Hello, my friends! I've been traveling again, but managed to add about 50 interesting artists to my iPod this week. Mood is sky-high happy – my son got accepted into NYU – and my mug these days wears the unimaginative, indelible, intractable (but oh, so blissful!) grin of a smiley face drawing.
Anyway, I am going to recommend a few artists to you today...Enjoy!
• Houston Person...His "Social Call" CD is heavenly...I really like the cut Day Dream. I am so digging this guy, but I can't seem to add his music to my home page.
• Jimmy Webb...ok, I'm no youngster and I did grow up on his music. But there's something so calming about his rendition of Galveston and Wichita Lineman. Never was a fan of Glen Campbell. Check out "Ten Easy Pieces."
• John Craigie..."A Picnic on the 405"
• Joe Satriani...Rock on to "Professor Satchafunkilus and the Musterion of Rock."
• Steve Winwood..."Nine Lives" In my opinion, the best cut is Dirty City (featuring Eric Clapton)
• Melody Gardot..."Worrisome Heart" (vocally, she sounds Feist-like, but her roots are in jazz)
A friend of mine sent me this clip from "Boston Legal." I thought it brilliant, provocative and courageous in its dissection (some might say, illumination) of the many contradictions and inconsistencies plaguing America's highly complex and nuanced legal system. I would love to hear others' opinions on the message and meaning of this clip and start a dialogue. Am especially interested in the opinions of my many European friends.
Connections or Coincidences? Help Me Decide.
Current mood: inquisitive
Before I get into the theme of this blog, I’d like to share four personal anecdotes that have significantly affected, perhaps I should say, forced me to question my concrete (ie, "black and white") view of the world. My dilemma is that I haven’t arrived at any conclusions as to what this all means. I’m not a person who blindly accepts the fact that weird things happen to us all...I need context, clarity of message, an unvagaried big-picture explanation and an intuitive "connect-the-dots" comprehension.
Read on...and then let me pick your brain a bit.
1. My colleagues and I stopped by a radio station in Schenectady, NY, for a luncheon meeting with the station manager, the programming and news directors and the sales execs. Prior to planting our tushes into swivelly, high-backed leather chairs, we mingled and chatted as we created sandwiches from deli offerings. One of the executives, a gentleman who I had never before laid eyes upon, walked into the room a bit late and immediately came over to introduce himself to me. We chatted about this and that, in our attempt to find common ground and common denominators. I thought it coincidence enough that his son attended my husband’s alma mater, and that he had worked in corporate development for several years at a peer cancer center. Within five minutes, however, much to our shock and disbelief, we discovered that we not only lived on the same street, but at the same address in the same flat of a three-story building in Chicago...only we lived there 20 years apart. He was not a native Chicagoan, as I am, but he had lived in the Windy City for a few years during his adulthood. The flat on Armitage (that he would later call home) was home to my parents, grandmother and 4 siblings for a good chunk of my childhood.
2. Ok, now try this one. I had a dream that I was at a NYC cocktail party. I recognized one of the guests as an acquaintance of mine from work (a researcher who I ran into only sporadically in the corridors but never outside of work). He spotted me among the crowd, walked over and asked me if I would accompany him to the balcony so we could talk in private. I joined him on the balcony, and once outside in the cool, crisp air, he began to weep, whispering that his life was "over." When I asked him "why?," he mumbled something about a tragedy that had befallen his family. Before he could provide further details, I woke up.
The next morning at work, I discovered that this man’s wife had passed away in the night. She had not been ill and her death was totally unexpected.
3. Here’s a more recent dream. In this one, I was at the airport, talking on the phone. I didn’t know who was on the other end, but I was crying, sobbing and creating a scene. I woke up.
The next day at work, the boyfriend of one of my colleagues told me that he had had a dream about "me" the night before. In his version, I had called him crying, sobbing, but he couldn’t determine what was wrong and continually asked: "Where are you? What’s wrong? How can I help you?"
