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”