Blog-azic

"This is what you get for being skinny," Jeff said as I stepped onto the very top of a wobbly, wooden ladder, flopped my chest onto the pitched roof, and looked for something to grab. With nothing in sight, I improvised a little. I got finger under the corner of a shingle, pried it up (to get a better grip), and pulled myself up and over the gutter. Amazingly, the shingle held and I was soon off of the ladder and onto the roof over Sean and Mary's foyer. From there, it was a simple matter of opening an unlocked window and climbing into the attic. Overall, it was an unexpected end to a busy Saturday. For our fourth and final wedding this year, we were back in Athens. This time, we stayed with our friends, Sean and Mary, their daughter Lou, and their cat buddy - and possibly a ghost, but more on that later. They just bought a house situated on a pastoral couple of acres in the The Plains. We met in town for a Casa dinner before retiring to their house, a brick two-stor

I've made it a point this summer, to spend more time this summer on my bike, riding to or from work. This is a sort-of tradition for me that I started years ago after I graduated college. My aunt had given me a Jeff Gordon themed mountain bike the summer before my senior year. I spent the whole year riding "rainbow bike" around campus before it was stolen a few days before graduation. Later in the summer, my old roomie Ben spied it at a party and got it returned to me. So, I took that bike and rode it out to Rural Action, up in the Athens County hills on chilly mornings. Sometimes, dogs chased me as I went past their houses, literally nipping at my heals. Now, I have a Bridgestone RB2, a Japanese steel, road warrior, and this summer I've been riding the back roads up to three times per week. It's a good ride, mostly back roads, up and down through the floodplains that drain into Jordan Lake. But, it is hot! In the heat of a Piedmont summer (95 degrees, full

Cat's Cradle Back Room before the music fest kickoff show on Saturday, September 26. From the west came the rain: slow drizzles interspersed with fervent downpours. Endless, blank grey sky wrapped around me, and the cool air whispered of fall's chill. The whole scene made me long for Ohio. But, it wasn't just the damp and cold that came east last weekend. In a fiery red chariot (an old red jalopy) came two artist. One, Wes, clearly a musician, had grey eyes as still as a mountain lake. The other - clearly a writer, a vagabond, a Japhy if ever one existed - came from a real mountain lake (that is, Lake Placid). He, Gabe, big as bear, gentle as cub (mostly), drank his coffee with a shot of whiskey, and ate his pancakes - I speculated - like a true northerner: stacked five high, cut with butter, and drenched in pure, Ohio maple syrup. Gabe came into town on a whim, following Wes who was kicking off the Carrboro Music Fest. I have been watching Gabe's travels all

As we went further north, through Kentucky and into Ohio, I watched the scenery change from the passenger side window. Mountains gave way to rolling hills, and I could see paw paw trees on the forest edges, with large yellowing leaves. Those paw paws call me back to the woods every year after the summer. I had a mind to get an armful of fruit to attract butterflies and seed the compost. Yesterday, being in such a foul mood after work, and having left the office early to run to the bank, I decided to stop by Mason Farm on my way home. I think the last time I was there was in the spring. Benji and I walked downstream, following the wide, sandy creek, buffered on one side by an earthen retaining wall (it must be a spill-over floodplain for the creek and sewer line). When the year is young, I feel a great drive to go to the woods, and again, as the year wanes, I feel the same, but in the long, hot and dry of summer, I tend to focus my attention on the gardens around my house. So, the

On the tails of a blue moon, some thirty days ago, Susan and I flew north to Lorain for my sister's wedding. In high summer, Lorain dries out, the sun is hot, and the breeze is cool. It would have been a treat to get back down to the French Creek, to show my wife and my mother's new pup, Teddy Jackson, the lush bottom lands filled with arums and spicebush, to take my shoes off and wade into the creek remembering the time I swiped at the minnows or saw the giant catfish down a dark, deep pool, to rush through the mosquito filled swamps to reach that old field filled with wildflowers and turkey. But, all that was not to be. Instead, we were put to work. I drove all over the West (and East) side of Cleveland getting kegs and bottles of beer and wine. In the end, we nearly 100 bottles left over and a couple cases of wine! Then, we spent long days out in the Oberlin country at their house, setting up the decorations, refilling the cistern, trying out the mead and cider I had ma

