Scatter Shot: Ready, Fire, Aim…DUCK!

This spring has been a whirlwind, literally. The ups and downs have had G-Force behind them, and keeping up has been a real challenge. Well, Universe, CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.

First, I tore my left shoulder just weeks before FKO. Nothing serious, but enough to make my arm useless for a while. It was my first MRI, and holding still while stretching out my arm was mildly horrible. But I did manage to fall asleep, so it wasn’t a total nightmare.

Then there was FKO! My first FKO and my second trip to Canada, and I was ridculously excited. The Canadian border patrolman poked at me once, and I managed not to panic. He only poked at me because Eric was doing all of the talking, but overall he was fine. Completely unimpressed the carful of instruments, which was a relief.

FKO itself was a dream! We got to hang out with so many people that we hardly ever get to see. So many amazing songwriters, singers, and smiles. We got to sit about in ConSuite and swap stories with some old friends, and a few new ones! If you haven’t already, go on the hunt for Piers Cawley. He’s an incredible storyteller, and a brilliant singer. He does more traditional English/Irish folk music, but he’s also hysterically funny! And speaking of funny, Gorgeous Gary!! Filk Waif Extraordinaire!!

Seeing Sooj is always a joy, and being inspired by her is a treat onto itself. Two words: Hot McGonagall. Oh Yeah, I went there. But it's not my fault! Alexander James Adams, you know not what you have wrought. And this time Heather Dale and Ben Deschamps got to go to a home con! They actually got to go home every evening! Yay for them!

And holy cats in a basket, Copy, Red Leader!!! Go find them. Right now. I’ll wait, seriously, GO NOW. Worth every second! I missed their concert, but their album is amazing!

On the way home, I wrote one of the crudest, most hilarious lists that I have ever written. “You might be a Redneck Submissive…” Yes, it’s both as funny and as bad as it sounds. The idea for the 4th album also decided to come racing into the 12 ½ hour roadtrip home. Not complaining!

Then came the real-life whirlwind: the tornados. Waking up to the tornado sirens is never fun. Half asleep, we stumbled downstairs, calling to the cats who were already quite scared. We checked the weather stations, we still had power. The funnel cloud wasn’t close enough to panic and it was moving away. We stayed up another 30 minutes to make sure that the next squall line wasn’t going to yield a similar wake-up. The cats snuggled up close to feel safe as the wind howled. We went back to bed, but I couldn’t sleep. I laid awake, listening to the rain, counting the second between the lightning and thunder. Both cats lay over my legs, twitchy but lovey. As the storm drifted off, so did I.

Then 2 weeks ago, I got a serious curveball. One of my medications changed. My pharmacy changed which generic they used for my prescription. Oh, great.

PSA: if your pharmacy ever changes your generic medication, WATCH YOURSELF. Inform your family, inform those closest to you so they can keep an eye on you, and keep an eye on yourself. The pharmacy tells you it’s the same medication. Sometimes, it’s really, really not. One ingredient change, however benign, can make all the difference. This is a known issue when it comes to birth control pills, but in anti-depressants, MAOI’s, and a handful of other medications it can also be an issue.

Anyway, it took 5 days for me to adjust to my new meds. It may as well have been a dosage change. Eric and I agreed that if I didn’t see improvement in a week, I was going back to the Doctor. Last time this happened, I couldn’t sleep for almost a month. Thankfully, this time the manic subsided and I’m back to essentially normal.

But I still feel, energetically, like the flow that once ran a certain course is splashing every which way. I feel like a constant shotgun blast of energetic who-ha. A scatter-shot mess, no less powerful but much less controlled than it once was. It'as almost like a waterfall hitting a HUGE boulder int he side of a cliff and sending water flying in every direction as opposed to simply falling naturally. One external stimulus too many, and my brain scatters into attention marbles, rolling all over the place. Yay for beiung a human claymour mine!

