I paid 25 cents to light a little white candle

For the last few months, I've felt like I've been seeing the number 424 unusually often. The number 424, or the time 4:24, or the date 4/24, or a 4 and a 24 next to each other. Some of you reading this already know why that number would have meaning to me. For anyone reading who doesn't know, it's because my wife Cara passed away on 4/24 - April 24, 2015. I was already feeling like I was seeing this combination of digits with uncanny frequency prior to the events I'll describe in this post. That's important background for the events I'll describe.

This year, on April 24, I traveled to Detroit to see a concert by one of my all time favorite bands, Typhoon. They're a band whose music, with lyrics grappling with mortality, was my own personal soundtrack to Cara's battle with lung cancer, so the date of the show was eerily fitting. It was even more weird to consider that the most recent previous Typhoon concert I attended had taken place on June 12, 2018 - that is, my and Cara's wedding anniversary. Significant concerts taking place on significant dates - a long running theme of my life and my blog!

It was really great to see Typhoon again for the first time in years. The band's lead singer Kyle Morton is an amazing person who I've befriended through conversations at previous Typhoon shows; unfortunately, I did not get a chance to catch up with him this time due to the band's very understandable COVID precautions. During the show he talked about how weird it was to be back out on the road playing in front of people but also how important it was, how there's such a big essential part of life that was missing when we couldn't have those in person gatherings. He also thanked people for wearing masks during the show - he has had some very serious health issues and is a kidney transplant recipient, so trying to avoid COVID is more important for him than for most people in our age bracket.

The show, along with visiting some very close friends in Ann Arbor earlier the same day, was a great way to mark an April 24. It was also not the first time I saw an important concert on April 24.

On April 24, 2018, I saw the Decemberists at Cleveland's Agora. They were a band Cara and I both loved and whose music had had some significance to our relationship. One of the highlights of that show was the performance of "Grace Cathedral Hill," a beautiful song from the Decemberists' debut album Castaways and Cutouts. I remember muttering "wow" upon my recognition that they were playing the song, because I was so happily surprised.

This has all been a prelude to what happened to me last week. I traveled to San Francisco last Wednesday to attend a meeting on Thursday and Friday where I'd discuss my research into asthma with other asthma researchers. That was what was supposed to happen, anyway. But then, on Wednesday, I realized I was feeling sick, with a sore throat and other symptoms of a respiratory infection. I took a COVID test and it was negative. On Thursday I took another COVID test and it was again negative. But I was still feeling sick. Apparently I'd come down with a cold. My symptoms had definitely made me wonder if I had COVID, even though I'm triple vaccinated and had an omicron infection at Christmas. It wouldn't be impossible. Despite apparently not having COVID this time, I still didn't want to expose all the other people at the meeting to my illness, especially considering that if they caught it, not only would they get sick, but they would have the added stress of wondering if they had COVID.

So I told the conference organizers what was going on, and then ended up with a bunch of time to kill in San Francisco, while feeling sick enough to not want to attend a meeting but not sick enough to be utterly incapacitated. I ate a lot of takeout meals. I watched a lot of playoff basketball on TV. I wandered around a lot on Wednesday, at first not realizing quite how sick I was feeling. I wore a KN95 mask whenever I was in an indoor space and tried to keep close contact with other people to a minimum. Thursday I mostly spent relaxing at my hotel, hoping I'd feel no longer sick by Friday morning, but this didn't happen. On Friday I again wandered around a lot, since at that point I was clearly missing all of the meeting and there was nothing else to do. The weather, thankfully, was beautiful the whole time I was there.

It was very disappointing to have traveled out there for the meeting and not get to participate in it, but on Friday I really managed to take advantage of my free time, and by the end of the day I came away from it thinking, oddly, that perhaps my illness had been... fortuitous?

I noticed that the famous "Painted Ladies" houses that are across the street from Alamo Square Park, as seen in the opening credits of Full House, were a couple miles' walk from my hotel, so I went there, and it was really nice just hanging out in that park for a while and taking in the sights and sounds and sun.

Heading back, I picked up some food, ate it in the park across from city hall, and then was looking at my phone trying to see if there was anything else interesting that wouldn't be a huge amount of extra walking, and I saw this:

Oh! Grace Cathedral, like in the Decemberists song! Well, I pretty much have to go, was my thought process, and then I scrolled through the music on my iPod, selected Castaways and Cutouts, hit play, and set out toward the cathedral.

I've always had a thing for cathedrals. The National Cathedral in Washington, D.C. is one of my favorite buildings anywhere. Grace Cathedral is another really nice one.

There's a line in the song that goes, "I paid 25 cents to light a little white candle," and because I'm a huge freaking nerd I of course decided, I should pay 25 cents to light a little white candle while in Grace Cathedral. (This was in addition to a $12 admission fee for visitors that I did not realize I'd have to pay until I was inside, but I decided, why not.) I first did some wandering around the inside of the cathedral, admiring the beautiful architecture and artwork and stained glass.

The whole time I was there, I was thinking of the song and of that Decemberists show that had taken place on 4/24. Eventually I decided I was ready to go and pay 25 cents to light a little white candle. I headed over toward a candle lighting station. While doing so I glanced at my watch.

The time was 4:24.

Long time readers of my blog might remember that I have a thing for noticing and pointing out weird coincidences. By now it's happened so much that things I would have once viewed as astounding coincidences, like the Typhoon show being on 4/24, I now kind of shrug my shoulders and laugh about. But this, especially in light of my already feeling like I was seeing those digits strangely often - this was a special one.

So I went, and I put a quarter in a donation box, and I lit a little white candle.

And then I stood there for a minute and talked to Cara. It's not something I do often, at least not in a direct way. But in this moment it felt like I was supposed to. I'm glad that I did.

After leaving the cathedral, I resumed my wandering, and resumed listening to the Decemberists on my iPod. The song "Grace Cathedral Hill" had not yet come up prior to my arrival at the cathedral but came on shortly after my departure. I stopped walking while listening to the song and just admired this view:

It gave me a very peaceful feeling, something I haven't had a whole lot of recently.

