Body Surfing

I just spent a week in the Dominican Republic with my family. I reveled in the glorious sand, sun, water and frozen rum drinks. Thanks to Tropical Storm Emily, we spent more time body surfing than snorkeling, but I'm not complainin.  I wrote this between swims, sitting on the beach in our little sea grape hideout.

This morning the sky was partly cloudy and the sea breeze a bit more forceful than it has been. The water was rough, too. Waist high waves were crashing on the beach, stirring up sand and foam and seaweed. A few yards out, the swimmers bobbed up and down like ocean bouies. I stood at the edge of the surf and thought I might just get my feet wet, rather than be tossed around Ike that. It was only 10 AM after all and I was still full from eating too much fried banana on waffles drizzled with sweetened condensed milk. And sausage. And cafe con leche. All right, AND a croissant with Nutella.

But I waded in a little further and realized I was in the midst of the best body surfing conditions we've seen all week, so I dunked under and caught the next big wave that came along. It carried me with it's curling momentum for a few feet and then I was up and heading back out, seeking the next ride.

I can completely understand why surfing and surfers are such an extreme and dedicated culture. It's kind of a quintiscentially addictive activity, because when it works just right, it's a transcendent experience. A nice big wave comes along and you jump just at the right time, sucked for a second back into it's undertow, then propelled forward in that sweet spot right under the crest, riding toward the beach for 20, 25, 30 feet, feeling like you are an integral part of the ocean, just being pulled around by the moon like every other molecule of water. Not this separate, intrusive being, fighting to control nature like almost every other moment of our lives.

But it rarely works just right. For every perfect wave you catch, there are 20 that disappoint. Lots are too small to bother with. Some look like they'll break, but just dissolve into nothing under your body. Some crash too soon, right over your head, leaving you a salty tangled mess, disoriented for a few seconds, just long enough to miss the next wave, but still see as it passes that it would have been the one to wait for.

Some people find the ratio of success to "failure" too low to bother with and give up quickly. I find myself saying "I'll just ride one more wave and then get out." I wait and jump and dunk and swim and glide and finally get one that carries me all the way to a sand-filled bathing suit and then I go back for 1 more again and again and again until 45 minutes have gone by along with my window for reapplying sunscreen. I'm pink and exhausted and still it's an effort to will myself away from the water, because look, that next wave could be the best one yet. I'm like a gambling addict playing the slots, sure that with this next quarter, I'll hit the jackpot. But this is vacation and I've got time and calories to burn, so as long as I keep the SPF high, I can indulge my addiction.

Day 1, In very few words

Can't write much because I don't want another late start tomorrow.  Fenway was great in the car. No whining or barking, perky at all the rest stops, eager to sniff whatever other traveling dogs had left behind. As the day wore on, he was less and less excited to get back in the car at the end of each stop, but who could blame him?

Looking at the map for the rest of my trip, I actually started to get worried for myself. Really? I think I'm gonna drive 800 miles a day for the next 3 days in a row? Huh. I think that would be illegal if I were a professional truck driver. Maybe I should re-think my stops.

But whatever ends up happening,  I'm really going to try to get up early to run and stretch before I leave. Early! Did I say that yet? Don't want to be arriving anywhere at midnight. Early!

A Different Trip

I've driven all around this country quite a bit, but I'm leaving tomorrow on a road trip that will be a bit different. Here's why:
1.) I'm not playing any shows along the way.
2.) I'm driving straight through from Massachusetts to Berkeley. This will take me through two states I've never set foot in, Wyoming and Nevada. (I'm also not sure if I've been in Nebraska, but I'll be 7 hours sure after this drive.)
3.) I'll have a huge black lab named Fenway in the car with me. (Photo by my aunt Suzanne!)

It's not a very complicated story. My good friends Matt and Sara and their two kids moved from Great Barrington to Berkeley this month. We met in Portland 10 years ago and have stayed in touch through many moves (Maine, Mexico, Texas) over the years. It was so great that we all lived in the Berkshires for the past 6 months, but now Matt's company has relocated to San Francisco and they flew away last week. The problem was that their huge, old dog wasn't up for a plane trip and they didn't have the time (or patience with a 3- and 1-year-old) to drive across country. Since I have a "flexible schedule," I said I'd drive their car and dog across country. I'm still thinking it will be kinda fun and not absolute insanity.

