Scene from the street on a rainy Wednesday morning.

I had to reproduce it for you in a sketch, because traffic wouldn't permit an actual picture. How sweet and sad, the abandoned little televisions consoling each other on a dreary day.

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Our Valentines dateness actually took place last Thursday. James and I ventured over to the Southgate House in Kentucky to see the Sea and Cake.

Here is my blobby cell phone representation of the beauty of the Sea and Cake. Apologies in advance:



We sat on the back corner of the balcony. The railing in front of us lined our view of the stage. We shared a Three Philosophers cherry lambic and watched the smoke curl around the room. I felt at home. Tears did not well up in my eyes with recognition of particular songs (which is usually bound to happen with any show that I've waited this long to see). Instead, I closed my eyes. I reveled in the repetition of Sam Prekop's vocals, the intricate drums, my god the intricate drums....the drummer was incredible. I can tell you that I hardly understood a word of what Sam was singing, my ears were waiting for what John McEntire would do next.

*****************************************************************

MARK YOUR CALENDARS, KIDS -
(well, you kids that live in Cincinnati)

February 23, 2009
Juana Molina @ the Southgate House

March 4, 2009
The Annuals @ the Southgate House

March 6-8, 2009
Bockfest!

March 26, 2009
The High Strung @ the Comet

Cincinnati Shortmix: CAC - Tara Donovan Exhibit

Lovetown - The Glands
Fire - Jason Collett
Chasing After Deer - Midlake
Corpus Christi Carol (for Roy) - Jeff Buckley
Songs Without Words (Opus 19 No 2)- Paul McCandles
Circles - Shortwave Radio
Teenage Phantasm - LYLAS
The Summer - Yo La Tengo
When It Begins - Broken Social Scene presents Kevin Drew


que: MUSIC


Tara Donovan's Exhibit at the Contemporary Arts Center:













The exhibit will continue through May 3, 2009

Also note: Next weekend
Saturday, February 21, 4pm & Sunday, February 22, 12:30pm

Minimalist musical performance in response to the materials and forms of Tara Donovan. Visit the CAC on Saturday for a classical guitar and cello duet between local musicians Isaac Hand & Ethan Philbrick and then again on Sunday with a performance by the Flux Capacitors.

Snow Day Infinity

Wing Finger

What was once the only thing
Has transformed into everything
Even you...
Even you...

I sat in the dimly lit room without windows. I stared at the milk colored walls, the paper covered table, the plainly labeled boxes of medical supplies. The young resident neurologist sniffed and sighed and asked me another question. I stuttered my thoughts through tired lips, twisting words, reasoning, reciting...this is what happens. Every two seconds I thought of something else to tell him. Half of those things never got told. They didn't really matter. What mattered was the image on his computer screen. My spine, discs angular and beautiful, a column of uneven lines, a white and dark pattern. The spinal cord itself was stained, small splotches, patches, dark little places in the midst of gleaming bright white. The resident flipped through images, the successive MRI's of my spine and then of my brain. The brain was completely clear, but for a few older lesions. I have a very pretty brain.

Walking
We are growing at the speed of light
Every single piece is synchronised
Even you...
Even you...

I've been waiting for the results of a certain test. Dr. Melanson ordered the test after putting together all of my symptoms at our first appointment a few weeks ago. She thought that there was a possibility that I could have Devic's Syndrome. With the myelitis and optical neuritis, it's understandable.

I started researching Devic's in the meantime, reading everything I could, throwing my energy into this new idea. The trouble is that it's not an easier disease....it's actually much worse than MS, with fewer treatments and no preventative therapies at all. I think that I just became so enveloped by the thought of it because it was something different. Something other than what I've been living with for so long. The results of the test came back negative. This is a wonderful thing, that I just have plain old MS. Plain old MS. I should be joyous that I do not have some degenerative disease that most definitely ends in blindness... But that evening after I found out the results, as I stood in the kitchen making supper, I became completely paralyzed with disappointment and frustration. It seems so silly now. It seems ridiculous. But I just wanted a different answer. I wanted there to be a fluke, Dr. Melanson walking in and saying, "You really don't have any of this. You're just a beautifully dramatic hypochondriac."

Teradactyls, abandoned pianos, your stepdad's bongo drums, the snails that live inside aquariums

Doo-doo-doo-doo...

What was once the only thing
Has transformed into everything
Even you...

