I Know, A Lot of People Are Doing This

But are they doing this?




Or this?

Of Thee I Sing!

The first song I learned about America was This Land Is Your Land. I was in a hippie classroom, and the other songs we sang during "rug time" were Old MacDonald, Farmer In The Dell, Yellow Submarine, and Love Potion Number Nine. Of course we all sang Elbow Room from Schoolhouse Rock on Saturday mornings in front of the TV.


I learned America The Beautiful once I started attending CSH. I guess I knew the tune, but during Mass I would read the words in the hymn books tucked into pockets on the pews, and "America The Beautiful" was on the last page. When I grew up, I learned from a friend who worked in the Colorado State Parks that the lyrics were written by a lesbian after she had ridden a wagon up to the summit of Pike's Peak and she had looked over the plain below.


When I was hanging around with ComedySportz, like every other athletic event, the evening always started with the singing of the National Anthem. I don't like this song as much as I like "America The Beautiful" or "My Country 'Tis Of Thee," but I heard on NPR during the Olympics last year that most national anthems include lyrics referring to battle (the French one famously so). What "The Start Spangled Banner" does have as an advantage is its challenge to sing well. When I went to East Bay Harmony for the first time, I sang it to determine that I should sing with the altos.


I'll be singing some song on Tuesday, and after Tuesday. There's a lot to be done and the ideal will never match the reality, but I, like the ant with the rubber tree plant, have hope.

You're never too far, wherever you are

The first movie I ever stood in much a line to see was Star Wars. We went to see it the first time at the Coronet, which was the movie theater in town. It was a huge theater with over a thousand seats and showed first-run, exclusive films. Apparently George Lucas was a big fan of the Coronet and selected it to premier Star Wars in San Francisco - and it played there for seven months. Tickets to the show were $3 for adults, and one could pay an additional fifty cents to sit in the balcony, where smoking was allowed. My mom says that a friend of her remarked, "If I'm gonna spend three bucks on a movie, I might as well pay the extra fifty cents so I can smoke during it!"


Grush took a bunch of us neighborhood kids to see Star Wars again at the North Point near Ghirardelli Square. That was pretty far afield for us, as we only went to that part of town when there were out-of-towners visiting as part of the "tour guide." We were standing in line when a guy with a guitar and two guys with a camera and recording equipment came down the line asking people to sing the "Reach out and touch someone" jingle from AT&T (as it was known in those days, and is again). They got to us and we were soooooo ready we were jumping up and down, "We know it! We know it!"

And we sang:

Reeeeach out
Reach out and touch someone
Reach out
Reach out and just say hi
Da da da de dum
Da dum de de dum to
Reeeeeach out
Reach out and touch someone!

He told us they would not be able to use us in a commercial since we didn't know all the words. I don't think we even knew it had other words until we got to where they were supposed to go. Needless to say we all very disappointed that we had missed being "discovered" outside the movie theater. The next one of us who saw the ad paid very close attention and taught us all the whole song, just in case a guitar and a camera appeared the next time we went to see Star Wars.

The SDS Show

Growing up, "warm fuzzies" meant two things: "Warm fuzzies" were what you got or what you gave or what you felt (or all three) when someone did something nice, like gave you a hug, or helped pick you up when you fell, or rubbed your back when you were sad. "Warm fuzzies" were also what we called one-piece footed pajamas, which all of us kids in the neighborhood had even though we only wore them in the winter and in July when it was cold enough.


My mom's friend Grush has a granddaughter almost exactly my age with whom I share a name. She lived in Utah but would often be in San Francisco for what I remember as weeks at a time in the summer. One morning after a sleepover, she, DeeKay, and I, while sitting in our pajamas, decided to put on a show. We'd noticed that we were each wearing one of the primary colors - I know I was in yellow, but I don't remember which of them was in blue and which in red. We picked a song that was very popular among us kids that year and choreographed our steps. We had color-coordinated hula hoops instead of canes to dance with, though I don't remember why we had three hula hoops at the house; not only were there only two of us living there, but none of the dozen-plus kids in the beighborhood, except maybe Tam, could hula hoop for longer than half a minute.

