Gold Woman and Punk Angel

Earlier this month the girl and I donned costumes for an annual festival that celebrates all things local. A friend just sent us a couple of pics. Here you go!

pics by James Q. Martin

Old Pics--Restored Laptop, Continued

After leaving my daughter's father when she was eighteen months, I became an only parent. Though ultimately it's been her and I ever since, we've done well at the "it takes a village" model with extended family and close friends having strong relationships to help her grow strong too.

Determined not to let my status as a divorced only parent be what defined my life I decided what I really wanted to do was go back to school and then on to grad school so I could teach. At the time I didn't tell anyone my long term plan, only that I was going to school to finish my Bachelor's degree. Then I worked my butt off to make the rest happen. Miraculously, it did.

I completed a Bachelor's degree with a double major in philosophy and English, and a minor called University Honors, which included writing an undergraduate thesis, all in three years (including summer school and a semester of 24 credits).

Above is a picture of me about to walk in to my first day of school. I started that three years of college education with a two-year old.

She tells me that she remembers this moment and that she's leaning back against the sign there because she was thinking she was SO BIG and was in the middle of trying to measure herself. All I remember is I was so happy, and that everything that came after was so much work but very much what I wanted.

Pastels for Easter

The World's Biggest Ridiculous Stuff!

This summer turned out to be one of seeing a whole bunch of American pride as offered through very hard work put into the creation and preservation of The World's Largest (Insert Unexpected Random Object Name Here). Below is a list of the experience.

1. The World's Largest Mother Mary Sculpture, 90 feet high,
aka., "Our Lady of the Rockies" Butte, Montana, USA


As story has it, a devoted husband was suffering under the horrible reality of watching his wife struggle with cancer. Afraid she would die before her time, the man prayed to god to save her life. In exchange, he promised, he would build a 9-ft tall statue of Mother Mary to place in his yard. Miraculously, his wife did recover. To thank god for the miracle, he sought out fulfilling his promise with the help of a neighbor. With six years, a whole lot of concrete, and the help of an Air National Guard helicopter, the statue turned into a 90-ft showcase along the continental divide reachable by bus in the summer.

2. The World's Largest Masonry Structure, 585 ft high
aka., The Anaconda Smoke Stack, Anaconda, Montana, USA


Montana held the largest mining facility in the world at the end of the 1800's. The mining work continued well into the end of the last century too. The ore extracted from Butte was brought to an enormous underground smelting facility that contained too an intricate web of ceiling pipes, all designed to funnel the fumes to one central location and then out into the open air through one enormous smoke stack. After the smelting facility closed the underground portion was demolished and closed, but when it was announced the smoke stack would suffer the same consequences the local population rose up in protest. The smoke stack then was turned into a state park, and is even featured in the multi-colored scenes of local church's stained glass.

3. The World's Largest Kokopelli Sculpture, 32 ft tall
Camp Verde, Arizona, USA

The Southwest is irritatingly full of Kokopelli references. There is even, I am told, an unfortunately named Colon care center named something like "Colonpelli" complete with a company logo that makes the human colon look like a flute playing Kokopelli. The largest Kokopelli sculpture sits amidst another Southwestern classic--the truck stop.

4. The World's Largest Hercules Beetle, 17 ft long, 9 ft tall
Colorado Springs, Colorado, USA


Outside a privately owned Space Exploration Museum, and just past an enormous army compound rests the World's Largest Hercules Beetle. It overlooks a small highway from atop a small hill that must be climbed to stand near it. Apparently, this sculpture was built in 1945, and welcomes visitors into another attraction next to the Space Exploration Info Center--a bug museum. The center also hosts a campground and strongly now advertises itself as a wifi hotspot.

5. The World's Largest High Wheel Bicycle, 14 ft tall
Calhan, Colorado, USA


The tallest high wheel bicycle sits within a privately owned RV campground that also hosts sculptures of various animals, and a bevy of antique cadillacs. You enter around back of an enormous antique store, and across from a restaurant that is part of the same compound. If you just want to walk on the grounds to view the bike, ask for Jack.

6. The World's Largest Spur, 27 ft high
Abilene, Kansas, USA

The entrance to the fairgrounds is this enormous spur. When the fair isn't happening, the poor thing sits on vacant property. Yee hah.

