December 11, 2003

10:24 p.m.

Half a box of kleenex later, I got to the Afrin stage. SO finished with this cold.

Does Spongebob Squarepants look like a big hunk of cheese to anyone else?

Rain washed all the snow away. I stayed in except for an errand or two; decided to forego the yoga class and worked out at home instead. Bloody blasted bleedin' cold. Gig tomorrow.

Talked to my friend Red in Kansas tonight; offered up my issues about dad and money, and she almost cried while telling me how rich my music made her life and the lives of everyone upon whom she foists my CDs. (This is the woman I met while she was living in Austin, out of her pickup truck, and she said to me as she dug her guitar out from among the Sterilite containers, "It may seem strange that I live this way, but believe it or not, it helps me get down to the core issues.") Red is a certified Kundalini Yoga instructor, a writer of stories and songs, a fantastic weaver, a knitter of hats. She gives away her clothes, and people show up with more. She is like a conduit for stuff, proof that the more you give away the more you get. She is learning to throw pottery now, living in an old farmhouse looking out over wheat and cornfields. Her energy is a constant fire, her laughter is sudden and loud. She said it was going to be all right, that she feels success coming to us and that anyway I am a child spirit of God and Spirit will always take care of me. I am choosing to believe her.

I think of Kansas... cold now, flat and brown. Red left Austin because the air there is terrible. She couldn't breathe. She went to DC, found the city too draining and ridiculous, drove up to Maryland and turned left, then made a right at Illinois and spent the summer in Wisconsin, selling wind chimes at a Rennaissance Faire. In the Fall she moved to Kansas, but her house had no heat so when it got cold she moved down to a friend's farmhouse where it's warm and the vibe is good. She presently teaches Yoga in a hospital P.T. unit. The band toured in Kansas last Spring, when there was still snow; the vibe was good then, too. We played in a big house where the whole inside was done in quarter-sawn wood by a Mennonite cabinetmaker. Our hostess gave me a carved, hollowed gourd from Africa. I keep incense in it. I remember all these details about the house and the concert, but I can't remember their names.

My father was born in Kansas. Red is about 80 miles from his hometown. Isn't that odd?

I might be able to sleep now. Sweet dreams, all.