- lyrics from Wing Finger by Chad Vangaalen from the album Skelliconnection

shortworkday shortmix

Charlyn, Angel of Kensington - Jason Collett
Page's Instrumental - Hope For Agoldensummer
Night and Day - Billie Holiday
Wing Finger - Chad VanGaalen
Lost Verses - Sun Kil Moon
Foothills of my Mind - John Vanderslice
Blame it on the Tetons - Modest Mouse
Teree La Sebin - Amadou & Mariam

Wednesday Afternoon Adventure

He stood, fingers inches away from dangling cigarette, cigarette dangling from open lips, hanging jaw, eyes wide, eye brows raised, breath floating up through the cold air. He stood staring at me. Me - Flowing red leather jacket, jeans, lovely woven cap, new snowboots, all of me jumped up and disappeared into the black Rumpke recycling dumpster. Then I popped up, holding the top flap covering of said dumpster with my head as I dug through stacks of newspapers, bags of cans and bottles, boxes, boxes, and more boxes. Moments later I emerged victorious, holding the side of the dumpster for balance with one gloved hand and thrusting my tiny white United Healthcare Insurance Card into the air with the other. My audience stood staring still, across the parking lot. They stood and said not a word, heads turned and tilted - frozen in the moment. They did not surround me with thunderous applause carrying me back to my Honda Civic on their shoulders. No, I crawled out on my own, placed my prodigal card in my wallet. And then I drove away.

Album of the Day:

Cellar Door by John Vanderslice

Papa Guac - Birthday of the Big Dog

Birthday salute to the man who introduced me to the Beatles, Otis Redding, Burt Bachrach, Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole, Louis Armstrong, Chicago, The Doobie Brothers, The Eagles, America (the Band), Paul Revere and the Raiders, The Letterman, The Beach Boys, The Mamas and the Papas, Antonio Carlos Jobim, John Williams, Henry Mancini, Bert Kampfert, Paul Mauriet, Bud Shank, Chuck mangione, Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass, Herbie Mann, Dionne Warwick, Stevie Wonder, Carla Thomas, James Brown, The Temptations, the Four Tops, Wilson Pickett, The Irish Tenors, The Boston Pops, Mannheim Steamroller, the Canadian Brass, The Brothers Cazimero, Krispy Kreme Donuts, White Castle, Steak 'n' Shake French Fries, Ollie's Barbecue, Colby-jack cheese, German Chocolate Cake, Pancakes, Crackerjacks, Beernuts, Coca Cola, Abraham Lincoln, Mark Twain, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Amos Bronson Alcott, Emily Dickinson, L.M. Montgomery, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Ozzie Smith, Bear Bryant, Jesse James, The Pony Express, Buffalo Bill Cody, Billy the Kid, The Grand Canyon, Old Faithful, the Sears Tower, Wall Drugstore, Star Wars, E.T., Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Lawrence of Arabia, Amadeus, The Pink Panther, Singing in the Rain, The Music Man, The Mighty Wurlitzer, The Fox Theatre, The Alabama Theatre, New Salem, St. Louis, the majority of the 50 States, part of Canada, and so much more....

A recipe for you Dad - On your 61st Birthday

Guacamole - from Deborah Madison's Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone

1/3 cup finely diced white onion or scallion, including some of the greens
1/4 cup chopped cilantro
2 medium tomatoes, seeded and finely diced
1 to 2 serrano chiles, finely diced
Salt
3 large avocados, preferably Haas
Juice of 1 or 2 limes

Set aside a few tablespoons of the onion, cilantro, and tomato for garnish. Grind or chop the remaining onion, cilantro, and chile with 1/2 teaspoon of salt to make a rough paste. Peel and mash the avocado with a fork. Add the onion mixture and tomatoes and seanson with lime juice and salt to taste.

If you're not serving the guac right away, press a piece of plastic wrap directly on the surface to keep it from browning. To serve, heap the guacamole into a bowl and garnish with reserved onion, cilantro, and tomato.

NMO

She had me walk in a line, toe to heel, toe to heel. I had to lift up my pant legs, they were so wide. It was the same as I tiptoed across the room and walked only upon my heels. My huge pants just seemed to get in the way. James later said that it looked really funny, but it got the job done. I sat through many other tests today, simple ones, touching my finger to my nose with my eyes closed, pushing my legs and arms against the doctor's strong grip. She is my new neurologist, a specialist at the Waddell Center at the University of Cincinnati Hospital. The interview today was really encouraging. She asked me several questions that none of my other doctors had ever asked me before and ordered some tests (bloodwork) that I had never heard of. We'll schedule the new round of MRI's next week. Maybe Dr. Melanson will be able to tell me something new. Maybe she will just help James and I manage my symptoms so that I can have a more comfortable life. Either way, I'm very happy and excited about the future.

