We Must All Do Our Part For Schools
Hi friends, I hope everyone is finding some calmness, through the waves of anxiety, throughout this summer. My wife, kids, and I are blessed with our large yard in the outskirts of Ann Arbor, and our nature trail nearby.
I haven’t seen anyone, except my parents and wife’s parents & grandmother, throughout the pandemic. I miss you. We are prioritizing this time for our kids to see their grandparents and 91-year-old grandmother throughout the pandemic, with as close to zero risk for them, until we know what autumn will reveal.
And then Facebook reminds me how two years ago, Mike Gentry Music and I shared the best gig of my life at the The Ark – Ann Arbor. Many of you were there. (My mom and dad were too. We just celebrated my dad’s birthday at my house on July 12th.)
The Ark is having a campaign: https://www.globalgiving.org/projects/the-ark/
If we donate this month, Ford will match $15K. I urge you to find a music venue in your area to do the same. A bookstore that needs help. A friend’s small business. A musician you can buy from on Bandcamp.
Music life will never return to normal. Most independent music venues will close, since their margins were so slim to begin with. Many independent musicians won’t be releasing music for a long time, the payouts of streaming too low to even pay for the coffee we anxiously drink in the morning.
I emphasize: I’m doing OK. I’ll be teaching at Huron High for my second year, lucky not to be laid off again like last summer at Farmington.
I’ve been quiet on Facebook here, leaving space for other musicians to share their stuff. But the newness of online concerts has worn off. Now, we simply need to reach out to our musical friends and offer a hand. Buy something online. Send a gift. Do what we can.
I’ll be donating to the Ark and Trinity House Theatre this week. They are two venues that have supported me so much this decade.
Thank you for all of your support of the arts and music at the local level. The most important thing we can do doesn’t cost money: We can keep following all of the guidelines to protect our neighbors: masks, social distancing, and tight social bubbles for now.
Covid keeps knocking at the door. We need not answer, so we can be entering our music venues’ doors next year.
God how I miss you all. Online connection isn’t doing it for me anymore.
Hi social media world,
Now that I’m further into fatherhood, I’m making my Facebook profile only available to family, close friends, and those who have actively stayed in touch. As a parent, I see this change as a stage of my social media life cycle.
I’ve taught at five different schools, played 1200+ gigs across the country…yet for the last four months I’ve been in a semi-state of quarantine at home with my family. This intense level of social distancing is so our kids can safely see their grandparents and great grandparent before (if) school starts in the fall.
I haven’t been gigging monthly for the first time since 2007. And as of this weekend, I haven’t seen a friend in four months…
This experience of physical distancing has made me rely on social media differently, and watching friends lose family to Covid-19, without a funeral option, has me reconsidering how to live life after 2020.
But this existential reflection—it’s not a midlife crisis, I swear!—also started from, butterflies.
In May, Ginny and I raised three Painted Lady butterflies as caterpillars: Flower, Milkweed, and Bob. Flower ended up laying eggs, and Ginny and I spread the thistle plants with her seeds all over our back lot. We let Flower go, but kept Bob and Milkweed until they died, because they had wing injuries. Ginny and I cried when we had a funeral for them. Geez, give a bug a name and it becomes a pet!
On the 4th of July, the first of Flower’s eggs had made it to its final stage of its life cycle: A caterpillar emerged from its chrysalis as a butterfly and visited our yard!
Ginny and I caught it, named her Flutter, and fed her strawberries. We let Flutter go, and talked about how cool it was to be a part of these butterflies’ life cycles.
Then, Ginny commented how she felt sad that Flutter didn’t have any butterfly friends, like the first three. (She said she felt the same way, missing her classmates from preschool.) But this week, more Painted Ladies are flying around our neighborhood’s gardens! Flutter isn’t alone anymore. (Our kids will one day run around together, too.)
Today, as the butterflies fluttered outside my window, I checked through my FB friends list, writing messages to folks I haven’t seen in years. I saw some of my former students or colleagues had died; my FB circle was too large for me to ever see the news in the feed. I had allowed a flawed algorithm to attempt the work a friend needs to do, and I felt more disconnected…
So I’m accepting this stage of my social media life cycle.
All writing and music will continue to be posted at the public page Mike Vial and website. My email is mike.m.vial@gmail.com.
Be well. Wear a mask. We are in this together to stop Covid-19’s impact on our world. I’m still here, circling the sun, with you.
Sincerely,
Mike
Establishing a Routine During the Pandemic
Not having a routine becomes a routine. And that is exhausting for the brain, all that constant decision making.
I worry about my students who are succumbing to improvising their days, staying up all night, and treating life like a long action of scrolling through a digital device. I also worry how they are feeling now that we are deep in the mundane and monotony.
I’m now noticing emotional patterns for myself while social distancing at home. The three events of my daily schedule are simple: I watch my kids, I check emails, I comment on student work. Yet, Tuesdays and Wednesdays are the most difficult days for me.
But why? All days are practically the same! They aren’t on a nuanced level.
Thursday, I look forward to podcasts posting, which is a treat after a long day of solo parenting. Friday, I look forward to my wife helping with kids. Saturday, I get to work without interruption or diaper changes. Sunday, I’m not solo parenting. Monday, I’m sort of refreshed. Recognition of this challenge means I can prepare for it.
I’m also finding patterns my two and five-year-old have. For example, 2-3:45 PM is a difficult time. (We watch a show together from 4-5, and they get impatient for that treat.) If I can help them find some activities with novelty or engagement at 2, they have less frustration then.
This week, let’s examine and guide our kids to recreate their schedules. That’s our sphere of control. It might just start with changing from PJs to day clothes.
Giving Piggyback Rides During the Pandemic
Staying home during the pandemic is a political response–a larger, yet less demonstrative response than a few hundred at a rally at the Capitol. I paraphrase Nicole Henner to remind us that collectively, we are the actual power of action.
I drove through downtown Ann Arbor last night and listened to music. Everyone I saw was demonstrating social distancing measures, excluding four, teenage skateboarders in Kerrytown (who probably hangout every day, so let’s just call them a family).
Many people were wearing masks. People were giving each other space as they walked their dogs. There were no large Saturday parties that I witnessed.
In the news, we will hear of people ignoring social distancing, but we don’t see the majority who are. For example, yes, Belle Isle may be packed today; however, my local park included people letting each other pass, runners choosing different forks in the road, mask wearing walkers. My entire neighborhood is practicing social distancing.
Don’t let a photo of 0.005%-0.01 of your city’s population raise your anxiety. May we focus on our sphere of control. My family is only 0.003% of Ann Arbor…but they are 100% of my heart today.
I’m thinking of you all on this Sunday. May you get a great piggy ride, like Alton did, on this big, beautiful Earth.
