March 10, Hexham, UK
At Hadrian's wall today, I shed a tear of joy. For the voluminous blue sky, the gigantic wall's invitation to play within it, my happiness at having finally found the the promise of the tour fulfilled. But it was not just that -- it was perfect, complete contentment with myself and everything here.
Today was elusively the best day yet on tour, from the way our wonderful hosts Ruth and Mike at Lowlucken's hugged every last one of one us when we said goodbye, to this moment of lying among the high crags at sunset.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Friday, March 12, 2010
Expectations
I’ve been feeling a little guilty about not posting here more regularly here, so I wanted to explain why. I thought I would have relatively constant internet access and time to write while on tour. Given the time we spend on the road, in rehearsal, and in the countryside, that hasn’t proved to be the case. I think I overpromised how often I was going to be able to write, and I'm sorry about that. I want to correct whatever unrealistic expectations I may have set up for myself. I absolutely do want to share the great time I’m having, and to that end I’ve been writing, journaling, and taking tons of photos. But internet access and free time have been so sparse that I can never know if I’ll be able to post something or not. So, you can expect that, while I will post here as often as I am able, most of my sharing will happen after I get back – when I will love to talk to you, show you photos, tell you stories, in as close a form of communication as we can pull off. Sound good? Good! Now, on to the important stuff. Next chance you get, remind me to tell you about the concert in Hexham Abbey. It was wonderful, and I never knew I could feel so happy and sad at the same time.
Hide and Seek
On the road from Lowlucken's Organic Farm, March 10, 2010
We are all playing hide and seek with Real Life. We talk of jobs and appartments as if they were secrets, speaking in whispers so that it can't hear us. We respond to job postings on the sly. We worry about What Next in moments stolen from our schedule, while tossing under our the covers, where we think it can't catch us. That is why we travel so much, piling quickly into the van, hurrying and stumbling over each other so that real life won't notice our departure. He has agents everywhere, in glasgow and across the UK. His network spans continents and his welldressed agents operates without remorse. We can't stay too long in any one place lest they catch us.
Most of us, if caught, would quiver. Would blanche and admit lingering insecurity and try to patch up the the accusation (spoken with the familiar jocularity of an old friend) that we had been avoiding it. But Mia would laugh. Over her two years off, she confides, while sapping and blacksmithing and milking sheep, she has earned not a handful of dollars. But she has earned milk, good goatsmilk, and according to Mia she would take goatsmilk over dollars any day. So Mia would laugh at real life's boned face in its black cowl, and into it's hungrylooking fingers she would place a glass jar of fresh milk.
Me, I try to extend a friendly hand to real life even while trying to escape from it. Knowing that with his mutts nose and falcolns eyes he will track my trail eventually, i try to blackmail the blackmailer. I do dishes in hosts' houses, even when our hosts have a dishwasher. (Real life admires goid work and clean bowls). Laundry cures the blues, and sometimes I treat myself to a good dose of making sandwiches. I stuff three foiled bundles of pita, peanut butter, and apple slices into my backpack: sandwich security. Should real life come busting into our van, I will give him a sandwich, my offering, and he will not hurt me.
We are all playing hide and seek with Real Life. We talk of jobs and appartments as if they were secrets, speaking in whispers so that it can't hear us. We respond to job postings on the sly. We worry about What Next in moments stolen from our schedule, while tossing under our the covers, where we think it can't catch us. That is why we travel so much, piling quickly into the van, hurrying and stumbling over each other so that real life won't notice our departure. He has agents everywhere, in glasgow and across the UK. His network spans continents and his welldressed agents operates without remorse. We can't stay too long in any one place lest they catch us.
Most of us, if caught, would quiver. Would blanche and admit lingering insecurity and try to patch up the the accusation (spoken with the familiar jocularity of an old friend) that we had been avoiding it. But Mia would laugh. Over her two years off, she confides, while sapping and blacksmithing and milking sheep, she has earned not a handful of dollars. But she has earned milk, good goatsmilk, and according to Mia she would take goatsmilk over dollars any day. So Mia would laugh at real life's boned face in its black cowl, and into it's hungrylooking fingers she would place a glass jar of fresh milk.
Me, I try to extend a friendly hand to real life even while trying to escape from it. Knowing that with his mutts nose and falcolns eyes he will track my trail eventually, i try to blackmail the blackmailer. I do dishes in hosts' houses, even when our hosts have a dishwasher. (Real life admires goid work and clean bowls). Laundry cures the blues, and sometimes I treat myself to a good dose of making sandwiches. I stuff three foiled bundles of pita, peanut butter, and apple slices into my backpack: sandwich security. Should real life come busting into our van, I will give him a sandwich, my offering, and he will not hurt me.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Greetings from Glasgow
Hey folks!
