Tag Archives: music

Photo Friday: Lucky 13

In the words of my Dad, I’ve been “steady busy.” I’ve been planning a new ice cream blog. Because when you can’t find the time or energy to update your first blog, why not start another one?  I’ve also been: making ice cream, taking a small business workshop (see also: ice cream), worrying about my dog (he’s fine, don’t worry, but there’s been stuff), basking in the glow of my Craft Whores win, and celebrating anniversaries.

Last Wednesday was my 13th wedding anniversary. Dave had his usual Wednesday night jam class thing, and that means on Wednesdays, Dave is gone before I get home. This means that Wednesday is not the night we make sweet weekly love, but rather Wednesday nights I have to not only walk the dog, but also provide my own dinner (my life is hard).

But I found these on the counter when I got home.

I assumed there were 12, because a dozen roses is a thing, right? Later Dave told me there were 13 because we’ve been married 13 years and I was touched in my cold black heart by his  uncharacteristic romantic symbolism. But the best part of my anniversary present was the note on the counter saying “Chuck walk: check.” When I realized I could report directly to the couch, plant my ass there and watch TV, my eyes welled up with tears of joy. ‘Twas a happy anniversary indeed!

Last week was also our 20-year dating anniversary which, holy crap, is a long time, no? We celebrated by seeing Peter Gabriel on his last “Back to Front” tour stop. He performed the album “So” in its entirety in honor of the 25th anniversary of its release. Which occurred when I was FOURTEEN years old and Peter Gabriel didn’t look like an elderly Druid. But he sounded awesome. He also played two other non-“So” sets, including songs from the album “Us” that came out the month I met Dave (11 days before we officially started dating, not that I looked it up and counted). I assume he played “Come Talk to Me” in honor of our 20th anniversary, right?

As I rested my head on Dave’s shoulder and listened to the song, memories of that CD playing over and over as we fell in love came flooding back to me like 20 years hadn’t passed. How the hell did 20 years pass so quickly? Add Peter Gabriel to the growing list of bastards who made me cry at a concert.

Please to enjoy this video (this wasn’t our show, but the only video from our show on YouTube gave me vertigo). Song starts around 2:15:

Slap and Tickle

I like Squeeze. If you’re like most of the people I mentioned this to recently, you have no idea what I mean by that. That makes me sad.

When I mentioned seeing Squeeze in concert, people didn’t know who they were. This blew my mind. You don’t know “Tempted?” Did you not watch MTV in the 80s?

Confession: I used to change the lyrics of “Tempted” to reflect how anxious I was for romance in my pitiful adolescence — “alarmed by the seduction, I wish that it would stop start.”

But if all you know is “Tempted,” then you are missing out on Squeeze. As wonderful as Paul Carrack’s voice is, his tenure in Squeeze was short-lived and he wasn’t the lead singer.

I bought Singles 45’s and Under on cassette and played it until the tape almost snapped. Squeeze was never my favorite band. I didn’t love them and obsess over them like I did the Police, or the Beatles, or Genesis. But I liked every song on that tape.

I never would have been able to articulate why back then. So I was grateful for the opportunity to get to see them live for the first time Thursday night and figure it out.

Bands trying to recapture their previous glory can be depressing. One of the shirts for sale said “Squeeze est. 1973.” I was born in 1973…gulp (that makes them old, not me…right?). But I need not have worried about the quality or energy of their performance.

Within seconds of their taking the stage, I felt I’d been reunited with an old friend. And I realized why I like Squeeze. Their music is catchy and fun to sing, but the lyrics are also clever. I’ve realized I’m a lyrics girl. If I can’t make out the words, or the words are tired and trite, I don’t care how great the music or talented the singer. Squeeze spits out lyrics fast and furious that are so witty, combined with music so infectious, I’m putty in their hands. Glenn Tilbrook and Chris Difford might have looked older, but the songs sounded exactly right.

I had hoped there would be more videos of the show on YouTube by now, but no such luck, so here are a couple of classic videos.

My favorite song is “Slap and Tickle,” a song about young love/lust with lyrics that ring so true I feel like they read my diary (“He saw her in the morning, out with his sister Pauline. She felt all shy and soppy, he acted cool and cocky.”). Add the frantic music and I feel like I should check my answering machine to see if the boy I like called. They played it during the encore and it was perfect (starts at ~1:10 below).

“Annie Get Your Gun” encapsulates my rare moments of high-energy euphoria. I used to call it “getting giddy” in high school and college. Glenn Tilbrook is so adorable in this video I want to slap him.

