DRIVE MY CAR

The moment I became aware that Los Lobos would be ringing in the New Year at City Winery I wanted to go. It’s been almost three years since Dakotah Blue presented the band at WPU and I had a craving to hear one of my most favorite bands live. Traditionally I spend New Years Eve with friends and when I mentioned going to the city to see the show no one was able to commit. In early December the Fab Faux decided to play 4 dates in the week between Christmas and New Years. Tickets went on sale December 12^th and the sold out shows in City Winery’s intimate setting were amazing. It was a bit of a shuffle for Jack who was also playing at the Bowery Ballroom, in Patti Smith’s band. The close proximity of the venues and the earlier timing of the Faux gigs made it possible for me to pick him up after sound check at the Ballroom getting him to the Faux gig in time despite the mountains of snow throughout SOHO (or should I say SnowHo?) After the Faux encore, car service was running him back to the Ballroom. I was the back up plan in case the car service didn’t show up so by 8:40 we were checking out side for the car. The service did arrive and the first night after speaking to the driver, Rennie went inside as they were finishing the encore to be there to escort Jack out to the car. I remained outside by myself thinking how beautiful the night was. I was alone on the street just outside City Winery’s huge oak doors listening to the music spill onto the street. I noticed someone negotiating the snow bank and the melted snow pond forming on the corner and I looked over to see David Hidalgo of Los Lobos walking right toward me. Two women were accompanying him. I quickly said hello and re introduced myself letting him know that I work with the Fab Faux now. It turns out David, his wife and their friend were coming to hear the Faux so I brought them in. The show had just ended but they joined everyone in the dressing room. I was elated to have met up with them and I overheard Jimmy asking if they’d be able to come back the next night. It was all left up in the air when they left however the air in Manhattan is apparently filled with magic. The next night just before the show started, with the room filling with people, I saw them back, this time with Conrad and his wife and grandchild. We got them seats and I took off to look for Denny Laine who was arriving late after his own car issues. Needless to say David played during the encore, along with Denny who was a scheduled guest. My very first story here, written last December was of the surprise chance to work with Los Lobos and now I close out the year with another tale of wonder, or is it all just Serendipity? Either way it’s brought me so much happiness.

Here Comes the Sun

One day to the Feast of the Virgin of Guadalupe which is my one-year anniversary of writing Serendipity! Fourteen days until Christmas. Thirteen days to my son’s 19^th Birthday. Eleven days until the Winter Solstice. Today is the first day of a Mercury Retrograde that will last until December 30^th. And so it goes for the month of December…I had hoped to blog each week this past year however I am still happy that I’m writing this now with the intent to post even though Mercury is Retrograde. I have stories spinning around in my head however finding a way to get them out without setting off friends and family can at times be my challenge. I am becoming more courageous although it may be sometime before I can write about who sent what to my PO Box after working the Lennon Tribute. As I wrote that sentence I was smiling with a heart that still beats in disbelief. I am looking forward to Eric coming home from school next week. I am looking forward to Christmas because my shopping is half done and my house inside out is sparkling with lights. The lights are current day remnants from ancient Solstice bon fires that were lit everywhere on great Mother Earth since prehistory. Ever notice how you just need to switch the H to the beginning in earth and it becomes heart? She is a real living thing. This years Solstice will also bring a lunar eclipse to the heart of the human universe. To be a watcher of the stars, this stellar drama is a huge event. I am including some of Bob Bermans writing for Astronomy Magazine because he says it all.

The oddest celestial event? This year there's an easy winner. It's the millennium's first total lunar eclipse completely visible from all of North America and Hawaii. And whoa, beat the drums; it happens right on the solstice. 

This was exactly the kind of spectacle that inspired the fun-loving Mayans to push their most annoying relatives off pyramids. (Does any scholar actually know how they selected people for sacrifices? "Annoying" seems logical.) These days, our own citizenry is much too overweight to engage in such energetic rituals. But if you're tempted, be sure to first check local ordinances before you perform even a single goat sacrifice.

At midnight December 20/21, we'll have the highest Full Moon until 2020. From the West Coast, that Moon will be in total eclipse at midnight — how cool is that? Observers in Key West will see the magical Moon straight up, an imperceptible ½° from the zenith. Count on crowds blowing conches at Sunset Pier at that overhead moment of 12:17 a.m. But like all Eastern time-zoners, they must wait 'til 1:32 a.m. for the eclipse's umbral beginning.

We'll also get a rare chance to gauge the Full Moon's brightness. During the night's first half, it defiles the sky with a creamy glow that obliterates everything fainter than 3rd magnitude. Then, if you live in the country away from streetlights and other light pollution, behold the metamorphosis. Drink in the glory of the winter Milky Way after the Moon's been reduced to a coppery phantom, with the visible star count boosted from 120 to 2,600.


The magickal moon turning into a coppery phantom…sounds like an occasion to party to me. My friend Stacy and I are going to plan some Solstice festivities however one or two of my annoying relatives are not inclined to participate in this sort of revelry. I could get their goat by writing some of the tales they’ve inadvertently shared with me or included me in. That was just a fun loving throw them off the Ramapo Mountains Mayan type of thought. I found out recently that there is sacred Indian land in Ramsey, which Stacy and I by chance(?) happen to live on though I am not aware of any pyramids. I intend on acknowledging the power of the lunar eclipse, the Winter Solstice, which is the rebirth of the sun in 0 degree Capricorn, celebrating the birth of the Son several days later on December 25^th and celebrating my own son’s birthday on the 23^rd. My astrological chart has Mercury in Capricorn at 0 degrees in the 12^th house and it was at my astrologers advice to begin to open up and have the world hear my inner dialogue so it was her suggestion to blog. Here I am back again at the beginning, my one year anniversary of speaking my truth. Sun, son, sun here it comes……