That night I caught a red eye flight from San Francisco to Washington DC before connecting back to Cleveland. I managed to sleep for most of the flight. Upon landing in DC, I was dismayed to receive a text message that my flight to Cleveland was cancelled and I'd have to select another flight. But this turned out to not be a problem because the flight had been replaced by another flight at the identical time. So the cancellation turned out to have no effect on my day, except for one thing, which is that I was issued a new boarding pass with an interesting combination of numbers on it:

Then, after I arrived in Cleveland, got to my car, and started driving home, I laughed when I noticed that the first gas station sign I saw showed a price of, you guessed it, $4.24.

Signs from Cara? Who knows, but it's nice to think that maybe they could be.

In memoriam

This past April 24, as many reading this already know, marked the third anniversary of Cara's passing. Thanks in part to some fortuitously timed concerts, April 24 and the days leading up to it brought numerous reminders of Cara. They also brought some fantastic time spent with my wonderful girlfriend Karyn.

Earlier this year it was announced that The Decemberists would be playing a show at Cleveland's Agora on April 24. The Decemberists were beloved by both Cara and me and were one of the bands we bonded over in the early stages of our friendship and relationship. In fact, just a few days after Cara and I started dating in November 2006, I saw The Decemberists play at the Agora and during the show I called Cara on the phone so that she (in Columbus) could hear one of the songs. I might have been shocked at such a significant concert occurring on such a significant date except that these sorts of things have happened so much now that my reaction is more just a bemused, Oh, again….

The Decemberists' show was not the only April 24 show in Cleveland by a band I like. Wild Ones (also, incidentally, hailing from Portland) played the Beachland Tavern that night. The significance of that band to me comes not from their music having any role in my relationship with Cara, but rather from the fact that their lead singer Danielle Sullivan is married to Kyle Morton, the lead singer of Typhoon, one of my very favorite bands and the band whose music I most associate with Cara's courageous struggle with lung cancer and with her death. I've blogged before about my experiences meeting Danielle and then later running into Danielle and Kyle at dinner before the Typhoon show I attended in Portland last fall. Oh yeah, and coming up on June 12, my and Cara's wedding anniversary, is a Typhoon show at the Beachland Ballroom. There's an odd sort of symmetry, I think, to the fact that the band whose music I associate with my wife's death is playing at the Beachland on our wedding anniversary, and the band whose lead singer is the wife of that band's lead singer played at the Beachland on the anniversary of my wife's death. (Did you follow that sentence? It was admittedly a bit convoluted.) It all seems rather strange, but as I often remind myself, evolution did cause our brains to become very good at finding patterns in randomness.

To get back to the main thread of this post, with both The Decemberists and Wild Ones playing in Cleveland on April 24, I could not go to both shows. So I decided to take a trip to Toronto to see Wild Ones there on April 22, and Karyn joined me.

Toronto

After a long and cold winter, Karyn and I were thrilled by the sunny skies and mild temperatures that greeted us in Ontario's capital. We arrived on a Saturday afternoon, and with the concert on Sunday night, we made great use of our opportunity to explore a city where I'd previously spent very little time. We found a nice deal online for the Fairmont Royal York (Queen Elizabeth II's choice for accommodations in Toronto) and we both declared it probably the nicest hotel in which we'd ever stayed. The main lobby was stunning:

We found many things to enjoy in Toronto, from delicious poutine to a gigantic Sephora store to scrumptious vegan treats at a bakery owned by a friend of Karyn's to a fabulous public transit system (we marveled at the fact that on the weekend the two of us, in addition to up to four youths for those traveling with families, could ride the subways, street cars, and buses all over the city on a single day pass costing just $12.50 Canadian - currently $9.65 U.S.). One of the highlights of the trip was a visit to Spadina House, an old house-turned-museum showcasing what life was like for a well-to-do family in 1920s Toronto. The fascinating glimpse into the past was made even more enjoyable by the family in our tour group with three young girls, the older two of whom provided numerous adorable and insightful questions and observations that our tour guide, a lanky young Canadian man, handled wonderfully. I highly recommend Spadina House as a site to visit during a trip to Toronto.

The concert was at The Baby G, a neat little venue that we had no trouble accessing via public transit. Before the first band went on I went to the restroom - and was stunned by the sight that greeted me amongst the graffiti on the wall.

The symbol pictured here, a muted post horn symbol from Thomas Pynchon's novel The Crying of Lot 49, is the same symbol that Cara had tattooed in the middle of her upper back. ("W.A.S.T.E." stands for "We Await Silent Tristero's Empire" and is from the same book; the muted post horn is the symbol of the shadowy W.A.S.T.E. organization in the book.) Cara got the tattoo, her first, near the beginning of our friendship and I remember her showing it to me when we went to a movie together in the summer of 2006, and me saying that it was cool but I didn't think I'd ever get a tattoo myself (wrong!). On that weekend when thoughts of Cara were already so much with me I was astonished and shaken by that familiar symbol showing up on that wall.

The concert was quite good. I enjoy Wild Ones' music a lot, but probably not enough that I would have traveled to Toronto to see them on the basis of their music alone. My having become friends with Danielle (and Kyle, although he wasn't there) was a larger part of my motivation for making the trip. Somehow their story has, to me, threaded its way into my own life story and it's something I find very special. I got to talk to Danielle after the show and she was very glad to see me again and we had a nice little chat.

Another odd coincidence occurred to me as I was in the middle of writing this post. The first time that I talked to Danielle at a show was on September 29, 2015, five months and five days after Cara's death. This most recent time was on April 22, 2018, five months and five days after another significant date - November 17, 2017, or my and Karyn's first date. Well, I'm certainly in a very different place in my life now than I was in the fall of 2015. It also occurs to me with my huge list of weird coincidences that I'm a scientist and a big part of what has brought me success in my research is that I am good at looking at data and noticing patterns. When you look at enough data (i.e., all the events that make up a life) and you have a tendency to look for patterns, patterns are going to emerge from randomness and a lot of them won't actually mean anything. But I enjoy noticing those patterns!
 