Here is a video from the actual show. This was the last song, “Black Coffee in Bed.” This captures their charm, joking about the extreme heat (~6:00), and pretending to smash their instruments (~10:30).


This post is a response to this week’s writing prompt at The Lightning and the Lightning-Bug to write about something you like starting with the words “I like” (go figure!).

Destroy My Sweater

I once believed I’d look smaller if I wore clothes that were too big. In high school, the Gap sold a cardigan sweater that ran ridiculously large. Boom! I could have the satisfaction of buying a medium and still have it be two sizes too big. I got the foamy green color and my friend Sarah got the dusty rose, or maybe it was coral. Why does it irritate me that I can’t remember the color of Sarah’s sweater? All I know is the sweater looked cute on her. On me…not so much.

I got rid of it, right?

No. Being the pack rat I am, I still had the foamy green over-sized Gap cardigan sweater five years later when I started my job. I soon learned I needed to leave a sweater at work permanently to protect me from the arctic air conditioning in the summer. The hoarder in me was thrilled to finally have a use for the otherwise unworn foamy green over-sized Gap cardigan sweater. See, it is good to hang onto things (let’s reinforce my hoarding!). Over the years the foamy green over-sized Gap cardigan sweater slowly started to disintegrate, starting at the cuffs.

I threw it out, right?

No. I rolled up the sleeves to hide the fraying edges and the growing holes. The sweater was too big, remember? I could roll the cuffs a few times and still get full arm coverage.

I have next to no fashion sense. But even I couldn’t keep wearing that sweater. My colleagues were going to think I was homeless.

I threw it out, right?

No. Even though I wouldn’t wear it, it could still come in handy. Like that time last winter when a cold rain pummeled me sideways in the wind tunnel that is the walk from the subway to my office. After removing my soaked wool pants, I sat on my chair with the foamy green (mercifully) over-sized Gap cardigan sweater draped over my lap until my pants dried. And I believe I updated my Facebook status to say I wasn’t wearing pants. Praise all that is holy my office has a door.

During my office cleaning in May, I faced a critical decision.

Maybe it looks better on…like, on fire.

I decided it was time for the foamy green over-sized Gap cardigan sweater to go. But not before documenting it’s foamy green over-sizedness. You can see why I had to keep this sweater for 21 years, no? The fabric to cost ratio alone made it worthwhile. I love how it hangs all heavy and ill-fitting. The extra fabric bunching under my elbow is particularly fetching.

Thank God no one came into the bathroom during this photo shoot.

Dave likes this close up shot of the holes.

It might be time to admit I have a problem.

I threw it out, right?

R.I.P. foamy green over-sized Gap cardigan sweater

I couldn’t get this song out of my head while writing this post, so here you go.

Ignorance and Malt Liquor

They say laughter is the best medicine. So when I laugh at people, I’m just looking out for my health.

One of many reasons I’ll be in hell if it exists is laughing at an impassioned speaker during high school who said, “we will no longer take your condensation!” Expressing frustration with condescension but messing up the word…now that’s ironic, Alanis. To this day, when I want to feign indignation, I say:  “I will take your sublimation, I will suffer through your precipitation, but by God, I will no longer stand for your condensation.”

So I’m a pain in the ass. But lest ye think I have no embarrassing moments of stupidity, I’m here to invite you to laugh at me.

Most of my highlights are the result of being naive. I have lived a pretty sheltered life. Although I’ve always had a mouth like a sewer, that came from growing up around my older brother and his friends, not the result of experience. I was, and sometimes still am, an innocent Catholic school girl at heart.

Sophomore year of high school, I was startled at the change in appearance of one of our classmates. I turned to my friend and whispered, “Wow, she really got fat!” And my friend looked at me incredulously and said, “She’s pregnant!” I can’t remember if she added, “you moron,” but if not, I deserved it. I was still a little confused even after the explanation (uh, isn’t sex required to get pregnant?!?), but managed to hold it in.

My specialty is misinterpreting song lyrics.

Sometimes I take things too literally. I’m embarrassed to report it was only a few years ago I finally realized “Santa Claus” was actually Daddy dressed up as Santa Claus in the song “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.” Before that, I had always just thought Mommy was a slut.

