Bluegrass Widow

15 Minutes With Angela Curran

2009-12-05T17:21:00.004-04:00

Posted by Michael Floyd

Here is a 15 minute interview with Angela Curran that the Bluegrass Widow recorded way back on January 9, 2009. Apologies to Angela for not getting it on the blog sooner than this.

Click on the link below to listen to the interview in your web browser or right click and choose Save As... to save a copy of the MP3 file to your own hard drive. Be patient; it may take a few minutes before the audio begins playing as the file is 14 megabytes.

Click on the image to see a larger version of the same.

Interview with Angela Curran.

Does Anyone Want a Bass?

2009-08-07T11:40:00.005-03:00

We have a stand up bass in the corner of our livingroom. Big deal, you may say, but since there is not a great deal of real estate in the livingroom, the bass, or at least it's size, do indeed become a big deal.

At Christmastime we had to make a decision to either find somewhere else to put the bass in order to set up a tree, or just decorate the bass. I wasn't opposed to just hanging some balls from the antique tuning thingys at the top of the bass, but some people decided it would look tacky and we set up the tree instead.

When we drove to Halifax two weeks ago for my sister Heather's wedding, we took the bass along with us. It needed special glue, I was told. It turned out to be $260.00 worth of glue...damn right it's special. I'm thinking good old Elmers School Glue will do a fine job next time. Picture this, too. In order to get the bass into the car, the following must be done in exactly the correct order, or the bass will not fit.

First, open all four doors and raise the trunk lid. Next, lay down both back seats, making certain that the seat belts are far over to the side and out of the way. Now, move the driver seat as far forward as it will go. Move the passenger seat as far forward as it will go, and then drop the back rest of the passenger seat only back as far as it will go. Then, one person, taking hold of the bass and standing at the left rear open door, carefully angles the bass in and then forward, toward the rear view mirror, being ever careful not to bump the roof of the car, the mirror or the back of the driver's seat.

The other person (yes, it really does take two people to put the bass in the car) waiting expectantly at the open front right passenger door, gently easing the part of the bass nosing forward around the driver's seat and away from the rear view mirror..."not TOO hard, it might damage the bass!". Whatever. Then, the second person carefully pulls the bass toward her at an impressive angle, and seeing that the bottom of the bass is now actually in the car, eases the bass backwards carefully, and then down, so as to position the bass neck nicely between the two front seats, with the bottom end of it stuck halfway between the trunk and backseat. If Bass Loading were an Olympic event, Michael and I would be gold medalists.

All that to say that I'm finding the bass to be a pain in the butt, not to mention expensive. If you want it, come and get it. But please, bring a truck and your own people. This athelete is changing sports.

The Floor is Clean...Sort of...

2009-07-15T07:47:00.003-03:00

Been going through a lot of family stuff lately. As I wrote that I wondered if they (my family of origin) also think we are going through "family stuff" or if they are oblivious to it all. I'm not sure of what they may be thinking, but I know beyond a doubt, I am going through FAMILY STUFF.

I spoke with my sister tonight; she is getting married in less than two weeks. In itself this is not odd, but the fact that she announced the engagement little more than a week ago puts a different light on the situation. Every time I speak with her lately I end up feeling jittery and pacing, and the cure is to do housework. Argh...

Friday evening, I vacuumed the whole house. Tonight I tackled the kitchen and dining room floors. At one point they were white and over time, well, since Christmas, they have faded to grey. On Monday the Sears repairman installed a new part in the dishwasher (thank you God!) and he left his boots on, and it was rainy out. After he left I peered at the floor in front of the dishwasher and that was when I realized that the entire floor was the same color as the grit he had left behind. Time to clean it, I guess. After talking with the sister on the phone this evening, I needed to do something, so I got out the mop thingy and some spray stuff and polish. I like the smell of floor polish. I don't smell it often. Whaddya mean Uncle Johnnie's not coming to the wedding and now I have to drive 5 hours each way with Uncle Roger who is extremely hard of hearing and thinks I am too? Are you kidding me?

I got down on my hands and knees and sprayed and scrubbed and sprayed, and then mopped up the excess wet stuff, all the while the conversation with said sister ricocheting through my mind. Yup, it was starting to look white again. After I washed and rinsed the whole floor and let it dry, I brandished the bottle of polish enthusiastically, feeling pretty good about my accomplishment. Whaddya mean you want me to have Cheesecake because it's your wedding and after all, it's just cheese. Are you kidding me?

Back on my hands and knees I liberally souse the floor with polish...mmmmmm...smell that. I smile and start...well, polishing. As I move backward across the kitchen floor, away from the corner and toward the door, cuz I'm not stupid, ya know, I keep having to lift my knees from the floor in order to move them...they are sticking to the floor. First I scrub a spot, then separate the knees, then drag them backward, causing my toes to drag across the floor. Scrub, scrub, peel, peel, drag, drag...and so it goes. After a short bit I notice circular blobs of blue on the floor, and just beyond this long lines of red. What the heck...? Whaddya mean my twenty year old daughter is invited to your staggette party, but I'm not? Are you kidding me? Oh man, the circular blobs are from my jeans sticking to the floor. I can't figure out what the red stripes are...oh wait...that's Sally Hansen "Hard as Nails" Crimson Red. Shoot.

Now I do scrub, scrub, peel, peel, wipe, wipe, and point the toes as I drag, drag. I manage to get the whole kitchen and dining room done in this fashion, trying to ignore the cramping in my feet. I am getting bored however and rather than moving the laptop bag, I polish around it. In retrospect this was a poor idea as tomorrow when I lift the bag to take it to work, that spot will be dull. Whaddya mean you want me to wear light purple in your wedding...do you mean Easter egg light purple? Are you kidding me?

I wait upstairs patiently for the floor to dry so that I can put the chairs back. I tested the floor and it seemed fine so I stood a moment, surveying my nice clean floor and the fruits of my labour with satisfaction. Stood a moment too long, I will wager, as when I started walking I ripped a layer of skin off the bottom of both feet. I screamed in agony and expected the husband to come to my rescue, but, too late, I hear the faint hammering of Groundhog on the banjo. I could die 5 feet away and he would not know. Whaddya mean you want me to find the knife and cake server that I used at my wedding 25 years ago. Are you kidding me?

I limp back upstairs to wash the dried on polish off my hands, and to find something to put on my feet. I notice that the knees of my jeans are shiny. I have to go through the kitchen to get to the laundry room, so hopefully the polish will wash out later. I'm tired now, and feeling fairly good about my clean floor and hoping the pain will pass soon. Tomorrow evening, after I speak with her, I will clean the bathrooms. And no, I will not be eating the Cheesecake, one day at a time. And I'm not kidding!!

Interview - 14 Minutes with Mike Scott

2009-07-13T02:03:00.000-03:00

I'm getting down to the last of the interviews I did in December of 2008.

Here is my 14 minute interview with local Bluegrass musician and all 'round good guy, Mike Scott. This interview was recorded on December 21, 2008; I hope you enjoy it.

Click on the link below to listen to the interview in your web browser or right click and choose Save As... to save a copy of the MP3 file to your own hard drive. Be patient; it may take a few minutes before the audio begins playing as the file is 8.5 megabytes.

Click on the image to see a larger version of the same.

Interview with Mike Scott.

Interview - 20 Minutes with Harvey Arbo

2009-07-04T15:24:00.000-03:00

Thanks for tuning in again to the Bluegrass Widow blog.

Here is my 20 minute conversation with local Bluegrass musician and good friend, Harvey Arbo. The interview was recorded on December 20, 2008; I hope you enjoy it.

Click on the link below to listen to the interview in your web browser or right click and choose Save As... to save a copy of the MP3 file to your own hard drive. Be patient; it may take a few minutes before the audio begins playing as the file is 11 MB large.

Interview with Harvey Arbo.

Bane-Jo of My Existence

2009-04-12T22:18:00.000-03:00

As I was drifting to sleep last night to the melodic and wistful lulling sound of “Ground Hog” being hammered on the banjo by my darling, I was thinking of a blog. Unfortunately, when I woke up, all I could remember was Ground Hog. It’s a beaut, let me tell you.

I do recall a few random thoughts. I was actually laughing to myself remembering the last blog I wrote that I was not allowed to post. When I say ‘not allowed’ I mean that out of respect for my husband, I won’t post it. He didn’t feel it was near classy enough for me to post. We’ve been married nearly 25 years. The poor man is still living in a delusion.

Anyway, the blog was about a horrific episode in a dressing room at a local department store where I was attempting to buy a new bra. After reading the blog, Michael sort of sat up straight and knit his eyebrows together (he does this when he’s about to impart something important) and said “I don’t think the words “boob” and “torpedo” should be used in the same sentence.

The other thing I recall is not funny at all and very painful – I may need counseling. As I was giving our bedroom a good cleaning (yeah, right) last weekend, I noticed a receipt on my dresser that had “BIRKS” stamped on the back. I didn’t open the receipt as that would be dishonest…who is that girl and what has she done with Helen? ...but I did a bit of jumping up and down and clapping my hands together that a purchase had been made at BIRKS, which is a very high-end jewelry store in uptown Saint John. I do love shiny stuff. As I was clapping and squealing like a stuck pig I wondered how I could (a) find out what was bought without (b) acting too greedy. Impossible.

That night, all cozy on the couch next to Michael, I took his hand and, batting my eyelashes at him, I said “I see on the dresser a receipt for BIRKS…I promise I didn’t open it! But I’m dying to know what you bought”…twitter, bat, twitter, bat, bat, bat, bat.

The response dealt a crushing blow. SIGH…so much for batting and twittering. Michael said “oh, that... I bought a special cloth for shining up the gold on my banjo.” Like, just stab me. So, lemme get this straight… the banjo got a present from BIRKS and I didn’t? There is something seriously wrong with this. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

The stupid cloth even came in a fancy box with BIRKS stamped on the outside of it, and I would like to add, the stupid cloth cost something like $18.00. Use spit and paper towel to shine stuff, BUD, like the rest of us.

Shoulder up your gun and call up the dog
Shoulder up your gun and call up the dog
Goin' to the woods, gonna' catch a ground hog
Ground hog

Yonder run a whistle pig under that log
Yonder run a whistle pig under that log
Lord have mercy when the world might pause
Ground hog

Meat's in the cupboard and the butter's in the churn
Meat's in the cupboard and the butter's in the churn
If that ain't ground hog I'll be darned
Ground hog

Little piece of corn bread layin' on the shelf
Little piece of corn bread layin' on the shelf
If you want some you can get it yourself
Ground hog

Yonder comes Sally with a snicker and a grin
Yonder comes Sally with a snicker and a grin
Ground hog grease all over her chin
Ground hog

I’m still shaking my head. I love shiny stuff and all I get is Ground Hog. Could someone please send me a hubcap?? SNIFF!!

Unless you made other plans, have a happy and peaceful day. Keep doing the next right thing.

Helen

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Interview With Reg Gallant

2009-04-11T09:25:00.000-03:00

I'm breaking in on the series of interviews I did before Christmas to present you with my latest - a lengthy chat with New Brunswick Country Music Hall of Fame inductee, Reg Gallant.

I should like to point out that in my interview with Reg, I make mention of "Michael" playing the banjo behind Reg at the Saint John Marina. This Michael I speak of is my husband, but he is not the Michael you hear on the audio samples throughout the interview. The banjo player you hear during the interview is Mike Scott. Just wanted to prevent any confusion that could possibly occur.

This interview is long; a whole 40 minutes, but I think you'll find it informative and interesting. The interview was split into four 10-minute parts so downloading won't take too long. Click on the links below to play each part of the interview in your web browser or right click and choose Save As... to save copies of the MP3 files to your own hard drive.

Be patient; it may take a few minutes before the audio begins playing as the files are 12 MB in size.

Interview with Reg Gallant - part 1.

Interview with Reg Gallant - part 2.

Interview with Reg Gallant - part 3.

Interview with Reg Gallant - part 4.

Tip Click on the image if you'd like to see a larger version of the same.

Interview - 16 Minutes with Ed & Becky Betts

2009-04-08T02:35:00.000-03:00

Welcome back.

I hope you enjoy my interview with Ed & Becky Betts. This was the first interview I conducted in a series of interviews I did just before Christmas.

Click on the link below to listen to the interview in your web browser or right click and choose Save As... to save a copy of the MP3 file to your own hard drive. Be patient; it may take a few minutes before the audio begins playing as the file is 15 MB large.

Interview with Ed & Becky Betts.

Tip Click on the images if you'd like to see a larger version of the same.

Interview - 15 Minutes with Larry & Carlotta Walsh

2009-03-20T00:57:00.000-03:00

Thanks for tuning in again to the ole blog site... you’re just in time to hear another interview with the Bluegrass Widow, this time with Larry and Carlotta Walsh. Hope you enjoy it, and even if you don’t, pretend.

Click on the link below to listen to the interview in your web browser or right click and choose Save As... to save a copy of the MP3 file to your own hard drive. Be patient; it may take a few minutes before the audio begins playing as the file is 14.2 MB large.

Interview with Larry & Carlotta Walsh.

Tip Click on the images if you'd like to see a larger version of the same.

Interview - 14 Minutes with Kenny Innis

2009-03-08T21:00:00.000-03:00

Just before Christmas 2008, Michael and I recorded a series of interviews with some of our Bluegrass friends. The intent of the interviews is for the inclusion on a DVD slideshow that will highlight some of the events we've shared as a result of our common interest in Bluegrass music. Michael took care of the technical aspects; I did the interviewing.

For the whole world's enjoyment, I'm presenting the interviews in my blog. As a common courtesy, Michael asked each interviewee for their permission to post their interview; only those interviews for which permission was granted will be posted.

The interviews won't necessarily be posted in the order they were recorded. Here is a link to the second interview we recorded in the series (recorded on December 20, 2008). I hope you enjoy 14 minutes with our good friend Kenny Innis.

Click on the link below to listen to the interview in your web browser or right click and choose Save As... to save a copy of the MP3 file to your own hard drive. Be patient; it may take a few minutes before the audio begins playing as the file is 13 MB large.

Interview with Kenny Innis.