Nanaimo Bars

The day after the concert, Karyn and I left Toronto, but before returning to the States there was a stop I wanted to make near Hamilton, Ontario. It was a stop linked to significant memories from my past in more than one way. In the summer of 2008, Cara and I traveled to Hamilton to attend the farewell show of one of our favorite bands, A Northern Chorus. I blogged about the show at the time and I still consider it my favorite show I've ever attended. The day after the show we visited a local landmark called the Devil's Punch Bowl, an interesting waterfall and rock formation, and on the way to the Punch Bowl we happened upon a neat little market (Punch Bowl Market and Bakery). Among the baked goods there were several varieties of Nanaimo bars, a Canadian dessert specialty. Upon seeing the Nanaimo bars I was instantly reminded of a social studies project in sixth grade called the International Fair for which each member of the class presented on a different country, and part of the project was making a food from that country, and my mom and I made Nanaimo bars for my presentation about Canada. On that day in 2008 I bought a Nanaimo bar and then took it to the Devil's Punch Bowl and enjoyed snacking on it at the overlook. That trip was a very special memory for me and for years I had wanted to go there again, so I could hardly pass up the opportunity. And I was glad to have Karyn join me. The two of us stopped at the market and I bought the same type of Nanaimo bar and then Karyn indulged me in my request to recreate a series of photos of me eating a Nanaimo bar at the Devil's Punch Bowl.

After this recent trip to the Punch Bowl, I asked my mom if she had the recipe we had used, and she did still have it, and sent me a copy as well as a little story about how she had gotten the recipe at a cooking class she attended with a neighbor. I greatly enjoyed reading my mom's hand-written notes on the recipe page and imagining her writing those notes so many years ago.

And just as the flavor of that Nanaimo bar I ate almost ten years ago was familiar in a very nostalgic way, the flavor of the Nanaimo bar I ate last month was doubly familiar and even more nostalgia-inducing.

April 24

Various people have said that they know April 24 must be a hard day for me. I actually don't think it's an exceptionally hard day. I think people might think it would be because for most people who knew Cara, they would be thinking about her a lot more on the anniversary of her death than they would on most other days. And they would therefore be missing her a lot more than normal. But I think about Cara a lot every day, so while April 24 does carry some extra emotions, the extent to which that's true is likely smaller for me than for a lot of other people.

The day got off to a very moving start when, at just about midnight, Karyn posted an eloquent and heartfelt tribute to Cara on Facebook. All the ways that Karyn goes above and beyond to honor Cara, who Karyn never knew in person, really say a lot about the sort of person Karyn is. I'm lucky to have found someone like that.

The evening of April 24 found us going to the Agora and meeting up with some friends who were also greatly anticipating the chance to see the Decemberists live. (Three good friends of mine were there - one had never seen the Decemberists in concert; the other two had, like me, been at that November 2006 Agora show - but long, long before I knew them.) I've blogged about Decemberists shows on multiple occasions in the past and I won't extensively recap the concert, but it was another outstanding show. I had such a fun time. And I was very grateful for my being able to have such a fun time, not only because the concert fell on April 24, but also because for quite a while going back to last October it had been difficult for me to simply "have such a fun time" doing something.

Opening band Tennis provided a retro vibe with their groove-heavy and very danceable songs. I love dancing to music at concerts and it was nice to have someone to do that with!

The Decemberists' set was heavy with songs from their most recent album, I'll Be Your Girl, but also included a good selection from the rest of their catalog. I was stunned and thrilled when they broke out "Grace Cathedral Hill" from their very first album, 2002's Castaways and Cutouts. The new album is "depressing" according to Karyn after I played it for her in the car a couple of months ago. The songs on it are heavily influenced by current events (including the very aptly titled for the Trump presidency "Everything Is Awful") so it's not surprising that it's something of a downer. One selection from the album is "We All Die Young" (actually a very boisterous sounding song) and it did make an appearance in the setlist, and I recall Karyn glancing at me as if she was wondering whether hearing that song on that date would bother me. Nah. You have to have a sense of humor about these things. I chuckled at the appropriateness and gleefully sang along to the chorus with the rest of the crowd. We do all die young, if you think about the timescale of a human life relative to all of history. Some of us die younger than others. That's life.

The show ended, as Decemberists shows usually do, with "The Mariner's Revenge Song," providing all of us in the audience the opportunity to scream in unison as if we were all being swallowed by a gigantic whale. It's always great fun. I thought about all the other times I'd seen the song live, from last August in Montana, to the summer of 2011 when I was with Cara and a huge cargo ship passed on the Cuyahoga River behind the Jacobs Pavilion stage in unbelievably perfect synchronization to the epic nautical song, to the show at the Agora just after I started dating Cara, to my very first time seeing the Decemberists in 2005 at the Odeon when I had just very recently gotten into the whole concert-going thing. The song is usually accompanied by the appearance of some sort of giant whale prop on stage. At this most recent show, for the first time, the prop was a three dimensional, inflatable whale that soared through the air above the audience. We all gawked and laughed in disbelief. It was a perfect way to close the show and a perfect way to mark the passing of another April 24.

Many travels, little rest

At the Travelers' Rest music festival I recently attended with EB in Missoula, Montana, I found myself pondering alternate realities.

If I had never met EB, I would likely have been at the festival by myself. I'm sure that I still would have had a great time. Going back much farther in time to another branch point between alternate realities, if Cara had never gotten cancer, there's a good chance I would have been at the festival with her.

It's interesting to think about these things, but I'm glad to say that the reality I inhabit is mostly a happy one.

When indie folk/rock band The Decemberists (whose lead singer Colin Meloy hails from Missoula) announced they were hosting a two-day music festival at the Big Sky Brewing Amphitheater in Montana's largest city, headlining both days and bringing in a great supporting lineup, it was an easy decision for me to go. I've been a Decemberists fan for many years. I had previously seen the band on four occasions, and each one was a very memorable experience. The first time I saw them was in October 2005 at the Odeon in Cleveland; I had just recently gotten into concertgoing and it was one of the most fun shows yet. The second came in November 2006 at the Agora in Cleveland. It was less than a week after I started dating Cara, and during the show, I called her when the band played "Red Right Ankle" so she could listen.

