R.R.1 - Box 29

Random thoughts cannot be stopped

2012-02-08T19:17:00.008-06:00

With untold projects to address, inertia has ceased. My sleep deprived mind continues to spin aimlessly in every direction, leaving my body behind and my emotions tumultuous. Focus is a feat stupendous, so I have decided not to bother.

Earl Grey? Jasmine? Earl Grey? Chamomile. The crocus are blooming already. All my blue shirts need ironed, none of my black ones do. Damn, I forgot to plug in my phone charger. Tune down a half step and capo up or just tune to pitch? Want to get the roma-style beans this year and scarlet runners. I think I missed a dentist appointment in January. Why can I not finish this book? Have I lost interest or do I not want it to end? Zicam. Maybe it's the remnants of the full moon. I wasn't happy when I was thin, either. Need to use that mascara coupon, get rid of the glumpy one. Could I run away for just one week? My Aldi's orchid is going to bloom again. I love hearing the train whistles from down by the river. I'll just start a new book. Re-wet humidifiers. Drier buzz, phone ring, oven beep, appliance cacophony. What if something really goes wrong? Find the cell phone donation place. The grape needs an oil change. I'd like those pepper strips a lot better with some dip. Make lunch for tomorrow. Why can't I sleep?

Re-tales: Miss Sally

2012-01-07T21:15:00.004-06:00

"Re-tales" will be a reoccurring feature, remembering stories from a career in retail.

Installment # 1 - Miss Sally

Miss Sally

An era was ending in retail. Career positions were increasingly exclusive to management. Heels preferred, not required. Outdoor plazas were turning into malls and I was learning how to steam on a hook. Formalities still lingered. Even the assistant manager, just two years my senior, was addressed as Mrs. Hall, not Lynne. Some stores still had porters, gentlemen who unloaded and moved product, lest the ladies run their hose. It was a different world, one I was anxious to see turn, except for Miss Sally.

Miss Sally was a fixture at Northland. In her many years with the company, she had seen, done and re-done it all. Darn right that hairdo was really hers, she bought and paid for it! She still wore a girdle, not a foundation garment, and if anyone needed a safety pin, Miss Sally and her girdle would provide. Everyone was Missy or Miss Lady, customers and coworkers alike. Laughter came loudly and often, but when you worked with Miss Sally, you learned.

Probably the most important lesson I learned from Miss Sally was to take things in stride. Let whatever it is roll off your back and keep going. “You never know what anger a body walks through that door with, their bad day don’t have to be yours.” Words to live by in retail. Second best lesson? Always bring a second pair of comfortable shoes. Many days, the second was the first. Hard to be philosophical when your feet hurt.

Miss Sally also taught us the sneaky toilet paper trick. Shoplifters often will hide product they are planning to swipe, compiling a cache of many items in one spot close to the exit, then leave and come back later to make a quick grab and run. Watch them stash the goods, wait until they leave, then replace the collected goods with a roll of toilet paper. Tell all the staff, watch and wait. Laugh your ass off when they find it. Seldom is more fun had on a sales floor.

It’s been nearly thirty years since Miss Sally and I watched the thieves run, police at their heels, from the broken display cases of Lotus Jewelers, past Lerner and out to parking lot points unknown. Most likely she’s gone, just like Northland. Just like those formal days of retail. Luckily, we are all the sum of our past, so Miss Sally lives on. Take that, shoplifters! Wipe it and weep.

How can you not romanticize baseball?

2011-12-31T13:38:00.005-06:00

After seeing Moneyball last night at the cheap show, I said to my husband, "I really want to like baseball." He laughed and nodded, he feels the same. For him the mitigating issue is the money, not unlike his detest of the commercialization of Christmas. Minor and farm team games are more to his taste. I, on the other hand, like the "idea" of baseball more than the actual game. The passion, the hard work, the strategy, the tradition, the ceremony! How witnessing a game is an event. The bringing together of generations, a grandpa teaching his grandaughter how to fill in a scorecard, coworkers bonding over a beer, little kids with gloved hands scanning the sky for pop fouls, tears of joy streaming down the cheeks of fans holding signs high as they profess their undying love. I want to like it, I do. But.... but.... oh, good Lord, it bores me so. Bring on the baseball movies, just spare me the game.

Quilt

2011-12-27T19:28:00.003-06:00

Just shy of eighth grade graduation, my mother asked me what colors I’d like for a quilt. Although I was a purple fanatic, I picked red. To this day, I do not know why. Each Christmas since, this red and white quilt has graced my bed, usually staying through Valentine’s Day, reminding me of my tiny, strong, artistic “Granma Klingler”.

As a small child, she frightened me. While my Grandpa was one to laugh and tease, Granma was often stern, correcting behavior and handing out chores even when she was the one doing the visiting! Not so much a whirlwind as a constant breeze, her hands were never idle. Cooking, cleaning, gardening, tending animals, canning, quilting, crocheting, sewing, baking, rearranging. As I aged, I began to discover the similarities between us. In earlier years, she played piano, was a fine colorist of black & white photographs, painted and sketched as well. Granma was not scary; she was busy. A manager getting things done, delegating tasks, coordinating outcomes, demanding as much from you as she was prepared to give herself. Before Stephen Covey, there was Granma.

While I inherited my Grandpa’s mirth, there’s still a lot of Granma lurking in my DNA. The German cleaning gene is obviously recessive, but these days my whirlwind is settling into that steady breeze, balancing work, family, music, garden and art. Most likely, I’ll never quilt. Luckily, I don’t have to. Granma Klingler’s work endures.

Childhood Christmas Memories

2011-12-18T21:05:00.004-06:00

Childhood Christmas memories are shattered glass in my brain. Something bright flashes attractively, but it’s not all there. Perhaps that defines my love affair with this king of holidays, why it can never seem to live up to all expectations. Still, I reach back to those touchstones again and again, hoping. My uncle as Santa, even though the myth was never perpetrated in our house. The spirograph, Kenner’s psychedelic gateway drug for eight year olds. Gene Autry’s 10” Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer record fighting for turntable time with Dean Martin and Doris Day’s LPs. Christmas tree as nightlight. Curling mounds of ribbon with a paring knife. The smell of Mod Podge. A six foot aluminum tree in my bedroom, decorated with ornaments made from old cards, egg cartons and construction paper. S.O.S for breakfast.Fire at the Wild Goose Discount Center two days before Christmas. My mother cranking out scads of spritz cookies (a talent I never mastered). Dad listening to clay 78’s of Christmas songs in Polish, tears in his eyes. Silver spray painted cardboard angel wings. Singing for midnight mass. Big, hot lightbulbs on a cloth covered wire. Breaking the nativity's angel. Tinsel. Tinsel. Tinsel…. so much tinsel.

Still Thankful

2011-11-30T21:27:00.005-06:00

Every day when my husband's home and I have to go to work, he brings me my freshly brewed good morning. Sometimes I even manage to open up one eye. My fave version is a live one, but you'll get the idea.

That is The Point

2011-11-27T20:01:00.002-06:00

Really enjoyed the Harry Nilsson tribute at Off Broadway last night. Perhaps the best part was when they played The Point silently on a big screen and played the music to it live with narration. (More like the album.) Which of course made me look for it on YouTube. I hope they upload something from the show, but til then, I did find some broadcast clips. Unfortunately, it's not Dustin Hoffman narrating like the TV version I remember, but still, good to see it out there.

Happy Thanksgiving

2011-11-23T19:45:00.003-06:00

I'll be out giving thanks tomorrow, so here's my very favorite Thanksgiving song for you today.

Spirits

2011-11-22T18:41:00.003-06:00

Angels. Ghosts. God. Gods. Goddesses. Spirits.

I believe. There are most certainly energies among us that cannot be explained by science. Different people or cultures give them different names. But all civilizations throughout history seem to refer at one time or another to presence or power that is unseen. I've felt them. I've seen signs. A shadow where none should be cast, a bird following me, a warm breath of air on a cool day or a draft in a warm room, the gift of a melody, healing, or peace. Naysayers blame psychology, physiology or random theory. I blame no one; I'm grateful to the spirits.

Eye

2011-11-21T21:01:00.005-06:00

When I'm shooting, it's only with a camera. And I love to do it. Thankfully, my eye is pretty good. Anyone can learn to take a decent photo, but it's a lot more fun when you can add your heart to your head.

Second hand

2011-11-20T16:57:00.002-06:00

Saved a bundle today buying the florescent tubes we need for the basement at an estate sale. Lawn mowers, leaf blowers, bicycle tow-ers. Books, nooks, everything for cooks. Dishes, fishes, whatever your wishes. Second hand shopping, don't think of it as cheap, think of it as responsible recycling.

Hard

2011-11-19T20:07:00.003-06:00

Sometimes it's hard to get beyond ones self

and feel grateful for anything.

Even when everything is bountiful.

Leftovers

2011-11-18T19:21:00.002-06:00

We have the best leftovers. Sometimes, my husband doesn't even recognize the components once they are reassembled and transformed into a whole new dish. But sometimes the best leftovers are the straight up reruns. A big pot of soup, stew, chili or pasta that last two or three days is a life saver for our busy schedules. Of course, sometimes I wish I wasn't such a good cook. Maybe I'd eat less. But at least this way I know it's nutritious, low in sodium, fat, carbs or whatever we're currently avoiding, and above all, yummy.

Isn't it time?

2011-11-17T20:20:00.002-06:00

My friends in Colorado are already holding it over me. The ones out east weren't happy about it. I think it's about time, isn't it? Even the Rally Squirrel is already enjoying it. Snow. Autumn's glory is faded. Dreary skies are dripping. It's time for a change. For crystals to grace the sky and cheer the grey. Isn't it time?

