metafori:

Attention Wedding-Goers!

2007-10-25T14:35:02Z

I'm in the process of making a wedding scrapbook for the newlyweds complete with all sorts of goodies from the wedding. (Don't worry--it's no surprise to them.) Right now I'm in need of photos, particularly photos of the happy couple making their vows. Also, if you have little gizmos you think belong in the scrapbook, do let me know. Thanks, all. It was a wonderful wedding, wasn't it?

News slant

2007-03-07T12:27:34Z

It's all in the way you look at it, I suppose. Younger son called yesterday for the first time in nearly two weeks. Seems he only calls when something big happens in politics, otherwise he's way too busy. My friends tell me I should feel fortunate-- some college students call only when they need money.

Anyway, he was pretty excited about the news: "Scooter" Libby had been found guilty in four of the five counts of indictment. I was very surprised to hear this and rushed to turn on the TV. Apparently, the last thing I'd been watching was The Simpsons a few days before because the first thing I saw was Fox News (no, I NEVER watch Fox otherwise). Very interesting slant: "Scooter" Libby found not guilty of lying to FBI.

I had to laugh. Guess that's one way of looking at it. Good ole "fair and balanced" Fox. Tough to put a good spin on this one, eh boys?

Update

2007-02-26T21:44:53Z

Just a little update to let you know how things are going 'round these parts.

The Police performance was outstanding! I managed to make my way to the very front, just a couple of feet away from Sting, in fact! It was absolutely magical. I mean... The Police! How could it not be?

I got stuck in Charlotte, NC for two and a half days because of the snowstorm on the east. Even that turned out to be a kind of blessing as I partied with people from around the world. They kept the airport bar open well past closing time. Unfortunately, the first night, there were no hotels rooms and I wound up sleeping in the airport chapel. Not as bad as it sounds, really. The second night, though, you can be sure I got a room early.

Still doing the raw food thing and am feeling enormously energetic and healthy because of it. Haven't had meat since 2006 and I don't miss it at all. Should have done this a long time ago and followed my son's lead.

Hubby and I have used the hot tub/spa virtually every day since last summer, even on the coldest days of the year. Even had a snowball fight a few days ago. Rather refreshing, actually. Best investment we ever made.

I've got gigs every week in March (mostly the good-paying corporate kind--yay!) and I'm still very much active in the music scene. Can't believe how much and how beautifully my life has changed since 2005. Sometimes, I guess, you just have to take risks. Sure glad I did. Perhaps that's why I've been so "lucky" lately? Hmm.

The Police

2007-02-09T21:14:50Z

You know how it's been in the news that The Police are reuniting? And how they're going to be playing at the Grammy Awards show on Sunday? And you know how no less than CNN has announced that they're kicking off their tour with a special private rehearsal at Whiskey A Go Go on Sunset Boulevard on Monday? And how only twenty "legacy members" from Sting.com would be invited to attend that private show?

Um, yeah.

I leave for LA on Sunday morning. This is unbelievable!

the weekend

2006-08-07T15:08:49Z

What a lovely weekend! Entertained sythyry and beetiger and their adorable son Rhys at our home. I'm absolutely in love with the little guy! Not quite three, he's so verbal and so polite and such a joy to be around. I even got an opportunity to read one of his bedtime books to him: Where the Wild Things Are. One of my all-time favorites. (And I discovered I'm quite fond of Mouse Soup as well-- this will be one I will be reading to my own someday grandchildren.)

They just left a little while ago and the house feels so empty now. It's been a long time since we've had any little ones running around here. I've missed the sound terribly.

What a lovely family! Of course, they're welcome back any time. I'm quite sure we'll meet again.

metafori @ 2006-05-29T11:08:00

2006-05-29T15:16:08Z

Fifteen people. Nine guitars. One tambourine. Enough burgers and bratwurst, chips and dip to fill everyone twice over. And music... so much music!

God, I love my Geezers!

metafori @ 2006-05-25T12:36:00

2006-05-25T16:43:03Z

Anybody care to guess how the show in Idaho went last weekend?

FAN-FREAKING-TASTIC!

