but your boobs look really good

...was the nicest thing that was said about my bowling game.



The scores for my threes games: 85, 86, 86.
The score for my top: 2 thumbs up.
I can joke about that, since no one ever says things like that to me. When I tried the top on at Marigold, the woman I was working with said "not good, you look like you're all boobs."
Which made me run to get my check book.

Today was the annual Red Key vs. Just Judy's bowling tournament. Judy's is a bar down the street from the Red Key.
This is the first year that I've played, and it just might be the last time they invite me.
think the last time I bowled I lived in New Jersey, so that was at least a dozen years ago.

I did have fun. The teams were made randomly by the bowling alley. My team consisted of the Posh Petals girls and my accountant. For the record, it was the Posh girls that made the boobs comment, not my accountant.



From there I went to a house concert. Tim Grimm and his wife Jan Lucas-Grimm were playing. I really like Tim's music. He's a actor, hay farmer, singer. He and his wife moved back to Indiana to live on his near his grandparent's farm. He sings of the land, neighbors and family. Cliff and Jerry, I think that you would really enjoy him. Speaking of that I talked to Jerry while he was driving the tractor today.

Ding! The timer just went off -- I set it for fourteen minutes.

Good night!

thirteen nashville photographs

I was making a list of things that I need to accomplish today before 3:00 and thinking of a post was one of them. Then I got the oh-so-clever idea to post the list of thirteen things that I needed to do today. Since screwing around on the computer was not one of them, I decided to do some of the chores first. Unpacking my suitcase was the first thing I tackled. I sorted a few things out and got to some cough syrup covered stuff (the lid was not on the bottle correctly, child proof my ass) and decided that unpacking my camera would be way more fun.

(Otis, Amy, Scott)
Waiting at the Pancake Pantry

Pointing out the sites

Otis
(click on his name to hear his music)

Cute Couple

Putting the "i" in Nashville

We went to check out the new house. Since the banks were closed (Columbus Day) they could not close on the house. That did not stop us from peeking in windows, planning the landscaping and mourning the break down of Amy's car and the horribleness of their move.

View from the front porch.

Amy on the front porch
(click on her name to hear her music)

Scott and Amy in the backyard.

Later that night...

Nora's foot, Scott's boots
The Station Inn

Moving day...

Otis

Mr. Monkey arrives in Nashville.
Almost all of the fliers for Amy shows and her vacation photographs feature him.

This Mr. Monkey greeted me when I stopped for gas.
Nervous Charlie,s carried fireworks, sorghum ham, tons of souvenirs featuring outhouse humor. Luckily they also had gasoline and diet Pepsi.

size twelve

I worked a long day yesterday and ran to Target before it closed --you know how it goes, you race in to the store ten minutes before closing time and get the hurry-up-and-shop you inconsiderate moron grimace from the employee straightening the carts. I'm sure its pretty darn close to the look I give people that walk in the bar at last call.

The intention of the shopping trip was to buy a toothbrush and cat food. Just a toothbrush and cat food. So as I was trying on jeans, I started giggling. Which I'm sure endeared me to the Target staff just a little bit more. The jeans that fit were a size 12. Not only was I thrilled that my fat monkey ass could squeeze in to a pair of size 12 jeans but it took me back 25 years.

But first, I have to tell you that I don't believe in size tags. They vary so wildly from manufacturer to manufacturer. I always joke that I'm going to rip all of the tags out of the clothes at Marigold and re-group the sizes in to the broad categories of sun, moon and stars. Then when someone comes in the store you could say "Hello, you look like a star! Let me show you some things." I've never cared about sizes. In fact the skirt I'm wearing right now has a "small" tag and my tee shirt is an "XL". But a surprising number of people care about what the size tag says. Yep, that tag that no one but you see, that tag that can easily be cut out. Even if the skirt is the most flattering thing they've ever put on their body, women get caught up in sizes. I've learned to say things like "Oh, that line runs really small" or "That designer cuts very generously."

