Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Sunday, February 20, 2005
Winter When She Goes
Next week sometime, I'll be going in to WKAR studios to do an on-air review of Tracy Grammer's new solo CD, Flower Of Avalon, and I received an advance copy of the disc from her record label yesterday in order to prepare for the review/interview with Melissa Ingells.
In a very sad twist of fate, I received a forwarded email this morning that announced the passing of singer-songwriter Rachel Bissex, someone I knew, albeit not very well. What little I knew of Rachel I liked. She was a wonderful, warm person with an undying giving nature. A sweet, sweet woman blessed with many, many friends.
Last week, as news came to me of her failing condition, a haiku (of sorts) stumbled out of me...
her flame's hot, white dance
trembles 'round the waning wick
before burning out.
And today, as I read the last few words of this morning's email, the first notes and words of Tracy Grammer's "Winter When He Goes" began filling the room and my ears and, eventually, my eyes.
WINTER WHEN SHE GOES*
by Dave Carter
As the sun is to the city
In the endless weeping winter
So is joy to me in pity
When she leaves me falsely tender
Like the true love's knot we tethered
Plastic ivy 'round the portal
For to frame the spring forever
Though the blizzard took the mortal holy rose
It's always winter when she goes
As a matter of convenience
We don't speak of dying gardens
As a man of heart and lenience
I make liberal with my pardons
I am generous with kindess
She with smiles and exaltations
Though she binds her wounds in silence
I my own impracticed patience
Lest she know
It's always winter when she goes
It's always winter when she goes
She collects the twigs and briars
I stack them up for fire
But it's chilly for the burning
She slumbers in the straw
I hold out for the thaw
For the seasons won't be turning
As I'm writing you this letter
The blue stem's running riot
The daisies break their fetters
And the bees will not lay quiet
If you find her where she's dancin'
With her lover or her jailer
Say in April's splendid mansion
I lay broken by her trailer in the snow
It's always winter when she goes
It's always winter when she goes
It's always winter when she goes
*Tracy has sung (and recorded) the song as "Winter When He Goes" whereas Dave originally wrote the song as "Winter When She Goes" — I've opted to use the original form here.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
20
Twenty years ago yesterday, my first child was born.
I recently asked my mother about the day I was born and got very little from her other than the date and the hospital — information, you might be surprised to know, I already knew! Perhaps my birth wasn't particularly memorable. Perhaps the third pregnancy was little more than like having a wart removed... I don't know.
My memories of Zachary's birth day begin about nine months earlier. Certainly we couldn't be sure, but Penny and I will always believe that Zach was conceived in a cheap motel in the Chicago area, where we had traveled for my cousin Peggy's wedding — the Brer Rabbit Motel. As my friend Caro might say, Appropriate that. Flash forward to February 15, 1985... Penny and I went to her monthly doctor visit and her doctor was on a call at the hospital, so Penny was checked out by the nurse. Penny was feeling a bit of discomfort that day and the nurse suggested that we check her into the hospital, that she'd begun to dilate.
Sparrow hospital was practically across the street from the doctor's office, so we headed there and checked in. After what I recall was a fairly long wait, Penny was checked by a staff nurse and we were told that she had barely begun to dilate, that we should go home and come back at a later time. So, off we went.
Later that evening, at 9:00 or 10:00, I believe, Penny began feeling more uncomfortable and again we headed for the hospital. Again, we were told that it wasn't quite time yet, that we could check in to the hospital if we wanted to, but that the baby wasn't going to be born until the next day sometime.
Before we left, the nurse told us that she'd be on duty until 7:00 the next morning, and that we should call her prior to her getting off shift. She told us that she (as well as other prenatal nurses) were trained to recognize the breathing patterns pregnant women make, and that she would be able to tell how far along in labor Penny was based on what she could hear over the phone.
Penny had a rather fitful night's sleep (as did I, then!) and at about 5:00 we got up and Penny took a warm shower — also at the behest of the nurse. Just before 7:00, I called the nurse and got Penny on the phone, who described what she was feeling. The nurse told her that we should plan on coming in to the hospital at about 11:00am.