All but two rows in the balcony sold. The audience was receptive and warm. Hubby says he's never seen me give a better performance. Lots of new material. Even the director's fiance said it was one of the two best shows he's ever seen there. I was ON! Took me three days to come down off the enormous high.

The trip itself was full of mishaps and missed connections, but I'd go through it all again for the same kind of performance.

Oh man. Life is soooo good.

meme

2006-04-08T15:26:10Z

Borrowed this meme. Sorry, there are no links. I tried but can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong. Thought I’d post my results just the same, though.

Go to Wikipedia.org
Enter your birth day (without the year).
Choose three facts, two births, and one death.

Facts:
1925 – The Grand Ole Opry opens
1954 – Texas Instruments announces the first transistor radio.
1977 – Reggie Jackson hits three consecutive home runs.

Births:
1926 – Chuck Berry is born in St. Louis.
1947 – Laura Nyro is born in the Bronx.

Death:
2000 – Gwen Verdon dies in Woodstock, Vermont.

you

2006-04-06T13:38:33Z

You have commitments to finish three major projects, but find that whenever you work on one, you have a nagging sense that you ought to be working on either of the other two. You still take time to attend the writer’s workshop, to give you a much-needed perspective on your projects. To give you a much-needed break from them.

You find yourself among forty fellow authors, mostly women, a handful of men, and a teenaged boy who has probably cut classes to be here at two. Within minutes of your arrival, you are separated into groups of five, in a way that wisely prevents friend from sitting with friend. You take a seat at a table with three middle-aged women and the teenaged boy.

The writing is hard: Take a memory. Alter the environment, the viewpoint, the tense. You write and you read and you listen, until you have dissolved into sound waves that stir the air. You note the moment the breeze touches the boy’s eyelids, the pull-down shade in his window, suddenly flying up to reveal the light.

steam

2006-04-04T14:55:57Z

So I made a rather indulgent little purchase recently. I bought...(drum roll, please)... a steam capsule! Yep, I finally did it – bought one of those enclosed spaces where you get in and sweat for twenty minutes or so. It’s like a controlled hot flash. It reminds me of the old transporter room stations from the original Star Trek series; it’s a sleek and spacey-agey cylinder that fills with steam. Makes you almost want to shout “Beam me up, Scotty!” when you’re in there. (Okay so I did. "Scotty" was mildly amused.)

It’s not quite tall enough to stand in unless you’re short. For the record, I don’t have to slouch. Much. There’s a chair and enough space around you that you don’t get any sense of claustrophobia. I put a few drops of eucalyptus essential oil on the towel and it’s just enough to pleasantly scent the enclosure.

The walls, I should mention, are clear. You can watch a movie from inside if you want to, but I suppose you’d have to keep wiping the moisture off. As for myself, I like the old sit-and-shvitz method of steam cleaning. You just sit there. And breathe. And think.

I’m not surprised that cultures as diverse as Native Americans and Scandinavians would ritualize the use of steam. Maybe it’s the quiet. Or the sense of aloneness, which is quite different from loneliness. With the former it’s just you and your naked thoughts getting reacquainted. There’s something about water that seems to facilitate that process. Steam. Tears. It’s all the same.

Makes you wonder who is stepping out of the machine? And how has she changed?

a laugh, anyone?

2006-03-12T13:19:05Z

Heard a sweet little story that I've modified slightly for your enjoyment:

In the rest room, 3 guys were standing
side-by-side using the urinals.

The 1st guy finished, zipped up and started washing
and literally scrubbing his hands clear up to his elbows... He used about
20 paper towels before he finished. He turned to the other two men and
commented, "I graduated from the University of Nebraska
and they taught us to be sanitary."

The next guy finished, zipped up and quickly, wet the
tips of his fingers, grabbed one paper
towel and commented, "I graduated from the University
of California and they taught us to be environmentally conscious."

The last guy zipped up and as he was walking out the
door said, "I graduated from RPI and they taught us not to piss on
our hands."

metafori @ 2006-01-24T10:12:00

2006-01-24T15:12:58Z

Threw up again this morning. Have been having violent migraines lately, so much so that they pull me out of bed at three a.m. to make the bathroom in time. Not a pleasant way to rise at any hour. It’s ten and I’m better now.

what's in a name?

