September 2007


I have always loved October. It’s a month of mystery. It’s crisp evenings and a turning away from summer. (In San Diego, there’s no true autumn – it goes from spring to warm spring to summer to hot summer to indian summer to not quite summer/not quite winter to winter)

It’s the month that holds the anniversary of Janis Joplin’s death, so I always think of ghosts and music, spinning each other around, taking my arm and having me join in their little dance.

I’m not afraid of ghosts. The house where I live now has some as did the house in Golden Hill where I used to live. That ghost was more tragic than the one (or ones) sharing the house now. Han has had more interaction with them as they sometimes interrupt his recording. But for me, my experiences have been non-issues. I remember one night I was falling asleep on the couch and I got the unmistakable sense of someone passing through the room, and it was a peaceful feeling. Most other times, it is just something flitting about from the corner of my eye.

In October, I feel like I can come into my own a little bit more. In summer, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve become more modest about my appearance so I skip the beach, the skimpy tanks and shorts. In October, it’s okay to bundle up a little and in San Diego, it’s the perfect amount for me. It’s okay to light a candle and curl up on the couch (not that it’s not okay to do that at other times). And it’s not quite winter so the blues haven’t settled in yet.

I’ve had some good times this summer, but overall, it’s not been spectacular. I’ve been trying to analyze it, of course, trying to understand why I haven’t made the most of it. It seems I’m always trying to determine if what I’m doing is actually what I want to be doing. And often, I end up a little defeated because I can’t figure it out so I resort to my ultimately lazy nature and don’t do much of anything, whether it’s creative, healthy or otherwise engaging in life. It’s sad when I think about it and kind of shameful. And that’s what I mean. Is it shameful? Or did I not do anything because I didn’t want to do anything? My own intentions are unknown to me. So I keep plodding on thinking they will reveal themselves.

So I look forward to October, a month that has always signified a period of change and a shifting of perspective.

What happens when 20 or so musician, artist, free-spirit types climb aboard a limo bus and head to the mountains?  Well, in mid-July, I was able to find out. 

We met up at the Boat & Ski Club to get our pre-bus drinking started.  I may have mentioned this before, but the drinks at the B&S are cheap and boozy. Han & I also thought to bring our own stuff to drink discreetly on the bus.  The group was made up mostly of couples, but there were a few singles here and there.  The whole thing was organized by the lovely local music maven, Cathryn.  She had managed to book a San Diego acoustic invasion at a local Idyllwild cafe, where 4 or 5 acts would play on Sunday afternoon. Her band would play on Saturday with the rest of the performers making guest appearances to help promote the following day’s performance.  For the rest of us (non-musicians), we got to tag along for the fun.

On the way up, we played games, chatted and listened to music.  I sipped on my drink without much notice and before I knew it, most of it was gone.  Not a good sign. We arrived to our huge rental rather late on Friday and noisily unloaded all our stuff from the limo bus.  We got familiar with the place, picking our rooms (reminiscent of scenes on “The Real World”) and settled in for some more partying.  One couple had arrived earlier having driven themselves since they were coming from another camping trip.  That was a great thing because they’d gone to the store and bought food and more liquor.  And so we drank.  And we talked.  And the musicians played.  There were jam sessions in the living room and out on the back deck. 
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There were conversations in the dining room and in the kitchen.  And some folks went on to bed, retiring to their tents outside, to their air mattresses in the living room or for the select few, to their bedrooms. (To get a bedroom, you had to pay a little extra).  As a whole, everyone in the group knew each other and would probably call anyone else in the group a friend.  But it was that beautiful kind of adventure where sharing the experience created a closer bond for almost everyone.

I’m sad to say that I did not monitor my alcohol intake too well and I found myself in the bathroom for a good part of the time that I should have been asleep. : (

In the morning, a group effort was put into breakfast.  I think I ate a little bit but I was also nursing a hangover and was just trying to take it easy.  Before long, the ’shuttle’ was starting to take folks down to the cafe.  One of Cathryn’s band members lives up there, so he volunteered his big SUV to help transport all of us.  Cathryn’s boyfriend was the driver.  They were so great about hauling all of us freaks. 

Once down at the cafe, we listened to Cathryn, ordered food and more drinks.  It was a gorgeous afternoon.  The weather was perfect.  The food was delicious, the company unbeatable and the music a perfect soundtrack for the setting.  The cafe was great (I wish I could remember the name right now!).  The kind of place that serves bread with oil and vinegar.   Han & I had champagne.  I ordered something that I can’t remember because it was overshadowed by what I ordered the next day. 

