This post is about a part of Spain I’d never heard of … and it’s about my grandsons, too.
Yesterday, while listening to a local radio program about world reggae music, I was surprised to hear a reggae song described as Spanish, Celtic, and Galician. I’d never heard the terms “Spanish” and “Celtic” together in the same sentence. To me, Celtic meant Irish, Welsh, and Scottish. I couldn’t imagine a Spanish reggae song with a Celtic flair.
What’s more, I didn’t have the slightest idea what “Galician” meant. Curious, I Googled it and found a reference to a Galicia in eastern Europe. I thought I’d misheard the radio host and thought nothing more about it.
But then, later that evening, while reading a book about Spain (because I’m planning a trip there soon), I stumbled upon a map showing another Galicia – this one a region in the northwestern portion of the country … and the book said that Galicia’s language has Celtic roots.
Galicia is the bright pink region on this map, in the northwest corner of Spain.
Wow! I’d just learned something new about music, language, AND geography. I like learning new things. But today, in the car, when I asked my 10-year-old grandson Porter (who loves maps and history) if he’d ever heard of Galicia, the one in Spain, I learned even more.
Yes, he knew exactly where it was. He even expressed the opinion that the map of Spain would look much better if Galicia were part of Portugal!
He also already knew about Galicia’s Celtic ties, and when I wondered aloud how many languages were spoken in Spain, he mentioned not just Spanish, but Basque and Catalan, too.
After I told him I’d be visiting southern Spain soon, he said he thought there’d be a lot of history there because it was probably the oldest part of Spain. This led to a lively tutorial (by that I mean he tutored me) about Spain’s history, including key points like Charlemagne’s invasion and several Spanish conquests (Mexico, southwestern US, the Philippines, Cuba, and Equatorial Guinea). That’s right. My grandson knows something about the history of Equatorial Guinea, a small country in Africa.
Did I mention that he’s only 10 years old?
Meanwhile, his 6-year-old brother Elliot was quietly absorbing every word, and during a break in the conversation, he sweetly offered his own opinion:
“Grandma, when you come back from Spain, maybe you can tell us all about it … and if you get us anything while you’re there, you can give it to us then.”
Up until today, my main goals in traveling to Spain had been (1) brushing up on my Spanish conversational skills, (2) taking lots of awesome photos, and (3) steeping myself in Andalusian culture. But now, I have a much more important goal: finding a couple of really cool souvenirs for my grandsons.
My current writing project is a book about music. In mining the internet for information, I’ve sometimes unearthed facts that feel like sparkly gems – ones that light up my brain with ideas I wasn’t expecting. Here’s an example:
I’ve just learned that Leon Russell, a prolific musician who wrote and recorded one of my favorite songs, “A Song for You,” was mute as a young child. When he finally did speak, his first words were a complete sentence. He’d been watching a group of birds who were having some issues, and he asked:
“What’s the matter, little birdie, you cry?”
My daughter Ericaonce asked a similar question. At age three, while examining the magnetic letter Q stuck on our refrigerator, she wondered aloud:
“What’s the matter, O, are you crying?”
I was pleased to learn that my daughter and a famous musician had so much in common, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how similar their reactions had been.
Was it unusual for young Erica and young Leon to care about another’s feelings? I don’t think so. I believe all humans are born with the capacity for empathy. It’s probably helpful to our survival. If you’re more likely to care about your fellow creatures, they’re probably more likely to return the favor.
But there are other aspects of their responses that impressed me, and that I think are related to creativity:
1. Imagination
Both children demonstrated vivid imaginations. They didn’t see actual tears, but they imagined them, and their imaginations would bear fruit later in life. Leon would grow up to teach himself to play piano, despite having a congenitally weak right hand, because he could imagine himself being able to do so. Erica would eventually create her own art business without having formal art or business training at the time, because she could visualize her goal.
2. Confidence
Rather than asking IF something was the matter, both kids asked WHAT was the matter, indicating they were sure something was amiss. They had confidence in the conclusions they’d come to about what they’d observed.
3. Inquiring Minds
Both children were inquisitive. They didn’t hesitate to ask questions about something that concerned them.