That sounded fine with me. Penny wasn't so thrilled. She was in pain and she wanted it to be over with. Assuming that the nurse knew what she was talking about, I made coffee and puttered around waiting for 11:00 to roll around. Frankly, I was rather nonchalant about the whole process, but I was relying on my instincts. I moved purposefully slowly that morning. I thought it was silly to rush to the hospital again only to have to be told nothing was happening. Penny was uncomfortable but she wasn't in agony.
She was, however, getting upset that I wasn't overly concerned about her condition. What can I say? I seriously felt that the time hadn't come yet and tried to be calm about it all.
I really can't recall why, but Penny had asked our friend Linda to accompany us in the birthing room at the hospital. Perhaps she didn't think I would come through as her breathing coach... I don't know. She called Linda over to the house at about 9:00 — probably figuring that she'd have to rely on Linda to get her to the hospital.
Fuh!
At about 10:30, Penny was getting extremely antsy about getting to the hospital. I decided to pour a last cup of coffee, and told her that we'd leave once I finished the coffee. I nursed the coffee, again with 11:00 as my target time for hitting the road. I think I finally gave in at about 10:50 and off we went to Sparrow Hospital.
Penny was checked in and it was determined by nurses that she still hadn't dilated more than a centimeter or two, so we whiled away the time. I made several phone calls to relatives to let them know things had begun to happen and to expect news soon. Penny's family all lived within twenty miles of the hospital, and most of them would make their ways to the hospital before long.
All the while, of course, Penny was experiencing increasing discomfort. Our original plan was for her to go drug-free for the birthing, but at about 12:40, she decided that she wanted the demerol.
At about 1:10, I was on the phone with Penny's sister Clarice, when Linda found me and told me that things were happening. I returned to the birthing suite where I was handed my scrubs and I washed my hands. I was told that within about twenty minutes of being given the demerol, her dilation shot up to ten centimeters. My memory is that at about this time, the doctor made her first appearance in the room. (Apparently, she had a couple other deliveries that day as well.)
The hard labor went fast. The really serious labor began at 1:11 and by 1:26, Zach was born. Throughout the process, Penny had me in a death grip as I helped her breathe through it all. As Zachary squirted into existence, my eyes watered at the wonder of it all. It truly is a miraculous moment to witness the beginning of a life.
Zach was 8 lbs, 10.5 oz. (as I recall)... he looked a lot like my dad when I first saw his face. As he has grown up, his looks have changed... He has often looked a spitting image of me as a kid, but his face has elongated, he has the jawline (and teeth structure) of his mother, as well as her eyes (though they differ in color – his blue vs. her brown) — he has beautiful eyes!
He has always been a tremendously talented artist, having inherited his mother's ability to see what he tries to draw. He loves baseball in general and the Detroit Tigers in particular. As baseball memories go, one of my earliest and fondest occurred during the 1986 World Series. Zach was a over a year-and-a-half old and I was watching the Series on television in the apartment Penny and I originally lived in when we moved to Lansing from Toledo. At one point during the game, Zach ran a couple of circles in the living room in front of the TV then SLID! It was the funniest thing to see.
My relationship with Zachary has been going through a number of transitions since his mother and I divorced... he's still trying to find his way in this ever more complicated world and I'm trying to find my way with him, trying to be there for him while he goes through his current difficulties with money and roommate; trying to bite my tongue about his wretched smoking habit and his fondness for drinking beer; continually urging him to rely on himself to find his way out of his confusing times.
Last night, we had dinner at Lou & Harry's in East Lansing and he went through the laundry list of problems he and his roommate have been having and I sat with tongue firmly between my teeth as he told me all the details, all the ideas for digging out of his financial troubles. Two months ago, he had a job he liked, was being paid well and decided to move into his own place. The problem is that the job was seasonal – it was scheduled to end in early January. He had expected to get work with connections he'd made while working at Meridian Mall, but they haven't panned out.
His roommate is also unemployed and has been nothing but irresponsible for the last two years (as best as I can tell). They're both great kids who can't seem to right their listing ships and all I can really do at this point is watch and hope and perhaps make a few phone calls.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Blog Problems
I don't know what was going on here for the last few days, but when I dropped by to check in on stats yesterday, I noticed that my post from over two weeks ago was the most recent one available. After failing to republish the entire blog, I sent a note to Blogger. They must have fixed something as I'm back up and running at the mouth!soft
Every now and then, I blog a flickr image that isn't my own. This one, by helveticaneue, just knocked me out this morning.
