Children's CD #2

Once again my fellow singer/songwriters have stepped up to the plate...or should I say microphone. At last count we have ten songs confirmed for our second CD project. My musician friends are generous souls. We can again hope to produce a CD that can be enjoyed by kids of all ages and benefit children's charities. I am blessed!

Time to Breathe

I can hardly comprehend that its the end of 2009. I haven't had a chance to write on my blog for a month and its stressing me out. This blog is like a friend who I can talk to and who keeps my life in print. I forget things now that I'm old (yes, 56 feels very old lately) and it is nice to have a place to come back and check on myself. Writing on a blog makes me think a bit harder about how I sound on paper instead of "I went to the grocery...I bought cat food". I like keeping a bit of myself that I can find at any time. No matter where I am I can just access a computer and there I am in cyberland.

So the world can see what I write...again, it keeps me on my toes.

I hope everyone who reads this has had a productive, happy and healthy 2009. I wish you a happy 2010. Let's all try to make ourselves and our world just a wee bit better every year.

Love,

me

"Dragon Chase"

I finished Chase's quilt and took it to his birthday celebration. He was, of course, excited about cake, ice cream and about a million new Lego pieces from the Lego store and an awesome Transformers chess set!

The quilt from me and the $$ from Poppie were appreciated but they will be more exciting the next time he is cold or broke. Its hard to go up against Lego's and Transformers. He is a really cool guy.

Happy Birthday, Chase!

Dragon Chase

My next quilt project is one for a grandson. I found fabric with large images that I can stitch. Its the first one I've tried without patchwork.

Ariana

My latest quilt has been named "Ariana". I made it for Tim & Doreen's daughter Corey who is expecting their first grandchild. The photo doesn't show it well, but there are little red hearts quilted into the white squares. I hope she likes it!

Page 25

After I bought a new book today, I turned to page 25 and inscribed my name, just as my mother had always done. Her fine, graceful strokes wrote out my whole name, long, taking up half the page. My handwriting has become rough and clumsy since my right arm was shattered and most times I shorten to initials.

Long ago, I'd come home from school and check the mailbox for the package from the book-a-month club, anxious for a new story and a new page to be autographed. Mother’s evenings were spent sewing or knitting so I would read aloud, shifting my voice to fit each character, lifting and falling with emotion and circumstance. I’d pause as I reached page 25, dragging a finger across the lovely blue letters, newly penned, spread like ivy near the binding of the page. My name looked magnificent, a tangible symbol of my mother’s pride. In the beginning it fell toward the back of the book but soon page 25 came early as my preference grew for thick books, full of descriptions and characters and far away places. Our lonely apartment could come alive with reference and imagination and mother and I would drift away, planning our own adventures.

We traveled, when I was grown, through Louis Lamour’s west and on Jack Kerouac’s highways, on rivers and oceans, hearing foreign tongues, matching stories and characters to places and people along our way.

I read silently now but I still write my name on page 25.

Kitchen Confessions

For the past week and a half I've tried writing about the kitchens I have known. It started as a writing exercise at the memoir workshop. We were to write our favorite and least favorite memory of the kitchen(s) where we grew up. I have had over four dozen kitchens in my lifetime and they all hold good and bad memories. The average for anyone my age would be eleven kitchens, holding that the "average" American moves every five years. Times have changed for my family and October marks the 17th anniversary in our present kitchen. Before our last move, I had never had stayed in one kitchen longer than 18 months. Sadly the current kitchen has been "under construction" for the past 17 years but if all the planets align and we keep our health, it may be finished in my lifetime.

I've started to write about these kitchens, the center of the universe of most homes. My mother loved to cook so we spent a lot of time there. I didn't have my own room for most of my childhood so it was where I did homework, worked on hobbies and played cards with my mom. My memoir, Kitchen Confessions, will be a collection of light and dark memories.

How about yours?

Quilting

I don't yet know what to name my newest quilt. It was designed for a little boy I have never met but I work with his grandfather and know John Michael will be an interesting and intelligent child.

This is the third quilt I have created this summer and fall. I sew them completely by hand and find the work enjoyable and relaxing. It's inspirational to go into a fabric shop and grab colors and fabrics that can become a piece of art.

This is also the first quilt in which I used templates to quilt the block. Each solid has a different design and then I just criss-crossed the nine patch squares.

My Daniel Boone Hat

Tonight I am enjoying a quiet evening at the historic Boone Tavern Hotel in Berea, Kentucky. My friend Carol and I came down a night early to attend a Saturday morning workshop. Jason Howard, an author and musician I met at last Spring's Gathering of Writers at Greenbo Lake in Kentucky is presenting a Memoir Workshop at the Loyal Jones Center on the college campus. We drove down in late afternoon, had a pleasant dinner at a local coffee shop and then walked around the shops near our hotel. My favorite was simply called The Quilt Shop. The walls were covered with amazing handmade quilts and bolts of fabric decorated the back of the shop. I bought a few colorful pieces and we chatted with the owner for a few minutes. The quilts were quite pricey - $700 to $1000 each but having quilted two this summer, I know that the price is very fair considering the number of hours that go into each.

Happily, I also found a groundhog puppet. Gizmo will be so pleased. He can't seem to stay away from the snacks, however.

Sweet Mary

Like most of the folk community, I am heart sad to hear of Mary Travers' passing.

I saw her in the late 1970's at Bogart's in Cincinnati. She was on a solo tour but she included songs we knew from PP&M. She was just a bit heavier and older than my vision of her but the voice remained the same. She did not need Peter & Paul to book end her vocals, she carried them well on her own. No one in the crowd was disappointed to hear her band doing a wide variety of songs, not just the folk classics to which she added her perfect harmony.