I'm a little nut of brown
Lying on the cold cold ground
Everybody steps on me
That is why I'm a cracked you see

I'm a nut (cluck, cluck)
I'm a nut (cluck, cluck)

I'm a nut, I'm a nut, I'm a nut (cluck, cluck)

Christmas In San Francisco

Today was Cookiethon! over at Park Place. This is a day in December on which HR and some others have a cookie-baking frenzy and bake a boatload of a bunch of different cookies.

I do not make cookies, but I have mad skillz when it comes to eating cookies. Hardly anything is too rich for me and the only thing that keeps me from eating butter and sugar on bread every day is being a grown-up. I had to leave the house for a little bit when the peanut butter cookies came out of the oven, only because the scent was so overpowering I couldn't breathe.


When I mentioned I had never heard the song "Christmas in San Francisco", Nutmeg and I went on an online search for it. We could only find the lyrics and Nutmeg said the song is so bad she couldn't sing it for me. Then she got the idea to ask KOIT, the local easy-listening radio station, and ask them to play it. KOIT is famous (or infamous) for playing Christmas music from sometime in November through Christmas. She wrote an email asking that they play this song for her friend who'd been raised in the city and had never heard it. Just as Zirpu and I were getting ready to leave, the song actually came on. In these multi-cultural times, I think it's okay to use a Yiddish word to describe a Christmas song, and that word is schmaltzy.


All of my favorite Park Place people showed up, including Gaia and Byronium who had just arrived the night before from two weeks in India, and Pumpkin, whom, I believe, I conjured by wearing socks that don't match (as he often does). A couple of very young girls had a grand time decorating the spritz cookies (sugar cookies from the cookie press). Nutmeg insisted we watch Steven Colbert's Christmas Special and we listened to carols on the iPod/CD player. JR brought home a 7' tree on his bicycle. HR, Cutie G, Byronium and others made cookies. The rest of us ate them and drank coffee and eggnog. It was raining and cold (well, not New Hampshire cold) all day.


It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas.

Amoebas of Doom

Saturday night, Dibu, Rouzi, and I went to hear the Amoebas of Doom play at a bar in San Francisco. The Amoebas include the Trained Killer (in bleach-blond wig) and sing a bunch of late 70s and 80s songs, with a few more recent mixed in. Kind of like listening to KFOG about ten years ago, actually.


I used to say that the Amoebas sang "classic rock" but I started paying attention to what they were playing, and the songs were ones on the radio when I was in high school. That's not classic rock - that's the soundtrack of my adolescence. So besides the Amoebas being my friends, I always have fun at their gigs - I like all the songs they play, and they play them well.


When they played "Should I Stay or Should I Go?" by The Clash, of course I started to pogo. That's what we did at my high school - jump up and down bouncing our heads on the slow parts, and on the fast parts, spin and stomp in place. The place was mostly filled with people who were very young when that song came out, and Rouzi and Dibu don't pogo, I guess. So I was on my own, but when the music moves ya. . .


I snapped something in my neck because I was hurting by the time I got home. I figured that heat would help - it didn't. Yesterday my left shoulder and neck were hurting, and dipping my head forward (like to read small print on a monitor screen, for example) sent shooting pain down my back.


This afternoon I went to the chiropractor and told him I'd hurt myself pogo-ing. He looked at me blankly, so I said, "C'mon, you're not that much older than I am, you must know how to pogo!" He shook his head, so I described it to him.


It turns out that the chiro is a big Prince fan, and has been listening to Prince's records since the first one came out in 1978. He said he'd just purchased the DVD of Purple Rain to watch with his kids. Then he told me the story of when his niece got married a few years ago, she had him called up on to the dance floor. She explained that she remembered dancing The Bird with her uncle, and had him lead the guests in the dance. The chiro used to play basketball in college and is over six feet tall; with his long arms, it must have been quite the spectacle.


My pogo-ing days may be over, but not hearing the Amoebas!

Dayenu!

Definition: It is enough for us. . .


It is Passover, the springtime feast of thanks at which the story of God bringing the Jews out of slavery in Egypt is told. Because telling myself stories is how I make sense of the world, how, I think, a lot of people - and peoples - make sense of the world, this ritual connects me to others regardless of my personal beliefs, because I allow it to do so.


