Safety Dance (Men Without Hats)

Much has happened in the three weeks since I last posted.  Beautiful things.  An embarrassment of riches in my life.  Then... coronavirus a.k.a. COVID-19.  Dum dum dum dum [ominous music plays]

It is a strange and crazy time right now, a frightening time, as our world is becoming smaller and smaller.  Broadway, Major League sports, Disney... all cancelled until further notice.  On a local level, concerts and book clubs and get-togethers are being postponed left and right, and hugging (our life sustenance) is discouraged.  I appreciate the safety of elbow- and fist-bumps and air kisses these days, but I fear I will shrivel away without live music and human touch.

I will revisit those other topics at some point.  For now, as a woman who thrives on social activities, my calendar has cleared itself.  I have chosen to go inward, to self-quarantine, at least for the next week (or two), taking the "better safe than sorry" approach.

I read this blog post by Amy Speace yesterday, which beautifully encapsulates my state of mind (gratitude!), and attempting to walk that fine line between taking precautions and living in fear.

My friend Joshua wrote this exquisite piece about Social Distancing.

And my daughter Sarah shared this link about Coronavirus and the Sun (and now I'm planning to spend all day tomorrow at our condo pool...  :-)

In the meantime, washyourhands, washyourhands, washyourhands.  I believe this too shall pass (but it will get worse before it gets better).


SONG:  Safety Dance by Men Without Hats

BOOK:  The Stand by Stephen King (sorry, SK!)

POEM:  Try to Praise the Mutilated World by Adam Zagajewski

Try to praise the mutilated world.
Remember June's long days,
and wild strawberries, drops of rosé wine.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
the abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You must praise the mutilated world.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships;
one of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while salty oblivion awaited others.
You've seen the refugees going nowhere,
you've heard the executioners sing joyfully.
You should praise the mutilated world.
Remember the moments when we were together
in a white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and leaves eddied over the earth's scars.
Praise the mutilated world
and the gray feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and returns.

QUOTE:  "We travel together, passengers on a little spaceship, dependent on its vulnerable reserves of air and soil, all committed, for our safety, to its security and peace. Preserved from annihilation only by the care, the work and the love we give our fragile craft." ~ Adlai Stevenson I

Call Any Vegetable (Frank Zappa)

So much for Thoughtful Thursday and Mindful Monday.  Can we have a new category of Intentional Tuesday?  Oh, f*ck it.  Who cares?  I've been busy with all sorts of family, friends, and activities.  The world will not end if I don't post twice a week, on the days I said I would.  God, retirement is great.  My boundaries/expectations/deadlines have certainly become less rigid. “Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives."  Ha!

Long-story-semi-short:  I decided to become vegetarian in October 2014 and, since I was 90% vegan at that point, went 100% vegan in July 2017.  My friend Michele has been a huge inspiration over the years, as has my friend Patrick.  I have really embraced the lifestyle, and have hosted two vegan dinners (via my UU church's service auctions), as well as presented a UU Sunday service titled Give Peas a Chance, with a handout of cookbook, restaurant, and documentary resources...  :-)

I'd like to think that I don't proselytize about my dietary choices, but I do love sharing tips and secrets of my passion for healthy and compassionate food.  Vegan cooking can be fun and delicious, as well as nutritious.  My OverReaders Anonymous women provide mostly vegan items for our book-themed menu each month.  It means a lot.

My friend Suzanne told me about an event at our local JCC last week. Dr. Neal Barnard, a leading expert in the field of veganism, was speaking... for FREE!  I immediately signed up and met her there.  It was interesting in that he was promoting his new book (link below), for sale at his talk, which I bought and had signed.  I have followed him for years, and know how incredibly intelligent and handsome he is, but never realized how funny.  My erogenous zone is wired for mischievous, and I joked the rest of the week that he is my new "hall pass" (previous candidates include Harrison Ford and Kevin Kline).  Is that inappropriate?!?  Sorry, Dr. B.

Also very cool that he reached out to Lindsay Nixon (The Happy Herbivore) to contribute recipes.  Exciting to discover, as I know her through Facebook and Goodreads...  :-)

So, nowhere in the PR literature did it state vegan, nor even plant-based.  I imagine they were afraid no one would show up if they advertised as such, since those are "hot button" words, often thought of as intimidating and controversial.  The room was full, and I had fun looking around throughout, watching the audience's reaction once the subject was finally clear.  No one left, and there was a respectful discussion afterward.  Crisis averted!

All that to say, even though I try to eat super-healthy most of the time, it motivated me to kick up my level of fruits and vegetables, and reduce my amount of processed foods even more, and I already feel better.  Made this recipe Sunday night (found on Michele's former blog), and it was amazing!  Will definitely be incorporating it in our monthly rotation...  :-)

https://ohmyveggies.com/cashew-tofu-quinoa-bowls/

SONG:  Call Any Vegetable by Frank Zappa

BOOK:  Your Body in Balance: The New Science of Food, Hormones, and Health by Neal D Barnard MD FACC, Lindsay Nixon (Contributor)

POEM:  Vegan Symphony #9 by Philip Nikolayev

Roaring roast cake with bean base spareribs for me,
carottes étouffées medium rare,
I like them a tad undercooked, still red
with sap, tea leaves in olive oil,
strawberry sushi flummoxed
to the point of deliquescence,
or better still, freshly picked
cucumber rolls to match
the lettuce steak, mesquite broiled
to a crunchy andante, with all
organic granola salsa, nuts
nutritious to the max, and then of course the
soypork casserole with legs
of boletus, and tofu chops on a platter
of tomato paste base salmon with
a sprinkling of beet juice droplets,
all served with a rich broccoli broth.

