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.