I did not organize attending a Seder this year. I was a little sad about this, though to be honest, this last week was so busy that I was very happy to not have to go anywhere this weekend (other than work, which was bad enough). This afternoon, I turned on the radio just as the intermission for A Prairie Home Companion was ending, and after reading the audience's greetings, Garrison Keillor had his musical guests go into a couple of Passover songs. The first one was a devotional song listing God's attributes alphabetically (much shorter than I expected, though the Hebrew alphabet has 22 letters). The second one was Dayenu, a clap-along rendition led by the twelve-piece swing band Kustbandet. Hearing that song made me so happy that it is enough Passover for me this year.

Who's The Song About?

Last night Zirpu and I went to see Miz Jinkins sing. It's the first time she's sung in public since before the baby came and since we were invited, we went to support her return to the rock 'n' roll lifestyle (though Zirpu pointed out that it's really more like the folkie lifestyle). The last song she sang was about a time in her life when she was "a shadow of herself" and was resistant to falling in love. In the chorus she tells Love to go away, she "can't play with you." I found myself wondering if the song was about the period during which she was falling in love with her husband, whom I've known much longer than I've known Miz Jinkins.


I've written just one song, though I wrote a lot of poetry, some of it not half-bad, in writing classes in college. The Killer Lady and I were at the Cabin before Cabinstock in 1996 sitting on the rock looking over Lake Creek. I don't remember if we were talking or just reclining in the sun quietly, but I must have gotten teary about Phil not being there with us (this was just four years after he'd died, and that pain still freshens when I'm at the Cabin without him). The Killer Lady went inside and brought us both whiskey and waters in coffee mugs. I don't drink whiskey but somehow it fit the occasion. I sipped, and this came out as a song about people I knew. Later Kid Paully added the music notations.

Whiskey In The Afternoon

Drinkin' whiskey in the afternoon
Sittin' on a rock overlooking the river
Drinkin' whiskey in the afternoon
Watchin' clouds, thinkin' 'bout old lovers

Time moves differently in Colorado
And the all seem to be here at once
There's people I haven't seen before
Maybe they'll be lovers in a few years more

I'm sittin' here thinkin' 'bout a younger me
And all the things I did right and wrong
Together the right length of time and
The times I left early or stayed too long

Drinkin' whiskey in the afternoon
Sittin' on a rock overlooking the river
Drinkin' whiskey in the afternoon
Watchin' clouds, thinkin' 'bout old lovers

The river rushes them somewhere
Prob'ly down to the Colorado River
Carrying them on to other lives and lovers
Columbines and the aspens wave goodbye

But you know they didn't need to hurry
Now I'm out on this rock all alone
I'm drinkin' whiskey in the afternoon
Watchin' clouds, thinkin' 'bout old lovers

Drinkin' whiskey in the afternoon
Sittin' on a rock overlooking the river
Drinkin' whiskey in the afternoon
Watchin' clouds, thinkin' 'bout old lovers

Things That Make Me Happy

Tea wrote a "happiness is" list yesterday and I didn't run with it myself, though I think it's a good idea. In fact, I think it's a particularly good idea since I'm feeling very cranky recently as I'm in the midst of sixth-grade type insecurity, dealing with finding support for the Bi Women's Group, and the fifth week of no heat in the house. I was feeling too cranky to think of anything that makes me happy, let alone twenty-five things that make me happy, but I read the other people's happy things and I'm feeling inspired - and maybe even slightly happier.

Oh, I see that some people just went to ten. Right on! I may add more later but this is the list for now:


Here goes, in no particular order:

Weight training
Dancing the foxtrot
The soundtrack of Singing In The Rain
Being at The Cabin
Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band
Bread and butter
Snuggling
Hanging out with my sister-in-law
Laughing (including other people laughing when I'm not)
The first two minutes after getting into bed
The Blues Brothers
Singing
KFOG's Ten At Ten radio show
Band-Aids (the new waterproof ones are soooooo cool!)
Talking with friends about things that matter to me

Seven Weird Things About Your PAL

On this, the last day of NaBloPoMo, I shall respond to Boegle's tag on this meme (her seven weird things are here). This way I don't (I think) have to tag anyone else. The rules are to link back to the person who tagged you (she tagged me in the Comments section on Monday), tag seven random people, and write about seven weird things about yourself.


