Everything is not what it seems

I went to the Band of Horses show last night and was pleased to find their live sound as clear, bright and lyrical as their recorded album, if not more. What I found surprising, however, was that the band members themselves were nothing like I expected. Instead of trendy, hipster girly-boys--as their music might suggest--all six band members had beards. Long, scraggly, bushy things. Woodstock beards. Hippy. Earthy. But certainly not hipster (unless of course, beard is the new hipster trend, which isn't totally off base, I suppose, because of the irony of it all. Don't ask me).

It's not that scraggly beards are really that relevant to the music. But last night, was it me, or did Band of Horses sound more country than before?

This is funny to me: it's like discovering that Picasso was a womanizer or that Hemingway was chronically depressed and had a drinking habit or that J.K. Rowling is a woman or that Ellen Degeneres is a lesbian. Do we really want to know the truth behind the art form? Because once you cross that line, once you make that discovery about who the artist is, you superimpose new assumptions and prejudices to the art itself. Everything changes. You start judging the artwork by your value judgments of the person. Does that destroy the integrity of the art?

Then again, don't the beards inform the person who's informing the music? Aren't Picasso's views on women and Hemingway's views on liquor inextricably linked to the artwork? Otherwise, it's like saying artists have the canny ability to separate their personal experiences and personal character from what they do. And that's just oxymoronic.

However, now I'm confused and it's Friday night and I want to go have some wine.

xoxo

col does it again

Remember a while back I wrote about how Col surprised me by going out and buying more cream for my coffee when I was in the shower? Well, he did it again! And what's more, he bought some milk for my cereal. That Col.

He also bought us both tickets for the Band of Horses show tonight at Higher Ground, which I'm eagerly awaiting!

spontaneous berries

Col and I made a long list of things to do yesterday. We even numbered the list 1 through 13. We only made it to number 3 though. That's because number 2 brought us to an auto parts store near our house (to get a replacement bulb for one of my headlights). It was closed so we drove down further on Shelburne Road to Advanced Auto. They had what we were looking for.

Then we were stuck. Number 3 entailed a hardware store, but we had driven far away from the one Aubuchon in South Burlington. Luckily I remembered that there's a cute little hardware store in Shelburne Village. It had everything we needed: replacement bulbs for our track lighting, silver polish for my jewelry, and minuscule metal washers to repair our Asian floor lamps. Gotta love hardware stores, huh? They have everything you ever need, from bike locks and dog bones to wheelbarrows and toilet lids.

Any-who.

After that successful stop, Col and I were feeling a little giddy--and a little spontaneous. We stopped by the Shelburne General Store for some penny candy. It was then I realized.

"Hey, we're not far from the berry farm," I said. "Let's go picking!"

Col thought it was a great idea. He's all for spontaneity. Any time. Any where.

So we did it, we kept driving down Route 7 towards Charlotte. Right before the berry farm, we caught sight of the Charlotte flea market. "Pull over!" I yelled.

Without hesitation Col swerved the car down over the embankment and into the field-cum- parking-lot next to the market stands. We walked by tables of dream catchers and antique cigarette lighters. We walked by dusty old beer mugs and Samurai swords. Good old all-American veterans selling shotguns and switchblades. Gypsy skirts. Arctic Cat boots and snowmobile helmets. One man was selling good luck charms and Japanese fans with electric blue dolphins and cowboy horses painted on them. He said to us, "We've got a special going on today: anything's free in exchange for green paper."

"Nice one," I said as we smiled and inched away. Sufficiently freaked out, we hopped in the car and headed down the road to the berry farm.

It's blueberry season now, and they're abundant! But we also managed to scrounge up a pint of
fresh raspberries too. I used them to make a scrumptious Raspberry Almond Crumb Tart that we gobbled up in one sitting.

Berry picking was certainly a highlight of the day. The warm August sun was shining down. I was spending some much-needed alone time with my boy. And the berries were so ripe and tasty off the branch--still warm from the sunshine. I got a little nostalgic remembering my childhood in the berry bushes. What fabulous little memories this day conjured up.

On the way home, we were deterred from our to-do list once again: Emi and Kev called to see if we wanted to hang out pooly-side. Sweet!

We zoomed home and hopped into our bimmers (that's mummy-speak for swimsuits) and went over to Em & Kev's--bountiful berries in hand.

After soaking up some rays and getting to a very good point in my book of the now (On Beauty by Zadie Smith) we went inside and made dinner. I whipped up the aforementioned tart and Emi made beer-can grass-fed chicken on the grill. What a fabulous ending to a fabulous day! (Even though we only made it to number 3 on our list).

steamy lazy puddle

I can count on one hand the number of Vermont summer days that get up to 90, so lovely is the season here. But when they do climb to that heated point, watch out. The world becomes a steamy hot house, eyes glaze over like a foggy looking glass.

always friends

You know those friends you have--the always friends? The old relationships from way back when that whenever you get together--be it every week or every ten years--pick up right where they left off? These friendships are really the best kind, aren't they? Because all pressure is off.

I love how Simon & Garfunkel describe it in their song Old Friends, "Old friends. Old friends... sat on their park bench like bookends." What a great imagery of two solid and steadfast figures with a library--a lifetime--of books and stories between them.

Last night I saw one of my always friends from younger days who I haven't seen or spoken to in three years. Mandy and I were the kind of friends that would show up to school wearing the same outfit, or buy the same car--same color, same everything--at the same time, without even planning it.

She just moved back to Burlington, much to my joy. As we headed over to her new place, Colin asked, "Are you nervous?"

I replied, "Of course not! It's Mandy..."

Turns out, I was right. The three years apart did nothing to wane our friendship. In fact, they seemed to enrichen it. We talked about friends, family, jobs. Mandy's now engaged. I met her fiance for the first time last night, but it felt like I've always known him. Just like I've always known her.

Always friends.