And I know what one of the other main issues is. After this winter, it’s going to take time to recover. Eric and I both took a beating these past few months, and we’ve come out the better for it, but no less exhausted. but the healing has begun. even now, I can feel the sprouting of new growth slowly expanding. These next several weeks will be a healing balm of warm sunlight, pool time, and songwriting. The stories are coming. The songs are coming. And then there’s Hot McGonagall and Kaiju (that's right, I said KAIJU), but that’s another tale…

Farewell, My Niñera

This weekend, I was given some of the worst news I’ve had all year. My niñera, the amazing Latina lady who babysat my sister and me when we were wee small, Mrs. Emma, had died. She died two years ago this month of a stroke. She was in her 90’s and feisty to the very end, which makes me happy. Losing her is hard, but it reminds me of so many amazing and wonderful times in my life.

To this day, my sister and I argue over who gave whom the chicken pox. Hint: it was Lexie. Her class got them first, showed symptoms first, and though I showed spots first, it’s because I was younger and had a less developed immune system. Anyway, Lexie and I ended up quarantined in Mrs. Emma’s back bedroom. Away from the rest of the family, away from her grandkids so we didn’t contaminate the planet. For a week, we were under quarantine, and it was more fun than it should have been, all because of her.

Mrs. Emma grew her own peppers in her garden out back. She grew peppers so hot, when she dried them over her stove, nowhere was safe. Every breath of air in her house burned. It took my father one deep breath to become accustomed to the burning air in Mrs. Emma’s house. My mom took a little longer, but not much. Lexie and I were in agony, and my father had only one thing to say: “It’s good for you.” And yeah, it was.

Mrs. Emma cooked for us, and her cooking was just as hot as her peppers might make you think. It was also some of the most amazing stuff on earth. I’ve never tasted its equal, and believe me, I’ve looked. I’ve never met her equal, either. She is the reason why I LOVE hot food. She's the reason I can eat pickled jalenpeños straight out of the jar. She is a big part of why I love vindaloo. And it's not just the hot peppers of her garden. She, just like my mother, insisted that we try new things.

I didn’t get to say goodbye, not really. But I know she knew. She always knew.

Thanks, Mrs. Emma. Thanks for everything.

Music, Magic, and Bread

After discovering my family’s Jewish heritage, one of my goals became perfecting the art of Challah. With decades of baking experience and practice, I figured it wouldn't be terribly hard. But I’d never made bread before, and this one fought me! My first batch was an overall success, though I did have to sacrifice a dishcloth during the rising process. My second try was better. I went from one enormous loaf to two smaller ones. Another dishcloth sacrifice, and two successful loaves. Next up, it’s time for turban challah! One large one with golden raisins, and as many tiny dinner-roll -sized ones as a single batch will yield. My given understanding made it work, but I still had a doughy fight on my hands…literally!

Natural ability is one of the great nibblet treasures in life, but it can only take one so far. It’s something I’ve lived on for a good chunk of my life. The music my mother gave me is strong, but it took years to master the violin. After my jaw broke down, converting that knowledge to the Mandolin took time. The frustration of it was strong, though thankfully my stubborn streak remains stronger. I was put off slightly by my own bafflement at guitar. Merging the knowledge prior to that blockage with what I knew of violin became an even greater challenge. I’d never had success with picks before now. Thankfully, my husband is a good and patient teacher.

This same principle, I’ve found, applies to the magics in my life. They require practice and nurturing, much like bread. The ingredients are all there, but how they are combined is essential. The energies that we allow into our lives are as important as what we do with them. For bread to rise, the circumstances must be right. The energies of our lives flow best when we are surrounded by that which we love, respect, and honor. A place of stillness and quiet, with just the right amount of movement. Be that music, drums, or simply the sound of our own breathing. This blog was built for some of that rising process.

Once risen, the dough must be kneaded, shaped into that which will bake best. Energy by itself is much like raw talent. It takes many forms, and can do so much by itself. But shaped, studied, learned from, it can be a tool that allows us insight, shows us what we are truly capable of. And once the shape has been taken, only trial by fire will do. That which is worthy survives. That which is not, burns and make your kitchen stink for a week. And can make your spirits smell just as burnt.

And in the end, the result is the same. Nourishment requires nourishing. Now, time for more flour-packed fun!