Curtis Sees Dead People

I strive, and have striven, to keep this blog running since 2005, and, in a twin effort, to keep it from becoming All About the Dog. Having weathered a near total takeover of content by one Napoleonic little Boston terrier, I struggle not to let Curtis barge in the same door. I'm fighting not him, but myself; my belief that he is the Most Special Dog Ever. I fight my own besotment.  Well, who could not be taken over by a dog so smart, so sweet, so alive, so tiger-striped?

Plus, get this. He loves to be hugged. Presses in for more. Most dogs don't like it; Curtis craves it. In addition, he smells like fallen sycamore leaves, not a hint of ook. The perfect companion for a lonely anthropoid craving ventral-ventral contact in a pandemic, saith the Science Chimp. 

So I figure it's time for an All Curtis photo post. 

On a recent Thursday, we saddled up for a ride to the sweet little town of Nelsonville, Ohio. Our destination? Stuart's Opera House, its crown jewel. I had to do a tech run-through of my first virtual presentation of Saving Jemima, the book talk that COVID-19 canceled. (Yes! you can watch it! And yes! details below!)

I figured the 2 PM run-through would take about a half-hour, and we'd be on our way, maybe hiking one of the state parks along the Appalachian highway for the afternoon. Well, things didn't quite work out that way.

Curtis always starts our car rides in the front seat, looking forward, as if he's got co-pilot status and has to make sure I pull all the right levers. Traffic stops get boring, though. 

I have anticipated this, so I've brought a pillow for this cur who needs a pillow, at all times. 

Still, it's not very comfortable. 

He could go to the back seat, but that would mean giving up co-pilot status. 

So he opts for the tired airplane passenger sleeping sitting up move. I particularly love his badonkadonk in this shot. Chet had a badinkadink. This dog has baDONK.

Eventually we got to the Opera House, and it became clear that I was in the hands of artists, who are intent on making a show of this event, which is not only my first streamed lecture, but Stuart's Opera House's first streamed event! It will be available on Zoom, but it won't be a simple screen share--you'll be able to see an inset of me speaking, as well as a wide shot of the stage. It will feel a lot more like attending a live lecture. I am excited about this--it counteracts the dreary thought I had of having to give a slide lecture from my studio, all by myself. 

But back to Curtis. He entered the Opera House with pricked ears and waving tail, surging ahead to investigate each room we entered. We had no sooner got on stage and I had taken my place, though, when Curtis began to agitate. He was off his lead with people to kibbitz with, so it wasn't that he was bored at being confined. 

No, he was Zombie Whining me. A Zombie Whine is a very high-pitched screech that starts with a long, soundless exhalation and ends with a sound like a car pulling away on a wet street. He gives it when he very much wants me to be doing Something Other than What I am Doing. 

He kept gazing off into the darkened theater, ears pricked, wagging his tail, then turning back to me. 

"Honestly," I said to my hosts, "it's like he's seeing a ghost, and he wants me out of here, pronto!" This statement unleashed a highly enjoyable barrage of ghost stories from my hosts,  Stuart's Opera House's Executive Director, Melissa Wales, and T-Bone, the house sound artist who is coordinating the show.

It seems there are two ghosts, seen by multiple people, who haunt the Opera House. One is George, thought to be the builder of the place. He walks up and down the empty halls, whistling. Whistling. Melissa has heard him--and she'll know that the door she just heard open is locked up tight, and the lights are off, and there cannot be anyone there, but...footsteps and whistling. Yeeeesh!

Also present and much more mischievious is a ghost the living denizens of Stuart's call Victoria. She's seen more often than George, who is usually heard. She messes with electricity. T-Bone told of one night when, in the  middle of a performance, the house lights started rapidly strobing. Everyone looked at one another, asking what could be going on. T-Bone rushed to cut power to the house lights, flipped the breaker...and the lights stayed lit. Dimly, but they stayed lit. Ohhh-kay. 

At this point I was getting chills, my mouth hanging open. And then they told me about the child visitor who kept asking about "the lady in the balcony."

Victoria is usually spotted in the balcony.

I seen her. I seen Victoria out there.

You can't see her, but I can. Dogs can. Well, I can. We need to go.

We need to get out of here, Mama (blep) I'm begging you.

Sadly, Curtis did not get his urgent wish. In the end, I was there for more than two hours, working out all the kinks and folds of streaming a live lecture to an unseen audience. I enjoyed every minute, even if Curtis didn't. I'm so excited about this! It's happening Thursday, October 8, at 7 pm.

Here's the event on Stuart's Opera House's website:

https://tinyurl.com/zickatstuarts

If you've always wanted to attend a Zickefoose talk, but haven't had a chance, well, here you go. Much as I miss touring, I'm truly excited about the chance to open this out to a wider and more far-flung audience, and to give people a chance to hear the Saving Jemima book talk, no matter where they might reside.

Are you done yet? I'm keeping an eye on you. See that hole in the wall behind me? Ghosts come through that. 

Come ON Mama let's GO! I have to get you out of here!

All right, Mr. Supernatural, we can go home now. 

See you Thursday October 8 at 7 pm! And since you're gonna ask, Curtis done blown his chance to be there. I'll have enough to do without placating an antsy beggartick cur-dog who has to report loudly on what he's seeing up in the balcony. I'll just have to take my chances with George and Victoria sans bodyguard. 

https://tinyurl.com/zickatstuarts

Thanks to Stuart's Opera House, Athens Area Birders, Scioto Valley Bird and Nature Club, my favorite ever general store White's Mill, the Ohio Ornithological Society, and Bob Scott Placier for sponsoring my appearance. I don't know who's sponsoring George and Victoria's appearances. 