Because I couldn't respond right away I've had a bit to think about this. I think "unusual" is a better word than "weird", certainly less loaded. Here goes:


1) I'm bisexual. That's definitely in the unusual-rather-than-weird category. I don't think being bisexual is weird, it's just the way things are. But I recognize that other people seem to think it's a little weird (and I'm not talking about wide-stance Republicans here), and it's a good, sensationalized way to start the list. The rest of the list is in no particular order.


2) Until recently, I could recite (not sing) all of the words on Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band in order. This is my Desert Island Disc, the record with which I learned how to use a record player, and my instant cheer-up solution.


3) I have never eaten a peanut butter sandwich, but that's because I'm allergic. I have, however, made one. I had a camper who didn't bring a lunch when I was working at the JCC day camp in 1986. I actually made four tiny PB&Js because the only bread we had was Melba toast. I remember it as a singularly unpleasant experience because of the scent, which I find overpowering.


4) I never thought I would marry, up until a couple of months before I asked Zirpu to marry me. In a life marked by so much risk-avoidance and indecision masquerading as decision, marrying him was so right it was compelling and I had to ask. I didn't even shack up with him before asking, and we got married when I'd known him less than two years.


5) I was on TV when I was nine or so (I still had the braid, so I was no more than ten). It was a show on cable TV called "Rainy Days," an educational show for kids a little older than the audience for The Electric Company. I talked to the host (maybe it was a talk show targeting what are now known as "tweens") about my then-current favorite book, The Phantom Tollbooth, which I have given to several children in the last 10 years.

This happened before VCRs came along so I never saw my interview. I don't know if I caused a Fonzie effect.


6) I'm a ballroom dancer. If you're wondering, my favorite dances are rumba and foxtrot. My least favorite are tango (American and Argentine) and waltz, though I would watch the latter anytime.


7) I hate white underwear. I have been known to rant about how difficult it is to buy packs of undies that don't include white ones. I have particular hatred for Tighty (or Tidy?) Whities, and have stopped dating a couple men once I learned of their preference for them.


and. . .Because none of the above are particularly strange, except maybe the "reciting a rock album" thing:


8) I can put my toes in my mouth even though I have never done yoga. I still do it sometimes.

An 80's Night

Last night I went to AsiaSF for a Halloween party hosted by No's company, Perfect Party Plans. The Killer Lady, MA, and a couple other people met me there. Wearing suits and Christmas presents in front of their hips, No and Psychopat performed their version of a SNL spoof of Justin Timberlake (to which I was going to link, but NBC demanded it be deleted so it's gone), which was totally hilarious, and there was also a performance by one of the Ladies of Asia.


When I got there the DJs were spinning '70's tunes. I met up with Macho, and No and Psycopat were working and introduced me to a few people, and then another couple guys I know came in. Later the DJs were playing '80's music: Michael Jackson, Madonna, Bruce Springsteen. When they played "Billie Jean" everyone sang it at the top of their lungs and Macho and I busted out our Michael moves.


Several weeks I graduated from high school, I was in this club back when it was called The Underground. You didn't have to produce any ID to get in, though it was not an all-ages club. I was there because friends of mine were doing a light show. I don't remember if they served alcohol to the kids there (though they probably were; amazingly enough, The Underground wasn't closed by the SFPD for liquor license violations until couple years later). I recognized one of the guys in this crowd of teenagers because we had known each other in elementary school. It turned out that half the senior class at MacAteer High School was there that night. The DJ played The Roof Is On Fire and as loud as the music was, Mack's senior class was louder.

When I Knew I Had To Face Another Day

I snapped on the radio as I left the gym this morning and found myself listening to Prairie Home Companion today (it was yesterday's broadcast). A woman was singing with Garrison, and the woman turned out to be Carole King. When they finished singing that song, Garrison offered to sing the next one with her, but, she said that as it was "(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman" that it would be better if Jerlyn Steele sang it with her.


Whenever I hear this song I think of Phil's best friend growing up. During our freshman year in Tacoma, A was attending a boarding school in New Jersey, and my relationship with A started as little notes on the bottom of Phil's letters , such as "PS: Samatakah says to say 'hi.'" Eventually I was writing my own "clever" notes under Phil's signature, and as the year went on we started mailing all kinds of stuff to A, like bottle labels and flyers for campus events.


(Toward the end of the academic year, Phil sent him an unhusked coconut by writing his address right on the coconut. A husked it and sent it back the same way).


