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October, 2011 - October 04, 2011


September 24, 2007

9:06 p.m.

After Knoxville

Friday: 15 hours in the car with my band. Realized forgot extra CDs. Chris spent 1 hour on phone talking to neighborhood electrician doing work at their new house while they�re away. Convinced him to package box of 50 CDs and drive it to UPS in Hartford to send overnight. Arrived Knoxville 10:45pm, stayed with people. Slept in sort of window seat bed, too short for adult body.

Saturday: Overnighted CDs arrived without breakage. Rehearsed, read book. 4:30, packed to go to sound check. Cris realized forgot essential suitcase with various essential equipment, essential for playing gig, such as: sustain pedal and program switch for keyboard; cords for keyboard and guitar; mute switch for guitar, cable for piano module. C. kept saying, �We�re f**ked!� in state of shock. Brought mixing board suitcase for PA system instead, not essential. Made pact with band to not mention all forgotten items, lest seem amateurish.

Saturday night: Between sound check and gig, Chris fixed broken, spare keyboard pedal with soldering gun and current tester somebody at gig happened to have with them. Grand piano available, so piano module for keyboard not needed. Pulled off gig without hitch, including playing brand new bass. Went back to people�s house, had wine and fresh tomatoes and conversation. Slept in window seat bed, too short for adult body.

Sunday: Rose early, played two morning services at same church, sold boatload of CDs, offsetting the $100 charge incurred to send. Ate quick lunch from Panera. Hit road. Drove several hundred miles, stayed at Motel 6 where had one of best motel sleeps ever. Perfect pillow, better than travel pillow brought along.

Monday: Rose early, showered, removed pillowcases from travel pillow and Motel 6 pillow. Checked tag on Motel 6 pillow to make sure washable. Replaced cases on switched pillows. Packed belongings and put in car along with new pillow. Rode eight hours, less stop at IHOP for breakfast. Picked up car at band�s house, came home via grocery store, breathed sigh of relief to be ALL ALONE in a room for the first time in four days.

In other news, I am taking on lovers. They�re all secret.

Well, they�re both secret.

An old friend � I�ll call him Aubrey -- played in my state and I went to see him. Of old he wanted me and I always said no; I was seeing someone, then someone else. This time I brought him home.

And last week I bedded Wes (didn�t �sleep� with him; sleeping is sleeping, sex is sex) after all. Still not 100% sure what that�s about but it was all okay; sweet in a completely friendly way.

The day after encounter #1 I had occasion to visit with James. We were sitting at the kitchen table talking about this and that, and suddenly he said, �There�s something completely different about you now. You have this really centered mellowness I�ve never seen in you before.� I looked at him for a moment and said thoughtfully, �Hm. How interesting.� What could I say?

My new, private life is secret. This is the only place I�m talking about it.

Bringing Aubrey home, indeed, was one of the most empowering things I�ve ever done. We talked long, made love sweet, really looked at each other. I�m not in danger of falling in love; it�s almost an intellectual exercise, yet I�m engaged. He is lovely naked, lovelier than I thought. I said to him at one point, �I hate to say it, but you�re the perfect lover for me. You�re never around, you�re not available, you blow into town like a house afire and then go away and leave me alone so I can write songs about you.� �You won�t have time to get annoyed with me,� he added, laughing. How different, this detached intimacy, this fond forbearing. I can�t offer any more at the moment, and ask no more.

Wes was another story. He made me dinner, did my laundry. We talked a lot as we always do, and the decision was made. It was his birthday last week and I laughingly offered it as a present. He was a little scared after so much anticipation. It wasn�t the way he�d envisioned. It didn�t really matter. We were in his apartment � we�ve hardly spent any time there. His windows overlook the river. He told me all the names of his old teddy bears. Rug Rat; another one, Road Rag or something, one he found on the highway. I told him they weren�t dignified names. They keep the bears trapped in their ragginess. No, he said earnestly; this one, I had him repaired. See? He has a new arm, and new eyes. We should all remember our humble roots.

After a few days of highness from all that I was kind of depressed by the start of our Tennessee trip. The gigs were so good, though, that it cheered me, even though I couldn�t run over the weekend because I�m being careful with a knee that talked to me last week. Wes called just when I got back. He saw my car in the lot; could he come up, with a welcome back gift? I said yes; he let himself in with keys I gave him. A rose, wine, pickled mushrooms and peppers. Kisses. He had a great gig over the weekend, too. He promises he won�t expect too much from me. I promise whatever happens I will be his friend. I sent him on his way so I could cook dinner and eat it alone.

After dinner and finishing the book I read all week (Daphne du Maurier, �House on the Strand,� absolutely riveting as her work always is), I returned a call to Sig. He was working in the studio but I told him he could call me over the next couple of days before I go to Texas. He�s finishing a project, but maybe Wednesday will need to take his car to Massachusetts to leave it with his crazy wife (or ex-wife by now, I�m not sure what�s been happening with that) and get a ride back. I said I might be able to do it. Meeting with Will, or lack of meeting, only a captive conversation away.

How well things fall into some kind of order. How different this part of my life feels. Suddenly it�s interesting again; it gives me things to think about, ways to frame my experience and examine it and make sense of these changes that keep unfolding. I�m three months away from my 49th birthday. It�s actually my 49th year right now, that is, leading up to 49. In my forty-ninth year I take on lovers, I have a secret life I don�t even tell my band about, nor my sister. For the first time in my life I deliberately foster secrets, subterfuge. I steal a hotel pillow and bequeath a replacement. I leave a small, musky puddle on my quilt. I write new songs with double meanings. I shake up the world in tiny ways.

And then I come home and do the dishes.


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