One of my favorite songs ever is “Mama Said Knock You Out,” by L.L. Cool J. It came out during my senior year of high school, when I was immersed in English literature (immersed as in having to memorize some of the prologue of The Canterbury Tales in Middle English). So when L.L. said, “Old English filled my mind, and I came up with a funky rhyme,” I was terribly impressed at such an allusion in a rap song.

Because clearly L.L. Cool J meant this Old English:

Of course, I learned later about an alternative “Olde English.” Perhaps this is the origin of the funky rhyme?

I still prefer to believe it’s a double entendre.

For all I know, the line might have been a triple entendre…

I could have swiped stock photos, but I am committed to my craft. Beowulf came from the library (buy it? bitch, please!), furniture polish from the grocery store, and the malt liquor…let’s say finding Olde English 800 in my neck of the woods was not as easy. We’d pretty much given up when we happened upon a little corner store with “wine and beer” in the title. On the way in, I had a premonition that our purchase of Olde English 800 would not go without comment. The guy behind us didn’t disappoint: “OE 800?!?! Kickin’ it old school like Dr. Dre!”

Nope, taking a picture of it for my blog. Dave’s excited to take it to his next band practice. He insisted I put it back in the fridge as soon I was finished taking photos so it wouldn’t be exposed to light. Something about degrading the quality…ahem. “Sweetie, I put the 40 of OE 800 next to your imported Belgian Trappist Ale.”

What’s your best moment of ignorance?

30 Seconds of Greatness

It’s been awhile since I wrote about music. I still plan to input all of the songs I highlighted (in a positive way) during my iPod shuffle challenge into Pandora to try to train it to offer me new music that I’ll like.

But for now, I’d like to highlight a song that being a tennis fan has ingrained in my brain. That’s because I’ve seen the following commercial a thousand times over the past two Australian Opens:

I became obsessed with this music last year. First of all, what a great selection to make someone want to visit Australia. “I want to go where you go when you’re gone…” Australia is exotic, it’s always the opposite season! Adorable marsupials live there! You would be wearing a cute sundress if you were there right now! Secondly, it just haunted me until I did a search to find out what it was.

It is “A Heart Divided” by Holly Throsby. Unfortunately, I like the 30 seconds highlighted in the commercial considerably better than the rest of it. It almost seems as though the rest of it doesn’t fit, like she couldn’t think of where to go from the excellent beginning. Overall, it’s still quite pretty, but I kind of want it to be different. Last year I just couldn’t quite pull the trigger to download it.  

What do you think? Do you like the song? Am I just too attached to the part in the commercial to be objective?

2011 Favorite Christmas Song Addendum

I shared my favorite Christmas songs last year, but I also like to expand my collection each year. So here’s an addendum to last year’s list, although it’s getting harder and harder to find new stuff.

The Sirius Christmas channel, “Holly,” makes me want to stab somebody this year (program director, perhaps?). I really don’t need Taylor Swift to sing ever, let alone sing Christmas songs that sound exactly like all her other songs. I would also prefer to live in a world without Christmas songs performed by the seemingly hundreds of interchangeable and faceless (to me anyway) “Talent” reality show contestants, and the frigging cast of Glee. And was anyone clamoring for new versions of Wham’s “Last Christmas” (where does the exclamation point go when you need to add apostrophe-s to “Wham!”?)? Dude, if you gave your heart away last Christmas, you no longer have possession of it to give to someone special this year. Stupidest lyrics EVER.

So I switched to Sirius’ “Holiday Traditions” channel this year, and I feel like I’m ready to retire and move to Florida. But I’ve found some good “dirt old, but new to me” songs to add to my collection this year.

“Snow” from White Christmas

I’ve never heard people so awestruck by snow, it’s like they’re from Mars (or D.C., HA!). Seeing the scene from White Christmas just makes it worse. Danny Kaye seems to be implying he wants to shovel. Dude, you’re welcome here anytime, wash our car while you’re at it.

“To see a great big man entirely made of snow…” Take it easy, little lady. Sexually frustrated much? 

I keep trying to come up with even sillier lyrics than “I’ll wash my hair with snow,” (I’ll get some hookers and blow?). Who the hell would want to wash their hair with snow, well…unless they watched this YouTube video and believed an ice-cold rinse would help their charming new frizz problem, when really this woman is just fucking with people. “Let’s see if I can get people to rinse their hair in ice-cold water…suckers!” Yeah, doesn’t work (not that I tried it or anything, ha-ha very funny lady, you got me!).

Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gorme “Hurry Home For Christmas”

Oh good lord, this is bad. In a good way. “Until you get here, jingle-bells-won’t-jingle-not-a-single-jingle-baby…” Listening to this makes me feel dirty somehow.