I loved her sultry voice, her long, flowing, blond hair, her comfortable stage presence and her flirty smile. Of my musical heroes and inspirations, I have seen most of them in concert over the years .... and I am glad that Mary was among them.

Hamilton Farmers Market

I was joined today by the Sweeneys at the Hamilton Farmer's Market. Jim and I played there a month or so ago and the two hours seemed longer. With Tim and Peg the time sped by. Carol Mahan and Papa Joe showed their friendly faces and took a few photos of us. We love it when our friends come out to see us. It makes us feel like we don't suck too bad! (That's an inside joke for those folks who criticize and "grade" other musicians). After our set we bought some fresh produce from the local farmers and some candles from the Candlemaking Hippies. No joke, that was their name.

We had lunch at a local cafe and conducted a bit of a band meeting. It seemed ironic that there was also a Hippie item on the menu at the Riverbank Cafe. I was sensing a theme.

We've agreed to get into the studio and work with our buddy, Dan, to record a demo CD. Should be fun.

After lunch we did a bit of bargain shopping on our way home then attempted a nap. Why is it the phone doesn't seem to ring all day and then it rings four times in a half hour when you are just dozing off?

Fountain Square - September 10, 2009

The Sweeneys (me, Jim, Tim Kelly & Peg Buchanan) played on Fountain Square in downtown Cincinnati. It was great fun. Friends and strangers both listened to our wide variety of songs. The sun came out just as we started our set which brought smiles to our faces. Papa Joe snapped this photo before he took over after we finished.

Bohemidippity Quilt

I added the first border to my Bohemidippity quilt. Jim said it still looks too small but I promised that the borders will add width and height. the black border is pretty wide but I wanted a wide border to add a stitched design. Black on black, I'm thinking.

Sweeney/Treehouse Hat

This morning three of the members of our band, The Sweeneys, held practice in Tim & Doreen's tree house. It's a lovely screened in room out past their yard, hanging over a hill above a creek. The weather was perfect and we had a great time singing songs to the trees. In the background was a chorus of goats belonging to a neighbor across the hill. A hawk added his voice from time to time and the buzz of humming birds was lovely. Doreen has an amazing yard that invites birds, and snakes, to enjoy its beauty.

Being in a band can be a lot of fun, but communing with nature as we have a practice is bohemidippity for sure!

Back to Blogging

I've been home for five days. Five days of work and five days of catching up. However, I have not been blogging. Its not that I don't want to and I can't even say that I haven't had time. What I don't have is photos. During the wind storm that came from the west while we were camping in Carlsbad, I threw my laptop into the car to be safe. Doing so, I later learned that my card reader was inserted in a side slot and was damaged. We muddled through somehow, getting it to work from time to time but now it says no more. The housing is busted and the picture card just sits out in the open. It weird to think that all this little bumpy circuits hold so many precious memories.
Since I don't like to post blogs without photos, I'm having a tough time trying to find something to write about. I guess that means I'm writing about not writing.
Tomorrow I must go find a new card reader or all the thoughts in my head will explode!

Day Ten - Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety Jig

We had planned to treat John & Vicky to breakfast but they outsmarted us and had french toast waiting when we finished our showers. We sat for a few hours enjoying their company and listening to John play a few songs. They are truly beautiful people. We thanked them profusely, promised to work a Get Outta Here toward their neck of the woods and then bid a fond farewell until next time.
Six more hours on the road and we made it home safe and sound. However, the grass was tall, the tomatoes dying and the house hot and stuffy. Back to reality. Oh, well. Its the ying and yang of life.

Day Nine - Good Friends, Good Music

Enjoying the relaxing tone of our vacation, we got a start around 9 am and headed for Tennessee. We stopped along the way to stretch our legs but Jim was comfortable in the driver's seat so he got us to Jackson, Tennessee earlier than we had planned. In an earlier phone call we had told John & Vicky that we weren't going to be there in time to take them to dinner but hopefully breakfast the next morning would be okay. We pulled in around 7 pm local time and hoped to take them out but due to our previous call they had eaten. They insisted on cooking something for us against our protests and they sat and chatted with us while we enjoyed a wonderful spaghetti dinner. After food, there was music. Good music. John and Vicky are accomplished musicians and I enjoyed playing the many classic guitars John kept placing in my hands. I was especially fond of the small parlor guitar from the 1920's with the big sound. When we couldn't keep our eyes open any longer, we all went off to bed, having had a wonderful day.

Day Eight - On the Road Again

On Friday, August 14th we drove and drove and drove. Jim was excited because the wind from the west gave our Hyundai such a boost that we were averaging 44+ miles per gallon as we headed east toward Texas. The speed limit was 70 almost all of the trip with a few spots that reached 75. However, the local traffic, especially in the flat of the plains, exceed 90 to 100 mph.
We stopped on Friday night in Oklahoma City, swam for awhile then had a late dinner before sleeping soundly at our motel.

Day Seven - Good Company

We didn't make too many plans today so we could just spend time at the house together. We talked about future visits and a family trip to Alaska in a couple years.
I will miss my New Mexico family. The drive was well worth it but next time we might fly.
We're leaving early Friday morning to get half way to Jackson, Tennessee. It will be nice to spend time with the Lecroys.

Day Six - Relaxation

For us sleeping in was early for our hosts but late for us. The two hour time difference is fading in our body clocks but we still wake up much earlier than the rest of the family. We drove down to Albuquerque to look at campers but didn't stay long because of the heat.

