POWDER & PAINT

She was a delicate woman with a powerful voice.

On a sunny afternoon in San Francisco, her performance at Hardly Strictly Bluegrass attracted the other musicians who I watched leave the green room or walk from other parts of the park to hear Hazel sing. I met Jorma and Jack walking on their way from their tour bus to hear Hazel. I watched Steve Earle, Emmy Lou Harris and Alison Brown sit stage right as she performed. All were in awe of Hazel and it was my friend Assunta who knew her and cued me into what all the musicians knew. Hazel was the Real Deal. Assunta began to cry as Hazel sang Black Lung, a song written for her brother. The crowd was hushed as she performed, held captive by her songs and in respect of this woman who was a national treasure.

The evening after she performed, many of the musicians were meeting at one of the hotels for drinks. I was standing on the sidewalk with Assunta and Molly O’Brien when a cab pulled up and the petite Hazel Dickens stepped out. I was introduced to her and during the course of ‘small talk’ one of the women commented on how pretty she looked. Hazel quipped, “Powder and paint, makes you look like what you ain’t”. It was so illuminating for me, the juxtaposition of this prolific woman who paved the way for the likes of Alison Krause and Emmy Lou Harris sharing her bit of women’s wisdom with a smile that was part inside joke yet something we all knew to be true. It was a moment in time I will always smile about.

I am sorry to write that she lost her battle with pneumonia and died last week. Thank you Hazel for crossing my path and bless you wherever you are among the stars.

Walking Girl

This morning I went for a walk with a couple of the Taylor siblings, kind of. A bracelet Sister Kate made for me was on my wrist, James was on my iPOD and I was present in the moment. Something in the way he sings is entirely comforting to me as is the rhythm of walking. My neighborhood is laced with an occasional sidewalk but primarily I am in the street or on the dirt. There is a great benefit to walking and being aware of your local geography. It opens up your perspective when walking, a different understanding of the landscape rather than to zip by in a car at 40 miles per hour and believe you know your way home.

So many ancient and indigenous cultures recognize sacred geography and in their alignment with spirit lived, prayed and communed in sacred earth. The land where I live belonged to the Ramapough and I have been told is charged by a vortex that emanates from the Ramapo Mountains. That’s the little I know about the background of these meandering roads however I know a bit more of sacred geometry, which I learned from my seashell collection. I’ve always had a love for the sparkle of a seashell tossed within my reach on the shoreline. My affinity with American Indian art translated early on to seashells and jewelry. I have two beautiful bracelets of wampum. Friends gave me one and it is an intricate silver cuff with a deep purple shell made by a traditional artist. The other bracelet is made of sea glass and beads by Kate Taylor. I had seen her work in a magazine article about artists on Martha’s Vineyard following an award she had won. I instantly loved her way of combining the shells with resin and sea glass, in contemporary design, creating necklaces, bracelets, belts and unique pieces.

I kept the article for years and then one night, at a ‘meet and greet’ following a Fab Faux show at Radio City Music Hall, I walked into the room filled with 300 people and noticed a woman in velvet, lace and wampum, the very enchanting Kate Taylor. We met and it was easy to reference what I knew of her art since she was wearing several exquisite pieces. She was lovely and it was a conversation that STILL MAKES ME SMILE. Her warmth and beauty clearly evident in her art and it was at that time that we exchanged email and I was able to commission a bracelet. Two months later she was touring in NJ opening for the band America when much to my happiness I met with her again to pick it up.

Originally, it was as Sister Kate that I remembered her opening for America in the 70’s. My Rolling Stone collection from back in the day verifies it as well. Since then I’ve heard her perform in the city and I remain in amazement at what the Universe has brought to my own landscape. To have read of her and kept the Rolling Stone , to find out of her talent with wampum jewelry keeping the article out of admiration and then to meet her by chance while at work, I just can’t help believe it’s not serendipitous or part of the sacred geography of the path I walk. Hopefully it will continue to take me hOMe.

Ramble On

A couple of hours ago I was making two pies, a zucchini and lemon meringue. Right from the beginning the lemon meringue was instilling fear in me. At times the meringue turns out ‘Greek Diner Happy’, an impressive and beautiful thing as only witnessed in a diner showcase but other times it is temperamental and can lose it’s height quicker than Jersey girl hair without hairspray. The zucchini is always reliable and really good. It’s considered a mob hit in my family, especially when it includes thin slices of pepperoni, which it does today. So now these two distinctly different pies, one a side dish and one a dessert, are on my counter being evaluated to see if I should bring them both to Levon’s Ramble tonight. I’m worried about the lemon meringue making the trip to Woodstock and arriving with the integrity of the meringue intact especially since it’s raining out. It’s intimidating to cook for a group that probably has its share of excellent vegetarian potluck food cooked and given with love in honor of The Ramble. Mine are made from scratch however outside of cooking for my own family I don’t have any real cooking expertise so the idea of placing my pies on Levon’s table heightens my sense of insecurity. Or at least it was, until I was informed this afternoon that I’d be stopping by John Sebastian’s house first. ……. There’s been a seismic twist in my perspective and I now have a sheer and luminous sense of just plain old inner happy. I’m smiling randomly around my kitchen and thinking the pies will probably be all right and that maybe I really can share every homemade Lovin’ Spoonful.