4. Respect
Neither child asked “WHY are you crying?” Instead, they wanted to know “ARE you crying?” This showed a healthy respect for the right to acknowledge and name our own emotions. Maybe I’m going into it too deeply here, but I think it’s an important distinction.
5. Social Interaction
Rather than just filing their observations away, Erica and Leon communicated their concerns. I think this comes from a desire for social interaction, and from a place of caring. This outward stance might be a factor in creativity. Does this mean you have to be outgoing to be creative? Not necessarily, but I think maybe it helps to want to reach out and share your thoughts, concerns, and creations with others, and to help them, too.
I’ve certainly done a lot of thinking today about empathy and creativity, and all while sitting in a room by myself, working on a book … a book I hope someday will be shared with others … so I guess I’m reaching out, too.
And to borrow a phrase from a child I know (and one I don’t): “What’s the matter” with that?
Note: This post also appears on my new website, loribonati.com. It would be wonderful if you’d follow me there! I also have a new social media site at bluesky. (I’ve deleted my Twitter account.) My bluesky account is: @loribuffalo.bsky.social. I’d love to follow you back. Thanks!
I think there must be something in the air. Maybe it’s autumn. Or aliens. Or the fact that I haven’t had to mow my lawn in three weeks. Whatever it is, it’s causing me to throw myself into certain indoor projects with a vengeance. And while that means I’m getting things done, and enjoying all this work, it also means I’m staying up late and not getting enough sleep.
Maya has no trouble sleeping.
In the coming weeks, I’ll be blogging about what’s been keeping me so busy (for example, reading, writing, cooking, and packing for a trip to California where I’ll attend a writing workshop), but today I’m excited to tell you about my newest music project, the YouTube song video IF TIME CAN BEND.
If Time Can Bend began its life as a poem several years ago. It’s about astrophysics, and therefore it touches on relativity, planets, time travel, and string theory. Do I sound like I know what I’m talking about? If so, my effort to pull the wool over your eyes has been a complete success!
Seriously, though, I know just enough about these topics to be dangerous, so I recklessly decided to turn my pseudoscientific poem into a song. Then, even more recklessly, I boldly asked keyboardist Chuck Phillips to help me record it, and the rest is history. Or is it? Maybe it hasn’t been recorded yet? Aha! Now you’re starting to see what the song is about.
Here’s how I describe it on YouTube:
“This lush song based on Lori’s original poem about time will have your head spinning and your heart swooning. Physics never sounded so good! Original music & lyrics by Lori Bonati, with Lori on vocals & midi instruments, and Chuck Phillips on piano and bass.”
I’m not going to apologize for tooting my own horn in that description. First of all, there are absolutely NO HORNS in this song. And also, I’m kind of proud of it, to tell you the truth!
Okay, enough talking. Maybe you should just go check it out here: IF TIME CAN BEND. A big thank you to those of you who do.
By the way, you can like and comment on the video directly on YouTube, or you can just leave a comment below.
So, that’s one song video down, a few more to go, and then I might just sit back and relax for a while. Or not! I’ve got all those books to finish writing … oh well, as Governor Tim Walz says, “We’ll sleep when we’re dead!”
I love coincidences – apparently unrelated events that become connected, otherwise known as synchronicity. Well, this morning a coincidence popped up, and it was perfectly in sync with my day.
Let me set the stage.
It’s 10:30 on a Sunday morning. I’m still in my fuzzy pink bathrobe. My hair’s a mess. I have raccoon eyes, probably, although I haven’t checked myself in the mirror yet. I’m hiding behind an open door.
Image by Piyapong Saydaung @ Pixabay
What could possibly explain my situation, and my unkempt appearance?
It’s simply this: I was up late last night. I couldn’t help it. I’d spent hours reading. Playing guitar. Watching TV.
Doing a crossword puzzle, browsing YouTube, researching a literary agent online.
Cutting my hair.
Combing through my possessions for doodads to enhance my vendor table at a book fair next weekend.
And cleaning out two closets that suddenly seemed to be jam-packed with clothes I couldn’t believe I’d actually spent good money on, and never wear anymore.
Just an average Saturday night.
Is it any surprise, then, to find me cowering behind my back door late Sunday morning, with one extended hand on my dog’s leash, the other on the doorknob, awaiting the moment we were both safely back inside the house? I wasn’t hung over, just hung UP on one horrifying thought: What if my neighbors see me?
