Not wearing green on St. Patrick's Day means you will be pinched.

It does NOT mean you should be the recipient of a titty twister.

'tis true.

When words fail, music conquers. When life oppresses, music soars and sustains.

It's easy to forget that. It's easy to get lost in yourself, lost in your head...then, in the next instant, lost from yourself.

But...music always wins. At least in my mind, in my heart. And I find myself, find the music.

It's always the last place you look...

I learned that again this past weekend, while in Cedar Falls, for SDIJ, Sinfonian Dimensions in Jazz. Each year, the Beta Nu chapter of Phi Mu Alpha Sinfonia helps host the event. Which is to say they organize the event and do all the grunt work. I know, because I'm a Sinfonian and helped many times when I was in college. The ground work begins early in the year, and then we would dutifully put off the work until two weeks prior to the event.

Ok, not exactly. Work went on quietly throughout the year, mostly by the event chair, chapter president, and the Jazz Department head, who at the time was Bob Washut. Two or three weeks prior to the event, the rest of us would swing into action and hang a giant curtain on the auditorium stage. Said curtain had the faces of famous jazz artists painted across it's front. With the curtain securely hung, we would all head down to the Hill for liquid refreshment, leaving the event chair and chapter president behind so they could assure Washut that everything was going smoothly.

There are two parts to the event: Tallcorn, which is the high school component of the festival. High school jazz bands from across the state travel to UNI to perform and compete. They are critiqued by a panel of judges and then receive a short, intense clinic by one of the judges or faculty. It is the oldest competition of it's kind in the United States.

The second part of the event are the concerts Friday and Saturday night. UNI Jazz I performs, and after a brief intermission, welcomes a guest artist on stage to perform along with the band. The guest artist never fails to astound and impress, either with performance or compositions. Or, like this past weekend, both. The guest artist was a trombone player by the name of Joshua Roseman. Wonderful to listen to, and his compositions were astounding. Avant garde ska is how it has been described by some...this is where words fail and music conquers. There are no reasonable words to describe his music. You have to be present to believe it.

But it wasn't just his music. It was him, his stage presence, his sheer joy in all he was doing. And every little note, every phrase, every nuance was perfect, dripping from his every pore. Boundless joy. A child's delight at times...and then, an instant later, in masterful control...not of the music, but with the music.

I went to both concerts. Friday night, the crowd was sparse but insanely appreciative. The band was loose, he was loose, and the music ebbed and flowed from him, from the stage, across the newly renovated auditorium, filling us each with something new and different. I was astounded, not just in the music, but in him, his utter love for life and music and eveything he was doing. Deep in my mind, something...someone...began to hum. Quietly, steadily...urgently. I walked out that night confused, baffled...and dissapointed in myself.

Saturday, I spent quite a bit of time wandering the halls of the music building, Russell Hall. Russell Hall has undergone a lot of change and improvements since I graduated. More practice rooms, more instrument lockers, new classrooms, a better library, a vastly improved auditorium. Gone is the band room, gone is the old "student lounge." So much has changed...yet so much remains the same.

Music is made there.

I stopped outside a practice room, hearing a trumpet player. Over and over, he or she practiced a lick, a phrase...slowing down, speeding up, changing a note, changing it's shape. Not because she or he was trying to keep up...but because their very life depended on it. Not just practicing, but performing. Not for me, not for anyone...just for themself. Their own love, their own pleasure, their own life. And the life of the music within.

The humming in my mind crescendoed.

That evening, I went back to Russell Hall, for that evening's concert. In theory, it would be the same as Friday nights. In theory only, though. Part of the charm of any live music, but particularly jazz, is how it can be different one night to the next. And should be.

I sat down fot the evening's concert...

Dipping my toes in a pool that reflected yesterday. The faces on stage faded, superimposed by faces from a different time, a different era. Time faded as well, and no longer was I sitting in the audience, but standing on stage, lost in music, lost in time. Lost not in myself, but with myself...and all those faces that journeyed along with me all those years ago.