A Camel Named Art

2009-03-04T00:37:00.000-04:00

It's been such a very long time since I was on this site that I had to stop and think about what my password might be. Amazingly enough, I remembered it. I say amazing because Michael assigned this particular password, and he tends to use the most cryptic passwords imaginable. Yes, I realize you're not supposed to use personal information such as family member's names or birthdays or such, but Michael will assign a part number from a tube that he used to fix a 1967 RCA black and white television set when he was 20 years old, that part number having no less than 20 characters, both alpha and numeric. The fact that I remembered the password for my blog site is truly amazing.

I'm finding this winter to be rough going. I have, along with most of you, no doubt, had quite enough. I see that the clocks are going to spring ahead this Sunday, so that is a sure sign that Spring is coming, right? I know, wishful thinking.

Let me tell you a story - this tale is about a camel named Art. Two Saturdays ago our new bed was delivered and I decided that along with a new bed we should have a new bed spread and bed skirt and fancy poofy pillows and some matching fake flowers for the bedside table. I set out shopping with the spread and skirt in mind; the pillows and flowers were just a nice surprise along the way. I love it when stuff matches. Anyway, in my travels and spending glut I stopped in to a lovely home decor store that is usually too expensive for my budget and while I think everything in the store looks fabulous, I cannot picture it in our house. It would lose something in the translation. But, I ventured in for a peek anyway.

I was alone and roamed around the store for quite some time, delighting in the colors and just feeling happy to be surrounded by such pretty stuff. I rounded the corner by the clearance shelves and there in front of me was the most adorable iron camel I have ever seen. He (hard to say, actually) stood about 3 feet high. There was something appealing about him...not sure what. The original price tag said $120. and he was marked down 75%. I gazed at him for a while, roamed around a bit more, and kept coming back to the camel. A stange woman came up behind me and admired the camel too - I said, while shaking my head, "I'm not sure my husband will love this" (I was thinking more that he might despise it, or worse, ridicule it). She said "if you keep coming back to him, he must be meant for you". She goaded me; she led me to believe that the 3 foot tall iron camel would fit right in with the decor of my house; she convinced me that men are stupid and have no taste. It's all her fault.

Happily, and as if I were in my right mind, I proceeded to the cash register. Setting Art on the counter (he had not actually assumed a name at that point), I asked the woman behind the counter this question: "Can I return this if my husband hates it?" The look that passed over her face can only be called mystified. Clearly she had no clue what I was meaning. Finally she said "why would it matter if he hated it?" I asked her if she were married. Then I spotted the engagement ring. Alrighty then.

I paid for the camel after I got confirmation that I could indeed return him if he posed a problem on the home front. The strange woman was behind me as I was leaving and she told me not to worry, that I could always re-gift it. Why would I need to re-gift something I was buying for myself?

As I was driving home I tried to picture the iron camel at our house. A vision of Harvey and Kenny in our livingroom, banjo and mandolin in hand flashed through my mind. Just beyond them sat the camel, totally out of place. I knew even before I got home he would not fit in, but what the heck. I tried anyway. I knew it was going to be a problem as Michael was walking upstairs and yelled "what the heck is that in our bedroom?" The camel looked ridiculous in the corner of our bedroom, and even worse on top of the entertainment center in the livingroom. It just looked so stiff and unnatural and ... iron. Michael, who has a real flair for understatement said, "What is that, anyway? ART??" And that was how we named Art the Iron Camel.

On Monday we returned Art to the store. We had grown fond of him, but still, he didn't fit in. Or should I say I had grown fond of him, and Michael had grown fond of making fun of him. Anyway, the same person was working the counter as the Saturday before and she recognized me. As Michael roamed off to look at the pretty stuff she leaned toward me and whispered "did it not go well?" I'm pretty sure she thinks Michael is a big meanie and made me return Art, which is not the case. As I defended Michael I wondered if this was how battered women feel when they have to cover up to protect the illusion of their happy life. I grew tired of trying to convince her that returning the camel was my idea and that he didn't fit in with our home...I even called across the store and told Michael to come and give Art a good-bye kiss. As we were leaving the woman put Art in the store window so he could watch us leave. It was all just too funny. We're still laughing.

In the car I said "I feel really sorry for the people that actually paid $120. for Art." Michael said "I'm pretty sure you bought the only one."

I like to refer to that Saturday as the launch of my own economic stimulus plan. And the bedspread and fake flowers look really pretty.

Thought for today:
"The only way to keep your health is to eat what you don't want, drink what you don't like, and do what you'd rather not."
Mark Twain

Bad Hair Experience

2008-08-24T19:00:00.000-03:00

The last time I went to Elizabeth, my hair person, she cut and dyed my hair back to brown from the blonde that it had been for two months. Michael didn’t like my hair blonde; the fact that he kept calling it “yellow” made that point pretty clear. So, I went back to brown, but there were still a few light streaks. I told Elizabeth that I would be dying it myself the next time, and she said “make sure you don’t wait too long”. I wondered at the time what the warning meant, and exactly how long “too long” was, but I didn’t question her vagueness at the time. I wish I had.

Over the ensuing weeks the thought went through my mind how long too long was, but I don’t like the messiness of dying my hair, and even though I was mildly curious about her warning, I didn’t ask, and didn’t dye my hair.

On Friday past, I decided it was time. Since I’ve done this a few times now, I know how to do it and didn’t feel any obligation to re-read the instructions, except to remind myself of the time needed to complete the task. Unfortunately, I did forget one key part of the instructions, which was to dry my hair before applying the dye. Dye bottle in hand, I immediately started applying the dye to wet hair. Medium brown, the box stated. When my hair started going black almost instantly, I remembered that I had missed a step. That, along with the fact that the dye was running down the sides of my face, sent me scrambling for the instructions, and then for the phone to dial 1-800-ISCREWEDUPAGAIN.

Just as I had hoped, there was an 800 number on the instructions for such calameties. I dialed the number, hands shaking so badly I had to dial twice before I got it right. Couple shaking hands with poor eyesight and knowing I was getting dye all over the phone too. When they say permanent, they were not joking.

Ring, ring, ring.

Recorded Voice of someone that was clearly not having a hair emergency. “Welcome to the Clairol Hotline. Please listen carefully before selecting one of the three following options”

Me: I take a deep breath. Begging a recorded voice will not help me.

Non-Hair Emergency person: “Press “ONE” if you are a professional hair stylist”

Me: I consider pressing one. After all, who do I know that gets more hair comments (most not complimentary), owns more hair product, or changes their hair color more often then me? I wait for the next option.

Relaxed Clairol person, clearly with no hair issues: “Press TWO or say TWO if you are a consumer and would like to continue in English” Gratefully I say TWO quite loudly. Let there be no mistake on this, I think.

French speaking and relaxed Clairol person “…(I dunno what she said but I cannot believe my bad luck, and I can feel the dye running down my cheeks. The face ones.

Me: I push a few more buttons, desperately. The French continues. I hang up. I call back, I’m reminded of the movie The Pink Panther where Steve Martin is trying to correct his heavy French accent with the help of a speech coach. Perhaps how I say “Two” in English should like “Trois”. That would explain a lot.

So, yes, I call back. This time when I’m prompted, I, foolishly, say TWO a little louder. Guess what happened? Indeed, I was reconnected with the French speaking and extremely relaxed sounding Clairol person that I could not understand because of my lack. I am totally to blame. At this point, I’m approaching desperation.

I call back a third time. It’s a weekday during business hours so I feel safe in believing that I will be connected, should I press the right button combination, with a real live person who can help me.

Ring, ring, ring….This time I waste no time saying anything, I press TWO. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…you know.

To my delight, upon pressing the number TWO the phone rings again as if I’m to be connected with a live body that can hear the panic in my voice and help me…the dye is now running down my neck. Also, I had a look at my ears before I went to the phone – they’re both black. Oh my.

To my horror on comes another recording. A relaxed voice with a strong southern accent comes on: “Our offices are closed today due to extreme weather conditions. If this is a medical emergency please call 1-513-xxx-xxxx.”

Needless to say, I’m shocked. I hang up slowly. Feeling fearful, I go to the shower and rinse the dye out of my hair. I scrub soap on my face, but I already know that won’t work. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Upstairs I remove the towel and do damage control. Black hair, brown in a few spots, but mostly black. Think Mrs. Adams Family black. My ears are black, I have black residue outlining the entire hairline, roughly an inch the whole way around, and some streaks down the cheeks. Not good. After dying my hair and trying to scrub the dye off my face, I try to cover it with makeup. I wonder how much I would have to use to cover this mess. I put on a lot; it’s still visible. I make a decision then not to leave the house for a few days, or I get the stains off, whichever comes first.

Then I remember the handy dandy stain remover book I bought for five bucks. I bet that will tell me how to get dye removed from skin. I’m ready to use Vim at this point…I have nothing to lose.

Unfortunately the book does not mention removing dye from the skin and only mentioned hair dye briefly. Paraphrased, it said that if a person gets hair dye on anything, either get used to it or throw it away. Hmmmm…this is not what I want to hear. Sigh…I flip through a few pages in a desolate way, hoping that some inspiration will appear….then, Voila!!! I see the answer. Hairspray.

Granted the book was talking about using hairspray on something else, but I thought what the heck…I’ll try that before the Vim. I sprayed some on a towel and rubbed at my left ear…the stain started to lift. I had three different types right in front of me, so I tried all three. The least expensive worked the best, but the good news, and I’m sure you share my relief, is that the hairspray removed all of the dye stains and I was able to leave the house and not have to turn into a recluse.

I was mentioning this to Michael later that day…I asked him had he heard about any extreme weather conditions in William of the Mountain country and then I shared with him my suspicion that there was a plot out there to keep me from getting the help I needed from my hair emergency. He said “yes, Clairol has a plot for all the stupid people that won’t read the instructions….they’re all laughing at you right now.” Whatever. I’m just really grateful I don’t have green hair. And Elizabeth, can you not be so vague next time?

Thought for today: Don’t let a little wind keep you from going to work…
Helen

Studio 16 and Other Stuff

2008-08-22T02:00:00.000-03:00

We’re driving home from visiting Aunt Faye and Uncle Jack at their cozy home near Grand Lake. The temperature was perfect, as was the lack of mosquitoes and the stew we had for supper. I love visiting Faye and Jack – they are down to earth, welcoming and easy to be around. Michael and I are making an effort, a real effort to spend some time visiting people. Life, it seems, is far too short.

Just as we were exiting their road and starting out on the main highway, which once was the Trans Canada Highway, at Sheffield, Michael reminded me that he had put his laptop in the back seat for me, in case I felt the urge to blog. I said I didn’t really much feel like it, but I was reminded that I had so much to write about. Such as? Oh yes, all the events taking place lately at Studio 16. How could I forget?

Right now the car is stopped along the highway in Maugerville (route 105). We saw a sign indicating the Ch Church Rd is coming up. We have stopped to take a picture of the sign. What is so remarkable about that particular sign, you might ask? Well you should. Michael has a cousin, Gary, that thought for many years that the Ch at the beginning of every road sign meant “church.” Gary, like the rest of us, was born and raised in bilingual New Brunswick, but somehow he missed the fact that “ch” stands for “chemin” (road en Francais) and has always thought it stood for “Church.” Because of that, we thought it funny that Gary would say this particular signs says “Church Church Rd”. Never mind. Perhaps it’s one of those things that you have to be there to understand. Oh, and don’t miss the fact that we’re taking a picture of a road sign…

For those of you that don’t know, my dad passed away on August 8th. I miss him terribly and as I said when mom died on May 25th, 2007, the fact that people miss you after you’re gone is perhaps the best legacy that a person can leave. I would like to take this opportunity to thank our many dear friends in the Bluegrass community. We are deeply blessed with true and real friends.

Back to the blog – Studio 16. Little did I know, many years ago when we married, that I would someday be married to a recording studio engineer, and constantly having celebrities in my home, and most impressive of all, having to listen to take after take of the same song. I’ll call it a song for lack of a better word. Yes, I’m rolling my eyes.

First, it was the fish song. Michael’s brother Steven wrote a song about a fish – a muskie, to be exact. Someone please shoot me in the head if I have to listen to that one again. Like, man! Oh, and I loved how Steve was at our house and Mike the recording studio engineer kept saying “your timing is off, do it again.” It didn’t take me long to figure out where I’ve heard that before. I hear it every single time I go near any musical instrument, regardless of whether it has strings. Even with the triangle, I struggle with timing. It should be noted that when Michael said “your timing is out, do it again,” Steve would rebel, to the point where I imagined that they sounded like that when they were 10 and 13. And in between the hollering, I had to listen to the song. I don’t need to wonder why people take valium.

We moved from the fish song to Southern Flavour, which is supposed to be a Bluegrass song. I’m thinking it sounds like something from Cape Breton, but Michael assures me that it’s Bluegrass. I don’t think it has a Bluegrass arrangement, but the recording studio engineer / Bluegrass music committee member tells me different. Mark me as not impressed.

So, right off the go there’s a problem in that I don’t really like the song, and I’m ticked because I hear it in my sleep and in my head and I want it to go away, and then he starts dissecting it. First, the bass track. Then 492 takes with Kenny the mandolin player. Kenny wasn’t liking the recording studio engineer too much at the end either, I bet. Then, the fiddle track. Somehow Michael lured Matt Hayes up to our house with the promise of a tuna sandwich. I was told that day’s fun consisted of 30 takes. What I find absolutely remarkable is that they all literally sound the same to me. Not that I would know. I vacated. I’d like to tell you that I was thrown out, but that is not the case. After I made the tuna sandwiches, I exited, stage left; call it survival instincts.

First I went to a craft store for a short visit. I love the stuff in that store but I had the sensation that it was probably too expensive for me to breathe in there. Usually I end up just buying a candle, but even that was more than I wanted to spend. Next I went to Fabricville, which is lovely. So many colors, so much material, so little time. I spent an hour and a half in there – pure luxury. It’s probably the only store I’ve ever been in where I just wanted to throw myself on the piles of fabric and roll through the aisles. The colors and patterns and textures are so appealing to my senses. Then I went to the Baptist Bookroom (I didn’t know they moved!), then to Wal-Mart. This morning I heard Michael say in a loudish voice “You bought another pair of shoes?!?!” Place the emphasis on *another*. I didn’t answer him, but I’m fairly certain when he reads this blog, he’ll know I heard. A smart woman would be hitting the backspace key right now, but not me. I also bought 10 spools of black thread for making more quilts, and two flower pots for splitting up the beautiful plant that the Bluegrass Friends sent when Dad died. Thank you very much for sending it. My sister Heather wanted to take it home with her, but I talked her into letting me keep it and I promised I would split it in two. She said ok, hesitantly, and then asked if I still had a problem with keeping plants alive. Har har har. Very funny.