The Scripture According to Patti Smith

For a couple of days after the Lennon Tribute, I tried to write something that would convey how Patti Smith’s performance blew me away. I was boring myself to tears and frequently using the delete key, with one syrupy recollection and rendition of the rehearsal and show after another. The show had awesome musical highlights that can be read about in various reviews however it wasn’t until Patti hit the stage that the show took a turn from music, entertainment and respect for John to SPIRIT. In an email addressing last minute performance concerns it had been suggested to the artists not to speak for more than 30 seconds because of the tight schedule. Outside of Claudia Marshall’s performer introductions I am unaware that anyone did speak, until Patti. She walked out onstage with a book of Kerouac and recited from The Scripture of the Golden Eternity. She then spoke about her own loss of her husband and how she looked to Yoko in finding meaning in her life, for herself and her children. She created magick with Strawberry Fields Forever and with Oh Yoko, welcoming Tony Shanahan to weave his voice with hers. Lucky for us that she’s not good at following directions or she doesn’t check emails or maybe that she just did what she wanted because every word she spoke conveyed a sharing of the spirit of Lennon’s life and music. She was awesome, lighting up the room with her presence that lifted the show to another place. I had never seen her perform before and her power was inspiring and true. It reflected a woman who is filled with quantum awakening in our universe. I believe somewhere out there is a constellation named after her……. Anyway, you may not find these thoughts in any of the reviews of the show, in which case, people need to open their eyes. People have the Power J

Thank you Patti Smith for sharing your light and I will hold dear the memory of sharing some Green and Black’s organic chocolate candy with you at rehearsal the day before, unaware how little my gesture was and much you would give to me the following night.

In honor of Patti, I’m posting a song that is a collaboration of another awe-inspiring quantum awakener in our universe, (got that? One Verse), John Trudells work with Annie Humphrey, ~Spirit Horses ~ and then I’m going out to buy my own book of Kerouac.

Project Bagism

bagism

John Lennon and Yoko Ono's concept of a peaceful world. If everyone wore a bag over them there wouldn't be anything to hate about them.

John : What’s Bagism? It’s like...a tag for what we all do, we’re all in a bag ya know, and we realised that we came from two bags, I was in this pop bag going round and round in my little clique, and she was in her little avant-garde clique going round and round, and you’re in your little tele clique and they’re in their...ya know? and we all sort of come out and look at each other every now and then, but we don’t communicate. And we all intellectualize about how there is no barrier between art, music, poetry... but we’re still all - I’m a rock and roller, he’s a poet... so we just came up with the word so you would ask us what bagism is, and we’d say WE’RE ALL IN A BAG BABY!

Out of the bag of the urban dictionary is the definition of Bagism that leads into my story. Early last Summer my friend Karen arrived at my house with a bag she made out of an advertisement for the Fab Faux Radio City show. It was very cool, very crafty and very unique, a genuine conversation piece. Soon after I was asked to become involved as Director of Artist Relations for the 30^th Annual John Lennon Tribute held last Friday night. Along with my responsibilities I felt I wanted to try to figure out some way to gift the artists with something memorable. It was a personal desire however I’ve been involved with enough shows to know that many times artists are gifted by fans and promoters with things that get left behind. It’s not because the gifts are not thoughtful but I think more because it can be a hectic night, dressing rooms get packed up quick and it becomes routine to be given………Anyway, I tried to think of something that artists would take and knew for a fact it should involve chocolate (or food in general) and be ‘Unique’. In thinking of who the performers were and as more were added to the bill it was apparent to me that many of them I had grown up listening to and loving. Some of them I love and had shared their own influences with my own music background. Although I studied classical music my bible was my Rolling Stone Magazines most of which I still have~except for the couple my sister stole when I moved out. The Rolling Stones became the focus of my BAGISM. For Jackson Browne, his bag was a picture with a review of a Capital Theatre Show in 1974. Shelby Lynne’s bag pictured Kris Kristofferson, Keb’ Mo’s featured Buddy Miles, Claudia Marshall received one of the few color bags, a Rolling Stones advertisement for Exile on Main Street. One of my favorites was for Bettye Lavette. It featured a great shot of James Brown, in a red jumpsuit. The review was titled, “Out of the Brown Bag”. When I gave it to her I received a hug and it really was one of my many happy moments of the evening. The bags were all given individually, upon arrival and contained a candy bar which was wrapped like the nights All Access pass, another BAG, of Karen’s kick ass granola, the stage schedule and my card if they needed anything on site. It turned out to be an outta site experience and I did check. All the Bags were taken so I’m smiling. To be able to give something little to artists that have shared so much with me was really a wonderful part of my job.

My own version of Bagism………..

Recipe for Happiness

Well not exactly…….. but it may make you momentarily smile. I never wanted to blog about food. There are a million great food blogs out there and I can’t hold a candle to most of them. I have a few recipes that I can say are really good but I think cooking is an art. On the days when I’m feeling inspired by ingredients or a new recipe, I find my kitchen to be a happy place and whatever I’m making reflects that spirit. I remember reading once that Carl Jung used to speak to his wooden spoon and ingredients when cooking. He was actually turned on to his own energy and to the energy around him, just as successful gardeners know that Classical music helps plants to grow. Anyway I digress. Today was the last day of Ramsey’s Farmer’s Market until next spring and I will sorely miss it. I prefer to buy in small quantities and eat seasonally. My favorite vendor, Blooming Hill Organic Farm may begin to home deliver and that will surely be a recipe for success! Guy Jones of Blooming Hill Farm supplies many restaurants in NYC with his produce. When I was trying to organize the catering for the upcoming 30^th Annual John Lennon Tribute at The Beacon, I inquired of him to see if he could recommend a caterer. He recommended two and offered to donate the veggies as well. Each year the tribute benefits a charity so his generosity and that of Fancy Girl Table Catering is a wonderful help to Playing for Change Foundation. Backstage there will be at least 75 artists, management and crew to feed. It is still coming together but I am confident it will and have no fear ;) For those of you who do fear cooking and would like a foolproof recipe that is easy and wonderful, go to your kitchen and try this. After all, John Lennon spent 5 years being house husband occasionally cooking for Sean and Yoko, and maybe he once made~

Rice Pudding

4 cups of milk

½ cup of rice

½ cup of sugar

¾ tsp of salt

Stir, (with a wooden spoon you are friendly with) over medium/high heat, until sugar is melted. Lower heat, cover and cook for 1 hour. Every 15 minutes stir.