Learning

2011-11-16T20:33:00.008-06:00

This year I am taking fiddle lessons at the Folk School. It's something I've wanted to do for quite a while, ever since I saw Darcie Deaville play fiddle with everyone at Woodyfest years and years ago. She is not a shy flower of a fiddler. No, she fiddles with fire, with style, with attitude! Not being a demure sort, the idea that I could be a strong female fiddler was quite appealing. Several teach yourself attempts were made, Lord knows Mel Bay had enough books & DVD's for me to try my hand, but I could never "get" the bowing. Well, I'm far from a virtuoso, but I can mostly hit the notes I'm looking for without screeching like a barn owl in heat thanks to the gentle coaching of instructor Ellen. You really are never too old to learn.

Shadows & Light

2011-11-15T20:04:00.006-06:00

Yin & Yang.

Night & Day.

Shadows & Light.

One without the other upsets the balance of the universe. How can one truly experience the velvet of a soft night without having a crisp, bright day with which to compare it?

I crave both, need both to feed my emotions.

Heart or mind?

Without one the other is empty.

I want to be full.

Puppy uppers

2011-11-14T21:06:00.004-06:00

Nothing relieves workday stress like a cute puppy trotting by your desk. Or licking your nose, big brown eyes sparkling. Working in a small, privately owned company, I have the advantage of on premises puppies. Rotten meeting? Pet the puppy. Frustrating email exchange? Play a little fetch the doggie toy. How could you not be thankful for fantastic furballs breaking up your day with a jump, a yip and a wag?

apples

2011-11-13T19:10:00.007-06:00

Many years ago I drank the iKool-aid. Three desktops, two laptops and an iPod later, it almost killed me to buy a Palm Pixi phone. I felt like I was cheating on my husband. (But at $25.00 and usable on pay-as-you-go, I had to go with the orange.) Apple isn't perfect. First they kept the iMac G5's bulging capacitors under their hats, then they tried to hide the exploding 1st generation iPod nano batteries from the US, while offering replacements to all other corners of the globe. But people are still buying Toyotas, right? Today I heard that they are going to replace the affected 1st gens. Thanks, apple. I still love you.

Weeds

2011-11-12T19:43:00.008-06:00

One man's trash is another man's treasure.

One woman's weed is a garden 0f mine.

Serendipitous garnish on a daily plate,

Roadside attractions of the botanical kind.

You can be gracious and call them wildflowers,

They are both floral and can be wild,

Clinging to bluffs and rocks and ditches,

Showing their beauty as you drive by.

Think different

2011-11-11T20:49:00.005-06:00

Being different sucks when you're in third grade. It's not much better when you're in sixth. But by high school, well, not as bad. In tenth grade, I reveled in it. And then, something crazy happened. Other quirky individualists began to emerge, like fall colors from a sea of summer green. We were gleeks before there was 'glee'.

People still find me different. I laugh too often or too loud, stare at the snow falling too long, embrace alternative priorities, and am grateful to see the world from a slightly askew perspective. It's good to be a white squirrel.

Thankful for midwest music

2011-11-10T17:24:00.000-06:00

Nuff said.

Jayhawks

Whimsy

2011-11-09T20:09:00.002-06:00

You don't have to take things so seriously all the time.

Want to understand? Follow me....

Scroll down to Folk Uke's cover of Harry Nilsson's "He Needs Me" and take a listen.

Many thanks to BoyHowdy for his always thoughtful posts and ever faithful heart.

Sky sight

2011-11-08T20:17:00.004-06:00

I never tire of the sky. Possibly it began with the cloud games we all play as little children... and that one looks like a.... Over the years most give up the game until they have kids or grandkids to entertain. Not me. I've never stopped staring at the sky seeing scotty dogs and Abe Lincoln in the clouds, or watching jets draw contrail pentagrams on the horizon. But the best shows are early or late or stormy skies. Colors and silhouettes. Billows and streaks. Fire. More than once I've nearly run off the road watching its beauty unfold while trying to navigate an interstate. No officer, I have not been drinking, I was transfixed by the sunset. A likely story, unless he knew me. Then he'd understand; I'm just living in praise of the sky.

Hearts and Crafts

2011-11-07T20:49:00.005-06:00

Is it art or craft? Personally, I believe the difference lies in the creative process. If I am following a pre-made pattern, trace a picture to paint for example, I feel that it is a craft. However, if I conceive of the piece myself, I draw a picture of something I see, then it falls into art. My brain: art. I copy: craft. Both can be beautiful, both fulfilling to accomplish.

Often I am an artist, equally I practice craft. Does it matter? The fact that I question, perhaps points to the answer . Perhaps. Then again, maybe it is all in how the process makes you feel. Satisfied, frustrated, spent and grateful. Art.

Obscuriana

2011-11-06T18:15:00.010-06:00

Why do I know this stuff? Today while walking I spied four wooly bear caterpillars. (Not this one.) They all had insanely tiny black ends with a huge, wide brown middle. If the folklore is to be believed, we are going to have an extremely mild winter.

Itchy left hand? Expect some money soon. Plant lettuce on Valentines Day if you want a good, sweet crop. Crickets are good luck. Saying "I hate white rabbits!" will make smoke from a campfire turn away from you. Nose itches? Company's coming (or you are going to kiss a fool). Why do I remember this stuff?

All this obscuriana cluttering up my brain. Folklore, remedies, recipes, superstitions, you'd think I was a mountain woman from 1800's Appalachia. If pressed, I could make soap, settle your upset tummy with blackberry leaf tea, feed you a tasty salad from weeds in my lawn, or read the leaves to predict a storm on the way. These are things you just don't learn going up in the city. To paraphrase John Denver, thank God I'm a country girl.

Last gasp

2011-11-05T20:41:00.010-05:00

Pork steaks and zucchini on the grill. Tanqueray and tonics in tall tumblers. Poco playing on the iPod. Sunset glowing like charcoal fire in the sky. Summer came back for a November visit.

At the back door, lavender still sparsely blooms. Buckets by the shed hold the last straggling basil, untouched by first frost. Volunteer zinnias sprout from September dropped seeds, confused by the wavering seasons. Soon the snow will stop them cold, but for now we toast our thanks to Indian Summer.

Prickleberry

2011-11-04T20:23:00.012-05:00

A halo of flowers, a crown of thorns

Wisps and claws and fragrance,

Stars in twilight, gibbous moon

Snow on the fence it graces.

Summer waits, autumn hides

Winter is barely a memory,

Now spring wears its prickly crown

Relishing ethereal irony.

Give thanks for the bramblefruit.

Harmony and me

2011-11-03T18:27:00.007-05:00

Dar Williams said it best, "I'm a harmony whore.

I'll do harmony with anybody any time."

In the musical that is my life, (yes, it is likely that I will break into song for no apparent reason), there is always harmony in my head. Dissonance, resolve. Minor drones with major lifts. "A head full of songs". I ache for that shining moment when you cannot discern Crosby from Stills from Nash from Young. They are blended into one perfect chord, one mystical voice. Is it magic? Is it craft? Is it the lifting of the veil? Is it practice? Yes, and I am thankful for all of the above.

(photo: Nash, Joel Raphael, Crosby in OKC July 2011)

Thanksgiving Patina

2011-11-02T20:10:00.021-05:00

Going round the table, themes of thankfulness emerge. Health. Family. Friends. Shelter. Food. All worthy of gratitude, all a blessing from whatever flavor of consciousness to which you subscribe. Fortunately, my life is enriched beyond just the turkey and mashed potatoes. There’s a whole world of sides out there and frankly, sometimes they are the best part of the meal.

Take patina. Without the patina of age, everything would look shiny and new. Everything. Leaves would stay green each fall. Wooden instruments would never develop a rich, sweet tone. George Clooney would still have that ugly Caesar hair from his ER days. Antiques would not exist. And while the specter of the fountain of youth seems what we chase, how boring perpetual youth would eventually become. So I am grateful for patina. Now you know why.

A Month of Gratitude

2011-11-01T21:10:00.016-05:00

A year. Not a great year. Not a disastrous year. Again, I must remind myself, be thankful.

Autumn brings refreshing crisp mornings, fiery sunsets, crystalline frosts and the promise of snow. A deep breath. Grateful. Every day.

Today I am thankful for sleep.

While I sleep, I don't feel fat, ugly or frumpy. In my dreams I am my best self, even as I fall, drown or scream in terror because someone is cutting my hair. Sleep is warm, comforting. It is a refuge from reality masquerading as a necessity. Best of all, it's free. Yes, I am grateful for sleep.

Tall Buildings Spied

2010-11-01T22:37:00.004-05:00

While I don't know a lot about architecture, I do know what I like, what sparks my imagination, what stays with me & moves me. Somehow, I just don't think that 100 years from now people will be waxing nostalgic over this generation's great contributions to the everyday landscape. "Wow, look at this one! They used to call it a McMansion. You can tell that at least three-fourths of the front of it was garage doors. Now that was style!" Hey, I could be wrong. But my guess is that in 100 more years, folks will still be looking at the few remaining town squares & main streets preserved from the 1800's. Function met beauty and adornment was everywhere. I saw a lot of these buildings in Louisiana & Hannibal, Missouri this autumn. More photos at my other blog:
http://eyespye-ruralgurl.blogspot.com/2010/11/tall-buildings.html
Enjoy.

Autumn in 600 words or less

2010-10-24T19:13:00.007-05:00

It's been a busy autumn here in Lake Beentoolong, my home town.....

You know you're busy when you don't have time to edit your photos. Or even get them pulled off the memory card. But things should be evening out here soon. Busy doing what?

Back in September I helped out a friend with the local Nordstroms Rack grand opening. Then it stayed busy. so I stayed on. And on. And on. And now it's a regular part time gig. Extra money is nice, a discount on super-cool shoes is a good thing, and in this economy, having a back up to your full time job is prudent. But I'm a lot older than the last retail gig I had where I was on my feet all day, almost eight years, and boy, do I feel it when I work an 8 hour shift. Epsom Salts are my new best friend. A little lavender oil in the water and it's what legs crave.

