Dear diary...

Someone called last night, a bit concerned, pointing out it's not often I let so many days go by without checking in at Pratie Place. Truth is, my laptop's been down in the studio, hooked up to a new interface that allows recording directly into the computer using good recording mics, and I've been too lazy (till now) to disconnect it.

Bob and I love the awful songs we're arranging for "We Did It," our murder ballad cd (fyi, the cover I'd been painting for weeks) but the project feels like, oh I dunno, eating a lot of horseradish and anchovies. To right the cosmic balance, we're simultaneously working on a sampler cd of songs and tunes for weddings - you know, processionals, recessionals, major keys, happy endings...

... so we named it "Hearts' Delight" after an early English country dance from the Playford Collection (I think), and also a line from one of the songs: "My heart's delight in my arms at night." Here's the rough for the cover.

(I mused about subtitling this one "the triumph of hope over experience" but that's an unworthy thought, more suited to the cd Beth and I did years ago, "Courting Disaster - centuries of failed love songs.")

Squirrel update: I trapped seven since my outraged post of last week. They are mostly living over by the Waldorf school now, probably... My doubt about their location stems from a frightening factoid somebody shared with me: that squirrels can travel 40 miles back to their home ground. I hope something distracts my particular deported squirrels from such an epic re-migration, they were exceptionally smart and were teaching their terrible tricks to the whole community.

Saturday I went to Menticia's sister's birthday party - seventeen nine year old girls! Gevalt! They were playing twister, so much noise! Menticia's mother looked a bit drawn - she'd been cooking for two days. "I couldn't sleep last night because mom and my uncle were cutting up the cow's head," Menticia had told me. I was worried about the choice I anticipated: (a) eat tamales made of chopped up cow's head or (b) refuse to eat tamales made of chopped up cow's head and look like a hypocrite, because I'm always telling Menticia "at least TRY some!" and she'd notice... however, I had to leave for a gig before the tamales came out so I was saved from the grim choice.

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