QUOTE:  “Hurt no living thing: Ladybird, nor butterfly, nor moth with dusty wing, nor cricket chirping cheerily, nor grasshopper so light of leap, nor dancing gnat, nor beetle fat, nor harmless worms that creep.” ~ Cristina Rosetti

It's Delovely (Cole Porter)

I just can't say enough good things about The Miami Book Fair.  I always knew it was *there*, but I never really took advantage of it until about five years ago.  Now it's chiseled in stone on my life calendar every mid-November.  Thanks to Judi for my virgin experience (she showed me the proverbial ropes!), which helped me push past my fear of the unknown such that I have the courage to continue (even solo, if necessary, which has sometimes been the case).

They always have a great line-up of familiar names, and I've had the satisfaction of checking off some Bucket List authors (Ann Patchett, Billy Collins, Joy Harjo, Mark Doty, and more) as well as the surprise of new discoveries.  When I was still working, I kept my car radio on WLRN, the local NPR station, where I received my news as well as my culture (book and music reviews).  On the way home one afternoon, an interview with Ross Gay aired (about the below book) and I could not wait to get home and order it.  Imagine my pleasure when he was on a panel at the 2019 MBF, and my validation that he was just as delightful in person.  I brought my book from home, which he autographed for me:  "To Susan - In Joy Together!".  I will never forget his open face, and his warm demeanor.


SONG:  It's Delovely (Cole Porter)

BOOK:  The Book of Delights: Essays by Ross Gay

POEM:  The Delight Song of Tsoai-talee by N. Scott Momaday

I am a feather on the bright sky
I am the blue horse that runs in the plain
I am the fish that rolls, shining, in the water
I am the shadow that follows a child
I am the evening light, the lustre of meadows
I am an eagle playing with the wind
I am a cluster of bright beads
I am the farthest star
I am the cold of dawn
I am the roaring of the rain
I am the glitter on the crust of the snow
I am the long track of the moon in a lake
I am a flame of four colors
I am a deer standing away in the dusk
I am a field of sumac and the pomme blanche
I am an angle of geese in the winter sky
I am the hunger of a young wolf
I am the whole dream of these things

You see, I am alive, I am alive
I stand in good relation to the earth
I stand in good relation to the gods
I stand in good relation to all that is beautiful
I stand in good relation to the daughter of Tsen-tainte
You see, I am alive, I am alive

QUOTE:  "Once we believe in ourselves, we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight, or any experience that reveals the human spirit." ~ e. e. cummings

Just Because I'm a Woman (Dolly Parton)

I had meant to record the Ken Burns Country Music documentary series when it aired on PBS a while back, but then totally forgot.  Linda mentioned it when we were in Pensacola, so I came home and searched OnDemand.  Two episodes were available for free, and the remainder to buy ($2.99 each).  I viewed one and am now thinking seriously about purchasing some of them.  That's how good it is!

The one I saw was: “The Sons and Daughters of America” (1964 – 1968)
Episode 5 | See how country music reflects a changing America, with Loretta Lynn speaking to women everywhere, Merle Haggard becoming “The Poet of the Common Man” and audiences looking beyond race to embrace Charley Pride.

[ Actually, now that I'm researching, it looks like I can watch it on my laptop for free, so I will give that a try over the weekend. ]

So, the time frame of the above episode is 1964-1968.  I was 10-14 years old, and my father was a country fan when country was most definitely *not* cool.  I vividly recall his love of Merle, his admiration for Cash, his pride in Charley (see what I did there?) in breaking the race barrier.  He introduced me to the Carter Family, Loretta, and Tammy.  Twang was spoken in our house (although it drove my mom crazy).  I purported to dislike it as well, yet I knew all the words to all the songs (I still do).  When I began, in my late teens and early 20s, to appreciate the music of Gram Parsons, Emmylou Harris, and Townes Van Zandt, I realized it was a full-circle moment.

Now I'm just as likely to listen to John Prine, Mary Chapin Carpenter, and The Avett Brothers.  Thanks, Dad (albeit belatedly!).



