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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


August 16, 2004

5:18 p.m.

Thursday night

The day was amazing in that I remained relatively calm throughout every obstacle. By the time I got here I felt like Lassie -- I made it past the Injuns, the tornado, the earthquake, the famine, and the bandits -- and arrived as scheduled with the bags of money.

The late start was exacerbated by too many last minute errands. I couldn't find my soymilk in two supermarkets who typically carry it; there was a line at the post office; I had to get gas. My bandmates were to meet me here at our first stop, having been on Fire Island for two days having some much needed recreation. I was to earn several valuable band points by obtaining Mike's van and picking up virtually all of our instruments and equipment, including the PA, from C&C's house before hitting the road. I finally accomplished all of this by, oh, 1:30 or so, and some angel knocked me on the head and asked me whether I'd packed my toiletries bag. Astonishingly, I had not. How could I forget my toiletries bag? It's more important than my suitcase! It has my asthma meds among many other essential things, and (probably owing to using a different vehicle and having a foreign packing scheme) I'd left it in the bedroom. I had to go half an hour back home to get it before I could get away for sure. Once I got home I was starving and hadn't eaten lunch, so I made and ate the fastest meal of my life and finally hit the road.

I knew I'd be in for rush hour traffic just as I hit the Garden State Parkway, and it was just as bad as I expected. It seemed I spent most of the five hour trip going between five and ten miles an hour. Also Mike hadn't replaced the EZPass unit in the windshield, so I had to stop every two miles for the friggin' 35 cent tolls. Why the hell don't they put in a ticket system like the rest of the country? Stop once, get yer ticket. Stop again, pay yer toll.

Anyway, I kept in touch with my mates and they arrived here in the late afternoon as I was muddling through the turnpike. I amused myself with the scan button on the radio, and using my new upgraded cell phone (with the lesser plan with the lesser minutes since I just about don't use my phone any more) to keep boredom at bay. I called Dar, who made me laugh. I called Chris, who said he was going to do his famous garlic shrimp for dinner and he'd wait til I got there. Then I had an inspiration, and called my engineer friend Sig, to whom I hadn't spoken for several months. I wanted to tell him I was moving. He said something that astounded me.

"I'm so glad you called!" he said. "I wanted to tell you I'm moving. Tomorrow."

"WHAT?!"

What you have to know is that Sig lives in his family house -- the one he grew up in -- in Western Massachusetts. The studio where he records people's albums is part of the house. He's been married for many years, and his wife is out of her mind. I don't think she was completely insane when he married her, but she has a severe personality disorder and is frightening. Sig is the nicest guy in the world, and he's put up with this since long before I ever knew him, and that's been ten years. I've recorded three albums and a few other projects there, and there have been times when he's had to go downstairs suddenly to quell an emergency, stop a fire from spreading, or just make sure she hadn't done herself in. One day I went in for a session and he said she'd been up all night with no sleep, manic, and had gone out shopping in the morning and hadn't returned yet. He was afraid she'd wrapped the car around a tree. Later she came in, excited and exuberant, having put together a gourmet breakfast for us -- bagels and lox, smoked herring, fruit, french bread, brie. Sig hated when she'd just show up in the studio wanting to yak or otherwise hold up the workday. Other days she'd be depressed and unable to get out of bed. She'd just smoke and drink all day and abuse her meds.

So basically Sig has overworked himself, because the studio is a safer place than the house.

I've had conversations with him in the past where he's talked about wanting to get out of there, but he felt a responsibility to her and didn't know what she'd do if he ever left her.

So of course, when he told me this today, I was astounded. He said the studio is all packed up and the movers are coming in the morning. And the most amazing thing is that he's moving near me.

"No way!" I said. "I called to tell you I'M moving, back to Willimantic!"

He got a great offer to rent a studio space that includes an apartment, and it's about a mile from a well known venue we've played in northeast Connecticut. We'll be about half an hour apart. His wife will stay in the house, and he'll go back a couple of days a week to make good his obligation to take care of her and the house. But now he won't always be having to listen for a crisis downstairs, and his sleep won't be interrupted, and his life will be completely different.

