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.