First: scientists think that the earth’s core may have either stopped spinning OR may be spinning backward. (!!!) My children think this means we are all going to become babies again, then cease to exist. This might not be as big a deal as it sounds—apparently, the core changes the direction it spins every 70 years. Rather than freaking out, I recommend simply setting aside some time to think about the earth’s core.

Rings and Things

The ring is on my finger now but I still have the tag, “Nanny Schurer’s wedding ring.” My great-grandmother’s ring, my mother’s handwriting on the tag, my mother’s white cotton thread that once bound them together. It’s good my mother made this tag because I forget things. To be fair, she did give us Nanny Schurer and Nanny Bowden’s rings at the same time.

When I visited Wilhelm Reich’s observatory at Orgonon a few months ago, I noticed a wooden staff on the wall with a tag next to it that read: “A gift from Bronislaw Malinowski.” I thought: Bronislaw Malinowski. Trobriand Islanders,1 followed by a nagging suspicion that there is a controversy attached to Malinowski beyond the inherent problems of anthropology as a discipline, a lifestyle. (There is, there are.)

The day I set foot at Orgonon, I was already buzzing with excitement about Reich, his legacy, and the yet unknown role it might play in my own life (or not). That Malinowski gifted Reich a staff (from where?)—that is now tacked to the wall in his Rangeley, Maine, study, overlooking the mountain range I grew up on the other side of—indicated something.

I studied sociology and anthropology in college, where Malinowski was considered by some to be “the father” (snore) of social anthropology. So in a semiotic sense, the staff (as a gift from Malinowski to Reich) was among the first evidence of Reich’s stature amongst a particular sphere of thinkers and culture-shapers I encountered before I started to uncover more about who Reich was, what he thought, and why it mattered/ers. Laying my eyes upon this staff and its tag was further proof of the viability of this story in my creative ecosystem/galaxy—it gave the story something else to stick to.

I’ve yet to submit my formal application to access Reich’s storied archives but it’s got me thinking a lot about what a mess we all are. Or rather, the maze within the maze, how nothing can be something and something can be nothing, how consciousness creates meaning. A tool in hand has inherent use-value and the forest continues with its lichens and ferns, regardless of whether or not we document them in field guides. I’m thinking, too, about these glasses that appear in a dining room in my sister’s beautiful new book—how she knew something about them that I didn’t and how exciting that was/is.

We don’t all have someone to take care of our estates after we’re gone.2 And sometimes, the people who are left to care for what (and who) we leave behind don’t know the stories of our things. Or have the capacity to hold them. Maybe it's not their responsibility. What happens to our stories after we die? Does it matter?

One could say that this concern over a story’s half-life is a direct manifestation of anxiety. That concern over what happens to an individual’s legacy as seen through their relationship to belongings is overstating the importance of a singular individual. Propaganda for the cult of the individual. Fodder for the ego. Our need to matter. One could also say that the culture I was raised in, doesn’t have adequate rituals, policies, or cultural practices around grieving and loss.

If no one had connected the staff that is now in Wilhelm Reich's study with its origin, it could have ended up inside a jumbled cardboard box in a basement. And maybe that would have been fine.3

Either way, I reckon that each of us—regardless of who we know and how famous we are or aren’t—is worthy of an exhibition.

I would love to visit your exhibition. Furthermore, I would love to buy a souvenir to commemorate you from the gift shop (that would then need its own museum tag in my exhibition).

Sample Exhibits

Here are a few possessions of mine that I would like to display (objects selected at random, exhibition incomplete):

• A vintage wind-up clock This clock with its starry face seems to have spent time underwater. I bought it from a little stand on the island of Lamu, off the coast of Kenya.4

• A map of the world circa 1985 This map used to be tacked up to the wall in our old dining room. When my dad would call us from a port or the satellite phone from the ship, he’d tell us his longitude and latitude and we’d locate him. Or maybe this only happened once.

