The Mountain and The Mole Hill

I had a rough day yesterday. Several things that I had been counting on simply slipped through my fingers and I was left about mid-afternoon with a feeling of failure and frustration that I have not felt in quite some time.

All the regular questions came to the front of mind, clamoring for attention, begging to be given favor, looking to be nursed and coddled and fed in that way we all feed the sad, frustrating, stupid things that make feeling sad and depressed at least somewhat tolerable and relatively comforting.

Fortunately, I found the wherewithal to lift myself out of this perilous funk (something that I didn't used to be particularly good at) and move into the evening (with a rehearsal for our final performance of A Christmas Memory). I got to bed relatively early and I got the first really good night's sleep I'd had in weeks.

I woke up with a head that was full of new ideas (and old ideas with new clothes on them) and Billy Idol on the iTunes to set me dancing around the room.

For some reason I got this Bible story in my head and couldn't let it go (that's the trouble with Bible stories doncha know?)

It comes from Matthew 17 and takes place right after the disciples had received a vision of Jesus standing on the mountain and chatting with Moses and Elijah. Peter had wanted to build some buildings and stay up[ on that mountain forever, but God had others ideas, basically telling Peter to chill out, shut up and open his ears. "This is my beloved Son... Listen to him!"

So... a bit later, as they were coing back down to earth, they were confronted by a man who had a problem with his son. The disciples tried to help, but couldn't so the man - like any father would do - said, "Okay hold it... let me talk to the boss."

Matthew 17:

14 When they came to the crowd, a man came up to Jesus, falling on his knees before Him and saying,

15"Lord, have mercy on my son, for he is a (N)lunatic and is very ill; for he often falls into the fire and often into the water.

16"I brought him to Your disciples, and they could not cure him."

17And Jesus answered and said, "You unbelieving and perverted generation, how long shall I be with you? How long shall I put up with you? Bring him here to Me."

18And Jesus rebuked him, and the demon came out of him, and the boy was cured at once.

19Then the disciples came to Jesus privately and said, "Why could we not drive it out?"

20And He said to them, "Because of the littleness of your faith; for truly I say to you, if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move; and nothing will be impossible to you.

I think that the reason this story came to mind this morning is because it holds for me a bit of information about how to look on days when things don't go right, and periods when nothing seems to work out.

For the longest time I struggled with what these miracles (things like moving a mountain) might mean for an ordinary person like myself. Then it hit me that it's possible to accept what Jesus says here, absolutely at face value. The simple fact of life is that you really can do anything if you believe. Jesus doesn't say if you believe A LOT... he says if you believe like a mustard seed. Can you envision what it is you want? Can you see who you are at the end of the road? Can you hold your task, whether it's taking care of a sick child or moving a mountain (as they are presently doing right now down the road from me in order to build a subdivision), with such clarity of vision that it can't help but come true?

That's what I believe Jesus was talking about (at least that's what I believe this morning).

Believe what you want is possible... is in fact already here... then get to work bringing it to fruition.

Actually seems pretty simple when you think about it, doesn't it?

What A Night!

This morning at 4:30 am I was awakened by a terrifying visitation by an old familiar friend. A new manifestation of Kali crawled into my head and took me to task. This is not a new experience for me, but it has been a while since it last occurred.

This morning I find myself thrust, as if by rocket ship, into a slightly terrified pursuit of what the visit means. What I know for sure is that when Kali shouts, I'm supposed to pay attention.

40 Days to Christmas

After 6 months of spending my time twittering, facebooking, and generally plugging into the internets on a daily basis for the purpose of work, it's been an interesting experience to stay out of the daily cybernetic spasm. What I find at such times of retreat (for lack of a better description at the moment) is a refreshing release from all the noise (or at least a good portion of it). However, I've received a lot of comments of late about the dearth of blogging on this and my other sites, so I've decided to take up the challenge and once more use this forum as a place to play out my life in public. So, here we go... Once more into the daily breach... Among a few other things that I hope to do between now and Christmas, I am renewing my dedication to daily writing, and something - at least close to - daily posting.

I've also restarted one final crack at my 40 Day regimen... I'll be holding forth on the progress of that one last time over at 40 Days To Life.

All in all... I'm really seriously burned out on all the raging cyber-realities and after almost 15 years of almost daily virtual living, I'm getting pretty damn close to heading after a less virtual and more real encounter with the universe and my co-residents.

Don't know where that's going but I'm damned determined to find out.

Instant Karma's Gonna Getchoo!

The classic set of Washington Mutual commercials that came out in 2008, just as the bank - and the rest of the economy with it - was tanking, were about as perfect a social barometer as there has been in my lifetime. While the bankers, and their Wall Street co-conspirators were trading up and getting out on the real-time roller coaster of fiscal disaster, my bank - Washington Mutual - was running a really fun collection of consumer messages with theme Whoo Hoo!!!

I'm guessing that not too many people are finding it difficult to grasp my point here. One might find it amusing to watch the game show bankers speaking cluelessly except for the fact that it was a little too close to reality to accept with proper social aplomb.

Come the meltdown, CHASE bank bought up Washington Mutual and promptly launched a whole set of new CHASE ads for banking in California, using the lovely chorus line "We all shine on..." like California is the Sunshine State (which is actually Florida, and we WON'T go there at the moment). What the bankers at CHASE and/or the creative types at their ad agency don't seem to have grasped is that this lovely little light hearted chorus comes from John Lennon's absolutely brilliant song Instant Karma which - it seems to me - is exactly what these greedy funny men (and their greedy pocket politicians) are courting with every new move of their greedy little pens.

I'm Walkin' Here

This new feeling of unexpected freedom continues today with a unexpected set of communications and the discovery of a surprising sermon, seemingly launched by the Spirit into the internets and onto my computer.

I explain the situation, and a little of the strange circumstances over at Bleeding Daylight.

Goodbye and Good Luck

As most folks who have read my blogs for any time are aware, I moved to New Orleans at the beginning of August 2005, just three weeks before Katrina.

For two years thereafter I lived a peripatetic life moving from place to place, part time in New Orleans, part time in San Francisco, a brief time in North Carolina, always semi-docked in Petaluma and anchored in New Orleans. Then, just over two years ago (almost exactly two years after The Thing), I gave up the basic struggle of bouncing back and forth between the Gulf Coast and The West Coast and came back to California. At the time, I made the assumption that at some point in the relatively near future I would regroup, fix the problems that I was still juggling like so many oddly sized balls, and find my way back to The Crescent.

