Younglings:
I don't normally do the "end of the year" rundown thing, but I kinda want to this year, because 2019 was a bit of a roller coaster ride.
On January 1, we were gearing up to take a motorcycle ride and my shoulder did "that thing" again. I was just putting on a motorcycle jacket. Geez. So I thought, "Well, that's a fine how-do-ya-do to kick the year off." But I have a friend with muscle relaxers and so I just went back to bed. Thanks, Glenn Smith.
February - I turned 50 on the 5th. Not really that devastating. I had a great birthday party with Poppa Don, Memaw and Poppa Bill, and one of my best friends in the whole world, Christine, at a restaurant owned by one of my best classmates, Jason, from Mena. The food was great, Mom made me a chocolate cake with white coconut icing (as is customary), and all was right with the world.
Then Poppa Don took me on a surprise vacation. I had no idea where we were going until we got to the airport. I thought they'd dropped us at the wrong terminal; Poppa Don kept telling me we were flying American, so...why are we at the Lufthansa gate? That's because we went to SPAIN. THE SPAIN. The one I studied for a year and a half to get my Spanish language teaching license. It was phenomenal - my first trip overseas. The trip of a lifetime.
We had spent three days in Madrid, Barcelona, Segovia, Toledo, Salamanca, and Avila - then I wake up in the middle of the night to a Facebook message telling me my best friend, who'd been at my birthday party, had died of complications from the flu. The next morning we toured the Prado but we had to go back to the room so I could break down. I was on this trip of a lifetime and my best friend has died. On Valentine's Day. She hated Valentine's Day. LOL. I didn't know quite how to handle that. She'd be appalled at the Valentine's Day stuff that's already in the stores here in December.
A few weeks later we went to Alabama for her memorial service, where her brother had asked me to speak. Again, it was not easy, but her family and I shared some wonderful memories, and I know she's up there, petting all the cats. I also made a new friend - Christine's friend Carla from when they were in junior high together, before Christine moved to Mena. When we came home, Poppa Don bought a new motorcycle. Alrighty then!
Later on that spring there were some changes made to my job. Changes I'm not so happy about, but I get it. I won't dwell on that.
In May, we went to Georgia to watch Number One, Kobe, graduate from high school. What a party! Mackenzie graduated, too, on the same day, but it's kinda hard to be on Atlanta and Indianapolis at the same time. We spoke to Kenzie and Nathan via FaceTime on Christmas Day and it was so nice to "see" them.
Both Papaw and Great Great Grandma had medical issues during the summer, and later on during the fall. Luckily, they came through each and are doing much better. Memaw and Poppa Bill are doing very well, and I'm grateful for that.
Poppa Don sold Westark Concerts and is now officially retired. We took a trip to New Orleans and had a great time as always. School started again for me and I was back into the routine. We got the rest of the floors in the Plantation refinished and the house looks amazing.
In September, I went to see KISS for the first (and last) time. Wow. Worth every dime. I went to Detroit, Michigan for the first time and even wandered into Windsor, Ontario for about 15 minutes. Beauty, eh? Then I went to see Heart and Joan Jett (third time for both) and they were phenomenal as usual. Heart kicked off the show with "Rockin' Heaven Down" (coincidence???) and Ann's vocals on "Mistral Wind" - absolutely sublime. It was almost like a religious experience. My trip to the VIP bar might have had something to do with that, but no matter. That was a show for die-hard Joan & Heart fans.
We went up to Fayetteville in October to hang out with Kaytea and Beau and watch the Cate Brothers' 50th Anniversary show at George's. Another really cool moment, despite the pinot grigio that tasted like soy sauce (!!!). Poppa Don and I were wandering around on Dickson Street afterward and ate burritos from a food truck. We enjoyed it so much we're going to do that again in March when the Cates do an encore show. That same day, however, we went to Sallisaw to remember Uncle Alvie, who passed over into the next world doing what he loved - hunting elk in the beautiful San Juan Mountains of Colorado.
We had four of you Younglings (Bozo Boy, Seven, E, and Master Luke) at the house for Thanksgiving and that was fun. We had a Charlie Brown Thanksgiving and watched ALL the Star Wars movies in chronological order (and The Mandalorian) to prepare for Episode IX. We decided Baby Yoda is the coolest thing ever, in addition to the possum that visits our front porch and eats the food I put out for the feral cats, of which there are about four.
We continued to do more home improvements - we built a retaining wall around the front yard and took down the old picket fence. We installed some new "gadgets" (locks and gas logs) and will be doing even more touch-ups in 2020.
I wasn't in the Christmas spirit this year. Don't really know why. After fall commencement, we took off for the West in Garth Vader, Poppa Don's "new" FJ Cruiser. We saw lots of snow in Durango, ate some fantastic New Mexican food in Taos (I miss red sauce!), shopped in Santa Fe. (I especially like my jackalope). On the way home, we stayed in Denison to watch Episode IX. I loved it, as I enjoy all Star Wars films. My opinions about the "toxic fans" - save for another blog post, I will.
We celebrated Christmas in Mena with both sets of parents and fun was had by all. It turned out to be a really great Christmas. I got new clothes, a smartwatch, shoes, handmade bedspreads, candles, homemade soap, honey, wine, all kinds of cool stuff. The trip was awesome but it was good to come home to our beautiful house and our oddball menagerie of pets.
But this morning I learned that I've lost another classmate, a man I've known all my life since we were little bitty kids in the Methodist Church at Mena. He used to bring Planet of the Apes action figures with him to Sunday School. My mom and his parents were friends for years. We were editors of the high school literary magazine together. We bought wrote for the school newspaper. He grew up and became Indiana Jones. No, really, he was an archaeologist. A real one. He had a lovely wife, two beautiful daughters, was always remodeling his house, made his own beer, ran marathons. I was hoping to see him at our next high school reunion but now he's gone. He was out running yesterday morning and was struck by a vehicle. He had just posted the other day about the Star Wars Holiday Special. I'm still dealing with Christine, and now Michael is gone, too. Both quite unexpectedly and way before their time.
What the $&%*^??
This is why I've begun to take LIFE more seriously, and put up with worthless horse puckey less and less. I don't worry about the things I can't do anything about. I blow off housework to read or write or do the things I enjoy. I'm going to ride my bike and go to yoga whenever I can. I WILL finish the other books floating around in my head. Do what you want to do NOW, Younglings - you don't even have to wait until a New Year starts.
Today Poppa Don and I rode Papaw's Indian trike over to Office Depot and the bookstore. I bought a latte and tipped the barista three dollars because her cash register wasn't working and she brought my coffee directly to me over at the main checkout. I bought a Lillian Jackson Braun book because Christine loved them and I've decided to collect them (and read them!) all in her honor. Later on I posted the picture of me and Michael as Robin Hood and Little John (respectively) from kindergarten graduation in 1975. This has also made me think of Tory and Darrin and Scotty and Ben and others we've lost from the class of '87.
I'm looking forward to spending a nice quiet New Year's Eve eating my favorite Chinese food, drinking my weekly ration of Coca-Cola, and watching whatever I want on TV because Amazon Firesticks are very, very cool. I'm glad I'm NOT playing a New Year's gig. I'll drink cheap champagne and my feet won't hurt at the end of the night. I'll say goodbye to the "Judge Roy Scream" (look that up if you don't know what that is) that was 2019 and hello to the new Roaring 20s - here's looking at you, kid. This is beginning of another beautiful decade.
Tuesday, December 31, 2019
Wednesday, September 11, 2019
9/11
Hello, Younglings. It's Patriot Day. And I'm going to tell you why.
September 11, 2001. It was a Tuesday. Kobe, Number One, was only 5 months old. Poppa Don and I were living in Sanford, Colorado. I was teaching high school Spanish and fifth through twelfth grade band.