I'm planning to drive about 12 hours a day and stick mostly to Interstate 80. I figure between me and the dog, we'll need to stop every few hours to pee and stretch, so I'm hoping a few National Parks will be close to the highway.  It should be beautiful from the highway anyway, so I'm excited for the scenery.

I had wanted to listen to some epic book series or the entire catalog of a certain artist, but I couldn't really decide. Right now I have 3 audiobooks and a full iPod, but I'm dissatisfied. It seems to choppy. I want something that will tie the whole drive together. A single narrative. Maybe I'll create my own somehow.

I'm not particularly worried about the long hours of driving. I've done that before. I'm mostly worried that Fenway will be stressed or hot or stiff. He is old and delicate. It's been hot here for the past few days and he is miserable. I finally set up an air conditioner in his room last night to help cool him off. I don't even have an AC in my room, but this dog needed it. This morning around 9am, I hear him yowling and howling like never before. I'd already fed and walked him, so I didn't know why he would make such a fuss. I went in to find that the AC had cycled off and needed to be reset. Really. This dog was desperate for me to turn his AC back on. Things I won't do for myself, and I won't do for my pets, I'll do for my friends' pets. That is so me.

But thank god we aren't driving Matt and Sara's old Jeep Cherokee as originally planned. It has no AC, which didn't really bother me, but now I'm sure Fenway would not have made it in the Jeep. M&S figured it wouldn't pass emissions inspection in California, so another friend drove the Jeep up to their house in Maine. Now Fenway and I are in a new car with AC and low miles and cruise control and we are gonna be fine. I hope.

Now, back to packing and prepping. Fenway needs one more bath before we spend 48 hours in the car together. Stay tuned...

Falcon Ridge 2009

It's a week after Falcon Ridge and life is almost back to my normal routine, if I even have such a thing. But in sitting down to write this blog, looking back at my notes and pics and tweets, I'm so happy remembering what a great time I had. Ahhh. Reminisce with me for a few minutes...

How could I not mention the mud? Unfortunately, it keeps raining in the Berkshires and the weekend of FRFF was no exception. I'm lucky enough to live only about 25 minutes from the festival site, so I got to get a warm shower and dry bed every night, but it was still a bummer to see the rain drive people into their tents and cars when great acts were playing and a few even had to be cancelled or rescheduled. Of course, mud boots were all the rage for women and men. Mom came to the fest with me and she tried to go without rubber boots, but by day two was heading to Agway for a pair.

I was doubly lucky because it never rained during any of my sets. It was beautifully sunny and breezy on Saturday afternoon when I was on the main stage for the Most Wanted Song Swap. So breezy, in fact, that my hair kept blowing into my mouth. It was annoying and I kept wondering why none of the other four women on stage seemed to be having unruly hair issues. Headband, bangs, barrettes and hat, that's why. Lesson learned and no more wild hair in the mouth for outdoor shows.

The next day was forecasted to be stormy, so I was nervous about my sets being cancelled. Thick clouds and a cold wind were blowing when I started a song swap with John Flynn, Ellis Paul, Tracy Grammar, Joe Henry, and Lucy Wainright Roche (hello!), but we played anyway. It got around to the last song of the hour and I played "My Miner" with everyone jamming along. It was a musically transcendent moment for me with the volume and intensity rising as I sang "Let me be your light, Let me be your light" over and over. And then the clouds broke and the first bright sunlight of the day shone down on us, just like we were calling for it. I don't know if that moment was as sublime to anyone else, but I think it might have been my favorite moment of performance so far in my life. Ahhh. Maybe there is a video. Maybe I don't want to see it, I just want to remember it with all it's fuzzy edges in my mind.

Festivals are so great for seeing lots of friends, hearing bands live that you've only heard about, and unfortunately they are also great for running into people who you should know, but can't remember their name. Oi! I am terrible at remembering people and I realize that I don't even try. It's a bad habit. And I met so many awesome new people this weekend, who I've probably already forgotten. It doesn't make up for it, but I don't expect people to remember me either. I like being at festivals and conferences where most people are wearing name tags. Name tags are great, especially when they also say where you work and what city you live in. If only we could figure out a way to make them remind us of when we met and who we know in common. I think I was the only one wearing a name tag at my five-year high school reunion. Everyone scoffed at the thought that we could forget each other after only 5 years, but I knew I had forgotten people's names and I was trying to start a trend. Never was much of a trendsetter in high school. Well, there was that wrap skirt pattern and the knitting club, but other than that....