Pearl Bailey “Five Pound Box of Money”

Tell it like it is, sister! I’m so with her. I don’t want a lot for Christmas, just early retirement. Santa, can you hook me up?

Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby “We Wish You the Merriest”

I love the almost frantic need to provide yuletide greetings. As is so often the case with Frank, he sounds a little drunk (even though there’s no dit-dit-dit). For some reason I find this drunken persona of the Rat Pack endearing and think they would’ve been fun to hang out with until I remember how uncomfortable I am with habitually drunk people.

Amazon has been giving away a free Christmas song download every day in December. I needn’t have been so excited about this. My favorite of the bunch so far, I already knew (but didn’t own, and now own for free, so yea!).

The Superions “Fruitcake”

Dave’s been threatening to make fruitcake for years…shudder. The song includes a fun mace reference.

The Grand Candy “America, It’s Time to Shop (Best of Black Friday)”

This song by Dave’s talented guitar teacher (who I’ve mentioned a few times and think I always refer to as “Dave’s talented guitar teacher”) makes me smile. Sort of a Christmas/current events (well, current as of 2001 anyway)/yet funny version of The The’s “Swine Fever.” And I’m willing to bet you don’t have any other Christmas songs that mention anthrax or smallpox (please, please tell me if you do!).

But, my favorite Christmas song ever is still this version of “Carol of the Bells.” Who doesn’t want to induce a burst aneurysm for the holidays?


What’s your favorite Christmas song?

Old Friends

A Gift

The song didn’t exist and then, as if by magic, it did. He sensed it could be his greatest work. 

When Paul Simon said, “I think you should sing Bridge Over Troubled Water,” although Art Garfunkel obviously did sing it (and Paul ironically resented how the song came to be associated with Art), his original response was reportedly, “Nah, you go ahead and sing it.”


Simon & Garfunkel did not record another album after Bridge Over Troubled Water. If childhood friends who built their relationship over years and blended their voices together so beautifully couldn’t maintain a harmonious friendship, what hope is there for the rest of us?

The Harmony Game

Last year was the 40th anniversary of Bridge Over Troubled Water and I recently saw “The Harmony Game,” a documentary about the making of the album. The documentary reignited my college obsession with Simon & Garfunkel’s music. And their friendship.

I enjoyed the documentary as much for the old footage of Paul and Art interacting at the height of their partnership as for the more recent commentary on the music by them and the other players. The ease and bond between them back then came across clearly and poignantly. However, by the end of their partnership, Paul’s lyrics gave powerful voice to the abandonment, rejection, and regret he felt in his friendship. Those feelings resonate with me more than I’d like to admit.

I discovered the Simon & Garfunkel catalog and read their biography at a time of unwelcome changes in some of my friendships, some fading with distance and others damaged by regretful  behavior. From sitting in my tiny dorm room trying to work out Art’s harmonies, to shedding a tear 20 years later realizing I don’t sing very much anymore partly because I no longer have anyone to sing with, their music both soothes and unsettles me.

Obviously I don’t know the status of Simon and Garfunkel’s relationship today, nor is it any of my business. There was friendship, partnership, estrangement. There were reunions and rejections (like Art having to be talked into singing Paul’s masterpiece or when Paul decided to strip Art’s vocals from what was supposed to be their reunion album). The interviews did not focus on the friendship and Art, in particular, focused on how wonderful his memories were. Neither man mentioned any debate about who would sing “Bridge,” and Art only said how much he enjoyed “delivering Paul’s intentions.”

Both men danced around the obvious questions about friendship. Art said: “I don’t want to play my friendship with Paul on camera. It’s very deep, very private, and full of love. But yeah, those songs are about friendship.” Paul said: “If there’s a theme that runs through Bridge about leaving, it was certainly unintentional.”

This discussion centered around the most obvious abandonment song, “The Only Living Boy in New York” (one of three songs Paul did in concert this year that made me cry). But when Art heaped praise on what he called Paul’s “under-appreciated gem,” “Song for the Asking,” I couldn’t help but (probably) misinterpret this “love song” to be about his friendship with Art too. 

During the discussion of this song, Paul said, “Notes of apology that show up in album after album, that’s just to say I haven’t forgotten what I did to various people.”

“Thinking it over, I’ve been sad. Thinking it over, I’d be more than glad to change my ways, for the asking. Ask me and I will play all the love that I hold inside.”