The third time I saw the Decemberists live was memorable for negative reasons. The April 23, 2011 show was on the indoor stage at the LC Pavilion in Columbus; Cara attended with me, but because the audience was so annoyingly chatty she got fed up and left halfway through the band's set. I didn't leave, but the chattiness put a big damper on the experience for me too. I remember well exiting the venue to find Cara waiting for me outside. I mentioned this experience, contrasting it to the much smaller but much more attentive audience at the Rural Alberta Advantage show I attended the next night, in a blog post. That RAA show was on April 24, 2011 - that is, exactly four years before Cara's death. It's so surreal to look back on things that occurred on those significant dates before they were significant dates.

I also reviewed the Decemberists show Cara and I attended at Nautica Pavilion in July of that year, the month after we got married. That was another very memorable show but in this case for a wonderful reason - the giant cargo ship that coincidentally floated down the Cuyahoga River behind the venue's stage in perfect timing with "The Mariner's Revenge Song" was surreal and awesome and left me giddy.

When I bought my ticket for Travelers' Rest (named for the nearby historic site where Lewis and Clark camped on their expedition), EB and I were already online friends, but were not yet dating. I'm delighted that things proceeded in the way they did, that I was able to procure a second ticket some time later via StubHub, and that the two of us were able to time our travels so that we met up at Midway Airport in Chicago on the evening of Friday, August 11 and then proceeded together to Spokane, Washington - the beginning of one of the most exciting weeks of my entire life.

The following day we drove to Missoula, stopping for lunch in the little town of Wallace, Idaho, where the annual Accordion Jubilee happened to be taking place, kicking off a wonderful weekend of musical festivities!

Montana is known as the Big Sky State, but as we drove on we noticed that the sky was not "big" at all; visibility was quite limited due to a thick haze created by recent forest fires in the area. When we arrived at the amphitheater, the sky was very strange. At times the sun, a bright orange circle, was visible through the haze, but other than that, the sky was all a monochrome gray, and none of the mountains that one would normally see from that vantage point were visible. It was like being enclosed in some sort of eerie dome, and I remarked to EB that I thought the atmosphere felt apocalyptic. Like outside of our little dome, the world could have ended and we wouldn't know.

Although of course our phones could be used to verify that the rest of the world was intact.

And of course current events, which many of the festival's artists gave brief mention to, also helped provide that apocalyptic flavor.

The festival was a nice way to escape - well, mostly escape - from that disturbing reality.

The Decemberists closed off the proceedings on both nights with absolutely stellar sets, repeating no songs between the two setlists. As a longtime fan of the band it was an absolute thrill, a wonderful selection of highlights from their large and varied catalog. Several of the songs ("Red Right Ankle" among them) recalled poignant memories of me and Cara. I became very emotional on multiple occasions, and was glad that I had EB there to lean on.

I was overjoyed when the band closed the first night with "The Tain," an epic (single track with five different movements in 18+ minutes) EP that they released in 2004. It's what one might call a "deep cut" from the band's catalog, not one that most casual fans would know. You see, at that show that Cara left early in disgust, the band opened the show with "The Tain," and Cara and I were initially excited, but quickly became exasperated and infuriated as most of the people around us loudly carried on with their conversations and made it nigh impossible for us to enjoy the band's performance. Now I was in an amphitheater full of true Decemberists fans and everyone was there to watch the band play. That makes the concertgoing experience so much better, and I thought of how thrilled Cara would have been to finally see "The Tain" performed in a proper environment.

On day two, an early to mid afternoon rain shower (very welcome in an area experiencing a drought) cleared out some of the haze. A brief heavier rainfall accompanied our arrival to the venue, but it quickly subsided, and weather conditions were quite nice for the rest of the day. I asked EB if she would be up for going to stand in the pit for some of the highlight performances, the Decemberists included (on the first night we stayed on the lawn). She was all for it. I have to say, it really drove home to me how much difference it makes to be up close and personal to performing artists. That's something I usually try to do at shows, but for some strange reason, I had always been rather far away from the stage at every previous Decemberists show I'd attended. The first night of Travelers' Rest was magical, but being close to the stage and surrounded by other fans who were as passionate as me took the second night to a whole nother joyous level. Best of all was the raucous encore, featuring "The Chimbley Sweep" and "The Mariner's Revenge Song" and taking me back to that very first Decemberists show I attended almost twelve years ago when the same two songs were performed in the encore!

Before playing the fan favorite "Mariner's Revenge Song," Colin Meloy always provides (undoubtedly familiar to most members of this particular audience) instructions that, at the appropriate time in the song, band member Chris Funk will give a signal, and then we audience members will all scream at the top of our lungs as if we are being devoured by a giant whale. And then, before the song begins, we practice. Funk holds his arms out and brings them together to mime a giant set of jaws closing. We all scream. This was old hat for me, but EB had never experienced it before. It was fun to see her have that experience.

As the band started up the jaunty intro to the epic revenge tune from their classic 2005 album Picaresque (my introduction to the band), I thought of all the previous times I'd seen the song performed. That included, in fact, every previous Decemberists concert I'd been to, except the previous night's. Best of all was that magical experience at my last Decemberists concert with Cara. Emotions surged inside me.

When the appropriate time came, EB and I joined in with the rest of the exuberant throng in a chorus of high-pitched screaming. And then the whale came out on stage.

(I was very in the moment and did not feel like taking my phone out for a picture; this is from another Decemberists show and I found it on a blog called I Just Read About That.)

EB reacted audibly in surprise and disbelief, and I loved her reaction, because I could remember oh those many years ago when I myself first laid eyes on a similar sight at my first Decemberists concert.