For dinner we enjoyed pizza handmade by Phillip and baked in their outdoor pizza oven, also handmade by Phillip.

By checking my emails I learned that Blackmore's Night will be in concert in the USA in October. Tickets went on sale at 12:01 on August 13th. I had mine as soon as I could type the info for Ticketmaster. Cleveland, here we come.

Day Five -Heading North to Rio Rancho

After breaking camp we were in the car again heading north to Rio Rancho. We stopped in Roswell for alien ice. Yum! Next we shopped for a few minutes at our favorite store. Liz and Lizzie rode with us and the six hours sped by.
We hoped to catch the meteor shower but the ambient light was too bright so we settled in and got a good nights sleep.

Day Four - My Spelunker Hat

After a delicious camp breakfast we drove back to Carlsbad Caverns National Park to tour the cave. I had not planned on joining the family in this adventure but they convinced me to come along. Thank goodness they did. The cave was phenomenal. We walked about a million miles and then came back to the campground where I crawled into our tent and promptly fell asleep.

Day Three - Beware of Bats Hat

Early in the morning we moved to a larger campsite and set up our tent. I met an interesting woman named Kelly who is a schoolteacher, traveling around the US on her summer break. She was quite adventurous and was doing it solo. She had seen the bats a few nights before and went back because it was so wonderful.

There was no shade so we headed for the pool. Needless to say, we got nasty sunburns. The wind picked up and all the unpacking and camp set up had to be tied down and repacked. As you can see from the leaning tree, its pretty constant. We had sixty mile an hour winds that whipped the tent so bad we filled it up with as much as possible so it would not blow away.

In the evening we jumped in our cars to drive the 32 miles to Carlsbad Cavern. Heading out of the campground, my worst nightmare came true...there was a huge snake in nearby. To our amazement, it was being bullied by a road runner. I learned that road runners eat snakes. Circle of life.

We arrived at Carlsbad in time to get seats for the bat flight. The park ranger gave a short presentation then the bats did their show. Wow, I cannot describe how awesome a half million bats can be. They swirled out of the cave in a counterclockwise vortex and then headed north.

Back to the campground we slept well....except for the sunburns.

Day Two - Westward Ho to New Mexico

We had reached Oklahoma by morning light and stopped for gas and coffee at the Seminole Nation Travel Plaza. With coffee mugs in hand, we refilled then went to pay. The clerk refused to take our money for the refills since we had brought our own cups. We insisted but she smiled and answered - It's only coffee! This had to be the most un-Starbuck comment ever spoken.

A couple hours later, we had breakfast at IHOP mainly because they offered free wifi. I checked in with the world and then we headed west again. During the afternoon Jim spotted a thrift store from the highway so we checked it out and bought shorts and a shirt. We briefly ran into a Walmart to pick up something for a afternoon picnic lunch and I bought some 1/4 yards of fabric to add to my quilting collection.

Texas was hot, very hot. At least there was a breeze but the breeze was hot, too. The heat was the least of my worries when I saw the warning signs at the rest area regarding the rattlesnakes.

Hours and hours more driving then we had to decide whether to stop for the night or just keep going. We had already gained an hour and knew that another was waiting when we crossed into Mountain time. A cell phone call to the in-laws made us chose the "just keep driving, driving, driving" option.

We rolled into Carlsbad at midnight mountain time, took a quick shower, then slept beneath the stars, too tired to put up the tent. We saved hugs for morning when we wouldn't smell quite so sweaty.

Day One - Westward Ho to New Mexico

Being Hunts, we got a late start on Friday morning. However, we had already decided and agreed that we were on vacation and schedules did not apply. We were casting our fate to plannidippity, the best way to travel. The first leg of our trip went well, at least until west of Carrolton when we saw a sign that said road construction 4 miles. We had thought of taking the river route on 42 but knew this would slow us down quite a bit. Unfortunately, it would have been the faster way to go. As we learned at the top of the next hill, where we found ourselves at the tail end of several miles of parking lot. We car danced to the Ragbirds and enjoyed each other's company not allowing this to deter our joy.

We stopped for lunch at the Hard Rock in Louisville then headed southbound.

Heading west on the by pass to Route 40, we came upon another parking lot between Nashville and Jackson, Tennessee. Nine hours after we left, we met John & Vicky Lecroy for dinner. This was dejavu of our last trip out west when it took ten hours to get to their home which normally takes six. They took us to an interesting restaurant at the Casey Jones village. We look forward to stopping for a longer visit on our trip home. They invited us to sleep over but we were already hours behind schedule so we drove through the night, taking turns at the wheel. We stopped at a rest area west of Memphis after we crossed into Arkansas but the smell, the heat and the bugs were more troublesome then driving in the wee hours. With plenty of good homegrown music mixed in with some Moody Blues, we were serenaded by Mike Helm and Bromwell Diehl and Ashley Peacock. One day into our trip, we were finally making progress.....or so we thought....

Stitch by Stitch

I have almost completed Kalee's birthday quilt. It is bright and colorful and I have named it "Bee Happy". I am excited it give her something handmade for her first birthday!

While choosing fabric for her quilt, I found some colors for mine which will be named "Bohemidippity"...my new favorite word. After reviewing over a dozen books with quilt patterns, I decided to go simple on both to make it more pleasant and less stressful. I usually knit in the cold months and quilt in the warmer ones. Its surely a form of Zen mediation. If a pattern requires too much focus and becomes work, why bother. Hobbies should be fun, not taxing, in my opinion. With quilting, it all looks good so the pattern doesn't always have to be too complex.

