However, sometimes, during these dark but cozy hours, I am awoken by a deep kitty wisdom – a wisdom I know is as old as the world and as true – when the sky is still dark and the stairs are cold to the paw. Don’t ask me to explain it. As sophisticated as my cognitive powers are, I cannot be expected to articulate complex messages from the Beyond. It’s rather special that my little body can pick up supernatural currents like a purr-operated radio, even if the only message it communicates to me is a growly belly and a springy energy that tells me it is time to leave my boudoir (and for my two-legger to follow). I never argue with wisdom from the Beyond, especially if it thinks an early breakfast is of utmost importance.

A good sleeping companion makes all the difference (Photo by Jackie Fritsche)

Unfortunately my two-legger is rather skeptical of the Beyond and my interpretation of it. I would be offended by her reluctance to obey the power behind my growling belly if I didn’t know she was a dullard as far as the dark-sky currents of kitty wisdom are concerned. She just doesn’t know any better. And so I must patiently persuade her to emerge at a darker hour than she is wont, though she may grumble and groan sleepily. My persuasion strategy involves announcing my wakefulness repeatedly in a pitch she cannot ignore, and when all else fails, I nuzzle her. My nuzzles have a curious power over my two-legger, and they are very useful at times like these. After a few well-administered nuzzles we are invariably padding down the stairs towards my favourite cupboard.

As I enjoy my breakfast, I hear the clink of cups and things in the kitchen, which means my two-legger is joining me in my ritual! I pat myself on the back. I am training her well. Soon she will bound down the stairs with me for this divinely ordained ceremony. I am happy. I will nuzzle my two-legger for this.

After much humming and hawing about whether his hair was long enough for a trim, my father departed in his ill-fated car to see Edwin, his hairdresser. An hour or so later, I had an appointment to meet a friend outside his new place of work to congratulate him upon getting a job after months of looking for one (Why don’t you come see me after work? You know, where I work now. At my job. Did I mention I work?).

I spent about twenty minutes with my friend outside the blessed cafe of employment, watching his eyes all a-twinkle as he talked at length about his work schedule, days off, the cafe dress code and how he has “an apron and everything”. I was in the middle of asking him to join me at the library the next day just so that he could say “as long as it doesn’t interfere with my work,” when my phone rang with a desperate father on the other end.

“Alyzee, are you home? Go home. My car’s just been towed. What do you mean “again”? Stop laughing, this is serious. Stop laughing! Mum doesn’t have the keys and you need to let her in. And also I need you to go home and get my driver’s license and meet me at Pacific Central Station. Okay? Okay. Quickly!”

Goodbye vehicle (Photo by Digitalkatie)

The day before yesterday my father spent much more than he needed to on car servicing to the profound irritation of my mother. I wasn’t wrong in assuming she’d be even further provoked by my father’s latest auto antics. Turns out I didn’t get home in time to let my mother in, and I found her angrily boiling lentils in the kitchen, having climbed into the house through my bedroom window. I am often locked out myself and so have taken to leaving my window open a crack for such rainy days, and other members of the family occasionally benefit from my foresight. My mother’s mood was in no way improved by the fact that she had spent the day fasting as many Muslims do for the month of Ramadan.

“Here I was excited to come home early for once and then your father has to do a thing like this,” she fumed, muttering something about how she has to break into her own house like a thief just to make dinner. “Here!”, she snapped with obvious low-blood sugar as she handed me the forgotten license, and off I went to catch two buses and rescue my father.

Meanwhile the offending parent was killing time at the Pacific Central Station where a camera crew was filming. When I found him, he told me he had positioned himself strategically so that he would be a prominent member of the set background. “Good thing I had my hair trimmed,” he mused as we made our way to the Impound Lot.

Before we went in he warned me to look as solemn as possible when we went into the ticket office in case they stuck us with another ticket for not looking repentant enough.

When we had been safely repossessed of our car, my father gingerly began asking questions about my mother’s mood. When he learned that she’d had to climb in through the window, he thought it would be safest if he too, didn’t come in through the front door where he would be in plain sight of my mother and retribution. His idea was to get in through my window, shut my bedroom door, and lie in my bed quietly to delay his reckoning for as long as he could.