As the song reached its conclusion, the whale was actually crowdsurfed, adding a wonderful extra bit of whimsy to an already wonderful experience. All in all, it was quite easily one of the best concerts I've ever attended.

The trip to the festival would have been worth it for the two Decemberists performances alone, but the rest of the lineup provided several additional highlights. The secondary headlining artists (performing before the Decemberists on days one and two, respectively), The Head and the Heart and Belle and Sebastian, are two other bands whose music I've enjoyed for many years. Belle and Sebastian were meaningful not only to me and Cara but to EB and Todd as well. This was EB's first time seeing them live, and I was so happy she could have that experience. The Head and the Heart's performance made me very emotional in a way I hadn't anticipated, but it made sense. The only previous time I had seen them, they opened for the Decemberists at that spectacular last Decemberists show with Cara. I realized that I strongly associate the music from their first album with that summer of 2011, the summer when I got married, which was the happiest time in my life (now joined by the last few months!).

Julien Baker, the first main stage artist on day two, also gave a mesmerizing performance. Just one small woman by herself with her guitar, she was dwarfed by the huge stage on which she stood, but her powerful voice easily filled up the space. At one point between songs she remarked on how she was "so grateful" to be there. I shared the sentiment.

The Travelers' Rest festival was an experience I'm glad to say I'll always carry with me, but it was also just the beginning of an incredible week.

EB and I had been planning to find a hike to do on Monday somewhere between Missoula and Spokane (she was flying out of Spokane very early Tuesday morning), but on Sunday night EB suggested we make a day trip up to Glacier National Park, where she had been once with her family as a teenager. I was initially skeptical of the idea because of the huge amount of extra driving it would involve relative to the amount of time we'd be at the park, but she talked me into it, and I'm glad she did. We went on a great hike to Avalanche Lake. Early in the hike we passed a gorge with stunningly clear water rushing through picturesque rock walls that had been carved out and smoothed by the water over many millennia.

What awaited us at the end point of the out-and-back trail was far more stunning; in fact, I told EB it was "one of the most amazing things I've seen in my life."

This picture really doesn't do the sight justice, but it's the best I have. Something about the way those three thin waterfalls traversed their way down that massive rock face and the sheer scale of it all and the colors and the clear, cold water (which we couldn't resist "resting our toesies in" as EB and [redacted] like to say) was so captivating. We lingered there for some time as a cool, light rain fell onto the otherwise pristine lake surface and onto our heads. Once more, like at the festival, I felt very grateful to be there in that moment.

We returned to our rental car but did not yet begin the long drive to Spokane. Instead we continued farther into the park, along the unbelievably scenic "Going-to-the-Sun Road," retracing a route EB had traveled many years ago.

She told me that she liked traveling with me to places she had been before. I remarked that we had not yet traveled together to any places I had previously traveled - but then added that, although not a geographic location, going to a Decemberists concert had been like going to a place I had been before!

After reaching a visitor center by the continental divide, we got out, looked around, bought a couple of souvenirs for [redacted], and took stock of our situation. We had a long, long drive ahead of us. We would be reaching Spokane very late. I thought perhaps it had been crazy of us to attempt such a trip. Perhaps it was. But I'm glad we did it.

We reached Spokane after 11 pm (despite gaining an hour from the change in time zones) and EB's flight was at 6 am the next morning. (Hence the title of this blog post!) While EB would be flying back to Nashville, I had much more driving in store. Tuesday found me spending another 6 hours in the car as I drove to Mt. Rainier National Park to join my family. Several spectacular vistas along the way made the long drive anything but monotonous.

The last of these pictures is Mt. Rainier, the anchor point of the park that was my destination. I remember my jaw dropped at each of these sights. The American West really is full of awe-inspiring natural beauty in a way that is not quite true of the part of the country where I've lived my whole life (not that we don't have a lot of wonderful outdoors around here!).

More spectacular hiking awaited me at Rainier.

After a too short stay, my very busy visit to the Northwest concluded with a trip to Seattle to visit my friend Shelli Snyder who was struck by a car while riding her bicycle across the country last year and nearly died.

In fact, EB and I drove past the site of the crash, near Glacier National Park. A Bike Cleveland "Watch For Bikes, Save A Life" sign still stands next to the road there.

It was the first time I'd seen Shelli in several months and it was a very emotional visit. The fact that she survived and all the progress that she's made are wonderful. At the same time, I was deeply saddened at the very difficult reality she and her loved ones continue to face. And I felt newly infuriated at the person who had, in one careless moment, forever altered and nearly ended my friend's life.

When someone gets cancer, like Cara or Todd, it's often for reasons we can't fully understand or control. And we have to make the best of an awful situation, but we also know sometimes that's the way life is, and perhaps nothing could have been done to prevent it.

When a reckless driver strikes an innocent passerby like Shelli and nearly kills her, that's something that could very easily have been prevented if that driver had just been paying adequate attention to their surroundings. Such incidents happen all too often and only seem to be increasing in frequency. Operating a motor vehicle is an awesome responsibility and it's a responsibility that most people don't fully appreciate. A motor vehicle traveling at high speed is a deadly weapon. One careless moment can do irreversible damage. Please, please, please, make sure you do not take that awesome responsibility lightly, and speak up to influence those around you to do the same.

I spent the second half of Thursday and all of Friday with Shelli. Saturday found me catching a flight home to Cleveland that, although not as early as EB's Tuesday morning departure, was quite early itself. I didn't want to get home too late because I had a concert to go to that night - Michelle Branch at the Grog Shop. It was a concert I was very much looking forward to, as Michelle Branch's music is meaningful to me in ways that involve both Cara and EB. (I plan to write about this in an upcoming post.)

I was scheduled to fly through Minneapolis with an hour-and-a-half layover, but after my plane in Seattle taxied out to the runway, we were informed that there was a problem with one of the doors and we would be returning to the gate.

I cringed, remembering how the previous time I had been flying home to Cleveland with plans to see a concert that night, I had ended up missing the concert because of extreme flight delays.

