Here's another Wilderado cover: "Sometimes"
Recorded and edited on a day where I wasted away the whole damn afternoon... and it was totally worth it. As I learned recently, some people bake bread to calm an obsessive mind. I do this.
The entire album "Talker" is pretty much in non-stop rotation in my Spotify. Urge you to go check it out!
we sat by the dry lake and the bald man made me reflect on why it is that when we pass another dog my mouth gets wet and I have the red thoughts ... what if I said it was for to keep him safe from all the big dangers and so we can keep doing the fun together as long as there is the fun to do ... does he even get how short this ride is?
Since my mom died (15 years ago now) I've become much more interested in the person she was before she had me. The woman who lived for a time in NYC and went to modeling school in 1957. Who drove to Northern California from Michigan with her first husband. Who suffered some losses with childbirth. Who settled for a few years in Seattle and then Maryland. Who got divorced there, and remarried. Then, in the years with me in Texas, divorced again.
But I'm especially interested in the little girl who grew up in Michigan, the youngest of three kids. Whose dad worked for the railroad and was gone a lot for work. How she loved when he would play the fiddle at a summer cottage and how her extended family would be there and they would all dance. These stories have stuck in my imagination.
And how she was told to drink milkshakes every day by a doctor because she was "too skinny." And how she once crashed on her bike and wound up with two black eyes.
Who was that little girl? I wish I had known her. Her laughs. Her wounds.
Lately, I've come to think maybe I did know her. And maybe during the years my mom and I spent together, I parented that little girl just as much as she parented me.
The most treasured artifact I have of my mom is an "autobiography" she wrote for a school assignment when she was around 14-15 years old. I love her writing in it. I love how she talks about her dog Rex. I love the spelling mistakes. I love the photos she chose to put in there.
I can hear the laughter in those pages, and I can feel the wounds.
Thanks as always to @morrison_holiday_bar for having us last night! We neglected to get much in the way of photos or videos, but David did capture this candid shot of Mark and Lauren comparing cornbread recipes before the show. (It's not all rock n roll y'all!) Thanks to those who came out! Next show is at The Well in Conifer on Sunday the 17th at 2pm. Hope to see you there.
Happy May-Spring from Golden, CO! Been doing a little house camping with no power this morning, propane stove coffee, solar generator, phone hotspot trading.
a 30th reunion at a place I called home for four years, where shit got learnt and selves got found and there was much in the way of walking and writing, and meeting and thinking...and there is an x on this spot for me, a chorus of longing x's, in a ballad of aching spots, and if I return and stand in the same spots, can I commune with that earlier person and can that earlier person, who is still there somewhere surely, feel my presence? and if i tell that earlier person I am now here with him and this is the place he is supposed to be, will he hear me? and did he hear me then, and is that why he stayed? and is the reason a place feels like home because we stood there once before, and will we stand there once again and will it repeat like this until all the leaves have been breathed in and all the roads bled on in every place we have ever been?