2006-01-20T16:02:51Z

A day without laughter is a day wasted.
Charlie Chaplin

The year is 1992. We’re in the family room watching a rather long movie with our boys. At the end of the film, my husband stretches and announces, “Well, I guess I should be taking care of old Peter the Great.”

Of course, he knows our sons are going to pick up on that. But by now my husband has left the room, leaving me alone to deal with the inevitable question from the nine-year-old. “Who’s Peter the Great?” I try the direct approach.

“Daddy means to say that he’s going to the bathroom. Peter the Great is the name your father has given to his penis.” I’m trying to try to speak in my most matter-of-fact tone. It isn’t easy.

Of course, anyone who’s ever raised boys will tell you that what I’ve just said is an invitation to silliness. Little boys tend to giggle at all things relating to the penis. Girls have the decency to wait until they’re middle-aged. I believe Lily Tomlin first noted this.

It probably would have been better to say Peter was an old friend from way back and left it at that. I know what’s next.

“I want to name MY penis!” the child shouts.

Bingo.

The boy searches the ceiling for a name, smiles and suddenly announces “Eric the Red! That’s what I’m calling mine.”

Oh yeah. That’ll get you dates.

I’m about to say something to gently steer the conversation in another direction, as mommies do on such occasions, when his brother states in that defiant way of thirteen-year-old boys “I like my name better.”

Wonderful. Can’t wait to hear this one.

“I’m calling mine Vlad the Impaler.”

Vlad the Impaler? Geez, kid, do we have to talk or something?

Later, when I mention the incident to their father, he laughs. “It’s a rite of passage. Boys name their private parts. Girls don’t.”

This is a gender difference I’d never considered before, but I have to admit he’s right. Even the handle (if you’ll pardon the expression) given to my own breasts was my husband’s idea—although it’s been years since he’s called them the Perky Girls.

It occurred to me as I was dressing recently, that I’d never seriously considered nicknames for any of my parts, public as well as private, and maybe it’s time I did. Maybe names help create that comfortable-with-your-body attitude that more men than women seem to possess. I’m a firm believer that laughter’s a great start to any relationship. Even with—especially with one’s own body.

Toward that end, I’m entertaining names. And why not? I figure the Perky Girls are entitled to a new moniker.

i'm the moon!

2005-12-17T01:45:19Z

You are The Moon

Hope, expectation, Bright promises.

The Moon is a card of magic and mystery - when prominent you know that nothing is as it seems, particularly when it concerns relationships. All logic is thrown out the window.

The Moon is all about visions and illusions, madness, genius and poetry. This is a card that has to do with sleep, and so with both dreams and nightmares. It is a scary card in that it warns that there might be hidden enemies, tricks and falsehoods. But it should also be remembered that this is a card of great creativity, of powerful magic, primal feelings and intuition. You may be going through a time of emotional and mental trial; if you have any past mental problems, you must be vigilant in taking your medication but avoid drugs or alcohol, as abuse of either will cause them irreparable damage. This time however, can also result in great creativity, psychic powers, visions and insight. You can and should trust your intuition.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

metafori @ 2005-12-08T13:32:00

2005-12-08T18:33:55Z

You Belong in London

A little old fashioned, and a little modern.
A little traditional, and a little bit punk rock.
A unique woman like you needs a city that offers everything.
No wonder you and London will get along so well.

What City Do You Belong In?

I'm a Londoner at heart. And I thought I belong in Rome-- Who knew?

two four six eight

2005-11-07T16:08:37Z

“Quitting smoking is easy; I’ve done it hundreds of times.”
Mark Twain

Today is my first day without cigarettes. But, trust me, I have uttered these words before. I’ve been at this very place more times than I’d like to admit—always with the best of intentions, always enthusiastic, and always very hopeful about my smoke-free future. I can tell you from experience—lots of experience—what the next few days, weeks, even what the next couple of months will look like from a rehab point of view.

