broadcast on the radio. We got back to our blanket. And then it began.
It is hard to put into words how truly phenomenal it is to see Andrew Bird live. Many times he would record a bit of music and then loop it (using this funky spinning victrola like thing), so that he could put the first instrument down and move onto the next one, or sing or whistle or whatever additional thing he wanted to do. He has largely been a solo artist, compiling all these sounds together with his own tight control, so it's an amazing thing to watch it all come together. It's more akin to watching Laurie Anderson perform than other, more "regular" concert experiences, but even that doesn't explain it. There was sort of a hushed reverence as we watched him creating things for us.
He didn't say very much, which fits his personality perfectly. Even in his own introduction of himself, he managed to muffle his last name, so that it was barely audible. But he said a few things which were enlightening, one of them being how really happy he was to be on this stage, which he had dreamed of playing even while it was being built and where he did get to play a brief 15 minutes upon its opening. It was the perfect place for him, and I kept pinching myself that he was playing in this beautiful location where we could actually go with our kids, where we could listen to him and see this amazing city behind him.
His lyrics are really fascinating, and his subject matter strays from what might be considered more typical topics.
Overprescribed
Under the mister
We had survived to
Turn on the History Channel
And ask our esteemed panel
Why are we alive?
And here's how they replied
You're what happens when two substances collide
And by all accounts you really should have died
Yeah, it's a lot of dark matter, which is also coincidentally the title of one of his songs. But somehow the way he sings them, they are just beautiful. Perhaps haunting and beautiful is a better way to describe them. He didn't actually sing this one, and I was trying to limit myself to lyrics from songs he performed, but I'm going to break my own rules and put some of those here.
When I was just a little boy
I threw away all of my action toys
While I became obsessed with Operation
With hearts and minds and certain glands
You got to learn to keep a steady hand
And thus began my morbid fascination
We were pretty close to the front of the lawn area, but it was still too far to see anything on the stage, except for the fact that there were the monitors. Yeah, three flat screen monitors adorned the stage. Oprah had been there earlier in the day, and apparently she left behind lots of lovely things, such as those. So even though we couldn't see everything that was happening, we could see a bit of it, and for that I was thrilled. Live footage of what was happening on stage was broadcast for most of the concert, and for a few songs, there were additional treats. For "Lull," they played a video, and they sometimes there was a sort of collage of the live footage and various images (for instance, there were lots of images of the looping spinning horn-shaped thingy, for which there must be a proper name, but darned if I know it) so that the footage of the band would get mixed up with that and make for wild and wonderful stage pictures.
Being alone
It can be quite romantic
Like Jacques Cousteau
Underneath the atlantic
A fantastic voyage
To parts unknown
Going to depths were the suns never shown
And I fasinate myself
When I'm alone
Oh, and this video of "Imitosis" is a pretty good introduction to Andrew Bird, if you aren't already a fan:
Why do they congregate in groups of four
Scatter like a billion spores
And let the wind just carry them away
How can kids be so mean
Our famous doctor tried to glean
As he went home at the end of the day
In this nature show that rages every day
It was then he heard his intuition say
We were all basically alone
We were very happy in to our spot, watching the sky grow darker behind the stage, noticing how the color of the structure changed with all the different lights. Everyone was mostly sitting on the lawn (and by this I mean, the people who were on the lawn were sitting instead of standing, not that the seating area was empty—as far as I could tell, the seating area was packed), so we had a nice view of the screens and a very tiny view of the live musicians.

This isn't our song, this isn't even a musical
Think life is too long, to be a whale in a cubicle
Nails under your cuticle
You're gonna grow old, you're gonna to grow cold
Before the sun can deliver you
And today was supposed to be the day
Molecules decide to change their form
Laws of physics lose their sway
And youthful indiscretion now is suddenly the norm
With the good kids sprouting horns
Today was supposed to be
Not just another day
Was supposed to be
Today was supposed to be opposite day
I dreamed you were a cosmonaut
of the space between our chairs
and I was a cartographer
of the tangles in your hair
He revealed that he was very superstitious and had felt like he was losing his voice during this performance, but then remembered he had forgotten about the monkey. He held up a cute little sock monkey, dressed in a suit similar to the one he himself was wearing. He gently set the monkey down behind him to watch over the show.
