MARY
KATHERINE'S BLOB
I guess I should make it clear at the beginning that this "blob" (so called because it's formless, shapeless and has no content) isn't a regularly scheduled event. I make sporadic notes here when the spirit moves me, when it's not too hot or too cold, when I have something to say, when the planets are in the right alignment, etc. When it gets too long, I delete the oldest entries; ahhh, how ephemeral is life. If I don't post every day it does NOT mean that I'm dead. :-)
May 12
Mother's Day today; note to self, go out and get some flowers for Kate. The kids are fishing at Big Bear (Eliza has a shiny pink fishing pole of her very own), so I have a peaceful weekend at home alone. We went out to our usual family Mother's Day dinner last Wednesday, all five of the kids and me squeezed into a booth at Torung for Thai food and a good long visit. Late lunch with Jim and Art on Friday at Victors, and with Jim again Saturday at Astroburger; I now realize that I have two sets of friends named Jim and Art! There's Jim Dawson and Art Fein (who gave me a joint Mother's Day card, despite the fact that I am not even remotely their mother), and Jim Moran and Art Podell, my monthly breakfast krewe at the Good Neighbor on Saturday mornings after their KPFK radio show. I tellya!
Last night, Ash Grove reunion time (albeit at McCabe's). Roland White was playing, and I finally got to see and collect my stash of CDs as payment for writing the liner notes for his and Diane's new Kentucky Colonels Live in Holland release; Ed Pearl, Ash Grove owner and my former boss, was in the audience and came up to the dressing room to visit, and Ry Cooder was there too, another Ash Grove friend, and he and Herb Pedersen and Roland sat on the couch in the dressing room singing gospel music, and I sat there entranced. I tried to get them to cancel the show and just sit there singing all night, but darn it, there was a full house downstairs waiting for them to go onstage, so...I sat with Roland's sisters JoAnne and Rosemary, and had a wonderful time. Tonight, more of the same, at Viva Cantina. And next Sunday I emcee at the Topanga Banjo & Fiddle Contest.
Now that I have this shiny new car, I might drive to Chris Strachwitz's birthday party in Berkeley in July instead of taking the train. Need to see whether I can get the time off work.
April 30
Well, this is exciting! A long time ago (several months) I went on the Antiques Roadshow web site and entered the online lottery for two free tickets when the show comes here in June - and today I found out that I won!! This is SO exciting; it's my favorite TV show by a mile, and now I have to decide which items to take along to be appraised. I won two tickets, and each ticketholder can bring two items, so that's four items - hmmm. I can't take furniture or anything else heavy; too expensive to rent a van, plus they have no one to help load/unload at the other end, so I have to take only stuff I can carry. Might take my old Martin D-18, now resident at Jennifer's house, and a couple of old music posters, one of my grandfather's books; we shall see. I hope that Jennifer can come with me, but she and Bruce are going to North Dakota in mid-June for his parents' 50th wedding anniversary, and may not be back in time.
In typical Aldin Family style, we're having our Mother's Day dinner the week before, and on a Wednesday. That day works for everyone, so that's when we're doing it. I don't care, as long as I get to be with all the kids.
Our trip to San Diego was a big success. Eliza enjoyed the folk festival, or at least the part about the swings and slides at the park and the pinwheel her daddy bought her at one of the crafts booths. I enjoyed hearing Jim Kweskin and Geoff Muldaur on a small stage under a treet in a park, Kate was delighted to find a Starbucks right across the street, and we all had a great time the next day at the San Diego Zoo. Eliza got to feed a giraffe ("Ewww, Grandma, look, his tongue is all black and curly!") but the highlight for her was the underwater view of the hippos, swimming slowly and majestically around their pool.
Really loving driving to work and back every day in Patsy Prius. Have made a bunch of car CDs and am humming my way back and forth. Gets great mileage, too!
Vacation plans are hanging fire, waiting for the kids to find out their vacation schedules at work. We are now looking at a series of shorter trips (Big Bear, which I will probably not go along for, is up first). I don't think Tahoe is going to happen. But you never know.
April 25
Okay, people can stop dying any time now. I was saddened when old friend Richie Havens died yesterday, sorry to hear of guitarist Bob Brozman's suicide two days ago, and sad again when Earl J.J. Pionke (the Earl of Old Town, Chicago club owner and all around good guy) died today, but when George Jones died this morning I was devastated. I went to every single one of his shows that was anywhere I could get to - in fact, I actually attended two more of his shows than HE did, back in the no-show-Jones days. The last time I saw him was about five years ago or so, at the Cerritos Center; the emphysema was already taking his voice, and he was hanging on to his guitar like a support beam, singing one song at a time, then letting the band take one so he could go to the oxygen tank at the side of the stage, then back on for another song, then off again. Every cracked note was a thing of amazing beauty and power. Backstage afterward, while my friend Mark Humphrey was getting his picture made with the Possum, I looked at the lines in his face and feared that it might be the last time I saw him, and it was. I would not trade one minute of any one of those songs for anything you could offer me. I am unspeakably sad today. Though if you had told me years ago that he would live into his eighties I would have laughed you out of the room.
Had lunch with Jim today, since I'll be gone all weekend; Josh and Kate and I are taking Eliza down to San Diego to a folk festival, an arts festival, and the zoo.
Well, for the first time in my life, I have bought a new car. I think I've earned it. She's a shiny black 2013 Prius with 11 miles on the odometer when I brought her home; her name is Patsy (as in Cline, Montana and Stoneman) Prius. Eliza's car seat is installed in the back seat, and I am ready to rule the road. Look out world! Seems strange to be buying a brand new car at my age, but it was past time. I've driven a lifetime of terrible clunkers (buy it for cash, drive it till it drops dead, rinse, repeat), and I got TIRED of having the people at the Auto Club practically recognize my voice when I called for yet another tow! At one point some years ago I was driving a car that was older than my daughter Jennifer! (I think she was ten and it was 12). So this is a really wonderful change. Although I have to say, that famous "new car smell" is yucky - smells like barbecue starter fluid or something similar - very chemical. Driving with the windows open for awhile. Discovered the wonders of having a CD player in the car, too, also for the first time (I used to make myself "car cassettes" for road trips). David Mallett sang me to work this morning, me singing crazy 6:30 a.m. crossharmony (with the windows rolled UP so as not to scare the chickens!) Josh is going to brush and polish my old clunker and sell it on Craig's list. Know anyone in the greater L.A. area who wants to buy a cheap, very used Mercury Sable? I may have traded away next year's trip to New Orleans for this car, but I guess if that happens it happens. Jim tempted me at lunch today - "so DRIVE to New Orleans" - but am too old for that kind of solo road trip. Three days hard driving, alone, each way - even in my comfy new car - nope.
The trip up the coast is off - the kids are now talking about Tahoe instead, which interests me less, so I may stay home and let them have a family vacation together. Of course things may change yet again.
April 14
Had to go to work today (on a Sunday!) but only for a couple of hours, not too bad. Work is busy, which in this economy is always a good thing.
Josh and Kate are talking about driving up the coast sometime soon; they want to take Eliza to the Monterey Aquarium and see the sights along the way. I may go along as nanny, depending on how much time I can get off work. And I might ask them to add a day in San Francisco/Berkeley, since we'll already be most of the way up there. I have good friends there - Chris, John, John's new lady Sharyn whom I have yet to meet, Kate and Jody, and many more. Maybe we could all have lunch together somewhere...
Speaking of which, Jim and I had a delicious lunch together yesterday, but in separate restaurants. He called, said, you choose where. I chose, he said OK, and I went to the place I thought I had chosen and he went to the place HE thought I had chosen, but they weren't the same place. And since he doesn't have a cell phone (such a dinosaur), I couldn't call him to ask where he was. I just went ahead and ordered and ate, and so did he; I left a message on his home machine, but of course he didn't get it until he got home. Grrrr.
Roland and Diane emailed me the CD booklet for the New Kentucky Colonels, Live in Holland 1973 (the title they decided on), and it looks great. My liner notes were necessarily short, since they had to fit onto one page, but they found some great old photos to use and the package looks wonderful. I stopped at McCabe's on my way home from work and bought my ticket for the show.
April 11
Eliza LOVED "Beauty and the Beast." She is already asking when she can go to another play.
So sorry to learn that fiddler Sue Draheim died this morning; she had recently been diagnosed with an inoperable brain cancer, so it was no surprise, but very sad. Last week it was Les Blank, gifted filmmaker, who also had been ill awhile; fortunately Suzy Thompson and other friends were able to go over to Les' house the day before he died, and play some of his favorite Cajun tunes for him before he left.
Went to the Pasadena swap meet with Kate and Eliza last weekend; we met Jennifer there and wandered around for awhile, but Eliza ran out of gas quite soon, so we adjourned to Conrad's for lunch, and then home. One of these days we're going to park Eliza with daddy and spend more time there. Also had lunch with Jim and Art recently, at Victor's Deli, where Art deconstructed the cell phone world for us.
Am taking my new blood pressure pills and my cholesterol-lowering pills every single day, without fail; I have to go back to the doctor shortly so she can see how/if they're working.
My "Second Thursday" lunch krewe met today, for talk and food and friendship. We do this at a different restaurant every month, but always in Santa Monica to be near my office, as I'm the only one of the gang who has a job that entails a restricted lunch schedule. So we assemble from various points; it's a rotating cast of folks who are in some way or another involved with music (writers, performers, record label alums, etc.); we're all old friends, and there were six of us today. It's *so* nice to be able to eat an entire meal without having to cut anyone else's food up into small bites!
AND I finished my New Kentucky Colonels liner notes, and emailed them off to Roland. He will be here next month to play McCabe's, and will be bringing the CD with him to sell at the gig (although I understand that there is a free copy in my near future).
April 2
I heard last week that Paul Williams had died; he was a rock critic (maybe the first rock critic) and founder of Crawdaddy Magazine, which is where I knew him from. Reading his obits I see that he was also so much more; but what I am thinking about now is his wife, who basically gave up her life for what was left of his. They had a son together, who's about 12 now I think, but anyhow: some years ago Paul was riding his bicycle *without a helmet* and was in an accident, and suffered a certain amount of brain damage; over time this got worse, and also triggered early-onset Alzheimer's. His wife, Cindy Lee Berryhill, had a singing career, which she basically dropped out of to care for him and raise their son with no money and no insurance and no nothing. She cared for him devotedly at home for as long as she could (for several years) and then finally had to have caregivers, and then hospice, and then he was gone. All this with *no* money. She wrote an amazing blog about caring for a loved one with brain damage; it's called "Beloved Stranger." Read a bit. This whole thing is profoundly moving to me; she took her wedding vows (you know, that whole "in sickness and in health" thing?) all the way to the wall. Regina Whitcomb is doing the same thing for Ian, although his stroke caused much less longterm damage than Paul's brain damage/Alhezimer's combo. But this is what marriage is: a complete, unbreakable, sturdy, unflinching sense of commitment to another human being. I never learned how to do that, but I deeply respect those who do. I honor these women and the many like them. There's always a door, but they choose not to walk out. I have another friend who faces that road with a spouse soon; will hold them both in my thoughts.
March 31
My car needed an oil change today - I called, and was quoted $29.95, including the oil. OK, a $30 excursion, I can handle that. It's Easter, the kids are gone to Kate's parents, might as well get it done. So I drove over to the garage, left them the car and the keys and set out to walk to the nearby Hollywood Farmer's Market. On the way there I passed the famous Pantages Theater, and the marquee said that the Broadway stage production of "Beauty and the Beast" was there for the next few days. Well, there's this three-year-old granddaughter, you know. But - a Broadway production? Probably too expensive, but it costs nothing to ask, and the window was open. So I asked the young man behind the glass how much the tickets would cost for one adult and one three-year old. All seats the same price, he said - $90 each. I flinched internally, thought to myself, "do I *look* crazy?" and said, very politely, thank you so much for the information, and was turning away when he said, "but..." and I paused. "We do have a few selected seats at each performance at $25." Ahhh. NOW you're in my ball park. I asked him to check to see whether there were two $25 seats left for any performance and he asked an odd question. "You want the two seats to be together?" Well, since one of them is for a three year old, YES. He hemmed and hawed and poked around on his computer and finally said, "This Tuesday we have two seats together," and I was lost. I had to get them. I had been absolutely enchanted in my own long-ago childhood by the few live stage performances I'd ever seen, and when my own kids were growing up the money just wasn't there, even for the cheap seats. So I bought the tickets, and this Tuesday Kate and Eliza are having a mother-daughter night out at the theater.
Continued my walk down Hollywood Boulevard to the farmers market, where I spent $5 on honey for my office tea (that $30 oil change had so far cost me $85 today, and I wasn't done yet!) Then was hungry, so went to a neighborhood cafe and had lunch, another $10. Tips to four or five of the musicians who were playing at the market, a few more bucks (note to self: must learn more about the very impressive California Feetwarmers). Ran into old pal Jonny Whiteside and got to meet his new flame; bought a dozen freshly-made cinnamon-raisin bagels, $5. But the real fun came when I went back to get my car. Right on estimate, the oil change was $30. But along with it they handed me a "free" diagnostic sheet they had run on the car. That sheet shows that there are things wrong with my car that I've never even heard of (a front transaxle mount? a lower control arm? an anchor transmission mount is broken?) and the total to fix everything is just under $1000.00. Happy Easter. I thanked them, and said I would consult with my son about having the work done and let them know (this is Aldin family code for "is it worth having Grandma's pile of crap fixed yet again, or should we just donate the car to a charity - assuming we can find a charity desperate enough or stupid enough to accept it - and get her a new used car to pour money into?") And worst of all, about two weeks ago the cassette player finally died, so I can't even listen to music on my commute any more. Maybe it *is* time to let it go.
Jim and I had lunch and a good visit at Astro on Saturday; I called to invite Art to join us, but he was busy. Jim has settled in to the new job and is basically doing it with one hand tied behind his back, as I knew he could.
Rex and Joan and I met at a "healthy" restaurant in Culver City last weekend (oh goody, I've always *wanted* a tofu pizza) and had a lovely dinner together before heading over to Boulevard Music to hear Robin & Linda Williams. They were terrific. Hearing live music does me a lot of good; I should try to get out more often, but am usually defeated by my inability to drive after dark. Kate dropped me off before, and Rex and Joan drove me home after, so it worked out well this time. My old friend Noel Stookey is in town this week, and am hoping to get to one of his performances.
Baseball season starts tomorrow! <pretend you can hear a sound clip of "The Halleluia Chorus" here>. I've watched a lot of spring training games, and the Dodgers are looking good. I know, I say that every year...
I am losing the fight with my blood pressure. The doctor has been telling me for years (literally years) that I need to start taking medication to control it - it's off the charts too high. I have been trying to control it by watching my diet. No sodium (meaning I never pick up a salt shaker, ever), I buy low-sodium foods, walk a lot, stop eating everything that tastes, you know, like food. And nothing is working. It's getting worse. The home blood pressure cuff that Jim bought me a year or two ago is nearly worn out. So this Thursday morning on my way to the office I am stopping off at UCLA, and my doctor will be glad to see me, and I will admit to her that I have flunked the "fix it myself" test and she will write me a prescription. I feel defeated; all my life I have never taken medicine for anything, other than these various eyedrops that are supposed to be slowing down the glaucoma. I mean, no aspirin, nothing. And now I have to take these pills for the rest of my life? But Ian's recent stroke brought home to me how close to that edge I am running, and Josh pointed out that he really doesn't want me to have a stroke while I am driving his daughter home from school one day. I did get one good thing out of it; Josh says that if I get and take the blood pressure pills, he'll stop smoking. And that's a bargain that will save both our lives.
Was very sorry to learn of the death of record producer Phil Ramone, one of the genuine good guys in the music biz. His producing credentials are mostly big-name rock and pop stars, but I met him many years ago when he was producing a Peter, Paul & Mary album. He and Peter became good friends and stayed that way till the end.
March 16
Had several installments of birthday fun. On my actual birthday, I went to lunch with some of the guys from my krewe: Bruce Bromberg, Jim Dawson, Michael Ochs, Billy Vera and Andy McKaie, dear and longtime friends all. We ate at the Spitfire Grill, a surprisingly good restaurant at the Santa Monica Airport, and Andy, who knows me too well, brought me chocolate! Got back to work to find a huge bouquet of roses from Mitch and Matt, and that evening my kids all took me out to dinner at the Stinking Rose, my favorite garlic emporium on LaCienega.
The next day Berta arrived; we went to dinner at her favorite Mexican restaurant here, which let's just say isn't famous for it's great food, but she has a sentimental attachment to the place; we stayed up waaay too late talking, but it was great to see her and her growing flock of grandkids. They're all at Disneyland today with Jennifer, so I expect lots of photos soon. And now my birthday is over for another year, and we'll see what tomorrow brings.
March 10
The pledge drive at KPFK went very well. Mark Humphrey, Jim Moran and Art Podell raised over $2600.00, which I can tell you is no mean feat at 6:00 a.m.!
I know I haven't written much here; haven't really had much to write about. The move kind of took a lot out of me, and until very recently I hadn't even heard any live music to report on. However, two weeks ago I did get out to hear my bluegrass pals, Loafer's Glory, at a Venice club I had never heard of called WitzEnd. Once I got there, I realized where I was; it used to be a recording studio called Mad Dog Records, and I had been to sessions there a couple of times. Anyhow, once the initial feedback problem was adjusted, the sound was pretty good and the performance was great, as usual. I got laughed at by all the guys in the band, also as usual, for having to leave after the first set. They'd understand better if they all had to get up at the crack of dawn to go to work.
Jewel Akens died last week; in case his name doesn't ring a bell, in 1964 he recorded an irresistible little ditty whose opening line was "Let me tell you 'bout the birds and the bees and the flowers and the trees." I met him a few years back through my friend Jim Dawson, who was a very good friend of Jewel's. Every year on Labor Day Jewel and his wife Eddie Mae opened their home and back yard for a picnic/music jam session, and I went to that a few times with Jim. Jewel was a really sweet person, and the church was jammed for his funeral yesterday as so many friends showed up to say goodbye.
My dearest Peter Yarrow was here last weekend; he did a booksigning of his latest children's storybook at the Barnes & Noble at the Grove; Kate and Eliza and I met him there and had a good time visiting before the show. He also brought his "baby" son Christopher, whom I last saw at the age of about 4 but who is now way over 6 feet tall and plays washtub bass with great flair. It was really good to see them both, and to top it all off, just as I was leaving in comes Penny, who was the nanny to Christopher and his big sister Bethany when they were small, and who I haven't seen in 30+ years.
Then my pal Rex from the Caltech Folk Music Society (which will soon be changing its name to the Pasadena Folk Music Society, but that's another story) emailed to remind me that David Mallett was performing at Caltech last night. The glaucoma has gotten to the point where I cannot drive in the dark AT ALL any more, plus my complicated life was doing its best to prevent me from going, but finally a solution presented itself; I drove to Pasadena while it was still light out, early enough to have a pre-concert Thai dinner with Rex and Joan, and after the concert I stayed overnight out there until the dawn's early light (which was discombobulated, as was I, by the time change), and then drove home, stopping on the way to have lunch with Jim at AstroBurger. I am so glad I went; David has long been one of my favorite singer/songwriters (and by"long" I mean since I first heard/met him when he was the opening act for Noel Stookey at McCabe's in 1978 or thereabouts!), and his writing just keeps getting better and richer and his voice and his guitar playing are just exactly perfectly right for his songs, and the whole thing is just...sublime. He did a new song that floored me - "Beautiful Rose" - another one of his blessed masterpieces that makes my hair stand on end; fortunately it's on the newest CD he was selling at the show.
This week we all have birthdays at Casa Aldin. Jennifer was just 43 (!), Josh will be 36 this Tuesday, and I have a birthday this coming week too. The kids are taking me out to my favorite garlic emporium, the Stinking Rose on La Cienega, for my birthday. It's also Josh and Kate's 5th wedding anniversary tomorrow, so they're going out together to have a grownup dinner, and Eliza and I will stay home and snuggle down with a storybook or two. Then on Friday I'll have a visit from one of my old friends from Ash Grove days, Berta Benally, who is bringing her children and grandchildren (total of 8 people) from Flagstaff to L.A. so that the young ones can experience Disneyland for the first time. She's in for some sticker shock when she buys eight admission tickets at today's prices...anyhow, I haven't seen her since they came in to town for Jennifer's wedding, so it will be lovely to get all caught up again. Unfortunately Josh, Kate and Eliza won't be here, as they are flying to Chicago on Friday for the christening of my other son John's newest daughter, Maya Rose, to whom Josh and Kate will be godparents, so they will miss the Benallys' visit.
Got a call from old friend Roland White last week; he will be coming out here to play at McCabe's in May - hooray! But an even bigger hooray was that he asked me to write liner notes for a forthcoming release of a never-before-issued White Brothers live show from Holland with Clarence, Roland and Eric White plus Herb Pedersen on banjo. Herb will join Roland's band onstage for the McCabe's show, and if I get the notes done in time (just joking - of course I will) the CD will be for sale at that show!
To backtrack a bit, I realize that I never wrote anything about my December trip to New Orleans. My dear Tony Russell flew over from London and we spent a week together there, during which time we were joined for a few days by Amy Van Singel, who usually lives in Maine but wanted to get out of the winter for a few days, and who could blame her? Scott Barretta drove down from Oxford while we were there, and we met up with Tom Piazza and Michael Tisserand and Bill Morgan and other friends, and did serious damage to the oyster population of the Gulf. Amy and Tony had never been to Commander's Palace, so we had lunch there one day and I was amazed all over again and how good the food is and how precisely and professionally the place is run. Amy had booked herself on several guided tours, while Tony and I are more of the "walk around and see things on our own" types, but we usually managed to rendezvous for meals. Also saw friends Sarah and Brian Simonson, and although I did not get to see her I did get to talk to my goddaughter Nell, who sounded much better than she had the last time we were there. I had booked the trip (pre-paid the train fare and booked a non-refundable hotel) before I learned that I would have to move, so although it may have been insane to go on a mini-vacation just before the greatest upheaval of my life, at the same time I think it was....a stress reliever? My head was about to explode, but visiting with Kermit Ruffins at his new Treme Speakeasy (and laying waste to his good cornbread and fried chicken) was a great calm-down period that I very much needed.
February 16
This coming Saturday, February 23, the Saturday morning folk show hosts (Mark Humphrey, Jim Moran, Art Podell) are going to be pitching together on KPFK. Please call during their show (818) 985-KPFK and support them. I'll be there answering phones. Your donations count! Thanks!
December 4
Lots to report, but no time to report it! Thanksgiving was great: good food, family, friends, etc. Packing for the move is coming along, although of course none of my kids can help me because they're all moving too! Elena and Victoria came up from San Diego and took some pieces of family furniture, which will come back to Eliza in the fullness of time. Josh and Kate found a great apartment for us to move into, nowhere near here, alas, but it's a lovely place anyhow. They are moving in while I am out of town, and then I'll move in when I get back. Jennifer and Bruce found a place they like in NoHo and have put in an application; I don't know how long these things take to get approved, since the last time I moved was over 40 years ago!
Doc Watson's widow Rosa Lee died, just about six months after Doc's own passing.
My good friend Ian Whitcomb had a stroke last weekend, the day before Jim and I were going to see his regular show at Caantalini's. When Art and Jim and I went to the hospital to see him two days later he was sitting up in bed bossing the nurses around. He's home now, with lots of rehab/occupational therapy ahead to get back to his usual full tilt boogie, but I have no doubt that he'll accomplish it. His wife Regina is taking the "in sickness and in health" part of their marriage vows very seriously, and is with him constantly.
Leaving town this Friday for two weeks, more when I return.
October 20
And away we go. We all have to be out by January 7th. I am going to be too busy to write for awhile, folks!
November 18
Well, neighbor Mike is all boxed up and about ready to go. He found a place in Oceanside that he really likes, near family, so that's good.
The property management company sent a representative here to "discuss my situation." I told them I had written them a letter, stating my position, and did they get it? Well, yes. Okay then, says I, what else is there to talk about? They offered me a small sum of money to move - far less than neighbor Mike got, and I have been here 20 years longer than he has. Do they think we don't talk to each other? I raised an eyebrow at her offer, put one hand on Josh's arm to keep him from getting angry, and said sweetly that perhaps they wanted to go back and re-read my letter. She said we would hear from them Monday, which is tomorrow. Then she went downstairs to talk to Jennifer and Bruce. I am looking at storage units and pondering the future. A friend came over today to buy some of my records and said something like, "so I guess you are resigned to moving, then?" I thought about that for a little while. I don't like the sound of the word "resigned" - makes me the victim in this scenario, as if something is being done TO me. This is what it is, folks; it's going to happen - and instead of being "resigned" to it, I'd rather think of it as the ending of a part of my life that I've really loved, and the beginning of an exciting NEW part of my life - one that's going to be, as Peter Pan says, "an incredibly big adventure!" It has been nearly 50 years since I lived with anybody - I am used to being alone, having my own space, and having my privacy. Now I get to share a bedroom and a bathroom with an adorable three-year old who says things out of the blue like, "Grandma?" "Yes, Eliza?" "I love you." <and Grandma melts into a puddle>
Jim and I went to dinner at the new place up the hill - very good food, lousy atmosphere, too expensive. But oh so handy when I needed his strong quiet presence, as I was very stressed out after the conversation with the property management woman and needed a break. His big news is that he has a job interview on Monday! We also took Eliza to Astro the other night - her first time there - she was fairly well behaved, and most of her food went where it was supposed to go. Then he came back to my place and we tackled the crossword puzzle book. Now this may sound a little out there, but to me, doing crosswords with Jim is like having sex with our brains instead of our bodies. We put the puzzle on the table between us, we each have a pen, and we start filling in the words. It becomes almost a race to see who can figure the clues out faster - these are big books of Sunday Times crosswords, the really hard ones from the Washington Post, the Boston Globe and the New York Times. After we've done two or three of them I can FEEL my brains stretching, as if we'd taken the top off my head, poured in a bottle of champagne and closed it up again - my brain is all fizzy inside. This is a Good Thing.
Tom and Claire and Jenny and Bruce and I went out to hear my dear friend Billy Vera's show at Catalina's (not to be confused with Cantalini's, the Italian place where Ian Whitcomb plays. That's an Italian restaurant, while Catalina's is a jazz supper club.) Billy sold the place out to the bare walls, and fronted an 18-piece orchestra with great aplomb. His material is mostly songs written by the great black composers of the 30s, 40s and 50s, and he does it proud. We stuffed ourselves on the (very good, very expensive) food, and I took a photo of Jen and Bruce with Richard Roundtree, one of many celebs in attendance.
Cleve Duncan's funeral was yesterday, but I didn't go. Am not driving far distances to places I'm unfamiliar with any more - as the glaucoma progresses, I am less willing to leave my comfort zone. Jim offered me a lift, but he was committed to deejay at the repast, which would have meant a all-day commitment of time for me (funeral at 11, then to the graveside service at Inglewood Cemetery, then to the repast) and this is the last weekend before Thanksgiving - and it's my last Thanksgiving here, so I want to make it a specially good one. Did all the non-perishables shopping, shifted some stuff around, and generally got ready for this Thursday.
Had a nice breakfast with my radio pals Jim Moran and Art Podell after their show yesterday morning, and we got caught up on our news. Tomorrow morning is my first appointment with the new glaucoma specialist, recommended by my "regular" eye specialist as she wants a consultation to see how this thing is moving along.
October 20
Things are moving faster, seems like, every day. Neighbor Mike got a call from the new owners, offering him a substantial sum to move, and he is going to accept it, and be gone by December 1. That Damoclean sword is inching closer - once Michael moves, the only tenants left here will be my daughter Jennifer and her husband, and moi. Brrrr.
Josh and Kate are rearranging their apartment, on paper, to figure out how to accommodate me and such of my stuff as can't be put in storage, while they look for an affordable house to buy. Am probably going to have Thanksgiving dinner here for my friends, as usual, and then move. Wow. Rough estimate? I'm going to need about 500 empty boxes.
Spent a couple of days this weekend visiting off and on with Chris Strachwitz, who was in town for a conference. We had some good talks, and got caught up with our news. Every time I see him now, I treasure our time together, as he is 81 and we generally only see each other once a year at his birthday party, unless he's in town for something else. So it was wonderful to get to spend time with him.
My friend Amy, who recently moved from Alaska to Maine, is going to be in New Orleans in December at the same time that Tony and I are there! Hopefully there'll be a few other friends coming in from Oxford and points north, too, so our social dance card is going to be very full.
October 5
Eliza is really enjoying going to school; every morning she puts on her little uniform and her school shoes and off she goes with her mommy, lunch in hand; then I pick her up every day at 3 and take her home to her place until Kate gets home from work. This gives me some Grandma time every afternoon for a couple of hours, as well as whatever babysitting I do on the weekends. Did you know they give three year olds HOMEWORK nowadays? We had two milestone last weekend; first, she rode a pony by herself - I mean a freestanding pony, not the ones that are hitched up to those circular tracks. It was a very slowly walking pony, but she was on her own the whole way around the ring. She sat up very straight and carried it off with quite an air. Then she rode on the train in a seat by herself for the first time. Instead of me being in the same seat with her, I was gently but firmly instructed to sit in the seat behind her.
Well, neighbor Sherry has moved, back home to Bakersfield to live near her mother. We had a going away party for her at neighbor Michael's apartment; we now have two vacant apartments out of five, and suddenly there's plenty of parking in the carport.
Finally got paid for those liner notes I was grumbling about a few paragraphs below.
It's always good to see old friends; I had dinner at an Indian restaurant in the Valley with John Sinclair while he was in town. We talked about blues musicians we both knew, and told each other stories about our friendships with Robert Lockwood and Johnny Shines. Both men disliked being constantly interviewed about their connection to Robert Johnson, rather than being asked about their own careers. John really surprised me by telling his own version of that story; I had no idea, but he said that every time HE gets interviewed, the first question is usually "So, Mr. Sinclair, what was it like to meet John Lennon?" I came away shaking my head at the ignorance of those interviewers - John S. has SO much more important stuff to talk about! (I guess I should say here that if you don't have any idea who John Sinclair is, just Google him). We'll miss each other in New Orleans; he is there now, but will be gone back to Amsterdam, where he lives, by the time Tony and I get there in December.
Gas prices - !! If I didn't live 25 miles from where I work I swear I'd buy a bicycle, but at my age there's no way I can pedal 50 miles a day round trip on surface streets. If I was rich I'd get one of those hybrid cars, but unless I hit the lottery that's never going to happen.
Going to a jazz brunch this Sunday, and realized while planning it that I haven't been out to hear live music in awhile. I'll soon be making up for lost time, though; next Sunday (the 14th) I'll be emceeing the Santa Barbara Old Time Fiddlers Convention. Josh and Kate are bringing Eliza up again this year, and we'll stay overnight and spend some time touristing around Santa Barbara the next day. Then the weekend after that I'll be at the Far West Folk Alliance Conference in Irvine, hearing three full days of live music and watching my good friend Chris Strachwitz get a lifetime achievement award. Then I see Thanksgiving coming along a few weeks after that, and then I will disappear for a couple of weeks in December to check our the Revillon meals in New Orleans with Tony.
I did get to Bonnie Raitt and Mavis Staples' concert at the Greek, thanks to Bonnie who very generously gifted me with tickets. (She announced from the stage that she had 150 guests that night - I looked at the $75 price on my ticket and did the math. Remember, folks, free tickets aren't free to the performers!) Jenny and Bruce were supposed to go with me, but they realized two or three days before the concert that they had double-booked themselves. So I got to go with Tom and Claire instead, which was great fun. By coincidence they had a friend in Mavis' band, so they were able to visit with him after her set. As we were going in the entrance I saw Billy Vera, and we hugged and said "see you backstage after," figuring we'd never be able to find each other in the crowd (the Greek holds 6600 people). Well, guess who I sat next to? I couldn't have wished for better company that night. Mavis tore the roof off the place, and Bonnie nailed it right back down tight - a great show. Saw lots of other friends in the dressing room afterward, too, so even though I was really tired when I finally got home after midnight, it was worth it! For those who don't have calculators handy, 150 x $75 = $11,250 in comp tickets, right out of Bonnie's pocket. Yowza.
No word on moving yet. Wrote a letter to the new owners, laying out my position, and they haven't answered me. I mailed it the day after Labor Day.
September 11
On Friday afternoon Josh called and said "So, mom, what are you doing tomorrow?" Thinking he was going to ask me to babysit Eliza for the day I said, oh, nothing much, why? Next thing I know he has gotten online and booked adjoining rooms at a really spectacular hotel in San Diego, and bright and early Saturday morning we took Eliza to Sea World. She loved it, of course; she made friends with some dolphins, decided she didn't want to be a penguin when she grew up because their enclosure was too cold, stared with her mouth open at the leaping and cavorting of Shamu and the other whales, and went on the kiddie rides with her usual zest. At the end of quite a long day we went to check into our hotel; Josh had booked it sight unseen on one of those web sites where you tell them how much you can afford to spend and they assign you to a hotel. Well, we hit the jackpot in a big way. We stayed at the Paradise Point Resort, and it was elegant and gorgeous and we loved it. We had dinner at one of the hotel's eateries, then Eliza and I did her evening bath ritual and turned in early, while Josh and Kate checked the place out. Sunday morning I took Eliza for breakfast so Josh and Kate could sleep in, then went to the lobby and asked where the swimming pool was. Turned out there were FIVE of them. The one we went to, the main pool, was not the bright blue chlorinated water we usually see at hotel pools; it was huge, all natural rock and natural water and...had...ducks in it. I mean REAL ducks. I felt a little weird about swimming in water that ducks were probably peeing in, but Eliza loved it, and I gave her a good scrubby shower when we got out, and we all seem to have survived.
My neighbor Sherry is moving; the new owners convinced her, with fistfuls (or is that fistsful?) of greenbacks, and she will be gone on October 1st. That leaves only three apartments occupied here. She'll be having a yard sale soon.
I have several music biz committee meetings coming up, which will bring some of my out of town pals here, and then my pal John Sinclair will be in town next week on his way to New Orleans and we're going to try to get together for dinner. Unfortunately, by the time Tony and I get to New Orleans in December John will have gone back to Amsterdam.
I took Jim to Cantalinis' Sunday night for his birthday-a-day-early dinner; Ian came over and serenaded Jim at our table.
And now I am on full tilt Grandma duty; every day when Eliza gets out of school I am there, collecting her and her backpack and driving her home, where we do the after-school snack thing, change her out of her uniform into her playclothes, and sometimes walk to a nearby park where she plays on the swings and slides till I am relieved by whichever of her parents gets home from work first. All this gets me home much later than I am used to, but it's all about learning to adjust.
September 7
August 24
My old friend Todd moved to Ventura recently, and yesterday Art and I piled into Jim's car and we all went up there to visit him. For somewhere that's so close to L.A., I really know almost nothing about Ventura. My pals Chris and Connie live up there, and I think I had lunch with them (on the Ventura pier, maybe?) some years back, but I really am a stranger to the town; it's just a place I drive through twice a year on my way to and from the Santa Barbara Old Time Fiddlers Convention. We Mapquested Todd's address and found it with absolutely no trouble; he lives in a seniors' mobile home park, where he owns a very nice place, landscaped, peaceful, and clean. After he gave us the tour, we all went to downtown (Main Street) Ventura, where we had lunch at a faux 50s diner called the Busy Bee, with a great jukebox and generous portions of completely adequate food. Then a short driving tour of the hood, during which Jim and I fell in love with the Victorian houses in old town, and then home.
So, glaucoma. Yes. We deal with these things as best we can as we get older. It is what it is, not much point in whining about it.
The December trip to New Orleans is coming along well. Selling records, slow but steady, and other things too, and saving up my pennies for the trip. Josh and Kate are dealing with paperwork for applying for a loan to buy a house, not sure how that will go yet. Eliza's swimming lessons are progressing well, and she can now put her face under water - "I am very brave to do that, Grandma!" she announced yesterday. She starts school next week sometime.
My half-sister's daughter came to visit L.A. last week with her boyfriend and her best girlfriend. We met for dinner at Josh and Kate's so they could see how big Eliza is getting. Meanwhile, my "other son" John and his wife Jeanine have shared the big news that their November baby (due on John's birthday) wil be another girl - hooray!
Yesterday was the 50th anniversary of the day that my oldest friend and I began the adventure that would last our lifetimes - well, so far, anyway. There have been a lot of ups and downs, and our relationship has morphed several times through the years, but the close and loving friendship that I value above all else has outlasted every other relationship in my life. It's difficult to love a musician, because he's never going to be there - and I mean *never* going to be there - when you need him most. But I knew he was a musician when I met him, and it seems pointless to complain because he doesn't keep an accountant's hours, or leave the job at the office at 5 p.m., or remember my birthday. And last night he called, to officially mark our half-century JUST before it turned midnight in New York, which would have made it tomorrow and yet another milestone he had missed. Of course it was only 9 p.m. for me, so he was actually in plenty of time.
We talked about friends long gone, adventures long past, and our children and grandchildren, the true treasures of our lives. He says he is content, grateful for what life has given him, and not planning to slow down any time soon. I told him about the inexorable glaucoma, the probably-moving-soon, reminded him about some tapes I'm still holding for him that might see release someday; and I told him how much I appreciate what life has given ME, and we agreed, mutually, that we think it's been so good so far that it's definitely worth trying for another fifty years of friendship. The real secret to our success, I told him, is that we live 3000 miles apart; when we see each other now and then, it's always a joyful reunion, the short time we have together is never long enough, and we certainly never fight - there isn't time to waste on that. And it has taken us fifty years to finally acknowledge the perfect balance that has actually been there all along: he's always going to be the one standing onstage under the bright glare of the lights, and I'm always going to be the spirit out there in the darkened auditorium, singing harmony inside my head. He's always going to have a flight to catch to go somewhere else, and I'm always going to be the one waving goodbye at the airport.
August 6
Went out to visit Marian at her seniors assisted living facility in Pasadena last weekend. Wow, what a *gorgeous* place - completely opposite to everything I had heard (and feared) about these places. Elegant, lovely, huge airy apartment, spacious grounds, lovely gardens, a pool, a sauna, a restaurant, art classes, two movie nights a week - she is SO happy there, and I'm happy for her.
Looking forward to a bunch of good music coming up soon; Loafers Glory on the 11th, then a couple weeks later Geoff Muldaur, Jim Kweskin and Suzy Thompson, all at McCabe's. Yowza. Muldaur shares a curious distinction with Doug MacLeod; they are the only two living musicians whose albums I have written liner notes for, out of, last time I counted, nearly 300 albums I've annotated.
I need New Orleans. I mean, I just NEED New Orleans. So last week I consulted a calendar and my always uncertain finances, emailed Tony and said, can we meet there in early December? And bless him, instead of telling me that I've lost my mind, he just said "sure, I think so." I mean, is he the perfect man, or what? If only I was 30 years younger and he didn't live 8000 miles away...I've been having good results selling off my record collection, and there is a pool of money (not very deep, but a pool) sitting in Josh's PayPal account. When it hits the amount I need for my round trip train tickets I'm going to go for it.
Eliza stayed with me overnight again on Saturday night. We snuggled together, and read her favorites about Cinderella and Snow White and Sleeping Beauty, and other such hapless heroines. I pointed out to the girl who will be three years old later this week that nowadays women don't actually need a Handsome Prince to come along and kiss us and make everything all right, and that she is perfectly capable of owning her very own beautiful white steed some day if she really wants one, but that on the other hand, the whole thing about staying away from poisoned apples? Is legit.
July 28
From Garrison Keillor, whose mother passed away last night:
July 10
Mark Humphrey came by my place last night, and together we raided my record shelves for material for the Woody Guthrie radio special we're going to be doing this Saturday on KPFK. (Noon-2 pm Pacific Time, by the way, on 90.7 FM in L.A. and www.kpfk.org everywhere else). Jennifer came up while we were working, and started in to help me clean. So we're listening to the music, and she's cleaning, and a siren comes racing up the hill. I cocked a worried ear, as I always do - ambulance? Police? And then went back to the music. Thirty seconds later, another siren. And then another. Then we heard helicopters coming over, and then a fire engine, and then another, and then another, coming up the hill as fast as I can type this. I ran ouside and looked around the hillside, and as I did so, more fire engines came up - but I didn't see or smell any smoke. Neighbor Sherry called neighbor Donna, who lives across the street and up a ways and has a better view of the whole canyon - she didn't see or smell anything either, but thought that someone might have fallen off a cliff (idiot tourists are always coming up here to try to climb the Hollywood Sign, an activity that's both illegal and dangerous), so we turned on the news radio and heard that there was, indeed, a fire. Meanwhile, more fire engines. Thankfully, our heroes at Fire Station 82 had it knocked down in 30 minutes. It was a brush fire at the view point at the top of our little local park, which we call the dog park because so many people walk and run and exercise their dogs there, and quite near the lake. We're so lucky to have these amazing firefighters always on call when we need them - no structures damaged, no one injured.
My ex-landlady moved into her assisted living facility today - her apartment now sits empty and quiet, waiting for the new owners to come in and clean and paint and upgrade and then re-rent it at three times what I'm paying. She'll be back tomorrow evening to meet all the rest of us and go to a farewell dinner together. And with the possibility always on my mind that at any moment I may be forced out, I sent three more packages of stuff to Tony today to be auctioned on eBay. Slow and steady wins the race!
July 8
The 4th of July radio special was...okay. I was greeted when I walked into the station with a full set of shiny new CD players, that worked NOTHING like the old ones, so I had a few technological glitches, and that always distracts me from the "flow." But it was nice to hear from folks that they were enjoying it. Now doing prep for the Woody Guthrie special, on what would have been his 100th birthday this coming Saturday, July 14th from noon-2 p.m. Luckily for me, Mark Humphrey will be co-hosting it with me, and he is very organized and good at prep. Unlike me...
No news is no news about the move, but I am still determined to "liquidate" some of this clutter, and have been working on that. Things are going out the door, slowly but surely; a few friends have been over to choose mementos, and a few other things have been sold for me online by my friend Tony, who has an eBay account. We'll get there.
Eliza is growing like a weed - well, a very decorative weed - she's tall and leggy, and we are reading to each OTHER on the futon now. She is beginning to think about what things mean, instead of just repeating what she's told, which is such an interesting thing to watch develop. She may be going to be gifted for sciences and math, which God knows she didn't inherit from me, but she puts jigsaw puzzles together with great precision, and has a her little routines and orderly ways she wants things done; it's fun to see her turning into a person. Hard to believe she'll be three next month; and there is a future sibling being discussed very seriously.
Took the train to the Bay Area last weekend to help my old friend Chris Strachwitz of Arhoolie Records celebrate his 81st birthday. Unlike last year, when we went the bus/train inland route, I decded to take the Coast Starlight this tme, and let me tell you folks, after half a century of Amtrak travel I have to say that this train is the best one in the system. Comfort, elegance, great food, a gorgeous vista (from Oxnard to just north of Santa Barbara the train runs alongside the ocean!), and even a complimentary wine tasting - alas, as a non-drinker that didn't do me a lot of good, but I went in there anyway just for the experience. Cheeses, crackers, and generous pours of four different vintages - I had a lovely glass of ice water and gritted my teeth! Once in the Bay Area it was food, friends and great music for three days - my pals Kate Brislin and Jody Stecher turned me on to a great Pakisatani restaurant in the Tenderloin (an area of San Francisco which has so many Indian and Pakistani places now that local food writers call it the tandoorloin). Jody, being the expert, ordered for us all, and every dish was perfection! Then I wandered around SF being a tourist - went to Chinatown, and took a trip through the lobby of the elegant St. Francis Hotel, where I can't even afford to PARK, let alone stay, but it's free to look around. Dinner that night over in Berkeley with my pal Johnny Harper at a Cajun restaurant, and again, having a local with us was SO helpful because he knew what they did well and what to avoid. Sunday midday had coffee with Bill Evans, aka the Handsomest Banjo Player in the World, and got caught up on all his doings; then went to Chris' party, a multi-hour extravaganza that was held at his store, Down Home Music in El Cerrito. Chris, a good friend of mine for over 45 years, has lots of *other* good friends, some of whom can cook, and some of whom who can play music, and some who can both cook AND play music (great raita, Jody!) so I just hung out with Chris and ate and listened. Los Cenzontles was a great revelation (Chris calls them his Singing Angels), Laurie Lewis and Tom Rozum were wonderful, there was a Cajun pickup band, and upstairs in Chris' apartment there was a singing session with Kate, Jody, Johnny, Richard Brandenburg and a few other folks. Richard should be a LOT better known than he is - but so should they all, really. More comfort and elegance on the return train journey, and I am now actively looking for excuses to go back up there before Chris' next birthday!
Uncle Lionel Batiste, leader of the Treme Brass Band, died in New Orleans today at age 81. A good long life well lived, and fortunately he wasn't sick for too long, and they were able to make his passing comfortable.
Jim and I do crossword puzzles at my kitchen table and go to Astroburger now and then, and make the occasional trip out to hear our friend Ian Whitcomb at Cantalini's - ahh, the mad social whirl that is my life.
