Bad blogger. Bad!

Ok. So keeping up with a blog turns out to be easier when one is more busy than when one has nothing positive to report. However, here is an update since the fall, some of which I hope to expand upon and illustrate.

Halloween Party was a great success, not only because the Sox win in Game 3 of World Series, but because our spirited and creative guests survived unscathed.

Jerry spent the fall getting ready for The Revels, which wraps up this weekend. His efforts lead to great accomplishments, such as learning many lyrics in other languages and how to get to Harvard Square in a snowstorm.

The Christmas Revels 2007 have a Balkan theme. The show is spectacular and fun, a lot like Balkan Camp but with more clothes and less alcohol.

I finally got a new job after four interviews and six months of waiting. It took all my restraint not to mention that I planned my wedding in less time than it took to fill that position, but as we know, holding one's tounge is paramount in the workplace.

Christmas was also lovely with many great opportunities to visit and eat, the things we do best in our family, oh, and sing.

More later.

On The Road again

I visited Lowell today to see the "original" scroll, the first draft of Jack Keroac's On The Road. I haven't really been a Kerouac fan, but felt it was my duty as a writer and Lowellian. Having tried a few times to read On The Road, Dharma Bums and Town and the City, I was disappointed that none of them grabbed me, and I was still missing what all the fuss is about. I'm not old enough to know the people who say he was nothing but a bloated drunken bum, but there seem to be more memories in Lowell of his vomit than of his contribution to literature or history. I own my share of black turtlenecks, and enjoy jazz and a poetry reading, but felt a little guilty that as a Lowellian, I never felt the need to ride the Kerouac bandwagon, but I wasn't ready to dismiss it either.

So before I left for the exhibit today, I read Louis Menand's article in The New Yorker, Drive, He Wrote. I'm no scholar, and have apparently been buying into the stereotype of The Beats, and not known them well enough. Bop is the best. I've read my Ginsburg and my Corso etc. but didn't know much about them other than their well publicized exploits. Menand's article made two points that sent my view of Kerouac right over the falls.

On defining The Beat Generation, Menand writes, "Irony was the the highbrow virtue of the day, and the Beats had none." At this, I realized that I never quite got the Kerouac novels because I expected that irony, because you almost always do with what is established as "literature." Add to that Kerouac's staus as spokesman for the Beats, however reluctant, and all I could ever wonder was "What is he trying to be?" But without the irony, his work suddenly gains a sincerity I'm sorry I missed, and look forward to revisiting.

The second interesting point in the article was that the scroll, in all its sinlge-spaced persistence, was actually edited again and again over 6-10 years before it was published. But it's not just that the book wasn't actually coughed up in the legendary caffinated 21 days. It's that Kerouac planned his road trips specifically as fodder for his work, and then very deliberately chose the "this happened then that happened format," maybe not only-or not at all-as a rebellion against form, but to be true to form. "The scroll was therefore a restriction: it was a way of defining form, not a way of avoiding form," Menand writes.

Reading this made me so happy. Suddenly I can recognize more than the cobblestoned landscape of Kerouac's stories. Now he's just a writer in love with humanity, specifically humanity in America in an era I didn't know. Perhaps he was simply interested in defining life as he knew it at the time, a literary goal I hope to share.

Now that the search for irony and the presumption of pretense was gone, I began to see Kerouac the man and the writer through the exhibit I visited yesterday and not only began to see what all the fuss is about, but felt like maybe I could be a part of it someday too.

Maybe by the time I write the novel of our generation, global warming will have made us The Heat Generation. The Scroll's next stop is The New York Public Library, where many of his notes will be included in the exhibit.

Telling the true story of the world in interior monolog

Here is the text of what I read at the Kerouac exhibit as what he was trying to do. And that's all writing ever is, is it not? It's a try.