What happened instead was that I found new love, and new life, right here in the place from which I had spent many previous years running. As I explained in several posts (including the one immediately prior to this one) I found myself surprisingly at home in the very place I thought I could never be at home.

But this didn't change one thing about my previous abbreviated grounding in New Orleans. I have for the past two years, despite living my life out in Petaluma, lived on the feeling - and the longing - that I would some day soon make it back home to NOLA.

For the last six months I've been building those old hopes on the enjoyable, and financially fortuitous, surprise job of Twittering (and blogging and facebooking) for The Hotel Monteleone and Carousel Bar on Royal Street in The French Quarter. There were significant frustrations in this process because the whole time I was doing it, I was sitting here in my little apartment 2500 miles away, sometimes pretending to be in The Quarter, sometimes pretending to be at Jazz Fest; always placing myself in those places that I know so well, and literally imagining myself into those locations.

It worked too! There were many times when the fact that I was communicating about and for New Orleans really placed me mentally right there. It was as if I was dreaming at my computer as I wrote to, and related with, people in the place I so longed to be. It was a great imaginary exploration.. and it was a lot of fun. At the same time, I worked to build up additional connections and relationships and I kept hanging on to the connections that still remained from that time when I first moved to the city, four years ago in another world... another life... another reality.

Not any more.

Earlier this week I was replaced in my Twitter job by the local PR firm and the in-house promo people at The Hotel Monteleone. As a friend of mine says, "without so much as a boo... hey... or kiss my ass" I was told in an email to stop immediately. I was then promptly locked out of the accounts that I created and that I had been dedicatedly relating from within. I had placed myself - however virtually - into the person I created (a sort of amalgamation of my every day self, but more my "New Orleans self" than "my California self") to represent the hotel and to relate both personally and professionally to folks with whom I interacted. Since being let go... the replacements at Hotel Monteleone have turned the interaction into an infrequent and impersonal interaction purely based on self-promotion, and in my opinion completely wrong for Twitter... but hey... that's another story.

What I'm trying to communicate right now is the combined sense of loss, grief, homesickness and new life that I am experiencing as a result of this interaction and outcome.

The simple fact is that I feel released.. I feel found... I feel free!

Four years ago next week I returned to New Orleans as people gradually began to move back into the ghost town laid bare by Katrina. I was determined to make life work. I was determined to go "home." I was determined to stay. This last six months has been the way out of the lock that my meteorologically aborted migration to The Big Easy has held me in for the past four years. I've gone round and round, back and forth only to find - like Dorothy returning from The Land of Oz - that home was right here with me all along.

There will be many days, and many moments when I still miss New Orleans. I hope to return there from time to time for rest, or work, or play, but it is not my home any more... maybe it never really was.

I live in Petaluma... in California... on the Western edge of the Continent and I am happy here.

Settling Into Place

For the last two years I have been moving through a process of settling in to the ground of being that seems to be home for me here in Northern California in general and Petaluma in particular.

In August of 2007, after two years of attempting to live in New Orleans (where I moved three very short weeks before Katrina), I gave up my peripatetic struggle to move back and forth between my two worlds and decided to re-settle in NoCal instead of NOLA.

Almost immediately, my life changed (and I've written on and on about that in this blog) profoundly. I began to find a depth of love and friendship that I had not experienced in a long time. It was as if as soon as I stopped trying so damn hard to figure my life out (who I was, who I was supposed to be, where I was supposed to be, and why I am), my life rose up to meet me. People and things (sweetheart, friends, work, and a place to live) became real in my life in ways that I had come to believe were not any longer possible for me.

Basically... for the first time in a long time, I had come home.

When I moved into a new (and pretty much perfect) little apartment, my sweety and my friends threw me a great party.

And for the past two years these experiences have continued... mounting on top of one another the pleasures and joys of friends, and family, and home and place.

I never thought I'd feel like this... but I have become a Petaluman.

So... to further solidify this geographic relationship, I registered this summer for the Petaluma Leadership Class, a year long collection of meetings, classes and activities that are designed to give a greater sense of place to those who want to be more planted (and more active) in this community. The picture at the top of this blog is from the "History Day" class which happened last week. My friend Trish snapped it of me coming out from checking on upcoming shows at Petaluma's wonderful Mystic Theater.

The day was great, with an introduction to the Petaluma History Museum, and guided tours from past notables in P-town history, and drop in at the Petaluma Adobe State Park where Mariano Vallejo raised cattle before California was a state. And since any good town history involves a solid drinking past and Prohibition story, we ended the day at Volpi's Speakeasy.

I've covered much of this material myself in the Petaluma Audio Tours that I created last spring, but to get a full day of information, entertainment and engagement with and from people who know and love the community was particularly special.

The fact remains that I still have one foot (or at least my big toe) stuck in the swamp water of New Orleans, and I don't expect I will ever be free of the hold that San Francisco has on my heart, but the people, places and things of this little chicken town have definitely captured me in a way that I have never before been captured and, frankly (and surprisingly), I like it.

This Has Gone On Long Enough!

Okay... I've had it with this lack of blogging.

I posted a new piece (and a request for input, and story contributions) at http://generationvet.blogspot.com where I am hoping to begin development on a play that I have wanted to work on for quite some time.

Please check it out, pass it on, and add you fity cents.

In the mean time... Stay tuned here because there's gonna be more blogging coming immediately (well, at least this weekend).

Hazel Stage Web Design :: Web Marketing Strategies with Audio

Hazel Stage Web Design :: Web Marketing Strategies with Audio

Posted using ShareThis

This was actually an experiment using one of the tools we will be demonstrating in the above mentioned (click the link) seminar this coming Thursday. Not exactly sexy, but useful in its way.

I suppose this also reflects the fact that after nearly two months away from blogging (except for the blogs I get paid to write at http://hotelmonteleoneblog.com and http://carouselbarblog.com ) I am on the verge of a sparkling return!

My 55th birthday is Tuesday... That kind of says it all.

Today's The Day!

Starting today Quicksilver Amusements gets even more mercurial and mellifluous.

More info to come on that... Just wanted to write it down.

Remember!

There have been some difficult days of late. Things continue to look like they will get more difficult before they get easier.

I keep hearing, and seeing, people make stupid, pointless, mind-numbingly inane statments like, "This isn't change you can believe in..." as if any change comes this fast (it did after all take Dubya eight years to screw things up this badly!).

The forces of darkness - whether they come from a gun fired at a man standing in a church doorway, angry hypocritical attacks made by ugly political hacks , or the blathering mediocrity of the nation's most inane broadcast personality - are arrayed against the President, a progressive political direction, and basic human openess and decency. As a remedy for the depressed reaction that tries to raise it's ugly head as a response to that, I've taken to listening to this song more and more (and viewing the video in my head even when I'm not watching it on a screen).