And I remembered.
Music is not about maintenance. It is love and passion and unbridled joy. Music is fire and giving and taking. Music is alive, and lives everywhere. And as Duke Ellington said

Music is my mistress.

I am, and have been, stuck in my head, lost, deflated, depressed...just sad. I walk room to room and the only word that comes to mind is "absurd." I've barely been practicing, barely been exercising...enough to get by, enough to feel like I've done something. I haven't decided if these are symptoms of the problem or feeding the problem. Probably both.

This weekend is SDIJ, the annual jazz fest at UNI, in Cedar Falls. A good thing, an actual good moment this month. A month filled with far too many memories. I have the day off tomorrow. I am staying over night after band, for a healthy dose of My Gang, and then to Cedar Falls, for a healthy dose of live music and...well, where my heart often lives, no matter how my brain may freeze up. I'm hoping to find my heart there. And find music, find my spark, and my laugh.

I hope.

If you're going to win the Super Bowl, at least cover the freakin' point spread.

Douche canoes...

It's snowing.  Earlier today, the forecast was for maybe an inch of snow.  That's since been upped to 3-5 inches.  It started snowing sometime around 5, and hasn't stopped since.  It's a quiet snow, a light, powdery snow that sparkles at every angle...a quiet, insulating...silencing snow.  A snow that captures sound and pulls it in and away from the air, deep to the earth. 

So much of the snow had disappeared, and only ice remained.  It wasn't pretty by any means.  My back yard looked barren and desolate, pock marked.  Once again, my backyard shines, reflecting star light...

I was mostly asleep, napping, when the snow started.  It was one of those odd sleeps, where you're not quite completely asleep, aware of things around you, yet still dreaming.  I dreamed of tattoos, my own and other's potential tattoos...I had a dream of dogs and dogs biting me, a dog of long ago running up the stairs and then under the bed...another dream of mice...and I could hear it snowing.  Well, not hear the snow...it started as sleet.  I was aware of it, I could hear it hitting the window well cover directly above me.  Still, I slept...sleep has been a rarity this week. 

When I awoke, I wasn't sure what had been a dream and what hadn't been.  I could no longer hear the sleet sizzling against the window well cover.  Conversely, I COULD hear the chinchilla jumping about her cage, and was puzzled, wondering if she had been the mice in my dreams.  The dogs were stretched out next to me, but not biting me...they snored instead. 

And I laid there, not hearing the sleet or snow...just the dogs snoring and the tv a dull roar in an otherwise painfully quiet basement...wanting the dreams to return...

So, what have I accomplished?

I've probably destroyed the best friendship I've ever had. Why? So I could say what I thought...that's worked out well.

NYE, my so called "date" basically ignored me after a guy she hooked up with showed up. By my count, that makes me 3 for 3. Yerrrrr outta there...

It's only the 3rd day of the year.

Stellar day.

That movie was filled with wonderful music...




They're writing songs of love, but not for me.
A lucky star's above, but not for me.
With love to lead the way
I've found more clouds of grey
than any Russain play could guarantee.
I was a fool to fall and get that way;
Heigh-ho! Alas! And also, lack-a-day!
Although I can't dismiss the mem'ry of his kiss, I guess he's not for me.

He's knocking on a door, but not for me.
He'll plan a two by four, but not for me.
I know that love's a game;
I'm puzzled, just the same,
was I the moth or flame?
I'm all at sea.
It all began so well, but what an end!
This is the time a feller needs a friend,
when ev'ry happy plot ends with the marriage knot,
and there's no knot for me.


If they asked me, I could write a book;
About the way you walk, and whisper;
And look.
I could write a preface;
On how we met;
That the world will never forget.

And the simple;
Secret of the plot;
Is just to tell them;
That I love you, alot.
Then the world discovers;
As my book ends;
How to make two lovers of friends.


Hard to argue with good music...

I've said this before, but when you're little, when you're a kid...the holidays are all about the waiting, the anticipation. I couldn't wait to wear my Hallowen costume, I couldn't wait to go trick'or treating, I couldn't wait to go to my cousins, I couldn't wait...