Everyone performed. Cathryn & her band played the most, but everyone else did a couple songs as well.  The vibe was just great. 
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Somehow along the way, we figured out what we would want to have for dinner that night, and decided who would go to the store.  We also managed to get ourselves back to the house thanks to the shuttle.  Back at the house, the back deck became the place to be.  But we had to keep ourselves in check.  We had learned that our noisy arrival and late night carousing had caused quite a bit of upset from the neighbors.  So we had to set some rules for ourselves.  But for the late afternoon, we had more leeway and we took advantage.  There were song circles, different folks taking the spotlight while the others played or sang back-up.  I wish I could bottle the sense of community, mutual admiration, fun and pure enjoyment that filled that back deck that afternoon. 
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While music and general merriment was going on, there were other conversations in the kitchen, napping, reading, basic relaxing.  That’s another great thing about the whole weekend.  Everyone was cool to let each other just do what they needed or wanted to do. 

That night for dinner, there was a choice of burgers or chicken (or as most of us chose, both), baked potatoes, salad.  It was all delicious. And of course, more drinking. 
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There were a couple or more folks who didn’t realize there would be so much drinking and rabble-rousing, and they were kind of bummed about that, but for the most part, everyone was cool with whatever was going on.  As the evening wore on and darkness fell, the group separated into two camps: outdoor and indoor.  The outdoor group at first had to be repeatedly policed for the noise level, but soon it was under control. Inside, there was some card game and some other newly invented game of throwing limes into a collander on top of the fridge.  Sometimes an errant toss would hurtle the lime against the back window with a loud thud which was hilarious if you were sitting outside and not paying attention.  By all accounts, it was also hilarious if you were inside. For my part, I went back & forth just to see what was happening.  I had maintained a good amount of moderation so I was just riding the wave.  I went to bed relatively early (for the group), tired from the day & night before and needing some sleep.

Sunday morning was a lot like Saturday, although we had to be ready a little sooner since everyone was performing that day rather than just showing up for a couple songs.  I spent my morning time cleaning up the kitchen since I was feeling guilty for not having done much of anything to contribute.  I washed the dishes and cleaned the counter.  I was glad to do it and felt like I had earned my keep so to speak.  Then we caught our ride down to the cafe and I found a spot for the day.  Han & I again ordered champagne and feasted on the bread.  It was another great day, full of music and good cheer.  This time it was Han who imbibed a little much.  But it was all good.  When it was his turn to perform, he went up and did a great job, ending by calling up all the folks from the cabin and having them join him on one of his songs.  This was a re-creation of what had happened on the deck the afternoon before.  A moment that he calls one of the best of his life, having all of these people sincerely and serenely singing along with one of his songs.  It really was a special moment, and they were able to do it again for all the patrons at the cafe.  I even was able to get into the act as Cathryn invited me to perform my part on one of her songs.  When she recorded her record, she asked me to be part of it, so I wrote an original piece of spoken word and recorded it.  Han produced the whole thing and weaved it in so well.  So every now and then she asks me to join them on stage to do my spoken word part in her song.  It’s always cool and I appreciate when she has me up.  (Speaking of poetry and as an aside, another reason this cafe was so cool was that in one of its bathrooms, all of the walls were covered in poetry – mostly Rumi from what I could see.)  To eat that day, I had the ravioli and it was extremely delicious, rich but also light, just a perfect combination of flavor. So yummy.  I also ordered it for Han who ate it after his set.

At the end of the performance, we made our back to the house and began the clean-up and packing.  There was time for some lounging, too, so there was napping and reading and basic kicking back. And of course, there was still some partying going on.  With this group, it’s nearly a constant party.  Finally, the bus arrived and we loaded our stuff and blew kisses to the neighbors.  We did make a stop to take a group photo which was a great idea.

The ride home was pretty mellow, most just talking amongst themselves, reading or sleeping. We stopped along the way for some food and then made our way back to San Diego.  Some folks chose to stay at the Boat & Ski for some post-trip celebration, but Han & I decided to head home and call it good.

After we got back, there was some photo sharing, and then everyone (or every couple) got a DVD of the trip that Marcia put together, complete with music.  It was so touching and really made a perfect souvenir of the experience.  Han & I even teared up a little when we watched it.   The whole trip really strengthened the bond between most of us.  And now when we see anyone from the trip, there is a little extra excitement, a little more love.   And there’s nothing wrong with that. 
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backyard-before4.jpg  backyard-before7.jpg