It helps to, as the song says, remember, the place we've come from and the people we've come with.

And I've really only got two things to say about that:

1) Nobody said this was gonna be easy.

2) Like the sign on a deli wall in post-Katrina New Orleans proclaims...

I love the smell of bike tires in the morning!

Last Thursday morning, with my eyes still closed softly in sleep, a smile on my face, and visions of sugar plums dancing in my head... I had the dubious privilege of being rousted out of my nice comfy bed to trudge down to the corner of Petaluma Boulevard and D Street (Petaluma California's Walnut Park). Upon arrival I was commandeered to hand out coffee, apples, croissants, muffins, water and bicycle bags of souvenirs and information to 143 intrepid peddlers as they passed through downtown for their participation in Bike To Work Day 2009. I was joined by other hardy souls - a representative of Whole Foods who showed up with the victuals, a public affairs person from Kaiser Permanente who brought bike reflectors and bags, a student from a nearby massage school who enthusiastically provided hands on support, and a bike mechanic who came fully prepared (with his seeing eye dog in tow) to load bikes on his rack, give them a diagnostic spin and tweak them into performance perfection.

Most of the time I work from home, and have done so for the better part of twenty five years. I still have to travel to visit clients, or to research stories and interview subjects, but most of my time is spent in front of my computer in the same place where I eat, sleep and dream. I live in a section of my little town that allows me to walk to just about everywhere - the grocery store, my favorite pub, the bookstore and even the bus station. When it comes to transportation, I keep a pretty low carbon footprint, simply because I can. So for me, this morning was kind of a revelation. People were excited. They were enjoying themselves. Some of the folks I met ride their bikes to work every day, others were trying it for the first time. "I do this every day," said one smiling woman, "but today's the only day you get the booty!" I handed her a bag and a muffin and she rode on laughing. Kids rolled in and out on their way to school, and regular bikers talked about how encouraging it was to see other folks on the road. "So much of the time, you don't see anyone else," said another happy rider as she sipped her coffee and grinned. "This is fantastic!"

Every single one of the 143 folks I laughed with, handed schwag to, and waved at as they rode away were clearly juiced with the engagement of doing something to make a difference. As for me... I'm going out to the garage and pulling out my bike! They say misery loves company, but from what I saw this morning, so does happy peddling.

Happy Mother's Day Mom

One of my favorite songs, by one of my favorite (albeit perhaps guilty pleasure) groups is "Yes We Can" performed by the Pointer Sisters and written by quintessential New Orleanian, Allen Toussaint. In the song, when talking about all the things we can do if we try, he uses the wonderful phrasing, almost as an afterthought... but not quite. "And do respect the women of the world, remember you all had mothers."

That's kind of the way we are in the world... And it's kind of the way I've been for too much of my life as an individual. Remembering our mothers... remembering MY mother... is often NOT at the forefront of my mind. I think that's why Mother's Day is such a big day for the flower, card, and dining establishment; it's the one day a year when we REMEMBER our moms and all the other days of the year that we've taken them for granted.

My mother is amazing. She always has been, and the older I get the more and more and more I see of her in me. So much of who I am and what I want comes from this woman whom I have basically taken for granted for nearly 55 years. She was born in Philadelphia, raised in Manhattan and on Long Island, and then later in Miami. As a teenager she was the first female "copy boy" at The Miami Herald (there was even a columnist at the paper who wrote about his amazement at this confounded new development). She started a radio show with my dad (Time for Betty & Tom), she was a model back in New York, and the host of a cooking show in Cincinnati (no doubt the origin of my own fanatical obsession with food and things foodie). After I was born and my family returned to South Florida, my mom worked the late show movie on local TV (where I got to perform as Santa Claus one year) and as a freelance camera person for a TV station on Florida's West Coast. One of my most vivid memories from childhood is of standing on the tarmac at Palm Beach Airport as Air Force One was arriving with President Kennedy and my mom was dashing toward the plane, Bolex in hand, shouting to my dad "What's the F-stop Tom!?"

Later, when we moved to Arizona, she learned how to paint and she spent hours working in oils on scenes that brought the desert to life on our walls. My favorite of these (from a time in my life that was definitely not my favorite, but then what teenager ever likes their life!?) is still hanging on the wall in my little apartment in Petaluma. I have lugged it around with me to every place I have lived as an adult and it is always one of the first things I put up to know that I am home.

Through all of my life, my mom has been my champion and supporter. Five years ago when Jennifer graduated from college the day before I ran the Dipsea for the first time, mom and dad came out from Florida to be there for both. I still get an enormous amount of joy from remembering the way mom looked at me after the race, a combination of astonishment and pride, mixed with just a little bit (well, maybe a lot) of concern for the health - both mental and physical - of her first born.

Throughout my life, I have certainly not been what she might have dreamed for me to be. I remember one time during that hellashish high school period when I wrote her a song called "I'm Sorry." I still feel that way a lot of the time. I'm sorry mom for the ways I haven't been appreciative, the ways I haven't "lived up to my potential" and the ways I've gone astray. I'm also thankful for the things you gave me that have led me (and still lead me) to do right, to be loyal, to try hard, and to live fully.

Thank you for borning me, raising me, loving me, and still... over and over and over again... supporting me in so many ways.

Happy Mother's Day Mom. I Love You.

-------

And to the mother of my daughter...

As a post script on this Mother's Day, I also want to salute the mom of my daughter. Jean and I have been through 34 years together; some of them wonderful and fun, and some of the hard as hell. Though only 8 of those years were as husband and wife, she has been a great friend and a steady support for all the rest of the time as well. She gave birth to and mothered a grand and glorious girl/woman of our own, and I am grateful and proud of them both. Happy Mother's Day Jean!

Vicariously NOLA

Today is the beginning of the second weekend of the greatest music festival held anywhere, The New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival at the Fairgrounds Racetrack in New Orleans. It's been looking a little cloudy and even a little rainy on the webcams, but for most of the day tht will probably meant that the weather is just a little cooler and the dust is just a little more tamped down.

As for me, I am sitting (as I have done too many times in recent years) back in California listening to every minute as it plays out on WWOZ and thinking about my plans for next year. At the same time, I'm actually working on a project that gives me the opportunity and excuse to listen to Fest and imagine myself there. It's a small comfort, but it IS a comfort and I enjoy it.

On Monday night I took the evening, made myself a wonderful dinner, opened up a bottle of wine, and pulled up a chair next to the computer where I rocked out all evening long listening to WWOZ's Piano Night celebration from the House of Blues.