SONG:  Just Because I'm a Woman by Dolly Parton

BOOK:  Woman Walk the Line: How the Women in Country Music Changed Our Lives by Holly Gleason

POEM:  A Wife Explains Why She Likes Country by Barbara Ras

Because those cows in the bottomland are black and white, colors
anyone can understand, even against the green
of the grass, where they glide like yes and no, nothing in between,
because in the country, heartache has nowhere to hide,
it's the Church of Abundant Life, the Alamo,
the hubbub of the hoi polloi, the parallel lines of rail fences,
because I like rodeos more than I like golf,
because there's something about the sound of mealworms and
leeches and the dream of a double-wide
that reminds me this is America, because of the simple pleasure
of a last chance, because sometimes whiskey
tastes better than wine, because hauling hogs on the road
is as good as it gets when the big bodies are layered like pigs in a cake,
not one layer but two,
because only country has a gun with a full choke and a slide guitar
that melts playing it cool into sweaty surrender in one note,
because in country you can smoke forever and it'll never kill you,
because roadbeds, flatbeds, your bed or mine,
because the package store is right across from the chicken plant
and it sells boiled peanuts, because I'm fixin' to wear boots to the dance
and make my hair bigger, because no smarty-pants, just easy rhymes,
perfect love, because I'm lost deep within myself and the sad songs call me out,
because even you with your superior aesthetic cried
when Tammy Wynette died,
because my people
come from dirt.

QUOTE:  "Of emotions, of love, of breakup, of love and hate and death and dying, mama, apple pie, and the whole thing. It covers a lot of territory, country music does." ~ Johnny Cash

I Cain't Say No ( Rodgers and Hammerstein, from the musical Oklahoma)

LEO (July 23-Aug. 22): It might be tempting to turn your home into a womb-like sanctuary and explore the mysteries of doing absolutely nothing while clad in your pajamas. And frankly, this might be a good idea. After the risks you've taken to reach out to the other side, after the bridges you've built in the midst of the storms, after the skirmishes you've fought in the Gossip Wars, you have every right to retreat and get your homebody persona humming at a higher vibration. So I say: Be meticulously leisurely as you celebrate the deep pleasures of self-care.


November 2, 2009
The Time You Find
Simplifying Your Schedule

For many, life is a hodgepodge of never-ending commitments. Yet few of us can be truly healthy or happy without regular periods of downtime. While there is nothing inherently wrong with busyness, those of us who over-commit or over-extend ourselves potentially face exhaustion and burnout. When you feel overwhelmed by your commitments, examining your motivation for taking on so many obligations can help you understand why you feel compelled to do so much. You may discover that you are being driven by fear that no one else will do the job or guilt that you aren’t doing enough. To regain your equilibrium and clear the clutter from your calendar, simplify your life by establishing limits regarding what you will and will not do based on your personal priorities.

Determining where your priorities lie can be as easy as making two lists: one that outlines all those obligations that are vital to your well-being, such as work, meditation, and exercise, and another that describes everything you do that is not directly related to your well-being. Although there will likely be items in the latter list that excite your passion or bring you joy, you may discover that you devote a large portion of your time to unnecessary activities. To simplify your schedule, consider which of these unnecessary activities add little value to your life and edit them from your agenda. Remember that you may need to ask for help, say no firmly, or delegate responsibility in order to distance yourself from such encumbrances. However, as you divest yourself of non-vital obligations that cause you stress, serve no purpose, or rob you of opportunities to refresh yourself, you will feel more energetic and enthusiastic about life in general.

If simplifying your schedule seems prohibitively difficult and you still feel pressed to take on more, try imagining how each new commitment will impact your life before saying yes. When you consider the hassle associated with superfluous obligations, you may be surprised to see that your schedule is impeding your attempts to grow as an individual. Your willingness to pare down your agenda, no matter how gradual your progress, will empower you to retake active control of the life that defines you.


This past weekend was the South Florida Folk Festival.  More on that next week, as it deserves its own post, but I really want to tell you the tale of friendship between myself and Michael McNevin.  We go back more than twenty years, having met at the Kerrville Folk Festival in May 1999, as he was standing outside the bathrooms, serenading those who walked by with his sweet voice and subtle lyrics.  We stayed in touch and, when I went to the Booking School at the Nashville Folk Alliance in 2002, he was the first person I agreed to represent.  Another story for another time; the business eventually folded but the friendship remained.

His plan was to come into town this past weekend to hang with our mutual friend Tom Prasada-Rao (dealing with difficult health issues), who had a mainstage slot at the festival. Michael was patient and, due to another artist's unfortunate illness, he also received a mainstage set. Great music, community, and comaraderie. At my invitation, Michael stayed with me from Thursday night to about an hour ago.  He is equally exhausting and endearing, and we had some wonderfully deep conversations, as well as hearty laughter, along the way.

Michael invited Tom over to my place earlier today so they could do some co-writing for a few hours before moving on to the next step in their journey.  We bandied some ideas/themes around and, when they were ready to get serious, I retired to my bedroom to read... or so I thought. Couldn't stop my swirling brain until I committed pen to paper, or fingers to Samsung Memo.  The following poem is what I came up with, fleshed out but still rough, could use some minor tweaking but I am leaving as is for now, or No!

Michael and Tom said they liked it.  Then again, they wouldn't want to hurt my feelings either. 

Soul-searching, while terrifying, is important. It has to be an internal, as well as intuitive, vision and, once that is in place, the next stage of your life, the third act, begins. I am now a retired, nature-watching, sleeping-until-9-am, lunching-with-friends, reading whore, Lala. And I'm okay with that... :-)

P.S.  When I was blogging regularly, as ideas came to me, I would set them aside as drafts, to be gone back to later.  The above horoscope and DailyOm are from *ten years ago*, and were just waiting for me to return to them at the appropriate time.  That would be NOW.  Spooky, right?