4. Finally, here’s a "fun" story. When we were first married, my husband and I used to grab dinner on Friday nights at a local bar/restaurant in Buffalo called The Shuper House. They served Mexican food and rock bands performed there. Our waitress was named Colleen, and she was a nurse at our local childrens’ hospital. My husband and I stopped going after awhile and the place eventually closed. Ten years later, we took a vacation to San Diego, where we met up with some old friends who had relocated to the West. One morning, we decided to go out for breakfast before heading out. We stumbled onto a cheap beachfront breakfast joint directly across from our hotel. We sat down and a waitress came over to take our order. Lo and behold, it was Colleen, from The Shuper House.
I am curious if other folks out there have had similar experiences and what they make of them. Should we chalk them up to a cosmic connection or just plain coincidence? Is it really a small world? Do our dreams connect us, warn us, inform us? Can they predict the future? I’d like to hear others’ thoughts on this. I only gave you a smattering of personal anecdotes... believe me, I have 100’s of other similarly eerie experiences that could fertilize many, many entertainingly off-the-wall episodes of "The Twilight Zone!"
Currently
listening
:
The Unbelievable Truth
By
Elton Dean & the Wrong Object
Release date: 17 July, 2007
Life Lessons: An Open Letter to My Dad
Category: Life
Good evening, my friends. This coming March 23...Easter Sunday...marks the first year anniversary of my Father’s death. When my beloved Dad turned 75 four years ago, my siblings and I celebrated his life, his love and his legacy with a special party. I read the following "Open Letter to My Dad," a personal reflection on the important life lessons I learned from first man I ever loved.
My Dearest Dad:
In our home, music was like a piece of furniture or ambient lighting. It was just there – a part of every room. You taught us that to love music is to embrace life – whether that music is country or classical, jazz or blues, rock or show tunes…whether that music is performed by Johnny Mathis or Johnny Rotten…Led Zeppelin or Lead Belly…Yo Yo Ma or Your Mama, a championship Drum & Bugle Corps or a brother drumming away on a plastic canister of cheese puffs at a family reunion.
You taught me that when planning the perfect crime, I should choose taller, more experienced accomplices. I was 4. Tommy was 5-1/2. You told us to stay in the backyard. We nodded and smiled, as you went inside the house. With you out of earshot and eyesight, Tom plotted our great escape. Only a towering locked gate stood between us and a world of adventure. Unfortunately, Tommy and I were both too short to reach the latch. I got down on all fours, and my "Irish twin" climbed up on my back and unlocked the gate. Moments later, you flew out of the house and gave us both a good spanking (the only one I ever received from you, by the way! Alas, Tommy was not the quick study his little sister was!)
You taught me the new math – long before it was introduced in classrooms. For example, you provided irrefutable evidence that one bathroom divided by six kids, two parents and one grandmother equals 16 pounding fists, 8 voices bellowing "hurry up!" and one lucky devil doing the victory strut on the other side of the door.
You taught me about words – how and when to use them, and what they mean and don’t mean. People tell me that I have a way with words, but it wasn’t always the right way. When I was about 16, I came home from a party and provided the mandatory recap to you and Mom. I complained about one of the girls at the party who I thought acted like a jerk. Looking back, I guess I should have used "that" word. But instead, I innocently repeated the same colorful noun that I had heard my friends use. Little did I know that it was slang for a type of sexual aid. You gently asked me, "Honey, do you know what that word means?" and I replied "Uh, not really." You turned to Mom, and asked the same question, and she shook her head. So you enlightened us. Mom’s jaw just dropped, but I turned scarlet with embarrassment and slunk off to bed. (Needless to say, I never used THAT word again!)
You taught me that to understand words, one must first know how to spell them. Our nightly spelling bees around the dinner table were fiercely competitive, and even today I would bet that each one of your four oldest kids could spell "antidisestablishmentarianism."
