Lists

I’m a list maker: grocery lists, To-Do lists, lists of songs I need to finish, poems I’m working on, people I need to get in touch with. My lists organize me when I remember to look at them. Recently, I even made a list called “Jobs I’ve Gotten Paid For.” When I re-read it just now, it was like seeing a quick film running through my mind, moving images of myself in each of the jobs I’ve done. Like when I was a hospital clerk. I see myself clocking in, pushing my timecard into a bulky gray machine, hearing it click and reverberate off the concrete walls of the employee entrance. I’d often have to loiter in the corridor there to be sure I wasn’t too early or too late. That was one of only two jobs I’ve done with a time clock associated with it. The other was last year, working in a music store, filling in for a guy who was out on paternity leave. For that job, the time clock was a 3x5 card I filled-in at the end of each day. The store owner trusted me to be accurate and always rounded up to the nearest half-hour. Nice.

When I re-read my Paid Jobs list just now, it was clear I started at the beginning (babysitter) and moved chronologically through my life hoping to remember all my jobs in sequence. But at “Telemarketer” (when I sold gravy boats to newlyweds), the jobs on my list are clearly ones I’d forgotten initially, but added to the list as they popped back into my consciousness. These were jobs I hadn’t liked as much, except for the couple of days I worked on Frank Zappa’s sound crew. That was pretty great. I wrapped and routed audio cables like the rest of the crew while the band rehearsed in a hanger on the outskirts of Los Angeles. It’s a longer story, but I felt special remembering it. Mostly what I remember is the efficiency. Zappa expected precision from everyone around him, and he got it.

One of my forgotten jobs was modeling for a hair stylist. For that one, I had to get my hair washed, cut, dried, pulled, teased, and sprayed into weird shapes half-a-dozen times in one afternoon. The stylist was teaching at a stylists’ convention in King of Prussia, outside of Philadelphia. No idea how I got that job. I’d also forgotten the job I took with my dad’s friend Fritz who sold Oldsmobiles in Wayne, Pennsylvania. I assumed he needed a receptionist when he told me he could give me a job for the summer. I came to work in white linen pants, heeled sandals, and a green wrap-around halter top I’d made for my first day on the job. But the manager told me I’d be washing and polishing cars in the lot as he looked me up and down. I started work the next day instead.

My favorite list is called “Audio Doodles.” There are well over a hundred, 10- to 30-second clips of musical ideas I’ve had over the years that I want to pursue. The file lives on the cloud so I can access it from wherever I am. I especially like to listen to it when I’m traveling. Each idea feels like a seedling ready to grow. Sometimes it makes me sad to think about all of them. They’ve been so patient. Other times, I think maybe their purpose is simply to be there, waiting.

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