SONG:  I Cain't Say No by Rodgers and Hammerstein (from the musical Oklahoma)

BOOK:  The Power of No: Because One Little Word Can Bring Health, Abundance, and Happiness Paperback by James Altucher and Claudia Azula Altucher

POEM:  The Power of NOW by Susan (me...  :-)

I once was a woman of pleasure
for everyone else in my life
When they wanted a piece of my leisure
I submitted as friend, mom, and wife

No problem, no worries, no pressure, no guilt
I bent, and I swayed, and I folded
Whatever they stitched was my crazy quilt
Little regard for what my soul did

Good Time Charleen was the role I embraced
Concerts, committees, congregations
The more the merrier, the thrill of the chase
I filled up on action, applause, adulation

Act Three, Scene One, running on fumes
Do I really wish to keep up this pace?
What is my purpose? Where is my full moon?
I'm choosing to drop out of this race

The Magic Art of Tidying Up, and
Swedish Death Purge for the win
I'm only keeping the useful and beautiful
This is where my next stage begins

Those in my circle will understand
It's not you, it's me, and what I need now
I'm slowing down as part of the plan
More mindful, more grateful, less when, and more how

The Power of No sounds harsh, but it's freeing
Obligation and stress become memories
My focus these days is on really just Being
My safe cocoon, my inner light, at peace

QUOTE:  "I'll give you my answer calmly and sensibly, my final answer. My final answer is finally no. The answer is no! Absolutely and finally no! Finally and positively no! No! No! No! N - O!" ~ Abraham Polonsky

I Have Been Around the World (Dar Williams)

With all this free time on my hands, post-retirement from job and concert series, I am attempting to sculpt some sort of schedule, without throwing myself back into the same scrambling, chaotic life I have lived for the past 4+ decades.  When I have the whole day/week/month ahead of me, I tend to put things off... but when I had an organized agenda and knew I only had a hour or so to accomplish something, I shoehorned the task into the available slot.  Plus, now I have no excuse not to look out for own best interests.  Radical Self-Care rocks! 

Below are my current priorities, which are very do-able...  :-)

DO IT NOW!

D
O

I
Take my B-12, multi-vitamin, magnesium, calcium, low-dosage aspirin

N
O
Walk at least 30 minutes/stretch as soon as I get out of bed (no later than 8 a.m.)

Read/write something (anything!), meditate, eat mindfully, go to bed no later than midnight; reach out to someone in a personal way (phone call/e-mail or e-card/snail mail card or letter) weekly.

New blog post twice a week:  Mindful Monday and Thoughtful Thursday!



SONG:  I Have Been Around the World by Dar Williams

BOOK:  Change Your Reality, Change Your Life by Robin McKnight

POEM:  My Totally Awesome World by SeSe Geddes

My husband has just left for work, and I’m already knotted
by the window, watching him like a dog. I should paw the glass.
I’ve got problems, man. Let’s get that out of the way.
Just look at me sitting here in this fallow
slant of morning light, like I’m stuck in a Hopper painting.
I’ve got a Harley rumbling on high idle in my chest and a mind
that catches and kinks like cheap cassette tape. This is the third
time it’s come back — the panic I thought I’d beaten
with the help of my shrink and a rainbow of Rite Aid generics.
And I feel guilty, ungrateful, un-Oprah-like, swaddled
in this voluptuous excess of useless sensation. If I could, I’d pull
the energy from my body and just do something with it —
jump-start cars, anything. But I can’t even leave the house.
And to make matters worse it’s springtime in Northern California,
and the trees are bursting with buds. Also, I’m wearing chenille.
I’m wasting my life, twisted up on a faux-leather
sofa in the middle of a weekday morning, and as I gaze down
at the bright spill of CDs across the carpet, all I want
is to be in Morocco with the Rolling Stones,
and I want it to be 1967. All tiny blue tiles and LSD.
I want to walk slowly through the arched doorways
and courtyards wearing a sheer caftan over my naked body.
I waft through whitewashed rooms with a joint drooping
from the ruby-encrusted fingers of one hand and a snifter
of cognac in the other. I want my long, straight hair teased
into a perfect dome, my eyes rimmed in kohl, a talisman
against evil dangling between my high breasts, and I want to find
Keith lounging in the sun, his face still young and unlined,
his silk shirt wilted open. I kneel beside him, lift the grass
to his lips, the jewel-like coal glowing in the early-
evening North African light, a pale blue deepening
into an indigo minaret of sky. I exhale with the ripple
of the fountain. Keith sighs and closes his eyes,
and I say, “That’s ok, baby. Everything’s cool.” 

