Perception

Bruce: "I'm considering moving to New York, but I don't know--it's removed from nature, it's so loud and crowded and filthy and disgusting."

Me: "And I thought I was living in paradise."

In real time

One last cup of Cape Cod coffee--one last walk at Race Point before heading home.

What a magical trip it's been.

Don't cry for trees

Danny: "Hey Sis, did you water my trees? How are they doing?"

Me: "I did, but no offense--they look kind of weepy."

Danny: "That's probably because they're Alaskan Weeping Cedars."

Me: "Oh."

Tonight

When in P-Town I breakfast at Chach, but for dinner I prefer soup to-go and a New England sunset.

The Cape

Click here for more images.

Today

Walked the dunes at Herring Cove, picked up a hitchhiker and drove her to the dump where I found this bike. Took the hitchhiker home, took the bike to the shop--filled the tires, rode toward the beach, made it half way there before the bike broke down.

Walked home, watered my brother's baby trees--now I sit in a quiet sun-filled room at the Provincetown Public Library.

Today

I was on a boat surrounded by whales. I took this picture.

Sitting at the sidebar

Nimbus, from the album Solstice by Ralph Towner.

Thanks, Doug!

Finding the right one

My father loved the quiet--he loved the ocean, he loved walking, he loved flying kites. He was one of two people in my life who I felt completely myself with--completely at ease and at peace.

I remember us walking along the beach--he would pick up a stone and hold it in his hand or carry it in his pocket until he found one he liked more. Then, with what looked like honor, he would let go of the other stone. He never carried more than one--if he discovered a better match, he'd replace the last.

As I walked along the water today, I found myself doing the same thing. I picked up a beautiful stone--one right for me and worthy of taking home. Then I saw one I liked more so with honor, I let the first one go. By the end of my walk I'd left four stones behind, and in my pocket only one remained. Almost perfectly round, strong like rock and smooth like satin, and when I held it in my hand I felt more myself than I had before--completely at ease and at peace.

In real time

While Annie is in Washington DC, I'm back in P-Town.

That's my laptop and that's my coffee, and below is a picture I took on my morning walk.

Click to enlarge--take a look at that sky.

God bless America. Please.

I prefer not to taint The Half Note with politics and politicians, but I have to say it. That lousy excuse for a woman--the one who is flapping her jaws and taking up space on network television--the one who only physically resembles a human being--well, I am embarrassed, offended, insulted, disgusted and outraged that if the Republicans win in November, she will be, as Jack Cafferty says, "One 72-year-old's heartbeat away from being President of the United States."

And if that doesn't scare the hell out of you, it should.

A mouse in the house

Me: "I found a mouse in my kitchen last night."

Annie: "Awww...was it cute?"

Me: "No, it was not cute, it was walking across my stove. I'm going to have to call the exterminator."

Annie: "No Mommy!"

Silence.

Annie: "I've decided it's a girl, and I want to name her Gumdrop!"

Me: "Annie! I can't kill someone named Gumdrop!"

Annie: "Exactly my point!"

I almost forgot!

The Universe Is Unfolding As It Should!

Like the corners of my mind

I never understood that line in the song, but here are some of my childhood memories:

Watching my feet hit the ground in a new pair of red Keds.

Feeling the sugar from a Pixie Stick land on my tongue.

The anguish I felt when I thought the boy in the ambulance was my little brother.

Watching my father help the elderly and blind people cross--while I sat in the car, parked facing downward, in the middle of the steep San Francisco streets.

Morgan--a beautiful boy with long, dark hair--my first crush in 4th grade.

The helplessness I felt as I stood by and watched someone steal my bike.

My stuffed dog, Boo, whose face came off in the wash, but who was even cuter after my mother drew on a new one.

The squishy clay between my fingers at Lake Anza.

My father sitting at the edge of my bed--strumming his guitar and singing to me as I fell asleep.

At my favorite Italian restaurant, when I cried at the table because my big brother convinced me my Chicken Parmegian was actually an elephant's ear.

Watching my mother apply her eye make-up--imagining she was a magic, mysterious and beautiful queen.

Letting go

My mother thinks if I would start to embrace reality more than I do, I would be happier. Part of me knows she's right, but a bigger part of me wants to hold on to my fantasy of what life should be.

Maybe I can do both.

Annie: "I'm going to be late for the party."

Me: "Sho 'nuff."

Annie: "Sho 'nuff? What does that mean?"

Me: "Literally, it means 'Sure enough.' It's old-school ghetto slang used to agree with something.

Annie: "Well I like what we say nowadays."

Me: "And what's that?"

Annie: "We say, 'Tru-dat.' Literally, it means 'True that."

Me: "Well at least 'Sho 'nuff' comes from two words properly put together."

Annie: "Tru-dat!"

Me: "Sho 'nuff!"