As fall term went on A and I wrote longer messages to each other in Phil's letters. Over winter break A sent a Christmas card with a letter directly to me at home and we exchanged a lot of letters in January and February. In future years, I understood that February was my winter doldrums period, but during my first winter in the northwest I didn't know that, and just felt lousy, irritated and isolated. One night, I sat on my bunk bed and wrote the lyrics to "A Natural Woman" down so I could send them to A. I kept hitting "stop" on my cassette player between lines to make sure I had them all down correctly. I'm sure I felt like he was the only one I could "really talk to" because he wasn't in the midst of my college life, and that made me feel like I could be my "real self" with him. Writing him that letter did make me feel better.


I met A only one time, when he came to the Bay Area to scout colleges in the early summer. That was twenty years ago... I just realized that.

Counting, Counting

Most of the time when I am in the car I listen to talking radio (read: NPR) but do occasionally listen to music. And now I'm noticing that I'm counting it.


ONE, two, three, ONE, two, three, hey this is a waltz


ONE, two, three, four, and ONE, two, three, four, and wow a cha cha


Slow, quick, quick, slow this song is a rumba


Little, little, big, do they know this is a bolero?


It might be time to go back to the dance studio.

A San Francisco Institution

Last night, because my cousin is in town from Rhode Island, Mom, KT, No, and another couple (for whom I have to make up nicknames) went to see Beach Blanket Babylon. This satirical musical revue centers on Snow White's search for her prince. She starts out in San Francisco and travels the world, only to find the prince back at home after all. We had the whole experience, eating at Capp's Corner before the show. Capp's, also a San Francisco institution and now closely associated with BBB, caters to the Club Fugazi crowd and the place suddenly emptied out at 730.


The first time I saw this show I was about eleven. We had a running gag in our family that comes from BBB. There used to be a part in the show when Snow White is crying about not finding her prince "anywhere" and the, well, sort of fairy godmother character looked at her and said, "Lighten up, Snow." Mom used to say this to me a lot since I tended to be rather serious about everything. It was years before I caught the pun, and I love puns.


All of the music is familiar, some of it rewritten, and there are sly and not so sly jokes in the references to pop culture and celebrities. Nancy Pelosi appears in leather pants singing "Leader of the House" with Barbara Boxer and Dianne Feinstein singing backup. I'd expect that it woudln't be totally up to date, but Michael Jackson and N'Sync appear, and Elvis has been a constant in the show since the beginning and now he's been dead (or not) for thirty years. Barbara Streisand has again retreated to her hermitage, and the Village People are way in the past. Madonna appears, but in her late-80s pointy-breast pink Merry Widow outfit. Surprisingly, Gavin Newsom didn't show up... I was sure he would, up to the end. The most topical joke was about foot tapping in airport bathrooms, but some jokes went way back: Dick Cheney appears with a shotgun, Michael Jackson with a baby, and Tina Turner with a hugely tall wig.


And that's what I saw last night. I enjoyed the show but the references are getting way out of date. Maybe it's because of the Boomers that so many of the references are from the 1980s. I noticed that now a sign appears above each new celebrity spoof, and one of the things I used to like was recognizing everyone's BBB alter-ego (much harder when I was a kid and only read Herb Caen's column). The show's not as chauvinistic about San Francisco as it used to be, either, though


Seeing it over so many years it's interesting to notice how Snow White's character has changed. I remember reading an interview, years ago, with the woman who played SW at that time. She said that the hardest thing about playing the role wasn't doing so many shows a week, but having to speak in falsetto for 90 minutes in a row. Now Snow White busts out her Big Voice, and for me, it's like seeing someone all grown up. I imagine the change is surprising if you're seeing for the first time, but after so many years of hearing falsetto SW, I get an especial kick out of it.


Well, really, Beach Blanket Babylon is all about the hats.

Our Friends!

Mom gave me this clipping today. It's from the college newspaper, in a little blurb about Anzanga, a marimba ensemble, playing on campus. I sent it to her almost (gasp!) eighteen years ago. Anzanga played on campus often, and I still have the cassette ("Anzanga") I purchased at this show, though I haven't listened to it since I've been without a tape player for some time.


It's a very weird picture of me, and I'm sure the friend in the photo with me would think it was a strange one of her too.

