The past 5 days went by like a whirlwind. Not, of course, the whirlwind out of which God appeared to Job and said Hey man, who ya think you're talkin to, gird up your loins like a man and I will question you. I did some family interventions, which I love doing. It's incredible how family members don't know how to talk nicely to one another. I was sitting in one family's living room and in another family's car, and listened to the way they all talked to each other. I have special ears or antennae and can catch nasty words very easily. To one family, I said, I'm gonna point out all the triggering words you're using to get the other person in 'attack mode.' You can't converse when someone is attacking you.
The only good way to attack a family member is to play tennis with them or ping pong. Oh, my ears are so attuned to slights and attacks.
I also had the pleasure of taking a friend to the Doylestown court room on Friday. It was no pleasure for her, she had to testify, but I had a ball observing the courtroom procedures, when I was not going outa my mind with boredom waiting and waiting for something to happen. Everything in an American court room is out in the open. This is not Russia or China or Darfur or The Sudan or Libya. This is the USA and all the bad things you've done are right out there in the open for everyone to see. And I saw them. I saw the good and the dumb and the deluded. I saw no evil. I asked a lawyer, Tom Blackburn, Where in this huge facility do you do your plea bargaining. Right here in the back of Courtroom 4, he said. It's not a very good place, he conceded, but it gets the job done.
I was starving and went to the room with the vending machines. For seventy-five cents, I bought some Raisinettes, reasoning that both chocolate and raisins are good for you, hang the preservatives to keep the glop together.
The Bad Plus played to sold-out crowds Friday and Saturday nite. I was the coordinator who arranged for my family to go down and see that at Chris's Jazz Club, 1421 Sansom Street. I had to memorize the address so I could type it on emails. Nine of us went down including my 86-year-old mother. My son Dan and his future wife Nicole drove her down last nite. I listened to mom's story of her trip to the city of Brotherly Love (as opposed to The Big Apple or The City by the Bay) while I was on my stationary bike pedaling as fast as I can so that hopefully I can live as long as mom.
Mom said she met each of the boys in The Bad Plus and found them exceptionally nice. These world-class performers are not in the least stuck-up. I congrat'd Reid on his recent marriage so that now all three of them are married.
Chris's Jazz Club is laid out very poorly. It's hard to see. I had a lousy seat but moved my chair so I wouldn't have to crane my neck but could look straight at them. The boys perform by themselves for two-thirds of the show and then Wendy Lewis, a fellow Minnesotan, joins them. She has what you might say is a plain ordinary voice which she uses to the hilt. She makes her voice do what she wants it to. She's very expressive and you get lost in her interpretations. I'd mentioned to Ethan, the pianist, before the show that I loved their rendition of Heart of Gold by Neil Young and by golly! they played it, Wendy Lewis singing. Oh, you've just got to hear it.
What does your mind do while you're listening to riveting music? My mind merges with the music but then it goes off on its own, you know, reviewing your day, reviewing the meal you've just eaten - duck quack quack confit, mashed potatoes with duck gravy, fresh crunchy asparagas, and sips of every drink on the table including Sarah's Manhattan which was too alcoholic-tasting for me.
But suddenly when they were playing I remembered going to the Hatboro Union Library earlier that day and checking out b o o k s. They have a unique system for shelving books: by size. It's impossible to find what you want (short stories by Alice Munro or Alice Adams) so you check out what you can find. Turns out the most visible fiction books that looked readable were two scary books and one by Alice McDermott, who I've never heard of. Apparently women named Alice are excellent writers!
So while they're playing I'm thinking about this beautiful library, part ancient, part new. It's got Grecian pillars in the front of it but they built a new children's wing with high ceilings and light streaming through skylights (don't quote me but it SEEMED like skylights. Obviously if I were writing this for the Times I'd check to make sure what the source of light is.)
Going to that library made me supremely happy. I imprinted on libraries and reading as a kid.
Wendy Lewis wore a beret and we chatted after the show. Born in North Carolina, she moved to Minnesota at some point, and has two kids in their early 20s. They may say casually to their friends, "My mom? Oh, she's a jazz singer." I asked her what kind of music she listens to and she said, "All kinds."
I asked Ethan what his professional goals were and he said to be a better pianist. He takes weekly lessons with the great Sophia Rosoff. Sarah, Ethan and I spent the better part of Saturday together. I was in my glory begin with these two remarkable human beings, one of them my own progeny. At my advanced age, I can't remember which one.
Ring ring ring! The phone just rang. It was Marion from our group. She just read my Yes I Can booklet and said it was the best thing she's ever read about bipolar disorder. The good thing about it is it's only 40-some pages single-spaced, so you can read it in a single sitting w/o even getting up to go to the bathroom. That's how I planned it.
If you'd like a copy, I can email you the text tho not the beautiful yellow cover. I was thinking of mailing it to Obama and also to Stephen King, whose book I just finished called The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon. I highly recommend it. Why buy books when you can check em out at the library? Here's my review on Amazon.com.