I knew if that happened, and if they asked if I was okay, I probably shouldn’t dive into the litany of activities I’ve just revealed to you: the playing, watching, puzzling, researching, cutting, combing and cleaning I’d spent hours on the night before. Better to just utter a simple excuse before ducking back inside my house. But what could I say? The words “I’m an artist” suddenly sprang to mind. After all, artists are allowed to stay up late and sleep in the next day.
But is that true? I asked myself. AM I an artist? No, absolutely not. Not really. Well, maybe. I just wasn’t sure.
Image by ArtsyBee @ Pixabay
Do artists cower behind doors, dressed in fuzzy pink bathrobes?
Why yes, I suddenly remembered, they do! I’d seen Michael Douglas do just that in Wonder Boys, where he plays an English teacher trying to write a novel. His bathrobe was fuzzy! And pink! (I think it was his wife’s, but that’s beside the point.) Hmm. The idea of calling myself an artist was starting to seem more plausible.
I ate a big breakfast, still ensconced in my robe, after which I listened to the audiobook I’d begun recently: Miracle and Wonder, by Malcolm Gladwell – an extended interview with musician Paul Simon.
When I came to the part where Simon was asked about his motivation to experiment with music, I was stopped in my tracks by his response:
I really didn’t like being called an artist. Until I was in my 40s, I didn’t accept that. I just felt like, no, I’m not an artist. And when I was in my 40s, I took courses around the time of Graceland … I said, well, actually, I AM an artist. It doesn’t mean I’m a GOOD artist, it’s just a personality type. Some people make up stuff all the time, they can’t help it, they make it up. But, you know, it doesn’t mean you’re a … you could be a bad artist, you could be a great artist! But it’s a kind of a type of person. – Paul Simon
I laughed out loud when I heard that! There’s your answer, I told myself. Paul Simon just spoke to you! Paul Simon had imposter syndrome, and he overcame it. And you should, too. You ARE an artist!
I’m no longer going to hide behind a figurative door, fearing to call myself an artist. No, I’m going to wave my fuzzy pink flag proudly. My art might not be great, or even good, but I AM making stuff up (and enjoying the process).
By now you’re probably wondering what selection of songs, TV shows, and books could possibly have kept me up and interested until the wee hours of Sunday morning. Well, here they are, in no particular order:
TV: The final episode of the Netflix series, All the Light We Cannot See. It’s just beautiful, all the way through. Great acting within a story that’s simultaneously deep, dark, and uplifting, based on Anthony Doerr’s lyrical, Pulitzer prize-winning novel by the same name. The blind woman who plays the part of Marie beat out thousands of sight-impaired actors for the role, despite the fact that she’d had no previous acting experience or training. And it was her first audition! Now that’s an artist!
Hardcover book: The List of Things that Never Change, by Rebecca Stead. It’s a wonderful book written for middle grade kids, about a girl with two dads who sees a shrink, wishes she had a sister, and never gets 10 out of 10 on a spelling test (and therefore never gets to eat lunch with her teacher on Fridays). That’s all I know about it so far, and it’s so good I had a hard time putting it down last night.
Audiobook: Miracle and Wonder, by Malcolm Gladwell. I highly recommend it for anyone who’s interested in music, creativity, songwriting, or Paul Simon.
Songs: The songs I practiced on my guitar (26 altogether) before watching TV included ones written by Gordon Lightfoot, Paul Simon, Steve Goodman, Neil Young, Bob Dylan, The Beatles, Jill Sobule, and me. I spent a significant portion of the time listening to recordings of Paul Simon playing Homeward Bound and Still Crazy, trying to copy his fingerings (but not succeeding too well). Nonetheless, the act of listening to the chords and trying to break them down into individual notes is, for me, both fascinating and rewarding.
Crossword Puzzle: The Sunday New York Times. It was around 12:05 a.m., and technically Sunday morning, when I started it. I finished it today during breakfast.
YouTube: After searching “how to set up book festival vendor table,” I watched How to Create the Best Vendor Booth for a Pop-Up Shop by Monica Razak, and it inspired me to run around the house searching for props for displaying my books, crafts, business cards, etc. This somehow led to the cleaning out of closets. I’m not sure why. An artist works in mysterious ways.