Ukuleles

I go many years without thinkong much about ukuleles and suddenly I'm hearing or seeing them everywhere.

First of all, Saipan Writer posts a video of uke master Jake Shimabukuru playing "The Star Spangled Banner" for the Fourth of July and Liberation Day. It's worthy of Jimi Hendrix. Then Shimabukuru appears on KFOG's Morning Show on the 7th and plays "While My Guitar Gently Weeps." I know who he is because of a blog! And on Saturday, the Killer Lady, Mah, and I go to the British Invasion Hoot and Ukulele Ray is there selling his boxaleles.

Beatles, yay!

When Mah, The Killer Lady, and I went out Saturday night it was really fun to learn that Mah is also a big Beatles fan! We sang all the songs the Hoot performers played, ans compared the songs we don't like. Neither of us like Run For Your Life and believe that Girl and This Boy are two of the most boring songs in the book. I must admit that I've never warmed up to Come Together, either, though the KL and Mah both like it. I like the lyrics, but not the song.


I used to be a real Beatles geek: In tenth grade, I wrote a fifteen page paper on the Beatles for my English class, titled "It Was Twenty Years Ago Today." Because it was the 20th anniversary of the Beatles' first trip to the US, there were tons of reference materials available, and my paper was seven pages longer than the assignment required. When I was a sophomore in college, I listened to the Beatles so often that my housemates stopped asking me to choose the records. I still know a lot about the Beatles, so it must be true that the stuff you learned while you were writing papers sticks in your head (I still know how chlorophyll works, too). I probably still am a real Beatles geek, it just doesn't show so much now that I'm addicted to NPR.


When we were kids, we learned how to use a record player with three records: A song about Muhammad Ali, Rhinestone Cowboy, and Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band. I remember most of the words from the first two records, which were singles, and every word, in order, on Sgt. Pepper's. Why is it so much easier to memorize a song, not to mention an album, than a poem?


I thought I would be a John, but it seems I am a Paul. I always liked George best, anyway. His songs are so strange, and he was so handsome in the photos on Sgt. Pepper's.

When you've seen beyond yourself
Then you may find
Peace of mind
Is waiting there

And the time will come
When you see we're all one
And life flows on
Within you and without you

A Summer Evening

I learned that Jerry Garcia died while I was at work one morning at Coffee People in Portland. One of my customers came in with the newspaper and over the whine of the milk steamer read the relevant paragraph to me. I didn't know much about Garcia's personal life at the time, though I knew he'd been ill - I saw him play in Golden Gate Park shortly after he came out of the diabetic coma in 1986. When you don't know much about someone famous, he or she can be larger than life, and that's how I felt about Jerry, like he was the heart of a band that had supplied some of my life's soundtrack (and no, I wasn't a Deadhead; given a choice, I'd take the Beatles anytime).


That evening, or maybe the next one, a radio station hosted a memorial on the plaza outside the Rose Garden Arena, which was new at the time. I didn't know anyone who would be interested in attending with me and I was getting used to doing things alone. I was carrying a sweater, but the plaza was warm, filled with bodies and burning candles, on that summer night. The radio station was playing on big speakers at the front of the crowd, but due to noise ordinances, couldn't really pour on the volume, so the deejays asked folks to bring their boom boxes and there were small stereos (and not so small) all over the place. Signs and drawings were propped up all over, against walls, trash bins, and posts. The age range was, unsurprisingly, very wide.


At one point toward the end, Ripple was playing:

Reach out your hand if your cup be empty,
If your cup is full may it be again.
Let it be known there is a fountain
That was not made by the hands of men.

There is a road, no simple highway,
Between the dawn and the dark of night.
And if you go, no one may follow,
That path is for your steps alone.

I looked over my shoulder and saw a boy who looked to be about fifteen years old, his hands cupped and held forward and up from his body. He had long straight blond hair, was wearing a dirty white t-shirt. His eyes were closed and he looked sad, prayerful, as if he was both holding his cup to be refilled and also as if he had just let a bird fly from him.


(After hearing Ken Kesey give four different interpretations for Sometimes A Great Notion, I tend to be skeptical about annotations and literary interpretation, but this annotated "Ripple" is interesting.)