He also explained he was having some violin trouble: it had "exploded" with the weather, I think he said, and also that it exploded again on stage. He lost at least one string, and I saw so many bow strings flying around as he played that it looked like he had just gone down the slide with it, and all its hairs were electric with static. But he told us it would be okay, he just wouldn't be able to play any high notes. I am admitting my musical ignorance here, but I couldn't tell that high notes were missing. It all still sounded fantastic.
And there was one confusing moment for me when he introduced Plasticities, one of my favorites (oh, but there are so very many favorites), and he said it was a new one from the album due out in January. I think that perhaps the song he had just played was the new one (and when looking back, I am pretty sure he had just played something I didn't know, so that is probably the answer to all this), but I thought he introduced Plasticities as new, and I geared up for it and then was confused. That's something I do really love in a live show, to hear a bit about the song before I hear it. It's the bonus of being there, but I don't really expect much explanation from him. Whatever the explanation, it sent me into a moment of wondering, wondering if it was possible that he had confused the two albums, the one he has just released and the one he will release in January. It must be quite something to keep it all straight, when the music is pouring out of you all the time. He once wrote on his New York Times music blog "I never worry about the melodies drying up. Since I can remember, I’ve had melodies in my head. I chew my food to them." I love this image, and it gives me new appreciation of my little Max, who is always humming some sort of melody. But somehow, in the middle of all my confusion, I managed to enjoy Plasticities anyway.
We'll fight, we'll fight, we'll fight
For your music halls and dying cities
They'll fight, they'll fight, they'll fight
For your neural walls and plasticities
And precious territory
My favorite part of the concert was when he played "Fake Pallindromes." It was toward the end of the concert, and as soon as it started, hundreds of people came rushing from everywhere on the lawn, running down to the front of the lawn area, standing and dancing and screaming and so excited to hear that song, some jumping the barricade to be in the pavilion. I assume there was a similar frenzy happening closer to the stage.
My dewy-eyed Disney bride, what has tried
Swapping your blood with formaldehyde?
Monsters?
Whiskey-plied voices cried fratricide
Jesus don't you know that you could've died
You should've died
With the monsters that talk, monsters that walk the earth
I could no longer see the screens, all I could see were the backsides of many enthusiastic fans, but somehow I could not help but smile and laugh and be so moved by this display of excitement for the song...and this truly unique and amazing person. After a minute, I decided I also wanted to stand and see and dance and all of that too, so even with a sleeping Otto sprawled across my lap, I stood and watched the rest of the concert that way.
At the song's end and met with all the cheers, he said, "Thank you. Seriously. You don't know how much that means to me." You got the feeling that he was thrilled and somehow surprised to have such an enthusiastic response. Maybe his lyrics reveal so much about his inner thoughts that he is truly surprised when they are so well received, that people "get it" and "get him," at least as much as you can get anyone else, especially someone you only understand through fragments, or in other words, not really at all. And maybe it's the same for the music itself. "Seriously" was such a good choice of words, since that seems to be his general disposition. I was thinking of my sweet little Max with his serious and sincere disposition and wondering what sort of child Andrew Bird might have been. I'm always curious about these things.
The last song he played was "Tables and Chairs," and as he announced it was the last song, I think someone yelled out "will there be snacks?" because he said with a laugh, "Yes, there will be snacks."
Don't you worry about the atmosphere
Or any sudden pressure change
'Cause I know that it's starting to get warm in here
And things are starting to get strange
He looped a bit of violin so that it would play over and over, and he (and the band) left the stage. People kept chanting "Andrew Bird," and finally, after what was at least five minutes and probably more, the band came back out. It was the first concert I had been to in a long time where the band really made you want the encore, and it felt so right. He and the band sang an a cappella version of "Some of These Days," from the album "Thrills," which was indeed thrilling for us, since it was the album which first introduced me to Andrew Bird, so many years ago. (You know you're going to miss me, sweet darling, I'm going away.) I had actually seen him live during that album's release, with our dear friend Wendi, and I had no idea what I was getting into when I went, but she assured me that I would like it. She was so very right.
And then he thanked his parents for putting him in Suzuki when he was a kid and for always supporting him, no matter what he was doing. He is so sincere about everything that it's just very moving. He said, "this will be my last song," and he played an instrumental piece, I think it might have been the music for "Weather Systems." It was a more subdued but very complex piece that left you feeling strange and wonderful, just as the whole experience rightly should. The screens went to wavy lines, and that was it.
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