We went off grid for a few days but I was still able to recharge my watch with solar power. Cellular service ends just before the closest town to Pete and Shelley. We got right down to business on arrival. We caught up on health issues and then mutual friends. We watched the snow melt in the full sun and slide off the metal roof of their shed. We boiled water outdoors for our French press coffee maker. We took long walks down the road, first in one direction and then in the other, Setting an all time record with our Moves app.
Listened to Pete play the Wurlitzer electric piano without plugging it in. I took photos of the compost pile and played “Ambulance Blues” from my watch on the phone in Peggi’s pocket. We drank a twenty year old bottle of Cava, one that Shelley’s parents had in their basement when they moved into an assisted living facility. We studied their book shelves and looked at old photos from a box in the back of a drawer. We sat around the enamel-top table by candlelight and talked for hours without googling a thing.
There is an old horse path that runs through the undeveloped part of Durand Eastman Park. It’s a beautiful trail that hardly gets any use although it did get a lot of attention when Bulldozer Man drove part of the trail with his earthmoving moving equipment about five or six years ago. Not a park employee or anything, just a private citizen, he atempted to clear the trial again for horseback riding. Some alert woods-walkers notified Larry Staub, the director of the Monroe County Park system. At one point this path skirts a cluster of homes and this statue stands behind a house at the edge of the woods. The base rotted out and he was laying down for a while. I probably have a picture of that on this blog somewhere. I keep track of that sort of thing.
We always had a statue of Saint Francis in the house when I was growing up and I have one today near my desk. My youngest brother youngest brother was named after him. The Paton Saint of animals and the environment, he is one of the church’s favorite saints and is usually pictured in a brown robe, sandals and a rope belt with birds on his shoulder. Born Giovanni di Pietro di Bernardone, he is the patron saint of Italy. He is reported to have received the stigmata during the apparition of Seraphic angels in a religious ecstasy making him the first recorded person to bear the wounds of Christ’s Passion.
Steve Piper abstract drawing at Little Theater Café in Rochester, New York
It’s snowing and it is beautiful. Who cares if it is April? The “Sights & Sounds” opening is over and it’s still daylight. All is right with the world. My sister was there and a couple of cousins from farm country so I spent quite a bit of time talking about family rather that art. There was plenty of arts speak though and music this time because the five artists showing are also musicians. Thus the theme of the show.
There was very little surprise in the music but Steve Piper’s drawings were a revelation to me. He’s known for and has made a living with his photos but but his drawings are each little worlds unto themselves. I hope you can get down there this month to see them.
You would think it would be enough to walk to the lake and look at it. You would think that would be enough for the day. The sensation can be overwhelming. It is about a mile away from our house as the crow flies but our Moves app had us at about three and a half miles round trip. We took the path through the woods and then followed the winding shoreline of Eastman Lake.
Nighttime had us down at the lake as well. We caught two sets by Rich Thompson’s Quartet at the new Pythod Room on Lake Avenue in the old beer bar next door to Mr. Dominic’s. They did a beautiful version of Miles Davis’s “Eighty One.” That was enough for me.
Ten Models from Crime Page paintings by Paul Dodd mounted as one piece for Little Theater Café show
So far, Peggi and I have managed to live our whole adult lives with only one automobile. It doesn’t usually present a problem but tomorrow we have a yoga class and I need to be downtown at the same time to drop off the artwork above. We will manage.
WXXI’s Evan Dawson is a real pro. He does his homework before the day’s interviews so he is completely comfortable with his subject and able to both deliver and roll with the punches. I have no idea what this show sounded like but it was a pleasure being there talking about art with some good friends. There is a podcast but I’d rather trust the memory.
For some reason Evan picked up on the sentence in my bio that says I take daily walks in the woods, mentioning it when we were introduced and then working it into the show as we discussed creating. I loved how he got around to the Robert Frost poem and the real point, that one road wasn’t better exactly, that both hold promise.