Mix in a small bowl 2 egg yolks, 1 cup of light crème and ½ teaspoon vanilla. After rice mixture has cooked for 1 hour add this mixture, whisking it in and continue to cook for 7-9 minutes more. Pour into a dish and sprinkle with nutmeg and cinnamon.

Dressing Rooms, Antique Genes and Reflection

I went shopping last week needing jeans, wanting a jacket and looking for boots. I was really pleased to find a couple pairs of jeans I really liked. That doesn’t always happen. All bets are off when a woman walks through the threshold of a dressing room. The smoke and mirrors can cast a poor reflection or a good one that actually tricks you into believing you look good. Ever notice how the word LIE is placed center stage in the word BELIEVE? The right pair of jeans can be as challenging as choosing the right bathing suit or the perfect dress. But I was lucky and Lucky Brand works well for me. I came home from shopping, made rice pudding and called my Dad to tell him to come by and pick it up. He was a little bothered about an argument he had with his Uncle, which I actually thought was comical. I feel I have a picture to paint here. My Great Uncle Ralph lives on 8 acres in Oakland in an area called Ramapo Park. It is off Skyline Drive, located by a mile marker, down a single lane road. There are six other houses that share the Park with my Uncle’s. It’s adjacent to state land and a reservoir. The house is perched off a cliff in a very private location that sits in juxtaposition of my Uncle, who is very outgoing, interesting and loving. He is 100 years old and has lived there 50 years. Each week he entertains, cooking for a group of friends that come by to play cards, my Dad arrives once or twice a week to eat lunch and shoot the breeze and Uncle Ralph’s girlfriend stays several days a week, unless it’s summer. Until he turned 100, Uncle Ralph spent summers at his house on Cape Cod. This year he gave the house away to my Aunt Jodie’s family. Well you get the picture. He is very special and he follows the footsteps of his sister Marie and his mother who both lived till they were close to his age. My father is 86, has vision problems and walks with a slight limp from an injury to his foot. The argument was because my 100-year-old Uncle wanted my 86-year-old father to go in the basement (which is outside down steep stone steps like Aunt Em’s Farm in Kansas) and change the water in the furnace. My Dad said not until November because then the snakes will be hibernating. My Uncle terse response was “What are you afraid of, they’re only black snakes?” My Dad said to me he can’t see well and moves too slow to be in the basement (snake den) changing water on any furnace. Apparently Uncle Ralph has seen the shed skin in the basement and his 89-year-old girlfriend saw a snake on the stairs in the house going to the second floor. My Great Uncle is unfazed. He was also unfazed two summers ago when he was driving up to Cape Cod and was pulled over for speeding. That was the only other argument I’ve heard my Dad have with him. My Dad now prefers to drive but Uncle Ralph likes to as well. Maybe because my Dad has limited vision in his left eye………

Anyway, later that night as I put my Lucky jeans away I couldn’t help but think how Lucky I am to have some great family gene’s too. There’s no smoke and mirrors here and it is clearly a part of my own reflection. My Uncle is amazing. There’s so much more to his story than I’ve written today. In two weeks when the weather cools I’ll make him some rice pudding and stop by to visit with my Dad. Meanwhile, here is the link for Great Uncle Ralph's birthday story published in The Record. My next post will include the rice pudding recipe, after all I will be making it should you decide to visit me when I'm One Hundred.

http://www.northjersey.com/community/89661037_He_apparently_has_the_century_mark_in_the_corner_pocket__too_

STICK with ME

Ever wonder where the idiom ‘Stick up for yourself” came from? I never did…until recently. Each night my sleep is filled with dreams that I remember upon waking and this month I had two dreams involving sticks. In the first I was with a group of people on the edge of a rocky shore looking for sticks to defend ourselves against whatever was coming at us from the sea. The waves were rough, the rocks slippery and I remember the group of us wildly waving the sticks toward some unknown threat.

The morning after this scene, I checked out “stick” in my dream book. One reference was ‘sticking up for oneself’ which made me smile, thinking how through the universal consciousness language evolves. Encoded in my dream, I may have been working through a way to assert myself…. The stick now becomes the symbol of my ability to become empowered however primitive the image or weapon.

In last night’s dream, an intruder chased me through my house and out into the street. In the street I yelled “Fire” somehow cognizant, remembering how my Dad always said if you were in trouble don’t just scream, but scream “Fire”. People who would be otherwise scared and possibly immobilized by a scream will come and look when they think something is on fire. In my nightmare a neighbor came out and distracted the guy and I then picked up a stick to defend myself. It crumbled like a cookie in my hand but I found another and went toward my attacker with the stick up, defending myself, a little more courageous with my neighbor out in the street and my stick in hand.

I woke from this street fight with the knowledge I am somehow doing my best to assert myself and take care of me, sticking with the theme of empowerment. I wondered however if in the dream world of the universal unconscious I’m actually enrolled in some sort of cosmic night school. If I am, I must be in the class of Practical Life. I’ll just have to stick with this and see where it leads. Hope I get a good report card.