QUOTE:  "Do not assume that you have to have some prescribed conditions to do your best work. Do not wait. Do not wait for enough time or money to accomplish what you think you have in mind. Work with what you have right now. Work with the people around you right now. Work with the architecture you see around you right now. Do not wait for what you assume is the appropriate, stress-free environment in which to generate expression. Do not wait for maturity or insight or wisdom. Do not wait till you are sure that you know what you are doing. Do not wait until you have enough technique. What you do now, what you make of your present circumstances will determine the quality and scope of your future endeavors. And, at the same time, be patient." ~ Anne Bogart

Life Is Large (The Kennedys)

Yesterday was the 54th Super Bowl, and I don't even know, or care, which teams were playing.  Actually, I do know one of the teams, because of the ridiculous tweet by Trump congratulating the state of Kansas for the Chiefs' win.  They're based in Missouri, you moron. The president of the United States doesn't even know the geography of his own country.  Don't get me started.  Oops, too late!

As has been my tradition for the last few years, I went to my friend Dave's for his Anti-Super-Bowl house concert in his backyard, which is always well-attended.   He hosts The Kennedys, Pete and Maura, a husband-and-wife duo who have been together for 28 years.  She plays rhythm guitar, he plays lead guitar and ukulele (performing an amazing version of Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue).  

They've lately been playing the entire album, start to finish, of River of Fallen Stars, as their first set, to honor the 25th anniversary of its release, which was amazing.  They are nearing the end of the tracklist, and Maura explains that this next song, Life Goes on Without You, is about her mother's passing. As she begins, a bird starts singing along, a harmony/accompaniment to Maura's vocals.  It is all at once eerie, beautiful, and melancholy, and Maura bursts into tears and cannot finish the song. Only on that one the bird sang, not before nor after.  Goosebump-worthy.

Their second set was all-request, and they honored my ask of one of the three Dave Carter tunes they have recorded, their choice.  It was When I Go.  Lovely.

I'm always glad to see them, and they me. We talked afterward and it turns out that they'll be at The New Bedford Folk Festival, which my husband and I plan to attend this July, in lieu of Falcon Ridge.

P.S.  My graphic made me think of a conversation I had with my brother not too long ago.  I was saying that something "wasn't all rainbows and unicorns" and he interjected that the alternative phrase, for those in the 12-step programs (which he is), is "pizzas and blowjobs".  Ah, perspective is everything...  :-)


SONG:  Life Is Large by The Kennedys

BOOK:  Super Bowl Coloring Book by Johnnie Walker

POEM:  Wide Receiver by Mark Halliday

In the huddle you said “Go long—get open”
and at the snap I took off along the right sideline
and then cut across left in a long arc
and I’m sure I was open at several points—
glancing back I saw you pump-fake more than once
but you must not have been satisfied with what you saw downfield
and then I got bumped off course and my hands touched the turf
but I regained my balance and dashed back to the right
I think or maybe first left and then right
and I definitely got open but the throw never came—

maybe you thought I couldn’t hang on to a ball flung so far
or maybe you actually can’t throw so far
but in any case I feel quite open now,
the defenders don’t seem too interested in me
I sense only open air all around me
though the air is getting darker and it would appear
by now we’re well into the fourth quarter
and I strongly doubt we can afford to settle for
dinky little first downs if the score is what I think it is

so come on, star boy, fling a Hail Mary
with a dream-coached combination of muscle and faith
and I will gauge the arc and I will not be stupidly frantic
and I will time my jump and—I’m just going to say
in the cool gloaming of this weirdly long game
it is not impossible that I will make the catch.

QUOTE:  "When you go into a game, and there's something that was drawn up the way it was supposed to be drawn up, and you missed the throw or the catch, as a receiver, it's something where you feel bad about that. You can always regret just missing it, but as a football player, you have to move on to the next play." ~ Patrick Mahomes

Starting Over (We're About 9)

It's the last day of January 2020 and, despite the re-occurrence of my back problems and a few blips with family and friends, it's been a good year so far.  I really have enjoyed being off Facebook (so much sensory overload), being more productive, spending more time with Colin, and reading like a motherf*cker (more on that in another post...  :-)

My calendar is full, but with joyful activities and interactions, and I'm trying to create white space for breathing and introspection as well.  Who the h*ll am I without a job, a concert series, social media?!?  Stay tuned.

Thunder rolls in the distance and, if it does start storming, I'll probably make a cup of lemon ginger tea, with a swirl of honey, and go out to my lounge chair on the balcony to listen and smell the agitating air.  Feels like my heart, or the backs of my legs when the sciatica hits.  Electricity.  Shocking.  Awareness.


SONG:  Starting Over by We're About 9

BOOK:  The Book of Awakening: Having the Life You Want by Being Present to the Life You Have by Mark Nepo

POEM:  Burning the Old Year by Naomi Shihab Nye

Letters swallow themselves in seconds.
Notes friends tied to the doorknob,
transparent scarlet paper,
sizzle like moth wings,
marry the air.

So much of any year is flammable,
lists of vegetables, partial poems.
Orange swirling flame of days,
so little is a stone.

Where there was something and suddenly isn’t,
an absence shouts, celebrates, leaves a space.
I begin again with the smallest numbers.

Quick dance, shuffle of losses and leaves,
only the things I didn’t do
crackle after the blazing dies.