When the memorial was over and people were starting to disperse, I wasn't ready to go home, but as I was alone, I didn't know where I could go, either. I was walking as slowly as possible back to my car when I bumped into someone I had worked with when I was subbing around various Coffee People shops, before I became a regular at my shop. He looked like I felt, and he invited me to his house.


He had a large backyard that was bigger than the house. We sat outside, each with a bottle of beer, and he had his guitar. Together we sang "Sweet Melissa," a song I didn't know I knew until that evening. Night had come, but it was still as warm as the daytime. The stars shone through the city's light, and the crickets chirped. It seemed that time was slowed down, and this man I didn't know very well and I were connected by the death of someone neither of us knew but with whom we also felt connected.

Quiet Day

Zirpu left for work before I was really awake this morning. He doesn't usually have to work on Saturdays, but they had a colo move scheduled this weekend so after a week away I still am not seeing him.


I woke up after thirteen hours of sleep and had bird-in-the-nest for breakfast, along with some bacon Zirpu purchased while I was gone (he also purchased a ten pound bag of beans for which I am still waiting a reasonable explanation). I did laundry, caught up on the episodes of As Time Goes By I missed, read my book, and set up the tents we took to Colorado so they could dry.



The last time I drove to Cabinstock with The Killer Lady we drank so much "coffee with" that when I got home I had to purchase some Irish cream-flavored creamer. We ran out of Bailey's early in the trip, and this time I'm waiting for the CD by Johnny Half-Song's band to arrive so I can listen to him anytime.


It seemed very very quiet. I realized that it seemed quiet because I've been surrounded by music and people since midday last Thursday, and even alone in my tent the river was plenty loud.

Almost Heaven

Friday, July 20

The Killer Lady and I drove straight through and arrived about 23 hours after we left - including stops for dinner in Placerville yesterday, breakfast this morning in Grand Junction, and driving around in circles in Aspen to get to the grocery store.


Being on a road trip reminds me so much of all the other road trips I've been on. I've never done this route before, through Nevada. The Killer Lady (who has incredible endurance and drove the entire way with only a 40-minute nap at a rest stop around 730 this morning) and I got a big kick out of the signs for Wendover, that told us how far away it was every seven to ten miles. Wendover straddles the NV/UT border, and boy was that obvious: We went through after midnight and half the town was bright with Las Vegas neon and the other half was black.


Our favorite sign was the one that warned us, "Stay Alert! Lane Shifts Ahead" - only because we'd been on the road for hours and were not being warned to stay alert because we were in a car. Heading out of Aspen and over Independence Pass the signs told us to "Avoid Broken Windshields. Obey Speed Speed Limits." I guess punishment is terrible and swift in the Rockies.



Saturday, July 21

I don't know if it is exhaustion or just "is" but it's been tough so far, being here, thinking about Phil. Both The Killer Lady and I pretty much arrived in tears with the pain of wishing Phil would just walk in the door and say, as he used to, "How's it hanging?" The fifteenth anniversary is bothering The KL as much as it is bothering me. We keep looking at each other and asking, "How is that possible?" In 1992 I knew that someday this day would come. I'm still so sad about his being gone, and I'm surprised in a way that I still miss him so much.

Here is a test to find whether your mission on earth is finished: If you're alive, it isn't.

~ Richard Bach, Illusions.

Mrs. P wrote in an email that Cabinstock is a great legacy Phil left us. It's started me thinking that maybe his mission on earth was to organize this annual event that has created sort of a community. We wouldn't have met each other any other way, let alone remained friends for so many years, without Cabinstock.


Sunday, July 22

I suggested that we rewrite "When I'm Sixty-Four" so it's about doing Cabinstock in the future (I'll be 64 in September of 2032!). The Killer Lady and I helped, but Spudwhip really ran with it. I have the chord notations but I'm not going to include them because I know they won't format correctly. Y'all know the tune, anyway.

Note: There are a few inside stories, but the only one I'm going to comment on is the dry compost toilet, which requires some good use of the Kegel and suchlike muscles.

"When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now

Will you still invite me to the Cabinstock?

Tunes and hooch still served on the rock?

If we play on till quarter of three, will you scream for more?

Will you play for free here, still be a tree here, when we're 64?


You'll be older too

And if you say the word, I could tent with you.


I could be handy, mending a tube

When your amp is gone

You could drink tequila by the fireside

Monday morning, whimper and hide.