Sorry for the infrequency of these blog posts. Because we spend a lot of days traveling, concerting, eating, singing, and getting lost or nearly run over in strange countryside side streets, it's been hard to find time to write. Nevertheless, I've been having great fun on the UK leg of the tour, and finding touches of home in the strangest places -- for example in the warm welcomes of the farmers at a nearby market in Queen's Park in Glasgow.
My new writing solution is to tap out posts on my iPod while riding in the van. Here's one from a couple of days ago, when we were riding off to Manchester:
Yesterday after an evening workshop we went to our first English pub, the Duke's. It looked like the inside of a nice hotel with conservatively striped crimson wall paper, gilt framed mirrors, and a wood stove helping to warm us up where we sat by mahogany tables. At the bar I ordered a Shropshire gold, a mild pale brew that almost overcame my distaste for beers. I sat next to an young English couple, one of whom was studying forensic science in college, the other of whom was taking a gap year before going off to university. On a pop culture note, the forensic scientist told me that the TV show glee has just made it to England. And the English have a special holiday called Red Nose Day every other March: a day when all sport red noses and act silliy to benefit charity.
I had such wonderful vegetarian hosts here; it's so nice to be in a house with young kids, energetic puppies, and parents who laugh at each others' jokes (or groan knowingly, as the case may be). I shared with Molly a taste for garlic, with Aeife an interest in swimming, and with a Liam a love off instruments. (He played about five.) I need to learn more languages and more instruments!
So many if my sentences here begin with it's so nice! Or look at that! I suppose I'm noticing and enjoying the words, the accent, the sheep we pass by on the highway. Lynn looks at me when I say these things and sort of smiles and nods in a doleful way. That dampless enthusiasm again. Will, when I lope around the Steiner school yard in the morning before two hours of driving in the van, calls me a leprechaun. I wish I had someone to share these enthusiasms with as fully as we share our music on stage. (But hey -- I've been told that when I'm not around, all confess to actually enjoying my puns. It's more bark than bite when Will jokes about reinstating his policy of punches for puns).
I'm looking forward to Glasgow tomorrow. I'm sorry that my postings have been so rare, but time has been spare, and it's hard to escape the feeling that writing takes me away from all these wonderful experiences. So I'm typing this out on my iPod as we drive to Manchester and discuss the horses we see on the side of the road. (Please forgive the wigliness of spelling, capitalization, and such). I'm loving England so far. I'll let you know, when I have the chance, what I think of Glasgow!
Sorry for the infrequency of these blog posts. Because we spend a lot of days traveling, concerting, eating, singing, and getting lost or nearly run over in strange countryside side streets, it's been hard to find time to write. Nevertheless, I've been having great fun on the UK leg of the tour, and finding touches of home in the strangest places -- for example in the warm welcomes of the farmers at a nearby market in Queen's Park in Glasgow.
My new writing solution is to tap out posts on my iPod while riding in the van. Here's one from a couple of days ago, when we were riding off to Manchester:
Yesterday after an evening workshop we went to our first English pub, the Duke's. It looked like the inside of a nice hotel with conservatively striped crimson wall paper, gilt framed mirrors, and a wood stove helping to warm us up where we sat by mahogany tables. At the bar I ordered a Shropshire gold, a mild pale brew that almost overcame my distaste for beers. I sat next to an young English couple, one of whom was studying forensic science in college, the other of whom was taking a gap year before going off to university. On a pop culture note, the forensic scientist told me that the TV show glee has just made it to England. And the English have a special holiday called Red Nose Day every other March: a day when all sport red noses and act silliy to benefit charity.
I had such wonderful vegetarian hosts here; it's so nice to be in a house with young kids, energetic puppies, and parents who laugh at each others' jokes (or groan knowingly, as the case may be). I shared with Molly a taste for garlic, with Aeife an interest in swimming, and with a Liam a love off instruments. (He played about five.) I need to learn more languages and more instruments!
So many if my sentences here begin with it's so nice! Or look at that! I suppose I'm noticing and enjoying the words, the accent, the sheep we pass by on the highway. Lynn looks at me when I say these things and sort of smiles and nods in a doleful way. That dampless enthusiasm again. Will, when I lope around the Steiner school yard in the morning before two hours of driving in the van, calls me a leprechaun. I wish I had someone to share these enthusiasms with as fully as we share our music on stage. (But hey -- I've been told that when I'm not around, all confess to actually enjoying my puns. It's more bark than bite when Will jokes about reinstating his policy of punches for puns).
I'm looking forward to Glasgow tomorrow. I'm sorry that my postings have been so rare, but time has been spare, and it's hard to escape the feeling that writing takes me away from all these wonderful experiences. So I'm typing this out on my iPod as we drive to Manchester and discuss the horses we see on the side of the road. (Please forgive the wigliness of spelling, capitalization, and such). I'm loving England so far. I'll let you know, when I have the chance, what I think of Glasgow!
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