I got up that day and went to school as usual, just two blocks down the street. Poppa Don was preparing to load up Clifford and head back to Arkansas to work a show; don't remember what that would have been. As I was starting the Spanish 1 class in my upstairs classroom, just before the bell rang, Poppa Don came by to say goodbye, and said when he stopped by the Sanford General Store he'd heard that a plane had crashed into one of the World Trade Center buildings. He wasn't sure if it as just an accident or a possible terrorist attack.
We were on Mountain Time, two whole hours behind Eastern Time, and weren't in the habit of turning on the TV first thing in the morning, so by that time I believe the first tower was starting to fall. He suggested just going about the day as usual, which I did, to not upset the students.
I didn't usually eat lunch in the cafeteria, but I went by there before going to the band hall. I remember a TV being on in there, but I didn't look at it. It was probably just showing a commercial or something similar. We still weren't really sure what was happening so school wasn't dismissed and I got home around three-thirty, and that's when I turned on the TV.
I was shocked. It was surreal, like watching some kind of action film. I remember talking to Memaw, either that night or the next day, and she said, "Where's Superman?" The buildings falling, dust everywhere, people jumping...it was horrifying. My cousin, Maurin, was working in DC at the time at a building site and saw the plane hit the Pentagon. She and her co-workers looked up and thought, "Wow, that plane's flying really low."
Out on the road, Poppa Don saw people lining up at the gas stations, fearing gas prices would go sky high and no one would be able to travel. He remembers the sky that day, clear and blue with no clouds, and no contrails since they'd grounded all air flights that day. How could something so tragic happen on such a beautiful day?
On top of all this, Sanford Schools suffered its own tragedy. A student named Chanci Espinoza, (she wasn't in my classes but I knew who she was), was riding her bike along one of the roads through town with her brother, who was in wheelchair with spina bifada, and a car came by and accidentally struck her. The sun had been in the driver's eyes and she had been difficult to see. I'm not sure if this happened on September 11 or the night before, but I recall someone saying that as Chanci lay in the hospital she mentioned how concerned she was for those in New York, DC, and Pennsylvania. Chanci didn't survive the accident, and we had a memorial service at the gymnasium that following Saturday.
When tragedies like 9/11 occur, and have such an impact on a nation as a whole, artists of all kinds turn to their creativity in order to cope, and to help others cope. I feel it is my obligation as a teacher of music to present some of these compositions to my students every year to commemorate that day, and to never forget.
This year, I have students who were merely infants during 9/11. I encourage them to talk to their parents and grandparents and learn their stories, because they WILL remember that day.
Though there are many to choose from, the two musical pieces I show are the following:
"Undivided"
Bon Jovi's "Undivided" from Bounce, 2003. I was going to grad school in Greeley and working at Hastings when this album dropped, and this was the opening song. I still have one of the promo posters we had in the store. This album was one of their best. (I really miss Richie Sambora.) I love the video. "Bring One Thing That Represents the Best in YOU."
Watch the homeless man, Younglings.
The other is this:
"On the Transmigration of Souls"
"On the Transmigration of Souls," John Adams, an American composer my class will discuss later in the semester. This piece was commissioned by the New York Philharmonic and won the Pulitzer Prize for Music in 2003. I prefer this video, even though it isn't the entire piece, because it features pictures of what happened that day. The piece itself reminds me a lot of Charles Ives' "The Unanswered Question." Though heartbreaking to watch, it needs to be seen. I only show the first three minutes. Any more and I would fall to pieces.
I will have to do this again tomorrow for my AV class. In some ways I dread having to do it all again, but it's my duty as an educator to remind my students how important this day is, and how we must do everything in our power to keep it from happening again. Those were people who just got up and went to work that day in a nice, air-conditioned office to take care of regular, non-dangerous business. Or were just taking an average every day plane ride. And now they're gone, because four men learned to become pilots and flew planes into buildings. No bombs, no guns. Airplanes. And the day after, nobody cared about political parties or....whatever. They cared about each other and mourned the loss of their loved ones and people they didn't even know.
There's a quote from the movie "Starman" where Jeff Bridges' character says, "You are at your best, when things are worst."
Remember that, Younglings. #neverforget
September 11, 2001. It was a Tuesday. Kobe, Number One, was only 5 months old. Poppa Don and I were living in Sanford, Colorado. I was teaching high school Spanish and fifth through twelfth grade band.
I got up that day and went to school as usual, just two blocks down the street. Poppa Don was preparing to load up Clifford and head back to Arkansas to work a show; don't remember what that would have been. As I was starting the Spanish 1 class in my upstairs classroom, just before the bell rang, Poppa Don came by to say goodbye, and said when he stopped by the Sanford General Store he'd heard that a plane had crashed into one of the World Trade Center buildings. He wasn't sure if it as just an accident or a possible terrorist attack.
We were on Mountain Time, two whole hours behind Eastern Time, and weren't in the habit of turning on the TV first thing in the morning, so by that time I believe the first tower was starting to fall. He suggested just going about the day as usual, which I did, to not upset the students.
I didn't usually eat lunch in the cafeteria, but I went by there before going to the band hall. I remember a TV being on in there, but I didn't look at it. It was probably just showing a commercial or something similar. We still weren't really sure what was happening so school wasn't dismissed and I got home around three-thirty, and that's when I turned on the TV.
I was shocked. It was surreal, like watching some kind of action film. I remember talking to Memaw, either that night or the next day, and she said, "Where's Superman?" The buildings falling, dust everywhere, people jumping...it was horrifying. My cousin, Maurin, was working in DC at the time at a building site and saw the plane hit the Pentagon. She and her co-workers looked up and thought, "Wow, that plane's flying really low."
Out on the road, Poppa Don saw people lining up at the gas stations, fearing gas prices would go sky high and no one would be able to travel. He remembers the sky that day, clear and blue with no clouds, and no contrails since they'd grounded all air flights that day. How could something so tragic happen on such a beautiful day?
On top of all this, Sanford Schools suffered its own tragedy. A student named Chanci Espinoza, (she wasn't in my classes but I knew who she was), was riding her bike along one of the roads through town with her brother, who was in wheelchair with spina bifada, and a car came by and accidentally struck her. The sun had been in the driver's eyes and she had been difficult to see. I'm not sure if this happened on September 11 or the night before, but I recall someone saying that as Chanci lay in the hospital she mentioned how concerned she was for those in New York, DC, and Pennsylvania. Chanci didn't survive the accident, and we had a memorial service at the gymnasium that following Saturday.
When tragedies like 9/11 occur, and have such an impact on a nation as a whole, artists of all kinds turn to their creativity in order to cope, and to help others cope. I feel it is my obligation as a teacher of music to present some of these compositions to my students every year to commemorate that day, and to never forget.
This year, I have students who were merely infants during 9/11. I encourage them to talk to their parents and grandparents and learn their stories, because they WILL remember that day.
Though there are many to choose from, the two musical pieces I show are the following:
"Undivided"
Bon Jovi's "Undivided" from Bounce, 2003. I was going to grad school in Greeley and working at Hastings when this album dropped, and this was the opening song. I still have one of the promo posters we had in the store. This album was one of their best. (I really miss Richie Sambora.) I love the video. "Bring One Thing That Represents the Best in YOU."
Watch the homeless man, Younglings.
The other is this:
"On the Transmigration of Souls"
"On the Transmigration of Souls," John Adams, an American composer my class will discuss later in the semester. This piece was commissioned by the New York Philharmonic and won the Pulitzer Prize for Music in 2003. I prefer this video, even though it isn't the entire piece, because it features pictures of what happened that day. The piece itself reminds me a lot of Charles Ives' "The Unanswered Question." Though heartbreaking to watch, it needs to be seen. I only show the first three minutes. Any more and I would fall to pieces.
I will have to do this again tomorrow for my AV class. In some ways I dread having to do it all again, but it's my duty as an educator to remind my students how important this day is, and how we must do everything in our power to keep it from happening again. Those were people who just got up and went to work that day in a nice, air-conditioned office to take care of regular, non-dangerous business. Or were just taking an average every day plane ride. And now they're gone, because four men learned to become pilots and flew planes into buildings. No bombs, no guns. Airplanes. And the day after, nobody cared about political parties or....whatever. They cared about each other and mourned the loss of their loved ones and people they didn't even know.
There's a quote from the movie "Starman" where Jeff Bridges' character says, "You are at your best, when things are worst."
Remember that, Younglings. #neverforget
Friday, June 8, 2018
Best of Both Worlds
Hello, Younglings.
It was a very "Laura Jo" day. (Y'all know that's my name, right?)
June 8, 2018. A Friday. My favorite day of the week. And yes, it was a most excellent day. I'll have to explain it somewhat back to front and front to back, but I guess the best way to start is at the beginning.
The alarm went off at 5:00 a.m. I engaged the snooze button at least three times. I heard "Juke Box Hero" by Foreigner. At another point in the morning routine I heard Whitesnake's "Here I Go Again." It's 2018, I'm pushing 50 and am still listening to the same songs I woke up to almost thirty years ago. On the same station, 98.1 out of Shreveport. I'll explain why this is important later.
At 6:37 a.m., as I was gathering up stuff to drop at the cleaners, I checked my Yahoo account on my phone and received the email that I'd been waiting for since 9 p.m. the night before:
"Congratulations, your book “Rockin' Heaven Down” is now live and available* for purchase in the Kindle Store!"
YES!!! The Book Formerly Known as "Rock Opus" Because I Couldn't Come Up With a Better Title is now LIVE on Amazon.
There's a lot of blah, blah, blah about this book, and you can find out what that is some other time, but I spent 26 years writing this thing and another 12 trying to publish it. And now here it is:
Rockin' Heaven Down
NOTE: Some of you are too young to read it. So wait until you're about....20 or so. Preferably before you get married.
I was jumping up and down like a little girl. I stopped on the way to work and bought donuts for my co-workers because it was a day of great celebration. I also got a really nice message from my original publisher from Washington state about how great the cover looked.
"Who wouldn't want to read that!" he said.
He also messaged me later to say that the description was very strong. That's so nice to hear from someone who knows the business of publishing, as well as music, and believed in my work enough before to include it in this publication:
Tribute to Orpheus
Now...what does this have to do with "best of both worlds?"
Well, the world I'm referring to here is the Land of Rock 'N Roll. Or Hair Metal, as it is referred to now. We didn't call it that at the time but that's ...what it is now. *big frown* Without this genre, I truly would not have had the career that I've had as a musician, or "local rock diva." I dove into that world at age 16 and that was that. I started writing the book at the same time and now that book is "out there."
Honestly, I don't care if it sells one download. That's not a source of income for me. I just wanted to "do it." So I did. I played the Spotify list I created for it all day today, as I took Jill the Cat to the vet, did a bit of shopping, and got a pedicure. Then I punched into hyperspace and went into the other galaxy far, far away.
I came out of the womb as a nerd. My first hero was Robin Hood. The Disney Robin Hood. Then I turned nine and saw this movie called "Star Wars."
This one you know about. We've all binge-watched the entire series AND The Clone Wars at The Plantation. You've all slept in the "Star Wars" room. It's why you're called "Younglings." (Duh...) And today, I saw "Solo."
I missed Opening Day, for something more important than movie-going, but I made it to Cinemark for the 4:15 show. I knew I had to go before it was pulled from the theater, knowing how quickly movies are yanked these days. Back in the Ancient Times (the 1970s and 80s), movies stayed on for MONTHS. Even YEARS. Not so anymore. It just wouldn't be right for me to NOT see a Star Wars film for the first time in a movie theater.
Especially this one, because it's about Han Solo. The only man for me pretty much until I was 16 and discovered those rocker guys I was talking about earlier. As usual, I was thinking "squeeeeeee" the whole two hours.
This day was all about me, and what defines me. Not what defines my life, but what defines me as I was growing up. The things I loved and enjoyed and made me happy. I wasn't an athlete. I wasn't a cheerleader. I wasn't a cool kid. I was a nerd long before it was popular. Even as a "rocker chick" I was different.
From the excitement of having my book published electronically so people might actually buy it to watching Han and Chewie fly the Millennium Falcon once again, it was quite a roller-coaster day, and I only had one thought as I climbed back into the ultra-cool Batmobile (the Crossfire) and headed to get sushi-to-go before I went home.
I owe a lot of thanks to Poppa Don.
This made me cry happy tears, because he loved and accepted me even though silly things like space fantasy movies and eighties rock music are things that make me terribly happy. The stuff that people sometimes laughed at and made fun of me for, making me feel, at certain times, like I was too weird or kooky. He was out of town working (Pink Tomato Festival!!) and that's why I posted on social media a lot during the day so I could share it all with him when he got the chance to check his phone.
I guess my point is this, Younglings: You don't have to give up the things you loved as a kid when you get older. And you don't have to be embarrassed by them or hide them from other people because it's not "cool." It's okay to YOU. It's okay to have the interests and hobbies you have. And find someone who loves you as you.
Because someday you will. I promise.
May the Force Be With You. Rock on, Younglings!!
It was a very "Laura Jo" day. (Y'all know that's my name, right?)
June 8, 2018. A Friday. My favorite day of the week. And yes, it was a most excellent day. I'll have to explain it somewhat back to front and front to back, but I guess the best way to start is at the beginning.
The alarm went off at 5:00 a.m. I engaged the snooze button at least three times. I heard "Juke Box Hero" by Foreigner. At another point in the morning routine I heard Whitesnake's "Here I Go Again." It's 2018, I'm pushing 50 and am still listening to the same songs I woke up to almost thirty years ago. On the same station, 98.1 out of Shreveport. I'll explain why this is important later.
At 6:37 a.m., as I was gathering up stuff to drop at the cleaners, I checked my Yahoo account on my phone and received the email that I'd been waiting for since 9 p.m. the night before:
"Congratulations, your book “Rockin' Heaven Down” is now live and available* for purchase in the Kindle Store!"
YES!!! The Book Formerly Known as "Rock Opus" Because I Couldn't Come Up With a Better Title is now LIVE on Amazon.
There's a lot of blah, blah, blah about this book, and you can find out what that is some other time, but I spent 26 years writing this thing and another 12 trying to publish it. And now here it is:
Rockin' Heaven Down
NOTE: Some of you are too young to read it. So wait until you're about....20 or so. Preferably before you get married.
I was jumping up and down like a little girl. I stopped on the way to work and bought donuts for my co-workers because it was a day of great celebration. I also got a really nice message from my original publisher from Washington state about how great the cover looked.
"Who wouldn't want to read that!" he said.
He also messaged me later to say that the description was very strong. That's so nice to hear from someone who knows the business of publishing, as well as music, and believed in my work enough before to include it in this publication:
Tribute to Orpheus
Now...what does this have to do with "best of both worlds?"
Well, the world I'm referring to here is the Land of Rock 'N Roll. Or Hair Metal, as it is referred to now. We didn't call it that at the time but that's ...what it is now. *big frown* Without this genre, I truly would not have had the career that I've had as a musician, or "local rock diva." I dove into that world at age 16 and that was that. I started writing the book at the same time and now that book is "out there."
Honestly, I don't care if it sells one download. That's not a source of income for me. I just wanted to "do it." So I did. I played the Spotify list I created for it all day today, as I took Jill the Cat to the vet, did a bit of shopping, and got a pedicure. Then I punched into hyperspace and went into the other galaxy far, far away.
I came out of the womb as a nerd. My first hero was Robin Hood. The Disney Robin Hood. Then I turned nine and saw this movie called "Star Wars."
This one you know about. We've all binge-watched the entire series AND The Clone Wars at The Plantation. You've all slept in the "Star Wars" room. It's why you're called "Younglings." (Duh...) And today, I saw "Solo."
I missed Opening Day, for something more important than movie-going, but I made it to Cinemark for the 4:15 show. I knew I had to go before it was pulled from the theater, knowing how quickly movies are yanked these days. Back in the Ancient Times (the 1970s and 80s), movies stayed on for MONTHS. Even YEARS. Not so anymore. It just wouldn't be right for me to NOT see a Star Wars film for the first time in a movie theater.
Especially this one, because it's about Han Solo. The only man for me pretty much until I was 16 and discovered those rocker guys I was talking about earlier. As usual, I was thinking "squeeeeeee" the whole two hours.
This day was all about me, and what defines me. Not what defines my life, but what defines me as I was growing up. The things I loved and enjoyed and made me happy. I wasn't an athlete. I wasn't a cheerleader. I wasn't a cool kid. I was a nerd long before it was popular. Even as a "rocker chick" I was different.
From the excitement of having my book published electronically so people might actually buy it to watching Han and Chewie fly the Millennium Falcon once again, it was quite a roller-coaster day, and I only had one thought as I climbed back into the ultra-cool Batmobile (the Crossfire) and headed to get sushi-to-go before I went home.
I owe a lot of thanks to Poppa Don.
This made me cry happy tears, because he loved and accepted me even though silly things like space fantasy movies and eighties rock music are things that make me terribly happy. The stuff that people sometimes laughed at and made fun of me for, making me feel, at certain times, like I was too weird or kooky. He was out of town working (Pink Tomato Festival!!) and that's why I posted on social media a lot during the day so I could share it all with him when he got the chance to check his phone.
I guess my point is this, Younglings: You don't have to give up the things you loved as a kid when you get older. And you don't have to be embarrassed by them or hide them from other people because it's not "cool." It's okay to YOU. It's okay to have the interests and hobbies you have. And find someone who loves you as you.
Because someday you will. I promise.
May the Force Be With You. Rock on, Younglings!!
Sunday, April 15, 2018
Weekend Gone Awry
Beginning Friday, April 13:
1. Woke up with a cold. Meh. DayQuil will fix it.
2. Got home early. Still felt crummy. Made dinner.
3. Sliced up thumb chopping onions. Band-aid. Almost had a Dan Aykroyd as Julia Child moment.
(I would put a link to that skit here if I could.)
4. Ate some but felt great need to lie down, but the Colossal (Non) Weather Blitzkrieg of 2018 was upon us.
Poppa Don (fifteen minutes before tornado watch was ending): I'll have to get you up if this tornado comes.
Me (looking out front door): ....the sun's out...
5. I go to bed. Twenty minutes later, I learn that someone somewhere has shared their stomach virus with me. Nice.
6. Spend most of Saturday in bed. Manage to make dinner again. I eat it. And am sort of okay. Then the headache appears.
7. Imitrex at 8. Another at midnight. Doesn't make a dent.
8. Sunday morning. Left eye may potentially explode. But there's Mountain Dew in the house!
9. Took 3rd Imitrex at 2:30. Ah...I'm...ok. Watching old Dark Shadows episodes. I think I'll survive.
1. Woke up with a cold. Meh. DayQuil will fix it.
2. Got home early. Still felt crummy. Made dinner.
3. Sliced up thumb chopping onions. Band-aid. Almost had a Dan Aykroyd as Julia Child moment.
(I would put a link to that skit here if I could.)
4. Ate some but felt great need to lie down, but the Colossal (Non) Weather Blitzkrieg of 2018 was upon us.
Poppa Don (fifteen minutes before tornado watch was ending): I'll have to get you up if this tornado comes.
Me (looking out front door): ....the sun's out...
5. I go to bed. Twenty minutes later, I learn that someone somewhere has shared their stomach virus with me. Nice.
6. Spend most of Saturday in bed. Manage to make dinner again. I eat it. And am sort of okay. Then the headache appears.
7. Imitrex at 8. Another at midnight. Doesn't make a dent.
8. Sunday morning. Left eye may potentially explode. But there's Mountain Dew in the house!
9. Took 3rd Imitrex at 2:30. Ah...I'm...ok. Watching old Dark Shadows episodes. I think I'll survive.
Friday, June 9, 2017
The Age of Reason...or Not
Good morning, Younglings.
Short blog today - just one of those things that just kinda "hit" me today.
The other day I picked up this little gem for a measly 10 cents at the Sevier County Library in DeQueen.
I refer to art when I teach my music classes, because the characteristics of both art and music of a particular historical period share certain similarities. That's why I picked this up, because I don't have a lot of art books.
One of these days, you may be subject to the proverbial art class either in high school or college. Don't groan, okay? Because some of it is really quite cool, like this guy, Francisco Goya.
Goya is one of my favorite painters, because he's like the "Stephen King of 18th Century Painters." I'd heard about him even before I took Spanish culture classes, but I especially favored him after getting my Spanish teaching certification.
You'll hear a lot some day about the differences between Classical and Romantic art, so I won't get into that right now, but Goya was somewhat ahead of his time. Most of the imagery he painted was more reflective of the following era, with an emphasis on the fantastic and supernatural versus the "civilized" and "enlightened" years that had come before. As I read through this book's section on Goya I was intrigued by an interesting interpretation about this particular drawing, with which I'm quite familiar:
This is "The Sleep of Reason" from a series of drawings Goya termed "Caprichos." The inscription reads, "The Sleep of Reason Brings Forth Monsters."
The author of this book, Kenneth Clark, believes this could mean two things:
"...either that when we are asleep our dreaming mind produces the bogies and witches...or, that human beings, when they abandon reason, fall into the horrible practices..."
That struck me as very relevant to the issues we grown-ups are dealing with in this century. I see a lot of "unreasonable" behavior out there in the world, by people I thought had a lot of more sense. Though the media sensationalizes such mayhem, there many things happening that make me sit back and think, "What the....????" I won't go into details, and bad behavior was most definitely going on in Goya's time, (Napolean, anyone??), but...people identifying as...cats??
I'd like to identify as a beach bum today. Can I do that, and still have a job??
That's just the tip of the iceberg. Whenever you read this, Younglings, some of 2017's current events will have passed, but I encourage you to Google them, if Google is still the place to go for that 10 or 15 years from now. I've never seen people so divisive just to be divisive. It doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me.
It defies reason. And I think that's the point Goya was trying to make. Or maybe he just liked drawing freaky pictures. Much like how people make freaky movies and TV shows like The Walking Dead and Supernatural. Maybe he wasn't trying to make a point at all.
I still found it rather interesting. And when you get a chance, look up a nice little painting called "Satan Devouring His Children." Goya hung it in his dining room.
Short blog today - just one of those things that just kinda "hit" me today.
The other day I picked up this little gem for a measly 10 cents at the Sevier County Library in DeQueen.
I refer to art when I teach my music classes, because the characteristics of both art and music of a particular historical period share certain similarities. That's why I picked this up, because I don't have a lot of art books.
One of these days, you may be subject to the proverbial art class either in high school or college. Don't groan, okay? Because some of it is really quite cool, like this guy, Francisco Goya.
Goya is one of my favorite painters, because he's like the "Stephen King of 18th Century Painters." I'd heard about him even before I took Spanish culture classes, but I especially favored him after getting my Spanish teaching certification.You'll hear a lot some day about the differences between Classical and Romantic art, so I won't get into that right now, but Goya was somewhat ahead of his time. Most of the imagery he painted was more reflective of the following era, with an emphasis on the fantastic and supernatural versus the "civilized" and "enlightened" years that had come before. As I read through this book's section on Goya I was intrigued by an interesting interpretation about this particular drawing, with which I'm quite familiar:
This is "The Sleep of Reason" from a series of drawings Goya termed "Caprichos." The inscription reads, "The Sleep of Reason Brings Forth Monsters."
The author of this book, Kenneth Clark, believes this could mean two things:
"...either that when we are asleep our dreaming mind produces the bogies and witches...or, that human beings, when they abandon reason, fall into the horrible practices..."
That struck me as very relevant to the issues we grown-ups are dealing with in this century. I see a lot of "unreasonable" behavior out there in the world, by people I thought had a lot of more sense. Though the media sensationalizes such mayhem, there many things happening that make me sit back and think, "What the....????" I won't go into details, and bad behavior was most definitely going on in Goya's time, (Napolean, anyone??), but...people identifying as...cats??
I'd like to identify as a beach bum today. Can I do that, and still have a job??
It defies reason. And I think that's the point Goya was trying to make. Or maybe he just liked drawing freaky pictures. Much like how people make freaky movies and TV shows like The Walking Dead and Supernatural. Maybe he wasn't trying to make a point at all.
I still found it rather interesting. And when you get a chance, look up a nice little painting called "Satan Devouring His Children." Goya hung it in his dining room.
Thursday, May 11, 2017
Oh, Mother!
Good day, Younglings. Mother's Day is Sunday, May 14. And that's why this blog gets re-posted somewhere on social media EVERY YEAR since its original publication.
Read on, Padawans, and enlightened you will be:
In honor of Mother's Day, I'm posting the article I wrote that appeared in HER magazine, May 2009:
Oh, yes! I definitely am! And that’s perfectly okay with me.
People have always considered me a “chip off the ol’ block.” Some women would have flames bursting from their eyes if anyone told them this, but not me. Growing up with “Carol Burnett meets Elizabeth Taylor” (minus the Richard Burton element), was never dull. My mom is funny, beautiful, and doesn’t take a lot of crap from anybody. I for sure got the funny part, because if I can make people laugh, I’ve done my good deed for the day. I’m still working on the beautiful part. That always took some work, because my mother couldn’t get me to wear a dress or makeup without great gnashing of teeth. She’s been accused of dressing up to clean house. I’m accused of having too many dresses and not wearing any of them.
When I got married, I instantly became the mother of four. I helped raised two of them on an everyday basis: girls, age six and nine at the time. I skipped colic, diapers, and potty training and went straight to slumber parties and tubes of lipstick left in the pocket of a pair of pants that got put into the dryer.
After a month went by, I called my mother and said, “I apologize for everything I’ve ever done.” I was in my late twenties, so that covered a lot of ground.
All four of these children are grown now; three have children of their own. This made me a grandmother at 31. (I could insert one of those online, IM-speak acronyms of shock here, but I’ll refrain.) It wasn’t until I started hanging with the grandkids that I really noticed how much I was saying things like, “Scat, Tom!” when someone sneezed. I haven’t started calling everyone “shug” yet, but that might be a future endeavor.
I was standing in line at the local discount shopping mecca and glanced through an article about something rather unmentionable in one of those women’s magazines that likes to broadcast things that most women really don’t want to see broadcast in the checkout line, and thought, “Gee! I knew that in the fifth grade!” Because my mother told me. She knows everything, like the names of obscure actors all the way back to the 1930s. My children now ask me, “Who’s that?” when old black and white films turn up on TCM. Nine times out of ten, I know exactly who they are, thanks to excellent maternal guidance.
My mom and I definitely have different musical tastes, although she did think Poison’s “Talk Dirty to Me” was kinda catchy. Without her, I wouldn’t have Frankie Laine and Andy Williams on my mp3 player, right alongside Black Sabbath and Nickelback. “The Theme for Rawhide” coming on right after “Iron Man” upsets the passengers in my car somewhat, but you know what? I really don’t care. “Rollin’, rollin’, rollin…”
My mother loves to read, and I remember frequent trips to the library as a child. She introduced me to Stephen King, and we both had extreme fears of Plymouth automobiles for a while. (Remember Christine?) I don’t know if that explains my sister’s avid interest in the film version of Cujo, but oh, well. If I had time, I’d follow Mom’s lead and join a book club, but I don’t think “Building Online Communities: Effective Strategies for the Virtual Classroom” is on Oprah’s reading list.
Mother-daughter relationships are complicated. Every woman knows this. Especially if they survived their teenage years and still have both arms and legs. Several films have captured the dynamic: Terms of Endearment, Postcards from the Edge, Steel Magnolias, and Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. (Hmm…three of those starred Shirley MacLaine. Wonder what that means?) Some women strive to be like their mothers, others…not so much. I really doubt Amy Winehouse’s future children will still be telling her to go to rehab when they become adults. We won’t even mention Joan Crawford or that woman who had the octuplets. Maybe Shirley MacLaine could step in and line up everybody’s chakras.
Regardless of whatever may have happened between birth and the day we looked at a stray digital photo and said, “Oh, wait! That’s a picture of ME! I thought it was my mom!,” one thing is certain: We are all shaped into who we are as woman because of our mothers, no matter what the relationship may be. Some of us have spent every day of our lives with our mothers. Other were adopted, or separated from their mothers due to divorce or death or other circumstances. Be proud of those traits you’ve picked up, either consciously or unconsciously, and remember those special women on their day this month. Without them, you wouldn’t be reading this column, and I wouldn’t be writing it!
THANKS TO ALL THOSE MOTHERS OUT THERE!! YOU ARE LOVED!!
Read on, Padawans, and enlightened you will be:
In honor of Mother's Day, I'm posting the article I wrote that appeared in HER magazine, May 2009:
Oh, yes! I definitely am! And that’s perfectly okay with me.
People have always considered me a “chip off the ol’ block.” Some women would have flames bursting from their eyes if anyone told them this, but not me. Growing up with “Carol Burnett meets Elizabeth Taylor” (minus the Richard Burton element), was never dull. My mom is funny, beautiful, and doesn’t take a lot of crap from anybody. I for sure got the funny part, because if I can make people laugh, I’ve done my good deed for the day. I’m still working on the beautiful part. That always took some work, because my mother couldn’t get me to wear a dress or makeup without great gnashing of teeth. She’s been accused of dressing up to clean house. I’m accused of having too many dresses and not wearing any of them.
When I got married, I instantly became the mother of four. I helped raised two of them on an everyday basis: girls, age six and nine at the time. I skipped colic, diapers, and potty training and went straight to slumber parties and tubes of lipstick left in the pocket of a pair of pants that got put into the dryer.
After a month went by, I called my mother and said, “I apologize for everything I’ve ever done.” I was in my late twenties, so that covered a lot of ground.
All four of these children are grown now; three have children of their own. This made me a grandmother at 31. (I could insert one of those online, IM-speak acronyms of shock here, but I’ll refrain.) It wasn’t until I started hanging with the grandkids that I really noticed how much I was saying things like, “Scat, Tom!” when someone sneezed. I haven’t started calling everyone “shug” yet, but that might be a future endeavor.
I was standing in line at the local discount shopping mecca and glanced through an article about something rather unmentionable in one of those women’s magazines that likes to broadcast things that most women really don’t want to see broadcast in the checkout line, and thought, “Gee! I knew that in the fifth grade!” Because my mother told me. She knows everything, like the names of obscure actors all the way back to the 1930s. My children now ask me, “Who’s that?” when old black and white films turn up on TCM. Nine times out of ten, I know exactly who they are, thanks to excellent maternal guidance.
My mom and I definitely have different musical tastes, although she did think Poison’s “Talk Dirty to Me” was kinda catchy. Without her, I wouldn’t have Frankie Laine and Andy Williams on my mp3 player, right alongside Black Sabbath and Nickelback. “The Theme for Rawhide” coming on right after “Iron Man” upsets the passengers in my car somewhat, but you know what? I really don’t care. “Rollin’, rollin’, rollin…”
My mother loves to read, and I remember frequent trips to the library as a child. She introduced me to Stephen King, and we both had extreme fears of Plymouth automobiles for a while. (Remember Christine?) I don’t know if that explains my sister’s avid interest in the film version of Cujo, but oh, well. If I had time, I’d follow Mom’s lead and join a book club, but I don’t think “Building Online Communities: Effective Strategies for the Virtual Classroom” is on Oprah’s reading list.
Mother-daughter relationships are complicated. Every woman knows this. Especially if they survived their teenage years and still have both arms and legs. Several films have captured the dynamic: Terms of Endearment, Postcards from the Edge, Steel Magnolias, and Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. (Hmm…three of those starred Shirley MacLaine. Wonder what that means?) Some women strive to be like their mothers, others…not so much. I really doubt Amy Winehouse’s future children will still be telling her to go to rehab when they become adults. We won’t even mention Joan Crawford or that woman who had the octuplets. Maybe Shirley MacLaine could step in and line up everybody’s chakras.
Regardless of whatever may have happened between birth and the day we looked at a stray digital photo and said, “Oh, wait! That’s a picture of ME! I thought it was my mom!,” one thing is certain: We are all shaped into who we are as woman because of our mothers, no matter what the relationship may be. Some of us have spent every day of our lives with our mothers. Other were adopted, or separated from their mothers due to divorce or death or other circumstances. Be proud of those traits you’ve picked up, either consciously or unconsciously, and remember those special women on their day this month. Without them, you wouldn’t be reading this column, and I wouldn’t be writing it!
THANKS TO ALL THOSE MOTHERS OUT THERE!! YOU ARE LOVED!!
Tuesday, April 25, 2017
C'mon, Baby, Light My Fire
And here we are, with the second "make-up" post. This will count as May 2015.
Notice the original date, Younglings. Some of you weren't even born yet. And that makes me feel terribly old.
This is the re-counting of quite an eventful night when I was living in Poppa Don's recording studio in DeQueen, and had just started working on my PhD. This originally appeared as a MySpace Blog posted November 21, 2008. I may chime in with new insight as you read along (in italics).
November 18, 2008
Or "Smoke on the Water." More like "Smoke Seeping Through Your Air Conditioning Vent."
At 5:30 a.m. you awake to the sound of a Siamese cat (Yes, Renegade Ted) hacking up a lung, not a hairball. And this rubbery burning smell.
What do you do? Here's what I did.
I got up and got dressed. I went upstairs to the bathroom. Could still sort of smell the burny odor but felt no heat. Came back down to the studio.
Was it hazy in here, or were my contacts just smudged? All three cats were crying now, perched on the drum divider, staring at me. I walk outside and look around. Hmm...don't really see anything. Go back in. It's not just haze now, it's billows of smoke filling the room.
Oh, expletive!
What do I grab first? My school books. Mainly because they're not mine. Then the laptop, because all my schoolwork is on it. Instruments. Because they aren't mine either-these guitars belong to the school. Bag of clothes. Then cats.
Priorities, man. Animals are last. Think about it. If I'm having to shove stuff in the car, they can leap out when I open the doors. I can't chase them down the street. I get Ted(not the guitar player, just in case you're confused), then Cash(surprisingly), and then I go for Tango, who skitters away into the closet with the fuse box, which is full of God-knows-what. I'm tossing out cans of paint, bags of ozite, sheaves of insulation. No cat.
Side Note #1: You know all of our cats, and are probably wondering who Tango and Cash are. They were feral kittens we found outside the Dowd Building in the early fall of 2008, where we use to rehearse the band. They stayed with me until this incident and were returned to the loft. Tango was sent to be a mouser at the Dowd Building, but escaped through a broken window. Cash became "Mama Kitty", thanks to Jack Hammer. I'll tell that story some other time.
Back to November 18, 2008:
Geez.
I go out...and see flames in one of the windows just next to the studio. I end up running down the street anyway...to the jail that isn't there anymore. I forgot they'd moved. I slip on the wet sidewalk and fall. Brilliant. Like some dumb girl in a horror flick. When the hell did it rain? I debate running two blocks to the empty fire station. A lot of good that would do.
Why am I running around the courthouse anyway, you ask? Why not just dial 911? Well, because there's nothing to dial it on. I only have Internet. And remember where I put the laptop? In the car!
Side Note #2: We'd already shut off the landline to the studio. And this was before I had a cell phone. Ancient technological times, my padawans.
I attempt to flag down Pilgrim's employees during shift change. No one stops. How nice. A nice man in a white pickup pulls up.
"My building's on fire!"
It appears he doesn't have a cell. Just like I don't. (See??) "Oh, I'll call the fire department."
How clever. Poor guy.
I go back in and search for Tango for about a minute. The smoke has gotten so bad I can't breathe. I have to get out. So now I'm worried. I think of a recent house fire in Shreveport where they saved everyone but the family dog, who died of smoke inhalation, a lump of fur lying in the front yard.
Well, dead or alive, I'm getting my new "little kitty buddy" out of that building.
Before the fire department showed, two Pilgrim's workers pull up and start running to the front of the building, asking each other if they have their keys to the restaurant. They don't. So they're obviously connected to Lillie's Pad, restaurant in question. That's their place that's on fire. Uh oh.
The brave(huh) firefighters of DQFD pull up in 3 different trucks, meandering up Third Street to glance up at the flaming window. They hooked up hoses and set up a ladder to take on the inferno. Well, I say "they," more like one guy doing all the work and the others standing around watching. Like road construction workers. And sound crews. It looked like they got the flames out quick and spent the next half hour fanning the smoke out. It poured out every window. I got a little freaked out when a huge cloud formed outside the studio, but a quick glance into the door, propped open to allow venting, assured me there was nothing to fear.
I found it interesting that no one, not one firefighter spoke to me. Well, one did, asking me to park my car in the middle of Third Street, and whatever that other one is, Gilson, I think, to block the traffic. One other fireman waved at me. Gee, that's pleasant. I saw them speaking to the Lillie's Pad crew, now gathered up across the street at the courthouse, but no one came to ask if I was okay, or even who I was. Even when I was brave enough to venture back into the studio to search for Tango again, no one said, "Hey, lady, it's not safe to go back in yet!" I guess they thought I was some homeless person standing by the furniture store just taking in the scene. Yeah, okay, I was wearing a plaid flannel shirt and jeans but I didn't look like a transient. I'd even had time to brush my teeth and comb my hair.
The smoke had cleared somewhat in the studio so I went back in one more time to search for Tango. He was not in that closet. Then the power went out. Swepco had shown up, obviously to inspect the electricity, which I believe is the source of the fire. I had to go back out. Then it immediately came back on, so back in I went. I found the cat huddled behind my TV table. He'd slobbered some, poor baby, which is what some cats do when they're stressed, and his yellow fur was a little gray, but he was alive, and scared to death.
Ah, relief.
I picked him up and took him to the car, and he was welcomed by his "siblings" with open paws.
I hung around until the DQFD started rolling up hoses, which meant the danger was over. I made sure I had what I needed, locked up the studio, and decided to treat myself to breakfast. I had just enough cash for a McGriddles sandwich and a big Coke.
Now what? I considered scrapping going to Nashville and just going home to T-Town. I'm guilty about missing so much class already this semester(rare for me, really), so I decide to go to NV. I'll just finish Wagner and the late Romanticists and cut out early. But I knew I had to meet with the American Fidelity guy. A mandatory thing, grrrr. He'd only be in DQ today. More grrrr. The business office even called griping that I didn't see him the day before. Biggest grrrr of all. Well, y'know, I TEACH during the day? It's my JOB??!!?? I tried to see him Monday but all his appointments were full. The empty slots were during my class time. So I agreed to drive back to DQ to see this guy at 1. I don't even participate in that stuff because I have enough insurance.
Okay, I digress.
From my DeQueen office, I messaged Don with my news. I dressed for class. I packed up what I needed for NV. Suddenly Andrew Day shows up to visit. Oops, don't have time for that. But it was nice of him to stop by. I pulled kittens out from underneath my bookcase, put them in the car. Fished Renegade Ted out from behind my computer monitor, put him in the car. I took them back to the studio until I could come back that afternoon.
Went to NV. Played "Ride of the Valkyries." Skipped the Mahler symphony. Went back to DeQueen. Had to wait for what's-his-name (Grant is his name, very nice man) to get back from lunch. Visited with Sunni for a while. (It's so nice to have someone I can talk about school with, since she's in the same degree program with me at NCU. What a treat.) The American Fidelity guy showed, then I had to wait in line, for crying out loud. Listened to some of our employees talking about how bad they were in high school. (That's setting a real example...). Listened to the insurance spiel, signed my name to indicate he'd seen me. YES! I'm outta here now!
I go to pick up the kitties and take them home. They don't travel well. At least Ted doesn't. He likes to wander around the car and whine. I got to the flats before Ashdown and all three of them came out, sitting on top of the boxes looking at me. Ted decided he wanted to whine some more.
"Do I have to turn on Peter Frampton?" Frampton calms him down, don't know why that is. I didn't turn it on. He did not like the Guns N' Roses, but "Sweet Child of Mine" needed some practice (I have no idea what I meant by that).
Anyway, I finally make it home. Frazzled but functioning. My husband was very happy to see me - smoky smell and all. (I did shower, but it didn't help. I can't imagine what spouses of firefighters have to deal with. I'll ask Heather. No, never mind.) We herded cats into the house and the little ones hid. Cash (aka Mama Kitty) ventured out some time later, but I didn't see Tango for a day. He was hiding behind some boxes we hadn't unpacked yet. He sat in my lap for over an hour the other night, demanding constant petting. Cash allows Don to touch. And if you knew Cash, this is a phenomenal event. Freaky cat, now bonding with Bug, the cantankerous old tom. Animals, animals, animals.
We had band rehearsal. I waited until Ted (now I'm talking about the guitar player) arrived so I wouldn't have to tell the story two more times. Don made an interesting comment: He woke up at about 5:30 that same morning, which he never does, just out of the blue. He remembered thinking, "Something's up." Wild. I think there's a bit of psychic magic in those who are closely tied to one another.
We practiced "My Sharona." Ah, music, rock and roll. Even if it's by a one-hit wonder pseudo-punk early 80s band. I felt much better. Big kiss to my Fender and some of the coolest musician guys in the whole world. My cool musician guy took good care of me that evening, and was thankful I was okay. He even gave Ted the Cat praise for waking me up. Now I have a life-saving kitty story, too. I lived through a really big fire once before, the Cerro Grande that wiped out about a third of Los Alamos. (Again, a big tale for another time.) But we had already evacuated and our duplex was spared. We even got our lost dog back. That was scary then, and even though I got out of the studio and the fire didn't destroy the building, I was still a little freaked out. I also find it interesting that this fire occurred the day after we all got a notice from our new landlord that we were to vacate the building by December 31 so he can begin "extensive renovations."
Hmmmm....
We were planning on moving out anyway, since we'd pretty much moved the studio to Texarkana. But we thought we still had some time. I feel really bad for Lillie, who was about to cook a big Thanksgiving dinner for the homeless and start a soup kitchen. She told me she really had no place to go. She also hadn't heard what really started the blaze. Like I said, it smelled electrical, like blown cables. She's completely out now. The thrift store is still there, something about a contract. Don't know the details there. And someone took my push-button light out of the upstairs bathroom. Bastards. That thing cost nine bucks!
(The building, the entire downstairs portion, is now Stilwell's Restaurant. The studio area was cleared out and is their formal dining room.)
The end of the DeQueen branch of Garth Vader Studios will happen in the next week. Don will come up and take the big items out of the front room, along with the tree stump and the auditorium seats (y'all know where those ended up!). I have removed all the records, and posters of past shows, some that included the Groovetones, from the wall. It's sad as I look at the "sheet music wallpaper" and remember how much work Don put into it. He was so proud of our little studio, and we had some great times there. We really did.
As far as where I will "crash" the days I'm in DeQueen, I have already been taken care of. One of the nicest people on campus has offered to rent me an extra room in her home, which is absolutely beautiful. It looks out over a pond and a gorgeous expanse of land, and it's not too far from where two of my favorite people used to live on Dog Town Road. I can take those walks in the country like I've been wanting to! I doubt I'll be riding the bike to school again-I saw some hills I just don't want to tackle.
Yeah, so I was able to write a blog at the same time I was working on a fifteen page research paper, but that's done now. And I'm just glad I finally had a chance to write something besides distance education essays.
And that's the way it was...in November 2008.
Notice the original date, Younglings. Some of you weren't even born yet. And that makes me feel terribly old.
This is the re-counting of quite an eventful night when I was living in Poppa Don's recording studio in DeQueen, and had just started working on my PhD. This originally appeared as a MySpace Blog posted November 21, 2008. I may chime in with new insight as you read along (in italics).
November 18, 2008
Or "Smoke on the Water." More like "Smoke Seeping Through Your Air Conditioning Vent."
At 5:30 a.m. you awake to the sound of a Siamese cat (Yes, Renegade Ted) hacking up a lung, not a hairball. And this rubbery burning smell.
What do you do? Here's what I did.
I got up and got dressed. I went upstairs to the bathroom. Could still sort of smell the burny odor but felt no heat. Came back down to the studio.
Was it hazy in here, or were my contacts just smudged? All three cats were crying now, perched on the drum divider, staring at me. I walk outside and look around. Hmm...don't really see anything. Go back in. It's not just haze now, it's billows of smoke filling the room.
Oh, expletive!
What do I grab first? My school books. Mainly because they're not mine. Then the laptop, because all my schoolwork is on it. Instruments. Because they aren't mine either-these guitars belong to the school. Bag of clothes. Then cats.
Priorities, man. Animals are last. Think about it. If I'm having to shove stuff in the car, they can leap out when I open the doors. I can't chase them down the street. I get Ted(not the guitar player, just in case you're confused), then Cash(surprisingly), and then I go for Tango, who skitters away into the closet with the fuse box, which is full of God-knows-what. I'm tossing out cans of paint, bags of ozite, sheaves of insulation. No cat.
Side Note #1: You know all of our cats, and are probably wondering who Tango and Cash are. They were feral kittens we found outside the Dowd Building in the early fall of 2008, where we use to rehearse the band. They stayed with me until this incident and were returned to the loft. Tango was sent to be a mouser at the Dowd Building, but escaped through a broken window. Cash became "Mama Kitty", thanks to Jack Hammer. I'll tell that story some other time.
 |
| Cash (grey) & Tango (yellow), sitting in my overnight bag, in said studio |
Back to November 18, 2008:
Geez.
I go out...and see flames in one of the windows just next to the studio. I end up running down the street anyway...to the jail that isn't there anymore. I forgot they'd moved. I slip on the wet sidewalk and fall. Brilliant. Like some dumb girl in a horror flick. When the hell did it rain? I debate running two blocks to the empty fire station. A lot of good that would do.
Why am I running around the courthouse anyway, you ask? Why not just dial 911? Well, because there's nothing to dial it on. I only have Internet. And remember where I put the laptop? In the car!
Side Note #2: We'd already shut off the landline to the studio. And this was before I had a cell phone. Ancient technological times, my padawans.
I attempt to flag down Pilgrim's employees during shift change. No one stops. How nice. A nice man in a white pickup pulls up.
"My building's on fire!"
It appears he doesn't have a cell. Just like I don't. (See??) "Oh, I'll call the fire department."
How clever. Poor guy.
I go back in and search for Tango for about a minute. The smoke has gotten so bad I can't breathe. I have to get out. So now I'm worried. I think of a recent house fire in Shreveport where they saved everyone but the family dog, who died of smoke inhalation, a lump of fur lying in the front yard.