The event was a celebration of the life of Eddie Bo, who died recently. The last time I got to be at Piano Night, Eddie Bo was the honored guest and it is one of my great memories of my life to see Eddie on one piano directly across from Marcia Ball on another piano with Joe Krown on another piano at the back of the stage, John Cleary on Hammond B, and Dr. John on guitar (they had run out of pianos!!!)

Piano Night (always the Monday after the first weekend of Jazz Fest) and the whole reality of Jazz Fest is a celebration that manifests the amazing heart of New Orleans, that in fact is the heart of America.

What a Wonderful World!

I know what it means...

Hardly a week goes by, and at some times a day doesn't even go by, without me finding one reason or another to pine for The Crescent City.

The next 10 days raise this longing to a level beyond compare, for it's Jazz Fest Time!

From this morning through Sunday and then again next Thursday through Sunday, The Big Easy will be easy with music and music will be absolutely EVERYWHERE!

Despite the fact that I can't make it this year (though at this point I'm still holding out the long shot hope that something will come through that takes me east in time for next weekend) I'll be swooning at each bit of music that comes down from the fairgrounds and lands on my iTunes courtesy of WWOZ.org and when I can't listen to it live, I'll be listening to the innumerable recordings I've made of everything from piano night to my friends James Singleton and Clive Wilson. I'll probably watch the short video I recorded of Donald Harrison and Galactic about a dozen times and listen tot he my jazz fest recordings of Ani DeFranco, and John Fohl, Sonny Landreth, and Anders Osborne, and more... more... more.

Yeah... it's the best week of the year right now in NOLA and one of these days I'll get back there.

Next year in Jerusalem!

Good Night and Good Luck... Mom

Keith's mom died Saturday and this is truly a beautiful, and funny, tribute.

Happy Anniversary!

Yesterday was the anniversary of the big event of last year. Jen and Andy's wedding.

Despite all of the other events, excitements, and catastrophic cataclysms of the previous 365 days, it is not hard at all for me to pick out that Saturday at Fort Mason as the central moment of the year (of many years actually) for me.

One year on, I still look back on it as an experience of tremendous joy and extreme pride. Not a week goes by that I don't feel some moment of joy that pops into the mundane reality of the day and reminds me of the best of what living is. To experience a day where my child was so completely herself, with her partner in life beside her and surrounded by friends and family with laughter, and tears, words, and music, and food and celebration.

THIS is why we go through all the trials and tribulations. This is why we get up every day and struggle through work, and no work, bills, doctors, tears and fears.

This is why we are alive!

Take Me Out To The Ballgame... Again!

It's not yet opening day, but for me it is. KLL and I are heading into San Francisco for the Bay Bridge Series between the A's and the Giants.

This will be the first time I've ever gone to "Pac Bell Park" as something other than a Giants fan. I once saw the Giants play the Mets at Candlestick, and on that occassion I was definitely rooting for the Mets, but this will be the first time I've ever changed colors in such a radical way.

I'm stoked... It's Springtime and I'm ready for Baseball!

The Business of Busy-ness

Some thoughts for Lent and the Downturn. A new post I worked on this morning at Bleeding Daylight.

Fools Rush Inn

It's April Fool's Day... or St. Stupid's Day, if you prefer.

15 years ago, April1 was also Good Friday and because of several things that were going on in my life at the time I declared it Coyote Jesus Day. It always seemed like Good Friday was a really great day for April Fools... Oh dear... God's Dead... Oh wait... No he's not! April Fool!!!!

It never really caught on, but it always seemed like a good idea to me.

This year, I'm having a different crisis of personal consciousness. Whereas on the original Coyote Jesus Day I was engrossed in the economic and emotional situation I was in, the new media company I was about to start, and the absurdity of all the elements of my life... THIS year April 1 comes at a time when I am engrossed in the economic and emotional situation I am in, the new media company I am about to start, and the absurdity of all the elements of my life... See what I mean?

Everything is TOTALLY DIFFERENT!

One of the things on my mind this week has been the philosophical difference between Amusements and Amazements and my personal jury is still out on that one, but I'm beginning to notice a thoughtful pattern.

My initial thought process, earlier this week, was that I liked the idea of Amazements better than Amusements. There is, in the word a seemingly greater profundity in amazement than there is in amusement. A person commenting on my previous post about this points out this very same thing. But when I looked up the roots of both words, I was startled to realize the extent that Amusements is rooted in the word muse and the root of muse itself. The Webster's New World Dictionary states that muse comes from muzzle and the implication of the connection is the image of a person, nose in the air, pondering the greater secrets of the universe. The root of amazement, on the other hand, is maze (as opposed to labyrinth) which is a device intended for confusion.

Personally, I am not much impressed with the concept of confusion these days. It seems to me that coming out of eight years of Dubya, we've had more than our fair share of confusion and it's time to work for a little clarity and a whole lot of consideration.

So... right here and now... on April FOOL'S day... I am leaning heavily toward Amusements. The word begins in contemplation, moves into a wholistic feminist image of inspiration and creativity, and winds up with fun. Sounds like a damn good trajectory to me!

Enlightening entertainment... Entertaining enlightenment.

quciksilver aMUSEments it is!

Happy St. Stoopid's Day!

Could We Start Again Please?

I began this blog just short of two years ago, after I had been blogging at Speaklo for the two years prior. At the time, the SpeakLo blog had, somewhat by accident, become a blog about my travels and travails post-Katrina and I was at a place where I wanted to move on.

Perhaps I run in two year cycles, but I am definitely moving around to a new place in this process once more.

Whatever it is... perhaps it's the coming of Spring... the inevitability of return at Easter... but I am once again wanting to ask, Could We Start Again Please?

To that end, I have just begun posting once more at SpeakLo. My intention is to post things there that relate somewhat to my work in audio. That may be a look at music or audio in general, a review or a recommendation on something that I find of particular note, or simple gratuitous promotion of my own projects. It may also be a simple resting place for thoughts about what we listen to and listen for.

My plans are to continue posting here (though I am still evaluating a name change to Amazements instead of Amusements but the jury's still out on that for the moment.

In any case, I am beginning at SpeakLo this morning with the remembrance of an album I worked on nearly 25 years ago which, over the weekend, I had the opportunity to give a new listen... finding a surprising and comforting result.

I think - I hope - you'll enjoy it. Please feel free to let me know.

A Former Acquaintance

There's a guy in my town who (with some assistance from his wife, and lots of capitulation from a "gang that couldn't shouldn't straight" collection of board members) runs the little local lodge like his personal, private domain.

