'Everywhere it goes it rains on me'

I only say this because two of my best memories so far on tour are the cooling rains that have come after a very hot day. One was in New Orleans and one was in Austin. So the title is not a complaint, but rather a suggestion that the universe is taking care of us.

For the first time, I understood the meaning of summer. Growing up in the mountains of North Carolina, I don't think I quite comprehended it. But somehow, traveling for only a week, I've gotten used to small doses of the thick omnipresent heat. New Orleans, that was like walking through a swamp at all times. But oh how lush, beautiful and vibrant a place that was. We were mainly hanging out at the local infoshop, Iron Rail, all day, and on our way back to the car, we were walking down a street as it started to drizzle a nice warm rain, and before us was a beautiful, large majenta tinted Crepe Myrtle tree. It's flowers were glowing amid the greying, cloud-absorbing sky. Standing below them was an older man, maybe in his 60s, wearing a mirror image of the tree's color. He stood barefoot in the damp warm street with his red-pink shirt barely buttoned to stay on, and his bald smiling face waited expectantly for the rain to cool down his city. I commented on the trees flowers and how they perfectly matched his blouse, and he proudly agreed saying I was the second person to stop and notice this. He then explained the history of the Crepe Myrtle and how he adored it, which is the only reason I am able to write about these trees in a mentionable way. For instance, I did not know it was called a Crepe Myrtle until he told me (and even spelled it out for me).

The next day, Dave and I walked to the Mississippi and sat in the shade, and while he sat through meditation, I read and took pictures.




So there's New Orleans for you. But just a tiny piece of it.

Last night we were in Austin, and we had an amazing show at Monkey Wrench Books with our friend Jordan Moser, and That Damned Band, who are AMAZING people and musicians. You MUST listen to their music. They have humbled me until I die and I have the deepest respect for them. The second rain on our tour came in Austin, and started right as the show began with a gigantic black cloud that filled the sky until the rain poured and didn't recede until the show ended. It was very fitting especially because That Damned Band had a song about hurricane Katrina.
We all went to the damn band's house and played music all night until the wee hours and when Dave and I went back to our friend Jordan's house, we both passed out happily and drunk on their couch. I wish I had a picture to show us in such a state, but sadly I do not.

Okay friends, I will have more to tell soon. So far, this trip is so good, I might just have to think twice about going back to work when I return.

Springtime = Sneezetime and more...

May has been a crazy time for me. Aside from the sneezy springtime blues, life has been full of some promising moments and new direction. Dave and I have started to work on a farm about once a week as a part of a working share for a local CSA. It's our friends Stephanie and Brett's farm called Bramble Hill Farm. They're wonderful people and are so devoted to what they do on their land. If you visit them, prepare to be inspired by their hard work, beautiful land, and tasty vegetables. You can read about all their recent accomplishments as young farmers in the magazine Table, which talks about local and sustainable food in and around Nashville.

It's slowly been getting hotter and hotter during the day, but luckily has been cooling down at night somewhat, which won't be the case later this summer. Especially not when we'll be in places in the heat of the summer such as Alabama, Texas, and Arizona. Fun hot times. We're only here in Nashville for a week more before we hit the road, and that leaves very little time to get ready, pack and move. I always forget how much I detest moving out of an apartment, and then I remember as soon as I have to empty shelves and drawers, clean scuffed walls, and take down art. This time around, it's also been an omen, telling me to appreciate our last days before we have no home of our own for at least a month.

So the traveling musicians flee once again, only hoping to return with some tales.

a lot to say, a little late

I have to say...I haven't felt the creative spark to write a blog entry lately...ok not just lately but for a long time. But here I am, trying to be prolific again!

Things with the band are going really well. We've been booking our summer tour for June and it's been going pretty smoothly so far. We're driving through the southwest to sunny California and then driving north to less sunny California and back through Colorado and then back home. And we have our first Nashville show on Tuesday at the Basement as a part of what they call "New Faces Night." And of course, we have an up an running website and new EP. It seems like with all this work we've been doing, we haven't been able to even play our music that much in our spare time. But I guess that's what tour is mainly for, right?

So that's the boring news. Or at least some shameless plugs. In other news? I've been feeling farther and farther apart from the land of Manhattan lately. Which is probably a bittersweet feeling. It's that time in a break-up where you don't actually miss your ex anymore but you want to miss them because you know how you used to feel about them and all of the sudden, you're in love with the love you had but it's distant and blurry.

