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Mid-January, Rain - January 13, 2012
Almost Midwinter - December 14, 2011
Saturday, Noonish, Sunny - November 05, 2011
October, White - October 31, 2011
October, 2011 - October 04, 2011


February 23, 2004

7:37 p.m.

Miles to Go

Back briefly. Way too tired. Pretty good weekend; we were live on the radio in Ithaca for three half-hour sets, among other gigs, and it all went well. Audience whooped and hollered.

We were able to visit Franklinton, where we all want to settle because land is cheap and taxes are low and it's so beautiful. The road to our host's cabin isn't plowed all the way up, so we had to park on the next street over and bring all our gear over a VERY long wooden walkway with many stairs, which goes through the woods, over a little river/waterfall, and up a hill to her back door. This woman is 60-something and she shovels this whole long thing herself, all winter, when her own street is inaccessible. She chose to have this built instead of putting in a road. The waterfalls are unbelievable, and it's very remote and quiet.

I got home about 3:00 this afternoon and immediately went to bed for two hours. I can't believe all that still must be done tonight, including going to Rose's and dropping off my computer for the week, though first I have to call Dell.

I missed everyone's diaries all weekend! And now I'll be offline until Monday the first. These strange, faceless connections have become important to me.

fyi, the last "Happy New Year" balloon is STILL on the ceiling.

In the "where are they now" file, I bought a little, cast silver heart in Clinton, NY this weekend for a buck, and have already lost it. I can't even remember which pocket it fell out of. I thought I'd finally found my talisman, my little heart... It's not that I'm so scattered or unmindful, but my pockets are sometimes shallow and I get in and out of the car, and I dress in all manner of places, and eventually things redistribute themselves. I still want something to hold in my hand, though.

I'm sure there's more, but it's time to get on with the rest of the evening.

*******

Later entry:

My bro'-in-law said he'd come get the computer after I leave, so I didn't have to go out tonight. Some relief there. So all I have to do tonight is finish packing.

Some days when we're on tour I notice all these great things to put in my diary, and by the time I get home I'm just too tired to do it. Like dreaming last night about my gay friends, Randy and Ben. I've known Randy for some years (we worked in theatre together) but haven't seen him since maybe 2000, and I've never met Ben at all. But suddenly I dreamed about them, and in this dream they had a new Yorkshire Terrier named Snickerdoodle (and it's a symptom either of my perimenopausal memory lapse, or just fatigue, that right now I couldn't think of Snickerdoodle, I could only think of Scatterbiscuit, and I had to go look up the name from the email I sent to Randy). In real life they have several cats. They aren't dog people at all. Anyway, then I was ballroom dancing with Ben, and at first we couldn't get our steps together, but then we got into the right dancing position and once I let him lead, we were good together. Then I noticed he was smoking a pipe as we danced, and I could really smell it, and it nostalgically reminded me of my father, who smoked a pipe sometimes when I was a child. I told Ben this. (This is another dream anomaly, since in real life I abhor smoking of any kind.)

Another thing was how much more snow there is in upstate New York than here, and how the rocky rises on either side of the highway are now covered with motionless cascades of blue ice.

And how Phil, the DJ on WVBR, reminded me of Peter Schickele (those of you familiar with P.D.Q. Bach will know who he is), and I told him so.

And how I got into a conversation about Schickele just before our third set, with a guy who seemed nice, and he said he hadn't seen Schickele perform in years, and I said I'd seen him a couple of years ago, and then we had to go on and I said I'd tell him about it later, and after the show when I looked up from packing my instruments, he was gone.

Friday's gig was in a lovely church; we opted to sing the opening song of the second set from the balcony, as a surprise for the audience below. Just before we were re-introduced, Carol noticed that there was a vagrant sleeping in one of the benches up there. I had thought it was a pile of rags, but there were definitely two stockinged feet sticking out the end. The person didn't stir all night.

And Friday night I slept in a Radisson or something like that, and it was okay because I had my own room, even though the tv remote was a little broken and the tub drain wouldn't shut so I couldn't take a hot bath. There was plenty of hot water though, and if I aimed the shower nozzle just right, it wouldn't send water outside the curtain. One of the beds was comfortable. Next morning I learned (again) Rule #1 of the Breakfast Buffet: If you go down to breakfast at 10:00, and the buffet has been there since 7:00, just order a couple of freshly cooked eggs from the kitchen.

Saturday I slept in a twin bed with clean sheets, and blankets that were so covered with cat hair that I had to take a Claritin to keep from sneezing, and wear a Breathe-Right strip on my nose. Our hostess made THE most wonderful french toast I've had in years.

Last night I slept on a sort of fold-out foam thing that was augmented by a thin futon; it was an adequate sleep, though too short. We couldn't put any toilet paper down the toilet, because the house was 150 years old and instead of a septic system, there was just a pipe going out, underground, from the house to... something across the street. So to be on the safe side they didn't flush the paper. The used paper went into a shopping bag next to the toilet. I was surprised that there was no smell lingering in the vicinity. There was a stash of about 14 individual rolls of Seventh Generation toilet paper on the shelf.

They had two very friendly, though slightly smelly, dogs. Also about eight barn cats, numerous chickens, and four horses. And two beautiful, ethereal teenage children who have the pale skin and haunting blue eyes of their father.

It was something under six hours home today, and I nearly fell asleep at the wheel during the last couple of hours.

When I get back from San Diego, I'll have an entire week off. Can you imagine? Aside from a play day with Dar, and dinner with Will (assuming he's up for it), I plan to do nothing. If my band wants to rehearse, f**k 'em.


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