QUOTE:  “And now we welcome the new year, full of things that have never been." ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

Everybody Hurts (R.E.M.)

From Rob Brezsny's Astrology Newsletter
January 8, 2020:

"Play the game called "Tell me the story of your scars." It's best to do it with a skilled empath who is curious about your fate's riddles and skilled at helping you find redemption in your wounds.

"How did you get that blotch on your knee?" he or she might begin, and you describe the time in childhood when you fell on the sidewalk. Then maybe he or she would say, "Why do you always look so sad when you hear that song?"

And you'd narrate the tale of how it was playing when an old lover broke your heart. The questions and answers continue until you unveil the history of your hurts, both physical and psychic. Treat yourself to this game soon."


When I read this, I immediately thought of the scene in Jaws, as they regale each other, in a one-upmanship style, with show-and-tells of their scars.

Blogs are created safe spaces to share our pain, internal and external, as well as our pleasures.  All this to say that my sciatica has come back (two years after its first appearance in December 2017), and it is entirely my fault.  Not enough activity, too much sitting, lots of picking up of my 25-pound, 18-month-old grandson.  Retirement has its perks and drawbacks.

The last few weeks have found me in agony.  Mornings are always the worst, and I've been trying to focus on stretching before I get too far out of bed.  Shooting pains (electric shocks?) down the back of my legs are almost unbearable, but I know I can turn this around.  Had a massage last week with Karen, who should be canonized for her healing touch.  More stretching, more walking, a return to yoga, maybe even a few visits to the chiropractor (tomorrow?).

Knock on wood, I have been very lucky to have no/limited health problems, when I am surrounded by so many who have debilitating issues or illnesses. Tonight I will pop an Aleve, descend into a coma-like sleep, and awake tomorrow with a renewed desire to beat this, and come back stronger than before.


SONG:  Everybody Hurts by R.E.M.

BOOK:  Why We Hurt: The Natural History of Pain Hardcover by Frank T. Vertosick Jr.

POEM:  Praise the Rain by Joy Harjo

Praise the rain; the seagull dive
The curl of plant, the raven talk—
Praise the hurt, the house slack
The stand of trees, the dignity—
Praise the dark, the moon cradle
The sky fall, the bear sleep—
Praise the mist, the warrior name
The earth eclipse, the fired leap—
Praise the backwards, upward sky
The baby cry, the spirit food—
Praise canoe, the fish rush
The hole for frog, the upside-down—
Praise the day, the cloud cup
The mind flat, forget it all—

Praise crazy. Praise sad.
Praise the path on which we're led.
Praise the roads on earth and water.
Praise the eater and the eaten.
Praise beginnings; praise the end.
Praise the song and praise the singer.

Praise the rain; it brings more rain.
Praise the rain; it brings more rain.

QUOTE:  "Strength doesn't mean an absence of pain." ~ Aja Naomi King

To Live Is to Fly (Townes Van Zandt)

From the Writer's Almanac:

It was on this day in 1986 (34 years ago) that the space shuttle Challenger exploded 73 seconds after takeoff, killing all seven astronauts aboard. That evening, President Ronald Reagan eulogized the lost astronauts in one of the finest addresses of his presidency. He said, "We will never forget them, nor the last time we saw them, this morning, as they prepared for their journey and waved goodbye and slipped 'the surly bonds of earth' to 'touch the face of God.' "


SONG:  To Live Is to Fly by Townes Van Zandt

BOOK:  Truth, Lies, and O-Rings: Inside the Space Shuttle Challenger Disaster by Allan J McDonald and James R. Hansen

POEM: In the Lobby of the Hotel del Mayo by Raymond Carver

The girl in the lobby reading a leather-bound book.
The man in the lobby using a broom.
The boy in the lobby watering plants.
The desk clerk looking at his nails.
The woman in the lobby writing a letter.
The old man in the lobby sleeping in his chair.
The fan in the lobby revolving slowly overhead.
Another hot Sunday afternoon.

Suddenly, the girl lays her finger between the pages of her book.
The man leans on his broom and looks.
The boy stops in his tracks.
The desk clerk raises his eyes and stares.
The woman quits writing.
The old man stirs and wakes up.
What is it?

Someone is running up from the harbor.
Someone who has the sun behind him.
Someone who is bare-chested.
Waving his arms.

It's clear something terrible has happened.
The man is running straight for the hotel.
His lips are working themselves into a scream.

Everyone in the lobby will recall their terror.
Everyone will remember this moment for the rest of their lives.

QUOTE:  "And, in a funny way, each death is different and you mourn each death differently and each death brings back the death you mourned earlier and you get into a bit of a pile-up." ~ Nigella Lawson

Bring My Flowers Now (Tanya Tucker)

This post has the potential to go long, as I describe the adventure ("isn't that what you would call it?", sings Dar) that was the 30A Songwriters Festival last weekend.  I give you permission now to pull the plug at any time...  :-)

My husband and I flew up to Pensacola Thursday evening (1/16) to meet up with my college roommate Linda and her husband Craig.  I had booked our flights on Silver Airways, because it was the only airline that flew non-stop from Ft. Lauderdale (we hate Miami Airport).  I knew something was awry when I checked in the night before and saw there were only 48 seats on the plane.  Yikes!  We got to the airport, went to the gate and, when they called our flight, I looked out the window and joked to Chico that the little pink prop plane on the tarmac was ours.  Um... yup.  Taxied so far and long on the runway, my next joke was that we were just going to drive I-75/I-10 all the way to Pensacola.  Fortunately, we did take off at some point, and to be fair to them, it was a nice, smooth flight, as was the return trip ("and I'd do it again", Dar, different song).

