Off & On & Up

Even though my depression is mostly regulated thanks to modern medicine, I still have days here & there that are difficult.  Sometimes I know what triggers it.  Sometimes I don't.  When I'm having a difficult day, I often say that I'm "a little rough around the edges."  I picture single-celled organisms from my high school biology days, with spiky outlines.  Usually the meds soothe this; the meds make it easier to deal with things that would otherwise be catastrophes of epic proportions.  When the meds weren't quite right, or before I sought treatment, something as mundane as losing my keys could send me tail-spinning.

These days, it doesn't have to be anything in particular; I've decided that hormonal surges can account for days when I'm sarcastic and snarfy and snarky with everyone and everything.  (Yeah, yeah, yeah, how would you be able to tell the difference from any other day, Luce?  There, I beat ya to your snark!)  

Today is one of those rough around the edges days.  I looked in the mirror this morning whilst getting ready for work, and I noticed the bit of weight I've gained in my face.  That bummed me out.  Then it is an overcast day, rainy and miserable, and it is going to be like that for a few days around here.  That grey, oppressing sky!  It makes me feel like the clouds themselves are pushing down on me, dark forces un-named making it hard to see out of the gloom.  

I frequently get songs stuck in my head, and this morning I woke up humming the harmony from a Dave Matthews Band song, #41.  I know I mentioned it a few weeks ago, but the sax player from DMB died recently, far too young, and there's an evocative solo he had in that song, and thinking about it made me sad.

Add those three things up, and bam, not such a good day in the offing.

Folks who haven't walked down Depression Way will say very un-helpful things like, "Snap out of it.  Its just the blues." or "C'mon, how bad can it be?  Get over it."  Which, as I said, isn't helpful.  Because then you feel guilty for feeling this crappy.  How difficult, truly, is my life?  A roof over my head, enough to eat, I get out of bed every morning, put my feet on the floor and walk.  So much more than so many others, that I shouldn't feel crappy.  That somehow, I ought to be able to 'snap out of it.'  

As I drove to work, I kept saying things to myself like, c'mon, you're going to a job you love.  You're doing well there.  You like it.  Little mind games, to, indeed, try to snap myself out of it.  A little coffee with chocolate (have I mentioned Bellagio sipping chocolate?  Milk+ Bellagio + coffee = yum.) and avoiding listening to the news, instead listening to my "happy" playlist on my iPod, and yeah, it is going to get better.  But I wish it didn't get to the low end of the spectrum in the first place.

Gone far too soon

LeRoi Moore, 1961-2008



I shall truly miss his musicianship.

We Fortunate Few

"I love my job," Dave Matthews said to the crowd at the concert I went to last night, "and I want to thank y'all for letting me have it."

The whole band seems to have such a good time doing what they do on stage. Boyd Tinsley plays violin for the band and is the consummate musician, as far as I am I concerned. He danced across the stage, playing opposite his band-mates, urging them to play off his riffs, smiling so wide the whole time. Dave does the same thing, and they laugh, dance with each other, having a nightly party with their closest friends and 30,000 people who pay to watch them have a great time.

What must it feel like to perform music that you wrote in front of 30,000 people and hear the crowd screaming every word of every song, so excited to see YOU on stage? Humbling, and intoxicating, I imagine. And then the next night, another, different group of 30,000 people is thrilled to see you. Amazing.

Love what you do. Do what you love. Wise words, I'm sure that you've heard them as many times as I have. I did, once upon a time. When I first went to work in the non-profit world, I loved that job with all of my heart and soul, putting more of myself into it that I have any previous job. I felt incredibly lucky to be doing something I loved so much. It was very fulfilling.

But the only constant in any of our lives is change, and I knew that job wouldn't be forever. Sure enough, it wasn't. By the end of it, when things were winding down, I no longer loved it, and it is/was part of the problem that was causing some of the depression.

As I said at the beginning of my time of unemployment, this was the first time in my life that I didn't have a plan. It has been terrifying, and fun too. Getting up whenever I feel like it. Spending as much time as I want at the gym. Baking. Cooking. Writing, too, a little bit. Not knowing where I'm going to get my next paycheck when the benefits that I do have run out. Being 32 and not knowing what the hell to do with my life. Being so depressed that some days I can't get out of bed. Fun, and terrifying.