Doing a keg lap, smoking some weed, who could ask for more?

Split pee and poop here, fall off the stoop here, when we're 64.

Every summer we will storm the Cabin by the river with a keg of beer

Three vacation days...

Guitar on your knee

Singin' through the haze

Send me a flyer, drop me a line, at least by May or June

Indicate precisely when the dates will be

Yours sincerely, Mister Bony.

Scrape up the money, scrape up the time, scrape me off the floor

Huevos and beans here, measure your penes here, when we're 64.

Drown in the creek here, still be a freak here, when we're 64.

Soak up the scene here, play key of Gene here, when we're 64!"

Monday, July 23

The music starts one piece at a time and adds up. We have lots of guitars this year, a washtub bass, an electric bass, harmonicas in the major keys, a fiddle, and a drum kit. Lots of voices, of course, including mine.
















The music is hella loud in the Cabin. We've been in and out because of rain. I asked SRV Rick if the music is louder than in years past, but he said no. Guess it's my old ears!

This photo is from the first night when most people - and the PA system - hadn't arrived yet. Kid Paully and SRV Rick are picking up where they left off last time.




Tuesday, July 24

I am really in touch with the fear-is-part-of-anger thing today. Spudwhip and The Killer Lady crossed the river and on the way back, The KL lost her nerve and was pulled downstream by the current. Spudwhip grabbed her, but then he started down the river too, and Shawnee, who'd gone with them into the water (but not across the stream), lost his balance when he grabbed Spudwhip and the three of them headed downstream.


The KL went down the river once before, in 1995, when she lost her balance, and I was just filled with dread about their crossing back. I have this sense of everyone else positioning themselves along the rocks in various places, as if we all expected someone to head downstream. It was like we were Team River and were taking our places. Johnny Half-Song and I stood near the confluence of the river and the creek, and when I saw them coming toward me reached out for the three of them. For less than a second all five of us thought they were going to make it, but they didn't. Johnny and I didn't want to pull too hard because we didn't want to go in the river also. Shawnee said he saw how quickly I was moving; I don't remember moving at all. I didn't realize I was wet up the chest until I dashed in the Cabin to get towels and heard my sandals squelching on the carpet.


Shawnee and The KL came up against the first big rock and were able to climb out; Spudwhip went around to the next one and was also safe. All's well that ends well but I was furious. I had to hide on the next-door property to sob for two minutes to get it out of my system. The KL was abashed, and quietly took the lecture the OG gave her. Shawnee was pretty calm, smoking a cigarette afterwards - he said he figured that they would get out. Spudwhip was jacked up on adrenaline and I just wanted to smack him. I felt like he didn't really understand that the OG and I were angry that he put himself and The KL in danger, even though he apologized for scaring me.


Spudwhip brings the mama out in me.


Wednesday, July 25

Yesterday was a long day. It felt like several days in one, in fact. The morning was full of people packing up their vehicles and leaving, and there was music. Johnny Half-Song, Marko, and Spudwhip played some of Johnny's original tunes until some kayakers appeared. All the times I've been to the Cabin, this is the first time I've seen kayakers. Marko says this stretch of the river is famous for kayaking and the Cabin is called "the crooked cabin" in kayaking guidebooks.


We had the swimming in the river incident, and more music. The OG and Shawnee played some CSN, and the OG taught me the secret parts of "Teach Your Children."
After dinner those of us who hadn't left had a long talk and Marko played his fiddle in accompaniment to the OG's guitar and voice. When I went back to my tent, I was exhausted.


Today has been very low key, as Marko, the OG, Shawnee, and BJ were gone by early afternoon. The KL and I took down our tents very quickly, thinking it was going to rain, but so far it hasn't. Looks grey and gloomy, but we're still at the Cabin and The KL has built a nice fire.


Thursday, July 26

I'm reading Three Cups of Tea. It's about a former ER nurse/mountain climber who builds schools all the non-controlled, high-altitude parts of Pakistan. Each chapter has an epigraph, and I adapted this one from "The Warrior Song of King Gesar":

This beautiful and splendid land
With snow-covered rock mountains, cold-crystal streams,
Deep forests of aspen, pine, and spruce,
Is as much my body as what you see before you here.
I cannot be separated from this or from you.
Our many hearts have only a single beat.