Another little piece of my heart

Me: "Awww."

Annie: "What?"

Me: "You see that dog tied to the parking meter?"

Annie: "Yeah?"

Me: "You see that man in the denim jacket?"

Annie: "Yeah?"

Me: "Well that man doesn't own that dog, but he saw a car backing into the spot by the meter and he subtlety positioned himself between the street and the dog. He was protecting someone he didn't know, and those kinds of things touch my heart.

Annie: "I thought only surgeons did that."

She grows

I'm crazy about my girl...



...and I miss my baby.

In memory

Paul Newman's passing has left a hole in the world.

There's only one hurricane that will blow through the Cape this weekend--and that will be me.

Paranoid pop

Annie: "It was so funny! One of the girls at the party said she hadn't had popcorn in three years!"

David: "Why is that?"

Annie:" Because her dad said it causes cancer!"

David: "Now that's my kind of dad!"

Rescue remedy

On a rainy Sunday, Annie stood at my front door soaking wet and handed me her muddy dog.

"Please," she said. "Honey needs a nice long bath."

Sitting at the sidebar

A song nobody doesn't like.

Happy Birthday Tai!

In real time

Some Saturday nights I like putting on lots of eye makeup and a pair of killer boots, and going downtown to hear music. But tonight I like a hot shower, wearing something soft and comfortable, getting work done, and of course, listening to a little Bill Evans.

He's still sitting at the sidebar if you wanna listen, too.

Fall foto

By Annie Kosh

In real time

George Washington Bridge

Yesterday.

Overheard in my elevator

British guy on cell phone: "Sorry darling, you're just going to have to start loving my style because I'll tell you right now, I'm not getting rid of my shoes!"

Fact #444,444,561

I find reading instruction manuals in French, only slightly more confusing than reading them in English.

For some reason

New Yorkers don't seem to understand the concept of the 4-Way-Stop.

Stranger in a strange land

After a night of showers, a big blue sky hung overhead as I walked Honey up Bennett Avenue. At 192nd Street, I was stopped by an old man who appeared to be lost. He looked a hundred years old--the kind of old not brought on by time, but by a hard life. In a tattered but clean black cable-knit sweater, shining eyes and silver teeth, he was beautiful. He held out a piece of paper wedged inside his worn leather wallet.

"Please," he said. "Is this address I find?"

He spoke in a thick Eastern European accent--the paper was covered in writing, including the number 606060.

"This doesn't look correct," I said. "Do you know what street you're looking for?"

He didn't reply.

"Do you speak English?" I asked.

"No English," he said. "I Ukraine!"

I took the paper from his hand. No street name, but there was a phone number at the top.

"Is this the phone for the address?" I asked.

He looked at me, again confused, and then said, "Yes! This is number!"

I pulled out my cell phone and dialed--and a woman, also with a thick accent, answered. I handed the phone to the old man, but he didn't want to take it.

"Hello?" I said. 'Do you speak English?"

"Oh yes!" said the woman. "I speak!"

"Well," I continued, "I'm standing on the corner of Bennett Avenue and 192nd Street with a Ukrainian man. Is he your friend?"

"Oh yes!" she exclaim. "I'm happy, so thank you if you bring him to me--please, you bring him now."

She gave me the address, but I hesitated for a moment. Her building, number 60 (not 606060), was a mile out of my way and I was headed to meet Annie after school. But I hung up the phone and told the old man to follow me--we would walk together to find his friend.

We were silent for some time--not much to discuss when you don't speak the same language. We approached a flock of pigeons drinking from a puddle of rain water and Honey shot forward, sending them flying. The dog appeared pleased with herself as she watched the birds take to the sky, and the old man laughed.

"How long have you been in the United States?" I asked.

"Four days!" He said. "I come from Ukraine four days! I never was before New York!"

I laughed.

"I have 89 years!" he said proudly.

"89 years? That's incredible!" I said, and I meant it.

He moved quickly, fluidly--I watched his feet hit the ground, each step strategically missing the holes and cracks in the street that would cause a much younger person to fall.

Honey spotted a squirrel and ran ahead on the leash. The old man laughed again and slapped his leg.

"In Ukraine, I have big park!" he said.

I smiled.

"My dog is Chinese," I said.

The old man stared.

"My dog is from China," I said.

The man smiled, "Oh! China! Good!"

I laughed.

"I speak Russia!" said the old man.

"My grandmother was Russian," I replied. "She used to say to me, 'Te Kratsavitsa. Ya lu butbya."

"I understand!" said the old man, and I hoped he understood the part about my grandmother because if not, I just told him he was beautiful and declared my undying love.

As we crossed streets and turned corners, I imagined how everything so familiar to me must look so unfamiliar to him. I began to pretend I was in a foreign country, seeing with new eyes the old bodega, the brown-skinned boys shooting hoops, the deep red of a New York firetruck.