"Yesterday when I was packing, I was all bummed because I thought I'd be losing my support system," he said. "But now people like you are calling out of the blue, and I feel like I'll still have friends in the new place."

You can bet on that, Sig.

********

I finally arrived here, in surprisingly good spirits, at about a quarter to eight. Chris had the shrimp sizzling, and our hosts (who were out at a festival tonight) had left us an awesome sort of sesame-noodle thing with angel hair pasta, and a bottle of wine, and fresh tomatoes and basil, so we had a feast that concluded with Chris presenting dessert: a box of animal crackers. We took them all out and matched up the duplicates, and then took turns choosing them like a volleyball team. They were a little humid so the crunch was gone, but we called them animal cakes instead. Our hosts are due back in half an hour or so, but I think we'll have all gone to bed by then. We'll leave Chris and Carol's car here for the weekend, as our Sunday gig is at this house, and all head down in the van tomorrow to play for naked people in West Virginia. It will certainly be a new experience for us. (New readers: it's a clothing-optional festival. For the first time, nudity and folk music go hand in hand!)

********

Okay, I asked Sig whether there was any reason Will hadn't called me for so many weeks, like, is he okay? Of course he's okay. He's riding 22 miles a day on his bicycle, according to Sig. He went to Ohio for two weeks to visit his parents. I said I was miffed that he'd dropped our plans altogether, etc. He said Will was coming in for a session in a couple of weeks, and he'd ask what's up. I said "I don't want him to think I was pumping you for information, but there's a point where I start wondering what I said!" Twit. Twit!! he's fired!!

I'll have dinner parties and invite Sig, and I won't invite Will. Hmph. Yeah, I'll be spiteful and grudging and THEN he'll be sorry!!

No, actually, I won't. I'll go to Willi and grow my hair and join the co-op again and get my water from the local spring, and I'll have women parties and talk about menopause and I'll jog on Horse Barn Hill again and go hiking in the state forest. And the songs that come out of me will be unlike any I've written so far. My friend Red in Texas says they're waiting for me, in the corners of the new apartment.

And they very likely will not be about Will.

********

What a bizarre night. It was one of those room configurations that must be against all the laws of Feng Shui. I'm sleeping in one of the sons' rooms, this particular son being away somewhere. It's a huge house and I'm on the third floor, along with another bedroom and a shared bathroom. It looks like an area has been cleared around the bed, and all around the perimeter are piles of messy-room stuff: stacks of unshelved books, piles of dirty clothes, CDs, a turntable & receiver, various old and ill-cared for guitarlike instruments. It's fairly horrible. But I've slept in worse, so no big deal. Anyway the house has central air, which is lovely because especially yesterday it was very humid (witness the "animal cakes" episode). About 11:00, the other son came home, and after talking a bit with C&C downstairs, came up here to go to his room. Somehow I'd hoped I would have the top floor to myself, and because we're under the roof the rooms are about three steps apart. That made me slightly less comfortable, but whatever. He introduced himself, made sure I had everything I wanted, and went to bed. A while later when I turned out my own light, I tried to close the door and noticed that not only was it a little swollen, but doing so created a kind of vacuum where the manufactured air was trying to whistle through the cracks. I experimented with leaving it ajar vs. closing it, and finally closed it thinking there would be less breeze. I got into bed and realized that the A/C vent in the wall was blowing coldish air right across my head, the way the bed was situated. Well, that's no good for a singer, is it?

I got up and closed the vent. Not only was the air still pouring through but there is a large wall panel below it that was coming off its screws, and cold air was blowing through that as well.

I carry a couple of band-logo buttons, the kind you pin to your shirt or hat, in my bag. I took them out and tried to hang a t-shirt over the vent by logo-pinning it to the wall. But it must have been wood instead of drywall above the vent, because they wouldn't penetrate it.

I went back to bed.

The cold air blew over my head.

I turned the light back on and tried to move the bed. It's only a twin on a metal frame. It should move across the carpet.