I call this initial enthusiastically-tell-the-whole-world period the cheerleader phase of quitting. At this stage, you’re very rah-rah about the possibilities. Boy oh boy, you think. I’m a non-smoker. Three cheers for me. Until you start to realize that the term NON-smoker accentuates what you’re doing without. The smoker part reminds you about what you think you want. And the non part says: Nope. Can’t have it. And you realize that it hurts to keep kicking up your heels about the joys of quitting. Eventually, the cheerleader matures and asks herself Okay, so why am I doing this again?

After a while, your reasons had better be a little more substantial than Two-Four-Six-Eight- I quit smoking. Ain’t that great!

I can tell you from years of practice that the cheerleader phase lasts, thankfully, about three days. But just around the time I’m ready to put away my pom-poms is when I start thinking: Surely having just one cigarette isn’t a big deal. After all, I really NEED one now to write, to talk on the phone, to signify the end of a meal, to deal with stress, to signify the end of sex… etcetera ad nauseum. (The apres-sex cigarette has always been an important one for me. How do people who don’t smoke know when it’s over?) This is the point where I usually succumb

What makes this time different? Experience tells me that I will more than likely give in to the craving. At least, this has been my history. But I’m a little more hopeful than the last time. And that’s the way it works—you learn something new every time.

I’ve learned, for example, that it helps if I don’t call myself a non-smoker. Maybe it’s just a matter of semantics, but you must remember, we’re looking at all options here. I don’t like the term “reformed smoker” either. It implies that, as a smoker, you were very, very bad. And now that you have reformed your evil ways, you’re very, very good. Smokers have enough of a bad rep as it is.

Smokers are the last of the society-sanctioned pariahs. You are allowed, even encouraged, to be rude to a smoker. When was the last time you told someone who didn’t smoke: My God, you reek something awful? And face it, there are a number of otherwise kind and loving people out there who make sure to cough when passing a smoker on the street. For that tie-dye guy at the folk fest who sounded like he was passing a lung: Look, I didn’t ask you to walk through my little toxic cloud, okay? Next time try holding your breath.

But, of course, with any luck, this time will be the one that takes.

This time I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve that might help to point me toward success. For one thing, instead of calling myself a smoker anything—reformed or otherwise—I’m referring to myself as a Woman Hoping to Overcome a Stupid Insidious Seduction. This time, I’m a WHOSIS. Sounds innocuous enough.

I’ve a lot of other tools at my disposal, too: a big bag of mentholated cough drops, my sense of humor, a flair for writing, a box of nicotine patches (patches? yeah, we need the stinking patches), several sudoku puzzles (my latest addiction), and Tarot cards. You didn’t think I’d get this far without mentioning Tarot, did you?

I’m currently listening to “If I Ever Lose My Faith In You” (highly appropriate for the task at hand, I think) and have drawn from one of my favorite decks “The Artist’s Inner Vision Tarot.” If you’d like, I can post the reading tomorrow.

So here I am—a determined WHOSIS, as yet in the cheerleader phase of quitting, demonstrating, via a semi-anonymous blog, what this journey looks like from this perspective. With any luck and perhaps a few good wishes, I can do this. Without putting on any weight. Oh yeah—forgot to mention. Started a low-carb diet today too.

Rah. Rah.

karma

2005-10-20T15:17:53Z

I believe! I believe!

Recently, I did an AIDS benefit in a rather upscale market. (Raised some decent money too!) Apparently, in the audience were owners of a national franchise who really liked my work. And...ta da!.. I am now writing a jingle for their product! Pinch me! I think I'm dreaming.

metafori @ 2005-10-17T21:46:00

2005-10-18T01:50:34Z

I turn 49 tomorrow. Man, that seemed so old when I was a kid. Happy birthday to me.

Don’t know what to write. Again. Write about feeling my age? Why not? I’m listening to the blues—Willie Mae Thornton, Lavern Baker, Ruth Brown, Nina Simone—feeling every bit the wiser older woman, worn as hell but still scrappy.

metafori @ 2005-10-07T12:41:00

2005-10-07T16:41:14Z

Another weekend of gigging. Since September (played in Canada—wonderful time!), I don’t have a free weekend until mid-November. Good to be busy!

metafori @ 2005-10-05T12:18:00

2005-10-05T16:23:28Z

She used to talk to me while I brushed her hair. She’d tell me of the old times—stories about her sisters, stories about listening to her brother and his friends play music in a parlor until late into the night, stories about her father’s healing presence.