I’ve been hurt by people I thought were my friends. And I’ve done really dumb things when I’ve felt a friend slipping away. It’s like my subconscious tried to avoid the pain of loss by, ironically, causing me to behave in a way that would speed up the loss. People say marriages require work, but friendship is more difficult for me. Without the commitment of marriage, the close proximity of shared space, and physical intimacy, what binds one to a friend?

One of the goals I set for 2011 was to be more social–a euphemism if ever there was one. It had become easier to believe I didn’t need friendship than to put forth effort, since that effort often exhausted me and left me feeling empty and rejected. And while it is daunting to feel that way, I decided to stop pretending I don’t need friendship or that a happy marriage negates that need. So I’m trying what for me is heavy lifting in the friend area. Like making some. And being a better one to those I have. I toy with the idea of trying to make amends to those I’ve hurt even though I worry those scabs are better left unpicked.

The jury is still out on how I’m doing, but I’m trying. In the year when both Simon and Garfunkel turned 70 (how terribly strange!), I wish for them the same thing I wish for myself, to have a cherished old friend sharing that park bench.


I haven’t even scratched the surface on the actual music. I’d love to write about my favorite songs, but haven’t been able to whittle my list down to fewer than 20. I might as well just say, “I really, really like Simon & Garfunkel” and leave it at that! Do you have a favorite Simon & Garfunkel song?

Have you ever reached out to an estranged friend? Or an old friend with whom you’ve lost touch? How did that go?

(Crappy) Photo Friday: Sting Back to Bass Concert

Possibly the Longest Intro to a Concert Review Ever

Sting is my Yoko Ono. He broke up my favorite band of all time. Unlike Yoko, Sting was actually in the band he broke up so I liked him as much as I hated him. I followed Sting’s solo career hoping it would sound something like the Police. It didn’t.

But I enjoyed his first three solo albums and was mostly with him through the fourth.

In the 80s, I read a Sting quote basically saying he wanted to stop before getting old; something about prancing around on stage as 50-year old being undignified. I remember being panicked at the thought of no more Sting music. Then Mercury Falling came out and I wish 30-year old Sting had convinced 45-year old Sting to stop before pouring that noise poison into my defenseless ears. I didn’t like a single song on that album.  Verily, verily I cried unto Sting, “What did I do to deserve country music?”

The televised concerts I saw during the Brand New Day era were awful. He rearranged song after song to sound alike–S-L-O-W and stripped of all their energy. Sting is the artist and the music is his canvas and all that shit, so he can rearrange his own songs however he wants. But I am free to hate the crap out of it.

In his early solo phase, I called his penchant for rearranging “jazzification.” The jazzifying strained, but did not break, my patience.  After hearing the “All This Time” re-interpretation of songs, I changed the term to “Stingification.” Because there was no jazziness, no sign of life at all, in these arrangements. Stingification is a term I’m trying to get into more common use. It simply refers to someone pissing all over something you love because they can. This makes me so sad:

Back to Bass Tour – DAR Constitution Hall – November 10, 2011

Last week, I gambled and went to my first solo Sting show since 1991. The tour was meant to celebrate 25 years of Sting, which implied a focus on his best stuff. I purposely didn’t investigate the set list or the new “best of” CD, because I wanted to keep hope alive.

First things first, Sting is an amazing-looking 60-year old. I was a little taken aback when he came out almost as bald as a cue ball, given the contrast from his recent Grizzly Adams phase. Maybe he just seemed small from my vantage point, but something about his head and how wee he looked made him appear almost elfin.

I didn’t really have any complaints about the five-piece band, you know, other than their not being the Police. The song arrangements were pretty tight and not overly slow. Sting also seemed to be singing more normally than he did during the Police reunion, without any of the annoying mumbling and “scat” vocalizing I got chastised by Sting fans for complaining about on the Police fan club forum (one of my fellow complainers totally nailed it with this, “It’s like the words are running down his chin!”).

The show started out very energetic and promising. But even though everyone sounded great, the energy ground to a halt for me pretty quickly because of the set list. Sting and I simply disagree on what his best work is.


The energetic opening of “All This Time, “Every Little Thing She Does is Magic,” “Seven Days,” and “Demolition Man.” “Seven Days” was probably my favorite performance of the night. It was my favorite song from Ten Summoners’ Tales and it sounded like it should sound, which is so unlike Sting it made me smile.