Then there was Florida. Visiting family there is always a treat, if a tad exhausting. You hate to waste any of the 144 hours you have there, so it's always a dead run. I took over 600 pics, so sooner or later they will be showing up here and there. Multiple beaches, a hike in a swamp, a bike rally, an art show, the flea market, shopping, dinners out and derelict lakefront property.

Not long after returning, we trekked to Hannibal for the Folklife festival. It's always a favorite of ours; good food, music, art, fall color. Stopped in Louisiana, MO along the way and took tons of architectural shots. The old downtown is full of great late 1800's structures, built when their river port was a-bustling. Those will show up, too.

But wait, there's more... There was a dinner party, my husbands birthday, the Shawnee Wine trail, and a celebration music service at church, all tucked in between double work, stuff at home and a partridge in a pear tree. Yes, it's been a busy, busy autumn.

I swear, it followed me home

2010-09-01T20:20:00.004-05:00

The Martin SW00DB Machiche is a limited edition "sustainable wood" guitar. Only 125 were made. This one followed me home and how could I turn it away? Poor baby.

I do have a thing for the limited edition stuff. Guess it's the collector in me. First time I've ever bought a guitar without playing it first; a little scary. But everything turned out better than fine. I think it needs an ivory saddle and I haven't decided how to amplify it yet. When I get that all figured out, I'll have Mike at Midwest Guitar take care of it, he's always done me right.

In the mean time, I'll just lower the tusq saddle a bit on my own, put on my fave strings and warm up to the newest addition to the stable. No name yet, but since it's part of the Women & Music Martin group, my smallest guitar and as a bastardization of the wood, I'm leaning toward "The Chick."

Loufest 2010

2010-08-31T20:13:00.008-05:00

It was Loufest's first year. I'm very glad to say I was there & a part of it!

Being the jaded ex-record retail junkie that I am, it's pretty hard to really impress me. I'm often beyond critical, especially after working my fat patootie off in the heat all day. But blown away I was. The Carolina Chocolate Drops were already on my radar. I'd heard some cuts, liked 'em a lot and was excited to be seeing them. To say that they did not disappoint would be the understatement of the year. The 'Drops exude passion. They are intense, fun, amazing musicians and freakin' musicologists on top of it! They didn't just learn old songs. No, they excavated them from the depths of history with the finest musical archeology tools imaginable, then made them their very own. Everything old really is new again when the Carolina Chocolate Drops are involved. Maybe I should have just said..... wow! Best set of the festival. (Sorry, Alejandro, but you were in the top three. Love the new record!)

Everyone knows I'm a Tweedy fan. Yes. Yes, I am going to gush over Jeff's solo set. All official day mayoral proclamations aside, it still sucks to play on a hot stage with the sun setting directly into your eyes. But the show went on and Jeff held the audience rapt with attention, hanging on his every word. Usually STL crowds are not respectful, but somehow it happened. It was fun to sing along to New Madrid again and be flooded with memories during Jesus, Etc & Misunderstood. After all these years, it seems Jeff has finally become at ease with his past. Maybe I should take a cue from him. For a thorough review & set list, click over to the RFT blog. You'll find reviews of the whole fest there, too.

One more shout out to Loufest..... It was clean! Tons of recycling stations, even manned ones to tell you what to put where, resulted in very minimal trash on the ground. There were tons of reasons to like Loufest, maybe next year you'll have the opportunity to discover some yourself.

Why do I?

2010-08-19T19:36:00.011-05:00

To answer the question, damned if I know.

Sometimes I wonder why I do the things I do. Hours of my life are spent taking pictures few will see, writing words few will read, composing songs few will hear, creating art few will experience. Is it time wasted? Is it a life wasted?

Yet there is that voice inside that pushes me forward to do these things. Without them, I am not whole, I am not true; I am not me. But like the tree that falls in the forest, if no one hears the song you sing, does your voice exist? Certainly it does, as does the tree. But does anyone care? More importantly, does it matter one way or the other if anyone cares?

Art for art's sake, art for the emotional sake of the artist, most likely describes the majority of notes, words and brush strokes created since the dawn of time. It feels good. It feels bad. It feels. A spirit from within is released as the soul of the work is captured. This is magic. But why do I feel the need to create?

As children, it seems we all have this creative urgency. Imaginations run wild in a world of pretend. Some never leave. Others do. Why? Doctors try to explain it away with left brain, right brain, nature and nurture. But it seems that there is something more. An secret yet undefined at the heart of art.

With the dawn of the internet, sharing art is a click away. Websites are filled with photos, drawings and MP3's uploaded by millions of people. You're reading my words, you see my photos, at another page you can hear my songs. Few of the many, but there nonetheless. It makes me no money, it gains me no fame, no one will remember me when I'm gone. So why should I do it? Why do I? Because.

Presto Pesto

2010-08-08T20:08:00.016-05:00

Ah, pesto. So green, so fresh, so summer in a jar. Yes, it's the annual pesto post. Basil was plentiful this year. My plants loved growing in their five gallon pickle buckets, much more so than in the garden proper.

And why not? Although I cannot deceive or claim it to be organic, because the secret to their happiness was Miracle Grow Potting soil and those weird granules that turn into a gelatinous, water-holding goo in your container. So be it, I have basil to beat the band and it's delightful!

We've made caprese salad, put it in bruschetta topping, livened up drinks, dropped it into all sorts of recipes, but the main reason I grow so much basil is to make pesto. On pasta, on pizza, in salad dressing, on cheese garlic bread, in either a cream or red sauce as variation, stirred into soup, a jar of pesto can be a chef's secret weapon.

It can be a bit time consuming, I'm picky so I pinch or snip off only the leaves which takes longer. (You can use the stalks to make basil water. Bruise, steep, strain, freeze in cubes, use in soups, stocks & refreshing drinks. Thank you, Martha.)

Grind it up with garlic, pine nuts or cashews, really good extra virgin olive oil, a pinch of sea salt, some citric acid to keep it green, lemon or powder, and some romano or your choice of hard cheeses. Experiment! Everyone likes it a little different. Some like it chunkier, some like it smoother, some like lots of garlic, I like a lot of basil and less nuts & cheese, (I can always add more cheese when I use it).
There're even pestos made from parsley & cilantro... but to me that's just not "Pesto". Not really. Give that stuff another name and leave me to my basil. We're very happy together.

Expendable

2010-06-10T20:26:00.005-05:00

Three times I've been downsized. Three times I have luckily managed to land on my feet. Most of my friends have gone through this experience, two more of them today. It's almost a rite of passage now. You can pretty much expect to lose at least one job for no good reason before you retire of your own volition.

People say things like, "When God closes a door, he opens a window." And, "It's a blessing, you were so unhappy." They mean well and by and large they are right. This fact does not make it suck any less. While my last involuntary go-round in '03 was a relief, you still mourn. You leave behind friends, income and part of your identity. Change is frightening, staring into the unknown, even more so. Then, after a while, things settle and you move on. Hopefully to a better existence.

I hope my friends don't lose heart. On second thought, I know they won't. Here come those feet, in for a landing.

New Riders of the Purple Sage

2010-05-27T19:52:00.005-05:00

"Look at all those bees!"
Yep, they like the sage.
"Sage blooms purple?"
Uh-huh. I tried not to answer too sarcastically. We've had sage in the garden for over ten years and he was just now noticing it?
"So.... New Riders of the Purple Sage..."
That's where they got it.
"Hmmm."
There are purple blossoms all over the garden. Chives, sage, lavender. There were multiple iris, violets, lilacs, hyacinth. Even the first blush of color through the snow, the crocus, shined a glossy royal purple in the sun. And tonight the sunset is amaranthine, streaking its mood across the horizon. Deep, velvety and kissed with the softest coral. Somehow, I know it is a gift to soothe my troubled day.

Many years

2010-05-14T15:51:00.018-05:00

Many years ago we were young. Many years ago we were thin. Many years ago there was no grey hair. Many years ago we were in love. At least one thing is still the same.

When I look at this photograph, the memory of this Christmas eve is as clear as day. His brother had a dog named Barney, whose slobbery ball is cropped just out of the picture's foreground. We drove up after I got off work, drinking beer and listening to Bruce Hornsby & the Range and Joe Vitale. It snowed that night. Wee hours of Christmas morning were spent lounging in the hot tub, drinking wine & watching the snow fall, multi-colored fairy lights twinkling above us. Good cheer does not even begin to describe it. Finally, we slept the sleep of drunkenness, crashed on pushed together, overstuffed basement couches. The next day began with amaretto laced coffee and snowballs on the deck. Christmas could not have been better.

A lot has changed. That deck is now a screened in Florida pool, the hot tub has long since been disassembled, pets, jobs, music and wines have come and gone. Love, however, love remains. Twenty-three years is a long time to be married these days. Twenty-three years is a long time to love someone. But it can happen. Just like that.

Nashville Lament

2010-05-10T08:43:00.021-05:00

Oh, Cumberland, look what you have done

I almost don't recognize the road.

But I'm a lucky one, my friends are safe and sound.

Not everyone was lucky, as you know.

Water rising, damage not foretold

The picture of the Opry made me cry.

Watching in disbelief, waiting for the crest

Another guitar silenced in the night.

I know they're just strings

Strung across warped wood

But they wound around my heart and held my life.

And I know they're just things

But they brought the world joy.

Nothing can erase those memories

And water cannot stop the ones who sing.

©ruralgurl music 2010

FB

2010-05-03T21:09:00.006-05:00

Facebook is everywhere. Not sure how I feel about that. Actually, I'm not even sure how I feel about having a "page". I really didn't want one. Wasn't a blog, twitter, myspace, youtube and four different email accounts quite enough, thank you? Apparently not. It got to the point where in order to get a coupon, know about a sale, find out a band's tour schedule, or contact certain friends, a Facebook account was required. After much foot dragging, I reluctantly caved.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a Luddite. I love my macs (and I've had quite a few), I prefer email to a phone call and I check my Twitter feed regularly. But there's something a bit off about FB. Maybe it's the whole "friend as a verb" thing. Maybe it's that I'd rather not even have to deal with "not friending" people from my past who I wasn't friends with in the first place. Maybe it's that FB is yet another time-sucking vortex. Yet, in the mist of all the crap, there is a redeeming factor. Friends. Real friends. Cry-on-your-shoulder-friends. A community can quickly rally around a cause, lend emotional support, and even fundraise for disaster or charity via a circle of friends. It's quite amazing. I think it may even be some folks' lifeline.