7. The World's Largest Wren, 1200 pounds
Topeka, Kansas, USA


Apparently the wren welcomed visitors to the local radio statio in the middle of the last century. Eventually it became part of the cities sculpture project and rests now in the middle of a small park. Topeka hosts a number of enormous sculptures both in the middle of town, and on the local college campus.

8. The World's Largest Painted Russian Egg, 6.5 ft high
Topeka, Kansas


See? Another enormous sculpture. This giant painted Russian Egg was apparently part of the celebrations for an enormous russian painted egg museum exhibition from several years ago.


9. The World's Largest Shuttlecocks, 18 ft tall
Kansas City, Missouri, USA

In the midst of an enormous and amazing museum. Blahblah rich guy commissioned them. Blahblah. Ironically, when we visited the sculptures there was a sandwich wagon feeding homeless people on the edge of the museum grounds.

10. The World's Largest Cap Gun
Kansas City, Missouri, USA

This is in the weirdest middle of no where location of all the sculptures spotted. Interestingly enough there were also a bunch of guys intentionally dressed as hoodlums hanging out underneath the cap gun. I couldn't tell you why.

11. The World's Largest Ketchup Bottle, 1 million gallons
Collinsville, Illinois, USA

It was dark. She's cute. It's way up off the ground. There is no way to get in close. So, we did this.

12. The World's Largest Cross, 198 ft tall
Effingham, Illinois, USA

Honestly. What else do you want to know about this one?

13. The World's Largest Gavel
Columbus, Ohio, USA

Flag Sky and No Snow

We've suddenly fallen into sunny weather, with incredibly clear skies. Flagstaff is situated at the Southern edge of the Colorado Plateau, called the Mogollon Rim. The Plateau extends through this four-corners region of the United States and rides at 7000 ft in elevation in the Flagstaff vivacity.

Many associate simply hot weather with the Arizona climate. Indeed, the entire Southern half of the state is incredibly dry, and hot both. Because of this hot weather at lower elevation we experience incredibly dramatic cloud formations as the hot currents rush towards the mountain air of the Northern regions, and hit the Mogollon Rim en route. The air hits the rim and shoots upwards creating the most beautiful skies.

Yesterday I walked around town and quite simply took photos of Flagstaff sky with its dramatic, quite clear, richly colored blue.


The snow is mostly gone in town, which, I have to admit is strange. The warmth of a day can change so dramatically here through the course of a simple week. We've gotten the second largest snowfall this year in U.S. cities, and yet, in town, the snow is already almost gone.

Why I Love Small Towns, Or, How to Survive Too Big a Snow Storm

Our House in the Midst of the Storms this Week

As some of you by now are well aware, we had record snowfall here this last week. In fact, the last week gave us 50 inches of snow, the second deepest snowfall in any week on record in Flagstaff history. The winning week occurred in 1967, a year that anyone who lived here apparently can still recall with ease like a flashbulb memory, the snow was so unbelievable.

The snow this week was so heavy, and came so fast, we all had a hard time keeping up. Half a dozen buildings had roofs cave in, another couple dozen have suffered structural damage and leaks. The entire town except for two grocery stores, and every bar were closed, and all highways both in and out of town were also closed. In other words, there was no way out of town, and in town there was no where to go. Because of the snow, the U.S. postal service was unable to deliver packages or letters. It's impossible for them to fulfill the famous saying when mail can't even get into town.

I'd kept up with shoveling during the first 2/3 of the storms. But the last two days of snow was so deep I fell behind. The snow finally stopped falling last night, and today the sun came out.

Venturing Out of the House. The Mound in the Back Ground is the Car.

Earlier this morning when we were walking to town to check to see if any mail had arrived in our post office box, we came upon a woman whose car had stopped in the middle of the road. I handed the camera to the ten-year old and pushed the car while the woman steered inside. The woman was super relieved, since she wouldn't have been able to move the car on her own. Afterward the little one wouldn't stop talking about how awesome her mom (me) was, which was sweet. But I told her all I wished for was that someone would return the favor later by helping us with the shoveling.

The Snow Berm Blocking the Garbage & Recycling Cans (on the left) and the Car from the Road.

After chatting online with Kate, who is in Switzerland this winter, for a while, her encouraging words finally spurred my gumption to go attack the berm. When I got outside the berm turned out to be around 4 ft deep, and 5 ft wide, with the outer ft being mostly ice chunks.