Simplicity, serendipity, bohemidippty....I sense a theme!

Hamilton Farmers Market - August 1, 2009

The voice, like the rest of our body, needs time to wake up. Mine woke up around 10 a.m. last Saturday which would have been alright except for the fact that I started singing at 9 a.m. It went well though. I just had to coax it out a bit more than usual. Two hours of singing without Peg or Tim to help fill in the spaces is a bit daunting at any hour but from 9 to 11 on a Saturday morning, it was good experience. I was pleased to have enough songs that I could share and I only repeated two, Tom & Huck and Banks of the Ponchetrain. Jim's drums added a lot and he did his usual great job on the sound system. Carol snapped this shot during a happy song. She met us at Hamilton and after the set, we said hello to a few of the market vendors then loaded up for the GOH to the Dublin Irish Festival.

At the festival, my first objective was to see Niamh Parsons. There are never enough "chick" singers at these events, mostly bar bands and high energy entertainers. I'm a ballad singer and I love to watch a good ballad singer live. Niamh did not disappoint. Although I have to admit that I was a just a tad bit envious. She has a guitarist and she only has to sing. Sounds like a luxury that I could get used to! (It's Monday and my fingertips have just stopped hurting from the two hours of guitar playing in Hamilton)

Magic on the Square

I heard her voice as I crossed south at Sixth and Vine. As I reached the square the guitar started to carry. Bounding up the steps I grabbed a seat near the sound board and said hello to Claudia, Anna's mother. Booking Anna & Milovan was one of my best accomplishments for Acoustic Thursday on Fountain Square. All of the musicians who I bring in are capable and worthy. However, over the three years I have been booking this event, no other artist has literally stopped traffic. Yes, it was foot traffic but people stopped in their tracks to listen to this amazing girl, accompanied by her father, Milovan. Anna sang her classics, her blues and a few of her originals. Folks flocked to Claudia's table to purchase the newest CD. I was among them.

Neil Jacob was the logical artist to book for the same day as Anna & Milovan. An awarding winning classical 12-string guitarist, he too held the crowd's attention. Listening to his version of Bolero, enormous in its presentation and filling up the square, folks were mesmerized.

Today was one of the few times I saw the lunch crowd turn their chairs to the stage and stop their conversations. In my three years of booking Acoustic Thursday on Fountain Square... today I definitely got it right.

Summer Love

Jim has developed a green thumb. Last year he experimented with tomatoes and this year he has quadrupled his efforts. He spends hours working on these lovely plants and now they are on the deck, in the driveway, in the back yard and hanging in pots. We're actually going to have someone "tomato sit" while we go on vacation!

I certainly don't mind...I love him and his tomatoes.

A Day of Rest

Rest is an interesting term. How do we rest? Do we do absolutely nothing or do we take our rest by doing something that calms our soul and gives us joy? I believe its the latter.

We have had a very busy summer and its been a lot of fun but also a lot of stress. Just this week I helped host a house concert, checked on artists performing on Fountain Square, took photos at Edensong, attended a day of the Dayton Irish Festival besides a busy work week at the law office. Jim and I have decided to TRY to make Sunday our day of rest. We made no specific plans for today and just did things we enjoyed. Jim re-potted and worked on his tomato plants. I practiced for my set next Saturday and worked on my granddaughter's quilt. I took my quilting with me to the house concert and to Edensong. So many of my friends are knitters and quilters so we enjoy working on our projects while visiting or listening to music. Jo and I exchanged fabric swatches and Karen showed us the sweater she has almost completed. It soothed my soul.

I have loved quilts since I was a small child sitting under my grandmother's frame and she and her friends and family stretched their pieces and bound them with thread.

In 1976 I submitted a photo of one of my quilts, just a plain block quilt, to Summerfair and was accepted. I can remember the day I received the acceptance letter. The quilt wasn't much to look at but it was art. I improved over the years and actually made it into five Summerfairs. Summerfair was more of a local art fair in the 70's and the fact that my quilts were entirely sewn by hand helped with my acceptance.

I seem to forget how much I love to make things, especially quilts until I get started. Going into a fabric store, looking at all the colors and patterns, gives me almost as much joy as going into the acoustic room at Guitar Center. It is all art and I love it.

Working on Kalee's quilt also reminded me of those days sitting with my cousins under that frame. It also brought this poem:

I Lie and Watch the Needles Dance

In cool grass beneath the colors
I lie and watch the needles dance
the women talk of recipes
and family news and circumstance

As I lie and watch the needles dance
the sun peaks through the lightest square
as hands come underneath to pull
each trail and line is stitched with care

As the sun peaks through the lightest square
I point at pieces that I know
that pink is a dress that’s grown too short
that blue a blouse without its bow

I point at pieces that I know
not a scrap will go to waste

my brother’s pants of corduroy
a shirt and pants and pillow case

Not a piece will go to waste
these nimble hands have stitched them all
cool blue and earthy brown
red and orange likes leaves in fall

These nimble hands have stitched them all
calicoes and stripes and plaids
white lines bind them side to side
on a frame built by my grandpa’s hands

Calicoes and stripes and plaids
all joined by hands to make a quilt
as I lie and watch the needles dance
beneath the frame my grandpa built

As soon as Kalee's quilt is finished, I'll take a photo to post. The theme is bees since her name is Buswell (buzzzzwell)

Jim took this photo of me, my daughter Star and my cousin Barb at my spot at Summerfair in 1978. He was running sound nearby so we enjoyed a busy weekend at Coney Island

Haircut

I went to see Rosanne on Tuesday and she gave me a new "do". I love my new haircut and just about danced out the door.
I had very long hair for many years and Jim would trim the ends for me when I needed it. Going in to have someone actually study my face and cut my hair to suit me was a treat. Thanks, Rosanne!