Evan moved around the table seamlessly weaving the five artists/musicians into the wide ranging conversation. For a moment the whole thing seemed to go off the rails when Jaffe, former member of the Fugs, Monk enthusiast and longtime keyboard player for Colorblind James experience, talked about someone giving him some white powder to drink back in sixties. It was a turning point of sorts for him as he stayed up for two weeks and almost died. Both Evan’s and the engineer’s eyes lit up and their mouths were wide open. It was brilliant live radio.
The tintype portraits at Genesee Libby Photography in the Hungerford Building looks like the ticket for tonight’s First Friday romp.
Sights & Sounds 3 poster for Little Theatre Café show 2016
I’m hoping this will be fun. The five of us, or whoever shows up, will be doing an interview on Evan Dawson’s WXXI radio show tomorrow, Friday, at one o’clock. The art opening is Sunday April 3, 1:30-4:30 at the Little Theater Café Art Gallery
Five artists/musicians. In alphabetical order – Paul Dodd, Charles Jaffe, Peter Monacelli, Steve Piper and Scott Regan. The exhibit runs April 2 thru April 29. I have some new “Models From Crime Page” in the show.
The priest who celebrated the mass for my brother’s father-in-law today had a heavy Guatemalan accent. But it only made me want to listen to what he was saying. Sometimes he said things twice, clearly working on the pronunciation of his new language. There was only one alter boy, they worked in pairs in my day, and after the priest had his big host and wine he walked toward the alter boy to offer him the sacrament. The alter boy refused and my mind went wild with what his reasons were. After the service we had lunch in the Knights of Columbus hall on Barrett Drive. The road was named after Joe Barrett‘s father, the Village of Webster’s Attorney and one time mayor, Gerald R. Barrett. With Xerox and unchecked growth to increase the tax base Webster has plugged every empty lot and former farm field with chain stores and track housing. I can’t even tell where I am anymore when we drive out there.
Funny thing is when we got back from the funeral there was a message from a friend who wanted to know if we could meet her on the other side of the swing bridge, the one they swing open on April first, at Gosnell Big Woods off Vosburg Road back in Webster. This park a gem and includes an open meadow for migrating birds and old growth forest. Our Moves app says we walked for sixty minutes in the woods. There are still pockets of beauty where “Life is Worth Living.”
We would be at the Steve Reich concert tonight if we didn’t have a gig.
Four chairs out front. Ready for horseshoe season.
If we left these chairs out all winter they would rust. They are made of metal and two of them came from my grandparents after they gave up their house. The chairs were white then and I’ve painted them many times since. Can’t remember all the Rustoleum colors we’ve used but I bought a gallon of the blue stuff so that will be around for a while. And I love the Sunburst Yellow. We took the chairs out of the garage after the winter and just minutes before Rick and I played our first there horseshoe game of the season.
Louise sent me a message today that reminded me it had been four days since my last post. Those days flew by and what space they had I filled with painting, an activity that respects no time frame. You dive in and don’t stop until it is right. And even when it is, it is only right for then, the best you can do for now.
I finally finished a batch of paintings, twelve or so, a series that was started last year when my painting teacher, Fred Lipp, was still alive. And then my father got sick and passed and we had some family business to settle so I feel we are just now crawling out of a big hole just in time for Spring and this art show at Little Café. We do a promo radio spot with Evan Dawson, on WXXI’s Connections Friday afternoon and the drop the work off on Saturday. Art vs. music.
The twins, who were feeding their mom, Philomena, overheard Peggi and me telling my mom that we were going to walk Clarabella, my sister’s dog. On the way out they asked us if the dog was named after the clown on Howdy Doody. We told her we assumed so but I could barely remember the character so, of course, I goggled the show.
Clarabella the dog is a sensation. She ain’t nothin’ but a hound dogs but she makes all other breeds look mean. She pretends to use all her senses but is ruled by her nose. She would follow it anywhere. And that’s what leashes are for.