Garbage collection stopped entirely throughout town during the storms, which meant two weeks worth of trash and recycling had filled our bins. Surveying the berm between the cans, and our car, and the road, I decided the thing I actually cared about was making sure the garbage could be emptied tomorrow. So I went to work hacking into the ice pile between the garbage bin and the street. It was honestly so bad I was giving up on the idea of driving anywhere. When we moved to the Southwest a year and a half ago I'd intentionally chosen a house that was situated where we could walk anywhere we needed. Tomorrow we'd walk the 10-year old to school, I figured.

Then out of no where an 11-year old boy appeared behind me. He was carrying a metal shovel. "Could I help you?" he said.

It was so nice to see him there offering, I immediately accepted, and then said, "I have $10, could I give you that in exchange for however much work you think is worth that much?"

He answered me. "Oh! You could just give me $5 and I'll help till you're done." Then he looked at the berm and realizing it was all ice he said he'd be right back with ice hacking tools. I kept working on the berm behind the garbage bin.

Lest you begin to believe there are angels everywhere, across the street a man also appeared. He stood across the street for half an hour while the boy and I worked on the ice berm, and spent the entire time just standing there watching my behind. I complained to myself that it was as if not even wolves had raised him. Wolves, after all, are community-based pack animals.

The boy's mom appeared soon after too. She said they had seen me out the window and felt bad. When we got through the ice berm she helped me move both the garbage and recycling bins out of the way. Then, as if out of no where a man driving a small plow tractor appeared. He stopped and said he could clear the berm behind my car. In only a matter of minutes the ice pile was gone.

After Jarred's (the 11-year old), and Nate's (the tractor driver) help

I still had a lot of work to do to get the car out, but the worst of it was gone.

The Car Still Buried In Snow, After the Berm Had Been Cleared Behind It

Nate, with the tractor, disappeared again. I worked on shoveling around the sides of the car, still thinking enough was left I might not make it before school tomorrow. Jarred, the 11-year old, and his mother went back to their house. My 10-year old played around walking in the snowy yard with her bear feet snow shoes. Then, again, as if out of no where, Nate reappeared. He inspected the bottom of my car to see if there was a place to attach a strap. He asked if it was okay if he pulled my car out, warning that it could scratch the paint. My car has over 90,000 miles on it from driving it up literal mountains, across the North American continent multiple times, and everywhere between Alaska, Montreal, the Southwest, the Northeast, the full length of the West coast, into the South, etc. I told him I don't give a damn about the paint, and he pulled my car right out of the 3.5 ft deep snow it was encased within. Then he went to work on the driveway and completely cleared it, perfect for parking, with his little snowplow tractor.

The driveway now after Jarred, and Nate's help

Earlier today the 10-year old and I had had a conversation about how sometimes things that are awesome for all kinds of reasons (like how gorgeous the snow is here in town) are at the very same time really hard on me, because they put demands on our little family that I'm entirely responsible for figuring out. So, the thing about the snow is that I had a task too big for me to do on my own with clearing the driveway, making sure the sidewalk that borders the property we rent is clear, checking the roofs, and getting the garbage out. Usually these are all reasonable tasks for me to manage, but this morning I was feeling tired and pressured to figure it all out but in ways that it seemed like I wouldn't be able to. I needed help, and I was having a hard time finding it. I made a point of emphasizing to the little one that it was appropriate that I was the one responsible for figuring this stuff out. That she is 10, and that means it isn't for her to figure out, and I want to make sure she knows it's her job to enjoy the snow, not to worry about it. I just wanted her to understand why I might seem mercurial this morning. She said she understood that there wasn't much she could do to help, that she was sorry I felt stressed out, and then reminded me the thing she could do was offer hugs, and did I want one. So we focused on hugs for a bit.

The thing about this crazy life we all live, is that it can often seem like we have tasks to do that are too much for us to manage. The best I figure any of us can do is figure out how to face our tasks in the sizeable chunks we can manage, facing the situation honestly in that way, while also helping others when we see that we can, and being open to the possibility that wonderful people really well show up and make it all easier just when you need them to, even while understanding sometimes you also get people that are just gonna stand there and stare at your ass.

Thanks so much to Kate for her encouragement, and to Jarred, his mom, and to Nate for their help. You all just made some huge chunk of my life. Clearly saying "you made my day" is not enough. Thank you.

