I need a nap

Reason enough to be relieved he's not doing well

2012-01-25T09:16:00.000-08:00

It's weird to think that I could vote for a person based on one or two issues alone, but after having had the likes of Perry and Santorum in the Republican field of candidates.....

Rick Santorum thinks pregnancy through rape is God's gift? Seriously?

25 Jan 2012: Kate Harding: Invoking God's will as a supporting argument to his position on abortion hardly fits with the constitution he claims to uphold

- Kate Harding
- guardian.co.uk, Wednesday 25 January 2012 06.30 EST
- larger | smaller
- Article history

Republican presidential candidate Rick Santorum (left) signs autographs at a Tea Party campaign rally. Photograph: Joe Skipper/Reuters

As a lapsed Catholic turned atheist, a staunch feminist and someone who has a strong general aversion to sleazy, disingenuous men, I was shocked yesterday to find myself feeling something like respect for Rick Santorum, Pope Benedict XVI and Piers Morgan all in the space of three minutes.

The three minutes in question are a clip from Morgan's interview with Santorum on the former's CNN talk show. In it, Santorum declares that even if his own daughter were raped – a hypothetical scenario both men manage to discuss with remarkable calm – the Roman Catholic presidential candidate would maintain his adamantly pro-life position regarding abortion.

I sincerely feel a tiny, grudging mote of respect for that degree of consistency. As anti-choice zealots go, those who will take the "baby killer" argument to its extreme appeal to me slightly more than those who can say with a straight face that abortion is murder, except when the woman didn't want to have sex.

Of course, that's the beginning and the end of my respect for Santorum, who had the gall to tell Morgan that his opposition to legal abortion is "not a matter of religious values". He insists that it's founded on his interpretation of the US constitution, as opposed to his interpretation of the teachings of Jesus Christ: "[L]ife begins at conception and persons are covered by the constitution, and because human life is the same as a person, to me it was a pretty simple deduction to make that that's what the constitution clearly intended to protect."

Hang on, I need a moment. Reading those words just gave me a bad flashback to tutoring hopeless freshman composition students in a university writing lab.

We're to believe that Santorum's desire to overturn Roe v Wade is "not a matter of religious values", yet, when discussing a hypothetical pregnancy by rape just moments later, he says: "I believe and I think that the right approach is to accept this horribly created, in the sense of rape, but nevertheless, in a very broken way, a gift of human life, and accept what God is giving to you." ("In the sense of rape." Deep breaths, Kate.) "Gift from God," "person under the law" – why quibble about semantic differences? The point is: Life! Glorious life! Santorum will defend it!

And here's where my blip of respect for Morgan comes along. "I know that your position is – correct me if I'm wrong – that you believe in the sanctity and the innocence of life. How do you equate that with supporting the death penalty?" he asks. Boo-yah! I dearly wish more American reporters would put that question to self-styled "pro-life" candidates who evince little interest in the sanctity of human life ex utero.

That brings us to my smidgen of respect for Pope Benedict XVI – and for that matter,John Paul II before him – for making it clear that Catholic doctrine, in a moment of convergence with common sense, holds that a pro-life position contraindicates revenge-killing born people. "It cannot be overemphasised that the right to life must be recognised in all its fullness," Pope Benedict said in 2009, praising the abolition of the death penalty in Mexico. So at least in that one respect, Santorum can truthfully say that his political intentions are not based on his professed religious values.

Still, if you can't even speak for a whole minute on a political issue without invoking "God's will" as a supporting argument, you have no business running for president of a country whose constitution actually – no weasel words or tortured logic necessary to make this case – enshrines freedom of religion. That alone should be enough to make any American who truly loves liberty and the vision of the "founding fathers" lose all respect for Rick Santorum as a politician.

But if you're not persuaded by that, just try remembering that he said becoming pregnant by a rapist is a gift from God. Out loud. With a camera on him. And he wants to be president of a country that has women in it.

What does this man have to do to get drummed out of the race?

It's ugmo and it might be ours

2012-01-25T09:05:00.000-08:00

We've been in the market for a new car. We go down to LA often enough for Children's Hospital visits that we need a reliable Schoberlew mover that won't break down on the way down and that won't break the bank in gas. Used cars are really expensive right now and I'm sort of tired dealing with all the baggage that comes with owning two 1994 Toyotas - one with over 100,000 miles and one with over 200,000 miles.

So after having test driven the Toyota Matrix and the Honda Fit, we are pretty much sold on the Fit. This will be the first non-Toyota I've ever owned.

The automatic gets 35 miles to the gallon and the manual gets 33. As much as I wanted a manual, it might be more practical to get the AT.

[Shakes fist in the air]

2012-01-12T23:00:00.000-08:00

Had a great quick trip thanks to work and United Airlines to the Bay Area for two days. I made it to my first staff retreat in 12 years of employment! My office really does fight the great public health fight, and I work with so many dedicated people and friends.

It took me nearly the whole two days to get my city on. I brought a compass and discreetly whipped it out when I came out of the holes in the ground that are BART stations. Speaking of which, dude, the upholstered seats on BART have to go. There's a vaguely pooey/peeey element about those damned seats, and it's activated every time somebody gets up or sits down. Having said all this, I was grateful for the chance to catch up with my dearest friend (and boss) Diane at the un-upholstered North Berkeley station while we waited for our trains.

I stayed with Chris and Val next to Mission Dolores in "the City." They lived in Bishop until late 2004, and I've only seen them once since. A lot has happened to us all in the intervening years (we - the parenting route, they- back to the high flying, venture capitaling/consulting route), but it was beautiful to pick up where we left off - feeling loved and telling tales with blankies on our laps on their most perfect couch.

They spoiled me and ruined my life (probably in more ways than one) when they introduced me to these little bastards (which are not shipped by any retailer) http://www.4505meats.com/chicharrones/

The week started with a most perfect family ski day at Mammoth. We had a date with two lovely families and did laps on mellow Chair 7 and Chair 16. The kids decided that two hours wasn't enough and became masters of their own universe and did endless laps on the poma lift. They were free. They were happy. It was t-shirt weather. It was a good way to put me on a wee plane and send me off to the big city.

Babbo's blood sugars were out of control the morning after I got back and we either gave him some bad luncheon meat or he had a bad stomach virus. I was glad to be home for him.

Food notes: got to eat Mission Chinese. Had Tripe Florentine (land squid) and calamari (sea tripe) at Delfina. Happy girl.

"No, Babbo, it's gratitude, not attitude."

2011-12-25T20:25:00.000-08:00

We went on a bomber run to Reno and had a nice visit with one of my mothers-in-law. I know in the scheme of things, the chance to be with our folks is finite. There was no drama. Nobody cried. The drive home through Smith Valley, Nevada, was glorious.

We're trying to walk that fine line by not spoiling the child, but damn if he isn't blessed with an embarrassment of riches from his four sets of grandparents, school nurse, friends, etc. Still, I had to remind him, "No, Babbo, it's gratitude, not attitude."

So, with this lesson in mind, I must say that I was personally grateful for the following this year:

our folks' relative health
our health
health insurance
frequent flier miles (can't use them any time soon, but they allow us the chance to dream, non?)
dual immersion Spanish at Bishop Elementary School
the first graders I am with on a weekly basis
the care I got from friends and family - it kept my head above water this year
work and seeing all my workmates and my dear Diane at Fallen Leaf Lake in Tahoe
getting to babysit Zartie the Black Lab a few times and not having our own dog - just yet
the fact that my dad has taken such good care of Judydog who is white faced and arthritic, but happy
the mornings where Babbo and I walk a block to school - we're not late and we're just talking and holding hands and being
the quickie trip to Europe to see the Phoenix Foundation and being with dear people
the quickie trip to LA to goof off with Sue Brettingen, Steven Schayer, Marc Horton, Chantelle Patterson, Patria Jacobs, Martin Wong. It was the trip that made me fall in love with my hometown again.
the High Sierra Music Festival
the yellow I am painting the living room - it has helped with the winter blues
skiing en famille

All hail the foundation garment

2011-11-20T13:24:00.001-08:00

I bought myself a girdle. Middle age has meant that my bits and bobs feel like they are falling off. I am now my grandmother.

Good riddance

2011-09-22T12:54:00.001-07:00

I for one am glad to see the backside of summer and spring 2011. A friend said that Mercury was in serious retrograde this year and that all relationships were up for reconsideration. I laughed it off, until one day, recently, the psychic goo I'd been carrying around for months lifted. Mercury went out of retrograde that day.

At any rate, Matt and Babbo and I are still a family. I will take it. My heart really goes out to folks who didn't make it through what has been a hard 2011 and who are finding their way in the world again.

10 reasons to travel - LA Times

2011-03-07T17:51:00.000-08:00

latimes.com

10 reasons to travel

Why not? Even in these tough times, it's good to get away occasionally. Think of the adventures that await. The exotic foods, the sights, the memories.

By Chris Erskine

Los Angeles Times Staff Writer

February 27, 2011

Gulliver traveled. Look where it got him: lashed to the land by little people. Columbus, big traveler, right? Underestimated the circumference of the Earth and died thinking he'd found India. Sure, you can come up with justifications for never leaving the splendid safety of your office chair. Truth is, travel makes us better in many ways: better employees, better buddies, better mates. So, no, in these tough times, you probably don't feel the need to spend the money. But here's why we all should escape somewhere anyway:

The anticipation

Pros: A vacation begins the second you start to plan it. A study last year found that travelers' moods improved eight weeks before the actual vacation started.

Cons: Running out of toner the second you try to print your boarding pass. Trying to remember where you put the digital luggage scale. Rushing out to buy batteries for the digital luggage scale.

Why go anyway? Because the pleasure of pre-trip anticipation is almost sexual. It's why December is better than January. It's why puppies are more joyful than dogs.

The romance

Pros: Lonely? Get your booty to St. Lucie. There's nothing like a big, beachy drink to jump-start your love life. Studies show we have more sex on vacation. Whose study? Mine.

Cons: Heartbreak. Disease. Liver failure. Excessive drinking while on vacation can lead to inadvisable hook-ups. Or even marriage.

Why go anyway? Sun. Surf. Wet skin. Diving in. Good snow. Moon glow. Fresh faces. Love in strange places.

Mental health benefits

Pros: Look at your coworkers sleepwalking through their day. Know exactly what time they dine or head to the loo? Look, Dilbert, escape before you do something crazy. Escape now — before you become a cartoon.

Cons: Finding your way around a congested new city can make you nuts. A lousy hotel room can be a sinkhole of the human spirit. I once ordered a martini in Paris that tasted like dog spit. (This has nothing to do with mental health — I just like saying dog spit.)

Why go anyway? You know that moment your fanny hits the plane seat? Or you pull out of the driveway with a full tank of gas? It's freedom. It's conquest. It's you, Steve McQueen, on your great escape. You, the cooler king.

The adventures

Pros: What if Hemingway had never left Oak Park, Ill.? The physical challenges of travel give us fodder for our own stories about the world, some of them epic.

Cons: Death is such a drag sometimes. Imagine the crystalline splendor of being frozen to death atop a mountain, your body missing till the bears find it come spring. In 100 years, Cub Scouts could be camping on you.

Why go anyway? I once saved a man's life on a raft trip on the Upper Kern. Later, he bought me a beer.

The conversations

Pros: Sometimes the lilt of a new language can distance you from the worries back home. Then there are the stories, the humor, the handshakes. Travel is an education, and it all starts with chatting up the locals.

Cons: Hell is other people, Jean-Paul Sartre said. I'm pretty sure he was talking about New York cabbies. Or Parisian waiters.

Why go anyway? The kindness of strangers is a remarkable thing. It can change the way you feel about a country, its people, its culture. Just watch your wallet, especially in Madrid.

The photos

Pros: "The soul cannot think without a picture," Aristotle said. I don't think he was talking specifically about digital photography or that goofy shot of you pretending to be Bullwinkle on a bus tour of Denali. But maybe.

Cons: Your friends may hate you. Watch as they examine the shots from your latest cruise or safari. Bubbles of envy will form as spittle at the corners of their mouths. It will gunk up their throats till they can barely breathe.

Why go anyway? See above.

A change of scenery

Pros: Travel offers new textures, fresh smells, a change in weather. In Seattle, sunlight trickles through a bistro window differently from the way it filters in London. All the escapism found in a good novel can be found first-hand in travel.

Cons: Yeah, at 400 times the price of the novel. By the way, ever awakened while traveling and not known where you were? I once called a front desk and asked: "Essentially, where am I?" The clerk said Room 511. "Thank you," I said and hung up.

Why go anyway? Because you can go home again. Returning to your own bed, your own easy chair is a pretty good feeling all by itself. Just make sure you're in the right house. In my 'hood, they all look the same. At least that's what I tell the cops.

Family bonding

Pros: Is there a better icon of family life than an SUV loaded with tents, beach balls and canoe paddles? Many of our fondest memories are made while on vacation, as children or as parents.

Cons: Happy Meals. Potty breaks. Car sickness. Vomit. Sartre got it wrong: Sometimes, hell is your own family.

Why go anyway? Your kids are going to wipe you out no matter what, physically and fiscally. May as well be some place where a waiter will bring you a margarita big enough to launch a cruise ship. Salud!

The food

Pros: Sampling new cuisines is one of the most pleasurable parts of travel. Meals tend to be longer and more leisurely. Food is a portal to understanding a new culture.

Cons: In China, they eat sparrows, bones and all. In other parts of the world, silkworms, grasshoppers and nutria (rats the size of cats) are popular. Gator is eaten in parts of the U.S. South. Tastes like ... nutria.

Why go anyway? Remember all those flaccid meals they used to serve on airplanes? Now, they serve them in midpriced U.S. restaurants. Honestly, how many times can you eat a skinless chicken breast with a side of mixed veggies?

The memories

Pros: Travel is incandescent. It's the clink of a cocktail glass in a romantic restaurant, the chirp of a calliope atop a riverboat, the sound of your footsteps in Westminster Abbey.

Cons: Travel can be exhausting. As they say, nobody needs a vacation as much as the person who just returned from one.

Why go anyway? On your deathbed, do you really expect to say: "You know, I really wish I'd stayed home more"?

chris.erskine@latimes.com

Going to embrace that inner hippie once again

2011-03-03T17:38:00.000-08:00

Tickets bought for High Sierra Music Festival. There will be a fair contingent going from Bishop. We might even be dressed as mules. I don't think I've ever seen Matt so excited about a music event. Maybe that gorgeous, redheaded, foul-mouthed, siren Neko Case has something to do with it?

That unwieldy band I love so

2011-03-03T17:34:00.001-08:00

So I didn't come home with any insight other than I will harden the fuck up. I was glad to go away and glad to come back. I got to spend a week acting like an adult, not just a mommy - I forgot what that was like. Mostly, I just people-watched from the comfort of Parisian buses. All hail the mighty weekly transit pass. All hail travel partners who are always up for a glass of wine/beer/aperitif.

I loved giving Jean Van Roy, the current brewer at Cantillon, a bottle of Russian River Temptation. I loved speaking to Jean-Pierre Van Roy, the former brewer, in my poor, poor French. Cantillon's Marmouche (elderflower) is a funky glory to behold. I loved meeting Mark O'Neill, who feels like a twin separated at birth. I get squishy when I think about those lovely men from St. Louis.