It seemed to take forever, but finally we departed Seattle, and I was relieved to realize that I would be (just barely) making my next flight. As I exited the plane in Minneapolis, I was expecting to have to make a rushed journey through the terminal. I was not at all expecting what actually happened. Stepping off the plane and into the tunnel, I noticed a man in a suit holding a board with my and another passenger's names on it. He led us down a stairway, onto the tarmac - and toward a waiting Porsche, in which he drove us to our next plane!

What a way to cap off a week full of adventures.

The concert that night was great, but as I said, I'll cover that in another post.

Monday brought more excitement with the solar eclipse. It was thrilling to see the eclipse here in Cleveland, reminding me very much of the 1994 solar eclipse I saw as a child in Columbus. After seeing pictures from people who got to experience totality, though, I found myself wishing I had extended my travels through Monday to be able to see the total eclipse myself. (Even if it would have meant missing the Michelle Branch concert, because I'm sure I'll get another opportunity to see Michelle Branch before my next opportunity to see a total solar eclipse.) I had thought it would be too much traveling, with all the other traveling I've done not only last week but the rest of this summer. I now think (as my and EB's day trip to Glacier showed!) that there is rarely such thing as too much traveling when the traveling involves such wonderful adventures.

Death Cab For Cutie at Nautica

After having listened to indie rock band Death Cab For Cutie for eleven years, I finally saw them live for the first time on Tuesday night at Nautica, the riverfront music venue in the Flats.

Although I never considered them one of my most favorite bands, I listened to a whole lot of Death Cab from 2005-2008, most especially in 2005 and 2006. In subsequent years, I've listened to them much less. I didn't stop liking them, but my interest waned. (In fact, from when I started using the website last.fm to track my music listening in August 2005 through the end of 2006, the only bands I listened to more than Death Cab were Ozma, the Decemberists, and Nada Surf. From 2007 to the present, in contrast, Death Cab are in 44th place.) And so there were a couple of times when Death Cab came to Cleveland and I didn't go because I felt like I wasn't into them quite enough to justify the cost of the show. Now that I'm no longer a poor graduate student, I decided I might as well go. (There was actually one time in the summer of 2006 when I was planning to see Death Cab and had purchased a ticket, but ended up not going because I broke my arm the day before the show. That was, of course, the same injury that occurred just days before the first trip I took with Cara.)

In 2015, after I hadn't given a whole lot of consideration to the band in a while, two things happened that closely tied their music to Cara and to her death. The first was that Death Cab released a new album, Kintsugi, and after the album was released, Cara asked me if I'd listened to it. She said that she had and it sounded good. The album was released on March 31, so this was very near the end of Cara's life. As it turned out, sadly, I did not get around to listening to the album myself until after Cara died. And I do like it a lot. Although I wouldn't put it up with my favorite Death Cab albums, I thought it was a significant step up from the album that came before it.

By the way, kintsugi is a Japanese term meaning "to repair with gold," referring to the art of repairing broken pottery with golden lacquer. According to Wikipedia, "As a philosophy it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise." Fitting, no? In an odd coincidence, three different bands I like, Death Cab, the Rural Alberta Advantage, and Hey Rosetta! released albums with artwork and/or titles related to this golden repair between September 2014 and March 2015. I in fact attended a Hey Rosetta! show less than two weeks before Cara's death.

Hey Rosetta! album cover showing an example of kintsugi

The other event was that, as I was picking out music to play at the funeral home by looking through Cara's Spotify playlists, I came across a song she liked that I felt was a great encapsulation of her spirit: "Stay Young, Go Dancing." And so I chose this song to be played at the conclusion of the funeral ceremony.

Moving forward in time, now, to this past Tuesday. Going to a place, for the first time since Cara's death, that I had previously gone to with her always evokes feelings in me. This happened at both Nano Brew, the bicycling themed Ohio City bar where I had dinner (they have fantastic burgers), and at the music venue itself. Cara and I only went to one show together at Nautica, a very memorable Decemberists show the month after we got married, so I definitely thought of that show.

Unfortunately, my relative lack of experience with Nautica led me to make a very poor decision in purchasing tickets. Although the show was not sold out, when I went to purchase my ticket on the day of the show, I decided to also check StubHub, and I found some tickets that appeared to be better than any available from the venue and with no markup from face value: in the first row of seats. First row is good, right? (I did know that first row did not mean right by the stage, but rather the first row of seats after a standing pit.)

What I failed to consider was the layout of the venue. There is the stage, then the pit for standing room general admission, then a wide walkway, then a grandstand. The first row of seats in the grandstand is at ground level, at the same level as the standing pit, and directly behind the walkway through which people are frequently walking during shows. Therefore, the first row of seats is actually the very worst place to sit in the entire venue, because the view of the stage is partially obstructed by people standing, and people walking in front of you provide further annoyance.

The first band to perform was Pure Bathing Culture, who played a short but enjoyable set. This was actually the fourth time I'd seen the band in just nine months, which I'm pretty sure is the first time that's ever happened for me with a non-local band. I find this funny as, although I like the band, they are nowhere near being one of my favorites, so it's worth explaining how this happened. The first time I saw Pure Bathing Culture, they were on tour with another Portland, Oregon-based band I like, Wild Ones, and played a show at the Beachland Tavern last September that some of my friends also attended. The following week, I was in Washington, DC for a conference and as it happened I had a free night on which the same bands were playing a club in DC. I thought it would be fun and funny to go see them again, so I did. That show was especially notable because of the conversation I had with Wild Ones' lead singer Danielle at the merch table. I fondly remember the look of dawning recognition and excitement on her face after I said hi and she realized I was one of the people who had talked to her in Cleveland. The first time I saw Wild Ones, in March 2014, they were opening for one of my very favorite bands, Typhoon (also from Portland), and I had a very nice conversation with Danielle about Typhoon, Cara, and what Typhoon's music means to me. I was pleased to hear her say that she thinks Typhoon's lead singer Kyle Morton is one of the very best people she knows.