Winter Storm Watch and Wait

Snow has hit Flagstaff again. We're 2/3 of the way through an expected three storms in one week. In fact, half the town has gone ahead and postponed local events in advance, without even waiting to see if the weather people are right, and reports show that local grocery stores have been busier than even the holiday rush. People are stocking up in expectation of the biggest snowfall of the year. The third storm is supposed to bring 2 to 4 feet in a matter of thirty hours. It was also supposed to start tonight, but hasn't yet.

Public schools have already announced they'll be shut in anticipation of the trouble. Honestly, I think they probably just want a little vacation. Because the snow isn't falling, and the roads are dry. Unless it starts up soon, and comes down hard, my classes tomorrow are likely a go. The 10-year old's been home all week.

Cowboys in the South

Arizona and Alabama share a common history of the cowboy, as does much of the United States, I suppose. In each of the four A states, it's still an active history--not necessarily with ranching in each case (Alaska doesn't boast a high population of cattle herding), but instead with locals sharing a genuine commitment to wearing western gear for both practical and aesthetic purposes. The town I live in in Arizona has less than 60,000 people but still hosts at least three boot-barn equivalents, for example. While spending time in Huntsville a few us checked out their local cowboy-supply store. It was so packed with western treasures the layout was honestly a challenge to navigate--not enough space. Noah drew my attention to a white palm cowboy hat upon walking into the store and I kept it on the full half hour we spent there. My pause at the door before putting down the hat was long.

Noah--The Perfect Cowboy

Enoch Among the Western Dress Clothes and Boots

Wearing the White Palm

Snow in the High Arizona Desert

We got snow in the high Arizona desert just a few days before the holiday. We spent the 23rd helping a friend celebrate his birthday in Prescott.

Snow and a clear sky in the Prescott pine forest

Snow on the rock entrance to our friend's high desert house

Losing Your Car to the Snow, For Kate

Beginning of a Blizzard in Sedona, Arizona (half hour south of Flagstaff), December 2009

In Montreal, when it snows, the cars parallel parked on every street of the city have to magically find somewhere else to go so the snow can be plowed and hauled away. The city handles this difficult situation by hanging vibrant orange tow-truck signs with 12 hour time periods over the streets of the neighborhoods that will be plowed next. So, on the right side of the street the 12 hours overlaps day time hours, and on the left side of the street the hours are at night. The city figures this way only half the car owners are totally and completely screwed at any one time. Honestly, when there are enough cars in town that they take up every car length of street in the area, it's hard to imagine how all those cars will compress into half the car spots of the city. Somehow, it mostly works.

The reason for the tow truck sign is that at some point in that 12 hour time period a giant plow is going to come through that side of the street to get rid of the snow. If your car is on that side of the street when the plow comes down the road, a city tow truck is going to ticket, and then take your car away. The nice thing about life in a place like Montreal, is the tow company knows all too well that they don't have time to literally haul every such car to a distant tow lot, and no car owner wants to cross town to said lot. Instead, the tow truck just pulls your car around the corner to whatever open parking spot the driver is able to find. As a result, the day after a big storm there are tons of people driving around trying to find a parking spot, or there are tons of people walking around trying to find their moved car.

My last year in Montreal was the largest snow year on record. That means the biggest snow fall in 400 years (when the records started). Pretty impressive really, and quite lovely too. Towards the end of the season, right when the snow plowing budget ran out, we got the biggest snow fall within that record year--about 3 feet in one storm. Because the city had run out of money for plowing, they stopped clearing the city sidewalks, and focused only on clearing the streets, but even there the city plowed only one side of the streets in many places, figuring it would all melt eventually anyway. As a result, walking about town was like pushing along a mountain trail. People had made little step-by-step paths on top of the three foot mounds of snow on sidewalks. But in places their steps would sink in, then there would be the entrance to some apartment building where the manager had actually bothered to shovel out the front, then there would be the place where someone dug their car out and threw their snow on the sidewalk, so that suddenly the snow was five feet high. With this combination of features you'd be walking gingerly, but sweating as you climbed up, then back down, then sunk in, then perched up over the crazy mountain-like trail of sidewalk snow.