The Phoenix Foundation put on an amazing show. They still do the wall of sound that just wells up from nowhere. They still have the nuances that so endeared them when I saw them at Cuba Street in 2004. Tom, the new bassist from the Little Bushmen, is working out just fine. The band have grown so much in the 8 or so years I've been following them. I was proud to hear how the Phoenix Foundation still think fondly of their time in Bishop (they still remembered the name of the local Native American Paiute tribe!). I am just happy and grateful to have been along for the ride.

In case your mama drops dead

2011-03-03T17:32:00.000-08:00

Babbo, know that Mommy has every intention of coming back to you to boss you around.

If something happens that I shouldn’t come back, know that raising you has been the best and hardest and most rewarding thing in my life.

I am so proud of your compassion for friends and people in general. You make everyone feel very welcomed, and that’s a special gift.

I am amazed by your love of learning. The way you listen from your little cuadrado morado and participate in class is something I hope you carry with you in life.

I want you to listen to your Daddy. He knows a lot, he’s patient with you, and he’s a fair teacher. He loves you more than anything and will guide you right.

I want you to “focus!*” and know that in life, you will have to do some not so fun things that may be boring or frustration or scary. Some things will even be so hard that you will fail when you try them. Most of these things are to help you become a better or wiser person, so bear through them and learn from them.

When you are older, you will see a lot of the world. There are many folks to learn from and many ways to do things. Travel will teach you this. Mommy heard the call to go for a quick trip. Travel is what she did before she became a mommy, and what she hoped to share with you. Going away on a journey, no matter how short or long, was one path she tried to take to become a better and more understanding person. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t. Just know that she tried.

Mommy loves you so very much.

*Something I always say to you in class on the mornings I help.

The fete grows larger

2011-02-05T21:19:00.000-08:00

Steve and Mark will be coming all the way from St. Louis to be in Paris the same week! I am so very thrilled for Steve who has loved the Phoenix Foundation for so very long, but has not seen them live.

I'll never forget how encouraging and helpful he was when I first pitched to the band to come to Bishop in 2006/2007.

I'm writing the same "Mommy has no intention of dying, but in case she does" letter I always write Babbo when I leave home for more than a day. It is the superstitious Chinese mother in me. Somehow, all these weird mortal concerns fall away once the letter is written and my ass is on that plane.

An unnatural love

2010-12-17T09:56:00.000-08:00

Perhaps even stranger is my excitement that if I have to self cater a fair few meals to swing this trip, there will be a Picard Surgeles around the corner. Foie Gras, escargots, and poor man's macarons, stuffing with prunes, chestnuts, and armagnac, await...not to mention the two meals I'm looking forward to - one of Auvergne-style tripe and the other of AAAA Andouillete.

frequent flyer ticket booked!

2010-12-11T00:30:00.001-08:00

Had the last hardware removal a little over a week ago and am laid up w/ crutches. Husband running around like a headless chicken pulling double duty. Child (who was diagnosed with diabetes three years ago today - what a long, strange trip it's been, indeed), a typical unfocused five year old, with a tendency to whine. Hard to believe it, but everyone is fine with me busting out of here, clompy shoes and boots blazing to go to Amsterdam, Brussels, and Paris. There is one, hopefully more, Phoenix Foundation shows to catch. Bibi in Atlanta and Shannon in Bishop will be partners in crime this go 'round. I try to play Devil Woman to SC in St. Louis.

I know how incredibly lucky I am.

It has been a season of:

2010-10-28T15:29:00.000-07:00

volunteering the odd hour at Babbo's public elementary school. I have learned heaps by doing this and have learned to like, really like, children.
ripping through novels: Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Groet, Cloud Atlas, Black Swan Green, Hundred Years of Solitude, and now David Grossman's beautiful and exasperating To the End of Land. It took me 40 years to learn to love fiction. Better late than never. Huzzah!
lowering A1c (blood sugar) levels for Babbo. We got a 7.0 - the best yet.
learning to fight with Matty. After nearly 19 years, we are learning that it's not too late to learn to fight. We will survive these odd, new bumps, and we will keep my bad temper in check. We have to at least try.
drinking whisky is still best with friends around the kitchen table. Got our resupply of single origin Michel Cluizel dark chocolate chips to go with.

The November 2 Elections

2010-10-28T13:45:00.001-07:00

Tuesday's election has me nervous. On the superficial level, I will say this: there are some very angry, angry people who don't seem to find education, healthcare, equal protection for citizens who happen to be of a different color, sexual orientation, or religion as priorities.

At least locally, Measure C, a ballot measures which at least nominally seeks to protect a citizen's right to have up to four hens, has gotten folks into the practice of healthy discussion.

The hair is having a midlife crisis

2010-08-31T18:19:00.000-07:00

Have shorn off the hair. It happens every ten years. I look like a middle aged mother now.

It is nice to get away from the thing that is so tied up with identity. Hair schmair.

But I was very, very sleepy

2010-08-27T17:00:00.000-07:00

Kindergarten started, and I'm cycling/driving up to school (only 5-8 minutes away) up to four times a day before 1:15. The first week was super duper intense, but the staff at school are very helpful.

I have had flashes of intense sadness for the kid - he's got years of this stuff (the machine that is school) ahead of him. Luckily, he digs it all and enjoys learning.

The sewer lateral at the rental was broken at the main and $1,000 in diagnostics and god knows how much for the actual repair (apparently, I am married to a good ol' boy with good karma and the city gladly stepped in to do the work near the main - at a discount, when compared to a private plumber - It was major, they had to shut down the eastbound lane of East Line St.) - later, it is done.

Matty didn't get covered in raw sewage today. He's out fishing because work still slow at the office.

It's still nearly 100 degrees each day, and I'm passing out on the couch or bed very, very early.

Still reeling from the show that was

2010-08-13T09:08:00.000-07:00

I mentioned that I had a bit of stress during the show because Babbo was a bit clingy, but we had beautiful Sandra there to take him home if he needed it, and how rude would it have been to deny him the chance to see the dude who sings his favorite song of all-time ("She's Been Talking")? Little did we realize that Babbo had long committed the lyrics to memory. The best part was, he learned "Car headlights creep across the sea" as "Cotton ice cream across the sea...."

Perhaps the realization of all that was happening didn't hit me until we (Steve Carosello, Marc Horton, Bibi Gellert, Tony Patti, Chantelle Patterson, Matty, Karen, AT, etc.) were sitting around the kitchen table for the SECOND night drinking scotch with Don McG and folks were happily shouting over what books he NEEDED to take home. (AT set everyone up nicely with a box of uncorrected proofs and new publications from her publishers, and I ran and got another copy of William Boyd's "Any Human Heart" to give away). All this together, with a generous dram in hand, made me do a dance on the kitchen floor.

It was a privilege to strategize about my fantasy Bishop shows with dear friends who wanted the same thing and with the man who could help. The consensus was that one day, one day, a permutation of the Bellbirds (with the heartbreaking Sean SJD Donnelly, Sandy Mill, Victoria Kelly, and Don McG) and Humphreys and Keen would be here. Every one expressed their deep wish to hear H&K's "The Overflow" done live - and it came up more than once over the few days we were together. We have put our good intentions into the universe.... We are a patient lot.....We will wait and see what happens.

Tuesday found four women piling into the car and heading down to Spaceland in LA. Spaceland is a hard room to play, unless you are loud or 20 years old and look great in a pair of skinny jeans. The sound was wonky. Some die hard fans came from across the LA basin. Singing and writing folks like Patria Jacobs and David Steinhart came for a listen. Chantelle Patterson came after a long road trip which began with the Bishop show. Bless.

Harry Sinclair with his gorgeous silver hair and the director Toa Fraser were also there. Bibi and I know that we can secure CD jewel cases in a minute's notice. Bibi did a great job selling CDs for the two shows. Marc Horton got the poster he created signed.

John Andrew Frederick of the Black Watch bought me a Shirley Temple. Steven played incredibly well even though his guitar kept going out of tune and the cables were failing. Steven is my talented, tortured, loving, generous, brother. I am always indebted to him. I think I gave him my bottle of Paddy too early in the night, though? Whoops? :)

The diffuse nature of the LA show only made me completely understand how special Bishop is.

Don McGlashan broke Karen Robb's heart and she broke mine

2010-08-06T23:37:00.000-07:00

Spent much of the sublime show Thursday night watching Karen cry as she listened, really listened, to Don McGlashan's songs. She started crying on the first song "Don't Fight it Marsha, It's Bigger Than the Both of Us" at the line, "and I want you to be happy, but I rather you were here with me/perhaps we can arrange something ...."

Don McGlashan walked in on friendships in progress. Friendships which had begun years ago because of something he wrote and sang and friendships which have grown richer as other new and common interests enter the fray.

Wednesday night found us meeting like pilgrims over BLTs, beer, and champagne - Bibi had come from Atlanta, Steve, from St. Louis, and Marc from LA. AT and Karen helped Matty and me play co-hostesses (but they are the one w/ the mostesses). Steve was a friend from the Mutton Birds-Phoenix Foundation- Humphreys and Keen mafia whom I'd never met. We have been sending music, notes, and in his case, he'd been sending regional gifts - 2 lb tins of Spudmaster potato chips, a membership to the excellent KDHX radio station, since before Babbo was born. Carosello walked in through the kitchen door, after a long drive through Death Valley, and it was like welcoming an old friend home.

Marc finally got to meet AT. They had books and years of working with independent bookstores in common. AT came bearing a box of books for all.

We were settling in when I got a call from Don McGlashan, who came to the area a night early. Bibi and I knew about the schedule change, but I hadn't really mentioned it to the men. They froze.

An advance team of Matty, Karen, and Kate was sent into the streets to round up the singer. Carosello and I sat in the dark comfort of the backyard. In the end, much whisky was consumed, passionate but good natured bullshit shat, and even a fingertip lost (sharp knives, Spanish chorizo, ignoring the cutting board- ooh, dangerous combo). Don McG was lovely, relaxed, amiable, rolling with all the new faces, the non(yet) fans, the diehard fans, the chaos that is our kitchen. We released him into the dark, late Bishop streets, sure that we plied him with enough scotch and sure that he wouldn't get mugged.

The show was exquisite. Parts of it were stressful for Matty and me because Babbo has been in a clingy phase and so he insisted on laying on me during the show. In hindsight, he did just fine for a five year old. Other pilgrims arrived from St. Louis (thank you Tony) andLA (Chantelle, my beautiful sprite from Easter).

The ICA, normally a utilitarian room, was set up beautifully. I got to put out carpets and homey touches like our table, a glass of a big California red, a Fiesta pitcher of water. I got to watch my favorite songwriter in the world from the comfort of my living room carpet, laying out with my dear friends and family. He sang from a relaxed and cheeky state. The Bishopites hung on every word, saluted all the right sentiments (there was big, lovely applause when Don said that he saw his first hummingbird in our yard and that life would now be divided into the life before hummingbirds and the life after hummingbirds). My in-laws, Walt and Cass, and family friend and Matty and AT's 9th grade English teacher, Chris, and Matty's pediatrician Dr. Beck, and a small cross section of the community were there, and they made me so very proud.

Every time I turned to Carosello, he looked like he was in a state of wordless shock.

Don McG's voice is clearer, stronger, suppler than it's ever ever been. The high notes were unreal, the low notes strong. The coloring, coupled with the clarity (I never knew the lyric in"Ngaire" was "I'm standing, but it feels like falling") sent collective chills down every one's spine. Karen, my rock of Gibraltar, spent the night weeping at the stories through a lens of heartbreak and recognition.

I watched her face as she listened to the lines from Pulled Along By Love:

Sun comes up on you and me and we fall out of bed

and we work all day

we're thinking about the weekend

we're thinking about new clothes

we're thinking about touching

but every one's watching.

Her wry smile- with her beautiful face turned up to Don McG- with her body seated up against AT- was the biggest present of the night.

Turnout was about 45 and 28 CDs were sold.

Don McGlashan at the Inyo Council for the Arts - One week and counting

2010-07-29T13:32:00.000-07:00

I am forever indebted to the folks past and present who got us here. Now, fingers crossed for safe journeys to all, no road closures, lovely new fans, etc. etc.

2,000 miles around the state

2010-07-24T14:41:00.000-07:00

The Schoberlews hit the road.

We spent a gorgeous, wonderful, mellow, laid-back day enjoying music at the High Sierra Music Festival. Wellington's Black Seeds never got their visas in time, so they missed their set. Pity too. It was the most well-organized, kid friendly festival. The Carolina Chocolate Drops made me celebrate African-Americans (living in Bishop, African Americans are a rare sight) and bluegrass and traditional music and the March Fourth Marching Band (in their 20 piece incarnation - they can go up to 40) mgade us all fall in love with hot, young, sweaty, talented dancers and musicians.

Karen and AT were there. There was licensed and bonded affordable babysitting (we used it for 2 hours). It was grand. We had our own drinks. There was a great Greek-run gyros stand that Matt and I hit twice.

Went to Russian River Brewing in Santa Rosa. Had a weird, but typical run-in w/ a Bay Area white liberal of a certain age and demographic who gave Babbo and me a hard time for not being Chinese enough and for not being Filipino. Whatever grad student lady.

Camped in Bolinas, the part of Marin County where the kind but loud homeless lady can ask the librarian, "Got any pictures of the Indian six-armed Elephant? I've been channeling to it." It is a community in a true sense of the word - the rich taking care of the poor and the poor absolving the rich of their guilt. Wait, did I say that? No, it was a neat place to visit, but after a few days of not seeing the sun, we were glad to get out.

Met up with the Federmans and Marshall Minobe in Santa Cruz where we at gorgeous Mexican ceviche (shrimp and octopus) for days and Matty made the floors shake at the roller rink.

Came home for a week and hit the road again for a bomber run to LA to see mothers, cousins, doctors at Children's Hospital LA.

The diabetes crept up a bit last quarter. Just have to be more proactive about dosing at odd hours, it seems.

We're wanting to give Babbo more positive experiences around his checkups, so we got a room at the Travelodge across the street from the Hospital and took to the streets of LA. We did our version of the "Three's Company" opening scene and cycled the Strand which runs between Venice and Santa Monica until we couldn't cycle anymore. We're all glad that we made that effort.

Chinese fire drill

2010-06-29T15:14:00.000-07:00

Today, I miscalculated when Babbo would eat, and he got all of his insulin too soon. He passed out. That was a first, and it was bound to happen. The wonderful women at Country School House preschool knew what to do, and he was conscious and getting back to normal by the time I got there - five minutes later.

It could have been a lot worse. Things ended up just fine, and it turns out, we were all prepared.

"Not the hair!"

2010-06-25T15:02:00.001-07:00

Babbo finished a swim lesson course. Being our child and being from the desert, he is afraid to have his head underwater. So, he spent five out of six sessions with the toddlers in the 2.5 foot deep kiddie pool. He spent one day with the other preschoolers in the big boy pool, but wept until he could be let back.

For graduation today, they graduated from the kiddie pool to the deep end of the big boy pool. He used the diving board three times and jumped into the waiting arms of an instructor. He loved it.

Babbo

2010-06-12T21:36:00.000-07:00

The last few months of motherhood have been full of those emotional interactions that make me understand why it is mothers have a hard time letting go of their little boys.