Linda and Craig picked us up at the airport, we spent Thursday night, swung by Wendy (Linda's co-teacher before they retired, and her husband) and her husband Don's house Friday morning, ate lunch in Destin, and finally got to our cabin in Santa Rosa Beach about 3:30 p.m., whereupon we quickly got settled so we could hear some music.  The festival is named 30A after the highway most of the venues are on, with a few offshoots.  It's pricey, with an extensive line-up, and sets you up for failure in that you're never going to see everyone you want to, and basically have to decide on a venue to sit through for the evening, as opposed to bopping around from place to place. Wah!

We collaboratively agreed on a Friday night plan, and headed out to see two rounds: Eliot Bronson and Danielle Howle, both of whom I am familiar with (she opened for Ani DiFranco at the Carefree Theatre in West Palm Beach a bazillion years ago!).  Amazing set, and a great way to start our festival experience.  Next round was Sierra Hull and Steve Poltz, the first a discovery of Craig's at Merlefest and the second a Bucket List item for me (Jewel's boyfriend and co-writer a long-time ago).  She was a young, beautiful, mandolin whiz and he an older, energetic nutjob (in the best possible way), such that, even though I'm on a buying moratorium, I had to spring for a T-shirt.  Another great set, to end the evening...  :-)

Back to the cabin for late-night snacking and drinking, up again Saturday morning for coffee, then on to the outdoor amphitheatre, where the gates opened at 11 a.m., music beginning at noon.  The festival modus operandi for both Saturday and Sunday is to showcase three big-name acts at this large venue exclusively, with no other music running concurrently.  Saturday was Tanya Tucker, Indigo Girls, and John Prine.  Tanya is back on the scene after a 17-year hiatus, largely due to the support/encouragement of Brandi Carlile (and just had a showcase spot at the last night's Grammys).

The next two sets were Indigo Girls (Emily had a bad cold, which really affected her voice, but we did get to sing along to Closer to Fine and Galileo); and John Prine, who looked and sounded amazing, showcasing several tunes on his new CD, Tree of Forgiveness, which I need to listen to immediately.  He also called Tanya Tucker back to sing harmony with him on Angel from Montgomery and Paradise.

We all went on to the next venue, got there just as they were taking a break, and breezed right in, waiting only 10 minutes for a round with Sierra Hull (previously-described mandolin whiz), Allison Moorer (ex-wife of Steve Earle, sister of Shelby Lynne), and Mindy Smith.  All were great, but I was especially captivated by Moorer who, after decades of keeping it quiet, has recently written a book and a companion CD, about her father murdering her mother, and then turning the gun on himself, which she and her sister witnessed when they were children.  Her song Nightlight broke my heart.

Then... TODD!!!  When I discovered early in the festival that I was never going to be able to see everyone I wanted, I basically said that as long as I could hear Todd Snider, I was happy.  Mission Accomplished, in the best possible way!  His performances can go either way:  on-task, focused songwriting and storytelling, or off-the-rails, drugged-out, mumbling, stumbling, possibly cutting his set short.  Fortunately, he was more of the former, as Linda had seen him a few years back (exhibiting latter behavior), and was unimpressed. We got to sing along to Beer Run, and he did some introspective songs as well.  He also told a story about wearing shoes lately on stage, as he had performed barefoot all his life, which his doctor said was probably the reason for many of Todd's health problems.  "Well, that and drugs", he said, "but at least I met him halfway".  Hilarious!

Back to our cabin for more late-night snacking, drinking, and conversation.  I am fond of saying that I can still do everything I used to; it just takes me longer to recover.  That was the theme of this weekend...  :-)

Sunday morning, back to the outdoor amphitheatre to end up in the same place we were the day before, a few rows behind the fence of the VIP area. Good sightlines, plus they had a Jumbotron on either side of the main stage with close-ups.  I said before that this festival is pricey, and VIP tickets were even more so.  It's a wealthy demographic, and I joked all weekend about the plethora of animal prints in the women's clothing:  jackets, shirts, headbands, and boots.  Begone the rain of the day before; it was now sunny and cold.  I wore my pussy hat...  :-)

As I was headed to the food tent to buy a cup of coffee, I ran into someone I had met the day before, who told me that David Olney had died onstage the night before, and a feeling of such sadness overtook me.  From Amy Rigby...

