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Archive for March, 2003

last night was not; i got a massage and took the T to work. for a tiny woman, Susan Tedeschi has some lungs on her, that’s for sure. and she plays a mean guitar. i wasn’t able to focus on the show much, as post-Station, work is much more about patrolling fire exits, but when i could, she was slamming out some very serious blues. the guy on the Hammond was excellent as well, dancing up a storm while playing. i love me some Hammond B3, that’s for sure. nothing like seeing the real deal and knowing you’re in for a treat.

the night before was all about traffic. Lyle Lovett, Joe Ely, John Hiatt and Guy Clark are touring together, in apparently a very low key way, as they all talked about driving themselves places around town. (side note: this is the second or third time i’ve seen Hiatt, and the first time, i thought it was an accident. but truly, the man cannot dress himself. he looks as if his laundry basket shat upon him on the way out the door.) Lyle at one point said, ‘I know, we’ve talked a lot about traffic tonight. But I have to say, because I drove here today – thank you so much for being here. I know how hard it was for you to get here.’

even funnier was Hiatt’s story. they apparently were all staying up here, but drove down to Providence for a show. Hiatt got directions, okay, makes sense, got it. and then he asked the bellhop if he had the right directions. ‘Well, you could do that.’ at which point we all started laughing, because you can see where it’s going from there. ‘you *could* go that way, or you could go my way. three turns and you’re there.’ from downtown Boston? no way. but, as Hiatt pointed out – ‘Fishing pole. Hook. Bait, right out there. Reeled me all the way in. Three turns and you’re there. [much laughter] Yeah. Three turns and you’re really fucking *lost*, is what.’

and in the category of traffic woes, i have discovered, much to my chagrin, that i can no longer go to visit my parents, courtesy of the Big Dig. yes, that’s right. i read the paper last week and discovered that exit 26 on 93 North is permanently closed. it is being replaced by some sort of tunnel thingy, and a bridge, and another bridge. so while i can certainly get *down* to my parents’ place, i can no longer get back to my house. sorry, mom and dad. i promise i’ll write more. 😉

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most of them are books i haven’t read, or don’t have much interest in, outside of the fact that they’re books that belonged to various people in my family. some of them i have just for the pretty bindings. one of them, the one i picked up today, is Riley Child-Rhymes with Hoosier Pictures. the original edition came out in 1890, and this copy belonged to my great aunt for whom i am named. she colored in many of the black and white illustrations, which is sometimes charming and other times outright spooky.

also spooky was this little gem of a poem; on the facing page is a lovely greytone sketch of a father and son, in front of a fireplace, with father dandling son on knee.

The Rider of the Knee

Knightly Rider of the Knee

of Proud-prancing Unclery!

Gaily mount, and wave the sign

Of that mastery of thine.

Pat thy steed and turn him free,

Knightly Rider of the Knee!

Sit thy charger as a throne—

Lash him with thy laugh alone;

Sting him only with the spur

Of such wit as may occur,

Knightly Rider of the Knee,

In thy shriek of ecstasy.

Would, as now, we might endure,

Twain as one—thou minature

Ruler, at the rein of me—

Knightly Rider of the Knee!

is it just me, or is that vaguely creepy? i mean, product of its time, artifact of society, all that, but still. *squinches up face* i’m not sure i’d feel right reading that to my kid.

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the dreams i remember from last night involved people breaking into my house and beating the tar out of me. and those are only the ones i remember. i couldn’t let myself go back to sleep, because i never would have made it to work otherwise, altho the value of my presence today is debatable.

i am tired. watching the news last night was necessary, and sad, and frightening, and made me angry. i forced myself to watch, because not knowing anything is worse. deliberate ignorance feels wrong, but watching the news feels wrong too. i only lasted about half an hour before flipping off the set.

the confusion may come from exhaustion, or vice versa. i don’t really know, and it doesn’t really matter. all i know is that there are things very, very wrong in this world, and i don’t understand, or know how to fix them.

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because i’m still recovering from a lack of sleep this weekend. because i just don’t want to think. because not reading the news takes a lot of energy. because The Dane is an uncle, and the sun is out, and it’s Monday, and because garlic is good.

this works well as a salad dressing as well – just add a bit more water. the amount of liquid also depends on the type of tofu you use; the softer the tofu, the less liquid you need. the seasonings could be infinitely variable; the original recipe doesn’t call for cayenne, and I’ve used sesame oil in place of something more neutral.

1/2 lb. tofu, soft or medium, patted dry

4 T lemon juice

1/4 cup oil

2 T water (leave out if you’re making dip)

1 T tamari

2-3 cloves garlic

dash cayenne pepper

puree well in blender. share with loved ones. 🙂

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in fact, i have a lot to say about it. but little of it is rational, and none of it will lead to insightful discussion. i do feel like i should say to you that i haven’t crammed my head in a sandpile somewhere, or stuck my fingers in my ears, singing ‘lalalalalaican’thearyou’ at the top of my lungs. it’s just that… well, it seems sort of irresponsible to babble about something i’m still slowly grappling with, gathering information, and which so directly affects so many here who are in or have ties to the military.

so i will continue to pitch cat toys at the television screen in the privacy of my own home, and talk about bits and pieces of my life here, in public. hope that’s okay with everyone.

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so for now, the Cliff Notes version: girl time with my best friend, lots of distance driving (a good thing), much cogitating, some discussions had, others left for another time, vacuum purchased and round 1 for me in the small appliance war, plans made for July (!), and i still haven’t told you the story of Mister Chicken Head.

and it’s off to the kitchen to check on the cabbage and potatoes, while the corned beef and soda bread cool. Happy Saint Paddy’s, everyone. 🙂

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and i feel… i’m not sure what i feel. i was a bit frazzled that they didn’t call on the way up (as planned), but when they got to my house. be there in 10, guys. ‘okay. i’ll be… the one in the big orange truck.’ yup. yes, you will.

the living room is now cram full of boxes and tables and a chair with no home. at least there’s plenty for strat to investigate. i had called my mom to let her know everything was fine, and proceeded to mangle and otherwise abuse the English language, because apparently i’ve fried a few synapses. ‘do you know what you just said, dear?’ probably not, mom. probably not.

lunch didn’t taste like much of anything, despite treating myself to sushi and cheesecake. and i’m sitting here at my desk, needing to work, and not sure if i’d rather fly out of my chair in tiny pieces or curl up and take a nap. it doesn’t help that i’m still sad and tired from a week of fighting, fights that left me feeling as if i were losing my mind, discussions that i couldn’t accurately reconstruct because there was no logical flow to them, moments where i couldn’t tell you what words had just come out of my mouth because i’d just been told otherwise, a week of feeling on the edge. this is why it’s been rather quiet here the last few days. i’ve been watching a lot of TV and napping when the urge strikes (my cat is very proud that the lessons are paying off). and it’s all very chicken v. egg. i don’t know if the fighting came from being on edge over so very many things, or vice versa. the only thing i know is that i’m still tired. and i can’t walk thru my living room right now without bumping into something.

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