The Red Hot Sugar Babies from Erik Olsen on Vimeo.

I've also been weeding gardens, writing articles, learning & writing more songs on the ukulele, and trying to keep my brain from melting. Fire seems to be the theme as it burns away the debris of the past. Any day now I'm hoping to take flight with new wings like the phoenix. August has been so steamy with showers that it's been hard to see the way clear to launch toward anything new. If anything I've learned to rely on myself more since even the best of friends will sometimes turn and walk away from you. But, I'm grateful to my roommates and the friends who have continued to offer their support as I burn through all this mess.

September is starting to shape into something while the rest of the year remains a big blank page for now. Now back to dreaming up a plan of action for the journey into the heart of winter so I don't end up frozen.

I have a bicycle, that I'm fixing. I have a 5 song EP waiting to be copied, but available to download. I have an article to write for the paper about someone who reminded me to keep focusing on what I do well and to get it done. So, apologies for holding back on the stories until I finish the ones that put a few dollars in my pocket. I need to pass them on to the next person for doing what they do well that I can't do for myself.

After running across the country packing each day full of shows and reconnecting with loved ones scattered like seeds across the country, I can't help but hope that the work we did through Poetry Alive! helped to provide some nourishment in these, well, interesting times.  I must say it was a relief to walk into schools this trip compared to the last time I was working on the west coast right after the Columbine incident. Everywhere we went both staff and students were grateful to see us and thirsty for the arts instead of scared of bomb threats. I was also reminded of how diverse America has become as I visited more schools where there is no longer a majority, but rather a rainbow of color, language, and culture. However, budgets are tight. Even though the arts and sports help bridge the gaps of culture and give students outlets for their own expressions, they are on the chopping block this season.

I'm worn down from 13,000 miles of road dust in the past month and really don't have time to worry about much except the basics of food, shelter, sleep & how to turn the few dollars I made for the work we did into sustainable independence. Isn't that really what we all need?

I was reminded in Lincoln, Nebraska, the heartland of America, that the essential part of the American dream is that if you work hard you will be rewarded. This doesn't mean you figure out how you can scam the most money out of other people at the least cost to yourself. This doesn't mean you run around blaming everyone else for making you miserable or expect that they owe you something.

If our government can't figure that out, it is our duty as citizens to help them. In the words of Paul Freire, "Nobody liberates anybody else, and nobody liberates themselves all alone. People liberate themselves in fellowship with each other."

My wish is that each of us stops playing the blame game and continues to develop those life sustaining attributes which allow us work together for a better tomorrow as we clean up the messes of yesterday.

Daryle Ryce (photo by Charlie Milford)

I had the pleasure of interviewing Daryl Ryce recently for the Tryon Daily Bulletin. I used to repost the articles on my blog as well, but times being what they are I recommend picking up a copy of the paper yourself or checking them out online. I can tell you that the conversation we had led to a very interesting article that brings to light tidbits of information you won't find by typing her name into google.

If you happen to be in Tryon on a Saturday night there's a chance you can catch Daryl live at the Lilac Wine Bar.

I'm told the article was to run last Friday, March 5 with photos taken by Sam Lovelace at the Nina Simone Statue Dedication Concert.

Once upon a night after a show...

They did continue play together for the next two years in not only the Firecracker Jazz Band, but also The Screaming Js. Where ever they were playing I was sure to be dancing if I could make it. Finally, with a big kick from a friend three weeks before she left this planet for good, I pulled my nerves together enough to record a short demo with the two of them playing the hot jazz I love the most. The day seemed magical as we sat down and recorded just about everything in one take. It was like we'd played together for years. I suppose in a way we had, but never those songs. It was recorded just in time to bid farewell to a dear friend. As I listened to the final mixes today, the blurry headed fellow on the right is following the trail to the west coast to seek his fortune. I wish him all the best, but can't help but hope we'll all be reunited one day soon to make some more musical mayhem together.

No regrets, keep moving for the win.

Sitting with Nina at the end of her big day.

Somehow celebrating Nina's return with my extended family of the Tryon community was enough to put my mind at ease for missing the memorial for my slam family sister.

Perhaps it was the doves let loose circling above reminding me that some spirits just have to soar.

What I did know that night was that we had exchanged text messages about 8 hours earlier and she insisted I wait to send her tracks from the demo she challenged me to create until I had the final polished CD to mail her. I knew I was up against a deadline when I'd left her in Austin at the ER at midnight January 9. However, she said with a , she knew I was excited, but it would be worth the wait. I wonder if she knew she would be gone, but had already heard the melodies drifting into her dreams the same way I felt her fire that day spinning my world through a barrage of phone calls into a new direction.

I met Gabrielle in the swirl of the Seattle Poetry scene. Before she was multimediagrl she was the mothership on my email and chat lists. When I left Seattle to tour with Poetry Alive! Gabrielle jumped on board the Slam committee with Allison Durazzi and Paula Friedrich to make my dream of a National Poetry Slam in Seattle become a reality. She was always the one with the fire to get things done.

Unlike my older relatives who have left this world, Gabrielle was someone I actually lived with in the crazy condo on First Hill lovingly referred to as the Purple Palace. I don't share space well with other people, as anyone who has lived with me can tell you, but we had a lot of fun together. The summer of 1998 we went out nearly every night I was in town. Always dressed in something that sparkled, we'd find our way to the OK Hotel first to finish painting our nails with glitter over one of Raymond Kempe's Bloody Marys and watch who came in before it was too crowded to see anything but the performers lit up on stage. We shared a passion for cheering on our favorite musicians and poets. We also shared scars from loving those who knew how to use, but not how to feed, a muse. Cat O'Sullivan and Ciro Viamontes joined us in the healing process that summer which culminated in spending an entire day building a sweat lodge in order to cleanse ourselves of baggage. That's powerful medicine that can only be explained through experience.