When I told Babbo that he would, in the scheme of things, fall deeply in love with someone and that I would not be the most important girl in his life, he looked at me with devastating sadness and wept, "No mommy, you will always be the most important girl in my life!"

Having said that, he was kissed by two different girls on the same day.

p.s. His not so wee adult teeth are coming in, and it's possible we'll need orthodontia. All I could think of was, "toodle loo holiday."

My own private 'Nam

2010-05-26T10:59:00.001-07:00

It was an intense and reaffirming show at the VFW Hall last Tuesday. We hit our monetary goals, and we earned them because we fucking work hard. This show and Labretta were worth it, but I don't know that I have the stomach for rock and roll - or at least rock and roll in which the booze flows pretty freely. In the short term, I think I'll stick with pop and twee and folk in my own living room with the couple of sixers of micros and a few bottles of wine (unless of course, the Phoenix Foundation ever come back).

Janet, AT, and Karen were indispensable. They always are, but if they weren't there in Vegas on Sunday and Monday, there would not have been a show. AT and Karen spent a whole extra day and night in Vegas waiting for Sean, the fill-in drummer from New York City to turn up. They dropped him off at ours at 10 am (after a 4 hour drive) on Tuesday, and Karen promptly went to work - digging ditches. I don't know how she does it.

The evening was almost shut down when the VFW manager, who had been very awesome to me, peeked in and happened to see the one time Labretta got up on a table to dance. He lost it and tried to get her down. A few drinks went flying. Luckily, the VFW bunting and the flags escaped unmolested. Karen and I apologized profusely. My body went into adrenaline overdrive (I think because I had the same gut response from the League of Women Voters' forum the week before, and it was just too easy to revisit that feeling). Weirdly, my body is still not fully recovered. I'm such a weenie.

The sound was wonky (we set up wrong for a cinder block room), and I was freaking out a bit because there were heaps of folks I didn't know. In hindsight, folks were actually super well behaved and enjoying the hell out of the show. Folks loved the spectacle of it, and one nice woman in her 50s had tears in her eyes. She said that she grew up here and never thought she'd see such a thing. Rural punk teens found kindred spirits in the band. Max, the bassist, wore very, very high heels, orange hot pants, and fishnet stockings. I was so proud of my little town that nobody, not even the crusty old vets, said anything mean or homophobic.

The end of the night found me scrubbing the VFW lino, Janet vacuuming, and the VFW fellas admiring with our work ethic and being very pleased with the bar take for the night. We drank all the beer. I was invited back any time and was told very, very touching and personal Vietnam War redemption stories. The manager who threatened to shut us down asked if I could arrange a date with Labretta. "If not a date, how about a dance?" A city councilman offered to write a letter of recommendation for me in the "Inyo Register." We had tears, we had a virtual group hug.

Uh.

The surreal and emotional nature of the night made me think of it as my own private Vietnam. Maybe I was too sober? I came home to find the band and AT and Karen and Matty arm wrestling and shouting declarations of love. Yes, I was too sober.

Mammoth was perhaps even a weirder show still. Wow, the nature of bars is so strange -you get people to part with their cash over booze so that they have a license to act like babies? Labretta won over a large audience at the Dubliner (the manager came 'round in the end and gave them a show). She climbed bars and the backs of large young Latino security dudes. The crowd went wild. I stomped and had a great night. It was great not to have a care in the world. The crowd was still a bit tight fisted with their cash when it came to the Koha/donation bucket. What's up, Mammoth? Nevertheless, all these weird promoter types came out of the woodwork after the show talking money. Some thought that Labretta and I were a couple. Bless. Davey Celloboy Huebner warned me about promoters a few months back. I am coming to understand why and view them with some suspicion. We all got home at 3 after driving in a white out.

The upshot from the week is that Labretta has grown her audience, and I think it could really go off from here. She's been invited to come back for bigger shows, and I'm so very happy for her and proud that we brought her here first. She really is an entertainer - polished, pitch perfect, and cheeky. As a performer, she wants her audience to become a little unhinged, and I think she does that oh so well. As a manager, she's bossy, and I can relate.

She and Johnny are family to me and the girls. Looking at the two of them play their drum (Labretta)/guitar(Johnny) encore was pure magic.

There were A LOT of late nights, bouts of insomnia, weird days of not eating properly, etc.

I was still getting up in the morning to get Wyatt off to school, or, to look after him AND to work.

I slept in Babbo's bed a few nights to make up for the fact that I was running around like a headless chicken for much of the week. Come to think of it, I don't know how I did it.

It was a joy to take the band to the hot springs on a day off (Labretta looked like a 1960s dream with her jet black Greek hair pinned 'round her head and a vintage two piece), to get some Big Pine Chevron burritos, and to tailgate at Klondike Lake (aka Redneck Pond). We had a goofy, beautiful late spring evening watching the moon rise. Babbo ate a whole enchilada!

It was a joy to gossip about New Zealand music.

It was lovely to see Johnny and Labretta thoroughly enjoying a bit of the Mule Days Parade.

I found the bassist Max totally endearing and the drummer Sean touching. Max, who left Wisconsin five years ago for New York City, had the humanity and sweetness of the Midwesterners I love. He is a boy young enough to be my kid and has lived several rough lifetimes in that big city, but he still retains his humanity and manners. Max and Sean (who are in a band called the Othermen) taught Babbo how they celebrate in Brooklyn and loved his stream of consciousness singing and kept saying, "We should write a song like that."

In other music news, am still hoping that something becomes of the Don McGlashan pitch. I'm hoping the ICA will want to host the night. Bibi and I have come up with a modest guarantee. There was a kid who professed his admiration for Don McG at the VFW show. It came out of left field. I took his email address and promised I'd contact him if something happens. Somehow, I had focus enough the next morning to dig the crumpled slip of paper he'd written on out of the trash. I guess that's how one grows an audience, too.

Blanche

2010-05-20T23:42:00.001-07:00

Speaking of wonderful 80-something year olds, I am missing my feisty, lefty, vegetarian, sparky, rabble rousing friend Blanche tonight. She passed away two weeks ago. Her parting dare to all of us was, "celebrate life."

I hope to rid myself of a lot of my pissiness and dread.

May 20th

2010-05-20T23:25:00.000-07:00

You were quite a day.

You were full of mini-highs. I heard that Don McGlashan might consider a Bishop date. I got to wish Liam Luff, a DJ I've listened to for over 8 years, well in his new endeavors.

You were full of bumps. Auld Dubliner canceled its Labretta date. I scrambled around to a few would-be venues, did some emailing, and talked a bit on the phone. Why are venue owners so flaky?

You were full of soul-sucking dread. Three hours have passed since the League of Women Voter's candidates forum for county candidates, and my stomach still effing hurts from the stress and conflict of it. We dropped the ball and didn't ask the most obvious question of one of the candidates (Uh, dude, you were charged with accepting methamphetamine in lieu of payment for representing defendants in criminal cases. You were charged with being high in court.), and we let people down. We fielded over 30 written questions and had about 5 minutes to organize them. We had to throw out half. Almost all the candidates got softballs as a result.

LWV is supposed to be a nonpartisan organization. Maybe one dude, the crossdresser in town, was the only one who didn't have an ax to grind.

There are three of us who participate in the active running of it and with three of us, it's not working. After several decades of being in the area, the three of us are considering folding the organization. I know we are letting those wonderful 80-somethings who started the organization and who still nominally participate down, but who who among us has the time? Who has the time after work and family stuff to disengage the zombie and use, gasp, brain power?

Please, can I dream of wee burros and cocktails and holidays tonight?

Si, si.

2010-04-30T23:00:00.001-07:00

Babbo has an assessment interview for the dual immersion Spanish-English kindergarten program on the 26th. No pressure or anything, Babbo, but it'd be sweet to have our own personal translator.

We've also applied to get Babbo into Round Valley Elementary. This school is 15 minutes away in a green pasture and where Matty and Walter (my father in law) went to school as wains.

Buffalo - The new Phoenix Foundation release is out

2010-04-30T22:54:00.000-07:00

I was already obsessed with this tune, but in light of the BP oil rig disaster in the Gulf of Mexico and tomorrow being May Day, I'm spooked.

<a href="http://thephoenixfoundation.bandcamp.com/track/skeleton">Skeleton by The Phoenix Foundation</a>

the economics of a Bishop Potluck Society Presents potluck

2010-04-30T21:58:00.000-07:00

Old Coyote Moon played in the living room last night.

Dave Huebner described OCM as a jam band, which was new territory for us. It worked well in the house party setting. Folks filtered in and out over the two hours, had a good boogie to the country, funky, bluesy, folksy tunes, then wandered back into the kitchen to catch up with somebody over a some new dish that'd just come in. The band expanded from its normal five (drums, bass, two guitars, and a didgeridoo) to seven, with the addition of banjo and mandolin. They made joyous sounds, and it was a lovely, lovely evening. I still am a sucker for Huebner's cello playing.

These musical potlucks are a bit of a financial roller coaster for me. I always offer a guarantee (my motto is, "My guarantees may be modest, but there's whisky on the rider.") because we are a very, very long way from anywhere and because, frankly, it seems that fewer venues in the big cities do so anymore.

My sister-in-law Kate used to handle the door, but she's wanting to catch more of the music these days. I don't blame her. With Kate on the door, we always took in more than what I guaranteed. Blink, who brought Over the Atlantic and Disasteradio, never worried about the guarantee because he could tell how good Kate was. We just handed over the "koha" (Maori for "donation") bucket at the end of the night, and all was good.

Since Kate became a punter, we've tried using unmanned donation buckets. It's been so-so because folks don't see or choose not to see the buckets. A few folks do come in with their donations over the next few days. Last night, we tried the donation buckets, plus Matty going around with a hat . That worked better. There are always some folks (Karen Robb) who give too much, and I've got to work on finding some middle ground.

There is the perception, especially by some of the younger kids in town, that I make money at these shows. I don't. All donations from the shows go to the bands and to Derik, who usually provides the sound/lights. The only time I've ever paid myself back was when I fronted the money for a hall.

Labretta is coming next month, and I've extended a lot cash for this show. I had been a bit nervous, but I've done a fair bit of Bishop-style, word of mouth promoting. Things will be fine. The"koha" bucket will be in the doorway of the VFW hall, and we'll take shifts handing out wristbands to those who've donated so we know whom to hound.

I can't and don't want to put on these shows as a proper business. For one, the economics are such that I can't afford to pay $300 (often more than my minimum guarantee) for event insurance for each show. I believe, and I may be wrong, that as long as these things are ostensibly not-for-profit private house parties/potlucks, they are covered by our homeowner's insurance.

I'm lucky that I'm still married to an easy going and generous guy who understands how much fun I have. He enjoys hanging out and meeting new folks, (maybe even more than I do). He plays co-host, and together we provide a bit of food and drinks for all the folks who come through.

Matty said the nicest thing to me after Easter when I thanked him for letting me host what was really just a huge sleep over for a bunch of New Zealand music geeks. He said, "Well, these shows are like your powder days" (ski terminology for the kind of day you call in sick for to play hooky). Yes, yes they still are.

Out of the infirmary gates, running

2010-04-08T15:45:00.000-07:00

with love to Patria Jacobs for use of the photos.

The girl that you were in the back of a car

there was nobody left there to tend to your scars
all the aspirin in the world couldn't make you less that girl
do yourself a mischief if you could

Steven Schayer sang those words Easter Eve, and I think there were a few of us old gals in the audience who could identify. Heh. It *was* a week, and I'm glad that I came out the other side, alive, smiling, and still humming from the gathering we had.

Bibi flew out from Atlanta on Tuesday. It was stormy as hell, and her flight to Mammoth was canceled. We figured out how to get her on a bus to Lancaster, and I tore out of the house and picked her up 3 hours later. It was an interesting drive, with at least 3 semis knocked down from the west winds picking up speed out of the Sierras. The Owens Dry Lake looked like a 20 mile long witch's cauldron. We celebrated our safe return to Bishop with a few single malts. This was Bibi's fourth visit to Bishop, and she hit the ground running and made good use of the workout and caffeine resources we have while I did a bit of work and started to makes lists for the weekend.

Sue, AKA "the new girl from Wis-CON-sin," flew out Wednesday. She got to use Mammoth Airport, and it was smiles all around. She was a trouper and fell in to the flow of drinking what we were pouring (tea, wine, belgian beer) and thoughtfully chiming in about all things New Zealand music and everything else. Her New Zealand music "thing" started in earnest in the early 1980s and predates Flying Nun. Meeting Sue was like meeting a long lost sister- one who'd been to all the best shows and had all the best memorabilia.

Friday found the first wave of musicians Patria, Volita and Moss - a sister and brother from Auckland who are in the States to play and to record- rolling in from Los Angeles. I'd met Patria briefly in LA at Steven's last solo set in October, and we kept in touch over the months. I hoped that culturally and politically, she'd find Bishop full of kindred spirits. She is wry and cheeky and nurturing- my kind of woman.

Karen, my rock of Gilbraltar, regaled us all with love (in the form of her famous crack and mac mac and cheese, West Coast brews, and promises of freshly caught trout), tales of playing pool with Jeff Buckley, and her enthusiasm. Uncle Sniffy Mark came from the Bay Area and brought the gorgeous and kind Renee, who'd been raised in Mexico City, but conceived in Russia! It was lovely to sit in the semi-dark around the fire and the stage, telling tales, hearing snippets of live songs (including one from Volita called "From Russia, with Love"), and having a good laugh.

The second wave of musicians, Steven, Marc Horton (whom I met from the Mutton Birds' list back in '03 or so), and Chantelle, arrived early Saturday morning. Sue and I were bathing in the glow of Facebook on two laptops when they arrived. We promptly whipped out the meat products (tri-tip and carnitas), shots of single malt whisky, and silly hats. Steven treated us to cartwheels in the backyard and tales of an intensive New Zealand tour with the Black Watch.

Five shots of whisky (Old Pulteney, Glenmorangie Quinta Ruban, Springbank Sauternes finish, Bowmore, Jameson) later, we bade each other a good night and went to bed. Incredibly, nobody was hungover the next day. I credit ginormous pots of Irish Breakky tea.

Owen, the Kiwi who flew out from Chicago, arrived with with his friend Amy Saturday morning. They had a hell of a long day coming from Phoenix, getting stuck on Hoover Dam, overheating in Owen's '66 Mustang, and calling it a night in Beatty, Nevada. They still had what I refer to as "the alien abduction highway*" to contend with, so I'm glad they tackled it with fresh eyes and some sleep.

Matty took some folks to see Sky Rock, our local petroglyph. The soundchecks went well. Davey Cello Man Huebner turned up after a ski and met Steven minutes before their set.

The wind picked up. There was to be no potlucking outside. I forgot to cut the rum punch with seltzer. Folks arrived. I was strict with the kids about where they could and couldn't play - I hope I wasn't too mean. Patria picked up Derik, my sound man, for country lead guitar and Chantelle for pick up drums.

Wee babies - Eloise, Amaya, Soren, and their mommies and daddies turned up. Cousin Deanna and Nellydog (both whom we hadn't seen in ages) turned up.

