Had the pleasure of seeing Galway songwriter, troubadour and vintage instrument aficionado Sean Tyrrell last night in Somerville. I was charting a path down memory lane, having seen him at least once at his regular Sunday night gig at the Roisin Dubh in Galway and a couple times at Sandinos in Derry over the years. Strange to listen to music remembering your younger self listening to the same music, trying to place not just where you were, but who you were the last time you experienced it.
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My mom has a habit that has become more pronounced over time. If she doesn't want to do something, she makes herself late. A strange, passive aggressive stalling tactic. You might think about it casually and consider her disorganized, or worse -- approaching senility. The dillying. The dallying. A whole ritual involving socks. But I don't think so - because I can see the intention behind it. A quiet protest. An insistence on her right to choose. As I was sitting on the couch yesterday morning, in pjs, drinking tea -- a half an hour before I needed to be somewhere it takes me twenty minutes to drive to -- it occurred to me that I have inherited this particular habit. When I first picked up Diana Taylor's wonderful book The Archive and the Repertoire , the idea that we perform acts of memory everyday in our speech, our silences, our habits and ways of being in the world was new to me. It kind of blew me away. I think she actually talks about looking in the