Category: Good

Mercy Me Mocha

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Serious FaceCar Cat
I wanted to wait a little while before writing about Sean’s gig because, well, because I needed to take it all in. It’s funny how music works that way on me. Sometimes it just reaches out and takes hold and won’t let go. Sometimes it thieves my heart away and other times it just leaves me silent.
In the past I wanted to drag as many people as possible to see shows. Promote, promote, promote! It got to the point where I had exhausted the friend list and got nothing in return. It got to that been-there, done-that, same ole-same ole routine. Some fans didn’t stick while others have stuck around to this day. It use to stress me out – that line of lovers and haters. These days I go where I want to go and don’t worry about the fan base, the fanfare. It’s gotten simpler. Much.
So, seeing Sean started out as something unexpected. Back when I first heard his music I froze in the middle of the floor. I must have looked ridiculous and I’m sure I got laughed at. I’m going to skip the oft-mentioned review of how his voice sounds and tell you what really grabbed me. I hear drums in this one-man, one-guitar show. I hear a beat so loud and solid I can do nothing more than stop and stare; barely breathe. Combine that with absolutely amazing lyrics and I have been hooked ever since.

So, the four of us made the tiny trek north. We wandered around town, peering into shop windows, our minds tasting the menus plastered there, lazily looking for the best place for a bite. We settled on a new place – first night open to the public. Good food, better atmosphere, great service. I made a mental note to come back. I know someone who would think it perfect.
Mocha Maya’s. Just in time for music. Sean Rowe (Speaking of perfect). 

I have to admit I had to ask Sean for a set list because a) he has new music I haven’t heard before & new(er) ones I have yet to commit to memory. Here’s what he remembers:
Surprise
Jonathan (the song I called ‘creepy’. I don’t expect anyone to understand that…It’s why I love Halloween). 
Wet
Rock me baby
Shorty
why i sing the blues

I also think In the Diamonds was in there somewhere, but I have no idea why. We did listen to Sean on the way up to the gig…

My new favorite song: Wet. Beyond beautiful. Sean doesn’t have it on his website as a free listen-to, but it will be on the new album due out Sept 4th, 2008 (hopefully)…

My next gig: July 4th!

ps~ I’m including Mocha Maya’s website because the people there are really super cool. They”ve let me know they loved Sean and will get him back as soon as they can. As soon as they do, I’m there!
Pumpkin Lights

Island Rescue

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art hill
I think the fates know I am homesick. Every so often I am surrounded by the reminders of where I really would like to be. Little reminders are dropped just outside my periphery. I catch glimpses of where I miss. A few weeks ago my family meandered around Boston, looking for a decent place to eat. By chance we stumbled on (and into) a cute noodle place with exotic offerings like seafood pad thai and mango curry. It wasn’t a first choice but we chose it. The tablecloths were nice. Fresh flowers on every table. Calming colored walls. Pleasant atmosphere. Within a few minutes someone noticed the paintings. Look! There’s home. The bell, the boat, the lighthouse. Same old in an unexpected new place. And there’s another. Same scene from a different angle. The wedding site. Art on the walls but more to me.
Yesterday I got an email from a professor in New Jersey. He wanted to know my opinion on a legal database I’ve only used once. His signature on the email was a link to a tiny art gallery in a town I used to frequent (way back in the day). Curious, I clicked on the link and was confronted by the colors of home. Red House. Pink Carina. Gray fishhouse. Yellow cochrane. The artist was asking $1,000 for each painting. It was if Jersey had never seen the coast of Maine.
Last night someone from New Hampshire invited me to an artist’s reception. He thought I would like the poppy paintings. Reminiscent of Georgia big flowers. That sort of thing. While trying to figure out the schedule (could I fit it in?) I noticed the gallery featured another artist I know and like and well, almost dated back in the early 80’s. Woops. Small world not really.

So, all of these reminders are here for a reason. Telling me to go home. Urging me to sit by the sea. Soon enough.

Pass the Party Perfect

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My aunt is Mother of the Bride for the first time. As I talked to her I could hear her nerves rattling along the wire. Nerves were bordering on wired nervous. A little over two weeks to go before her little girl becomes Mrs. Someone Else. She wants everything to be perfect. I tell her it’s not going to be. I’m not being mean, just meaningful. My mother wrote a list of everything that went “wrong” at my sister’s wedding. Live and learn I thought. When my day came two years later I tried to remedy all previously made “mistakes.” While I didn’t make my sister’s faux pas, I created my own. It was inevitable. My dress didn’t fit properly. The food line was too long. Father-in-law had the first dance…with his son-in-law. Someone stole a golf cart and a groomsman ended up sleeping the night off in a ditch. Yup. Classy. But the real question is did we have a blast? Yup.

No one has the perfect party. There will always be something wrong with something or somebody. Even if you don’t notice, someone else will. Kisa and I wanted to use stolen champagne flutes for our end-of-night toast. We opted for my great-grandmother’s glasses. Unbeknown to either of us one glass disappeared forever. That has become my deepest regret even though I didn’t know it at the time. So, pass the party perfect. It aint gonna happen. What it will be is a great time!

June is…

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June is:

  • Fishing Month (92 in the Shade by Thomas Mcguane)
  • Barbara Pym’s birth month (An Academic Question)
  • National Family Month (Act of the Damned by Antonio Lobo Antunes)
  • The most common month to get married in (Amateur Marriage by Anne Tyler)

If there is time I’ll also reread Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger

June is also another LibraryThing Early Review:

  • Tomato Girl by Jayne Pupek

Personally, I ended May on a crappy note so June is ME month. It’s also vacation month! Hello Vegas! Hello San Diego! I’m hoping to see some very special people. June is also house-hunting month (like we haven’t been doing that already!). The farm starts up this month and I started a new blog about the fantastic four which I am really, really excited about, too! Like I said, ME month! 8)

Where I Go

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Of course I will have to write something a bit more about this (how could I not?), but for now here’s this:

  1. Autumn Lullabye
  2. Man in the Wilderness
  3. The Letter
  4. Sonnet #73
  5. Life is Sweet
  6. Verdi Cries
  7. Butterfly
  8. Spring and Fall: To a young Child
  9. She-Devil
  10. Henry Darger
  11. This House is on Fire
  12. The End

For now, I am stunned into silence. More later.

xoxox

Remember Me Day

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Last year at this time I watched my uncle march in the Bangor Memorial Day parade. Normally a shy man, normally a reserved man, a keep to himself man, my uncle waved to the crowd and smiled and received wishes of ‘welcome home’ with dignity. This was his moment to be proud.

This year kisa and I watched the same parade in a different town. Men marching proudly. Men smiling and receiving wishes of ‘welcome home’ with dignity. Vets handed out poppies of plastic. Kids scrambled for shattered sweets on the sidewalk. Puffed up men drove shiny old cars with pride. Betsy Ross wannabe women threw wilting red carnations to the crowds. No clowns (unless you count an odd fellow with a pipe on a bicycle), no unnecessary fanfare of floats. Only one marching band from kisa’s high school. Flags of stars and stripes waving. It’s the kind of thing that always chokes me up. After rereading stories like Red Badge of Courage and Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee I know that war will always exist somewhere. Hate lives day to day and forgiveness comes around every Memorial Day.

Sunglasses at Night

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fish beach

This is not the blog that was scheduled to leave my mind today. Like a security escorted entourage this one took precedence and took over. I want to stop a moment and thank someone for seeing me so clearly from so many miles away. She wrote a blog that punctured through everything I have been feeling. It’s as if she had been a ghost in my kitchen, hovering over the conversations kisa & I had, but hearing my heart instead.
I am not afraid of change. I am the girl who took charge without knowing the challenge. I’m the girl who said yes to upheaval just to have something different. Hell, I even hacked off 9″ of hair this weekend. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, to imagine my life as something someone else can predict means I’m not living up to my potential.
Here’s what scares me. I’m in the crossroads of what next? Should I stay or should I go? Right now, I am unfocused, drifting, shoreless. No direction home. I don’t like planning for something without a game plan. I don’t like the potential for powerless. Here’s an idea: Imagine not knowing which people (if any) will be in your life a year from now. Does it make a difference to you? The same could be said for my sanity.

Maybe it’s the fact I am dressed in black today, ready to mourn the loss of someone’s mother. Maybe it’s the fact I’m in uncharactistically high heels and do not look anything like myself (and it’s not just the haircut). Maybe it’s the weather (what a cold and rainy day) and apathy has set in.

So, I thank my friend for getting it, getting me, and getting to the point. I may be standing on the platform in Indecision City, but I know someone out there has my direction home.

Homeward Not

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The Sign

I have lost my way home. In every sense of the word it is gone. Let’s start with the obvious. No trek to Maine. No boat ride. No getting back to good. Not this time. I will mourn a Memorial Day not on Monhegan. A junkie without her fix, no cure for the homesick. I don’t know what to make of this.

My current address is slipping away. My days there are numbered and all of a sudden I have this urge to be a homebody in this home. Soon, what I call mine will be someone else’s rent. I spent the weekend cleaning closets and scrubbing floors. Like visiting a dying friend I wanted time with my kitchen. For a mid~morning brunch I made a Maine inspired stratta. Homemade bread from the weekend before, spicy vegetarian sausage, crisp green broccoli, sweet Vidalias, creamy eggs+Tabasco+milk, a sprinkling of sharp cheddar cheese. Baked until golden and puffy. More hot sauce for me. For dinner I explored Mexico with a pan-sauteed mix of shredded golden potatoes, spicy Mexican sausage, shiitakes, cilantro and Vidalias. Served with homemade roasted tomatillo and garlic salsa. From scratch flour tortillas. I’m learning to control steam, if there is such a trick. And just to get ahead on the weekday dinners, roasted (skin-on) chicken, smoked with oak chips and cloves of garlic. I’m imagining that will be added to a white bean chili (served with the leftover salsa, of course) and maybe a twisted chicken salad…something smoky and sultry. Trying to reclaim something that isn’t mine. Is not.

The Other Home doesn’t exist yet we sat in front of a loan officer just the same. We spoke the language of calculations. Questions in the form of dollars were answered with quotes. Bank statements and pay stubs. Numbers spilled from our lips easily, as if we memorized our speeches and imagined our lasting impressions.

At the same time we gathered up the dollars to downpay our vacation. Home away from Home. To look forward to the date is to wish summer away, and yet – yet I cannot wait. We’ll start in the cottage of our honeymoon and end in Big Brother just across the way. I’m already tasting lobster and luna.

Such an odd place to be. I’m laying down the disappointment of missing homehome while prepaying on a later visit; I’m turning away from our here and now while it’s still our address and planning payments on an unknown one. We haven’t gone anywhere but I have lost my way home.  

Home Girl

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Matloff, Judith. Home Girl: Building a Dream House on a Lawless Block. New York: Random House, 2008.

I could not put this book down. From start to finish it had me looking to answer that What Happened Next? question.
Matloff trades in one adventurous life (as a foreign correspondent) for another (home owner and wife in New York City). The exchange seems benign until the reader (and Matloff herself) realizes the Victorian she is buying is decrepit; in need of repair in every possible way, the new neighborhood is a one of the biggest drug zones in the country, and on a daily basis she must protect her property from the addicts who have called it home. If that wasn’t enough, Matloffmust walk a fine line of graceful respect and distance with the dealers on the street while becoming a mother, a crime fighter and witness to the tragedies of September 11th. Throughout it all, Matloff remains humbled and humorous.

Other observations: The picture on the inside cover indicates the title would have been Home Girl: Building a Dream Home in a Drug Zone. Not sure what I think about that.
I hope they keep the author’s note. Matloff’s sentiment about wishing the events weren’t true really intrigued me…really made me want to read the book.
Of course, there were quotes I absolutely loved, but I’ll keep them to myself until the book is published.

Numbers Don’t Matter

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RockingBubble

Last Saturday I spent $30 to walk with a friend around a park. 6.2 miles. Seems kind of odd when you look at it that way, but that’s the way it was. I wasn’t there to run in a race and I didn’t think of it as a charity event, even though it was both of those things. Smiley said she was walking by herself and I said that couldn’t be. I wouldn’t let it be and I didn’t. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. It turned out to be a beautiful day to talk and walk, walk and talk. It was worth $30. Even better than we didn’t come in dead last.
Last night I got on the gerbil’s wheel and wanted to go nowhere. Not really sure what I was doing except giving in to the guilt. I couldn’t remember the last time I ran. As soon as I started to move I knew I was in trouble. Every song irritated me and I felt tired even moving 11.7 mph. This was going to suck was all I kept saying to myself. I don’t know how I know it but I always know a suck run. I recognize it long before it actually gets to me. Know those commercials about the love/hate relationships with running? I was on the other side of love with this run. It sucked.
But, here’s the beautiful thing. Despite wanting to get the fukc off and quit, despite wanting to make a mad dash to the bathroom and puke, despite my ears revolting against every song ipod could spit out, I did not quit. I did not stop. I kicked it up to a 11 mph run and for 40 long minutes I thought about counting up the demons. I determined I have more than one for every day. I listened for subliminal run songs (Rob Thomas, “I’m running but you’re getting away”). I fast forwarded through the likes of Norah Jones, Corrine Bailey Rae, Billie Holiday and Jewel. Rewound Metalica, AC/DC, Def L, Aersosmith, even Led Z. Confronted the pain of a MotherMe lost. In the end it was 3.64 miles. 3.64 miles further than I thought I could go. But, like the numbers of the walk on Saturday, they don’t matter.