Songs from both sets sent shivers down my spine. Patria sang with an effortless grace about grown women and little boys. Dave and Steven played beautifully together - like they'd been playing together for years. Bless Dave for putting in the time to learn Steven's songs. Bless Steven, the boy with the voice the size of a house, who, for the sake of decorum, changed the phrase "God damn" to "Gosh damn" on Easter Eve. Steven made Karen cry with his line that goes something like:

I'm going down to the Mission

and

going to light a candle for my mother

everybody says this won't hurt a bit

that's a lie that people tell each other

Post show, the group staying at the house and a few others sat around for singalongs. We Humphreys and Keen fans murdered the tune "The Liquor Talking" but did an alright Able Tasmans' "What Was That Thing?" with Owen on drums. Steven scatted a fine "Blister in the Sun." Marc and Chantelle led lovely Verlaines (Joed Out?) and Big Star tunes. Chantelle is this gorgeous auburn haired, dark blue eyed slip of a woman who plays drums. I am in love.

Volita and Moss played an impromptu set, rocking out and letting Karen and me to shake a leg.

Davey Huebner is a genius and slayed folks with his cello playing and singing. His "House of the Rising Sun" made me come running out of the TV room (I was hanging out with Babbo and Orin, who were watching Sponge Bob) because folks were stamping and hooting. Steven kept saying, "Please make him stop. It's depressing me!"

Steven tried out a very punk stream of consciousness "Walk Like an Egyptian" on Davey's cello.

We ended the evening with drinks, cups of tea, leftovers, and more drinks, with most of the crew going to check out the local honky tonk, Rusty's. Karen was the tourguide for the expedition and Matty, the chaperone. A few of us more sedate girls stayed home and got our jammies on. I had to send Humphreys and Keen's Peter Keen a note about the evening. I'd been calling the weekend a convention in H&K's honor and Marc, without knowing that, turned up with the chords to "The Liquor Talking" learned and the lyrics printed. All our geeky threads are long and intertwined.

The drinking party returned like waves of loud geese - so loud that Patria and I got out of bed to see what we'd missed. I came downstairs to find Karen madly making scrambled eggs for everyone. She had to get up at dawn to get AT from LA. Folks stood around the kitchen proclaiming how much they all loved each other and how talented they thought everyone was. Steven was plied with eggs and meat products and put to bed.

Babbo was in his element that week. Aunties and uncles played with him, read to him, sang to him. He got to play boy host. "Steven, my mommy made you this yummy (as he's chomping away) Carnitas!" He wouldn't dance to Steven's set, but did play a little light sabre air guitar.

Most of us went to Macey's Easter Sunday potluck in Keeler. My dad was there and it was nice to introduce him to folks. Sundays at Macey's are mellow affairs, and it was a good place for us to say our goodbyes to the LA-folks and to Owen and Amy.

Perhaps one of the loveliest memories for me from the entire week was being in the car with Bibi and Sue on the drive down to LA on Monday. We sat for long stretches without talking, but we did sing along to hours of the Able Tasmans on the car stereo - all this, without apology.

The weekend had been a Jameson and pots of coffee/tea-fueled affair. That, coupled with the late nights and adrenaline made it a wee bit hard to come down. Over a week later, some of us are still floating.

* alien abduction highway = HWY 168 desolate, mountainous, full of free range cattle and sheep, dark as all get out, and you're going to get abducted and probed.

Day 8

2010-03-10T09:50:00.000-08:00

Eighth day in a row that I've not been sick! Huzzah! Prior to this, the longest streak since December 17 had been a whopping three days. The viruses have rendered my arms funny - they tingle most of the time now- but eh, I'll take it.

Spring is coming and the boys have been here

2010-03-07T09:27:00.000-08:00

Day 5 of feeling virus-free.

The Juncos, Sparrows, and House Finches (aka Sparrows dipped in red ink) are having breakky just outside the kitchen window.

The volunteer arugula has already bolted, even though it's been a cool winter.

The Hunzakut apricot tree hasn't blossomed - making this one of the later years in years.

Babbo is up at Mammoth at his ski lessons. Bless Matty for all those early Sunday morning starts.

Konrad came back from South America and spent a few weeks here before moving to the Coast for a while. Even though he's come and gone before, there was a bit more finality to this move, and I was wistful the day he left. He's been my practice 30 year old son. It was lovely to hang out with him, and it was lovely that he gave us a bottle of Bowmore.

Chris Dio came down from Juneau, Alaska, and spent a few nights here and there with us. It was lovely to see him again after the two or so years since he moved away. Babbo loved him very much and shouted "Uncle Chris!!!" every time he was downstairs in the morning.

Matty Birch is in the trailer. He plies me with cups of tea, and he's easy. Glad I don't have that crush on him anymore (going back six? seven? years now) - makes life much...simpler. He is here to climb those crazy hard boulders of his. He doesn't have that pressure he's had those other years to finish his project - and he seems more liberated and content.

Several hundred tomato and pepper seedlings potted up. Giving away half dozen to a dozen away each day, but at some point in the near future, my attention will turn outdoors and the seedlings with suffer. It is par for the course in spring.

There is a god and it is a vengeful god

2010-02-09T15:16:00.001-08:00

I don't know how, but I seem to have picked up another virus. Except for maybe three or four days, I have been with lurgy since December 17th! Luckily, this one seems to be of the 24 hour variety. This is good, too, because we're supposed to go to Disneyland this Friday.

Wed

2010-01-30T22:10:00.000-08:00

I was giving advice to a Scottish man I know about how he and his fiancée could get married here in Bishop. They are coming out from Scotland for a climbing trip and thought it would be lovely to be married someplace as special as the Sierras. It made me sad to think that gay friends who actually live here are not afforded the same access to the simple forms needed to get married.

A thought for my Gung Gung

2010-01-24T09:36:00.000-08:00

My mother's father passed away this week in Hong Kong, not far from the Donguan, China, where he was born some 86 years ago. He died in the city where he settled as a young adult. Circumstances found him in Southern California for 35 some odd years, but circumstances also found him back where he probably belonged.

At 40, he became the single father of nine girls, having lost the really capable, independent, and fierce wife he loved so much.

He was a husband and father who was ahead of his time. My mother, the oldest, remembered the letters of love and encouragement he carried in his pocket and gave to my grandmother each time a new baby - always a girl- was born. She also remembers that they were the only couple of their generation to hold hands.

My grandfather found himself in his 40s suffering a catastrophic stroke. Prior to the stroke, he had been very outgoing. After the stroke, he led a rather introspective life. He wrote long letters to friends with his left hand (a skill he forced himself to master. The Chinese, like many others, believe the left hand has sinister connotations, so folks from his generation were right handed). When he first moved to the States, he wept openly when he heard Chinese folks songs. He and my grandmother had been traveling performers during World War II. They went from village to village performing and doing things to subvert the Japanese presence in Guandong. As the years went on, he listened to the songs less and less, but I don't think a day went by that he didn't think of her.

In old age, he was very fond of basketball and mah jong. He was so good at mah jong, he could "read" a tile by running his thumb over the relief.

He is going to be buried with my grandmother's remains.

Dr. Perry released me from his care today

2010-01-12T22:23:00.000-08:00

and, as soon as the lungs have healed, I'm going for a ride on my bike. I've missed watching the birds, and I've missed the sun.

Planning some Bishop Potluck Society Presents houseconcerts. Steven Schayer and Patria Jacobs, with dear friends in supporting roles, will do a variety hour for us come Easter. Bibi Gellert will fly out from Atlanta for it. Awesome!

Speaking of Bibi, it may have transpired that our hand clap debut survived my being in it. That, or the fellas in the Phoenix Foundation felt sorry for the chick w/ no rhythm (me) and overdubbed the hand claps until they sounded okay. At any rate, we appear on Track 3 "Forget It" on the release, Merry Kriskmass. The release is a big psychedelic wig out that has really grown on me. When I first heard it, I was reminded of the 8 track tapes that warped in the Southern California sun and that used to scare the shit out of me when I was a wee kid. Nah, it's heaps more melodic than that.

In other neat musical news, lovely Steve Carosello in St. Louis introduced KDHX DJ John Wendland to Humphreys and Keen's The Overflow and John has been playing tracks off it on his fine, fine show "From Memphis to Manchester." It's probably the first airplay H&K have gotten in the States. From little things big things grow, indeed.

Speaking of growing, we killed my four potted up Pimiento de Padron plants in the hard freeze we had, but I have germination from new seed! And so, a new year *does* begin.

The longest two weeks ever

2010-01-06T12:00:00.000-08:00

Mid-December started with a virus, which struck me down like a fool and gave me a cold, two weeping pink eyes, and sinusitis. You know you have sinusitis when you beg for a wood chopping maul to come along to split your head open like a pumpkin - anything to relieve the pressure building behind your eyes, ears, nose....

I am still part of the walking wounded. As a party trick, my body decided to fake a pulmonary embolism on what was supposed to be my first day back at work. After a few hours of intermittent, painful, heart clutching stabs, I followed my dear friend Diane's advice and went to the ER. After an ECG and CT scans (the iodine contrast makes you feel for a few seconds that you might be dying. The heat from the iodine spreads over your body like a wildfire and your lungs feel very heavy. Glad that they warn you over and over that this will happen), it turns out I have pleurisy, which is just inflammation of the lung lining. It's another viral thing, probably residual from December. I'll take it. I feel silly having had all this state of the art testing done on me, but I guess in the end, it beats thinking that I will leave Babbo motherless.

Eh, enough whining about viruses.

How about that new year? We had some wonderful, wonderful visits from Jean-Michel and Lucie, Mayumi and Erika, and Motorcycle Michelle. The visit with Matty's mom went well and so, for all that, I have no complaints.

I am one exhausted mo-fry, though.

Bomber run to "Los Angelesh"* a success

2009-12-03T16:47:00.000-08:00

Diabetes: Babbo's A1C fell .10 to 7.1. This is fantastic news and still vindicates the steep learning curve that came with switching to the insulin pump.
Gastro: Babbo still has GERD (acid reflux), but because he's thriving and growing, he can remain on Prevacid until the sphincters in his esophagus mature and start working.
Ate pho noodles, 1/2 a slice of Costco pepperoni pizza, dim sum, and chicken curry ramen. We might have died and gone to heaven.
My mom still has a good sense of humor and is in pretty good health. Same can be said about Auntie Tammy. I am grateful.
Had beignets and my first real coffee since coming home from the hospital. We dragged my mom to Lamill. I love that the place is pretentious, but that the staff are nice. Clover coffee might be a bit too extracted for me. We had a Kenya peaberry and some Guatamalan.
Saw Nik Brinkman, from Over the Atlantic, for a rushed espresso. He is recording a record in LA and staying close to Childrens (why don't they use an apostrophe?) Hospital. Matty, Babbo, and I dragged him to Intelligentsia, where he said he had his first Wellington style espresso drink since coming to LA nearly a month ago. It was fun to catch up on what he's doing and some extra New Zealand music news.
Between Costco and Childrens, walked/zimmered/crutched the length of several football fields and way hey, survived! Prior to this, I think I managed three trips to our mailbox.
Matty was a star and drove the whole trip. This is not an easy feat considering what a back seat driver I am. Oh, and I have a low tolerance for short breaking distances and am always bracing with my feet and hands. Give that girl a valium (not that I've ever had one).

*Babbo is playing with language and accents now. He calls LA "Los Angelesh" and sings his ABCs much like a singer with a vowel impediment would scat.

Chinese Ghetto Thanksgiving Stuffing

2009-12-03T16:43:00.000-08:00

for my mystery Asian g'friend from years past:

cube and slightly dampen two loaves of cheap supermarket bread

Sautee together, sliced into 1/4" - 1/2" pieces:
chinese mushrooms
heart, gizzards, liver, etc. from the turkey
pack of bacon
sliced onion
whole celery
minced garlic (lots of it)
(you may add things like water chestnuts, chestnuts, etc.)

When all the items are wilted through, add (without draining the fat from the bacon, if you can stand it) the soggy bread and lots of oyster sauce to taste

press mixture into baking pans, place in oven the last 30 minutes of the turkey roast (350F oven)

I didn't use glass noodles, but maybe my dad did one year. It could be a nice addition, especially those fat Korean ones made out of sweet potatoes.

The trouble with referendums

2009-11-10T01:12:00.000-08:00

Friends have dropped by. Friday night found us eating around the kitchen table with Marsha, Reed, Devon, Annie, Joe Lane, Stephen, Erik, Dave McGee and Janet. The conversations were everywhere and for the most part, gave us a good laugh - something we all needed.

I did feel sad when we talked about the referendum in Maine that revoked the right for same-sex couples to marry. I was sadder when Stephen said, "I'm just tired of feeling bad all the time."

Civil rights cannot be legislated by referendum. The masses can't be trusted. Less than 40 years ago, my marriage would have been illegal in certain states and Babbo would have been a bastard. There was a Southern judge who recently refused to marry an African American man to a white woman on the grounds that "those" kind of marriages don't work and the children resulting from them are fucked up. Surprise Judge, statistically, that's usually the case no matter the color!

Really, this growing crusade against access to basic civil rights (recap: there is theoretically a separation of church and state, marriage licenses are issued by a representative of the state, all citizens should have equal access to a license) is turning me into an uppity old Chinese woman.

Join us, it's bliss

2009-11-09T22:28:00.000-08:00

Finished my Oxycontin. Felt sharper pain the subsequent day, but it's all good now. Percocet got swapped out for Norco (a stronger version of Vicodin) because I was throwing up or feeling queasy most of the time. Swiss Kris (a laxative you can find at any health food store) works like a champ - not that anyone really wants to know, but one never knows....)

Have only stepped outside the house twice in 17 days - once for a checkup/stitches removal. I am a fast healer the docs say. I have heretofore been blessed with that ability.

Plowed through William Boyd's The New Confessions, and I still believe that Any Human Heart is his best. Have started on the Mishima tetrology. So far, Spring Snow (which I have read before) is sprawling, and I find myself craving the succinct writing from his short stories in Death in Midsummer.

Reading, surfing the internet, folding laundry, bathing, and hanging out with Babbo or the odd friend - recovery is like being on holiday, really.

Will probably transition from the walker or crutches to cane just in time for Christmas.

Now with new and improved stitching!

2009-10-28T12:04:00.000-07:00

Got home Sunday from a Friday surgery.
I didn't think I was ready for being released from the hospital, but Blue Cross only approved one night's stay. I think I stayed five nights last time. In the end, it all worked out fine. I continue to get stronger by the hour. Matty and Babbo are waiting on me hand and foot. Babbo wants to spend a night in my single hospital bed with me. I don't think so. I do let him pile in after school and watch cartoons before dinner or before bedtime.

I got taut little black nylon stitches this time. I am a bit allergic to the monocryl they sometimes use. They are handsome stitches, and Dr. Perry seems quite pleased with how everything turned out. I got an epidural (first time ever) and there are three wee bites in my lower back to show for it.

In addition to the doctors and their schedulers, I am indebted to the kindness and competence of nurses - as always.

I was shocked, again, at how useless my leg became. In in the first day post-op, it took a lot of focus, sweat, and help to move it even a few inches. Yes, they sawed the bone in half, but the muscles should have theoretically still worked.