Jack Kerouac's

BELIEF & TECHNICQUE FOR MODERN PROSE
LIST OF ESSENTIALS

1. Scribbled secret notebooks, and wild typewritten pages, for yr own joy
2. Submissive to everything, open, listening
3. Try never get drunk outside yr own house
4. Be in love with yr life
5. Something that you feel will find its own form
6. Be crazy dumbsaint of the mind
7. Blow as deep as you want to blow
8. Write what you want bottomless from bottom of the mind
9. The unspeakable visions of the individual
10. No time for poetry but exactly what is
11. Visionary tics shivering in the chest
12. In tranced fixation dreaming upon object before you
13. Remove literary, grammatical and syntactical inhibition
14. Like Proust be an old teahead of time
15. Telling the true story of the world in interior monolog
16. The jewel center of interest is the eye within the eye
17. Write in recollection and amazement for yourself
18. Work from pithy middle eye out, swimming in language sea
19. Accept loss forever
20. Believe in the holy contour of life
21. Struggle to sketch the flow that already exists intact in mind
22. Don't think of words when you stop but to see picture better
23. Keep track of every day the date emblazoned in yr morning
24. No fear or shame in the dignity of yr experience, language & knowledge
25. Write for the world to read and see yr exact pictures of it
26. Bookmovie is the movie in words, the visual American form
27. In praise of Character in the Bleak inhuman Loneliness
28. Composing wild, undisciplined, pure, coming in from under, crazier the better
29. You're a Genius all the time
30. Writer-Director of Earthly movies Sponsored & Angeled in Heaven

A Reveler among us

For as long as I can remember, my family and our friends the Keefes have attended The Christmas Revels every year at the holidays. Each year, the revue of traditional Christmas music features music from a different culture or era. It was telling when I took Jerry for the first time four years ago and he at least seemed to enjoy it.

On Dec. 23, 2005, we sat down to dinner before the show, as we always do. This time, we were treated to a remarkable dinner at the Eastern Standard with buttery scallops, carefully selected wines and othe delicacies. Early in the meal, Frank gets to the point. "So when are you guys getting married?" I shrug and smile. Jerry laughs. Jennifer gives Frank a stern look and a reprimand. Little did they know what would happen later that night.

The theme of the show was French. I enjoyed it Jerry said it took a million years. Just after midnight (early Christmas Eve), we arrived back at Jerry's place. He came into the bedroom with a basket full of clean laundry.

A few months before, Jerry bought me a gift, a two-inch square jewlery box with a fancy enamel and crystal bee on the lid. (He calls me Bee.) I kept it on his bureau for keeping my jewelry in when I came to visit on the weekends. I would periodically peek into it and look at him expectantly. Hint hint.

Well Christmas Eve, 2005, to my surprise, I peeked into the box out of habit and it as NOT empty. He pulls a chilled wine out of the laundry basket with two glasses. Two years ago, I brought him a bottle of wine back from France that he was saving for something special.

I sheepishly covered the box. "Was I supposed to see that?" He sat down on the bed with me and proposed earnestly.

The point is, my lifelong appreciation of The Christmas Revels is now enhanced with the perfect romantic memory. It is a meaningful thing for us to go to The Revels every year. It's something my Mom always enjoyed. It's a reminder from our parents to always be curious about various cultures and their histories and music. It's our annual visit with our long time friends.

But this year, it takes on a whole new meaning. The theme this year is Balkan. If you've read this blog, you know that I know a guy who plays Balkan music. Well he auditioned, and he was chosen to be in the cast! The rehearsal sechedule is intense. Then, 18 shows at the holidays. Quite a committment. But if they want the real thing, they've come to the right place. Tickets go on sale Oct. 20.

Word Girl from the planet Lexicon

Have you seen Word Girl? This show is fabulous. My brother Will is a producer and writer. Coincidence? I think not. So far we've met Chuck the Evil Sandwich Making Guy, Dr. Two-Brains, The Butcher, and the Toby the evil techno prodigy. I am looking forward to meeting the villain "Lady Redundant Woman." I love how Word Girl can save the day with the power of vocabulary, but isn't condescending, and also sometimes says "whatever." I even like the monkey.