It isn't the mere beauty of the woman that strikes me... it's taking in every aspect of the image and seeing how carefully constructed an image it is.
Note the lines: the inside of her upper arm; her cheek line; the imaginary line that runs through her eyes — they all converge at the water line. The line at the top of her breast forms a virtual right-angle with her (right) jaw line, then another right-angle with the line of the bath water. Follow that line and it leads you to her eyes.
Follow any line and eventually it will lead you back to her eyes! They are the darkest areas of the image; they are easily the focal point of the image.
Many of the photographs at Flickr (and most of mine aren't exceptions) are snapshots or shots that are happened upon and recorded. Then there are those that are carefully composed, cropped and coloured (if not black-and-white) so as to create a pure work of art. This is a most ezquisite example. It's brilliantly executed — from conception to upload.
Bravo, helveticaneue!
Monday, February 07, 2005
The Plan After All
It is my guess that it was the miserable failure's plan all along to create the war in Iraq knowing that spending outlays would force more spending cuts of much-needed social programs.The bastards are eliminating spending by increasing spending.
Vicious bastards!
Friday, February 04, 2005
Dancing In My Head (Eddi Reader, Part II)
I was particularly enjoying Eddi Reader's "All Or Nothing" this morning (actually, I've played it virtually non-stop since last night!) and wondered if I might get to capture a bit of what I was feeling with the camera...
The song is from Eddi's second release as a solo artist (that is, post-Fairground Attraction), Mirmama, a word that combines the Yugoslavian word for peace – mir and a common expression for mother.
Those who know me also know that dancing in public is a rarity for me unless alcohol is involved, and I catch quite a bit of flack for not partaking in the organized dance activities that my folk music organization puts on. I don't know what it is, but I've not been interested in going anywhere for the explicit purpose of dancing since high school. The last time I danced in public was probably five years or more ago when I was seeing the lovely Audrey. We danced in front of the main stage at Blissfest as if there were no one else around. I was seriously in love then, and it was the pull of her eyes and her sweet face that lifted me from the ground.
ALL OR NOTHING
By Eddi Reader
(lyrics thanks to Adrian Dover's fine Eddi Reader fan site)
aye-ya
I whistled a tune called "Lazy" and I tiptoed a very tight line
all of the time walking backwards, all of the time I was blind
and the only voice I was hearing was yours inside my head
saying "Get yourself back to the kitchen girl, one true move and you’re
dead"
but, I, I, I found out it's all or nothing
all of the time he fiddled, I danced to the dark of his breath
too lazy to crumble and jumble there, over and over he played
and the only sound I was hearing was the one inside my own mind
saying "Get yourself back to the kitchen sink girl, you’ve blown it one
more time"
ah, I, I, I found out it's all or nothing at all
{bg vocal: yes it's over, once you've lost it}
nothing's changed, yes it's over, still you breathe
I whistled a tune called "Crazy" and I tiptoed a very tight line
faltered ever so slightly, all of the time I was blind
and the only voice I was hearing was the one inside my head
saying "Get yourself back to the kitchen girl – fly to the moon
instead"
I-ah, hiya... I found out, it's all or nothing
I-ah, hiya... I found out, it's all or nothing
yes, it's all or nothing at all
fly me to the moon, let me go
nnn-nn-nn-...
ah-ha, ah-ha
higher, higher
fly me to the moon, let me roll among the stars
higher, higher
higher, higher
All Or Nothing (Please right-click and save to your computer!)
Thursday, February 03, 2005
"Keep Romance Alive!"
Eddi Reader
Every now and then a musician comes along that simply yanks my feet to the stars, and Eddi Reader is certainly one of them.
A number of years ago, Eddi's name was bantied about on a discussion list I belong to, so I checked her out, then bought her then current CD, Angels & Electricity. I was mesmerized by her voice, and I must have left "Bell, Book and Candle" on repeat for weeks!
As with so many of the artists I go gah-gah about from time to time, I spend months listening to their CDs — practically exclusively — then will go months without listening to a single track. But I always eventually return and rediscover everything that hooked me in the first place.
Lately, I've been listening to Eddi as lead singer with the 1980s British pop band Fairground Attraction (Eddi is a Scot). Mark E. Nevin was the primary songwriter for the group (and a great songwriter he was!) but Eddi was the focal point. She might not have written many of the songs, but the songs were hers once she sang them.
