The ALIVE hour

Well girl yourMouth is fullCan’t take one more biteThat’s what.You like someFat little squirrely thingCan’t get enoughThat’s what is What.Saving it for later?What later?What save?Allow me to introduce you to NowNow girl NowAin’t no later bullshitAin’t no future bullshitThem’s for rich peoplePlanningSavingFutureBankWhat do you think this is exactly?You think you on some yacht?You feel the breezeYou sailingThe wind touching youYou feel touchedSnap out of it NowSnapAnd don’t make me the bitchDon’t give me that look all sourI ain’t the one who did itI’m just the messenger

Welcome to The ALIVE hour.

Illustration: Shannon ColonAudio mixing / narrative / music: Chloe Riley

Things found in real life

* My own hand, waving back in the evening light of the lampshade

* The little pink baby stitches of this mended shirt

* This red against this white

Things found on the internet

* This essay “Some of Us Did Not Die” (passed along via my now-Vivaldi inclined friend Katie):

When the pandemic began, I couldn’t listen to what I used to listen to. Songs, especially their lyrics, from before the pandemic felt like a mockery, worse than denial. I didn’t have words for what we were going through. So I stopped listening to words.

I had to empty my mind of words so that my heart could learn a new language.

* The song Wichita Lineman. Have you ever listened to this song? Kind of sappy, with that sound of being right on the cusp of the 70s. Strings. Haunting for being so superficially uplifting. It pulls you towards it.

According to this, it contains the “greatest musical couplet ever written,” but you be the judge.

He said we hang on to songs because they are part of our “identity construction,” and that we are always trying to use them to get back to our lost paradise.

O sky O earth

O man

O time

O game we playO winds that rhymeO everything inside my head

O all that’s living, all that’s deadO far away

O here and now

O shaking branchO broken bough

O all before

O all beyond

O tree and life and duck and pondO what it isO what can be

O you

O you

O me

O me

Welcome to The ALIVE hour.

Illustration: Shannon ColonMusic + story: Chloe Riley

Things found in real life

* Everything blood orange. Like this cheese feast atop this handmade wood board — a Christmas gift from my uncle:

* Also this blood orange smoothie recipe via my friend Kate (and her friend Katie) who are both food geniuses. (Recipe here)

* This winter missive:

Things found on the internet

* This Betty White tribute:

Graced with bright eyes and a wide, dimpled smile, she radiated delight: delight to be working, delight to be alive, delight in conversation, delight in animals, but also delight in wickedness. She could turn a lilting voice to sharp ends, and a combination of these effects applied in different proportions — of innocence masking experience and experience informing innocence — would serve her through her career.

* This article on spiritually-oriented New Year’s resolutions:

Every time we act, our actions affect more people than we actually see. One of the hallmarks of Catholic social teaching is solidarity, recognizing that we are all connected as human beings and that our own well-being is tied up with the well-being of others. One small way to live that out is to pause before taking a particular action to think about the third person who will be affected by it.

So, for instance, if you send an angry email to someone, you will be affected by it first, and the person you send it to will be affected by it second, but who will be next? That person’s spouse? Their child? What will that effect be? Is it worth it? If we all thought a little more about the third person, we would likely be more careful with how we treat each other.

* This thought on what it means to be a person in the world:

We are living through a time when all the stories the larger culture tells us about ourselves are being rewritten: the story of what the United States is; what it means to be a man or a woman; what it means to be a child; what it means to love oneself or other people. We are imagining all of this again so that these stories can guide and comfort us rather than control us.

Hi. This is the end of season 1. Please take a moment to pause and flip your tape over to season 2. (Just kidding.) But, hey, maybe in the future we’ll do a special mix tape season based on a show of hands.

But also, please do stay tuned for season 2.

Also, also: if any part of this show is resonating with you, please consider supporting, at any level. Your support, your attention, your care, your feedback, in any fashion, is so appreciated. Thank you for listening.

The soil’s richAs black and dank as it gets in these partsIt’s the digging that’s getting medownIt’s that feeling, you knowWhen your arms acheAnd you’re wiping your forehead So thick the dripping sweat It’s blinding me, you thinkIt’s blinding me and so even if I find the thingI won’t see it I won’t recognize itBecause the two are different you knowIt’s why the ants don’t scatter at the sight of usWe’re too bigWe’re right there in front of themBut that’s not always enoughWell it’s like that, I’m telling youI’ve been hereAll dayFor monthsYears nowMy whole damn lifeAnd I’m telling you There’s no bottom to this thingIt’s a mistake Thinking you’re emptying out to an endLook aroundLook aroundIf death was the answerWe’d have stopped looking a long time ago

Welcome to The ALIVE hour.

