When did October go?

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

"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

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

"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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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

"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

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

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:

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

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.