Perhaps Facebook isn't the evil empire that the little voice on my left shoulder says it is. For now, the little voice on my right shoulder is winning. Sorry Roger.

It's a Growing Time

2010-04-29T20:50:00.032-05:00

Springtime is my favorite gardening season. Everything is so new and full of possibility.

The Ozark Black apple tree that tried so hard to die last year has rallied in a nearly miraculous way, filling out, blooming and setting fruit. Its companion, the Winter Banana, is abundant with apples to the point of needing thinned. St. Francis stands careful watch over them day and night.

No, there's not much to eat yet. A bit of lettuce, a radish or two. But there's arm loads of iris to perfume the house and peonies close to bursting. My grandmother's poppies are beginning to open, shocking the bed with iridescent orange. Purple cone flowers sport crowns that will turn to buds, and eventually to seeds the finches adore.

Tomatoes and peppers are new and without blemish. As I weed around their still fragile stems, I dream of fresh salsa, bruschetta and caprese salad. Herbs are taking over. Mint has marched into the yard, no amount of tea, mojitos or juleps could ever use it all, but try we must as the run for the roses approaches.

Blueberries are flush with tiny nibs, still green, while the blackberries continue in a riot of fluffy white. They'll both soon need netted, lest we lose the crop to birds.

From the sprouts to the budding, the flowers to the frisky birds, it's a time of miracles. Hope. It's a growing time.

"It's a growing time
It's the springtime of the year
It's a growing time
The sun is moving near
It is yours and mine
The days are ours to share
Within our peaceful garden
And this growing time so fair"
-Dan Fogelberg

Always climbing

2010-04-25T20:27:00.005-05:00

Mountains, stairs, figurative, literal, it seems I'm always climbing, yet rarely find the top. Perhaps that is the way life is supposed to be, striving eternally. If you stop learning, you stop living. I agree, but must everything be a never ending ascent of Everest? Treadmills, stair climbers, elipticals, spin bikes. Our most popular exercise equipment is all about going nowhere forever. The mentality of them has crept out into the world, poisoning the joy of just being.

There is something to be said for being. Lying in the grass and watching the birds feed. Sitting on the river bank and enjoying the play of sunshine sparking on the lapping water as it rolls by. Walking aimlessly down the beach in the moonlight and listening to the roar and crash of waves and sea. Or is the restoration of my soul through the simple quiet of being also a continuous climb... toward peace?

Too long in the wasteland

2010-04-10T17:40:00.007-05:00

These trees, photographed three weeks ago, are now covered in tiny chartreuse leaf sprouts. But I like them bare. Naked to bone, nothing to hide, comfortable in their own stark reflection. Dimming sky and a pale full moon laid the winter to waste.

Now I'm planting. The lawn is mowed, purple henbit and violets that covered the hill are just memory. So many first flowers of spring wear shades of my favorite color. Crocus, grape hyacinth, tiny bluebells just emerging; it begs you to wonder why. Then the dandelions, forsythia and daffodils chime in, spreading golden cheer. Spring's not a secret anymore.

Jeepers, Peepers

2010-03-11T19:26:00.005-06:00

Yesterday as I walked to my truck, the air was full of sound. A beautiful, deafening, trilling chorus. It caught me off guard, stopped in my tracks. Birds? No. Crickets? Too early. Oh! Peepers! Their song came from the direction of the creek across the road, calling to each other, calling to me, heralding spring.

So I headed out the back way, toward old Route 66. Radio off, windows down. Every large ditch or small farm pond rang with the voices of hundreds of tiny, inch long frogs. No one was behind me, so I rolled slowly over the old creek bridge. Thousands of peeps upon peeps upon peeps. My breath was a sigh. I was so happy to hear spring at last.

You know you're sick when you don't even check your email.

2010-02-27T08:59:00.007-06:00

I feel like I've been sick forever. Two trips to the doc, three prescriptions and 3 & 1/2 sick days later, I'm at least feeling a bit more awake. Seriously though, how much can one person cough? My new exercise DVD, "Abs of Phlegm" will be featured soon on an infomercial near you!

Being in bed a lot has given me large blocks of reading time. Finished The Lost Symbol yesterday. I won't spoil anything, if you haven't read it, but while a fun, fast read, it was too predictable. I had stuff figured out before Dan Brown turned the corner on just about every twist. This wasn't true with the other two books. And it seemed like he was writing Robert Langdon's dialog with Tom Hanks' vernacular in mind, especially toward the end. Personally, I liked Angels & Demons the best. I know, everyone's a critic.

Been tanking up on satellite TV, too. Caught up on all my BBC faves like Cash In The Attic and Bargain Hunt, indulged in Doctor Who over on SyFy, laughed at Chumley spinning around on a Segway on Pawn Stars, traveled the upper midwest with American Pickers, figured out that the king's servants are also supposed to be lemurs on the Penguins of Madagascar, (I thought it was a koala & a fat squirrel), and decided I needed a Ninja Master Prepp & Ron Popeil's Showtime Six Star Knife set. Thank goodness my credit card was out of reach. Now, if they are supposed to last a lifetime, why do I need 2? It was all great short attention span TV. I feel like my mind has eaten a bag of Cheetos, a box of Twinkies & topped it off with a bomb-pop. Mmmmmm. Good.

In two more days I'll try to go back to work again, hoping that the HVAC is better regulated so that my cube is less of a sauna, and toting enough Puffs Plus to build a small fort. Maybe that will be the end of it. One can only hope!

Oh crap! I think I'm a cougar.

2010-02-16T18:56:00.004-06:00

Maybe it's the hair. He's got awfully great hair. Whatever the reason, I'm a Shaun White fan. In the perennial water cooler question of what to do with all that winning lottery money, a snowboard lesson from Shaun is on my list. Mind you, I've been on a snowboard only three times and while less disastrous than my poor attempt at downhill skiing, it was not all that pretty. But he makes me want to try again. There's an exuberance about him, some mischief, kindness, and that odd mix of shyness and gregariousness that many celebrities have. Sure, he's a kid, but I like him. He inspires me. He has so much more to offer, probably more than he himself yet realizes. I wish him all the best for a long, long time.

Grammys

2010-01-31T22:47:00.004-06:00

Nearly seven years out of the record biz and I'm still watching the Grammys. Really, I don't know why. They suck me in and I can't change the station. Ya hear that Nielsen?

Even before I was in the industry, I was a jaded Grammy watcher. The artists and bands I thought were worthy often didn't get nominated, let alone win anything. After a few years of pushing baby bands and ingraining my brain with knowledge of genres I never thought I'd like, my indignant attitude grew. How could Neil Young and 2Pac both never have gotten Grammys? (Okay, Neil did win for best packaging this year & was the MusiCares honoree, but still....WTF?)

Now that I don't have to be or follow the taste makers, I find myself able to delve even further into the music that I love the most. No, I didn't see the Fleet Foxes or Peter Bradly Adams on the Grammy list this year, but that in no way deters my enthusiasm for their great music. Just like their lack of inclusion by the Grammy machine doesn't stop me from watching the overblown pageantry of the yearly ceremony. Old habits do die hard.

Busy, Gone, Busy, Gone

2010-01-26T20:39:00.008-06:00

The end of January. How the....?

There's still ornaments to put away. Seems I just rolled out of Christmas and it was off to California for a week. It's disconcerting to lose a week in the middle of the month. Especially in a different climate. I left behind a winter wonderland, then landed in a bizarre mix of spring and summer. There were blueberries ripe on bushes and poppies swaying like crepe paper on the breeze. Then the rains came and I left.

At home the January thaw had begun. Snow was a memory, everything was soggy, mornings were foggy. Where had winter gone? But like my time on the coast, there was so much to do that precious little else got done besides work. Pity. Fog is so mysterious. I hope someone captured its essence in my absence.

Now, the struggle back to normalcy. Such as it is. Is it?

Came, went

2009-12-30T20:09:00.005-06:00

Christmas came and went. Cookies, choirs, pork loin, caroling, cocoa, parties, crab claws, presents, whiskey slush, candle light, wine, sparkling snow. It swirled in on a whirlwind and is begging to stay, not knowing that it needn't worry. Like all we love, it is gone but not forgotten. Treasured in the heart.

2009 came and went. Job, no job, new job, broken promises and pleasant surprises. There were risks that paid off, ones that didn't and cards left in a folded hand that can't be played. Until, that is, you turn them all in and reshuffle the deck. Soon it will be a new year. New cards, a second chance, a second moon. A blue moon on the turning of the year, of the decade, of our lives. Everything comes and goes.

How many ornaments fit on a Christmas Tree?

2009-12-20T16:43:00.007-06:00

Our tree will not hold all the ornaments. Every year, we seem to acquire a couple more; either by gift or because I see something that I just can't live without. Like many who grew up with a little less, I have an innate need to collect a little more. More penguins, more guitars, more salt cellars, more books, more dishes and more Christmas decorations. Our home is modest at best with bunga"low" ceilings that barely fit a six foot tree once a star or angel sits on top. I dream of a vaulted turret, bay window or picture-pane foyer, graced by a twelve or fourteen foot tree, adorned by every ornament in our possession. Every antique mercury glass teardrop, every hand beaded satin ball, every bird, beast and music note, every crystal, every angel, every snowflake, every commemorative memento of our Christmases together. But for now, a few will have to do. It is no less Christmas, it holds no less magic. It just is.