Illustration: Shannon ColonFeaturing Robyn Riley + Chloe Riley. Music: Chloe Riley

Things found in real life

* Your letters / other ways of interacting which look like this:

* And this:

* And this:

* And this:

* And this:

* And this:

Things found on the internet

* This section from this profile of writer Lois Lowry. (She’s talking about the death of her son, how it stays with her still):

When he died, a friend of mine who was a Shakespearean actor sent me a quotation from “Macbeth.” In the play, Macduff gets the news that his wife and children have been killed, and he becomes inconsolable and incoherent. Another character says to him, “Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speak whispers the o’er-fraught heart and bids it break.” And I think that’s true. I think it’s something that literature does, that writing does, that speaking about things does. It keeps our hearts from breaking.

* This thought on letter-writing from writer Jami Attenberg:

Sadly, e-mail has triggered the decline of the handwritten note; I have seen its near-disappearance in my lifetime. I do not mourn the death of the printed letter in a snobby, East Coast, patrician way—“Where have our manners gone?”—but because I love objects, I love paper, and I love something that I can hold to my chest for a moment.

* This quote from Archbishop Desmond Tutu, who passed away Dec. 26 at the age of 90:

All I long for is a society that would be compassionate. A society that would be sharing. A society that would be caring. Now you can say to me, and I will admit it, that we have not seen an incarnation of that kind of society, the kind that you talk about. But we are ministers, we leave it to others to try to put flesh onto the dreams that we try to dream . . .

They say all these things about winter.That it’s about Stillness.Cold.The moment before.Before everything changes, finally BlossomsBut why do I keep feeling likeThere’s something else buried beneath all the wet Something olderNot just seasonal But beyond timeThat if I can just manage to see pastAll the dazzling whiteI’ll find something preciousSomething long misplacedBut maybeThat’s just my human desire to digA dog lost on an old scentHungry for the boneMy animal brain whimpering in so many words:More.Surely there must be more.

Welcome to The ALIVE hour.

Illustration: Shannon ColonStory: Steve Nelson. Music: Chloe Riley

Things found in real life

* You, sending me mail back. A more beautiful wreath there ne’er was:

* These Christmas postcards, written at the turn of the 20th century, to August Claussen and his family:

Dear Sister + Brother! —

Wishing you a Merry Xmas + A Happy New Year. Did not keep my promise about writing & have the La Grippe and have been home ever since Friday morn and do not feel much better now. Good-Bye

Amanda

A happy Xmas greeting to all

Dear Gus.

You missed it Sun. I was out hunting and got 7 rabbits in 2 hours with 9 shells how’s that for high. Come whenever you can and give Lizzie and Arthur Best Love from me.

Grover

Things found on the internet

* This post (also from Steve Nelson) on facing the darkness:

My fear was mostly, if not entirely, in my own mind, of my own creation. The woods, night or day, if paid the proper respect, was benign. And come evening, particularly, when the shadows closed and the world shrank, it was actually comforting, intimate. I became at home in the dark.

* These snippets of text from here, here, and here:

And it was these—the transitions, the secret places between the steps—that seemed to give the dancing its meaning.

There’s a widespread need to reconnect to all the things that make life worth living, and what better moment than now? What better way than with a feast?

Yet the song ends not with the word “forever” but with a repetition of the word “Sunday.” By this point in the show, the audience understands that an ordinary Sunday can become a forever, through inspiration, other people, and work.

* Mary Oliver’s “The Rabbit,” posted by my friend Katie:

DrivingDrunk on sameness  Among the rough ragged lines of winterAmong the flattened harvestAmong the grey gone world

When, looking up — Geese. Hundreds. Towing each other, being towed

And I didn’t pull the car over but something pulled me overWe were both moving, both travelers But my progress spins so slowlyAnd the shape they flock in seems so sure

It isn’t safeI keep reminding myselfTo look up like thatTo take your eye off the roadSo my gaze goes backBut even without looking, I feel them still Their hearts all collectively thrummingTo the beat of a place they're not yet sure exists

Welcome to The ALIVE hour.

Illustration: Shannon ColonAudio + music: Chloe Riley

Things found in real life

* This spinach “tree”

* These handmade Christmas cookie boxes, tied up with care

Things found on the internet

* This obituary of a gray wolf, looking for love in California:

OR-93, a member of Oregon’s White River pack, was born in April, 2019, near Mt. Hood, about an hour-and-a-half drive southeast of Portland. Wolves can be coarsely built, big-boned and thick-necked, but OR-93 was lean and lithe. He had the long legs of a dancer, a large black nose, and a resting smiley face.

