Blog-azic

When I came to Mexico City, there was music reverberating in my head - a song from my dreams - but as I wandered Avenida Insurgentes, the sound faded. I thought about the Metro instead. One day, I went to Zocalo in the rain. There were endless streets of shops with anything one could want: dresses, shoes, underwear, food (of course), trinkets, cowboy clothes, crafts, electronics, jewelry, baskets. The stalls went up and down alleys. It was a market en masse. There were people en masse, too, crowding on the Metro, pushing against me so that there was no need to hold on as the train moved. Falling was impossible. Another day, I rode the Metro to Candesa, and walked without a map. I wound through the streets, past El Universidad de los Americas, past an aqua duct, until I saw a golden angel floating above a grassy knoll, cars circling around it. I stopped for a chocolate drink in a rich, hip barrio. There were clubs blasting music, storefronts filled with half naked mannequins (male

We took a trip to Oak Island, NC a few weeks back with some UNC grad students and rented a beach house for a "writing retreat." I didn't have any writing to do, so I took a couple instruments and spent a lot of time at the beach. Benji and I sat for hours in the sun with a chilly breeze. He was quite patient and watchful and didn't mind my violin or tin whistle. I've been playing the violin for a couple years now (two in June). Even so, the instrument is tough and I find myself squeaking more than I'd like. I played "Marching Through Georgia" and thought about the triumphant march to Savannah by Gen. Sherman and his army. It's nice to play some northern songs. I find most of the tunes I am drawn to are Southern. Susan and I hung out with the kids in the evenings. Dinner at the Thai restaurant, an impromptu recital, home brews, etc. Sunday I fiddled with a little birdie (I am told). Before we left, we grabbed lunch on the beach and broke i

https://tomazicc.tumblr.com/post/159094486609/painting-the-house-wearing-my-bibs I've had weeks of painting since we bought our house. Rhinestone, Light French Gray, Oragami White - these are the colors of my dreams. I'm a ghost in coveralls, bibs too big for me, hand-me-downs from the elder Tomazic, larger than life. There's a Zen in painting, long, slow rolls of the brush, up and down. I'm tuned into the electromagnetic pulse of the radio waves playing in another room. I'm painting a waveform. I'm painting S Town, John B McLemore, immortilizing him on the walls. As the sun wanes, as the house heats up, as hunger rumbles, I gather the pup and leave, back to the little old rental on Rogerson. Just a couple more weeks, and we'll be in the new house for good.