Phil Alvin is home from Spain, recovering well. A happy ending, thank God.
Work is really busy. My part-time assistant is on a 7-week (!!) vacation, due back late this month, so I have been pulling double duty since the beginning of June. Now our really busy time approaches: hair is being pulled out, unladylike language being used, etc.
Music biz committee meetings coming next month; a few visits from out of town friends are projected over the summer; then in October the Santa Barbara Old Time Fiddlers Convention and the Far-West Folk Alliance Conference on consecutive weekends, and Chris will be coming to town (well, Irvine) for the latter. Too much good stuff, as my pal Billy says.
June 20
Well. it's been a complicated time since I last wrote anything. And the more complicated it gets, the harder a time I have trying to write about it.
Doc Watson died. This was not entirely unexpected, as he had been failing for awhile, but from the day he fell at his home and couldn't get up to the day he died was only eight days, so when it was time for him to go, at least it went fast. But losing one of the great legends of American music, who was also a longtime friend (we first met in 1963!) was hard. I produced a box set of his music for Vanguard, and a live recording of his Newport Folk Festival performances from the early 1960s, and when I was working on both of those he was incredibly open and helpful. And I heard his voice at least once every two weeks or so for the last 23 years, as he would call in to the office pretty often, and he always said "is that the Telephone Girl?" (which was the name of a song he recorded long ago). I will really miss him.
And Doug Dillard died, he of the blinding smile and flashing banjo runs. And Eric White died, brother of my friends Roland and the late Clarence, founding member of the Country Boys, later the Kentucky Colonels. The older I get the more friends I lose; this is how it happens. But it's never easy.
And Phil Alvin is in a hospital in Spain (where he was on tour with the Blasters). Holding a good thought.
And. And. The building I have lived in for the last 42 years has been sold - the owner, in her late 80s, is moving into a retirement community - and the new owners, a property management corporation, may "develop" the property (i.e. throw us all out, tear it down and convert the apartments to condos); or, they may not. Not knowing is the hardest part. If I have to move then I have to move, but....I have been happy here. My son was born here, my daughter, an infant when we moved in, got married here. Our lives are entwined with this place; the kids have spent every Christmas, every Thanksgiving, every Mother's Day, every Easter of their lives in this place. Even after they grew up and moved out and made lives of their own, they have always come back here for the holidays; they have never known any other home but this. As David Mallet says, "This is where I learned to use my hands and hear my heart." And there are other fond memories here, especially of my dear Keith and my dear Robert Palmer, both of whom stayed with me here at various times
But one small good thing has come out of this; I have at last realized that the time has come to get rid of all the "stuff" I have spent my life accumulating. Because whether sooner or later, I *will* eventually have to move; if sooner, I will need to drastically downsize, as when I lose this rent-controlled apartment I will have to move into a *much* smaller place, and there simply won't be room for it all. If I am able to stay here a few more years, I will still have to move eventually, when I am no longer able to work and it becomes time for me to retire, take my Social Security, move in with Josh and Kate and become a nanny to Eliza and her future sibling. And one room in their home, grateful as I am to them for offering it, will also not hold all this stuff. So, the time has come to start letting go. I've sold a few things already, via the internet; Tony has an eBay account and has been selling things for me that way, and money is arriving in Josh's PayPal account almost daily. I don't need all these records now that I no longer do a regular radio show, so out it will all go. Changes, changes, changes.
May 12
RIP Duck Dunn.
Lost a(nother) good friend this week. That's how it happens; you blink, and they’re gone. Take a breath in, and they take a breath out and are gone in that heartbeat of time. Thomas Henry “Hal” Freeland III died of a heart attack at age 82 at his home in Oxford, MS. Just sitting talking quietly to his wife Judy, and in an instant he was gone. I hadn’t seen Hal for awhile; the last time I was in Oxford, a year ago February, he wasn’t in the law office when I went by to visit Tom and Joyce. I fell hopelessly in love with him the minute I met him, however many years ago that was – twenty? more? – because that courtly-Southern-gentleman-lawyer thing that he had going on just charmed me into instant friendship. I loved talking to him – all those Freeland boys have voices like warm maple syrup, and Hal’s Mississippi drawl was the best because he was the oldest. When his son Robert died the voice got a little bit raspier, but he still stood up every time I entered his office and he still pulled out chairs and opened doors for me and asked after my kids as if they and I were the most important things he could possibly want to talk about right at that moment. He was a big man with a big laugh and a straight wide open innocent stare that said he had nothing to hide, although of course he did. And I can’t believe he’s gone, just like that; I blinked, and he died, and that’s all there’s ever going to be.
Next Sunday (the 20th) I'll be emceeing the Topanga Banjo Fiddle Contest - they'll be dedicating the beginners stage to the late Frank Javorsek, a lovely gesture.
The kids all took me out for a great Mothers's Day dinner a couple of days early. Friends, most of my time these days is spent with Eliza or at work, leaving little time any more to tend to this blob. I'll write when I can.
April 13
Cathy Fink and Marcy Marxer are in town, and last night we all went to the Magic Castle together; my pal Mark came over that afternoon and we all met up at the Castle for dinner. We saw a couple of good magic shows, which made it a later night than I like on a weeknight, but this morning I didn't have to go to work; my good friend Ed Archer's mother Thelma died last week at 103 (!) and today was her funeral. The weather was certainly appropriate; pouring really hard with rain and very gloomy, perfect for a funeral. Tomorrow I will have my darling Eliza overnight, and then on Sunday morning I'm taking her to breakfast and then to McCabe's, where Cathy and Marcy are doing a childrens concert, before returning her to her parents.
April 3
Here's a story and some video of my friend Peter Feldmann paying a visit to Earl and Louise Scruggs in their home - Peter got to play Uncle Dave Macon's banjo!
April 2
Sunday was a busy day; Mark came over early and we went out to Pasadena to the swap meet, where we immediately ran into Billy Vera, who was clutching a handful of 45s. I really didn't think there WERE any records Billy didn't already own! During our wanderings we found a lap steel guitar that had once been owned by a musician I remembered from the late 60s or early 70s, John Forsha, whose widow was selling off a few of his instruments. I got a chance to visit with her a little bit and she refreshed my dim memory of him; I remembered that he had played on Fred Neil's "Dolphins" album, because I went to the sessions at Capitol, and I had seen his name on Judy Henske's High Flying Bird LP and on Tim Buckley's debut on Elektra. On the way home I said to Mark, "You know, I think he played on a Stone Poneys session, too." And I checked when we got home, and I was right, there he was! Mark took the lap steel home to his place, gave it a new set of strings, and wrote a little tune for it. Anyhow, after the swap meet we went to a Thai Music and Culture Festival - Hollywood Blvd. was blocked off from Western to Normandie and there were booths, stages, food, etc. Rather than deal with traffic and parking, we had Jennifer run us down the hill to the Metro station at Hollywood and Vine, got off one exit later at Hollywood and Western and there we were! I had the *best* mango and sticky rice I've ever tasted, and took some photos which, you're tired of hearing about this, I can't figure out how to post here. Got home from that, put my feet up for ten minutes and then went right back out again. Jim and I had dinner at Astroburger the other night, and during the meal our pal Ian Whitcomb turned up to join us; he had an appointment that got cancelled and found himself at loose ends, so he drifted over to hang out with us. We had a lovely visit together, and he reminded us about his upcoming Cantalini's gig, so last night we went out there. Had the usual really good Italian food and the usual really fun Ian music; half the meal ended up coming home and being my lunch today. Us Italians are all about the big portions!
We are figuring out Easter; the holiday really belongs to Kate's parents, who are devout Catholics and go to church and so forth on that important day, so I will keep Eliza overnight the night before, and after she falls asleep I'll pretend to be the Easter Bunny and hide a few eggs for her to find early Sunday morning before Josh and Kate come to get her and they all go off to spend the day with Kate's family. Not real eggs, since she is allergic to eggs, but chocolate marshmallow bunnies or whatever I can pick up this coming week. Farther on up the road, as Bobby Blue Bland used to say, we have a family day planned at the end pf this month at the House of Mouse. Jennifer and Bruce, Josh and Kate and I will all take Eliza there for a day - it takes five adults to ride herd on her when she gets to racing around. She is looking forward to visiting with her close girlfriends Daisy Duck and Minnie Mouse.
March 29
Well, the trip report is done, but I am having a hard time posting photos. If I can't sort it out myself I'll send up a flag and Claire will come and help me.
Meanwhile, it has been a time of bad news and hard losses. My old friend Frank Javorsek died of a heart attack this week; I first met him when we both did radio shows on KCSN back in the late 1970s. I am shocked and saddened. Many generations of music students passed through his capable hands; I have strong memories of Frank at both the Topanga Banjo & Fiddle Contest and the Santa Barbara Old Time Fiddler's Convention, shepherding his students on and off the contest stage and backing them up on guitar when needed. Another old bluegrass buddy, Doug Dillard, is in Vanderbilt Hospital in Nashville, semi-conscious and intubated, suffering from emphysema. And the great Earl Scruggs passed away; a most wonderful opening paragraph of a story by Steve Martin, published earlier this year in The New Yorker, describes him so perfectly:
Some nights he had the stars of North Carolina shooting from his fingertips. Before him, no one had ever played the banjo like he did. After him, everyone played the banjo like he did, or at least tried. In 1945, when he first stood on the stage at the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville and played banjo the way no one had heard before, the audience responded with shouts, whoops, and ovations. He performed tunes he wrote as well as songs they knew, with clarity and speed like no one could imagine, except him. When the singer came to the end of a phrase, he filled the theatre with sparkling runs of notes that became a signature for all bluegrass music since. He wore a suit and a Stetson hat, and when he played he smiled at the audience like what he was doing was effortless. There aren’t many earthquakes in Tennessee, but that night there was.
Sunday was our annual Party Gras, and despite a storm that wouldn't have been out of place in New Orleans, many friends splashed their way to our doorstep in the pouring rain to eat jambalaya, wear the silly Mardi Gras beads I passed out, and help celebrate our family birthday party with us. Jennifer came over a couple of days before and helped clean, and everyone pitched in to make it happen. It was lovely.
My hillside cafe, radically renovated, has reopened. But I haven't been there, and most likely won't go back. Jim has reported in, as has Jennifer, that the food is very good but the ambience has been totally destroyed; it's no longer the cozy local cafe with slightly chintzy old-fashioned decor; it's now industrial-looking, stripped to bare floors and bare walls (I am told it's very LOUD in there now) and has no warmth at all. So Jim and I go to Astroburger, an inconvenient distance away, and when we do crosswords now, it's here at my place. Changes, changes.
March 12
I'm home - and it was great. Will write a long "trip report' and post some photos here as soon as I can get everything organized. Before then, however, mountains of laundry are staring at me. You know how that goes.
January 25
Very sad news today. My old friend Dick Kniss passed away; he was the longtime (40+ years) rock-solid bassist for Peter, Paul & Mary, and also did about ten years as John Denver's road bassist while PP&M were on hiatus. He was one of the nicest people I ever knew, and will be greatly missed.
Good things are happening in radio land. You can all go back to listening to KPFK on Saturday mornings; a whole bunch of my pals are hosting shows in the old Alive & Picking slot, taking turns - Tom Nixon, Ben Elder, Mark Humphrey, John and Deanne Davis, and I hope one other (still waiting to hear about that one). I'm really pleased that it all worked out.
NAMM was great! Ran into a bunch of old friends, heard lots of plucking and strumming and so forth - my feet hurt and my ears are ringing, but it was worth it! Will try to upload a photo here but have been having a struggle with it lately.
Now: do NOT worry if I don't write very often any more. Getting ready to leave on my trip soon, and also working on THREE writing projects that must all be done before I go. So, you know. I'll be baaaaack.
January 8, 2012
Yesterday was the first morning the alarm did not go off at 4 a.m. for the radio show. I didn't notice, of course, being asleep. When I did wake up at about 6:30, it was to find a small person burrowed tightly next to me under the covers, one tiny fist clutching the sleeve of my nightgown and the other holding her (stuffed) kitty. I watched the miracle of her breathing in and out for awhile, till she stretched, sat up and immediately, with no yawning wakeup period allowed, started chattering full tilt about what we were going to do that day. This, folks, is why I retired from the radio show. I would not have missed those precious early-morning minutes with this two-year-old angel (who, in case you hadn't noticed, has me completely wrapped) for anything you could offer me. She will only be two for a minute - we will only have a heartbeat of time in which to have splashy baths and hair combing and princess nightgowns and bedtime rituals together. Do I love the music? You betcha. Do I love her more? Don't even ask.
When her mommy came to pick her up we all went to breakfast together at Victor's; she inspected the science of pouring syrup into the open squares on grandma's waffles, then decided she was big enough to drink ice water out of a real glass. When we got that mopped up and she recovered from the shock of her ice water bath, we all read "The Monster at The End of This Book" (and how well I remember reading that exact same book to her daddy 34 years ago!) and then I was dropped off at home and started my day. Errands, shopping, and my big treat: a matinee bluegrass show! Loafers Glory sold out their evening show, so they added a 3:00 p.m. set, and I called Bob Stane at the Coffee Gallery and pleaded to be allowed to switch my ticket to the earlier start time. Loud cheers! They were great, as always, and even greater was the fact that I didn't have to make that long drive back home alone in the dark. I find that as I get older, driving in the dark become more and more challenging, so I am trying to cut it way back.
My pal Rex has some adorable little kittens he is trying to find homes for. If you know anyone who wants one (or two), let me know via email and I will forward it to him. He and the kittens are I think, in Pasadena/Altadena or thereabouts.
Trying to schedule our annual Party Gras, in order to have it in hand before I leave on my trip. Oh, I like the sound of that - let's say that again. Before I leave on my trip. I am leaving soon for my trip. Ahhhh. Memphis (folklore conference, barbecue, visiting friends) and New Orleans (food, music, music, food, food, music. Sleep, not so much.) And this year will be most special because not only is Tony coming over from London, but Josh, Kate and Eliza are coming too! Can't wait to take Eliza to the Audubon Aquarium of the Americas.
December 31
Disappointing news: Tony has decided not to come to L.A. for the Grammys after all, but is reverting to our original plan, and we will meet in Memphis and travel together to New Orleans, as in previous years. Sigh. Meanwhile, Neil's plans for a visit are proceeding on schedule.
Did my last radio show this morning. Last? Well, last for NOW anyhow. One never knows, do one, as Fats Waller used to say. Lots of nice calls and emails from listeners saying goodbye. As soon as I got home the kids brought Eliza over to play with me, and also brought my new "smart" phone, their Christmas gift. So far I have figured out how to program numbers into it, I think; at this point the phone is still smarter than I am but I expect that will turn around soon. Eliza and I have had a lovely day together, and she is now freshly bathed, wearing her Disney Princess nightgown, sitting on the futon in my office watching her perennial favorite, "Lady & the Tramp." At 8:59 we will turn on the New York Times Square celebrations, count backwards from ten, and retire peacefully to bed, looking forward to whatever adventures the new year may bring us.
December 27
Christmas was great! Josh did all the heavy cooking - a huge pot of spaghetti, a huge salad, and I made a pan of garlic bread. Apres djeuner, Eliza was the focus of attention, as she enthusiastically tore open all her presents. Her favorite, we think, was a Disney Princess tea set I gave her, with little cups and saucers and spoons and a teapot and a sugar and cream set, all in solid, unbreakable, very pink plastic. The kids gave me a cell phone - I know, I already HAVE a cell phone - however, this one, apparently, can waltz, count to a hundred, etc. as it is a "smart" phone. It may be smarter than I am - I don't know - it hasn't actually arrived yet. It's being shipped to Josh's office and will be here any minute now, providing it's smart enough to find its way to my house.
The epiphany du jour is that without the radio show, I no longer need to keep all these CDs. Many of them can go! Not all, of course - but I've started pulling stuff off shelves and putting it in stacks to sell off. Perhaps my daughter and her husband can be persuaded to load several boxes into the back of their giant vehicle and take them all down the hill to trade in at Amoeba Records after the holidays. I have *got* to get rid of the "but I might need this for something someday!" mentality that has made me the Clutter Queen of Hollywood. The kids have threatened to make me watch a show called "The Hoarders" or some such title, about people who have so much junk in their homes that they can't walk from room to room. I'm not THAT bad....yet....am I?
An old friend sent me a lovely Christmas gift in the mail, which is greatly appreciated. But even better was the kind note about our friendship that she wrote in the card. There are a handful of people in my life that I have known for a long time - Peter, of course, with whom I'll be celebrating our 50th "anniversary" this coming August. Berta, and Vicki, whom I've knows since Ash Grove days - the mid-60s, so that would be (hastily counting on fingers) 46-47 years now. Same for Chris Strachwitz, whom I met when he used to come into the club in the mid-60s, and I went to his 80th birthday party this past July. I first met Esther Crayton back in the late 60s when her late husband Pee Wee used to play at the Parisian Room regularly, and we've stayed friends all thsee years. And my friendship with Dick Waterman, who once mistook me for Jackie DeShannon - no, really! - is also well into its fourth decade. Jim O'Neal, let's see, we've known each other since the mid-70s sometime, so that would be...35 years? Mark, whom I met in the late 70s when he moved out here from Oklahoma - and we had been "pen pals" before that! And the friend who sent the card and gift, with whom I go back at least 35 years now. But that's not many; the older I get, of course, the more of them go on ahead. I thought that Keith and I, and Stevenson and I, would be lifelong friends; and so, I guess, we were, only that their lifetimes ran out long before mine did.
December 21
It's the holidays, so am busy doing Christmas prep for Eliza, whose new friendship with Dora The Explorer needs to be appropriately acknowleged (i.e. gift-wrapped). I had the postponed surgery, finally, which was not any fun at all but did bring out the hero I always knew was in Jennifer, who has been rising every morning at 5 to clean and dress the wound and change the dressings before I go to work, and the same again when she gets home from work each night. Stitches come out on the 28th, and as far as I know she will be off the hook after that. Then there is a new writing assignment - liner notes for a forthcoming CD - and another, possibly, in the New Year if certain licensing glitches can be overcome. And, lingering in the background, the need to put together my final radio show, which will happen on New Year's Eve. So what with one excuse and another I haven't written much here.
Tony may be coming out here; he's been nominated for a Grammy Award, and the ceremony is here on February 12th. He is investigating flights from London to L.A., etc.; we were already set to meet in Memphis and travel to New Orleans together later in the month, but now it seems he will need to come out here the week before. Well, that would be lovely, but am holding off any hilarity until he actually books his tickets. Oh, Lord, houseguests = if this comes true I must draft Jennifer to help me clean the place!
We're busy at work right now, and will be till the end of the year, after which I should have time to breathe. I was very proud of myself for going back to work the day after the surgery, but now think maybe that was a mistake. I should have admitted that I needed a day or so to rest, and am paying for it with a slower recovery time than I expected. I don't think my mind has caught up yet with the reality of just how old my body really is.
December 11
Here's a promo
video for Ralph Stanley's new album.
Had 50% of my guest hosts on the show this morning (Jim and Art) and they did a great job. Then we went next door for breakfast and then my weekend really began. Kate and I took Eliza Christmas shopping, and then Kate and Josh left her with me overnight so we could bond. The usual bath and bedtime rituals were observed. This morning we got up and and went to - ugh - Denny's for breakfast. Without my coffee shop up here I have to completely redo my decades-long eating habits; now that I have to go down the hill to find food, I really HAVE to find somewhere decent to eat!
December 8
Had my first Cuban food before the Loafers Glory show at Boulevard Music last weekend; the restaurant is right across the street from the club, and while the Loafers were doing their sound check Mark and I walked down the block and had dinner. Reasonable prices and really good food! The guys were great as always, and sang me some of that wonderful bluegrass gospel, also as always. They dropped tantalizing hints about their new CD, which *may* be done in time for me to play it on the air on December 31. Or may not.
The news appears to have leaked out that I am leaving KPFK, and in addition to receiving several kind emails and calls from listeners, I have had some email discussions with station management. There may, and I use the word advisedly, be some news for you. If there is, I promise I'll let you know.
Time and change are getting me down. The coffee shop on my hillside, where I have been eating for forty years and more, has closed. All the workers are out of a job (but fortunately they are all eligible for unemployment insurance, since they were laid off due to closure); a few of the waitresses have already found other work. I don't know what Milton will do; at nearly 80 he's going to be a tough sell to modern restaurants who want their cooks to be young, sexy and CIA graduates, and he's none of the above. I scraped together a tip for him that I hope will help tide him over, and I saw other regulars slipping Christmas cards to him too during the closing week, so with that and his unemployment I hope he will be okay for awhile. There's already a sign in the window showing that a liquor license has been applied for - my Lord, are they turning our coffee shop into a BAR? This is a quiet, residential hillside community; I don't know what a bar will do to us in the way of traffic, noise and drunks going home at closing time. Yikes. Jim and I have been doing our crossword puzzles together there for ages; we are trying to find another place to do them, but Dennys is so soulless, and the few other places we can find aren't set up the way we need them. Oh dear.
Have been doing some Christmas shopping, from local small stores and merchants and mom and pop places whenever possible.
November 28
Mary Katherine waves goodbye: A major decision, but oddly, not a hard one. I've been doing a radio show in one form or another for over 35 years now, and all this time I have always said that when it stopped being fun I would hang it up. And that time has come; it has stopped being fun. Getting up at 4:00 a.m. on Saturdays? Not fun. Working every single weeknight evening on prep for the coming Saturday's show, instead of playing with my granddaughter or visiting with friends or, you know, just having time to read a book? Not fun. Listening to countless recordings of mediocre singer/songwhiners to find the few jewels that I just love and really want to play? Not fun. Going in to the radio station to find missing or broken equipment, the control room a mess, and things not being done that should be? LONG ago stopped being fun. The fundraising pledge drives, so essential to the radio station's continued well-being but so incredibly draining to do? NEVER were any fun. When I wrote the note to Maggie (the station's Music Director) last week, telling her that I was ready to go, I saved it in my unsent mail for a couple of days, wondering if I might just be a little tired or momentarily depressed or something, and it would pass. Nope. When I finally hit that "send" button yesterday afternoon, I promise you I felt nothing but an immense relief. I am SO MUCH looking forward to returning to a life in which I *can* go out to hear live music on Friday nights because I won't have to get up at 4 the next morning, and for that matter can go out to shows on Saturday nights without falling asleep during the first set because I have been up since 4 *that* morning. I can go away for a weekend. Did you hear me? I can go away for a whole weekend, yes, starting on a Friday night if I want to, without having to say, no, sorry, can't leave till after I do the show Saturday morning. For 35 years I have been planning my entire life around the obligation of doing the radio show, for which, of course, I not only get paid nothing, but which actually costs me anywhere between $2,000 and $3,000 a year to do. I get a lot of records for free, yes, but I have to BUY at least as many more.
But the most important thing is this: listening to music, which I used to love, has become a chore and an obligation. I HAVE to listen to this huge stack of stuff that comes in the mail every week, knowing that most of it is going to be garbage but it all has to get a fair hearing. If listening to music has become a burden; if my favorite part of doing the radio show has become having guest hosts sit in with me so I don't have to program anything that week? Wow, REALLY time to let it go. I have enjoyed it, mostly; but now it's time to say goodbye.
There are some folks in public radio who hang onto their shows with a death grip, because it's all they have. I feel sorry for them; their entire identities and lives have become wrapped up in doing their radio programs. Me? I have a whole big huge busy exciting wonderful life. Terrific kids (and grandkids) whom I adore and who adore me, a full time day job, a vast circle of friends I rarely get to see, projects producing and annotating reissues, my occasional freelance writing work, my annual trips to see my "second family" of friends in New Orleans, my work on the Grammy committees, and a lot more. I don't need to hear my name on the radio every week; I already know who I am. And frankly, my life is winding down now, and I am becoming acutely aware of what time I have left, and the need to spend it wisely. I'm not getting any younger - au contraire - and I want my children and grandchildren and old friends to get as much of my time and attention as possible. So I am leaving radioland in order to give myself time to enjoy being alive while I am alive, and there it is. Last show: last Saturday of the year, December 31. New year: new start. I have loved serving the music all these years. Thanks for listening.
Oh: I'll continue to maintain the calendar on my web site.
November 26
Thanksgiving was great - I fed 22 people, at two sittings, and Casa Aldin was crowded all day and evening with good food and good friends. I am going to be washing dishes for a lonnnng time to come.
Tom Sauber was a champ on this morning's radio show, although we had some technical issues that made it something of an adventure. Then I drove out to Santa Monica, had lunch with Mark, and then went to Boulevard
Music to buy my tickets for next Saturday's Loafers Glory show. Can't wait!
Am working on my February travel to Memphis and New Orleans, making sure all the reservations are in place and everything is booked. Josh, Kate and Eliza are coming too.
Another member of my New Orleans family of friends has gone. Quick and clean, the same way Keith went.
Coco Robicheaux, New Orleans hoodoo bluesman, has died
Updated: Friday, November 25, 2011, 10:15 PM
By Keith Spera, The Times-Picayune
http://www.nola.com/music/index.ssf/2011/11/coco_robicheaux_rushed_from_ap.html
November 21
I love this video. Can't help it. Three girls, three voices, three empty cottage cheese containers. Yowza!
Eliza came over right after my radio show on Saturday and we spent the day together. Jennifer and I decided it was time for a trip to the mall (my Lord, three generations of Aldin women turned loose in a mall - look OUT!) and needless to say Eliza especially enjoyed the Disney store. Jennifer got new contact lenses and we did some pre-Christmas looking and touching but not yet buying. Then we had lunch (the child's menu included Eliza's favorite, macaroni and cheese) and when we got home I tried to put her down for a nap. That didn't work out so well. Dropped her off to Kate at home and then headed west for dinner with Mark and a visit to McCabe's, where I heard Roland White's band again. It was great; Roland and I went into a tiny room off the lobby and he recorded a promo for my radio show, AND, best news of all, Tom Sauber (who sat in with the band on fiddle) agreed to come in and do the show with me this Saturday!
November 16
Eliza and Kate and I went to the Skirball Cultural Center on Sunday, where my old friend Peter Yarrow was doing a concert and book-signing. Hundreds, literally hundreds, of children under the age of about 8 were bouncing up and down, singing, clapping and running around screaming. Before the concert we went into a side room where there were about 500 copies of Peter's newest book in boxes, and we (well, Kate and I - Eliza wasn't really much help) unwrapped them all out of their cellophane so that Peter could sign them, then re-wrapped them for sale to the public.
About a third of the way into the concert Eliza decided that running around on the outside patio chasing bubbles was more fun than sitting in an auditorium, so she and Kate went outside, and after the show Peter sat a a table signing yet more books, doing the shake and howdy thing, and having his picture taken with (it seemed like) every single person in the place. MANY hundreds. Then, finally, we had some quiet family time to get caught up on news about our children and grandchildren. It's always a treat to get to visit with him, and although Eliza was in restless squirmy mode, I was able to get a photo of them together.
Then it was bluegrass time, as another old friend, Roland White, came into town for a few gigs. I went to the Viva Cantina show last night, where I got to meet some radio show listeners because Roland outed me from the stage and they came over at the break to say hello; and the music was so wonderful that I'm going to see the band again at McCabe's this Saturday. The show was grrrr-eat. And there were more musicians in the audience than onstage. Seriously? Just at my table: Pat Cloud, Ross Landry, Harley Tarlitz, Blaine Sprouse (until he had to get up on stage), Bill Bryson (ditto), and David Naiditch; next table, Tom and Patrick Sauber (Patrick got press-ganged by Roland to help with the sound, and I understand that he played some in the second set, but I had to leave, as usual, due to my relentlessly early wakeup time) and lots more. The band is Roland on mandolin, his wife Diane on rhythm guitar, Herb Pedersen on banjo, Bill Bryson on bass, Blaine Sprouse on fiddle. And they can flat get it! Can't wait to hear them again on Saturday night, especially since I don't have to get up early on Sunday morning so can stay for both sets!
October 10
Spent the last two days in Santa Barbara. The Fiddle Contest was great, as always; it's a chance to visit lots of old friends (including one, Barry, who I hadn't seen in decades) and I get to spend the day hopping on and off the stage, herding youngsters. Mark Humphrey won First Place in Advanced Singing and Second Place in Advanced Guitar; alas, his prize money and more was left right there in Santa Barbara, as he bought a banjo with it the next day! Josh, Kate and Eliza arrived mid-afternoon; Eliza skipped around at the front of the stage saying "Grandma, look! It's me!" Had dinner that night with Peter and Francine, as is our tradition, at Harry's Plaza Cafe, also our tradition. Then back to our motel, where Josh and Kate brought Eliza over from their room and deposited her on my bed and went out to their own dinner. Eliza and I played with flash cards and then she fell peacefully asleep. This morning she deliberated her wardrobe choices carefully, after which we all went to breakfast at a great place on the beach called The Boathouse. Eliza frolicked on the sand for awhile and then we took her to Chaucer's Books, where she wanted to bring the entire children's room home with her! When the kids left for home I went to Folk Mote Music, where Mark bought the aforementioned banjo, Jensen's Music, where I didn't buy anything, and Book Den, where Mark bought a book on Nepal and I passed up a copy of Stan Hugill's book on sea shanteys because it was $50!
October 7
A whole month since I last wrote! Web site problems, which never did get fixed by the ISP but which somehow presented me with a complicated workaround option that I am still using, are one excuse. I've also been very busy with music-business meetings for the last six and next four weeks, after which it will ease up. And things are busy at work, too (which is good!) and Eliza takes up what little time I have left.
Well, what have I been up to...have had some good visits from out of town friends, and we've broken bread together and gotten caught up on our news. Alas, as I get older the "news" is more and more about who has died since I last saw them! Bert Jansch, founding member of Pentangle and an amazing and gifted guitarist, died earlier this week, way too young. Folk and bluegrass singer Liz Meyer finally lost her decade-long fight with cancer last month. And so forth. There's some good news to balance that; Roland White called to tell me that he will be out here next month to do several shows (see the calendar page) and that his band for this tour will be himself on mandolin, his wife Diane Bouska on guitar, Blaine Sprouse on fiddle, and Herb Pedersen and Bill Bryson from Loafers Glory/the Desert Rose Band! I am *so* there, as the children say.
My son in law Bruce's birthday is around the corner, and Jennifer and I concocted a great surprise. We started dropping hints a couple of weeks back about how I was thinking I really should join the rest of the world and get a "smart-phone" or I-Phone, but don't really know enough about them. We strung that out for a couple of weeks while Jennifer emailed his family in North Dakota and we all put in for a collection. Set a date for him to come with us to the Apple Store where, he thought, he was going to help me learn about the new I-phones. Got him there and sprung it on him that we were really there to buy HIM an I-Pad for his birthday. He about fell over. We had him SO fooled. Jennifer had her camera on him when we told him the truth and he looked stunned! (But in a good way.) He is now playing with his new toy 24/7 and doesn't answer Jennifer when she talks to him.
My car had, I thought, kind of squashy brakes and was making a weird skreeking noise, so I took it to the mechanic. Three days and MANY hundreds of dollars I don't have later, it's home, skreeking noise is gone, and it has a bunch of new innards, and new windshield wipers, tires have been rotated, oil changed, new transmission fluid and a new pulley put in BUT the brakes were fine. Grrrr. Bless it's heart, this thing is really an old crock. Soon as I hit that lottery I am going to get a new(er) car.
Am thinking longingly about my annual vacation in February. It hasn't been decided yet whether I am going to Folk Alliance in Memphis or just going straight from here to New Orleans and back. Josh and Kate may bring Eliza to New Orleans for a couple of days while I'm there - she's a tad young for the Bourbon Street sleaze, but is the perfect age for the Audubon Aquarium and the Zoo and the St. Charles Streetcar ride and....my pal Tony is going to fly over from London and join me either in Memphis, if I do go there first, or in New Orleans. I am *really* looking forward to it.
On Halloween I am having some things removed that shouldn't be there. Very minor, nothing to worry about. I did have a thought that the doctor might show up dressed as Frankenstein - in which case he is NOT cutting me open!
Radio in the morning, so I should probably go pull some records! Sunday I am emceeing the Santa Barbara Old Time Fiddlers Convention; if anyone is going, come to the contest stage and say hi! Josh and Kate are bringing Eliza up for it and we will all get to stay overnight and spend some time together up there on Monday, hooray!
August 23.
Too much sad news today. Andy Cohen called to tell me that old time fiddler Paul David Smith died this morning at 77. I was lucky enough to get to meet him last February at Folk Alliance, where I presented him with the Mike Seeger Scholarship Award; I think there are a couple of photos of him on my trip page. Here he is playing.
And this, from my New Orleans pal Ben Sandmel:
August 22
Spent the weekend in San Diego - the Summergrass festival, which I had not been to before, turned out to be a great event. Loafer's Glory stole the show, with the Grascals running a close second and Wayne Taylor & Appaloosa representing the suits and ties tradition. All the bands were really good, and even the "not quite ready for prime time" kids groups showed that in a couple of years they'll be there too. I walked about a hundred miles on Saturday. Okay, maybe only fifty.
Sunday morning had lunch with my half-sister and her son in Carlsbad, then went to - now wait a minute before you laugh hysterically - the Richard M. Nixon Library and Museum in Yorba Linda. I can hear a chorus of WTH?, so let me explain. Mark came to San Diego with me, he wanted to see it, and it was right on the way home. End of story. By the way, they have done an amazing job with the place - the 9 acres of property includes the house he was born in (still in its original location), the side-by-side graves where the former President and his wife Pat are buried, the Air Force One helicopter that flew him away from the White House for the last time (and had earlier been used by Presidents Kennedy and Johnson), and a Presidential limo that he had used. The grounds are gorgeous - apparently Mrs. Nixon loved roses, and they have some seriously good gardens there. The gift shop? Exactly as you would imagine.
August 16
There's been lots of Grandma time with Eliza lately; Josh and Kate went out of town for the whole weekend, so I had Eliza at home with me from Friday afternoon to Sunday evening. Mark invited us to enjoy the luxury of his apartment building's swimming pool, so we did that on Sunday afternoon, and she splashed happily in the cool water. There was a petting zoo at the local farmers market, where she warily eyed her first up-close goats, chickens and two rather large white ducks. We tried the pony ride again, and again no luck. Anyhow, the kids skated home just in time to pick her up and give me fifteen minutes in which to get showered and dressed before Jim came along and collected me and our neighbors Alessandra and Jimmy to go out to Cantalini's in Playa del Rey to hear our pal Ian Whitcomb and his band. We all had a lovely time (always nice to eat with people whose food I don't have to cut up into small bites), and then last night I went, for the first time in ages, out to Ian and Jim's weekly Monday night "salon" in Pasadena, at which I again got to commune with people older than two. Lovely to see Regina after so long! And Opal and Ellen Nations were visiting from the Bay Area, so I got to see them briefly, which was a nice surprise.
This weekend I'm going to the Summergrass bluegrass festival in San Diego. No, Vista. Well, somewhere down there. Note to self, Mapquest it before the weekend. This is actually going to be a nice bit of serendipity, as I was disappointed at not being able to hear Loafers Glory's show in Pasadena because I had the baby all weekend, and they're playing at the festival, so I'll see them there. No, wait. I had ELIZA all weekend. She is two now (as of August 11th), has graduated to pull-up diapers (if she was MY kid she would have been potty-trained six months ago, but that's a whole nother issue), and I am trying to get out of the habit of calling her "the baby." Anyhow, I have a half-sister (and her two grown kids) who live in Carlsbad, which apparently is quite close to where the festival is, so we are going to have lunch together Sunday before I drive back up to town. I hope the kids can come too, but it all depends on their work schedules. I have almost no living family other than my own kids/grandkids, so it's nice to get to see my half-sister every now and then.
August 13
My friend Pete Howard's wife Cheryl died this morning. Devastating news, even though expected.
August 4
We have coyotes up here in the foothills, and tonight they are louder than usual, and out much earlier than usual. I often hear them between 1 and 4 a.m. (love that insomnia!), but it's not even 9 yet and they are already yodeling in (dis)harmony. Maybe it's the heat bringing them out earlier; and there are more of them tonight. They are howling at each other across the canyon, and the way that everything echoes up here it sounds like there are twenty of them! Unlikely, though.
It has been hot, and I haven't really been moved to write anything much. Eliza will be two next week, and there are some party supplies in the offing (Ariel paper plates, Mickey Mouse paper cups, an Elmo balloon, and so on). Not sure what the kids have planned or when, as the weekend of her actual birthday they are going out of town and I will have her here all weekend. Am thinking about taking her to the beach. Mark can swim really well, so I will plant him firmly beween her and the ocean and let her dig in the sand and get her toes wet and so forth. Sun block, floppy hats, and away we go. I had hoped to get to the Loafers Glory show in Pasadena that weekend, but can't really take her out to a sit-down formal auditorium concert. Not fair to the musicians (all good friends of mine), nor to the folks who paid good money to hear a concert undisturbed by a two year old!
Less success last weekend at the pony rides. I got her up on a pony, no problem, but for some reason it decided to shake its head back and forth several times, and she was off that critter like a rocket, clinging to me and screaming. I got her quieted down, and we gave away her ticket to a grateful mother with six kids (!) and removed ourselves to the more serene atmosphere of the choo choo train, which she enjoyed very much.
Even though it's on a weeknight, I'm going to a Hank Williams Sr. tribute at Joe's in Burbank coming up Labor Day weekend. Billy will be playing, as will a couple of other friends, and Jim will be there. Mark may come too! Don't know how late I'll be able to stay awake, though.
Getting ready to re-start the engine for the radio show, which resumes September 10. Picked up a huge pile of CDs that had been collecting for me at the station, and am planning my first show. I have always said that when it stopped being fun I would hang it up; the idea of getting up at 4 a.m. on Saturdays is already not fun, and I don't even have to do it for another month. And no, I don't want to do the show on tape. Sure, I could go into the station some weekday afternoon and tape the whole thing, but there is something about talking to a dead microphone vs a live one that just doesn't work for me. If there is no one out there when I'm doing it, I don't feel like I'm really doing it. I know that's not the most logical sequence of thought in the world; you'll just have to believe me. It's live or it's nothing.
My radio pal Joe Frazier is in the hospital; send good thoughts his way, please. I have the guys booked to come in and do a show on October 1, by which time hopefully all will be well. But he had to cancel a Chad Mitchell Trio concert, so I KNOW he's not feeling right! Musicians *never* cancel gigs unless they absolutely have to. I personally know a musician who broke two ribs in a car accident one afternoon, and went on stage that night, did a full show, and THEN went to the hospital to get his ribs strapped up. I do think there may have been a bottle of whiskey in play in the dressing room during the intermission, strictly for medicinal purposes, of course!
July 13
Went to lunch with Billy today at the Farmers Market; he's feeling a lot better, and we both enjoyed our outing. Because his house is so near Josh and Kate's, I went over to the little park by their house on spec, and sure enough, there was Eliza, choogling down one of the slides, being carefully watched over by her longtime nanny Rita. The huge smile that erupted when she saw me walking toward her was a real heartwarmer. "Hi Grandma! I'm on the SLIDE! I'm at the PARK! I played in the SAND!" That little girl has me so wrapped, I can't even tell you.
Sad times for Jennifer and Bruce. They had to have Smudge put to sleep tonight. Bruce got her when she was just a tiny kitten about 6 weeks old, and she was well over 17 when she just couldn't make it any longer. That's a good long life span for a cat, but it's so hard for them, especially Bruce, to say goodbye.
July 10
This weekend was crazy busy and lots of fun; yesterday I got to spend the morning visiting with a musician friend who is recuperating at home from recent prostate cancer surgery. We joked, we talked, we ate lunch, we had a great time. In the afternoon I drove home and then went with Bruce and Jennifer in their car to Disneyland, where Josh and Kate and Eliza already were. We all had lunch together (and how did people ever find each other in a place that big before we had cell phones?), and Eliza got to see a parade, complete with uniformed marching bands and cheerleaders/dancers in sparkly costumes. After lunch we went on some rides, and then I took Eliza back to the hotel (Josh had booked us adjoining rooms at a nearby place) and the four "big kids" closed Disneyland (and then a nearby Tiki bar) down while Eliza and I snuggled down to read bedtimes stories. This morning, while Josh and Kate had a rare chance to sleep in, Eliza and I patronized the hotel's coffee shop ("PANcakes please, Grandma!") and then -- oh boy -- the swimming pool! Resplendent in her Ariel bathing suit, she splashed, she kicked, she jumped in (to the shallow end, of course), and she had a great time. Then we climbed out and she stretched herself out to drip dry on her Mickey Mouse bath towel on one of the poolside lounge chairs, looking for all the world like a miniature movie star. This afternoon, when they dropped me off, I went to the coffee shop and did crossword puzzles with Jim, and am now writing this instead of doing laundry and prep for work tomorrow.
July 4
June 25
So Tom and Claire had a party, and I made a big pot of jambalaya for it, and then the kids dropped Eliza off and I got to stay home and play with her instead of going out. Jim, kind soul, offered to deliver the jambalaya (and I had a momentary unworthy thought as to how much would actually be left in the pot by the time it got there), and Eliza and I had a lovely evening together. Bath time included a small plastic boat and several miscellaneous fish, swimming around her as she washed. She sang a tuneless little bath-time ditty ("my ARMS are clean and my NECK is clean and my HAIR is clean") and then we dried her off ("my MICKEY Mouse towel, Grandma!") and got her into her pajamas ("there are RAINbows on my pants, Grandma!"), and since dinner hadn't quite filled her up she ate a box of raisins and a cup of organic yogurt (brought here by her parents, I assure you!) and we had a private screening of Lady & the Tramp, sitting together on the futon in front of the TV, with her head burrowed into my shoulder giving me a running commentary. She sang along to "Bella Notte," and again I despair at her complete lack of pitch; she must get her singing talents from some long-ago tone deaf ancestor. Jennifer, at this age, had perfect pitch and sang like a lark. No kidding.
My pal Chris is going to be 80 next weekend, and despite the long, expensive and arduous journey (a bus, a train, another train, another bus, and a subway: 15 hours one way!) I am going to his birthday party. He will only be 80 once, after all, and we have known each other since the mid-60s! Fortunately my office is closed that Monday for the 4th of July, so I can do the 15-hour return trip that day and I won't miss any work.
Got an email today telling me that one of the long-ago Ash Grove waitresses had died. I hadn't seen or spoken to Annita since I stopped working at the club in 1971 or thereabouts, but of course I remember her, and those days, and those times. She is frozen in time in my memory now, a short blond funny very bright girl with rimless glasses, full of enthusiasm (oh well, we were ALL full of enthusiasm in the 60s!), and a good worker. I am sorry she is gone. According to the note I got she died of cancer, but it was a very short illness.
June 19
Yesterday morning I did my last Alive and Picking radio show of the summer; am now on hiatus until September, when I am supposed to return to radio ranch the Saturday after Labor Day. A whole summer of not having to get up at 4 a.m. on Saturdays; a whole summer of not having to spend at least part of *every single* weeknight listening to recently-arrived CDs for potential airplay. Gosh, what will I do with myself?
The question answers itself: Eliza came over yesterday afternoon and stayed overnight. She will be two in August, and is now talking incredibly fast, rattling off long sentences of which I understand about five words out of every ten, and singing and dancing around the room. She drags my guitar over to me and says "SING, Grandma!"; she strums my dulcimer and my autoharp and giggles at the sounds they make. Bath time last night was enhanced by the presence of Nemo swimming around her in the tub, to the accompaniment of much giggling and splashing (lots of water on the floor, not so much in the tub, the sure sign of a successful bath). After a viewing of "Snow White" and a peaceful night's sleep we walked to the coffee shop this morning (she finished off her impeccable ensemble with her Disney Princess sneakers, which light up) with Jennifer and Bruce, and Eliza wrapped herself around some pancakes. So my Grandma time, plus my promised visits to sick friends, is going to do it for me this summer. I am supposed to go to North Carolina in February, and if that works out I'll do my New Orleans trip at the same time, but till then I am sticking close to home.This does NOT, however, mean that I intend to take up housecleaning, or anything. I will still be much too busy for that.
Sorry to hear that Clarence Clemons passed. Big man, big heart, good musician. Speaking of musicians: Ian, just *five days* after brain surgery, is making his gig at Cantalinis tonight. English people are CRAZY. If it wasn't Father's Day I'd go out there and give him stick about it, but the place is going to be slammed crowded so I'll just keep the nag on hold till we see each other again.