Altared View~A Kaleidoscope of Spirit

At high noon today I went to Mass at Saint Paul’s Church in Ramsey. The architecture of St. Paul’s differs from most Roman Catholic Churches because it is not traditional. Instead of a building shaped as a cross where most of the congregation looks straight ahead to the altar, it is crescent moon shaped, almost circular with the altar in the center. Because of this unique form, in any chosen seat, much of the church, the parishioners and the stained glass windows are visible and people face each other as they look toward the altar. It is always the stained glass that calls my attention as the colors filter the sun and soften the room radiating the richness of faith. I noticed that the windows high above the altar, though smaller, today were truly different. The wind blowing outside must have been catching the treetops making the leaves move, which played with the light, shading the colors and creating constant change. I began to think that all over the world there are churches with stained glass windows. I wondered if God looked in on us at moments when people were in prayer. All over earth, each one of these Houses of the Holy filled with Spirit in various incarnations, colorful, changing, an intricate design held in his hand while looking in through the window…God’s own Kaleidoscope of Spirit, a constantly changing pattern. It made me smile and wish for a kaleidoscope of my own.

The image above is from the Union Church of Pocantico Hills. It is the largest of the nine stained glass windows by Marc Chagall commissioned by the Rockefeller Family and shares the space with a Rose Window created by Henri Matisse. Higher callings inspire the creation of such works of art but higher knowledge may be in that they elevate Spirit having far reaching effects on people and prayer. Stepping into that sacred space may be like creating a battery-powered kaleidoscope with ones energy……And again I smile remembering my Summer visit to the Church in Pocantico Hills and wishing to return.

Feelin' Groovy

The beginning started at the last minute and the table was the issue from the beginning. If you can truly follow that you must be a friend of mine, just like Corinne, Karen and Evelyn. I waited to make reservations for Evelyn’s Birthday, unaware that at City Winery the method is to go online and chose a table. A couple days before the date, feeling guilty with procrastination and sitting alone at my dinning room table with my laptop, I became overwhelmed with the challenge as I looked at the diagram on the website. Certain aspects of the map were reminiscent of Harry Potters Marauders Map in that if the eye diagram was clicked the room floated on screen appearing at different angles to give a better visual of the stage. Unable to summon the courage to take on the responsibility of this decision, I called Corinne. Her sun sign is Leo the Lion so courage abides in her naturally. We stayed on the phone, each with the City Winery floor plan open and after exhausting the choices left to us, finely decided on a table in the mezzanine. Two days later we arrived to hear Harper Simon and Rhett Miller, drink lots of wine and argue over what appetizers and dinners to share. We were walked to the table by the host to find it was a bar table with backless bar stools. Immediately, in hushed tones and glances around the room they wanted to see if we could be moved. It was early enough and next thing I knew I was off to ask the concierge who I had to wait in line to speak with. From where I stood I could see the waiter come by and in a flash the bar stools were exchanged for stools with backs. I went back to the table, finding that the discussion about the table had been tabled and everyone settling cozily in with the surroundings. Besides wanting to hear Harper Simon, I was excited because I had worked with pedal steel virtuoso Jon Graboff last month and was hoping he would be joining Harper on stage as he accompanied him on tour in Europe late Spring. It turned out Harper was solo and I was a bit disappointed because I love the pedal steel. Meanwhile, I had focused on Graboff and it never occurred to me there might be other guests. Anyway, the empty table next to us was getting the chairs changed as well by some spirited wait staff with trendy coiffed hair. I noticed the reserved card being placed and I was in mid sip of my chardonnay when I read the look on Karen’s face. Walking past our table to the adjacent one tended only minutes before was Edie Brickell and Paul Simon. While it was happy hour before, the vibe became instantly elevated to feelin’ groovy. Paul Simon is just a national treasure and to have him and Edie share airspace while listening to his son was such an added dimension to the smile factor. Needless to say, we had a great time, loved the winery, the music, the cool vibe that Paul Simon unknowingly brought to our table. Can you imagine being a person that just the site of makes other people happy? Oh and I almost forgot, the unexpected fortunate turn of the tables with our winning game of musical chairs.

Postcards from the Future

My brother planted sunflowers

Evergreen, daises, forget-me-nots too

He shared the seeds, igniting the world

With vibrant, subtle, changing hues

In the backyard garden of home

And a tree farm far away

The same breeze that whispers love

Arrives but not to stay

Fueled with the same mischief

That dances in the stars

My brother planted sunflowers

In a meadow forever blue

Like an evergreen he was rooted

With courage to grow and go

His star sight reached beyond the field

Where all the flowers grow

So in the Spring reminders bloom

Of love so strong and true

Sunflowers, evergreens, daises

And always forget-me-nots too

I wrote this last November while I was cooking dinner. The words just came to me rhythmically; reminiscent of a chant you’d jump rope to some long ago summer. A bouquet of sunflowers on the counter nearby, a flower my brother loved, may have been the catalyst for the poetry. I never dreamed I’d be invited nine months later to visit the farm Michael worked on in his early twenties. Through the kindness of two childhood friends who I connected with on face book, I was invited to see the farm and creek on a recent trip to Cooperstown. Evergreens are abundantly growing in the adjacent field and on the walk down to the creek. It was Ann Maries comment that my brother planted them that reminded and enlightened me. I was so in awe being in a place that was legendary to my family that I forgot the most obvious, he was there to plant trees. In the background of Steven’s smile is a row of White Pines, the tree the Iroquois Nation called the Tree of Peace. Planted by my brother as little seedlings, they now towered over us, majestic in the sun filled landscape, bringing peace to my heart. Thank You Ann Marie, Tim and Bonnie for your thoughtfulness and good medicine. It meant more to me than I can convey in words…

Another postscript is one I find typical of my brother and my interactions. Michael called me up one day to come by and take home some flowers he had for me. When I arrived, in my new car, I was really annoyed to find 4 huge muddy flats of what looked like weeds for me to bring home and plant. I brought them home and it took me all week to plant them, still angry at what appeared to be an endless pack of weeds. He called several times during the week to ask if I’d finished which made me feel obligated to plant them all. I ran out of sunspace so put a lot in the wooded way back of the back yard just to get them in the ground. The following Spring he was gone and the flowers forgotten until two years later when I walked in the way back early one May morning to see what needed to be gardened and instead found a virtual field of forget-me-nots that had reseeded and now grew everywhere.

