May 02, 2006

9:37 p.m.

Blessed Rain

We're finally getting the rains of Spring this week. I realized, too, that the leaves have been opening with such casual slowness because it's been dry. By Saturday I bet they'll be popping.

With the majesty of May comes a profusion of dogwoods, my favorite Spring tree. I name the colors as I drive by them: white, antique white, french vanilla; antique rose, deep rose. A thousand little hands, open, lifted. The lilacs are half out, too. Those in Pennsylvania were already in full bloom. I daydream about my fantasy house and name the things I'd plant in the yard: lilac, dogwood, weeping cherry. Wysteria around the back eaves.

How I long to be suddenly, unexpectedly rich.

********

We survived our weekend of madness, obviously. The school thing was overambitious; we pulled it off after a fashion, got through it, though I doubt many of the 500+ kids actually retained much of the song. A couple of teachers had been playing it in class all week before we got there, with the result that most of the kids decided to latch on to the melody instead of being receptive to learning any of the three harmony parts when it came time for us to teach them. We had to let it not matter. The science teacher who booked us for this caper (the one who kept trying to suggest lyric changes the week beforehand) turned out to be a slightly goofy, dyke-y looking woman that reminded us of the dyke dog-owner in "Best in Show." Her appearance so startled me when I first walked in, laden with my bass and other equipment, that when we were introduced my voice went up about an octave when I said, "Oh! Hi, Kris!" I immediately tried to act calm and businesslike, as though I hadn't just squeaked. Perhaps I was intimidated by the fact that she'd questioned one line of my song. But the teachers at these schools are usually so mainstream-looking, even conservative, that I wasn't prepared for the way she looked. I wanted to ask her if she was a lesbian. It soon became apparent that she was already a huge fan of ours, and she came to the house concert we did later that night, which was very nice. I felt better by then. What is with my confidence, that it's so contingent on whether I have this upper hand, that I know I'm already admired? What kind of fifth grade lame-ass behavior is that?

Sigh.

Anyway, it was an incredibly taxing day. We slept in Saturday, rehearsed some oldies we were playing later at a hospital gig, and drove to Pennsylvania for an annual cancer society benefit that we do. That was another fun gig, but Carol had one of the most unfortunate and clumsy nights I've ever seen. She'd run out of conditioner, and her hair pretty much looked like someone had styled it with an egg beater. All through the gig, one shoulder of her tank top blouse kept falling off even though she'd pinned it to her bra strap; she didn't check the bass strap after putting it on, and it was twisted in such a way that it came off the end pin halfway through a song. It was a miracle she caught it before it hit the floor. We kept playing, and about a verse later she'd managed to get it back together, after squatting on the floor to struggle with it. Stuff like that is a little flustering, though, and she had to start the next song twice. And she kept spoonerizing words. She was talking about a snowstorm, but said, "Snore storm" instead, which of course led to several jokes about Chris; later she said "white run" instead of "right one" and didn't even notice it. Packing up later, she pinched her hand severely and raised a blood blister.

After packing up, we drove two hours to our lodging in New Jersey, so we could get up extra early to play two church services on Sunday... in preparation for a 4:00 show. By then I was pretty tired, as we'd slept about 5-1/2 hours. We didn't really have time to nap in between services and concert, just lie down a little bit. The first set seemed slow to get going; I wasn't sure we had them. But by the end we were in our stride, and sales were pretty good. One guy asked me for sheet music for a certain song, and I arranged to send it to him. He expressed interest in doing a house concert. Later Chris said he was the inventor of an expandable arterial stent, and I looked it up and he was right. It's this ingenious, meshlike tube that keeps clogged arteries open. His father is a very famous inventor of space exploration equipment (a satellite navigation system, for instance) and numerous medical advances, like the internal insulin pump. I thought it was interesting that the song he requested music for has the words, "If your heart's broken / it will be mended / for we will rise for you like Guardians." Could be his theme song. (His name is David Fischell, if you'd like to Google him.)

Then Monday we did the hospital gig -- the less said about that the better, really, but it was another hundred bucks each -- and then home. Exhausting but lucrative -- and this month we hardly have any gigs. I have to remind myself not to spend foolishly for a few months. I am savoring the time off, dreaming of being rich and having the choice to live like this. Maybe I should have accepted that marriage proposal from the guy who was selling his house for millions. (I am kidding.)

This was catch-up day, and after laundry and errands I spent about three hours of it doing what should have been a straightforward jeans alteration project. Forty-seven, can't find clothes that fit in the waist. That's the sum of it all. I am a seamstress; I've sewn since I was wee, and this was not beyond me. However, I made every mistake possible, and by halfway through I was sitting on the floor, ripping out the seam AGAIN, crying my eyes out and cursing my life and troubles. And suddenly, I thought: "Why, I've died, and this is Hell! ...How did I die? And why did I get sent here? Was it the anger and bitterness, after all? Was my heart not light enough?" which made me cry even more, so I had to stop and blow my nose and throw the soggy tissues bitterly and angrily away from me before resuming my work.

In the long-awaited end, I have jeans that fit, and I like them very much. I plan to never take them off until they wear out, or until I wear out, which will probably happen first. Levis 501s are indestructible. Perhaps wearing them will make me more resilient.

I also went to the dentist today for a cleaning, and discussed the ongoing tenderness that is part and parcel of the root canal I had done in October. It seems there might be a crack up through one of the root sheaths, which would not surprise me at all. It was repeatedly traumatized over several years before I had it worked on. But there's a small, bony bump under the gum just above the tooth, and he said I should see the endodontist about it, just in case. It isn't inflamed at all, but it wasn't there before the surgery. He'll x-ray it and probably won't be able to see anything. None of the hairline cracks in my teeth have ever shown up on x-ray, and I've had 4 root canals so far. The good news is that my gums look really good, recession notwithstanding, and the occasional, horrid canker sores I get in them are not indicative of any terrible disease so much as stress, or viruses, or something else unexplained. She said they're very common and I shouldn't worry about them. And as for the tenderness in that tooth, I only feel it when I'm fussing with it, like flossing or brushing or trying to wiggle it with my fingers. It doesn't hurt to eat. The only solution would be to pull the whole thing out and put in an implant, and I'm not inclined to lose my first entire tooth. So I may just have to live with it.

Old. Old is coming. Beware.

**********************

Tomorrow, lots of data entry. I don't feel like getting into it tonight. I've been going to bed slightly earlier since this tour because of the bizarre morning schedule, and it doesn't suck.

I think I'll curl up with my 501s.