When I was in college my dear boyfriend and I hung out with another couple. Greg and RR were high school buddies. RR's wife managed a clothing store in the Mall. I was a skinny punk rocker with a penchant for thrift store clothes. In those days you could score beautiful beaded sweaters, handmade dresses, biker boots and well-worn Levi jeans.

One Christmas season Mrs. Mall spent a lot of time telling us about a coat selling contest between the stores in her district. I was not totally shocked when Greg gave me a coat from everyone-looks-like-everyone-else store in the Mall. I was tiny and the coat was a size 6. Which technically fit me, but I thought it was way too tight for a coat and not my style at all. I'm a fan of the swing coat. Loose and plenty of room for layers underneath. But I appreciated the fact that Greg was supporting his friend. I took the coat back to exchange it for a bigger size. I tried a couple of them on and took the size 12 one up to the counter. Mrs. Mall looked at me and said "I would never be caught dead wearing a size 12!"

I was not a big fan of Mrs. Mall anyway and that was the last straw. I told her that she had a good point and that I didn't want the coat and would just take the money. She swore that her store lost the contest because of that return.

Greg and I eventually broke up -- saying no to an engagement proposal tends to take the wind out of the sails of a relationship. I graduated from college, moved to Philadelphia for five years and came back to Indianapolis about a dozen years ago. I ran in to RR and I learned that he and Mrs. Mall were divorced. She'd had an affair with a younger man that she met, at you guessed it-- the mall.

RR and I dated for a bit. We saw a lot of music and hung out with old friends. He still lived in the college town an hour away. I was managing a pizza place and worked a lot of nights. We didn't see each other often and I didn't know much about his life beyond the superficial stuff. I got a call at work one night telling me that RR had tried to commit suicide. Of course I felt horrible and guilty. And, of course RR's problems had nothing to do with me.

Or what the size tag in your clothes says.

these go to eleven

No one is more surprised at my life than I am. Sitting around with some of favorite people this week in my cough syrup-induced haze was bringing out some deep thoughts.

Mostly how did a shy farm girl from Boone County, Indiana come to be sitting in a living room in Nashville, TN with three amazing musicians and all-around swell people?

Part of the reason I often feel like a fraud is the big gaps in my education, both traditional and social.

• I don't know my multiplication tables.
• I've never had a manicure or pedicure.
• I didn't watch much television as a youngster. I'm a whiz at Brady Bunch and Partridge Family trivia, but most episodes of Gilligan's Island, MASH and All In The Family are new to me.
• I couldn't diagram a sentence if my life depended on it.
• I have not seen a lot of movies. I decided a few years ago that I'd never catch up, so I try to stay current -- but I've thrown in the towel on a that lately also. AVS used to tease me "there are these things called movies, they tell a story..."
• I didn't own a record until I was 16 and hardly ever listened to the radio. I was a freshman in college when John Lennon died and I didn't know who he was.
• I have the sense of direction of a donut.
  

Most of the time when the conversation centers around something I don't know about I just nod and try to soak it in. That happened to me several times in Nashville. I enjoyed the recounting of a Sanford and Son episode I have not seen, talk of a book I have not read and I kept myself entertained checking out Scott's collection of records and DVDs.

I've yet to see the film This Is Spinal Tap, but when I was thinking about todays post the phrase "these go to eleven" popped in to my head. If you hang around enough band sound checks, musicians and movie buffs some stuff just gets burned in to your brain.

Here is the scene:

“ Nigel Tufnel: [pointing to a customized Marshall amplifier head unit] This is a top, to, uh, you know, what we use on stage, but it's very, very special, because, if you can see...

Marty DiBergi: Yeah...

Nigel Tufnel: [pointing to the control dials] ...the numbers all go to eleven. Look, right across the board: eleven, eleven, eleven, eleven...

Marty DiBergi: Oh, I see. And most amps go up to ten?

Nigel Tufnel: Exactly.

Marty DiBergi: Does that mean it's louder? Is that any louder?

Nigel Tufnel: Well, it's one louder, isn't it? It's not ten. You see, most... most blokes, you know, will be playing at ten. You're on ten here, all the way up, all the way up, all the way up... you're on ten on your guitar. Where can you go from there? Where?