Gretchen Duram Lipchitz 1938-1996

We lost mummy 11 years ago today. This weekend we visited the cemetery, me and Jerry and Dad and Martha and Mike. The grass was well kept but dry from drought. A red tailed hawk alighted from under our noses to antother tree. Unlike the raw, rainy, and nothing short of miserable day 11 years ago, it was sunny and breezy. The change in weather seemed to suggest that we have made some progress, true or not.

"You never get over your mother," Martha said. It's true, but struck me especially at that moment as she stood with me. Her mother and my mother are buried in the same place. In a strange way, it was nice to all be there together.

First Anniversary

25 Aug
We drove down to the Cape, into Eastham where we stayed on our honeymoon. Had no idea where we would stay this time, if at all. Perhaps we would just spend the day. But the weather was spectacularly perfect, and we found a convenient campsite near the bike path. The idea of sleeping on an air mattress to celebrate our anniversary was disappointing at first, I must admit, and even the nondescript motel up the street was looking pretty good. But it wasn't $36 a night. And the weather was good and there was plumbing so, OK.
We set up camp and went out Coast Guard Beach. The weather turned grey and cool, and the waves were a bit threatening but not enough to stop me. After wading out to our waists and enduring several hits, I was ready to dive in. Jerry with his impeccable timing just had to throw in a "So, did they catch that shark?" which, as irrational as it was, drove me right back out onto the shore. We sat in our chairs in the wind and wached for the black shiny heads of sea lions bobbing in the distance.
Then we cleaned up and headed to Orleans to have a nice dinner at Mahoney's, the restaurant where we went on one of our early dates. The dinner was quite worthy of a celebration. I had swordfish provencal and he had cajun salmon, which was not ordinary in any way, and a perfect cut. Nice wine and shared blueberry bread pudding with white chocolate sauced topped it of. The bloody mary weren't bad either.
We got back to camp and promptly lit a fire since it was lights and fires out at 11 p.m. Jerry got the fire going good and sat on a log with a guitar and handed me my melodica and we played a few old favorites like Limehouse Blues before we were told to put the fire out. It was a short but starry night that turned out to be much more enjoyable than channel surfing on motel cable.

26 Aug
The next day we rented bikes and rode the bike path to Cahoon Hollow and White Crest beaches. The waves were too much to swim in on the short beach. Twice I got knocked on my beehind. The bikeride was nice. The sunburn began to flare. We headed into Provincetown to visit our old haunts and watch the street musicians. The final meal of the trip was of course our favorite at The Pig, a pub with the best fish fry. I like the smoked lobster bisque. J was thrilled with New Castle on tap as well. People watching from the deck of the crepes place (service was slow, but a nutella and chestnut puree crepe was worth the wait.) Then we drove home in the dark.

The Setting

For a well-stated overview, see Rachel's comment on the "Film at 11" post.

Balkan Camp 2007 was held in the Iroquois Springs campground, Rock Hill, NY. A week of perfect summer weather. Everyone shares a cabin with other couples, families or singles. Breakfast, lunch, dinner and evening snack is all provided in the dance hall. Classes are held in various camp buildings, like the dance hall or under a tree. Late night parties are held a half a mile away from the cabins in the kefana, which has a small bar and kitchen, a dance floor, cafe tables, atmospheric lighting and entertainment such as cribbage and slivo-shot chess.

The schedule: Every day, breakfast until 9:15 a.m. Then there are five sessions per day at 1.5 hours each until 6:30 p.m. You don't have to sign up for classes, you just go whereever you want. In any given period, there is a choice of various dance, instrumental or vocal classes. I chose three classes on the first day, but ended up committing to just two; intermediate accordion (there was no beginner class) and Trans-Carpathian Ensenble.