We arrived at our destination--I told the old man what button to press on the elevator and what floor to exit. But he looked at me as if I were speaking, well, English, so I slipped Honey under my arm and boarded the elevator with him.

When the front door opened of the old woman's apartment, the friends laughed and embraced. I made my introduction then said goodbye, but already the door was closing and the two were escorting me inside.

"You stay! Said the woman, her round body wrapped tightly in a floral apron. You have tea, we thank you now!"

"I really have to get going," I started to say, but I could see that not celebrating with them would be a sign of disrespect.

The familiar blue sky was right outside the window as we all sat down at the kitchen table. We drank hot tea with sugar and ice, and ate powdered cookies from an ornate tin can. I held Honey in my lap, and as the old man and woman talked, I listened to the sounds of their language and tasted the sweetness of their tea. I imagined I was the stranger in a strange land--just down the street from where I lived, and a million miles from home.

The big Milkowski

Every time I run into my neighbor, author and jazz critic Bill Milkowski, our conversation goes like this:

"Hi Bill!"

"Hey Katie!"

"So tell me," I say, "What's coming up that I must see, that I need to see--you know, something that's gonna be so great it would be a crime to miss?"

And Bill always says the same thing:

"There are 3 things every night, seven nights a week!"

But eventually he'll be more specific, and his tip for today was Lionel Loueke and Richard Bona, this weekend at The Allen Room at Lincoln Center.

Through the looking glass

I'm not sad, I'm inside myself--I'm not lonely, I just want to be alone. I'm not depressed, I'm contracting--I'm not down, I'm up and over where I once was--taking trips to foreign places in me I never knew were there.

You know how people suddenly get a craving for salt, or for steak, or for chocolate?

Well all of a sudden, out of the blue, I got a craving for one of the most heartbreaking and beautiful pieces of music by Pat Metheny-- Are You Going With Me from his album Offramp. Only problem is, I don't own it on CD--how did this happen?

Enjoy it--my God, I certainly am.

Waiting

On our morning walk, Honey always stops and sits in front of the fence at Annie's school.

When will she come out?

Messed up

Annie: "But I don't want my room to be clean! If it's clean, it looks like it belongs to somebody else!"

Can't sleep

If only those naughty sheep would just come down.

Nothing's gonna change my world

Except (accept) everything.

In real time

At my desk, earl grey in my cup, and Blackbird never sounded so good.

In my dreams

Last night I dreamed I was in the house of a young, troubled woman, attending a New Year's Eve party. I stood beside the fire and told another guest that I believed New Year's Eve was a gift the world gives itself--so people can have renewed hope that life will be better than it was.

I had a boyfriend in the dream--tall, dark and strikingly handsome. He held me in his arms and I asked why he seemed unhappy in my embrace. He said he was just uncomfortable in so many clothes, that the house was too warm, so he removed several layers of jackets and sweaters then he said, "Sometimes you're so intuitive, it scares me."

Later, I was outside and he passed by with a group of male guests. I was confused because I was sure he had seen me, but he took another route back to the house. When I returned to the party, the house was empty. I assumed my boyfriend and the group of men would be inside and I became nervous. I felt as if I were being tricked, that at any time they would all jump out of hiding and scare me.

"I know you're here!" I shouted, but they weren't.

Just then a storm began--there was a horse in the kitchen, a beautiful and frightened Palomino mare. Suddenly I heard a commotion coming from downstairs--like a scene in a fairytale book, an old washer woman scolding a strange child for inviting a boy into the house who was half human, half wolf.

I knew my boyfriend didn't love me. I thought to go and comfort the mare. Instead I decided to leave the party before the guests returned, and imagined the man I loved would be kissing someone else at midnight.

Teach your children well

Annie: "Why is Grandma obsessed with politics?"

Me: "I don't think Grandma's obsessed with politics."

Annie: "Yeah, she talks about Obama and how moving his speech was, or she'll say, 'Look, that's McCain's Vice President--she killed that beautiful bear.'"

Thank you

Bill Evans--for playing on my new speakers, for sitting at the sidebar, and for always making life better.

In real time

Fall is official--on the calendar and in the air. This morning I took Honey for her first river swim by the Little Red Lighthouse.

I live here

Evolving 101

Think of the alternative.

Lower self

I have either fallen in love with, or attracted men who are unavailable--emotionally unable, attached to other people or who live far away. Obviously, I am the common denominator, the creator of this reality--it's what I've asked for and it teaches me lessons I desperately need to learn. But sometimes I just want to toss my responsibility into the trash and feel some good old fashioned anger--I want to curse and blame, and have someone else share the burden when this perfect journey I'm on suddenly feels like an endless, impossible, and lonely climb.

Secret

To keep myself from completely living a real life--I make up stories, lie to myself about possibility, and hide behind the pretense of faith.