Then, I had to go back home. Matt was still smiling. I can feel your pain, Matt. I smile through it all too. Oh, I forgot…in between the mandolin track and the fiddle track, Tom came up to have his banjo fixed. He said it was making funny noises since he had replaced the strings. I hate to tell you this Tom, but it’s a banjo. It’s always going to sound funny.

My buddy Mike (friend Mike not husband Mike) was telling me that he saw half a dozen banjos at the Sussex flea market. I asked Michael (husband Mike not friend Mike) if he wanted to go up to Sussex and check them out – maybe one of them was a pre-war whoosit whatever. He said that there’d be no way they would still be there. I love it when he feeds me ammunition for the Gotcha Gun. I said “no one bought those things – in fact there are probably three more there with them!” Jeepers. Seems so obvious to me.

I’m feeling so much better. Nothing like a good blog to get the adrenaline flowing.

I’m really looking forward to Thomas Point. Michael keeps saying that we’re not going, but I know we are – that’s what I bought the new shoes for.

Happy day, everyone!
Helen

Saturday Afternoon Bloggishness...

2008-07-19T13:47:00.000-03:00

I slept in kind of late this morning...my body was achy and it was saying "get out of bed" but I couldn't get my eyes to stay open. Rather a conflict, but eventually, I did crawl out of bed.

Michael and I are going to a family reunion this afternoon, at some point, at my Aunt Freda's house in Norton. This is a reunion of my mother's side of the family, brought about because cousin Pat and her husband Gerry are here from Saskatchewan. I'm looking forward to seeing everyone, but I must admit I am missing my mother acutely today as she will not be there. Ahhh...here I am again, back to accepting the things I cannot change. It will be lovely to see all the cousins again - we don't seem to get together too often, anymore.

Something scary happened at our house one morning this week - we were getting ready for work and listening to bluegrass music on the stereo in the living room. The CD was Dr. Ralph Stanley playing a duet with a bunch of different people, and Michael asked me if I noticed anything different about how the banjo sounded. "Yes", I said "It's being played in the Ralph Stanley style and sounds quite different from the Scruggs style". Michael was quite impressed that I could tell the difference. He was not the only one that was impressed.

Actually, the thought has occured to me a couple times that this shift in my thinking cannot be a good thing. Is it possible that I'm starting to like Bluegrass music? Is it reasonable to think that I, of all people, could actually notice the nuances in something as complicated as how one banjo style differs from another? Nawwwwwww...isn't possible.

How relieved was I, while we were driving home from the Fredericton hospital one night this week, when Michael told me that Montgomery Bell was Cluck Old Hen and I believed him? I was happy when his eyes rolled upward. Pardon my grammar, but I still don't got it. Yay! I will admit that I am still happy to be supportive in all things for Michael, and most especially all things musical, still happy to be surrounded by those that understand and do "got it", and happy that I can be a good sport and play the triangle in front of people.

Speaking of the triangle, we were at Mama Floyd's house last night having a visit when Michael's sister Tracey and her new husband Justin dropped in. They are home for a bit from Alberta. We had a stimulating conversation and it was nice to see them again. Miss you guys! Tracey was astounded when I said there is a video of my triangular debut while playing Petticoat Junction with the boys, and she even made me say 'honest'. Later we realized she thought it was on YouTube, but fortunately, it's not. Too much for the world to handle, I'm thinking. There was some good-natured digs about how much talent does it take to play the triangle, anyway? Well, I have to agree. Not much. I guess that's why I'm the one playing it :)

I'm supposed to be dusting and vacuuming and then getting ready to go to Norton, so I'll end this blog on this:

The things that matter the most in life are not things.

Bye for now...
Helen

Been a Long Time Coming…

2008-07-14T01:00:00.000-03:00

It was pointed out to me last night, a couple times, that I have not blogged in a while. Since May 15th, to be precise. And we do seem to be all about being precise, some of us. Anyway, it’s not that I’ve not had anything to blog about; simply more that time does fly. Hardly seems possible that I had that first triangle lesson and the jam at our house that started it all (for me) two whole months ago. A lot has transpired since that eventful night.

Let me see…where to start. I think I will start at the end, actually. Last night Michael and I had the very great pleasure of having friends to our home for a summer party in our lovely back-yard. I say ‘lovely’ when referring to our back yard because I am quite delighted with it. Michael has put a huge amount of energy into taking what was an over-grown, rocky, miserable mess and turned it into a very pretty retreat. With help from our good friend Kenny, he built a deck last summer, and the idea of sitting on the deck on our swing and listening to the birds and squirrels fills me with peace and contentment. We were both very excited at the prospect of having our good friends for this party and delighted that so many could come.

Michael’s brother Steven arrived just in time to do some cooking, allowing Michael to continue banging away on the Bass Fiddle. I fully expected some neighbours to stop over, but no one showed up. No doubt they were scared away by all those William of the Mountains (aka hillbillies) smack dab in the middle of Pine Avenue.

I was remarking to Steven, as I was looking at our good friends, that other than he and our daughter, Mallory, Michael and I didn’t know the rest of the people two years ago. We truly are blessed in our friends. Thanks for coming up to the house, everyone.

Two months… seems like a long time… On June 2nd we started up the Monday night Bluegrass Jams again. There had been an eleven month hiatus, but the time had come to resume. There was a good turn out that night, and Michael had organized a huge birthday cake in honour of my birthday the next day. That was very nice, I thought. I personally had a lot of fun that night since I made my Triangular debut on stage. I would like to point out that along with playing the triangle in non-perfect time, I was also burdened with the responsibility of Harvey’s train whistle. Rather a lot of musical stress, I thought, for someone that had not played anything in public prior to that night. I use the term ‘played’ loosely. The amount of talent required was virtually nil. Mostly I just needed some air in my lungs, the ability to open my mouth (never a problem), and the memory of which end of the triangle stick thing to hold on to. Actually, I’m fairly certain the sound coming off that hunk of metal would be the same no matter which end of the stick I used. But again, we’re all about precision. I was stressed out by trying to remember to blow or ding at the appropriate time, and which instrument should be stuck in my armpit.

The entire experience was rather humiliating, along with being fun. I’m not sure it’s something I can put on my resume, unless I am looking for a job where I act like a fool. Becky recorded the session, and a CD of me making a fool out of myself in non-perfect time, complete with Lola’s booming laugh in the background, can be purchased for a mere $10.00. Or, I can lend you my copy for free. You will note that each time I put the train whistle in my mouth, and my cheeks puffed out in readiness, the laughing hit a new high.

Ed had told me a while ago that when musicians are getting ready for a song to close, they lift one leg. I thought he was joking but I have seen Ed and Harvey both lifting a leg while they were on stage at the jam, and since it looks so silly I couldn’t imagine them doing it just to string me along. Last night several of the girls stuck one leg up in the air when it was approaching midnight, signifying that they wanted to go home, and yet, the music continued on. One over-tired woman even stuck both into the air, and still, the music played on. I think I have it figured out – if the man lifts a leg, the song will stop. The women – nothing. Well, a laugh maybe. I don’t get that.

I am typing this blog on the way to and from Fredericton as my Dad is back in the hospital. Michael brought along his laptop and left me with absolutely no excuse not to put my thoughts on paper; scant though they may be. I’m at the point now that I’m struggling to recall what else has happened in this past couple months. As soon as I close this blog off I’m going to yet again launch into the pros for Michael going to the Thomas Point Beach Bluegrass Festival over the long weekend in September. I find it difficult to type and nag at the same time.

I hope you’re all having a blessed and peaceful summer. One thing that helps me is this prayer:

“God, if I can’t have what I want, please let me want what I have.”

Helen

Note Click on images to see larger size.

Triangle Lesson # 1

2008-05-15T23:00:00.000-03:00

Michael opened the conversation today saying “The triangle is to be taken seriously.” He then proceeded to tell me that I need a triangle lesson. Oh, great - a triangle lesson.
He said that I needed to learn to not be randomly banging on the triangle in Harvey’s left ear, most especially while Harvey is trying to play another song. You mean I didn't add anything to Harvey’s song? Random? I would like to point out that my intention was to create a lovely sound effect in keeping with what Harvey was playing (which sounded like Cluck Old Hen, by the way).

Michael also said that my timing is off. Triangle timing is important, he said. My timing is off? I’ve heard this somewhere before… Oh yes, the bass. Bass lessons 1 through 3. The fact that my timing is off is not news to me. Had my timing been good, I would have married Bernie Curran, the person I met while in high school that introduced me to Supertramp and AC/DC.

Finally, Michael said that my tone is not good. This is not news either. I’ve been accused of having bad tone for many years, probably since early childhood. I recall my mother saying “don’t use that tone with me, young lady.” Many times Michael has said he did not like my tone, and oddly enough, I know I did not have a triangle in my hand. Now I’m wondering what it was he was referring to. Hmmmm… Oh! Maybe he is referring to the cellulite that is accumulating on the southern hemisphere of my body, creating a drastically poor tone situation.

Or, could he have been referring to my tone in that each time I ‘played’ the triangle during last night’s jam, as a special effect in the song Petticoat Junction, everyone laughed. The triangle was supposed to make a gentle ding, ding, ding sound, reminding one of a dinner bell. Harvey pointed out once…twice…that the sound I was making put him more in mind of a nagging wife, frustrated to the point of distraction, and making it clear that if she had to hold dinner one more second, there was going to be heck to pay.

I hit the thing once and Leola nearly jumped out of her skin. Imagine being startled by noise in a room where a banjo, mandolin, bass, and guitar are hard at work, together. I hit the triangle once, and she jumps. Makes no sense to me at all.

Before I forget to mention this, we had a lovely surprise party last night at our house to mark Michael’s birthday. We had sugar, good friends, and good music. We are so blessed to have such good friends. Thanks for coming, everyone.

Michael, my dear, I think I’m going to pass on the triangle lesson. Sweet of you to offer, really. I’ll be bringing my big ole cow bell to the next jam I go to. You just think I was dissonant, jarring, and cacophonous. You just think my tone is bad and my timing off. I’ll show you the champion way to poor tone and incredibly bad timing, not to mention poor cow bell etiquette.

Thought for today: The journey that happens while we are trying to be perfect is called life. Don’t miss it in the looking for perfection.

I Don't Understand....

2008-05-07T13:26:00.000-03:00

I keep feeding the banjo player and he keeps playing. I'm not sure what I'm doing wrong...

Music Committee? Why was I not Invited??

2008-05-05T17:11:00.000-03:00

Apparently a Music Committee is being formed to determine whether songs fit into the Bluegrass category and therefore are able to be played at the Bluegrass Friends Jam Sessions. If you want more info about the jams, please see www.bluegrassfriends.com

I don't understand why I have not been asked to be on this committee. I find this to be rather disturbing. I spoke to Michael about it yesterday, but without luck in changing his mind. Here's how that conversation played out...

We were in the office - I think he locked the door, but that was not necessary. Michael wanted me to help him word a paragraph in his message on the Bluegrass Friends website about a music committee being formed. Over the course of helping with the wording I had an opportunity to ask some questions.

Helen: You're starting a committee? I'll be the chairperson.
Michael: Ahhhh....no, you won't.
Helen: How come?
Michael: (thinking.....turning back to the computer...) help me with this paragraph...
Helen: (playing possum and letting that go...) yes, dear.

After many minutes we finish the three sentence paragraph to both our satisfaction. Phew!

Helen: I am wondering what the point is in having a loaded committee.
Michael: It's not loaded.
Helen: (insisting) Yes, it is. Every single person agrees with you. That makes it loaded.
Michael: It's not loaded. We all have different perspectives.
Helen: Surely you can see how having me on the committee will be a positive thing.
Michael: You cannot be on the committee. People would think you were voting with me because we're married, and it would end up swaying the vote.
Helen: Anyone that knows me knows I would never vote the same you way did. Purely out of principle, I wouldn't. I want to be the chairperson.
Michael: You're not on the committee, so you can't be the chair.
Helen: At least let me be on the committee.
Michael: No.
Helen: I want to be on the committee.
Michael: No.

(In an effort to distract me, Michael demonstrates for me the web interface he has created so that he can provide the committee members with the music that they are to review in 30 second clips, and a template whereby they can rate the clip as to whether it falls in the Bluegrass category.)

Helen: Why did you tick "Down the Road About a Mile or Two" as not Bluegrass. Even I know that one is Bluegrass.
Michael: That version of it isn't Bluegrass.
Helen: Yes, it is. It's a bluegrass song.
Michael: That version isn't bluegrass.
Helen: Why? (Now I'm confused)
Michael: Because of the way it's being sung.
Helen: (Ahhh HA! I think...) You said before that it had nothing to do with the artist!!!
Michael: (Deep sigh...) It doesn't have anything to do with the artist, it has to do with the arrangement.
Helen: I want to be on the committee.
Michael: No.
Helen: Please?
Michael: No.
Helen: Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeze?
Michael: No.
Helen: (Insert something whispered about what we can do with the door locked...)
Michael...hesitating...looking at the locked door....... No.

Hmmmm...this is not going as I planned. Drat. :(

Helen: I want to be on the committee.
Michael: (no answer...still looking at the door)
Helen: (petulantly) You know what? I wouldn't be on that committee if you begged me. Oh, and another thing, those committee members can keep you warm at night.
Michael: (no response)
Helen: I want to be on the committee.
Michael: No.
Helen: What do you feel like having for supper?

This is a typical example of how most situations play out at our house. Michael is unwavering when he makes up his mind about something, and clearly is not in the least bit concerned about who will be keeping him warm at night.

Thought for the day: Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.

Hope your day is filled with blessings and not resentment.
Helen

Bass Lesson # 4

2008-04-22T23:59:00.000-03:00

You've heard the saying "the road to he$$ is paved with good intentions" ? Well, last night I had every good intention of having another bass lesson, and it didn't happen. As I lay in bed last night, draped in guilt and remorse and wondering Why? Why? Why? do I not follow through with these intentions...(insert gasping sob here)...it came to me...here's why...

I left work a little early as Hunter needed to be driven to work. I picked him up in front of the gym as it seems to be the only landmark in uptown Saint John that he knows how to describe. It's all relative according to where the gym is. Where is the city market? Across from the gym. Where does Dad work? Ten blocks from the gym. Which Tim Hortons are you going to be at? The one around the corner from the gym and up the street a bit. Where does Mom work? Shrug...over there. No where near the gym.