After classes, dinner. The after dinner hour was filled every night by impromptu gatherings. Jams, fundraising events, group sings or a lecture.

9 p.m., dancing in the dance hall with several different kinds of music each night. These bands are usually made of of the instructors who teach during the day. This is where you can come and figure out the difference between Hungarian and Romanian music. Or at least get a vague idea. You can also come dance your feet off if you can keep up. Whether you know what you're doing or not, (or whether you've showered or not), the circle will open for you. It is quite likely that the hand you grasp to enter the dance belongs to someone who has bathed and is familiar with the dance you are now trying to do, but you can't necessairly assume that will be the case. The doors are open and the summer breeze floats through the woven arms. If you stand still you can feel the floor shake. You can also watch the dancers and browse the "store" of Balkan merchandise, like books and CDs, costumes, clothes and textiles, jewelry. (One of our friends was delighted to find a Bulgarian to Polish dictionary.) Oh, and beer.

Around 11;30 p.m., as the music ends in the hall, dancers stagger out into the starlight. Kefana opens as the jam sessions on cabin porches dismantle. Musicians and dancers begin to turn in, or grab their flashlights and walk to the late night party. Emerging from a small patch of woods, you can see a building dripping with colored lights on the other side of the field. Music, voices and a sultry glow seep from every crevice. A grill on the side is crackling with cevappcici (aka "chevaps") and melting vegetables, surrounded by campers with drinks chatting up the cook.

Food, music, dancing and conversation ensue until sunup. Most of us left in the dark, walked back through the field where crickets finally reclaimed the stage, and hope we don't wake our cabin-mates as we fall into bed for a few hours. Then, you wake up, and do it again.

***
My frist period class was accordion, sitting on chairs in a circle under a tree. We learned a memorable macedonian song with great rhythm. No one complained that I could only play the keys on my accordion and not the bass notes. I also took beginning Doumbek with Matt Moran, a gifted drummer and inspiring teacher who plays with Slavic Soul Party in NYC. That class was held a good distance away from other classes by the lake, which we weren't allowed to swim in but was covered with algae anyway. The last class was an ensemble class. There were several ensemble choices (Greek, Tamburica, etc.) I chose Trans-Carpathian. At first, it seemed to be a wailing arc of instruments preparing for a great flood. An upright bass, 15 violins, five flutes (including me), Jerry on bugarija, a recorder, a dulcimer, nine accordions and a sitar. Due to the unfailing leadership of our teacher Kalman, we learned three robust songs throughout the week. Kolomeka, a chardash and a hora.

***

There were few clocks. You knew when it was time to go to class if you saw people out and about, or pack up from practicing in a corner. But in the after dinner hours until bed, there wasn't much solitary rehearsing. The magnetic singers and musicians attracted other singers, musicians and dancers. It seemed an unspoken practice that after listening for a moment, one could grab one's instrument and join in with any group of they could contribute, or just wanted to try to contribute. The entire week had a strange other-dimensional feel to it, where everything was open to collaboration and spontanaity. Maybe there were some egos that flared, but most of the experiences I had were strangely open.

Later, I will post some highlights.

Glossary

Kefana - (ke-Fa-na) the late night bar with music, dancing, food and drinks
Cevapcici (che-Vap-che-chee)- also known as "chevaps" are small sausages that look like dog poo when they are overcooked but no one cares.
Slivovica (SLEE-o-vit-za) - plum brandy that makes people dance. Also known as "Slivo" and served in shot glasses.
Mednoslivo - Slivovica mixed with honey.