You introduced to me, at a very early age, the real life applications of many scholarly concepts, such as the domino theory and classic conditioning theory. In our household, one kid in trouble with you – and that kid was usually Tommy! – meant that the remaining 5 kids would, one by one, in descending order, fall victim to your wrath. And as soon as we heard your booming voice blaring at brother Tommy, like Pavlov’s famous canines, your darling daughters would spring into action, scrambling to clean up our rooms or do the dishes.
You taught me exemplary manners. As adolescents and teens, we kids took a lot of ribbing from our peers for addressing you as "sir" and Mom as "ma’am." (These were the so-called rebellious’60’s, remember?) But there was always respect behind those words (always!) even though growing up, we felt that we were held to a much loftier standard of behavior than any of our friends. Today, I thank you for sticking to your guns.
You taught me to love movies. There was something magical about you, Mom and all us kids spending Friday nights in front of the TV watching "When Movies Were Movies" on WGN. There were also those special nights when you would say, "Who’s up for a movie?" and Tommy and I would grab our coats and wait for you by the door. Your knowledge of movies is encyclopedic. And with your excellent writing skills, you could have easily been another Gene Siskel.
You taught me that, under no circumstances, should a young girl under the age of 16 be allowed to go out alone on a date with a boy. As much I hated this edict issued by my stubborn, rigid, callous, dinosaur of a father, I, as a mother, found myself issuing that same edict last year to my own 15-year-old daughter, who, by the way, recycled the same compelling arguments that I tried on you 35 years ago.
You taught me that friends are family. Around Christmas, if I brought a friend home, a gift would miraculously appear under the tree with that person’s name on it. And remember my high school friend Colleen H., who had to be at work on Sundays by 5 am? Whenever she spent a Saturday night at one of my slumber parties, you would get up at 4 am on Sunday (the only day you had to sleep in), walk her to the "el" platform and wait until her train arrived. You always treated and protected my friends as if they were your own children.
You taught me that a girl in search of her Mr. Right would do well to check out the Dudley Do-Rights first. When I was very young, I once saw you jump out of Mr. L’s car to break up a fistfight between two teenagers on North Avenue. Believe it or not, I know exactly the moment I fell in love with my husband. It was New Year’s Eve. There were five of us in a car driving down Rush Street. All of a sudden, he yelled, "stop the car!" and I watched in amazement as he rushed to the aid of a stranger who was being savagely beaten by three street punks. Who said that I couldn’t have TWO heroes in my life? It was just an eerie mix of déjà vu and destiny!
So, yes, those are just some of the lessons I learned from you, Dad. And ok, so I don’t know how to play gin rummy, square dance or saddle up like you! I’ve never played an instrument. I’m not adept at any sport. My jokes are pretty lame, and unlike yours, my feet were never big enough to give my kids decent "rides" on them. And God knows that you TRIED to teach me to stand up straighter, modulate my speaking voice, not chew my nails, and let the guy win once in awhile, but alas, I couldn’t...and my nasty habits followed me into adulthood.
But you did teach me the most important lesson of my life~ and that is that family – along with good health, real love, lasting friendships, and the belief in giving back twice as much as you’ve taken – are the major ingredients in the recipe for a happy life. Thanks, Dad. You have been my greatest teacher. I love you, and I always will.
Your most grateful daughter, Colleen
P.S. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you and miss you.
Good afternoon, friends. I am sitting in my home office, a winter scarf noosed around my neck, listening to Radiohead's "All I Need." I am dreaming of warmer climates...see below.
The Ballad of Boca Grande by Colleen
In the Gulf of Mexico, Near the sandy shore, Lurks the shark called Boca Grande, Chairman of the Gored.
Steely eyes that never blink, Teeth so sharp and tined, Rigged for noshing, disembowelment – Flank steak on his mind.
Thetis, help the fisherman Drifting out to sea. Boca with his bib and tackle, Leers rapaciously.
Overboard, there's no escape. Inches from your skin, Boca purls like Esther Williams. Who's your next of kin?