Anyway, I loaded Hunter and his bookbag into the car (the contents of said bookbag are closely guarded and top secret). I never see homework coming out of it, the last report card is missing in action, but every day I do see a packed lunch go into the book bag. Occasionally an apple that has seen better days does emerge. I wish the report card would come out.

Oh yes, back to the reason...excuse...reason. I took Hunter to work and then stopped for a second at my favourite consignment store. I buy all my clothes there - it's too much fun getting cool stuff for next to nothing. The store was closed, so I headed home. Got home, unloaded the car except for the bookbag, put stuff away and started thinking about dinner. Was doing laundry when Michael ventured into the laundry room (I noticed he was looking around in complete bewilderment...where am I? read the look on his face) and asked if I were going out. I said I wasn't, and Michael said he was going to Clay's house after dinner.

At this point the thought of having a bass lesson has not yet entered my mind.

I continued with the laundry, made dinner, and cleared away the messy kitchen. Michael had left for Clay's house already. The phone rang; it was Esther from Moncton. We had not spoken before but we immediately connected as we share a passion for bluegrass - she is passionate about being involved in it and I am passionate about getting away from it. But, still.

We chatted for a bit and it was during the conversation that it occurred to me that I should give myself a bass lesson while Michael is out. Something Esther said may have triggered that thought, I'm not sure. Could have been "are you nuts letting your husband try to teach you anything?" or words to that effect. I'm paraphrasing. So, I thought I could give myself a lesson.

This is how the rest of the evening played out.

Chatted with Esther and solved the problems of the bluegrass world and the rude people - nice talking with you Esther.
Finished cleaning the kitchen - I noticed I was moving more slowly now... just making sure I do a good job, I think. I'm humming Polly Wolly Doodle. I turn the stereo in the kitchen on to Britney Spears.
More laundry. It's just endless, that task.
Those bathrooms need some serious elbow grease. I load up every can of spray anything and start cleaning. Marshall runs through my mind. I washed the floors too.
Checked my email. Answered several and then started doing some electronic filing. Gotta keep that stuff caught up.
More laundry. I'm thinking about Murphy. She sure does love that bass.
Mallory is lying on the couch, watching TV. I crawl up on top of her and make her squeal like a stuck pig. I don't see the problem - I only outweigh her by 45 lbs or so. Jeepers.
I get comfy on the couch with Mallory and we watch The Hills. I totally don't get that show, and I really don't get why they have The Hills After Show. What the heck? People with microphones sitting around a table discussing the lamest show ever. Like, why did Heidi try to weasel her way back into Audrina's life - was it really to tick Lauren off?

At this point it's getting late; I have to admit that the acting in The Hills makes Murphy and Marshall shine with Oscar like qualities. Never have they looked so good. Unfortunately, it's really late now, and I'm sleepy. Maybe tomorrow. Michael, are you going out again soon?

I laughed so hard I cried...

2008-04-15T23:09:00.001-03:00

We bought a new car tonight. It's quite pretty - I recommend going to see Wayne at Centennial if you are in the market for a car - he is top notch. After the sale was complete he spent considerable time showing us all the bells and whistles, and the piece de resistance, the OnStar feature.

We dialed into the OnStar system and a helpful person came on the line and started asking Michael a bunch of questions. Phone number, address, etc, etc, etc., to confirm he was who he said he was. Anyway, in her file for us she had an email address that Michael had quoted earlier in the day, and the OnStar woman said she was going to repeat it back to him phonetically. Remember that commercial "Hooked on Phonics worked for me !!" ? I was reminded of that commercial as OnStar woman started repeating Michael's incredibly long email address.

OnStar Woman: Ok, I'm going to read your email address back to you, then I'll ask you to confirm it.

M as in Michael
I as in India

Helen: I start laughing here. I said "you gave her the long address, didn't you?"

C as in Cat
H as in Hoolahoop
A as in Aardvark
E as in Euthanasia
L as in Lunatic
dot (insert deep breath)
F as in Foxtrot
L as in Lunatic
O as in Oxymoron
Y as in Yiddish
D as in Dogmatic
@
B as in Bravo
L as in Lunatic

Helen: I'm crying now. I have tears running down my face. Michael, Mallory and Hunter are laughing too, along with Wayne the car salesmen. OnStar woman trudges forward.

OnStar woman:
U as in Unicorn
E as in Euthanasia
G as in Grotesque
R as in Rabid
A as in Aardvark
S as in Samsonite
S as in Samsonite
F as in Foxtrot

Helen: I'm in convulsions at this point. It is just never going to end. You need to know that I have been telling Michael for years that his choice in email address's is massive, daunting, and just plain old cumbersome. Case in point, says Onstar Woman.

OnStar woman:
R as in Rabid
I as in India
E as in Euthanasia
N as in Nancy
D as in Dogmatic
S as in Samsonite
dot
COM !!

OnStar woman breathes a huge sigh of relief. I'm wiping at my eyes and trying to not look like a complete idiot in front of Wayne, but I think I'm too far gone.

OnStar woman: "Any questions?" she asked with a smile in her voice.

Helen (gasping) "Yes. Can you repeat that?"

Perhaps you had to be there; I don't know. I sure am glad I was :))

Helen
p.s. Have a blessed and happy day, unless you are planning differently :)

Random Thoughts of Appreciation

2008-04-09T12:09:00.000-03:00

Ed and Becky, thank you so much again for your help last evening. I can't tell you the weight that has been lifted from my shoulders and I'm reminded yet again of what lovely friends you both are to Michael and me.

I'm off to Albany, New York this weekend for a meeting. I'm looking forward to the weekend as I will see a bunch of people that I don't have opportunity to see often, and to do a bit of service that will help me stay sane. (Yes, I do realize SANE is a relative term, but take it for what it's worth, ok?) I'm not so much looking forward to the traveling as the drive is approximately 12 hours each way...lots of pee breaks...why do women say "pee break"? you may well be asking yourself...and I'm traveling solo.

Becky suggested last night that I will be able to enjoy a good amount of bluegrass music on the drive. That isn't likely to happen, but I will take some of the sappier Alison Krauss tunes with me - I do love her sappy stuff - and I'll leave everything home that even remotely sounds like Cluck Old Hen. In my experience that covers everything else under the category Bluegrass. I'm expanding that category by including Dylan and Haggard, just on the off chance they grassed something up. There can be no errors on this, in my mind. I wonder where I put that Eagles CD?
Michael and I enjoyed a fun evening of music, food and fellowship at Larry and Carlotta's home. The company was great and we did some laughing and jamming, and supper was yummy. Thanks so much, Larry and Carlotta, for including us. It was really nice, too, to meet Clay's wife and see some of the rest of the gang again. Thanks again!

Kenny and Michael did a nice job on I Corinthians that day when they were pretending we have a recording studio at our house. As I was running the washer and dryer, and banging around pots and pans the thought crossed my mind that those sounds would be new to that particularly stellar piece of music. I enjoyed the listening - Kenny and Michael, great job!

I had best get busy again so that I have lots of time later for packing every piece of clothing I own, along with all of my hair stuff. First rule of being Helen: Never travel light.

Bye now and take care,
Helen

Bass Lesson # 3

2008-04-01T14:17:00.001-03:00

I had my third bass lesson last night – from my memory was forced all the memories that I had found funny about Bass Lesson # 2. So much so, that I can't write about the second lesson. I’ve had to skip to the third.

I do recall about lesson 2 that it took a little while for me to become agitated. I remember that we were locked in the office again, that our 18 year old son was outside the office door demanding to know what it was that we were doing in the office that required a locked door (are you sure you really want to know, Hunter???), and I recall Michael saying that my timing was incredibly bad and when I asked if I could play along to Polly Wally Doodle, he said I wasn’t ready for that song. A crushing blow.

Lesson # 3 started out badly for a couple reasons:
a) I didn’t feel like having a bass lesson
b) It was too soon after Lesson # 2…it had only been a couple weeks, after all
c) I didn’t feel like having a bass lesson. See point (b).

We started out with the Murphy and Marshall DVD. I was reminded again of Murphy’s enthusiasm and secretly wished I felt even a teeny bit of it. I could relate to Marshall completely – he totally looks like he wants to smack Murphy, especially after the 39th time she says “Ready Marshall?!?!?” Actually, now that I think about it, she doesn’t say that 39 times, I was just forced to watch it 39 times. No wonder I felt agitated.

The term “force” is subjective, of course. No one was holding me at gunpoint, no one was threatening to hurt me physically, emotionally, or in any other fashion. I did, however, have a vivid flashback of childhood and being “forced” to weed the bazillion acres of strawberries in my parent’s back yard in the blazing, cruel sun, without water, hat or sunscreen.

Things were going along semi-fine with me trying to emulate Marshall’s finesse on the bass, and trying to ignore Murphy’s hollering. Stupidly I thought I could sort it out just by watching Marshall’s fingers, but it didn’t take long for me to remember that I can’t tell my left hand from my right, and I certainly can’t sort out his left hand / my right hand, and his right hand / my left hand…far too complicated. In spite of all this chaos in my head, Michael unwittingly launched into a side lesson on music theory. On one of his hands…don’t ask me which one…he started with the reformed alphabet again, only more of it than the first lesson. A lot more. “For a C note (I think he said ‘note’) it goes C D E F G A B C. For a D note it goes D E F G A B C D. For a E note it goes E F G A B C D E” All I could think, once again, was “ABC The Goldfish” that dad used to play when I was little. Michael kept asking if I understood – I was reluctant to answer because either way I was in trouble. In saying “yes” I would be lying and in saying “no” he would start over. What to do!!!

After a time on the theory, I was instructed to go back to the DVD. I think the song was Bluegrass Cabin Home and it was put on repeat mode on the machine. Endlessly. As in over and over, ad infinitum. Over and over Michael said my timing was off…he’s been very kind and patient, but the truth still stings no matter how kindly it is put. I must remember that next time I am determining to tell someone the truth about themselves. Perhaps it’s better to focus on myself. Anyway, over and over and over we ran through the song. At one point I felt kind of bad for poor Marshall – his timing was completely off…he was totally out of sync with me. Michael assured me that Marshall was not the problem. The worst of it was this: even when I thought I did great with the timing, it was not so great. Even when I thought I had that stupid C note right, I didn’t. We even marked a pencil mark on the bass so that I could find the fret to do the C note and I still couldn’t find it.

Did I mention that I didn’t feel like having a bass lesson? This particular one will go down as a catastrophe. And just as a final nail in that coffin, Michael said today that all I had done was complain, for an entire hour, he said. He also pointed out that if I didn’t persevere, I wouldn’t get anywhere with it, and as a final blow, he said “Practice makes improved”. I’ve heard that somewhere before…oh yes, I’ve been saying that for years. Gotta love it when you have to eat your own words.

On a final note (pardon the pun) remember, we are not punished for our sins, we are punished by our sins.

Have a happy and blessed day…
Helen

Passports and Mystery Math…

2008-04-01T13:46:00.001-03:00

Mallory and I were returning some stuff the other day and as we were leaving I saw that there was no one at all in the photo shop near the store entrance. I’ve been procrastinating about getting my passport; part of my delay being that I have to arrange to get a photo taken, and this small task seems insurmountable in this world of too many things to do with not enough time and one car.

So, seeing an opportunity, I seized it (my mother didn’t raise any stupid children) and went into the photo shop, dragging Mallory behind me. She muttered something about ‘starving to death’ but I was a woman on a mission and the details of life were pushed to the back of my mind.

The time when we entered the shop was 6:20PM. I walked up the counter and asked the price for getting passport photos done, along with the amount of time that it usually takes to complete. The woman told me the price and said ‘I only do them until 6:30’. Ahhhhh….ok, I thought. Let’s go. Her response made no sense to me then, but over the next little bit it started to click in.

She directed me over to the mirror. Foolishly, I thought it was so I could make sure I looked stunning. She had other ideas – ‘here’s some powder’ she said. ‘You have to wipe all that shine off your face…there’s not allowed to be any shine in the picture.’

Oh. Shine. I was dismayed by how much powder I had to apply before Psycho
PhotoShop Woman told me I was in the clear. Mallory, of course, was over in the row of chairs splitting a gut. She announced that my nose looked fake. Great! Who cares? so long as the fake nose has no shine.

Finally we got down to taking the picture. I was all smiles with my fake nose intact…’no smiling’, she said. “They don’t like smiles’. Okie dokie. No smiles, no shine, and a fake nose.

The picture, finally, came out of the little machine. I was, needless to say, relieved. It was pushing 6:30 and the Psycho PhotoShop Woman had made it pretty clear all the way along that she only did this until 6:30. Then, horror of horrors, she pulled the picture out of the little machine and said ‘oh no, this one isn’t any good’. ‘Look at your hair – it’s throwing shadows…shadows aren’t allowed’. Mallory reminded me that ‘your hair is always an issue’. Yes, I know. Really I do.

So, back to the chair, fake nose in place and no smiling. I remove my coat thinking that the collar might be making the light bounce off my hair. Psycho Photo Shop Woman thought that was a great idea. She spends precious minutes looking into the camera at me, with a concerned look on her face, then she put the camera down, and started pressing on the sides of her head like she was experiencing a great deal of pain.

“Could you maybe push in the sides of your hair like this?” she said, and continued to demonstrate. “Maybe if you pull it down some too it won’t be so much in the way”. Oh my good grief. Had I not already paid, I’m pretty sure I would have left. But, I did need the photo, and I had paid, so I started mashing my hair down, and pushing in on the sides of my head as though I was having a hemorrhage or had won the lotto. Mallory is laughing silently…I just want to go home.

At long last, an acceptable picture… no smiles, no shine, no shadows, and mashed down hair… and, apparently, acceptable to the government of Canada. All I know is this: it wants to be. I didn’t look like an alien when I arrived but Psycho Photo Shop Woman made sure that mission was accomplished. I’ll be embarrassed to show the picture at the border, if I ever do follow through on the passport process.

I was going to write something about my second bass lesson – hence the name Mystery Math, but this is getting long so I’ll write that one soon.

Stay tuned… and remember, if you can’t have what you want, then want what you have.