Even after I sold the Purple Palace to move to Asheville, NC we kept in contact regularly. I kept up to date with the National Slam community vicariously through her. She would brainstorm career moves with me as she left Seattle to return to Buffalo and eventually relocated to the heart of her Slam Family in Austin.

Where ever my wounded heart feared to tread she would boldly go to make things right. We shared the heartache of flying across the country to make real a long distance relationship only to discover the girlfriend at home. We also shared the belief that the creative work was more important than the failed attempt at true love and at least one of us could salvage that at times. She was better at doing that even to the end with the most recent musician/roommate to turn my world upside down. When everything stopped working, Gabrielle was there encouraging each of us back on our feet toward success rather than self destruction. Conveniently, she only had to deal with one of us in town visiting her at a time.

Most importantly, she had a great sense of the big picture. My last days visiting with her included being the sounding board. She was mapping out a master plan for providing a thriving framework for the tribes of artists she so dearly loved. It leaves me feeling that she didn't so much leave us behind. She simply needed to escape the body worn down by living enough for three people each day so that her spirit could stretch to reach us all.

Gabrielle Boulaine

Known for hosting the Erotica Slam at Nationals in her sequined dress with bunny ears, Bunny Up became Gabrielle's code when the pain was bad. In her last days, the widespread love of her extended family became obvious in the bunnification of facebook profile pictures. When she left us, the network of all that love suddenly felt like a fragile spider's web in a wind storm. She laid out the road map though and gave us the code. Bunny Up. Love something, even if you have to start with learning to love yourself.

Hop to it,
lift up your head
open your mouth
speak love
& live.

I love you,
wendi

p.s. In the mid 1990's I was fortunate to spend a few years singing with Shades of Praise. I've had a version of "Fire (shut up in my bones)" that our director Cora Jackson taught us in my head this evening. I couldn't find that for you to hear, but I can recommend her first album to you here: Original Praise.

Here are a few other things I found along the way to share:

Jeremiah 1:5, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations.”

Jeremiah 17:9, “The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it?”

Jeremiah 29:10-11, “This is what the LORD says: ‘When seventy years are completed for Babylon, I will come to you and fulfill my gracious promise to bring you back to this place. ‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’”

Wendi's Word Nest at Boo-Nanny

After a couple of whirlwind months of bringing Poetry Alive! to schools in various states I caught a ride with the Screaming Js caravan to the Doo-Nanny in Seale, AL. We arrived at 6am Friday and while the sleepers slept I covered J.P.'s big green van with magnetic poetry. There is something cleansing about having a few hours of silence to yourself with nothing but birdsong for inspiration as you pull random words from a bag and try to make sense of them.

Screaming Jake's Church of the Dead

I saved one small box for Screaming Jake's church of the dead which was raised quickly once the sleeper's awoke. I didn't take pictures of the poetry on the church, so that will have to remain a memory in the thoughts of those who had a chance to explore it for that moment in time.

After all the magnets were placed, J.P. & I put the finishing touches on the backstage "Green Room" which gave me the perfect place to hide out while practicing or watch the world from above while typing. Then it was our turn to go exploring.

J.P. in the "Green Room"

That night we ventured downtown for the Possum Trot auction & a delicious boil of shrimp, sausage, corn & potatoes. I heard the whole life story of some locals enchanted by the glimmer of bubbles & regretted not having a single dollar on me to bid on the amazing art going at bargain prices. We danced to Screaming Jake's juke joint piano playing until the sweat streamed off our faces and then loaded up to howl to the moon from the stage with whatever song bubbled up. The best thing about that night was reaching the point when we were all playing...no longer performing.

When you perform for a living, the stress of the work often can take the fun out of it. Especially when folks assume that because it looks like you're having fun that you're willing to entertain them for free. They miss the part where you've spent six hours balancing artistic egos in a car and another six setting up the stage & equipment & magic that makes it all look and sound so fun knowing that when it's all done and you're exhausted it will be time to take it all down and move on to the next job.

Friday night was a night for the artists to play and after a sound night's sleep we woke slowly to the drizzly grey day of the Doo or Boo-Nanny since it was also Halloween. We mostly kept to the caves we built for ourselves as the locals came in to view the Doo. I sold a few poems off the wall and gave away more while taking some time to stare at the sky and listen to others do the work. Finally when the rain let up Jenny Greer & the Screaming Js took the stage for the lighting of the Doo-Nanny to an impromptu rendition of Burning Ring of Fire. That was the spark that set the music in motion with non-stop boogie until at 1:30am. As if in a daze, we finally abandoned the lights of the stage realizing it was cold enough that we should gather close by the bonfires for ghost stories, tall tales & more sing-alongs led by the ever shining Jenny.

The full moon lit the village and made mystery of the mist rising off the lake in the wee hours as we each found a spot to burrow against the chill before dawn. The next day bloomed bright and beautiful and I finally found time to explore Butch Anthony's Museum of Wonder. That alone is worth a visit to Seale, AL any time of the year. After a little time to myself for practice we packed up & hit the road again.

Finally, I now have a few days to spend at home & want nothing more than to continue to sing, dance, play, & make art. Do the Doo.

DooNanny Poem from the Underwood