Getting the jump on Earth Day, Margaret Explosion has released a new song recorded live at the Little Theatre just a few weeks ago. Margaret Explosion plays the Little Theatre Café tonight.
Listen to Margaret Explosion – End of the EarthLeave a comment
Peggi took the survey and then I tried but the SurveyMonkey software told me I had already taken the survey. One to an ip address. So we went to the meeting at the town hall tonight expecting a crowd as big as the coyote meeting but it wasn’t even close. Instead of a simple, straight-forward plan to lay down bike only lanes on the main thoroughfares of Irondequoit (Titus, Culver, Hudson, Goodman, Portland, Saint Paul) we found charts and maps and big print-outs of photos of certain intersections all laid out on tables. It felt like a grade school presentation.
And when we pushed the issue, striped, bike-only lanes on these main thoroughfares, with any the attendants they told us the county is in charge of the main roads in the town. The town is simply repaving the roads and then re-striping them, not reconfiguring the size or shape. The county has has stats on the numbers of vehicles and the geometry of the intersections and they configure the lanes at intersections based on that. We learned the town was only collecting data. A few bike riders will need to die before get bike only lanes.
Big white cloud over Hoffman Road in Rochester, New York
Foreigner’s “I’ve Been Waiting For A Girl Like You” was stuck in my head for a few days after I heard it the gas station. And then last night my sister called up that Meatloaf song from “Bat Out Of Hell” so that was lodged for a while. A trip to the bank was in order! Our ESL branch at Culver Ridge plays old school R&B and their format is broad enough to mix the Stones “Ain’t Too Proud To Beg’ (OK, the Stones’ version of the Temps’ tune) in with Cameo’s “Word Up” and The Stylistics’ “I’m Stone In Love With You.” Today, we were sitting in the lounge area, having a cup of coffee and waiting to meet with the branch manager, Cortez. The Commodores “Brick House” was playing and we watched two women dance their way to the teller.
John called yesterday to confirm that we were “still on” for today. We had agreed to help him downsize. He’s converting his music room, the place where his stereo, records, cds, cassettes and posters are stored, into a bathroom before selling the house he built in the seventies. His friends all pitched in with the construction, except for me. I was doing nightly rehearsals with New Math back then. There was a big party when he finished the house. When we got there John was sitting on the hood of a car as it circled the house. One of his college buddies was driving and the sound system was cranked. John was singing along to “Crown of Creation” at the top his lungs.
Today, a couple of professional tradesman were unloading brand new bathroom fixtures when we got there. I wore my Kodak t-shirt for John. It took us four hours to peel the posters off the wall and pack up the various music formats. Cassettes outnumbered the rest, probably due to all the driving John did between this house in the boonies and EK. As promised, John made dinner dinner for us. Angel texted while we were eating to tell us Kevin Patrick was on Howard Thompson’s “Pure” radio show. We found an archived version of the show when we got back.
Band at Carroll’s Bar in Rochester New York 2003 Saint Patrick’s Day
When we lived in the city we’d walk to the corner bar for lunch on Saint Patrick’s Day. Carroll’s was an old school Irish bar then. The younger set had not hipified it. You were liable to hear heated conversations about Irish politics mixed just above the Pogues. On Saint Patty’s we’d often catch these old guys, two accordions and a fiddle or sometimes three accordions. And occasionally bagpipes would fill the bar.
These days we have a mile or so walk to get to the closest Irish joint. We stopped on the other side of the woods and met Matthew and Louise and the four of us arrived at Shamrock Jack’s just before noon, in time to get a table in the dining room. Jumbo Shrimp was playing in the tent out back. We caught a bit of their set after lunch and then stopped in the Reunion Inn across the street for a couple games of pinball. I felt like going back to bed by the time we got home but I slogged on.
