A little piece of me
that not many people know is that I had a brief stint as a radio DJ at my
college radio station – not the cool station.
KXLU was the cool station – an alternative rock station that played
cutting edge music, new on the scene.
My partner, Kristin, had background in the music a bit by
default. The default being that her
mother was a record executive for a quite ginormous (Leo’s adjective that is
most appros) record label.
Kristin and I had radio DJ handles, and mine was a bit of pig latin to my
first and middle name – that first and middle name being Kathryn Jeanne
(Merrifield). My handle was Jathryn
Keanne, for lack of anything creative.
I wasn’t so much creative with a nickname as I was dazzled by the
creativity of others.
Jeanne is spelled the French way. When my mother told my grandmother, Jean,
that she (middle) named her daughter after her grandmother, my grandmother said
that she spelled it incorrectly. So much
for the French influence. I still think
it’s classy. Just don’t call me Jeannie. Also, fine for anyone else but… well, I’m a
proud girl when it comes my legacy.
My great grandmother, Venna Belle Marks, was a legal
secretary when it was a job for men. My
grandmother, “Nonny” was an advertising copywriter and artist. I have her paintings hanging on my walls –
the crying clowns got 86’d to the basement because they were too disturbing but
I love them for their truth they find in me.
The circus elephants made it to the boys’ bedroom even though the
creatures should be painted with the backdrop of the African Plains. The landscapes of Pasadena stay in the living
room.
I’m a little bit more than proud of the women in my
family. A little more than proud. Egregiously so. Can you be in love with your history? Maybe not so much in love with mine, but in
love with the strength and talent of the women I succeed.
It makes me feel like I have some responsibility to that
succession.
Even if my stint as a radio DJ in the time of The Cure, No
Doubt, The Police… found its way nowhere.
That friend, Kristin, didn’t go through with it either. But, I was cool for a moment. And, I was even too shy then to talk to a
distant audience. That audience was not
at all awed by me. It was all about the
music and where it took me. It’s still
that way when I listen. It takes me out
of my head into a realm of indestructible, imaginative possibility.
If I’m cycling. If
I’m running. If I’m writing.
The only place I don’t need it is swimming. What a pain in the ass that is – too
equipment intensive.
Even with yoga it’s better with music, but I can do without
it just to calm the noise in my head that needs a long, slow breath to channel…
all of that… is me. Hence, yoga and
swimming where I need that long, slow breath.
Music has always been my suspension in a way that only some
very good, and well- written books can take me.
I can take myself there.
That possibility is always here.
I bet you wish you could go there too.
Especially when it’s strong and loud. Even if I don’t agree with it. Even if I don’t agree that you think
differently. A strong and loud opinion
engenders respect. I won’t succumb to
it, but I like it.
Perhaps that is the reason that the radio DJ thing didn’t
work out so well. It’s always better to
have someone to shout back. Go ahead and
shout. It’s better than silence.
Silence is good… only
when it’s that dialogue that funnels itself through the channel of music that
pulls me through the chaos - a northeastern thunderstorm.
Amazing what a thunderstorm and a failed attempt at being a
radio DJ can teach me.
I’m better here.
For you, I’m better, my sweet paper and my darling Times New
Roman. My portal to the silent world
reciprocates with it’s letters and its lovely words.
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