• Part of a beer tap stolen from the Rat in Boston. The bar was always closed during the all-ages shows I used to go to as a teenager. One day, my drunk-on-40s-we-drank-in-the-alley-before-the-show crush leaned over the bar and either tried to take a swig from the tap or just ripped it off. Somehow, I ended up with it. (He does not remember this.)

We take care of our things (or we don’t) because they are physical. They take up space so we have to confront them. One of my kids knocked the clock over the other day, shards of glass across the floor (the glass face was already smashed, they just released the slivers from their confinement). The world map is in our basement because our house was under construction for so many years we forgot how to decorate. The indestructible keg tap rests in a box on my dresser.

But what about our stories about these things? How do we take care of them?

Here, I have an offering.

New Offerings

I’m offering the services below for free to the first two people who request them. To request, simply use this contact form on my website.

Recording Stories for You and Your Important People

Many people have phones with voice memo recorders. Maybe you have recorded your grandmother, parent, sibling, child, friend, or even yourself telling a story. What did you do with it after that? Is the file still on your phone? Did you save it somewhere? What now?

I would like to offer my services here, to formalize an intent that may already be in motion. I can record someone telling stories, transcribe them for you, and offer them in digital form (as well as even turn them into physical copies for you).

My first thought was that this offering may be of interest to elders, people with chronic or terminal illnesses, etc., but I am somberly reminded that sometimes we are gone in a blink. Old age might not be what takes us, in the end. Also, what fun to hear the voices of loved ones at younger ages. You can hire me to record you, yourself, or to record someone you love (with their consent).

Archiving Stories about Your Important Peoples’ Important Things (or Your Important Things)

Perhaps if you elect to hire me for the above service, we might use objects to start the conversation. If you chose this route, I would help to make sure that you had little tags to affix to the things you want to record the stories of, as part of the package. We would take pictures of the things5 resulting in a pre-loaded exhibition of a person, living or dead. Maybe we could even design souvenirs together.

If you’re interested in exploring these services with me, drop me a line.

*This is an experiment*

I am not an Official Trained Audio Technician, nor am I a Certified Professional Recorder of Oral Histories, though I have conducted hundreds of interviews over the decades and have devoted myself to learning how to do it well. (Also, I plan to participate in an upcoming Oral History Summer School Mini-Intensive. Want to help make that possible? Become a paid subscriber or make a contribution here.)

If there seems to be interest in these services, I’ll work on setting the pricing, offering different levels of each of these services (on a sliding scale). I welcome bartering.

As mentioned above, the first two people to request these services will receive them for free. We’ll work together to decide upon the scope—we will start small. These offerings are available remotely or in person, for those in close proximity.

Responding to the poll below to help me gauge interest. (I think you have to be a subscriber to my Substack in order to respond. You can do that at the button below. Feel free to choose the free option, too, obvs.) The poll is good for one week only so please respond by February 6.

New Work in the World

Nothing to see here. I’m pitching stories and conducting interviews.6

Currents

• Winds of Change podcast by Patrick Radden Keefe explores a rumor that the CIA wrote the Scorpions hit, “Winds of Change”. Keefe goes so many places with this 8-part podcast. I want to do this.
• We Were Three by Nancy Updike. The official blurb is, “A story of lies, family, America, and what Covid revealed, as well as what it destroyed.” During an interview on the Longform podcast, Updike pointedly refuses to say what the podcast is about. From a marketing standpoint, she understands the need for concise copy but from an artistic standpoint, she refuses to summarize and is uninterested in this reductionist practice. Thank you, Nancy Updike.
• Wild Veil perfumes Thank you, Hannah Fallon, the talented artist I’m honored to call my oldest friend, for recommending this glorious perfumer.
• DRAFT: An Open Mic for Poets and Writers hosted by Toad Hall Editions, Poets Corner, and Marshall Wharf. The first one was last week—to find out about the next one, sign up for Toad Hall’s newsletter here.

Thanks for reading hells bells!