Why I Wear a Hat

Isn't it wonderful that your friends look at you and for the most part, see the best of you. I guess that's why they don't notice when your hair is sticking up in the air and could totally use a thorough brushing. This must be why as a child, I was required to have my hair in neat plaits down my back. It doesn't help that I have an unfriendly face. It's not that I'm unfriendly, I hope people think I am friendly, but I just don't usually look that way. I have a mouth that curls down instead of up, putting an ever present frown on my face. My forehead has just enough furrows to look like I'm having a bitter thought most of the time. So add the messy hair and I have a face that just doesn't seem at all welcoming.

When I emceed at Edensong last Friday Phil took a photo or two of me. Its always a nice gesture when folks return the favor of preserving your life in film. I've been known to take a few million photos of friends myself. Unfortunately I am not at all photogenic and I noticed that this recent batch of photos only shows my grumpy old woman side. I wasn't at all grumpy on Friday night. I was having a wonderful time introducing the five fabulous acts of Edensong. To top it off, on the way home my husband told me I sounded nervous. I wasn't nervous, except when he yelled from the soundboard that I said Norwood was in Kentucky, not Ohio. I checked with my friend Carol and she agreed that I sounded a bit nervous. Hmmm, so I looked bitter and sounded scared.

Well, what is there to say. I can't have a do-over on the nerves or the grumpy expression. I do, however, want to set the record straight. I was not nervous on Friday and I definitely wasn't grumpy. I had a great time.

I am going to start staring in the mirror and practicing a happy face. Those smile muscles need some exercise. If you see me and I'm not looking happy, tell me to smile, brush my hair and unfurrow my brow. I would so like to look my best and I'm terrible at remembering to do so.

I am a happy person, I promise! Photos lie!!!

Busy Bee Hat

Wow! It has been a busy, busy summer and so far its been a very enjoyable one. Nick's baseball team had their last game on Tuesday so that frees us up just a bit. Last weekend was one of great music! We went to Edensong on Friday night then spent Saturday at the Citifolk Festival in Dayton. Carol & Bunny came along and we sat near Carl & Deb & Lilly Claire Colon during the concerts.

I am working on a couple of writing projects and looking forward to this fall's Gathering at Kentucky Lake.

Jim, Nick and I are anxious to drive to New Mexico to see Lizzie and her family in August.

For now, I just need to find more time to write, and that includes this blog.

4th of July

I am excited about the Fourth of July this year. It will be the first we celebrate with our new President and with new hope.

We will miss the fireworks this year in exchange for a "Get Outta Here". Our little village always enjoys the display that streams up and off the hill at Ault Park, lighting up the sky with distant, quiet "booms". For the past 16 years we have walked the few blocks up to the bank parking lot where we unfold our lawn chairs and join our family and friends, chatting until the night is dark enough for the display from the park. We appreciate them sharing their celebration with us.

This year we will celebrate freedom of expression - one of the most important freedoms that we enjoy in our country. Citifolk in Dayton is presenting their annual World Music Festival and Jim and I and our friend, Carol, are taking the new GOH van up to enjoy music and food and celebration. Besides the Duhks and Bela Fleck, there will be musicians from around the world sharing their culture and art.

Our constitutional right to freedom of speech and expression is one we enjoy without much thought. It isn't until we hear of the restrictions in other countries that we pay attention to how fortunate we are. China, Iran and many other countries control what their citizens can hear and say or even learn. Our politicians may preach and sometimes lie but we have abundant resources to receive news and information, not just the government telling us what they want us to believe.

There are many people who say a lot of things that I don't agree with or even like in the least but I am thankful that they have the right to say what they think and feel, just as I do. Music is my favorite way to hear what is in someone's heart and mind so I will celebrate this freedom at a music festival! Happy Birthday, America.

My Poet's Hat

Since I attended the Gathering of Writers at Greenbo, I have been writing poetry. Before I went I would have said "I'm trying to write poetry". Now I feel confident that I can write poetry because I've been reading a lot of it and I like mine just fine. I really like the re-discovered fact that it doesn't have to rhyme!!!!!!!

Here's my happy poem for today.

Summer Feet
the grass is cool as we run through sprinklers watching for bees in clover squealing with delight as wet hair falls into our eyes blinding us with joy * steam rises from the black top as we dance in line waiting for a frozen treat from the small white truck while “Pop Goes the Weasel” sings along * the rocks are sharp as we hold our arms out wide to help balance as we wobble across the alley to jump into a three foot pool of cold, fresh water * the mud is cool between our toes slurping as we pull out feet splashing each with no regard to false protest * the wash rag tickles as it roughly rubs to remove mud and dirt and sand from feet, callused by summer and ready for bed

Fountain Square

I'm still hot from performing on Fountain Square today. No, not hot as in uh la la but as in its freaking hot and I'm sweating. I sang with as much of a smile as I could muster but I was melting.

As usual, Roberta, Violet and Vicky of Raison D'etre performed twice as long as I did and they didn't look in the least bit uncomfortable. They are my heroes. To love what you do so much that you make it comfortable for the audience. Awesome.

Roberta joined me for three songs so she actually performed for more than an hour. What a wonderful musician she is.