In the opinion of many, Mr. Moose has, virtually single-handedly, saved the little local lodge from construction devolution, but for many folks, his interpersonal destructiveness and ugly and vindictive machinations have done more to destroy the potential for a truly fraternal and caring organization in the midst of this well-intentioned, though not always fully functional community.

During the last few months I have been engaged with Mr. Moose in a battle to save the little local lodge from utter implosion, but recently I gave up the fight. There are better things to do, as far as I can see (at least for me), than fight a battle with a little caesar bent on shoring up his self-indulgent, acrimonious kingdom of obsequious devotees.

In the midst of it all, one thing that has been sticking with me is the vague sense of having encountered this pompous turd on some previous occasion. And then it hit me...

My first encounter with Mr. Moose occurred in the summer of 2005, shortly after I returned to Petaluma, homeless, following forced flight from New Orleans following Hurricane Katrina. I had been living in Petaluma for nearly five years when I decided to move to New Orleans just three weeks before Katrina sent me scurrying back to California.

The encounter was precipitated by the fact that I was sitting at a table in a little westside Petaluma coffee shop in the early morning. I was drinking coffee and reading a book and I was not disturbing anyone. Mr. Moose arrived at the coffee shop, and moved directly to me, towering over me, and glowering with rage in the slight mist of the early morning air.

"You're sitting at our table!" he bellowed.

I looked up in confusion and screwed up my face with consternation. "What?"

As I looked around at the nearly empty coffee shop I couldn't figure out why THIS particular table was such a prime piece of real estate. Little did I realize that the contempt, oafishness, and territoriality Mr. Moose demonstrated on this particular occasion would manifest itself three years later over a different piece of property.

In screenwriting, this kind of incident would be referred to as "foreshadowing."

Ultimately, I gave up my space, despite absolutely NO courtesy, kindness, or even deference to my presence. I was already beaten down by my journeys, the storm, and the process of trying to exist without a place to live on two different coasts.

I moved to another table and composed a poem about the experience. I then put that poem up online at Speaklo.

This afternoon, while digging around in the archives (a little bit like rummaging around in my closet of anxieties) in preparation for restarting that blog, I found the poem.

Here's the poem...

I must acknowledge that I made one mistake. There's a sense in which I imply within the poem that all people in P-town (or at least all those at the coffee shop) are liberals. That would be very much incorrect. It would be equally as incorrect to assume, as I may have to some extent implied, that all Petalumans (whether liberal, conservative, or uncommitted) are unpleasant, ignorant, assholes. In the time I've spent back in this town since the day I wrote the poem, I have become very close with some of the dearest friends I have had in all of my life. They run the gamut of spiritual, political, and personality perspectives and I cherish every one of them.

Beyond that, I stand by my observations of nearly four years ago.

I would also like to point out to Mr. Moose (and those who are like him), what goes around... does in fact seem to come around.

There's a BEVERAGE here!

For the first time in about 17 years (the last time was for my daughter's birthday party), I went bowling in Petaluma this Saturday night. It was a benefit forPetaluma People Services Center, but the only thing that came to my mind was White Russians, and...

According to the "Which Big Lebowski character are you?" quiz:

This is what happens when you meet a stranger in the Alps!

70 Landings!!!

I grew up in South Florida, carefully watching on TV, and then running outside of the house just in time to see it live, so many of the early NASA launches that they are probably embedded into my psyche at the sub-moelcular level.

Since moving away from Florida, and more or less growing up (something that does remain rather debatable) I remain fascinated by space travel and space missions. Thanks to Twitter, I am newly able to keep up with space developments in a way that I previously missed.

That's what happened just now. I got on the computer just to check some email, do a few Saturday based interactions and get on with the day. But I found a series of reports from "Astronautics" that led me to the NASA site, where I could get information on Discovery's landing after the week in space where they've been putting some of the finishing touches on the International Space Station. It was at the NASA site where I discovered that this makes 70 landings at Cape Canaveral and, frankly, that just makes me silly with excitement.

I am thankful for being given a love for space by my dad, and I am delighted to be able to be alive at a time and place where "the last frontier" is still being explored and where, thanks to our new president and his concern for new scientific exploration, we may finally - again - begin exploring the outreaches of our proximate universe.

It is indeed... An Amazement!

What's In A Word?

I had a dream last night... well actually the dream I had was early this morning and it was one of those dreams - not a bad dream actually, it was in fact quite a good dream - that make you feel all out of sorts, like it's trying to tell you something about your life and you may not be ready to receive the communication.

I'm going to keep the dream to myself, at least for now, as I take it apart in my mind and put it back together in my soul, but I have already implemented one change that came out of the experience.

I am - at least for the moment (we will see how it fits me over time) - changing the name of this blog from Quicksilver Amusements to Quicksilver Amazements. Two letters that make for a significant attitude adjustment.

It seems to me that for most folks, despite the fact that a part of the root is muse, a word that describes thoughtfulness and consideration, the central idea behind the word amusement is the idea of entertainment, mindlessness, and relatively thoughtless jocularity. For me, at least right at this moment, the idea of amazement is more dynamic. It describes an experience of enthrallment, the state of being actively engaged with a conundrum. It is, to my mind, a more dynamic and interesting concept. It is a state, far more than amusement, that I am interested in partaking in and introducing to others. At it's root, it also contains the word maze. This word, closely related to labyrinth is in fact a structure that as a metaphor for living seems to bring with it a lot of power; power to move, power to confuse, power to elicit intentionality and interest.

Amazement, it seems to me, is a much more active, interesting and engaging state.

What do you think?

We Will Not Go Down

I had a whole other post planned for this morning. A discussion of some new developments in an ongoing small town brouhaha I've been involved in; D.O.O.M. as I have taken to calling it, but fate (and the internets) intervened. I'll get back to that other topic later. For now I want to share my thoughts on this video which I picked up from a link on Twitter.


Definitely the "song of the week" by Michael Heart.

It is consistently very easy to become overly involved with things that don't matter while the things that do matter are left to sit on a back burner to be dealt with by "people in authority" who "know more than we do."

Who are those people? When will they do something new?

Another song, by Ken Medema, from over 20 years ago (a song I had a little something to do with) tells the same story in a somewhat different way.

Last night as I sat watching the V-Day Petaluma performance (I'm working backstage tonight) I was most moved, for a second night in a row, by the song at the end that says "If women all over the world will join together we can put an end to war." I would like to sign up as support for THAT performance as well!