But finally, at long last, I have a plan.


I can't believe that I couldn't think of this for myself, I'm having a lot of smack-myself-on-the-head "DUH" moments, but that's OK. None of us walks the road of life alone, and I have a friend to thank for pointing me in this direction. She knows who she is. And I think she knows how grateful I am for her insights. Or she does now. ;-)

I am going to go back to school. My plan is to get Master's degrees in both business and women's studies, and then work in advocacy for women's rights. Doing what exactly, I'm not sure, but either working on the front lines of the abortion debate, lobbying for better health care for women, working to make life better for women. See? A no-brainer. Idealistic, yep, that too. But if you can turn your passion into your career, lucky, lucky, lucky you.

Still my favorite summertime show

It is never officially summer to me unless there's been a Dave Matthews Band concert. I've gone to see them every single summer since around 1995. See, there ARE things that I'm a fangirl about other than Supernatural and Jensen. Really.

I love the band, and it started with the first show I went to. I liked their music before then, but a live show with DMB is an experience not to be missed. The energy at the shows is amazing. The band's musicianship is fantastic. It is clear that they love what they do.

Usually I go with a friend from college, and it is about the only time the whole year that we actually see one another. In more recent years, friends from high school have met up at the shows, and DH tags along from time to time.

Last night DH and I took a road trip and saw the the show in Pittsburgh. The complete set list is posted on the band's website and can be seen here, so I'm only going to talk about a couple of the songs they played.

When I was writing yesterday about albums that I like every track on the album, I didn't list a Dave Matthews Band CD because there are, believe it or not, Dave tracks that I don't like. Only a couple, the vast majority of them I love. I'd be hard pressed to choose one and only one Dave Matthews Band song that is my favorite. But among them would be "Die Trying," "One Sweet World," and "Grey Street."

They opened with "Seek Up" and then immediately went into "Die Trying." The first time I heard "Die Trying" was at a live show a few years ago. The song has a very heavy bass line, solid drumming, a distinctive guitar hook. The next day, I looked up the set list and realized that the song was from the new album at the time, Stand Up. The song is on my iPod's list of top 25 most played tracks. I haven't seen them do the song live since that summer of 2005, so I was thrilled to see it performed again.

Higher up in the list of most played songs, though, is "Grey Street." The song is about a suicide attempt, following the theme of death that many Dave Matthews songs have. Dave himself seems a bit preoccupied with the idea of death and dying, his solo album was full of songs that made reference to death-related things. "Gravedigger," and "Save Me" being the prime examples of that theme. "Grey Street" resonates with me. Not necessarily because of the suicidal theme, although I do like the lyrics a great deal. I never get tired of watching the band perform the song.

Dave sang "Sister" with Carter, Butch, and guest trumpet player Rashawn on backing vocals and no instrumentation other than his own guitar. The song brought me to tears. I've seen it done live before (hardly a surprise, since at my own count I've been to more than 20 shows) but last night it was particularly poignant. He introduced the song by saying, "Me and my sister were kinda tight, growing up. We're still kinda tight."

My love of the band is shared by both of my sisters; I took my youngest sister to her first live show when she was 14, it was of course DMB. The band opened with "Don't Drink the Water" that night, and I'll never forget her gripping my arm (squeezing so hard that she nearly broke it) and shrieking as the band took the state.

The year I got married, the Dave show was a few weeks before my wedding. It was at Three Rivers Stadium, which has since been demolished. The three of us went together, had 9th row seats on the stadium floor. That night the band played "Long Black Veil" and their version of Jimi Hendrix's "Watchtower," a fan favorite.

The three of us have been to other shows together. So it is only natural that I should think of them at the shows. I sent a text message to both of them last night which said, "@ DMB show tonight. Wish you were here. <3 you." I miss them both so terribly much.