Somehow I forgot that it can rain. And, of course, it is likely to do so in Spring. We broke away from desktop machines just in time for the sky to turn really dark. We donned our rain gear and headed out for a walk. Thunder in the distance and then some lightning but a decent amount of time between, we kept walking. Bang! Flash and noise near simultaneous. We scooted back up the hill in pouring rain. Spring has sprung.
I wish were able to be inside one of the theater at the Little s tonight instead of playing in the café. They’re showing “Five Easy Pieces.”
Orange fountain in Cobbs Hill Reservoir , Rochester, NY
We stopped up to see my mom and took her down to the coffee shop. She asked if we were swimming in our outdoor pool yet. it was good to hear her ask about the outside world.
We had lunch at Magnolia’s on Park Avenue. Peggi sat in the chair Obama sat in and she ordered what he had, a cup of soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. It dawned on me that this was the old Red & White grocery store when we lived in an apartment in this part of town. Henry ran the place. He used to work in my uncle’s store. We sat near the window looking out at KrudCo’s new place. Doesn’t seem right on Park Avenue. And I realized why they call this place Magnolia’s, so close to Oxford Street with the meridian lined with the flowering trees only a few weeks from full bloom.
We stopped at Washington Grove near the top of Nunda Boulevard and we walked through the woods up to the reservoir. My parents used to take us up here. They’d open the car doors and let us run. My mom and dad used to walk laps here just a few years ago. High on a hill, 640 feet above sea level, it’s one of the most beautiful spots in Rochester. The sign in front of the 1908 building reads, “Of unsurpassed quality, the water in this reservoir flows by gravity from Lakes Hemlock and Canadice located 30 miles south.” Peggi and I hadn’t been up here in years.
I’m back to painting again. So many obstacles, of course, most of my own making. I got side-tracked with a lot of family business. Not complaining, just retesting the argument I make these days. It needs defending. That you don’t have to paint to get better at painting. The principles you use, the disciple you apply get a constant workout in the day to day. I have a deadline too and that certainly is a motivator.
We ran into Bill Keyser at Pete Monacelli’s opening last week. Bill was in Fred Lipp’s painting class with me. The first words out of his mouth the other night were, “I miss Fred.” Of course you do. We all do. We are on our own. Fred left his tool kit behind and plenty of instructions. “There are no rules,” he use to say, except for one, “Trust your eye.” Something I do everyday now.
Red ball in front window at Kneads & Wants Bakery in Rochester, New York
It’s time for the snowbirds to come back north. The daffodils are up, the purple myrtle flowers are out, the lenten roses are in full bloom. The crocuses and winter aconite are already folding up, Another few weeks and the wildflowers in Edmunds Woods will be out. We bought spinach, lettuce and “Detroit Red Beets” seeds today at Aman’s and planted them in potting soil. This is all true but I’ve been around here long enough to know we could still see some more snow. So our skis and poles are standing in the corner just outside the door.
We always sit in the front window at Kneads & Wants. With coffee and pastry we watch the Lake Avenue world go by. This morning we watched a group of revelers in green clothing get on the bus, probably headed to the Saint Patty’s Day parade downtown. I took this photo from our seats. The blurry building wth the green spires is now the Charlotte Post Office but in the early sixties it was Doug Duke’s Music Room. Born Ovidio Fernandez in Buenos Aires, Argentina, Doug changed his name and drew guests like Coleman Hawkins, Teddy Wilson, Lionel Hampton, Marian McPartland, Charlie Byrd, Roy Eldridge, Ray Nance and Toots Thielemans to the club. Doug held court behind the organ but doubled on accordion, bassoon and trumpet. I told the women who run the bakery about this place but they were hardly impressed.
I’m going to try and beat this time change thing by going to sleep an hour early tonight.