Living right underneath the Hollywood Sign has its good points, although I can't actually think of any right offhand, and its bad points. Tourists are insane, did you know that? They stand out in the middle of the street with videocameras, shooting footage of an immovable object. VIDEO cameras! The thing just sits there on the hillside; it doesn't light up or move around - and they stand out there with traffic whizzing past them in both directions along the narrow canyon streets and take VIDEOS. Then there are the ones that try to drive up here to get closer to the sign; despite the clearly labeled street signs that say "NO access to the Hollywood sign" and "Dead end: not a through street," every weekend they drive their rental cars as far as they can up ever-narrowing dead end roads until, guess what, they get stuck. They can't turn around, and there are other morons right behind them hemming them in so THEY can't turn around; and then the police have to come and unsnarl them and get them out of there. Meanwhile if (God forbid) there was ever a fire up here, they are blocking the access roads so that fire trucks can't get through. Oh, and they leave trash all over the place while they're waiting to be rescued. This rant was occasioned by the recent publication of a new book about Hollywoodland (which is what this canyon area used to be called); lovely historic photos, interesting stories about former famous residents, and you know what? It's going to make it WORSE, because it's going to bring more traffic and attention to the neighborhood. There is now a "For Sale" sign on my next door neighbor Katie's house; she has lived there ever since I have been here, and that's well over 40 years. She SAYS she is moving to Orange County to be nearer her children and grandchildren, but in real life, she is tired of picking up trash and shooing away tourists who illegally park in her driveway while they're trying to find a good angle from which to take photos of the sign. Anybody want to buy a really nice little house?
June 13
My pal Ian is going into the hospital Tuesday morning for brain surgery. And this is what it costs us to get old. I shake my head in disbelief as one friend after another falls prey to cancer, cataracts, hip and knee replacements, prostate surgery, brain surgery and breast cancer, and as friends younger than I am die. I sit at bedsides, empty catheter bags, hold hands, read, sing, rub backs, cook, or sit quietly, as needed. And glad to be able to do it.
Last weekend Josh and Kate and I took Eliza to Griffith Park, where she went on the pony ride by herself. This was a big deal. She sat up straight on her pony and looked very elegant (I was half expecting a Queen Eizabeth-type wave), and although Josh walked around the ring with her a couple of times she clearly didn't want or need him to, so he dropped back and let her do it on her own. We also went on the Griffith Park Railroad, a toy-train that chuffs around the perimeter of the pony rides, and she seemed to enjoy that too.
Mark's surgery went very well and there were no complications. I stayed with him for a few nights, and then he was able to manage on his own, so I came home. Now I am off nursing duty until the first week of July.
May 30
And the hits just keep on coming. A friend of mine in New Orleans is in the hospital following a suicide attempt yesterday.
People commit suicide for so many different reasons, and it's almost impossible to stand on emotional guard duty all the time for every single person that we know. Easier by far to be there when we're needed (need help moving, can you spare a weekend? Need to borrow $50 til payday. Need some post-op nursing help. My car's dead, can you run me to the store and back?) Any of those can be done by any of us at the drop of a hat; but how do we tend to needs that are unexpressed until it's too late?
For some folks, and I can kind of understand this one, suicide is a free pass. Diagnosed with terminal cancer, with AIDS, with the long living death of Alzheimer's Disease, they do it to spare those they love from months or possibly years of emotionally draining, incredibly expensive care. I get that. Really, I do. But to be young, in good health, okay financially, and with a wide circle of friends to reach out to, it's a very dark place indeed that makes you pick up a gun or a needle or a bottle of sleeping pills instead of picking up the phone. And how can I be there for them if I don't know where they are?
May 26
Sometimes I just want to say SHIT, but I'm not supposed to swear around Eliza. Just learned that another close friend has cancer, though it seems to be operable, and he says (and more to the point the doctor says) that he will be fine because they caught it early. He has already scheduled his surgery for early July. So Cheryl has a terminal malignant brain tumor, Mark's going in early next month for another eye operation, and now here's another pal with cancer. I am going to be doing a lot of live-in nursing over the summer.
NOT for that reason, but anyhow: I am taking the summer off from doing my radio show. The station asked for volunteers to take a summer hiatus to give some new shows a chance to be heard, and I raised my hand and offered. I'll have my hands full with nursing sick friends (which means packing a bag and literally moving in with them to look after them post-surgery), then with an eventual funeral in San Luis Obispo when Cheryl passes, and also with more and more Eliza care, as the kids hope to travel some this summer. The station management took great pains to assure me that the show *will* be back in late August/early September. Am going to be on the air as usual for the next couple of Saturdays, then will be taking this break.
On a happier note, last year or the year before I got an email asking if I would donate the use of some of my photos to a book project. I get these requests all the time, and nothing much usually ever comes of it - but the guy just wrote me back to say that the book is now finished and ready to be published in August, and he will be sending me the agreed-upon free copy as my photo usage "fee." Also asked me to write a blurb for the back of the book. I said, well, um, you do know I'd need to actually READ the book first, right?
May 21
The word that I was waiting for has come, and it's not good news. My friend Pete's wife Cheryl has been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. They have three young children (one with special needs), and the whole family is devastated. I live *just* too far away and am *just* too old to be able to be helpful, so I sit here feeling useless. Of course in cases like this we are *all* useless, really. She will have the best possible hospice care at home, and it won't be long. I am profoundly sad.
May 15
I'm very worried about good friend whose wife is seriously ill. Trying to monitor the situation at long distance is nervewracking. Some major tests are set for tomorrow, after which I hope to get a chance to learn more.
Lots of pals in town this weekend; Friday morning I had breakfast with my old friend Bill Ferris, who was here briefly for a conference. It was great to catch up with him on all his news. Saturday, radio, and again the show did well in the fund drive - better than last week! - and then Jim and I had lunch with John Broven and Joe Bihari. Today I emceed the Topanga Banjo & Fiddle Contest (Eliza loved it, but Jennifer's allergies were driven insane by the ragweed), then had dinner with all the kids and Eliza. You have no idea how tired I am! Onward to the coming week, which will also be very full.
May 6
I know, I know. Long time no blob. Things at Casa Aldin have been really busy (and you don't even want to HEAR the saga of how my car has been in the shop four times in four weeks for totally unrelated problems, nor do you want to know what that cost me). My primary excuse for not having time to write is that Josh and Kate went to Hawaii for a wedding, stayed a week, and left Eliza at Grandma's house. This was a lot of fun for Eliza (Disneyland with Grandma and Aunt Jennifer!) but Grandma is *really* tired. That little firecracker ran me ragged. The kids brought her back a bright pink ukulele from Hawaii, and I understand that there is a fridge magnet in my near future. And now that they are home, Grandma gets to rest? Not so fast; we're (all) taking her to the zoo tomorrow to meet some of the characters from Sesame Street.
Also have been having some minor-league health issues, which seem to be resolving themselves - another excuse for not writing. And then there are the old friends who have been dropping like flies:
Jim
Dickson, a key architect of the '60s folk-rock sound and the original
manager of the Byrds, died of unknown causes April 19 in Costa Mesa,
Calif. He was 80.
Born in Los Angeles, Dickson worked as a record producer in the early '60s, cutting proto-folk-rock sides by singer-songwriter Hamilton Camp, progressive bluegrass units the Dillards and the Hillmen (which included future Byrds member Chris Hillman) and singer-songwriter David Crosby.
He took up management of Hillman and Crosby's fledgling new band, which was styling itself as an L.A. equivalent of the Beatles. Employing free studio time cadged by Dickson, then a staff producer at World Pacific Studios, the group cut early tracks as the Beefeaters and the Jet Set.
In 1964, Dickson received an acetate of the unreleased Bob Dylan song "Mr. Tambourine Man" from the singer-songwriter's publisher. His charges, a quintet now known as the Byrds, recorded it for Columbia Records (employing backup studio musicians), and it became the band's breakthrough No. 1 single.
Dickson and management partner Eddie Tickner handled the Byrds, who became the preeminent folk-rock band of the era, through a bitter split in June 1967. The pair subsequently worked with the Flying Burrito Brothers, a country-rock unit including Hillman, Byrds drummer Michael Clarke and latter-day Byrds member Gram Parsons.
Dickson produced the group's A&M albums "Burrito Deluxe," "The Flying Burrito Brothers" and the live "Last of the Red Hot Burritos," and is credited with helming some of Parsons' post-Burritos solo recordings.
In 1972, Dickson helped ex-Byrd Gene Clark re-record and remix his 1967 album "Gene Clark with the Gosdin Brothers."
Dickson later moved to Hawaii, where he became a competitive sailor.
March 30
Went out last night with Jennifer and Bruce to Joe's, a club that I have been hearing about for ages but had never been to, where they participated in swing dancing and I exercised my undeniable expertise at observing others, and was assigned to take pictures of them in action for Jennifer's Facebook posts. I like the club very much - a relaxed atmosphere, surprisingly good and cheap food, and thank goodness pals like Ray Campi and Jim were there too, so I wasn't as conspicuous as I otherwise would have been as the only member of the gray-haired contingent. A big part of my staying out til midnight was the fact that I didn't have to get up and go to work this morning - have I mentioned that my office has cut all jobs by 20%, so I am working (and getting paid for) only four days a week now instead of five? Yes, well. So Wednesday being my "day off," I was press-ganged by Jennifer into going out on a Tuesday night, and actually had a lovely time. "You should try swing dancing, mom, it's fun!" says Jennifer. Hell will freeze, says I.
March 28
March 23
Got a really unusual post-birthday present today; Kirk came over and grouted my kitchen sink. Most guys just give me chocolate.
AND, it's raining again.
March 21
We had a great birthday/Mardi Gras party on Saturday. All the kids came over early and helped get it together; Eliza napped through the first hour or so and then joined us, decked out in Mardi Gras beads and adorableness. I made jambalaya as usual, and lots of friends brought things to share and lots of food (lasagna! steamed fresh vegetables! home made tamales! pear and walnut salad!) And Jim brought a huge chocolate cake, personally inscribed to the three of us who were the official celebrants.
And a few hours after the last party guest left, the skies opened and we had a deluge that lasted nearly 48 hours. I was sitting at the coffee shop on my hillside having a late lunch on Sunday when everything went dark. They had to close, of course - not only were there no lights in the kitchen, so Larry was having trouble seeing what he was cooking, but with no power the credit card machine wouldn't work. Jim lost power, though I didn't - he must be on the same circuit as the coffee shop, since he lives just a block away. He brought his laptop over and plugged it into my cable line so he could submit something that was on deadline, and then we went to the movies - a program of early 1940s Soundies at the Hammer, along with a Jimmy Stewart-Paulette Goddard musical film called "Pot O'Gold" that included every Irish stereotype in the book.
March 14
It was nice to be back on the radio after many weeks away, and I got some nice calls and emails from folks who've missed me (!). There's a fair amount of new stuff to sort through, but this coming Saturday John and Deanne Davis are at the controls, which gives me an extra week to listen to all the new CDs that have come in. And although I've been home for over a week I am *still* unpacking!
Jim and I went out to Cantalini's last night to hear our friends Ian Whitcomb, Fred Sokolow and Dave Jones entertain the masses. They were a lot of fun, as always, and most wonderfully for me, their show always starts at 6:30 p.m., so I get home early. Food was good, too: chicken marsala and a salad for me, and something pesto-pasta-ish for Jim, and for dessert a giant slab of chocolate cake and two forks.
Speaking of cake, it's birthday time around Casa Aldin, and all the kids are celebrating theirs and mine. Our annual family birthday dinner will be Wednesday night, a date purposely selected because it's no one's actual birthday, and because we all get paid on the 15th of the month, so will have enough money to go out to dinner and have a good spread by then! Jim is dropping hints about a birthday cake to be delivered this weekend.
March 8 Here's the link to a temporary journal and some photos of my trip. 2011 trip
March 6
Six years ago today my dear Keith died. Hard to believe it has been so long. His good friend Justin went to the cemetery and left flowers from us both; Keith isn't actually buried there; it's his mother's grave, but his ashes were scattered there, and it's all we've got, so that's where the flowers go. This year's are lovely, bright and cheerful.
February 11
Had lots of fun last night doing the interview with Jett Williams and her husband Keith Adkinson. I took some photos in the studio of Jett with Mark, who was wearing his nifty Hank Williams t-shirt. She looks a *lot* like her daddy. Turns out Jett and Mark were born within a few days of each other, a few days after Hank died.
Mark Humphrey and Jett Williams at KPFK, 2/10/11
Today was my last day at the office before vacation, and now am packing and prepping and all the usual. Am babysitting Eliza tomorrow night so that the kids can go out to dinner, and will probably keep her overnight for some Grandma snuggle time. When they bring her over, Josh is going to install a web-cam on the laptop I've borrowed from Claire so that I can talk to Eliza and we can see each other while I'm gone. The miracle of Skype! And on Sunday, I get on the train and ride. Jennifer will mind the fort here at Chez Aldin, the station will cover the radio show with Fund Drive stuff, and Mark is ready to fill in if by some miracle the fund drive ends before I get back. Yeah, right.
At work today I sat transfixed in front of my computer, watching the world change before my eyes. When I was a child there was no TV, but we had a big cabinet radio, and younguns, guess what - in those days the radio WAS the internet. We sat transfixed on the floor in my grandmother's living room and listened to news bulletins, soap operas, comedy programs, western serials and music; but I never thought that the day would come when I could watch a revolution happening in real time halfway around the world. Nor, for that matter, did I ever dream that I would watch airplanes flying into towers in New York, or watch New Orleans drowning, or wave at my granddaughter on a computer screen from halfway across the country. The times, they are a-changing.
February 7
Trying to do too many things at once. I thought that the radio show was on hiatus for a few weeks due to the Fund Drive, but then I got an opportunity to visit with Jett Williams, who has co-produced a 16 CD box set (!) of old radio broadcasts by her father, Hank Williams Sr., and I couldn't say no. Thank God Mark is a Hank expert and is helping me organize the Q&A, which happens this Thursday. I guess the station will broadcast it at some point during the drive.
Eliza is speaking in sentences now ("Give Grandma big hug!" is one of my favorites), and wearing me out with her boundless energy. I just *love* the grandma thing!
January 2, 2011
Sort of a non-stop New Year, so far. On New Year's Eve Mark and I went to downtown L.A. and rode on Angels Flight (which cost us only a penny each, as it was the 109th anniversary of their opening, at which time it cost a penny to ride it). When we got to the top Jim was already up there, autographing copies of his Angels Flight book at a table, and Bill and Lynne from the Monday nights at Conrads were there cheering him on. Then Mark and I walked across the street to the Grand Central Market, where we found blueberries for $1 a basket, and tangerines for $1.50 for a three pound tub. After that it was off to Chinatown so Mark could buy some ginseng and cough syrup, and then to lunch at the Empress Pavilion, where I had my first encounter with dim sum. Dim sum, in case you too have been living under the same rock I was, is a style of service whereby you sit down at a table and they bring you tea, and they put a long paper ticket on your table. Then servers walk around to all the tables pushing huge carts of appetizer-size portions of all different dishes. They swoop the lid off and let you look at it, and they also tell you what it is, but in Chinese, which wasn't too helpful (we were the only non-Asians there and neither of us speaks Chinese. Well, I can say "ho la ma hon yin" but that's not very helpful since it means "how are you, elder brother" in Cantonese; it's the only phrase I know and I'm not sure any more why I know it or where I learned it). So we just shrugged and said "sure!" to everything they showed us. Every time a server put a little plate on the table he or she punched our ticket with a little stamp. We had no idea how much money we were spending (nor what we were eating, in most cases!) and I was getting nervous when we finally called it quits. We had eleven different dishes, most of which were excellent and only one or two of which I didn't much care for, which is a pretty good average, and all that food cost us only $34.
On New Year's morning I was up early and off to do radio, then came home and dismantled and chopped up the Christmas tree and put it into the recycling barrel. I should have worn work gloves for that, and would have if I had any, so my hands are telling me things today. Then Josh and Kate came over and picked me up and we took Eliza to the zoo. She communed with the elephants, the giraffes and various other critters, and seemed to really enjoy it. She looked at a huge Bengal tiger, then looked at me and said very clearly, "Meow!"
Today Claire came over and helped me with some web site stuff - the new year means new files are needed so I can post my 2011 playlists. Then we went to the coffee shop and had lunch with Jim. And THEN it started raining, again. Jennifer and Bruce, who went to Bakersfield to visit friends for New Year's Eve, are now stuck there, since the Grapevine is closed down in both directions due to snow! So I am feeding their cat till they get home, which I hope will be tomorrow.
December 28
Sad news on which to end the year. An old, old friend died on Christmas Day. Her name was Kate Rinzler, and you can see/hear her talking here. But long ago, before she was married to the late Ralph Rinzler, she was married to Ed Pearl in the early 1960s at the time that he owned the Ash Grove and I worked there. I used to babysit her little daughter Marni, now a grown woman in her late 40s or early 50s; Kate was one of the kindest people I ever knew. She was especially good to me during one very hard time in my life, when her gentle kindness and understanding was the most helpful thing on earth. I will miss her.
December 18
The holidays are here. Tree is up and decorated, with lots of help from my neighbor Jim (at 6 feet 6 or thereabouts, getting stuff down off my top closet shelves is a breeze for him, no ladder needed, and he reached over and put my treetop angel on without even stretching!). What presents there will be are all taken care of. Not much, but not much is needed. I *was* going to go to a holiday party at Tom and Claire's tonight, but Eliza has been pretty sick (ran a fever of 103, poor mousie) and I stayed overnight last night at Josh and Kate's trying to get her to go to sleep and stay asleep. Not much luck! So I only had about four hours myself last night - she did go to sleep at about 11 and was wide awake and raring to go at 4:45 this morning, and I took care of her till Kate woke up at 8, as both of them were short of sleep from being up with her the night before last. I am so tired that I'm afraid to drive in the dark and the heavy rain we're having, so I'll miss their soiree. I sent Jim with an apology and the items I had offered to bring. But Eliza does seem to be feeling better today; she ate some soft food, and the fever has completely broken. I did only the most rudimentary stuff here at home today, and plan to turn into a pumpkin around 8 tonight!
Another reason for no late night for me tonight is that tomorrow the most complicated part of my job starts; a procedure that we do twice a year, and it takes a lot of time and a lot of concentration, and is really the only part of my job that could be called even a little stressful, because it's exacting, detailed work that *has* to be accurate. So lots of sleep for me tonight, then lots of mail runs tomorrow (my pal Mark has gone home to Oklahoma for the holidays, so I am collecting his mail from both his P.O Box and his home, and storing it all till he returns, plus there is another regular mail drop I do for another friend) before work.
Fooling around on the internet, I Googled Maps-ed my pal Tony's address in the UK. The photos Google uses are apparently quite old; I was hoping to see his house covered in a perfect English fairytale Christmas blanket of snow, since the weather reports tell me that there is so much snow there that Heathrow Airport is closed! But although I found his house, there was a car he hasn't owned in years parked in front, and a clear blue sky above. Then I did the same to my own address, and saw this building before the most recent repaint job, and that was right after the last big earthquake! So yes, old photos, but still fun to get to see where he lives.
It's raining, it's pouring. Actual conversation overheard at the coffee shop today:
Customer (clearly a tourist visiting Hollywood): "You know, I'm actually kind of digging the fog and rain."
Exasperated waitress, who's tired of it all: "So go visit England!"
Speaking of weather and rain: For those many friends in far-flung places who read this blob as a way of keeping up with how our family is doing, yes, there *are* mudslides in the Hollywood Hills, but not my Hollywood Hills. The mudslides that are on the news are in Nichols Canyon and Laurel Canyon, to the west of us, and in another hillside area far to the east. Our canyon is pretty safe, being built primarily on granite, and with this amount of rain we are probably safe from fires for a long time too! And, touch wood, I have no leaks - yet!
Sad to note the passing of photographer and filmmaker George Pickow, husband of folksinger Jean Ritchie and co-founder with her of Greenhays Records.
Thanksgiving at Casa Aldin was great. Food, friends, family, fun. Took me three days to finally finish washing the last of the pots and pans, but it was worth it!
Somehow it seems as though KPFK is having a fundraiser about every other month any more. I mean literally. We just had one in October, and I already had the entire month of December booked with guest hosts when they announced another pledge drive for December. Fortunately the station was willing to compromise, so instead of me having to cancel and reschedule all my guests (which would have been a DRAG, since they all wanted to do Christmas shows, and somehow those are much less timely in March), we are going to have a solid block of 45 minutes of music followed by 15 minutes of fundraising, and then another solid 45 minutes of music followed by a final 15 minutes of fundraising. But don't worry - there'll be another fund drive in February! (See? I mean, LITERALLY every two months!)
I've been spending a lot of time with Eliza, which means not a lot of time for this blob or anything else. But so worth it. She's talking a blue streak, walking and running everywhere, and we are having Fun With Flash Cards at Grandma's house as she learns new words every day. My weeks are full of work and radio prep, and my weekends are full of radio and errands and Eliza. No wonder I am falling behind with the blob.
Went to the coffee shop tonight, where Jim and I did our usual crossword puzzle together, and was stunned to learn that John, one of our "regulars," was found dead at home this morning. He was at the coffee shop on Sunday - I saw him and we exchanged our usual hellos - and <insert noise of finger snap here> just like that he is gone. Two of the waitresses went up to his house when they heard the news, and stayed there with him till the coroner's van came. So sad. What a nice guy.
Speaking of so sad - Elizabeth Edwards. Man. She did not for one second deserve what she went through in her life - losing her young son in a car crash, facing the glare of publicity as her husband had an affair with and then fathered a child by another woman, learning she had cancer and then fighting it - but she handled it all with dignity and grace and class. I really respect the way she lived her life.
My plans for the trip are coming along well. Chicago, Memphis, New Orleans - and Tony is flying over from England to meet me in Memphis, so I'll have a traveling partner again. I really like it both ways - I'm perfectly happy wandering around on my own, and I also like having someone to wander with.
Got a new digital camera; Jennifer recommended the one she uses, and lo and behold I hit a sale at Target and got that exact model, very cheap! She came up tonight and gave me a quick tutorial, but like anything else it's about fooling with it awhile and seeing what it can do. Fortunately, Eliza provides us with an endless supply of funny faces to practice on. Oh! Did I mention she has learned to say Grandma?
A good friend had a detached retina last month, so for awhile there I was pretty busy taking him back and forth - to the hospital for surgery, home from hospital, back for followups, etc. He went back home for Thanksgiving and during that time was able to drive some, so I guess things are improving.
LOVED that so many of my friends got Grammy nominations! (Didn't so much love that so many of them are competing against each other in the same categories!)
November 10
The wedding was great. Everything was perfect, the cake was gorgeous, the food was delicious, the music was perfect, the ceremony was short and sweet and a great time was had by all. Jennifer is floating three feet off the ground with happiness. In addition to about 100 of Bruce and Jennifer's friends, Jim came, Mark came, and my friend Berta and her kids drove across the desert from Flagstaff to be with us, then turned around and drove back again as they had an obligation there the next night. Bruce's parents and one of his brothers flew out from North Dakota for it, and the day after the wedding we took them to the Pasadena City College swap meet. Jennifer found a great pair of vintage shoes and two dresses, Bruce found some Star Wars toys, and I didn't buy a mandolin (but it was a close shave.) Now the kids are settling in to married life and deciding where to put all their gifts, and I am coasting toward Thanksgiving. I ordered the turkey and the ham today! This Saturday Josh and Kate are going to a friend's party, and I get to have Eliza overnight again. Yippee! She wore her pretty-pretty party dress to Jennifer's wedding, and assuming that she hasn't outgrown it by then it will also do for Thanksgiving.
November 3
Well. Election is over, and it was 100 degrees downtown today. Yoo hoo, weatherman this is November, dial it back please. The wedding this Saturday is coming together thanks to Jennifer's inherited habit of being incredibly organized, making extensive lists, and checking off everything as she finishes it. Got that from me, you betcha (hello, apple? This is tree.) I spent two nights in her apartment putting the favors together (and trying not to eat all the chocolate before it ever got into the boxes), and we did some extensive shopping, buying white material by the yard and various other odds and ends. Mark is covering the radio show for me this Saturday, and I am taking Friday off work all day to help her with any final prep that may be needed. I have ordered some roses to be delivered as a surprise on Friday, and the tables and chairs will all be delivered Friday night (and stored in my apartment overnight, yippee!). Don't expect to hear from me for awhile; I'm too busy having fun.
October 22
Cajun musician Zachary Richard has suffered a stroke.
Wedding plans proceeding apace. Stuff got bought last night, honeymoon hotel got booked today. Invites are out, RSVPs are in, as Jennifer says. Casa Aldin is rocking!
October 13
Report from the front lines: Jennifer's wedding is coming together nicely, the first weekend of the KPFK Fund Drive went fairly well, and I had a great time emceeing the Santa Barbara Old Time Fiddlers Convention last Sunday (and have a natty new t-shirt to show for it). Eliza is coming to stay for the weekend, and Jennifer and I are taking her shopping on Sunday - my gosh, three generations of Aldin women at the mall. Look out world! Next up, getting my mind wrapped around prep for Thanksgiving dinner, which is the Next Big Thing after the wedding - I bought Eliza a darling little party dress to wear to both her aunt Jennifer's wedding and Thanksgiving dinner, and maybe Christmas too if she hasn't outgrown it by then. How is it possible that I can see the holidays right around the corner? This week's mail brought me and election ballot and a Grammy ballot, coicidentally on the same day.
September 27
Wedding plans at Casa Aldin; busy, busy, excited.
It's also so hot that I can't even sit in the room where this computer is for very long at a time (no A/C in here), so will write more when it cools off.
August 21
The radio show fundraiser did terrifically well this morning - as I said to Music Director Maggie, I guess this means I have to keep doing it, then? I'm going to officially ban Mark Humphrey and Rex Mayreis from donating any more money for at least a year, though. Rex is going to have to get a second job to support his donating habit; he gets up at the crack of still dark out and drives to KPFK from wherever the hell far east of here he lives, answers phones in the pledge room during my show, and then pays money for the privilege? Nertz, as Jimmy Durante used to say. I really appreciate all the regulars who loyally call in every time there's a fund drive. But these guys have to cut it out for awhile.
Then errands, shopping (Jennifer starts a new job Monday so I picked up some things for her) and this afternoon I had a visit from my (much) younger half sister and her two children, who live in Carlsbad; she is the baby of my large extended family, born after I was already grown and gone, so we never really spent much time together, especially as she was raised in Italy and I was born and raised in New York. Anyhow, they had been living in Texas, as her husband's work took them there, but he died of cancer a few months ago, and they've now relocated "home" to California. Kate and Eliza met us at the store where Josh works in Hollywood, and we all went to lunch at a nearby restaurant, where Eliza charmed all comers as usual, and at the end of the meal Josh and I had our standard discussion about tipping. He thinks I overtip, and maybe I do by a buck or two here and there. My take on this is that servers stand on their feet eight hours a day for minimum wage, at the beck and call of people who often treat them like lackeys, and they usually have to divide their tips with bus boys and etc., so I don't think that the extra buck or two will break me and it might make a difference to them. For all I know these folks might be single parents, working double shifts to feed their families, and so forth. Anyhow, I always toss in a bit extra. Josh says that they make plenty of money and that I grossly overtip. It's not grossly - I might round up instead of doing an exact percentage, and then might add in a couple more bucks when, like today, we had a really good, helpful and cooperative server who went out of her way in the matter of refills and extra napkins and setting up Eliza's highchair and all that. This is Not A Big Deal to me, but Josh is always on my case about it. However, it was my credit card so I got to decide the tip. So there. (He'd have a FIT if he saw how much I tip in New Orleans!)
August 16
President Obama made me miss visiting with Eliza tonight. I was on my way from work to Josh and Kate's house to hang out with them for the evening, when I ran smack dab into the street closures for the fundraising event the President is hosting tonight. EVERY street that could have taken me to their house was closed and guarded by police, and I had to go waaay out of my way just to get home. It took me FOUR HOURS to do what should be a 45-min.drive. Oh, Mr. President, after I voted for you and everything, how could you let your mean Secret Service detail keep me from spending time with my beautiful grandbaby?
I was all the more sad because I had not seen her for awhile. I usually let her babysit me every Saturday night, but I worked all weekend - and when I say all weekend, I mean ALL WEEKEND, because this was The Big Move. We rented a U-Haul, packed our business lives of the past 35 years into boxes, and shifted it all to the new office on Saturday; Sunday was spent unpacking, and trying to cram twice the stuff into half the space. This morning we learned that, oh joy, the phone company very promptly disconnected our old phone lines just as they were told to, but didn't connect our new ones at the new office. This meant, not only no phones, but no internet access on our computers (no DSL lines) and no fax machine. MANY frenzied phone calls later, we were able to persuade them to put a recording on the old office phone line giving my cell phone number as the new company number until we can get our permanent phones installed. This Has Not Been Fun. The rest of today was more unpacking and head scratching, and a little bit of the fun stuff (putting posters and photos up on the walls and so forth). Tomorrow, more of the same, and so forth, until we are finally settled in.
The one non-work thing I was able to accomplish this weekend was to call my pal Tony in the UK on Sunday, and leave him a Happy Birthday message on his answering machine. I knew he wouldn't be home - he was out frivoling, exactly as he should have been - but I wanted him to get to hear my voice on his birthday.
August 10
Hard to believe that when I wake up tomorrow morning Eliza will be one year old. Like all grandmothers, I think it's gone by too fast. The first year has been full of adventures for all of us as we got to know the new person in our lives. Together we've been through colic, teething, learning to sit up by herself, holding her own bottle, learning to crawl, to eat (semi) solid food, to pull herself up to a standing position, to stand all by herself - and taking a bath in the big bathtub, with a great deal of splashing and giggling. She can't talk, but she can make herself known - da means daddy, ba means bottle (and sometimes banana), and keys, oddly enough, clearly means keys. And puff means, not a magic dragon, but a baby food item called puffs. She can point to things, and she knows her books and lots of the words and pictures in them. She's already, in just her first year, been to Disneyland, had a limo ride, and is close pals with both Elmo and Minnie Mouse. She loves her Baby Einstein videos, and to sit on my lap and play patty-cake and sing "the itsy bitsy spider." She loves to play in her bouncer and to go on walks (well, she rides in her stroller like a princess while the rest of us walk) to the park near her house or to the coffee shop on my hillside, where she sits on Jim's lap and charms the waitresses and gets carrots all over herself and anyone else who ventures too near. She loves her mommy and her daddy and her aunt Jennifer and me, and we love her right back. This is the best adventure; as I see the winding down of own my life coming slowly around the horizon, watching this little girl grow and play is a lot of fun. I used to say that my children were my stealth bombs to the future - that I had raised amazing kids who were good human beings and would make the world a better place. I was right about that - and now they are carrying it on with yet another generation. I sent Eliza home the other night wrapped in a blanket that I had wrapped her father in 33 years ago; Jennifer found an old photo of Josh strapped into his carrier with that same blanket keeping him warm.
Parenting has lots of ways it can go, and I was very lucky that my kids turned out so well despite, or because of, their slightly unorthodox single-mother upbringing. You have a lot of choices in parenting; if you are abused as a child, you can choose to perpetuate it by handing it down to your own children, or you can choose to break the cycle of abuse by giving them nothing but love. I chose to look very hard at the way I was raised, and to take from it every good and fun and wonderful thing that happened and pass those things along to my own children; and I then took every bad thing that happened and made a specific and concerted effort to eliminate the negative stuff from my vocabulary of parenting skills. For instance, my maternal grandmother, whom I adored, was a racist from the word go, and I am grateful that her frequent verbal expressions of prejudice never became part of my own mindset. My own children never heard those words until they started school, and it was a point of pride with me that they had no idea what the words meant when they first heard them, and had to come to me for a definition! Babies are not born hating babies of other races. Prejudice and hatred are learned behaviors, and babies learn them from their parents. We are responsible for who our children are; when they are born they are like blank pieces of paper, and what we write on them is part of who they will become. I am incredibly proud of the people my children have grown into. And now Josh is taking every good and fun and wonderful thing from his own childhood and giving it to Eliza, and is also remembering my frequent mistakes and vowing not to repeat them. At this rate we will have perfect children in just another generation or two!
Any minute now Eliza will be learning to walk, and then look out, world, here she comes!
August 7
Had a good time on the radio this morning; did a birthday set for Eliza, who amazingly will be one year old this coming Wednesday. She is standing up by herself these days! Then tonight she came over and babysat me. We watched the Dodger game together, and Vin Scully's velvet voice lulled her to sleep in her carseat. Josh installed a program on my computer that is supposed to download my radio shows onto my computer so that I can post links to each show on the playlists page, but honestly? I can't figure to how to actually do that yet; he will show me more next time he comes over.
Went to Phillip Walker's funeral on Monday, and then got home to the news that Mitch Jayne of the Dillards had died of a very fast-moving cancer. The obit said he was 80, which is as hard to believe as that Eliza is 1.
Jim and I are getting very good at communal crossword puzzle solving. It seems that the gaps in my knowledge of everything are pretty neatly filled by his intelligence and vice versa. Had fun at the coffee shop this afternoon doing the Times puzzle; the waitresses, bless their cotton socks, save them for me whenever a customer leaves a paper behind.
This weekend is going to be -- not fun. My office is moving, for the first time in 35+ years, this coming Saturday and Sunday. I have been shifting boxes of stuff over to the new place a few at a time for a couple of months already, but this weekend is the rent-the-truck-and-do-it experience. I am told that I am too old to be doing this. However, none of the people who tell me I am too old to do it are offering to do it FOR me, so there we are.
July 24
Bluesman Phillip Walker has died at age 73. A good musician, and long ago a good friend, although I had not seen or spoken to him for some years. A great gentleman. Funeral arrangements are pending. His HighTone Records album "Some Day You'll Have These Blues," produced by Bruce Bromberg, is one of the all time best postwar blues albums I've ever heard.
July 15
After work today I went over to Josh and Kate's, watched another episode of "Treme" (still trying to get caught up on the first season), and played with Eliza for awhile. I was feeling kind of low today - this would have been Keith's birthday, and while I miss him every minute of every day and with every breath I take, still, it's a little extra hard on his birthday and on March 6, the day he died. So it was great that I was able to romp with my granddaughter, whose laughter makes it impossible to stay sad for very long.
Taked to Joe Frazier today; he'll be my guest on the show Saturday, so we went over the game plan and I gave him directions to the station. Spent the morning moving boxes from old to new office, and doing paperwork, then had lunch at a Mexican restaurant way out on the end of the Santa Monica Pier with some friends from Maine and England; because the restaurant is directly over the ocean on the end of the pier, they were absolutely astounded to see dolphins swimming along just below us.
June 14
Among the many new-since-I-was-having-kids developments is something called Puffs. Nothing to do with Magic Dragons, sorry Peter me darlin' - these are some kind of air-puffed little bites which pretty much dissolve in the baby's mouth. Banana flavored, apple flavored, sweet potato flavored. Reading the label, always a big mistake, I see WAY more sugar than I would give a baby; why don't we just cut up a real banana, a real apple, and so forth? Grandma is SO old fashioned.
Anyhow, this weekend will be Eliza's first visit to the House of Mouse. My kids all loved Disneyland, back when it was more affordable (do you know, it costs $73 for adults these days?!?) and I guess they loved it so much that it "stuck" (Jennifer has for many years purchased their annual pass, which admits her 365 days a year and includes free parking, and honey, she wears that thing OUT.) So Josh and Kate and I are driving down there right after my show Saturday morning, and Jenny and Bruce will meet us there sometime later (but not a LOT later, as we have 11:45 lunch reservations) and Eliza will get indoctrinated into the magical world of all things Disney. Josh has a video camera, I have regular camera, and my friends can expect to get bombarded with pictures shortly after we return.
The Dodgers have no offense. Oh, and their pitching's no good either. And Manny Ramirez is about over; can't field anything other than pop flies and seems to have lost his hitting since they made him stop taking steroids ;-)
May 29
Jim and I went out last night to hear our pal Billy Vera's show at Vitello's Restaurant (no Robert Blake jokes, please. The restaurant has heard them all, many times.) We were originally going to be joined by Jim's radio partner Ray Regelado, but he felt kind of puny so decided to stay home. When we got there we were seated at a table with a bunch of Billy's other friends, right at the front of the stage. I had chicken cacciatore, very good, and Jim and I split a salad, ditto, and a cannoli (no Godfather jokes, please. I've heard them all, many times), and I forget what Jim's entree was but he said it was very good. Billy's show was SO much fun, and very interesting; I've known him for many years now, but somehow parts of his long music-biz history and many of the songs he's written had slid past me. I sure got a good education last night! We had to leave early because the alarm clock goes off at 4 a.m. on Saturdays to wake me up for the radio show. I must be crazy.
Eliza is getting another tooth, and we're all hearing about it; between the fussing and the drooling she's not too pleased right now. It used to be pretty common to rub some whiskey or rum or whatever kind of hard alcohol was in the house on babies' gums to ease the pain, but that's gone out of favor; my own trick was to take teething rings and pacifiers and whatnot, as well as teething biscuits (the really hard ones) and put them in the freezer overnight, then give them to the baby to gnaw on - the cold numbed the pain. Now the trend is to give them over the counter medicine! I dunno.
Funny post-Katrina story from a friend in New Orleans:
We (Josh and Kate and I) took Eliza to her first baseball game at Dodger Stadium on Saturday. (She had actually been to a Dodger game once before, when they took her to a spring training game in Arizona, but this was her first one at Chavez Ravine). She was fine, except for not wanting to go to sleep - there was just too much going on! She did the wave, sort of, and sat on daddy's lap while mommy fed her some squash, and then I put her in her stroller and walked her along the concourse, but every time I thought she might go to sleep there was a home run, or a close play, and the crowd erupted in roars, and she woke back up. Due entirely to her presence there we won the game. Of course she immediately fell asleep in the car on the way home. I'm still not sure how I got out of there without buying her a cute Dodger t-shirt.
April 24
Every time I go out to Viva Cantina to hear Loafer's Glory they're better. Well, the name is a bit of a head scratcher, but musically they're just wonderful. And last Saturday Tom and Patrick Sauber (who are members of LG along with Bill Bryson and Herb Pedersen) came down to the station and did the show with me. I thought that they would bring a stack of CDs and a playlist and we would do as we did last time they came on the air. But no, they had a big surprise for me, which was that they brought banjos and guitars and fiddles and mandolins and played LIVE on the air in between playing records. Just so much fun! Woke me right up.
Eliza is crawling now; she does about 25 mph from room to room like a little rocket. Have to watch her every second. Today Kate and I (Josh had to work) took her to the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books, which she enjoyed despite not being able to, you know, actually read yet. Peter Yarrow was performing on the children's stage, and she sat in her stroller and surveyed the territory while he sang Puff the Magic Dragon and This Land is Your Land and Going To the Zoo and so forth; then Kate and I found a shady spot on the grass and played with her while Peter autographed about 500 books for people who were standing in a really long line to meet him and get their pictures taken with him, and THEN Eliza had her first limo ride. Not bad, eight months old and has already tasted the lap - well, the back seat - of luxury. Peter had never met her (last year at this time he sang to her when she was still inside Kate's tummy, but he had never actually met her as a person) so we all went back to his hotel (hence the limo ride) and then went to eat in Westwood; Eliza charmed him, flirted with him, posed for pictures with him, and then promptly fell asleep just in time for the three grownups to get some good visiting time in over a late lunch. Peter is, I think, my oldest friend (not because he's 72, but because we are coming up on fifty years of friendship soon); gosh, it seems like only yesterday....
April 11
Went over to Josh and Kate's tonight to watch the premier episode of the new HBO drama set in New Orleans, called "Treme." Terrific writing, cast and acting. I think they’ve got their ears sharply tuned to the post-Katrina despair, anger and frustration, along with an adamant refusal to surrender, that was and is the prevailing theme of the ongoing recovery efforts in New Orleans. The Mardi Gras Indian theme “won’t bow – don’t know how” runs through the show like an undercurrent, informing the script and the players.
I think that the Elvis Costello storyline will continue in future episodes. It’s based on real life, since he and Allen Toussaint recorded an album about the whole Katrina experience called “The River in Reverse” – I think we are going to be seeing some of that in the next episode, if I understood the “coming attractions” correctly.
Does anyone else think that the restaurant owner character is playing it like Susan Spicer, headband and all?
Great music – great to see/hear Kermit playing.
I was stunned by the dialog, though. I don’t have HBO at home, so was not aware that the really strong language (and the full nudity!) was so commonplace on cable TV these days. While I don’t know anything about the nudity, of course :-), the language actually is accurate! That's how the musicians really talk in New Orleans. But I was sorely tempted to cover Eliza's ears! And people actually have sex on television now?
Loved the show. Can’t wait for the next episode! I now know what my Sunday nights are going to be spent doing for the foreseeable future, as long as I don't wear out my welcome at Josh and Kate's house. Maybe I should offer to bring pizza next week...!
HBO has put up a web site for "Treme"with lots of links explaining more about New Orleans music and culture here.
March 24
Here's Joe Liggins doing "The Honeydripper."
Great dinner last night with Jim at The Stinking Rose. I'm sure no one will want to come near me today - I bet I am extruding garlic odor like crazy - but so good! I was supposed to spend a couple of hours after dinner working on Saturday's show, but just fell into bed, too tired to move. Another day.
Tonight - BLUEGRASS! At Viva Cantina - going out to hear Herb and Tom and Patrick and Bill. Drat that early morning alarm clock - I can only stay for one set!
After a couple of decades at the same location, my office will be moving in a couple of months; much planning, measuring of both the old and the new places, much figuring out how to fit everything into the new place, and where; I will need a vacation when this is over! Unfortunately it's not moving any closer to home so I will still have the long daily commute.
March 20
Went to hear Noel Stookey's show a McCabe's last night. He was wonderful, and it was great to get to see/hear him. Also at the show was Joe Frazier (remember the Chad Mitchell Trio?) and we visited quite a bit. Joe has a book in him, and it needs to come out. I plan to nag him unmercifully until it does.
John and Deann came and made radio with me this morning, after which I ran errands, came home, cooked a huge vat of jambalaya, ate, and visited with friends. Eliza did her usual trick of working the room with charm oozing from every tiny pore. No visit to Viva Cantina tomorrow night for me; turns out I am taking care of Eliza all day and part of the night so that Josh and Kate can spend the day with friends at a (belated) party for Josh's birthday. Tuesday night Jim is taking me to The Stinking Rose, a restaurant on La Cienega Blvd. that is all garlic all the time. This is a late birthday dinner present, so he's treating. He took Leo (his cat) to be fluffed and folded and blow dried this afternoon at the kitty salon; Leo's a Persian with incredibly long hair, so this was his pre-summer haircut.
March 19
Turned on the radio this morning to hear the news guy say, in a dolorous tone, "Dodger broadcasting legend Vin Scully..." and I stopped breathing. Stopped. Breathing. Until he followed with "...was hospitalized overnight after a fall in his home, but should be released in time to call Sunday's exhibition game." Big exhale. I have been listening to his voice all my life. May he have as many more years as he wants.
March 15
WHAT a weekend. Josh and Kate went to Las Vegas to celebrate their second anniversary, and left me holding the baby, literally. Lots of grandma/Eliza bonding went on, and I now know or re-learned many things I had forgotten, including that when you are spoon-feeding a baby pureed squash, if she sneezes right as it goes into her mouth, everyone at the table will be covered in bright orange goop and she will have a pleased smile on her face.
And all our birthdays are over for another year; Jennifer, Josh and I are all early-March babies, and we closed it out by them taking me, last night, to a Thai restaurant for a huge meal. Leftovers were distributed on the usual Aldin Family basis of whoever could grab the most got to keep them. Jennifer bought me a large bouquet of roses, which is adorning my table and making the room smell great.
Monique, long time (like, multi-decade) weekend hostess at the coffee shop on my hillside, gave her notice a couple of weeks ago and yeterday was her last day. It was, coincidentally, my birthday, so when Eliza and I arrived for breakfast there was a chorus of "Happy Birthdays," a cupcake with one candle (very tactful of them) was brought to the table, and a card signed by all the staff was presented. I pulled out my "goodbye and thanks" card and handed it to Monique, and when it came time to pay the check there WAS no check; the girls had pooled their tips to buy me breakfast. Jim (who I think was absent from school they day they gave out Romantic Gestures) says there is a trip to Astroburger in my near future, and that his new book will be out next month. One of his OLD books, on the history of local landmark Angels Flight, may soon be seeing a substantial bump is sales, as after many years of being shut down Angels Flight (a small funicular railroad track in downtown Los Angeles that used to go up and down Bunker Hill, before they leveled Bunker Hill to build part of the new courthouse) is reopening today. They've moved it a couple of blocks from where it originally was.
March 12
Happy birthday to my wonderful son Josh!
March 11
Last night was bluegrass night. Todd and I drove out to Burbank to hear Herb Pedersen, Bill Bryson, and Tom and Patrick Sauber play at a Mexican restaurant called Viva Cantina. Oh man, these guys are wonderful. I had forgotten how good it feels to sit there and let that music wash over me. They did mostly the Monroe/Flatt & Scruggs/Stanley Bros. songbook, with a few of Herb's tunes and some instrumentals thrown in. I could only stay for one set (that dratted alarm that goes off every morning long before dawn means I have to turn in early on weeknights) but it was terrific. The food is, well, not the greatest, but the music makes up for it. They are there every two weeks, so I will be back on the 24th for sure, hopefully with Jim. While I was there I drafted Tom and Patrick to come back and do Alive & Picking with me again, April 117th, and also while I sat with Harley Tarlitz I talked him into doing one too, June 26th.