The Homestead - Part Two

The Homestead - Part Two

Aunt Sheila lived with Grandma and Grandpa at the old house. She was called deaf and dumb but I knew she wasn’t. She couldn’t hear but she was as smart as any of us. Because I lived with Grandma from time to time I got to go the movies with Sheila. Translating in our own homemade sign language I would tell her what Elvis was up to, as if she didn’t know just from his moves, his glances and his lovely blond co-stars. She loved Elvis.

Mom and Grandma in front of her house. The red brick row houses across the street are now the parking lot for Newport on the Levee

When I was older, Sheila and I would take the #8 bus to Dayton, straight east, to Tacoma Pool where I, like a feisty Chihuahua, was given the task of keeping the boys away from her. Sheila was attractive with her pretty blond curls, brown eyes and big smile. Not being able to hear or talk, Grandma was afraid someone would take advantage.
At night Sheila was up late she’d pull the box of Hershey cocoa from the shelf and I would find the sugar. In the wee hours between the movies we would make homemade fudge or pop corn that we’d cover with melted butter.

My daughters on their bikes in Grandma’s yard. Even as a mother I moved back from time to time.

When I graduated from high school I moved back in with my grandparents to help my grandma with my grandpa, who had had a stroke. He was 88 years old and like many in his condition, he wanted to go home. We didn’t know where that home was because they had lived in this house for almost 50 years. One very cold night in late February grandma, my cousin Carlene and I woke to moans. We searched the house for grandpa, even the dark, scary basement. He was no where to be found but his moans continued. He did not have enough strength to open the heavy front door, swollen with age it was usually stuck and everyone just came in the back. The last place was outside, though, and when we forced the heavy door open, we found grandpa on the snowy ground, near the dreaded forsythia bush. He survived just a few more days, still wanting to go home, having gained enough strength to open the door that we barely could handle.
When grandma grew older and the house was her’s alone, it became too big and the steps too high and narrow. It was cold in the winter and hot in the summer. She lived with my mom for a few years, in an apartment upstairs from Aunt Sheila and her husband and her daughter. It was convenient but it wasn’t home. It wasn’t the home where she could spend time in her yard, watering the grass and raising dandelions. It wasn’t the front porch where she could watch the traffic taking the sharp curve onto Route 8. It wasn’t the homestead where the family came to watch the fireworks or celebrate a holiday.
When I was a young mother living far away, Grandma would come to visit. On quiet nights she would tell me stories of her house. Before the floodwall was built they had a view of the water and only had to cross Front Street to enjoy the riverbank. She told me of carnivals and circuses that would set up just walking distance from her front door. She told me that in the 1937 flood she and the family crawled out of the attic window into a rowboat. They had waited until the water was very high, not wanting to leave what they had behind. Trying to save it by moving it all to the second floor, it still was ruined when the flood came up as far as the roof. When my husband and I stripped wallpaper to panel the second floor, you would see daylight where the boards had disintegrated from the flood waters. The slant of the house made the work difficult and the finished project a bit askew.
Grandma told me that during the depression Grandpa would go to the river boats and buy fish. We would then walk dozens of miles through Ft. Thomas and Highland Heights selling it, just to put food on the table.
Now our homestead has been replaced with six stories of shiny metal and glass. It has a commanding view across the floodwall and where the dusty basement stood, is a clean, concrete parking garage. I drive past whenever possible, remembering the days and lives that we enjoyed at the homestead. No one ever took a photo of the front of grandma’s house but I can see it in my heart.

My cousin Barb, my daughers and my grandmother under the shade tree in the back yard.

Our Homestead - Part One

While I was at the Seedtime Festival of the Cumberlands in Whitesburg, Kentucky I walked around checking out the booths. One booth offered homemade jams and jellies along with fresh churned butter. I spied a bottle of dandelion jelly which brought back memories of my grandmother and her house in Newport, Kentucky. The bluegrass and old-time music made a perfect backdrop for this trip down memory lane so I took out my recorder and started working on this piece. When I got back home I drove past the area I grew up in Newport, starting with my Aunt Juanita's house at 7th & Roberts where we lived three different times in my life.

The Homestead

The house we lived in at 7th & Robert still stands but the red brick is now painted blue. I walked to third grade from here, 6 blocks due east. After my baby sister died, my mother wanted to be elsewhere. We moved more than a dozen times when I was a child but we never owned a home.
Sadly my parents provided no homestead but we had one, nonetheless. It was my grandparents’ house on Washington Avenue in Newport. It was the last house before you came to the floodwall. 111 Washington faced west and we would watch the traffic crossing the Central Bridge. This house that had survived two floods, witnessed babies and grandbabies being born and leaned a bit toward the north. This house hosted the Christmas gatherings around grandma’s tinsel tree with the light wheel casting a change of colors as it turned. This was where we celebrated Easter in our lovely little dresses and suits. We had family cook outs in the yard and dinners in the dining room, each of us waiting our turn by age at the big wooden table or at the red formica in the kitchen. This house was our homestead. We even lived there off and on when times were tough or Mom and Lou had gone off somewhere. Lou moved us quite a lot, trying new adventures or working on the river but we always came back to the homestead.

Valarie and Aunt Sheila on the front porch

On the sidewalk in front of Grandma’s house at 111 Washington Avenue. The stairs up the floodwall were narrow and broken. Now the stairs are new and wide across from the office building that replaced my grandmother's house.

My mother holding me on the side of grandma's house.

The Scott's house had not yet burned down.