The day before Thanksgiving was almost more magical than the day of Thanksgiving. Waiting for dad to get home, waiting to load in to the car, can't wait to be there, can't wait to see them, can't wait to laugh...and naturally, someone else was in charge of the details, I only had to take care of the "can't waiting."

I miss the can't waiting. Now...I can wait...I do. Patience has long been one of my strengths. The "can't waiting" is left for others, for niece and nephew...and someday they wlll not "can't wait", too, I suppose.

I don't know where this is going. Except...I want to close my eyes, be 10 again, climbing in the back of the station wagon that is not quite warm but will be in 10 minutes... by the time we stop at Wendy's, or McDonalds, or wherever it was I couldn't wait to eat. Warm french fries filling the car with their wonderful aroma, as well as filling my stomach. Sit in the far back, the cold metal of the back area quickly warming from the heater and from the muffler directly beneath, and you had to be careful where you sat because as quickly as it was cold, it would be hot, and you couldn't sit there unless you stretched a blanket out. And even the blanket's insulation would soon wear thin, so all you could do was find a cold spot and hope for the best, while your sisters sat in the middle seats, complaining they were too hot, mom and dad in the front seat, talking about nothing and everything, the radio tuned to a random AM station from somewhere in deep, southern Iowa, while you sat in the back, watching traffic fly by, "can't waiting" for whatever it was that was to come.

"Can't wait" was a part of life.

You were 10.

James Taylor was on Bob and Tom the other morning. He has a new album coming out...such a pure, simple voice, and such a wonderful lyricist. I will have to check out his new album.

I know that "Fire and Rain" is probably his most recognizable song, yet...this is what always sticks in my mind. There are days it plays in the background, and I latch on to it, cling to it.

When you're down and troubled
And you need a helping hand
And nothing, whoa nothing is going right.
Close your eyes and think of me
And soon I will be there
To brighten up even your darkest nights.
You just call out my name,
And you know wherever I am
I'll come running, oh yeah baby
To see you again.
Winter, spring , summer, or fall,
All you have to do is call
And I'll be there, yeah, yeah, yeah.
You've got a freind.
If the sky above you
Should turn dark and full of clouds
And that old north wind should begin to blow
Keep your head together and call my name out loud
And soon I will be knocking upon your door.
You just call out my name and you know wherever I am
I'll come running to see you again.
Winter, Spring, summer or fall
All you got to do is call
And I'll be there, yeah, yeah, yeah.
Hey, ain't it good to know that you've got a friend?
People can be so cold.
They'll hurt you and desert you.
Well, they'll take your soul if you let them.
Oh yeah, but don't you let them.
You just call out my name and you know wherever I am
I'll come running to see you again.
Oh babe, don't you know that,
Winter Spring summer or fall,
Hey now, all you've got to do is call.
Lord, I'll be there, yes I will.
You've got a friend.
You've got a friend.
Ain't it good to know you've got a friend.
Ain't it good to know you've got a friend.
You've got a friend.

From the sitcom "Two and a Half Men":

Charlie: "You'd be proud of me. I took the high road."
Alan: "Congratulations."
Charlie: "It didn't matter."
Alan: "It rarely does."

Profound indeed.

A more detailed update is forthcoming, but I'm just too tired to do that right now.

It was a great weekend, with just a few down moments. In a nutshell, Gino's pizza is AMAZING, I don't know how I ever drank Miller Lite, midwest weather will turn on you in heartbeat, and maybe if we'd had something besides Miller Lite, I could have made my brain shut off last night when it decided it would be funny and play the memory game. Regardless...it was a great, fun time. I was going to take tomorrow morning off, but there was a message on my answering machine when I got home from my morning school indicating they and the sub could not find the lesson plans I so carefully prepared. I can understand...it's right at the front of the room in a big, black tray...the label is hand written so I could make the letters as big as possible, and the tray is a different color than....ANYTHING else in the room, and the "substitute" label is on bright, neon orange paper. Easy to miss. /sarcasm.