Today is Josh and Kate's second wedding anniversary, and on Saturday morning right after my radio show they are bringing Eliza and all her worldly goods over to my house and going to Vegas for the weekend to celebrate. Hooray, a whole weekend with my granddaughter! And when they get back on Sunday evening they, and Jennifer and Bruce, are taking me out to Thai food for my birthday. We do NOT discuss how old I am. Shut up.
March 5
Happy birthday to my wonderful daughter Jennifer!
January 30
The Grammys are tomorrow, and as a result there are a lot of friends coming in to town. My pal Jurgen is here from Austin, and he spent some time yesterday going through my stacks of old 78s and finding a few things to buy from me for his jukebox at home (yes, he has a jukebox that plays 78s. Or maybe he has several.) No sooner was he out the door than Chris Strachwitz called, in town for the Grammys, let's have dinner. He had heard of a Oaxacan place on Olympic near Normandie, so we went there, and thanks to the magic of cell phones Jurgen was able to join us there; he and Chris hadn't seen each other in quite awhile so it was nice to be able to make that happen. The food was not as impressive as other Oaxacan places I've been, but the company was great!
I'm babysitting Eliza tonight. Eliza is teething. Nuff said about that.
January 18
Jim Capaldi emailed me the sad news that John Seeger has died.
John's son Tony is a friend of mine, who teaches in the Ethno department at UCLA. Hard going for him, losing his uncle Mike just a few months ago and now his father. Although -- born in 1914, that makes him (counting on fingers) 96? No, 95, would have been 96 in February. What a good long life!
January 7
Hilarious video du jour. The Ross Sisters sing a song about potato salad, and then.... you'll see, though you may not believe. Hint: make sure you watch past the first 45 seconds or so, as it gets more unbelievable the farther in you get. I am pretty much speechless, except to say that these girls sure are, um, flexible! Thanks to Tom F. for the heads up.
December 26
Well, so, the holidays. Yes. On Christmas Eve I had a little gathering here, starring Eliza In Her Christmas Dress; she was passed from lap to lap and greatly admired by all present. Other than Eliza, there was also a bounteous repast (hey, I can open cartons as well as the next person) and lots of good conversation. Then Christmas morning Josh and Kate went off to visit her family, and I drove Jennifer and Bruce to the airport, where they caught a plane to Bismarck via Denver. Or so they thought. In actual fact they got to Denver just fine, and are still there, having spent last night in a motel near the airport and tonight is looking about the same. There's weather, there's flights being cancelled, there's all that stuff. On Christmas evening Todd and I went to Andy and Ria's Christmas gathering, where I saw some of the same folks who had been at my place the night before (small world !). This morning was the wonderful world of radio, so I was up at four, and tonight I went to Tom and Claire's for their Boxing Day party. Jim was supposed to come with me, but he had gotten an infection in his foot which turned into cellulitis, so he spent Christmas night at Kaiser's ER getting it looked at, and is now home communing with a bottle of antibiotics. I took him a plate of goodies from Tom and Claire's feast, so at least he won't starve to death. Tomorrow I hope to do absolutely nothing, but of course I'll do it creatively.
Wow, Paul Butterfield on To Tell The Truth. Thanks to Geoff Muldaur for sending me this link. I had no idea this even existed!
December 16
I'm a grandma again, for the second time this year! Olivia Reed Pickering made her debut in Chicago today, coming in at just over five and a half pounds and 20 inches tall. I am starting a collection of beautiful granddaughters! Everyone's doing fine. I wish they weren't so far away, but I will get to meet her in February.
December 8
Mike's memorial service was Sunday. I couldn't go - defeated by time, distance, money, and the need to have at least one hand on the wheel at my office, since Mitch DID go. He is bringing me home a copy of the program and greetings from many friends. I tried to write something to be read at the service, but that got away from me too; so many memories, but hard to put them down on paper in any way that would have made sense.
Still no news from my "other son" John and his wife Jeanine in Chicago, who are expecting their daughter any minute now. They promised a full report as soon as she made her grand entrance; well, Eliza was twelve days late, so I won't start worrying for awhile. Two granddaughters in the same year - three, if I count my goddaughter Jeneda's daughter, who was born in late October on the Navajo reservation outside Flagstaff.
Josh and Kate took Eliza to Palm Springs for the weekend to visit friends, so I had a nice leisurely time of it. Did errands, did laundry, did radio (although since John and Deann were the guests hosts I didn't really have to do anything beyond push a couple of buttons.) Then on Sunday I did a favor for a friend and helped him shift things around in his apartment some. The manager of his building had to let a workman in to do some kind of repair a week or so ago, and when the manager saw the state the place was in he backed out, mumbling under his breath about the Health Department (I think the phrase "death trap" was used.) So I went over to his place to help, although most of what I did involved sitting in front of a shredder, feeding things into it. These men - ! Although, in fairness, it's not only that. The guy, who is a really good person and good friend, is plain and simply a hoarder. Some men are hunters, some are gatherers - this one gathers, and gathers, and gathers. A lifelong bachelor, he has so much clutter in his place that it makes my place look neat and clean by comparison! Many hours of work later, things looked a bit better; I agreed to go back this coming Sunday and help some more, at which point he will make The Big Decision about whether he will rent a storage unit and simply shift some of his clutter to another location. I hasten to add that he is NOT a "pig" - there are no dirty dishes in the sink or bugs in the bathroom, and he is scrupulously clean about his own person - there's just so much "stuff" in his apartment that it has taken over his life. Sometime last year I helped another friend, also a bachelor, in his mid-sixties, who had the same problem. He DID rent a storage unit, and moved quite a lot of stuff into it, and so "passed" his apartment's inspection by the board of health. He paid his storage bill for a year in advance, and just the other week got a bill for the second year, at which point he realized that for an entire year he had never once been to the storage unit and couldn't really remember what was in it. There's a lesson there somewhere. I hope he doesn't pay the second year. I hope he calls Out of the Closet or Goodwill and tells them to meet him at the storage unit with a big truck and two strong men, and that he turns his back and shuts his eyes and lets them take it all.
mber 16
I’ve been thinking about Robert Palmer a lot the past few days, as the anniversary of his passing comes around, a new book of his collected writings has just been published, and yet another year goes by without him. Nobody will ever know how lucky I was to have this incredibly special person as a friend. He had the most open ears of anyone I’ve ever known, and did his best to pry mine loose (without, I’m sorry to say, ever really succeeding). “What the HELL is that noise?” I’d ask as he played some foreign-sounding stuff in a language I didn’t recognize. “Oh, Mary Katherine, it’s pygmy rain chants,” he’d reply, evidently expecting me to react as if it was the Holy Grail, which maybe to him it was. I’m a four-four person, and he was way out there in the land of seven-nine where I knew I was never going to be able to follow. Fortunately, he spoke my language even though I couldn’t speak his, so we communicated in what was probably the musical equivalent of baby-talk to him, although he was always too kind to say so.
Bob was a good friend, and I cared a great deal about him, but his addictions scared the crap out of me. I was single-parenting two small children, and was dead set against them coming into contact with drugs of any kind; during the many times he came west to stay for weeks at a time at my apartment in Hollywood, he drank cough syrup by the pint to ease the uncontrollable pain without violating my rules. When that didn’t cut it he went out to score, never bringing anything back with him beyond the glazed look in his eyes that told me that at least for the moment he didn’t hurt any more.
And drugs or no drugs, he could write; words came pouring out of him like water out of the Grand Coulee Dam. As chief pop critic of the New York Times he wrote record reviews, live concert reviews, chapters on whatever the current book in progress was and still found time to write me four, five, or six-page single-spaced typed letters, all of which I still have, talking about whatever wonderful music he was listening to, shows he was seeing and people he was meeting along the way.
His enthusiasm was contagious and his unlimited love of music was profound. He also had the most amazing ability to write in his head without benefit of (in those days) a typewriter. We went to the first night of Bob Dylan’s Saved tour, up in San Francisco, and after we got back to our hotel room he said, “Okay, now I have to turn in the review.” Neither of us had taken notes during the show, and we had driven up from L.A. with no typewriter, so I expected to see at least a notebook come out and the process begin. Nope. He picked up the phone and called a number at the New York Times, spoke for a moment to someone he knew, and then was connected to a tape recorder, into which he began dictating, cold, with no notes. “Bob Dylan D-y-l-a-n comma whose current concert tour opened last night at the Warfield W-a-r-f-i-e-l-d Theater in San Francisco comma displayed an unusual sense of…” and on it went, a long, at least ten-paragraph review into which without pause or hesitation he inserted punctuation cues, paragraph breaks and created a little literary masterpiece. I was frozen into silence, afraid to break the flow, but as soon as he put the phone down he casually resumed the conversation we’d been having before he made the call. I was floored, and humbled. If that’s what being a real writer meant, I knew I’d never get there.
I got particularly lucky when, as he was working on Deep Blues, he came to stay with me during a dry spell and I offered to compile the discography that would accompany the book, to take that laundry-list chore off his hands. He lit up like a Christmas tree, and we sat crosslegged on my living room floor pulling albums off my shelves and sorting them into piles of “yes” and “no.” But then things went really dry, and he went back to New York with no sign that the book would ever be finished. A few phone calls later, I was getting really worried; the publisher, unreasonably enough, was demanding the finished manuscript, which was already months late. I went to New York and stayed with Bob and his ginger cat Snooky, who were, for the moment, living like two crusty old bachelors in a penthouse apartment that looked like it had been through the blitz.
The manuscript was in chaos. Two lately-finished chapters which he had sent to me for proofreading I had brought back to New York with me and were sitting in plain view on the coffee table, but where was the rest of it? Ah. Part of it was on top of the refrigerator. Of course. And another chapter in the bedroom, having evidently been thrown against a wall, because the pages were all over the room. My role was clear: den mother, nanny, whatever you want to call it, he needed to finish the damn book, and I simply refused to leave New York until he did. And then, a miracle. A week later it was done, all was in perfect order, and I typed the final pages of the discography on his machine, trying to pretend I didn’t see the hypodermic needles in the trash can.
Then I got really lucky; I got to work with him. When I was asked by MCA Records’ Andy McKaie to compile and annotate a box set of the Chess Recordings of Muddy Waters, I agreed, but suggested Bob do the notes; he had done so much research on Muddy during the writing of Deep Blues that I figured he could write them in his sleep. I sent him a list of the tracks I had chosen, and he made a couple of excellent suggestions for changes. Then we waited for the notes. And we waited, and waited. In desperation I started to write them myself, figuring that when his finally arrived we could dump mine.
What kind of mojo he used I don’t know, but when his notes finally showed up they were an absolutely perfect segue from what I had already written; not a thought duplicated, not a redundant sentence in the lot. Andy simply used mine and his, side by side, a perfect fit. The resulting Grammy Award nomination for Best Liner Notes was, Bob assured me, for both of us, but I knew better. The Grammy certificate on my wall has both our names on it, but it was his words that made mine shine.
When he was in L.A. he often guest-hosted my blues radio show. Since his own collection was three thousand miles away, he’d go through my shelves, pulling out albums I’d forgotten I owned and choosing tracks that I had no idea were on them, always bringing something fresh and insightful to the studio and revitalizing my own programming style for weeks after each visit. If I was working on liner notes while he was here he’d make helpful suggestions, untangle sentences, offer comments, but never condescendingly, from the New York Times/Rolling Stone critic to the neophyte. He did me the honor of always treating me as a colleague, and sometimes made me believe I deserved it.
When, five or so years before his death, he moved to my favorite city in the world, New Orleans, we saw each other more regularly. I’d make the cross-country train journey a couple of times a year; we’d meet for lunch or dinner, and I’d fuss at him for not taking better care of his health as we walked, ever more slowly, through the streets of the French Quarter. I knew he had abused his body pretty thoroughly for many years but had no idea, until quite near the end, that he was so seriously ill. He always brushed aside my concerns and questions about his health, and insisted instead that I tell him what shows I had seen, what new records I’d gotten for review, and what reissues I was working on.
And then one day he simply told me the truth. We were sitting on a park bench in Jackson Square in the pale New Orleans winter sunlight, and he looked me in the eye and said that he wanted me to know how much my friendship had always meant to him, and my heart stopped. I knew, but I didn’t want to know. He was very reassuring; I was not to worry, Yoko Ono had offered financial assistance, and he was going back to New York to have a liver transplant. Everything would be fine.
We talked regularly from then on, and two days before he died I spoke to him for the last time. He had recently married JoBeth Britton, an amazing woman who had somehow managed to get him to clean up his act, eat healthier food and take better care of himself, but she couldn’t work miracles. His body was disintegrating before her eyes, and the doctors wouldn’t, couldn't, do a transplant until his health stabilized.
From his hospital bed he told me that he loved JoBeth and that she was aware of his end of life wishes and would see that they were carried out. We said all the things that old friends say to each other when they know it’s for the last time and are given the chance. I somehow kept my voice steady as I agreed with him that it was probably not necessary, and yes, he was probably going to be fine, but that it was good, nonetheless, to say them. I was surprised to find, as I hung up, that tears were pouring down my face. Two days later JoBeth called to let me know that she was honoring his wishes and taking him off life support.
And then I got the phone call that he was gone, and a call asking me for a quote. Then another, and another, and I took the phone off the hook and sat down to work on some liner notes. It seemed somehow the right way to remember him. Still does.
November 10
After work today I went over to Josh and Kate's and babysat Eliza for awhile; came home tired, and was trudging up the stairs when Jennifer called me back down to her door, opened her screen and stuck her hand out -- with a ring on it! She and Bruce are now officially engaged. Their rings, why am I not surprised, came from one of those machines where you put a quarter in and a plastic bubble comes out with a toy inside it. Bruce said that the first two quarters he put in each came out with a different ring in it. Hers actually looks like one that I got many years ago in a Crackerjack box. My favorite ring ever was one that I made back in the Sixties by braiding one of Peter's old guitar strings as I sat in his dressing room watching him change to a new set before a concert. I wore it until my finger turned green, which was about an hour after the concert ended...anyhow, their wedding date is not set yet, but will be sometime this spring, perhaps sometime around her birthday in March. We can celebrate at Party Gras when I get home from my "big trip" to Chicago (to meet my "other son" John and Jeanine's daughter, who will be born in December) and Memphis (for the Folk Alliance Conference) and Mississippi (talk talk talk) and New Orleans (eat eat eat). Turns out that KPFK's next Fund Drive will be in late January, so I should be here for about the first two weeks of it and then gone till it's over. No, I am NOT doing that on purpose. Course not. Heh heh.
September 10
Sunday
August 16
Spent the afternoon making a huge pot of jambalaya, then Jim and I drove over to Josh and Kate's so he could meet Eliza. I tried to teach her to pronounce "parallelogram," but I guess four days old is still too young. Then we went on to Claire's party, at which we ate a lot of great food and visited with Ellen and Art and a bunch of other folks. At some point during the festivities I backed Tom Nixon into a corner and breathed fire at him till he agreed to come in and do a radio show with me <g> so my goal of getting all these excellent old music programmers back on the air by hook or by crook is working! Am just waiting to hear from Tom Sauber; everyone else has said yes!
Tuesday August 11
Eliza is here and all's well. 7 lbs. 2 oz., 21 inches tall.
Sunday August 9
Went to dinner and a show at the Magic Castle last night with Chris and Janet, bluegrass pals from San Diego, and violated the club's rules by leaving my cell phone on all night, hoping that I would get The Call. But no. My granddaughter is taking her own sweet time about being born; she's is now ten days past her original due date of July 31.
August 10, 2009
Mike Seeger, Singer and Music Historian, Dies at 75
By BEN SISARIO, The New York Times
Mike Seeger, a singer and multi-instrumentalist who played an important role in the folk revival of the 1950s and '60s, died on Friday at his home in Lexington, Va. He was 75.
The cause was multiple myeloma, a form of blood cancer, said his wife, Alexia Smith.
Although a quieter voice on the national stage than his politically outspoken, older half-brother, Pete, Mike Seeger was a significant force in spreading the music of preindustrial America during an increasingly consumerist era. In 1958 he helped found the New Lost City Ramblers, whose repertory came from the 1920s and '30s, and in his career he recorded or produced dozens of albums of what he called the "true vine" of American music, the mix of British and African traditions and topical storytelling that took root in the South.
Mr. Seeger's dedication had a strong effect on the young Bob Dylan, who wrote fondly of him in his 2004 memoir, "Chronicles: Volume One." Although only eight years his junior, Mr. Dylan called Mr. Seeger a father figure - for helping the under-age Mr. Dylan with his paperwork - and rhapsodized about him as the embodiment of a folk-star persona.
"Mike was unprecedented," Mr. Dylan wrote, adding: "As for being a folk musician, he was the supreme archetype. He could push a stake through Dracula's black heart. He was the romantic, egalitarian and revolutionary type all at once."
But Mr. Seeger made his mark less as a star than as a careful, steady student of his beloved Southern music. He was born in New York to a prominent musical family. His father, Charles Seeger, was a well-known ethnomusicologist, and his mother, Ruth Crawford Seeger, a composer and folk-song collector. Besides Pete, Mr. Seeger's sister Peggy also became a noted singer.
The intellectual pursuit of folk music was part of Mike Seeger's life from an early age. At 5 he made a recording of the old British folk ballad "Barbara Allen," his wife said in an interview on Sunday.
Mr. Seeger played banjo, guitar, autoharp and other instruments, which he learned from old records and in some cases from the musicians who played on them. A dogged researcher, he sought out musicians who had been lost for decades and introduced them to an eager (and young) new audience. One was Dock Boggs, a banjo player from western Virginia whose records were prized by folklorists. Mr. Seeger brought him to the American Folk Festival in Asheville, N.C., in 1963.
Mr. Seeger's most recent album was "Early Southern Guitar Sounds" (Smithsonian Folkways), in 2007, and he played autoharp on Robert Plant and Alison Krauss's Grammy Award-winning album "Raising Sand" (Rounder), also released in 2007. In his career Mr. Seeger was nominated for six Grammys.
In addition to his wife, his half-brother Pete, of Beacon, N.Y., and his sister Peggy, of Boston, Mr. Seeger is survived by three sons, Kim, of Tivoli, N.Y., Chris, of Rockville Centre, N.Y., and Jeremy, of Belmont, Mass.; four stepchildren, Cory Foster of Ithaca, N.Y., Jenny Foster of Rockville, Md., Joel Foster of Silver Spring, Md., and Jesse Foster of Washington; another sister, Barbara Perfect of Henderson, Nev.; another half-brother, John Seeger of Bridgewater, Conn.; and 13 grandchildren and step-grandchildren.
Copyright 2009 The New York Times Company
Friday August 7
My dear friend Mike Seeger died tonight, in hospice care at his home, at peace and not in pain.
Tomorrow I'm doing the radio show early, then to breakfast, then coming home and hanging around here for awhile because I'm having a new mattress set delivered. Unfortunately I can't lift the old mattress and box spring by myself, so tomorrow when the delivery guys come, you KNOW they are going to pull the old ones off the frame and be overwhelmed by all the dust bunnies that are under there (or in my case more likely dust kangaroos), plus a miscellanous sock or two and who knows what all else. The new bed is a big surprise - Josh and Kate bought it for me, thinking that it was probably time mom had a new one, as I've been having trouble sleeping for quite some time and it may be the fault of the lumpy mattress. How old is the incumbent set, anyway? Hmmm, let's see now (counting on fingers); well, it's at least 35 years old, so yes, I guess it's time.
Thursday August 6
I'm told that Mike is mostly sleeping now, making his transition inexorably, quietly, and painlessly. Hard to be so far away, but there's nothing I could do even if I was there except help Alexia around the house, and believe me, my domestic skills aren't much help to anyone! And as one goes, another comes; the doctor today said that both Kate and Eliza are in good health, everything's normal, and we'll see her when she decides it's time to be born.
Sunday August 2
Some friends of Mike's went to play music for him this weekend; he enjoyed it, but asked that no more visitors come. He wants to be quiet now, in what time is left. Because he lives so far away there was no way I could have gotten there in time anyway, but we have said what needing saying, and since then I've been forwarding him literally *hundreds* of emails that have come pouring in to me for him and Alexia. This is really hard; as I counted up the years I realized that he is one of the few friends I have left from Ash Grove days; we met in the early 1960s when he and his group came out from the east coast to play there, and in one way or another we have been in touch ever since. He was incredibly helpful when I was preparing the Newport Folk Festival reissue series for Vanguard back in the early 1990s, and then of course these last ten years I have been his "booking agent" so we've been in very regular contact. And in between there have been lots of meals together (Lebanese food in Westwood, yum!) and other adventures, like the time we sat around a conference table in the UCLA Ethno department some years back and he tried for a solid hour to teach me to play the jews harp (he was stunned to finally realize that he had met someone who just couldn't do it!). My ex, Mark, of course, sailed through the lesson, because he has been field collecting recordings of jews harp playing for years and is an expert; Mike eventually decided to blame it on my plastic dentures, which alter the natural shape of my mouth. Yeah sure. Anyway, if he lives till then his 77th birthday will be on August 15th, and whether he is still with us or not I'm going to do a tribute to him on my radio show that day.
Wednesday July 29
It was a hard day at work today, as the news of Mike's final illness has made it onto the net via emails being passed around, and I was swamped with phone calls and emails. Did not speak to him or to Alexia today, as it was their last day at the hospital and they are retuning home tomorrow morning, and the hospice care will be there for them. But have forwarded them over 100 emails of well-wishing from folks near and far.
Had dinner tonight with Josh and Kate; just three days till Eliza is due! We ate at a Chinese place, and I suggested that Kate have some kung pao chicken (one of the hottest Chinese dishes I know) in hopes of getting things moving along, but she sensibly passed.
Tuesday July 28
My good friend Mike, who has been battling leukemia for some time, was recently diagnosed with an additional cancer, called multiple myeloma. And he called today to say that he has now decided to stop the treatments, and is entering hospice care. After we hung up I wrote him an email that said everything I needed to say and I hope was everything he needed to hear from me. Selfishly, it's hard for me to let go, but of course I respect his decision. He's in his late 70s, has had a good and productive life, and it's his choice to make. He knows better than anyone what's right for him. And as sad as I am about this, I'm glad that he is able to end his life in the same forthright manner in which he has lived it.
It's a (nother) girl! My "other son" John and his wife Jeanine, who live in Chicago, just had their first ultrasound, and it's a girl. She's due in December, and that means I get two granddaughters the same year!
April 18
A funny story about how I met Dick Waterman:
Dick Waterman was then a respected booking agent in Cambridge, running his Avalon Productions and representing a lot of traditional blues artists (this was before he became Bonnie Raitt's manager and also before he started handling Buddy Guy & Jr. Wells). Many of the artists he booked would play at the Ash Grove, and the pattern was that he would call up and say "I have Son House (or Skip James, or Fred MacDowell, or Mississippi John Hurt, or whoever) coming to the west coast; can you do a week in June?" and then the financial terms and contract issues got done between him and Ed (the owner of the club).
April 12
Well, I guess this qualifies as a Happy Easter, all right. My other son John and his wife Jeanine, who live in Chicago, are in town; they came over tonight and we met Josh and Kate for dinner at Miceli's, and I was presented with yet another sonogram and the amazing news that they're going to have a baby too!!! So I am going to be a grandmother twice this year, on July 31 and again on December 3 (all dates approximate). Oh my God, the diapers I'm going to be changing!
April 10
Jim and Guy and I were sitting at the coffee shop on my hillside this afternoon, and the conversation wandered around, as it does; and Jim and I shared some apple pie, as we do; and after an hour or so Jim got up to go have dinner with Ian and then go with him to the noir film series at the Egyptian, and Guy got up to go off for a walk, and I came home. And these quiet little times that don't have any heavy meaning, that are just the everyday connections that I make with friends, have become part of the brightly colored patchwork of my life. I have been sitting in almost the same spot at that same coffee shop for nearly forty years; back when I first started going there my daughter Jennifer (42 on her next birthday) was barely old enough to sit up in a highchair, and she drew patterns in her cracker crumbs on the highchair's silver tray. It was just one long soda fountain counter then, with one waitress, my dear old friend Addie, who later, when I was alone and pregnant with Josh (35 on his next one) threw me the baby shower that brought me so much that I needed. Addie, by then in her seventies, still came trudging up the hill to unlock the place and start the first pot of coffee at 6:00 every morning, until the day she didn't, and her sister-in-law Frances the cook and Milton, then the assistant cook, called and called but got no answer so finally went down the street to her apartment and found her on the floor, all dressed for work with her apron over her arm, blown out painlessly like a candle by God before she could get out her front door. And I remember when they expanded the place after Addie died, put in tables and chairs and booths, and how Berta, my dear friend from the Village who had come out to L.A. to join me in working at the Ash Grove, went to work at the coffee shop after the club closed, and she taught Milton how to make eggs Benedict, and being a New York woman she made them put egg creams on the menu too, and eventually they hired a bunch more waitresses, who've come and gone through the years, each with a life and a story someone should write. I've known every waitress by name; I know which one worked extra shifts so that she and her husband could put a down payment on a house that had to be near a good school for her son; I know which one worked two jobs and single-parented a kid, which one came in to work on even the warmest days wearing long sleeved tops that didn't always hide the bruises on her arms, and which one has been sober for over a year now, and how hard that is for her. I know that European tourists aren't used to tipping, because they don't have that custom there, and how when you stand on your feet eight hours a day for minimum wage, every dollar that you don't get makes a difference. I know Monique, the weekend hostess/cashier, who lost her dearly-loved father to cancer and then single-handedly cared for her mother for years, seeing her drift ever-further away into the long goodbye of Alzheimer's Disease until she too finally died, and how Monique watched the Neptune Society boat out of sight and then straightened her shoulders and went to work to get her Extras Union card so she could make some money, and now every time she has a few flashing seconds of film (even way in the background) on a network TV show, everyone in the canyon tunes in to watch. And I know Milton and Miguel, the cooks, and I know that Milton has diabetes and isn't supposed to eat sweets, so when I bring back pralines from New Orleans for everyone I just break off a tiny bite of one for him instead of giving him a whole one. And I know that his wife Margo had surgery recently, but is doing better now, thanks, and I know that he has an adult daughter who's a quadraplegic in an assisted living facility, and that paying for her care is a big part of why at long past retirement age he still stands on his feet ten hours a day in a tiny kitchen where in the summer it's over 100 degrees every day, and although he has never taken a vacation day in thirty years he always has a smile for everyone and always remembers that I like my french fries well done and my fruit salad without any canteloupe. And I know Miguel's son Ernie, who used to work there on weekends when he was in high school, handing out menus and seating people. And I know the busboys and the dishwashers and their families and their stories; Rafael has a small son back in Mexico, and he sends home money to his wife every week. I know many of the "regulars" who eat there every day (and I remember the ones who've died, too, like Paul Pepper, who couldn't stop smoking until it was too late, and John Nolan, a really good writer who hand-carved the wooden sign that hangs over the door, and John Milford, who built the booths when he was between acting jobs). It's a community in the best sense of the word, because whenever somebody in the canyon sells a story or sells a painting or gets a speaking part or places a script or gets an advance from a publisher or sweats out an audition for a role in a tiny non-Equity theater, everyone congratulates them on their success. And when there's an occasional celebrity sighting (Kevin Costner used to stop in now and then, and Jennifer saw Jessica Simpson once, and Lord help us all Lindsay Lohan used to live just two blocks up the hill, and having paparazzi and helicopters there every damn day made it hard to get through the one lane canyon street I live on, so nobody wass really thrilled about having her there, but we all agreed that it was better than when Madonna lived up here and built a helipad on her front lawn, because when she sold her house and moved away they practically had a block party to celebrate) everyone is very cool until they pay their check and leave, and then it's "wow, did you see who was here?" And I know that most late afternoons when I get home from work Jim will be there, and we'll talk, or share sections of the paper, or I'll bring him the latest issue of Blues & Rhythm, or we'll do the crossword puzzle together (in ink, of course!), and he'll drink too much coffee and I won't drink any, and on winter days he covers my always-cold hands with his warm ones and we're always comfortable together; and whenever I walk in the cafe door on a weekend morning there's a chorus from them all of "good morning, Mary Katherine!" that makes me feel, as I am, at home.
March 15
Photos and details of my trip to Chicago, Memphis, Oxford and New Orleans can be found here.
This was my birthday weekend and boy, am I exhausted. Jennifer took me to Disneyland yesterday, where I put in several strenuous hours (and did something painful to my right shoulder and lower back) on the rides. She also treated me to a spectacular lunch at the Blue Bayou restaurant there. Boy was that great. Crab cakes, shrimp remoulade, mahi mahi, steak, salads and veg. Urp! Then we went out to the Deeper Valley to her and Bruce's soon-to-be-old apartment and I spent a couple of birthday hours packing her kitchen into boxes; we wrapped everything in newspaper, and taped up and labeled all the boxes. As a gesture of thanks for my help, she and Bruce then took me to dinner at Victors - so, TWO free meals on my birthday. This morning Claire came over and tried her best to hammer some computer skills into my head so that I could get the photos from my recent trip up onto a web site so people could see them. It was only partially successful; as long as she was here, standing over me, things seemed to go fairly well, if slowly, but as soon as she left and I tried to do some by myself....anyhow, we interrupted the tutorial to go to my hillside cafe and have lunch with Jim, and a plan was hatched whereby Tom and Claire and Jim and I are all having dinner together next weekend to further celebrate my birthday. Tonight Josh and Kate took me to a great place on LaCienega called The Stinking Rose; as you can figure out, the primary theme is garlic. Since garlic is one of my five basic food groups (along with chocolate and a few other disreputable things), I was a happy camper. I should keep a running total and see what's the maximum number of free lunches and dinners I can stretch out of one birthday.
The internet is a truly amazing thing. I have been thinking for quite some time about someone I knew as a child, and wondering whatever happened to her, as she had a really rough time of it when she was young. Tried Googling her, but never found anything. Lo and behold, she found ME, because of my web site. Incredible.
January 3
I haven't written much here about my friend Stevenson Palfi, but I've been thinking about him a lot lately. He was a good friend of mine, a smart, funny, devilishly handsome guy who became like a brother to me. We met and fell passionately in like while he was shooting his Professor Longhair documentary called Piano Players Rarely Ever Play Together, a prizewinning film that's just recently become available on DVD, and if you've never seen it and love New Orleans and its music I highly recommend it. Stevenson had moved from his native Chicago to New Orleans after spending a summer there working at the front desk of the Maison DeVille Hotel in the French Quarter. The hotel was close to Preservation Hall, and he found himself drawn to an 80-something year old banjo player named Manny Sayles (Emmanuel, really, but everyone called him Manny) who was a longtime member of the Preservation Hall Jazz Band; Manny became the subject of one of Stevenson's earliest music documentaries. He met his lovely wife Polly Waring there, and not long after I met them they rejoiced in the birth of their daughter, my darling Nell.
Anyway, Stevenson and I became close friends, joked and flirted our way harmessly through the possible pitfalls of a relationship that was always determinedly platonic, and whenever he was in L.A. or I was in New Orleans we spent a lot of time together. Life went on, things changed, he and Polly separated and eventually divorced, but our friendship continued, with one hiatus, for about twenty years. When my dear friend Keith and I would visit New Orleans the two of them would go off to visit the local bars together, and I was really glad that they, too, ended up with a friendship that enriched both their lives. When Keith died of a massive heart attack in March of 2005, it was Stevenson who let me cry, and cry, and cry, and in a series of late night phone calls he helped me start to heal from that awful loss.
And then, barely six months after Keith died, came Hurricane Katrina, and then the levees broke. Stevenson's house was on Banks Street in Mid-City, the area which other than the 9th Ward was hardest hit in all New Orleans. He was forced to evacuate, ending up in Tunica, Mississippi for several weeks. When he was finally allowed back into the city it was to find that his home, which was also his office and editing facility, had taken eight feet of standing water, and nearly everything he owned was destroyed.
He had homeowners insurance, he told me in a series of breathless phonecalls, but was having a hard time trying to collect. He spent every morning for over two months wearing hip boots, rubber gloves and a protective mask, cleaning out the filthy, stinking, toxic, mold-covered mess that had once been his home, and then spent every afternoon on the phones to various insurance companies, trying to slog his way through the bureaocracy and put through his claims. It was enough to make anyone depressed, but Stevenson had other problems as well, which long predated the flood. He had not been able to work for quite some time; two car accidents, one close upon the other, had left him with a shattered collarbone and shoulder that never really healed properly, and lifting the heavy videocamera with which he made his living became first painful, and finally impossible. He had a half-finished documentary in the works about New Orleans musician Allen Toussaint, and it was becoming clear that he was not going to be able to finish it, despite having gone into debt and borrowed money to make it. The medication that the doctors had given him for a lower back injury also caused by the car crash had unintended physical side effects which left him more depressed than before.
Since the flood, with his own home unlivable, he had been staying with his former wife Polly, and one evening in December 2005 while she was out of the house he stole the gun she kept for protection. A few days later, on December 14, he went back to his house; after writing a four page longhand letter in which he absolved those he loved of responsibility and railed against FEMA and the insurance companies for their lack of understanding and assistance, he left the note on his desk, went upstairs, lay down on his bed and put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
There's no good way to find out that kind of news, but I found out about it in maybe the worst way possible; an anonymous email from a stranger, the morning after his death, saying something along the lines of "sorry to hear about your friend Stevenson." I was stunned, and scared - wait, what? sorry to hear WHAT?? - and then began the long and difficult quest for solid information. Less than three months after Katrina, few people in New Orleans had working telephone service yet; I called his house line and his home-office line and left increasingly frantic messages on his machines. Polly's phone wasn't working, and Nell wasn't answering her cell, but I finally reached Barry Smith at the Louisiana Music Factory, who confirmed that it was true.
Parents who commit suicide leave lasting scars on their children; it's a deep, dark, harsh, hardly forgiveable sin, and it casts a shadow over subsequent generations that never really goes away. Even when someone says, "My grandfather committed suicide before I was born," the statement itself speaks of enormous, somehow contagious, incurable, inheritable pain. Those left behind feel profound guilt and self-reproach (how could I have talked to Stevenson less than a week before he killed himself and heard nothing in his voice, even though at that point he had already stolen the gun he was going to use? How could I have been so self-involved that all those times he told me how hard it was to throw out the accumulated possessions of a lifetime because the mold had rendered them untouchable, I didn't hear the cry for help behind the words? Why did someone so popular and with so many friends -- there were hundreds of people at his memorial service -- pick up a gun instead of picking up a phone?) and eventually anger at someone I once loved so much, ranging from "how could you do this?" to "how could you do this to me?" to the ultimate unanswerable question, "how could you do this to Nell?"
Nell was the joy of his life, a bright, shining, goldenhaired child who was not supposed to live. When she was born, with a combination of birth defects any one of which would have stunned most new fathers into silence, Stevenson refused to believe the doctors who said she wouldn't make it (they had been right the two previous times that Polly had given birth, first to their stillborn son and then to a premature daughter who lived only an hour). He paid no attention; he went into the pediatric emergency room and picked up the tiny child who, in her baby pictures, has so many tubes and wires attached to her that you cannot see a human being at all, and he said "this child will LIVE." He held her, talked to her constantly, willed her to live by simply refusing to believe that she would die. For the first three months he and Polly never left her alone. Nurses and doctors came, shook their heads, and went, but Stevenson and Polly stayed with Nell, praying constantly, calling specialists all over the country, and telling her and everyone else who'd listen that everything that was wrong with her was going to be fixed and that she was going to be fine. Fourteen staggering operations and six years later, the child who had been pronounced brain-dead at birth started first grade, right on schedule with the other children her age; the child who doctors originally said was in a permanent vegetative state and would never be able to walk, talk, read or write ended up dancing her way lightly through elementary school, then high school, and finally entered LSU in Baton Rouge; she would have graduated college with honors with the rest of her class if her father hadn't derailed her education and her life by putting that gun in his mouth. She was only eighteen when he died, and she will never get over it. She will never be the same person again; she adored her father, and when he killed himself the light in her eyes just went out. I still see her every time I go to New Orleans; we maintain the tradition that we started when she was just a little girl, of having one nice "dressup" dinner together in a fancy retaurant during my stay; but she doesn't want to talk about Stevenson. She doesn't want to hear how much he loved her or how important she was to him. She sits quietly, always unfailingly courteous to her father's old friend, looking at her plate, picking at her food, and occasionally glancing at her watch under the table where she thinks I won't see her, wondering how much longer she'll have to stay. When I ask her, with the easy familiarity of someone who has known her all her life, what her own plans for the future are, when she might start looking for a job, or when she might be going back to college, she just shrugs and doesn't answer.
The last time I was there she gave me a reliquary with some of Stevenson's ashes in it, and a container of more of his ashes which, when the time is right, I'll be putting into the ocean at Malibu, where we loved to go for long walks. I'm trying to think of the right words to say when I release his ashes into the water, maybe some perfect poem or song lyric, but all these years later the only words I can find to say to him are still "how could you do this?"
I guess I should make it clear at the beginning that this "blob" (so called because it's formless, shapeless and has no content) isn't a regularly scheduled event. I make sporadic notes here when the spirit moves me, when it's not too hot or too cold, when I have something to say, when the planets are in the right alignment, etc. When it gets too long, I delete the oldest entries; ahhh, how ephemeral is life. If I don't post every day it does NOT mean that I'm dead. :-)
May 12
Mother's Day today; note to self, go out and get some flowers for Kate. The kids are fishing at Big Bear (Eliza has a shiny pink fishing pole of her very own), so I have a peaceful weekend at home alone. We went out to our usual family Mother's Day dinner last Wednesday, all five of the kids and me squeezed into a booth at Torung for Thai food and a good long visit. Late lunch with Jim and Art on Friday at Victors, and with Jim again Saturday at Astroburger; I now realize that I have two sets of friends named Jim and Art! There's Jim Dawson and Art Fein (who gave me a joint Mother's Day card, despite the fact that I am not even remotely their mother), and Jim Moran and Art Podell, my monthly breakfast krewe at the Good Neighbor on Saturday mornings after their KPFK radio show. I tellya!
Last night, Ash Grove reunion time (albeit at McCabe's). Roland White was playing, and I finally got to see and collect my stash of CDs as payment for writing the liner notes for his and Diane's new Kentucky Colonels Live in Holland release; Ed Pearl, Ash Grove owner and my former boss, was in the audience and came up to the dressing room to visit, and Ry Cooder was there too, another Ash Grove friend, and he and Herb Pedersen and Roland sat on the couch in the dressing room singing gospel music, and I sat there entranced. I tried to get them to cancel the show and just sit there singing all night, but darn it, there was a full house downstairs waiting for them to go onstage, so...I sat with Roland's sisters JoAnne and Rosemary, and had a wonderful time. Tonight, more of the same, at Viva Cantina. And next Sunday I emcee at the Topanga Banjo & Fiddle Contest.
Now that I have this shiny new car, I might drive to Chris Strachwitz's birthday party in Berkeley in July instead of taking the train. Need to see whether I can get the time off work.
April 30
Well, this is exciting! A long time ago (several months) I went on the Antiques Roadshow web site and entered the online lottery for two free tickets when the show comes here in June - and today I found out that I won!! This is SO exciting; it's my favorite TV show by a mile, and now I have to decide which items to take along to be appraised. I won two tickets, and each ticketholder can bring two items, so that's four items - hmmm. I can't take furniture or anything else heavy; too expensive to rent a van, plus they have no one to help load/unload at the other end, so I have to take only stuff I can carry. Might take my old Martin D-18, now resident at Jennifer's house, and a couple of old music posters, one of my grandfather's books; we shall see. I hope that Jennifer can come with me, but she and Bruce are going to North Dakota in mid-June for his parents' 50th wedding anniversary, and may not be back in time.
In typical Aldin Family style, we're having our Mother's Day dinner the week before, and on a Wednesday. That day works for everyone, so that's when we're doing it. I don't care, as long as I get to be with all the kids.
Our trip to San Diego was a big success. Eliza enjoyed the folk festival, or at least the part about the swings and slides at the park and the pinwheel her daddy bought her at one of the crafts booths. I enjoyed hearing Jim Kweskin and Geoff Muldaur on a small stage under a treet in a park, Kate was delighted to find a Starbucks right across the street, and we all had a great time the next day at the San Diego Zoo. Eliza got to feed a giraffe ("Ewww, Grandma, look, his tongue is all black and curly!") but the highlight for her was the underwater view of the hippos, swimming slowly and majestically around their pool.
Really loving driving to work and back every day in Patsy Prius. Have made a bunch of car CDs and am humming my way back and forth. Gets great mileage, too!
Vacation plans are hanging fire, waiting for the kids to find out their vacation schedules at work. We are now looking at a series of shorter trips (Big Bear, which I will probably not go along for, is up first). I don't think Tahoe is going to happen. But you never know.
April 25
Okay, people can stop dying any time now. I was saddened when old friend Richie Havens died yesterday, sorry to hear of guitarist Bob Brozman's suicide two days ago, and sad again when Earl J.J. Pionke (the Earl of Old Town, Chicago club owner and all around good guy) died today, but when George Jones died this morning I was devastated. I went to every single one of his shows that was anywhere I could get to - in fact, I actually attended two more of his shows than HE did, back in the no-show-Jones days. The last time I saw him was about five years ago or so, at the Cerritos Center; the emphysema was already taking his voice, and he was hanging on to his guitar like a support beam, singing one song at a time, then letting the band take one so he could go to the oxygen tank at the side of the stage, then back on for another song, then off again. Every cracked note was a thing of amazing beauty and power. Backstage afterward, while my friend Mark Humphrey was getting his picture made with the Possum, I looked at the lines in his face and feared that it might be the last time I saw him, and it was. I would not trade one minute of any one of those songs for anything you could offer me. I am unspeakably sad today. Though if you had told me years ago that he would live into his eighties I would have laughed you out of the room.
Had lunch with Jim today, since I'll be gone all weekend; Josh and Kate and I are taking Eliza down to San Diego to a folk festival, an arts festival, and the zoo.
Well, for the first time in my life, I have bought a new car. I think I've earned it. She's a shiny black 2013 Prius with 11 miles on the odometer when I brought her home; her name is Patsy (as in Cline, Montana and Stoneman) Prius. Eliza's car seat is installed in the back seat, and I am ready to rule the road. Look out world! Seems strange to be buying a brand new car at my age, but it was past time. I've driven a lifetime of terrible clunkers (buy it for cash, drive it till it drops dead, rinse, repeat), and I got TIRED of having the people at the Auto Club practically recognize my voice when I called for yet another tow! At one point some years ago I was driving a car that was older than my daughter Jennifer! (I think she was ten and it was 12). So this is a really wonderful change. Although I have to say, that famous "new car smell" is yucky - smells like barbecue starter fluid or something similar - very chemical. Driving with the windows open for awhile. Discovered the wonders of having a CD player in the car, too, also for the first time (I used to make myself "car cassettes" for road trips). David Mallett sang me to work this morning, me singing crazy 6:30 a.m. crossharmony (with the windows rolled UP so as not to scare the chickens!) Josh is going to brush and polish my old clunker and sell it on Craig's list. Know anyone in the greater L.A. area who wants to buy a cheap, very used Mercury Sable? I may have traded away next year's trip to New Orleans for this car, but I guess if that happens it happens. Jim tempted me at lunch today - "so DRIVE to New Orleans" - but am too old for that kind of solo road trip. Three days hard driving, alone, each way - even in my comfy new car - nope.
The trip up the coast is off - the kids are now talking about Tahoe instead, which interests me less, so I may stay home and let them have a family vacation together. Of course things may change yet again.
April 14
Had to go to work today (on a Sunday!) but only for a couple of hours, not too bad. Work is busy, which in this economy is always a good thing.
Josh and Kate are talking about driving up the coast sometime soon; they want to take Eliza to the Monterey Aquarium and see the sights along the way. I may go along as nanny, depending on how much time I can get off work. And I might ask them to add a day in San Francisco/Berkeley, since we'll already be most of the way up there. I have good friends there - Chris, John, John's new lady Sharyn whom I have yet to meet, Kate and Jody, and many more. Maybe we could all have lunch together somewhere...
Speaking of which, Jim and I had a delicious lunch together yesterday, but in separate restaurants. He called, said, you choose where. I chose, he said OK, and I went to the place I thought I had chosen and he went to the place HE thought I had chosen, but they weren't the same place. And since he doesn't have a cell phone (such a dinosaur), I couldn't call him to ask where he was. I just went ahead and ordered and ate, and so did he; I left a message on his home machine, but of course he didn't get it until he got home. Grrrr.
Roland and Diane emailed me the CD booklet for the New Kentucky Colonels, Live in Holland 1973 (the title they decided on), and it looks great. My liner notes were necessarily short, since they had to fit onto one page, but they found some great old photos to use and the package looks wonderful. I stopped at McCabe's on my way home from work and bought my ticket for the show.
April 11
Eliza LOVED "Beauty and the Beast." She is already asking when she can go to another play.
So sorry to learn that fiddler Sue Draheim died this morning; she had recently been diagnosed with an inoperable brain cancer, so it was no surprise, but very sad. Last week it was Les Blank, gifted filmmaker, who also had been ill awhile; fortunately Suzy Thompson and other friends were able to go over to Les' house the day before he died, and play some of his favorite Cajun tunes for him before he left.
