June 2004

Back at Starbucks for another morning to get my work done and watch the world go by. It’s been an interesting morning so far… I didn’t want to get up, so I laid in bed for an extra 15 minutes or so, until the phone rang. It was my dear ol’ mom. Bless her heart, she’s in her 80’s and still smart as a whip (well as smart as she ever was) and gets around good and all. But she calls me this morning and tells me that she’s having a stroke (maybe). Now at her age, anything is possible, but I can’t tell you how many of these calls I’ve had in my life. I tell her I’ll come by and check on her after I drop off my daughter for summer school. So I hop in the shower, scrub my nether regions (I Know, more information than you need to know) and head out the door. We jump in the car and back up out the driveway, but something feels strange. I’ve felt this kind of thing before… it kind of feels…. like, like…. a flat tire. Well, no shit, it’s a flat tire. Smack dab in the middle of my radial is a box cutter blade. Damn terrorists. Fifteen minutes later I got the flat fixed (after listening to the Mexican construction workers building the condo next door whistling and yelling “punta” at the women on the beach) and it’s off I go. On the way I call mom and she’s much better so I don’t need to come by. I’ll bet it was the aftereffect of taking three of those pain pills yesterday that left her so loopy. And all this happened before nine o’clock this morning.

I get email from time to time that’s not spam. Believe it or not it’s true. I once got an email from Heather Carolin. I shit you not. She googled her name and my site came up. She saw that I had posted a picture of her on my web site and sent me a note to thank me for doing so and that she was working on putting together her own web site. I responded with an email that sounded like I was taking through a paper bag (not unlike how my response would have sounded if I would have talked to her in person). Maybe I’ll drop her a note the next time I’m “on the coast.” And we’ll hang out at my beach house and snort coffee creamer or something.

This morning I opened an email from Lafe who had read yesterdays post about my songwriting frustrations. Damn nice of him too do so. Ole’ Lafe thinks that I’ve got some Woody Guthrie qualities in my songwriting. Now I don’t have to tell you that that’s about the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me in the vast pool of confusion that is my life. He also thinks I should write a tune about my frustrations with where folk music is these days and how it’s all about politics and “runnin’ each other down.” Good Idea. But I’m afraid if I did I might turn into a real life Bob Roberts or something. You know, we’re all just one step away from becoming Emma Goldman or William F. Buckley. And the thought of Buckley swingin’ an old Kalamazoo just gives me he heebee jeebies. According to Lafe:

I hear the woody influence in your songs. He was a singing newspaperman… a singing photographer… and you have that quality also, along with a slightly twisted sense of humor.

Thanks for the words Lafe. I really do appreciate the note.

John Lennon’s “Nothing’s gonna change my world” is playing on the radio now. Unfortunately it’s being done by someone else. But at least they aren’t butchering the damn thing too much. I guess in the end that’s all we can ask for. That we or someone else “Don’t butcher it too much.” One of the little notes I’ve got scribbled on a piece of paper somewhere for a song that I thought might be worthwhile writing at one point contains the line: “Everyone’s just trying to leave their mark on the world. And all we’re left with is a world of scars.” Like ripple in a pond…. so are the days of our lives. Can’t wait too see what happens today. It’s still only 9am.

jf