backyard-before3.jpg  backyard-after6.jpg

backyard-after7.jpg  backyard-after5.jpg

backyard-before6.jpg  backyard-after4.jpg

backyard-before.jpg  backyard-after.jpg

backyard-before2.jpg  backyard-after1.jpg

backyard-before5.jpg  backyard-after3.jpg

I’m surprised by the lack of 9/11 references in any of the blogs I read. I’m not sure how/why I feel this surprise. I woke up and didn’t know what day it was until I turned on the radio. Like probably everyone else, I thought back to that day and where I was etc. One clear recollection I have is after learning of the events, I wasn’t sure what to do so I just went about my morning. Got dressed, got in the car, stopped at my local coffee house for my (then) daily mocha. I was kind of in a daze as I moved about. There was another customer in line and he looked at me slightly and said, “Crazy what’s happening in New York…” Not really a question or a full sentence, just a remark. Almost like, “Crazy weather we’re having…” I don’t think either of us knew or understood the severity of what had just happened. I went on in to work, only to be told to just go back home, it was all just too much for anyone to expect much to get done, work-wise.

On this day, I always think of Heather and her family who lost Jeffrey, a firefighter. He was part of the first responders. Jeffrey was Heather’s cousin and someone I had met and hung out with at her wedding. He was a good guy. It’s really amazing to think that it’s been 6 years, and how there is so significantly a before and an after.

~~~

And now for one of those summer memories I’ve threatened you with.

June 14-17 – road trip to Las Vegas to see The Police
We rented a car and drove to LV, checked in to our room at Bally’s. That evening, we ordered room service and relaxed.

On Friday, Han & I hit the pool and splurged on huge $17 margaritas (yes, $17). Later, my sister and her son & husband got into town, so I went over to where they were staying (Tropicana) and went to a small pool over there and then we ate some lunch.

We all met up to go to the concert together (that being the whole point of the trip). My sister is a longtime Police fan and I glommed on to her worship of them, which then developed into a sincere adoration of my own. We all drank a few cocktails before the show and then made our way to our seats. As often happens, Han was recognized by a nice girl who came over to chat with us. That kind of thing happens in the strangest places! But it was awesome. The opening act, Fiction Plane, was forgettable (I learned later that the lead singer is Sting’s son). During their last few songs, I was on a margarita mission. None of the bars took plastic so I had to hightail it all over the MGM “mall” to find an ATM, then get back through the lines, get the drinks and get back to the seats. Speaking of seats, they were okay. Not great. Right side of the stage, slightly behind. We had a pretty good view of Stuart which was cool for Han.

When the concert began, I was a-flutter. I’ve seen Sting countless times and I’d also seen The Police as a kid (I think I was 7 or 8 ) and I remember all of those shows being awesome. As a reunion tour, this show had a lot to live up to, and I’m sorry to say it didn’t really. Sting was in top form, while Stuart and Andy were just getting by. Stuart dropped sticks and Andy missed notes. But I will say that hearing those songs once again in full volume with thousands of screaming fans was pretty damn cool. I didn’t get goosebumps or that feeling, like you’re witnessing something unbelievable. It was fine, but it wasn’t the greatness I had hoped for.

On Saturday, there was still fun to be had as Han had a show. It was for his duo act, and they had played this place before but I had missed it, due to my inability to regulate my champagne intake. So it was my first time and I was excited about it. Getting a chance to see Las Vegas from the viewpoint of people who do actually live there was cool. It was hot. And windy. But mostly hot. My sister and the boys came along and that was great since my brother-in-law had never seen them perform. It was a great show and well-received. Quite a difference from the previous night’s concert, but only in size of stage. Han is an incredible performer and quite entertaining as is his partner.

I said goodbye to my sis and the boys and they made their way back. Me, Han & C also made our way back with a stop at the Las Vegas In-n-Out for a midnight burger.

The next day, we rapidly made our way home to San Diego for another gig, this time with Han’s rock band. It was a pleasant way to end the weekend, though I was somewhat sunburnt. After the gig stuff, we met up with friends at a nearby Hooters for beers and deep fried pickles (I’m not a wing fan).

This story is in Newsweek.  I’ve never considered dying my hair to cover my grey.  My aunt and cousin in Spain (who are hairdressers) tried unsuccessfully to convince me.  My mother has been dying her hair since her 20’s and that’s what works for her, but I just let it come. It’s defined who I am in so many ways.  I never really understood what the big deal was.

I find the article as a whole kind of annoying and representative of the biases people have over the stupidest things.  Who cares what color your hair is?  Why should it matter to a potential lover or moreso to a potential boss?  How irritating.  I guess I’ve been lucky that my having gray hair never, to my knowledge, had any bearing on being hired.