Helen

Vamping on the Boom

2008-02-13T08:12:00.000-04:00

Or maybe it's NOT vamping on the boom. I dunno...

I'm starting to think that being involved in music, or perhaps just Bluegrass Music, requires learning a new language. Each word viewed by itself is understandable, but some of the sentence combinations are indecipherable. To me, at least. I have the feeling that you're all speaking in a fashion that feels totally comfortable and I'm on the fringe.

Michael and I drove up to Fredericton last night to visit my father, Ken, as he in the hospital for a couple days. (Doing much better now, by the way.) A couple days ago I had tried to view the Bluegrass site and was not able to enter the blogs, but could see the title of Michael's latest one on the Bluegrass Friends site page. I emailed him, asking "What's a hag?" The explanation started as we were pulling out of our driveway, paused as we stopped for gas at the ESSO in Grand-Bay (the gas is a whole penny cheaper there!!) and resumed until we parked at the DECH. Was it Peppermint Pattie or Lucy that used to say "All I hear when you talk is Wah, Wah, Wah"? I would like to make an addition to that: After a wah, wah, while, during bluegrass related discussions, all I hear is Wah, Wah, Wah.

I referred once during the discussion to my glossary of terms for all things Bluegrass for a definition. Seems rather simple to me: does it have a banjo? do any women die in any of the songs? does Bob Dylan sing? If you are interested in reviewing the glossary, which only represent my opinion, please visit: http://bluegrasswidow.blogspot.com/2007/07/glossary-of-terms-bluegrass.html.

After sifting through the mire of bluegrass wah wah wah, I came to this conclusion: Michael isn't saying it's not good music; he's only saying that in his opinion, it isn’t able to be categorized with bluegrass music. Thank God we all have the opportunity to voice an opinion. Some of us do take up rather a lot of real estate in expressing it, to be certain.
Remember, take what you like and leave the rest for someone else.

Opinions in some cases provide clarity; in others, not so much. For instance, I find the vamping / boom thing to be rather confusing at this point, and I'm also confused about other things, such as why we couldn't just buy an electric bass, as it would be far less intrusive in the living room.

[Insert big smile here] I think everyone should have a blog. It's a wonderful opportunity to express oneself and if the person reading it is thinking wah, wah, wah, they can just make it go away. Poof !!

While reading this bit of brilliance that Aesop wrote, Michael came to mind: “It is easy to be brave from a safe distance.” Some of us have lots of say, but when it comes to putting our name on what we say, the anonymous road is taken. There is no lack in integrity in you, Michael. I’m proud of you.

Have a happy day…
Helen

My dear Mother used to say...

2008-02-12T17:13:00.000-04:00

My dear Mother used to say...

“If you can't be kind, be vague.”

Bass Lesson # 2 included watching a really enthusiastic woman named Murphy accompanying a less enthusiastic man named Marshall on the bass. No, I said that wrong. Murphy was on the guitar; Marshall was on the bass.

I found Murphy to be extremely entertaining in her enthusiasm. Had she been delivering a baby I’m sure she would not have put more energy, vigor, and liveliness into her presence. Instead of screaming “G” into the camera, she would have screamed “PUSH !!” It’s clear that Murphy is of the belief that whatever you’re doing, do it as well as you can. I think that’s an awesome attitude.

The song Polly Wolly Doodle has become dear to me. Finally I understand what Michael talks about when he says he can't sleep for a tune being stuck in his head. I wish it were a different tune, but I guess it will do. One thing I find confusing is the boom-a-chucka concept. Or is it boom-a-chicka. Well, whatever. I’m supposed to play only on the boom and not on the chicka or the chucka. Somehow I’m supposed to keep that straight while getting my ding to line up with the tick. How about this: Boom Ding Tick-a-Chicka? That has quite a beat. I think I like it. Ok, enough about music. The more I write the more you know how little I know. And I already knew it, so now we’re all up to speed.

I’m taking a poll on how the men feel about Valentine’s Day. Is it:

A necessary evil?
A way to earn points?
To be avoided regardless of the points loss or hard feelings?
A beautiful opportunity to tell the one you love just how much?

I’ll let you all know how mine went. Yes, dear, that can be considered a threat.

I think I need a vacation. A couple people at work have come back recently from cruises…I’m not much into sitting in the sun, drinking copiously, or eating randomly and in huge quantities, but still, a cruise sounds good. One guy mentioned all the shops in one of the ports that sell diamonds for next to nothing. Have I ever mentioned that I like shiny stuff? And Valentine’s Day IS coming….hmmmmm….one of these days I’m going to get a hubcap if I’m not careful. But going away, or at least being away does sound very appealing. Must give that thought some more consideration.

Remember, willingness without action is fantasy.

Have a marvelous day!
Helen

Done Before I Started…

2008-02-05T10:44:00.000-04:00

Regarding the title of the last blog “Two Scoops of Raisins”…if you feel the need to understand what that means, ask Clay or Michael. I have no clue, even though it’s been explained to me three times. I was sitting in the room when they did it, and I totally missed the joke. Anyway, it all sounds the same to me.

I want to say again how much I enjoyed my weekend with Ed and Becky. It was a lot of fun, in spite of the noise.

Well, I had my first bass lesson last night. I dislike reporting that by my estimation, it didn’t go well. The more Michael talked, the more I got confused. There is only one thing I’m sure of at this point – I had the sense that I didn’t know anything about music; now I’m 100% certain of it.

We took the bass into the office and locked the door. The door wasn’t locked for the normal reasons, but just on the off chance that someone opened the door it would cause damage. We spent 15 minutes adjusting the bottom thingy to get the height right for me – Michael is in denial that I am as tall as he is, and he insisted that the height needed to be adjusted for me. In the end, it’s back where it started.

Next, I had a revisit of learning the alphabet. Along with learning about chords A through G…actually, I remember something about E A D G, and I’m to come up with an acronym to help me remember them. I don’t know if A through G are the chords, or what they’re called. Then Michael proceeded to tell me that all stringed instruments have frets to help us determine where we are supposed to be and he demonstrated this on his Huber banjo, but then told me that the bass does not have frets and that I would have to guess. So, right off the go I’m in trouble.

We spent a considerable amount of time on the alphabet. Michael insisted that I would need to know it. All I kept thinking of is when I was a little girl my father would say “A B C the goldfish?” and I was supposed to reply “L M N O goldfish”, to which he would respond “ O S M R - C M P N”. This still cracks me up, by the way.

In the midst of the alphabet lesson a miracle occurred – the phone rang. I answered “Thank you for rescuing me!” The person on the other end, a stranger, was rather surprised and said that I must have been expecting a call from someone else. “Not at all” I replied, “Just really happy that someone called right now – it didn’t much matter who it was”. Unfortunately, the call ended and the lesson resumed.

By now I’m drawing lines on paper and putting letters across the lines and then numbering the letters 1 through 7. The point of this, I gather, is that when someone in a jam says "we’re in G”, I’m supposed to know that I’m to play a G string and then the D and back and forth. I think. I wouldn’t want to swear to that.

Next we got out the metronome so that I could get my timing polished up. Up to this point, I have not touched the bass other than the height check. I am feeling pretty discouraged as the lesson seems to be going not great. Usually through the course of a lesson we get clarity, but I was getting further away from clarity. The metronome was going TICK and I was supposed to DING at the same time, but my ding didn’t line up with it’s click only but a couple times…Michael kept saying ‘you’re off…you’re off’…you’re ahead of it…you’re off’. I would like to point out that you knew I had no sense of rhythm when we got married and it would seem that this has not improved at all in these years. So yes, I’m off.

Lemme see…I don’t know what the chords are supposed to sound like, I can't tell one from another when someone else is playing them, the alphabet stuff is as confusing as heck, there are no frets to guide me (a fact that I find fretful – I had to put that in here), my ding can't line up with the tick, the teaching videos put me right to sleep, and I’m fearful that I’m not going to be able to fake my way through this thing, plus the whole experience made my neck and right arm ache and apparently I had my thumb wrapped around the neck in the wrong fashion. Whatever. I’m very much aware of my shortcomings in this area.

On the positive…hmmmm….I did spend some time with Michael while we had the lesson, so that was nice. I found Michael’s explanation of the nut to be highly entertaining…the nut talking about the nut… " I absolutely mastered G D G D G D G D, D A D A D A D A, G D G D G D G D. Next, Cluck Old Hen. Move over, Barry Bales.

At the beginning of the lesson I was looking at the comments to Michael’s latest blog – a gentleman named Jack wrote something about the music all sounding the same…I hear you, Jack. After giving this some thought though, I have the feeling that Jack was taking a poke at me…I bet you don’t think it all sounds the same do you, Jack? Oh, and by the way, Michael said he was only able to practice for three hours because I was out – don’t you believe that horse poop. He can practice as much as he wants when I’m home, as soon as he’s done his chores.

This is the most I’ve written about music. It’s going to take me a while to recover from this experience.

Have a happy and blessed day.
Helen

Two Scoops of Raisins...

2008-02-02T19:04:00.000-04:00

Michael and I had the very great privilege of being guests recently at Ed and Becky B’s home somewhere north of here. I’m just about sure I wouldn’t be able to find it again by myself. We had a lovely time; I enjoyed myself very much. Thanks so much Ed and Becky. Your hospitality is outstanding.

I learned some new things over the course of a trip across the border with Becky, and then later that night when a friend dropped in to visit. Becky needed milk so we made our way into a store in Maine (the closest stop) and this store, along with selling beef jerky treats, milk and other necessities, sells live bait and “eau du varmint”. I refused to look in the live bait tub (like, ewwwwwww) but I found the gonna-catch-me-a-varmint spray rather intriguing. The cans, labeled such as BearBomb, MooseBomb, and BeaverBomb, at $9.99 USD are an absolute steal. According to the can instructions, I’m to spray the moose love potion, which the can assures me smells like a cow in heat, into the air but downwind (huh?), scurry up my tree and wait with anticipation for my catch to come stomping through the woods looking for the amorous female. This, I think, is an absolutely shocking way to catch a poor defenseless animal.

You can check it out for yourself at http://www.buckbomb.com/ I found a very entertaining website featuring Mission Impossible type music, and videos of a man dressed in full camouflage gear spraying everything in sight, including the bottom of his boots with the buck bomb spray. Imagine my anticipation as he climbed the tree in the video to await his prey – I was really hoping he would fall out of the tree, but alas, he did not. I can’t for the life of my figure why anyone would want to shoot something with big brown eyes. The Bluegrass Widow has brown eyes, but that has no bearing on my opinion. The online store features the full range of scent products, including Hog Bomb, with my favourite – Hog Peanut Butter. The clothing line looks a little … brown, but, to each his own.

The unnamed friend, who appeared at Ed and Becky’s home later that evening in full camouflage attire, assured me that this tactic was clever of us humans. I could tell he uses the Bomb products as often as he can, not paying attention to the legalities. Details !! Anyway, this person did not find the fact that I found this type of lure hilarious to be funny in the slightest – serious business, this varmint capture. Anyway, go in peace, man, and don’t forget, stand downwind or you could be in for the shock of your life.

All in all, my visit to Ed and Becky’s was educational, relaxing, peaceful and very much enjoyable. I had a great time. Thanks so much!!

I find it alarming that Michael keeps asking me for the password to my blog. I can't imagine what he plans to unload there – how much worse can the pictures get though; you’ve already seen my mouth covered with duct tape. There are no naked pictures out there of me, so I’m not concerned about that. Hey, maybe he wants to put a naked picture of himself out there…that could be interesting.

Some new definitions:
Jam:

Toe jam - sometimes also found in the belly button. This jam is not considered edible, unless you are desperate. I hope you’re never that desperate.

Jam - Also known as jelly or spread. This jam is edible and tastes good with toast, peanut butter, cookies, ice cream, and green beans. I really like this type of jam.

Jam - A group of musicians getting together to make music that they consider tasteful. Usually includes a few groupies that pretend it’s tasteful because they want the musicians to like them.

Bluegrass Jam - A group of musicians getting together to attempt to out do each other on the ear splitting noise that their instrument can emit. Also, there seems to be an unwritten rule: whoever can play the fastest, wins. There are groupies with this type of jam too. They tend to be hard of hearing, are extremely tolerant, and love the musicians. They would not be at the jam if they were not in love. Groupies that are connected with the banjo players are the most hard of hearing, the most tolerant, and the most in love.

More later. One last thing…don’t believe everything you think.

A Few More Random Thoughts...

2008-01-15T08:46:00.001-04:00

I thought the title of this blog appropriate since most of my thoughts, or at least the ones I share here, are random.

I was speaking with Ed and Becky B. on the phone a couple nights ago...the call included a personal invitation to visit them at their cottage, and I was assured that this 'cottage' is not a shack in the woods with no running water and other positive ammenities but rather a home. They even went so far as to offer to send me a picture of the cottage to ease any lingering fear I might have of being stranded. Ed went to great length also to put my mind at rest that he has no less than nine blankets available just for me. I surely do appreciate the personalized invitation - what lovely friends you are, Ed and Becky. I really appreciate too the idea that you would send me a picture of your home so that I won't be filled with fear. The picture of your home isn't necessary, thank you. I trust you implicitly on that note. However, I would like a picture of the nine blankets. No offense intended, I'm just doing due diligence. Serious stuff, this blanket business.

I suffer a lot of harassing with regard to being cold. Another topic that I have endured a great deal of abuse about is how I wear my hair. I've blogged on this subject at least once before, I'm sure. I was visiting my father this past weekend and he felt it necessary to point out the fact that I'm getting very gray. Really? Damn. Thank goodness you told me...I would never have known. Time to get the chemicals out, I would say. Perhaps my father was shocked to see that his oldest child is old enough to have this much gray hair. Well Dad, at least I have hair. I don't mean that like it sounds...I'll explain in a minute.

Anyway, as I'm trying to explain why I have gray hair, Dad interrupted me with this: "You know who you look like with your hair like that?" Here we go, I thought. "You look like Tina Turner's husband...what was his name?..." Oh man...deep sigh. "Mr. Turner?", I say. "No really", Dad says "You know who I mean, right? He went to prison for wife beating...you look just like him". Sheesh. This is the worst comparison to date. It was several hours later at home that I remembered Mr. Turner's first name: Ike. I googled (another verb like 'blogged') Ike and Tina so that I could see how I resemble him. As I sweep aside my denial about how I could possibly look like a man named Ike that went to prison for wife beating, drug and weapons charges I am somewhat relieved that we don't look alike. At all. Triumphantly I call my father to relay this news. "Actually", he said "I think the man I'm thinking you look like is a wrestler. I can't think of his name". Oh, well now. That's much better.