Went to the Pasadena swap meet with Kate and Eliza last weekend; we met Jennifer there and wandered around for awhile, but Eliza ran out of gas quite soon, so we adjourned to Conrad's for lunch, and then home. One of these days we're going to park Eliza with daddy and spend more time there. Also had lunch with Jim and Art recently, at Victor's Deli, where Art deconstructed the cell phone world for us.
Am taking my new blood pressure pills and my cholesterol-lowering pills every single day, without fail; I have to go back to the doctor shortly so she can see how/if they're working.
My "Second Thursday" lunch krewe met today, for talk and food and friendship. We do this at a different restaurant every month, but always in Santa Monica to be near my office, as I'm the only one of the gang who has a job that entails a restricted lunch schedule. So we assemble from various points; it's a rotating cast of folks who are in some way or another involved with music (writers, performers, record label alums, etc.); we're all old friends, and there were six of us today. It's *so* nice to be able to eat an entire meal without having to cut anyone else's food up into small bites!
AND I finished my New Kentucky Colonels liner notes, and emailed them off to Roland. He will be here next month to play McCabe's, and will be bringing the CD with him to sell at the gig (although I understand that there is a free copy in my near future).
April 2
I heard last week that Paul Williams had died; he was a rock critic (maybe the first rock critic) and founder of Crawdaddy Magazine, which is where I knew him from. Reading his obits I see that he was also so much more; but what I am thinking about now is his wife, who basically gave up her life for what was left of his. They had a son together, who's about 12 now I think, but anyhow: some years ago Paul was riding his bicycle *without a helmet* and was in an accident, and suffered a certain amount of brain damage; over time this got worse, and also triggered early-onset Alzheimer's. His wife, Cindy Lee Berryhill, had a singing career, which she basically dropped out of to care for him and raise their son with no money and no insurance and no nothing. She cared for him devotedly at home for as long as she could (for several years) and then finally had to have caregivers, and then hospice, and then he was gone. All this with *no* money. She wrote an amazing blog about caring for a loved one with brain damage; it's called "Beloved Stranger." Read a bit. This whole thing is profoundly moving to me; she took her wedding vows (you know, that whole "in sickness and in health" thing?) all the way to the wall. Regina Whitcomb is doing the same thing for Ian, although his stroke caused much less longterm damage than Paul's brain damage/Alhezimer's combo. But this is what marriage is: a complete, unbreakable, sturdy, unflinching sense of commitment to another human being. I never learned how to do that, but I deeply respect those who do. I honor these women and the many like them. There's always a door, but they choose not to walk out. I have another friend who faces that road with a spouse soon; will hold them both in my thoughts.
March 31
My car needed an oil change today - I called, and was quoted $29.95, including the oil. OK, a $30 excursion, I can handle that. It's Easter, the kids are gone to Kate's parents, might as well get it done. So I drove over to the garage, left them the car and the keys and set out to walk to the nearby Hollywood Farmer's Market. On the way there I passed the famous Pantages Theater, and the marquee said that the Broadway stage production of "Beauty and the Beast" was there for the next few days. Well, there's this three-year-old granddaughter, you know. But - a Broadway production? Probably too expensive, but it costs nothing to ask, and the window was open. So I asked the young man behind the glass how much the tickets would cost for one adult and one three-year old. All seats the same price, he said - $90 each. I flinched internally, thought to myself, "do I *look* crazy?" and said, very politely, thank you so much for the information, and was turning away when he said, "but..." and I paused. "We do have a few selected seats at each performance at $25." Ahhh. NOW you're in my ball park. I asked him to check to see whether there were two $25 seats left for any performance and he asked an odd question. "You want the two seats to be together?" Well, since one of them is for a three year old, YES. He hemmed and hawed and poked around on his computer and finally said, "This Tuesday we have two seats together," and I was lost. I had to get them. I had been absolutely enchanted in my own long-ago childhood by the few live stage performances I'd ever seen, and when my own kids were growing up the money just wasn't there, even for the cheap seats. So I bought the tickets, and this Tuesday Kate and Eliza are having a mother-daughter night out at the theater.
Continued my walk down Hollywood Boulevard to the farmers market, where I spent $5 on honey for my office tea (that $30 oil change had so far cost me $85 today, and I wasn't done yet!) Then was hungry, so went to a neighborhood cafe and had lunch, another $10. Tips to four or five of the musicians who were playing at the market, a few more bucks (note to self: must learn more about the very impressive California Feetwarmers). Ran into old pal Jonny Whiteside and got to meet his new flame; bought a dozen freshly-made cinnamon-raisin bagels, $5. But the real fun came when I went back to get my car. Right on estimate, the oil change was $30. But along with it they handed me a "free" diagnostic sheet they had run on the car. That sheet shows that there are things wrong with my car that I've never even heard of (a front transaxle mount? a lower control arm? an anchor transmission mount is broken?) and the total to fix everything is just under $1000.00. Happy Easter. I thanked them, and said I would consult with my son about having the work done and let them know (this is Aldin family code for "is it worth having Grandma's pile of crap fixed yet again, or should we just donate the car to a charity - assuming we can find a charity desperate enough or stupid enough to accept it - and get her a new used car to pour money into?") And worst of all, about two weeks ago the cassette player finally died, so I can't even listen to music on my commute any more. Maybe it *is* time to let it go.
Jim and I had lunch and a good visit at Astro on Saturday; I called to invite Art to join us, but he was busy. Jim has settled in to the new job and is basically doing it with one hand tied behind his back, as I knew he could.
Rex and Joan and I met at a "healthy" restaurant in Culver City last weekend (oh goody, I've always *wanted* a tofu pizza) and had a lovely dinner together before heading over to Boulevard Music to hear Robin & Linda Williams. They were terrific. Hearing live music does me a lot of good; I should try to get out more often, but am usually defeated by my inability to drive after dark. Kate dropped me off before, and Rex and Joan drove me home after, so it worked out well this time. My old friend Noel Stookey is in town this week, and am hoping to get to one of his performances.
Baseball season starts tomorrow! <pretend you can hear a sound clip of "The Halleluia Chorus" here>. I've watched a lot of spring training games, and the Dodgers are looking good. I know, I say that every year...
I am losing the fight with my blood pressure. The doctor has been telling me for years (literally years) that I need to start taking medication to control it - it's off the charts too high. I have been trying to control it by watching my diet. No sodium (meaning I never pick up a salt shaker, ever), I buy low-sodium foods, walk a lot, stop eating everything that tastes, you know, like food. And nothing is working. It's getting worse. The home blood pressure cuff that Jim bought me a year or two ago is nearly worn out. So this Thursday morning on my way to the office I am stopping off at UCLA, and my doctor will be glad to see me, and I will admit to her that I have flunked the "fix it myself" test and she will write me a prescription. I feel defeated; all my life I have never taken medicine for anything, other than these various eyedrops that are supposed to be slowing down the glaucoma. I mean, no aspirin, nothing. And now I have to take these pills for the rest of my life? But Ian's recent stroke brought home to me how close to that edge I am running, and Josh pointed out that he really doesn't want me to have a stroke while I am driving his daughter home from school one day. I did get one good thing out of it; Josh says that if I get and take the blood pressure pills, he'll stop smoking. And that's a bargain that will save both our lives.
Was very sorry to learn of the death of record producer Phil Ramone, one of the genuine good guys in the music biz. His producing credentials are mostly big-name rock and pop stars, but I met him many years ago when he was producing a Peter, Paul & Mary album. He and Peter became good friends and stayed that way till the end.
March 16
Had several installments of birthday fun. On my actual birthday, I went to lunch with some of the guys from my krewe: Bruce Bromberg, Jim Dawson, Michael Ochs, Billy Vera and Andy McKaie, dear and longtime friends all. We ate at the Spitfire Grill, a surprisingly good restaurant at the Santa Monica Airport, and Andy, who knows me too well, brought me chocolate! Got back to work to find a huge bouquet of roses from Mitch and Matt, and that evening my kids all took me out to dinner at the Stinking Rose, my favorite garlic emporium on LaCienega.
The next day Berta arrived; we went to dinner at her favorite Mexican restaurant here, which let's just say isn't famous for it's great food, but she has a sentimental attachment to the place; we stayed up waaay too late talking, but it was great to see her and her growing flock of grandkids. They're all at Disneyland today with Jennifer, so I expect lots of photos soon. And now my birthday is over for another year, and we'll see what tomorrow brings.
March 10
The pledge drive at KPFK went very well. Mark Humphrey, Jim Moran and Art Podell raised over $2600.00, which I can tell you is no mean feat at 6:00 a.m.!
I know I haven't written much here; haven't really had much to write about. The move kind of took a lot out of me, and until very recently I hadn't even heard any live music to report on. However, two weeks ago I did get out to hear my bluegrass pals, Loafer's Glory, at a Venice club I had never heard of called WitzEnd. Once I got there, I realized where I was; it used to be a recording studio called Mad Dog Records, and I had been to sessions there a couple of times. Anyhow, once the initial feedback problem was adjusted, the sound was pretty good and the performance was great, as usual. I got laughed at by all the guys in the band, also as usual, for having to leave after the first set. They'd understand better if they all had to get up at the crack of dawn to go to work.
Jewel Akens died last week; in case his name doesn't ring a bell, in 1964 he recorded an irresistible little ditty whose opening line was "Let me tell you 'bout the birds and the bees and the flowers and the trees." I met him a few years back through my friend Jim Dawson, who was a very good friend of Jewel's. Every year on Labor Day Jewel and his wife Eddie Mae opened their home and back yard for a picnic/music jam session, and I went to that a few times with Jim. Jewel was a really sweet person, and the church was jammed for his funeral yesterday as so many friends showed up to say goodbye.
My dearest Peter Yarrow was here last weekend; he did a booksigning of his latest children's storybook at the Barnes & Noble at the Grove; Kate and Eliza and I met him there and had a good time visiting before the show. He also brought his "baby" son Christopher, whom I last saw at the age of about 4 but who is now way over 6 feet tall and plays washtub bass with great flair. It was really good to see them both, and to top it all off, just as I was leaving in comes Penny, who was the nanny to Christopher and his big sister Bethany when they were small, and who I haven't seen in 30+ years.
Then my pal Rex from the Caltech Folk Music Society (which will soon be changing its name to the Pasadena Folk Music Society, but that's another story) emailed to remind me that David Mallett was performing at Caltech last night. The glaucoma has gotten to the point where I cannot drive in the dark AT ALL any more, plus my complicated life was doing its best to prevent me from going, but finally a solution presented itself; I drove to Pasadena while it was still light out, early enough to have a pre-concert Thai dinner with Rex and Joan, and after the concert I stayed overnight out there until the dawn's early light (which was discombobulated, as was I, by the time change), and then drove home, stopping on the way to have lunch with Jim at AstroBurger. I am so glad I went; David has long been one of my favorite singer/songwriters (and by"long" I mean since I first heard/met him when he was the opening act for Noel Stookey at McCabe's in 1978 or thereabouts!), and his writing just keeps getting better and richer and his voice and his guitar playing are just exactly perfectly right for his songs, and the whole thing is just...sublime. He did a new song that floored me - "Beautiful Rose" - another one of his blessed masterpieces that makes my hair stand on end; fortunately it's on the newest CD he was selling at the show.
This week we all have birthdays at Casa Aldin. Jennifer was just 43 (!), Josh will be 36 this Tuesday, and I have a birthday this coming week too. The kids are taking me out to my favorite garlic emporium, the Stinking Rose on La Cienega, for my birthday. It's also Josh and Kate's 5th wedding anniversary tomorrow, so they're going out together to have a grownup dinner, and Eliza and I will stay home and snuggle down with a storybook or two. Then on Friday I'll have a visit from one of my old friends from Ash Grove days, Berta Benally, who is bringing her children and grandchildren (total of 8 people) from Flagstaff to L.A. so that the young ones can experience Disneyland for the first time. She's in for some sticker shock when she buys eight admission tickets at today's prices...anyhow, I haven't seen her since they came in to town for Jennifer's wedding, so it will be lovely to get all caught up again. Unfortunately Josh, Kate and Eliza won't be here, as they are flying to Chicago on Friday for the christening of my other son John's newest daughter, Maya Rose, to whom Josh and Kate will be godparents, so they will miss the Benallys' visit.
Got a call from old friend Roland White last week; he will be coming out here to play at McCabe's in May - hooray! But an even bigger hooray was that he asked me to write liner notes for a forthcoming release of a never-before-issued White Brothers live show from Holland with Clarence, Roland and Eric White plus Herb Pedersen on banjo. Herb will join Roland's band onstage for the McCabe's show, and if I get the notes done in time (just joking - of course I will) the CD will be for sale at that show!
To backtrack a bit, I realize that I never wrote anything about my December trip to New Orleans. My dear Tony Russell flew over from London and we spent a week together there, during which time we were joined for a few days by Amy Van Singel, who usually lives in Maine but wanted to get out of the winter for a few days, and who could blame her? Scott Barretta drove down from Oxford while we were there, and we met up with Tom Piazza and Michael Tisserand and Bill Morgan and other friends, and did serious damage to the oyster population of the Gulf. Amy and Tony had never been to Commander's Palace, so we had lunch there one day and I was amazed all over again and how good the food is and how precisely and professionally the place is run. Amy had booked herself on several guided tours, while Tony and I are more of the "walk around and see things on our own" types, but we usually managed to rendezvous for meals. Also saw friends Sarah and Brian Simonson, and although I did not get to see her I did get to talk to my goddaughter Nell, who sounded much better than she had the last time we were there. I had booked the trip (pre-paid the train fare and booked a non-refundable hotel) before I learned that I would have to move, so although it may have been insane to go on a mini-vacation just before the greatest upheaval of my life, at the same time I think it was....a stress reliever? My head was about to explode, but visiting with Kermit Ruffins at his new Treme Speakeasy (and laying waste to his good cornbread and fried chicken) was a great calm-down period that I very much needed.
February 16
This coming Saturday, February 23, the Saturday morning folk show hosts (Mark Humphrey, Jim Moran, Art Podell) are going to be pitching together on KPFK. Please call during their show (818) 985-KPFK and support them. I'll be there answering phones. Your donations count! Thanks!
December 4
Lots to report, but no time to report it! Thanksgiving was great: good food, family, friends, etc. Packing for the move is coming along, although of course none of my kids can help me because they're all moving too! Elena and Victoria came up from San Diego and took some pieces of family furniture, which will come back to Eliza in the fullness of time. Josh and Kate found a great apartment for us to move into, nowhere near here, alas, but it's a lovely place anyhow. They are moving in while I am out of town, and then I'll move in when I get back. Jennifer and Bruce found a place they like in NoHo and have put in an application; I don't know how long these things take to get approved, since the last time I moved was over 40 years ago!
Doc Watson's widow Rosa Lee died, just about six months after Doc's own passing.
My good friend Ian Whitcomb had a stroke last weekend, the day before Jim and I were going to see his regular show at Caantalini's. When Art and Jim and I went to the hospital to see him two days later he was sitting up in bed bossing the nurses around. He's home now, with lots of rehab/occupational therapy ahead to get back to his usual full tilt boogie, but I have no doubt that he'll accomplish it. His wife Regina is taking the "in sickness and in health" part of their marriage vows very seriously, and is with him constantly.
Leaving town this Friday for two weeks, more when I return.
October 20
And away we go. We all have to be out by January 7th. I am going to be too busy to write for awhile, folks!
November 18
Well, neighbor Mike is all boxed up and about ready to go. He found a place in Oceanside that he really likes, near family, so that's good.
The property management company sent a representative here to "discuss my situation." I told them I had written them a letter, stating my position, and did they get it? Well, yes. Okay then, says I, what else is there to talk about? They offered me a small sum of money to move - far less than neighbor Mike got, and I have been here 20 years longer than he has. Do they think we don't talk to each other? I raised an eyebrow at her offer, put one hand on Josh's arm to keep him from getting angry, and said sweetly that perhaps they wanted to go back and re-read my letter. She said we would hear from them Monday, which is tomorrow. Then she went downstairs to talk to Jennifer and Bruce. I am looking at storage units and pondering the future. A friend came over today to buy some of my records and said something like, "so I guess you are resigned to moving, then?" I thought about that for a little while. I don't like the sound of the word "resigned" - makes me the victim in this scenario, as if something is being done TO me. This is what it is, folks; it's going to happen - and instead of being "resigned" to it, I'd rather think of it as the ending of a part of my life that I've really loved, and the beginning of an exciting NEW part of my life - one that's going to be, as Peter Pan says, "an incredibly big adventure!" It has been nearly 50 years since I lived with anybody - I am used to being alone, having my own space, and having my privacy. Now I get to share a bedroom and a bathroom with an adorable three-year old who says things out of the blue like, "Grandma?" "Yes, Eliza?" "I love you." <and Grandma melts into a puddle>
Jim and I went to dinner at the new place up the hill - very good food, lousy atmosphere, too expensive. But oh so handy when I needed his strong quiet presence, as I was very stressed out after the conversation with the property management woman and needed a break. His big news is that he has a job interview on Monday! We also took Eliza to Astro the other night - her first time there - she was fairly well behaved, and most of her food went where it was supposed to go. Then he came back to my place and we tackled the crossword puzzle book. Now this may sound a little out there, but to me, doing crosswords with Jim is like having sex with our brains instead of our bodies. We put the puzzle on the table between us, we each have a pen, and we start filling in the words. It becomes almost a race to see who can figure the clues out faster - these are big books of Sunday Times crosswords, the really hard ones from the Washington Post, the Boston Globe and the New York Times. After we've done two or three of them I can FEEL my brains stretching, as if we'd taken the top off my head, poured in a bottle of champagne and closed it up again - my brain is all fizzy inside. This is a Good Thing.
Tom and Claire and Jenny and Bruce and I went out to hear my dear friend Billy Vera's show at Catalina's (not to be confused with Cantalini's, the Italian place where Ian Whitcomb plays. That's an Italian restaurant, while Catalina's is a jazz supper club.) Billy sold the place out to the bare walls, and fronted an 18-piece orchestra with great aplomb. His material is mostly songs written by the great black composers of the 30s, 40s and 50s, and he does it proud. We stuffed ourselves on the (very good, very expensive) food, and I took a photo of Jen and Bruce with Richard Roundtree, one of many celebs in attendance.
Cleve Duncan's funeral was yesterday, but I didn't go. Am not driving far distances to places I'm unfamiliar with any more - as the glaucoma progresses, I am less willing to leave my comfort zone. Jim offered me a lift, but he was committed to deejay at the repast, which would have meant a all-day commitment of time for me (funeral at 11, then to the graveside service at Inglewood Cemetery, then to the repast) and this is the last weekend before Thanksgiving - and it's my last Thanksgiving here, so I want to make it a specially good one. Did all the non-perishables shopping, shifted some stuff around, and generally got ready for this Thursday.
Had a nice breakfast with my radio pals Jim Moran and Art Podell after their show yesterday morning, and we got caught up on our news. Tomorrow morning is my first appointment with the new glaucoma specialist, recommended by my "regular" eye specialist as she wants a consultation to see how this thing is moving along.
October 20
Things are moving faster, seems like, every day. Neighbor Mike got a call from the new owners, offering him a substantial sum to move, and he is going to accept it, and be gone by December 1. That Damoclean sword is inching closer - once Michael moves, the only tenants left here will be my daughter Jennifer and her husband, and moi. Brrrr.
Josh and Kate are rearranging their apartment, on paper, to figure out how to accommodate me and such of my stuff as can't be put in storage, while they look for an affordable house to buy. Am probably going to have Thanksgiving dinner here for my friends, as usual, and then move. Wow. Rough estimate? I'm going to need about 500 empty boxes.
Spent a couple of days this weekend visiting off and on with Chris Strachwitz, who was in town for a conference. We had some good talks, and got caught up with our news. Every time I see him now, I treasure our time together, as he is 81 and we generally only see each other once a year at his birthday party, unless he's in town for something else. So it was wonderful to get to spend time with him.
My friend Amy, who recently moved from Alaska to Maine, is going to be in New Orleans in December at the same time that Tony and I are there! Hopefully there'll be a few other friends coming in from Oxford and points north, too, so our social dance card is going to be very full.
October 5
Eliza is really enjoying going to school; every morning she puts on her little uniform and her school shoes and off she goes with her mommy, lunch in hand; then I pick her up every day at 3 and take her home to her place until Kate gets home from work. This gives me some Grandma time every afternoon for a couple of hours, as well as whatever babysitting I do on the weekends. Did you know they give three year olds HOMEWORK nowadays? We had two milestone last weekend; first, she rode a pony by herself - I mean a freestanding pony, not the ones that are hitched up to those circular tracks. It was a very slowly walking pony, but she was on her own the whole way around the ring. She sat up very straight and carried it off with quite an air. Then she rode on the train in a seat by herself for the first time. Instead of me being in the same seat with her, I was gently but firmly instructed to sit in the seat behind her.
Well, neighbor Sherry has moved, back home to Bakersfield to live near her mother. We had a going away party for her at neighbor Michael's apartment; we now have two vacant apartments out of five, and suddenly there's plenty of parking in the carport.
Finally got paid for those liner notes I was grumbling about a few paragraphs below.
It's always good to see old friends; I had dinner at an Indian restaurant in the Valley with John Sinclair while he was in town. We talked about blues musicians we both knew, and told each other stories about our friendships with Robert Lockwood and Johnny Shines. Both men disliked being constantly interviewed about their connection to Robert Johnson, rather than being asked about their own careers. John really surprised me by telling his own version of that story; I had no idea, but he said that every time HE gets interviewed, the first question is usually "So, Mr. Sinclair, what was it like to meet John Lennon?" I came away shaking my head at the ignorance of those interviewers - John S. has SO much more important stuff to talk about! (I guess I should say here that if you don't have any idea who John Sinclair is, just Google him). We'll miss each other in New Orleans; he is there now, but will be gone back to Amsterdam, where he lives, by the time Tony and I get there in December.
Gas prices - !! If I didn't live 25 miles from where I work I swear I'd buy a bicycle, but at my age there's no way I can pedal 50 miles a day round trip on surface streets. If I was rich I'd get one of those hybrid cars, but unless I hit the lottery that's never going to happen.
Going to a jazz brunch this Sunday, and realized while planning it that I haven't been out to hear live music in awhile. I'll soon be making up for lost time, though; next Sunday (the 14th) I'll be emceeing the Santa Barbara Old Time Fiddlers Convention. Josh and Kate are bringing Eliza up again this year, and we'll stay overnight and spend some time touristing around Santa Barbara the next day. Then the weekend after that I'll be at the Far West Folk Alliance Conference in Irvine, hearing three full days of live music and watching my good friend Chris Strachwitz get a lifetime achievement award. Then I see Thanksgiving coming along a few weeks after that, and then I will disappear for a couple of weeks in December to check our the Revillon meals in New Orleans with Tony.
I did get to Bonnie Raitt and Mavis Staples' concert at the Greek, thanks to Bonnie who very generously gifted me with tickets. (She announced from the stage that she had 150 guests that night - I looked at the $75 price on my ticket and did the math. Remember, folks, free tickets aren't free to the performers!) Jenny and Bruce were supposed to go with me, but they realized two or three days before the concert that they had double-booked themselves. So I got to go with Tom and Claire instead, which was great fun. By coincidence they had a friend in Mavis' band, so they were able to visit with him after her set. As we were going in the entrance I saw Billy Vera, and we hugged and said "see you backstage after," figuring we'd never be able to find each other in the crowd (the Greek holds 6600 people). Well, guess who I sat next to? I couldn't have wished for better company that night. Mavis tore the roof off the place, and Bonnie nailed it right back down tight - a great show. Saw lots of other friends in the dressing room afterward, too, so even though I was really tired when I finally got home after midnight, it was worth it! For those who don't have calculators handy, 150 x $75 = $11,250 in comp tickets, right out of Bonnie's pocket. Yowza.
No word on moving yet. Wrote a letter to the new owners, laying out my position, and they haven't answered me. I mailed it the day after Labor Day.
September 11
On Friday afternoon Josh called and said "So, mom, what are you doing tomorrow?" Thinking he was going to ask me to babysit Eliza for the day I said, oh, nothing much, why? Next thing I know he has gotten online and booked adjoining rooms at a really spectacular hotel in San Diego, and bright and early Saturday morning we took Eliza to Sea World. She loved it, of course; she made friends with some dolphins, decided she didn't want to be a penguin when she grew up because their enclosure was too cold, stared with her mouth open at the leaping and cavorting of Shamu and the other whales, and went on the kiddie rides with her usual zest. At the end of quite a long day we went to check into our hotel; Josh had booked it sight unseen on one of those web sites where you tell them how much you can afford to spend and they assign you to a hotel. Well, we hit the jackpot in a big way. We stayed at the Paradise Point Resort, and it was elegant and gorgeous and we loved it. We had dinner at one of the hotel's eateries, then Eliza and I did her evening bath ritual and turned in early, while Josh and Kate checked the place out. Sunday morning I took Eliza for breakfast so Josh and Kate could sleep in, then went to the lobby and asked where the swimming pool was. Turned out there were FIVE of them. The one we went to, the main pool, was not the bright blue chlorinated water we usually see at hotel pools; it was huge, all natural rock and natural water and...had...ducks in it. I mean REAL ducks. I felt a little weird about swimming in water that ducks were probably peeing in, but Eliza loved it, and I gave her a good scrubby shower when we got out, and we all seem to have survived.
My neighbor Sherry is moving; the new owners convinced her, with fistfuls (or is that fistsful?) of greenbacks, and she will be gone on October 1st. That leaves only three apartments occupied here. She'll be having a yard sale soon.
I have several music biz committee meetings coming up, which will bring some of my out of town pals here, and then my pal John Sinclair will be in town next week on his way to New Orleans and we're going to try to get together for dinner. Unfortunately, by the time Tony and I get to New Orleans in December John will have gone back to Amsterdam.
I took Jim to Cantalinis' Sunday night for his birthday-a-day-early dinner; Ian came over and serenaded Jim at our table.
And now I am on full tilt Grandma duty; every day when Eliza gets out of school I am there, collecting her and her backpack and driving her home, where we do the after-school snack thing, change her out of her uniform into her playclothes, and sometimes walk to a nearby park where she plays on the swings and slides till I am relieved by whichever of her parents gets home from work first. All this gets me home much later than I am used to, but it's all about learning to adjust.
September 7
August 24
My old friend Todd moved to Ventura recently, and yesterday Art and I piled into Jim's car and we all went up there to visit him. For somewhere that's so close to L.A., I really know almost nothing about Ventura. My pals Chris and Connie live up there, and I think I had lunch with them (on the Ventura pier, maybe?) some years back, but I really am a stranger to the town; it's just a place I drive through twice a year on my way to and from the Santa Barbara Old Time Fiddlers Convention. We Mapquested Todd's address and found it with absolutely no trouble; he lives in a seniors' mobile home park, where he owns a very nice place, landscaped, peaceful, and clean. After he gave us the tour, we all went to downtown (Main Street) Ventura, where we had lunch at a faux 50s diner called the Busy Bee, with a great jukebox and generous portions of completely adequate food. Then a short driving tour of the hood, during which Jim and I fell in love with the Victorian houses in old town, and then home.
So, glaucoma. Yes. We deal with these things as best we can as we get older. It is what it is, not much point in whining about it.
The December trip to New Orleans is coming along well. Selling records, slow but steady, and other things too, and saving up my pennies for the trip. Josh and Kate are dealing with paperwork for applying for a loan to buy a house, not sure how that will go yet. Eliza's swimming lessons are progressing well, and she can now put her face under water - "I am very brave to do that, Grandma!" she announced yesterday. She starts school next week sometime.
My half-sister's daughter came to visit L.A. last week with her boyfriend and her best girlfriend. We met for dinner at Josh and Kate's so they could see how big Eliza is getting. Meanwhile, my "other son" John and his wife Jeanine have shared the big news that their November baby (due on John's birthday) wil be another girl - hooray!
August 10
Yesterday was the 50th anniversary of the day that my oldest friend and I began the adventure that would last our lifetimes - well, so far, anyway. There have been a lot of ups and downs, and our relationship has morphed several times through the years, but the close and loving friendship that I value above all else has outlasted every other relationship in my life. It's difficult to love a musician, because he's never going to be there - and I mean *never* going to be there - when you need him most. But I knew he was a musician when I met him, and it seems pointless to complain because he doesn't keep an accountant's hours, or leave the job at the office at 5 p.m., or remember my birthday. And last night he called, to officially mark our half-century JUST before it turned midnight in New York, which would have made it tomorrow and yet another milestone he had missed. Of course it was only 9 p.m. for me, so he was actually in plenty of time.
We talked about friends long gone, adventures long past, and our children and grandchildren, the true treasures of our lives. He says he is content, grateful for what life has given him, and not planning to slow down any time soon. I told him about the inexorable glaucoma, the probably-moving-soon, reminded him about some tapes I'm still holding for him that might see release someday; and I told him how much I appreciate what life has given ME, and we agreed, mutually, that we think it's been so good so far that it's definitely worth trying for another fifty years of friendship. The real secret to our success, I told him, is that we live 3000 miles apart; when we see each other now and then, it's always a joyful reunion, the short time we have together is never long enough, and we certainly never fight - there isn't time to waste on that. And it has taken us fifty years to finally acknowledge the perfect balance that has actually been there all along: he's always going to be the one standing onstage under the bright glare of the lights, and I'm always going to be the spirit out there in the darkened auditorium, singing harmony inside my head. He's always going to have a flight to catch to go somewhere else, and I'm always going to be the one waving goodbye at the airport.
August 6
Went out to visit Marian at her seniors assisted living facility in Pasadena last weekend. Wow, what a *gorgeous* place - completely opposite to everything I had heard (and feared) about these places. Elegant, lovely, huge airy apartment, spacious grounds, lovely gardens, a pool, a sauna, a restaurant, art classes, two movie nights a week - she is SO happy there, and I'm happy for her.
Looking forward to a bunch of good music coming up soon; Loafers Glory on the 11th, then a couple weeks later Geoff Muldaur, Jim Kweskin and Suzy Thompson, all at McCabe's. Yowza. Muldaur shares a curious distinction with Doug MacLeod; they are the only two living musicians whose albums I have written liner notes for, out of, last time I counted, nearly 300 albums I've annotated.
I need New Orleans. I mean, I just NEED New Orleans. So last week I consulted a calendar and my always uncertain finances, emailed Tony and said, can we meet there in early December? And bless him, instead of telling me that I've lost my mind, he just said "sure, I think so." I mean, is he the perfect man, or what? If only I was 30 years younger and he didn't live 8000 miles away...I've been having good results selling off my record collection, and there is a pool of money (not very deep, but a pool) sitting in Josh's PayPal account. When it hits the amount I need for my round trip train tickets I'm going to go for it.
Eliza stayed with me overnight again on Saturday night. We snuggled together, and read her favorites about Cinderella and Snow White and Sleeping Beauty, and other such hapless heroines. I pointed out to the girl who will be three years old later this week that nowadays women don't actually need a Handsome Prince to come along and kiss us and make everything all right, and that she is perfectly capable of owning her very own beautiful white steed some day if she really wants one, but that on the other hand, the whole thing about staying away from poisoned apples? Is legit.
July 28
From Garrison Keillor, whose mother passed away last night:
July 10
Mark Humphrey came by my place last night, and together we raided my record shelves for material for the Woody Guthrie radio special we're going to be doing this Saturday on KPFK. (Noon-2 pm Pacific Time, by the way, on 90.7 FM in L.A. and www.kpfk.org everywhere else). Jennifer came up while we were working, and started in to help me clean. So we're listening to the music, and she's cleaning, and a siren comes racing up the hill. I cocked a worried ear, as I always do - ambulance? Police? And then went back to the music. Thirty seconds later, another siren. And then another. Then we heard helicopters coming over, and then a fire engine, and then another, and then another, coming up the hill as fast as I can type this. I ran ouside and looked around the hillside, and as I did so, more fire engines came up - but I didn't see or smell any smoke. Neighbor Sherry called neighbor Donna, who lives across the street and up a ways and has a better view of the whole canyon - she didn't see or smell anything either, but thought that someone might have fallen off a cliff (idiot tourists are always coming up here to try to climb the Hollywood Sign, an activity that's both illegal and dangerous), so we turned on the news radio and heard that there was, indeed, a fire. Meanwhile, more fire engines. Thankfully, our heroes at Fire Station 82 had it knocked down in 30 minutes. It was a brush fire at the view point at the top of our little local park, which we call the dog park because so many people walk and run and exercise their dogs there, and quite near the lake. We're so lucky to have these amazing firefighters always on call when we need them - no structures damaged, no one injured.
My ex-landlady moved into her assisted living facility today - her apartment now sits empty and quiet, waiting for the new owners to come in and clean and paint and upgrade and then re-rent it at three times what I'm paying. She'll be back tomorrow evening to meet all the rest of us and go to a farewell dinner together. And with the possibility always on my mind that at any moment I may be forced out, I sent three more packages of stuff to Tony today to be auctioned on eBay. Slow and steady wins the race!
July 8
The 4th of July radio special was...okay. I was greeted when I walked into the station with a full set of shiny new CD players, that worked NOTHING like the old ones, so I had a few technological glitches, and that always distracts me from the "flow." But it was nice to hear from folks that they were enjoying it. Now doing prep for the Woody Guthrie special, on what would have been his 100th birthday this coming Saturday, July 14th from noon-2 p.m. Luckily for me, Mark Humphrey will be co-hosting it with me, and he is very organized and good at prep. Unlike me...
No news is no news about the move, but I am still determined to "liquidate" some of this clutter, and have been working on that. Things are going out the door, slowly but surely; a few friends have been over to choose mementos, and a few other things have been sold for me online by my friend Tony, who has an eBay account. We'll get there.
Eliza is growing like a weed - well, a very decorative weed - she's tall and leggy, and we are reading to each OTHER on the futon now. She is beginning to think about what things mean, instead of just repeating what she's told, which is such an interesting thing to watch develop. She may be going to be gifted for sciences and math, which God knows she didn't inherit from me, but she puts jigsaw puzzles together with great precision, and has a her little routines and orderly ways she wants things done; it's fun to see her turning into a person. Hard to believe she'll be three next month; and there is a future sibling being discussed very seriously.
Took the train to the Bay Area last weekend to help my old friend Chris Strachwitz of Arhoolie Records celebrate his 81st birthday. Unlike last year, when we went the bus/train inland route, I decded to take the Coast Starlight this tme, and let me tell you folks, after half a century of Amtrak travel I have to say that this train is the best one in the system. Comfort, elegance, great food, a gorgeous vista (from Oxnard to just north of Santa Barbara the train runs alongside the ocean!), and even a complimentary wine tasting - alas, as a non-drinker that didn't do me a lot of good, but I went in there anyway just for the experience. Cheeses, crackers, and generous pours of four different vintages - I had a lovely glass of ice water and gritted my teeth! Once in the Bay Area it was food, friends and great music for three days - my pals Kate Brislin and Jody Stecher turned me on to a great Pakisatani restaurant in the Tenderloin (an area of San Francisco which has so many Indian and Pakistani places now that local food writers call it the tandoorloin). Jody, being the expert, ordered for us all, and every dish was perfection! Then I wandered around SF being a tourist - went to Chinatown, and took a trip through the lobby of the elegant St. Francis Hotel, where I can't even afford to PARK, let alone stay, but it's free to look around. Dinner that night over in Berkeley with my pal Johnny Harper at a Cajun restaurant, and again, having a local with us was SO helpful because he knew what they did well and what to avoid. Sunday midday had coffee with Bill Evans, aka the Handsomest Banjo Player in the World, and got caught up on all his doings; then went to Chris' party, a multi-hour extravaganza that was held at his store, Down Home Music in El Cerrito. Chris, a good friend of mine for over 45 years, has lots of *other* good friends, some of whom can cook, and some of whom who can play music, and some who can both cook AND play music (great raita, Jody!) so I just hung out with Chris and ate and listened. Los Cenzontles was a great revelation (Chris calls them his Singing Angels), Laurie Lewis and Tom Rozum were wonderful, there was a Cajun pickup band, and upstairs in Chris' apartment there was a singing session with Kate, Jody, Johnny, Richard Brandenburg and a few other folks. Richard should be a LOT better known than he is - but so should they all, really. More comfort and elegance on the return train journey, and I am now actively looking for excuses to go back up there before Chris' next birthday!
Uncle Lionel Batiste, leader of the Treme Brass Band, died in New Orleans today at age 81. A good long life well lived, and fortunately he wasn't sick for too long, and they were able to make his passing comfortable.
Jim and I do crossword puzzles at my kitchen table and go to Astroburger now and then, and make the occasional trip out to hear our friend Ian Whitcomb at Cantalini's - ahh, the mad social whirl that is my life.
Phil Alvin is home from Spain, recovering well. A happy ending, thank God.
Work is really busy. My part-time assistant is on a 7-week (!!) vacation, due back late this month, so I have been pulling double duty since the beginning of June. Now our really busy time approaches: hair is being pulled out, unladylike language being used, etc.
Music biz committee meetings coming next month; a few visits from out of town friends are projected over the summer; then in October the Santa Barbara Old Time Fiddlers Convention and the Far-West Folk Alliance Conference on consecutive weekends, and Chris will be coming to town (well, Irvine) for the latter. Too much good stuff, as my pal Billy says.
June 20
Well. it's been a complicated time since I last wrote anything. And the more complicated it gets, the harder a time I have trying to write about it.
Doc Watson died. This was not entirely unexpected, as he had been failing for awhile, but from the day he fell at his home and couldn't get up to the day he died was only eight days, so when it was time for him to go, at least it went fast. But losing one of the great legends of American music, who was also a longtime friend (we first met in 1963!) was hard. I produced a box set of his music for Vanguard, and a live recording of his Newport Folk Festival performances from the early 1960s, and when I was working on both of those he was incredibly open and helpful. And I heard his voice at least once every two weeks or so for the last 23 years, as he would call in to the office pretty often, and he always said "is that the Telephone Girl?" (which was the name of a song he recorded long ago). I will really miss him.
And Doug Dillard died, he of the blinding smile and flashing banjo runs. And Eric White died, brother of my friends Roland and the late Clarence, founding member of the Country Boys, later the Kentucky Colonels. The older I get the more friends I lose; this is how it happens. But it's never easy.
And Phil Alvin is in a hospital in Spain (where he was on tour with the Blasters). Holding a good thought.
And. And. The building I have lived in for the last 42 years has been sold - the owner, in her late 80s, is moving into a retirement community - and the new owners, a property management corporation, may "develop" the property (i.e. throw us all out, tear it down and convert the apartments to condos); or, they may not. Not knowing is the hardest part. If I have to move then I have to move, but....I have been happy here. My son was born here, my daughter, an infant when we moved in, got married here. Our lives are entwined with this place; the kids have spent every Christmas, every Thanksgiving, every Mother's Day, every Easter of their lives in this place. Even after they grew up and moved out and made lives of their own, they have always come back here for the holidays; they have never known any other home but this. As David Mallet says, "This is where I learned to use my hands and hear my heart." And there are other fond memories here, especially of my dear Keith and my dear Robert Palmer, both of whom stayed with me here at various times
But one small good thing has come out of this; I have at last realized that the time has come to get rid of all the "stuff" I have spent my life accumulating. Because whether sooner or later, I *will* eventually have to move; if sooner, I will need to drastically downsize, as when I lose this rent-controlled apartment I will have to move into a *much* smaller place, and there simply won't be room for it all. If I am able to stay here a few more years, I will still have to move eventually, when I am no longer able to work and it becomes time for me to retire, take my Social Security, move in with Josh and Kate and become a nanny to Eliza and her future sibling. And one room in their home, grateful as I am to them for offering it, will also not hold all this stuff. So, the time has come to start letting go. I've sold a few things already, via the internet; Tony has an eBay account and has been selling things for me that way, and money is arriving in Josh's PayPal account almost daily. I don't need all these records now that I no longer do a regular radio show, so out it will all go. Changes, changes, changes.
May 12
RIP Duck Dunn.
Our family day at Disneyland was a big success; Eliza went on lots of rides, spent some quality time with Minnie Mouse and Piglet, and announced that the Ariel Undersea Adventure ride was "too scary" and she wasn't going to go on it any more "until I am 8 years old!" I also saw the California Adventure park for the first time - fortunately they let me take the motorized wheelchair from one park to another - and just didn't feel the magic. That night I gave her a bath in the motel room, and we snuggled down together with a book while the four big kids closed down Disneyland.
Lost a(nother) good friend this week. That's how it happens; you blink, and they’re gone. Take a breath in, and they take a breath out and are gone in that heartbeat of time. Thomas Henry “Hal” Freeland III died of a heart attack at age 82 at his home in Oxford, MS. Just sitting talking quietly to his wife Judy, and in an instant he was gone. I hadn’t seen Hal for awhile; the last time I was in Oxford, a year ago February, he wasn’t in the law office when I went by to visit Tom and Joyce. I fell hopelessly in love with him the minute I met him, however many years ago that was – twenty? more? – because that courtly-Southern-gentleman-lawyer thing that he had going on just charmed me into instant friendship. I loved talking to him – all those Freeland boys have voices like warm maple syrup, and Hal’s Mississippi drawl was the best because he was the oldest. When his son Robert died the voice got a little bit raspier, but he still stood up every time I entered his office and he still pulled out chairs and opened doors for me and asked after my kids as if they and I were the most important things he could possibly want to talk about right at that moment. He was a big man with a big laugh and a straight wide open innocent stare that said he had nothing to hide, although of course he did. And I can’t believe he’s gone, just like that; I blinked, and he died, and that’s all there’s ever going to be.
Next Sunday (the 20th) I'll be emceeing the Topanga Banjo Fiddle Contest - they'll be dedicating the beginners stage to the late Frank Javorsek, a lovely gesture.
The kids all took me out for a great Mothers's Day dinner a couple of days early. Friends, most of my time these days is spent with Eliza or at work, leaving little time any more to tend to this blob. I'll write when I can.
April 13
Cathy Fink and Marcy Marxer are in town, and last night we all went to the Magic Castle together; my pal Mark came over that afternoon and we all met up at the Castle for dinner. We saw a couple of good magic shows, which made it a later night than I like on a weeknight, but this morning I didn't have to go to work; my good friend Ed Archer's mother Thelma died last week at 103 (!) and today was her funeral. The weather was certainly appropriate; pouring really hard with rain and very gloomy, perfect for a funeral. Tomorrow I will have my darling Eliza overnight, and then on Sunday morning I'm taking her to breakfast and then to McCabe's, where Cathy and Marcy are doing a childrens concert, before returning her to her parents.
April 3
Here's a story and some video of my friend Peter Feldmann paying a visit to Earl and Louise Scruggs in their home - Peter got to play Uncle Dave Macon's banjo!
April 2
Sunday was a busy day; Mark came over early and we went out to Pasadena to the swap meet, where we immediately ran into Billy Vera, who was clutching a handful of 45s. I really didn't think there WERE any records Billy didn't already own! During our wanderings we found a lap steel guitar that had once been owned by a musician I remembered from the late 60s or early 70s, John Forsha, whose widow was selling off a few of his instruments. I got a chance to visit with her a little bit and she refreshed my dim memory of him; I remembered that he had played on Fred Neil's "Dolphins" album, because I went to the sessions at Capitol, and I had seen his name on Judy Henske's High Flying Bird LP and on Tim Buckley's debut on Elektra. On the way home I said to Mark, "You know, I think he played on a Stone Poneys session, too." And I checked when we got home, and I was right, there he was! Mark took the lap steel home to his place, gave it a new set of strings, and wrote a little tune for it. Anyhow, after the swap meet we went to a Thai Music and Culture Festival - Hollywood Blvd. was blocked off from Western to Normandie and there were booths, stages, food, etc. Rather than deal with traffic and parking, we had Jennifer run us down the hill to the Metro station at Hollywood and Vine, got off one exit later at Hollywood and Western and there we were! I had the *best* mango and sticky rice I've ever tasted, and took some photos which, you're tired of hearing about this, I can't figure out how to post here. Got home from that, put my feet up for ten minutes and then went right back out again. Jim and I had dinner at Astroburger the other night, and during the meal our pal Ian Whitcomb turned up to join us; he had an appointment that got cancelled and found himself at loose ends, so he drifted over to hang out with us. We had a lovely visit together, and he reminded us about his upcoming Cantalini's gig, so last night we went out there. Had the usual really good Italian food and the usual really fun Ian music; half the meal ended up coming home and being my lunch today. Us Italians are all about the big portions!
We are figuring out Easter; the holiday really belongs to Kate's parents, who are devout Catholics and go to church and so forth on that important day, so I will keep Eliza overnight the night before, and after she falls asleep I'll pretend to be the Easter Bunny and hide a few eggs for her to find early Sunday morning before Josh and Kate come to get her and they all go off to spend the day with Kate's family. Not real eggs, since she is allergic to eggs, but chocolate marshmallow bunnies or whatever I can pick up this coming week. Farther on up the road, as Bobby Blue Bland used to say, we have a family day planned at the end pf this month at the House of Mouse. Jennifer and Bruce, Josh and Kate and I will all take Eliza there for a day - it takes five adults to ride herd on her when she gets to racing around. She is looking forward to visiting with her close girlfriends Daisy Duck and Minnie Mouse.