Narrow escape (Photo by Bonnie Natko)

I thought he had been joking until I he was climbing in through my bedroom window after me, with his shoes in hand to aid his silence. I thought that that was as far as the shenanigans would go, but he really did want to hide in my room to escape his fate, and wanted me to do the same so no one would know we were home. Now I’d been pretty flexible so far and didn’t want to be trapped in my room, so we argued in loud whispers until I decided that enough was enough.

I found my mother watching TV, looking all the more like a formidable movie villain as she was doing this wearing her sunglasses (having misplaced her clear spectacles, I assume). When I told her where my father was and what he was doing, she had a hard time containing her laughter, and marched in to my room to sort him out. I guess the comedy of the whole thing negated any “sorting out” that was to happen, as soon my father was persuaded out of his hideout to eat his stew, and the incident was forgotten.

My father wants to go to City Hall to dispute the towing, with me as a witness. I’m going to pretend not to hear him and change the subject next time he mentions it. Somehow I think relating the above story to the Municipal Court will make matters worse. Better let them believe we are quiet, law abiding citizens and leave it at that.

Bronwyn and Alyzee, with whom I imagine is the British accented drill Sargent barking orders at Alyzee in her head (see Alyzee's latest post for the reference).

I am really going to miss these gals.  Alyzee and her incredible gift with the quill.  Bronwyn, whom was born to have a spotlight shine on her and has an incredible gift for the audiovisual arts that I was only just beginning to grasp.

For all that I tease Erica, I do hope she agrees and we can find a way to keep these two involved, if only on those occasional moments that they have a breather between school deadlines, as I will greatly miss these two creative spirits.

Thanks Alyzee and Bronwyn!

Being cornered by a writing deadline sometimes has a way of making one (or me, at least) speechless in the face of the blank page. I feel as though I’ve known a tiger that has been inching towards me across a field, getting ready to pounce looking more threatening day by day, and that I have stood staring at it motionlessly, racking my brains for an escape plan that keeps showing up a blank.

Photo by Marie Coleman

When I think about why I feel this way after having written more frequently than is usual for me this summer, I notice that today is my first attempt at writing after a 3-week long break. Compared to other times, I feel an intensified pressure to write remarkably well. “Now is the moment of truth,” warns my internal Editor and Sergeant Life Coach, “Do you have it in you? You better write a masterpiece or you can kiss your hopes and dreams to write well goodbye. The only thing worse than infrequent writing is insipid writing. Give me 20 fresh and amusing metaphors. Now! Can you think of any? I didn’t think so.”

I never use the term ‘writer’s block’ because I don’t want to believe in it. I want to imagine myself as prolific river of flowing ideas that knows no drought. I (or Drill Sergeant Life Coach, it’s hard to tell) think/s with derision, “this writer’s block they speak of is nothing more than a refuge for whiny writers that want to throw in the towel just ’cause they don’t feel like writing.” With her supercilious and British-accented words looming large and loud in my mind, I flinch a little anyone mentions ‘writer’s block’ as I try to shake it off as a problem that isn’t real, and nothing some quiet time to think can’t fix.

Photo by Inger Klekacz. Her caption: "I keep this typewriter in my bedroom, where it sits and taunts me. the bastard."

It’s becoming apparent to me that I do believe in writer’s block, insofar as I make such a concerted effort to avoid that which-must-not-be-named. Oddly, my barking internal editor, she that warns me continually of the dangers of not working hard enough, seems to be the source of this writer’s block (hey Epiphany!). So intimidated am I by the Sergeant’s lofty and Olympian goals for my writing that I decide to hang back and wait till I feel like a verbal Olympian, equal to the task.

I must credit this epiphany to my dear friend Sarah who told me this morning that she was writing 100 essays in 100 days, just to keep herself happily writing, in a blog she calls Essay Circus.  These are her words from essay 13.