All of these things (and even my little small town tug of war) have one thing in common: the simple fact that we, as individuals should not, can not, must not, leave things to "the politicians" or "the big boys" or the "experts." Barrack's speech from back during the campaign was right... WE are the ones we've been waiting for!

Let's act like it.

Celebrate Women!

It's International Women's Day and we can (and must) celebrate it with vigor and joy despite the fact that in the U.S. we don't seem to be able have raised the day to the level of National Holiday as they have in China, Armenia, Russia, Azerbaijan, Belarus, Bulgaria, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Macedonia, Moldova, Mongolia, Tajikistan, Ukraine, Uzbekistan and Vietnam.

Three years ago I wrote a post on this day while I was still struggling to make it in post-Katrina NOLA. It still seems valid today (though I did add some names to the list of women I am thankful for). There's also a blog that I work with that has a great post about the history and the reality of this important, wonderful, and lovely day.

This afternoon, while reflecting on the women I have known and loved (and know and love) the the wonderful poem Bread and Roses came to mind. Written by a man, but most famously sung by Judy Collins, it was the inspiration for Mimi Farina's wonderful organization which brings "hope, healing and music" to people in need.

The song is something that I first learned in the midst of the anti-nuclear protests of the early 80s Reagan years. but which stays with me, and haunts me, at this present time as we dig our collective souls and bodies out of the pit that Dubya built. It is always important to remember that we need food, but we also need art, and to me a day like today serves to bring that more to the forefront of my consciousness than some other occasions.

As Allen Toussaint wrote (and the Pointer sisters sang) "Do respect the women of the world. Remember you all had mothers!" I would like to add that some of us also had daughters... who we are very very proud of.

Down the rabbit hole...

The Daily Show With Jon StewartM - Th 11p / 10c

Twitter Frenzy

Daily Show Full Episodes
Important Things With Demetri Martin

Political Humor
Joke of the Day

Okay... So the BIG NEW THING right now, ever since half of congress was evidently too preoccupied to PAY ATTENTION to the the President's speech last Tuesday (it WAS Mardi Gras after all), is Twitter, and while I've been on Twitter since about the middle of last year, it wasn't until the last seven days that I got seriously sucked into the vortex of this new way to completely lose all ability to maintain concentration. This wonderful new technology that allows you to pretend like you're doing something meaningful while in reality your twiddling your twittery life away. I even added a second account so I could focus one on promoting my wine and food writing more directly (is that increased focus, or lack thereof?).

So today, on Twitter of course, I was directed to the above segment from Jon Stewart... And THAT seems to be more what Twitter is about than anything else, a new way to create yet another infinite loop... and another... and...

Of course, in the manner of such things, just when I'm ready to dismiss it all, something like THIS comes along!

Happy Mardi Gras - Part Three

There really isn't anything else to say... but thanks to brianoberkirch you can see what it's REALLY about.

Happy Mardi Gras - Part Two

For those that don't grasp the reality of this amazing day (which would be pretty much anyone who hasn't lived through it in one of the intriguing and wonderful places on the planet where they truly celebrate Carnival)... One more time.... It's NOT about "show us your tits!"


Pictures live and direct from New Orleans today via Twitter, and courtesy of pontchatrain


YEAH YOU RIGHT!

Happy Mardi Gras - Part One

Last night I fired up the Safari on Nola.com and the iTunes to WWOZ and watched my favorite Mardi Gras parade... MUSES. I even pulled my Muses official high heel mardi gras beads down from the shelf and wrapped em around my neck.

The reality is that carnival began back at the end of Christmas but for me the celebration of "Mardi Gras Time" begins with the Muses parade. Now I'm here in my home/office struggling to track my way through a day of work (still recovering from the brain fog of a nearly weeklong cold), raise some money, pay some bills, and get some things done... but all I really want to do is be out wandering around on the streets this weekend, watching parades, listening to music, parading with the Indians and basically experiencing that thing that is Mardi Gras.

I'm even tracking a whole collection of folks who are Twittering their Mardi Gras experiences.

I am in party mode and despite the fact that I am in Petaluma and not in The Big Easy...

I WILL have a Happy Mardi Gras!

Y'all do the same!

Happy Valentine's Day!

Groundhog Day!

With the return of February 2nd, we once again "celebrate" Ground Hog Day, that time when we all wait to find out if that big rodent in Pennsylvania saw his shadow. This morning, evidently, he did, while also declaring the Pittsburgh Steelers to be world champions. I guess Punxatawny Phil keeps a tv down there in his hole.

My favorite part of Groundhog Day is the annual reminder of the film of the same name with Bill Murray and Andie McDowell. It's a classic early 90s goofball comedy, but better than most of that particular genre because it serves to remind us of the fact that we make our lives by the way we pay attention... or don't. In the film, Bill Murray repeats Groundhog Day over and over, until he first begins to realize what's happening and then finally learns the lesson he most needs to understand.

This also plugs into my return to a new 40 day plan. After bailing on my last plan, just before the new year, I've been floating along in search of focus and direction. The simple fact is that I do better when I have a plan. My various natural tendencies to distraction, and my perpetual flirtation with new ideas and intriguing projects, are all more creatively and productively channeled when I set myself up a structure to channel my flailing imagination.


So, here we go again. With Phil's prediction of 6 more weeks of winter, I am choosing to take on my own Groundhog Day discipline with a new six weeks of attention to the details of my life. My own sort of repeat it until you get it right discipline, running from now to the Ides of March.

In the meantime, just remember... Don't Drive Angry!!!

5 Years & 6 Beginnings... Part Six

Just after midnight January 1, 2009: Sitting on the couch at Karen's with a bottle of champagne. We had just gotten back from "up the hill" where we attended a party with some old friends, some new friends, and a few people new to us both. We left shortly before midnight intending to spend the strike of midnight together and alone.

A rather uneventful evening if you look at the surface elements.

But it's the river flowing underneath that image that reveals the most about where my life stands five years on from that night of 03/04, alone in the living room of the little house on Dana, just a short 5 blocks from where Karen and I were standing with champagne under mistletoe at midnight.

The biggest difference is probably the smallest leap. I LIVE here now!

That simple reality is something that I never thought I would accept and/or admit to, but here I am living enthusiastically and more or less contentedly in my own little loft apartment (a long and wonderful story in and of itself) above a garage next to a beautiful garden with buddha statues and a magnificent live oak tree. We live (myself, the tree, and my terrific landlords) at the corner of B and Fair, and that is becoming, as the former owner of the house - Petaluma's first woman mayor, Helen Putnam - used to say, "my motto."

My life has indeed become (and is becoming) fair, not in the sense of mediocre, but in the sense of soft and lovely and delightful.

