October 29, 2010. Friday.
Situation: Moi tells me that all the animals slept with her last night, Mway, Squeak, and Woody. “It was a peacable kingdom,” she says. “Good,” I say. This weekend we’re going to a nephew’s wedding (Moi’s side) in Upstate New York, have even taken off from work (we’ve never done this before). I’m looking forward to taking a trip somewhere, plus Jazz’s birthday is on Sunday, she’ll be there, and it will be nice to be with her then. I don’t know what my schedule for walks will be Saturday, Sunday. I have to work today, and will be leaving sometime shortly. Don’t get home till close to 5. Mway’s pacing.
State of the Path: Can’t find her stick, go back inside, look in music room. Moi says, “She’s lost all her sticks. I cut some new ones from the lilac bushes.” On the way to get one of those, find the birch branch. Maple by the pool has lost most its leaves. Stick to main path. Rain clouds on the horizon, but blue overhead. A rain drop or two in my face. My new walking pants don’t fit right, slide down my ass. More of the goldenrod has more dry brown leaves than green. With many weeds gone, gill-of-the-ground, though flowerless, on display again. From the distance, maples by the wigwams appear to still have yellow leaves, but get down there, find a dramatic loss. Beneath bare branches, prop sticks against Moi’s pole, pee before expanse of dry, crinkled maple leaves on the ground. Oaks still have their leaves, as does a big maple down by the creek. At log jam, stop, startled: a new wildflower along the path (if it’d been there before, surely I would’ve seen it). Small; two clusters of teensy-petaled yellow goldrenrod-like flowers, one brownish on top; soft, oval leaves. (Moi had mentioned that a wildflower had made the news recently, a poisonous plant now supposedly in bloom, “Snake something.” Check snake names in Audubon: wasn’t broom snakeweed, wasn’t black or white snakeroot, nor Seneca snakeroot. Leaf through yellow flower section: find nothing.
State of the Creek: Walking along black winding, nearly immobile stream, startled to see what looks like a willow sapling leaning over water from opposite bank (with plenty of green leaves still on it), its top roots a gnarled clump sitting above ground. Could it be an offshoot from the willow Moi had planted? Look for the planting, near the Boy’s paintball barrier: its leaves are mostly gone.
The Fetch: Stand in spot I had been, toss stick into untrampled goldenrod. Fuzz flies as Mway lunges. When she starts chomping at stick face to face with me, I first tell her “good enough,” then considering it may be few days before next walk, play “Put it down” twice. What looks like mosquitoes flit in path along sumacs. Back in house, don’t bother to put walking clothes in drier, but do take what turns out to be a long shower.
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The gig I mention today is, of course, the Saturday night gig Moi and I have had for some 18 years. That’s when you see us both washing up and getting dressed late in the afternoon, Moi putting on her various rustic outfits. The restaurant we play at still has not reopened since the flood, though Katie is hoping to reopen the first weekend in November. While you’re busy writing your novel, I might as well take the time to describe a curious gig I had the other night. This was for a state grant awards ceremony held at a restored movie theatre, the recipients of which awards included Randy and Tanya Wells for their documentary on Wade, the self-described whore. (Wade was also apparently a recipient of another grant award, applied for by another musician, a friend of ours, Mona, flautist and serial entrepreneur). The plans for the ceremony (which Randy apparently helped to make, to the consternation of Mona, who likes to be involved in plans herself) included a showing of a silent film as people milled in and a performance by Tanya, Wade, Randy, and Mona at the conclusion of the ceremony. Randy managed to hire me for the event, both to play along to the film and to join the award recipients at the end (it’s a good thing he did the latter, because neither Tanya nor Randy could remember what key Tanya sings “Autumn Leaves” in). However, I didn’t know for sure I had the gig until a few days prior, and I had no idea what film was to be shown. To prepare for it I could do nothing but practice my stride techniques on standards of the 20’s and perhaps learn a few tunes of the silent film repertoire, such as “Hearts and Flowers” and the familiar theme from the “William Tell Overture.” Finally, the night before Randy told me he had selected Charlie Chaplin’s “Gold Rush” (though he thought he might substitute “Modern Times”). The restored movie theatre had no piano in house, so I had to hump in my Yamaha P-80 digital keyboard (without a working sustain pedal). As soon as I heard the electronic timbre of the keyboard through the PA system, I despaired of playing any stride tune properly on the high-tech space-age machine. Before I knew it “Modern Times” was flashing on the screen. I played a melody of my own half-assedly through the opening credits, then I was laid bare before the shifting scenes of men rushing to a factory and Chaplin wrenching widgets on an assembly line. I gave up the thought of playing any tunes and began improvising programmatic sound effects to Chaplin’s visual pratfalls, managing remarkably well to fill in the silence, so well, I thought, that I could make a career out of playing piano for silent films, were any such career available.
“Silence, exile, and cunning.” Finished with “D.” Ready for “E.” MM.
Might as well warn you. No posts coming tomorrow or the next day. In anticipation of your asking for them, I’ll set out “F” and “G” respectively.
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