Witless, gritless, paralyzed – Odds of pardon? Zip. Save your breath. You won't find mercy, poised 'twixt plate and lip.
Senor Grande bobs for snacks. Nothing's left untried. Swim trunks, coolers, surfboards, sandals – Baked, sauteed or fried.
Master of the Universe, Demon of the Sea – Boca's just an angleworm, Around his girlfriend Bree.
Peerless swimmer, Neptune's pride, Like bullets on a sneeze, She'll never win a medal though, Bree ate the referees.
Abelard and Heloise Weren't this much in love. His valentines are bleeding hearts; He's all she's dreamng of.
Wedding plans are finalized. Castle Reef's been booked. Snapper may officiate , provided he's not hooked.
Boca Grande, spectral white. Bree decked out in pinks. Bree is calm, but Boca's nervous – As rigid as a sphinx.
Locaton of the honeymoon? (Amity's off the list.) The two decide on Tampa Bay, A spot they can't resist.
Quite the gourmand's holiday. Meats, both dark and white. Boca eyes a portly sailor; Bree claims equal rights.
Seasons pass, still much in love – Baby sharks? Just two. Boca has no teeth by now. Bree still has a few.
Boca Grand sneaking out– Carnage on his mind. A bellyful of memories, He gums a lemon rind.
Boca's foods are pinguefied, Thanks to the pollution – Toxins, oil slicks, styrofoam. Is there no solution?
In the Gulf of Mexico, Near the gritty shore, Mopes the shark called Boca Grande, Painfully ignored.
Exploring my whimsical side. Hey, what else is there to do when the temp is hovering around 10? If you have a small child in your family, you may want to read him/her Poem 2.
SKINNY POEMS All right. You asked. Her poems? Too skinny! Too spindly! Verse in vertical! Down and up! Tall weeds of short words. Ichabod Crane's toothpick frame or the brittle, thorned stems of a rose flamingo. Poems meant i guess to be read so lickety-split you begin to feel them in your neck or in your eyes when your eyes aren't elevators. Her poems wear thin the face of a hatchet the teeth of a comb bones bare ribs spare stiletto arms asparagus legs (Pause unsteady and you slip from the wire) Threads of yarn the gangle of spaghetti. Cello strings. Earthworms. Streams from a hose or the hose itself. Taut rubber bands. Raggedright elms. Some long some longer but every one skinny. Pipe cleaner skinny! Rising like steeples grim and chaste or endless strips of ticker tape no wider than the length of a sharp point on a sharp pencil. Maybe you can but i can't prize the harp dote on the goose while descending a beanstalk at breakneck speed.
Poem 2 Belvedere's Ear
"Look here! Look here!" cried Belvedere. "What do you see inside my left ear? I've an itch and a twitch and interminable ringing. I've a pain and some strain and, by gosh, I hear singing. The sounds are quite beastly, permit me to say. I'm afraid that a monster has moved in to stay."
"There's plenty of gunk," established Chipmunk. "But that junk in the gunk is most likely a Skunk."
"P-U! How it stinks," concurred the blue Minks. "But we think if it stinks it's most likely a Lynx."
"Can't see through the fog," said wily Hedgehog. "But that clog in the fog is most likely a Frog."
"Not a Frog, but some clocks," corrected big Ox. "And counting the tocks is most likely a Fox."
"I don't know the lingo," confessed pink Flamingo. "But bingo! That thingo's most likely a Dingo."
"It's green! No, it's black!" screeched the doubtful Macaque. "With that pack on its back, it's most likely a Yak."
"I see a large lake," hissed the copperhead Snake. "And what skates down the lake is most likely a Drake."
"It's belching up juice," said the fanciful Goose. "That slob on the loose is most likely a Moose."
"Let me feel," begged the Eel. "Great Scot! How congealed! What's concealed is surreal, but most likely a Seal."
"It's a worm with a perm," honked the grey Pachyderm. "No wait. I affirm it's most likely a Germ."