It didn't move.

I looked underneath and not only was one of the casters bent, but there were only three legs. The other corner was held up on wood blocks. The bed wasn't going anywhere.

Okay. I thought I'd open the door again to see if that altered the draft. Of course it didn't.

I went back to bed.

Suddenly I had a brilliant idea. I got out a spare pair of earplugs, the Mack's kind, clear silicone blobs. I put one on each top corner of the vent, pushing it onto the wall to make sure it really stuck. I then pinned my t-shirt to the sticky earplugs with the logo pins.

It worked, and after sticking a pair of socks into the gaping edge of the wood panel, I managed to reduce the wind in the willows... somewhat.

My last effort, before I gave up, was to switch the sheet and blanket around so my head was at the foot, and less directly in the path of the twister.

In my dream the dawn came and it was magical, so I was talked into going outside to take pictures of it. I was tired but agreed to go, and by the time we got out to the street the pink was almost gone. But over the horizon was a terrific lightning storm, and I took pictures of that.

Then there were hummingbirds here, on the flowers going up the front steps. Lots of them. They were flying up to me unafraid, and one even went down my shirt. Each one seemed to be followed by a bee, and I was trying to shoo the bees while keeping the hummingbirds near me.

At 8:18 I woke up and rose. Number Two Son is still asleep, though I'm sure I woke him with all my bathroom noise this morning -- hair dryer mostly, it's loud -- but, i thought to myself, hey! I yam what I yam, and I'll be leaving this morning, so in all of his life he probably won't even remember me. I have heard no stirrings downstairs but I think it's time to seek out some breakfast and some bandmates.

News on the nudie patootie festival as it breaks.

********

Wee Hours, Sunday morning the 15th

Playing for music buffs... who are in the buff. Can I just say, it's really hard to NOT LOOK AT TITS AND DICKS when they're just dangling all over the lawn?

Aside from all that eye contact giving us a headache, it was a wonderful gig. We stayed at a guy's house who was camping on site so we had the place to ourselves. It had something of a yellowjacket infestation around the eaves, but as long as we were careful and didn't mind a little wildlife (the lower level was still under construction and boasted a full complement of spiders and centipedes -- I slept down there) it was a pleasant stay. There was also a fine cat in residence.

Chris and I shared the driving to our Delaware gig, which to all appearances was going to be one of those in competition for Worst House Concert in History. This guy has been running his concerts for a year and a half and has a pretty good, consistent crowd who don't tire easily and like a wide variety of styles. (I know, that sounds really sexual and maybe it's just leftover ripples from the nude festival; forgive me.) (Did I just say nipples? -- Oh. Okay.) Anyway, where was I? When we arrived at the house, they had the air conditioning on so full that it was like the artic sea in here. They have a three year old who not only is a terror but has some odd childhood disease right now having something to do with "hand, foot and mouth," as they described it to us. It causes sores inside the mouth so the child is more irritating than usual. Oh, I may have meant "irritable." But he was certainly irritating. There are also two big, dumb, cheerful golden retrievers in the house. Our host has a completely superfluous sound system in his music room which he insists on using, which caused setup to take a very long time, also owing to the aforementioned child and the two dogs wanting to be ON stage in the middle of things while we were trying to sound check. The child is combative and testy (testes? Did I mean to say that?) and tends to yell when he's asked to do something other than be in the way. So the sound check took about, oh, three years to accomplish.

Our host has a meat smoker, and he smoked us a huge slab of salmon with a sour cream dill sauce for dinner. There was also a horrifyingly fattening and delicious chicken pesto pizza, and a salad. Soon people started to arrive, and the house began to get loud.