I believe his insistence on giving me the flowers and my poetic scribbling was nothing more than postcards from the future, postmarked with Serendipity.

FAR OUT & WAYBACK

I was in a van being driven by a volunteer for Hardly Strictly Bluegrass when I over heard the driver replying, “Far Out Man~” with an inflection in her voice that sang of ‘back in the day’ wonder. I immediately loved this driver, whoever she was. It was a counter culture reminder of who I thought I was as kid and who I thought I wasn’t as an adult. It was an affirmation of whoever I thought I was at any given time I was just lucky to be me and to live this dream on the planet. It was a brief connection during a conversation that I wasn’t involved in but reminded me of a feeling full force. On a recent Tuesday night I caught The Waybacks at Mexicali Live in Teaneck. Three thousand miles ago I heard them in Golden Gate Park with Bob Weir. It was a great set and an interesting scene backstage with a threesome that included a girl in a silver dress with a tear in her stocking. But I won’t go there. They weren’t at the show Tuesday night while The Waybacks played. They missed this show but I was glad I didn’t. The Waybacks were way cool and it was great night of music that included a version of Shady Grove with Celtic integrity intact followed by Mr. Thompson’s very own 1952 Vincent Black Lightening. Somewhere Red Molly was smiling. At Mexicali I was with Corinne, Karen and Evelyn hoping Assunta wouldn’t miss the show, my own smile an echo of a far out smile I experienced way back in San Francisco, on an October evening in Golden Gate Park, way back in 2007.

Bear With Me

Last week I was driving on my street when I thought how peculiar it was that my neighbor would have this great big bear sculpture placed on her lawn near the curb. I slowed down to look and as it turned to look back at me I was stunned. I wanted to call home and tell my kids not to put the dog out in the yard. I couldn’t remember my home number nor how to dial my cell phone. Note to self: In a panic speed dial does not work with out speed brain. This bear was definitely a Mama Bear at about 500 lbs. and when it took off, it sprinted across the lawn in one great leap. It would be able to jump over my backyard fence in a flash and probably could open the sliding door in one great swoosh inviting herself to my kitchen table before I would have the time to remember my own address or where the honey pot was. As I drove away a police car was arriving and I flagged him down. He told me very matter of factly that they had received several calls but that the bear lives in town now and to just be aware of it. I immediately wondered “when did my street move to West Milford ?” Well nothings quite as sure as change. I learned that from an ancient Mama and the Papa Bear song when I was little. At the time I lived in Wood-Ridge where the only wildlife I had to worry about was my own family. Thinking about my family made me wonder where Mama Bears clan was. I’m sure they moved with her as well. Maybe they sensed there would be a vacancy in late August on my street as one of my babies moves off to a far away place called Lockhaven. Once upon a time my own little wild one arrived on one of the darkest days of Winter and lit up my life forever. His beautiful dark eyes reflected the wisdom and depth of a nomad and he gifted me everyday, sharing and traveling his wide world of childhood. In Lockhaven his world will continue to widen but I’m a little scared of all that space, not for him, he’ll be fine, for me. I’ll just miss him so. Although thinking about it these days, I’m also scared to walk down the street alone. Guess I’ll just have to grin and bear it.

Sky West and Crooked

Wyoming clouds visited the sky today. They were everywhere displaying Michelangelo - Sistine Chapel drama. Cast about their own blue playground, they appeared in all shades of white though some were trimmed in translucent pink while others were dense with silver. They were gypsy clouds, so low in some places they almost touched the treetops, moving restlessly, all the while careless and colliding into high magnificent canyons and separating into wisps of mystic. I believe most everyone went about their day unaware of the drama and the uncontrolled beauty from the great mystery. It was a blessing beyond Knowing to notice what was above. I was driving out on Route 287 where a wide expanse of sky surrounded me and for a moment my eyes saw with Chris Whitley vision. He may have been inspired by a sky so grand to write Big Sky Country where the magnitude of Love is endless. Since we can’t ask, we can only assume and believe that as a wild beautiful angel, Whitley may have the gift of delivering a momentary glimpse into the spirit of his insight. It allowed me to see and feel as lucky as a Jupiter girl with a craving to hear his song……..Many Blessings Chris......