Waves of mild nausea and sleepiness come over me several times a day. It's the painkillers, the four hours of anesthesia I was under, and the vitamin supplements. I will forgo the iron supplements - they make me really sick- and just eat like a piggie instead.

Surgery got moved up a week

2009-10-22T12:45:00.000-07:00

Have been running around like a headless chicken. Surgery got moved up a week, but Doctors Mast and Perry will be there. I am really still incredibly touched that Dr. Mast will drive down from Reno for this. I am touched, too, that I work in an incredibly flexible workplace. I'm as ready as I'll ever be.

It was not a pleasure to wander around the streets of LA in the rain last week. I tried going to a Target in a large mall, but the sensory overload was too much, and I retreated to the peace of my car. My eyes also glazed over at a midsized Whole Foods, too. I'm such a hick.

I did run around Sunset Blvd. very late at night for two nights in a row to see two shows at the Echo. It'd been decades since I did something like that by myself. The adrenaline surge was huge. When I was getting gas at 11:30 at night off some unknown freeway offramp, all I could think was, "What the hell am I doing here?"

In the end, it was a huge pleasure to see Matt Salas' band, the Rhone Occupation. They are a young band, and they've been gigging hard. They have purdy songs and sound like a cross between Radiohead/Elliot Smith/the Phoenix Foundation. Their free set didn't start until after midnight, but they played as if their lives depended on it to a room of about 25 of us. I know Matt from going to the Phoenix Foundation shows in LA in 2006. He was with Sony digital music at the time and tried really hard to help the band out in any way he could.

It was even a bigger pleasure to see Steven Schayer, the Jazz Butcher, Downy Mildew, and the Black Watch the next night. It was a lovely treat to hang out with Marc Horton, Owen Harris (who was on a stopover in LA on his way back to NZ), John Andrew Frederick (the English prof and fellow William Boyd fan behind the Black Watch), and Steven Schayer in a Latino bar in the late afternoon before the show. Steven, Owen, and I met through the Able Tasmans/Humphreys and Keen/Puddle gig that Owen put on in Auckland in February. Marc and I met years ago through the Mutton Birds' listserve. I'd seen Steven's band, the Clay Idols, once when I was a teen. I wasn't prepared for how sad and lovely Steven's songs were and how well he could sing. There is something outgoing and endearing about Steven which reminds me of certain Lew cousins very very much.

Marc and I killed a few moments waiting for the Echo's doors to open by having some of the Glenmorangie Quinta Ruban I brought down. We sat in the heavy rain on Sunset Blvd. and toasted our lovely spouses and small children. Our spouses may not also be huge geeks, but they allow us to be. Bless.

So a group of us have become friends or have become better friends through geeking out over our love of New Zealand music. The friendships have gone from the days of going to the post office and sending blank cds so that somebody could make a compilation to the age of Facebook and Yousendit, where we can cut to the chase and crank the mixtapes out.

Motorcycle Michelle put me up in her fabby apartment in Glendale. I talked her ear off the first night, when I was hmming and huhhhhing about getting ready to leave at 11 pm for a midnight show. I did my best imitation of a a lump on her couch for the next two mornings in a row.

It would appear that boots and tights and skinny jeans are in with the in girls of the Republic of Silver Lake. The porkpie hats on the boys must go, though.

I am glad I got the chance to get out of Bishop for a few nights, glad that I missed Matt and Babbo and Bishop, glad I got to eat ramen twice, and glad I got to do something different before facing being laid up for a long while.

Undertheradar.co.nz : The Bats Virtual Show

2009-10-22T12:38:00.001-07:00

The lovely Ian Henderson - whom I've known through things New Zealand music related - is putting on this show. He's fronted his own cash, and I wish him well!

Undertheradar.co.nz : The Bats Virtual Show

Mad neurotic scratchings

2009-10-09T13:29:00.000-07:00

I was not very zen this morning when I tore the house apart looking for my old Moleskine notebook. Yes, I guess I would have been very sad if I'd lost my mad neurotic scratchings from the past few years, but I would have lived. I found it in the very last place I would have looked- well, well, well under the couch. I have started a new notebook. It is sexy and red and unmarked. Clean slates and all that.

I have temporarily damaged my fingertips from moving around frozen pyrex bowls.

Going down to Los Angeles to see AT, Karen, part of the New Zealand music mafia.

Date with my orthopedic surgeons

2009-10-04T23:11:00.000-07:00

Doctors Perry and Mast will do me the favor of giving me another femoral osteotomy - this time on my right hip. It's hurting like hell in this low pressure system we're having, and I'm ready.

The left hip still has some arthritis, but that was always going to be a given.

I don't remember letting Ian Frazier into my home

2009-09-16T16:17:00.000-07:00

> The New Yorker
>
> Shouts & Murmurs
> Easy Cocktails from the Cursing Mommy
> by Ian Frazier September 14, 2009

> Those high-priced bartenders in their red vests and white shirts who your caterers recommended to serve at your last party may know a thing or two, but for entertaining on a smaller scale—for parties of seven people, four, or even just one—a few simple steps to the perfect cocktail are all you’ll ever need. Take, for example, this drink I’m drinking right now. Where the hell did I put it? I just set it down five minutes ago. I had it when I was watching the news, I know that. Now what in hell could I have done with it? O.K.—I found it, thank heavens. I must have set it here on the stairs when I went to throw away the mail. Anyway, as I was saying, making this particular drink, which happens to be a vodka gimlet, is simplicity itself, once you know how.
>
> Plus, it’s so delicious! The tangy tartness of the lime juice combined with the antiseptic astringency of the icy-cold vodka—wonderful. Now, normally in this column the Cursing Mommy does not endorse any company, product, or institution, but just this once I’m going to make an exception, because, what the hell—I use Rose’s Lime Juice. It’s perfect for gimlets, so I always keep a few extra bottles in reserve in case I run out, as in fact I did just a few minutes ago when I mixed the drink I’m finishing now. The backup bottles, which are down here on the bottom shelf of the liquor cabinet—don’t tell me they’re not here. Please don’t fucking tell me the Rose’s Lime Juice is not fucking here.
>
> If Larry took my last spare bottle to use in his fucking Sno-Kone machine, by Christ, I swear I’ll—oh, thank God. Here it is, back behind the Kahlúa and the walnut liqueur. Whew. That was a close one.
>
> Anyway, you take your Rose’s Lime Juice, you take your favorite gimlet glass (which, for me, is the one I was just using), and—fuck. I have lost my drink again. Somebody please tell me I have not lost my stupid goddam fucking drink again! O.K., it has to be close by, because I had it right before I was hunting around on all fours in front of the liquor cabinet. Wait a minute—can this be it? Here on the counter behind the flour cannister? I don’t think this is it. I’ll just take a sip and—Phewww!! Gahhh! Disgusting! This must be the drink I couldn’t find night before last. Fucking ants in it. Drowned ants. Good Christ, what was I thinking?
>
> O.K., we have established that that was definitely not the glass I was looking for. In situations like this, the Cursing Mommy recommends that you take three deep breaths, concentrate inwardly on some attractive and relaxing vacation scene, and scream “Fuck!” at the top of your lungs. There—I feel better. Don’t you?
>
> Usually at about this time of the evening I must begin making dinner. Larry and the kids will be home soon. Fortunately, however, tonight is Make Your Own Goddam Dinner Night, a recently instituted family ritual I shared with you in last week’s column. So basically I don’t have to worry about that. Instead, what I’m going to do is just close my eyes, wait until I regain a sense of calm, and when I open them again my missing gimlet glass is going to be right in front of me.
>
> Oh, fucking hell. Could I possibly have left it down in the basement? Of course not—that’s ridiculous. I haven’t even been down in the basement, not since I vowed I wouldn’t touch another piece of laundry today even if it meant the clothes already in the washer mildewed and rotted away. Regular followers of this column know that at about this point every week the Cursing Mommy flips out due to one problem or another and begins cursing a lot, throwing things, and giving people the finger. Somehow, however, I don’t think it’s quite appropriate to go to those extremes over a problem as minor as a misplaced cocktail glass. Instead, I will begin a systematic search, accompanying myself meanwhile with a sort of general, all-around cursing out of various deserving individuals and things.
>
> For starters, God damn to hell my father’s fucking girlfriend, who expects me to do all the food and the cleanup at his seventy-fifth birthday party, and then she’ll take all the credit for herself, such a fucking jerk. Fuck the township, also, for changing fucking Bulky Waste Day from Monday to Friday and now I have to haul all that shit that I carried down this morning back up from the curb or they’re going to give us a ticket, the fucking bureaucratic red-tape, petty, time-server assholes. And, just in passing, fuck the fucking Bush Administration—I know they’re not in power anymore, but fuck them anyway, because they’re such a bunch of fucks. And on the subject of stupid fucks, fuck the—
>
> FUUUUUUUCK! OW! JESUS CHRIST! FUCKING SHIT! I STUBBED MY FUCKING TOE! OW OW OW! JESUS! FUCKING LARRY LEFT THAT FUCKING BOX OF ADAPTERS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING DINING-ROOM FLOOR, THE FUCKING IDIOT! WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT STUPID FUCKING BOX DOING THERE! I TOLD HIM TO PUT THOSE FUCKING ADAPTERS AWAY! FUCK! OW! FUCK!
>
> (Pause.)
>
> People say that when you misplace an object in your home, instead of tearing the place apart looking for it, you should just be patient, and the object you are looking for will eventually turn up. And now we see the accuracy of this saying, because as I sit here on the dining-room floor cursing and massaging my goddam stubbed toe, I notice that over there on the floor, just behind the door to the kitchen, is the stupid fucking cocktail glass I was looking for. And, thanks be to merciful God, there is still a fair amount of drink remaining in it, so I’ll down it now. What a fucking terrible day this has been.
>
> Next week the Cursing Mommy will show you how to put up the decorations for a child’s birthday party all by yourself with no help from your fucking husband. Watch for her column, entitled, “God Damn This Tape Dispenser to Hell: Party Decorating Tips from the Cursing Mommy.” ♦

New truths

2009-09-01T16:11:00.000-07:00

I have always opposed the death penalty, but I found out over the last few weeks that I do will certain people to fall off the face of the earth.

A fella, who had been peripheral to our lives, tried to kill somebody I love and threatened to kill a group of us in general. With that, he became worth less than dirt to me. Actually, I really value dirt, so how about "he became a worthless piece of shit to me?"

The night this all came to a head, even before he tried or threatened to kill, I wished he would just choke and die on his own Maker's Mark laced vomit. He didn't vomit, and he didn't die. I can't look at Maker's Mark anymore- it's gross anyway.

I guess my own callousness has been a bit of a shock, but I'll live.

Scene from a Bishop Potluck

2009-08-26T21:32:00.000-07:00

Labretta Suede and the Motel Six in our living room

2009-08-26T21:18:00.000-07:00

Yay life and meeting these lovely folks serendipitously! As you can see, WHAT A FUN SHOW!
Exhausted. Babbo fighting impetigo.
Had a Childrens Hospital visit recently. Babbo's A1Cs got down to 7.2 for the last quarter, which vindicated the rather shitty sleeplessness that had been from March through much of June/July.
Still, rather happy about being young enough to boogie.

Whoa, that is summer flying right by

2009-07-05T21:48:00.000-07:00

We survived Meatfest '09.
We have been married 10 years. Matt spent the day with Joel, who'd never climbed Mt. Emerson before. I spent the day hunting and gathering at the shops and getting meat ready for Meatfest. Anniversary dinner to happen later in the week.
We had wonderful visit with Karen O's family from Decatur. We talked rock and roll. Our kids played until they nearly vomited from having to part. We drank cocktails. Matty and I played guard one night and slept outside of a canvas tent full of children while the coyotes howled in the nearby fields.
We had a very wonderful visit with Dave and Naomi and Owen. Dave and Naomi are such wonderful parents and Owen, who is now one, is nothing but love and kindness. I am so very happy for them. Naomi walked to the top of Mt. Whitney in a day. Kudos to her and her kind friends Phoebe and Gloria.
The Verniers stopped by for a few days, with Lucie's aunt, uncle, and cousin from Czech Republic in tow. I had forgotten about Lucie's wonderful laugh. They all taught me "Na Zdravie!" the Czech way to cheers.
We are having a very fine and easy visit with Motorcycle Michelle and Jascha, who spend most days conquering peaks.

I refused to run around like a headless chicken at the party, and it was good. I actually caught up with a few friends before I crashed and burned when I put Babbo down to bed. I only had two drinks for the six or so hours, but I was tired. I left the party early, put my greasy face and party clothes self on the bed and just went to sleep. Janet was kind to stay up to play cleaning elf into the wee hours.

But I am exhausted. Wyatt is home from preschol this coming week for teacher break.

House concert @our house and the sights of Bishop, CA

2009-06-17T10:35:00.000-07:00

Bishop, CA, welcomes Disasteradio and A Low Hum! Bless Simon Ward for capturing the fun and making us look like nonscary freaks.

Oooh, could have used a massive spring tidying of the yard! Yes, the Schoberlews, putting the trash in "white trash" since 2000!

Not given lightly

2009-06-15T22:02:00.001-07:00

Chris Knox, a "godfather" of New Zealand pop, had a stroke last week. He's a manic genius, and all thoughts are for a strong recovery.

In addition to "Midget" I may no longer call Babbo

2009-06-15T19:23:00.000-07:00

"Skidmark." By request.

Matty and the demin 3 piece he found on the street

2009-06-09T22:29:00.000-07:00

We interrupt this incessant moaning for a bit of good news

2009-06-08T13:10:00.000-07:00

Went on two WEE hikes* over the weekend en famille and am happy to report that the $100K of surgimitating on the left hip worked (praise be for insurance)! Glad I don't live in the bad old days when they would have just put the old girl (me) down.

We'll eat our first tomatoes tonight - Black Cherry. All two of them.

*Pine Creek - up to Pratt's Crack and Tyee Lakes Trail - about twice the distance from the Falls. Babbo really did well. Matty and I shared an Alaska IPA traveler on the trail. Everybody happy.

Monsoons!

2009-05-31T23:07:00.001-07:00

We have had over a week of afternoon monsoons. Hardly anybody is complaining about it - it's so very exotic for 'round these parts. Rain in the afternoon. Rain in the evening. Rain meaning a very big drop or two of something wet from the sky - so big and so wet that you are sure it's a bird dropping and check. Cycling in it has been wonderful.

We are still getting an appearance of that hot yellow orb in the sky and a large enough dose that many of us are plenty nut brown enough for the season.

Some of the tomato plants are taller than me.

The Bitch runneth over

2009-05-28T22:29:00.000-07:00

Tricia to Zach P. after he said "thanks" for hosting card night: I seem to have turned into a caustic bitch. I must apologize to Konrad. Glad you like Tricia v. 2.0 even if nobody else does.

I called Konrad a "pussy" at cards the other night. Folks thought it was funny because I want people to like me so badly that I tend not to say things like that. The sad thing is that my personality has changed a lot over the last half year. Chalk it up to the chain of events - the subpoena on Christmas Eve to testify against the beater next door, the 3+ months of sleeplessness from switching over to the insulin pump, the household bouts of gastroenteritis, the coming down from a great trip to New Zealand....I reckon stuff happens to most everyone. Why the hell can't I grow thicker skin and just get on with it?