I'm staying in what turns out to be the nanny's room. We couldn't figure out for the longest time what this woman was doing living in the house; she's too old to be a daughter, and she doesn't look like the parents so she's not a blood relative. At the end of the night I heard someone refer to her as the nanny, so it all made sense. Anyway, I was in here getting ready and the child, whose name is Tai, or Thai, as in, "Thai him to the railroad tracks and let the train run him over," kept opening the door and barging in, wanting to know who was in here and why. One or another parent would gently usher him out, but I finally locked the door. Sure enough, five minutes later someone tried to open it, but this time it was the nanny, very apologetic. "Oh!" she said. "Did you want some quiet time before the show? I was just going to come in and use the computer. That's okay; I can use another one!" By this time Carol was in here using the mirror in the bathroom, and we just shook our heads in dread. Sometimes these house concerts get very chaotic with all the people milling around and the noise and chaos. It's hard to focus and be still before playing.

There was this opening act our host was very excited about, a local guy about 20 years old. That was okay, but he wanted the guy to do a 35 minute set, which in the world of opening acts is way too long. We had two full sets planned. "Oh, that's okay, you can play as late as you like!" he insisted. "My audience doesn't mind!" No one asked us if we minded, so we ended up going on at 9 instead of 8, when all was said and done. The opener was okay but a weird match for us. The three year old terror with the hoof and mouth disease pretty much fussed and yelled through much of his set, when the dogs weren't barking over something downstairs. I never figured out why someone (like, um, the nanny?) didn't take him OUT OF THE ROOM and give him something to do. I guess usually some of their audience bring their kids so he has someone to play with in a secluded location, but they didn't want to infect the neighbors' children with the hand-to-mouth virus or whatever it was.

Anyway, we bent ourselves back into shape as best we could, and after a brief intermission we started our first set. It was one of those crowds who just make us funny and clever and engaging because they expect us to be, and we are. It was a great, albeit almost endless, night. I think we sold well and everyone was very gushy and nice afterwards, which pretty much made up for all the lack of fun leading up to the music part, though we still decided we don't want to do this house again. We probably will at some point, when we've forgotten the sound of one kid screaming.

********

Anyway I'm beat to shit. There's a hurricaine passing through tonight and it's supposed to be all over by noon -- though it doesn't look like much right now at all -- and that's about when we'll need to leave for our Phillly-area gig. It's another house concert. It's where we stayed on Thursday night. We're hoping for rain so we can play inside, unplugged -- otherwise we're supposed to be out on a terrace or something. It's been so unseasonably cold all down the eastern seaboard recently, I wonder it we'll even have enough to wear outside.

I'm sure there's more but I'm too tired to think of it.

********

The Big Smoked Salmon Sandwich Snit,

or

The Demon Child Beelzebub and the Mortal Parents who Could Not Control Him

Breakfast was like watching a train wreck.

Thai (as in "Thai his feet together and hang him from a meat hook until we're finished eating") ate his own breakfast and then proceeded to grab portions of other people's breakfast from their plates. A ten minute time out in another room gave us a respite of um, about ten minutes, and then he was back demanding to eat grapes under the table, that dad sit exactly here, that everything be exactly different from the way it was. Once in the bumper seat next to dad, he spied the perfectly constructed, mouth watering open faced bagel sandwich, complete with cream cheese, fresh dill, smoked salmon, tomatoes, vidalia onions and sour cream cucumber sauce. Dad had spent fifteen minutes assembling this masterpiece, and was ready to eat it. BUT. Thai (as in "Thai a scarf around his head and plunge him upside down into ice cold water until he stops struggling") wanted it. Not a bite, either; he wanted the whole thing and he asked for it. Mom and dad laughed and said, "Of course you can't have the whole thing! That's dad's! Would you like a bite?"

NO!! Thai doesn't like anything to be cut. He's a hefty little child and he likes to know he's eating the WHOLE thing, whatever it is. The thought of it possibly being dissected caused an anxiety rush. He started whining and crying and becoming unintelligible. A barrage of questions followed. "Would you like to try it, Thai? Would you like daddy to make you your very own sandwich? Why don't you try a bite, and if you like it, I'll make you a whole one all your own!! Wouldn't you like that?" All the answers were resounding NOs, with more wailing and screaming and escalating babbling. (Picture the Dursleys trying to make Duddy happy on his birthday.) Now and then mom would turn to us and say, "Welcome to my life!" or "Well, they will be three!" and we'd smile weakly and wonder why we weren't flicking the kid with wet towels by then (or better yet, the parents). After about ten minutes of the Smoked Salmon Sandwich Fracas, dad actually GAVE IN and gave the whole damned thing to the child, who smiled and said, "Thank you." This of course made the parents laugh, which further reinforced the bad behavior.