It's a blur

2009-12-14T21:43:00.010-06:00

Ten days until Christmas eve. Life's a blur. Work, eat, wrap, bake, sing, drink, sleep, repeat. About now I start making promises that deep down I know I'll never keep. Next year, I'll start collecting gifts in June. Next year, I'll start baking in October and freeze the cookies. Next year, I'll make the cards in September. Next year, I'll keep the house clean so frantic sprucing is unnecessary. Next year I won't get sick, or self conscience , or sad. Next year, next year, next year......

Ever notice how brilliant the Christmas tree looks when you take out your contact lenses and look at it with your own, naked, broken eyes? Perhaps Christmas is best left as a blur, a mystery not quite understood.

A few of my favorite things

2009-12-09T21:08:00.011-06:00

Why is "The Sound Of Music" considered a Christmas movie? It makes no sense. Don't get me wrong, I know every song, but outside of talking about "snowflakes that fall of my nose & eyelashes" and "packages tied up with string", it's just not a Christmas movie. "Christmas In Connecticut", "White Christmas", "Prancer", "Toys", yes, yes, yes, and I love Barry Levinson, yes. Among so many others, yes; they are a few of my favorite (Christmas) things.

But I will always forgo a Christmas movie for quality music by the tree time. There is nothing so filled with holiday spirit as caroling by the light of the Christmas tree. Ever since I could plunk out three chords, I've taken great joy in treeside serenade. A lovely cup of tea or perhaps some red wine, twinkling lights, a scatter of snow outside if you're lucky and hours of songs known by heart. It doesn't get much better. Tree, snow, lights, guitar, music, Christmas... These are a few of my favorite things.

Songs of Christmas

2009-12-06T18:36:00.007-06:00

One of my bosses plays Christmas songs all year long. I may be the only one there who gets it. I've been playing them since October. Last year, I went as far as to attempt to write one of my own (with a little help and inspiration from Franz Gruber).

Most carols' melodies are timeless. They are usually easily transposed and best of all they beg for harmony. Some of the first songs a child learns are Christmas (or other holiday) songs; even non-musical families sing during yearly, family gathering type holidays. The songs become a part of you, ingrained into your very being. Even if you hate them, you can't forget them. They are as insidious as an infectious pop tune. So give in, indulge in the guilty pleasure. "Because you need a little Christmas, right this very minute. You need a little Christmas now."

How to enjoy the holiday season

2009-12-03T21:04:00.012-06:00

Top 10 ways to enjoy the holiday season:
10. Skip a boring party because you "had to work late". Won't work for the annual company soirée.
9. Tell the hubs there's nary a smooch until all those presents are wrapped.
8. Bring a bottle of fancy coffee flavoring syrup to share at the office. Lace it with vodka.
7. Tell everyone Robert Earl Keen wrote "Merry Christmas From The Family" about yours.
6. Volunteer with a charity. "Sorry, I didn't have time to..... I was volunteering!"
5. Two words. Internet shopping.
4. Every cookie you bake takes food from a pastry chef's starving child's mouth. Buy them.
3. Ditch the stigma. It's not re-gifting, it's GREEN gifting!
2. Screw the budget, hire a housekeeper & a caterer. It's your Christmas present to yourself.
And the number one way to enjoy the holiday season....
1. Hop a freight, go away. Go far, far away.

Don't think about the words

2009-11-29T19:29:00.004-06:00

Don't think about the words. That's the only way I can make it through most Christmas carols without choking up. It's like singing at a funeral or a wedding. The emotion has to be kept at a safe distance, with just enough creeping through to convey the credible, heartfelt warmth for which those situations call. Perhaps it sounds cold, but the alternative is rafts of sniffling singers with tear-stained cheeks blubbering their way through every sad or joyous occasion imaginable. But Christmas? Holiday songs did not always make me cry. Actually, I'm not quite sure when the phenomenon began. One year, I picked up my guitar, started to sing Silent Night, and before the end of the second verse, I had begun to turn into a puddle. Silver Bells, an innocuous ditty about shopping, lights and bells, same thing. O Holy Night was like a burst levee, as was It Came Upon A Midnight Clear. What changed? Why was Christmas twisting a knife into my heart? So I worked on the distance. Now I can sing and play carols for hours on end with hardly a tear. Unless I think about the words. Because sometimes, especially at Christmastime, you just have to cry.

Christmas Romance

2009-11-24T16:12:00.013-06:00

When they coined the phrase "hopeless romantic", they may have well been describing my love affair with the Christmas season. My romantic vision of Christmas seemed to evolve over time. Elements of my childhood like cookies, music, snow, a live tree and intricate wrapping of each present with curling ribbon mingle with literature and pop culture to include caroling, mulled wine or a goodly port (thanks, Charles), decorating the house with golden ribbon, crystal and candles, parties, entertaining, watching It's A Wonderful Life, and gazing at the twinkling tree. I know I expect too much out of the holidays, and yet I'm still let down when they inevitably fall short of my lofty imaginings. Classic Christmas blues. But as a hopeless romantic, I continue to try, to believe, to still want it all. This year is the first in quite a few that we've put up a full size, 'real' tree. The living room smells like a pine forest, the LED's are twinkling away, and treasured ornaments were hung with care. It's a wonderful start. Maybe this year.......

Strange weather

2009-11-13T18:52:00.006-06:00

Indian Summer came late. In shorts and a camisole, I contemplated the bare trees standing like skeletons on top of the ridge, silently begging for snow. Too many days of rain knocked down the last of their leaves, then swelled the river into thinking spring had returned. Flash floods covered paddocks and fields. Streams invaded parks and basements. Deer, chased from the forest by the encroaching waters, littered the highway in a bloody mess. An unseen heron left his gliding shadow on the swollen stream. What was this strange season residing between the full moon and Friday the 13th? And what did it mean?

Do you consider it an art?

2009-11-08T17:51:00.005-06:00

Pictures. Photos. I could play all day between the camera and the "darkroom" that is my computer. It continually amazes me how photography has changed. When I first started getting serious about photography as a hobby, my boyfriend (now husband) was patient and encouraging. While I already had an artist's eye for composition, I had to learn how to translate that vision to the reality of film. He'd give me assignments to help me understand aperture, shutter and film speed, depth of field, light metering and even filters. He bought me a good SLR and turned me loose. Every frame, I thought to myself, is this worth the film? I missed many a shot trying to be judicious and thrifty. Now, with the miracle of digital photography, we can click wantonly. It's not always a good thing. Sometimes I think that the art is forgotten in the desire of the moment, as well as the craft. Perhaps it is time to take a step back to basics. Is this shot really worth the megabytes? Is it still an art? Or is it just a craft?

George Washington Carver Day

2009-11-06T20:01:00.005-06:00

I always dig the whole living history thing. Part drama, part history; when it's done well it really makes the subject come alive. A few weeks back, the Missouri Botanical Garden hosted their annual George Washington Carver Day. Paxton Williams from the Carver National Monument in Diamond, MO came to the garden and did a fine job of portraying Carver. He took us on a tour of the garden, talking about "his" life, teachings and discoveries. The walk ended in the Carver Garden, a 2005 addition, complete with a fountain, statue and natural amphitheater for teaching programs or just relaxing and listening to the flowers. Oh, you don't think flowers or plants can talk? Or that you can talk with them? Then you need to stop by the library and read about George Washington Carver. He wasn't just the peanut man. He was a gardener, an artist, a musician, a spiritualist, a botanist, an inventor, an environmentalist, a humanitarian, a poet, a teacher, and yes, a scientist. And pretty decent theatre.

When did October go?

2009-10-29T19:14:00.005-05:00

The days of autumn are all but slipping away
When did October go?
My colors are fading into a mixed muddy brown
Where did October go?
The rain hasn't stopped for almost fourteen days
When did October go?
Wet leaves are slippery like the ice will soon be
Where did October go?

Why did I let it leave?
I kept trying to say good bye.
How could I let you leave?
Without giving it one more try?

Dark skies will shatter under lightning's flash
When did October go?
The stars may be hidden but the moon peeks out
Where did October go?
You're only but a shadow in my memory
When did October go?
I try to remember so my mind can see
Your face as you turned to go.

Driving the view

2009-10-23T20:34:00.006-05:00

"Living it down just enough time to revel
When you're driving the view
The pace looks up when the burn goes down
Time and again when you're driving the view"1

Son Volt is a great autumn band. Maybe it's Jay's often dark lyrical imagery. Or his use of minor chords that melt into momentary major glimmer. Maybe it's their music's ability to break your heart while you smile; the juxtaposition of rhythm and emotion. Try as I might, it's nearly beyond explanation. You just have to feel it. Drive down highway 44 through the brilliant death of foliage with Son Volt and the fall wind washing over you. Then you'll know.

"May the wind take your troubles away
May the wind take your troubles away
Both feet on the floor
Two hands on the wheel
May the wind take your troubles away"2

1. Driving The View - Jay Farrar
2. Windfall - Jay Farrar

Autumn has captured me

2009-10-19T19:34:00.005-05:00

People will say, oh, my favorite season is summer. Or spring or fall. Or how they hate winter. My favorite season is...... all the above. As a season winds down, giving way to the next, I tend to mourn. There is never enough time to enjoy it. I beg for one more snowflake, one more crocus, one more firefly in the warm evening. But then I give in to the joy of the new season and it becomes my favorite. Autumn has fully captured me now.

Every day on my drive to and from work, I pass through huge hills and river valleys. The trees are ablaze with color, turning my commute into a kaleidoscope. It is a joy. Air is crisp and fresh. Frost has nipped the grass. I dream of apples, pumpkins and mulled cider. An October picnic spent warming in the sun will melt away any chill, so will a fire and some port. I want to take it all in, I know it will be gone too soon. And my favorite season will change, again.

Farm Aid 2009

2009-10-07T20:36:00.013-05:00

"Hello... We're Wilco. And we're here for the party as well."