Eddi is probably the finest singer I have ever heard. Her instincts are impeccable. The songs come from a place so deep inside her that that it's hard to truly separate her from the song as it drifts from her lips.
Check out Eddi with Fairground Attraction: Moon On The Rain (please right click and save to your computer)
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
Meeting The Governor
I arrived at Hannah Community Center and found the band waiting... They were irritated that they had been in town for a few hours but hadn't been informed as to their hotel accommodations. I had left a message on one of their cell phones the day before to call me so that I could give them the details but they said no such message existed.
This was not a very good start to the evening, so I began to think back on the nightmare I'd had about the concert the previous Monday night. In my dream, it was after 8:30pm the night of the show and the band was yet to do their sound check. People who had come to see the show were leaving in disgust; leaving in droves.
Once the band was loaded in, I got them off to the hotel with the plan that they'd be back by about 6:55 for sound check. They indeed arrived by that time, but our crew still wasn't quite ready for them. So, sound check ran a bit longer than planned or desired. People began lining up quite early – before 6:30 and due to the delay, had to wait until 7:55 to get in to the theatre.
As house manager, I decided to make the people wait outside the theatre's foyer – in the hallway/lobby of the community center. My thoughts were that our gate manager, Rita, needed some space – physically and mentally – so I opted to maximize that space so that she could set up and prepare for the oncoming onslaught of people we expected.
During that spell, a rather tall fellow walked into the foyer. He looked rather serious and interested, but he walked past me and Rita and towards the utility area of the theatre. He stopped and came back to me, then introduced himself as he pulled a wallet out of his inside coat pocket and flipped it open revealing a badge. He flashed the badge at me so quickly, and rattled off "Michigan State" something, I thought to ask him to show it to me again... but I didn't. He informed me that Governor Granholm would be attending the concert and that he was there to prepare for her arrival. He wanted to select seats for her and her husband as well as for two additional security people.
Upon selecting the seats, he said that the Governor would arrive very close to 8:00 so as not to create a stir amongst the audience. In actuality, she arrived at about 7:30 and after shaking her hand and introducing myself, I ushered her in to the theatre. This happened in clear view of people waiting to get in, so I was a bit antsy as she greeted someone in the lobby as it increased the likelihood that regular attendees would see her and make a fuss.
The Governor was treated to the last ten minutes or so of Danú's sound check before I was able to allow the rest of the audience in. Later, during intermission, I stopped by her seat and gave her a Fiddle calendar for future reference and joked about putting her on the email list. She asked for my name again – and I walked away not to speak with her again. I was pleased to see that she stayed for most of the show... I think she left just prior to the band's encore.
Groundhog Day
I've got no real reason for posting about Groundhog Day or groundhogs, for that matter, but the local news just made mention of the nonsensical competition between two groundhogs, Punxsutawney Phil and some other one I'd never heard of before. Hell, I can't even recall what name!I've not been posting much of late as I've been seriously trying to catch up with work I need to do for the festival, a few other websites and my addiction.
I've also been on the road a bit... I went to Midland, Michigan with Julie, a colleague at the MSU Museum to deliver a weaving exhibit to the Midland Center For The Arts. Midland is the home of Dow Chemical and one of the most dioxin-polluted landscapes in the state, if not the country. I wondered, as we crossed the Tittibiwassee River just how much chemistry has been absorbed by the land and subsequently by people who have lived there over the years.
I wonder how many cancer-riddled employees of Dow have supported, and will continue to support their employer's "right" to contaminate everything in sight despite the health risks — all because their jobs depend on a successful Dow Chemical.
If there is a recurring thought in my head, it's about how we have allowed ourselves to become slaves to commerce. It used to be that commerce was an exchange between people within communities — more as a necessity, a life support model for all parties involved. The profit motive, however, has screwed up all that.
Since seeing Ridley Scott's Alien years ago, I have believed the film to be a metaphor for big business and its modus operandi, which is – put quite simply &ndash profit at all costs. Corporations such as Dow are much like the alien creature in that film – they have lives of their own. They must be fed to survive... they feed upon people and the environment. Executives have no other concern beyond the lives of their respective corporations – again, at all cost.
It's sickening. It's sad. It's fatal. And as far as I can see, there's no turning back. We are addicted to this way of life – "it's the economy, stupid!"
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