The day's line-up was nostalgia:  Herman's Hermits with Peter Noone, Don McLean, and Brian Wilson.  Peter Noone was charming and spritely, saying that they didn't write any new songs for this gig; instead they would perform all the songs we knew and loved... and they did!  From Henry the VIII to Mrs. Brown to There's a Kind of Hush, they led us on a journey of our past, and muscle memory kicked in and the audience sang along to everything.  Such fun!  Don McLean was a big yawn/snore, ending up with American Pie (he didn't even do Vincent), which was cool but not enough.  Brian Wilson lent his name to the next set, and sang on about every fourth song, but all the "heavy lifting" was done by the other 10 guys on stage, who were amazing.  Brian just looked sad and cold, even wiping his nose on his sleeve a few times, and the camera crew soon learned to focus elsewhere.  There was a part in the middle of the set of "new" songs, which no one in the audience knew, and people began to leave.  Again, so very sad.

Back to the room to warm up and eat, then into town again to hear an in-the-round with four songwriters in the venue where Olney had died the night before, which set the mood for a very somber evening.  Then on to hear Mary Gauthier (who I adore), accompanied by Jaimee Harris, her accompanist/girlfriend, and Will Kimbrough (who used to play lead guitar for The Nervous Wrecks, Todd Snider's band, and is quite the talent in his own right). The night continued on a serious note, as Will shared that Olney was his across-the-street neighbor, and said that he would be going home to a very different neighborhood.  He then quoted the iconic singer songwriter Townes Van Zandt:  "Anytime anyone asks me who my favorite music writers are, I say Mozart, Lightnin' Hopkins, Bob Dylan, and Dave Olney. Dave Olney is one of the best songwriters I've ever heard – and that's true. I mean that from my heart", and then proceeded to play To Live Is to Fly, which I adore.  Not a dry eye in the house.

Back to the cabin for our ritual of eating, drinking, and yakking... then up the next morning to pack and check out.  The cabin was within walking distance of the gulf, so we of course had to do that, and we strolled along the beach for over an hour, witnessing the beauty of Mother Nature's blue skies, fluffy clouds, and sun sparkling on the water.  Tried to see a bit more music on our way out of town, but all three venues we stopped at were packed, so we bid adieu to 30A, and headed back to Pensacola.

The F*cking End!

SONG:  Bring My Flowers Now by Tanya Tucker

BOOK:  A Month of Sonnets by David Olney

POEM:  The Uses of Sorrow by Mary Oliver

Someone I loved once gave me

a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand

that this, too, was a gift.

QUOTE:  "When your time comes to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song, and die like a hero going home." ~ Tecumseh


P.S.  I think the hardest thing about coming back to blogging is going to be... not repeating songs, books, poems, and quotes I've already used.  Ack!

Reelin' in the Years (Steely Dan)

I am having a deja vu moment, in that I popped back onto my blog in January 2013 to resurrect it and then nothing, until today, seven years and 25 days later, I am making the same attempt.  Let's hope it sticks this time!

Allow me to re-introduce myself.  I'm Susan.  Wife/Mom/Lala, vegan, fanatical reader, music lover, eternal optimist.  I not only retired from my office job in June 2019, but also the booking/presenting of a 14-year folk and acoustic concert series.  I said to someone the other day that I've been scraping so many things off my proverbial plate lately that I almost don't even need a plate anymore...  :-)

At midnight on New Year's Eve, I deactivated my Facebook account, and I was a bit nervous.  Trying more to *Be Here, Now* (thanks, Ram Dass!).  It's actually been very liberating and exciting, catching up on reading and sleeping, and accomplishing much on my shorter-every-day To Do List, without the need to check the little blue f icon.

Still not sure if it's temporary (at least until the end of this month) or permanent, but I don't have to decide that yet.  However, I *really* missed writing on a regular basis, hence my move back to blogging.  I've always fancied myself to be a good writer, as well as a worshipper of words in most forms and fashion.  My goal is #9 of 40 Resolutions for 2020 by Ellis Paul (musician):

"Write. Then write again. Write songs and letters, quotes and notes, scribbles and doodles, to do’s and don’ts, lines with rhymes, lyrics and scripts, limericks and puns and one liner quips, zingers and ringers that spin round a phrase, and grocery list stories that run off the page. Write novels that grovel, unstable fables, a treatise of words that could break an oak table, a haiku, a sonnet, a speech, a play, a love song that takes the world’s tears all away. Write graffiti that makes a beating heart rush, write something so dirty Bukowski would blush, write comedies, jokes, and twenty act plays, tragedies with maladies only Shakespeare would say. Write like you’re bailing a boat with a cup, write like your pencil will never give up."

Sooooo much to catch you all up on.  Happy 2020 (what a f*cking great metaphor, right?), and Welcome (back)!

P.S.  I don't have Photobucket anymore to host my pictures, so I am leaving the ones on my past posts with their watermark, not having time to go back and fix them all.  Moving forward...  :-)


SONG:  Reelin' in the Years by Steely Dan

BOOK:  Becoming by Michelle Obama

POEM: Good Bones by Maggie Smith

Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
right? You could make this place beautiful.

QUOTE:  "In my later years, I have looked in the mirror each day and found a happy person staring back. Occasionally I wonder why I can be so happy. The answer is that every day of my life I've worked only for myself and for the joy that comes from writing and creating. The image in my mirror is not optimistic, but the result of optimal behavior." ~ Ray Bradbury