Red, White and Blues~

What King and what Queen are you inviting for dinner? My Mom asked me that about twenty years ago when I took her to see the formal dinning room table and chairs that I wanted to buy. It was a question she emphasized with attitude that received no reply from me. I was reminded of that late this afternoon when I was lying on my back on the lounge chair watching a dragon fly skitter here and there way above the cherry tree I was borrowing shade from. I watched it thinking how little I know about dragonflies but realizing how much I, all weekend, felt like one. Friday night we had a graduation party for my two sons in the same backgarden I was now relaxing in. One had graduated 8^th grade and the other High School so that was reason enough to fill the back yard with family and friends. The deck was still askew with random star shaped helium balloons that now floated spookily in the heat along with remnants of the festivities still waiting to be cleaned up, perhaps tomorrow. On Saturday morning I was awake for the lunar eclipse at seven, then by nine driving to a Fab Faux Show at the Count Basie Theatre in Red Bank to help out and work the merch in what was a barely air conditioned Lobby. Sunday morning I was at the Farmers Market early because Ramsey Fine Arts Council had a booth for the day. We are six days away from our Fourth of July event at Finch Park and having the booth gave us a chance to reach out to people and let them know about the event. Today Fine Arts sponsored the music and we were very happy to have Sara and Matt Gallman, the founders of Music at the Mission in West Milford, sing, play hammer dulcimer, guitar and penny whistle, filling the Farmers Market with the beauty of music. The theme for this years July Fourth event is ‘Red, White and Blues: A Celebration of the Routes of American Music”. The hammer dulcimer is an instrument that plays an integral part in the roots of American music and the multi talented Sara Gallman played and enchanted all who heard it while her husband accompanied her. I walked nearby and played ‘one woman street team’ handing out flyers to everyone I could. The weekend and the afternoon heat were draining and so I am now trying to recharge my battery in the quiet and cool of my backyard. In my head though, my thoughts ricochet, moving like the dragonfly high above. I have to confirm the hospitality on the bands’ riders, check that the fire permits are completed for the food vendors, deposit donation money, ask if we may borrow the drum risers from the high school, create a CD of house music, map out the vendor village, actually I should make a list of everything to be done this week. The idea of “The List” began to overwhelm me. That was when I heard my mother whisper, still with attitude, from some ‘make me smile’ place in my heart, “What King and what Queen......... In a flash the dragonfly was gone and this time I replied to my Mom in thought, “This July Fourth it will be Reckon’ So, Homemade Jamz and The Pine Leaf Boys but who knows? Maybe some other Fourth it will be the Kings of Leon.

Peace of My Heart

I attended a local production of Godspell the night after I found out my son had a tiny hole in the wall between the chambers in his heart. I’d like to rewrite that. I attended a local production of Godspell the night after I found out my son has a tiny hole in the wall between the chambers of his heart. That’s a sentence from a script I can’t seem to rewrite. The cardiologist believes it should be left alone, but also offered that some Doctors would advise repair. We met with him on Thursday and on Friday I attended the show where my son played lead guitar in the Godspell Ensemble. It was presented in a remarkable church that was built in 1906 as a memorial to Emma Hanchett Crocker by her husband, railroad magnate, George Crocker. He too had a hole in his heart but his came from losing his wife. It wouldn’t have shown up on a sonogram but it was real nonetheless. I suppose he would have liked to rewrite his script too but was unable. Yet George Crocker created something very beautiful from his love for his wife and the depth of the space that became the hole. Over a hundred years later, sitting in this sacred space and watching the play, the mystical stained glass window glowed softly from the backlight. In his time, he may not have imagined that his great gift to his wife’s memory would become such a vibrant place for spirit, for people to come together and share an evening revel in Godspell. Or maybe he did. All I know is we are all under Gods Spell. The script is revealed day by day, and no one knows the story. Only in reflection can we see it colored the way we desire, a little like the blurry mystical stained glass window, backlit with the light of our own wisdom.

On Friday night the music of Godspell filled the room with joy, which is just what music and love can do regardless of the day-by-day script. Maybe that’s one of Gods Spells. Or maybe he’s just that good a director.

Strange Days in the Hyacinth House

One of my earliest memories is of me standing alone at the end of the driveway with a snake slithering between my feet. I stood frozen and screaming. I remember my Mom running with her arms outstretched to pick me up. I love to garden however my fear of wild things is always a concern. I do love hyacinths and roses more than the fear so they are in my front garden. It is landscaped and easy to care for. My backyard is half landscaped and that section is well tended. Each summer I plant scarlet begonias, verbena and whatever else strikes my fancy at the garden center. The other half of the yard is filled with trees, weeds, wild strawberries and flowers, poison ivy, peace frogs and wild things. In the back I know not to touch the earth. Along one side of my property from front to back and continuing into gardens unknown is an ancient stone row. Stone rows are notorious for harboring snakes, chipmunks and mice. Each Spring I find myself waiting for the sun. I then spend days weeding, mulching, planting and pruning. Twice in the past, my tranquil gardening frenzy ended abruptly with a solid key of E shriek and my runnin’ blue when a snake that silently entered unannounced, lifted it's head and scared the stuffing out of me. Gardening was then over for the season.

Around the deck in the backgarden are Bose speakers that can probably entertain my whole block if desired. Last week before going out to garden I noticed a bootleg Doors CD in my son’s room and thought it would be great to get my gardening Mojo going. Turned up loud enough for me to hear throughout the yard, the cd began with Hello, I Love You into Light My Fire into People Are Strange which is when I began my work on the well. It becomes a muck pond from the leftover winter snow, spring rain, leaves and acorns. I was knee deep in the big muddy, climbing on rocks in a position I can only be in because of years of practicing Yoga. My hands, covered in bright yellow gloves were filled with leaves, when a little wild thing, possibly a lizard, jumped out of my hand. The surprise of the jumpy thing in my hand jarred me out of earth mother mode and brought my attention to the music that had changed to the Live version of Roadhouse Blues. This version I had never heard before. It included an additional Morrison rant and by now he was screaming the F word, moaning and asking for participation from some girl in the audience. I became aware in a flash that my neighbors’ twins were now outside on the swing set with their Grandma watching them. I adore the Doors but right then was not feeling the love, and was trying to get off the rock pile surrounding the well without slipping in, as fast as I could. I made it inside to lower the music just as Morrison was ……finishing. I fumbled for a different cd and put on Cold Roses, thinking Ryan Adams would be more apropos. Anyway, I finished cleaning up the well and just in time. Today my husband found a snake coiled up in the very clean dry shallow well. He took a rake and moved him far across the yard to the stone row. I’m not sure I find comfort in that but I’m sure I won’t be gardening anytime soon. I have to wonder if the Crawlin King Snake King himself wasn’t looking down on me and having a good laugh. Maybe by Indian Summer I’ll look for my gardening gloves again….and I'll experiment to see what happens if I listen to Monsters of Folk.