The house at 111 Washington was a shotgun with three rooms up and three rooms down. The bathrooms were added onto the back but they never were warm and the pipes froze in the winter. The side yard doubled when the Scott’s house next door burned to the ground. Grandma bought the lot and Lou put in rich, green sod. Each night in the heat of summer Grandma would water the grass with her hose, sprinkling any grandchildren who ran through the yard. She would carefully check the fence to make sure no dogs got in to violate her dandelions. “It makes great wine” she said. “But mostly I eat the greens. Don’t want no dogs ruining my dandelions”. She’d even water the dreaded forsythia bush near the front gate that offered up switches to swing against our bare legs for any wrong deed. It took the place of the willow switches she had felt in her youth. Just the same, we had to cut our own switch, trim the yellow flowers and deliver it into her hands. I still remember the swish it made as it came for flesh.
We would sit on the front porch and watch the cars go by. In the early 1900’s the view was of the river, not the tall floodwall that now protected the city. We’d climb that wall to see the Delta Queen go by and in our late teens, to watch the WEBN fireworks with a ring-side seat.

Nancy and Aunt Juanita in the kitchen.

My favorite memory of the back yard was grandma’s quilting frame. My cousins and I could sit beneath and watch the fingers and the thread weaving through the fabric as friends and relatives would talk as they worked. So many of us had played there that the yard behind the back porch was bare of grass. It was shaded by a large tree and we could take the bent, galvanized tub and fill it with water for a cool dip on a hot day
The basement of the house was musty with a dirt floor. You had to stoop to go down the steep, wooden steps from the dining room. I rarely went down there except when grandma needed something that had been canned and stored on the shelves of the old pantry that sat in the back. Thankfully Grandma didn’t need canned goods very often.
Behind my grandparents house was a trailer park and one tiny little house. Mr. and Mrs. Givens lived there. They were a large couple who lived in its three tiny rooms. In the evening they would sit on their front porch which faced my grandmother’s back yard. Both of them chewed tobacco and smoked corn cob pipes. “Mountain folk” my grandmother told me.
Sheila and Grandma in the back yard. The Givens’ house is behind them, tucked into the trailer park.

Sheila and grandma in the back front

with the Givens' house behind them.

My mother wasn’t born in that house, just a few blocks over on Saratoga but her younger sisters and brother were. Two sisters died there and Benny left for Korea from that house, never to return.
I remember when grandma saved up for wall-to-wall carpet for the living room. It was gold and new and soft to the touch, much quieter than the squeaking linoleum in the other rooms. Grandpa thought it much too fancy and being his ornery self would spit tobacco as he walked through the room. Not much, just enough to leave a tiny spot to get the old woman riled.
I slept many nights on a pallet on the living room floor. There was no air conditioning but grandma had a fan and when I was the only grandchild there I would lay right in front of that fan. The hum and the air would lull me to sleep. She told me that they had slept on pallets in the yard, watered down to keep them cool when the weather was too hot to be in the house.
In the cold weather, while I was still small, grandma would rock me to sleep in her skirt. As a young child my grandmother looked mighty. She lost weight as she aged, living on coffee, Grape Nuts and grapefruit. When I was grown and she was 80 she was half the size I remembered. Grandma would sit on the sofa with her knees spread so that her long, wide skirt hung clear to her ankles and the fabric would create a swing. I could sit in that skirt and she would sing to me, thumping her feet and swaying her knees. “Who da linga dink dump do dump da, do dump du dumpa do dumpa” were her words. Words without meaning but soothing. Some nights I would curl up behind her on the sofa as she watched the late movies, conforming to the hollow made by her knees with my head on her hip .
In the daytime she sat on her sofa, sipping her instant coffee, cold from her saucer. She watched the same stories every day from when the soap companies first put them on the air. We knew who she loved and who she hated. She wasn’t afraid to tell the actors just what she thought of them either, yelling at the black and white screen. In the summer we could stay up late with grandma. After the movies were over and the National Anthem sung, she’d get up from the sofa and we’d wander up the steps and snuggle into her bed. The rhythm of her snores and the tick-tock of grandpa’s mantel clock took longer to put me to sleep than the fan. The house was old and it creaked preventing me from closing my eyes. The room was dark except for the streetlight behind her house that shone through the window. I never liked the dark.
I tried to adjust to darkness as their house was always dark except for the light from the television. The depression had shaped them. Not caring of my fear, Grandpa would send me through the dark rooms to the bathroom at the back of the house to get his spittoon, an old coffee can he used for spitting tobacco. I would go, not only to stay in his good graces, but to earn the nickel that he offered. Sometimes after grandpa had had a glass or two of Weideman beer he would give me a quarter. He’d make me come close to take the quarter then he would pinch me on the leg and ask “where’s my sugar”. I’d kiss his scratchy check, trying to avoid his mouth, wet with the spittle of tobacco. He’d grin and laugh but a quarter was a treasure. With a quarter I could walk two doors down to Marcella’s bar and buy a bottle of Coca Cola, a bag of chips and a Hershey bar.

(Continued in Part Two)

John McCutcheon

I first met John McCutcheon when I organized the Queen City Balladeer's 40th Anniversary Celebration. I had also booked Jean Ritchie and my friend, Dave Hawkins, helped bring John on board. John and Jean had played together many times over the years and they joined together to perform Jean's famous song, the "L&N Don't Stop Here Anymore" at our concert.

The more I learned about John during our ride and conversations, the more respect I have for him now. Our first encounter five years ago had been less personal since I spent most of the time going through his agents and "people" in order to book him. Being busy at the concert I hardly had time to do more than exchange a quick "hello" and "it's great to have you here." Spending more than 30 hours in a small car and at a festival with him I enjoyed his company very much. We talked about a little bit of everything from music in Cincinnati to family to polite political comments to what it was like to be a traveling musician.