I first conveived it driving home - a radio interview about something, the man talking about how the greatest joys in life are felt not at the destination, but on the journey to it. The statement resonated with me, and I quickly put together a brief flow of ideas: a journey, time and space, mortality, and end with a pop. The final toast was not recorded on paper nor in audio, but it went something like this ...    "I think the greatest joys in life are found not in the destination, but in the journey to it. Susan, we've been through a lot to get us to this point and we've a long way yet to go. The universe is vastly bigger in time and space than we humans can imagine. However, I know we will be together forever. Here's to the journey."  Next up, Chris Zdinak, whose toast was best-man perfection. About the beginning of our relationship, Chris recalled that he speculated whether it would end up in a marraige or a restraining order! I had a gre

I heard about the passing of family friend last week. I met Lon years ago on a detour while my Father drove me back to college. I've always enjoyed watching my father interact with his friends, and Lon was a nice enough man in his own right. These jaunts to meet him were really rather peaceful. I was sad to hear the news. He seemed sincere, and my father was close to him. It reminded me of this old post, which I drafted, but never published. Here it is with a few revisions... This past weekend, I made it back to Ohio for, Rosalie's, my younger sister, graduation from high school. My older sister, Jessica, was also at home, having been discharged from the Army just about a month back. I flew into Cleveland Friday night, and Saturday morning Jessica, my father, and I went to Loudonville, OH where Jessica was participating in a 100 mile mountain bike race through Mohican State Park. At seven o'clock Dad and I saw Jessica off at the starting line, six hundred bike

Sometime late in the evening (around 9 pm, I would think), Susan and I were whisked outside to the portico. As the doors were opened, our friends started a version of "Heart of Glass" dedicated to Susan. It has always been one of her favorite songs to request. We listened once through, then started singing! After that song, I grabbed a spare guitar that Troy had brought and joined in the jam. I remember calling out and singing "Move It On Over" by Hank Williams and "Way Downtown" by Doc Watson. I couldn't remember all the words to the Hank tune, by my friend, Brad, pulled them up on his phone, and I drunkenly sang them out. Susan went inside and told the DJ that he should pack up and join us on the porch. Gaelan did not have the drum set. He was banging on the cement. Girls on the fiddle. Sean squeezed a button box, and Troy held down the bass. We played and drank. I hardly remember any of the songs. Not too long ago, a friend ment

In Hot Springs, NC remembering the wedding. I want to write down everything. Let's pick a place and start... The dinner playlist chosen by DJ Bart: Nat King Cole, "The Man and the Music," side 2 Duke Elington, "Duke Elington's Greatest Hits," side 1 Artie Shaw, "This Is Artie Shaw," side 2 Roy Eldridge, "Roy Eldridge," side 1 John Coltrane, "John Coltrane and Johnny Hartman," side 1 (cut short, maybe only 1 song) All vinyl. All from our collection. Thanks, DJ Bart.

While on the drive up north to Athens (to meet with our wedding vendors), Susan and I watched the bare trees fly past us on the highway. We could see a faint red glow brushed over-top the grey and brown branches, not unlike dawn when the Sun's rays strike the underside of grey clouds tingeing them red, then orange,  and finally yellow as the angle of incidence loses its obliqueness. On the drive back home, I detected distinct oranges in the buds. I suppose that spring is dawning.

By rushing water, by water rushing, The pup and I remembered something. He the fun of rivers running. Me that spring is surely coming.

I was at Motorco in Durham for the weekly PopUp Chorus, standing at the third in a line of four old school urinals, with no privacy dividers in between, preparing to do my life's work, when in walks a fella with an busy gray mustache and a cowboy hat (ten gallons, no less), and he chooses urinal number one. As I stood there staring at a tiled wall and telling myself to relax, he starts up a conversation. "I just saw a guy wearing the funniest t-shirt," he began. "It was a note from the planet Pluto. It said, 'Hey NASA, you're Mom thought I was big enough.'" After a moment of contemplation, I laughed out loud. Literally, I lol-ed.