Always, it started as a lesson—let me show you how to brush your hair, she’d say in that half-Italian, half-English speech I’d long since learned to understand. “’sta manera. Deesa way” And she’d demonstrate how the brush is drawn from the crown slowly down through the length of the hair at least one hundred times. We’d count together—in English—I suppose this was her way of learning the language. One… two… three… four… We’d recite together until gradually it became clear that I knew the English names for numbers and she didn’t—a harsh reality for any nine-year-old, but particularly for one who thought her grandmother the wisest woman on the planet. For a little while my grandmother would repeat the numbers after me. Fourteen… fifteen… But soon she’d close her eyes while I continued counting and brushing. As if into a dream, she’d drift into story.

She’d tell me how she used to brush her mother’s hair just like this. And in my mind’s eye, I could see her childhood home as through a sepia haze, like those old photos on Nonna’s night table. What was it like to be a child born in 1901? To be alive in the days before an airplane ever graced your pristine skies, before an automobile ever tread down your lonely roads? What was it like without radio and television and movies, when kerosene lamps lit the world and the stars shined brighter than they do today? (My own grandchildren will no doubt ask me similar questions about computers.)

Yesterday my sister, mother and I had just returned from placing flowers at Grandma’s grave. Naturally, we started talking about the old woman. “Your grandmother was a good woman, but she wasn’t very warm,” my mother said. Funny how I don’t remember that at all.

come talk to me

2005-10-05T00:12:59Z

Visited my grandmother's grave today.

………………………
What do you think happens when you die?
I think you go back to the Source, to some great Cosmic Collective that’s unattached to time, something that looks upon the physical world as a kind of laboratory for stories, looks upon the physical world as a beautiful experiment and not without a little envy, too. I think the only thing that really dies is the ego. I think there has to be something greater than our frail little selves and I think it’s something we all belong to, whether we realize it or not. I think if there is something of the original being, the one who bore your name on earth, it’s only enough to comfort those you leave behind, because once you’re part of the Source again (you’ve been there before and have always been there), you realize how silly the ego is. I believe the force that keeps this spirit intact is called love. I believe love transcends species (After all, I certainly believe that pets love the people who care for them), but I think love is first taught by homo sapiens—the knowing human. I believe the knowing woman I called grandmother is still with me.

From Fla

2005-08-31T22:22:13Z

Posting this from Florida. My mother was hospitalized with chest pain the night that Hurricane Katrina hit this area (fortunately as a category 1 at the time). The doctors wanted to do an angiogram that night, but mom--a forceful, headstrong woman--didn't want them to on the night of a hurricane. I flew down here, along with my youngest sister who lives in NYC, at 6am on the very morning Katrina was hitting New Orleans, Biloxi... Considering that I was flying into Fla, I expected to hit more turbulence than we did. I don't do bumpy plane rides very well.

We were told there was probably an obstruction in an aorta and that surgery would undoubtedly be needed. My sisters, my aunt and I, in the meantime were watching the incredible devastation in Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama on CNN from my mom's hospital bed.

Surgery went well. Some slight complications--they punctured an aorta and later discovered that there was internal bleeding. But that, too, seems to be fixed.

When we got back to the house, I'd heard that Mufi's father had died. This week really really sucks and I'm going to be so happy when it's over.

i've loved these days

2005-08-21T17:32:45Z

What an incredible summer this has been! The playtime, the travel, even the gigs have been fantastic. On Friday, the promotors had to scramble for so many extra seats--it was a big crowd at my show. That's a wonderful feeling!
What a summer--I can't remember the last time I felt this happy.

sleepless in seattle? it's all that damn coffee!

2005-08-15T19:58:31Z

We’re baack!

Just returned a few days ago from a wonderful trip to Seattle—our first visit since firstborn son moved to the area in January. I’ve been to Washington State a number of times, always on business when I get to see little more than the airport and hotel. This trip, my son was determined to give us a proper taste of the area’s flavor.