"Fetch me a mirror," declared Belvedere. "I'll see for myself what critters live here. Now she sees a bat and he spies a rat And everything's most likely a this or a that. But one fact remains, and that's crystal clear, Mysterious beasts inhabit my ear!"
Belvedere pressed that mirror to his face. But brutes in his ear? Not one teensy trace. "Jumping Jeminah! No beasts do I find in this cavernous hole. Can it mean that I'm blind?"
Then down from the trees swooped the Queen of the Owls. The animals hid. Her temper was foul.
"I've listened too long to this hullabaloo," said the impatient Owl. "Your's head's not a zoo! I'm sick of your moaning, your wails and your sighs. I don't understand you. I can't sympathize. You've heard all the theories, not one based in fact, from creatures who like to hear themselves quack. Now listen to me and don't say a boo. Scrub out those ears. They'll be good as new."
So Belvedere lathered his ears with soap bubbles, evicting the beasts that had caused so much trouble. And what do you know? The Owl had been right. And quiet returned to the village that night.
Currently
listening
:
Moon Over the Freeway
By
The Ditty Bops
Release date: 23 May, 2006
Leap Year Musica
Current mood: cold
Category: Music
Gentle music for a harsh February. Like warm compresses for popsicle toes.
When Sunny Gets Blue...McCoy Tyner February Sun... Garbarek, Katche, Wasilewski, Kurki (Buy the whiole CD...It's called "Neighbourhood"...Gorgeous.) Transcontinental, 1:30 am...Vienna Teng Katrina's Eyes...Christian Scott A Dream Within a Dream...Oren Lavie Time Stops...Suzanne Ciani A Poet in the Afternoon...Keiichi Uko Piazza, New York Catcher...Belle & Sebastian The Rosy Sky in Winter...Toshiyuke Watanabe Merci...Jeanne Cherhal So Long Frank Wright...Paul Desmond Nature Boy..Radka Toneff & Steve Dobrogosz The Wind on the Coast Line...Manabu Ohishi Better than Anything...Irene Kral Wm Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet...The City of Prague Philharmonic Tonight You Belong to Me...Folk Uke What the World Needs Now...Stacey Kent Go Down Easy...John Martyn
And I admit to gobbling up almost everything I can find by Raq, The John Butler Trio, Joshua Radin, New Monsoon, Graham Colton, Jimi Hendrix, and Xavier Rudd. Of course, that's a different playlist altogether.
Currently
listening
:
Solid Air
By
John Martyn
Release date: 16 June, 1998
In 1980, I received my graduate degree in English from Northern Illinois University.
Outside of us folks who live or lived in Illinois, I'm not sure if many outsiders know that this state university even exists. But it does...in a quiet college town named DeKalb. Only 70 miles from Chicago, DeKalb gave the world barbed wire, supermodel Cindy Crawford, and the flying corn cob. It gave "Me" a sense of "Me."
When I lived there from 1978 through 1979, the Huskies hardly ever won a game, the "Mighty Kishwaukee" river twice overflowed its banks and I was introduced to my three all-time favorite English professors (Drs. Gustav Van Crumphout, Sean Shesgreen and Jim Giles).
I remember that there was a decent Chinese restaurant on the main drag and NIU had an internationally-recognized music program. DeKalb had an annual corn fest.
I had my first career-related job in DeKalb...I was hired as the advertising director of NIU's small, but highly successful university press. I learned a helluva lot about the publishing business from my supportive boss and "guidance counselor" Richard C., who I met at a University of Chicago class on advertising that he was teaching. I went to NIU ONLY because Richard offered me that advertising job. I wanted to pursue a graduate degree in English but I had no intention of ever using it to teach. Richard showed me a different path.
Few people know that it was my colleague David E., the editor at NIU Press, who inspired me to become a writer and editor. He was the first published poet I ever called "friend."
With a bunch of other grad students, I rented a house barely 50 yards from the river on an immaculately clean, tree-lined street that was more on-campus than off-.