As we were leaving St. Charles this morning(Chicago suburb, where the contest was actually held), we pulled up to a stop light. In the SUV next to us was a man with his two little boys. The boys couldn't have been much more than 3 or 4. We waved at them...and it seemed like the dad was trying to get them to wave back to us. He was VERY animated. The light changed green, we started to move...he moved right with us. No small trick, considering how slowly the RV moves after a stop. He then got our attention and rolled down his window. Steve slid his window back...the driver then yelled, "That thing is AWESOME!! What is it?!" We laughed and Steve yelled back his answer.

If you've wondered the same, it's a 1970 Dodge Starcraft:



With the wind behind us, about 8, MAYBE 9 mpg. Against the wind(like on the way home today), a whopping 6 mpg.
Almost.

Sarcasm aside, when I went to vote there was not a large crowd. Ahead of me was a couple, and a younger, Asian gentleman. He was not too sure footed, and was almost being "led" around, from sign in table, to booth...at an arms length or more. The couple were trying hard not to interfere with the noble process, but it was clear the young man needed at least some guidance. I watched as he left the booth, and began to walk back to the sign in area, only to be snagged by the couple again and walked to the ballot counting machine, or in layman's terms, the ballot counting machine, and fed his ballot through. He turned, a giant, face splitting smile on his face and walked away...

And all the volunteers erupted in applause.

Who knows who he voted for...only he does.

And THAT'S what matters...

Now that the election is over, I hope any potential candidates in the next election, national or otherwise, will consider some sort of advertising campaign to inform the public of said election.

It would be easy to miss otherwise...

Feathers
Light
Defiant
Bending
Swaying
In the wind
Giving
Not giving
Silent
Sultry
Solid
Unforgiving
Bending again
Quiet defiance
Still in the wind...
Still
They are
Feathers
Floating
Flying
Falling
Never giving
Never taking...

Feathers

Sometimes you come to believe something because no one proves you wrong.
And then days, weeks later, you believe the exact opposite...for the very same reason.

I stopped in the hallway today, as I was cleaning, and wondered what the smell was. And it hit me: bleach. I was right at the corner, where I cleaned blood smears and stains with bleach...four days ago.

Four days ago...

I pulled into the driveway, got out of the car, walked around to the other side and got my horn...strange, I thought. Smokey isn't barking. He usually sounds the alert that someone is here, even if it was just me getting home from school. I walked up, unlocked the door, and pushed it open.

It was sort of like turning on the lights in the early morning, before your eyes really have time to adjust. I stared at the couch. The cushions were all on the floor, as were the pillows, and blankets. Smokey and Baby stood at the foot of the couch, facing away from each other.

Eyes adjust.

In the far corner, my CD stand was leaning against the wall, the fan leaning against the stand...and every CD was spread on the floor in that corner of the carpet.

Eyes adjusted again.

There was blood smeared on the wall, two feet up the wall at least. Around and above an outlet. The smears at first looked to me like mud. I first wondered what animal...or even person...had broken in, and the dogs had laid the creature to waste.

Adjust, re-focus.

On the opposite side of the room, the wall was again splattered and smeared with blood. Again, two feet and better above the floor. Still, the dogs had not looked at each other...

Focus, adjust...focus again.

Smokey's fur was matted and soaked. He started to walk away, to the basement way. Baby looked at me, her eyes glazed and distant. And the hundreds of conclusions that had jumped into my mind disipated as it dawned on me what had really happened.

It's funny, there was no panic, no second guessing, no "What do I do?" thoughts. It was really simple to decide. First, the dogs. Then I would have to clean up the epic mess they'd left.

I called to Smokey. He stopped, and looked back at me, one leg held in the air. I called to him again, but then followed him to the kitchen. He was limping, and his eyes had that same distant, haunted look that Baby had. I stopped him, and he leaned all his weight against me. I said, "You need a bath, Joe...c'mon." He turned and did follow me, slowly...I picked him up.