Recap: In Episode 1, we learned all about my close encounters of the reptile kind – starting with my childhood pet, Elvis the turtle, and progressing to all of the snakes and lizards (no, that’s not a euphemism) that I encountered while living in Tucson, Arizona.
And now the moment you’ve been waiting for: Episode 2, in which you will learn what a reptile actually made me do.
It was 2018, and I was meeting with my writing critique partners, Elaine A. Powers and Susan Oyler. We meet biweekly to tear apart kindly support each other’s writing efforts. Elaine (author, biologist, and conservationist) had just mentioned something about an iguana.
“Rock iguanas are endangered on the Cayman Islands,” she told us. “They could use our help.”
She was talking about Cyclura nubila caymanensis, a.k.a. the Sister Isles iguana. Its population is dwindling significantly due to human actions like construction, the introduction of invasive animals, and careless driving.
“But what can I do from here?” I wondered. And then it hit me. I could write a song! I’m no Bob Dylan, but I do believe that when the times they are a-changin’, it might be time for a new tune.
A frog is an amphibian, not a reptile.
Perhaps it was my childhood exposure to my brother’s pet reptiles that had something to do with it. Or maybe tiny Elvis (who’d “left the building” several years prior) was calling to me from wherever turtles go when they die.
Anyway, I got to work.
First, I stole the melody from a song I’d already written.* If you steal from yourself, it isn’t really stealing, is it?
(* Note: THAT song, the one I stole from, is on Facebook. I wrote it for my brother and sister-in-law as a housewarming gift. If you’re on Facebook, you can watch my sister Sue (flute) and I performing it here:
Next, I added lyrics about an iguana who’s being run off the road by bad drivers.
After recording the new song, “I’m an Iguana,” (with Chuck Phillips on keyboard), Elaine’s illustrator created a video to go with it, and it was uploaded to Elaine’s YouTube channel. You can view it here:
I think it turned out really cute – almost as cute as Elvis the turtle.
And because so many people seemed to like the song, I didn’t just stop there. I used most of the lyrics for “I’m an Iguana” in a picture book, “Iguana in the Road,” illustrated by Diane Ronning and published in 2023. You can learn more about it here:
So you see, it’s true. When it comes to one of my latest songs, videos, and books, I’m not really responsible. No, a reptile – specifically, Cyclura nubila caymanensis, the Sister Isles iguana – the “Iguana in the Road” – made me do it.
And, in the next exciting episode of “A Reptile Made Me Do It,” you’ll learn about how ANOTHER reptile made me produce a song, a video, and a book. Stay tuned for the “Desert Spiny Lizard Blues.”
This is the story of how a reptile motivated me to write two songs and four books. Yes, that’s right! A reptile made me do it!
How, you ask, did a critter known for tucking its head into its shell become my muse? Well, it’s a long story, but I might as well pull my head out of my – er – shell, and start telling it.
As a young child, I was never particularly drawn to reptiles. Don’t get me wrong. I thought Elvis, our tiny pet turtle, was very cute, in a turtley kind of way.
See what I mean?
And I liked most other animals. I loved dogs, cats, and birds. I once caught a salamander with my bare hands. I didn’t mind picking up nightcrawlers and threading their wriggling bodies onto fishhooks. But I wasn’t about to pet a lizard or a snake.
No, I wasn’t enraptured by scaly reptiles the way my little brother Rafa was. In fact, he had two pet snakes. He kept them in his bedroom. I never entered his bedroom after that.
Maybe that was why Rafa kept snakes in his bedroom.
Here’s me at age 12, after accidentally entering his room while sleepwalking:
Just kidding. I didn’t really mind the snakes, as long as they stayed in their glass cases, which they did. I figured it was just a phase my brother was going through.
But it wasn’t just a phase. He continued to be fascinated by reptiles, and has cared for many more over the years. It’s true. Just ask his pet newt, Figgy.
Eventually, he – my brother, not Figgy – became a vertebrate zoologist, a scientist who studies animals with backbones.
And speaking of backbones, I’ve managed to grow a pretty strong one when it comes to seeing snakes and lizards. I sort of had to, after moving to Tucson. Snake encounters are pretty common there.