The Crew

On the last night of camp at Kefana, most of us had been up until 3 a.m. every night throughout the week, and even some of the performers were getting a little silly. Tired, a little drunk and not wanting to miss out on a moment of anything, we all gathered at the last kefana. (L to R) Matt, along with his wife Joan (who was smartly asleep at this point), were our "camp angels" who were charged with guiding is through camp all week. Ms. Jay, from NYC is a Greek dancer with tons of good energy, and good taste. Alla, a conductor, was fast friends with us; insisting that there must be a common ancestor among her and Jerry back in Yugoslavia. Jerry the bug player and myself the fumbling musician next to Rachel, the accordion player who is not afraid of giant brass bands.

J and B survive Balkan Camp. Film at 11

How do you explain Balkan Camp? I shall try in a later post earlier in the day. Stay tuned.

More Balkan Camp

***DISCLAIMER: Our digital camera sulked all weekend and wouldn't turn on. The disposables I bought late in the week were crap, a problem compounded, I suspect, by a Walgreen's employee who exposed half our pictures. >:I ***

We all had to find pockets of solitude throughout the campground to try and practice. Rachel was practicing all week. She liked to sit by the tree near her cabin and try to confuse the advanced accordion class that met nearby.

At the auction, a newlywed couple won a 20-minute Macedonian serenade while lounging in the private gypsy caravan that some Balkan Campers designed themselves and towed to camp. A furious accordion storm ensued, and there was much rejoicing.

Everyone has to choose a volunteer job for the week. Jerry and I worked Kefana on Thursday night. Jerry caught me in my apron here asthe party went on behind me.

Friday before the performances begin.

My supportive and talented fellow accordion students Shel and Rachel after cramming on the Macedonian tune in preparation for student performances.

Balkan Camp

Jerry brought an entire tamburica orchestra with him, including his upright bass.

Our cabin, which we shared with four other couples, was easily identified by lanterns and rope lights, a slivovica dispenser and continuous jamming.

This picture does not do justice to Kefana, but it was one of the more packed nights of dancing.

An impromptu gypsy jam with Kalman and Joe.

Practice for singing Ladarke, a multi-part traditional Croation song.

August, new worlds

1 August Mom would have turned 69.
Early-mid August, family get togethers at Cape Hedge Beach in Rockport are bittersweet as Will and Sara prepare to leave for vet school in Minnesota.
11 August Will and Dad embark for Maryland. Jerry and I leave for Balkan Camp in Rock Hill, NY.
12 August Will and Sara, Dad and Al and Maggie kiss Barbro goodbye and embark on a 15 hour convoy of Element and Volvo (does that sound like a cartoon duo to you?) to Indiana, where Jerry's parents are awaiting the weary travelers.
13 August Convoy leaves Indiana for Minnesota.
15 August Jerry's birthday. Dad returns to Massachusetts.
18 August Return from Balkan Camp to see the world in a whole new way, which seems to offer no reason whatsoever to go to work.
24 August Jerry and I sit in as special guests at our new friend Rachel's birthday party concert where she played accordion with a brass band, upright bass, vibe player, drummer and guitarist.
and the month isn't over yet.

July 15

The next day, we went to Wingarsheek Beach. Annoyed that they were still charging to park at 4 p.m. with rain immenent, we waited in the parking lot chatting insider beach knowledge with the other determined locals. The next hour was a grey and drizzly wade into the knee-deep creek of Wingearsheek, and somehow completely satisfying nonetheless. Then we met Dad for dinner. Truly a lovely birthday.

Most romantic birthday eve dinner ever

When I arrived home from work, I stepped through the gate into the backyard where a canopy with lights is set up over the picnic table on the patio. Pre-war swing is the soundtrack. The table set by candle light. Menu: Grilled carrots and parsnips, grilled lamb with a salad of baby spinach, bleu cheese and cranberries. To drink, red wine over grilled peaches. Dessert he refused to identify but it as an entirely too fashionable looking chocolate torte. THEN came the gifts. All my favorite candies (cordials, grapefruit slices, marzipan...) but most of all, a new flute. Don't get any ideas ladies.

Vocabulary

Jerry is good at making up words. I never know whether it is intentional or not. His latest word is "exubulated." I took the liberty of defining this as exhausted from having sex.