DH and I left before the show was over, trying to avoid the insanity of 30,000 of our closest friends leaving at the same time. I was ready to head home, but unfortunately we missed the band playing "Watchtower" as part of the encore. That's OK, I have tickets to another show in a few weeks, another chance to see it again. I'm hoping that they play "One Sweet World" as well.

Sister, I hear you laugh
My heart fills full up
Keep me please
Sister, when you cry
I feel your tears
Running down my face
Sister, sister, you keep me

Love Your Mother (Earth, that is.)

The last vestiges of snow have finally disappeared into the March sunlight, and although Earth Day is nearly a month away, I want to talk today about some environmental issues. Now that the snow is no longer covering the earth like a downy white blanket, I see her begin to awaken and renew herself.

In places.

Because in other places, those huge snowbanks were covering mounds and mounds of TRASH. Fast food bags and wrappers, plastic water bottles, plastic grocery and big box retailer bags, stuff that probably could be recycled and was just instead carelessly tossed out of the window of a speeding SUV.

We have just the one planet, folks. That's it. The dreams of sci-fi writers everywhere have yet to come to fruition, and we're not actively occupying space nor seeking new planets to explore. We just don't have the capability, and I'd argue that until we get this planet back into some decent shape, we've got no business screwing up another one.

I'm going to quote song lyrics again, in fact lyrics that I've quoted before, because they say so eloquently what I'd like to express. This is from Dave Matthews Band's One Sweet World, and is the opening verse.

Nine planets around the sun
Only one does the sun embrace
Upon this watered world
So much we take for granted


Clean air. Clean water. So many other resources, natural gas, coal, oil, even things like phosphorus. There's not an endless supply. And we use them every day, never thinking about the impact that our own personal usage might have on the planet. It worries me a great deal.

The prevalence of the aforementioned SUVs makes me crazy. Because really? You NEED a V-8 engine with towing capability, Mr & Mrs Six Pack? What for? Yes, there are people that do need larger vehicles, I won't dispute that. But the rise in recent years of more and more people purchasing, oh, let's say HUMMERS for example? Is just a case of a deep seeded need to show off wealth, not because the behemoth is really a necessity.

My little piece of American suburban hell does not encourage recycling. By that I mean that the community does not force consumers to recycle, and does not actively insist on consumers participating in the process. Which also bothers me a great deal. Yes, the local trash haulers offer a recycling service, but to truly reduce your impact on the amount of trash dumped into local landfills, you must do some real, actual work yourself, and I don't just mean separating your trash. There are plenty of things that the recycler/waste hauler won't take, so you must transport this stuff yourself, which entails first finding out where it goes, who takes what, and how they prefer it packaged.

I must confess, that even tree-hugger me does not do nearly enough as she should, something my sisters both harass me about when they're 'home' in Ohio. I wish that I had a compost pile, but I do not, and in fact I think my neighbors in my planned community with its accompanying home owner's association might have something to say about it if I started a compost pile in my shared backyard. Then again, they might be all for it, but I doubt it.

I worry as well about the lack of funding for research into alternative fuels, the dearth of spending on wind or solar energy. I realize, however, that if I'm not willing to give up things like the electricity that runs this computer (power plants in Ohio are primarily coal-burning), then I'm doing even less than I think to help the earth.

Since we're about to turn over a new month, and I've always thought of spring as a time of renewal more than the turning over of the calendar in January every year, I'm going to make an April resolution, rather than a New Year's resolution. I resolve to work extra hard this month to reduce the amount of garbage that I produce, taking the time to rinse out the aluminum cans, plastic bottles, glass containers and really recycling this stuff rather than tossing it.

What else could you be doing to care for the earth?

Killcare

I've resisted blogging about my childhood in much detail, feeling that as I wish to remain anonymous, it is foolish to give away too many details that might help someone identify me. But the story I am about to tell has very little chance of adding to the information that the interweb has about me.

I had an idyllic childhood, free from abuse, neglect, poverty or horror. I like to say that I have a white picket fences background, with a stable, two-parent family. Both parents were there for my sibs and I in just about every sense of the word. They're pretty conservative, and growing up I felt they were way over-protective, but they're fantastic parents. On my MySpace page, where you can list your heroes, the first two people listed are my mother and father.