The first day, we awoke early and drove as high as we could up Mount Rainier where the view was spectacular! That evening he and his girlfriend took us to their favorite Vietnamese restaurant. Best moment? When my husband automatically reached for the check, our son put his hand on his father’s arm and proudly announced “This one’s mine, Dad.” This from a young man who was always “short a couple of bucks” while he was going for his master’s degree. I’m telling you—it was the one scene that brought tears to my eyes.

The next day we hit the city and did the whole tourist routine there: the top of the Space Needle, a monorail trip into Westlake Center, shopping at Pike Place Market (a west coast Faneuil Hall), and an underground tour of the city. When in Seattle, do as the Seattleites do—I drank more coffee than I’ve ever consumed in any 24-hour period. We ended the day at a Sushi bar. I do believe I ate faster than I can remember consuming any meal ever. Wired? Moi?

But wait—there’s more! The following day, we went kayaking. Our son was either trying very hard to show his family a good time, or he was trying to kill us. Still not sure which one. I have to admit, though, that we’ll probably go kayaking again—we had such a great time! The day after that, we took a tour of a glass factory (my husband the glass artist insisted on that one).

So I’m home now—I think I need a vacation from this vacation. But first, another double espresso latte.

i <3 puzzles

2005-06-24T03:32:08Z

Thursday

On a scale of one to ten, with ten being so cynical that trust is a four-letter word, and one being so open-minded that your brains are at risk of falling out, maybe I’m a four and a half. Okay, I’m a solid three. But I’m not so willing to put my faith in any old thing. I think crop circles have been pretty well debunked, and the whole methane gas theory about the Bermuda triangle disappearances sounds like a plausible explanation to me.

Still, I can’t explain the little miracles. You know the ones: that song with just the right lyric, the long lost friend you "happened" to meet after having dreamt of her that very morning, that odd but relevant snippet of a conversation you overheard on the train—why do some events seem more meaning-full than others? And why do these meaningful coincidences (termed synchronicity by Carl Jung) seem to occur in clusters? (I can only speak for myself in this instance, but once I start to notice one strange event, a few more arrive on its heels.)

It’s nothing if not puzzling and I have a fascination for puzzles. I like the way you see whole pictures develop from a handful of small jigsaw pieces, the way you can intuit what a missing piece will look like by the ones surrounding the empty space, and the way the odd shape that seems perplexing now will hold its own essential place eventually. Mostly, it’s the sense of relationship I like (a typical Libran trait, I’m told), seeing how that small piece in the upper right-hand corner is connected to the one in the lower left. They may bear no outward resemblance, but they are inexorably linked. It’s a matter of stepping back a little to see the bigger picture.

As I mentioned—on the cynic scale, I’m still pretty low (considering my forty-some-odd years, I’d say that’s remarkable). I still have enough of that child-like faith left that tells me the people are coming together. I can see it in the internet communities (relationships, I might add, that transcend gender, race, creed, nationality and sexual preference). I see it in the way folks are coming together to assist the less fortunate (I predict, by the way, great success for Live 8). And I see it in the odd little coincidences taking shape in my own life.

At the beginning of the year I quit a job that I loved, but that was also threatening my health. For the past six months, apart from taking the occasional freelance job, I’ve pretty much been doing what I want to do—paint, write, dance—all activities best done solo. (Dancing is a lot like sex: I think I make a damn good partner, but I’m at my very best when I’m alone.)

I’m certainly not complaining about the time—I consider myself very fortunate to have had the opportunity to play in the middle of a very full life. I’ve made music, educated children, painted, written, and danced my way from one blissful obsession to the next. There comes a time, though, when you start to wonder whether the music has merit, the painting holds promise. And, luckily, just when I start to second-guess myself, something comes along to remind me of the rightness of my place, however small, in this world.

Sometimes we forget how connected we are to the rest of the planet. We simply forget, living as we do within well-defined parameters, on a plane of existence that sometimes includes other countries, but mostly is confined to our little patch of terra firma. It’s hard enough to see the bond we share with our coworkers, much less the boy in Rwanda, or the little girl in Iraq. It’s very easy to ignore that invisible thread of humanity that connects us all. But it’s there. It’s a matter of stepping back to notice.