March 29
Well, the trip report is done, but I am having a hard time posting photos. If I can't sort it out myself I'll send up a flag and Claire will come and help me.
Meanwhile, it has been a time of bad news and hard losses. My old friend Frank Javorsek died of a heart attack this week; I first met him when we both did radio shows on KCSN back in the late 1970s. I am shocked and saddened. Many generations of music students passed through his capable hands; I have strong memories of Frank at both the Topanga Banjo & Fiddle Contest and the Santa Barbara Old Time Fiddler's Convention, shepherding his students on and off the contest stage and backing them up on guitar when needed. Another old bluegrass buddy, Doug Dillard, is in Vanderbilt Hospital in Nashville, semi-conscious and intubated, suffering from emphysema. And the great Earl Scruggs passed away; a most wonderful opening paragraph of a story by Steve Martin, published earlier this year in The New Yorker, describes him so perfectly:
Some nights he had the stars of North Carolina shooting from his fingertips. Before him, no one had ever played the banjo like he did. After him, everyone played the banjo like he did, or at least tried. In 1945, when he first stood on the stage at the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville and played banjo the way no one had heard before, the audience responded with shouts, whoops, and ovations. He performed tunes he wrote as well as songs they knew, with clarity and speed like no one could imagine, except him. When the singer came to the end of a phrase, he filled the theatre with sparkling runs of notes that became a signature for all bluegrass music since. He wore a suit and a Stetson hat, and when he played he smiled at the audience like what he was doing was effortless. There aren’t many earthquakes in Tennessee, but that night there was.
Sunday was our annual Party Gras, and despite a storm that wouldn't have been out of place in New Orleans, many friends splashed their way to our doorstep in the pouring rain to eat jambalaya, wear the silly Mardi Gras beads I passed out, and help celebrate our family birthday party with us. Jennifer came over a couple of days before and helped clean, and everyone pitched in to make it happen. It was lovely.
My hillside cafe, radically renovated, has reopened. But I haven't been there, and most likely won't go back. Jim has reported in, as has Jennifer, that the food is very good but the ambience has been totally destroyed; it's no longer the cozy local cafe with slightly chintzy old-fashioned decor; it's now industrial-looking, stripped to bare floors and bare walls (I am told it's very LOUD in there now) and has no warmth at all. So Jim and I go to Astroburger, an inconvenient distance away, and when we do crosswords now, it's here at my place. Changes, changes.
March 12
I'm home - and it was great. Will write a long "trip report' and post some photos here as soon as I can get everything organized. Before then, however, mountains of laundry are staring at me. You know how that goes.
January 25
Very sad news today. My old friend Dick Kniss passed away; he was the longtime (40+ years) rock-solid bassist for Peter, Paul & Mary, and also did about ten years as John Denver's road bassist while PP&M were on hiatus. He was one of the nicest people I ever knew, and will be greatly missed.
Good things are happening in radio land. You can all go back to listening to KPFK on Saturday mornings; a whole bunch of my pals are hosting shows in the old Alive & Picking slot, taking turns - Tom Nixon, Ben Elder, Mark Humphrey, John and Deanne Davis, and I hope one other (still waiting to hear about that one). I'm really pleased that it all worked out.
NAMM was great! Ran into a bunch of old friends, heard lots of plucking and strumming and so forth - my feet hurt and my ears are ringing, but it was worth it! Will try to upload a photo here but have been having a struggle with it lately.
Now: do NOT worry if I don't write very often any more. Getting ready to leave on my trip soon, and also working on THREE writing projects that must all be done before I go. So, you know. I'll be baaaaack.
January 8, 2012
Yesterday was the first morning the alarm did not go off at 4 a.m. for the radio show. I didn't notice, of course, being asleep. When I did wake up at about 6:30, it was to find a small person burrowed tightly next to me under the covers, one tiny fist clutching the sleeve of my nightgown and the other holding her (stuffed) kitty. I watched the miracle of her breathing in and out for awhile, till she stretched, sat up and immediately, with no yawning wakeup period allowed, started chattering full tilt about what we were going to do that day. This, folks, is why I retired from the radio show. I would not have missed those precious early-morning minutes with this two-year-old angel (who, in case you hadn't noticed, has me completely wrapped) for anything you could offer me. She will only be two for a minute - we will only have a heartbeat of time in which to have splashy baths and hair combing and princess nightgowns and bedtime rituals together. Do I love the music? You betcha. Do I love her more? Don't even ask.
When her mommy came to pick her up we all went to breakfast together at Victor's; she inspected the science of pouring syrup into the open squares on grandma's waffles, then decided she was big enough to drink ice water out of a real glass. When we got that mopped up and she recovered from the shock of her ice water bath, we all read "The Monster at The End of This Book" (and how well I remember reading that exact same book to her daddy 34 years ago!) and then I was dropped off at home and started my day. Errands, shopping, and my big treat: a matinee bluegrass show! Loafers Glory sold out their evening show, so they added a 3:00 p.m. set, and I called Bob Stane at the Coffee Gallery and pleaded to be allowed to switch my ticket to the earlier start time. Loud cheers! They were great, as always, and even greater was the fact that I didn't have to make that long drive back home alone in the dark. I find that as I get older, driving in the dark become more and more challenging, so I am trying to cut it way back.
My pal Rex has some adorable little kittens he is trying to find homes for. If you know anyone who wants one (or two), let me know via email and I will forward it to him. He and the kittens are I think, in Pasadena/Altadena or thereabouts.
Trying to schedule our annual Party Gras, in order to have it in hand before I leave on my trip. Oh, I like the sound of that - let's say that again. Before I leave on my trip. I am leaving soon for my trip. Ahhhh. Memphis (folklore conference, barbecue, visiting friends) and New Orleans (food, music, music, food, food, music. Sleep, not so much.) And this year will be most special because not only is Tony coming over from London, but Josh, Kate and Eliza are coming too! Can't wait to take Eliza to the Audubon Aquarium of the Americas.
December 31
Disappointing news: Tony has decided not to come to L.A. for the Grammys after all, but is reverting to our original plan, and we will meet in Memphis and travel together to New Orleans, as in previous years. Sigh. Meanwhile, Neil's plans for a visit are proceeding on schedule.
Did my last radio show this morning. Last? Well, last for NOW anyhow. One never knows, do one, as Fats Waller used to say. Lots of nice calls and emails from listeners saying goodbye. As soon as I got home the kids brought Eliza over to play with me, and also brought my new "smart" phone, their Christmas gift. So far I have figured out how to program numbers into it, I think; at this point the phone is still smarter than I am but I expect that will turn around soon. Eliza and I have had a lovely day together, and she is now freshly bathed, wearing her Disney Princess nightgown, sitting on the futon in my office watching her perennial favorite, "Lady & the Tramp." At 8:59 we will turn on the New York Times Square celebrations, count backwards from ten, and retire peacefully to bed, looking forward to whatever adventures the new year may bring us.
December 27
Christmas was great! Josh did all the heavy cooking - a huge pot of spaghetti, a huge salad, and I made a pan of garlic bread. Apres djeuner, Eliza was the focus of attention, as she enthusiastically tore open all her presents. Her favorite, we think, was a Disney Princess tea set I gave her, with little cups and saucers and spoons and a teapot and a sugar and cream set, all in solid, unbreakable, very pink plastic. The kids gave me a cell phone - I know, I already HAVE a cell phone - however, this one, apparently, can waltz, count to a hundred, etc. as it is a "smart" phone. It may be smarter than I am - I don't know - it hasn't actually arrived yet. It's being shipped to Josh's office and will be here any minute now, providing it's smart enough to find its way to my house.
Not only is Tony coming over from the UK in February, but I just got an email from Neil telling me that he is coming back too - in a couple of weeks! London comes to L.A.!December 22
The epiphany du jour is that without the radio show, I no longer need to keep all these CDs. Many of them can go! Not all, of course - but I've started pulling stuff off shelves and putting it in stacks to sell off. Perhaps my daughter and her husband can be persuaded to load several boxes into the back of their giant vehicle and take them all down the hill to trade in at Amoeba Records after the holidays. I have *got* to get rid of the "but I might need this for something someday!" mentality that has made me the Clutter Queen of Hollywood. The kids have threatened to make me watch a show called "The Hoarders" or some such title, about people who have so much junk in their homes that they can't walk from room to room. I'm not THAT bad....yet....am I?
An old friend sent me a lovely Christmas gift in the mail, which is greatly appreciated. But even better was the kind note about our friendship that she wrote in the card. There are a handful of people in my life that I have known for a long time - Peter, of course, with whom I'll be celebrating our 50th "anniversary" this coming August. Berta, and Vicki, whom I've knows since Ash Grove days - the mid-60s, so that would be (hastily counting on fingers) 46-47 years now. Same for Chris Strachwitz, whom I met when he used to come into the club in the mid-60s, and I went to his 80th birthday party this past July. I first met Esther Crayton back in the late 60s when her late husband Pee Wee used to play at the Parisian Room regularly, and we've stayed friends all thsee years. And my friendship with Dick Waterman, who once mistook me for Jackie DeShannon - no, really! - is also well into its fourth decade. Jim O'Neal, let's see, we've known each other since the mid-70s sometime, so that would be...35 years? Mark, whom I met in the late 70s when he moved out here from Oklahoma - and we had been "pen pals" before that! And the friend who sent the card and gift, with whom I go back at least 35 years now. But that's not many; the older I get, of course, the more of them go on ahead. I thought that Keith and I, and Stevenson and I, would be lifelong friends; and so, I guess, we were, only that their lifetimes ran out long before mine did.
December 21
It's the holidays, so am busy doing Christmas prep for Eliza, whose new friendship with Dora The Explorer needs to be appropriately acknowleged (i.e. gift-wrapped). I had the postponed surgery, finally, which was not any fun at all but did bring out the hero I always knew was in Jennifer, who has been rising every morning at 5 to clean and dress the wound and change the dressings before I go to work, and the same again when she gets home from work each night. Stitches come out on the 28th, and as far as I know she will be off the hook after that. Then there is a new writing assignment - liner notes for a forthcoming CD - and another, possibly, in the New Year if certain licensing glitches can be overcome. And, lingering in the background, the need to put together my final radio show, which will happen on New Year's Eve. So what with one excuse and another I haven't written much here.
Tony may be coming out here; he's been nominated for a Grammy Award, and the ceremony is here on February 12th. He is investigating flights from London to L.A., etc.; we were already set to meet in Memphis and travel to New Orleans together later in the month, but now it seems he will need to come out here the week before. Well, that would be lovely, but am holding off any hilarity until he actually books his tickets. Oh, Lord, houseguests = if this comes true I must draft Jennifer to help me clean the place!
We're busy at work right now, and will be till the end of the year, after which I should have time to breathe. I was very proud of myself for going back to work the day after the surgery, but now think maybe that was a mistake. I should have admitted that I needed a day or so to rest, and am paying for it with a slower recovery time than I expected. I don't think my mind has caught up yet with the reality of just how old my body really is.
December 11
Had 50% of my guest hosts on the show this morning (Jim and Art) and they did a great job. Then we went next door for breakfast and then my weekend really began. Kate and I took Eliza Christmas shopping, and then Kate and Josh left her with me overnight so we could bond. The usual bath and bedtime rituals were observed. This morning we got up and and went to - ugh - Denny's for breakfast. Without my coffee shop up here I have to completely redo my decades-long eating habits; now that I have to go down the hill to find food, I really HAVE to find somewhere decent to eat!
December 8
Had my first Cuban food before the Loafers Glory show at Boulevard Music last weekend; the restaurant is right across the street from the club, and while the Loafers were doing their sound check Mark and I walked down the block and had dinner. Reasonable prices and really good food! The guys were great as always, and sang me some of that wonderful bluegrass gospel, also as always. They dropped tantalizing hints about their new CD, which *may* be done in time for me to play it on the air on December 31. Or may not.
The news appears to have leaked out that I am leaving KPFK, and in addition to receiving several kind emails and calls from listeners, I have had some email discussions with station management. There may, and I use the word advisedly, be some news for you. If there is, I promise I'll let you know.
Time and change are getting me down. The coffee shop on my hillside, where I have been eating for forty years and more, has closed. All the workers are out of a job (but fortunately they are all eligible for unemployment insurance, since they were laid off due to closure); a few of the waitresses have already found other work. I don't know what Milton will do; at nearly 80 he's going to be a tough sell to modern restaurants who want their cooks to be young, sexy and CIA graduates, and he's none of the above. I scraped together a tip for him that I hope will help tide him over, and I saw other regulars slipping Christmas cards to him too during the closing week, so with that and his unemployment I hope he will be okay for awhile. There's already a sign in the window showing that a liquor license has been applied for - my Lord, are they turning our coffee shop into a BAR? This is a quiet, residential hillside community; I don't know what a bar will do to us in the way of traffic, noise and drunks going home at closing time. Yikes. Jim and I have been doing our crossword puzzles together there for ages; we are trying to find another place to do them, but Dennys is so soulless, and the few other places we can find aren't set up the way we need them. Oh dear.
Have been doing some Christmas shopping, from local small stores and merchants and mom and pop places whenever possible.
November 28
Mary Katherine waves goodbye: A major decision, but oddly, not a hard one. I've been doing a radio show in one form or another for over 35 years now, and all this time I have always said that when it stopped being fun I would hang it up. And that time has come; it has stopped being fun. Getting up at 4:00 a.m. on Saturdays? Not fun. Working every single weeknight evening on prep for the coming Saturday's show, instead of playing with my granddaughter or visiting with friends or, you know, just having time to read a book? Not fun. Listening to countless recordings of mediocre singer/songwhiners to find the few jewels that I just love and really want to play? Not fun. Going in to the radio station to find missing or broken equipment, the control room a mess, and things not being done that should be? LONG ago stopped being fun. The fundraising pledge drives, so essential to the radio station's continued well-being but so incredibly draining to do? NEVER were any fun. When I wrote the note to Maggie (the station's Music Director) last week, telling her that I was ready to go, I saved it in my unsent mail for a couple of days, wondering if I might just be a little tired or momentarily depressed or something, and it would pass. Nope. When I finally hit that "send" button yesterday afternoon, I promise you I felt nothing but an immense relief. I am SO MUCH looking forward to returning to a life in which I *can* go out to hear live music on Friday nights because I won't have to get up at 4 the next morning, and for that matter can go out to shows on Saturday nights without falling asleep during the first set because I have been up since 4 *that* morning. I can go away for a weekend. Did you hear me? I can go away for a whole weekend, yes, starting on a Friday night if I want to, without having to say, no, sorry, can't leave till after I do the show Saturday morning. For 35 years I have been planning my entire life around the obligation of doing the radio show, for which, of course, I not only get paid nothing, but which actually costs me anywhere between $2,000 and $3,000 a year to do. I get a lot of records for free, yes, but I have to BUY at least as many more.
But the most important thing is this: listening to music, which I used to love, has become a chore and an obligation. I HAVE to listen to this huge stack of stuff that comes in the mail every week, knowing that most of it is going to be garbage but it all has to get a fair hearing. If listening to music has become a burden; if my favorite part of doing the radio show has become having guest hosts sit in with me so I don't have to program anything that week? Wow, REALLY time to let it go. I have enjoyed it, mostly; but now it's time to say goodbye.
There are some folks in public radio who hang onto their shows with a death grip, because it's all they have. I feel sorry for them; their entire identities and lives have become wrapped up in doing their radio programs. Me? I have a whole big huge busy exciting wonderful life. Terrific kids (and grandkids) whom I adore and who adore me, a full time day job, a vast circle of friends I rarely get to see, projects producing and annotating reissues, my occasional freelance writing work, my annual trips to see my "second family" of friends in New Orleans, my work on the Grammy committees, and a lot more. I don't need to hear my name on the radio every week; I already know who I am. And frankly, my life is winding down now, and I am becoming acutely aware of what time I have left, and the need to spend it wisely. I'm not getting any younger - au contraire - and I want my children and grandchildren and old friends to get as much of my time and attention as possible. So I am leaving radioland in order to give myself time to enjoy being alive while I am alive, and there it is. Last show: last Saturday of the year, December 31. New year: new start. I have loved serving the music all these years. Thanks for listening.
Oh: I'll continue to maintain the calendar on my web site.
November 26
Thanksgiving was great - I fed 22 people, at two sittings, and Casa Aldin was crowded all day and evening with good food and good friends. I am going to be washing dishes for a lonnnng time to come.
Tom Sauber was a champ on this morning's radio show, although we had some technical issues that made it something of an adventure. Then I drove out to Santa Monica, had lunch with Mark, and then went to Boulevard
Music to buy my tickets for next Saturday's Loafers Glory show. Can't wait!
Am working on my February travel to Memphis and New Orleans, making sure all the reservations are in place and everything is booked. Josh, Kate and Eliza are coming too.
Another member of my New Orleans family of friends has gone. Quick and clean, the same way Keith went.
Coco Robicheaux, New Orleans hoodoo bluesman, has died
Updated: Friday, November 25, 2011, 10:15 PM
By Keith Spera, The Times-Picayune
http://www.nola.com/music/index.ssf/2011/11/coco_robicheaux_rushed_from_ap.html
Hoodoo bluesman Coco Robicheaux collapsed Friday evening at the Apple Barrel on Frenchmen Street and was taken away by ambulance. He was reportedly pronounced dead after arriving at Tulane Medical Center. He was 64.
Robicheaux was not performing at the time; he frequented the Apple Barrel on his off-nights.
Known for an especially gravelly voice, a swamp-blues guitar style and a fascination with subjects of a spiritual and/or mystical nature, Robicheaux lived an especially colorful life, even by the standards of a
New Orleans musician. He released several albums over the past two decades. He was a mainstay of the Frenchmen Street entertainment district, a familiar figure both on- and off-stage. He was also a
regular on the schedule of the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival.
Robicheaux made a memorable appearance during the opening scene of the second episode of the first-season of the HBO series “Treme.” In a fictionalized incident, he sacrificed a rooster in the studio of
community radio station WWOZ-FM.
He was also a visual artist, sculptor and painter. He created the bronze bust of Professor Longhair that stands near the entrance of Tipitina's.
November 21
I love this video. Can't help it. Three girls, three voices, three empty cottage cheese containers. Yowza!
Eliza came over right after my radio show on Saturday and we spent the day together. Jennifer and I decided it was time for a trip to the mall (my Lord, three generations of Aldin women turned loose in a mall - look OUT!) and needless to say Eliza especially enjoyed the Disney store. Jennifer got new contact lenses and we did some pre-Christmas looking and touching but not yet buying. Then we had lunch (the child's menu included Eliza's favorite, macaroni and cheese) and when we got home I tried to put her down for a nap. That didn't work out so well. Dropped her off to Kate at home and then headed west for dinner with Mark and a visit to McCabe's, where I heard Roland White's band again. It was great; Roland and I went into a tiny room off the lobby and he recorded a promo for my radio show, AND, best news of all, Tom Sauber (who sat in with the band on fiddle) agreed to come in and do the show with me this Saturday!
November 16
Eliza and Kate and I went to the Skirball Cultural Center on Sunday, where my old friend Peter Yarrow was doing a concert and book-signing. Hundreds, literally hundreds, of children under the age of about 8 were bouncing up and down, singing, clapping and running around screaming. Before the concert we went into a side room where there were about 500 copies of Peter's newest book in boxes, and we (well, Kate and I - Eliza wasn't really much help) unwrapped them all out of their cellophane so that Peter could sign them, then re-wrapped them for sale to the public.
About a third of the way into the concert Eliza decided that running around on the outside patio chasing bubbles was more fun than sitting in an auditorium, so she and Kate went outside, and after the show Peter sat a a table signing yet more books, doing the shake and howdy thing, and having his picture taken with (it seemed like) every single person in the place. MANY hundreds. Then, finally, we had some quiet family time to get caught up on news about our children and grandchildren. It's always a treat to get to visit with him, and although Eliza was in restless squirmy mode, I was able to get a photo of them together.
Then it was bluegrass time, as another old friend, Roland White, came into town for a few gigs. I went to the Viva Cantina show last night, where I got to meet some radio show listeners because Roland outed me from the stage and they came over at the break to say hello; and the music was so wonderful that I'm going to see the band again at McCabe's this Saturday. The show was grrrr-eat. And there were more musicians in the audience than onstage. Seriously? Just at my table: Pat Cloud, Ross Landry, Harley Tarlitz, Blaine Sprouse (until he had to get up on stage), Bill Bryson (ditto), and David Naiditch; next table, Tom and Patrick Sauber (Patrick got press-ganged by Roland to help with the sound, and I understand that he played some in the second set, but I had to leave, as usual, due to my relentlessly early wakeup time) and lots more. The band is Roland on mandolin, his wife Diane on rhythm guitar, Herb Pedersen on banjo, Bill Bryson on bass, Blaine Sprouse on fiddle. And they can flat get it! Can't wait to hear them again on Saturday night, especially since I don't have to get up early on Sunday morning so can stay for both sets!
October 10
Spent the last two days in Santa Barbara. The Fiddle Contest was great, as always; it's a chance to visit lots of old friends (including one, Barry, who I hadn't seen in decades) and I get to spend the day hopping on and off the stage, herding youngsters. Mark Humphrey won First Place in Advanced Singing and Second Place in Advanced Guitar; alas, his prize money and more was left right there in Santa Barbara, as he bought a banjo with it the next day! Josh, Kate and Eliza arrived mid-afternoon; Eliza skipped around at the front of the stage saying "Grandma, look! It's me!" Had dinner that night with Peter and Francine, as is our tradition, at Harry's Plaza Cafe, also our tradition. Then back to our motel, where Josh and Kate brought Eliza over from their room and deposited her on my bed and went out to their own dinner. Eliza and I played with flash cards and then she fell peacefully asleep. This morning she deliberated her wardrobe choices carefully, after which we all went to breakfast at a great place on the beach called The Boathouse. Eliza frolicked on the sand for awhile and then we took her to Chaucer's Books, where she wanted to bring the entire children's room home with her! When the kids left for home I went to Folk Mote Music, where Mark bought the aforementioned banjo, Jensen's Music, where I didn't buy anything, and Book Den, where Mark bought a book on Nepal and I passed up a copy of Stan Hugill's book on sea shanteys because it was $50!
October 7
A whole month since I last wrote! Web site problems, which never did get fixed by the ISP but which somehow presented me with a complicated workaround option that I am still using, are one excuse. I've also been very busy with music-business meetings for the last six and next four weeks, after which it will ease up. And things are busy at work, too (which is good!) and Eliza takes up what little time I have left.
Well, what have I been up to...have had some good visits from out of town friends, and we've broken bread together and gotten caught up on our news. Alas, as I get older the "news" is more and more about who has died since I last saw them! Bert Jansch, founding member of Pentangle and an amazing and gifted guitarist, died earlier this week, way too young. Folk and bluegrass singer Liz Meyer finally lost her decade-long fight with cancer last month. And so forth. There's some good news to balance that; Roland White called to tell me that he will be out here next month to do several shows (see the calendar page) and that his band for this tour will be himself on mandolin, his wife Diane Bouska on guitar, Blaine Sprouse on fiddle, and Herb Pedersen and Bill Bryson from Loafers Glory/the Desert Rose Band! I am *so* there, as the children say.
My son in law Bruce's birthday is around the corner, and Jennifer and I concocted a great surprise. We started dropping hints a couple of weeks back about how I was thinking I really should join the rest of the world and get a "smart-phone" or I-Phone, but don't really know enough about them. We strung that out for a couple of weeks while Jennifer emailed his family in North Dakota and we all put in for a collection. Set a date for him to come with us to the Apple Store where, he thought, he was going to help me learn about the new I-phones. Got him there and sprung it on him that we were really there to buy HIM an I-Pad for his birthday. He about fell over. We had him SO fooled. Jennifer had her camera on him when we told him the truth and he looked stunned! (But in a good way.) He is now playing with his new toy 24/7 and doesn't answer Jennifer when she talks to him.
My car had, I thought, kind of squashy brakes and was making a weird skreeking noise, so I took it to the mechanic. Three days and MANY hundreds of dollars I don't have later, it's home, skreeking noise is gone, and it has a bunch of new innards, and new windshield wipers, tires have been rotated, oil changed, new transmission fluid and a new pulley put in BUT the brakes were fine. Grrrr. Bless it's heart, this thing is really an old crock. Soon as I hit that lottery I am going to get a new(er) car.
Am thinking longingly about my annual vacation in February. It hasn't been decided yet whether I am going to Folk Alliance in Memphis or just going straight from here to New Orleans and back. Josh and Kate may bring Eliza to New Orleans for a couple of days while I'm there - she's a tad young for the Bourbon Street sleaze, but is the perfect age for the Audubon Aquarium and the Zoo and the St. Charles Streetcar ride and....my pal Tony is going to fly over from London and join me either in Memphis, if I do go there first, or in New Orleans. I am *really* looking forward to it.
On Halloween I am having some things removed that shouldn't be there. Very minor, nothing to worry about. I did have a thought that the doctor might show up dressed as Frankenstein - in which case he is NOT cutting me open!
Radio in the morning, so I should probably go pull some records! Sunday I am emceeing the Santa Barbara Old Time Fiddlers Convention; if anyone is going, come to the contest stage and say hi! Josh and Kate are bringing Eliza up for it and we will all get to stay overnight and spend some time together up there on Monday, hooray!
August 23.
Too much sad news today. Andy Cohen called to tell me that old time fiddler Paul David Smith died this morning at 77. I was lucky enough to get to meet him last February at Folk Alliance, where I presented him with the Mike Seeger Scholarship Award; I think there are a couple of photos of him on my trip page. Here he is playing.
And this, from my New Orleans pal Ben Sandmel:
Guitarist, singer and emcee Glen Croker, the last surviving old-time
member of the Hackberry Ramblers, passed away on August 23 in Lake
Charles, LA, at age 77, following a lengthy illness.
Born in Lake Charles in 1934, Shuler began playing steel
guitar in the early 1950s with Eddie Shuler and the Reveliers. On
the way home from engagements with the Reveliers, the young Croker
would stop by the Silver Star Club in Sulphur, LA, to hear the
Hackberry Ramblers. "And it's a funny thing about that," Croker
recalled; "I can remember saying to myself: 'Self, one day you'll be
playing with that band!' And thus it came to pass."
Croker joined the Hackberry Ramblers in 1959, 26 years after the band
was co-founded by Luderin Darbone and Edwin Duhon. Croker stayed
with the Ramblers through their final performance in November of
2005. His
swaggering, soulful style and use of electronic amplification brought the Ramblers a post-war honky-tonk
tinge that added blues, R & B, rockabilly, and classic country
songs to their already-diverse repertoire. This stylistic
incarnation was the sound most often heard when the Ramblers started
touring nationally in the late 1980s, following an appearance at the
New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival. When first founded in
1933, the Ramblers had embodied the acoustic string-band sound of that
era, and then evolved, during the ‘40s, into a large western swing
orchestra. Despite his modernizing influences, Croker always
stayed connected with the band’s traditional roots, in part by singing
in French on many Cajun
numbers.
Croker appeared on the Hackberry Ramblers albums Jolie Blonde (Arhoolie,
released in 1963), Cajun Boogie (Flying Fish, released in 1993,
re-released by Hot Biscuits in 2003), and the Grammy-nominated Deep
Water (rHot Biscuits, released in 1997), and on the anthologies Boozoo
Hoodoo (Fuel 2000, 2003) and Christmas Gumbo
(Flambeaux, 2004.) Croker was also prominently featured in the
PBS documentary film Make ‘Em Dance: The Hackberry Ramblers’
Story (http://www.pbs.org/independentlens/makethemdance/)
directed by John Whitehead of Fretless Films, St. Paul, MN. Make
‘Em Dance which was broadcast nationally on the PBS series Independent
Lens in 2004. He enjoyed the fulfillment of a life-long dream
by performing at the Grand Ole Opry in 1999. The attached song,
“Poor Hobo,” captures all the best elements of Croker’s style as a
guitarist and singer.
In addition to his musical talent, Croker was known, as the band’s
emcee, for his snappy patter. His shamelessly corny bandstand
jokes elicited groans around the U.S. and in France, Holland, and
Canada. "I really am a nice guy, once you get to know me," Croker
often said; then, after a dramatic pause, he would add,"…but that
getting-to-know-me part is rough." He will be sorely
missed.
James Glenwood Croker is survived by his devoted wife, Nell, two sons,
two daughters, three step-children and numerous grandchildren.
Funeral arrangements, which have yet to be announced, will be posted at
www.hackberryramblers.com
.
August 22
Spent the weekend in San Diego - the Summergrass festival, which I had not been to before, turned out to be a great event. Loafer's Glory stole the show, with the Grascals running a close second and Wayne Taylor & Appaloosa representing the suits and ties tradition. All the bands were really good, and even the "not quite ready for prime time" kids groups showed that in a couple of years they'll be there too. I walked about a hundred miles on Saturday. Okay, maybe only fifty.
Sunday morning had lunch with my half-sister and her son in Carlsbad, then went to - now wait a minute before you laugh hysterically - the Richard M. Nixon Library and Museum in Yorba Linda. I can hear a chorus of WTH?, so let me explain. Mark came to San Diego with me, he wanted to see it, and it was right on the way home. End of story. By the way, they have done an amazing job with the place - the 9 acres of property includes the house he was born in (still in its original location), the side-by-side graves where the former President and his wife Pat are buried, the Air Force One helicopter that flew him away from the White House for the last time (and had earlier been used by Presidents Kennedy and Johnson), and a Presidential limo that he had used. The grounds are gorgeous - apparently Mrs. Nixon loved roses, and they have some seriously good gardens there. The gift shop? Exactly as you would imagine.
August 16
There's been lots of Grandma time with Eliza lately; Josh and Kate went out of town for the whole weekend, so I had Eliza at home with me from Friday afternoon to Sunday evening. Mark invited us to enjoy the luxury of his apartment building's swimming pool, so we did that on Sunday afternoon, and she splashed happily in the cool water. There was a petting zoo at the local farmers market, where she warily eyed her first up-close goats, chickens and two rather large white ducks. We tried the pony ride again, and again no luck. Anyhow, the kids skated home just in time to pick her up and give me fifteen minutes in which to get showered and dressed before Jim came along and collected me and our neighbors Alessandra and Jimmy to go out to Cantalini's in Playa del Rey to hear our pal Ian Whitcomb and his band. We all had a lovely time (always nice to eat with people whose food I don't have to cut up into small bites), and then last night I went, for the first time in ages, out to Ian and Jim's weekly Monday night "salon" in Pasadena, at which I again got to commune with people older than two. Lovely to see Regina after so long! And Opal and Ellen Nations were visiting from the Bay Area, so I got to see them briefly, which was a nice surprise.
This weekend I'm going to the Summergrass bluegrass festival in San Diego. No, Vista. Well, somewhere down there. Note to self, Mapquest it before the weekend. This is actually going to be a nice bit of serendipity, as I was disappointed at not being able to hear Loafers Glory's show in Pasadena because I had the baby all weekend, and they're playing at the festival, so I'll see them there. No, wait. I had ELIZA all weekend. She is two now (as of August 11th), has graduated to pull-up diapers (if she was MY kid she would have been potty-trained six months ago, but that's a whole nother issue), and I am trying to get out of the habit of calling her "the baby." Anyhow, I have a half-sister (and her two grown kids) who live in Carlsbad, which apparently is quite close to where the festival is, so we are going to have lunch together Sunday before I drive back up to town. I hope the kids can come too, but it all depends on their work schedules. I have almost no living family other than my own kids/grandkids, so it's nice to get to see my half-sister every now and then.
August 13
My friend Pete Howard's wife Cheryl died this morning. Devastating news, even though expected.
August 4
We have coyotes up here in the foothills, and tonight they are louder than usual, and out much earlier than usual. I often hear them between 1 and 4 a.m. (love that insomnia!), but it's not even 9 yet and they are already yodeling in (dis)harmony. Maybe it's the heat bringing them out earlier; and there are more of them tonight. They are howling at each other across the canyon, and the way that everything echoes up here it sounds like there are twenty of them! Unlikely, though.
It has been hot, and I haven't really been moved to write anything much. Eliza will be two next week, and there are some party supplies in the offing (Ariel paper plates, Mickey Mouse paper cups, an Elmo balloon, and so on). Not sure what the kids have planned or when, as the weekend of her actual birthday they are going out of town and I will have her here all weekend. Am thinking about taking her to the beach. Mark can swim really well, so I will plant him firmly beween her and the ocean and let her dig in the sand and get her toes wet and so forth. Sun block, floppy hats, and away we go. I had hoped to get to the Loafers Glory show in Pasadena that weekend, but can't really take her out to a sit-down formal auditorium concert. Not fair to the musicians (all good friends of mine), nor to the folks who paid good money to hear a concert undisturbed by a two year old!
Less success last weekend at the pony rides. I got her up on a pony, no problem, but for some reason it decided to shake its head back and forth several times, and she was off that critter like a rocket, clinging to me and screaming. I got her quieted down, and we gave away her ticket to a grateful mother with six kids (!) and removed ourselves to the more serene atmosphere of the choo choo train, which she enjoyed very much.
Even though it's on a weeknight, I'm going to a Hank Williams Sr. tribute at Joe's in Burbank coming up Labor Day weekend. Billy will be playing, as will a couple of other friends, and Jim will be there. Mark may come too! Don't know how late I'll be able to stay awake, though.
Getting ready to re-start the engine for the radio show, which resumes September 10. Picked up a huge pile of CDs that had been collecting for me at the station, and am planning my first show. I have always said that when it stopped being fun I would hang it up; the idea of getting up at 4 a.m. on Saturdays is already not fun, and I don't even have to do it for another month. And no, I don't want to do the show on tape. Sure, I could go into the station some weekday afternoon and tape the whole thing, but there is something about talking to a dead microphone vs a live one that just doesn't work for me. If there is no one out there when I'm doing it, I don't feel like I'm really doing it. I know that's not the most logical sequence of thought in the world; you'll just have to believe me. It's live or it's nothing.
My radio pal Joe Frazier is in the hospital; send good thoughts his way, please. I have the guys booked to come in and do a show on October 1, by which time hopefully all will be well. But he had to cancel a Chad Mitchell Trio concert, so I KNOW he's not feeling right! Musicians *never* cancel gigs unless they absolutely have to. I personally know a musician who broke two ribs in a car accident one afternoon, and went on stage that night, did a full show, and THEN went to the hospital to get his ribs strapped up. I do think there may have been a bottle of whiskey in play in the dressing room during the intermission, strictly for medicinal purposes, of course!
July 13
Went to lunch with Billy today at the Farmers Market; he's feeling a lot better, and we both enjoyed our outing. Because his house is so near Josh and Kate's, I went over to the little park by their house on spec, and sure enough, there was Eliza, choogling down one of the slides, being carefully watched over by her longtime nanny Rita. The huge smile that erupted when she saw me walking toward her was a real heartwarmer. "Hi Grandma! I'm on the SLIDE! I'm at the PARK! I played in the SAND!" That little girl has me so wrapped, I can't even tell you.
Sad times for Jennifer and Bruce. They had to have Smudge put to sleep tonight. Bruce got her when she was just a tiny kitten about 6 weeks old, and she was well over 17 when she just couldn't make it any longer. That's a good long life span for a cat, but it's so hard for them, especially Bruce, to say goodbye.
July 10
This weekend was crazy busy and lots of fun; yesterday I got to spend the morning visiting with a musician friend who is recuperating at home from recent prostate cancer surgery. We joked, we talked, we ate lunch, we had a great time. In the afternoon I drove home and then went with Bruce and Jennifer in their car to Disneyland, where Josh and Kate and Eliza already were. We all had lunch together (and how did people ever find each other in a place that big before we had cell phones?), and Eliza got to see a parade, complete with uniformed marching bands and cheerleaders/dancers in sparkly costumes. After lunch we went on some rides, and then I took Eliza back to the hotel (Josh had booked us adjoining rooms at a nearby place) and the four "big kids" closed Disneyland (and then a nearby Tiki bar) down while Eliza and I snuggled down to read bedtimes stories. This morning, while Josh and Kate had a rare chance to sleep in, Eliza and I patronized the hotel's coffee shop ("PANcakes please, Grandma!") and then -- oh boy -- the swimming pool! Resplendent in her Ariel bathing suit, she splashed, she kicked, she jumped in (to the shallow end, of course), and she had a great time. Then we climbed out and she stretched herself out to drip dry on her Mickey Mouse bath towel on one of the poolside lounge chairs, looking for all the world like a miniature movie star. This afternoon, when they dropped me off, I went to the coffee shop and did crossword puzzles with Jim, and am now writing this instead of doing laundry and prep for work tomorrow.
July 4
June 25
So Tom and Claire had a party, and I made a big pot of jambalaya for it, and then the kids dropped Eliza off and I got to stay home and play with her instead of going out. Jim, kind soul, offered to deliver the jambalaya (and I had a momentary unworthy thought as to how much would actually be left in the pot by the time it got there), and Eliza and I had a lovely evening together. Bath time included a small plastic boat and several miscellaneous fish, swimming around her as she washed. She sang a tuneless little bath-time ditty ("my ARMS are clean and my NECK is clean and my HAIR is clean") and then we dried her off ("my MICKEY Mouse towel, Grandma!") and got her into her pajamas ("there are RAINbows on my pants, Grandma!"), and since dinner hadn't quite filled her up she ate a box of raisins and a cup of organic yogurt (brought here by her parents, I assure you!) and we had a private screening of Lady & the Tramp, sitting together on the futon in front of the TV, with her head burrowed into my shoulder giving me a running commentary. She sang along to "Bella Notte," and again I despair at her complete lack of pitch; she must get her singing talents from some long-ago tone deaf ancestor. Jennifer, at this age, had perfect pitch and sang like a lark. No kidding.
My pal Chris is going to be 80 next weekend, and despite the long, expensive and arduous journey (a bus, a train, another train, another bus, and a subway: 15 hours one way!) I am going to his birthday party. He will only be 80 once, after all, and we have known each other since the mid-60s! Fortunately my office is closed that Monday for the 4th of July, so I can do the 15-hour return trip that day and I won't miss any work.
Got an email today telling me that one of the long-ago Ash Grove waitresses had died. I hadn't seen or spoken to Annita since I stopped working at the club in 1971 or thereabouts, but of course I remember her, and those days, and those times. She is frozen in time in my memory now, a short blond funny very bright girl with rimless glasses, full of enthusiasm (oh well, we were ALL full of enthusiasm in the 60s!), and a good worker. I am sorry she is gone. According to the note I got she died of cancer, but it was a very short illness.
June 19
Yesterday morning I did my last Alive and Picking radio show of the summer; am now on hiatus until September, when I am supposed to return to radio ranch the Saturday after Labor Day. A whole summer of not having to get up at 4 a.m. on Saturdays; a whole summer of not having to spend at least part of *every single* weeknight listening to recently-arrived CDs for potential airplay. Gosh, what will I do with myself?
The question answers itself: Eliza came over yesterday afternoon and stayed overnight. She will be two in August, and is now talking incredibly fast, rattling off long sentences of which I understand about five words out of every ten, and singing and dancing around the room. She drags my guitar over to me and says "SING, Grandma!"; she strums my dulcimer and my autoharp and giggles at the sounds they make. Bath time last night was enhanced by the presence of Nemo swimming around her in the tub, to the accompaniment of much giggling and splashing (lots of water on the floor, not so much in the tub, the sure sign of a successful bath). After a viewing of "Snow White" and a peaceful night's sleep we walked to the coffee shop this morning (she finished off her impeccable ensemble with her Disney Princess sneakers, which light up) with Jennifer and Bruce, and Eliza wrapped herself around some pancakes. So my Grandma time, plus my promised visits to sick friends, is going to do it for me this summer. I am supposed to go to North Carolina in February, and if that works out I'll do my New Orleans trip at the same time, but till then I am sticking close to home.This does NOT, however, mean that I intend to take up housecleaning, or anything. I will still be much too busy for that.
Sorry to hear that Clarence Clemons passed. Big man, big heart, good musician. Speaking of musicians: Ian, just *five days* after brain surgery, is making his gig at Cantalinis tonight. English people are CRAZY. If it wasn't Father's Day I'd go out there and give him stick about it, but the place is going to be slammed crowded so I'll just keep the nag on hold till we see each other again.
Living right underneath the Hollywood Sign has its good points, although I can't actually think of any right offhand, and its bad points. Tourists are insane, did you know that? They stand out in the middle of the street with videocameras, shooting footage of an immovable object. VIDEO cameras! The thing just sits there on the hillside; it doesn't light up or move around - and they stand out there with traffic whizzing past them in both directions along the narrow canyon streets and take VIDEOS. Then there are the ones that try to drive up here to get closer to the sign; despite the clearly labeled street signs that say "NO access to the Hollywood sign" and "Dead end: not a through street," every weekend they drive their rental cars as far as they can up ever-narrowing dead end roads until, guess what, they get stuck. They can't turn around, and there are other morons right behind them hemming them in so THEY can't turn around; and then the police have to come and unsnarl them and get them out of there. Meanwhile if (God forbid) there was ever a fire up here, they are blocking the access roads so that fire trucks can't get through. Oh, and they leave trash all over the place while they're waiting to be rescued. This rant was occasioned by the recent publication of a new book about Hollywoodland (which is what this canyon area used to be called); lovely historic photos, interesting stories about former famous residents, and you know what? It's going to make it WORSE, because it's going to bring more traffic and attention to the neighborhood. There is now a "For Sale" sign on my next door neighbor Katie's house; she has lived there ever since I have been here, and that's well over 40 years. She SAYS she is moving to Orange County to be nearer her children and grandchildren, but in real life, she is tired of picking up trash and shooing away tourists who illegally park in her driveway while they're trying to find a good angle from which to take photos of the sign. Anybody want to buy a really nice little house?
June 13
My pal Ian is going into the hospital Tuesday morning for brain surgery. And this is what it costs us to get old. I shake my head in disbelief as one friend after another falls prey to cancer, cataracts, hip and knee replacements, prostate surgery, brain surgery and breast cancer, and as friends younger than I am die. I sit at bedsides, empty catheter bags, hold hands, read, sing, rub backs, cook, or sit quietly, as needed. And glad to be able to do it.
Last weekend Josh and Kate and I took Eliza to Griffith Park, where she went on the pony ride by herself. This was a big deal. She sat up straight on her pony and looked very elegant (I was half expecting a Queen Eizabeth-type wave), and although Josh walked around the ring with her a couple of times she clearly didn't want or need him to, so he dropped back and let her do it on her own. We also went on the Griffith Park Railroad, a toy-train that chuffs around the perimeter of the pony rides, and she seemed to enjoy that too.
Mark's surgery went very well and there were no complications. I stayed with him for a few nights, and then he was able to manage on his own, so I came home. Now I am off nursing duty until the first week of July.
May 30
And the hits just keep on coming. A friend of mine in New Orleans is in the hospital following a suicide attempt yesterday.
People commit suicide for so many different reasons, and it's almost impossible to stand on emotional guard duty all the time for every single person that we know. Easier by far to be there when we're needed (need help moving, can you spare a weekend? Need to borrow $50 til payday. Need some post-op nursing help. My car's dead, can you run me to the store and back?) Any of those can be done by any of us at the drop of a hat; but how do we tend to needs that are unexpressed until it's too late?
For some folks, and I can kind of understand this one, suicide is a free pass. Diagnosed with terminal cancer, with AIDS, with the long living death of Alzheimer's Disease, they do it to spare those they love from months or possibly years of emotionally draining, incredibly expensive care. I get that. Really, I do. But to be young, in good health, okay financially, and with a wide circle of friends to reach out to, it's a very dark place indeed that makes you pick up a gun or a needle or a bottle of sleeping pills instead of picking up the phone. And how can I be there for them if I don't know where they are?
May 26
Sometimes I just want to say SHIT, but I'm not supposed to swear around Eliza. Just learned that another close friend has cancer, though it seems to be operable, and he says (and more to the point the doctor says) that he will be fine because they caught it early. He has already scheduled his surgery for early July. So Cheryl has a terminal malignant brain tumor, Mark's going in early next month for another eye operation, and now here's another pal with cancer. I am going to be doing a lot of live-in nursing over the summer.
NOT for that reason, but anyhow: I am taking the summer off from doing my radio show. The station asked for volunteers to take a summer hiatus to give some new shows a chance to be heard, and I raised my hand and offered. I'll have my hands full with nursing sick friends (which means packing a bag and literally moving in with them to look after them post-surgery), then with an eventual funeral in San Luis Obispo when Cheryl passes, and also with more and more Eliza care, as the kids hope to travel some this summer. The station management took great pains to assure me that the show *will* be back in late August/early September. Am going to be on the air as usual for the next couple of Saturdays, then will be taking this break.
On a happier note, last year or the year before I got an email asking if I would donate the use of some of my photos to a book project. I get these requests all the time, and nothing much usually ever comes of it - but the guy just wrote me back to say that the book is now finished and ready to be published in August, and he will be sending me the agreed-upon free copy as my photo usage "fee." Also asked me to write a blurb for the back of the book. I said, well, um, you do know I'd need to actually READ the book first, right?