OK. One more happy story. Last year, lots of folks were really disappointed that the tornado that hit the fest prevented Gandolf Murphy and the Slambovian Circus of Dreams from performing. I've been hearing about them for a couple of years from every direction, so I was excited to hear them for myself. I have to say, they didn't blow me away. I think they are a really fun rock band, and the way they get their fans lathered into a frenzy makes for an exhilarating concert, but I guess it's just not my thing. Still, even I was getting really nervous as they took the stage on Saturday evening and the clouds were moving in. It would be too sad if their set was rained out again, leaving the fans wet and hungry for their music. They made it through a great, high-energy batch of songs and came to the encore as the sky was getting darker and more ominous. The lead singer shouted, "Get out your umbrellas, cause we're gonna play another song!" As they rocked out "Trans-Slambovian Bi-Polar Express" a parade of umbrellas formed all rainbow and flowered and polka-dotted, spinning and bouncing and snaking through the crowd. I had to join in. And it didn't rain one drop.

Here's a video of them playing the song a couple nights earlier in the dance tent:


OK. I've written too much already. But I also got dizzy spinning in a contra-dance while Blue Moose and The Unbuttoned Zippers played. And don't miss Dressing Room Tour, Part 3 with special guest Randall Williams, OK. That's enough. It was so fun! Can't wait for my next festival.... Move the Muse in Brockton Mass August 22!

Summer Hibernation?

Many musicians tour all summer and stay home in the winter writing and recording and storing up energy for the next busy Summer, but Summer is when I want to be home. When my garden is growing and producing flowers and food. When I want to cook dinner on the grill and have friends over for the evening or the weekend. When the sun comes up early and stays up til 9pm, so I don't mind sitting in my bright office working at 8am with coffee or 6pm with a Mojito. Summer is when the Berkshires are full of activity and people and events, so I can pedal my bike to the Guthrie Center and hear some folk music or take a picnic to Jacob's Pillow for a dance performance. This is when I get inspired to sit on the porch and practice my banjo or open all the windows and play beginner piano for all the neighborhood to hear. Summer is when I want to spread out an old blanket on the grass (well, clover) in the backyard and read a book. And if I fall asleep and don't wake up until Mr. Ding-a-ling comes by with his truck full of frozen treats, not to worry. That's what summer is for. Any given week in July, 20% of the country on is vacation anyway, so you usually get a break if you don't respond to email right away.

When I complain about winter, the dark, the cold, the stillness, most people tell me to embrace it. They say I should take the opportunity to rest, plan for the warm seasons, write music, read, take up skiing, knit, sleep. And that does sound really nice. I like all those things. But there is something chemical that happens to me, to lots of people, and it just feels sad to stay home. And I start to get a little crazy. I want to go the bed early, like at 7pm. And if I'm not in bed then, I might be whining and crying and generally freaking out. And most of the world is still out there working, so it doesn't really do to completely shut down for 4 months.

Years ago, when I was waiting tables in Maine, I learned that if I kept busy during those early evening hours, life was a lot better. I'd go to work around 4, just as the sun was setting and run around serving mussels and pinot noir until about 10. Before I had a chance to look up, I'd made it through the difficult part of the day and it actually was time to go to bed.

It's really unusual for me to have a whole month of no shows, but I'm right in the middle of that. It is kind of unsettling, I tend to forget who I am and what I do when I'm not performing for so long, but I am enjoying a gorgeous summer. And more importantly, I have the time to completely fill up my Fall and Winter calendar. I want as few off nights as possible in those cold dark months. I want to take trips to Florida, Texas and California and thumb my nose at Winter.

Seasons are nice. I like natural rhythms and all that. It's been such fun watching my garden grow and change, but I just can't do the winter hibernation thing. I'm a disaster in the dark and cold. I've got to keep moving, keep myself under those artificial stage lights, and trick my body into thinking it's the growing season. And then if I need to rest, I'll invest in a hammock for next summer.

Off to search for a list of winter festivals in the South.... I think I'll just do that with a Push-Up.