I drive to the convenience store to pick up some milk and a few gallons of wiper fluid.

“I knew I’d seen you before,” the clerk says as I’m leaving. “I remember the tattoos on your hands.”

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A brief conversation about regional vernacular had paired well with the last jug of milk I’d purchased from him. I want to interview the clerk. I want to be very well-versed in audio/radio and to have a regular column or place to bring these conversations forth.1 Back in the parking lot, behind the windshield, I see a source I’ve only spoken to on the phone descend from his truck and enter the store. I remained seated. I know from experience what people look like.

On the way home, I watch my neighbors’ two dogs defecate in unison on their front lawn, not far from a memorial commemorating a deadly car crash. I see a UPS truck backing up instead of turning around at the dead end and my head spins with all the energy UPS drivers have to spend thinking about cutting time.

At the dinner table, Gloria shows us how she learned to sign the word “gray” and tells Derek that his outfit is that, gray. Wishy turns to the window where the male cardinal (“red”) always is (at the top of the recently pruned apple tree) and tries the sign for gray himself. It looks like he’s trying to psych himself up for something or explain something serious.

“Time is ticking,” I say to the children in the tiny mornings. “It’s time to go now.”

“Did ‘now’ already happen?” asks Gloria facetiously as she skips down the steps toward the school bus. “Is ‘now’ already over?”

“It’s always now,” I say, playing along.

Here, we move into the past tense.

I talked to my sister on the phone last night.

“You sound happy,” she said.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Engaged,” she offered.

“Activated,” I concurred.

We were staring at the same moon, as one does. I must mention that she was in the hospital last week for reasons that were not not alarming and that things are better now but not all the way better, though they are better than they were last week. Sentences, clauses, scraps of language exist and sometimes the names of our beloveds enter those sentences, becoming the subject. It is odd and uncomfortable especially when distance is involved; language and voices shaping our sense of reality rather than understanding through a sudden break in routine to accommodate and support.

On average, my sister and I are 1,303 miles apart (Maine, Georgia, respectively). The moon is an average of 238,900 miles away from all of us all the time. If you want to understand that distance, drive around the circumference of the earth thirty times. You can’t. You wouldn’t. You won’t. And this is irrelevant. It’s just some math I did.

Back to the present tense, something that could be repeated.

We take the kids canoeing at high tide. Gloria points at the ripples in the water, noting the pattern’s similarity to the mystifying shadow bands we saw on the snow before and after the totality. “Look! Look!” Gloria cries. “It’s like the shadow bands! And the moon…controls the water…so it must be related!”

Lastly, pictured above are some things I found in the river recently when the moon wasn’t tugging on the water. The bottle at the top left now contains daffodils. If you come over, we can go mudlarking.

Housekeeping

My latest project for a client involves bird songs, chainsaws, and timber frames. Before I can work on that, I will pump out a draft of another client’s annual report re: internet integrity. Elsewhere, I am transcribing my great-grandmother’s voice. I am grateful for this work. Do you have a project in mind? Get in touch.

The Christle* Method: A Workshop on Obsessions + Creativity

I’m teaching a workshop through Torchlight about obsessions and the creative process, using my relationship to this house as a case study.2 (In case you missed it, my obsession led to this story about the house and this story about the abandoned granite quarry that had previously been tended to by one of the house’s first owners.) This workshop is not just/only for writers—it’s for anyone who finds curiosity tugging at them and wants to find out where following the curiosity might lead them.

Two dates!
Saturday, May 18 or Saturday, June 8
10 a.m.–2 p.m.
@Torchlight (158 High St., Belfast, ME)
Sliding scale $50–150
Register here.

Workshop Description

What roles can obsessions play in our creative process? How can identifying, exploring, and naming our obsessions help us understand our relationships to places, people, and phenomena? In this workshop, I’ll talk about my relationship to obsessions vis-a-vis research methods, reporting, interviewing, writing, publishing, connections, and quality of life. The workshop will include a combination of lecture, conversations, and exercises for participants to explore their own obsessions and what it might look like to follow through on them via a to-be-determined creative process.

Have a question about the workshop? Contact torchlightmaine@gmail.com.

This workshop is one of many upcoming offerings we’re hoping to offer through Torchlight. You can take it as a standalone workshop or as the runway to taking your obsession to the next level with one of our more advanced classes or workshops (audio, visual [photography, film], storytelling, etc.).

*Caveat: I am not the only Christle in the world who has methods.

Torchlight Survey

Torchlight Media is a community-based multimedia arts and production studio in Belfast, Maine. We provide access to production tools and skills, build long-term sustainability for local public media outlets, create education and mentorship opportunities, and improve community connection through storytelling and events.

Torchlight is Chris Battaglia, Eli Kao, Tiffany Wolff, and me. It’s also the 12 “creatives”—area high school students Torchlight is working with through an afterschool mentoring program. And, our brain trust—wise humans from far and wide who are helping to guide Torchlight. Want to learn more about Torchlight? Read this story by the person-in-red-on-the-right—local award-winning thirteen-year-old reporter, Eliot Fowler.

We recently held an open house at our space on 158 High Street. It was lovely! We offered portraits and snacks and invited guests to tell us what they’d like to see from Torchlight. Though the open house has passed, the opportunity to let us know your needs has not. We’ve got a short survey here and would love your input.

New Work in the World

Nothing to see here. I’m reporting, researching, and pitching, mostly from the “elversphere.” If you or anyone you know fishes for elvers or has an elver (or eel)-related story to share or sight to see, please get in touch.

Currents

“Real House” —Adrianne Lenker

Chris B. played this song on his radio show last week one day when it was raining and I knew it was good but it wasn’t until I listened to it while doing dishes later that evening that said song made me cry.

Susan Metzger - The Nets

A few weeks ago, Eli Kao referred me to painter/photographer Susan Metzger’s documentation of the opening day of elver season. I was smitten. Couldn’t stop watching it. Still can’t. I got to meet Susan at Moody’s Diner a few days ago. I am still smitten with Metzger’s work. Likely, even more so.

Four Tet’s New Album, “Three” — “This music is so easy to dance to!” - Gloria, age 7

The first time I heard Four Tet was on a beach in Jambiani, Zanzibar. The song was “No More Mosquitos.” There were bush babies in the trees. That was 22 years ago. I remember because in Swahili, the year 2002 is “elfu mbili na mbili” and it’s fun to say and therefore, to remember. I happened upon Four Tet’s new album and played it during dinner the other day, prompting my kid to get up and swivel through the meal, ever the remarker.

The Books I am Reading

Thank you for reading.

-Michele