May 21
The word that I was waiting for has come, and it's not good news. My friend Pete's wife Cheryl has been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. They have three young children (one with special needs), and the whole family is devastated. I live *just* too far away and am *just* too old to be able to be helpful, so I sit here feeling useless. Of course in cases like this we are *all* useless, really. She will have the best possible hospice care at home, and it won't be long. I am profoundly sad.
May 15
I'm very worried about good friend whose wife is seriously ill. Trying to monitor the situation at long distance is nervewracking. Some major tests are set for tomorrow, after which I hope to get a chance to learn more.
Lots of pals in town this weekend; Friday morning I had breakfast with my old friend Bill Ferris, who was here briefly for a conference. It was great to catch up with him on all his news. Saturday, radio, and again the show did well in the fund drive - better than last week! - and then Jim and I had lunch with John Broven and Joe Bihari. Today I emceed the Topanga Banjo & Fiddle Contest (Eliza loved it, but Jennifer's allergies were driven insane by the ragweed), then had dinner with all the kids and Eliza. You have no idea how tired I am! Onward to the coming week, which will also be very full.
May 6
I know, I know. Long time no blob. Things at Casa Aldin have been really busy (and you don't even want to HEAR the saga of how my car has been in the shop four times in four weeks for totally unrelated problems, nor do you want to know what that cost me). My primary excuse for not having time to write is that Josh and Kate went to Hawaii for a wedding, stayed a week, and left Eliza at Grandma's house. This was a lot of fun for Eliza (Disneyland with Grandma and Aunt Jennifer!) but Grandma is *really* tired. That little firecracker ran me ragged. The kids brought her back a bright pink ukulele from Hawaii, and I understand that there is a fridge magnet in my near future. And now that they are home, Grandma gets to rest? Not so fast; we're (all) taking her to the zoo tomorrow to meet some of the characters from Sesame Street.
Also have been having some minor-league health issues, which seem to be resolving themselves - another excuse for not writing. And then there are the old friends who have been dropping like flies:
Posted: Tue., May. 3,
2011, 12:09pm PT From Daily Variety:
Byrds manager Jim Dickson dies; Key folk-rock figure also worked with Gram Parsons, the Flying Burrito Brothers
Born in Los Angeles, Dickson worked as a record producer in the early '60s, cutting proto-folk-rock sides by singer-songwriter Hamilton Camp, progressive bluegrass units the Dillards and the Hillmen (which included future Byrds member Chris Hillman) and singer-songwriter David Crosby.
He took up management of Hillman and Crosby's fledgling new band, which was styling itself as an L.A. equivalent of the Beatles. Employing free studio time cadged by Dickson, then a staff producer at World Pacific Studios, the group cut early tracks as the Beefeaters and the Jet Set.
In 1964, Dickson received an acetate of the unreleased Bob Dylan song "Mr. Tambourine Man" from the singer-songwriter's publisher. His charges, a quintet now known as the Byrds, recorded it for Columbia Records (employing backup studio musicians), and it became the band's breakthrough No. 1 single.
Dickson and management partner Eddie Tickner handled the Byrds, who became the preeminent folk-rock band of the era, through a bitter split in June 1967. The pair subsequently worked with the Flying Burrito Brothers, a country-rock unit including Hillman, Byrds drummer Michael Clarke and latter-day Byrds member Gram Parsons.
Dickson produced the group's A&M albums "Burrito Deluxe," "The Flying Burrito Brothers" and the live "Last of the Red Hot Burritos," and is credited with helming some of Parsons' post-Burritos solo recordings.
In 1972, Dickson helped ex-Byrd Gene Clark re-record and remix his 1967 album "Gene Clark with the Gosdin Brothers."
Dickson later moved to Hawaii, where he became a competitive sailor.
March 30
Went out last night with Jennifer and Bruce to Joe's, a club that I have been hearing about for ages but had never been to, where they participated in swing dancing and I exercised my undeniable expertise at observing others, and was assigned to take pictures of them in action for Jennifer's Facebook posts. I like the club very much - a relaxed atmosphere, surprisingly good and cheap food, and thank goodness pals like Ray Campi and Jim were there too, so I wasn't as conspicuous as I otherwise would have been as the only member of the gray-haired contingent. A big part of my staying out til midnight was the fact that I didn't have to get up and go to work this morning - have I mentioned that my office has cut all jobs by 20%, so I am working (and getting paid for) only four days a week now instead of five? Yes, well. So Wednesday being my "day off," I was press-ganged by Jennifer into going out on a Tuesday night, and actually had a lovely time. "You should try swing dancing, mom, it's fun!" says Jennifer. Hell will freeze, says I.
March 28
Eliza and I had a lovely visit
Saturday evening. After the kids dropped her off we played with her
flashcards, then she had some macaroni and cheese and we followed that
with the brush-teeth-put-on-pajamas ritual, and then she watched her
Pinocchio DVD for awhile. When I informed her that it was time to go to
bed, she carefully carried all her stuffed animals, one at a time, of
course, to delay the bedtime thing, from the living room back into
Grandma's bedroom, and lined them all up on her pillow and covered them
with a quilt before getting in herself and fixing me with That Look,
which meant that she wanted me to get in with her and snuggle till she
fell asleep. So I did, except that I fell asleep too, and we woke up
together Sunday morning in a tangle of blankets and with her Big Bird
doll wedged firmly under my chin. I left the lights and the computer
and everything on - just fell asleep and slept straight through, which
hardly ever happens, so that was wonderful. She announced that she
wanted pancakes for breakfast, so we got her dressed ("And NOW my Snow
White socks and NOW my shoes and NOW my sweater," she chanted) and then
I manuevered the heavy stroller and her down the two flights of stairs
to the street and pushed her to the coffee shop. Best exercise I got
all week! While we waited for our breakfast she colored on the paper
placemat, explaining to me that "THIS one is pink and THIS one is blue
and THIS one is green." She's talking a mile a minute these days, can
count to twenty and say the whole alphabet - at 19 months old! What a
smart cookie!
And another milestone in Grandma getting older: I tripped and fell this noon, really hard, on the sidewalk between the Post Office and my car. Two good-looking young men raced to my side, helped me up, braced me while I checked for broken bones (none, thankfully), picked up my busted specs and asked whether they should call someone for me. I was just a few feet from my car, so I pointed to it and they helped me into the driver's seat. This getting old stuff is not for sissies. My left knee is badly bruised, my left wrist is quite painful, and the heels of both hands have asphalt burns and scrapes where I put them out to break my fall. But I was able to drive myself back to my office and gimp my way to my desk, so it wasn't nearly as serious as it could have been. And did my life flash before my eyes during those seconds while I watched in surprise as the pavement rose up to meet me? Not at all. I was thinking, "Not my ankle again, not my ankle again, PLEASE not my ankle again." And Someone Up There was listening. I had a Category Five sprain of my left ankle a couple of years ago, and believe you me that is NOT something I ever want to repeat; aside from the hassle of getting up and down the stairs of my apartment building on crutches, ever since then that ankle has been chancy to put too much weight on, and it tells me things every time it's going to rain. I quite welcomed the searing pain in my left knee when I hit the ground, because it meant the ankle was okay. Couldn't very well undress in the office, so waited till I got home tonight to inspect the damage - the knee is already an interesting color, but I think I'll live. Put peroxide on all the scrapes and bruises, and we'll see how it looks tomorrow.
And another milestone in Grandma getting older: I tripped and fell this noon, really hard, on the sidewalk between the Post Office and my car. Two good-looking young men raced to my side, helped me up, braced me while I checked for broken bones (none, thankfully), picked up my busted specs and asked whether they should call someone for me. I was just a few feet from my car, so I pointed to it and they helped me into the driver's seat. This getting old stuff is not for sissies. My left knee is badly bruised, my left wrist is quite painful, and the heels of both hands have asphalt burns and scrapes where I put them out to break my fall. But I was able to drive myself back to my office and gimp my way to my desk, so it wasn't nearly as serious as it could have been. And did my life flash before my eyes during those seconds while I watched in surprise as the pavement rose up to meet me? Not at all. I was thinking, "Not my ankle again, not my ankle again, PLEASE not my ankle again." And Someone Up There was listening. I had a Category Five sprain of my left ankle a couple of years ago, and believe you me that is NOT something I ever want to repeat; aside from the hassle of getting up and down the stairs of my apartment building on crutches, ever since then that ankle has been chancy to put too much weight on, and it tells me things every time it's going to rain. I quite welcomed the searing pain in my left knee when I hit the ground, because it meant the ankle was okay. Couldn't very well undress in the office, so waited till I got home tonight to inspect the damage - the knee is already an interesting color, but I think I'll live. Put peroxide on all the scrapes and bruises, and we'll see how it looks tomorrow.
March 23
Got a really unusual post-birthday present today; Kirk came over and grouted my kitchen sink. Most guys just give me chocolate.
AND, it's raining again.
March 21
We had a great birthday/Mardi Gras party on Saturday. All the kids came over early and helped get it together; Eliza napped through the first hour or so and then joined us, decked out in Mardi Gras beads and adorableness. I made jambalaya as usual, and lots of friends brought things to share and lots of food (lasagna! steamed fresh vegetables! home made tamales! pear and walnut salad!) And Jim brought a huge chocolate cake, personally inscribed to the three of us who were the official celebrants.
And a few hours after the last party guest left, the skies opened and we had a deluge that lasted nearly 48 hours. I was sitting at the coffee shop on my hillside having a late lunch on Sunday when everything went dark. They had to close, of course - not only were there no lights in the kitchen, so Larry was having trouble seeing what he was cooking, but with no power the credit card machine wouldn't work. Jim lost power, though I didn't - he must be on the same circuit as the coffee shop, since he lives just a block away. He brought his laptop over and plugged it into my cable line so he could submit something that was on deadline, and then we went to the movies - a program of early 1940s Soundies at the Hammer, along with a Jimmy Stewart-Paulette Goddard musical film called "Pot O'Gold" that included every Irish stereotype in the book.
March 14
It was nice to be back on the radio after many weeks away, and I got some nice calls and emails from folks who've missed me (!). There's a fair amount of new stuff to sort through, but this coming Saturday John and Deanne Davis are at the controls, which gives me an extra week to listen to all the new CDs that have come in. And although I've been home for over a week I am *still* unpacking!
Jim and I went out to Cantalini's last night to hear our friends Ian Whitcomb, Fred Sokolow and Dave Jones entertain the masses. They were a lot of fun, as always, and most wonderfully for me, their show always starts at 6:30 p.m., so I get home early. Food was good, too: chicken marsala and a salad for me, and something pesto-pasta-ish for Jim, and for dessert a giant slab of chocolate cake and two forks.
Speaking of cake, it's birthday time around Casa Aldin, and all the kids are celebrating theirs and mine. Our annual family birthday dinner will be Wednesday night, a date purposely selected because it's no one's actual birthday, and because we all get paid on the 15th of the month, so will have enough money to go out to dinner and have a good spread by then! Jim is dropping hints about a birthday cake to be delivered this weekend.
March 8 Here's the link to a temporary journal and some photos of my trip. 2011 trip
March 6
Six years ago today my dear Keith died. Hard to believe it has been so long. His good friend Justin went to the cemetery and left flowers from us both; Keith isn't actually buried there; it's his mother's grave, but his ashes were scattered there, and it's all we've got, so that's where the flowers go. This year's are lovely, bright and cheerful.
February 11
Had lots of fun last night doing the interview with Jett Williams and her husband Keith Adkinson. I took some photos in the studio of Jett with Mark, who was wearing his nifty Hank Williams t-shirt. She looks a *lot* like her daddy. Turns out Jett and Mark were born within a few days of each other, a few days after Hank died.
Mark Humphrey and Jett Williams at KPFK, 2/10/11
Today was my last day at the office before vacation, and now am packing and prepping and all the usual. Am babysitting Eliza tomorrow night so that the kids can go out to dinner, and will probably keep her overnight for some Grandma snuggle time. When they bring her over, Josh is going to install a web-cam on the laptop I've borrowed from Claire so that I can talk to Eliza and we can see each other while I'm gone. The miracle of Skype! And on Sunday, I get on the train and ride. Jennifer will mind the fort here at Chez Aldin, the station will cover the radio show with Fund Drive stuff, and Mark is ready to fill in if by some miracle the fund drive ends before I get back. Yeah, right.
At work today I sat transfixed in front of my computer, watching the world change before my eyes. When I was a child there was no TV, but we had a big cabinet radio, and younguns, guess what - in those days the radio WAS the internet. We sat transfixed on the floor in my grandmother's living room and listened to news bulletins, soap operas, comedy programs, western serials and music; but I never thought that the day would come when I could watch a revolution happening in real time halfway around the world. Nor, for that matter, did I ever dream that I would watch airplanes flying into towers in New York, or watch New Orleans drowning, or wave at my granddaughter on a computer screen from halfway across the country. The times, they are a-changing.
February 7
Trying to do too many things at once. I thought that the radio show was on hiatus for a few weeks due to the Fund Drive, but then I got an opportunity to visit with Jett Williams, who has co-produced a 16 CD box set (!) of old radio broadcasts by her father, Hank Williams Sr., and I couldn't say no. Thank God Mark is a Hank expert and is helping me organize the Q&A, which happens this Thursday. I guess the station will broadcast it at some point during the drive.
Eliza is speaking in sentences now ("Give Grandma big hug!" is one of my favorites), and wearing me out with her boundless energy. I just *love* the grandma thing!
January 2, 2011
Sort of a non-stop New Year, so far. On New Year's Eve Mark and I went to downtown L.A. and rode on Angels Flight (which cost us only a penny each, as it was the 109th anniversary of their opening, at which time it cost a penny to ride it). When we got to the top Jim was already up there, autographing copies of his Angels Flight book at a table, and Bill and Lynne from the Monday nights at Conrads were there cheering him on. Then Mark and I walked across the street to the Grand Central Market, where we found blueberries for $1 a basket, and tangerines for $1.50 for a three pound tub. After that it was off to Chinatown so Mark could buy some ginseng and cough syrup, and then to lunch at the Empress Pavilion, where I had my first encounter with dim sum. Dim sum, in case you too have been living under the same rock I was, is a style of service whereby you sit down at a table and they bring you tea, and they put a long paper ticket on your table. Then servers walk around to all the tables pushing huge carts of appetizer-size portions of all different dishes. They swoop the lid off and let you look at it, and they also tell you what it is, but in Chinese, which wasn't too helpful (we were the only non-Asians there and neither of us speaks Chinese. Well, I can say "ho la ma hon yin" but that's not very helpful since it means "how are you, elder brother" in Cantonese; it's the only phrase I know and I'm not sure any more why I know it or where I learned it). So we just shrugged and said "sure!" to everything they showed us. Every time a server put a little plate on the table he or she punched our ticket with a little stamp. We had no idea how much money we were spending (nor what we were eating, in most cases!) and I was getting nervous when we finally called it quits. We had eleven different dishes, most of which were excellent and only one or two of which I didn't much care for, which is a pretty good average, and all that food cost us only $34.
On New Year's morning I was up early and off to do radio, then came home and dismantled and chopped up the Christmas tree and put it into the recycling barrel. I should have worn work gloves for that, and would have if I had any, so my hands are telling me things today. Then Josh and Kate came over and picked me up and we took Eliza to the zoo. She communed with the elephants, the giraffes and various other critters, and seemed to really enjoy it. She looked at a huge Bengal tiger, then looked at me and said very clearly, "Meow!"
Today Claire came over and helped me with some web site stuff - the new year means new files are needed so I can post my 2011 playlists. Then we went to the coffee shop and had lunch with Jim. And THEN it started raining, again. Jennifer and Bruce, who went to Bakersfield to visit friends for New Year's Eve, are now stuck there, since the Grapevine is closed down in both directions due to snow! So I am feeding their cat till they get home, which I hope will be tomorrow.
December 28
Sad news on which to end the year. An old, old friend died on Christmas Day. Her name was Kate Rinzler, and you can see/hear her talking here. But long ago, before she was married to the late Ralph Rinzler, she was married to Ed Pearl in the early 1960s at the time that he owned the Ash Grove and I worked there. I used to babysit her little daughter Marni, now a grown woman in her late 40s or early 50s; Kate was one of the kindest people I ever knew. She was especially good to me during one very hard time in my life, when her gentle kindness and understanding was the most helpful thing on earth. I will miss her.
December 18
The holidays are here. Tree is up and decorated, with lots of help from my neighbor Jim (at 6 feet 6 or thereabouts, getting stuff down off my top closet shelves is a breeze for him, no ladder needed, and he reached over and put my treetop angel on without even stretching!). What presents there will be are all taken care of. Not much, but not much is needed. I *was* going to go to a holiday party at Tom and Claire's tonight, but Eliza has been pretty sick (ran a fever of 103, poor mousie) and I stayed overnight last night at Josh and Kate's trying to get her to go to sleep and stay asleep. Not much luck! So I only had about four hours myself last night - she did go to sleep at about 11 and was wide awake and raring to go at 4:45 this morning, and I took care of her till Kate woke up at 8, as both of them were short of sleep from being up with her the night before last. I am so tired that I'm afraid to drive in the dark and the heavy rain we're having, so I'll miss their soiree. I sent Jim with an apology and the items I had offered to bring. But Eliza does seem to be feeling better today; she ate some soft food, and the fever has completely broken. I did only the most rudimentary stuff here at home today, and plan to turn into a pumpkin around 8 tonight!
Another reason for no late night for me tonight is that tomorrow the most complicated part of my job starts; a procedure that we do twice a year, and it takes a lot of time and a lot of concentration, and is really the only part of my job that could be called even a little stressful, because it's exacting, detailed work that *has* to be accurate. So lots of sleep for me tonight, then lots of mail runs tomorrow (my pal Mark has gone home to Oklahoma for the holidays, so I am collecting his mail from both his P.O Box and his home, and storing it all till he returns, plus there is another regular mail drop I do for another friend) before work.
Fooling around on the internet, I Googled Maps-ed my pal Tony's address in the UK. The photos Google uses are apparently quite old; I was hoping to see his house covered in a perfect English fairytale Christmas blanket of snow, since the weather reports tell me that there is so much snow there that Heathrow Airport is closed! But although I found his house, there was a car he hasn't owned in years parked in front, and a clear blue sky above. Then I did the same to my own address, and saw this building before the most recent repaint job, and that was right after the last big earthquake! So yes, old photos, but still fun to get to see where he lives.
It's raining, it's pouring. Actual conversation overheard at the coffee shop today:
Customer (clearly a tourist visiting Hollywood): "You know, I'm actually kind of digging the fog and rain."
Exasperated waitress, who's tired of it all: "So go visit England!"
Speaking of weather and rain: For those many friends in far-flung places who read this blob as a way of keeping up with how our family is doing, yes, there *are* mudslides in the Hollywood Hills, but not my Hollywood Hills. The mudslides that are on the news are in Nichols Canyon and Laurel Canyon, to the west of us, and in another hillside area far to the east. Our canyon is pretty safe, being built primarily on granite, and with this amount of rain we are probably safe from fires for a long time too! And, touch wood, I have no leaks - yet!
Sad to note the passing of photographer and filmmaker George Pickow, husband of folksinger Jean Ritchie and co-founder with her of Greenhays Records.
NEW YORK, Dec. 19 (UPI) -- Photographer George Pickow, known for his
album cover photographs of musicians such as Lena Horne and Louis Armstrong, has died
in New York, his son said.
Pickow died of respiratory failure, his son Jon said in a New York
Times report. Pickow was 88.
Pickow, who died Dec. 10, photographed the cultural ferment of New
York City, particularly Greenwich Village, where he and his wife, folk
singer Jean Ritchie lived after their marriage in 1950.
Pickow helped his wife collect traditional songs from singers in
Appalachia and Britain, and contributed photographs to many of her
books, among them "The Swapping Song Book" (Oxford University, 1952), a
volume of songs from the Cumberland Mountains of Kentucky.
His subjects included Judy Collins, Pete Seeger, Dizzy Gillespie,
Tony Bennett, Louis Jordan and dozens of other musical performers in
the last half of the 20th century.
Originally trained as a painter, Pickow also photographed many
distinguished visual artists, including Thomas Hart Benton, Chaim Gross
and Edward Hopper. Many of his most striking photographs were shot in
black and white, and they show people plying their trades.
He was also an independent filmmaker and from the 1970s until
shortly before his death, he ran a small record label called Greenhays
Recordings.
Pickow was born on Feb. 11, 1922, in Los Angeles. He was raised in
Brooklyn and studied painting at the Cooper Union. He made training
films for the Navy during World War II.
Survivors include his widow, Jean Ritchie, and sons Jon and Peter.
© 2010 United Press International, Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Thanksgiving at Casa Aldin was great. Food, friends, family, fun. Took me three days to finally finish washing the last of the pots and pans, but it was worth it!
Somehow it seems as though KPFK is having a fundraiser about every other month any more. I mean literally. We just had one in October, and I already had the entire month of December booked with guest hosts when they announced another pledge drive for December. Fortunately the station was willing to compromise, so instead of me having to cancel and reschedule all my guests (which would have been a DRAG, since they all wanted to do Christmas shows, and somehow those are much less timely in March), we are going to have a solid block of 45 minutes of music followed by 15 minutes of fundraising, and then another solid 45 minutes of music followed by a final 15 minutes of fundraising. But don't worry - there'll be another fund drive in February! (See? I mean, LITERALLY every two months!)
I've been spending a lot of time with Eliza, which means not a lot of time for this blob or anything else. But so worth it. She's talking a blue streak, walking and running everywhere, and we are having Fun With Flash Cards at Grandma's house as she learns new words every day. My weeks are full of work and radio prep, and my weekends are full of radio and errands and Eliza. No wonder I am falling behind with the blob.
Went to the coffee shop tonight, where Jim and I did our usual crossword puzzle together, and was stunned to learn that John, one of our "regulars," was found dead at home this morning. He was at the coffee shop on Sunday - I saw him and we exchanged our usual hellos - and <insert noise of finger snap here> just like that he is gone. Two of the waitresses went up to his house when they heard the news, and stayed there with him till the coroner's van came. So sad. What a nice guy.
Speaking of so sad - Elizabeth Edwards. Man. She did not for one second deserve what she went through in her life - losing her young son in a car crash, facing the glare of publicity as her husband had an affair with and then fathered a child by another woman, learning she had cancer and then fighting it - but she handled it all with dignity and grace and class. I really respect the way she lived her life.
My plans for the trip are coming along well. Chicago, Memphis, New Orleans - and Tony is flying over from England to meet me in Memphis, so I'll have a traveling partner again. I really like it both ways - I'm perfectly happy wandering around on my own, and I also like having someone to wander with.
Got a new digital camera; Jennifer recommended the one she uses, and lo and behold I hit a sale at Target and got that exact model, very cheap! She came up tonight and gave me a quick tutorial, but like anything else it's about fooling with it awhile and seeing what it can do. Fortunately, Eliza provides us with an endless supply of funny faces to practice on. Oh! Did I mention she has learned to say Grandma?
A good friend had a detached retina last month, so for awhile there I was pretty busy taking him back and forth - to the hospital for surgery, home from hospital, back for followups, etc. He went back home for Thanksgiving and during that time was able to drive some, so I guess things are improving.
LOVED that so many of my friends got Grammy nominations! (Didn't so much love that so many of them are competing against each other in the same categories!)
November 10
The wedding was great. Everything was perfect, the cake was gorgeous, the food was delicious, the music was perfect, the ceremony was short and sweet and a great time was had by all. Jennifer is floating three feet off the ground with happiness. In addition to about 100 of Bruce and Jennifer's friends, Jim came, Mark came, and my friend Berta and her kids drove across the desert from Flagstaff to be with us, then turned around and drove back again as they had an obligation there the next night. Bruce's parents and one of his brothers flew out from North Dakota for it, and the day after the wedding we took them to the Pasadena City College swap meet. Jennifer found a great pair of vintage shoes and two dresses, Bruce found some Star Wars toys, and I didn't buy a mandolin (but it was a close shave.) Now the kids are settling in to married life and deciding where to put all their gifts, and I am coasting toward Thanksgiving. I ordered the turkey and the ham today! This Saturday Josh and Kate are going to a friend's party, and I get to have Eliza overnight again. Yippee! She wore her pretty-pretty party dress to Jennifer's wedding, and assuming that she hasn't outgrown it by then it will also do for Thanksgiving.
November 3
Well. Election is over, and it was 100 degrees downtown today. Yoo hoo, weatherman this is November, dial it back please. The wedding this Saturday is coming together thanks to Jennifer's inherited habit of being incredibly organized, making extensive lists, and checking off everything as she finishes it. Got that from me, you betcha (hello, apple? This is tree.) I spent two nights in her apartment putting the favors together (and trying not to eat all the chocolate before it ever got into the boxes), and we did some extensive shopping, buying white material by the yard and various other odds and ends. Mark is covering the radio show for me this Saturday, and I am taking Friday off work all day to help her with any final prep that may be needed. I have ordered some roses to be delivered as a surprise on Friday, and the tables and chairs will all be delivered Friday night (and stored in my apartment overnight, yippee!). Don't expect to hear from me for awhile; I'm too busy having fun.
October 22
Cajun musician Zachary Richard has suffered a stroke.
Wedding plans proceeding apace. Stuff got bought last night, honeymoon hotel got booked today. Invites are out, RSVPs are in, as Jennifer says. Casa Aldin is rocking!
October 13
Report from the front lines: Jennifer's wedding is coming together nicely, the first weekend of the KPFK Fund Drive went fairly well, and I had a great time emceeing the Santa Barbara Old Time Fiddlers Convention last Sunday (and have a natty new t-shirt to show for it). Eliza is coming to stay for the weekend, and Jennifer and I are taking her shopping on Sunday - my gosh, three generations of Aldin women at the mall. Look out world! Next up, getting my mind wrapped around prep for Thanksgiving dinner, which is the Next Big Thing after the wedding - I bought Eliza a darling little party dress to wear to both her aunt Jennifer's wedding and Thanksgiving dinner, and maybe Christmas too if she hasn't outgrown it by then. How is it possible that I can see the holidays right around the corner? This week's mail brought me and election ballot and a Grammy ballot, coicidentally on the same day.
September 27
Wedding plans at Casa Aldin; busy, busy, excited.
It's also so hot that I can't even sit in the room where this computer is for very long at a time (no A/C in here), so will write more when it cools off.
August 21
The radio show fundraiser did terrifically well this morning - as I said to Music Director Maggie, I guess this means I have to keep doing it, then? I'm going to officially ban Mark Humphrey and Rex Mayreis from donating any more money for at least a year, though. Rex is going to have to get a second job to support his donating habit; he gets up at the crack of still dark out and drives to KPFK from wherever the hell far east of here he lives, answers phones in the pledge room during my show, and then pays money for the privilege? Nertz, as Jimmy Durante used to say. I really appreciate all the regulars who loyally call in every time there's a fund drive. But these guys have to cut it out for awhile.
Then errands, shopping (Jennifer starts a new job Monday so I picked up some things for her) and this afternoon I had a visit from my (much) younger half sister and her two children, who live in Carlsbad; she is the baby of my large extended family, born after I was already grown and gone, so we never really spent much time together, especially as she was raised in Italy and I was born and raised in New York. Anyhow, they had been living in Texas, as her husband's work took them there, but he died of cancer a few months ago, and they've now relocated "home" to California. Kate and Eliza met us at the store where Josh works in Hollywood, and we all went to lunch at a nearby restaurant, where Eliza charmed all comers as usual, and at the end of the meal Josh and I had our standard discussion about tipping. He thinks I overtip, and maybe I do by a buck or two here and there. My take on this is that servers stand on their feet eight hours a day for minimum wage, at the beck and call of people who often treat them like lackeys, and they usually have to divide their tips with bus boys and etc., so I don't think that the extra buck or two will break me and it might make a difference to them. For all I know these folks might be single parents, working double shifts to feed their families, and so forth. Anyhow, I always toss in a bit extra. Josh says that they make plenty of money and that I grossly overtip. It's not grossly - I might round up instead of doing an exact percentage, and then might add in a couple more bucks when, like today, we had a really good, helpful and cooperative server who went out of her way in the matter of refills and extra napkins and setting up Eliza's highchair and all that. This is Not A Big Deal to me, but Josh is always on my case about it. However, it was my credit card so I got to decide the tip. So there. (He'd have a FIT if he saw how much I tip in New Orleans!)
August 16
President Obama made me miss visiting with Eliza tonight. I was on my way from work to Josh and Kate's house to hang out with them for the evening, when I ran smack dab into the street closures for the fundraising event the President is hosting tonight. EVERY street that could have taken me to their house was closed and guarded by police, and I had to go waaay out of my way just to get home. It took me FOUR HOURS to do what should be a 45-min.drive. Oh, Mr. President, after I voted for you and everything, how could you let your mean Secret Service detail keep me from spending time with my beautiful grandbaby?
I was all the more sad because I had not seen her for awhile. I usually let her babysit me every Saturday night, but I worked all weekend - and when I say all weekend, I mean ALL WEEKEND, because this was The Big Move. We rented a U-Haul, packed our business lives of the past 35 years into boxes, and shifted it all to the new office on Saturday; Sunday was spent unpacking, and trying to cram twice the stuff into half the space. This morning we learned that, oh joy, the phone company very promptly disconnected our old phone lines just as they were told to, but didn't connect our new ones at the new office. This meant, not only no phones, but no internet access on our computers (no DSL lines) and no fax machine. MANY frenzied phone calls later, we were able to persuade them to put a recording on the old office phone line giving my cell phone number as the new company number until we can get our permanent phones installed. This Has Not Been Fun. The rest of today was more unpacking and head scratching, and a little bit of the fun stuff (putting posters and photos up on the walls and so forth). Tomorrow, more of the same, and so forth, until we are finally settled in.
The one non-work thing I was able to accomplish this weekend was to call my pal Tony in the UK on Sunday, and leave him a Happy Birthday message on his answering machine. I knew he wouldn't be home - he was out frivoling, exactly as he should have been - but I wanted him to get to hear my voice on his birthday.
August 10
Hard to believe that when I wake up tomorrow morning Eliza will be one year old. Like all grandmothers, I think it's gone by too fast. The first year has been full of adventures for all of us as we got to know the new person in our lives. Together we've been through colic, teething, learning to sit up by herself, holding her own bottle, learning to crawl, to eat (semi) solid food, to pull herself up to a standing position, to stand all by herself - and taking a bath in the big bathtub, with a great deal of splashing and giggling. She can't talk, but she can make herself known - da means daddy, ba means bottle (and sometimes banana), and keys, oddly enough, clearly means keys. And puff means, not a magic dragon, but a baby food item called puffs. She can point to things, and she knows her books and lots of the words and pictures in them. She's already, in just her first year, been to Disneyland, had a limo ride, and is close pals with both Elmo and Minnie Mouse. She loves her Baby Einstein videos, and to sit on my lap and play patty-cake and sing "the itsy bitsy spider." She loves to play in her bouncer and to go on walks (well, she rides in her stroller like a princess while the rest of us walk) to the park near her house or to the coffee shop on my hillside, where she sits on Jim's lap and charms the waitresses and gets carrots all over herself and anyone else who ventures too near. She loves her mommy and her daddy and her aunt Jennifer and me, and we love her right back. This is the best adventure; as I see the winding down of own my life coming slowly around the horizon, watching this little girl grow and play is a lot of fun. I used to say that my children were my stealth bombs to the future - that I had raised amazing kids who were good human beings and would make the world a better place. I was right about that - and now they are carrying it on with yet another generation. I sent Eliza home the other night wrapped in a blanket that I had wrapped her father in 33 years ago; Jennifer found an old photo of Josh strapped into his carrier with that same blanket keeping him warm.
Parenting has lots of ways it can go, and I was very lucky that my kids turned out so well despite, or because of, their slightly unorthodox single-mother upbringing. You have a lot of choices in parenting; if you are abused as a child, you can choose to perpetuate it by handing it down to your own children, or you can choose to break the cycle of abuse by giving them nothing but love. I chose to look very hard at the way I was raised, and to take from it every good and fun and wonderful thing that happened and pass those things along to my own children; and I then took every bad thing that happened and made a specific and concerted effort to eliminate the negative stuff from my vocabulary of parenting skills. For instance, my maternal grandmother, whom I adored, was a racist from the word go, and I am grateful that her frequent verbal expressions of prejudice never became part of my own mindset. My own children never heard those words until they started school, and it was a point of pride with me that they had no idea what the words meant when they first heard them, and had to come to me for a definition! Babies are not born hating babies of other races. Prejudice and hatred are learned behaviors, and babies learn them from their parents. We are responsible for who our children are; when they are born they are like blank pieces of paper, and what we write on them is part of who they will become. I am incredibly proud of the people my children have grown into. And now Josh is taking every good and fun and wonderful thing from his own childhood and giving it to Eliza, and is also remembering my frequent mistakes and vowing not to repeat them. At this rate we will have perfect children in just another generation or two!
Any minute now Eliza will be learning to walk, and then look out, world, here she comes!
August 7
Had a good time on the radio this morning; did a birthday set for Eliza, who amazingly will be one year old this coming Wednesday. She is standing up by herself these days! Then tonight she came over and babysat me. We watched the Dodger game together, and Vin Scully's velvet voice lulled her to sleep in her carseat. Josh installed a program on my computer that is supposed to download my radio shows onto my computer so that I can post links to each show on the playlists page, but honestly? I can't figure to how to actually do that yet; he will show me more next time he comes over.
Went to Phillip Walker's funeral on Monday, and then got home to the news that Mitch Jayne of the Dillards had died of a very fast-moving cancer. The obit said he was 80, which is as hard to believe as that Eliza is 1.
Jim and I are getting very good at communal crossword puzzle solving. It seems that the gaps in my knowledge of everything are pretty neatly filled by his intelligence and vice versa. Had fun at the coffee shop this afternoon doing the Times puzzle; the waitresses, bless their cotton socks, save them for me whenever a customer leaves a paper behind.
This weekend is going to be -- not fun. My office is moving, for the first time in 35+ years, this coming Saturday and Sunday. I have been shifting boxes of stuff over to the new place a few at a time for a couple of months already, but this weekend is the rent-the-truck-and-do-it experience. I am told that I am too old to be doing this. However, none of the people who tell me I am too old to do it are offering to do it FOR me, so there we are.
July 24
Bluesman Phillip Walker has died at age 73. A good musician, and long ago a good friend, although I had not seen or spoken to him for some years. A great gentleman. Funeral arrangements are pending. His HighTone Records album "Some Day You'll Have These Blues," produced by Bruce Bromberg, is one of the all time best postwar blues albums I've ever heard.
July 15
After work today I went over to Josh and Kate's, watched another episode of "Treme" (still trying to get caught up on the first season), and played with Eliza for awhile. I was feeling kind of low today - this would have been Keith's birthday, and while I miss him every minute of every day and with every breath I take, still, it's a little extra hard on his birthday and on March 6, the day he died. So it was great that I was able to romp with my granddaughter, whose laughter makes it impossible to stay sad for very long.
Taked to Joe Frazier today; he'll be my guest on the show Saturday, so we went over the game plan and I gave him directions to the station. Spent the morning moving boxes from old to new office, and doing paperwork, then had lunch at a Mexican restaurant way out on the end of the Santa Monica Pier with some friends from Maine and England; because the restaurant is directly over the ocean on the end of the pier, they were absolutely astounded to see dolphins swimming along just below us.
June 14
Among the many new-since-I-was-having-kids developments is something called Puffs. Nothing to do with Magic Dragons, sorry Peter me darlin' - these are some kind of air-puffed little bites which pretty much dissolve in the baby's mouth. Banana flavored, apple flavored, sweet potato flavored. Reading the label, always a big mistake, I see WAY more sugar than I would give a baby; why don't we just cut up a real banana, a real apple, and so forth? Grandma is SO old fashioned.
Anyhow, this weekend will be Eliza's first visit to the House of Mouse. My kids all loved Disneyland, back when it was more affordable (do you know, it costs $73 for adults these days?!?) and I guess they loved it so much that it "stuck" (Jennifer has for many years purchased their annual pass, which admits her 365 days a year and includes free parking, and honey, she wears that thing OUT.) So Josh and Kate and I are driving down there right after my show Saturday morning, and Jenny and Bruce will meet us there sometime later (but not a LOT later, as we have 11:45 lunch reservations) and Eliza will get indoctrinated into the magical world of all things Disney. Josh has a video camera, I have regular camera, and my friends can expect to get bombarded with pictures shortly after we return.
The Dodgers have no offense. Oh, and their pitching's no good either. And Manny Ramirez is about over; can't field anything other than pop flies and seems to have lost his hitting since they made him stop taking steroids ;-)
May 29
Jim and I went out last night to hear our pal Billy Vera's show at Vitello's Restaurant (no Robert Blake jokes, please. The restaurant has heard them all, many times.) We were originally going to be joined by Jim's radio partner Ray Regelado, but he felt kind of puny so decided to stay home. When we got there we were seated at a table with a bunch of Billy's other friends, right at the front of the stage. I had chicken cacciatore, very good, and Jim and I split a salad, ditto, and a cannoli (no Godfather jokes, please. I've heard them all, many times), and I forget what Jim's entree was but he said it was very good. Billy's show was SO much fun, and very interesting; I've known him for many years now, but somehow parts of his long music-biz history and many of the songs he's written had slid past me. I sure got a good education last night! We had to leave early because the alarm clock goes off at 4 a.m. on Saturdays to wake me up for the radio show. I must be crazy.
Eliza is getting another tooth, and we're all hearing about it; between the fussing and the drooling she's not too pleased right now. It used to be pretty common to rub some whiskey or rum or whatever kind of hard alcohol was in the house on babies' gums to ease the pain, but that's gone out of favor; my own trick was to take teething rings and pacifiers and whatnot, as well as teething biscuits (the really hard ones) and put them in the freezer overnight, then give them to the baby to gnaw on - the cold numbed the pain. Now the trend is to give them over the counter medicine! I dunno.
Funny post-Katrina story from a friend in New Orleans:
Part of rebuilding New Orleans caused residents often to be challenged with the task of tracing home titles back potentially hundreds of years. With aThomas Hoyt "Slim" Bryant, the last man to have played on record with Jimmie Rodgers, died yesterday at the age of 101. Mind you, his mother lived to be 104!
community rich with history stretching back over two centuries, houses have been passed along through generations of family, sometimes making it quite
difficult to establish ownership.
A New Orleans lawyer sought an FHA loan for a client. He was told the loan would be granted if he could prove satisfactory title to a parcel of
property being offered as collateral. The title to the property dated back to 1803, which took the lawyer three months to track down. After sending the
information to the FHA, he received the following reply:
(Actual reply from FHA):
"Upon review of your letter adjoining your client's loan application, we note that the request is supported by an Abstract of Title. While we
compliment the able manner in which you have prepared and presented the application, we must point out that you have only cleared title to the
proposed collateral property back to 1803. Before final approval can be accorded, it will be necessary to clear the title back to its origin."
Annoyed, the lawyer responded as follows:
(Actual response):
"Your letter regarding title in Case No.189156 has been received. I note that you wish to have title extended further than the 206 years covered by
the present application. I was unaware that any educated person in this country, particularly those working in the property area, would not know
that Louisiana was purchased by the United States from France in 1803, the year of origin identified in our application. For the edification of
uninformed FHA bureaucrats, the title to the land prior to U.S. ownership was obtained from France, which had acquired it by Right of Conquest from
Spain.
The land came into the possession of Spain by Right of Discovery made in the year 1492 by a sea captain named Christopher Columbus, who had been granted
the privilege of seeking a new route to India by the Spanish monarch, Queen Isabella. The good Queen Isabella, being a pious woman and almost as careful
about titles as the FHA, took the precaution of securing the blessing of the Pope before she sold her jewels to finance Columbus's expedition.
Now the Pope, as I'm sure you may know, is the emissary of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, and God, it is commonly accepted, created this world. Therefore,
I believe it is safe to presume that God also made that part of the world called Louisiana. God, therefore, would be the owner of origin and His
origins date back to before the beginning of time, the world as we know it, and the FHA. I hope you find God's original claim to be satisfactory. Now,
may we have our damn loan?"
The loan was immediately approved.
This is terrific: the Philadelphia Opera Company does a "secret shopper" surprise perfomance at a farmers market. The looks on people's faces are priceless!
May 24
We (Josh and Kate and I) took Eliza to her first baseball game at Dodger Stadium on Saturday. (She had actually been to a Dodger game once before, when they took her to a spring training game in Arizona, but this was her first one at Chavez Ravine). She was fine, except for not wanting to go to sleep - there was just too much going on! She did the wave, sort of, and sat on daddy's lap while mommy fed her some squash, and then I put her in her stroller and walked her along the concourse, but every time I thought she might go to sleep there was a home run, or a close play, and the crowd erupted in roars, and she woke back up. Due entirely to her presence there we won the game. Of course she immediately fell asleep in the car on the way home. I'm still not sure how I got out of there without buying her a cute Dodger t-shirt.
April 24
Every time I go out to Viva Cantina to hear Loafer's Glory they're better. Well, the name is a bit of a head scratcher, but musically they're just wonderful. And last Saturday Tom and Patrick Sauber (who are members of LG along with Bill Bryson and Herb Pedersen) came down to the station and did the show with me. I thought that they would bring a stack of CDs and a playlist and we would do as we did last time they came on the air. But no, they had a big surprise for me, which was that they brought banjos and guitars and fiddles and mandolins and played LIVE on the air in between playing records. Just so much fun! Woke me right up.
Eliza is crawling now; she does about 25 mph from room to room like a little rocket. Have to watch her every second. Today Kate and I (Josh had to work) took her to the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books, which she enjoyed despite not being able to, you know, actually read yet. Peter Yarrow was performing on the children's stage, and she sat in her stroller and surveyed the territory while he sang Puff the Magic Dragon and This Land is Your Land and Going To the Zoo and so forth; then Kate and I found a shady spot on the grass and played with her while Peter autographed about 500 books for people who were standing in a really long line to meet him and get their pictures taken with him, and THEN Eliza had her first limo ride. Not bad, eight months old and has already tasted the lap - well, the back seat - of luxury. Peter had never met her (last year at this time he sang to her when she was still inside Kate's tummy, but he had never actually met her as a person) so we all went back to his hotel (hence the limo ride) and then went to eat in Westwood; Eliza charmed him, flirted with him, posed for pictures with him, and then promptly fell asleep just in time for the three grownups to get some good visiting time in over a late lunch. Peter is, I think, my oldest friend (not because he's 72, but because we are coming up on fifty years of friendship soon); gosh, it seems like only yesterday....
April 11
Went over to Josh and Kate's tonight to watch the premier episode of the new HBO drama set in New Orleans, called "Treme." Terrific writing, cast and acting. I think they’ve got their ears sharply tuned to the post-Katrina despair, anger and frustration, along with an adamant refusal to surrender, that was and is the prevailing theme of the ongoing recovery efforts in New Orleans. The Mardi Gras Indian theme “won’t bow – don’t know how” runs through the show like an undercurrent, informing the script and the players.
I think that the Elvis Costello storyline will continue in future episodes. It’s based on real life, since he and Allen Toussaint recorded an album about the whole Katrina experience called “The River in Reverse” – I think we are going to be seeing some of that in the next episode, if I understood the “coming attractions” correctly.
Does anyone else think that the restaurant owner character is playing it like Susan Spicer, headband and all?
Great music – great to see/hear Kermit playing.
I was stunned by the dialog, though. I don’t have HBO at home, so was not aware that the really strong language (and the full nudity!) was so commonplace on cable TV these days. While I don’t know anything about the nudity, of course :-), the language actually is accurate! That's how the musicians really talk in New Orleans. But I was sorely tempted to cover Eliza's ears! And people actually have sex on television now?
Loved the show. Can’t wait for the next episode! I now know what my Sunday nights are going to be spent doing for the foreseeable future, as long as I don't wear out my welcome at Josh and Kate's house. Maybe I should offer to bring pizza next week...!
HBO has put up a web site for "Treme"with lots of links explaining more about New Orleans music and culture here.
March 24
Here's Joe Liggins doing "The Honeydripper."
Great dinner last night with Jim at The Stinking Rose. I'm sure no one will want to come near me today - I bet I am extruding garlic odor like crazy - but so good! I was supposed to spend a couple of hours after dinner working on Saturday's show, but just fell into bed, too tired to move. Another day.
Tonight - BLUEGRASS! At Viva Cantina - going out to hear Herb and Tom and Patrick and Bill. Drat that early morning alarm clock - I can only stay for one set!
After a couple of decades at the same location, my office will be moving in a couple of months; much planning, measuring of both the old and the new places, much figuring out how to fit everything into the new place, and where; I will need a vacation when this is over! Unfortunately it's not moving any closer to home so I will still have the long daily commute.
March 20
Went to hear Noel Stookey's show a McCabe's last night. He was wonderful, and it was great to get to see/hear him. Also at the show was Joe Frazier (remember the Chad Mitchell Trio?) and we visited quite a bit. Joe has a book in him, and it needs to come out. I plan to nag him unmercifully until it does.