Dreaming Drums

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Every so often a good drum solo will save me, keep me from going insane. Last month it was some guy with a bunch of buckets at a Celtics game. This guy was Drum-amazing! A few weeks ago it was some high school kid with a cute smile at my run. Damn if I can’t remember the band’s name, but I made A take a stealth pic from behind a tree…! Last week it was my kisa kicking it with Rock Band on some song from Wolf Mother or Mother Wolf (errrr, I think). He rocked it proper. I almost made him do it twice. Last night it was the thought of seeing Mickey (Melt My) Hart at the Calvin. We got 6th row! Love, love, love the Vulcan. Everyday I hear my drums in songs like Please Let Me Be and I Don’t Trust Myself or in a Max Roach youtube video. Everyday I hear something else I want to run to. Since I don’t have an all-access pass to my favorite drummers (although BubbleGum promises it will be as if I was really there- as if!), I’ll definitely take what I can get. My husband is the ultimate drummer boy IfYouKnowWhatIMean, but when it comes to drums, you know what I need. I need the guy with the profoundly professional sticks every once in awhile. Set my soul straight. The medicine for what ails me – coming up – maybe Andrew Barr accompanied by an orchestra??? A girl can wish… 8)

The Slip

Lock & Key or Not Your Puppet

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Lost

There is only so much you can do to protect your heart. I think of you and wonder how far you are willing to go. How much blame you are willing to balance? Take as your own, distribute to others. How fair will you be if you don’t have the facts?
A few weeks ago someone heard me wrong. Well, heard one side of a conversation and filled in the blanks with slightly off-kilter information. What’s worse is that the misconception went uncorrected for all that time because it wasn’t questioned. I would have hated to be in that head space with all that wrongness swirling around. It’s just not right.
Here’s why I say all this. I need you to talk to me. I need you to tell me what is wrong when it’s wrong and not three weeks later. I am really good at identifying my heart when I’m faced with feeling it at that moment. Not three weeks later when me, my heart, and moi have moved on. Or forgotten (which is worse).
But, it’s not all you. I’m walking away from some relationships and nudging closer to others. It’s something that I’ve been meaning to do for some time now. Certain people deserve more while others have overstayed their welcome. I am not a dullard strung on a wire, waiting for someone to play me. I am no Happy Puppet, waiting for your command. Occasionally, I need to change the locks and get a new key. Let’s just say it’s long overdue.
So, back to you. I’m glad Jessica Simpson isn’t joining us for dinner. Sorry I set a place for her. Thank you for speaking up and not lashing out. My only request is do it sooner, while the conversation is still breathing and has life. No one wants to rehash DOA unless they really have to.

Spider Woman?

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Spider

A month ago I developed a weird spot on my thigh. A nursing student took one look and said basal cell carcinoma. Freak Me. For a month I held denial’s hand and didn’t do anything about it. Nothing except stare at the spot and watch it mutate. I didn’t WebMD it, didn’t do anything. This river in Egypt ran deep. Finally I went to someone a little more professional. Someone with an actual degree and not just in training for one. She took one look and said arachnid. Whaa? Come again? Bug bite, possibly spider-ish. Maybe tick-ish. Either way I’m having a reaction to the saliva. I’m allergic to bug spit of all things.

Whatever. All I know is that Friday (after the bug appointment) I decided to hit the Gerbil cage. 45 minutes. 4.26 miles. Felt freakin’ great. My new tempo pace is 10.2. I can sing while moving that speed. Love it. Then, last night I decided to hit it again. Chicken thighs were in the smoker getting happy with the alder chips (can’t call it smoked chicken chili without the chips…) and I had the time for a sweet 20 minute run. At first I wanted to really kick it. See if I could get more than two miles in. But, my knee gently reminded me it hadn’t even been 24 hours since the 4.26…I’m supposed to “take a day” between runs, remember? Oh yeah. So, I decided to crank the incline and work on hills. Run slow…but UP-up-UP. Bottom line: 1.8 miles in 20 minutes. I’m happy with my energy. I’m in love with my knee. I’m feeling better than ever. Could it be the spider spit? Just call me spider woman!

More On this Later

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Just a Girl MARK YOUR CALENDARS! Rebecca Correia is coming back to New England!

For those of you who know Rebecca:
She is moving home for the summer! For those of you who know ME that means I get to swing back into promotion action. YAY! I have missed being the rabid fan. 8)

For those of you who don’t know Rebecca:
Please, please, please check her out! Here’s a website to get you started. Her “site” song is one she wrote while still in high school. “Miss You” is one of my favorites and “Quiet Hands” was the First Dance song at my wedding. This entire Miss You album is amazing.

For EVERYONE: Mark your calendars. June 1st. Simsbury, CT. Rebecca will be performing. Yeah, yeah. It’s a Sunday but I think she goes on early. I don’t have all the information….so stay tuned. Here’s a preliminary promise. If you show AND *stay for Rebecca’s whole show* I’ll buy you a drink. I kid you not. Rebecca mentioned something about a $2 cover, but the last time I heard anyone worry about $2 was in Better Off Dead. Hope you’re not that guy.

To the usual suspects: we should do dinner. Please say you will.

xoxoxo