Writing one hundred essays in one hundred days is like chemotherapy for writer’s block-it forces it out in the most aggressive way possible. Sometimes it has painful side effects (self-doubt, blank-page syndrome, obsession). Sometimes, it doesn’t work. I think that’s called writer’s block. While I was worrying about this creative dead-end and my goal of ninety-one more essays, it occurred to me that the only logical way to treat writer’s block would be to write about it.   (Sarah Elahi, Karachi, Pakistan).

Sarah’s project reminds me of Bronwyn‘s Summer Song Project (her description: writing one song a week, all summer. For fun).

Hm. Two people I think are incredibly talented are defying writer’s block by writing. The goal is to write, period. I know this remedy in theory, but have yet to apply it to my own practice. So starting now, I promise myself I will write every day (and to-do lists don’t count, missy) – without concern for the goodness or greatness of what comes out. I think that to do this I must accept myself as I am now: feeling much younger than I am, scared-er than I ought to be, and far from being a near-novelist or literary titan. So what if I am. Who cares? I wonder what I have to say. This is me, flawed, and moving forward. Wish me luck.

Thanks Shea and Hannah! I needed this this morning.

So I don’t know if its cause its that time of the month, but I had a particularly irritable day today.  Won’t fill you in on all the gruesome details, because that would bore you, but I did think you might enjoy sharing the serenade that the upstairs neighbours decided to give me (these aren’t the actual neighbours, but this is a fairly good rendition of the wails that were emerging from their children’s mouths):

… for over an hour …. whilst I was trying to read and make notes on important documents … AHHHH!!!!

They were actually encouraging their kids to do this.  Wracking my brain to try and ascertain what Fuzzies or I ever did to them to deserve such a cruel and excruciating form of torture. ‘Eye of the Tiger’ and ‘Beat It’ will never be quite the same again. Shot my nerves so badly, that the deck is now covered in what is likely now a rancid morning smoothy.

At any rate, Jennifer reminded me in our session today that writing is my normal release, but as life’s been busy its been a week and a half since I last wrote. With any luck inflicting this pain on you will have helped.

Step #2:  Booze and Chocolate

Kisses,

Emme xoxo

Only one remedy for some hot, smokey weekend summer time blues.  Yep, you guessed it – a weekend all about ME with plenty of indulgence.  Let’s just call it my belated birthday bash(es) with the Burnaby Blues and Roots TODAY and The Lilac Tree Has Been Hacked to the Ground Film Festival.

Now take it away Little Miss Higgins …

Blues and Roots Checklist

• Water – check
• Hat – check
• Blanket – check
• Tickets – check
• Crazy Old Coot from Saskatchewan – check
• Stopping the Crazy Old Coot from letting The Great Garbonzo know where we are off to – X

Oh Hell, just give me some GIN.

Samsung Mobile Canada has quite a cool competition on the go for 30 young mobile enthusiasts in Vancouver, Toronto and Montreal.  Basically, they are giving out a brand new smartphone and service, and sending them to capture the best concerts and events this summer and fall in their city (ex. TIFF, Lady Gaga in Vancouver, etc.).  And the fun doesn’t stop there as there will be cash prizes and an online expense paid trip to Korea for a few lucky ‘mob!lers’. The deadline is fast approaching though, applications close this Wednesday August 11, 2010, so don’t you young whipper snappers be diddle daddling.

Alas, I am not eligible as this competition is only for 19 – 30 year olds out there.  I guess it is only fair to leave some of the fun to the young ‘uns.

… never fear though … for the non-whipper snappers amoungst us – old Dickie Gustin, Mr. Jones, Brie and I – are aheading for some old school blues and roots this coming weekend.  Now to set the mood, some blues from a 2010 Burnaby Blues and Roots Festival Headliner, Kenny Wayne Shepherd:

Kisses,

Emme xoxo

Seeing as it’s nearly time for the 2010 Burnaby Blues & Roots Festival, which our sunglasses-and-smiles hostess will tell you all about after she attends on Saturday August  14, I thought I’d ask our Emme if it would be OK for me to submit my own thoughts on the festival, and what you guys can expect from it when you go.  You see, last year I accompanied Emme, plus friends Erica Hargreave and Jon Jennings, to the 2009 festival. Besides being an afternoon with good friends, I was there, ostensibly, as resident music geek.