 

The Last Night of the World

We're just back from a weekend away, again. This time, we had a real triple bill. Friday night, in a continuation of his birthday celebration, (will it ever end?) I took Bill out to dinner at the Inn at Cedar Falls. I love this place! Picture a hand-hewn log house with a fabbo restaurant in it, nestled in the Hocking Hills--hemlock ravines and sandstone caves and waterfalls. Romantic setting, wonderful food. It was hard to leave. We had wanted to stay there, too, but you have to book three months in advance! Never underestimate Ohio, my friends. It's got hidden treasures everywhere.

From there, we made our way to Nelsonville, Ohio, to Stuart's Opera House to see Bruce Cockburn play a solo acoustic concert. I called minutes after tickets went on sale and got the last two box seats. Many heartfelt thanks to birder and BC fan Vince Lucas of Ft. Myers, Florida, who gave me a heads-up in January that Bruce was winging our way. Yeah, Vince!! In the box seats, we were close enough to throw a spitball at him. The Opera House is the most delightful, venerable venue imaginable: 400 seats, balcony, boxes, warm wood, beautiful historic architecture, neat crowd that knew every word of every song. Saved from decay and demolition by a dedicated band of volunteers, and now back in its glory. It's clear performers love to play there as much as we love listening to them there. Bruce blew us completely away.This unprepossessing looking man has an entire band, melody, bass and percussion--in his right hand. I have never seen anyone get more music out of a guitar than Bruce Cockburn can. Add to that a perfect baritone voice, and soul-stirring, universally nonspecific yet personal lyrics worthy of a poet laureate, and you have absolute musical heaven. When they handed out soul Bruce must have been at the front of the line.
There's a magic that happens when you finally get to see an artist whose work you've loved for years. I can only compare it to having stood before rhododendron tangles listening to a rich tweet tweet tweet for hours, and finally, finally, catching a glimpse of the Swainson's warbler, with the song coming out of its bill. I started crying when he launched into "Lovers in a Dangerous Time," kept it up through "Life's Short--Call Now--" a song that always reminds me of my mom-- and was still fumbling for Kleenex when he sang "The Last Night of the World."

If this were the last night of the world
What would I do
What would I do that was different
Unless it was champagne with you

Would the person you'd pick choose you, too, for champagne on the last night of the world?
please, make it Shiraz. I hate champers.
Bruce Cockburn's songs make me think and hope and yearn. They touch a place way down deep that no other artist's songs do.
Mr. Cockburn didn't waste any time on patter. He just played and sang. His rhythm was steady as a metronome, and he has so much of it in his songs that I didn't miss his band one bit. You ought to hear him on his sunburst-red twelve-string. My gosh. I just couldn't believe the sounds that one man could create, with a little artful pedal use (delay and reverb).

I never knew what you all wanted
So I gave you everything
All that I could pillage
All the spells that I could sing

That lyric from "Pacing the Cage" could be Bruce Cockburn's artist's statement. And it resonated for me, writing every day for you, still putting together a book proposal that, if I do it right, will empty me out of my best stories and paintings. Hoping that the publisher understands how much I want to put into it. Hoping I can convey that in a 30-minute meeting. Leaving Wednesday for Boston to try to make it happen. Pacing the cage until then.

Drained but filled, I couldn't think of anything to do after the concert but to give Bruce an inscribed copy of Letters from Eden. Bill ran the quarter-mile to the car in the cold to bring it in, and we gave it to the concert organizer, a man I trusted to take it to him. I discovered Bruce in 1982, on a trip to Newfoundland, and was instantly in tune with him. For all the music and joy he's given me, it seemed the least I could do. I liked to think of him, maybe reading it on his big ol' tour bus until he fell asleep.

Photo by Ric McArthur

Saturday night, suitably cowed by Cockburn's stunning musicianship, we gave a concert for Aullwood Audubon Society's 50th anniversary lecture series. About 100 people showed up, and we had a nice show ready for them--homemade live music and images from our place and our travels. Afterward, we signed our books, Bill signing All Things Reconsidered, Bird Watching for Dummies, and Ohio Bird Watching, both of us signing Identify Yourself, and me signing Letters from Eden. Photo by Ric Mcarthur.

It all went smoothly, considering neither of us had slept worth a darn the night before. We stayed in a bed and breakfast after the concert. Victorian. Much furniture. Many, many dolls on that furniture. Staring. Nice place, real nice people, but the dolls...I dunno. Something about rows and rows of realistic dolls staring at you all night is not conducive to sleep. We were wound up from the concert, but still...Along about 4 AM when I was despairing of ever getting to sleep, a cool breeze suddenly played over my face and arms. Since the place was buttoned up tight as a corset, I decided that it had to be a visitation. Sweet dreams!

We were delighted to find Ric and Anne McArthur (you know and love him as Rondeau Ric) waiting for us at Aullwood's lovely visitor center. Since they won't be able to make it to either West Virginia or North Dakota this spring, they decided to pop down and see us in Dayton. How lovely. It took them only a little longer to get to Dayton from Ontario than it did for us to get there from Whipple. After the show we got takeout Skyline chili and dogs and brought them to our room where we pounded a few beers, eh? and hung out. A wonderful end to a really good evening. Love to meet dem Rondeaus. Rondeaus what I love to meet.

Theme for the weekend: Pouring it out, and being filled up again. Knowing that putting out a product for other people to enjoy is making the world a better place. Knowing that the more you create, the better able you are to create. Trying not to waste the time we're given. Trying to spend each day as if it were the last day of the world.Happy birthday, big love. Photo by a sweet woman whose name I've forgotten, who sat behind us in the box at the opera house. How's that for a credit?