During my first month in Tucson, I saw two rattlesnakes sunning themselves in my apartment complex parking lot. I came upon at least three while hiking, and another while riding my bike. Once, a rattler even reared up and rattled at my hiking partner and me. I learned to stay calm during these experiences, and to give them a wide berth.
Then there were the lizards. They were everywhere outdoors, including on walking paths built for humans. They were never underfoot, though, and never a threat. I’m sure they were more afraid of me than I was of them.
I knew I was a real Tucsonan when I finally learned to tell some of the different lizard species apart. I even photographed them, when they weren’t moving too fast. In fact, I put some of those photos in my latest book, “I’m a Desert Spiny Lizard.”
But now I’m getting ahead of myself. I need to explain how I went from having a pet turtle named Elvis to writing two songs and four books about reptiles, and I’m not doing a very good job of that.
I think it’s because I like looking up silly pictures of animals and sticking them in my posts.
Right now, I need to go give some love to my pet, a dog named Maya. I’ll be back with Episode 2 soon, in which you will learn how I met a reptile conservationist who, along with Elvis, inspired me to write my first song about a reptile.
Note: The following post was inspired by a writing prompt by Scott, whose website is Mental Defecation. I don’t mean that as an insult. That’s actually the name of his blog!
This month, Scott provided 30 song-related writing prompts for November. His prompt for November 18th was to write about (a) a song you love but rarely listen to, or (b) a song from the year you were born.
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I’ve decided to write about a song I love but rarely listen to. It’s one I first heard about 12 years ago, when it was performed by Oscar Fuentes, a singer-songwriter from Guadalajara who now lives in Tucson, Arizona. The piece, written by León Chávez Teixeiro, a Mexican composer of social justice songs, has a very unusual name: 15 metros, 3 pulgadas, 8 octavos, 16.
Why I Love this Song
I love its melody, its chords, the spoken part that comes in about halfway through it, the rising intensity that really takes off in the last minute, and the way my friend Oscar sings it with so much feeling. Most of all, I love the emotions it brings out in me. The song just inexplicably touches my soul. And all of that without my knowing what the song is about.
The words are sung in Spanish, and only in Spanish. As far as I know, they’ve never been translated. And even though I have a pretty good working knowledge of Spanish, I know I’m missing a whole lot here. I think the lyrics are probably like poetry … the kind of poetry whose meaning isn’t all that obvious.
By reading a few YouTube comments (in Spanish) I’ve been able to gather that it’s a letter to someone from a worker who’s been injured on a job. But I think it’s also about love, loss, pain, and maybe even corruption. And at the end, there’s an invitation to “visit me, if you remember your friend, and I’ll give you a cup of hot coffee.” I hope I have that right. I’m guessing that, since the songwriter, Teixeiro, was known for his social activism, it’s probably a political song.
But I still don’t understand the significance of the numbers (15 meters, 3 inches, 8/8, 16) that are sung only twice during the song, and that make up the song’s title. If anyone can explain the song’s meaning to me, please leave a comment below.
Why I Rarely Listen to It
The best way to hear this song, in my opinion, is to go to one of Oscar’s gigs and hear him perform it live. But since I no longer live in Tucson, that option is out.
I do have his CD, “Esto Que Ves,” which includes this song, but I just haven’t been listening to my CDs lately. Life has gotten in the way. Isn’t that sad? I’m going to have to change my ways. I’ve been missing out on so many good musical moments.
And now that I’ve found a brand new video of Oscar performing it live in his studio (yay!) I’ll be listening to it a lot more often.
What I’m Doing Right Now
Listening to Oscar singing 15 metros, 3 pulgadas, 8 octavos, 16, of course. He’s accompanied by his music partner Mark Anthony Febbo, another talented Tucson musician.
I highly recommend that you click the link below and do the same. If you do, be sure to TURN IT UP LOUD, especially toward the end.
You can also hear a wonderful recording of the song’s composer, León Chávez Teixeiro, performing it at age 83, here (with a beautiful piano accompaniment):
This is post #18 of the month-long challenge known as #NaBloPoMo or #NanoPoblano. To follow my blog, please click below where it says “Follow loristory.”