Little Tiny and the Great Spirit

Recently a friend asked me, through email, if I had a dream job what would it be? My response was, ‘don’t make me WRITE it.’ I’m not sure if it was understood but my answer of course was, ‘writer’. A simple but complex six-letter word. After all, I can dream can’t I?

Later that night I was in front of my mirror when I remembered that question. I’d never been asked that before and I was simply thinking how it was kind and thoughtful to be asked. My sometimes-dangerous mind became dangerous and automatically answered without thinking, screening or filtering from me, ‘mother’. Another simple but complex six-letter word that knocked me off balance. I laughed silently knowing the answer was from my heart this time, not my mind. I felt awkward about having a realization that at once created happiness and resignation regarding my own dream.

A few feet away from where I was in front of the mirror, in a box in my closet, is an old Thumbelina doll. She arrived brand new one Christmas morning, a gift from Santa. She was my favorite doll ever. Once I held her I never put her down. I would watch TV, play and jump on the bed with that doll wiggling on my left shoulder. I broke the original dial that made her move like a baby, from overuse and was devastated. My Mom, in her infinite wisdom, sent her to a doll hospital to be repaired. I vividly remember the moment in the kitchen when my Dad opened the box the hospital had addressed to me, with my repaired Thumbelina. They had changed the dial to a pull chord however I knew she was mine. By then she and I had the same wild looking hair. I knew my baby when I saw her.

I didn’t know though that she may have helped create me……I thought I could play piano, I thought I could be a music therapist, I thought I would teach preschool music, I thought I could be blah, blah, blah. God and Thumbelina thought I would be a mother. Who could undermine such a power couple?

“I am what I am and I’ve yet to figure out what I can be”

Willy Porter- Angry Words

I am pleased to have remembered someone posted this from our Summer Concert Series in 2008! It was easily 95 degrees that night but Willie was way cool, performed solo and I was only $5 off with the merch money. Before you think anything bad of me try handling merch in the dark ;)

Growing Season

On Willy Porter’s website I noticed that he landed #20 on Al Kooper’s cream of the ’09 musical crop back in January in Kooper’s review for the Boston Herald. In 1970 something, Al Kooper was the cream of the crop for me and still his writing and music resonate greatly with me. Last February, I attended BB King’s for the legendary Kooper’s Birthday Celebration. It was a great mix of solo Al and special guests including Kristina Train, Rich Pagano, Jack Petruzelli and Jimmy Vivino. The only downside of the evening was not having enough money to get my car out of the parking garage after the show and walking back to 42^nd Street hoping my partner was still around to pay my ticket. While I’m walking on memory lane, outside the Commonwealth Hotel in Boston after a Fab Faux show at Berklee College of Music two years ago, Jimmy V introduced me to Al and his lovely wife Susan who were picking him up at the hotel. Meeting Al was one of my favorite moments and I treasure it. Last week’s favorite moment arrived a little after seven Friday night at the Rubin Museum in Manhattan. My friends and I were running late for the show because of the traffic on the GW bridge, didn’t have tickets and I was concerned that I wouldn’t be able to find parking. However, we made it with minutes to spare, a parking garage magically appeared around the corner and tickets were still available. At seven I was sitting with my friends in the Rubin Museum of Art’s cherry wood lined theatre, fully clothed, for my first experience of Naked Soul. For the uninitiated, the acoustics in this very special space are phenomenal and the music is unplugged and acoustic. After the stressful trip into the city at that moment for me to be unplugged I would have needed a martini however Willie Porter, accompanied by Mona Tavakoli of Raining Jane and Natalia Zuckerman were amazing and the music worked it’s magick. I’ve heard Willy a handful of times, my partner and I even booked him to play for our town’s Summer Concert Series in 2008, but this show held a different meaning. The intimate setting and the delicate juxtaposition of the artwork and music offered another dimension of the soul of the music. The first time I heard Willy Porter was the opposite end of the spectrum. In 1999 he was opening for David Bromberg at Town Hall. It was the first appearance by Bromberg in eons as he had stopped touring to become a builder of violins. The crowd was rowdy from the beginning and when Porter took the stage they gave him such a hard time, as only a crowd suffering from Bromberg withdrawal can. I was astounded that a roomful of people could be that rude (drunk) but they heckled him relentlessly as if they were uptown at Showtime at the Apollo. Toward the end of his set, without missing a beat, he created a song on the spot using all the words the crowd had heckled him with. The crowd went crazy and what I experienced then was the power of a man and his guitar. Willy Porter was and is brilliant. The setting at the Rubin Museum of Art allowed him to sparkle and shine. My favorite Friday night moment flowed into an hour and a half of moments that were cream of the crop for the season for me……a really beautiful spring growing season.

A Merchant in the Nutmeg Grove

Maybe I love children’s verse and rhymes because I taught preschool music for twenty years or maybe I taught preschool music for twenty years because I love children’s rhymes and verse. Looking back I think it’s the second half of the previous definite maybe that’s true. My dad and I had very heated arguments when I lived home because I would take his poetry book, The Oxford Book of English Verse, and not return it to his bedside table. Even if I had been out with friends and stumbled home after midnight I needed to read some ancient English verse or from Alice in Wonderland or the Arabian Nights before sleep. Archaic language and poetry were mind expanding even if I was reading through remnants of the nights purple haze. Last week I heard on wfuv radio that Natalie Merchant had taken children’s verse and put it to song. The next day I was the happy listener to her beautiful renditions of classic poetry. I am so pleased that from happy one can get happier because her songs have created happier in me. For now I will just mention “The King of China’s Daughter”. I love the orchestration, the imagery, the idea of being in a fragrant nutmeg grove. I love how the words tell their story of love with admiration and spirit awakening stories in me beyond knowing. It is just that effect in humanity that makes poetry invaluable. Thank you Natalie Merchant for reaching around the world and bringing timelessness and beauty into mine. And thank you Daddy for last spring when I found the Oxford Book of English verse in an old box of books, you remembered and gave it me. It’s been on my bedside since…

The King Of China's Daughter

The King Of China's Daughter,

She never would love me,

Though I hung my cap and bells upon,

Her nutmeg tree.

