movement of c

I’ve been spending a lot of time in the car lately. Between the dance studios and the creative movement classes I’m teaching, there is a lot of in and out of that vehicle, and it’s come to give me a certain appeasement. It’s hard for me to sit in one place for a long time, which is why this method of work for me has been good. But last week as I drove through the backroads of Newton, and took that quick right on to Christina Street, I was thinking about how unsustainable the business of physical freelance work is.

Last night I had a dream that the gas stations were all backed up, reminiscent of the images I’ve seen from the gas crisis of the 1970s. I think it sprang from the 10 0′clock news, where there was a shot of a trucker filling up his rig. The balance was upwards to $350. It goes back to 2 months ago when two of my housemates and I sat dreaming about the future, and the prophecies of survival came to the surface. It will be steam engine trains and the internet that enables our livelihood when other methods of physical transportation are no longer feasible for so many. It goes back to Katrina, and the crises that emerged. The backlash for the Northeast may have been rising gas prices, but the reality of it all was so much bigger. Lack of physical transportation was a significant factor in people’s survival, or lack there of.

It hit me hard this morning after a brisk walk through the crisp streets of Cambridge. With a 24 oz. Great One in my right hand, and a Pall Mall filter in the other, I floated through and past the jackhammers, traffic, and the Spanish speaking woman yelling at a man in his black Mercedes. All was right in the world, and my high from the Autumn air was in full effect. I turned on the tv when I got home to get my Friday morning dose of human voice interaction and VH1 was interviewing celebrities, asking “What’s the most important thing that someone could give to Katrina victims?” When Pepa started talking about hot roll curlers and and lip gloss I started to cry.

My two housemates and I went to Magnolia, a Southern restaurant, last night in Inman square. Louisiana homestyle cooking serving up Crawfish, Grits, et al. I felt uncomfortable basking in the glory of this Louisiana tradition, while I knew that the places to have spawned things like Glorious BBQ Chicken, and Fiery Jambalaya was in ruins. It’s a silly thought to feel bad for enjoying something, but it was all of this combined with the rest of the things going on in that realm that just brought it to the surface.

The dinner wasn’t about the that though. Being with Eliot and Ari last night felt really good, and it was one of those ‘kiss-the-ground-you-walk-on’ nights where everything feels like a blessing. It’s like Billie Holiday says, “I’m inclined to be a little on the sentimental side.”