And, to read more of the NanoPoblano posts written by the supportive blogging group “Cheer Peppers,” click the image below.
Featured image (girl with guitar) by Saydung89 @ pixabay.com
In my previous three posts (Souvenirs, Parts 1, 2, and 3), I reminisced about the past. I also told you about my NOT terrible, NOT horrible, GOOD, in fact VERY GOOD day spent with my grandson. But I still haven’t gotten to what I did that night … and I’d love to tell you about that now.
My Dilemma
My old friend Alex and new friend Hanna, both excellent blues musicians, were playing a gig downtown with local blues legend Joe Beard. I really, really wanted to go, but I hadn’t found anyone to go with – and for me, walking into a bar alone is just awkward. In fact, I hate it.
In the midst of my angst, I decided to check Facebook. That’s when I noticed that fellow blogger Ra Avis (“Cheer Pepper” Captain and blogger extraordinaire at rarasaur.com) had reached out to the NanoPoblano blogging group and asked how we all were doing. After all, it was Day 10 of our monthly blog-a-thon, and she knew we were probably needing a virtual hug.
After whining to her about being tired, I opened up about my dilemma. To go or not to go, that was the question. I definitely was leaning toward not going. I told myself I was tired, I’d had a long day, it was dark out, where would I park, etc., etc.. But the real problem was walking into a bar alone.
I vacillated. Somehow, in the course of writing down my thoughts in response to Ra’s thoughtful query, I found the answer. It didn’t hit me all at once, but I could almost see it congealing before my eyes as I typed, like a courage ball that kept growing bigger and bigger. I almost dropped it, but at the very last minute, I held it in my hands just long enough to tell myself, “maybe,” and then “why not,” and finally, “just do it.” “Okay, I’m going,” I told Ra.
I don’t remember her exact reply, but I know she said “go” and “be safe” and “let us know how it was.” It felt like she had my back, and it really made a difference.
As it turned out, I found a parking spot right by the door and entered the very crowded Abilene Bar and Lounge just as the band started to play their first song. I felt good, I smiled, I walked in with my head up and eyes straight ahead. And it was all good. Nothing bad happened! I’ll do it again, especially to hear my friends play. But next time, I’ll try and find someone to go with sooner, rather than later!
The Band
Inside, I was surprised to see rows of chairs set up near the stage. Sitting there seemed much less stressful than hanging around at the bar, plus there was an empty chair in row 2. I took it, and I stayed put for the next 2 hours (except for once, when I did visit the bar. I mean, it was a bar, after all!)
The music was really, really good. I was so glad I went.
Many thanks to Ra and the Cheer Peppers for supporting me, and to all of you who read my posts. I’m really grateful to have an outlet for my thoughts. Writing can sort things out, and sometimes it even helps solve dilemmas, too.
Here are some photos from last night.
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This is post #12 of the month-long challenge known as #NaBloPoMo or #NanoPoblano. To follow my blog, please click below where it says “Follow loristory.”
And, to read more of the NanoPoblano posts written by the supportive blogging group “Cheer Peppers,” click the image below.
Another day, another ticket stub, or maybe two or three, to talk about. But which ones? I’ll go with opera, rock, and comedy, in that order.
And no, I’m not talking about a funny rock opera, although that would be awesome. Has it been done? I don’t think so. Somebody, please write one.
Metropolitan Opera, New York City, 2002
Last time, I told you about seeing “Rent” in May, 2001. Well, a few months later, my daughter Erica and I found ourselves back in the Big Apple, and this time we were staying with my cousin Gina, an actress and dancer who lives about a block from where the story of “Rent” took place.
Gina was appearing on stage at the Metropolitan Opera, one of about a dozen dancers in Strauss’ “Die Frau Ohne Schatten,” and we had tickets. Walking into the classy Met was an unforgettable experience. Everything seemed so polished. We climbed several steps to get to our seats in one of the balconies. It was probably the top tier (the cheap seats). By the time we’d gotten there, my daughter had twisted her ankle.
Photo by WikiImages @ pixabay.com
The opera itself was unforgettable. It isn’t the music that I remember, but the sets, which were dazzlingly detailed. There was one scene that required an underworld and a celestial world, and this effect was achieved by means of a huge mirror that split the set horizontally.