It was at that point that we had to either leave the table or explode, so under the guise of packing the van we dispersed.

Now I am examining, in myself, whether it is permissible, acceptable, or allowable to say something in the presence of such parents. Something perhaps short of, "Who on earth made this three year old king of you?" but that might give them the inspiration to lay down the law and move on, letting the Tantrum Tot forget all about it in five minutes. There were many such instances of not following through on limit-setting, and a complete wimpiness over enforcing rules. It made our stay uncomfortable in spite of the good performance. The ninny nanny also seems to overlook unacceptable behavior, so he's really not getting discipline from anyone.

Once again, a story we can't tell on our Road Notes.

********

Later, about 6:50pm, somewhere in PA again

We got the oil changed in the van on our way here, so that overdue task is done. The afternoon was pretty mellow. This time, Number One Son is home so instead of his room I'll be occupying a sort of Florida Room on the main floor. There are no curtains but at least it's apart from everything (and everyone) else. We did set up out on the terrace, and so far we still have reason to hope it won't rain in spite of the overcast.

********

Ohmygod, I'm falling sideways. Abandon ship! Abandon ship! Every man for himself!

Oh. It's just the bed I'm sleeping on tonight. It's an extralong twin with a distinct starboard list. It belongs to a teenager. Number Three Son is sleeping over at a friend's house tonight, so instead of the upstairs room with the arctic blast (Number One Son is home this week), and instead of the Florida Room, I've flitted upstairs to another unbelievably messy room. This one differs from Number One's in that it has sports pictures and team pennants all over the walls. And of course the severe tectonic plate shift. I hope I don't fall out of bed.

It was quite a lovely concert outside; we played until exactly the moment when we couldn't see our fretboards any more. A couple of songs were a little rusty, and I didn't feel very vibrant, but I knew I was a little tired and anyway no one would know the difference. Our hosts are so nice and their sons are really very smart and articulate. We wondered if they were adopted, since especially the middle one looks Asian, and the parents are Jewish. Number One spent seven months in Japan teaching English; Number Two is a sophomore in college; Number Three (in whose room I am currently tipping) is a mere fifteen years old, so he ain't out of high school yet. None of them, apparently, knows the difference between a bureau and a laundry basket.

We packed up the van already; Chris goes on to North Carolina tomorrow, and will take some equipment with him. Carol and I head home early for a four and a half hour drive, traffic permitting. I didn't take any pictures this trip; I don't know why. I really need to update our road journal on the website. All I can think of, though, is all the stuff I can't write about because the people in question might see it.

Anyway, I'm looking forward to packing a few more things this week. We're back in West Virginia on Thursday for a couple of days at the Mountain Stage NewSong Festival, where we'll help in judging the new song competition (poor suckers; been there) and play a short set. I don't know if we're getting much pay for that one, but it's a really coveted gig and one hopes it will lead to the nationally broadcast Mountain Stage concert series that everybody knows about. Exposure on NPR is worth a free gig or two.

Oh, I'm tired and I have a headache. To bed with me.

********

And, finally, home again. Carol and I had a pleasant drive back, and once at her house we divvied up equipment and I took her to pick up her car at the shop. Then I made a stop at a farm stand, got a couple of flower pots, and came home. After wading through email and preparing a package to Canada (one of my songs is on the short list for a UNESCO-related compilation called �Peace Songs for a Better World�), I�m about to head back to Rose�s for dinner, laundry and vehicle-switching. It�s cool here; the outer vestiges of the hurricaine, I guess. We got far less of it in PA than was predicted.

Nicely tired now, and hungry. Good trip.


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