I'm reading One City by Ethan Nichtern, who leads the Interdependence project and weekly meditation groups in Manhattan, some of which I've attended and highly recommend. But I digress. In the book, he talks about how a city functions like a giant organism. In New York, it's easy to see this. I sometimes picture the subway system as a giant cardiovascular system pumping people up and down, going back and forth to keep the heartbeat of the city pumping. Though there are often blocked arteries along the way, especially during weekends.
In other words, there are so many people in a city like New York that it kind of reminds me of the dragon puppets they use for the Chinese New Year. One mass of people creates a whole new monster. But in places like Nashville, or even smaller towns, it's a little more difficult to see this kind of unity. Especially when everyone is isolated and sequestered off in their own houses, cars, etc. How do you form the dragon when we're all so out of contact with each other?
I've noticed that southerners are very polite on the outside and do not hesitate to nod their head and say good morning to you as you pass them on the sidewalk, but what happens if we actually need each other here in a moment of crisis? We all head for the hills and go back to our hobbit holes. The opposite seems to occur in NYC. Although people go about their day without even acknowledging others around them in such a hectic environment, the moment something happens that disturbs the waters, weather it's a blackout, a storm, or something invigorating like an election victory, the whole city suddenly comes alive and connects like electric wiring.

So to wrap this up, do I think I could live in Nashville for the rest of my life? Maybe not, but I'm also convinced this is where I need to be right now. And not to harp on the dragon motif, but I like to think I'm part of a very small but beautiful luck dragon dancing in the streets weaving in between honking SUVs. Sometimes we get hit, but dragon's are pretty good at refueling. And if you think I'm being poetic or metaphorical, ask Dave about his morning yesterday. To all you current or former New Yorkers out there reading this, I miss your shiny scales.

Thoughts on my old backyard

It's funny how the places we used to live in become immediately romanticized in our heads and we create nostalgia over the big picture of it all. We never remember the menial things...for instance, I refuse to remember how it felt to have bed bugs and to wake up on plastic sheets only to retrieve my clothes from plastic bags. No, I put those memories in the pile labeled "shitty things" so I can remember only the pure, the beautiful, the earth-shaking moments of being in New York. And don't get me wrong...I don't think they could have existed without the bad.

Our neighbor's laundry

Skyline at dusk


View from rooftop

I don't have much to say about this. I just thought I'd share these images and hope that would help relieve my feelings of homesickness and "other"ness in my new residence. But despite all this, I am happy to be here. I really am. Maybe I just need to take some pictures of Nashville with a wistful eye, and then I'll feel at home.

the years end

2008 was monumental for a lot of us. After some major ups and downs (ie: meeting dave, having bedbugs, electing the first black president into office, moving from a city we loved, having some near death experiences in the car, quitting smoking...), my grandmother, who was 91 years old, chose to pass from this life to the next, on new year's eve, 5 days ago, the last day of 2008. She was in the presence of my mother, who had just returned from a trip to England and France, and had brought back a wool blanket for her mom. When she received the call that my grandmother was losing oxygen and that when asked, she said she wanted to stay home and not go to the hospital, my mother immediately came to sit by her side, and with hands held, she just waited for the final moment. My grandma felt the wool blanket that was given to her and felt the soft material and its warmth over her body, and within 20 minutes, she stopped breathing.

After having just left Asheville from the holidays, where we actually did get to see my grandmother for the last time just a few days earlier, the three of us (being my sister, brother and I) head back. It was an exhausting but healing trip, and I was grateful to have spent it with my mom and my family. The night before the memorial, I decided to write a eulogy, but I had trouble starting. Dave helped me with the process by talking with me about Grandma. He had heard stories all day and seen old pictures of her. And when I continue to feel that I had writer's block, he insisted I just write. Just free write and see what happens. So I did, and it worked. He helped me figure out what I should do to pair it down, to make it fluid. And finally, I had something that I liked.
The next day, I read with heart pounding. But as soon as I started, I felt almost at ease. Like I was supposed to read for my grandma, or to her. And then my mom read her own that I found to be heart wrenching, funny, full of love.

The whole funeral experience was somewhat new to me. I mean burying someone. To actually get up and toss three shovel-fulls of dirt into a deep whole where someone I grew up with lay. It's easy to take for granted all the people who have raised you, dressed you, cared for you in some way, just because you grew up and hadn't noticed it in a while. It's also strange to see the generation that dies being replaced with the next.

With all this, I do believe 2009 will be a good year.