And a geek I was.

The fact is, outdoor festivals like this really turn my crank.  I love seeing live music being performed by enthusiastic musicians, for equally enthusiastic crowds. This is not to mention the food.  Food almost always tastes better outside, in the company of friends, and sitting on blanket and deck chairs, enjoying the sounds together in the summer sun. And let’s face it; I love the presence, function, and all around generosity of beer tents.

During this particular festival, it was fun to see Emme in her element too, dancing with strange guys (and I do mean strange), chatting up the paramedics at the first aid station (She got a bit of sunscreen in her eye. Well, so says she.), and spreading false rumours about me on Twitter while I innocently took in the music, unaware.

She’s a handful. But she’s an endearing handful. Water under the bridge.

The line-up last year was stellar.  Some acts I knew about, and others I discovered for the first time. In any case, it’s already a year later, and if you were ever in doubt about attending the Burnaby Blues and Roots Festival this year, here’s the line up and what you can expect from each act.

Taj Mahal

This year, there are some real luminaries at the festival, including headliner Taj Mahal, who has been playing folk blues shows like this, and putting out records, since the 60s. Among other things, Taj Mahal was the only North American act that played the Rolling Stones’ classic (and for many, many years unreleased) Rock ‘n’ Roll Circus special in 1968, along with The Who, Jethro Tull, Eric Clapton, Mitch Mitchell, John Lennon & Yoko Ono, and the Stones themselves. Taj Mahal continues to blur the lines between blues and folk musics from around the world, and to deliver singular excitement in a live setting.

Kenny Wayne Shepherd

Kenny Wayne Shepherd‘s blistering blues-rock is bound to get people up on their feet. He’s been an undeniable live draw for many years and is master of whipping up summer audiences into a fun-loving frenzy.  Shepherd proves that when the blues had a baby and called it rock ‘n’ roll, that baby has continued to grow, although not forgetting where she came from. For that organic feel of the blues, with the drive and guts of modern rock, come and get it.  This guy’s got it.

Colin Linden

Colin Linden is a solo artist, songwriter, guitarist, and sought-after producer, also member of folk-rock collective Blackie & the Rodeo Kings.  He’s also a long term musical collaborator and producer to another hero of mine: Bruce Cockburn.  He’s produced a number of albums  and written songs for other artists you’ve heard about (Colin James, The Band, etc).  He’s served as back-up guitarist for country maven like Emmylou Harris, while also having been tutored as a young player by electric blues titan Howlin’ Wolf. Colin brings out a unique warmth in the long traditions of the blues and folk.

Juno winner and country-music-with-a-kick performer Serena Ryder will on hand to showcase her powerhouse voice; a smokey and textured instrument that contrasts the pristine beauty of her songwriting which has earned her a gold record.

Californians Lukas Nelson & the Promise of the Real, will show you the connections between rock, blues, and all the folk music forms in between.  If you’re a fan of that Woodstock sound of the Band, Van Morrison, and New Morning-era Bob Dylan, these guys will make the afternoon in the park worth your while.

Little Miss Higgins weaves together the musical threads of proto-electric rural blues of Memphis Minnie, the country music of Jimmie Rodgers, and Bob Wills, and early jazz-blues recordings from Lady Day herself, showing how the rich tapestry of these musical traditions continue to wind their way into the modern age. Her music is rooted in an approach to performance that says “welcome! come on in”.

Retro-rock group Yukon Blonde comes complete with classic 70s AM rock radio texture, and sunshiny 60s flavoured harmonies perfect for a summer festival like this one.

The Burnaby Blues and Roots festival is being held at Deer Lake Park on Saturday August 14.  If you go, make sure to tell us about your favourite acts – especially those you didn’t know going in –  in the comments section of this post, or other posts themed around the festival.

Cheers!

Rob.

***

Taj Mahal image courtesy of Bill Gracey. Kenny Wayne Shepherd image courtesy of Farky. Colin Linden image courtesy of Stephen Dyrgas.

Serena Ryder “All For Love”

If anyone happens to have a road map to the men in my world, I’d greatly appreciate your sharing it with me.