In the midst of this 3 foot snow storm I caught some kind of illness and was bed ridden. As a result, I missed first digging my car out of the frozen rubble to move it for the plowing, and then missed too when my car was actually plowed. By the time I woke up from my mysterious sleep, my car was no longer parked in front of my flat, the sidewalks were half way up the first story of the building I lived in, and the left side of my street was cleared, while the right side was still buried in snow. I have no idea where the neighborhood cars disappeared to. They'd all been moved. It was a day after the storm when I came to, and had to start wandering the streets to find my car. My car had been towed once each of the two years previous that I'd lived in Montreal, so I was familiar with the procedure. I figured it wouldn't be a big issue, I'd just walk around each of the corners within a two-block radius of my apartment, and around one of them there my car would be. This time though the around-each-corner investigation didn't work. My car wasn't to be found. I expanded the search area to five blocks, and still it didn't work. Then I realized it was time to rush off to some meeting across town so I ditched the car search and went on my way via bus. Not arriving home till later that night, I didn't bother looking for my car again till the next morning. Waking up the next day, I decided to take a systematic approach to searching for my car. I would walk north for ten blocks, looking side to side for my car at each cross street, then turn and walk ten blocks south one street over, and keep this up for the general neighborhood area. Walking like this I still didn't find my car and again other plans intervened so I ditched the hunt again. That night though after my meeting I met up with friends and one of them asked if they could catch a ride home with me. "No," I said. "I'm sorry." "Oh? What's up." They asked in response. "Oh. My car is gone. I haven't seen it in several days so I walked here." My friend started laughing at how nonchalant my response was. "You car is gone?" They thought I meant it was stolen. I clarified that oh, I had no idea what had happened to my car, since it had never wandered off this far on its own before. But I figured I'd find it eventually. And if I didn't, well, that would save me ever shoveling it out of this record snow fall again.

That night we stayed out late drinking cheap Canadian beer, and I woke up the next day with a sore back and a headache. Not enough water. I decided though that the weather was so bright and clear it was time to work even harder at finding the car. If I didn't succeed after day three of looking, I'd have to break into the French-speaking municipality system and call to report a runaway sedan. In the midst of walking a full-kilometer away from my house I received a phone call from Don and we chatted it up about Star Trek, philosophy, the snow, and our aching post-cheap-beer headaches. We were both feeling physically miserable, but I was out in the brisk air walking it off. Twenty minutes of this and I still had no idea where my car was. I was starting to say to Don that maybe it really had been stolen and here four days later I hadn't even bothered to report the theft to the police. Finally though, I walked by one of those bright-orange tow truck signs that had a phone number on it. I'd never seen one of these before. My neighborhood only ever had a friendly little picture of the truck.

I told Don I'd call him back and dialed the number. It turned out it linked directly into that French-speaking municipality system, falling right in the middle of the snow-plow, tow-truck division. If you had your license plate number memorized, you could type it into the system and a man with a heavy Quebecois accent would recite back the cross street location where your car had been towed. This was excellent. If my car had just been towed away for snow, I could just dial it in and look it up. I typed in my license plate and the man recited back a cross street I couldn't understand. It had just been towed. But to where I had no idea. In my extended neighborhood I couldn't remember any streets that even sounded remotely like what he was saying. I called Don back, who was at home snuggled up with his internet connection (the best way to deal with a hang over clearly is either sleeping or online), and gave him the dial-your-car information, asking him if he could sort out where my car was located by referencing the man's accent to a local street map. We got off the phone again and I waited. Don called back and had come up with four possible streets that could turn out to be where my car was located. One of them was more than a kilometer from my house. The rest I'd walked by in my previous searches. I start heading east towards the furthest possible street. Don and I talked more, laughing about the absurdity of the situation when you included my hang over in the story.