Farm Aid was worth every precious penny, even with the astronomical service fee charged by Live Nation. Phosphorescent played to glowing reviews. Lukas Nelson (yes, Willie's son) absolutely blew everyone away with his searing Strat work. Jason Mraz managed mass audience participation in broad daylight. Gretchen, well, she was there for the party. Then there was Wilco.

Yeah, I'm a rabid Wilco fan, so my views are tainted. It was far from the best performance ever; it's hard to get a vibe goin' when you only have time for a few songs. But they definitely played to the St. Louis fans. Jeff actually claimed his local Belleville heritage, even though a bit tongue-in-cheek. (Not much difference than the rest of us.) "Heavy Metal Drummer" is like a polaroid from my, and many in the crowd's, past. And even though he's not a redneck as a gambling song might imply, Tweedy and friends rocked local fave "Casino Queen". "Hoodoo Voodoo" was a fitting ending, considering Woody Guthrie's lifelong crusade for the common man, and who is the backbone of these, if not the family farmer? Perfect choice.

Dave (does he even need a last name any more?) and Tim did their duet thing. Tim always mesmerizing on his D-35, Dave always.... the head of the cult-of-Dave. No one likes Dave Matthews a little. You either don't get him, or you're a follower. Plenty of followers in the house. Many left after his set. Their loss.

John Mellencamp probably had the best set of the evening. It had been years since I'd seen him and he doesn't seem to have changed all that much. High energy, belting it out, Miriam Sturm's amazing fiddle, and that weird song ending air punch thing. The audience sang on all the old songs, especially closer "The Authority Song". It was a crowd that's been with him since this Cougar days, and they love him still.

Uncle Neil was our conscience. He ripped off his Stop Factory Farms shirt (a wardrobe malfunction) to reveal a Go Family Farms one. "We need our farms back!" He shouted. Willie joined him for "Homegrown" and the haze began to rise from the crowd. But as much as Neil Young was the conscience, he was also the beauty. The man has written some of the most simple and gorgeous melodies and heartfelt lyrics in rock history as evidenced by his set ending number, "Comes A Time." More than one tear did fall.

It wouldn't be Farm Aid without the Willie Nelson wrap up. 76 and gliding through those wacky jazz runs and inverted chords like a monster. I stood loose-jawed, staring at the jumbo screen. His face may be craggy, but his eyes are always a-sparkle, his hands move like flowing water, and the hits just keep on coming. It's a patchwork crazy quilt kind of thing, one song begets another and another, bumping into the next in disjointed yet oddly coherent fashion. Not quite a medley, more of a stream of consciousness set, but it's Willie and so it works. By the end of it all, the stage was full of any and everyone "still left" on site for the feel-good gospel & Hank Williams sing-a-long. Sadly, Neil and Hank's D-28 couldn't make the finale. Even so, all in all, and all day long, it was one hell of a show.

Bon Iver Sunrise Graveyard Concert

2009-09-29T21:26:00.003-05:00

I love Bon Iver. I love graveyards. I love sunrise.
I hate that I could not be there to experience all three.
Haunting melodies creeping on the fog through headstones
just as the sky blushed.
Amazing. Surreal. Inspiring. Perfect.

Bloody Angry

2009-09-26T21:13:00.003-05:00

This work of art says it all for me. It was not called Bloody Angry, but it should have been. When the mood strikes, this is a perfect depiction of anger emerging from the darkness of my troubled mind. Or maybe just a portrait of pissed off.

Sometimes you just want the conspiracy to be done with. Stop with the demands, stop with the needs, stop with the wants, stop with the being nice. Stop with the have to, stop with the should do, stop with the could you. Just stop.

Let me hurt, let me be angry, let me find a way to take care of myself and heal.

Dan Fogelberg - Love In Time

2009-09-23T19:32:00.011-05:00

Imagine my surprise to find how many people out there "get" Dan Fogelberg. The internet is an amazing thing. True, there are the rabid fans, the women for whom he is/was an "idol". But then there are the people who found something more in his music, his art and his actions. A preacher in Dallas, a NY Times Sports writer, a sound engineer, an IT professional, other musicians, a best friend. I have run into countless of these folks in the last few years, chatted with many and forged friendships with quite a few. It's amazing, really, how this man brought so many together.

Now, by the grace of his widow, Jean, he brings us together again. I won't retell the heart wrenching story of how this posthumous release came to be, but I will say that he put it together himself as a completed musical project before his death. This is not the cutting room floor stuff that many record labels scramble to scrape together and release as a post-mortem money maker. This is Dan. Hopeful and reflective, full of imagery and emotion and in love. So in love.

I remember an interview I heard or read once where Dan was asked why he rarely spoke publicly about his life. He replied something to the effect of how he didn't need to, if you listened to the songs, it's pretty much there. And it is. Couched in artistic license and the poetry of great lyric, but the story of Dan is still there. The girl who's heart he never won, championed causes, nature and spirit, family, divorce and finally, true love. "Love In Time" is for all of us, but it was really for Jean. Hers was his love in time.

Wrapped Around The Equinox

2009-09-22T20:27:00.005-05:00

The last day of summer hid behind gray clouds
Mourning the loss of its season
Skies shuddered and wept and moaned out load
Praying for a a final reprieve
But in the mist of the equinox all daylight escaped
Leaving no regrets to linger
And the darkness of night fell as soft as the rains
Like a blanket of comfort and calm.

The first day of autumn rushed in with the dawn
Blinding and orange all bright
Summer returned as if it had never been gone
Coaxing mist from the river's rise
While the sun played its game of trick the season
Leaves were attempting to turn
For time wrapped around the equinox just teases
And glimpses what is to come.

Mary Travers, my first folk hero

2009-09-17T08:02:00.006-05:00

When I was six, Sister Mary Joseph, in full Dominican habit, sat cross-legged on the floor with her first grade class strumming an old classical guitar and singing.... "I'm being swallowed by a boa constrictor and I don't like it very much!" We giggled and squealed with delight. Then she sang "Puff The Magic Dragon", which I'd heard on the radio, and I was totally hooked. Throughout that fall, if we were especially good, Sister would open up the record player and put "Peter, Paul and Mommy" on the turntable. Through the magic of music we went to the zoo (zoo, zoo), had a song to sing (O!) and learned the mystery of "The Marvelous Toy".

When I saw PP&M on TV, it was so exciting! I wanted to be Mary Travers. I wanted long blond hair. I wanted to sing. I wanted to sing with boys! Then I heard the other songs. "Leaving On A Jet Plane", "If I Had A Hammer", "Blowin' In The Wind", "Lemon Tree", "Stewball". I learned them all. A few years later, when I began to play guitar, I learned them all again. When I heard that Mary Travers had passed, memories of all those songs and how much they meant to me and taught me in those very early years, flooded back. Somehow, I just don't think I'd been the same person had I been raised on Barney. RIP, Mary, and thank-you.

Feeling a bit prickly

2009-09-16T20:20:00.010-05:00

Some days are prickly. Everything sort of rubs the wrong way, claws are out, hissing is only moments away. But like thorny plants and puffed up cats, it's just a defense mechanism against unwanted intruders. Deep within there's a soft center.

The cactus wren is not deterred by the spines of the saguaro, it depends on it. Goldfinches thrive on thistle. Once past their sharp exteriors, there's sweet blackberries, soft rose petals, and fragrant honey locust blossoms. Beyond my moody, prickly, stress hides a girl who really just wants a snack, a pillow and a nap. Nothing personal.

No one puts Baby in the corner

2009-09-14T20:51:00.003-05:00

Dirty Dancing is one of those movies that every time I run across it as I'm switching channels, I have to stop and watch. Johnny is a little bit dangerous, quite a bit older, strong, handsome and has a good heart. Yet he finds himself falling for the little bit geeky, quite a bit awkward, not-pin-up-model girl. And they dance. It was an ugly duckling's dream. Even though I was already married and well into my 20's when Dirty Dancing hit the screen, it was magical nonetheless. I never became a rabid, uber-fan, but that character made me keep track of Patrick Swayze. There were good films and bad, cult classics, and TV. Outside of his profession, he lived away from fame's trappings on a ranch surrounded by horses, laughter, nature and his wife of over 30 years. He fought the good fight until the end and his death saddens me. Safe journey, Patrick, God bless.

Labor Day

2009-09-07T09:53:00.004-05:00

How to have a perfect Labor Day: Sleep late, wake slowly to slants of sunshine falling through the blinds. Sip coffee, read all the paper, such luxury. Spend too much time in the shower, skip the hair drier entirely. Take a long walk, photograph everything, anything. Contemplate the papyrus; do others find them to be the fireworks of the garden? Enjoy tea. Read my book on the patio, fall into a delicious nap. Sip some wine while cooking dinner for friends, something easy, quick and fresh. Eat slowly, revel in conversation, share more wine. Do nothing stressful, do nothing hurried, live within each moment, enjoy it all.

Reflections

2009-09-04T21:00:00.004-05:00

Reflections on water of angels
Unseen in the sky by day
And of spirits cast like shadows
Of clouds the eye does not see

But the heart knows

The moon pulls me as if I was the tide
Shows me the shadow's secret
It is a burden just to hold
Magic no one else believes

But the heart knows

Summer?

2009-08-30T20:23:00.005-05:00

The sky is impossibly blue, the trees are a million shades of green and the water is clear and...... cold? Something happened to August; it turned into late September. For two weekends now the mercury (okay, the digital read-out) has barely topped 80 degrees. Today was a downright chilly 72. But as wrong as it feels, I'm loving it.

Sleeping with a breeze through the windows, the night full of crickets, it's like a different world. My dreams are filled with nature. I awake expecting to be staring up at the moon from a sleeping bag, but it's only the streetlight seeping through a crack in the blinds. Then I drift away again, to the river, the garden or to a desert I've never seen. Morning comes fresh, dew is thick. Mist rises slowly from the river valley. I want to revel in the cool and drink coffee while I warm myself in the sun. A day like this is inspiring. It begs to be painted. It cries for my company. What a shame to waste such rare and glorious days on work.