I have always been intrigued by and interested in the similarities and disparities that make up the cultures and peoples of this world. That interest grew from my association with people I met at NIU. I had roomates (both male and female) from India, Nigeria, Malaysia; another who was a John Bircher, and another who was a Vietnam vet once stationed in Cambodia and who spoke Thai fluently. The house was full of Thai students and I got my first authentic taste of what would later become my favorite cuisine. I shared evenings and insights (and beers with those who drank) with students from Iran, Kuwait, France, China, Spain, with students from St. Charles, IL and yes, even from Buffalo, NY, my future home. I met Kevyn, one of my best friends, at NIU.
That was then, when the world was simpler and when carnage and medication and video games were never words linked and reported in the same sentence.
On Valentine's Day, I watched in horror as my alma mater became the tragedy-of-the-week on national TV. I don't know why, but the fact that classes were cancelled struck me as being surreally unsetttling. The only times I could recall classes being cancelled were when there were blizzards or floods. And then I thought to myself: aha, here we have a blizzard of bullets and a flood of tears.
I understand that the young man who wreaked all this havoc was an honor student, someone who, at least from the photos, had a kind, inquisitive face, and who, I'm told, even had a presence here on myspace. You just never know, do you?
Today, I have one child in college, and another on his way. How do we protect them? What do we do now? The killer was someone's child. The victims, someone's children.
For those who lost a friend or loved one at NIU, for the school that shaped me and now wears a shroud of sadness and confusion, I offer Auden's poem "Funeral Blues" below. It is the only solace this sad, dazed, shocked alum can offer at this time. Explanations need reasons, data, support to make sense, to be accepted, believed. Except for these words, I can shed no light on these dark days.
Funeral Blues Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead. Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one, Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun, Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods; For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Buried my muse in the backyard (albeit in a very shallow grave) , and we're both praying for Resurrection Day. Poetry on hold for awhile, although I did get two poems accepted for publication last month.
Despite my month absence from this space, music still scents my air and mists my deserts. I was surprised that so few of you responded to my request for music recommendations…why, so parsimonious? But those who did respond, like Jim and JP, gave me some darn good stuff. Thank you both. Really enjoyed Jeff & Benares (folk) and Halloween, Alaska (rock).
While "away," I did some exploring on my own and oh, eureka, the treasures I excavated. Check-out: Eliane Elias "Dreamer" Vienna Teng "Dreaming Through the Noise" Anything by Isabelle Antena, but I love "Mediterranean Songs" Kieran Kane, Kevin Welch & Fats Kaplin "Lost John Dean" The Duhks "Your Sons & Daughters" Rachel Fuller and Pete Townshend present…Attic Jam The Mary Onettes "The Mary Onettes" John Butler Trio "What You Want" and "Grand National" Graham Colton "Here Right Now"
My guilty, guilty pleasure is Russell Crowe & the Ordinary Fear of God's "My Hand My Heart." I have been singing their song "I Miss My Mind" all week. (Tells you what kind of week I've been having, huh?) Love, love that brilliant Mr. Crowe.
And my final recommendation would be the soundtracks to "The Talented Mr. Ripley" (Sinead O'Connor's hauntingly lush "Lullaby for Cain" will make you weep) and "Into the Wild" (Eddie Vedder should have garnered an Oscar nomination for this heart-piercing score).
Talk to you soon. Remember to embrace life…and please vote…it makes a difference.
Colleen ("Obamarama")
Currently
listening
:
My Hand My Heart
By
Russell Crowe
Release date: 02 May, 2006
Helluva year, huh? Indulge me as I reflect on this past year and wade in my personal stream of un-consciousness.
There has been good. There has been bad. There has been light. There has been darkness.
I lost my beloved Dad to metastatic prostate cancer in March, but I became closer to my stepmom, a lovely, kind-hearted woman, whose voice is as warm and comforting as fresh-out-of-the-oven chocolate chip cookies. I am lucky to have her in my life. Her wisdom is sage and candid and my stalwart guide through uncertainty/adversity.