So anyway, to finish explaining how I ended up seeing Pure Bathing Culture four times. After the first two last fall, they then happened to be opening at two different shows I've seen this year: Lucius (an absolutely amazing show) and now Death Cab.

The second act Tuesday night was CHVRCHES (pronounced "churches"). I have their first album and I like it, and I was looking forward to seeing them, but unfortunately I found much of their live set to be bordering on obnoxiously loud (perhaps the thumping bass brought up unpleasant associations with noise problems I've had with my upstairs neighbor), and my annoyance with the seating situation was increasing. I could have stood up to get a better view, but no one around me was standing, and I didn't want to bother the people behind me. I did vow to myself that I would stand for Death Cab no matter what. But toward the end of CHVRCHES' set, I was wondering whether I'd made a mistake in going to the show. The fact that it came on the heels of the transcendent Florence + the Machine show I attended days earlier, I suppose, was also not in this show's favor.

Something great happened in the break between the second and third bands. I was walking back from a concession stand when I heard someone call my name. I turned to see one of my old college cross country teammates, Irene. We talked for a while, sharing memories of running and various concerts, including a Decemberists show in 2006 that we had both attended without being aware of each other's attendance. That show, at the Agora, was on November 9, just five days after Cara and I started dating. I called Cara during that show so she could hear the song "Red Right Ankle."

After I explained my unfortunate seating situation, Irene told me that she and her friend had seats much higher up in the grandstand and there was an empty seat next to them that I could use. So I joined them, and my new seat, in row S, was vastly preferable to my original seat in row A. Who would have guessed?

Death Cab quickly put to rest any doubts I still had about whether it had been a good idea to attend the show. As they played the opening chords of the song "Crooked Teeth" from their 2005 album Plans, I instantly remembered how much I had loved that song ten years ago. And it turns out I still love it today. I was surprised by how powerful the feelings of nostalgia were that were evoked by the songs the band played from Plans and the album that preceded it, Transatlanticism. Feelings of nostalgia for that period of time in 2005 and 2006 when I started grad school, lived by myself for the first time, got into indie music and going to concerts, and met and became best friends with Cara. I think the fact that I hadn't listened to those albums that much in the years since made the nostalgic feelings even stronger, because that music is even more tied to that time in my life than music by bands such as Ozma and Okkervil River that I listened to a lot back then but then continued to listen to a lot. I was very glad that Death Cab played several songs from each of those two albums, including closing their encore with a sprawling and intense rendition of the title track from Transatlanticism.

Before the concert, I thought about how I might react if Death Cab played "Stay Young, Go Dancing," the song from Cara's funeral. I guessed they probably wouldn't play it, though, and I was right, they didn't. What I didn't think about (because I hadn't listened to the song in years) was how I would react if they played "I Will Follow You Into the Dark," (like "Crooked Teeth," a track from Plans). It's a beautiful acoustic number. Opening lines: "Love of mine, someday you will die, but I'll be close behind, I'll follow you into the dark."

Yeah, I was in tears throughout the song, and also kind of just sitting there dazed. But as I've written before, I think it's healthy to experience those feelings, and music often helps me do that.

Cara and I talked about music a lot in our online chats as we were getting to know each other, and Death Cab For Cutie were one of the bands we talked about. So it shouldn't have been surprising that finally seeing them live would bring about a lot of feelings in me. I'm very glad I went.

The Decemberists at Nautica Pavilion

There are moments in life that, if they had been scripted by a Hollywood screenwriter, audiences would mock for being too absurdly implausible. Strange coincidences that no one would ever believe . . . and yet they really happen. Perhaps that's part of what makes life so magical.

Cara and I went to the Nautica Pavilion in Cleveland's Flats last night to see the Decemberists play a concert. It turned out to be an experience we'll undoubtedly treasure for the rest of our lives. It was our first time to the venue, an outdoor, roofed amphitheatre on the west bank of the Cuyahoga River. The place is more corporate than what I typically prefer for a concert, but I'll readily admit that, when the weather is good, it's a nice place to see a concert. The weather last night was perfect.


The Decemberists' set was great from the start (fan favorite "July, July"). Other highlights included "Here I Dreamt I Was An Architect," the whole "Crane Wife" trilogy, and a very rocking rendition of "Won't Want For Love." They closed the main set with "This Is Why We Fight," and I was very pleased with the setlist and performance to that point.

During the first encore break, a surprisingly large number of people filed out of the venue, hoping to beat traffic, no doubt. It didn't make sense to me at the time, but after what happened next, I'm sure that any of those folks who left and then read reports about the concert later are kicking themselves big time.

The encore started with "Raincoat Song." Next up came a song that I'd consider the highlight of any Decemberists concert it's performed at - "The Mariner's Revenge Song." I smiled as I listened to Colin Meloy's familiar introduction, telling the audience to scream at the appropriate time as if we were being swallowed by a giant whale. It's probably the best crowd participation moment I've experienced at concerts, and I doubt it will get old no matter how many times I get to join in (this was the third).

Then they began playing the song.

And then Cara got my attention and pointed off to the right of the stage.

There, just beginning to come into view, was a giant cargo ship making its way down the river.

Let's stop right there to consider things. How cool would it be to see a giant ship float by, right behind the stage, during a riverside concert? Very cool. How about if it was during a concert by the Decemberists, a band with a lot of nautically themed music? Even cooler. Now what about if the ship came into view in perfect timing with the beginning of an epic nine minute song about a boy joining up with a ship's crew and sailing out to sea in a quest for revenge, continued to float by until by the middle of the song the ship basically engulfed the stage in front of it, began to disappear from view at just about the time when the whole several-thousand person audience was screaming in unison for the aforementioned swallowing by a whale, and was finally gone in time for the song's jaunty conclusion?

Well, that would be just about the coolest thing ever, I'd say.

And that's what happened last night.

I truly consider everyone who was there very lucky to have witnessed it. Colin said (clearly joking) before playing closer "June Hymn" that they had hired the ship's captain, and it was very expensive. In my mind, I found myself thinking, "Maybe someone on the ship is a Decemberists fan, and planned it" - a fairly ridiculous notion, I'm sure. But could that really have happened by random chance?