Well, dead or alive, I'm getting my new "little kitty buddy" out of that building.
Before the fire department showed, two Pilgrim's workers pull up and start running to the front of the building, asking each other if they have their keys to the restaurant. They don't. So they're obviously connected to Lillie's Pad, restaurant in question. That's their place that's on fire. Uh oh.
The brave(huh) firefighters of DQFD pull up in 3 different trucks, meandering up Third Street to glance up at the flaming window. They hooked up hoses and set up a ladder to take on the inferno. Well, I say "they," more like one guy doing all the work and the others standing around watching. Like road construction workers. And sound crews. It looked like they got the flames out quick and spent the next half hour fanning the smoke out. It poured out every window. I got a little freaked out when a huge cloud formed outside the studio, but a quick glance into the door, propped open to allow venting, assured me there was nothing to fear.
I found it interesting that no one, not one firefighter spoke to me. Well, one did, asking me to park my car in the middle of Third Street, and whatever that other one is, Gilson, I think, to block the traffic. One other fireman waved at me. Gee, that's pleasant. I saw them speaking to the Lillie's Pad crew, now gathered up across the street at the courthouse, but no one came to ask if I was okay, or even who I was. Even when I was brave enough to venture back into the studio to search for Tango again, no one said, "Hey, lady, it's not safe to go back in yet!" I guess they thought I was some homeless person standing by the furniture store just taking in the scene. Yeah, okay, I was wearing a plaid flannel shirt and jeans but I didn't look like a transient. I'd even had time to brush my teeth and comb my hair.
The smoke had cleared somewhat in the studio so I went back in one more time to search for Tango. He was not in that closet. Then the power went out. Swepco had shown up, obviously to inspect the electricity, which I believe is the source of the fire. I had to go back out. Then it immediately came back on, so back in I went. I found the cat huddled behind my TV table. He'd slobbered some, poor baby, which is what some cats do when they're stressed, and his yellow fur was a little gray, but he was alive, and scared to death.
Ah, relief.
I picked him up and took him to the car, and he was welcomed by his "siblings" with open paws.
I hung around until the DQFD started rolling up hoses, which meant the danger was over. I made sure I had what I needed, locked up the studio, and decided to treat myself to breakfast. I had just enough cash for a McGriddles sandwich and a big Coke.
Now what? I considered scrapping going to Nashville and just going home to T-Town. I'm guilty about missing so much class already this semester(rare for me, really), so I decide to go to NV. I'll just finish Wagner and the late Romanticists and cut out early. But I knew I had to meet with the American Fidelity guy. A mandatory thing, grrrr. He'd only be in DQ today. More grrrr. The business office even called griping that I didn't see him the day before. Biggest grrrr of all. Well, y'know, I TEACH during the day? It's my JOB??!!?? I tried to see him Monday but all his appointments were full. The empty slots were during my class time. So I agreed to drive back to DQ to see this guy at 1. I don't even participate in that stuff because I have enough insurance.
Okay, I digress.
From my DeQueen office, I messaged Don with my news. I dressed for class. I packed up what I needed for NV. Suddenly Andrew Day shows up to visit. Oops, don't have time for that. But it was nice of him to stop by. I pulled kittens out from underneath my bookcase, put them in the car. Fished Renegade Ted out from behind my computer monitor, put him in the car. I took them back to the studio until I could come back that afternoon.
Went to NV. Played "Ride of the Valkyries." Skipped the Mahler symphony. Went back to DeQueen. Had to wait for what's-his-name (Grant is his name, very nice man) to get back from lunch. Visited with Sunni for a while. (It's so nice to have someone I can talk about school with, since she's in the same degree program with me at NCU. What a treat.) The American Fidelity guy showed, then I had to wait in line, for crying out loud. Listened to some of our employees talking about how bad they were in high school. (That's setting a real example...). Listened to the insurance spiel, signed my name to indicate he'd seen me. YES! I'm outta here now!
I go to pick up the kitties and take them home. They don't travel well. At least Ted doesn't. He likes to wander around the car and whine. I got to the flats before Ashdown and all three of them came out, sitting on top of the boxes looking at me. Ted decided he wanted to whine some more.
"Do I have to turn on Peter Frampton?" Frampton calms him down, don't know why that is. I didn't turn it on. He did not like the Guns N' Roses, but "Sweet Child of Mine" needed some practice (I have no idea what I meant by that).
Anyway, I finally make it home. Frazzled but functioning. My husband was very happy to see me - smoky smell and all. (I did shower, but it didn't help. I can't imagine what spouses of firefighters have to deal with. I'll ask Heather. No, never mind.) We herded cats into the house and the little ones hid. Cash (aka Mama Kitty) ventured out some time later, but I didn't see Tango for a day. He was hiding behind some boxes we hadn't unpacked yet. He sat in my lap for over an hour the other night, demanding constant petting. Cash allows Don to touch. And if you knew Cash, this is a phenomenal event. Freaky cat, now bonding with Bug, the cantankerous old tom. Animals, animals, animals.
We had band rehearsal. I waited until Ted (now I'm talking about the guitar player) arrived so I wouldn't have to tell the story two more times. Don made an interesting comment: He woke up at about 5:30 that same morning, which he never does, just out of the blue. He remembered thinking, "Something's up." Wild. I think there's a bit of psychic magic in those who are closely tied to one another.
We practiced "My Sharona." Ah, music, rock and roll. Even if it's by a one-hit wonder pseudo-punk early 80s band. I felt much better. Big kiss to my Fender and some of the coolest musician guys in the whole world. My cool musician guy took good care of me that evening, and was thankful I was okay. He even gave Ted the Cat praise for waking me up. Now I have a life-saving kitty story, too. I lived through a really big fire once before, the Cerro Grande that wiped out about a third of Los Alamos. (Again, a big tale for another time.) But we had already evacuated and our duplex was spared. We even got our lost dog back. That was scary then, and even though I got out of the studio and the fire didn't destroy the building, I was still a little freaked out. I also find it interesting that this fire occurred the day after we all got a notice from our new landlord that we were to vacate the building by December 31 so he can begin "extensive renovations."
Hmmmm....
We were planning on moving out anyway, since we'd pretty much moved the studio to Texarkana. But we thought we still had some time. I feel really bad for Lillie, who was about to cook a big Thanksgiving dinner for the homeless and start a soup kitchen. She told me she really had no place to go. She also hadn't heard what really started the blaze. Like I said, it smelled electrical, like blown cables. She's completely out now. The thrift store is still there, something about a contract. Don't know the details there. And someone took my push-button light out of the upstairs bathroom. Bastards. That thing cost nine bucks!
(The building, the entire downstairs portion, is now Stilwell's Restaurant. The studio area was cleared out and is their formal dining room.)
The end of the DeQueen branch of Garth Vader Studios will happen in the next week. Don will come up and take the big items out of the front room, along with the tree stump and the auditorium seats (y'all know where those ended up!). I have removed all the records, and posters of past shows, some that included the Groovetones, from the wall. It's sad as I look at the "sheet music wallpaper" and remember how much work Don put into it. He was so proud of our little studio, and we had some great times there. We really did.
As far as where I will "crash" the days I'm in DeQueen, I have already been taken care of. One of the nicest people on campus has offered to rent me an extra room in her home, which is absolutely beautiful. It looks out over a pond and a gorgeous expanse of land, and it's not too far from where two of my favorite people used to live on Dog Town Road. I can take those walks in the country like I've been wanting to! I doubt I'll be riding the bike to school again-I saw some hills I just don't want to tackle.
Yeah, so I was able to write a blog at the same time I was working on a fifteen page research paper, but that's done now. And I'm just glad I finally had a chance to write something besides distance education essays.
And that's the way it was...in November 2008.
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