November 1, 2010. Monday.
Situation: We arrived home last night around six; Barb, who sat with the animals for the weekend, was still at the house. Mway greeted us at the door, but I didn’t take her out because Barb had thrown stick with her already in the late afternoon. Earlier that day (which was Halloween and Jazz’s birthday) we took Jazz and Matt into Rochester to visit the very site where Jazz was born, on the street in an ambulance in front of what was our apartment on P_____ Avenue. Took plenty of photos, and at the suggestion of someone from the hotel where she had been staying, Jazz placed a candle down at the site. So far today no work has come in for me to do; I’ll have to keep checking my emails. On Friday night, hours after my walk with Mway, Moi discovered another tick on me; it wasn’t embedded too deeply. She pulled it out, and I took another doxycycline. Right now Woody has been crawling all over the furniture in the office here, poking his nose in my coffee cup; Squeak has come in, trying to decide whether or not to hop on my lap, but now she’s chasing Woody around instead. Mway is barking as Moi is getting ready to take her out. Eventually work does come in; get home a little after 5. Though she usually doesn’t for me, Mway barks as I’m putting on my gloves and helmet. Moi gives me insect spray, yells at me for spraying it inside. Find birch branch in music room, where Barb, concerned that it might have been put in the wrong place, told us Mway had put it.
State of the Path: Sun low in sky. Mway sniffs along one side of outbuilding. The field is a field of fuzz, very few green goldenrod leaves left. Behind Moi’s wigwam something I never noticed before: one oak amidst the maples, hanging tight onto its brown leaves. Sunlight blocks my periphery of vision as I walk through bug land. The bare low branches of the black oaks seem to have pinny twigs; perhaps they are pin oaks after all. Near some honeysuckles, I see a chestnut leaf on the ground, then a few more; look up – see nothing like a chestnut oak around. Mway veers down toward the plank, but I turn to go through the bare “chokeberries”; she runs to catch up with me. Along the ridge, realize I forgot to look for the new wildflower I saw Friday; decide not to walk back. Feel itch near my sideburn; touch with my fingers but discover no little body on my skin.
State of the Creek: My long shadow creeps and jumps along the creek bank, then alights on a green honeysuckle, where it slowly grows in size until it disappears when I pass the bush. The black water turns orange in the pools ahead of me, until I reach the orange spot, when it becomes a reflection of the tall orange oaks.
The Fetch: Stand with back against the sun, my former spot. Mway’s bark has a childish squeal to it. She is turning the track in the middle of the clearing to mud. After numerous fetches, we play “Put it down” about four times. In the house, throw clothes in drier and have Moi inspect my body.
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I’m back at my post. Let me know if you want the “H” volume. I should tell you that I’m starting to get concerned about all these papers scattered about the floor of my office.
This is nothing you need to worry your little head about. I’m keeping track of where everything is. Ready for “H.” MM.
Two asute comments that Wade made about himself at our gig this past Sunday, which will never make it into the documentary about him. On a break a young man enchanted by his playing came up to him and said, “Man, you got style.” Wade replied, “Thanks. But maybe not style, more like a bag of clichés.” I forget now what the second comment was.
This year on her birthday Jazz and Matt paid us a visit, and Moi made Jazz her favorite meal of shrimp and rice and her favorite dessert, pumpkin pie. Jazz has not yet found a new job, and she keeps on accumulating musical instruments. Her latest acquisition is a set of electric drums. Also, Moi gave her an electric guitar that Moi had bought many years ago but never played. So Jazz now has an acoustic guitar, an electric guitar, a set of electric drums, a violin, a harp, a Casio keyboard, and a Yamaha Clavinova keyboard with a middle C that sticks (I gave her the latter several years ago, but she would like me to take it back so she can make room for her drums). After we ate, Moi broke out her new Irish banjo that she bought a couple weeks ago. When she saw it, Jazz cried, “Oh, I’d like to have one of those.” Jazz took out her violin, and Moi retuned it and rubbed down the bow with rosin. While Moi messed around with her banjo, Jazz tried playing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” on her violin, fishing for notes, and giving up before she reached the bridge. “Oh,” she sighed, setting down the violin,” I like having all these instruments. I only wish I had some musical talent.”
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