I recall the dancers, too. From my seat in the upper atmosphere, though, I couldn’t really tell which one was my cousin. And I didn’t understand the plot, either. The words were in German, and even though they were translated into English in real time, on individual screens that sat directly in front of each person’s seat, it was like watching a movie with subtitles – a movie written in the early 1900s, no less.
We had to leave during intermission. My daughter’s ankle had begun to swell. Oddly enough, the next time I went to New York, I twisted my ankle, too. I’ll save that story for another day!
Jeff Beck, New York State Fair, Syracuse, 1999
I remember little about this concert, probably because I’m not a Jeff Beck fan. I know he’s thought of as one of the world’s finest guitarists, a “guitarist’s guitarist,” even. Maybe someday my taste will change, but for now I have to say he’s not my cup of tea. I wish we’d gone to see Lucinda Williams, who also performed there that year, instead. Britney Spears was at the fair that year, too … at the age of 17.
Late Night with Conan O’Brien, NBC Television Studios, 2001
My kids and I were big Conan fans (boy, is he ever funny!), so for our 2001 trip to New York, I got us tickets to his TV show. It was exciting for all of us. Conan came out and introduced himself to individual members of the audience before the show began. He stood right in front of me (boy, is he ever tall!), and shook hands with one of my daughters. Then, during his monologue, they cheered extra loud, and his response (“Thanks, ladies!”) was directed at them. Unfortunately, he put little air quotes around the word “ladies,” which was both funny and not funny. (We have it on tape.)
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This is post #11 of the month-long challenge known as #NaBloPoMo or #NanoPoblano. To follow my blog, please click below where it says “Follow loristory.”
And, to read more of the NanoPoblano posts written by the supportive blogging group “Cheer Peppers,” click the image below.
We interrupt this Souvenirs blogcast to bring you this important message:
I had a good day.
It began at 6:30 a.m., when I awoke to the rude realization that I’d only gotten 5.5 hours of sleep. (Thanks, #NanoPoblano!) Once I decided to skip my 8:00 yoga class, though, I felt much better about life. I turned over and went back to sleep for another hour.
Next, I had breakfast and picked up my 7-year-old grandson, whom I would be watching for the rest of the day. (It was a teacher conference day; no school.)
First, we played a game of chess at my house – and when I say chess, I’m using the term loosely, since it included about two dozen plastic Army men surrounding the board and another dozen or so squeezed onto the board alongside the regular pieces. (I just go with the flow.)
Sometimes we made some crazy moves. I remember one of the knights (mine) moving in a straight line like a rook toward the end of the game, for example. We laughed a lot. By making sure not to stress him out since he’s just learning how to play, I’ve learned from him not to take the game seriously. Kids can teach us so much.
Of course, we had to have a mock funeral for the pieces on the losing side (mine). After the ceremony (during which he made the pieces miraculously come back to life), we went to McDonalds, something I haven’t done in 25 years. Yes, it was a good day for bending rules.
No, not that kind of bending!
Then we took a 2-hour tour of a state historic site, Ganondagan, a Seneca and Haudenosaunee (Iroquois) Indian cultural center that houses a museum, longhouse, hiking trails, and more. We both learned a lot and really enjoyed our time there.
Now that I’ve spent so much time telling you about my Not Terrible, Not Horrible, Good, Very Good Day, I haven’t left much room for Souvenirs, Part 2, the next installment of my series about concert tickets I found the other day. But here’s a little something:
Jackson Browne, Solo Concert, Hochstein Music School, 1996
It was my second or third time seeing Jackson Browne in concert, but what made this time so special was the fact that it was a solo concert in a really small auditorium (less than 850 seats). Also, while accompanying himself on piano, Jackson Browne forgot the words to one of his own songs. I’ll never forget the deer-in-the-headlights look on his face when that happened. This made a huge difference to me when, years later, I started performing myself. I had stage fright and was always afraid I’d forget the lyrics and freeze up on stage, but telling myself that even Jackson Browne could forget the words to a song helped a lot.
So, how was your day?
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This is post #10 of the month-long challenge known as #NaBloPoMo or #NanoPoblano. To follow my blog, please click below where it says “Follow loristory.”
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