I continue to appreciate and value my husband, who, over our 32 years together, has been introduced to every nuance, angle, quirk, peccadillo, idiosyncrasy, mood, opinion, interest, ritual, habit, dream, nightmare, journey, revelation, alteration, altercation, mannerism, flare-up, recipe, scheme, zaniness and craziness that a life-partner can throw down. I thank him for accepting with grace and unconditional love the wacky combination of things that make me "me."
I am proud to have a daughter who has yet to meet a challenge she can't pin to the mat until it whimpers "Uncle." Last semester, after much hard work, she garnered her first set of straight A's at Georgetown University. Way to go, Gorgeous.
I am humbled and delighted that my son has turned into the man I had always hoped to raise. The Tin Man would certainly envy his big heart; The Scarecrow would devise ways to tap the braininess from his cranium; and the Cowardly Lion would extol his valor and courage as exemplary. I am equally fortunate that my son truly believes that until he goes off to college next year, "There really is no place like home." I will miss him terribly.
The taut bonds that once tethered me to certain friends sadly slackened over the past 12 months, but I formed inspiring new friendships, reinforced others and became closer to a few men and women who helped me discover and nurture mutual interests in music, literature, travel, wine and sound thinking. I welcome new friends like Jeri, Sherry, Nancy Kay, Bill B., Terry & Debbi and others into my life and hope we will create additional opportunities to talk and share in 2008.
I am so lucky to maintain "bestest" friendships with people like my buds Kathy R., Kathryn, Kevyn, Rufus, Rosemary, Graciela, Terry, Joanne and others who live so far away from me. I miss them when time stretches into long painful distances. Thank God for technology, but nothing compares to my joy when I see the faces of these special human beings and hear their voices. I am a talker, a sharer, a laughing lass...and I love being around talkers and sharers who love to hear the music in loud, sincere laughter.
I miss my five siblings...I didn't see enough of them last year. I hope to get to Colorado this year to visit my sweet little sis Donna. My older brother Tom and I hope to collaborate on some musical projects this year (he's the musician. I am the messenger.)
In 2007, I discovered and welcomed talented new performers into my musical "retreat," people like John Devitt, Jim Ruiz, Com Voce, Longital, Malcolm Hunter, Gary Jules, Mindy Smith and many, many others. To them, I say: keep making this weary world interesting.
At the end of 2007, I learned that two of my poems had been accepted for publication. Both were written about two people who I loved very much and lost to cancer many years ago: My mother and my friend Moonyean from Northern Ireland. I have tried to seize every opportunity to keep their memories alive and burning brightly.
I enjoyed my trips this year to Chicago, Atlanta, Boston, New York and San Francisco, but none was as memorable and soul-jazzing as my stay on Tybee Island with friends Laurel and Mike. When I'm feeling blue, all I have to do is hop on my mental jet to Memory Mountain and hike down to our enchanted cottage on the beach. Thank you both for making this one of the highlights of 2007 for me. Kumbaya, my friends.
So what was my best Christmas gift in 2007? Hmmm, hard choice. Maybe the impromptu phone calls from my Big Blue Brothers Chris F. and Terry D. Or maybe the one-hour love-in-chat-fest I had on Christmas Day with my Irish twin Tommy. Or perhaps it was all the love and support I received after Dad's untimely death from friends from St. Mike's parish and Dad's beloved Chi-Angels corps. Or perhaps all the new "old" music I discovered that became prizes for my ears. Or it could be just having my kids at home over the holidays. I don't know, but each gift has been tucked away into this grateful heart.
Finally, I wish all of you a very Happy New Year. Please continue to share your artistic discoveries, your thoughts, your fears and hopes. Expression is therapeutic and dialogue gets people talking and ideas flowing. Be a good child and hug a parent. God bless us, everyone.
blissful
inquisitive
cold
sad
angsty
awake