Sometimes, he is at a loss for words. I was rubbing his broken shoulder the other day when he made a noise. "Did that hurt?" I asked, and quickly let go. "No," he said. "It was the opposite of hurt." I said I thought that sounded like the latest book by Dr. Phil. He said, no, Dr. Keith.

List

Things I am more fascinated with than I should be:
Wedding dresses
Fancy picture frames at Marshalls
My horoscope
Where my husband leaves his dirty clothes
So You Think You Can Dance
Making dessert
Avoiding work
Various nude shades of nail polish
Wondering what my mother is doing in heaven at any given moment
My own wedding photos
AP Style

Things I am less fascinated with than I should be:
Making web pages
Blogs of people I don't know
Local politics
The interest rates on my credit cards
Gardening
Making dinner
How to get places efficiently
Novels
Making new friends
Vehicle Maintenance
Sunscreen

Journal entry

Today I had my driver's license renewed and I passed the eye test without my glasses. My new official portrait is more shiny and plump than I would like to be. We'll see how it looks when it's laminated. Then I wrote about Catholics' reaction to the Pope's gesture of allowing revival of the Latin Mass. Some Catholics I spoke to didn't seem to know what to think given a choice about something they were normally told to accept or not accept in the past and I didn't really dawn on them to have a preference. Others though, had very personal opinions. When I got home, the little globe lights that illuminate the tent over our backyard picnic table were glowing and gypsy jazz guitar was playing. Jerry had prepared the rarest of filets, grilled corn and new potatoes w oregano from his garden and invented an exlir of butter, olive oil and blue cheese which seemed to be really good even on grilled corn where it doesn't' really belong. We marveled at this new creation, blue cheese butter. "What else would this be good on?" Jerry asked. Then, he answered himself. "My old shoes from sixth grade." It's true.

In Paris, early Spring, 2005, I sat on a stone bench in the courtyard of the Louve on a sunny windy day. I enjoyed the unpretentious yet powerful presence of this woman standing behind me in her cubby on the wall of the courtyard. We watched everyone strolling about their business, glad that no one noticed us. I took out my journal for a few minutes, and it seemed like just the right thing to do at that moment unlike it feels when I would take out my journal in the Someday Cafe (RIP) and you feel like your being pretentious. I closed the journal and made an effort not to get blown inside on the only sunny day of the week we visited Paris, and decided for a moment to just be there. "I am in the courtyard of the Louve," I said. Contentedly, she replied, "So am I."

Old news

Have I ever told you why I love the pyramids at the Louvre? In pictures it seemed nonsensical and distracting, a very forced statement of modernity against antiquity. But seeing them in person offered a completely different perspective. Because the regimented mathmatical symmetrical spacing of the intricate elements in each building, the three pyramids are in perfect harmony with the Louvre exterior. It instantly made sense. Voila.

The geranium potted on my desk finally bloomed. Water water water. So demanding. It lives on my desk, pining for the outdoor life like a caged bird, but there is no safe place for it our wild suburban yard. Jerry framed an area of our yard and planted peppers and tomatoes. I scrachted up some dirt and strew bulbs where some flowers have since grown and died. I like gardens but I don't like gardening. And geraniums smell funny, but they are pretty, like a lot of people I know.

Netsuke

My early birthday gift from my cousin and fellow sea creature.

In anticipation of the holiday

Blueberry pie 2006. A particulary good year for blueberries.

Notes from the (football) field.

Today I interviewed a bunch of high school graduates. I asked them what they are going to do when they graduate. Most of thems said they were going to college, except one, who said he was going to go party. Then what? Oh. Then he's going to college. What is he going to miss about high school? The girls. Won't there be girls in college? Oh yeah. Hopefully there will be a lot of them, he said.

Day 1

Today, I started a blog. I did this to make myself write more. And to make you read more. Come on. You know you need to read more.