Dad hasn't been to the barber in a while and was feeling a bit scraggly so he asked me if I would take the shears to his hair and trim him up. "That will be my pleasure", I said. (Insert evil laugh here). After I took the shears, set to the lowest level, straight up the back of his head, I asked if he wanted it all removed. Yup. Phew. The slogan 'measure twice, cut once' comes to mind. I went along fine from that point, cleaning things up nicely. Dad assured me that I wasn't hurting him, although he did object when I took a couple swipes inside his ears. After I was done and admiring my work I noticed that the eyebrows were a bit scraggly too. Dad showed me how to do the eyebrows holding them up with a comb. Well, I realized half way through shaving off the left eyebrow that I wasn't holding the comb correctly. All I can say is that I'm glad I started from the outside edge. Ooooooooooops. (Insert cringe here).

Have a happy and positive day, unless you've made other plans...
Helen

Where Does the Time Go?

2008-01-07T13:21:00.000-04:00

On December 19th I wrote that it was getting close to Christmas, and since this is now January 7th, it would seem that some time has swept past since I last wrote. My intention had been to blog at least once more prior to Christmas, but, as you will notice, my intentions and my actions once again are not in alignment.

I see Michael gives note on his blog to Bluegrass Roots TV, a company that creates DVDs from live performances for a very reasonable price and they do a quality job. I know this because we (not me) ordered a DVD of a group called Bluegrass Ridge and it has been watched at our house (not me) no fewer than 4 times since it arrived via Canada Post last Friday.

I did enjoy picking the parcel up at the local postal outlet though. Apparently there is more stuff to arrive so Michael wasn't sure which parcel the postman had tried to deliver. After intercepting...picking up...the parcel, I called home on the cell phone. I suggested that it was pretty darn big and that I needed help to get it outside and strapped to the roof of the car. Needless to say, guess who appeared at the back door as soon as I backed into the driveway to see what I had brought home. I can never get him to come to the table for supper, but it just occured to me that were I to cover a DVD or CD with tomato sauce and some parmesan, perhaps he would make an appearance. Did you want ketchup with that, dear?

Hmmmm...what else can I relate today? I could tell you that my rice cakes just now were especially fresh, or I could tell you about the fantastic finds I have discovered in Frenchy's and the second-hand clothes store of late...

Speaking of clothes, I got new pyjamas for Christmas. I bought them myself and said that they were from Michael. My thought was that since he is constantly telling me that I dress like a lumber jack when I go to bed (sweatpants, big wool socks, long sleeved shirt, and a sweater...I like the very best the sweatshirt with the hood...yes, I wear the hood up) as I am in a never ending state of cold. Yesterday, much to my dismay, he counted the blankets on the bed. He said "Eight blankets?!?!?" Actually, dear, it's nine. You missed one. Anway, since the complaint is that I dress like a lumber jack and for some reason this has about as much appeal as...well, getting into bed beside a lumber jack, I decided to split the difference with him. I got new PJs that are ultra warm, and I thought, sexy. Based on the reaction to date, I have slightly missed the mark on that one. When you're done laughing, dear, the bathroom needs to be cleaned.

A friend related a story last week of a trip to LaSenza where he was supposed to be assisting his girlfriend in choosing stuff for her to model for him...it sounds like his head was on a swivel trying to take in all the sights in that store...at one point he thought he was going to have to hyperventilate into a D-Cup Bra. I can't say I've ever seen a bra shaped like a brown paper bag. I have a feeling the pyjamas they have there are not meant to keep one warm, but if a person were to pile on several pair at the same time, that might do it.

Keep smiling...
Helen

Getting Close to Christmas...

2007-12-19T09:10:00.000-04:00

Getting close to Christmas now...I'm resigned to the fact that I will never in this lifetime actually feel like I am ready for Christmas - I just generally run out of time and call it all done. It would seem that this year is shaping up in much the same way.

I purchased a CD of the 3 Tenors (Pavarotti, etc). I thought it might be nice to add a little culture into our home, since that quality is nonexistent now. Michael, upon noticing the CD on the desk in the kitchen, remarked 'hey, that's not bluegrass'. "That", I said "is exactly why I bought it". I haven't listened to it yet, but I'm fairly certain that not only will there be nothing at all resembling Jingle Bells, nor will there be forty-nine versions of Jingle Bells featuring every possible acoustic instrument. Personally, I am grateful for that. I may never listen to it - just having that CD near gives me comfort.

Did you all hear the story of how Michael got me recently? We were eating breakfast at the kitchen table, and I was pleading with him to host a Christmas show (the one that was to have been put on for December 8th had just been canceled). I was saying "please" to which he kept replying "NO", and on and on it went for a couple minutes. Then Michael said, after seeming to give my plea some consideration, "lift up your shirt". Fool that I am I lifted up my shirt. After he had himself a good gawk, he said "NO". While it was pretty funny I was still filled with a firm resolve that he won't get me ever again. Fool me once, shame on you - Fool me twice, shame on me. Maybe you had to be there to get the full impact, but frankly, I'm glad you weren't.

As we draw near to this Christmas season I am just completely filled up with fond feelings toward my dear husband. He has told me repeatedly that he does not want any CDs, music or instructional (YAY!), he does not want any DVDs, music or instructional (YIPPEE !! not sure what I'm going to use to fall asleep now but whatever...), and he does not want any clothes, any knickknacks, or dust-collectors (this covers off a wide variety of stuff in his opinion). At first I thought he was being completely self-less and totally thinking about others. How noble, I thought. Then Michael said "I want MONEY". Just money. He has told me that if I get any money for Christmas, he wants it. He told our kids that if they get any money for Christmas, he wants it. Further, he told them that if they want to buy him a gift, just give him the money. It seems we have a rather large bass to pay for.

Speaking of the bass, I asked last night on the drive home from shopping if the bass is left-handed or right-handed. I thought I was being clever and that he would laugh. Imagine my surprise when he said "it's right-handed". I seriously thought that it wouldn't matter; why couldn't a person just lean it to one side of their body or the other?? This was cause for much eye-rolling on the part of you-know-who.

Hey Mikey - if you want MONEY, try lifting up your shirt. Maybe someone will throw some at you. Actually, they might throw something other than money, but maybe you'll get lucky.

Have a happy day...
Helen

Do I want a Picture of a Bass on my Blog?

2007-11-27T20:51:00.000-04:00

Ahhhhhh.....NO. I think not.

I was speaking with Ed Betts awhile ago. He was encouraging me to write another blog and saying that I must have lots of material as it's been a while. While we were discussing this point, my apple pie was crisping slightly black around the edges. Nice chatting with you though, Ed. And I knocked the black part off into the garbage so no one will ever know.

Speaking of 'crisp', I was looking at a website earlier today scrounging around for a new DVD to buy for Christmas. I can't tell you the artist; that part didn't stay in my head, but I do recall their description of the instructions used in the DVD. They used words like "sinewy slides", "crisp pull offs", "powerful hammer ons", and "locked-in right hand patterns". Sounds painful. I gotta run right out and get me one of those. I saw one that did catch my eye entitled "Splitting the Licks"... at first I thought it was about ice cream, but to my dismay, more banjo. My personal favourite and a winner for sure is "Banjo Set-Up and Maintenance" where those interested can learn to disassemble and reassemble their 5 string banjo. Pardon me, I can't hear you for the snoring. I betcha you want that one, don't you Mikey?

I was looking over Michael's shoulder recently as he was looking at the banjo hangout communication area...I can't think of the right term for it...and I read that someone had used the acronym "FMB". I asked my resident expert what that stood for and he said "Foggy Mountain Breakdown". Acronyms can be a lot of fun, I think. Perhaps we need to add to the glossary of terms for all things Bluegrass:

FMB = Foggy Mountain Breakdown
FLB = Fat Lazy...Buzzard
FSB = Five String Banjo

Now, let's use these in a sentence.

My Fat Lazy Buzzard was attempting yet again to play Foggy Mountain Breakdown on his Five String Banjo.

OR

My FLB was attempting yet again to play FMB on his FSB.

Much shorter and to the point, don't you agree?

Apparently we are soon to acquire a bass, hence the title for this blog. I don't mean a fish either. When I asked Michael where exactly he was planning on putting this new, quite large, toy, he said "In the living room" to which I replied that I didn't think there was room. Michael said that something would have to go and then he said that he's going to miss me. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to feel threatened by that, but I will say that between the drums, two electric guitars, two banjos, two acoustic guitars, and the soon to arrive bass, I'm feeling a little crowded out, and deafened by it all. I could move into say, a junkyard in full blown demolition mode, and have more peace and quiet.

Oh, and I did see one other DVD that made me laugh - it was named something about Picking in a Parking Lot but now I can't find it. Too bad, I say.

I'll write again soon, Ed. Promise !!

Let's Re-Think this...

2007-10-29T11:00:00.001-03:00

Hello friends.

Before I get started on my original intent for this blog, I need to mention a couple things I've found humorous.
1.) I was just looking at a website that sells a book called "Banjo for Dummies". Need I say more on that? I think not.
2.) As we were driving to Fredericton yesterday Michael and I were listening to a recording of a radio show featuring Del McCoury and his band. Mr. McCoury stated that he believed bluegrass music is more intelligent now than in days gone by. Well now, at that rate, I would wager several hundred years from now bluegrass music should be boasting Einstein like qualities, shouldn't it?
3.) It's very cold at our house because some people are inhumane and refuse to turn the heat on. I was attempting to dress appropriately for the extreme chill in our house this weekend, and I looked down over my ensemble at one point and made a heart-wrenching discovery: I was dressed like a William of the Mountain. Please see "Glossary of Bluegrass Terms" for clarity.

Now, on to the point for this blog entry. I've noticed that the Christmas bluegrass music has ground to a halt at our house. The reason for this is, of course, the fact that the show at Harbour View High has been canceled. I'm disappointed. I'm still humming the Christmas tunes, but what I'm disappointed about is that we won't be putting on a show to help out the local area food banks. I thought that was a wonderful idea, and I was so excited that everyone seemed to be happy to be doing something so worthwhile.

Can't we re-think this? Why can't we organize a show to be held at the marina in December? It would be a little less formal and perhaps not so much pressure and we could still get together and do something to give back to the community and have fun doing it. (I know, you're shocked that I'm encouraging a bluegrass...anything, but by now you're aware that I'm a big supporter and just trying to maintain my reputation, right?)

Michael, please don't abandon this great idea you had. Let's just do it up a little differently. It could be very good and lot's of fun, and we can give back. Let's talk about it - I'll even wear something sexy for you - like my William of the Mountain outfit. I know you lovvvvvve that.

By the way, could you please remove that picture of me from the BGFriends website? Someone is really going to think you actually want to stifle me.

Baaaaahhh Humbug

2007-10-18T11:14:00.000-03:00

I'm only blogging today out of protest.

We've been listening to Christmas music at our house since the middle of August. I will admit it is for a good reason. Michael is planning, or should I say, attempting to plan a Bluegrass Friends Christmas show to raise money for Saint John food banks. First, let me say this: Michael, I'm really proud of you for doing this. It's important to give back to the community and important to help others, and I love that about you. I know first hand how much of an effort you are putting into this good cause, and I support you 120%.

My next statement sounds negative; I'll warn you before you keep reading. I personally am not loving the amount of bluegrass music we are listening to, and the focus of late has solely been Christmas bluegrass music. Others get to hear Elvis crooning about having a blue Christmas without you, but I keep hearing something about Christmas in Dixie, and go tell it on a mountain...go tell WHAT is my question? Up until recently I didn't even classify that as a Christmas song, but we're listening to it ad infinitum, so it must be.

By the way, I think Tom Mason tried to run over me in the parking lot at Tim Hortons very early this morning. I know it was still dark Tom, but I'm not that hard to miss. Actually, this person only resembled Tom in his big smile and type of vehicle. I saw no visible musical instruments, and we WERE in a parking lot, so perhaps it wasn't Tom.

Ahhhh....this feels great. I forgot how good blogging feels. I was just reading my blog Glossary of Bluegrass Terms...it was pretty funny. I crack me up :) Brought me back to the trip we took with Ed and Becky...the music was all Bluegrass but none of it was of a Christmas nature. I'm reminded yet again to be careful what I wish for. Things change rapidly and not necessarily for the best.

Just so you know - I love Christmas. What's not to love? Family, friends, celebrating Christ's birth, which is the reason for the season, lots of presents, and last, but not least, it will be the end of the Christmasy Bluegrass music. I say "Come Quick, Christmas !!"

Glossary of Terms Bluegrass

2007-07-10T13:39:00.000-03:00

Ed, Becky, Michael and I were away this weekend past and blessed to have witnessed a live concert featuring Dr. Ralph Stanley. More on this on another blog. I have lots to write about :)

Whilst we were away, and the topic of conversation centered largely around all things Bluegrass, Becky suggested that I blog a glossary of terms for those without nearly as much knowledge on the subject as I. Sorry for your luck. I've put in brackets the source when it didn't come from my own cultured and sophisticated brain.

Bluegrass - I've noticed more and more that this is a fairly subjective term and has no clear definition. I would be remiss in not at least making an attempt...

If Ralph Stanley sings it, it's bluegrass. Apparently, if Ralph sang "Prop me up beside the Jukebox" some people would still claim that to be a bluegrass song. Actually, Prop Me Up and Oh Death kind of work together.
If the instruments don't plug in, it might be bluegrass
If the instruments plug in, it isn't bluegrass. The electric bass, which I'm not allowed to talk about, might be the only possible exception. Maybe.
If Bob Dylan is singing, it MIGHT be bluegrass. Maybe.
If the woman dies at the end of the song, it might be bluegrass
If the dog dies, it might be bluegrass
If everyone is wearing a white hat and the same shirt in varying colours, it might be bluegrass
Regarding instruments, if it plugs in or you beat it with a stick, it's not bluegrass (BluegrassRadio.org)
Radio Friendly Bluegrass - (#1) all those country songs that have been grassified just enough to make them palatable (#2) music for people that don't really like Bluegrass but are pretending to in order to keep the peace somewhere in their lives

See? Subjective.