Chatted w/ Matt about it, asked for a bit of help, but allowed myself to acknowledge the absolute rage I sometimes feel. I'm feeling better already.

There's no going back to the relentlessly cheerful and unrealistic Tricia v. 1.0. It is probably for the best.

summer is here

2009-05-19T11:30:00.000-07:00

Pimientos de Padron. Calvin Trillin and Peter Keen were right. These are pretty damned good.

Day five post op

2009-05-18T09:57:00.001-07:00

and only the sutures hurt a wee bit now.
Wow. There are benefits to being a bit younger and a bit fitter going into surgery!
There is a hummingbird nest building outside the bay window. I am honored and thrilled.
Matty and I are going to eat the first wave of Padron peppers. They set a bit early this year. I am honored and thrilled.

Mental holiday

2009-05-13T09:55:00.000-07:00

That will be me enjoying the blissed out, if only slightly barfy, morphine induced sleep tonight. Going into Mammoth Hospital to have young, intrepid, ready-for-tv Dr. Perry remove the two drywall screws that I feel when I sit on the loo and the angle plate embedded in my upper femur that aches when the weather turns cold.

All this to get the legs ready for my second femoral osteotomy, hopefully this fall.

Not that I want to think about Babbo's sex life - other than hope he has a happy one

2009-05-07T21:54:00.001-07:00

but poor fella will also never really get to experience the pleasure of falling into post-coital sleep.
Diabetics on insulin pumps who disconnect their pumps for intercourse often give themselves terrible overnight highs by falling asleep without plugging back in.

Oh, the things we take for granted!

Earliest year for fruitset that I can remember

2009-05-07T18:06:00.000-07:00

The Padron peppers and the tomatoes I set in walls o water over a month ago are setting fruit reliably. We are going to have weather in the high eighties for the next few days. Long hot summer ahead, Kids?

I felt sad for Babbo tonight

2009-05-03T01:47:00.000-07:00

He's had a stomach flu (yes, yes, was worried a bit there that it was H1N1, but the stomach flu is what's going around town and his symptoms fill the slots). He's been all over the map blood glucosewise. His energy levels are so low that I barely recognize him. We haven't done much other than to be close by to check his urine ketones (also all over the map), check his blood glucose, push water, push food, and push or withhold insulin.

Good thing for the Internet. I sit here and surf and post until something else needs doing.

At any rate, today, I was reminded that even with all our interventions, his numbers do sometimes go haywire. As an adult, he'll have to work at not being alone on days like this because his judgment can become impaired and his impairment can kill him. Man, as if the pressure of finding a nice partner, nice friends, etc. isn't hard enough.

Sobering thoughts for the mother of a little kid with this lifelong disease.

It is late, though, and it is close enough to 2 am to see if the mega correction of insulin and the catheter site change I gave him an hour ago worked....

Before this becomes habit

2009-04-29T09:51:00.000-07:00

Matt and I are getting so close to dialing in those insulin doses. It's not going to be a moment too soon, either. I fear that this insomnia will become a longterm habit (I've been warned it can from a girlfriend who has been there and is still doing that).

Counting the excitement of going to New Zealand, I haven't slept more than a few hours uninterrupted since mid-February.

Did a bomber run down to Childrens for a gastro appointment Monday/Tuesday. Was a bit concerned about the swine flu, but in the end, we just had to go. Wyatt can stay on the Prevacid (proton pump inhibitor) for as long as it takes for him to outgrow this GERD (acid reflux).

Three cheeers!

Group hug, Kiwi-style

2009-04-22T15:47:00.001-07:00

I have found my calling and it is plying pork products on Kiwi musos.

Disasteradio's show was so much fun. It was hot and sweaty with heaps of enthusiasm, on his part and ours. Black Sheep baristi Elliot and Reed did a great job interpretive dancing with Karen through the set. I danced my ass off, even with a splinter in my bare foot. My unoperated hip hurt like hell for days, but it was worth it.

It was another stone soup production with folks rallying around to help and donate time, gear, gifts, and muscle. Karen, Janet, and I turned the room from living room to dancehall in less than half an hour.

I got a bit nervous as the potluck had already started, and the Disasteradio crew were nowhere in sight. Blink, is a man good to his word, though, and he got everybody to Bishop with plenty of time to spare. They were coming from Vegas and stopped to experience the hottest weather they'd ever experienced. It was all of 100.4 degrees [Note to self, try not to book Kiwi bands in the dead of summer. They will die.].

Luke aka Disasteradio had just married his girlfriend Christina the night before in Vegas. They were giddy. Blink brought his beloved Sally on this tour. Yay! They all brought Simon Ward, a lovely and talented videographer and videomaker (see above). The show was very high energy and was particularly mesmerizing for me because the music meshed with the wee films so very well. Luke is a multitasker and can sing, twiddle with the knobs and dials, run a laptop, and control the disco ball we had with his foot.

The potluck was a hit. The next night, we had carnitas tacos for dinner, and the next morning, we had the local mahogany smoked thick sliced bacon (aka "crack bacon"). I made sure to cook the bacon slowly and not too crisp, like folks outside of the States like it. I was touched that they gave us bottles of Hawkes Bay wine and music pressies when they left. A few days have passed, and I'm still feeling the group hug.

Brainstorming now with friends on how to get Humphreys and Keen over to the States....

Easter, LA, and beyond

2009-04-17T13:54:00.001-07:00

What a beautiful, fun, Easter at Macey's again this year. "The girls" and Marshall came and my dad drove up from Olancha for the day.

Monday, we spent a long, intense day at Childrens Hospital. We learned heaps. For all the high blood glucoses we've been having, we had the lowest A1C of 7.4 ever! The nurses explained that even with the high readings, our quick actions resulted in better overall averages.
Yay!
Our eventual goal is to get an A1C of between 6 and 7.

Got outskied by a 4 year old today

2009-04-05T21:33:00.000-07:00

Babbo didn't throw one hissy fit and skied until the Discovery Chair closed.
I only threw one minor hissy fit (about driving around the Mammoth Mountain lot) and skied until the Discovery Chair closed.
Babbo skis the fall line and can stop.
I can't ski the fall line and can stop (because I ski so slowly).

Babbo 1 Mommy Nil.

Oh, he can also do the near splits AND plow the snow with his helmeted head while skiing! Amazing.

I now know that Matty drinks mainly from the well of infinite patience. I, on the otherhand, drink from the well of impending crabbiness. Shit.

When the wind comes 'round

2009-03-31T14:10:00.000-07:00

It's still for the moment. Huzzah! Spring winds have a habit of making everybody crabby and sniffly and sneezy.

Getting some sleep, thanks to Matty taking Babbo's 3 am blood glucose readings, but life with pump still a bit too full of ups and downs. Apparently, this is very normal in the early days.

Santogold is hot.

The Cold War Kids are not.
The concert demographic was mostly comprised of well to do, dumb, Orange County college kids on spring break. What was I thinking?
A pod of Asian kids went by, called out "Look, Asian!" and highfived me. That was cool.
Had a fun time with girlfriends and Marshall Minobe, drinking wine and eating desert nonetheless!

My kingdom for a full night's sleep

2009-03-27T20:28:00.000-07:00

Wyatt's numbers still all over the place, but we are getting to within striking range now. The nurses at Children's are now letting us skip ahead an increment on overnight insulin dosage, saving us a wasted night each time they do so.

We got ketones (bad) for the first time the other night. Luckily they were small and dealt with with water and insulin.

I am so sleepy that I had no will to go to the Banff Film Fest tonight. It is the alternative mountain crowd event of the year. I just couldn't bear the small talk and the long sad ethnographic film before the intermission.

Matty got a night out.

I hope to see Santogold and the Cold War Kids in Mammoth tomorrow night. Free gig at the Village.

The pump is installed

2009-03-19T15:04:00.000-07:00

We are having ups and downs in the process of trying to fine tune Babbo's insulin pump to administer the right doses throughout the day and night.

Matty and I are splitting the night shift. One of us takes the 12 am and the other, the 3 am blood glucose reading.

Three cheers for technology, though. We can dose the boy while he's running and playing and just being a kid. No more waving needles and vials in very public places. It's not like he or we were self-conscious about the needles and vials, but the discretion will allow him some degree of not being so "special" in the future. He looks like a wee baby doctor because the unit looks like a pager on his waistband. He digs the look.

Do Crazy Old Chinese Women Dream of Technicolor Lamingtons? (sorry exceedingly long trip report with heaps of errors)

2009-03-17T22:20:00.000-07:00

So, my 11 days away from Bishop, my 9 days in New Zealand were an extended dream.

I had the flu. I danced so hard I was crippled. I met so many folks I already knew through years of emails, etc. I scared young boys with my enthusiasm for their bands. I pinched the smooth arms of Peter Keen, a man who sings the angel songs inside my head. I got asthma and went to urgent care. I missed Wyatt and Matt for the first time ever, because I've never really been away from them.

I did not drink nearly enough wine. I subsisted on a diet of Omega plums - my gorgeous, tart, S. Island Omegas were in season- and cappuccinos.

I saw the son of my childhood friend walk home from school on my way through their moderate sized (pop. 30,000) town. I so wanted to jump out of the car to say "hello!", but reckoned that they teach New Zealand kids not to talk to strangers, too.

I scared the little brother of one person I know so badly that he moved seats on the bus we were riding into town together. It's just that I recognized him from the Phoenix Foundation's "Bright Grey" video and family snapshots on blogs and kept looking to double check that it was him. Poor bastard.

I bought a fantastic wee painting of Pohutukawa (NZ Christmas tree) from a fellow Phoenix Foundation fan.

I met the very nice Liam Ryan, the man behind the voice I listen to 4 days a week (He's a DJ on Radio Active). He is a walking encyclopedia of pop/rock/reggae.

I fired my synapses overtime playing, "Who is this New Zealander and why should I know her/him?"

I got good at texting and calling on cellphones. (There isn't a real need for it here in Bishop).

I got to have the New Zealand music conversations I have inside my head out loud....with people to boot!

I saw my dear tomato growing partners Glenn and Jan again and told them that when I met Glenn in 2004, I didn't think he'd live long enough for me to see him again. I told them that I thought they were in much better shape now than five years ago. We swam through the wildness of their glasshouses, parting the ferns, banana trees, taros, everything they have taken up in retirement. On my way out of town, they took me to the park in town, where rainforests stood side by side with manicured cricket lawns. Magic.

The Matthew Bannister/Able Tasmans/Humphreys and Keen/The Puddle gig was such a thing of beauty. I danced in a corner in a terribly inappropriately sheer dress and beige bra combo which had the misfortune of making me look like a reject from a Sears' Plus Size mannequin factory. The punters at the show were so lovely, so welcoming, though. Matthew Bannister and his musical partner Paula Law sang observationally pithy songs with such beautiful voices. I hung onto every note of the Able Tasmans (I am only a recent convert to their oeuvre, to my shame) and Humphreys and Keen sets. Peter Keen and Graeme Humphreys rendered the songs as if singing to a room of old mates, sometimes starting over- having never really perfomed these songs live before- in their quest to do right by them. Bless. I bleated like a baby lamb when their set ended on the last line from their last song on "The Overflow" - "You'll know just enough to break my heart in ev'ry single way." Break it they did. It was neat to see George D. Henderson (and dear fellow Phoenix Foundation fan friend Ian Henderson!) in the Puddle. Looking at George Henderson, you get the feeling that this man has survived a lot and when he sings about love, you get the feeling that he's thought a lot about it. Thank you Owen Harris for organizing the show and for the warm welcome and thank you Steven Schayer for the instant friendship. Thank you Ian Henderson for being just the good guy that you are and have always been.

Over the Atlantic showed that a year of hard touring around the world makes you fine musicians, even in the face of dumb young punters up wayyyy too late in the middle of the night. Nik and Ash and Rhys all play like houses on fire. They are more muscular than ever and the addition of Liz on keys makes their wall of sound even fuller. I love that the year of touring hadn't changed Nik and Ash's loveliness. It was nice to meet Nik's folks and sisters, too. I am suffering a bit of shock because as "purdy" as their second CD -Dimensions- is, it does not prepare you for their sonic live show. Bibi said that it was the second loudest show she'd been to.

Seeing the SJD Band, in the rain in Wellington, was worth the 04:30 wake up call to catch a flight from Auckland to Wellington in a cyclone. I pounded six ibuprofin to get there and to stay upright in the midst of the flu, and it was worth it all. Sean Donnelly is a ringleader of a fine circus of amazing performers. Sandy Mill is even more amazing in person than on record. She sings with great ability and range and plays percussion. Dominic Blaazer on keys is cheeky and his bv are a fine compliment. James Duncan's guitar adds an organic warmth to counter to sometimes two sets of keyboards. I know why lovely Chris O'Connor is a drummer in demand. Paul McLaney was not there and, frankly, it might have been a distraction to have another singer. Sean Donnelly's songs are deeper and more touching than a cursory listen would indicate, and this is really apparent when you are sick in a mud pit. I am going to make a mix tape of the studio versions of all the songs they did. It was that much of a show of joy. I was gobsmacked when Sean dedicated "Beautiful Haze" to me.

Dan Adams' solo opener, under the moniker Colossal Colossus, in the lovely wee community Breaker Bay Hall with himself on loops (recording bits and playing them back in the course of the song to make a fuller sound) made my head spin and my heart soar. His layering of vocals in "Full Fathom Five" still haunts me. He closed the show with a very very special unlooped "Million Dollar View" (with a kind shout out), which made me very happy. It was lovely to meet the extraordinary photographer and extraordinarily kind Robert Catto that night, too. Robert's multitalented wife Delia drummed in headlining Milkthistle. I spent a day with Dan and his beautiful, intelligent, and creative wife Mary and their newborn Nina. We had breakky (poached eggs and lattes of course!) at the atmospheric Maranui Cafe in Lyall Bay. Rodney (my best mate from college and the friend who introduced me to Matty) cycled out to join us. It was a gorgeously sunny and dry day. After brunch, we drve around the wee communities along the water, we dropped Mary and Nina off, and we headed up to Poirurua for Dan's lecture at Whitireia Polytechnic. The lecture was to students in the first third of their studies and discussed vocals. Dan had visual and audio clips for everything he wanted to discuss, voice as instrument, families who sing together, the magic of a good vocal, emotion as a conditioner to vocals, etc. I wish I had more professors who were this passionate about teaching and about their subject. We swung back to Wellington's waterfront for a gelato and some NZ music and National Radio gossip. The he took me to Karori, where the Adamses lived, where two generations of the family were married, where the Adams boys explored the WWII gun turret that inspired the song "Tunnels in the Hill". We finished the day with a wee hike at Makara Beach, where I got to stand on the West Coast again. Gorgeous. Dan's folks, who gave us a lift back from Breaker Bay, are quite remarkable, and Dad is a Mutton Birds' fan, too!

Will Ricketts, percussionist for the Phoenix Foundation, was a joy to be with for the hour we "hung." He was so focused and happy about making his own music. He'd been up to 04:30 recording the night before. He has a new solo CD that will be released soon named "John Dryden" after his famous poet relation. The tracks are quite different from one another but taken together, they make a wonderful, wonderful summer album. It hangs together really well.