John and Deann came and made radio with me this morning, after which I ran errands, came home, cooked a huge vat of jambalaya, ate, and visited with friends. Eliza did her usual trick of working the room with charm oozing from every tiny pore. No visit to Viva Cantina tomorrow night for me; turns out I am taking care of Eliza all day and part of the night so that Josh and Kate can spend the day with friends at a (belated) party for Josh's birthday. Tuesday night Jim is taking me to The Stinking Rose, a restaurant on La Cienega Blvd. that is all garlic all the time. This is a late birthday dinner present, so he's treating. He took Leo (his cat) to be fluffed and folded and blow dried this afternoon at the kitty salon; Leo's a Persian with incredibly long hair, so this was his pre-summer haircut.
March 19
Turned on the radio this morning to hear the news guy say, in a dolorous tone, "Dodger broadcasting legend Vin Scully..." and I stopped breathing. Stopped. Breathing. Until he followed with "...was hospitalized overnight after a fall in his home, but should be released in time to call Sunday's exhibition game." Big exhale. I have been listening to his voice all my life. May he have as many more years as he wants.
March 15
WHAT a weekend. Josh and Kate went to Las Vegas to celebrate their second anniversary, and left me holding the baby, literally. Lots of grandma/Eliza bonding went on, and I now know or re-learned many things I had forgotten, including that when you are spoon-feeding a baby pureed squash, if she sneezes right as it goes into her mouth, everyone at the table will be covered in bright orange goop and she will have a pleased smile on her face.
And all our birthdays are over for another year; Jennifer, Josh and I are all early-March babies, and we closed it out by them taking me, last night, to a Thai restaurant for a huge meal. Leftovers were distributed on the usual Aldin Family basis of whoever could grab the most got to keep them. Jennifer bought me a large bouquet of roses, which is adorning my table and making the room smell great.
Monique, long time (like, multi-decade) weekend hostess at the coffee shop on my hillside, gave her notice a couple of weeks ago and yeterday was her last day. It was, coincidentally, my birthday, so when Eliza and I arrived for breakfast there was a chorus of "Happy Birthdays," a cupcake with one candle (very tactful of them) was brought to the table, and a card signed by all the staff was presented. I pulled out my "goodbye and thanks" card and handed it to Monique, and when it came time to pay the check there WAS no check; the girls had pooled their tips to buy me breakfast. Jim (who I think was absent from school they day they gave out Romantic Gestures) says there is a trip to Astroburger in my near future, and that his new book will be out next month. One of his OLD books, on the history of local landmark Angels Flight, may soon be seeing a substantial bump is sales, as after many years of being shut down Angels Flight (a small funicular railroad track in downtown Los Angeles that used to go up and down Bunker Hill, before they leveled Bunker Hill to build part of the new courthouse) is reopening today. They've moved it a couple of blocks from where it originally was.
March 12
Happy birthday to my wonderful son Josh!
March 11
Last night was bluegrass night. Todd and I drove out to Burbank to hear Herb Pedersen, Bill Bryson, and Tom and Patrick Sauber play at a Mexican restaurant called Viva Cantina. Oh man, these guys are wonderful. I had forgotten how good it feels to sit there and let that music wash over me. They did mostly the Monroe/Flatt & Scruggs/Stanley Bros. songbook, with a few of Herb's tunes and some instrumentals thrown in. I could only stay for one set (that dratted alarm that goes off every morning long before dawn means I have to turn in early on weeknights) but it was terrific. The food is, well, not the greatest, but the music makes up for it. They are there every two weeks, so I will be back on the 24th for sure, hopefully with Jim. While I was there I drafted Tom and Patrick to come back and do Alive & Picking with me again, April 117th, and also while I sat with Harley Tarlitz I talked him into doing one too, June 26th.
Today is Josh and Kate's second wedding anniversary, and on Saturday morning right after my radio show they are bringing Eliza and all her worldly goods over to my house and going to Vegas for the weekend to celebrate. Hooray, a whole weekend with my granddaughter! And when they get back on Sunday evening they, and Jennifer and Bruce, are taking me out to Thai food for my birthday. We do NOT discuss how old I am. Shut up.
March 5
Happy birthday to my wonderful daughter Jennifer!
January 30
The Grammys are tomorrow, and as a result there are a lot of friends coming in to town. My pal Jurgen is here from Austin, and he spent some time yesterday going through my stacks of old 78s and finding a few things to buy from me for his jukebox at home (yes, he has a jukebox that plays 78s. Or maybe he has several.) No sooner was he out the door than Chris Strachwitz called, in town for the Grammys, let's have dinner. He had heard of a Oaxacan place on Olympic near Normandie, so we went there, and thanks to the magic of cell phones Jurgen was able to join us there; he and Chris hadn't seen each other in quite awhile so it was nice to be able to make that happen. The food was not as impressive as other Oaxacan places I've been, but the company was great!
I'm babysitting Eliza tonight. Eliza is teething. Nuff said about that.
January 18
Jim Capaldi emailed me the sad news that John Seeger has died.
John Seeger,
born February 16, 1914
for decades a Bridgewater resident, died January 10th in New Milford
after a short illness. He was a popular teacher at the Dalton School in
Manhattan in the 1950s and served as principal of the Fieldston Lower
School in Riverdale, N.Y. from 1960 to 1976. He and his wife, Eleanor
purchased Camp Killooleet, a residential summer camp in Hancock, Vt.,
and ran it together for more than 50 years as a place where they could
implement their philosophy of education and child development. He
retired from teaching in 1976 and divided his time between Bridgewater
and Hancock. He inherited the Bridgewater house, his father and aunt
had lived in since 1959, and like them enjoyed walking the roads and
pathways of town. His wife, Eleanor, who died in 2003, was a member and
officer of the Garden Club. John was active gardening, running camp and
organizing lunches of friends. John and Eleanor were members of the
choir of the Bridgewater Congregational Church and singing was one of
the great joys of his later life. For years his holiday cards were
sketches of buildings in Bridgewater, including the store, the school,
the library and both churches. He is survived by a brother, Pete
Seeger; two half-sisters, Peggy and Barbara; a son, Anthony; a
daughter, Katherine (current Director of Killooleet); and two
granddaughters, Elizabeth and Hil�ia. Celebrations
of his life will be held at 2 on Sunday, February 14 at the
Congregational Church in Bridgewater and Saturday, August 28 at
Killooleet Camp. In lieu of flowers, donations for summer camp
scholarships may be made to the Seeger Bartlett Foundation, P.O. Box 1,
Hancock, VT 05748.
Published
in News Times on
January 17, 2010
John's son Tony is a friend of mine, who teaches in the Ethno department at UCLA. Hard going for him, losing his uncle Mike just a few months ago and now his father. Although -- born in 1914, that makes him (counting on fingers) 96? No, 95, would have been 96 in February. What a good long life!
January 7
Hilarious video du jour. The Ross Sisters sing a song about potato salad, and then.... you'll see, though you may not believe. Hint: make sure you watch past the first 45 seconds or so, as it gets more unbelievable the farther in you get. I am pretty much speechless, except to say that these girls sure are, um, flexible! Thanks to Tom F. for the heads up.
December 26
Well, so, the holidays. Yes. On Christmas Eve I had a little gathering here, starring Eliza In Her Christmas Dress; she was passed from lap to lap and greatly admired by all present. Other than Eliza, there was also a bounteous repast (hey, I can open cartons as well as the next person) and lots of good conversation. Then Christmas morning Josh and Kate went off to visit her family, and I drove Jennifer and Bruce to the airport, where they caught a plane to Bismarck via Denver. Or so they thought. In actual fact they got to Denver just fine, and are still there, having spent last night in a motel near the airport and tonight is looking about the same. There's weather, there's flights being cancelled, there's all that stuff. On Christmas evening Todd and I went to Andy and Ria's Christmas gathering, where I saw some of the same folks who had been at my place the night before (small world !). This morning was the wonderful world of radio, so I was up at four, and tonight I went to Tom and Claire's for their Boxing Day party. Jim was supposed to come with me, but he had gotten an infection in his foot which turned into cellulitis, so he spent Christmas night at Kaiser's ER getting it looked at, and is now home communing with a bottle of antibiotics. I took him a plate of goodies from Tom and Claire's feast, so at least he won't starve to death. Tomorrow I hope to do absolutely nothing, but of course I'll do it creatively.
Wow, Paul Butterfield on To Tell The Truth. Thanks to Geoff Muldaur for sending me this link. I had no idea this even existed!
December 16
I'm a grandma again, for the second time this year! Olivia Reed Pickering made her debut in Chicago today, coming in at just over five and a half pounds and 20 inches tall. I am starting a collection of beautiful granddaughters! Everyone's doing fine. I wish they weren't so far away, but I will get to meet her in February.
December 8
Mike's memorial service was Sunday. I couldn't go - defeated by time, distance, money, and the need to have at least one hand on the wheel at my office, since Mitch DID go. He is bringing me home a copy of the program and greetings from many friends. I tried to write something to be read at the service, but that got away from me too; so many memories, but hard to put them down on paper in any way that would have made sense.
Still no news from my "other son" John and his wife Jeanine in Chicago, who are expecting their daughter any minute now. They promised a full report as soon as she made her grand entrance; well, Eliza was twelve days late, so I won't start worrying for awhile. Two granddaughters in the same year - three, if I count my goddaughter Jeneda's daughter, who was born in late October on the Navajo reservation outside Flagstaff.
Josh and Kate took Eliza to Palm Springs for the weekend to visit friends, so I had a nice leisurely time of it. Did errands, did laundry, did radio (although since John and Deann were the guests hosts I didn't really have to do anything beyond push a couple of buttons.) Then on Sunday I did a favor for a friend and helped him shift things around in his apartment some. The manager of his building had to let a workman in to do some kind of repair a week or so ago, and when the manager saw the state the place was in he backed out, mumbling under his breath about the Health Department (I think the phrase "death trap" was used.) So I went over to his place to help, although most of what I did involved sitting in front of a shredder, feeding things into it. These men - ! Although, in fairness, it's not only that. The guy, who is a really good person and good friend, is plain and simply a hoarder. Some men are hunters, some are gatherers - this one gathers, and gathers, and gathers. A lifelong bachelor, he has so much clutter in his place that it makes my place look neat and clean by comparison! Many hours of work later, things looked a bit better; I agreed to go back this coming Sunday and help some more, at which point he will make The Big Decision about whether he will rent a storage unit and simply shift some of his clutter to another location. I hasten to add that he is NOT a "pig" - there are no dirty dishes in the sink or bugs in the bathroom, and he is scrupulously clean about his own person - there's just so much "stuff" in his apartment that it has taken over his life. Sometime last year I helped another friend, also a bachelor, in his mid-sixties, who had the same problem. He DID rent a storage unit, and moved quite a lot of stuff into it, and so "passed" his apartment's inspection by the board of health. He paid his storage bill for a year in advance, and just the other week got a bill for the second year, at which point he realized that for an entire year he had never once been to the storage unit and couldn't really remember what was in it. There's a lesson there somewhere. I hope he doesn't pay the second year. I hope he calls Out of the Closet or Goodwill and tells them to meet him at the storage unit with a big truck and two strong men, and that he turns his back and shuts his eyes and lets them take it all.
mber 16
I’ve been thinking about Robert Palmer a lot the past few days, as the anniversary of his passing comes around, a new book of his collected writings has just been published, and yet another year goes by without him. Nobody will ever know how lucky I was to have this incredibly special person as a friend. He had the most open ears of anyone I’ve ever known, and did his best to pry mine loose (without, I’m sorry to say, ever really succeeding). “What the HELL is that noise?” I’d ask as he played some foreign-sounding stuff in a language I didn’t recognize. “Oh, Mary Katherine, it’s pygmy rain chants,” he’d reply, evidently expecting me to react as if it was the Holy Grail, which maybe to him it was. I’m a four-four person, and he was way out there in the land of seven-nine where I knew I was never going to be able to follow. Fortunately, he spoke my language even though I couldn’t speak his, so we communicated in what was probably the musical equivalent of baby-talk to him, although he was always too kind to say so.
Bob was a good friend, and I cared a great deal about him, but his addictions scared the crap out of me. I was single-parenting two small children, and was dead set against them coming into contact with drugs of any kind; during the many times he came west to stay for weeks at a time at my apartment in Hollywood, he drank cough syrup by the pint to ease the uncontrollable pain without violating my rules. When that didn’t cut it he went out to score, never bringing anything back with him beyond the glazed look in his eyes that told me that at least for the moment he didn’t hurt any more.
And drugs or no drugs, he could write; words came pouring out of him like water out of the Grand Coulee Dam. As chief pop critic of the New York Times he wrote record reviews, live concert reviews, chapters on whatever the current book in progress was and still found time to write me four, five, or six-page single-spaced typed letters, all of which I still have, talking about whatever wonderful music he was listening to, shows he was seeing and people he was meeting along the way.
His enthusiasm was contagious and his unlimited love of music was profound. He also had the most amazing ability to write in his head without benefit of (in those days) a typewriter. We went to the first night of Bob Dylan’s Saved tour, up in San Francisco, and after we got back to our hotel room he said, “Okay, now I have to turn in the review.” Neither of us had taken notes during the show, and we had driven up from L.A. with no typewriter, so I expected to see at least a notebook come out and the process begin. Nope. He picked up the phone and called a number at the New York Times, spoke for a moment to someone he knew, and then was connected to a tape recorder, into which he began dictating, cold, with no notes. “Bob Dylan D-y-l-a-n comma whose current concert tour opened last night at the Warfield W-a-r-f-i-e-l-d Theater in San Francisco comma displayed an unusual sense of…” and on it went, a long, at least ten-paragraph review into which without pause or hesitation he inserted punctuation cues, paragraph breaks and created a little literary masterpiece. I was frozen into silence, afraid to break the flow, but as soon as he put the phone down he casually resumed the conversation we’d been having before he made the call. I was floored, and humbled. If that’s what being a real writer meant, I knew I’d never get there.
I got particularly lucky when, as he was working on Deep Blues, he came to stay with me during a dry spell and I offered to compile the discography that would accompany the book, to take that laundry-list chore off his hands. He lit up like a Christmas tree, and we sat crosslegged on my living room floor pulling albums off my shelves and sorting them into piles of “yes” and “no.” But then things went really dry, and he went back to New York with no sign that the book would ever be finished. A few phone calls later, I was getting really worried; the publisher, unreasonably enough, was demanding the finished manuscript, which was already months late. I went to New York and stayed with Bob and his ginger cat Snooky, who were, for the moment, living like two crusty old bachelors in a penthouse apartment that looked like it had been through the blitz.
The manuscript was in chaos. Two lately-finished chapters which he had sent to me for proofreading I had brought back to New York with me and were sitting in plain view on the coffee table, but where was the rest of it? Ah. Part of it was on top of the refrigerator. Of course. And another chapter in the bedroom, having evidently been thrown against a wall, because the pages were all over the room. My role was clear: den mother, nanny, whatever you want to call it, he needed to finish the damn book, and I simply refused to leave New York until he did. And then, a miracle. A week later it was done, all was in perfect order, and I typed the final pages of the discography on his machine, trying to pretend I didn’t see the hypodermic needles in the trash can.
Then I got really lucky; I got to work with him. When I was asked by MCA Records’ Andy McKaie to compile and annotate a box set of the Chess Recordings of Muddy Waters, I agreed, but suggested Bob do the notes; he had done so much research on Muddy during the writing of Deep Blues that I figured he could write them in his sleep. I sent him a list of the tracks I had chosen, and he made a couple of excellent suggestions for changes. Then we waited for the notes. And we waited, and waited. In desperation I started to write them myself, figuring that when his finally arrived we could dump mine.
What kind of mojo he used I don’t know, but when his notes finally showed up they were an absolutely perfect segue from what I had already written; not a thought duplicated, not a redundant sentence in the lot. Andy simply used mine and his, side by side, a perfect fit. The resulting Grammy Award nomination for Best Liner Notes was, Bob assured me, for both of us, but I knew better. The Grammy certificate on my wall has both our names on it, but it was his words that made mine shine.
When he was in L.A. he often guest-hosted my blues radio show. Since his own collection was three thousand miles away, he’d go through my shelves, pulling out albums I’d forgotten I owned and choosing tracks that I had no idea were on them, always bringing something fresh and insightful to the studio and revitalizing my own programming style for weeks after each visit. If I was working on liner notes while he was here he’d make helpful suggestions, untangle sentences, offer comments, but never condescendingly, from the New York Times/Rolling Stone critic to the neophyte. He did me the honor of always treating me as a colleague, and sometimes made me believe I deserved it.
When, five or so years before his death, he moved to my favorite city in the world, New Orleans, we saw each other more regularly. I’d make the cross-country train journey a couple of times a year; we’d meet for lunch or dinner, and I’d fuss at him for not taking better care of his health as we walked, ever more slowly, through the streets of the French Quarter. I knew he had abused his body pretty thoroughly for many years but had no idea, until quite near the end, that he was so seriously ill. He always brushed aside my concerns and questions about his health, and insisted instead that I tell him what shows I had seen, what new records I’d gotten for review, and what reissues I was working on.
And then one day he simply told me the truth. We were sitting on a park bench in Jackson Square in the pale New Orleans winter sunlight, and he looked me in the eye and said that he wanted me to know how much my friendship had always meant to him, and my heart stopped. I knew, but I didn’t want to know. He was very reassuring; I was not to worry, Yoko Ono had offered financial assistance, and he was going back to New York to have a liver transplant. Everything would be fine.
We talked regularly from then on, and two days before he died I spoke to him for the last time. He had recently married JoBeth Britton, an amazing woman who had somehow managed to get him to clean up his act, eat healthier food and take better care of himself, but she couldn’t work miracles. His body was disintegrating before her eyes, and the doctors wouldn’t, couldn't, do a transplant until his health stabilized.
From his hospital bed he told me that he loved JoBeth and that she was aware of his end of life wishes and would see that they were carried out. We said all the things that old friends say to each other when they know it’s for the last time and are given the chance. I somehow kept my voice steady as I agreed with him that it was probably not necessary, and yes, he was probably going to be fine, but that it was good, nonetheless, to say them. I was surprised to find, as I hung up, that tears were pouring down my face. Two days later JoBeth called to let me know that she was honoring his wishes and taking him off life support.
And then I got the phone call that he was gone, and a call asking me for a quote. Then another, and another, and I took the phone off the hook and sat down to work on some liner notes. It seemed somehow the right way to remember him. Still does.
November 10
After work today I went over to Josh and Kate's and babysat Eliza for awhile; came home tired, and was trudging up the stairs when Jennifer called me back down to her door, opened her screen and stuck her hand out -- with a ring on it! She and Bruce are now officially engaged. Their rings, why am I not surprised, came from one of those machines where you put a quarter in and a plastic bubble comes out with a toy inside it. Bruce said that the first two quarters he put in each came out with a different ring in it. Hers actually looks like one that I got many years ago in a Crackerjack box. My favorite ring ever was one that I made back in the Sixties by braiding one of Peter's old guitar strings as I sat in his dressing room watching him change to a new set before a concert. I wore it until my finger turned green, which was about an hour after the concert ended...anyhow, their wedding date is not set yet, but will be sometime this spring, perhaps sometime around her birthday in March. We can celebrate at Party Gras when I get home from my "big trip" to Chicago (to meet my "other son" John and Jeanine's daughter, who will be born in December) and Memphis (for the Folk Alliance Conference) and Mississippi (talk talk talk) and New Orleans (eat eat eat). Turns out that KPFK's next Fund Drive will be in late January, so I should be here for about the first two weeks of it and then gone till it's over. No, I am NOT doing that on purpose. Course not. Heh heh.
September 10
Another old friend from Ash Grove
days has died - the incredibly
brilliant, talented, gifted guitarist Steve Mann died on September
8th.
He was a good friend to me in the old days, but I have to say that he
ingested more drugs than any human being I have ever known, and they
took their toll. The drugs destroyed his health, his talent and
his
sanity, and left him a rambling, homeless, hollow shell of who he
once
had been. I am amazed that he lived as long as he did. All thanks to
the patience of Janet Smith, who cared for him in his later years and
did so much to help him along. A sad loss.
Spent the afternoon making a huge pot of jambalaya, then Jim and I drove over to Josh and Kate's so he could meet Eliza. I tried to teach her to pronounce "parallelogram," but I guess four days old is still too young. Then we went on to Claire's party, at which we ate a lot of great food and visited with Ellen and Art and a bunch of other folks. At some point during the festivities I backed Tom Nixon into a corner and breathed fire at him till he agreed to come in and do a radio show with me <g> so my goal of getting all these excellent old music programmers back on the air by hook or by crook is working! Am just waiting to hear from Tom Sauber; everyone else has said yes!
Tuesday August 11
Eliza is here and all's well. 7 lbs. 2 oz., 21 inches tall.
Sunday August 9
Went to dinner and a show at the Magic Castle last night with Chris and Janet, bluegrass pals from San Diego, and violated the club's rules by leaving my cell phone on all night, hoping that I would get The Call. But no. My granddaughter is taking her own sweet time about being born; she's is now ten days past her original due date of July 31.
August 10, 2009
Mike Seeger, Singer and Music Historian, Dies at 75
By BEN SISARIO, The New York Times
Mike Seeger, a singer and multi-instrumentalist who played an important role in the folk revival of the 1950s and '60s, died on Friday at his home in Lexington, Va. He was 75.
The cause was multiple myeloma, a form of blood cancer, said his wife, Alexia Smith.
Although a quieter voice on the national stage than his politically outspoken, older half-brother, Pete, Mike Seeger was a significant force in spreading the music of preindustrial America during an increasingly consumerist era. In 1958 he helped found the New Lost City Ramblers, whose repertory came from the 1920s and '30s, and in his career he recorded or produced dozens of albums of what he called the "true vine" of American music, the mix of British and African traditions and topical storytelling that took root in the South.
Mr. Seeger's dedication had a strong effect on the young Bob Dylan, who wrote fondly of him in his 2004 memoir, "Chronicles: Volume One." Although only eight years his junior, Mr. Dylan called Mr. Seeger a father figure - for helping the under-age Mr. Dylan with his paperwork - and rhapsodized about him as the embodiment of a folk-star persona.
"Mike was unprecedented," Mr. Dylan wrote, adding: "As for being a folk musician, he was the supreme archetype. He could push a stake through Dracula's black heart. He was the romantic, egalitarian and revolutionary type all at once."
But Mr. Seeger made his mark less as a star than as a careful, steady student of his beloved Southern music. He was born in New York to a prominent musical family. His father, Charles Seeger, was a well-known ethnomusicologist, and his mother, Ruth Crawford Seeger, a composer and folk-song collector. Besides Pete, Mr. Seeger's sister Peggy also became a noted singer.
The intellectual pursuit of folk music was part of Mike Seeger's life from an early age. At 5 he made a recording of the old British folk ballad "Barbara Allen," his wife said in an interview on Sunday.
Mr. Seeger played banjo, guitar, autoharp and other instruments, which he learned from old records and in some cases from the musicians who played on them. A dogged researcher, he sought out musicians who had been lost for decades and introduced them to an eager (and young) new audience. One was Dock Boggs, a banjo player from western Virginia whose records were prized by folklorists. Mr. Seeger brought him to the American Folk Festival in Asheville, N.C., in 1963.
Mr. Seeger's most recent album was "Early Southern Guitar Sounds" (Smithsonian Folkways), in 2007, and he played autoharp on Robert Plant and Alison Krauss's Grammy Award-winning album "Raising Sand" (Rounder), also released in 2007. In his career Mr. Seeger was nominated for six Grammys.
In addition to his wife, his half-brother Pete, of Beacon, N.Y., and his sister Peggy, of Boston, Mr. Seeger is survived by three sons, Kim, of Tivoli, N.Y., Chris, of Rockville Centre, N.Y., and Jeremy, of Belmont, Mass.; four stepchildren, Cory Foster of Ithaca, N.Y., Jenny Foster of Rockville, Md., Joel Foster of Silver Spring, Md., and Jesse Foster of Washington; another sister, Barbara Perfect of Henderson, Nev.; another half-brother, John Seeger of Bridgewater, Conn.; and 13 grandchildren and step-grandchildren.
Copyright 2009 The New York Times Company
Friday August 7
My dear friend Mike Seeger died tonight, in hospice care at his home, at peace and not in pain.
Tomorrow I'm doing the radio show early, then to breakfast, then coming home and hanging around here for awhile because I'm having a new mattress set delivered. Unfortunately I can't lift the old mattress and box spring by myself, so tomorrow when the delivery guys come, you KNOW they are going to pull the old ones off the frame and be overwhelmed by all the dust bunnies that are under there (or in my case more likely dust kangaroos), plus a miscellanous sock or two and who knows what all else. The new bed is a big surprise - Josh and Kate bought it for me, thinking that it was probably time mom had a new one, as I've been having trouble sleeping for quite some time and it may be the fault of the lumpy mattress. How old is the incumbent set, anyway? Hmmm, let's see now (counting on fingers); well, it's at least 35 years old, so yes, I guess it's time.
Thursday August 6
I'm told that Mike is mostly sleeping now, making his transition inexorably, quietly, and painlessly. Hard to be so far away, but there's nothing I could do even if I was there except help Alexia around the house, and believe me, my domestic skills aren't much help to anyone! And as one goes, another comes; the doctor today said that both Kate and Eliza are in good health, everything's normal, and we'll see her when she decides it's time to be born.
Sunday August 2
Some friends of Mike's went to play music for him this weekend; he enjoyed it, but asked that no more visitors come. He wants to be quiet now, in what time is left. Because he lives so far away there was no way I could have gotten there in time anyway, but we have said what needing saying, and since then I've been forwarding him literally *hundreds* of emails that have come pouring in to me for him and Alexia. This is really hard; as I counted up the years I realized that he is one of the few friends I have left from Ash Grove days; we met in the early 1960s when he and his group came out from the east coast to play there, and in one way or another we have been in touch ever since. He was incredibly helpful when I was preparing the Newport Folk Festival reissue series for Vanguard back in the early 1990s, and then of course these last ten years I have been his "booking agent" so we've been in very regular contact. And in between there have been lots of meals together (Lebanese food in Westwood, yum!) and other adventures, like the time we sat around a conference table in the UCLA Ethno department some years back and he tried for a solid hour to teach me to play the jews harp (he was stunned to finally realize that he had met someone who just couldn't do it!). My ex, Mark, of course, sailed through the lesson, because he has been field collecting recordings of jews harp playing for years and is an expert; Mike eventually decided to blame it on my plastic dentures, which alter the natural shape of my mouth. Yeah sure. Anyway, if he lives till then his 77th birthday will be on August 15th, and whether he is still with us or not I'm going to do a tribute to him on my radio show that day.
Wednesday July 29
It was a hard day at work today, as the news of Mike's final illness has made it onto the net via emails being passed around, and I was swamped with phone calls and emails. Did not speak to him or to Alexia today, as it was their last day at the hospital and they are retuning home tomorrow morning, and the hospice care will be there for them. But have forwarded them over 100 emails of well-wishing from folks near and far.
Had dinner tonight with Josh and Kate; just three days till Eliza is due! We ate at a Chinese place, and I suggested that Kate have some kung pao chicken (one of the hottest Chinese dishes I know) in hopes of getting things moving along, but she sensibly passed.
Tuesday July 28
My good friend Mike, who has been battling leukemia for some time, was recently diagnosed with an additional cancer, called multiple myeloma. And he called today to say that he has now decided to stop the treatments, and is entering hospice care. After we hung up I wrote him an email that said everything I needed to say and I hope was everything he needed to hear from me. Selfishly, it's hard for me to let go, but of course I respect his decision. He's in his late 70s, has had a good and productive life, and it's his choice to make. He knows better than anyone what's right for him. And as sad as I am about this, I'm glad that he is able to end his life in the same forthright manner in which he has lived it.
It's a (nother) girl! My "other son" John and his wife Jeanine, who live in Chicago, just had their first ultrasound, and it's a girl. She's due in December, and that means I get two granddaughters the same year!
April 18
A funny story about how I met Dick Waterman:
The
action takes place sometime in the mid-1960s, I don't remember
exactly when. Let's say it was 1965, but that may not be quite right,
and Dick can jump in and correct me if he remembers more precisely.
I was then
working at The Ash Grove, which at that time block-booked
artists for 6 nights, Tuesday-Sunday, and was dark on Monday, or
occasionally there would be special events (political gatherings, art
shows,
community events, whatever) on Monday nights. So if an artist came
out from Texas or Mississippi or the Appalachias or wherever, they
could play a little network that existed back then, 6 nights in San
Diego at the Sign of the Sun, Monday off as a travel day, 6 nights in
L.A. at the Ash Grove, Monday off as a travel day, 6 nights in Berkeley
at the Jabberwock or the Cabale, and so forth all the way
north to Portland and
Seattle, and then home. This made the long journey to the west
coast more financially workable for them, back in the days when most
travel, especially by folk and blues musicians, was done by Greyhound
Bus. Dick Waterman was then a respected booking agent in Cambridge, running his Avalon Productions and representing a lot of traditional blues artists (this was before he became Bonnie Raitt's manager and also before he started handling Buddy Guy & Jr. Wells). Many of the artists he booked would play at the Ash Grove, and the pattern was that he would call up and say "I have Son House (or Skip James, or Fred MacDowell, or Mississippi John Hurt, or whoever) coming to the west coast; can you do a week in June?" and then the financial terms and contract issues got done between him and Ed (the owner of the club).
As
years went by, the conversations that we had when Dick would
call
for a booking got longer and longer and ranged over more territory than
just the subject at hand, and I would always end the call by saying
something along the lines of "if you're ever on the west coast be sure
to stop by the club so we can meet."
I need to insert
a note here, not at all egotistically I assure you,
that my speaking voice (the voice he heard on the phone, without being
able to see me) is very sultry, and deep, and could be (mis)taken
for sexy by some people. A good voice for radio, in fact, which is what
I would go on to do some years later.
However,
I also have a good *face* for radio. :-)
All right, here
it comes, or as Ron Thomason would say, I told you that to tell you
this:
At
long last Dick Waterman tells me that he will be coming in to
town with one of his acts (by that time it might have been Bonnie) and
will be coming to the club on such and such a night to hear whoever
was playing, and could he buy me a drink? (I did used to drink
some in those days). And I said, okay, you will recognize me
because I'll be the woman at the ticket desk in the front lobby
collecting
the money - just introduce yourself when you get here and I'll comp you
and your party in.
He
walks into the lobby, looks for the ticket desk, and standing
there is a vision of loveliness like he has never seen. Dick is is
heaven. Oh my God. Blond hair, blue eyes, cute white go-go boots and a
shape like whatever a man's fancy turns to. He straightens his
figurative tie, runs a hand through his hair and strides over to the
desk and says to her in his deepest voice: "Hi, gorgeous, I'm Dick!"
And
she says: "Who?"
And
he says "Dick Waterman!"
And
she says: "So what?"
It
turns out that I had left the ticket desk for a minute to go
into my office for something, and he was talking to Jackie DeShannon.
We
are still laughing about that 45 years later.
April 12
Well, I guess this qualifies as a Happy Easter, all right. My other son John and his wife Jeanine, who live in Chicago, are in town; they came over tonight and we met Josh and Kate for dinner at Miceli's, and I was presented with yet another sonogram and the amazing news that they're going to have a baby too!!! So I am going to be a grandmother twice this year, on July 31 and again on December 3 (all dates approximate). Oh my God, the diapers I'm going to be changing!
April 10
Jim and Guy and I were sitting at the coffee shop on my hillside this afternoon, and the conversation wandered around, as it does; and Jim and I shared some apple pie, as we do; and after an hour or so Jim got up to go have dinner with Ian and then go with him to the noir film series at the Egyptian, and Guy got up to go off for a walk, and I came home. And these quiet little times that don't have any heavy meaning, that are just the everyday connections that I make with friends, have become part of the brightly colored patchwork of my life. I have been sitting in almost the same spot at that same coffee shop for nearly forty years; back when I first started going there my daughter Jennifer (42 on her next birthday) was barely old enough to sit up in a highchair, and she drew patterns in her cracker crumbs on the highchair's silver tray. It was just one long soda fountain counter then, with one waitress, my dear old friend Addie, who later, when I was alone and pregnant with Josh (35 on his next one) threw me the baby shower that brought me so much that I needed. Addie, by then in her seventies, still came trudging up the hill to unlock the place and start the first pot of coffee at 6:00 every morning, until the day she didn't, and her sister-in-law Frances the cook and Milton, then the assistant cook, called and called but got no answer so finally went down the street to her apartment and found her on the floor, all dressed for work with her apron over her arm, blown out painlessly like a candle by God before she could get out her front door. And I remember when they expanded the place after Addie died, put in tables and chairs and booths, and how Berta, my dear friend from the Village who had come out to L.A. to join me in working at the Ash Grove, went to work at the coffee shop after the club closed, and she taught Milton how to make eggs Benedict, and being a New York woman she made them put egg creams on the menu too, and eventually they hired a bunch more waitresses, who've come and gone through the years, each with a life and a story someone should write. I've known every waitress by name; I know which one worked extra shifts so that she and her husband could put a down payment on a house that had to be near a good school for her son; I know which one worked two jobs and single-parented a kid, which one came in to work on even the warmest days wearing long sleeved tops that didn't always hide the bruises on her arms, and which one has been sober for over a year now, and how hard that is for her. I know that European tourists aren't used to tipping, because they don't have that custom there, and how when you stand on your feet eight hours a day for minimum wage, every dollar that you don't get makes a difference. I know Monique, the weekend hostess/cashier, who lost her dearly-loved father to cancer and then single-handedly cared for her mother for years, seeing her drift ever-further away into the long goodbye of Alzheimer's Disease until she too finally died, and how Monique watched the Neptune Society boat out of sight and then straightened her shoulders and went to work to get her Extras Union card so she could make some money, and now every time she has a few flashing seconds of film (even way in the background) on a network TV show, everyone in the canyon tunes in to watch. And I know Milton and Miguel, the cooks, and I know that Milton has diabetes and isn't supposed to eat sweets, so when I bring back pralines from New Orleans for everyone I just break off a tiny bite of one for him instead of giving him a whole one. And I know that his wife Margo had surgery recently, but is doing better now, thanks, and I know that he has an adult daughter who's a quadraplegic in an assisted living facility, and that paying for her care is a big part of why at long past retirement age he still stands on his feet ten hours a day in a tiny kitchen where in the summer it's over 100 degrees every day, and although he has never taken a vacation day in thirty years he always has a smile for everyone and always remembers that I like my french fries well done and my fruit salad without any canteloupe. And I know Miguel's son Ernie, who used to work there on weekends when he was in high school, handing out menus and seating people. And I know the busboys and the dishwashers and their families and their stories; Rafael has a small son back in Mexico, and he sends home money to his wife every week. I know many of the "regulars" who eat there every day (and I remember the ones who've died, too, like Paul Pepper, who couldn't stop smoking until it was too late, and John Nolan, a really good writer who hand-carved the wooden sign that hangs over the door, and John Milford, who built the booths when he was between acting jobs). It's a community in the best sense of the word, because whenever somebody in the canyon sells a story or sells a painting or gets a speaking part or places a script or gets an advance from a publisher or sweats out an audition for a role in a tiny non-Equity theater, everyone congratulates them on their success. And when there's an occasional celebrity sighting (Kevin Costner used to stop in now and then, and Jennifer saw Jessica Simpson once, and Lord help us all Lindsay Lohan used to live just two blocks up the hill, and having paparazzi and helicopters there every damn day made it hard to get through the one lane canyon street I live on, so nobody wass really thrilled about having her there, but we all agreed that it was better than when Madonna lived up here and built a helipad on her front lawn, because when she sold her house and moved away they practically had a block party to celebrate) everyone is very cool until they pay their check and leave, and then it's "wow, did you see who was here?" And I know that most late afternoons when I get home from work Jim will be there, and we'll talk, or share sections of the paper, or I'll bring him the latest issue of Blues & Rhythm, or we'll do the crossword puzzle together (in ink, of course!), and he'll drink too much coffee and I won't drink any, and on winter days he covers my always-cold hands with his warm ones and we're always comfortable together; and whenever I walk in the cafe door on a weekend morning there's a chorus from them all of "good morning, Mary Katherine!" that makes me feel, as I am, at home.
March 15
Photos and details of my trip to Chicago, Memphis, Oxford and New Orleans can be found here.
This was my birthday weekend and boy, am I exhausted. Jennifer took me to Disneyland yesterday, where I put in several strenuous hours (and did something painful to my right shoulder and lower back) on the rides. She also treated me to a spectacular lunch at the Blue Bayou restaurant there. Boy was that great. Crab cakes, shrimp remoulade, mahi mahi, steak, salads and veg. Urp! Then we went out to the Deeper Valley to her and Bruce's soon-to-be-old apartment and I spent a couple of birthday hours packing her kitchen into boxes; we wrapped everything in newspaper, and taped up and labeled all the boxes. As a gesture of thanks for my help, she and Bruce then took me to dinner at Victors - so, TWO free meals on my birthday. This morning Claire came over and tried her best to hammer some computer skills into my head so that I could get the photos from my recent trip up onto a web site so people could see them. It was only partially successful; as long as she was here, standing over me, things seemed to go fairly well, if slowly, but as soon as she left and I tried to do some by myself....anyhow, we interrupted the tutorial to go to my hillside cafe and have lunch with Jim, and a plan was hatched whereby Tom and Claire and Jim and I are all having dinner together next weekend to further celebrate my birthday. Tonight Josh and Kate took me to a great place on LaCienega called The Stinking Rose; as you can figure out, the primary theme is garlic. Since garlic is one of my five basic food groups (along with chocolate and a few other disreputable things), I was a happy camper. I should keep a running total and see what's the maximum number of free lunches and dinners I can stretch out of one birthday.
The internet is a truly amazing thing. I have been thinking for quite some time about someone I knew as a child, and wondering whatever happened to her, as she had a really rough time of it when she was young. Tried Googling her, but never found anything. Lo and behold, she found ME, because of my web site. Incredible.
January 3
I haven't written much here about my friend Stevenson Palfi, but I've been thinking about him a lot lately. He was a good friend of mine, a smart, funny, devilishly handsome guy who became like a brother to me. We met and fell passionately in like while he was shooting his Professor Longhair documentary called Piano Players Rarely Ever Play Together, a prizewinning film that's just recently become available on DVD, and if you've never seen it and love New Orleans and its music I highly recommend it. Stevenson had moved from his native Chicago to New Orleans after spending a summer there working at the front desk of the Maison DeVille Hotel in the French Quarter. The hotel was close to Preservation Hall, and he found himself drawn to an 80-something year old banjo player named Manny Sayles (Emmanuel, really, but everyone called him Manny) who was a longtime member of the Preservation Hall Jazz Band; Manny became the subject of one of Stevenson's earliest music documentaries. He met his lovely wife Polly Waring there, and not long after I met them they rejoiced in the birth of their daughter, my darling Nell.
Anyway, Stevenson and I became close friends, joked and flirted our way harmessly through the possible pitfalls of a relationship that was always determinedly platonic, and whenever he was in L.A. or I was in New Orleans we spent a lot of time together. Life went on, things changed, he and Polly separated and eventually divorced, but our friendship continued, with one hiatus, for about twenty years. When my dear friend Keith and I would visit New Orleans the two of them would go off to visit the local bars together, and I was really glad that they, too, ended up with a friendship that enriched both their lives. When Keith died of a massive heart attack in March of 2005, it was Stevenson who let me cry, and cry, and cry, and in a series of late night phone calls he helped me start to heal from that awful loss.
And then, barely six months after Keith died, came Hurricane Katrina, and then the levees broke. Stevenson's house was on Banks Street in Mid-City, the area which other than the 9th Ward was hardest hit in all New Orleans. He was forced to evacuate, ending up in Tunica, Mississippi for several weeks. When he was finally allowed back into the city it was to find that his home, which was also his office and editing facility, had taken eight feet of standing water, and nearly everything he owned was destroyed.
He had homeowners insurance, he told me in a series of breathless phonecalls, but was having a hard time trying to collect. He spent every morning for over two months wearing hip boots, rubber gloves and a protective mask, cleaning out the filthy, stinking, toxic, mold-covered mess that had once been his home, and then spent every afternoon on the phones to various insurance companies, trying to slog his way through the bureaocracy and put through his claims. It was enough to make anyone depressed, but Stevenson had other problems as well, which long predated the flood. He had not been able to work for quite some time; two car accidents, one close upon the other, had left him with a shattered collarbone and shoulder that never really healed properly, and lifting the heavy videocamera with which he made his living became first painful, and finally impossible. He had a half-finished documentary in the works about New Orleans musician Allen Toussaint, and it was becoming clear that he was not going to be able to finish it, despite having gone into debt and borrowed money to make it. The medication that the doctors had given him for a lower back injury also caused by the car crash had unintended physical side effects which left him more depressed than before.
Since the flood, with his own home unlivable, he had been staying with his former wife Polly, and one evening in December 2005 while she was out of the house he stole the gun she kept for protection. A few days later, on December 14, he went back to his house; after writing a four page longhand letter in which he absolved those he loved of responsibility and railed against FEMA and the insurance companies for their lack of understanding and assistance, he left the note on his desk, went upstairs, lay down on his bed and put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
There's no good way to find out that kind of news, but I found out about it in maybe the worst way possible; an anonymous email from a stranger, the morning after his death, saying something along the lines of "sorry to hear about your friend Stevenson." I was stunned, and scared - wait, what? sorry to hear WHAT?? - and then began the long and difficult quest for solid information. Less than three months after Katrina, few people in New Orleans had working telephone service yet; I called his house line and his home-office line and left increasingly frantic messages on his machines. Polly's phone wasn't working, and Nell wasn't answering her cell, but I finally reached Barry Smith at the Louisiana Music Factory, who confirmed that it was true.
Parents who commit suicide leave lasting scars on their children; it's a deep, dark, harsh, hardly forgiveable sin, and it casts a shadow over subsequent generations that never really goes away. Even when someone says, "My grandfather committed suicide before I was born," the statement itself speaks of enormous, somehow contagious, incurable, inheritable pain. Those left behind feel profound guilt and self-reproach (how could I have talked to Stevenson less than a week before he killed himself and heard nothing in his voice, even though at that point he had already stolen the gun he was going to use? How could I have been so self-involved that all those times he told me how hard it was to throw out the accumulated possessions of a lifetime because the mold had rendered them untouchable, I didn't hear the cry for help behind the words? Why did someone so popular and with so many friends -- there were hundreds of people at his memorial service -- pick up a gun instead of picking up a phone?) and eventually anger at someone I once loved so much, ranging from "how could you do this?" to "how could you do this to me?" to the ultimate unanswerable question, "how could you do this to Nell?"
Nell was the joy of his life, a bright, shining, goldenhaired child who was not supposed to live. When she was born, with a combination of birth defects any one of which would have stunned most new fathers into silence, Stevenson refused to believe the doctors who said she wouldn't make it (they had been right the two previous times that Polly had given birth, first to their stillborn son and then to a premature daughter who lived only an hour). He paid no attention; he went into the pediatric emergency room and picked up the tiny child who, in her baby pictures, has so many tubes and wires attached to her that you cannot see a human being at all, and he said "this child will LIVE." He held her, talked to her constantly, willed her to live by simply refusing to believe that she would die. For the first three months he and Polly never left her alone. Nurses and doctors came, shook their heads, and went, but Stevenson and Polly stayed with Nell, praying constantly, calling specialists all over the country, and telling her and everyone else who'd listen that everything that was wrong with her was going to be fixed and that she was going to be fine. Fourteen staggering operations and six years later, the child who had been pronounced brain-dead at birth started first grade, right on schedule with the other children her age; the child who doctors originally said was in a permanent vegetative state and would never be able to walk, talk, read or write ended up dancing her way lightly through elementary school, then high school, and finally entered LSU in Baton Rouge; she would have graduated college with honors with the rest of her class if her father hadn't derailed her education and her life by putting that gun in his mouth. She was only eighteen when he died, and she will never get over it. She will never be the same person again; she adored her father, and when he killed himself the light in her eyes just went out. I still see her every time I go to New Orleans; we maintain the tradition that we started when she was just a little girl, of having one nice "dressup" dinner together in a fancy retaurant during my stay; but she doesn't want to talk about Stevenson. She doesn't want to hear how much he loved her or how important she was to him. She sits quietly, always unfailingly courteous to her father's old friend, looking at her plate, picking at her food, and occasionally glancing at her watch under the table where she thinks I won't see her, wondering how much longer she'll have to stay. When I ask her, with the easy familiarity of someone who has known her all her life, what her own plans for the future are, when she might start looking for a job, or when she might be going back to college, she just shrugs and doesn't answer.
The last time I was there she gave me a reliquary with some of Stevenson's ashes in it, and a container of more of his ashes which, when the time is right, I'll be putting into the ocean at Malibu, where we loved to go for long walks. I'm trying to think of the right words to say when I release his ashes into the water, maybe some perfect poem or song lyric, but all these years later the only words I can find to say to him are still "how could you do this?"