I fell in love with my new residence the first time I walked into the garden, and I waited in homeless limbo (on friend's couches, at Karen's place, and in "The Little House") for several months for the apartment to become ready to live in (I am it's first actual resident). I moved in during the first week of April, just days before my DDD got married in San Francisco, and between these two nearly simultaneous events, I experienced a deep and engaging sense of life beginning anew.

My growing collection of old and new friends threw me a fabulous house warming party that was organized by Karen, who commiserated with Joe to fool me more completely than I had ever been fooled before.

I also began a lot of new work, much of it in the writing that I have worked hard for much of my adult life to turn into gainful employment. I engaged my new presence in Petaluma by volunteering to co-chair the city's renewed Riverfest Celebration (and I have recently proven what a glutton for punishment I am by volunteering to chair the event for this year!), and by joining the unlikely amalgamation of people that make up Moose Lodge #475. Almost daily, I continue seeking to find ways to involve myself on the ground, in the place where I live.

And then there was the election. This amazing year of challenge and struggle and ultimate triumph when we as a country and a people, individually and collectively, discovered that... truly... WE are the ones we've been waiting for.

I also seem to have discovered that, I am the one I've been waiting for.

On top of it all... through the kindness, patience, insight, creativity and beauty of this surprising person who has come to share my life these days - in ups and downs and back and forths, with soft kisses and deep hugs, through lots of laughter and a few difficult arguments - I found my way back to love.

Indeed... There Is No Fifth Destination.

Still Speechless... Most Hopeful... Completely Committed!

I really don't have anything to say that can equal this photo. I spent the entirety of yesterday staring at the TV, afraid that if I turned it off, I would wake up and it would all have been a dream.

I'm better today... and I just made a new volunteer commitment that I've been pondering for months. Time to get to work.

More tomorrow.

Happy New Year!

This is a video that documents and commemorates the New Year's morning murder of Oscar Grant by BART police.

I have been simply speechless since I first heard about this, but getting this from the CAPE Blog, I had to put it up.

You can sign a petition to California AG Jerry Brown, or you can join a rally on Wednesday, but somehow... there's only one response.

You must DO SOMETHING.

5 Years & 6 Beginnings... Part Five

January 2008 was a hard mid-winter.

I was homeless again after being blind sided by the guy I was subleasing from when he re-rented the place out from under me, packed up his stuff, and moved back to England. That all happened, over the holidays, in the last three weeks of the year.

In the rain.

I began the year setting up my office in a little room behind a friend's house. It was a major help to have a place to work even if I didn't have a guaranteed place to sleep.

As for sleeping... I was moving around a lot. I spent time on the couch of one friend (it was a pretty comfy couch, I must say) and in the "Little House" behind the home of another friend. This was particularly helpful, as it held some good memories from the months after Katrina when he and his wife offered me the place for a few weeks to settle in, recuperate, and find my bearings. Returning to The Little House was a true comfort and my friends were patient, kind, understanding and unbelievably helpful.

As it turned out... I was also staying fairly frequently at the home of a new friend, an unexpected, down from heaven, out of the blue, blessing of a friend... confidant... and lover. If it weren't for the fact that she had dropped into my life back at the end of the summer of 07 (right after the second anniversary of Katrina by the way) I don't know if I would have made it through the unexpected chaos that was thrust upon me as 2007 came to a close.

She walked into my life right at the crux point of the back and forth, give and take battle of my bi-coastal relationship with New Orleans. We met during the summer, when I was completely sure that I was not interested in being involved with anyone. I wasn't looking, I wasn't interested, and I thought that might be the way I would feel for the rest of my life. I was also sure that my life was fated to play out, eventually, in The Crescent City. I had attempted to move there more permanently back in the spring (having moved out of my San Francisco loft/office) but had found it necessary to move back to California in the early summer.

By mid-summer, I was meeting with an old old friend regarding the possibility of doing new work together, and this question (and its still unresolved conclusion) had thrown a new instrument into the mix of my already strangely mixed up life.

I wanted to kick my life back into gear, but I still didn't have any good idea about how, or where, or why to do it.

On August 5, 2007, two years to the day that I had moved there the first time, I returned to New Orleans with all intentions of staying... Within ten days I was on the last flight out from Louis Armstrong Airport bound for California with the hope of getting my computer fixed (it had crashed on me over the weekend and I couldn't get it fixed in still post-Katrina New Orleans). As I headed west for the last time (I have still not been back in New Orleans) I was sure that I would be back in a matter of days or weeks.

By the time I landed on the west coast I was less sure about that decision... and then the bottom fell out of all of it.

With the second anniversary of Katrina I went into a strange silence that led me to question almost everything that I had been desperately trying to patch together since my life had been blown apart two years before. One very clear thing stood out beyond all others. It was, once again, time to take on a serious change in my life and that entailed more than where I lived; it involved my work, my home, and my state of mind. The conclusion that I came to was that I needed to draw back in, let things settle even more, and find the still deeper ground and center that had eluded me for so long.

And then... my life was transformed in an instant (well... a weekend) and all of my separatist plans, individualistic intentions, and calculating singularities were tossed over. I was suddenly, and surprisingly, in love.

The rest of 2007 was pretty much a blur with concerts to attend, my daughter to cheer, walks to walk, books to read and a new life forming all around me,

Beyond all that... in the world outside my little bubble, new hope was rising like the bright sun in the east.

Despite a collection of lingering questions, not the least of which being where the hell am I going to live, on January 1, 2008, I felt like I was emerging from a cocoon.

5 Years & 6 Beginnings... Part Four

January 1, 2007 found me running Stinson Beach in the sunshine and cold. In comparison to the previous three beginnings, it was a particularly good one.

By the end of 2006 I had come back to Petaluma and begun subletting part of a house just outside of town. This arrangement was extremely centering to me and I spent a lot of time simply lying or sitting in my room, petting the cat, and smiling out at the big tree that filled the view from my bedroom window. It was a settling and grounding experience that I was lucky to have fallen into after wandering about like The Lost Dutchman for most of 2006.

In general, 2006 was a recovery year. I spent most of the first six months in New Orleans, desperately trying to make a life there, and evacuating every once in a while back to my office in San Francisco to sit and have lunch with Jennifer, drop in at Grace or Glide to pick up a small modicum of sanity. By summertime I had pretty much reached the limit of my staying power and I drifted, with deep reluctance, back to California on a semi-permanent basis.