I walked in the sun, through the wide open snowy field of the park near my house. We chatted while I moved under the several-hundred year old trees covering the area. Finally, there on the other side of the park, I reached the street. There were cars thrown in at odd angles and underneath enormous mounds of now-frozen-to-ice mounds of snow. With the craziness of the snow storm it turned out the trucks had to take cars this far away to find a ditch-'em parking spot. In addition, though, the city hadn't recently plowed this street, and many of the cars had obviously been left there since before the last snow. The trick then wasn't going to be just walking the length of the street to spot my car, but instead to walk the length of the street to identify the mound that could fit the shape of my car. The thing about owning a sedan though, is that lots of mounds could look like the shape of your car. After walking half the street I recognized the tip of my radio antenna sticking out of a mound in just the right way. I kicked the snow off of the license plate. And there it was. My car. Buried under a mound of snow that surrounded the car by literally two feet on every side, and another foot and a half on top. I told Don the situation and then got off the phone ready to throw my aching back, and headache into the project. Hauling snow off the trunk with my hands I was able to get my shovel out of the trunk and started digging out the car. After three years in the city I'd learned how to take away only just enough snow to de-parallel park, leaving the shape of the mound mostly intact when I left with the car. This time it turned out the tow truck had hauled my vehicle onto an earlier-made mound of snow and so I had to shovel snow out from under the car too. Still, after three hours of work I was able to leave behind a rectangle brick of snow a foot and a half thick on three sides with the shape of a sedan missing from the middle of it. The tow truck ticket was $100.

Yesterday Flagstaff, Arizona experienced one of its biggest blizzards in years. That's really saying something considering Flagstaff is a mountain town situated at 7000 feet, or 2,140 meters in elevation. Last night our power went out for 10 hours as a result of over 2 feet of snow and 70 mile per hour winds. It's time to head outside and dig our way out the front door. Gratefully I brought the shovel into the mud room two days ago, knowing I'd need it soon. The car is in the driveway without threat of towing. Flagstaff too will tow your car away if its parked on the street overnight after a snow storm. But it is surrounded by two-feet high snow on every side, and on top. Not to mention a good twelve feet between the back of the car and the edge of the street that'll have to be shoveled. Gratefully, there's no hang over in sight.

Sunday Morning Playlist

The last two days I've laid in bed for a while after waking up, as I mentioned yesterday. Today especially I feel the call of nothing to do. So I'm trying to respond only to what I want to do, as much as that's possible. That is, instead of getting straight up and going through the morning routine just because I'm awake, what would motivate me to get up?

With this "what do I want" mode in mind, yesterday, the 10-year old and I went out for burgers at the location of honest-to-god, the best burgers I've ever had in my life. I'm not big on burgers, actually. Except I am now because of this place. We really go eat burgers an average of three times in two weeks now.

So we went for burgers at Diablo, a local-focused restaurant--every ingredient (including the beef), except the condiments, originates from local, sustainable agriculture producers. The food tastes amazing. All burgers are served on gluton-free toasted English Muffins branded with their logo DB.

Rachel ordered "The Marilyn"--an adult size burger with aged sharp cheddar--or, what she says "should be renamed, 'Heaven.'" (Which, in case you didn't notice, is a brilliantly ironic comment from anyone since the name of the restaurant is "Diablo" (an allusion to the devil) but she wants this burger to be called "Heaven" (an allusion to, well, uh, the place the devil ain't allowed to go). But, the comment is even cleverer than that because it was generated by *a ten year old.* I love this sense of humor she's somehow grown into.) I got "The Yum" (okay, I can't remember what they call it but whoa. it's good.)--a full size yum burger with a fried over-medium egg and a spread of pesto on top. (Um... whoa. Are they open right now?) Anyway, the perfect burger to eat for brunch. After eating I realized I was tired. So, we honestly sat their for two hours at the burger bar stool, half-watching the Pittsburgh--Cincinnati College Football game (what an ending!), and working on making thin metal bracelets spin on their sides as long as possible. It was good.

Today on the agenda is the following playlist. Somehow this represents my mood this morning. Feel free to offer personality test style interpretations of me via the following list in comments.

1. "Poker Face" Lady Gaga
2. "Who By Fire" Leonard Cohen Live
3. "Love Lockdown" Kanye West
4. "Helpless" K.D. Lang covers Neil Young
5. "Those Three Days" Lucinda Williams
6. "Stormy Weather Pt. 1" Lena Horne Live
7. "Going to California" Led Zepplin
8. "Family Affair" Mary J Blige
9. "Give Yourself to Love" Kate Wolf
10. "Lake Charles" Lucinda Williams
11. "If You've Got the Money, I've Got the Time" Lefty Frizzell
12. "It Wasn't God Who Made Honky Tonk Angels" Kitty Wells
13. "Hounds of Love" Kate Bush
14. "Loving Her Was Easier" Kris Kristofferson
15. "La Vie en Rose" Michael Saga
16. "Can't Help Falling in Love" Lick the Tins
17. "La Belle et le Bad Boy" MC Solaar
18. "Are You Gonna Go My Way" Lenny Kravitz
19. "Speechless" Lady Gaga
20. "Sharp Cutting Wings" Lucinda Williams
21. "Lucille" Kenny Rogers
22. "I Try" Macy Gray
23. "Everybody Knows" Leonard Cohen
24. "Bad Romance" Lady Gaga
25. "I'm Your Man" Leonard Cohen Live
26. "Mercy Mercy Me" Marvin Gaye
27. "What a Wonderful World" Louis Armstrong

