OK, I’ll get to mine in a minute, but this is just so cool – I have to make the trip out to Seattle anyway…so now there is even more reason. A guitar tornado? Yes! EMP – Experience Music Project, named for the band of native son Jimi Hendrix
sounds like just the destination for me…oh, yes, and I can see my friends and family while I’m there. Wow. Sounds like a plan. Then I can get a better picture of this…perfect storm…
Some time ago I had this notion to do a guitar from garden sun hats. I chose a day when the monsoons had set in and it was not only wet, but cold. Capricious spring. So that day there was a guitar fashioned from something else – rain hats, maybe, or perhaps dog leashes. Anything but sun hats. Today it is clear that I had to wait until moulting time for the perfect compliment to the hats – the collection of feathers picked up on my way out to the studio this morning.
Living on a farm has its perks and pleasures, but also cyclical responsibilities. Things in nature happen on a pretty rigid schedule, and the end of July/first of August is when the peacocks randomly distribute their trains all over the place. I think of it as an exercise program of sorts – walk three feet, bend, retrieve feather, repeat. It isn’t heavy lifting, but there can be any number of reps. With three male birds, I’m serious. Any number. Heaven forfend that they stand in a place and eject the train in a tidy heap. No, I get to sleuth along behind them, following a trail that often makes me say, “Really? They came out here?” I enjoy it, mostly, but feel obliged by beauty to collect every single one. I’ve been obliged by worse.
Preview of coming attractions…
OK, I think the ant experiment can be called a failure. Perhaps if I had made the guitar on my actual kitchen counter – I’m pretty sure that would have been a hit among the antsy crowd. Pouring one out right next to their established trail in the garage however? You would have thought that I’d opened a poorly lit cafe in a shady neighborhood and not advertised. So far, it seems to be frequented by a few, but they are doubtless young and foolhardy enough to believe that they will live forever. And even those few seem to be using it this morning as a jogging path…I had a friend offer to send me the ants that have encamped in her kitchen on the west coast, and I boldly told her that since the heraldic crest for the farm is currently an Ant Rampant on a Field of Kitchen Counter that it was unlikely that I’d need to import a bunch of grunge hippie ants from Washington State. I may have been wrong. At least they would see the irony and congregate long enough to clean up the free eats.
So what I’m left with looks a little like a guitar crime scene – and from the looks of things, that’s going to persist awhile…until I get out there with a bucket and scrub it up…
New, fresh, ready
After and hour – what is that in ant time? Like a week?
David loves cherry juice. David frequently pours himself a glass and drinks almost all of it. David then walks away from the rest. I wish I could say David is ten. David is not ten. However, rather than grouse about having to pick up and pour out the tiny remnants and put the glass in the dishwasher, this morning it occurred to me that the black ants that seem to be everywhere did not find the cherry juice. Hallelujah. However, if I take that same juice out to the garage and lay a trail – I bet I could have a black ant guitar in a heartbeat. But can I make a cherry juice guitar? Apparently, yes I can. Now to transfer this to the garage floor and see what happens. But this one – it is just in case the grand plan doesn’t work…
So many of these lend themselves to such bad punnery…it is almost unfair not to go ahead and get it out…I hate to walk around repressing things like this all day.
Another of the great things about living on Maryland’s Eastern Shore is that when the melon crop begins to ripen it is the very sweetest of rewards for the oftentimes vile weather. Melons seem to thrive in the heat and humidity, and taken from the cooler and cut, they are firm and sweet and succulent and oh, so satisfying. Also, often quite large…this is not the largest of the season, but certainly gave me enough room to work without bringing in micro tools…
….What time it is? Does anybody really care?
So the lyric came to me as I’m rattling about looking for a guitar this morning, after an evening when I tried to find a watch that works…time, for whatever reason, has been relatively important to me always, or so it would appear. I must have forty wristwatches, all but one of which could not tell me the time if I begged them because since I use my cell phone for everything, including time of day, I have let the batteries…expire, shall we say…in all the rest. The one dinosaur that I own that winds up is only rarely wound or worn – I mean, it is an almost holy relic that says “Good luck from Hoppy” on the back…an original Hopalong Cassidy wristwatch with William Boyd on the face. Hmmm. I have to rethink my weakness for certain types of characters. This may be deeper than I think. Anyway, yeah, well. Guitar time (oh no!)
Alright, I know. But I couldn’t pass it up since it is what fell in my lap this morning…bongos and a rattle. It is a beautiful morning and I’m anxious to get the day started. Actually working on some interior designs that I find quite exciting, with attendant research that has me crawling the internet looking at pretty things and places – definitely going to one of my happy places looking at restaurants in Paris…ahhh. And my books…piles of them on my desk. Makes me very glad that I got the really, really small keyboard – although I keep losing it under things. Notes and sketches. I am so happy. Yes. Looking forward to this day.
Well, maybe not very far out of the kitchen. This morning my guitar is made entirely from things I could reach while standing in one spot at the bar. Turns out that even that gave me options.
OK, I really think that 38 words is a little sparse, even for me on another full day of whatever it is I do, but really, to sort of blather on about nought just to fill space seems wrong too. We are all busy. It is all good. Let me promise more when there is something good to say. For now, the dogs are looking at me like I’ve taken leave of my senses. They need fed…
I’m jamming out to this really great keyboard jazz in the headphones and I find my fingers sort of playing the keyboard in time…it is a very weird feeling that I scarcely noticed – well, until I did. Rickard From of Sweden on SoundCloud: I should do this more often 🙂
We’ve had a couple of really vicious thunder storms lately, but in the aftermath, there have been interesting things emerge – like this bit of unorchestrated guitarary…
Hibiscus syriacus, or Rose of Sharon, is the national flower for South Korea and is first mentioned some 1400 years ago, although it seems likely that the Biblical reference is not to this plant. That Greek word translates more directly as a bulb, and may actually refer to a crocus or a type of tulip. It is unlikely that the reference could ever be to hibiscus syriacus, but well, whatever. This is another proof that botanical names still have merit. A shrub or small tree, it is covered with bloom this time of year, a bright pink beacon at the far side of the yard. I’m trying to think where I first of heard it – it may have been in Bob Dylan’s “Caribbean Wind”, although it is as likely that I heard it in something by Joan Baez or Leonard Cohen. It just isn’t something I was used to seeing around Seattle, so for the longest time I had no clue what they were talking about. Here in Maryland it is everywhere, blooming alongside the crepe myrtles. Right now the countryside is filled with hot colors – pinks and reds and yellows that do not give you much of a visual break from the heat, but are nevertheless cheering for their strength in the sunlight that seems to wash everything else away. In the glare of the day, that is a really nice feature.
I don’t know what kind of moth this is at rest on the screen next to the back door. I only know that it is either waiting for night, or just exhausted. It was most accommodating while I gave it a neck and took several photos. I never had to actually touch it, nor would I have, so all is well in that way, but it was just too good to pass up – beautiful and mysterious. And NOT green…