I guess that's what makes real life so magical.

It was a wonderful evening, and I'll also mention that folk band The Head and the Heart were great openers. After their set, Cara and I wandered down to the merch stand, where we saw the really cool custom made poster for the night's show, featuring a stylized picture of the riverside venue. We considered getting one, but I thought it was a little pricey. After the show, I decided that we needed that poster, and we bought one. Years from now, when we look at it, we'll undoubtedly think about the time a giant ship passed behind the stage during "The Mariner's Revenge Song," and marvel at the memory.

The Rural Alberta Advantage at the Beachland Ballroom

Canadian indie rockers The Rural Alberta Advantage rolled into Cleveland on Easter Sunday for the last stop of their U.S. tour in support of their new (and highly recommended) album Departing. They played a great show to a very appreciative audience in the Beachland Ballroom (a step up in venues from their last Cleveland show in the Beachland's smaller room, the Tavern - it's good to see the band's audience expanding). Before I expound on last night's concert, though, I'd like to talk about an experience the previous night.

On April 23rd I went to Columbus to see The Decemberists play at the Lifestyle Communities Pavilion. It was, quite frankly, a disappointing experience. The LC's indoor venue holds 2200 people, and it was sold out. It turned out that it really wasn't my kind of atmosphere for seeing a concert. I can't fault the Decemberists for getting so popular - I certainly think they deserve it - but I can definitely fault all the people at the show who were more interested in getting drunk and talking to their bros than in watching and listening to the band perform. It came close to ruining the show for me. By the end of the night, it was, overall, an enjoyable experience. Especially "The Mariner's Revenge Song," which is just an amazing thing to witness live. Then, at least, being in a crowd of two thousand people all screaming as if we were being devoured by a giant whale added to the experience rather than detracting from it. When the band opened by playing The Tain in its entirety(!!!) and people all around were talking the whole time, on the other hand...

Colin Meloy definitely noticed it, as he made a comment at one point in the concert about how the people toward the back didn't seem to be paying attention. It makes me wonder whether bands might sometimes prefer to play for somewhat smaller crowds who are all paying them rapt attention. It's hard to imagine an artist wishing that less people would listen to their music, but there are tradeoffs to popularity, I suppose - both for artists and for their fans.

Moving forward one night to the show at the Beachland, the atmosphere couldn't have been more different. The crowd was at best one-tenth the size of that at the LC, but everyone who was there was there to see music performed.

I very much enjoyed opening act Lord Huron. I had never listened to any of their music before, but after the show I ended up buying both of their EPs. They play a breezy brand of indie folk-rock. At times in the show I was reminded of a folkier Local Natives. I've also seen "a tropical Fleet Foxes" used as a descriptor, which I could see. I've since learned that the EPs were a solo project of the lead singer, and he has now put together a band to play shows and write new music. Lord Huron could work on their consistency, as I found some of their songs to be just decent. Several of the songs they played, on the other hand, were just outstanding, including "The Stranger." I'm pretty sure some of the songs I most enjoyed are as yet unreleased. They really had some killer harmonies, so I'll definitely look forward to the full band's recorded output. This is a band to watch.

The RAA took the stage next, and performed a roughly one-hour-twenty-minute set that covered the large majority of their two album catalog. I recently reviewed their new album, so I would find it redundant to describe their music in great detail, but suffice it to say that they are even better live than on their albums. Each of the three members of the band brings a tremendous passion and enthusiasm to their performances. Nils Edenloff really packs the emotions into his nasal, at times heart-wrenching vocals. Amy Cole's synth parts and pretty backing vocals provide a vital complement, and Paul Banwatt's drumming is just a marvel to behold in person. Here's their setlist (I managed to snag Amy's after the show):

Luciana
Muscle Relaxants
Don't Haunt This Place
Under the Knife
Rush Apart
Tornado '87
Ballad of the RAA
Two Lovers
The Breakup
Eye of the Tiger (Nils solo)
Four Night Rider
Edmonton
Frank, AB
In The Summertime
Drain the Blood
The Deadroads
Stamp
___________

North Star
Barnes' Yard
Sleep All Day
The Dethbridge in Lethbridge
Good Night

Some of the highlights to me included "Frank, AB" and "Stamp," but really, the whole set was great. When Nils introduced "Dethbridge" as the last song, I was thinking, "No! Play 'Good Night' too!" ("Good Night" was not on the written setlist.) So when Nils led the band off of the stage and down onto the floor among the crowd as "Dethbridge" came to its close, I was both thrilled and relieved. The band closed, as they had the previous time I saw them, by playing "Good Night" unplugged standing in the middle of the audience. It's really a special thing to experience. I couldn't help but think about how this would never work with the crowd at the previous night's show.

Nils said on stage that this was the last night of their tour, and they couldn't think of a better way to end it. He was obviously very sincere in his gratitude for the great audience response, and it was a really cool thing to see. All three band members were eager to chat with the crowd by the merch table after the show. I absolutely love this poster, which they were happy to autograph:



It was just a fantastic night, and I'm really appreciative of both a great band, and the great venue I got to see them in.

On a related note, the same night that The Decemberists played Columbus, another band I really like, The New Pornographers, played in Cleveland at the House of Blues. I saw them play the Beachland (with Okkervil River opening, truly an amazing show) a few years ago. As reported in Cleveland Scene, during the show Neko Case said, "I like the Beachland about 8000 times fucking more" than the House of Blues. As if I needed any more reason to like Neko Case!

But I guess this goes back to the idea of tradeoffs that I mentioned earlier. For me as a fan, I kind of feel like the RAA are at a near ideal level of popularity - they tour regularly, and I can see them with a good-sized but not overwhelming crowd in an intimate venue for pretty cheap. And of course, they clearly very much enjoy playing such shows as well. But if they grew to a Decemberists level of popularity, they would undoubtedly be able to be more comfortable making a living from music. I wonder what the musicians' feelings on these matters are?