* This tribute to the late feminist, writer, and practicing Buddhist bell hooks:

…hooks’s twenty-first-century writings about love as “an action, a participatory emotion,” and companionship were prophetic, a return to the basis for all that is meaningful. The social and political systems around us are designed to obstruct our sense of esteem and make us feel small. Yet revolution starts within each of us—in the demands we take up against the world, in the daily fight against nihilism.

And is it called infinity

The stuff that makes up you and me

Indefinite we roll along

and merrily

And do we seeing, ever really see

Objects: birds, a heart, a tree

Where roost they, what branch

Easier to fly away, to flee

Suppose I give you a copy, a key

And with it words of longing, a plea

To fit, to turn, to creak

Having the open door doesn’t make you free

Being or is it not to be

The door’s not so clamped shut upon infinity

It’s right there, reach out your hand

Stand with me and push into eternity

Welcome to The ALIVE hour.

Illustration: Shannon ColonAudio: Chloe Riley. Music: carefulGIANTS + Chloe Riley

Things found in real life

* This lone “can” mitten waving hello

* More of your letters.

(Haven’t received yours yet? Don’t you worry: it’s coming.)

Things found on the internet

* This piece on music and what it means to listen after living through (and continuing to live through) a pandemic:

“…perhaps it was a delayed reaction to the psychic tumult of 2020 — my wounded spirit forcing me to account more quietly for what we’d collectively endured (and are still enduring).”

* This tribute to Stephen Sondheim — composer, writer, seer of human beings who passed away on November 26 at the age of 91:

“Uncertainty, self-delusion, disillusionment: Sondheim knew that they could be as deeply felt as the primary-color emotions. His characters sang to think and to feel at the same time.”

Take a few minutes and listen to “Being Alive” with the volume up. It’s a really nice start to the day.

And thank you for listening. Thank you for being present with me. Have a great weekend.

Chloe

Hi. 

Today’s audio episode is above.

Next:

We are going to try a thing.

The following week’s “episode” is going to be me sending you (all 54 of you) a handwritten note. 

Your part in this is to receive the note. To receive. 

Your optional part in this is to receive the note and:

* Do something with it that feels meaningful

* Put it somewhere + take a picture

* Burn it

* Cut it up + make it into something else

* Write back

* Allow it to touch you

Those parts are optional. Like I said, the only role you’re required to play is to receive. If you think I may not have your address, you can go ahead and add it here. 

I am doing this because 

I want us both to think about this.

What do you want?

Do you want to know me?

Do you want me to know you?

Ask yourself.

Then tell me.

Welcome to The ALIVE hour.

Illustration: Shannon ColonAudio: Chloe Riley, story / vocals. carefulGIANTS, music.

Things found in real life

* This message / drawing I made when I was five

* This sunrise coming into the bedroom

Things found on the internet

* This article on talking to kids about how to grieve:

As Anastasia Higginbotham suggests in her wonderful picture book “Death Is Stupid,” another approach is to connect to the granular details of loved ones’ lives: “Wear what they wore. Play what they played. Read what they read. Make what they made.” It is excellent advice, but all the same, it will never be enough.

* The song “We Become Birds” from the late Chicago musician Michael Peter Smith, featuring Anne Hills.

The whole day goes by. Birds and more birds. We become birds when we die. We fly away. But we come back. We become birds when we die.

I’m so happy. I’ve been given this time here. Don’t want to waste my time on this earth.

When I look at this I seeThe ocean obviously becauseThere’s the ocean thereWhite capped and violentSaltyBlue Ruminating on itselfBut I also see other pictures in my headA seagull stealing the last bite right out of my handThe way sand can cover you Almost to the point of going underAll the times I was ever awayWarm FreeAnd simultaneously worried about going backAnd the wave I thinkI think it draws you in, doesn’t itOr does it repel youPush you awayYou feel it too rightHow attracted you can beTo powerTo things bigger than yourselfTo answers that engulf you and take away the chance of Drowning in themAlmost like you can hear itYou hear it rightCome on in the water’s fine

Welcome to The ALIVE hour.

Illustration: Shannon ColonAudio, music: Chloe Riley

Things found in real life:

* My friend Libby and I enjoying a meal in the world together:

* This cute little cup that also joined us for lunch:

Things found on the internet:

* This part of this Mary Oliver poem “August” posted by my friend Katie:

* This quote from an interview with Lin-Manuel Miranda with regard to his feature film directional debut of “Tick, Tick…Boom!” (an adaptation of the semi-autographical musical from Jonathan Larson of “Rent” fame):

“That last song is all questions, but the real question is: Fear or love? If you get yourself into a place of fear, of “What are people going to say about what I write?,” you’re fucked. It’s over. And that’s a place I have to really push past now in a different way.”