One night, we were supposed to either go see Spartacus R and Ragamuffin Children or the Mint Chicks, but ended up seeing Sam Scott, who took us up to where the Phoenix Foundation practice and record. We three sat around and gassed about New Zealand music gossip and the shows we'd seen so far. He recorded Bibi and me clapping on one track for the new album. Sadly, Chinese Americans are not known for their rhythm. For all of Bibi's Southern ability to keep time, I dorked out and won't be surprised if our clapping can't get used. Sorry, Bibi Dude! It was a lovely to see Sam for a bit. I teased that his wedding band ("kept man band") looked good on him, and it does. I feel squishy inside when I see Sam Scott. To my great shame, I was driving up the Kapiti Coast and missed seeing Richie (TPF drummer) Brett (TPF soundman) who were waiting for me at Fidels on Cuba Street.

I am a bit in love with the Cassette band. I like their rangy Americana and the kind of boy meets girl and writes a country song about it approach to tunes. Luke "love me, I'm Polish" Buda was playing around Auckland and Cassette were his band. At Cassette No. 9 (the same young venue with the young punters where we saw Over the Atlantic), Cassette were the headliners on a bill with White Swan/Black Swan, a duo featuring Ben Arch Hill/Suprette Howe and his musical partner Sonya Waters- with their lovely vocal and narrative juxtapositions; an unmemorable kitschy Americana band; and Luke Buda. Luke was excited for us to see Cassette and warned that Tom Watson (a fella I ran up to at the SJD show to say "Hullo, I'm seeing your show in Auckland next week and boy, am I looking forward to it!" To which, rather stunned, he replied, "Hi, I'm Tom.") was quite a guitarist. True that. Craig Terris on drums and excellent backing vocals is a revelation, too. Bibi and I sat with Luke for quite a while. We chatted about sons, Phoenix touring the States, Phoenix touring Europe, the economics of touring, NZ music gossip, swearing in America, American politics, etc. Luke is the man I feel quite related to. Maybe it's because our sons are pretty close in age or maybe it's just because he is often quite honestly disarming, but in a gentle and good natured way. He is blessed with songwriting talent, a wonderful partner, and two sons now. Because Cassette drummer Craig Terris decided to dedicate a song to a heckler in the crowd, Luke ended up dedicating the following "My Imminent Demise" to Bishop, California! Bless.

Bibi was a trooper. I tend to get quite withdrawn towards the end of trips, and she admirably just gave me space. We had a few wee breaks from doing things together during the trip, which was great. It allowed us to form distinct memories and to make the trip our very own. Luckily, she didn't get sick and could drink wine, so had a few winetasting adventures while I hung out with the Adamses and the Parkers. She handled the very very late nights admirably.

Rodney and Carla were troopers and wonderful to us. We invaded their apartment in Newtown, with Bibi and I taking turns in the lounge. I promptly made Rodney sick and it was the week he was starting grad school at night (MBA from Vic Uni). Still, he dragged his ass out to have fish and chips lunch with us. They gave us their phones, showed us how to catch the buses into town, cooked for us, and got us Indian takeaways. One night, we four played grown ups and went to Logan Brown for the fabby and cheap (with the $2 NZD to $1 USD exchange rate, three courses ran about $20) prix fixe meal.

I ditched the harpy for a bit.

I didn't die driving between Welly and New Plymouth.

Mission accomplished.

Sunday is here. Tuesday is coming.

2009-02-22T12:57:00.000-08:00

Glenn very very good. His wife Jan says that he tells all the neighbors that his "American girlfriend" is coming. To which I say, "Won't they be surprised when the Chinese mail order bride arrives?" We three had a long ol' chat on the phone the other day, and his brain is just in the process of "resetting." The wee stroke was his wake up call to get his blood pressure under control and to get fit. Not bad goals.

I have been having a hell of a time sleeping. Too much adrenaline. Last night, I stayed awake for four hours AFTER going to bed with an ambien. I did have a scare with Wyatt after I put my head down - his blood sugars were a little low going into the night, and it took ages to try to rouse him for some juice. I got scared then angry. Poor little buggar, all he wanted was sleep.

Every one has been so lovely. My folks don't object to my going. My in-laws are lovely. They gave me a card with some cash and told me to have fun. They said to say "hi" to Mel, the stalker in the Flight of the Conchords show. Funny people.

It's 2 in the morning and I was awake anyway

2009-02-19T16:13:00.000-08:00

Wyatt: (sound of disturbed sleep) Mommy...Daddy!
Mommy: Hi Wyatt. What's wrong?
Wyatt: (clear as a bell) Nothing. I just wanted to say "hi."

He's been sleeping on a cot at the foot of our bed since his numbers started going haywire. It's comforting to be there for him when he's scared, when he's sick. Makes up for all our crabbiness during the day, when daylight is burning, when there is work to be done, when somebody is being stroppy, when there are the distractions that make you forget where you fit in the grand scheme of things.

A million thoughts to Glenn Parker

2009-02-18T23:36:00.000-08:00

he's my tomato partner in crime in New Plymouth, New Zealand. He has had what his daughter termed a "small" stroke, but I know those Parkers. They tend to sandbag these things. I was supposed to stay with Glenn and his wife Jan around the 4th of March and of course, the note I got tonight said, "Dad and Mum still say you are very welcomed to stay." Just like them.

I have been friends with Glenn and lovely Jan for someodd 8 or so years now. We email eachother so regularly, that I get to feeling that something is amiss in the universe when two weeks goes by without a note. We compare the things falling off our bodies, getting fat, getting fit, politics, what's growing in the garden in general, and of course, tomatoes.

Glenn introduced the Kosovo tomato commercially. It is everyone's favorite - as it should be.

I do hope that it was a small stroke and that he's on his way to recovery.

The daunting Glucagon

2009-02-14T23:24:00.000-08:00

So, when Wyatt had the gastro, his numbers plummeted, and one night, they just wouldn't go back into range. Between 100-200 is optimal for a kid. Below 80 requires active intervention with carbohydrates. He was 54, which was getting dangerous. I pumped him with 45 grams of carbohydrates in the form of juice over 90 minutes. Normally, this would have skyrocketed Wyatt well past 200, but he started to drop even more.

I remembered something Matty read out loud from the big reference book about using glucagon in times of stomach flus and thought we'd better use it, even if Wyatt wasn't passed out. Normally, glucagon is reserved for when diabetics can't swallow and/or are in a hypoglycemic coma.

I woke Matty up to do the conversion math at about 2am. We decided on the minidosing regimen for which there were heaps of abstracts of studies and general instructions online. Trouble was, half the instructions were in volumes by weight and the other half were in units on a syringe. We bickered a bit. It helped to see on the glucagon instructions a box indicating that it was impossible to overadminister it. Bless Matty the Mathlete (yes, he was a high school mathlete), because he sussed it out, and we were able to use the normal small syringe we use for everything and not the large animal issue that comes in the glucagon kit (see above).

With our wee minidose, Wyatt's liver dumped sugars into his bloodstream, and he started to metabolize sugar again. We'd been prepared that glucagon could cause vomiting, so I had the boy sleep on his stomach. Sure enough, he barfed about two hours later. Oh, and he sponteneously crapped, too. After a clean up, we got to bed by 4.

I am grateful that Susan, our pharmacist kept giving us glucagon kits to leave around the house because we'd met our deductible and at that point, they were free. I am glad that the kit was not too hard to use in the end (that instruction sheet you see is double sided). The kit also saved us a 911 call or a trip to the emergency room.

Diabetes is the disease that keeps parents on their toes. As soon as the gastro ended, the boy caught a cold and his sugars have been very high.....

Yet another New Zealand music geek out post, but this time, I'm Aotearoa bound

2009-02-11T16:35:00.000-08:00

After much hmming and hahhhing and talking it over with the powers that be, I've decided to go to New Zealand for a week and a half with Bibi. Bibi is my New Zealand music partner in crime. We met over the Mutton Birds. She taught me about the Flying Nun back catalog, and I introduced her to the Phoenix Foundation and SJD.

I owe Matty, my dear friend and boss Diane, and various friends and family heaps of thanks for making this possible. I owe United Mileage Plus for getting me there (I needed 80,000 miles I had just attained the balance of 80,040).

I owe a fella I haven't yet met heaps of thanks for hosting private a Humphreys and Keen gig in Auckland for his birthday. I owe Ian Henderson, a penfriend of several years, heaps of thanks for giving me the heads up that the Puddle, a band he drums for, would be opening for Humphreys and Keen.

So, in the week and a half, I hope to (no particular order):
See Humphreys and Keen, opened by the Puddle, and Matthew Bannister in Auckland
See Over the Atlantic (the wonderful fellas who played our living room last spring) in AKL
See SJD (purveyor of thinking person's dance music and some of my favorite songs) in Wellington, at a beerfestival where I also hope to see past Bar Bodega owner Fraser McInnes
See Dan Adams (a composer and performer we saw at the 2004 NZ Arts Festival. We have kept in touch over the years since) in WLG
See Luke Buda, opened by Black Swan/White Swan, and Cassette in AKL the night before I fly home
Stay with Rodney, my best mate from uni, and his wife Carla in WLG. I will be bearing ungodly amounts of corn tortillas, pickled jalepenos, and green salsa (Carla is Mexican) and DVDs.
Spend the night with Glenn and Jan Parker, my tomato partners in crime in New Plymouth
Say "hi" to Liam Luff, the Radio Active DJ who turned me onto the Phoenix Foundation back in 2002, and who has provided invaluable advice along the way.
Say "hi" to Steve Dean, a penfriend from the Mutton Birds' list and sender of fine packages, in WLG
See Enaj, the girl I grew up with in the Valley, in Wanganui
Drink Ata Rangi Pinot Noir, my fav of all-time, in Martinborough (I have had the 02, 03, 04 vintages)
Meet Walter, a fella who is a friend of Lesley's here in Bishop and an old coworker of Luke Buda's, who does improvisational drama and will have a poster by Mat Hunkin, an artist I quite like, for me.
Buy a wee Pohutukawa painting from a fellow Phoenix Foundation fan.

This will be the first trip in five that I don't go to the South Island. Strange.

I have written the draft of a letter I will leave for Babbo. I am a worrier and wonder what it would be like if I died over there. My writing the letter is my acknowledgment that all things are possible. The letter itself is my acknowledgment that for all my disciplining, I am incredibly proud of Wyatt and quite love his very open personality. I have every intention of coming home on time, ready for loving and parenting. I do need this break, though.

I hope to ditch my humorless harpy somewhere over the Pacific.

In other NZ Music news, I had asked around re: the opening lyrics to the Able Tasmans' song "Angry Martyr" and got around to asking its singer and lyricist Peter Keen. To my surprise, he told me. Apparently, it'd been the subject of many a conjecture over the years, and he'd never got around to telling. I don't know how I feel about being the latecomer to the party, but the first to find out. Honored is one thing, but was I worthy?

30 Albums That Changed Your Life

2009-02-08T02:13:00.000-08:00

(from a Facebook exercise)
Doing this list, I realized I was more suited to making mixtapes. I'm a singles woman in the end.
Thank you to Karen O' Leary for laying down the gauntlet. It was hard and fun.
There are a few embarrassing things, and many would not be desert island disc candidates now.
I would love to read others' lists.

1) The Lark, Soundtrack to a 1960s Shaw Brothers' film. In Mandarin. Haven't the foggiest idea what they're on about.
2) West Side Story, Soundtrack, Film. Because when you're a jet, you're a jet all the way. Or, maybe it's because the Sharks were hot in the orange face paint?
3)The Carpenters, Singles 1969 -1973. Every whoa oh oh. My first or second LP.
4) The Singing Detective, Soundtrack, Television.
5) Jean Redpath, Song of the Seals. Celtic songs about chicks who ruin their families' honor and get the silver dagger treatment from their pissed off fathers/brothers/mothers floated my boat and formed my opinions on love when I was 16.
6) Shirley Bassey, Love is a Many Splendored Thing.
7) Linda and Richard Thompson, Shoot Out the Lights. A primer on how to have the world's ugliest divorce.
8) Fairport Convention, Unhalfbricking.
9) Squeeze, East Side Story. Pure pop confection.
10) Elvis Costello, Imperial Bedroom.
11) Ella Fitzgerald, Live in Rome. "I Loves You Porgy" has a note in it that Ella bends and makes me shiver.
12) Roberta Flack, First Take. The woman could sing her ass off. This was her first release, and she sings Leonard Cohen's "Hey, That's No Way to Say Goodbye." When I was 14, a boy I loved said he would probably try drugs, and I spent a whole weekend listening to this damn song and crying like an idiot because he was going to die - DIE I TELLS YA! He didn't die. We are still friends, even if we both have fewer brain cells.
13) Sam Cooke, Night Beat. Horny and sad Sam Cooke. Probably the same one who got himself killed in that fleabag motel.
14) Crowded House, Together Alone. It reminds me of living in Truckee, California under a million feet of snow and among exploding homebrew bottles. Matty and I set up our first house to it.
15) Nat "King" Cole, Nat King Cole Story.
16) Van Morrison, Moondance. The album that heralded my impending adolescence.
17) Humphreys and Keen, The Overflow. My romantic notion for adulthood. The album I keep pimping, I know. Sorry Karen O'.
18) The Phoenix Foundation, Horsepower. God damned, I love these boys so very much.
19) The Phoenix Foundation, Happy Ending. I love them so very much that I am skipping over the Front Lawn and SJD and Paul Kelly to have two of their releases on this list. Sorry Sean (but you would rule my mixtapes).
20) Topless Women Talk About Their Lives, Soundtrack. Quite a few of the mighty Flying Nun stable are well represented.
21) The Mutton Birds, Nature. What precipitated falling off the deep end over New Zealand pop. It's Hong Kong 1995, and I'm sweaty and delirious with the flu, with this on repeat for 14 hours at a time.
22) The Mutton Birds, Envy of Angels.
23) X, Los Angeles. Punk where there was no punk before.
24) Radiohead, The Bends.
25) Aztec Camera, High Land, Hard Rain. I was an impressionable teen and 18 year old Roddy Frame was a genius. This could be interchanged with Prefab Sprout's Steve McQueen/Two Wheels Good. You decide.
26) Bob Wills and His Texas Playboys, Any greatest hits compilation with "Dusty Skies." Reminds me of driving aimlessly and eating too many molten meat pies around New Zealand.
27) Pulp, A Different Class.
28) Aimee Mann, I'm with Stupid. I learned to garden to this.
29) Glenn Gould, The Goldberg Variations, the later one when he's all humming all the time.
30) Beatles, Hard Day's Night Soundtrack

poker and potluck babies and pies

2009-02-07T23:07:00.000-08:00

NB: the tin of Missouri Spudmaster chips the size of Matt and Zach's heads.

New fathers

Getting to the last of the Pinos Pies :(

Babbo holding Wayland and super psyched about it.

The Bacon Explosion v. 1 aka Vegetarians, Avert Your Eyes!

2009-02-07T19:47:00.000-08:00

the basketweave

Houston, we have germination and other slow news day reports

2009-01-28T16:23:00.000-08:00

The 2009 growing season is off! First sets of true leaves are coming in on the Japanese Black Trifele and the Grandeur (F1) tomatoes. The Pimientos de Padron peppers are up and will have their true leaves in about a week. The combination of the old propane stove coupled with the new wee grow light (a Christmas pressie from my mother in law) is pretty good for getting seedlings started.