Here is Coleman Hawkins performing Body and Soul with Doug Duke in the club on Lake Avenue near Latta.Leave a comment
We wore our tick gear for the first time yesterday assuming the little creatures would be out enjoying our record high temps. We tuck our pant legs in our socks to complete the geeky woods look. Don’t want any part of that Kathleen Hanna disease. Unless I’m missing something, they don’t seem to have any bugs in California. Peggi’s sister leaves her back door open during the day although she did see a rat running around. There no screens on the windows or doors. There must be something out there
We had my parents mailing address changed to our house so we’re getting my mom’s Women’s Day magazine now. I brought it up to her yesterday. I don’t know why I say “up.” Her room is on the ground floor. She wanted to go home with us but that is not going to happen.
Sonja Livingston is all over town this week. We heard her on the radio talking to Even Dawson about fertility and her love of language, especially the rhythm of words when we speak. And then we saw her at Margaret Explosion’s show last night.
Im still thinking about the Headlands on the other side of the Golden Gate Bridge. It is such a magical spot.
Woman Hula-Hooping on sidewalk in Rochester, New York
Writers & Books sponsored Sunday’s “Bus Tour with Sonja,” an event coinciding with the selection of Sonja Livingston’s “Queen of the Fall” as this year’s “If All of Rochester Reads the Same Book.” Sonja planned the tour to coincide with locations from her fabulous memoir, “Ghostbread,” and this book. “It was five minutes past our departure time and Sonja had not yet boarded, setting the stage for a dramatic entry. We heard the bus driver had already run into a car in the parking lot before we arrived. We buckled up.
Our first stop was just around the corner from Writer & Books at the Barrel of Dolls. We had just parked in front of this place on Friday night when we visited Axom Gallery across the street. Sonja read an exquisite excerpt from “Queen of the Fall” about a girl she grew up with who wound up working in the Barrel. Sonja visited the Barrel for research reasons and said it was much cleaner than she pictured.
Second stop was East High where Sonja went to school. She pointed out that less than half of the students graduate and she read a piece as we gazed out the window at our old neighborhood. Peggi and I lived a short block away from this school for twenty seven years and I grew up about eight streets away but I went to Catholic schools. My family situation was 180 degrees away from Sonya’s but the settings were all within reach.
Our third stop was Savoia Bakery on Clifford Avenue, a location mentioned in all three of Sonja’s books. We had just driven by the place on our way to this tour. My family’s haunt was Elite Bakery behind East High on Atlantic but Savoia’s has outlasted them. Our next stop was 33 School, across the street from the Playground Tavern. Sonja read another excerpt from “Queen of the Fall,” one that references Savioa Bakery, Italians (who shape the character of Rochester) and being one of seven children (like I was.)
Lamont Place, off Webster Avenue was our fifth stop. We parked in front of the house where she grew up, or the spot where the house once stood. A man cut through the empty lot headed toward Goodman Plaza with a big plastic bag filled with empty beer cans. A reading from “Ghostbread” was especially poignant.
We motored down East Main to Corpus Christi where I was baptized some twenty years before Sonja. It is now called “Our Lady of the Americas.” My parents lived in apartment around the corner on Alexander Street. Sonja read a piece about a Hispanic wedding that took place here and another about living in the church’s rectory when Father Jim Callan moved out to be closer to the community he served.
The bus driver drove over the curb as we pulled into an official tourist stop, the Susan B. Anthony House, where we sat down for tea while Sonja read from her upcoming book, “Ladies Night at the Dreamland, a combination of research and imagination.” The title refers to the dancehall, amusement park in Sea Breeze near our current home. A guide took us through the house, a beautiful place, one of those mid eighteen hundred houses where the windows in the front room go all the way down to the floor. The tour was inspiring. “Failure is Impossible.”
Our final stop was Mount Hope Cemetery. The bus passengers cheered when the driver made it through the iron gates. Sonja read from a story she wrote about a grave stone here that reads, “Here lies a white slave girl.” She died at fifteen in 1857 and is buried a stone’s throw away from Frederick Douglas’s grave. Sonja is a keen observer. Her observations coupled wth her imagination is a marvel. I hope all of Rochester does read this book.
Listen to Playground Tavern by Margaret Explosion1 Comment