That summer I also dropped in on the Baptist Peace Fellowship of North America, a group I had been involved with at their inception 20 years earlier, but which I had not visited since 1989. I spent that week in Atlanta speaking about Katrina, along with some of my friends and heros from Churches Supporting Churches and visiting with old friends I hadn't seen or heard from in a very very long time. It was a cathartic, and restorative, experience and one of the things I discovered was how much comfort I gained from meeting up with and sharing moments with folks who had ben through the same thing I had been through.

In the fall, I had another opportunity to meet up with CSC friends when we gave a presentation at Defiance College in Ohio. At that point, I had been back in Petaluma for several months and while I was experiencing the aforementioned comfort and quiet as healthful, I was also longing to be with people who understood what I had been (and was still going) through. My friends from CSC were those folks. When we would see each other we would smile, and hug, and hold each other like long lost relations. It was another aspect of the life of 2006 that brought me back to health.

There had been some rough points that fall as well. I had my car, and my computer, stolen in San Francisco in October, and the new computer I bought to replace it blew up on me right at the end of the year. About that same time, my brain blew up on me as well, and by January 1 I was still struggling through coping with all the residue (physical, personal, and practical) that my occassional seizures force me to deal with.

What I missed most at the beginning of 2007 was any sense that I had an actual life. I was definitely in a restorative mode. Like a cat that gets into a fight, I was hunkered down, licking my wounds, and trying to assemble the details of the past 18 months into a cohesive personal narrative that made sense and had a through line.

On that beach that morning in the sun, I felt like I was coming back to wholeness.

I was moving up from the underworld and had returned to a sort of zero point. I was getting better... But things were still going to take some time.

I was definitely NOT expecting the changes that were lying in wait on the far horizon.

Three Kings Night... An Epiphanic Interlude

I truly love the Christmas season... but by that, I mean exactly what I said. I am NOT a fan of the shopping season between the Macy's Parade (though I love the parade itself, and Thanksgiving is definitely my favorite holiday) and December 23rd.

I love and believe in Advent. Many of those who know me at least a little bit think this means that I am some sort of a religious freak who can't get passed my past as a Baptist preacher (though... of course... Baptists in general have no quarter for a season like Advent). For me, the thing about Advent is the antici... PATION. The four weeks spent waiting for the creation to be fulfilled, the time spent thinking on who and what we might be, we could be, we... CAN be. There is an exquisite aesthetic to taking the darkest time of the year and going inward rather than jumping around in a shopping frenzy in malls and stores with jingle bells blathering out of every little tin speaker.

But when Christmas comes... I want to take the time to let it seep into my bones, trickle down to my toes and then blast up through my head in a celebration of how absolutely wonderful it is to be alive. I like it to take a long time.

THERE ARE TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS.

And then comes Epiphany... The day The Wise Guys arrive with the presents... and then turn around and skip out on the government surveillance program. The radical nature of extending Christmas for nearly two weeks beyond what the capitalist structure wants us to engage in, and thereby breaking it out of the standard model of greed, and craziness, and tension and into a new world of sharing and talking, and eating and drinking and laughing... THIS is the subversive nature of Christmas. This is why it's more than Santa... more than Rudolph... and even more than the Baby Jesus.

This is why it's so deeply important... and so damn much fun.

So last night, for Epiphany, I decided to celebrate with friends in the true chaos of the season, for Epiphany is not only the day The Magi arrive... in New Orleans, it's also the start of Carnival. It's the time for craziness, for openness, for life breaking through the dismal mundanity of the day to day. It's the time to have a hell of a party - with your family (that's my daughter as Jailhouse Elvis by the way), friends, neighbors, loved ones and acquaintances - on a TUESDAY night!

It's the perfect time for The King... or more accurately, THREE Kings!

It's the time to go home by another way,

Five Years & Six Beginnings... Part Three

To understand where I was on January 1, 2006 one has to start five months earlier during the last few days before I packed up, threw away, or left behind all of my worldly possessions and headed off into the sunrise for New Orleans on August 5, 2005.

[Ex]Partner showed up in the house a day early, seemingly for the purpose of messing with my mind (or perhaps hers) and she did a good job of it, but despite the amorous state of confusion we acted out that afternoon, I was still on the plane the next morning.

Friday Night August 5, 2005 I was on Frenchmen Street with friends old and new, listening to music, sweltering in the heat, and generally feeling like I was HOME. The feeling continued throughout that first weekend, when, despite the overwhelming August heat I enthusiastically joined the summertime trumpet summit known as Satchmo Fest. This feeling continued the next night, and the next, and into my first full, real week...

In fact, it lasted for three weeks, and I was on track. In that short span, I had contacted a whole collection of new work contacts, had begun work on two large projects and was well on my way to reconnecting to people I wanted to work with on my film project. I had even launched a project that I had been struggling to get off the ground for nearly ten years. August 2005 was the very best month (personally, financially, and creatively) I had experienced in years. This move was starting to look like the very best thing I could possibly have done with my life.

And then Katrina crossed into The Gulf.

The next five months were spent on the road. Two days in Hattiesburg Mississippi with ex-partner and family, two weeks with my parents in Murphy, NC and a month back in California before finally being able to return to New Orleans (though not to my apartment).

As most people already know... I was one of the lucky ones.

For the rest of 2005 I slid back and forth between the semi-vacant apartment of a friend in New Orleans, the couches and floors of friends around San Francisco and Petaluma, and the floor of my newly acquired "office" space (a vacant warehouse room South of Market in San Francisco).

And that brings us to January 31, 2005 and the night I spent in San Francisco's North Beach with a bunch of displaced New Orleans musicians. They played... I ate... we sang... and drank... and drank, and I wound up dancing through Union Square like Gene Kelly at 1:30 in the morning.

It was a truly joyful and exhilarating way to begin 2006. It was also more than a little bit manic and a whole lot depressing. Lying alone (who would have joined me!?) on the floor of my warehouse "office," I regularly barred the passageway downstairs so that the rats I could hear scurrying below would not come up the stairs and nibble on my toes (I still don't know if rats can climb like that, but I was not about to see if I could find out). In New Orleans, their cousins would frequently scurry across the courtyard of the apartment complex where I was staying and jump into the toxic pool water for a swim. While I had a Whole Foods Market nearby the office in San Francisco (where I regularly picked up a pretty serviceable version of Gumbo), most stores in New Orleans were still shuttered at the end of 2005 and predicting where I was going to track down my next meal sometimes meant guessing the corner where The Salvation Army truck was going to deliver hamburgers.

I was VERY glad to be rid of 2005... but I did not have a clue about what I was going to do next. Actually, that's not really true. I had some very good ideas about what I was going to do next.

They were all wrong.