Lena Horne "Stormy Weather" 1966
(Her way of singing the song, her voice, changes significantly over the course of the career. Her later performances show her having 'grown into' it in a way she didn't show as thoroughly earlier (the 40's). Beautiful throughout her career though.)

Lady Gaga - New Music - More Music Videos

Lady Gaga "Poker Face"
(Apologies it's hard to find this vid online without embedding disabled. Here it is but with ads. Beh.
Also, remarkably, this video is relatively boring compared to how Lady G handles her imagery now, a mere year later in her career.)


KD Lang "Helpless" (filling in for Neil Young at the Juno Awards 2005
God, she's got such a beautiful voice. Notice too: her bare feet.)

Flagstaff So Gorgeous Right Now

San Francisco Peaks 14 November 2009

End of Season Report

Now that it's clearly Autumn in Flagstaff, which means the Mountain is covered in crisp, beautiful snow (I mean, really... God, I love this town. And wow, it's so beautiful here.), and we can no longer pretend it's still something like summer (it honestly took that long for the season to clearly change), I thought I'd do the kind of school work Americans are often required to do in elementary school. At the end of the summer, as a way of getting the kids used to doing school work, and getting the class introduced to each other too, teachers often make elementary school kids write a report on "how I spent my summer." So, if you want the honest to god truth on how I spent mine, here it is:

How I Spent My Summer
By Belaine Bhristine Brown

image from the Sartorialist

Russian Red and Circus Psychics

There are times when you've gotta love a town like this. I had a drink last night with a woman that answered the question, "So, where'd you grow up?" with the response, "1-800-The-Road." I thought, at first, she must have meant that her family moved around a lot, which, in a sense, she did. Except, then she repeated again, "Yeah. Yup. 1-800-The-Road." It turned out what she meant was literally that she'd grown up in a manner much like being a kid in a touring circus. Her mom was a stage builder, designer, and manager. For a couple of years her mom did this for Rock Shows, till she realized that wasn't the best place to raise a teenage daughter. When the woman I was sharing a drink explained this, the reason was "roadies" rather than "rock stars."

Later, they moved to doing this sort of work for Renaissance Festivals, and Fairs of various sorts. As a result, the woman I was talking to has apprenticed costume making, with a designer and a seamstress, she's painted signs, done construction work, learned hula dancing, been a go-go dancer on stage, and learned various other performance arts as well. Needless to say, I was impressed. Did I mention she's also fluent in French, making her bilingual with English? She got her undergraduate degree on a pre-med track, and when accepted to medical schools realized she didn't like the politics of medicine and so gave up the career option.

She asked me, after filling me in on 1-800-The-Road, what my "secret talents" were. I responded sincerely that I'd worked as a 1-900-Psychic for a while, and used to train camels, to which she emphasized she loved camels. Later we bonded over my MAC lipstick--she named the color I was wearing, "Russian Red", on sight. I didn't tell her I can detangle necklaces faster than anyone else I know, or that I can tell you what cut and species of salmon you're serving me just by looking at it.

Fyi: If you search 1-800-THE-ROAD online, you get info about how in New York State the number 1-800-THRUWAY replaced 1-800-THE-ROAD for Thruway road information.

After drinks I took her to an art show and rock performance at the Masonic Lodge, where I bumped into first one of my work colleagues, and then one of my students, in the midst of my wearing a white backless one-of-a-kind Russian wrap dress, over skinny jean black leather pants, A.D. style lace up booties, and that "Russian Red" lipstick. Philosophy professors aren't supposed to wear red lipstick, so bumping into the colleague was awkward. He honestly didn't know how to talk to me. The student, on the other hand, seemed pleased. Discovering your prof really is a genuine person must be some kind of relief.