Grass- left-handed cigarette (Sam Maguire)

Bluegrass fans - "a bunch of old people sitting on lawn chairs in a field listening to music that no one likes" (Hunter Floyd)

Grass it up - (# 1) convert what used to be an okay song to Bluegrass (#2) mash a little of the left-handed cigarettes into the brownies

Grassified - (#1) rhymes with classified (#2) Refers to a song that has been grassed up

The best bluegrass song - The one with no music and no singing - three minutes and 20 seconds of silence (Michael Floyd)

Politically correct term for Hillbilly - William of the Mountain (Ed and Becky Betts)

Banjo - A bucket of bolts and hooks that seems to be rather sensitive in the weather

BAS - Banjo Acquisition Syndrome

BA - Bluegrass Anonymous (12 Step Program)

BAA - the sound a sheep makes

BS - Bachelor of Science...oh wait, that's BSc

Ooooopssss...

2007-07-05T14:40:00.000-03:00

I forgot to mention where I posted the punch line for the joke about the hookers - it's in the comments on the blog entitled "Banjo Joke About Hookers."

I asked Michael if he enjoyed the Continental Divide / David Parmley concert in Grand Manan. He said it was excellent and that the music was traditional. (Does the word 'traditional' mean that the music was good?)

I saw Tom Mason drive by in the Tim Hortons parking lot at Simms Corner in the early afternoon on the day they were due back from Grand Manan (that's how I knew Michael was home!) and Tom didn't look very happy, but perhaps he was having withdrawl since he was in a parking lot, but not jamming. The jamming played out pretty much as I mentioned in my last blog. I cannot emphasize how grateful I am that I was not there. Like, really, really, really filled with gratitude for that one.

I didn't get off the hook completely though - have no fear. Michael won a CD as a door prize, plus he bought three more. Not sure why he bothered spending the money...it seems to me that it all sounds the same as the stuff we already have. Just my own personal opinion.

Don't believe everything you think!
Helen

Banjo Joke...

2007-07-03T11:12:00.001-03:00

You've heard the saying "when the cats away, the mouse will play"? I thought I would take an opportunity while Michael is away and jamming in all the parking lots between Saint John and
Grand Manan to post a couple jokes.

Joke # 1:

You walk into a brain store, and you look around and see piano player brain $10 an ounce, guitarist brain $15 an ounce, trumpet player brain $12 an ounce, banjo player brain $135 an ounce. Surprised, you ask the clerk why banjo player brain is $135 an ounce. He replies "Do you have any idea how many banjo players you have to kill to get one ounce of brain?"

Just so you know, Michael emailed me this joke a while ago. He can't get upset about something he endorsed, can he? Nahhhh....

Finally, a punch line!!

2007-07-02T23:19:00.000-03:00

After a few days of despair that no one was sending me a response in the form of a punch line to "how many hookers does it take to string a banjo?", Steve M. sent three answers - all of which are clean, to boot. Thanks Steve for coming to the rescue :))

Michael told me I could be de-blogged. He's not loving the joke, I guess. Clay and I were in agreement that we could come up with a couple answers, most likely, but not necessarily ones that were postable. We're all about keeping it clean, right Clay?

Michael was telling me earlier today that he didn't think he was going to be taking a banjo with him on the big trip to Grand Manan tomorrow. (Half of Saint John is heading down there, from what I can gather). Anyway, I said that he absolutely HAD to take a banjo on the trip. (There's lots of jamming planned for the ferry parking lot, on the ferry, in the parking lot on the other side of the ferry, in the parking lot at the concert, after the concert (probably in the parking lot), at the motel, probably at Sheldon's house, at the motel in the morning before they leave for the ferry, in the parking lot at the ferry, on the ferry ride back...wow). Michael said "what do I need a banjo for?? To use as a paddle?" Ahhhhh....no. My suggestion would be that if the boat starts sinking, let go of the banjo. Those suckers are heavy and you'll sink like a rock. Hey, that sounds like a good theme for a bluegrass song.

Of course, when he mentioned using the banjo as a paddle my face lit up. He said "I know - I'm going to be reading about that". Yup, you can count on it. :)

I hope everyone that is going to Grand Manan for the concert enjoys the music and the company. It sounds like a fun time, except for the ferry ride, the parking lot jamming and the concert. Other than those things, sounds like a blast. Murray won't be going this year since he and Elaine are getting married this weekend, but Murray gets sick on the ferry ride so he wasn't fussy about going anyway. As I recall, even though it's been a while, walking down the aisle made me feel a little ill. I wouldn't be doing that again, not for anything.

Happy jamming...stay in touch...send comments!!
Helen

Banjo Joke About Hookers.

2007-06-28T18:15:00.000-03:00

How many hookers does it take to string a banjo?

That's the joke - now we just need a punch line. I'm open to any suggestions. I can't be expected to do ALL the work, can I? Actually, my friend Steve came up with the joke. Thanks, Steve !!

I went to http://www.bluegrassfriends.com/ today - I see that we're taking the summer off from the Monday night jams. I have mixed feelings about that. I will miss all of our new friends, but I am looking forward to a break for us, especially Michael. The missing the friends part is bittersweet - September isn't that far away, and I know we're going to be seeing some of them very soon when we go to Maine to visit good old Ralph. I'm even making the ultimate sacrifice for this concert - I'm taking a precious vacation day from work. You want to be worth it, Ralphie !!

I think I'll probably continue to post bloggies this summer, since it's so highly entertaining.

Send in a punch line...I'll post them anonymously. Might be kind of funny to see what we can collectively come up with :)

Happy Blessings...
Helen

What IS a banjo hook, anyway??

2007-06-25T12:33:00.000-03:00

Is it like a hooker that stands on a street corner, wearing her hooker boots, and holding a banjo? Perhaps she's trying to entice people to...ummm...you know...by playing them a little tune. All I have to say to that is: keep your day job. Imagine trying to pay the bills that way.

I sense another banjo joke out of this one.

Earl wouldn't do it THAT way...

2007-06-22T15:19:00.000-03:00

I just logged into the BluegrassFriends website and at the top of the screen, where there are usually random pictures of some of us playing our musical instruments, there was instead a picture of some big chrome thing that looks like extra car parts. I phoned Michael because I was intrigued to know what the picture was - I thought for a moment that someone had hit the site and left a picture of questionable origin...I couldn't figure it out at all. The answer made me roll my eyes - Michael said it's a really, really, really close up shot of a banjo hook. Oh. Nice.

At the jam last Monday night I was pondering the idea with Tom Mason for a different song to use at the ending. I expect someday I'll be able to listen to 'Will the Circle be Unbroken' and not think about my mother, but I admit right now it stings a bit.

How about The Beverley Hillbillies Theme Song? It's a happy song, all about shooting and money and getting along with the neighbours. Even the ending is good with 'Ya'll come back now, ya hear!!'. Lots of banjo in that one too and it's very definitely a bluegrassy song.

Ed Betts sang a song just for me that night, apparently. I can't think of the name of it; Ed said it was ... oh, help. I can't think of who the artist is either. Complete blank. It's the guy we're going to see in July down in Maine, the one that I had to call the hotel to find out why there was a charge on my American Express and the hotel guy kept saying he hoped he didn't ruin a surprise for me...ahhhh...NOT. Anyway, I'll have to read my other blog to find out buddy's name. But thanks for thinking of me, Ed, and preparing me for the concert. You're a true friend. Just so you know for future, don't bust a gut learning buddy's songs to prepare me. I'm an easy sell on that one. You could sing Cluck Old Hen and I wouldn't know the difference. (That song has lyrics, right?) I appreciate the thought though. OH! He sings Pretty Polly with Patty Loveless...do you suppose she'll be at the concert?

Back to jam ending songs. How about Happy Birthday? It's a happy song. Not bluegrass, is it? We could grass it up. Stick in a banjo and mandolin break and have the woman die at the end, and there you go. Hmmmm...I guess that won't work. Becky suggested Fly Fly Away. That sounds like someone's leaving too. I'm noticing a common theme in bluegrass songs. Someone always leaves town or something. "I'll have a Blue Christmas" by Elvis? Nope. "It Isn't Easy Being Green" by Kermit the Frog? (That's from the 2000 Album 'Kermit Unpigged'). Isn't that hilarious??

How about Tom T. Hall "The Year that Clayton Delaney Died" or "Salute to a Switchblade". I must say that latter one sounds pleasant. He does have one song where he sings about little yellow ducks and big dogs and rum or something. That one might be good. Oh, not bluegrass. When Michael and I were dating, we would sit in my car, which only had an 8-track player, and the only 8-track we had was Tom T. Hall. We would listen to Tom and...nevermind. I'm not allowed to blog about that stuff.

Ok, here's the thing: Memories of mom are everywhere...I know how fortunate I was to have her for a mom, even though it wasn't long enough. This too shall pass. And just as importantly, other people are reminded of their moms as they listen to that song too, and that can never be a bad thing. And I actually love the Circle song.

Hope everyone is having a sunny, grassy day.
xoxox
Helen

Rice cakes can do damage...

2007-06-15T13:27:00.000-03:00

I'm on a work break and eating my lunch. I like having rice cakes at lunch time because they're crunchy and they don't generally get me into trouble. In the past, I have had a LOT of trouble with food. Over time I've pretty much eliminated from my diet anything that gives me trouble of a craving type, and, one day at a time, this has worked well for me for a few years.

I was savouring my last rice cake and I heard a sickening crunching sound...I think the tip of one of my back molars broke off. Oh NOOOOO!!!! People at work make fun of me because I like rice cakes - they compare them to eating sawdust, and cardboard, and such, but up until now, I liked them and thought they were safe. Many times while planning sales meetings for work I've been tempted to order rice cakes and salad for lunch and see how funny they all think they are then. :) Be careful not to tease the people that feed you.

Now I'm cautiously feeling around that tooth...maybe it's ok. I should mention the topic Bluegrass in this blog so as to keep with my blog name, and my reason for being. Bluegrass. Now, let's move on to something more stimulating...such as rice cakes. I should duck, right?

Tell someone how much you love them, before it's too late. It can become too late very suddenly.
xoxox
Helen

When did GRASS become a verb?

2007-06-13T22:18:00.000-03:00

On my last post I was whining about Michael mentioning my grammar, but since I read the Discussion Forum and all the back and forth about 'keeping it bluegrass', and having seen a post about 'grassing up' some country tunes, the question about when GRASS became a verb has been floating around in my head.

I will admit that it isn't the thought main front and center, but it does pop up on occasion, and usually I make what my dear mother used to fondly call a ticking sound with my tongue. I manage to sound quite disgusted when I do it. Grass is not a verb; it's a noun.

"It's good to feel the green, green grass of home". As I type this I'm thinking perhaps the word is touch and not feel, but whatever. Or maybe it was See. Hmmmm....it's no secret that I don't know sweet diddlydo about music. Ok, in this example, feel is the verb...grass is the noun, and green is the whatchamacallit...adjective? Yeah, that's it. Were I to be talking about smoking some grass, smoking would be the verb. I have never done that, by the way. I'm wondering though if I were to mash some up in some people's cereal if they might mellow out a little and not be so concerned about Buddy Holly...I wouldn't know a Buddy Holly tune from ....what? Cluck Old Hen. Didn't Buddy write Cluck Old Hen? I think he did.

OHHHHHH...!!! I just thought of something. Did Jessica and Kevin not do a FANTASTIC job on Daniel Prayed. I thought I was going to pass out. Nice work, guys. In fact, I thought the whole jam was great.

Anyway, back to grass. It's all just too funny. You know what I have to say to it all? Grass this up !! :)

Big grassy hugs to you...
Helen

Earl wouldn't do it that way...

2007-06-08T14:06:00.000-03:00

Earl who?

Michael sent me an email mentioning that I had made a 'fatal error' in the fact that I mis-spelled SCRUGGS on my last blog. Ooooooops. Oh well, I'm sure Earl would forgive me. People spell my name wrong all the time, with two "Ls". HeLLen. Looks funny, doesn't it?

Fatal Error. Hmmmm...I've not ever heard a spelling mistake called a fatal error before now. As far as I know, things like forgetting your wedding anniversary, or the wife's birthday could be called fatal errors, or can certainly gain one's immediate admittance to the dog house, but a spelling mistake? Ahhhhh...no.

By the way, Michael never forgets my birthday. As far as anniversaries go, for our 10th wedding anniversary we went out for dinner, and he presented me with a little wrapped box (I thought it was something shiny) but in the box were the ribbons that he had tied to the antenna on the truck on our wedding day...those ribbons came with us all the way to Newfoundland, and back, and were a lovely reminder of the day. He had saved them, and tucked them away with the intention of presenting me with them 10 years later. How romantic is that?

On our 20th anniversary, he bought me something shiny :))) Michael made a big deal out of presenting it to me...our kids were there...Michael said, as he was passing me the box, "I want to thank you for twenty years of..."...as he was hesitating, no doubt looking for exactly the best adjective to describe his adoration, our daughter Mallory inserted the word PAIN. The sentence never did get finished since we were all laughing so hard.

That's ok, dear. I know what you meant. I love you too. And quit bugging me about my grammatical limitations. Like, how important is it?

Happy day...
Helen

I hadn't thought of it this way...

2007-06-06T14:01:00.000-03:00

This cracks me up - I was just on a website that sells stuff like t-shirts and banjos and other fun stuff and I saw a t-shirt that reads:

"Sex, drugs, and Flatt & Skruggs"

To me, that just makes bluegrass all the more interesting. I love it...what WILL they think of next?

Well now...

2007-06-05T13:24:00.000-03:00

Met some new people at the bluegrass jam last night. Didn't catch their names exactly, but we chatted and they seemed pretty enthusiastic. Why not, it's a pretty enjoyable evening as far as I can tell.

As they were leaving they asked me for a definition of bluegrass music. At first I was horrified - I prefer answering questions about topics where I have a clue, but I was inspired by a couple thoughts such as the instruments are all acoustic...that means they don't plug into anything, right? I'm thinking about how we don't go to concerts where the fatal error of using an electric bass is made. Well, acoustic stuff is what I told them, and then they said something about drums, and I remember Michael being quite agitated when Alison Krauss and Union Station have drums, so I said nope, no drums.

One of the people said that the songs sounded a lot like country...yes, dear, I know...toooooo much country in last night's jam...anyway, I said that the difference with bluegrass music from country is that the woman always dies at the end of the song. This was the point that they realized what I knew all along - I have absolutely no clue to what I am speaking about, and they left. Whatever. It all sounds the same to me. Hopefully they will come back and I can put them in front of Michael for a few mintues.

