Booties, Surfing, Ruminations

My feet are wearing these hand knit booties… I love the colors—black, neon green,black, plum,black, burgundy and sweet pink…followed by more black. For some reason, I have always been attracted to stripes, for pants…rarely do I find stripes in footwear. Plus, they make me feel so mysteriously Nordic; I think I could have bought attachable snowshoes, slipped them on, then walked right out into the c-c-coldest tundra and still survived. These puppies keep the dogs warm!

I just finished surfing, looking at other people’s websites. I hardly get to do that,
and it’s a surreal way to find out what other musicians/friends/heroes are doing.
Stina Nordenstam is such an unknown singer, which is sad… she is
a rare voice in a noisy world. Her site is like getting to visit the voice in her brain…a quiet entry, slow flashes of memory and color.

I thought I’d peek in on Terri Hendrix, Trish Murphy, Nanci Griffith (not a lot of thought put into the one I saw), Lucinda Williams, Eels, Bjork, Billy Bragg and Jana Stanfield. I also tried to go to visit Bob Schneider…what came up was either a list of odds and ends Bob endorses, or a real estate site. Not sure what that was.

My site is about to undergo some changes. Sort of like rearranging the house, you might say. It must be because I’m turning 41. And I keep cleaning out the closets. Cleaning out the clothes. Throwing out/recycling/re-gifting things that once seemed so important. Moving away from this and leaning towards that. Whittling away at what doesn’t fit my soul to finding what feels comfy and real, loose and soft.

I’ve never really been big into birthdays, but this year I feel a tad melancholy about being closer to 50. Not like I’m dreading it, mind you. 50 sounds fine.
I’m sure when I look down at my hands at 50 I’ll like them more than I do now, they’ll just be even more wrinkly, beat up, historical documents of what I’ve been choosing to do with my time.

It’s just…where did the time go? At 13, I remember I this big, chunky metal necklace on a disco-like gold chain that was yelling, “1-3-!” The numbers were
HUGE! with yellow enamel paint. I don’t think I actually ever wore this ridiculous gift except at the moment it was placed around my neck (with someone smiling down at me as if to say, “Aren’t I clever?”) I will never forget the feeling of actually FEELING the weight of 13 because of that moment. The weight of it all.
The world seemed vast and unexplored. My ship was something I hadn’t gotten a ticket to, yet. Maybe time stopped for me and I’m really still 13, only now I’m out to sea, commanding the mateys and swabbing the poop deck, seeing shore in sight, just not wanting to end the slapping of the waves, the smell of the salt, the
joy of adventure.

My God, what’s going to happen next?! I need some Visine. My eyes are all dried up.

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