It's good that I have the strength of ten men. I took him to the bathroom...he was squirming, struggling, so I set him down.

He climbed in the tub by himself.

I started the water, and began rinsing him. No soap, no shampoo, just warm water. His ears drooped, and his tail curled down and between his legs. His matted fur softened and began to show shine again. The water that drained off his back and legs turned a deep maroon...and still it cascaded off him, from his back, his chest, his legs. I scratched slowly, quietly his neck, behind his ears. His eyes narrowed just a bit, and momentarily he had that far off, dreamy look he gets when I brush him with his favorite brush. He was shaking just a little, but that stopped. Finally, only the water in the tub was maroon, the water coming off him was once again clear. I turned off the water, and he climbed out slowly, unsure. I wrapped a large towel around him, and he stood there, letting me pat him dry. Then he slowly walked his way out, and downstairs...it was Baby's turn.

I had to carry her to the bathroom...she had been cowering in the kitchen, sort of sitting on the rug in there. She had been limping noticeabley. When I put her in the tub, she immediately tried to climb out. Once the warm water hit her, she seemed to relax some. Again, a waterfall of red and maroon washed off her legs...of all things, Joe had done quite a number on her nipples. She also had some severe scratches on her legs, but it was her eye that bothered me the most. It was red, nearly closed, and swollen underneath. I ran warm water over her head, her ears, then her eyes...she shook her head several times, then just dipped her head, seeming to accept whatever comfort the water brought. She climbed from the tub, and I wrapped her in a towl as well.

Time to begin cleaning.

There were blood spots all over the carpet near the scattered CDs. I treated those with Nature's Miracle, then sprayed the walls with antibacterial spray. In the kitchen, I found small drops here and there...and SOMEHOW, there were blood smears on the wall BEHIND the plant stand. There is barely enough room for Boone to fit back there. How they got back there and managed to NOT knock over the plants, and the stand. I walked to the basement way.

Lord.

The floor, the walls, the door...I sprayed those down as well, then followed the marks on the steps, spraying each as I went. At the foot of the steps...ugh. Not to be a broken record, but the battle must have been furious here. Just inches from Boone, who was still in her kennel. No wonder she was spooked and had made such odd sounds when I got home. I wish she could talk, so I could find out JUST what happened.

I was treating the floor downstairs when I heard the front door open. Gretchen was in town, and had said she would stop. She did indeed stop. I heard a couple steps, and then heard her say, "Oh my God...what...Paul?! Are you ok?!" I was walking up the steps as she was making the same discoveries I had made earlier. She set about helping me clean up...it became obvious that was going to be a huge undertaking, so we switched to making sure the dogs were ok. Rinsing some of their wounds with peroxide, then applying some neosporin, per G's sister's instructions. Baby's eye was still a mess, and there was practically a HOLE in Smokey's face.

We decided she would take Smokey with her back to Cedar Falls. I had band, but was a little reluctant to leave. G was going to stick around a bit, and then head out.

When I got home that night, Baby was curled up on my bed, and would not come out. She would not even get down off the bed. Her eye looked a LITTLE better, and I put a warm washcloth over her eye and held it there. At first, she pulled away, but then actually leaned into it. She slept in the same spot all night. Boone was still a little spooked, but seemed to fall asleep ok. The next morning, Baby still didn't want to come out. I took her food into her, set it in front of her...she began to GULP it down. I picked it up, and her eyes got wide as she cocked her head.

She followed me to the kitchen.

She was still limping, and still moving slow. According to G, Joe(Smokey...we call him Smokey Joe, if there's been confusion, sorry) wouldn't eat at all, and just wasn't himself. I stopped at the house later that morning to check on Baby. I was eating a cheeseburger. When I first opened the door, she limped slowly towards me, favoring one paw, still squinting from her swollen eye.

Then she smelled/saw my cheeseburger.

Her eyes widened, her tail wagged, and she sat back, looking at me with her begging eyes.

Little faking bitch....