On a different note, when I opened the American Express bill a couple nights ago (these things seem to come around FAR too often) I noticed a rather large charge to our bill and I didn't recognize the merchant. It was for a hotel and the charge had been converted from USD...ah HA! I thought. So, I called American Express to question the charge...I am a patient person in dealing with this type of thing, but let's just say the amount of time I spent on the phone to no avail was remarkable. Finally, I got the phone number of the merchant and instructions to call them first and then AMEX would dispute the charge if I had no luck. Sigh.

I called the merchant...he was a pleasant individual and told me he runs a little inn near the New Hampshire border. I explained my request and he told me the person that had made the charge was Michael Floyd. Oh. He proceeded to tell me what it was for...one night's accomodation, dinner, breakfast, and tickets to the Ralph Stanley concert. I said "Oh". He kept telling me he hoped he had not ruined a surprise for me. Hello? Roses are a surprise...diamonds...rings...shiny stuff, even hubcaps, are a surprise. Ralph Stanley...no. In no way does Ralph enter my 'surprise' category.

Have a good day, unless you've made other plans.
Hugs,
Helen

Thanks for your Support

2007-05-31T11:16:00.000-03:00

Thanks so much for your support and prayers over these past few days as we helped my mom pass away. Michael and I have been blessed with good friends and many calls and emails and offers of support. We were touched to see the beautiful flowers that our bluegrass friends sent to the funeral home and felt the special love of friends while there. It's been a difficult time, for certain, but I have felt God's love particularly and I know everything is as it is meant to be, and that all will be ok.

I'm looking forward to seeing you next Monday, June 4th, and I'm grateful that we have good friends to help us keep living.

Concert Perceptions from the Bluegrass Widow

2007-05-28T01:17:00.000-03:00

I just read Michael's blog about the concert. Hmmmm....yes, some of it I recollect as described. My perspective may have been a little different though. Here are some thoughts.

I had spent that morning in Fredericton with my mother, and when I got home with just about the right amount of time to get ready to go to Ed & Becky's (i.e. brush my teeth) so that we could all go together to the concert, Michael asked me "is that what you're wearing". I can't recall him ever having asked ME that question before. I have asked it of him on a few occasions, but not the other way around, and I wasn't quite sure how to react. "Yes", I said carefully. "Yes, this is what I'm wearing. Does it not look ok?" "Oh yes, yep, uh huh. Yep. It looks fine". Fine. What a nasty word. I'm not a rocket scientist, but neither am I a stupid woman, so I know that because the question had been asked, it was indicative that there was indeed an issue with my outfit. No problem - presto chango into pink leather.

May 19th is Ed & Becky's wedding anniversary, and I thought it was nice that they wanted to spend it with us. Well, not us entirely. Ricky Skaggs et al. Ed & Becky had supper at Ed's Subs (not our Ed, but an unknown Ed), and then later we all had a meal at the Truck Stop. The anniversary aspect of the evening rather reminded me of some of the wedding anniversaries that I have experienced in the past, but I won't go there. At least not right now.

We arrived at the high school with lots of time to spare, which in and of itself is remarkable. I'm fairly certain Michael will be late for his own funeral, but he does manage to get to music related events pretty much on time. Why is that? Another one of life's great mysteries. We snuck in through the back door where we were stopped by security guards, one of which was really, really, really big. After some explaining, we were allowed to enter, but not before a permanent marker was used on each of us. For some reason, Tom Mason and I got B.R. tattooed on our hands, and everyone else got M.B. on their hands. We did not figure out the significance of this but when I went out to the lobby to buy water, I was not allowed back in. This was very alarming until the really, really, really big security guard confirmed that I was acceptable. I was starting to wonder if I would have to start crying to get back into the auditorium as the pink leather was obviously having no effect whatsoever.

Lemme see...what else happened. Oh yes, I hollered JIMMIE!! three times, for Jim Mills, the Kentucky Thunder banjo player. The first time, Tom Mason said "who let her in here?". Each time I yelled, Michael elbowed me and said "stop it" which struck me as odd since he told me to do it the third time. Hard to figure these banjo players out.

After the concert a bunch of us stood in the auditorium guarding the new banjo while Michael was in the lobby stalking Jimmie. About 20 minutes passed and he came flying through the door and Ed said "he looks like he's on a mission". Ya think? We were told Jimmie was waiting for us so off we went.

We basically monopolized Jimmie for about half an hour down the hall and well away from the crowd. Michael was absolutely buzzing with energy and I really enjoyed watching him ask Jim questions and talk and be so excited. It was a great thing to behold. I recall seeing Michael like that one other time. It was the night our daughter was born - the three of us were in a room resting and waiting to be admitted, and the nurse brought us in a phone. Michael picked up the phone and said "who can I call?" and he telephoned everyone we knew to tell them about the miracle that had just occurred. Seeing him like that again was really nice.

All in all, I totally enjoyed the evening, and loved being with our new friends. That was really special to me, and I enjoyed the music too. I couldn't tell you the name of even one tune since they all sound the same to me, but I thought they sounded pretty good. Meeting Jim Mills was cool, but the absolute very best part for me was watching Michael's dream come true exactly as he had hoped it would. That was my favourite part of the whole night.

Talk soon....
Big hugs from Helen

I just thought of something funny....

2007-05-17T13:09:00.000-03:00

Actually, I thought of it earlier today and even said it out loud, but it just came back to me, so I thought I would do a bloggy thingy about it. And it's even about bluegrass, in a round-about sort of way. That will make you-know-who happy.

I've been a little distracted of late and things at home are not quite as caught up as normal. I realized some time yesterday that Michael's drivers license expired on his birthday, which was May 14th, and I had a fuzzy memory of the car registration about to expire too. Not good and I had a kind of "circling the drain" feeling.

This morning Michael, Ed, Kenny and Harvey left on the big road trip to pick up the new banjo. So, picture this: Michael will be arriving at the Canada / US border with an expired picture ID, and no passport. If by some stroke of luck they do let him across the border, and don't arrest him for being an illegal alien or something, when the group decides to come back across on the other side, and he has to pay the tax on the banjo to get IT into Canada, he may have difficulty in doing so as I also noticed this morning that I have not paid the VISA bill and it was due on April 30th. Yikes!

After I stopped cringing about the chaos I have created, I decided that it might be rather entertaining to let the license lapse to the point that he has to take another driver test. Michael is constantly crowing about how he can parellel park, and I can't, about how he stops fully at stop signs, and I roll through, and how superiour his reverse driving skills are compared to mine. Blah, blah, blah. Let's put all that boasting to the big test. Yeah...that's starting to sound reallllll good.

This blog is bluegrass related, right?

See below for the sum total of what I know about bluegrass...

2007-05-17T12:58:00.000-03:00

ahhhhhhhh....nothing.

Am I really a bluegrass widow?

2007-05-11T23:33:00.000-03:00

Michael and I were at supper tonight at the Irving Big Stop in Lincoln. We were going to eat at home but decided that we were just too hungry and that we could share one of their whopping meals.

As soon as our butts hit the chairs, he said he had something to tell me about my blogs. He said that he noticed my blogs have nothing to do with bluegrass, and that didn't seem right to him, since my title is Bluegrass Widow. (I didn't know that was a title, but whatever.) He said I should be posting blogs about my thoughts on bluegrass related topics; items of interest like how I won't let him practice, how I object to the purchase of the banjo, how I don't like going to the jam...stuff like that. Then he said "And you don't need to blog about this conversation". As soon as those words were out of his mouth I could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew he had committed a fatal error. Too bad, pal.

I'm thrilled that you're getting a new banjo. The only person more excited is Ed Betts. Even you, Michael, are not as thrilled as we are. As far as practicing goes: rock on, man. Practice makes improved. I will say that I'm really looking forward to having that deck built, but I'm a patient woman. Regarding the jams - I admit that I started out going to the jams only as a means of supporting you (Michael) and that in the beginning I didn't love them, but now, for a variety of reasons, I love being there.

How do I change my blog name? Any suggestions out there for something more appropriate?

See ya...and happy day !

Nothing to do with Bluegrass at ALL...

2007-05-10T13:05:00.000-03:00

Good day and Happy Thursday...
They say that stolen food has no calories...I'm not certain about that, but I just found half a bagel in the employee fridge upstairs (I'm at work) and I'm starving, so I stole it. In my defense I will say that the code date on the bagel bag is April 26, and this is May 10th. The bagel is rather beyond it's best and certainly not as fresh as this lovely spring day, however, it is doing the trick. And I'll replace it tomorrow. I left a note too saying that I had lifted it. Not much of a thief, am I?

I think it's kind of funny that Michael and I have our own blog sites - kind of like HIS and HER towels in the bathroom. This is an interesting way to spend a few minutes of my lunch break. Also, it's amazing to me how much mindless stuff I can think of to write about, and I know that Mike experiences that same wonderment when he blogs. His stuff all sounds absolutely mindless to me. Just my humble opinion. (Mike, don't be mad)

That reminds me of my last hair cut. I went to a hair dresser that I had not gone to before - she is a person that I had met a couple years ago and I knew she did hair, so I decided to give her a shot. My hair spray consumption with the other 'do' was reaching epic proportions and Mike was constantly blaming me for what is wrong with the ozone, yelling to me that I had "used enough of that stuff" and delivering to me the gloomy message that he was afraid I was causing myself severe damage in the form of lung cancer. Not to mention the fact that he has been calling me 'helmet head' for the past 15 years, and I would just about say I've had enough of that 'do'. Plus, once at the Monday jam I was giving my favourite Harvey a good-bye hug and his glasses got stuck in my hair. I ripped them right off his face. Hair with attitude is not good.

So, I called the new hairdresser person and made an appointment. I was distressed, to say the least. The conversation went like this: "hi, this is Helen. I would like to make an appointment with you". She said "oh Helen! I can help you!!" My mind raced back over the fact that I had already identified myself and it would be pointless to hang up. She continued rambling on about how harsh my hair looks, how she could soften it, how she could give me some suggestions about coloring it, (I don't remember asking for any), and how hair spray was going to be absolutely off limits for me. In between each statement she said "don't be mad". She knew she was about to unload something offensive and she really didn't give a fig. Fortunately, I'm difficult to offend.

When I went to the appointment she started out by saying "let's first wash this crud out of your hair". Then, as she was washing it, she was calling out to someone in the other room about how much hairspray I use, and how it's impossible to get a comb through my hair. Excuse me, I am in the room, and I CAN hear you. Sheesh. Anyway, long story a little bit shorter, she cut it, I stopped using hairspray, and the hole in the ozone will hopefully repair. I have since discovered the joys of hair glue, hair wax, and hair gel. The hair glue has the exact same consistency as wood glue, which my father lovingly calls 'dumbdumb". You know, to cover mistakes. I wonder if there is any correlation...oh well, best not to over analyze that one.

I gotta get back to work. Hope your day is lovely.
Big hugs,
Helen

Struggles with all things electronic and otherwise...

2007-05-04T16:06:00.000-03:00

Hello friends...
I'm really struggling with figuring out how to post a bloggy thingy. The last time I did it, which was also the first time, Mike took care of it for me. I guess I'm on my own now.

I have the most nasty head cold I've ever had. Mike had a slight sniffle and decided he wanted a little kiss. I'm not opposed to a kiss under the most dire circumstances, so I discarded the little sniffle as insignificant and proceeded. Now I wish someone could cut my head off with a chain saw from just below the nose. Oh well, as a good friend pointed out, I could be lying in a bed on the oncology ward. That helps put my cold into perspective. Hey Mike, want a kiss???

I was joking on my last blog about not knowing about the new banjo until I read what Mike wrote about the Stanley Tone. Good grief!! Looks like we're going to have another banjo at the Floyd house. I need some more banjo joke material. Speaking of that...

What do you call it when you chuck a banjo into a lake from 500 yards without making a splash?

Perfect pitch :)

I'm going to start a 12 step program for bluegrass widows. Bluegrass Widows Anonymous. BGA. More on that later.

ok, now I'm going to cross my fingers and hit the PUBLISH button and hope this works. If not, I shall try, try again.

See you soon and big hugs....
Helen

Bluegrass Widow

2007-04-27T19:54:00.000-03:00

Welcome to the Bluegrass Widow Blog. I'm Helen and I am a Bluegrass Widow. I know there are more of you out there. All I know is this: we don't seek help for a problem until we admit that we have one.

Ok, so we're on the way to Fredericton, and Michael says "start blogging". I thought I was having a few hours off, but NO, I am typing while I drive, while I navigate, and give directions. Do I have to do everything? It would seem so. In a minute he's going to say 'if you're going to back-seat drive, get into the back seat".

Blog. What a funny word. It can be used as a verb, for example: "Blog this". Or how about, "I have to do some blogging today"or "I'm feeling a little bloggy in the tummy". Or as a noun, for example: "I lost my blog and I can't for the life of me remember what I did with it".

I'm not in the least surprised that Michael likes to blog so much - ever since I have known him I have said that he is an opinion looking for a place to happen. Blogging, it seems, is the perfect venue for that. Michael can unleash his opinion, and if we so choose, we can read it. Or not, as the case may be. I personally have found reading the blog updates to be extremely enlightening as they provide me with invaluable information about what is happening in my life. For example, I didn't know we were buying another banjo until I read about it. Very interesting, I thought. My next thought was "good thing I have a job."

I have also noticed several blogs where he makes disparaging remarks about his banjo playing abilities. Heck, I thought he sounds ok, but what do I know? I have also discovered the dates for Christmas parties, my husband's favourite bluegrass groups, where we're going this summer, and pictures of Jimmie, this guy Michael keeps telling me about. Even more of a revelation is the picture of me with duct-tape across my mouth. I had no idea I was modeling for a manual feedback eliminator. Is that all I am? Feedback?? What a tough crowd.

As we drive to Fredericton, just like always, there is music playing on the car stereo, with lots of banjo. In an attempt to sound intelligent, or at least interested, I said "is that Cluck Old Hen"? Michael's eyes rolled back in his head and he said "nooooooooooooo....it's Choctaw Hayride". Whatever. It all sounds the same to me.

Until next time, my name is Helen and I am a Bluegrass widow. Can anybody help me, please?