Marty DiBergi: I don't know...

Nigel Tufnel: ...nowhere! Exactly! What we do is if we need that extra... push over the cliff, you know what we do?

Marty DiBergi: Put it up to eleven.

Nigel Tufnel: ...Eleven. Exactly. One louder.

Marty DiBergi: Why don't you just make ten louder, and make ten be the top... number, and make that a little louder?

Nigel Tufnel: [pause, blank look and snapping chewing gum] These go to eleven."

Maybe its time for me to get a Netflix account...or cable television.
Of course then, I might not ever leave my house.

nashville as it should be

One of the reasons I timed my Nashville visit around a Monday was to see the Western Swing Band Time Jumpers at The Station Inn. My friend Scott says they are one of the main reasons that he moved to Nashville and I believe it. All ten musicians were just amazing.

The band is made up of a core group of studio and touring musicians. I'm a big fan of the pedal steel guitar -- it makes me swoon. I was lucky enough to hear one of the the best session players in the business. Paul Frankin was sitting in for the regular player. You can hear Paul on everything from Barbara Mandrell to Megadeth.

As much as I loved the Time Jumpers, I adored the crowd. There were 200-ish people there on a Monday night at 10 pm. And I was one of the younger ones.

I've love to see them again -- when I'm not spending more time blowing my nose as I am listening. I knew I was really feeling bad when I was not up for checking out another band. Next time, for sure.

nine words

Too tired from the drive home to write anything.

eight up

I'm still a bit of a tired sick mess. My voice has still not recovered and as my Grandma Leona would say, I've got nose full.

I'm in Nashville, TN visiting my friends Scott, Otis and Amy -- who are all living together, until at least tomorrow. Otis and Amy are closing on their new house at 2:00 (cross your fingers).

So far it has been the move from Hell for them. They were supposed to close on their Nashville house on Friday, but a bank glitch kept that from happening. They packed their Indianapolis house up on Saturday and drove towards Nashville. Amy's car broke down, so they had to get it towed and rent a trailer to attach it to the moving truck. To add insult to injury they grabbed the wrong set of keys and could not get in to Scott's house. Otis had to sleep with the truck and the car in a parking lot. Amy and her brother had to find a cheap motel and sneak the dog in.

As horrible as that is for them, I've enjoyed hanging out with them today (between naps). I feel like I'm getting my own private good-bye weekend.

So, in the spirit of keeping up on my October post-a-day here are eight thing on my mantle.





from left:



The Queen Bee caricature that runs with my column in the Broad Ripple Gazette. The very talented Josh Johnson is the artist. I have to admit that when I heard that a caricature was being made I panicked. I had a vision of five chins and a huge nose, but it think it is very cute.


"Forgive Us" wood cut print by my Renaissance friend Kipp Normand. I always joke that I should marry Kipp so I can be Nora Normand. You might also know him as "band practice boy".




Tonic Gallery plate. The Tonic Gallery is the sister event to the Tonic Ball, which benefits Second Helpings. This plate was made by a fourth grader and looks an awful lot like me. Several people at the event thought the young artist used me as a model. Of course, I had to own it.

Beautiful flowers from my friends that own Posh Petals. Meredith and Erika sent them to me to welcome me to home ownership. They are amazing -- the flowers and the Posh girls. I love feeling like I have my own florist. How grown up is that?

Two pieces from my amazing friend Amy McAdams. I just love them. Amy is coordinating the Tonic Gallery this year -- taking over in Maura's absence.

Great-Uncle Herman's ball of twine. This is one of the things I'd grab in case of a fire. I love thinking about Herman saving the twine and who knows -- maybe it predates him. It came from his work bench on the farm where his wife Mamie grew up. Nora and Mamie were sisters.

Grandma Nora's glasses. Nora died when Dad was fourteen. Most of her things were divvied up among the married children. Most of all I'm thrilled to have her name, but it's fun to have something that was so personal to her.