Job 12:7-9

2009-08-21T18:05:00.008-05:00

Ask the beasts, and they will teach you;
And the birds of the air, and they will tell you;
Or speak to the Earth, and it will teach you;
And the fish of the sea will explain to you.
Who among all these does not know
that the hand of the Creator has done this?

While I attend church regularly, I am not so much religious as I am spiritual. Doctrine is often a deal breaker for me. I like Woody Guthrie's take on it. Once, upon checking into a hospital, he was asked, "Your religion?" "All of them." he answered.

There are beliefs I hold from many different religions. Christian, Catholic (their very own brand of Christianity), Native American, Jewish, Buddhist, Hindu, Taoist, aspects of each of these creep into my personal spirituality. Teachings and text from all can be thought provoking, inspirational and moving. But sometimes I run across a verse that is particularly relevant to my heart; one that speaks to my soul. Job 12:7-9 is one of these. When I am outdoors, surrounded by nature, I am certain that there is a higher power. It makes me sing.

Funeral for a friend

2009-08-18T19:56:00.003-05:00

"That is goin' on my funeral list." Not that I really want a traditional funeral, but I do keep a list of songs that I'd like played on the day that my ashes catch the breeze. It's been going on ever since I was in high school; the list evolves and changes as new songs capture my imagination. Most of my friends think this is macabre. They are correct, as the technical definition of the word is, "having death as a subject : comprising or including a personalized representation of death." This does not necessarily mean it is depressing, though it can be if you believe it to be. There is something uplifting and comforting in the sad beauty of a haunting melody. Something that I've always wanted to share.

Just a few:
Mark's Song - Eastmountainsouth
On & On & On - Wilco
For A Dancer - Jackson Browne
Keep Me In Your Heart For A While - Warren Zevon
Birds - Neil Young
Give Me Love - George Harrison
Something For The Pain - Pierce Pettis
The Last Nail - Dan Fogelberg

Serendipity via Thousand Oaks Winery

2009-08-16T20:46:00.005-05:00

Serendipity is one of my favorite things. When good things happen out of the blue it's like the creator is handing you a special gift. So it was as we meandered down highway 51.

It had already been a memorable weekend, celebrating a friend's birthday with an exquisite meal and music and detouring off the main drag to find amazing BBQ in an unlikely Missouri town. Then after taking a left and heading northward toward home, I spied the sign. Thousand Oaks Winery. "Winery!" I shrieked. "Where?" the hubs asked, suddenly paying attention. "Right there." I pointed at the drive, having made a U-turn. We crunched over the gravel road through the forest, wondering what might await us; then we emerged from the woods into an Ozark oasis. Lake, huge patio, shady umbrellas, and as we turned the corner, an outdoor brick oven for making pizza and bread the old world way. The owner was feeding the fire. He greeted us warmly, and took us inside to taste. The wines were good, the reds will be even better with more bottle aging, and some made its way home with us. Even more impressive was the experience. The folks at Thousand Oaks are knowledgeable, neighborly and gracious. Besides a conversationally paced tasting, they took the time to show us the operation, the new wines, and the view. We talked about their upcoming music and events and my guess is that we'll be back to enjoy one.

These are the joys of the road less traveled, of life lived a little bit slower, of the beautiful serendipitous gifts given to us if we open our eyes and hearts and minds. And for these, I am eternally thankful.

Happy Birthday, Dan

2009-08-12T21:36:00.003-05:00

This time last year I was in Peoria, making friends, watching the river, singing The Reach with unexpected harmony and surprisingly good red wine. This year on Dan Fogelberg's birthday, I'll be at work, listening to his posthumous release, "Love In Time" on my lunch break.

Most people don't understand why I still cherish Dan's music. Maybe they get why I'm into Neil Young, the Beatles, the Eagles, Poco, Jackson Browne, Son Volt, Wilco or the Jayhawks. Chances are they have never heard of John Gorka, Pierce Pettis, Michael Fracasso, Peter Bradly Adams or Richard Shindell. There's a golden thread that runs through the whole lot, it's honesty, pain, harmony and heart. It's love unrequited and lost; it's stories of darkness and light, of nature and spirit, of hope against hope and love again found. It's the way the songs make you feel, what they bring out of your soul. Not everyone will understand, but for the few who do:

2009-08-05T19:38:00.007-05:00

We are not meant to be alone.
Even though I crave it for my mind,
even when I need it for my sanity,
even when quiet is all
that will quell the storm,
my heart knows when to return.
Standing together, twin forest trees,
history like roots intertwined.
A simple touch, a stolen glance,
a sentence that doesn't need finishing;
there is a comfort in sharing,
a gift in laughter.
Solitude loses its definition
without comparison.
No, we are not meant to always be alone.

Sam Baker and songsillinois

2009-07-31T18:40:00.005-05:00

It can be a hard life out in cyberland. Does anybody listen? Does anybody care? We'll soon find out.

One of my favorite music blogs is Songs:Illinois.
Not just because I'm originally from there. Not just because I like a lot of the music he champions. But BECAUSE he champions. There is a passion in the writing of his blog. A passion for music, for art, for fun, for all that makes life worth living. At least what makes it worth living for me. And now he's on strike. Sort of. In the latest post, an amazing piece on Sam Baker, we are urged to pre-order Sam's new CD. When enough are ordered, Songs:Illinois will return.

Like he is a fanboy of Sam Baker, I am a fangirl. Just saw him at Woodyfest a few weeks ago and was floored again. He is both one of the funniest and most intense artists I know, not to mention being the kinda guy who would give you the shirt off his back without a second thought. His songs hit you in the truth, make you forget to breathe; they are honest and stunning in their poetic strength. Once his songs are in your ears, they will never leave. I swear it.

Where gluttony meets art

2009-07-27T19:33:00.005-05:00

A while back I challenged a photo-savvy friend to embody the seven deadly sins. Gluttony is probably the sin we actually see the most. Not pointing fingers, I am just as guilty as most mid-coast dwellers. Going out to eat is a prime form of entertainment, as is the fun of cooking and sharing a meal. You don't have to look for a place to eat in my area of the country, they practically litter the streets, opening and going out of business at an alarming rate. Unfortunately, it seems the ones that survive are the various McBurgers. For all those calories, you could almost eat a pound of sugar, or this third grade art project called Cake.

Feeling anti-social

2009-07-25T15:04:00.006-05:00

Sometimes I just get to feeling anti-social. Not the kind when I'm depressed, not the kind when I'm not well. Although, both could be a factor. Spurts of creativity can do it, so can want of a quiet, home cooked meal. Other times, I'm tired of being "on". When you've got a reputation as the class clown and you turn up sedate, people ask what's wrong. So I say that I'm tired or queasy or just thinking. It's not their fault, no reason to offend. But for once I'd just like to tell them, I really would just like to be alone.

Sir Paul

2009-07-17T19:26:00.003-05:00

Some of you are lucky enough to have Sir Paul in your own backyard. Some of us are not. You just don't know how much I wish I'd been there. The man is a living legend. The man is an inspiration. The man still sounds amazing. The man is...... F@#!ing Paul McCartney!!!!

Again. How is Jimmy Davis not totally famous?

2009-07-16T21:42:00.006-05:00

Tell me again, why is Jimmy Davis not totally famous? There's just not enough exceptional things to say about him without sounding either trite or like a star-struck fan. But really, he's just that damn good. Period.

Vocals? He sings all out with power and emotion. Guitar? Don't let that fabulously EQ'd all koa Martin fool you, Jimmy Daddy rocks. Dead on right hand technique that is seamless. Stage presence? So much energy, so intense, fun narrative and insight and that mischievous smile... Songwriting? He can make you laugh and cry, sometimes in the same song. His stories draw you in; you get to know, love or perhaps even fear the people he writes about. Jimmy has a knack for turning a phrase, just when you least expect it.

With all this going for him, I just don't understand why more people don't know about Jimmy Davis. Every time I see him, I am blown away. You should be, too. Check out his tour schedule and do yourself a favor, treat your ears and your heart to some Jimmy Daddy today!

Happy Birthday, Woody Guthrie

2009-07-14T18:38:00.007-05:00

Every year for the last many, in the middle of July, right around Woody Guthrie's birthday, I make the trek to Okemah, OK and the Woody Guthrie Free Folk Festival. Woodyfest, as it is affectionately known, is a different breed. It's free. Attendees pay to camp or park at the main stage, (but not both) but from then on out, the music is all without charge. The artists are not paid to play there. Lodging, a meal and travel, yes, but their time and performance is donated. So only people who really want to be there play there. And once they get the Woody bug, they come back again and again, whenever their schedule allows. It's a real treat to be a part of this odd band of true hearted troubadours. They play with joy, they sing with passion, they beg you to think, they inspire you to act, they break your heart, then turn around and make you laugh. Just like Woody did. Happy birthday, Woody, my world would not be the same without the music you inspired.

The Drive

2009-07-07T21:40:00.006-05:00

My hair is tangle as I fly down the highway
All the windows down
Nothing but the sound
Of bluegrass on the radio and my easy smile.
Sunshine in my eyes and sweet green forest on the wind
Singing high and lonesome
Along with all the old songs
Until the record ends and I'm back in your arms.
Eight more hours is more miles than I can count
Driving west forever
Until I meet my lover
Underneath the moonlit midnight summer skies.

Of feathers and Neil Young

2009-07-05T20:51:00.013-05:00

"Feathers fall around you and show you the way to go..." Sometimes a songwriter tends toward particular imagery. It makes you wonder why. "There you stood on the edge of your feather, expecting to fly...." Birds and feathers. Freedom and delicacy; power and magic. "Big birds flying across the sky...." The spectrum is fascinating, seeing how something so simple, so common, becomes mythic. "See the bluebird fly, easy as a dream..." We've all seen them, dreamed of flying, felt our spirit soar with them as they wheeled across the sky. Or been moved by the soft intricacy of a fallen feather. What enchantment held Neil?