Both Smokey and Baby have been to the vet. They are both on antibiotics. Smokey had to have staples in his face from the hole Baby put there. I went to Cedar Falls Friday night, with Baby and Boone. They all seemed to be their normal selves...Baby curled up next to me most of the night, Smokey sat on the other side of the room...Boone played with Daisy, a puppy that her boyfriend's kids have. It was not quite as surreal night as the last time I spent the night there, on my birthday.

I really wish they could all talk, even for just a few hours. I'd really like to know what started it, what set off the epic battle. The fact that they had STOPPED fighting before I got home is...I don't know the word. The fact that they STOPPED...that they somehow called a truce at some point, is baffling. Bizarre. They NEVER fight...or rarely. Baby is so laid back, and Smokey is afraid of his own shadow. Smokey barks a loud bark, but then pees on the floor if someone actually comes in the house. Whereas Baby might take ttime from her arduous schedule of napping to roll over and look towards the steps as the other two make enough noise to cause the San Andreas to vibrate. And their posture when I opened the door...facing away from each other, almost resigned. They obviously felt guilty as well...frightened, yes. But guilty. Avoiding me, just avoiding.

I have to wonder what Baby thinks. Joe is normally very mild mannered, aside from his barking. Yet he took quite a punishment...and still it was a "draw." I don't mean to romanticize this, but I have to imagine she got way more than she bargained for. G's sister said that perhaps she has learned her lesson...I really hope so.

The next time I come home to blood on the wall, Tex Watson better be sitting here with an apology...

 It begins with the king as a boy, having to spend the night alone in the forest to prove his courage so he can become king. Now while he is spending the night alone he's visited by a sacred vision. Out of the fire appears the holy grail, symbol of God's divine grace. And a voice said to the boy, "You shall be keeper of the grail so that it may heal the hearts of men." But the boy was blinded by greater visions of a life filled with power and glory and beauty. And in this state of radical amazement he felt for a brief moment not like a boy, but invincible, like God, so he reached into the fire to take the grail, and the grail vanished, leaving him with his hand in the fire to be terribly wounded. Now as this boy grew older, his wound grew deeper. Until one day, life for him lost its reason. He had no faith in any man, not even himself. He couldn't love or feel loved. He was sick with experience. He began to die. One day a fool wandered into the castle and found the king alone. And being a fool, he was simple minded, he didn't see a king. He only saw a man alone and in pain. And he asked the king, "What ails you friend?" The king replied, "I'm thirsty. I need some water to cool my throat". So the fool took a cup from beside his bed, filled it with water and handed it to the king. As the king began to drink, he realized his wound was healed. He looked in his hands and there was the holy grail, that which he sought all of his life. And he turned to the fool and said with amazement, "How can you find that which my brightest and bravest could not?" And the fool replied, "I don't know. I only knew that you were thirsty." 

-The Fisher King

Talk about surreal.

Real details will have to wait. In a nutshell: dog fight...all over the house. Blood two feet up the wall...dogs are mostly ok. Such a mess...

I'm going to go search for stars in the sky...maybe make a wish.

In an effort to get out of my head, I got out of the house. I went to my usual haunt, Half Price Books, and found a copy of "Catch Me If You Can" on the clearance shelf. $3. Hard to argue with that.

Unless some miscreant took the actual disc, and left the special features disc. The clerk apologized.

I stopped at a Casey's for a soda. A man and his little daughter were ahead of me. She had a package of Goldfish crackers...he, a Hershey bar. She first put her crackes on the counter...then her hand fished in her pocket, producing a nickel and a penny. She dutifully placed them on the counter next to her crackers, proclaiming quietly, "My money." Her dad and I both laughed...and then he quietly handed her nickel and penny back to her. She held the nickel in one hand, the penny in the other...smiled to each, and said, "My money." And put them in her pocket...I smiled, and laughed along with her.

I went to Granite City then...good beer, decent food. But probably still wasn't the best choice...

Still...I'll remember the little girl smiling at her nickel.