We traveled quite a bit over the eastern section of the US as I was growing up, and spent time every summer at a cottage in Michigan, on a small lake. Being there was (and still is, the last time I was there) amazing. For one, as kids, at the cottage we were allowed to get things at the grocery store that weren't allowed at home, "because we were on vacation."

For another, we were just about inaccessible by anyone while we were there. It wasn't unusual for my dad to get phone calls in the middle of the night at home, calling him in to work. He worked long and hard hours as I grew up, and that time at the cottage each summer was devoted to exclusively not being at work, so it was a wonderful novelty to have him around all day, every day.

The area where the cottage is located is pretty remote. There was a party-line telephone there until the mid-eighties. The grocery store was 20 miles away, give or take. The movie theater and mall were farther, perhaps 40 miles away. There was no television at the cottage. And since I've already talked about the TV watching policy at our house growing up, this wasn't a problem at all. There was a radio, used primarily to tune in to weather forecasts.

The cottage did not belong to my family. Another family allowed us to use it in return for doing chores around the property, things like opening the cottage for the summer, repair work that needed done around the house (replacing a rotted floor, for example), cutting the grass, things like that. Many summers we were either the first family there at the start of the summer season, or the last family there before the fall set in, opening it for the summer or closing the place down in preparation for winter weather.

The place was huge, with the capacity to sleep at least 20 people comfortably, and it was often used by the extended kin network of the family who owned it. We often went with another family, and had 10 people or more in the house. It had a rustic kitchen and a microscopic hot water heater, but it also had a washer and dryer, a vital necessity when you wear every bathing suit you own over three days.

My sisters and I were allowed an amazing amount of freedom at the cottage. An almost intoxicating amount of relaxation of the usual rules, combined with the ability to do almost anything we wanted...it was a heady mix. The lake is about three-fourths of a mile wide and about a mile and a half long, and there wasn't much of it that wasn't visible from the cottage's long metal dock. A pair of binoculars hung on a tree at the shoreline, and with them, you could easily spot any of the cottage's watercraft. I don't want to really get into the nuts and bolts of the water-centered activity that went on there each summer, so let's just say that there was a rowboat with a very small horsepower motor that my sisters and I made good use of, as well as a very small sailboat in which I learned to sail. No matter which boat we took, we were usually within 'hollering' distance of my mother.

If we opted to stay on the shore, we weren't allowed to stray much from 'our side' of the lake, but there was more than enough to explore on 'our side' of the lake, so it wasn't a temptation to wander far. A well-worn path extended over most of our side, from the public beach and boat launch area of the lake to a creek which was perhaps 6 houses down from the cottage.

The cottage was strictly a place for summer play; it wasn't insulated and had only a small heater, not a furnace. While there was a fireplace, it would be devilishly difficult to keep the pipes from freezing in the wintertime, so it was prepared at the end of each summer to survive the harsh Michigan winters by completing a long list of chores, which included draining the pipes of every ounce of water. But not all the houses on the lake were cottages; many of them were year-round residences for their owners. It was easy to spot the difference; most cottages didn't have a garage, or if they did, it was a detached affair, with the old fashioned bi-fold doors hanging at an angle, clearly disused. The summer cottages also had that forlorn look that vacant houses often have. They might be unoccupied the whole time we were there, or for just a few days. Many of the cottages were owned by large clans, and while we didn't know the entire clan personally, we often knew many of the members of a kin network from our summer visits.

The houses that had full-time, year-round occupation were more robust and better cared for. I did not have a special friend who lived 'up' there (this spot in MI being far north of my Ohio home) as both of my sisters did. Oddly enough, there was no one my exact age in any of the kin networks or full time residents. Now, in my 30s, an age difference of a year or two is immaterial. At 14, the 16-18 year old set was mostly too old for me to be running around with. I was always old for my age, but these kids were a much faster set than I was used to running with, and their blatant sexuality made me very uncomfortable. So I gravitated to the adults, spending time with people who lived there full time, talking about cooking and often their kids, who were my sister's friends.

