A time-starved Valentine to you

plus: Duets, redux

The truth is, I love Valentine’s Day, and I just cannot not send a FIELD TRIP Valentine today.

I wanted today’s FIELD TRIP to be a love letter to my neighborhood coffee shop, Portland Brew, which is closing, which is truly breaking my heart. But that writing isn’t ready.

Then I thought I might dash off something wry about my sweet husband and his refusal to part with this damn “vintage” Acura that is now draining our savings account with its repairs—and his reluctant wrestling with the repair dudes— but I didn’t pull that together, either. Whatever! Life is too full! I had to get my hair did and there was paying work to do and also edits. What am I, some kind of newsletter machine?!

I have had a Manhattan. Can you tell? I got the husband a bottle of bourbon and two coupe glasses for Valentines (tbh the coupe glasses were for me; I was the one who wanted them), and it’s cozy up in here. Our teenage child is out with her boyfriend and Todd and I are listening to Tune Yards’ Sketchy, a record we both love; and Todd is sitting in his favorite chair, nibbling on his scarf fringe, which is something he did when I sat across from him and was just getting to know him back in 2003. I know that doesn’t sound sexy. But it was cute to me and still is. (Yes, he’s wearing a scarf indoors.) Also, he made lasagna and the house smells great. We will soon eat and then we will watch the new season of Yellowjackets and bask in the 90s angry-girl vibes. Later it will rain and it will be a hard rain.

I’m going to re-share a newsletter I wrote back in the fall, after I took Thalia to visit Indiana University (which gave me a good excuse to go see Gillian Welch and David Rawlings play in Bloomington). It’s called “Duets,” so it’s of the moment, yes?And it’s the Field Trip I most want to rework into something ~literary~. (Help?) It’s about couples, obvi — my kid and me, Gillian and Dave, Jake Lenderman and Karly Hartzman, me and my mom. I’m probably forgetting another couple or two.

I hope you’ve had a good Valentine’s Day, whether or not you observe.

DUETS

Every trip I take is, in some way, about the music accompanying me. Sometimes I make special playlists for the journey, sometimes it’s less determined, and whatever I happen to be listening to at the moment colors and textures the travel. Either way, those songs become time capsules, as much a part of the memory-feel of the trip as anything I did, saw, or ate. Music is such a constant in my life that when I travel, it’s another curated piece of the experience, like the shoes you choose to bring or the restaurant reservations you book. 

Last weekend my teenage daughter and I set out on a road trip. In the car we listen to music nonstop. Usually I give her aux privileges—that’s Gen Z for ‘she chooses the tunes’—and this works out because our tastes are similar. Sometimes I long to pull rank, force her to listen to something she doesn’t know, an album or track I feel sure she’ll like if she’ll give it a chance. But also I’m driving, and I have enough trouble keeping my focus on the road. I defer to her out of laziness and trust, but also caution. 

We make a pretty good pair, she and I, as soundtracking the journey goes. And the two of us sing and sing and sing our hearts out. 

This trip—to Bloomington, Indiana— would be her first time touring a college campus; it would also be my third time seeing Gillian Welch and David Rawlings in concert. Bloomington’s Bluebird Club sounded like a small, sweet place to catch this beautiful duo—and I could take my kid to see a legit college town and big-state-school campus? It sounded like a plan. 

Both of us wanted to see the show but the Bluebird told me nope, they were strictly 21+, my 16yo could not accompany me. So we’d be separated—only for a few hours—still, bummer. 

Bloomington, early morning

In the car headed north from Nashville to Bloomingtom on a too-warm September afternoon, T and I listened to “Oh Babe It Ain’t No Lie” and other Welch & Rawlings songs. We listened to “Oh! Sweet Nuthin’” and “Life Is” and “Truckers Atlas.” We listened to Todd Rundgren and Charli XCX and Adrianne Lenker and Alex G and Laura Marling. I’m surprised she didn’t play the Baez-Dylan duet of “It Ain’t Me Babe,” one of her faves. I wanted to play her Gillian and Dave’s exquisite new record, Woodland, front to back, but this could wait for the trip home. I also planned for us to listen to MJ Lenderman’s new record, Manning Fireworks, which would be released the day of our drive home. We played an early single from the record, “She’s Leaving You,” and I turned it up really loud, noting the place toward the end of the song where, through the heavy crunch of guitars, you can just barely hear a dude yelling, “Yeahhhhhh!” Woooo!” in the background. Some good bro energy. 

And so our College Search Season began. It’s the only one I’ll have, since she’s my only. I reckon it’ll stretch through Spring 2026, unless she makes an early decision. We’ll visit a couple schools in November, maybe a few more next spring. I’m angling for these visits as much for me as for her: The process feels purpose-built to guide a parent in the transition from one stage of life to another. Over and over, you imagine a whole new life for your child, while they do the same; but you do it side by side, together, sharing hotel rooms and meals and inside jokes and hours in the car.