I was not an awestruck fan thrilled to be in the company of such a folk superstar. Instead, it was like having anyone else in the QCB or Ceilidh Group enjoying a get outta here. I appreciated that he was just a nice man and did not take the "I'm a star...you are just driving me" approach. Even with more than 30 albums and 6 grammy nominations under his belt, he never brought that up. He was just a nice man...an extremely talented man...but most of all a nice man, too. We both enjoyed the weekend and I look foward to running into John again some day.

My Chauffeur Hat - Seedtime of the Cumberland Festival

The subject line on Dave's email read "possible driving gig". It was an opportunity to pick up John McCutcheon at CVG and drive him to the Seedtime Festival on the Cumberland in Whitesburg, Kentucky. I called Chandra to see if she could find another sitter for Saturday and then contacted John and made arrangements to take him to Eastern Kentucky.

I picked him up at the airport about 7:30 p.m. and our first stop was for Cincinnati chili. Seems that John had lived in Cincinnati in the past and had frequented Acropolis Chili in Clifton. We found a nearby Skyline and his 5-way craving was satiated. We chatted about a little of everything in between calls John made and received while riding. Traveling musician is a busy life for sure.

We headed south then east but unfortunately I missed the turn to the Bert Combs Parkway and we headed a bit too far east. By the time we figured it out we had gone 30 miles too far. With a map (since John's GPS wasn't locating our position) we took a local road down to Route 15 and only lost about a true half hour on our time. John was very pleasant company and when we came into Perry County he told me about the cities he had visited and the people he had met through the years.

It was dark as we drove but I could tell that we were surrounded but some pretty big hills. Yes, I know that in Kentucky they are considered mountains but you must remember that I lived in the Rockies for four years and its all relative.

We reached Whitesburg about 12:15 a.m. and settled into the local Super 8 Motel. The lobby and halls were covered with framed posters of past Seedtime Festival on the Cumberland. It was hard to sleep so I watched some TV, drank some wine and finally slept for about 5-6 hours. I woke up early, had breakfast from the continental bar in the motel's lobby then waited to hear from John. He called, we drove to the festival, and unloaded.

John knew everyone and spent the day either performing or visiting with old friends. I stayed out of his way and just sat and listened to the wonderful voices and instruments that were everywhere in the festival. I bought some crafts, ate from the local trailer/food wagon and even napped under a tree. In the late morning I attended a shape note singing workshop. I sat with the melody group (can't remember the proper name) and John McCutcheon sat with and boasted the bass group. It was hard to follow but when the four groups sang it gave me chills! What lovely sounds. The professor conducting the workshop promised it got better as more get-togethers and encouraged us all to find local shape note groups.

During the day I met some very nice folks from the local area. Each conversation started with someone telling me"I like your skirt!". I( was wearing one of my long, broomstick skirts.) One of the ladies I met had the prettiest painted toenails I had ever seen so we started our conversation with fashion and proceeded to "Are you from around here?" That was always the second thing folks said to me when we started chatting. I guess my lack of accent gave me away. Maria, a sweet lady I met in the early afternoon, became my companion off and on during the day. She told me her name but when I told her mine she tried to repeat it three times before saying , "I can't pronounce that but I'll keep it in my mind". When ever I wandered near she would say, "I have a seat saved, come sit down a bit". I could not resist. Both ladies were darling company and when they learned where I hailed from, they started informing me that they could never live somewhere flat. Each related how a relative had moved up to Ohio and Indiana and couldn't wait to get back. "The hills feel like they protect us" the first lady with the lovely toes told me. I had to admit I felt a bit closed in but she said that was what she loved about eastern Kentucky. "Folks think we are stupid down here" she said sadly. I told her that when I moved to Idaho folks there asked if we people from Kentucky wore shoes. She shook her head and said that she hears that alot. When I told her that I was from Northern Kentucky she politely told me that that was more like being in Ohio. I had to admit that after being there I had to agree just a bit. I am proud of my Kentucky roots but I knew that living in those mountains held a special magic.

It learned quickly that John McCutcheon was there for a reason and not just as a headliner. As a college student he discovered old time mountain music at the school library and in his junior year he spent a summer in Fletcher and Perry Counties and met many wonderful Kentucky musicians. A film starring him and I.D. Stamper, a builder and player of mountain dulcimers. I was quite impressed to learn so much more about John and how long he's been playing and supporting Appalachia music. He had recorded at Appalshop and was pleased to be back.

The most profound thing I noticed during the day was the absence of typical "civilized" background noise. There was no traffic, no airplanes, no trains...nothing but fiddles and banjos, guitars and basses and the strains of a lovely voice singing haunting mountain ballads. The magic was rubbing off.

The festival itself was small but the music was mighty. All around the grounds you could sit on a bale of hay and listen to musicians of very age. I can't say every skill level because not one of the folks I heard could be called anything but excellent.

John played guitar, banjo, autoharp and hammer dulcimer. My new friend, Maria, said "That fella's pretty good!" After John's performance we packed the car and prepared to hit the road. While we packed, the festival grounds were cleared as much as possible with a few of the vendor tents removed and all of the chairs packed away. Local musicians took the stage and a square dance began. John said he would have loved to stay and join the musicians but he had an early flight and had to be back to CVG as soon as possible.

We drove through the dark once more and said our goodbyes. It was a lovely event and John was a fine GOH companion.