October 09, 2007

9:17 p.m.

Deep in the Farts of Texas

From 9/29

Between Dallas and Spring, TX

I have been inexplicably happy today. I rose at 6:50am in the dark to have a good, 53 minute run before breakfast. I'm close to finishing a very complex and important song. I've slept well in spite of a spartan, rugless room and a shifty airbed. (Chris went out and found me an egg crate to put on it, and we bought cheap feather pillows to leave here in Texas.) I am a better camper this trip than some other times. We've had good food. I met my niece last night for the first time, and I love her. I feel grounded, connected, tribal. I feel my lovers thinking about me -- I miss Aubrey. I wonder when I'll see hiim. He is playing my state this fall but we'll be in Massachusetts. Maybe he'll call.

The Texas scenery goes by as I sit here in the back seat. Everything still green, no red hints of Fall yet like at home.

6:10pm House concert. Playing in an hour. We had "salmon trout" tonight -- it's an actual cross. Don't ask me how. It had the best attributes of both fishes, and the little charred edges from the grill were exquisite.

After tonights' show we drive 3-1/2 hours back to Dallas, and get up early to sing at 2 church services. The room I'm using is a meeting room for church youth so I and my stuff have to vacate by 9am. I can go back in later on. No claiming space this trip, but right now I claim a little corner of an upstairs open room to scribble in the semi-darkness and breathe alone a little before the crowd begins to filter in. There's a big clock somewhere with a Dickensian quarter-hour chime that we probably should remember to silence before the set.

Still an hour to go. I crave chocolate chip cookies.

10/9/07

Got in at last, around 4:15a.m. after a very delayed flight back from Dallas. I don't know how I did it except for this recent surge of energy and empowerment I seem to have come into this season. My stamina is a little better. We sang for the passengers during the interminable wait at the gate. There was some maintenance problem; they had to get a special crew to lead us back to the gate; they needed a special tool someone had to go and get. We taxied forever before being told there was a problem. I had said to my seatmate, who was suffering from an awful bronchitis, "If we end up driving to Connecticut, it'll take a lot longer." Everyone on the plane was goodnatured about their frustration. I managed to zone out with spacey music on my iPod and finally the flight was over.

The title of this entry came because of an event at the Dallas church where we played a concert. Somehow Chris and I were whispering about farts just before we went on. This in itself isn't so unusual. I think one or both of us had a little gas and we were giggling about it, and he said, "All right, who cut the cheese?" except I misheard him. I thought he'd said, "All right, who plucked the chicken?" I swear this is what I heard. I thought it was some fart nomenclature I hadn't heard yet, so I asked him to repeat himself. That sent us into a fit of stifled laughter and comments like, "Man, the feathers are flying!" and, "What a roaster!" Later we told Carol. A bit later she tried, in her inimitable way of never being able to repeat a joke, to say it again, only it came out, "Who chased the cheese?" By this time we were a wreck. Anyway we had to go out and sing a sensitive, spiritual song right after all this foolishness. No one was any the wiser.

After all the Dallas stuff, we headed to Austin and attended a music conference. This was a delightful weekend, and Chris and I both wrote new funny songs. We also heard some incredible performers -- try www.judcaswell.com, www.marinarocks.com, www.whereisrandall.com, www.twilighthotel.ca. Many others. The music opened me up and made me sob a little, reminded me of the feeling of my Reiki attunements, where everything tight lets go and falls away. All in all a productive weekend, and I kissed a man who had a crush on me.

I really wanted to kiss Marina, but I was too shy to get close enough. I'm not really into rock but she blew the top of my head off.

More later, perhaps; I'm too tired to write any more. Happy and tired.