Album of the day:

You Forgot It In People - Broken Social Scene

Wednesday Morning

Snow falling. A slight billowing sheen twisting around me as I ventured out to the car this morning. I clutched my lunch, my purse, my snow boots to my chest. There was not enough snow to warrant the actual use of boots. It was nothing more than a scene of winter beauty. An impression of winter. Maybe as the day progresses it will become something more substantial. I would love that.

*********************

Soundtrack for today:

April - Sun Kil Moon

The Soup Mix - The Birthday of the Kirsten - Lady

My friend Kirsten is celebrating her 30th birthday today.


She's actually not a puppet, but a real girl. This is just Lil' Kirsten (or Lil' Keeks), her birthday fingerpuppet (which she will receive on Saturday. Hurrah!)

In honor of this momentous occasion, I give you the Soup mix, which is actually one of my favorite mixes that James ever made for me. It will be coupled with our new favorite soup, a spinach and quinoa bit of loveliness which is a variation of a soup featured in the January Vegetarian Times.


The Soup Mix

Oceanside - Akron/Family
Dragonfly - Low
Basin Street Blues - Miles Davis
Who Needs Forever? Astrud Gilberto
Stars and Sons - Broken Social Scene
The Song is You - Charlie Parker
But Not For Me - Chet Baker
Poughkeepsie - Over the Rhine
Dylan Part II - Akron/Family
Tears - Django Reinhardt
In A Sentimental Mood - Duke Ellington & John Coltrane
Corcovado (Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars) - Astrud Gilberto
When It Hits My Blood - John Vanderslice
What I Don't Believe - The Minus 5
Fruit Tree - Nick Drake
Another Song For a Blue Guitar - Red House Painters

Spinach and Quinoa Soup

1 Tbs olive oil or 1 Tbs butter
1 1/2 medium sweet onion diced
3 cups vegetable broth
1/2 tsp sea salt
3/4 cup quinoa, rinsed
1 tomato chopped
1 14.5-oz can diced tomatos with basil, garlic, and oregano
2 large handfuls of spinach
1 small handful of parsley (optional)

Heat olive oil or butter in large saucepan over medium heat. Add onion and saute until translucent. Stir in broth, salt, and 4 cups water. Bring to a boil. Add quinoa, reduce heat to medium low. Cover and simmer 15 minutes.

Stir in tomatoes and spinach leaves (and parsley) simmer 5 minutes, uncovered, until spinach and quinoa are tender. Season with pepper if desired. Serve immediately.

Birthday Wishes to my High School (Dream) Boyfriend

Hope For Agoldensummer @ Workplay May 2008

The Heartless Bastards @ the Northside Tavern - Dec 2008

The Heartless Bastards @ the Northside Tavern



Halfway through the show, our friend Dietrik yells "Erica (the lead singer) I want to have your babies!!!!" Doesn't matter that we're standing right in front of her. He later does a handstand on an enormous bulls eye in the street in front of the Northside Tavarn. Beauty beauty beauty for our first real show in Cincinnati.

If you were a river of whiskey, and I was a diamond jar....

Tiny seizures. Tiny sparks. In the dark, as the fan hums in the distance, as James' quiet breath leads him into his restful oblivion, I cannot stop. I am tense. I am drained. I turn. There. Suddenly a jabbing sensation invades my left calf and charges up through these strange tunnels, myelin covered wonderlines, and draws up hands and feet and back and shoulders and...there it goes. Gone.

And then another, my ear - down the side of my head to my shoulders, hands and feet. My eyes smart momentarily, but I brave up and stay the jolting of my body causing Jim to turn and hold tight, as if to hold me down, like it would make a difference.

Nothing makes so much difference as a good nights sleep. That difference is something that I've been fighting for so long. Even now, as I sit in this chair writing you and listening to Claire Campbell play her saw, her sister Page in quiet harmony, the minutes pass, the morning comes so quickly. I am left weighted.

"I can feel my life beating slow, I can feel my life beating low, I can feel your mind, It's right in line with my mind..." - Hope For Agoldensummer, New Whiskey River, Adriadne Thread

I'm still braving it every day at my new job. I have a few wonderful co-workers who trade tasks with me when I need to stay off of my feet. The bottom of my feet are all pins and needles. My boss said that if I needed to wear houseshoes around the office, I can...as long as they're not bunny slippers.