I Am A Patriot

2009-07-04T12:09:00.003-05:00

My favorite patriotic song. Maybe someday we'll all be free.
Happy 4th of July.

Light a candle

2009-07-01T19:39:00.008-05:00

As a recovering Catholic, there are some things I miss about that Church. Most of them have to do with Mary, statues/art, saints and mysterious ceremony. The Evangelical Lutherans, while big on music, rather very open minded (especially at my church), lack in the lore of mystery. When I was small, I would save up my money so that every week I'd have a silver coin to put in the slot (pennies were not good enough for her) and light a candle at the feet of the Virgin Mary. I would kneel there, staring at the flame, and pray very hard for her to intercede, to whisper in her son's ear, to let Jesus know what I said with all my heart. Somehow, I was sure that the candle made all the difference. Somehow, I still do.

Presto, it's pesto!

2009-06-27T09:58:00.005-05:00

Basil loves the sun. While I languish in the heatwave, twelve continuous days near 100 degrees, the basil grows stronger. Grass dies, flowers wilt, all begging for water from the evening hose. Eggplants, peppers and tomatoes happily bloom. These plants, like their companions of basil and cilantro, crave the heat. They are fruits and leaves of a different climate, transplants in our Midwestern world. As summers grow longer and hotter, they thrive. Sometimes I am glad of this, as I grind up the garlic and pine nuts, stream the olive oil and add the freshly picked, wrinkled, fragrant leaves. My home smells like a Genovese kitchen. Global warming be damned, I'll just make more pesto.

1987 was not so Bad

2009-06-25T19:17:00.005-05:00

Today the news is full of Michael Jackson's death. While I was not his biggest fan, this terrible news takes me back. 1987 was my first year in "the industry". That's the year that music became a business, not just a passion.

"Bad" was far from my favorite record that year. 1987 brought us U2's "The Joshua Tree", Sting's "...Nothing Like The Sun", Lyle Lovette's "Pontiac", REM's "Document" and the guilty pleasure of "Dirty Dancing", all which still reside in the basement CD stacks. It was the year I turned onto Suzanne Vega, Los Lobos, Michael Hedges, Sonic Youth, Steve Earle, The Replacements and The Flaming Lips.

I had a hard time keeping Gun 'n' Roses, Phantom of the Opera, Bon Jovi, Beastie Boys, Def Leppard, INXS, George Michael, and Eric B & Rakim in stock. But "Bad", we had enough of. We were already talking about his so-called decline. The record was just not performing to expectation, at least not to that of our buyer's in New York. I had "Bad" coming out my ears and even after Christmas, CBS/Sony wouldn't take them back. They were hard lessons to learn. 1) Even if you are responsible, you are not in charge. 2) In most big companies, they don't want to hear anything from the front line, even if they say they do. 3) If your company's "in bed" with a vendor, ain't nothing you can do about it; there's something bigger going on.

So 1987 did have some great music. There was also Prince, Mellencamp, Robbie Robertson, The Smiths, The Cure, Geroge Harrison, Public Enemy, Sinade, Hiatt, Sisters of Mercy, Sonic Youth, Zevon, The Meat Puppets, kd Lang, the BoDeans and Bougois Tagg (anybody remember them?). And I learned many a lesson about corporate politics. So I guess 1987 was not all that "Bad."

Countdown

2009-06-23T20:53:00.003-05:00

If I were queen, fireworks would not be relegated to a couple of holidays and the occasional (sorry Cards) home run. These midnight lights' magic far outweigh potential danger. Anything that stops a thousand people dead in their tracks to ooooo, aaaaaah and squeal like delighted toddlers should not be rationed mercilessly. We could have Roman birthday candles and anniversary displays. Every concert at your local "shed" could end with a bang; mom would know when to go pick up the kids. Some would say that the over use would render fireworks less special. I disagree. Does one tire of a single flames' entracement? Or get bored watching a campfire lick skyward? Does the Milky Way fail to marvel astronamers just because it's repeatedly visible? No. Magic does not lose it wonder, not if you believe. Stare into the night sky and believe.

Ghost bird

2009-06-21T18:47:00.009-05:00

Egrets stalked the road and adjacent field. It had been raining every weekend since Easter, fulfilling the old wives tale, and again nearly every day for two weeks. The Mississippi could no longer be held by its banks and it roamed where it willed, taking tiny creatures with it. You could almost hear the herons' laughter; dinner would be easy tonight. I parked where the asphalt was still dry, kicked off my sandals and waded silently down the road. Water ran like glass over my feet, it was still more clear than tea, neither yet turbid nor stagnant. Ahead of me, the egret stopped. Every click of the camera brought another turn of his graceful neck. We danced like this, both of us, wading and waiting, stalking one another until the rain began again.

Fall into The Gap

2009-06-16T21:13:00.011-05:00

The Gap started it, blame them. Back in the '70's The Gap was THE place to buy jeans. Levi's. Real jeans. And when you walked out of The Gap, your jeans were in a nifty white plastic bag emblazoned with the Gap's logo and cinched with a cotton draw string . Everyone else had paper sacks. Grocery store bags, department store bags (sometimes with handy handles), specialty store bags, shoe store bags, they were all paper. It was a badge of honor to have a Gap Bag. You'd take something to school, anything, just to sling it over your shoulder and show that you were a cool kid. Soon all the "cool" stores were giving out plastic, draw string bags. Candies shoes (pre-Kohls, please!), Colonel Days, 5 7 & 9, if it was trendy, you got THE BAG.

Time wore on and bags de-volved. No more draw string, thinner, cheaper plastic and everyone was on the bandwagon. Even the 'Marts (K & Wal). Now they are everywhere, clogging landfills, endangering wildlife and filling up my pantry. What were we thinking?

March of the penguins

2009-06-14T19:41:00.003-05:00

They marched across the plate like a tiny, edible army. "O-Ee-Yah! Eoh-Ah!." I thought I heard them chanting like the wicked witch's Winkie Guards; quite frightening for an appetizer. Must have been their pointy little "hats".

A wonderful friend at my old job made them special for me on my last day there. We were the olive girls; open a can of black olives near us and you could kiss them goodbye. Considering my obsession with all things penguin, a more perfect gesture could not have been made. Not only that, but they were delicious!

If someone tells you they ate a penguin at my party, do not be shocked. Now you know the secret.

Spinning

2009-06-12T20:49:00.003-05:00

When your life changes, even if it is for the better, things spin. The world whirls around you, and when it stops, you keep whirling, like a mad dervish, carried on my a bizarre inertia. Routines are different, timing is off, I am preoccupied. It is a world trying to seek its balance. Change is like that. I'm happier, for now I'm wearier, and eventually, as any drinker knows, the spins will stop.

On the bliggity-blog

2009-06-03T20:09:00.002-05:00

Okay, I admit it. I dig the Hulu. How could I not check it out when the ads are so good? Long having forgiven Denis for his Fogelberg bit (but it was funny), I'm always a fan of Leary's sharp tongue, bad attitude and quick, excellent delivery. He's the asshole (his words) you can't help liking. As for Hulu? Well, I'm bad about not setting the machine to record, so being able to pop over to Hulu and see Steve & Paul on Jimmy Fallon is a good thing. Maybe as a clip, maybe the whole thing, maybe just move the slider over and skip to the best part and that's it. Works for me. Still more of a You Tube fan, but for TV, Hulu's got my vote for now.

Floating fast

2009-05-31T20:44:00.009-05:00

"Remember to remember me
Standing still in your past
Floating fast like a hummingbird"
- Jeff Tweeedy / Wilco

Maybe my goal in life is to be an echo.

Somehow the spirit flows through me, like sound through a canyon, and comes out as...... These pictures I take, these words I write, these songs I sing. All reflect the world that swirls around and inside me. Nothing is ever quite the same, yet it is. A grain of truth, a glimpse of memory, it all comes back, somehow. Somehow it echos.

Rain, rain, go away

2009-05-25T09:47:00.008-05:00

If ever your town is in the middle of a drought, there is a solution. Invite us to come camping there. I have tent camped through flash floods, tornadoes, thunderstorms, wind sheer... you name it. It just seems to be our luck. Same goes for float trips; they are a recipe for rain.

Once, on the Meramec River, while floating with my husband and his brother up from Florida, it was raining so hard we could not see and the canoe was filling up. We pulled off to a gravel bar, unloaded the gear, turned the canoe upside down and wedged on end in a tree so we could sit under it. The river rose. We moved the canoe farther up the bank. The thunder and lightening began; the boat was aluminum. We lived to tell about it.

A different trip took us to Petit Jean State Park in Arkansas. The campgrounds are lovely and shaded, down in the hollow. It's a cool and protected place to pitch a tent, unless there is a thunderstorm. Thunder echoed all night off the cavernous bluff walls. Rain pelted the tent, blowing from all sides. Water seeped in from below. Then the wind began to move the tent. It was beyond frightening, AND I had to go to the bathroom. Finally, the wind ceased and the rain turned to a drizzle. In the morning, we struck camp, rented a room in the lodge and went to the laundromat. "Did you hear about the tornado last night?" we were asked. "Went right over the park." Peachy. But we lived to tell about it.

So if it's too dry down your way, let us know. Be be careful what you ask for.

Doe a deer

2009-05-21T17:50:00.007-05:00

They are so cute. They are so tasty. Yes, I love deer. However, I have not had to contend with them coming into my yard or garden and eating every carefully planted fruit, veggie and flower in sight. Some of my friends who live in farther suburbs have and they are waging war with the bambies. Some communities are having special urban herd culling seasons. Shoot, (pun intended) I'm all for it. Venison is lower in calories and fat than beef and more flavorful. I've got quite a bit in my freezer now from a family friend's lucky autumn hunt. There will still be plenty of deer for me to photograph and to oooo and awwww over. Just like this one. Look at those ears! So cute. Hmmmm.... yum.