The one thing I can relate to in the piece is the part where she talks about being frumpy.  On more than one occasion, someone has asked if I’m Han’s mom.  He is a year and half older than me.  I have been mortified by the question.  It’s like asking a woman if she’s pregnant and being wrong. He tells me it’s because of the grey, but I think it’s more than that. I, of course, don’t feel ‘old,’ so I never perceive myself as looking old or for others to see me that way.  But sometimes I feel frumpy and I’m sure that comes across.

My exercising comes in cycles and I’m definitely in a down period. That’s one of the only ways I know to break out of the frump factor.  But my motivation doesn’t always match my intentions so that’s another thing to work on.

Han & I went up to LA last night to see Lucinda Williams perform her album “World Without Tears” cover to cover. She’ll be performing all of her albums over the next few nights in LA and then will do it again in New York next month.

The El Rey Theatre is small and intimate, standing room only, no seating. Lu & her band performed the songs from WWT with heart and passion and made me hear them anew. She wore a long blue dress with a short leather jacket. She spoke quite a bit between songs and really made it seem like we were her closest friends. The best performers can do this, so even if you know that she’s telling the same stories every night she plays, it’s still charming and gives you that feeling like she’s letting you in on a secret, confiding in you about her life, her songs.

The path that led me to Lu & her music is long and varied. I heard a husband/wife duo cover one of her songs at an open mic, I fell in love with a duet she did with Steve Earle on his “Hard Core Troubadour” album, her appearance on the “Sweet Relief” compilation is one of the album’s highlights, drinking coffee alone in a Sioux Falls cafe with “Car Wheels…” playing in the background finally made me seek her out.

Over time, I’ve come to be in circles where people I know also know her very well and I have actually met her once. But, like many people I admire, I want to remain somewhat ignorant of them in “real” life. Many years ago, I attended a poetry reading of a woman who’s writing I adored and felt very connected to. Her reading was okay, not great. And when I waited in line to have her sign one of her books for me, I found her to be extremely mean-spirited and I was completely turned off. I don’t think I read any of her work after that. I don’t want that to happen with Lu, or any other artist I greatly respect, admire etc. (For this same reason, I passed on going to hear Michael Ondaatje do a reading).

I’ve seen Lu in concert quite often. Sometimes she’s spectacular, other times she’s so-so, but every time, she’s committed to it. And her words. Her words.

RESCUE
-from West

He can’t rescue you
can’t pull the demons from your head
can’t lull you from your sleepy bed
He can’t rescue you

He can’t protect you
from the powers that will be
the hours of insanity
He can’t protect you

He can’t change you
change the summers of your beauty
the thunderstorms within your purity
He can’t change you

He can’t carry you
past the door of every danger
every foe and every stranger
He can’t carry you

He can’t save you
from the plain and simple truth
the waning winters of your youth
He can’t save you

He can’t fix you
your tears will always leave their mark
from fears that stay inside the dark
He can’t fix you

What can he do
but tie some ribbons in your hair
and show you that he’ll always care
that’s all he can do
~~

The thunderstorms within your purity. That is just gorgeous.

Last night’s second set was a mix of new and older songs like the one above, “Pineola,” “Joy,” “Still I Long for Your Kiss” with special guest Shelby Lynne and “Get Right with God” with special guest Nancy Wilson. Lu changed from her dress into jeans and a black t-shirt that said PUNK in big white letters across the chest. [I need some cool t-shirts like this. Where do I find them?] The second set was not as riveting as the first, but by then I’d had a few vodka/cranberry drinks and was letting it all wash over me.

One of the cool things they’re doing with these shows is recording the first set of the album songs and then selling it at the end of the night. I purchased one and have yet to re-live the evening, but will play it soon. I’m looking forward to feeling it all over again.

There were some disturbances in the force yesterday that made for a hard day for Han. I can’t say that I was much help, though I thought I was at the time. I need to hone my Jedi skills.

~~

I still owe you some more summer memories, but I will probably get to a few of those over the weekend, hopefully with photos. Until then, some more Lucinda words, something I wish I’d written and at the same time, feel connected to almost like I did because she captured how I feel so often.

WORDS
-from West

I would rather suffer in sweet silent solitude
Deathly defiant from drowning out
Filthy sounds stumbling ugly and crude
Between the lips of your beautiful mouth

Deep down within me words move in phrases
Frozen and still ‘til they decide
To melt and drip over the pages
Until that moment they live inside

My words enjoy the feel of the paper
Better than mingling with your consonants
Once they get going they never waver
And they slip in between your if, ands, and buts

When my words are hiding between the lines
Then I’m afraid they won’t hear me call
What if they fail me without a sign
What if they hardly surface at all

Screaming and throwing your weight around
My words choose knowledge over politics
You can’t kill my words, they know no bounds
My words are strong and they don’t make me sick

They still remain my only companion
Loyal and true to the very end
They’ll never ever completely abandon
Ever give up the paper and the pen