As we drove through cornfields, I recalled, vaguely, a similar time 34 years ago, when my mom took me to New England to check out Vassar, Wesleyan, and Tufts. These were the only schools I toured, though I applied to others. I ended up matriculating at Wesleyan and stayed two years, then junior-transferred to the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, which was the only school that rejected me as a high school senior. [insert smug emoji]

T asked me about my own college visits, and I wanted to tell her about me and mom in New England in 1990. I tried to excavate memories, but I have very few, except I think we ate at one of those cool old-school silver diners that are sprinkled across the Northeast, or used to be. And I think maybe my mom’s camera was stolen from our hotel room? What I can picture is us on the Vassar tour, where two boys, hand in hand, skipped merrily by our tour group like two prancing fawns—clearly making a big gay statement, one that 17-year-old me was happy to receive. I don’t remember anything at all of what the two of us talked about, or what mom had to say about the schools, if anything; or how we got along, or what we noticed together. This saddens me greatly, but it’s such a repeat feature of my life, this not remembering, that I’ve more or less accepted it—and grown evermore determined to capture, going forward, what I can. 

As we wound through tiny Indiana towns, T kept up a stream of teenage-myopic commentary: Who lived in these places? What did they do? The houses looked abandoned, it was creepy, she’d hate to grow up in a place like this. I just kinda…let her go on. We got a kick out of imagining hanging out at Biggins Place in Loogootee. 

When we rolled into Bloomington, the tune changed; she was dazzled by a bona fide college town. (I figured!) She loved the bohemian cafe where we ate a quick dinner (she was particularly impressed by the waitresses’ fits); she noticed the large groups of boys and girls walking the streets of Bloomington that evening. The next day, we both kinda fell in love with Tovah, an IU student who cheerfully told us about the million and three activities she was involved with and her course of study, which included a major in arts management, a minor in film production, and a certificate in rock history. Also, she had a really, really great long shag mullet. Both of us were smitten by the school (good job, admissions folks) and the large, pretty campus, and how kind and welcoming every person we encountered was.

And I did go see Gillian and Dave at the Bluebird, while T camped out at a Starbucks. The duo sounded as good as anyone could hope for, their voices pooling together perfectly, though I was in the very back of the sold-out crowd, sweating into my Jack and ginger, tightly packed against other fans. Turns out I’d failed a critical step of catching a big act at a small club: You gotta get there super early to snag a good spot. (I mean, duh, but time was not on my side that night.) A few songs after the set break, I decided I’d gotten my money’s worth and joined T back on the streets of Bloomington, and we headed back to our motel. I told her I’d take her to see G&D at the Ryman when they next play there next, scout’s honor. 

Headed back to Nashville the next afternoon, T took the wheel (new era!) so I shot my shot and cued up Manning Fireworks. Yes, it is very, very good. The final track ends in a six-and-a-half-minute guitar feedback/dronefest that almost hypnotized my poor teenager as she motored down Hwy 231 through much corn, much corn, much cornnnnnnnnnnnnnnn.

We hit Loogootee again, passed Biggins Place, passed all the same houses T had thought looked empty the day before. We passed fields of goldenrod just beginning to bloom, a few weeks ahead of back home. I thought about MJ Lenderman and Karly Hartzman, an indie-darling duo who, I’d just read, recently split up, though the band they’re in, Wednesday, remains intact. This sounds…difficult? I love Wednesday (Rat Saw God was one of my favorite records of 2023), and I love Hartzman’s songwriting so, so much; and I love Lenderman’s songwriting too, which I’d wager is heavily influenced by Hartzman. (Ann Powers suspects this, too.) I wonder how all of this will play out. They’re so young. 

T, too, is in a band…of a fashion… with her boyfriend. I’ve told her it’s a gamble, a gamble I kinda wrote a novel about, in fact; but she doesn’t wanna hear it. And what about Gillian and Dave, singin’, Was it spirit, was it solid / did I ditch that class in college? 

And singing: When do we become ourselves? 

And singing: That’s the way that it goes / Everybody’s buyin little baby clothes

And singing: the best part's where one starts and the other ends / You and me are always gonna be howdy howdy

I hope to make the very most of this brief, liminal, exploratory stretch of time with T. I’ll do my best to squeeze the fun out of every visit we make. I mean…fine, one simply cannot coordinate every college tour with a concert by an all-time favorite artist. But a lot of fun (for everyone, not just the old lady) is easily tacked on, as simple as sussing out a new-to-us coffee shop or bookstore or record store.

And I’ll take very good notes. I have to. 

Our next trip will be neither college-related nor by car: Nous voyageons à Paris. I’ve been saving and planning for years! Is there a playlist? Hell yeah there is. The first song I added is an obvious choice: Serge and Jane (but also Serge and Brigitte!) doing “Je t’aime moi non plus,” which tbh is…kind of an annoying song, with all the extreme sexytime heavy breathing. But c’mon, it has to be on there. 

I sent the playlist link to T: Tu peux collabuer. We’ll see how we do. 

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SFTW (songs for the week):

Playing in Nashville tomorrow at Soft Junk, possibly during a deluge! I plan to be there! ⬇️