My mother in law came down for an impromptu visit, and no tears were shed over the course of the weekend, no Xanax consumed. This was a pretty fine victory. I am heartened. She did ask if Matt and I were alcoholics and if we were going to church. I, to my own detriment, said something to the effect, "I REALLY love the idea of alcohol, but just can't drink very much of it." I am the daughter of an alcoholic, so I am aware of the devastation it can cause. But I am 40. You would think I would know by now if I was headed down that road. My one to two drinks a night, a few times a week does not convince me it's going to happen. She asked if we were going to church because there is a light up Jesus picture Matt found at the dump in our bathroom and a Jesus air freshener on our fridge.

I am obsessed with an Able Tasmans' song called "Angry Martyr" and cannot for the life of me figure out the first line or the bit sounds like a round. It's about a girl and god, near as I can tell.

Wyatt had a quick bout of gastroenteritis and it made his blood sugars plummet. That was a first. Viruses usually mean that they surge. Diabetes, the disease that keeps everyone on their toes.

Parties, pork products, and playdates. Life is full of those at the mo'. I made a bacon explosion because the blog link was sent to me by no less than two different fellas on the same day and because the article about it was the top story over at the New York Times. Two pounds of bacon and two pounds of Italian sausage, barbecue sauce, and heated smoke. Pictures to follow.

It is done

2009-01-20T09:58:00.000-08:00

Goodbye and good riddance to the Bush Administration.
Greetings and a huge measure of good luck to the new Obama Administration.

A thought to Sam Cooke's "A Change Is Gonna Come"

I was born by the river in a little tent
And just like the river, I've been running ever since
It's been a long time coming
But I know a change is gonna come

It's been too hard living, but I'm afraid to die
I don't know what's up there beyond the sky
It's been a long time coming
But I know a change is gonna come

I go to the movie, and I go downtown
Somebody keep telling me "Don't hang around"
It's been a long time coming
But I know a change is gonna come

Then I go to my brother and I say, "Brother, help me please"
But he winds up knocking me back down on my knees

There've been times that I've thought I couldn't last for long
But now I think I'm able to carry on
It's been a long time coming
But I know a change is gonna come

Hosteling international

2009-01-19T22:58:00.000-08:00

Matt and Bev from Otley, England, have been here since after Christmas. They are working on their bouldering projects/problems. Matt is the healthiest I've ever seen him, and that's a good thing. They are easy to be with, and Matt still makes lovely curries and Beef and Guinness stews.

Masa and Chris from Vancouver came by for two nights. Masa got shite weather here in Bishop last year, so our endless days of "bluebird" have been a lovely treat.

Matty took all of them shooting - killing clay pigeons with a shotgun and killing tin cans with my wee 22 rifle.

Janet came back from the Bay Area.

It's been a crowded house of sorts, but February will come and all will go quiet again.

Rode my bike to Round Valley and back the last two weekends. A round trip is 35 miles. It's been awesome.

Schoberlew's miscellany

2009-01-13T15:00:00.000-08:00

We had a pity party last night, where those interested could send bad news up in flames. It's been hard to get a clean slate with a bit of psychic goo residue left over from last year.
I send deep and sincere positive thoughts to one of my dearest friends ever.
Wyatt's GERD is back. Ugh. Oh well. He vomited in our bed the last few mornings. At least we know the Prevacid works and we have the insurance to cover the $3.25 a day it costs for prescriptions.
I got subpoenaed by a county sheriff today. I had been expecting it. I was cheerful. He was shocked.
Peter Keen (see post below) gave me some lovely cooking tips for a tapas pepper called Pimientos de Padron. I am still floating.

The world according to Peter Keen

2009-01-07T09:47:00.000-08:00

Thank you SC for sending this along.

Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, the song that still sends shivers up my spine after nearly three years of endless play. Peter Keen, the singer and lyricist, works aboard the research vessel the Discovery for about SIX months a year. Graeme Humphreys, the composer, is a shock jock on New Zealand radio.

You can hear songs and find out more on their Myspace page.

Huge gaping hole and hope

2008-12-30T15:21:00.000-08:00

There is a post that I have to save in draft mode until all the crap that surrounds it blows over. I don't mean to be cryptic, but a call from a private investigator on Christmas Eve pitched me into a deep funk, I had a write about it (the draft), and I am feeling much better. Wyatt is fine. Matty is fine. I am fine.

On the positive side, the slew of beautiful wee babies being sprung in Bishop is making me happy for all the new parents. Yes, we apparently are a breeding town, even if our population is smaller than it was in the 1960s.

Kate, Matty, Zach, Michelle and I tucked into a 1.5 lb barrel of Spudmaster ColossalChips from Bellflower, Missouri. The potato chips were a lovely pressie sent from my lovely friend Steve in St. Louis. Michelle made an exotic lamb stew, we played poker, finished the keg of Brutal, and tucked into the chips. It was a fine night. Picture of our heads buried in the Spudmaster tin will soon follow.

"No good deed goes unpunished"

2008-12-26T21:45:00.000-08:00

That's what I have been told.

So, over the years, I've called 911 in the middle of the night when it appears that one of our neighbors is beating his partner. It follows a pattern - tt always has. There is foul swearing. There is the sound of various things and the partner being beaten. There are pleas for the beating to stop. Well, apparently, I have been the only person in the neighborhood to call. Maybe I'm the only one who doesn't fear deportation? So, all my 911 calls are going to be used in the prosecution of the man who was caught beating and imprisoning his partner last summer (The partner made *that* call).

I have been in a deep funk lately in part because on Christmas Eve, a private investigator working for the attorney representing the man wanted to question me about my calls to 911. His long ol' cheery message got me shaking. At heart, I think he wanted me to contradict myself. I say let my calls to 911 stand. I am mostly unnerved because now I know that my name and details are on public record. I have a child to protect from exposure to abusive and degrading behavior. On one hand, it's made me brave. On the other, I feel incredibly vulnerable.

Post script January 15th: Two night after Christmas, a sheriff's deputy tried to serve me a subpoena. We were gone, and Janet found him wandering around our yard with a big flashlight.

On the 30th, the man was banging around outside his trailer, and I called 911. New Year's Eve, poor Michelle got involved when she heard the partner scream for help. A detective even turned up to the Black Sheep to get her statement.

It's been very ugly and emotionally draining. It has taken a lot of energy and talking about it with friends not to succumb to a deep deep depression. Matt has been supportive enough, but just can't see why Michelle and I would be freaked out.

The other night, we decided to have a wee pity party, where a few of us with concerns in our lives would say goodbye to those concerns and send them up the woodstove flames. The beater was top of my list.

Maybe it worked?

I was told all along that despite all the evidence against the man, he demanded a trial. Well, last night, he pled to a deal and will still serve time. He is currently out on his own recognizance until sentencing , but there are definite no contact orders in place.

Michelle and I haven't been sleeping well and still aren't quite, but the ball is rolling and the psychic goo is lifting.

Wow, they must really want the business

2008-12-22T12:24:00.000-08:00

We picked an Animas Ping pump for Wyatt. It has a remote control unit that administers insulin from 10 feet away. I called and left a message for our nurse at CHLA this morning to get the ball rolling and she called back within 15 minutes. An hour and a half later, a representative from Animas Ping called and took our insurance, medical, and order details.

It's been great working with competent folks who have all the right answers to my financial, medical, and logistical questions. I wish all medicine worked this well.

These suckers retail for about $7,500, so maybe that has something to do with it?

Proof of a higher being

2008-12-21T17:21:00.000-08:00

The Owens Valley. The place where we live. The place we love so much.

Zabars' cinnamon rugelach. They achieve even higher perfection when we leave them on our woodstove for a few minutes.

Russian River's Sanctification: Who's afraid of the "big bad BRET?" We'll tell you who: winemakers! Because of our close proximity to several hundred wineries, we often get winemakers visiting our brewery. (After all, it takes a lot of great beer to make great wine!) Because we use 100% Brettanomyces yeast to ferment Sanctification, most winemakers will only smell the glass, and only a very few will venture to taste the beer. They think the Brettanomyces will attach to their clothing and end up in their winery. A simple solution was offered: keep a smudge pot burning at the door of our brewery so they can burn their clothes when exiting, but even that was not enough. After giving it more thought, we concluded that winemakers think Brettanomyces might scar their taste buds and possible even permeate their skin? Either way, Sanctification is one of the most unique beers you will ever taste! It is fermented with 100% Brettanomyces, rather than the traditional Saccharomyces. 6.25%ABV / 1.060 O.G / 27 BUs Available rotationally in the pub, and rotationally in 750mL cork finished bottles.

Exhausted

2008-12-17T15:08:00.000-08:00

That's what everyone seems to be, even in this podunk town of ours.

We went down to LA Saturday and came back Tuesday and are worn little nubbins. Wyatt had a pretty productive diabetes check up Monday. We are going to start the ball rolling and get an insulin pump, which is basically a beeper sized external pancreas. We'll still need to do 2,000 or so glucose checks (involving finger sticks) a year for a few years, but we can skip the 1,500 shots and do about 300something instead. It will mean that we can work towards reducing Wyatt's A1c averages (a good thing).

The gastro check up was canceled because of illness, and I didn't handle the news well. I just kind of zoned out at the hospital and felt a bit overwhelmed. It means that I'll probably be taking the boy down on a Monday for a Tuesday appointment and drive back. 10+ hours of driving in little over 24 hours for a 15 minute appointment.

I was being selfish. Oh well. Luckily, we came home from LA to a wonderful hot lasagna (thanks Janet) and tamales (thanks girls!) and an emptied dishwasher (thanks Michelle).

And today's a better day already.

My list of gratitude goes here:

We did not get sideswiped by that really fast white car on Hollywood Blvd.
We did not get into any rain related accidents, even though we saw heaps of them.
We beat the road closure home.
We are not fighting a big or terminal disease, like so many families who use CHLA are.
The Santa CHLA provided was vintage and lovely, not cheeseball.
I have a lovely aunt and cousin who house and feed us when we are in LA.
The espresso drinks at Intelligentsia on Sunset are getting better and better.
Matt and I like Silver Lake/Los Feliz. Just as well CHLA is there.
There was a Swiss Mont D'or Vacherin at the Silver Lake Cheeseshop.
Wyatt is a typical almost four year old dude and lacks no self confidence.

My husband has embraced his inner redneck

2008-12-15T22:32:00.001-08:00

Matty bought a dirtbike. He is 38 and this is only the second vehicle he's ever owned. He only rode around on a motorcycle for the first time a few weeks ago.

He is not a rash guy. He's an engineer. He's been wanting to get into the mountains more. He helps with and encourages all the shows I want to do. I reckoned that him buying a used dirtbike was easier than him having an affair or other midlife crisis. :)

The Schoberlews are not big spenders. As the exchequer of the house, I would have preferred that he bought it after property taxes were all said and done, but besides the mortgages on the house we live in ($840 a month) and the rentals ($2600, covered by the rent, as long as the units are rented) and $20,000 in a home equity loan that went towards the remodel we did when the boy was born, we have no debt.

So with that, Matty's going to embrace his inner redneck. Long may he ride.

Damned pink eye

2008-12-11T20:28:00.000-08:00

Missing a cousin's birthday gathering and feeling like crap because of a cold that settled in my sinuses and then eyes. This is me all cleaned up too.

Getting to the last of my treasured Pino Meat Pies

2008-12-11T20:26:00.000-08:00

Troy and Dulcie and Solomon will always have a special place in my heart. They nourished us with their pies!

the laundry list of medical curiosities

2008-12-10T10:15:00.000-08:00

It was a year ago today that Wyatt got diagnosed with diabetes...and what a year! 2,000+ blood glucose tests and some 1,500 shots later, we are starting to get our heads around the disease.

I have a raging case of pink eye.

I saw Dr. Perry, one of my two surgeons, yesterday and he gave me the go ahead to wait until late spring to have my angle plate removed from my left hip (I have some concerts to put on and some skiing to do) and until fall to have my second femoral rotational osteotomy. He was rather pleased with the x-rays of my hip.

On Monday, we go see Wyatt's endocrinologist at Childrens Hospital LA.

On Tuesday, we see Wyatt's GERD nurse practitioner at Childrens Hospital LA.

Genevieve seems to be squeezing out her baby boy today.*

It was also a year ago today that Karen nearly killed herself by allergic reaction to something...on AT's birthday!

*It appears that G labored for 30 hours before they gave her a C-section. Many thoughts for a speedy recovery.

Keeping up Miss Silvia and 1st Line Coffee

2008-12-07T20:09:00.000-08:00

Our Rancilio Miss Silvia espresso machine is nearing its second birthday. Forget all you think about Italian engineering, ours is near god damned perfect. We both pull one to two shots a morning, every morning.

The only thing that has happened so far is that the chrome on the group head (where the portafilter - the cup that holds the coffee grounds- sits) shield has bubbled and flaked. The machine was out of warranty when I inquired with the retailer, 1st Line out of New York. They had never heard of the problem but resolved to get us a replacement piece at no cost. It did take months for this to happen, but it happened.

Turns out, the shield is nothing more than chromed plastic. Matt reckons that it is out of necessity, so that the operator doesn't burn him or herself.

Here's to more and more years with the mistress.

A ray of morning sunshine

2008-12-03T11:36:00.000-08:00

Now, if he could shoot out a Fender Passport PA and world peace, that'd be super peachy.

Silly fantasy fluff goes here

2008-12-02T16:31:00.000-08:00

I have started to play Lotto. For $1-2 a week, I can entertain myself with thoughts of what I'd do with all that ungodly amount of money. I don't fantasize about the good things I could do. I fantasize about my rock and roll promoter ambitions. So, this is how I would spend some of the money:

Buy a Fender Passport Portable PA and generator so I could do wee concerts outside, guerrilla style.
Jack the house up and excavate us a basement that could be used as a music venue/dancehall.
Put on a mini festival featuring those NZers the Mutton Birds, SJD, and the Phoenix Foundation in Golden Bay's Mussel Inn.
Buy a Mercedes 15 seater transit van that bands could use to tour the States.

Silly, I know.

It is a diversion from the headlines I have been reading re: Mumbai. The picture of distraught 2 year old Moshe Holtzberg, who lost his parents, was so very sad.

I got all teary eyed when we got our issue in the mail

2008-11-28T15:59:00.001-08:00

It's a stunning cover.

A scare and goodbye Tristan

2008-11-20T00:03:00.000-08:00

We went and saw Tristan (insert flamboyant, lovely, sweet and kind man here - oh, and if you are into that sort of thing- handsome as in a hippie dreadlocked way) off tonight.

Wyatt had a low because I didn't factor his being with his favorite woman in the whole wide world (5 year old Estreya) before giving him his dose of insulin. I dosed correctly for the food, but the adrenaline drove his blood sugars way, way down. Matt and I saw for the first time what a diabetic "low" looks like. It's not pretty. Imagine your three year old stumbling around a restaurant parking lot and drinking juice out of a juice box like it was mana/ambrosia/cold clear water dripping from the sky.

He is fine now. Thank God for juice boxes in cars.

Tristan and his girlfriend, Carrie, were lovely additions to town. I will miss them.