When I come home, James is there. If I feel like I want cook, most times whether or not I have the strength, I do. If not, he takes care of everything. Slow motion. Slow motion these days. Waiting for all of the little symptoms to disappear. We don't know what this is really, a mini-attack...my body warning me to take it easy. Some days I convince myself that I am invincible, that I have all of the energy in the world. I overdo it. James is my sounding board, he's my common sense, he's my tucker-in when he finally convinces me to rest.

I'm in the midst of my second attempt at drawing a Holiday card for all of you. If they don't make it into the mail by Christmas, I'll email them. They'll be beautiful, I promise you.

Love you Kids. Send me suggestions for GREATEST HOLIDAY ALBUMS.
I'm working on a mixtape.

SL

Incandescent Clouds in a quiet sky

"Desperado" by the Eagles has been running through my head all morning, and from that haunting horror of a melody comes the memory of recording it in a YOU CAN SING booth at Six Flags Over Texas in 1992. I was on a Youth Trip with a rather awful group of kids from the First Baptist Church of Birmingham. I was a farm-fed Yankee thrown in with a bunch of Mountain Brook/Homewood...I don't even know how to explain them, I'd never seen a group of kids like them before. Polished, preened, and progressive. Designer clothes, perfect hair, lots of gadgets to travel with. I was in faded snowboarding t-shirt, a hand-me-down flannel, and ripped up jeans. I had a walkman and two mix tapes and a few books. They had game systems, high tech music players, and (I kid you not) one girl even had a pocket translator (English vs Spanish). "What's that for?" I asked pointing to it. The svelte southern belle held it two inches in front of my nose and looked at me like I was a complete idiot, "Like, when we stop, so, like, I can order food at the restaurant, or whatever."

I wanted to explain to her that New Mexico (our final destination) was not actually part of Mexico and that when we stopped at McDonalds for lunch the staff would most probably understand her just fine...but I kept my mouth shut. I kept to myself the majority of that trip, my head leaning against the bus window, staring out into the ever-changing landscape. It changed, just as my feelings changed about this journey I was on. This opportunity had been accepted with a song of adventure, a dream of cross-country discovery. Not quite the same as a chartered bus with television and vcr to while away the endless hours on the road. But it kept my companions busy and gave me time to reflect on the predicament that I was in.

When we finally got to the camp in New Mexico, I made friends with a bunch of kids from Reno, Nevada, most of them forced there by their parents. You could pick the lot of us out a mile away, mostly in black and really uncomfortable with all of the hand-holding, song-singing, jesus-ness going on around us. I guess for the most part, it was that feeling of overwhelming "agape" that threw us off because we all knew that once we left the auditorium filled with frenzied kids belting along to cheesy, emotive music while reading reptitive texts from a state of the art slide-projector it would be just like high school again. We were the outsiders in this setting, lonely, tired, bored, somewhat scared, although now as I look back on that creeping, endless week...at least we had each other.

I had an intense crush on William Cotran, a tall, graceful boy with dark eyes and chin-length black hair who would often, between Bible Study and supper, sit on a hill over-looking the Glorietta campus and scribble things into a small black book. I would walk past him, behind him, in front of him, dreaming, dying for some sign of notice. I had decided that he was a great artist, because up to that point it seemed to me that all somber and mysterious men were artists of some sort and at that point in was the visual arts that fascinated me the most. When I finally got up the nerve to go speak to him, he told me that in fact it was not a tree that he was sketching, but the forest beyond the horizon that he was describing. Poetry. At this moment, I decided that poetry was for me. I went to the camp gift shop and bought a journal and sat there for an hour or so, thinking of words, words, words to describe the grass, the trees, the sky, my shoe, my arm, my pencil....I would use words that I had heard, words that I didn't understand, but that sounded absolutely fantastic. Incandescent. Erroneously. Eradicate.

From that moment until the day we finally arrived home, I never despaired outwardly again. I become a pleasant, quite docile young woman. Quiet. Always scribbling away. I dreamed and despaired (in an incredibly dramatic style) on a white lined page and that was enough.

Recently while packing for the move to Cincinnati, I found this journal and all of the editions that followed. I was amazed at the sadness contained within it's pages. I was taken in by violent declarations of joy and love from such a young and silly girl. Who was than girl? Surely not me. I see within these pages, so peppered by moments that I have now forgotten, vital turning points, new discoveries of music, friendship, young love. Now I am transported. All by these silly, sad words.