For oranges and lemons,

The stars in bright blue air

(I stole them long ago, my dear)

Were dangling there.

The Moon did give me silver pence,

The Sun did give me gold,

And both together softly blew

And made my porridge cold;

But the King of China's daughter

So beautiful to see

With her face like yellow water,left

Her nutmeg tree.

Her little rope skipping

She kissed and gave it me -

Made of painted notes of singing-birds

Among the fields of tee.

I skipped across the sea;

But neither sun nor moon, my dear,

Has yet caught me

Music Herstory

The band has approved the Early Elton show poster and we are less than two months from the show. I was trying to think of a way to advertise it and my own story replayed through my head once again. This time though I recognized another spiral of the universe and somehow the composition of the spiral touches upon insight, piano lessons, friends, dreams of music that began at 12 and continue now, amazing to me still. So, the story is this. I took piano lessons from age 9 -11. I loved it in the beginning and then after a while did not want to practice. I gave my Mom a hard time about it until she finally relented at the end of 5^th grade just in time to leave my scales and arpeggios behind for summer vacation. A year later Elton Johns’ album with ‘Your Song’ hit the airwaves and I bought the songbook for the album. At home I began to work on ‘Your Song’ and ‘Burn Down the Mission’. My friend Michele also played piano and would come by to help figure out chords or to practice at my house. Without saying a word about it to me, my Mom arranged for piano lessons. I remember that argument vividly, not because I lost but because it was my first fight with any adult that a compromise was involved. I was really annoyed but she told me I had to take the lessons for six months and then if I still didn’t like it, I could quit. Well, I didn’t quit until I had completed my Music Therapy degree about 12 years later. Give or take a year……..

Fast forward to last summer when I helped out at the Early Elton Show at the Bitter End. Rich Pagano, John Conte and Jeff Kazee form the trio that represents and pays tribute to Elton’s first American tour with Nigel Olsson and Dee Murray. The night was way cool, the room filled with the magic of songs that were true to the early Elton catalogue. These were songs that I had dreamed upon and although I didn’t know it at the time became the catalyst for my own spiral into whom I am today. The relevance and importance of the music is shared by many including Conte, Kazee and Pagano who in their own acknowledgement of the power of this music are creating a spark of their own. They researched the first American Elton John tour and the show is a reflection of the far-reaching influence and love of the music played with integrity. Recently, during the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame Inductions, Little Steven referred to the nineteen sixties and seventies as a Renaissance period that he believes will only grow in importance. He was insightful and eloquent as only a Soprano can be. The collaboration between Bernie Taupin and Elton John created a signature song form with the piano taking center stage. What they wrote was unique at the time and today resonates still. Enough of my music history, I mean herstory. You know I’ll be there and if I could get Mitch to come up from Lynchburg, Virginia she will be too ;)

Passover the cheesecake........

Here I am back in the kitchen. I had sworn off cooking, particularly baking, a couple of days ago in anger. The week before I had made a pumpkin pie, rice pudding and a Guinness Cake, which is similar to a spice cake, in honor of St. Patrick’s Day. All were made from scratch. Well I did buy the can of Guinness that was needed. Sacred ingredients notwithstanding, the pudding, pie and cake were made from scratch over the course of the week. A couple days later I noticed the pie plate in the sink and washed it. A little while later I experienced a sinking feeling when I noticed a small piece of pie in the trash. The following week I saw crumbled remnants of the Guinness Cake being disposed of in a similar fashion. The where abouts of the rice pudding are still to be determined although I believe it was all eaten. In my anger I decided not to bake anything for the next year. In reading this you may be concluding that the desserts were bad. That’s not the case. My family is just spoiled. They just don’t care for left overs so they devour what they will fresh from the oven and then pretend there isn’t any food in the house. Anyway, it all made me really angry. I read recently that anger is addictive and I believe that’s true. I’ve seen that in my own extended family. It’s usually those that respond first and the loudest to any inconvenience so I decided quietly and with some thought to not feel hurt. I thought I’d change my own behavior and stop baking, for a year or more. It worked for a couple of days and then tonight my youngest child suggested I make a cheesecake for dessert for tomorrows Passover dinner. He made the suggestion just as I was creating a shopping list for tomorrow, needing brisket and turkey and more. I began to rant. I began to rave. Then I began to check out the Philly cream cheese package recipe and add the ingredients to my list. Four packs of cream cheese, coconut macaroons for the crust, oranges and strawberries for the sauce, etc. etc. As I write this, the cake is in the oven. It was the youngest child in the house that asked the four questions.

1. Why are you so angry Mom?

2. Why don’t you just live in the moment?

3. Who is coming for dinner tomorrow?

4. Can you make this cheesecake for Passover?

I never made a cheese cake before but it looks like a happy thing. The edge is slightly cracked and it’s a beautiful creamy color with flecks of orange rind throughout. Tomorrow it will be adorned with a strawberry orange sauce that I will spike with Grand Marnier, to make it an even happier thing. Is it Serendipitous that during my own Holy season of Lent cooking dinner for Passover would remind me of the power of love?