A Story About A Story

In Laurie Anderson's film Heart of a Dog, she recounts an episode from her childhood she'd told people about a number of times.  While retelling it one day, unsettling details she'd forgotten came rushing back.  In concluding the piece, she says:

...and that's what I think is the creepiest thing about stories.  You try to get to the point you're making, usually about yourself or something you learned, and you get your story and you hold on to it and every time you tell it, you forget it...more.

When I first started writing, it was an exercise in trying to find a way to describe the time when I was 5 years old that my parents gave me away for a year (Strangers With Chips).

Those events cast an occasionally overwhelming shadow over me but I managed to stay ahead of it.  When I did talk and later wrote about it, my shorthand became effective to the point where I edited a fair bit of detail and emotion from the story.  By the time my father passed away in August this year, it was no longer foremost in my thoughts.    

At the reception following the funeral, I managed a few perfunctory chats and sandwiches before trading the hubbub of the church basement for the less populated parking lot.  One and then another of my brothers joined me and we chatted a while before I decided I should go back inside.  

Before I could leave the lot, an aunt appeared.  She had a woman with her who I didn't recognize.  My aunt told me Linda had been looking for me.  I gave Linda the least confused smile I could as I struggled to place her.  She looked small, unwell, and definitely on the verge of something.  

As my brain went to work trying to figure out who this was, she choked out that she hoped I could forgive her for all the pain she'd caused me.  Please forgive me.  I'm sorry.  I'm so so sorry.

Linda.  Linda. Lin-da.  And then it hit me.  This shadow was one of the people my parents had given me to, only now, she was standing in mine.  

What's the etiquette for responding to a request for forgiveness that's 45 years in the making?  From someone who's tracked mud through your brain and left without cleaning up?  As she stood there swaying, fighting back tears, I told her it was fine, everything was fine, it couldn't have been too bad since I was still here.  She continued to whisper "I'm sorry".  

I'm not sure which of us stepped closer first but somehow our exchange led to a hug and for me, an exit strategy.  I gave her what I think was a reassuring smile and continued to nod and smile as I turned and walked away.    

It probably shouldn't have been such a revelation to me that this story wasn't mine alone but the whole encounter surprised me.  I hope she found in it the peace she was looking for.

Now I'm left to wonder - am I going to have to run into her ex-husband at some point and go through a version of this with him?  While that may never happen, if it does, it will likely be just after I've forgotten...more.

Singing Just For Me

Friday the 13th turned out to be quite lucky for me. I added another entry to my book of dreams by seeing Laurie Anderson in her Homeland show, part of this year's Luminato Festival.

From the time I was introduced to her opus United States by a university radio pal, I'd wanted to see her perform live but somehow, never managed it. This time, I was at the ready and secured 3rd row seats where there was little to distract me. I won't even mention the girl beside me who slept soundly through most of the show, apparently tired from having spent the first few songs making out with her boyfriend.

I'd read that Homeland was built around themes of fear, obsession and paranoia in America post 9/11 and was a little apprehensive. Would it be too dark and dire? Too like my heart? Could I bear it? I worried needlessly.

In and among the serious and reflective was a lot of humour, artistry and deft commentary. Aim was taken at Al Gore's trophy case, Oprah's couch, John McCain and several other worthy targets. She also ruminated on a variety of subjects from the beginning of memory to billboard underwear models and set it all to compelling music.

There were bursts of pounding energy and moments made for closing your eyes and feeling the universe expand (without the need for medication). There were songs and stories, some in Laurie's own voice and some run through her voice enhancer which provided surprising nuance. Sitting in with the accomplished band (percussionist Joey Baron, keyboard wiz Rob Burger and bassist Greg Cohen) for the last few numbers was none other than the legendary Lou Reed. It was a real treat to see and hear him play along and sing.

The set was simple with a few bare bulbs hanging and scores of small white candles arranged around the stage. While wrapped in Ms. Anderson's warm electronic embrace, I took them to be planets and stars (perhaps the need for medication?).

Although the show was conceived as one continuous piece, ovations and praise found their way in whenever possible. While it would have been wonderful to have an encore, I felt the integrity of the piece was better maintained without it. Watching the players carefully tiptoe through the array of candles for three bows was an end fitting enough for me.

Apart from the thrill of seeing and enjoying the show so much, the people-watching was of course exquisite. Rarely have I seen so many inflicting so much very personal style on the rest of us. I'll just call them Strange Angels and be done with it.

Thank you Laurie Anderson for a most excellent evening and I hope to see you again soon.