I also took frequent walks on the path that ran from the beach to the creek, and there was a cottage along the path with a name over the door, a wooden sign over the door that faced the lake, that wouldn't have been out of place at a kid's summer camp. It looked a lot like the cottage in the Steve Martin movie, Cheaper by the Dozen 2. While it isn't all that odd to name a property here in the States, it is not as common as it is in say, England. This one said "Killcare", and I spent no small amount of time one summer trying both to get an invite to see the inside of the place (note that I never succeeded) and trying to figure out just what, exactly, Killcare meant and how it was pronounced.

Killcare was an enigma to me because we did not know a single person who used the place. And because it was often vacant when we were there. One of the full time residents at the lake was a woman who had grown up on the lake and through a series of lucky coincidences had purchased a home a few houses away from the one she grew up in. Her daughter was my baby sister's closest summertime friend. I remember her name, and can clearly picture her face, surrounded by a curtain of dark red hair, often pulled up into a bun, her apple cheeks, her sunny smile. I don't often use real names here, so we'll just call her Jane. She and her husband (whose name I do not remember and his details are lost to time, I don't remember at all what he looked like, but I do remember his Harley motorcycle, parked in their big attached garage) were involved in a massive rebuild of the house they lived in, gutting it and nearly tearing down the original structure. The work they were doing was amazing, adding a section that was like a log cabin, and I spent many happy hours looking with Jane at interior design catalogs and magazines, and listening to how they had done each step of the remodel. They did most of the work themselves. Growing up, Jane had spent a lot of time at Killcare, and when I found that out, I couldn't restrain myself from asking many questions about the place.

When she said the name to me for the first time, pronounced just as if it was two words, kill care, I said, "Is that the place with the name over the door?!? Three houses down from our place, close to the beach? You know them? What's that place like, have you ever been inside?"

All this was said rushed, with barely a breath in-between. Yes, she assured me, she knew the people. They were "summer folks" like my family. From someplace even further away than the day-long drive it took us to get to the cottage from Ohio, but I can't recall now where they were from. She had been good friends with one girl, and had spent summers growing up sleeping there more often than at home.

I interrupted the narrative of What-I-did-every-summer-growing-up to demand, "What does that MEAN, Killcare? I thought it was maybe the name of an Irish county, like County Claire, and I thought it was pronounced kil-kar-eee. Or that it was a last name, or a town, or something."

She gave me an odd look, as if I'd sprouted a third arm, or if she couldn't believe that such nonsense was coming out of the mouth of a reasonably intelligent, normally articulate, small adult-like person. And this behavior was indeed more kid-like than I usually displayed.

"Kill. Care. Kill your cares. Kill yer care. Killya'care, Killcare," she explained, running the words together slowly and then faster, showing me how the name had been derived. She went on to describe the inside of the place, and talk about how her childhood friend still came every summer and that she and her family would be arriving after my family and I had returned to Ohio. I was mostly no longer interested in nosily barging through the interior after that, but I spent a lot of time thinking about the place's name and what exactly Killcare meant to those who had chosen it.

It struck me as very odd because why would you want to stop caring about someone or some thing? And then when I asked about it again a few minutes later, Jane explained to me that it meant to kill your concerns, leave your worries behind, not to stop caring about someone or something. Oh.

At 14, I couldn't imagine needing to be reminded to let go, stop worrying. Anytime I was at the cottage, it was summer, I had no responsibilities beyond the cleaning chores assigned to me (we all shared all of the housekeeping while on vacation, being reminded by both parents that they were on vacation, too). I've been thinking about Killcare, the phrase, a lot again, wondering if it would, indeed, be possible to let go of all of the things that are weighing me down and leave me feeling fettered to a life that I'm not sure how it got where it is, nor am I sure that I'm happy with it and want it to continue in the same direction as it has been.

How did I end up here? The quest of my growing up years, to paraphrase a line I once heard Madonna use, was to "Get the hell outta Ohio." I have a memory book, an autograph book that I purchased while in Sweden as an exchange that I encouraged friends to write messages on the blank pages. I told them they had to write something, "deep and meaningful" and since almost everyone who wrote something in it was 17 at the time of the writing, most of it is filled with what are now howlers of most amusing variety. We were so young. What was then deep and meaningful is now trite or worse, hilarious instead of earnest. But I'm struck at the fact that more than one person wished me sincere good luck in escaping small town America. I wonder what any of them would say if they knew that the zealot of those times still lives not at all far from the hospital where she was born, or that any of the places she's lived since Sweden were all in and around the hometown that I so desperately wanted the hell out of.

I need to make some changes. I need to get moving. Change directions. I'm going to quote Dave Matthews band lyrics here, and I hope I can be forgiven for regressing to a teen kind of thing to do, but he does say it so much better than what I would come up with.

To change the world
start with one step
However small
first step is hardest of all
Once you get your gait
you'll be walking tall
You said you never did
cause you might die tryin
cause you might die tryin


Right now, I'm feeling like I just might die if I don't try to make some changes. The 'die tryin' lyric is sarcastic, that hey, man, if you don't get out there, what's the worst that could happen? You might die trying? Right.

So this is my 'first step', admiting that some changes need to be made, that something must be done. Perhaps that is letting go of some of my worries. Killcare. What a great idea.

More Dave Matthews Band Madness

I haven't been writing much at all b/c it is too dammed hot. Today's high was 83, but the humidity is at 100% which makes the oppressive-ness factor of the heat much higher. Yuk.

Went to see Dave Matthews Band last night at Blossom Music Center. It was a good show. They're all good shows; this one was a bit disorganized. The band spent quite a bit of time talking to each other, more than usual. Seemed a bit like maybe they hadn't decided on a set list before they took the stage. Maybe it was me; but I was there with a friend who I've seen more than 10 shows with, and she thought the same thing.

There aren't really any songs that the band has written that I DON'T like; but I do have a few particular favorites; Grey Street, Ants Marching, So Much to Say, Best of What's Around. They played Ants Marching (a rarity), Sleep to Dream Her (haven't heard that live for a few years) and Grey Street, plus a few others that I like; complete set list can be found here.

Am editorial note; I've been getting comment spam from the site in my e-mail, so I added a word verification doo-hickey. Please don't let that stop you from making a comment.

Soundtrack: DMB Live @ central park

A good rant.

Went to see Dave Matthews Band on Friday and Saturday nights in a land far, far away otherwise known as Burgettstown, Pennsylvania. I love Dave Matthews Band. If you don’t, you probably want to skip the rest of the post as I will be geeking out over the songs they played each night and what my friends and I thought. Sorry, anyone who is looking for political stuff today. It ain’t happening.

Friday night’s show was a much different vibe than Saturday’s. While B from AZ said he thought the crowd was younger on Saturday, I thought it was older. And older fans would have loved Friday’s set. They played “Satellite”, “The Dreaming Tree”, “Grace is Gone”, and “Jimi Thing”, all of which are older. The opener, “The Best of What’s Around” is one of my favorite ever DMB songs. Brings back memories of being on the train, in Sweden, traveling from Stockholm to Kungsör. I haven’t seen that live before, so that was a big thrill for me. But just about every song that I mention, I’m going to end up saying, “One of my favorites.” I’d be hard pressed to find a Dave song I didn’t like.

One of the things that JAMIL and I have noticed as we continue to go to shows (our first together ever was, according to her, in 1998. I think it was 1995, but what do I know?) is that we don’t see them play a big fan favorite, “Ants Marching” very often. After seeing more than 20 shows together, we have become even bigger fans, but more than that, sometimes guides to the much younger concertgoers around us. More about that later. In our infinite wisdom, we think they play “Ants” rarely because the band gets tired of being drowned out by the crowd when they play it. Yes, the crowd screams along to the song so loudly that they drown out the band. That takes some doing, let me tell you. A few other songs are becoming a problem with the crowd…”Dancing Nancies” being a great example. You also don’t see them play one of their biggest radio hits, “Crash” for the same reason.

JAMIL and I are often older than many of the concertgoers around us, which mortifies me and amuses her. Friday there were 2 very young couples in front of us that were so incredibly cute that I couldn’t stand it. They couldn’t have been any older than about 16, all 4 of them. The boy who sat in front of us was at not only his first ever DMB show, but his first concert. We told him our theory about “Ants” and “Crash” and he was really disappointed, and then we felt bad. Those were his two favorite Dave songs. But the band proved us wrong, playing “Ants” as the final song of the encore.

DH and I went to the Saturday show together. I had said on Friday that I wanted to hear “One Sweet World”, but they didn’t play it Friday night. Saturday, though, what did they open with? Yeah, that would be “OSW”. God, I love that song.

Nine planets around the sun
Only one does the sun embrace
Upon this watered world, so much we take for granted
So let sleep outside tonight
Lay down in our Mother’s arms
For here can we rest safely

Tomorrow I’ll be back to my usual politicking. Cheers!

Soundtrack: Dave Matthews Band Live at Central Park

Really, Friday Can't Come Soon Enough.

Having had a miserable week at work, which is a verboten topic, I must just instead say praise whatever you find holy that tomorrow is Friday.

I'm intentionally coy about where exactly I call HOME, because it is a small place and I don't want to be "outed" professionally, so this won't be a clue to where I live. That said, I'm going to see Dave Matthews Band on Friday and on Saturday at a venue called The Post-Gazette Pavillion, which isn't really in Pittsburgh, PA, but close enough. I'm really excited about it, I've seen the band in concert every year since I was 19 or 20, and that's been awhile. Last year I got to see about 3 shows and this year there are a bunch of old high school pals are going too. So that should be lots and lots of fun.

It can't come soon enough.

The Dreaming Tree

I've been having very vivid dreams of late. So vivid that when I wake up, I'm struck with the urge to get up in the middle of the night and write them down. I did that a few years ago, but stopped because in the harsh glare of morning light, they usually ended up looking like so much gibberish.

I have recurring nightmares that I remember all too well, but more positive dreams are not something I end up remembering, so the vivid dreams of the past few nights have been fun. The recurring nightmare, I think, is a manifestation of fears of abandonment that I have. The dream takes the same path, even thought the circumstances change. I'm running away from something or someone, and I'm in a crowd of people, and I can't scream, or the whole crowd is ignoring me en masse. I wake up in the midst of an asthma attack or gasping for breath, which is the beginning of an asthma attack. My darling husband, after witnessing this phenomenon for the first time when we were newly married, told me that I had been making sounds in my sleep. Sort of pitiful moans, low and deep in my throat, not something I can adequately describe with words. I told him about the nightmare, and that I'd been having it for years and years and years, and now he wakes me up when I start making that noise. Thank god for that, it saves me from feelings of utter terror when I wake myself up.

The more fun dreams, though, have been about me meeting one of my idols, although they’re weird dreams as well. I’ve written before about my teenage obsession with a rock band, Def Leppard, and about what a hottie I thought the lead singer was when I was 14. (Well, yes, since you ask, I still think he’s cute, but my husband is much sexier.) The first dream was that I had the chance to meet him, and hubby was right there with me, and just as the rock star turned to speak to me, I woke up. Kind of like the cable going out during a really important scene in a movie, no? But I can tell you all about where we were, the colors on the walls, what the rock star had on, what I had on, what my husband was wearing, even the details of the chairs we were sitting in, what the tickets that we had to the event looked like. The dream itself is not so strange, as I’ve been listening to the CDs my sister-in-law got me a lot. So it seems realistic to me that the band or the music would show up in my dreams when I’m spending more time listening to it during the day. What’s weird to me is the striking colors, the reach-out-and-touch-it quality of the surroundings in each dream. I never remember stuff like that. Wonder what it means? The smart alec side of me says, hey, bright girl, try listening to some DAVE instead. Did I mention that I have tickets to ALLL the shows near my hometown? And I spent the day listening to O.A.R.'s "In between Now and Then", about 4 times or so, and perhaps they will show up tonight.

Soundtrack? Tuesday's Coming, by O.A.R., stuck in my head courtesy of hearing it several times today.