* This comic about a charming French murderer from the extremely talented Sulagna Misra (see full comic here):

Thank you for listening.

Thank you for telling me how you feel.

Thank you for sharing.

Thank you for being in my life in this way.

Thank you.

It’s hard to put a bandaid on yourselfYou know what I meanIt’s hard to be the aid To hold the bandage and have the woundOf course it’s not impossiblePeople do it all the timeBut stillJust because people do it all the timeDoesn’t make it the best wayThe loving wayIt’s just a wayI miss my mom wrapping up my fingers for meThere I said itI miss her and I wish I didn’t have so manypainful places to begin with

Welcome to The ALIVE hour.

Illustration: Shannon ColonAudio: Chloe Riley, Nathan Karagianis. carefulGIANTS, music.

Things found in real life:

* This vow from “The Mummy, the Will, and the Crypt” by John Bellairs

* This decomposing punkin head

* This ginkgo tree, completely green and shedding its leaves

Things found on the internet:

* This quote from that master of horror Stephen King, talking about the real-life horror he endured when he was almost killed after being hit by a car:

“For me, there have been times when the act of writing has been an act of faith, a spit in the eye of despair. Writing is not life, but I think that sometimes it can be a way back to life.”

* This poem from this story of doctor and terminal patient sharing a love of words:

Time is promise,But uninvited circumstanceAnd wounded soulsEventually barter it away.The owner of my borrowed timeWill arrive at random to insistAll what remains of me vanish . . . .A shadow of a shadowPassing into mist.So, I and my last dayWill take a journey togetherWhen we both are spent,That leaves the familiarOnce infused in all the days,To stand at the edge of night,And wonder in the dying lightExactly where we went.

* This reminiscence about painter Helen Frankenthaler, via her stepdaughter Lise Motherwell:

“…Helen could paint anywhere. She could paint near the water, in the woods, in a hotel room, in a closet. That really speaks to something she said about her painting ‘Mountains and Sea’ — that she held a place in her arms as a memory, as something she felt, more than something she saw. She held the emotional memory of it.”

The ALIVE hour can also be found on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, and Google Podcasts

How do you talk about one death in a year of death.

How do you talk about one life in a year of life.

I want to talk about death like I know.

I don’t know.

So maybe, I want to talk about death like I don’t know.

The thing about death is it makes me angryThe thing about death is you’re supposed to get over the anger at some pointThe thing about death is things are constantly dyingThe thing about life is things are constantly being bornThe thing about trying to make it all better is shut upThe thing about pain is it’s your own and no one can take it from youThe thing about pain is if you hang onto it too long you drownThe thing about death is it’s really good at the drowning kind of painThe thing about death is blackThe thing about death is funeral wreathThe thing about death is the song “on eagle’s wings”The thing about death is fighting it so hard even though you know it’s pointlessThe thing about not fighting is it’s considered weak even if we say it’s notThe thing about death is contradictionThe thing about life is contradictionThe thing about life is one big drawn out sighThe thing about death is you let go of the inhale and don’t look back.

Welcome to The ALIVE hour.

Illustration: Shannon ColonAudio: Chloe Riley, story. carefulGIANTS, music.

Things found in real life:

* My face reflected in the helmet my cousin bought to protect himself so he could hug people while going through chemo during covid

* This poem “Downhearted” from Ada Limón

* This Chicago coffee shop missive:

“Life is always life and will always be Life.”

Things found on the internet:

* This New Yorker essay in which the author reminisces about one of the last significant times she spent with her dad — aboard a gay cruise ship, before he died of AIDS

“That night, we moved together. We felt and sang and danced together—the rhythm binding us, the crowd embracing us, the present moment the only truth there was.”

* This quote from author Hilary Mantel:

“For a long time I felt as if someone else were writing my life. I seemed able to create or interpret characters in fiction, but not able to create or interpret myself. About the time I reached midlife, I began to understand why this was. The book of me was indeed being written by other people: by my parents, by the child I once was, and by my own unborn children, stretching out their ghost fingers to grab the pen. I began this writing in an attempt to seize the copyright in myself.”

* My cousin, before he died, interviewing his daughter about what her experience was like the day both she and he found out he had terminal cancer

The ALIVE hour can also be found on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, and Google Podcasts