Rejuvenation and Coping Through Sky

Here's the thing, I'm compulsively obsessed with the sky. It's the thing that gets me through as I travel so much--I can find it anywhere, and while it's ever changing, there's a kind of constancy to it too. The skies I know best are two--the low, wide, full-perimeter sky of Western Coast, Alaska, and the high, cloud-cutting sky of the American Southwest.

My summers growing up were spent carrying literally tons of sockeye over the mudflats of Bristol Bay, Alaska as my family and I commercial fished for salmon. It was horrible work much of the time and I'd get through by watching the low lit, blue gray of the sky flash off the small pools of water left in the mudflats at low tide as I walked across them, and also by looking up directly at the sky. There is a thinness to the sky of the Western Coast--the clouds roll too easy across it--and at the same time, it hangs so low I could almost feel it hang onto me. On rare occasions we'd get lightning storms in the distance, and then the clouds would be thick but always a distance off. I'd track the approaching weather changes by looking up, but mostly the vastness of that sky somehow made the discomfort of fishing more bearable. Knowing that sky stretched around the planet made me aware of how small my own situation was, and I took solace in that.

Here in the Southwest the sky is huge. But it's not low hanging like the sky of Alaska. Instead, the sky here looks like it just keeps reaching up, all the way to a dark space behind it, cut through with clouds full of dance and volume. In any particular day we could have full blasting sun, followed by sudden dark, thunder-filled clouds that then thin out and drift away again after the rain. It's a splendor to watch such change here. It's easy to relish in rain knowing the sun is guaranteed again within a few hours. The sky here reflects the life of a variable desert--not the monotonous constant sun of only two hours south; instead, a desert pressed hard against mountains, life in wind currents that rush between the heated low lands of Phoenix, and our upper crust San Francisco peaks.

Flagstaff evening sky

Cloud Pine Portrait

What it looks like, at the end of the day, to spend all day painting faces and making construction paper headbands with kids at a bluegrass festival in the midst of a huge hail-lightning-thunderstorm in a Ponderosa Pine forest while being really tired and wearing a red volunteer t-shirt, after having been sick for two weeks:

Bluegrass and Pine

Pickin' in the Pines is an annual Flagstaff event consisting of a full weekend of live bluegrass and acoustic music. The Flagstaff Friends of Traditional Music organization facilitates it, offering on site camping, a Friday-Sunday main stage schedule of live performers from all over the United States, a weekend series of workshops and dances on the second stage ranging from a family dance with live caller, and live musicians, an evening contra dance, again with live caller and musicians, and a second stage with meet-the-band sessions and instructive workshops on instrument play. This year they added a kid's stage with a Musical Petting Zoo consisting in thirty different instruments for "children of all ages" to go and play, as well as Pickin' in Town--an event in the heart of Flagstaff with live music on the square downtown, and performances in various businesses as well.

The nine year old and I spent two four hour sessions volunteering at the event. I committed to doing more local-specific activities, and with a friend organizing the volunteer participation for this festival it seemed an obvious decision. It turned out I got scheduled to work the kid activity pop-up in the midst of the venue field with full listening and viewing appreciation of the stage. What luck! The musicians included some of the top fiddle players in the United States, as well as some well established, award winning, top-10 on the bluegrass list bands. I'll confess before this weekend I didn't realize that bluegrass had its own top 10. My volunteer time turned out to be dominated by face painting on both days, and hula hooping on Saturday. It turns out four little girls ranging from 6 to 11 simply eat up recognition for their hula hooping ability. They spent 45 minutes showing me their various tricks and teaching them to me as well. Though I'd loved hula hoop in elementary school I hadn't done it since but by the end of our play time they'd shown me how to do it to the music, while spinning in place, or while walking, around my neck, around my arm, and even around my ankle (while jumping over it as it spun past my other leg--this one I'll have to practice). By the end of Sunday a local event organizer asked for my business card to hire me for face painting. I might start a new career.

This is an outrageously gorgeous town. Check out the huge ponderosa pines the Pine Mountain Amphitheatre (the sight of the festival) rest within. You've gotta love the way locals participate in these events too--hula hooping, squashed out in the grass, dancing. It poured rain and hail for two hours mid-Saturday. No one even bothered to leave and the scheduled band just kept playing.