“Fortress Around Your Heart” This is one of the only solo Sting songs I ever thought sounded Police-like so I’ve always loved it. While they played it, I was transported to Blossom Music Center in Cuyahoga Falls, OH where I saw Sting for the first time with my big brother when I was in seventh grade.

“Message in a Bottle” Sting came back out alone at the end and did it sort of Secret Policeman’s Other Ball style, which made me all warm and fuzzy inside remembering how much I loved Sting in my youth. Look at how lovable Sting was in 1981:


I couldn’t get over the song selection. If Sting’s written a country song he didn’t play, I’m not aware of it. About half the songs were from Mercury Falling onward. Sting talked more than I’m used to between songs, mostly about song writing and the stories behind his songs. I really enjoyed that, and found it necessary since he played five songs I didn’t even fucking know. Four were from Sacred Love, which I naively never imagined he’d dip into that much because it sucks (and now I’ve just increased my possible human alienation count by as many as a million or so more people, assuming the million or so people who bought this album think it doesn’t suck…sorry, write your own review).

Sting clumped these low energy songs together, sometimes three to five at a time, which didn’t allow the show to build or sustain any momentum. I got bored during those stretches and if it weren’t for the backing vocalist screeching like her pubes were being pulled out on “Hounds of Winter” and the electric violin solos on a couple of songs, I might have fallen asleep.

The backing vocalist was very talented, but her performance on some of the songs got a little too theatrical for my taste. Every line seemed to have deep meaning for her.

As a Police fan, I also have no particular need to hear Sting and his back-up band play a lot of Police songs. He played six and while most sounded OK, I missed Andy on “Driven to Tears.” More importantly, note to Sting: PLEASE. STOP. PLAYING. NEXT TO YOU. LIKE. THAT. Thank you.

Worst of all, Sting didn’t play a single song from my favorite album, Nothing Like the Sun. My two favorite solo songs are “The Lazarus Heart,” and “Be Still My Beating Heart,” and I realize “The Lazarus Heart” wasn’t a single, but “Be Still My Beating Heart” was a rather successful single. Why was it excluded from the show and the “best of” CD? It can’t be as petty as Andy having played on it, right?


If there’s one guy, just one guy
Who I’m not going to see live again, oh my…
It’s hard to say it
I hate to say it
But it’s probably Sting.

Crappy Photo

Because I still regret talking myself out of taking a camera when Dave and I had front row seats to see the Police in 2007, I now take a camera to every show even though concert pictures are always low-quality crap. Here is my obligatory, proving I was there, crappy picture of Sting and people’s heads. Elfin, no?

Sweetness and Light

A narrow staircase led to the loft floating hidden above the rest of the room. Sparsely furnished with only a mattress and air, it still held the two of us comfortably.

Laced together, we drifted in and out of sleep with the clicking of the tape player reversing sides. Swirling guitars and ethereal vocals drifted up from below.

“You are the sweetness in my eyes…”

Right outside the open windows was a slice of brilliant blue sky, dotted with cottony clouds. Partially covered by a light sheet, a breeze scented with promise glided over our bare skin, adding its cool caress to our embrace.

I stirred and tightened my arms around his strong, yet yielding body. I could not quite fully envelop him as he could me. Burrowing deeper into him, his warmth radiated over me as I lightly slid my hands over his smooth skin. Resting my head on his chest, his rhythmic heartbeat calmed my own.

I breathed in his dewy scent. I felt the rise and fall of his breathing under me. As the gentle movement lulled me back to sleep, I saw spring green warmed by slanted beams of late afternoon sunlight.

“You are the juice I need for life
You are the sweetness in my eyes…”


This week’s RemembeRED memoir prompt: “We’re going to let narrative take a backseat. Choose a moment from your personal history and mine it for sensory detail. Describe it to us in rich, evocative details. Let us breath the air, hear the heartbeat, the songs, feel the fabric and the touch of that moment.”

Rich description is not one of my strengths, in writing or other communication so I decided to challenge myself by participating in this prompt. The title and the quoted song lyrics are from the following Lush song.

Photo Friday: Margot MacDonald at Lubber Run Amphitheater

Thank goodness the Lubber Run Amphitheater Foundation got the County to reconsider scrapping the Amphitheater. It’s such a huge part of the neighborhood.

Tonight we saw Margot MacDonald perform. She put on a fabulous show, complete with her awesome a cappella loop pedal version of Massive Attack’s “Teardrop.” And I got to practice nighttime shooting. I got a few good shots. Here’s my favorite: