Category: Music

Church at the beach

Well, I took those 478 steps yesterday to Wreck.  When Mike and I got there, there was an immense fog blowing across Marine Dr.  For maybe thirty seconds we debated going down to the beach, as it appeared a breezy and clammy time was to be had, but by three o’clock the fog had moved across the inlet where it formed an amorphous but solid appearing wall, 15 stories high.

There were alcohol and food vendors there and no cops.  I got a little singed but the sun wasn’t very fierce. Mike brought his Taylor and I brought Otto, and we sang and played, Dylan and other gods and goddesses.  There was a very light breeze and all in all it was very very pleasant.

We took it easy going up the stairs.  I concentrated on breathing and body mechanics to ensure that I didn’t strain anything.  I got home and because I am no fool I showered and changed before bed; that beach at the end of the season is like a very scratchy petri dish.

Damn, it was nice. I tripped on rhodopsin for a while, experiencing that wonderful progression of colours and geometry that happens when you stare at the sun with your eyes closed for at least ten minutes and then cover your eyes.  First, your visual field goes an inky, depthless black.  Then purple, a colour so strong and overwhelming that you gasp as it comes on, fills from the centre to the periphery. Then the centre turns a malignant orangey copper, and from that springs a deep magenta, so it looks like a pop art eye. Expanding out from the magenta is that same inky depthless darkness, now almost deep blue, with teal semi circles radiating out from that centre.  Very gradually, everything turns a pale silvery green; then brittle diamond shaped lozenges of fiery orange, yellow and red, march up and down your visual field like the very finest mushroom high. Unlike every other time I’ve done this, the colour progression repeated thrice before the last of the visual effects died off (obviously nowhere near as strong, but it was interesting to look at even as attentuated as it was). As always, I feel as strong as Jack the Bear after I do that, and I am much refreshed both mentally and physically.

A week or so ago I listened via NPR to the new Leonard Cohen album, so his voice was still in my head when I was in the shower last night.  Michel, one of the characters in the novel, still didn’t have a song, so I was thinking… Michel lived in Montréal for years, maybe a song in the style of Leonard Cohen?  Michel is staying in town simply and solely to get his mitts on Kima, so I thought ….  (and this is not a song a Sixer would ever write.  They do not infantilize lovers; they don’t smile, they don’t wear hats.  So this is what happens when pop culture gets through with Michel.  In real life, he’d say nothing, sing nothing, present her with nothing except himself.)

 

I just might stick around, baby

I just might stick around

Normally after a week I see

Nothing new in town

A light is glowing in your eyes

My very breath is bound

I just might stick around, baby

Maybe I’ll stick around

If you didn’t know you were special, baby

If you didn’t know you’re great

I’d hop a freight, jump aboard a freighter

Tip my hat, say see ya later

But no one else has quite your style

Not your figure, nor your smile

Yes there’s something new in town

I just might stick around

Barry’s Bay

July 17

Today we went in to Barry’s Bay and in short order ditched the empties and got more IPA, went to the bank, got Sandra into a newly cropped set of hairs, visited the two grocery stores in town plus the health food store, and saw Clem.  Clem has a fine homestead on 120 acres just south of town. There’s a dock and lake and geese who march up and down and eat all the bugs and a dog with his own sandpit, (he was completely recessed in it when I came out, imagine being a dog encouraged to have your own little sandy pit) and an enormous garden and quaintly rusticating farm machinery and cars and a bunkhouse overlooking the lake and two big old wooden barns and fields of wildflowers including milkweed which meant there were monarch butterflies to be seen flitting among the flowers.  It’s like somebody took two generations of rustic Canadiana and mashed them together; the whole place was a photo op, and me with just my memories and neither camera nor smartphone. The message on the wind told me to go there and once I got there the beauty of the place put me into a high state of aesthetic intemperance. I mean this is a guy who can throw a busted geranium stalk at a wall, and it blooms. Entirely amazing. I am glad that the message on the wind did that.  And when I got back the message on the wind said CALL YOUR MOTHER and I did and when she didn’t answer I fretted.  Yes, I did, such a sap I am. Because you should call your mother, and certainly not assume the worst when it’s a lovely day and they are journeying in their VEHICLE OH MY GOD THEY’VE BEEN IN A CAR ACCIDENT THAT IS WHY THEY ARE NOT really, Allegra, wait upon events.

Now it is Friday already.  I’m going to go play with George.  Ah, 610 words later  I scrubbed out Sandra’s tub (I got the impression it was the epitome of filth and I’ve taken baths in tubs that were FAR less clean) including the interesting purple marks, and once it’s a better time of day to have the hot water on I’m going to have a soak – it’s a massage jet tub and working much better poor lamb since the filter was put on the water system.  The water is good but a tad too much iron.

Still kvelling on the radishes Clem gave me yesterday.  He pulled two ordinary sized and four potato sized radishes out of his immense garden and I IMMEDIATELY took them home and cut them up with a) rather more salt that you’d think justified or necessary b) fresh ground black pepper c) enough pecans to make it interesting, two palmfuls say and d) drizzled all over with white balsamic vinegar.  I ate ALL of it in two sittings and nothing repeated because fresh radishes don’t repeat.  Also amid yesterday’s comestibles was the amazing beef liver and pineapple with onions and ginger. The beef liver was barely thawed and barely cooked, set aside, then the fresh cut pineapple was added to the reduction and then the onions and ginger were cooked in what was left over from that and then it was all added together.  The first bite had me sliding off my chair with my eyes rolling back in me head, ’twas of such surpassing excellence.  mOm, you would have been enchanted.  We ate it over noodles from the previous day’s linguine and beef tomato sauce.  Then we watched the Bobby Darin biopic, in which Kevin Spacey once more reveals himself to be an actor of such calibre that I can’t imagine there’s a role he couldn’t convincingly play.

Wrote a little ditty on the 17th – think I’ll go practice now.

Life is beautiful, for the guest…..

Earlier in the day I watched Sandra work.  Apart from being her driver, turning a few lights on and off, scrubbing the tub and pulling some weeds I have loafed and lazed with startling ease; I have neither touched a dish nor cooked a meal since I got here (I don’t count tea and toast).  It’s marvellous.  I wish the bedroom door closed all the way, but since Shadow isn’t in at night there’s no cat to come importuning and shedding half a campground of debris all over my bed at night. She was fresh off a catnip buzz when she came nuzzling this morning as we stood outside.  I performed a brief interpretive/vocative dance, addressing the spirits to send business Sandra’s way.  It’s glorious, and the campground is practically empty.  Sigh.  As soon as I finished my dance a car pulled in but it was somebody in the cabins. Sandy really could have had me going there….

Rounding up

Marylke’s taking me to Spamalot tonight!  Woot!

The slow leaking death of the commentariat. Metafilter founder has some comments.

I won’t believe it until the cat is sleeping on the results.  Washerless clean clothes.

Wanna know the current position of the ISS?

According to the Ubisoft What’s Your Hacker Name meme going ’round the internet, my pOp’s hacker name is M4ster Zero, and mind is Sh4dow Root.

Jeff loaned me the car yestterday, and I feel much better today!

The tiramisu I bought from Balkan House Restaurant yesterday was freezer burned, then thawed and left at a nasty temperature, and then re-refrigerated.  It took about 45 minutes for the taste to get out of my mouth but I guess it had so many preservatives in it that it couldn’t sustain microbial life.  Jeff, don’t eat it.  I should go throw it out.

I ran into a pest control specialist yesterday who told me to abandon all previously purchased music programs and get this instead.  I don’t feel like spending a thousand dollars on something that won’t likely run on either of the computers I currently own, but it sure would be nice to be able to sing into a computer and have notation spit out the other end.

A crazy ass seagull banged its bill repeatedly into the front door at work.  Scariest sound I’ve heard in a while.  In more pleasant news there are many geese families right out front of work right now but you can’t get too close because the parents will assault you.

Interviews for my replacement have commenced; the good candidates all want too much money.  I don’t imagine they’ll get somebody like me any time soon for the price.  And that’s the last I’ll complain on the subject, and I’m not naming names.

 

Hopelessly romantic

As part of my prep for the next blast of writing, I am rewatching every hopelessly romantic film I can, so I got Jeff to watch the 1991 Disney Beauty and the Beast with me last night.  Honestly, I must have cried for half an hour, I was so filled with nostalgia, plus of course that wonderful transformation scene.  I also found it strange that I knew every note of the soundtrack even after all these years.

We’re slowing up on Downton Abbey because of course we blasted through it.  I do love the show.

Now to see if Jeff is ready to watch Game of Thrones….

Heritage Grill

Paul dragged me out of the house last night.  I wasn’t feeling up to performing (I actually thought I was coming down with something) but I wanted to check out the Heritage Grill Monday night open mic; when we arrived around 7:30 the room was FULL OF UKELELES. It was remarkable; it was a slo-pitch for ukes, and the full effect was entirely charming.  Paul and I had stupid grins on our faces that lasted until a couple of performers had done the open mike thing; a guy came up who had nothing to say and a peculiarly distressing way of saying it.   I pumpkin out around 9 pm these days so Paul gave me a lift home.  Thank you for foodicles Paul! it was yummy.

I am waiting to hear back from my best recent job interview and have another interview today.  I haven’t stopped looking, but man, it’s hard!

 

I forgot to mention; we heard frogs in Oakalla on Sunday afternoon.  Spring is here!

Superb owl over this year

That was a righteous shellacking, was it not?  I turned off the game at half time.

A thousand words yesterday.  I don’t seem to be having any problems making word count.

Church was pretty sad yesterday.  Two long time members of the church are facing their last illnesses, and I know they are old but I love them both dearly and it’s just sad to see how their wives are bearing up under the strain.  Also, one of my favourite church members has cancer and another one is also going for cancer treatments.  Ack.  Make it stop please.  At the same time church was pretty awesome; the service was about the life and work of Bruce Cockburn.  Night before at the housefilk I said, “Well I can’t imagine them playing “If I had a Rocket Launcher” in church” and I was wrong!  How Peggy and I giggled about it afterwards.  Congratulations to our minister for daring and being all she is. Thanks also to Marylke for the ride home.

I practiced for about an hour yesterday.  It was a bit painful because the con crud finally set in and I’ve got a ghastly dry cough. I will probably head out to the pharmacy today to get something to kill the cough, or maybe just load up on Throat Coat tea with honey.  I went looking for cold meds and everything was time expired by 12 months.

Welp, that’s enough for now.  I’m heading back to sleep, after another broken night.

Here’s a lovely version of Danse Macabre.

I woke up super early this morning

So I took out some trash and put salt down on the back deck so Jeff doesn’t skid down on his ass, cause it be icy out there.

Jeff is off to Victoria this morning. He will be watching the Superb Owl with pOp.

Otto is back from the shop. I paid because it was the only way to get him back, cause I’m not giving them another crack at him. I am very unhappy with the results, and super unhappy with the tech, who didn’t even restring the mandolin properly. The world is full of competent people who only fuck up when I’m their customer, and I’m in line to receive customer service from every last one of them. It is my karma for all the exceedingly crappy service I’ve given to others in my life, I suppose. At least the Mac came back genuinely repaired, although the new layout of the function keys is going to take some getting used to.

I wrote 3200 words yesterday. Don’t know if I can meet or beat that today, but mOm isn’t complaining, as I’m basically forwarding everything to her as soon as I write it. I need to completely finish that scene and then I’m off to the hardest scene of all….

Housefilk at Tom and Peggy’s this afternoon to evening, happy sigh. I’m getting a sore throat but I’m going to load up on Throat Coat tea and fluids and vitamin C.

 

Catching up

It’s been a lively couple of days.  I’ve been writing hard, practiced almost enough, played at church to sincere and life affirming compliments, showed the shop, made the decision to hand the keys over to the landlord, got into last minute negotiations with guys that came in at Christmas, had a spider drop onto my keyboard and scare the shit out of me, I’ve stopped having nightmares but the insomnia has fired up again, we finished watching Jazz, which made me unhappy because it was SO wonderful, and I received some Buddhist wisdom which allowed me to release a lot of stored animus toward my life and situation.  I learned that my travel plans into the US are probably going to be completely fucked up by the INSANE weather ongoing in most of the US – shit, it’s warmer in Alaska – which reminds me of the time that I wanted to get to a con which would have been crucial to my development as an SF writer and 9/11 intervened, except this time it’s all expenses paid and guess what, they’ll WAIT for me, as I don’t imagine I’d be stranded more than two days so I’ll still get to do it.  I learned that Pearl, Cat Faber’s octave mandolin (ALSO by Peter Cox) experienced technical difficulties and is now in the shop, meaning I do not have an octave mandolin as a back up if United destroys or loses Otto. (And I know that as sad as that might be, I would just ask for the bits back or get Peter to make me another one, him being obliging that way, if remunerated.  Who’s to say the replacement wouldn’t be even more amazing?)  This means I would have to do the entire concert on a regular sized mando – which I DO NOT WANT – or transpose EVERYTHING to a guitar, which for a couple of songs would be fine and for everything else would probably cause my nervous system to implode – or sing the entire concert a capella, which would be extremely wearing for my audience.  I will be taking Lemming’s advice about packageration seriously.  I reproduce it below.  Jeff invented the word garbarcage to describe when tv shows are shitty because they have too much arc and too little of what we watch the shows for.  Eddie is needing fluids at least every other day, he has started to refuse his meds and he’s gone off his food, although he’s still making the trek to the litter tray.  Margot has gotten very sucky, which is unusual.  I’m making plans to travel after the shop is gone.  I found out that the Squamish name for Thomas Mulcair is “Angry Beard” (okay it’s just one Squamish dude who is calling him that, but DID I LAUGH when I read that) and that it’s too cold outside right now for the Lincoln Park Zoo Polar Bear. I’ve been applying for jobs every day, no response. However, I am relaxed about it.  What will be, will be.  No use flinching or being rebellious.  The leathern thong descends whether I’ve been a good girl or not.

 

Tip #1: Depending on size of body, sometimes banjo cases work for octave mandolin type instruments. Tip #2: A way to save money on a case AND protect the instrument: Call guitar stores in area and see if one will give you an instrument-size box. A banjo box would probably work. Check airline regs for box measurements before proceeding. They’re supposed to allow some leeway for musical instruments. Invest in some bubble wrap. Loosen strings. Wrap instrument in bubble wrap, inside soft case. Wrap case in bubble wrap. Stuff bubble wrap in bottom of box, put in instrument, put bubble wrap on all sides and top filling box, seal box with heavy 2″ wide packing tape, about twice as much as you need. Pack one roll of packing tape so you can re-pack before you leave to go home. Add handle (easy to make one with tape, or tape on a handle, or tie on some rope. Mark stuff on package with large black magic marker “THIS SIDE UP! FRAGILE: DO NOT BEND. CONTAINS ANGRY ELVES WHO WILL HURT YOU IF YOU WAKE THEM UP” or some such thing. Tip #3: First, find out if the planes you’re flying on all have closets. Second, carry the thing with you, in the soft case, but do wrap it in bubble wrap inside the case. Make sure it’s small enough to fit in the overhead. Go up to the counter and ask if they’ll find space in the closet for your instrument. If they’re crazy enough to want to gate-check it, well, that’s what the bubble wrap inside the case is for, but if they do that, ask them if they’ve seen the “United Breaks Guitars” video, nicely. If you have to put it in the overhead, stuff a large coat or something all around it so no one tries to smash it with their luggage. Again, bubble wrap. Bubble wrap is your friend

Oh, and don’t forget the loosen strings part. Most of the time, no difference, but the changes in air pressure in the luggage compartment plus string tension will eventually cause the neck to break at the nut.

And take along spare strings because one often breaks when you retighten.

Sorrow and anger

Should you divorce your family?

Dr. Michelle Golland suggested a sort of checklist of traits that are warning signs a familial relationship is unhealthy and may be worth ending, including: “You feel drained when associating with the person. The person continuously makes you angry. The person is manipulative towards you to get what they want.”

Trying to be ‘the bigger person’ didn’t help. Trying to ‘fake it til I make it’ didn’t work. Pulling out my wallet to paper over the cracks didn’t help. I don’t imagine for a second that it will help anybody but me, but exhaustion won, and I am slowly and painfully crawling away to someplace safe.  In the best of all possible worlds I’d be rational on the subject, but since I can’t, I have to protect what little sanity I have.

Wrote 750 words this morning, practiced, did my Lumosity, ran the dishwasher and tidied the kitchen.  Keith is coming over shortly.

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We watched Jazz – Keith very much enjoyed it.

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Katie is coming over to extract some of her clothes and toiletries.  Hopefully there will be enough gone that I can establish some order in the guest bedroom, which looks at the moment much like the den of a hibernating bear.