I scrub on my hands and knees because I don’t think one can really clean a floor with a mop, unless one is not wearing their glasses. Without glasses, the kitchen floor looks pure and holy, like the only weight it has borne is dappled sunlight at 4:00 in the afternoon. Like no cat has ever walked on it let along coughed up a mole-sized hair ball. Like the fridge, stove and dishwasher are holding their breath lest they sully its bright broadness with a crumb or a drop of water.

Some things are better without glasses. Sleeping – better without glasses. Early morning glances in the mirror – better without glasses.

A year or so ago, while on stage with Cindy and Raylene and in a state of dreamy repose (forgetting, momentarily why I was there) I noticed neither of them were wearing glasses. It came to me in a shocking instant that they were wearing contact lenses! It was a hard moment. They were clear, bright, beautiful. There was nothing between them and the audience. Well, except for the microphone, several cords, little  pedals, monitors, the lip of the stage and approximately 15 feet.

There I sat, stunned with the self awareness that I was wearing glasses on stage. Glasses. Sweaty , smudged, back and forth slipping up and down glasses. It occurred to me that I had wasted a lot of make-up that night – and many nights before – because  no one could actually see me. It was in that invisible state that I decided I would get contact lenses. I, too, would be clear, bright and beautiful. There would no longer be anything between me and my audience. Except for: see above.

My helpful optometrist fitted me out with handfuls of little gel packs, some labeled R, some L.  In each, there was a lens. After repeated scoops of a pudgy finger in a little gel pack, I retrieved a tiny sliver of something that seemed like a cross between teardrop and a tiny blob of egg white. I balanced it on my right index finger, used my middle finger to pull down my lower lid and popped the little thing on to my right eyeball. Like wise the left eyeball. Miraculously, immediately, I could see quite a distance. I left the office thrilled with a new reality.

When I entered the car, I realized that I could not read the instrumentation panel. I was able to drive home despite the blur, still chuffed with my new status-  a person unburdened by glasses.

I denied the little nuisances that forced me to go out and buy drugstore reading glasses so that I could read, work at the computer and recognize whether I had an orange or a yellow pepper on my plate. I thought it was kind of fun that I had to get new non-prescription sunglasses because my prescription sunglasses were useless – dangerous even – when I wore the lenses.

It all went to hell the first time I played guitar. Lo and not behold, I could not see the frets. I needed my drugstore readers to see where my fingers were landing, thereby defeating the original purpose for getting the lenses in the first place.

I now own: prescription glasses, prescription readers, prescription sunglasses, non-prescription readers, non-prescription sunglasses and a little box full of R and L contact lenses.

So I wear my glasses on stage and take them off when perspiration causes them to slide down my…er…rather insignificant…nose. Sometimes I see, sometimes I don’t.

But for a day or so after I scrub the floor, I never wear them. Better without glasses.

October 19th @ the Carleton. Last time we were there, we did two great nights and we really glad to see so many people. The Carleton is about the greatest little listening rooms I’ve played. And you can eat and drink. Well, I can’t (guitar in the way) but you can. Fabulous sound there, by the way.

October 21st @ The Marigold Theatre in Truro. There last May, sold out and had a really great time. The Aeolian Singers were in town that night, so quite the rendezvous at the hotel afterwards.

October 22nd @ King’s Theatre in Annapolis Royal. Cindy and I played there last fall, and were pleased to see so many people who drove from some of the smaller communities to see the show.  and – bonus – the next day my Karsdale neighbour told me that I looked very nice the previous evening. He’s fussy, so I was quiet pleased.

October 23rd @ The Chester Playhouse. Haven’t been there for a along time, and never with Raylene. Should be good.

After that, I head out west, and Raylene sets out on a Rankin Family tour. I call them RanFam, just to sound cool.

Cindy? Well, she’ll just have finished her new album, and will be heading out with it.  I’ve heard some tracks, and I think it’s the best I’ve heard her singing. Ever. So you know that has to be pretty darn good. Great even, although don’t tell her I said that.

So, more nudging later, but if you could pencil in the date closest to you….well, we’d really appreciate it. Even more if you came to a show….

It’s always amazing to me that when I’m doing a show with friends, my picture ends up being a scan of an older album. Why do I bother posting my high-res shots for download?

Here’s some info re: my upcoming show with Cindy Church and Gwen Swick. Gwennie’s the best songwriter I know. Can’t wait to do be on stage with her. If you live close to Kitchener, come on in.

http://centre-square.com/eblast_songwriters.html

These are some of the heated disputes that occurred on our recent trip – and I’m not saying it was me who had these disputes.

1. How on earth do I program my destination? Why are you so mysterious, and what are *POIs?
2. Stay where I stick you, Serena. Stay, I say. Stay.
3. Oh, shut up, Serena. Your voice is irritating, dispassionate and you have trouble with your “r”s. Anyway, I know where I’m going and do not need you.
4. You’re going the long way, Serena. The map is showing a different route which I’ll bet the farm is faster.
5. You’re going the wrong way, Serena. I’ve been here before and I have no memory of this particular strip mall.
6. That’s it. You’re going in the glove compartment. After all, I have  someone in the  navigator’s seat who reads very well when she puts on reading glasses which seem always to be tucked away in the bottom of her purse.
7. Well, and I say this begrudgingly, you may be allowed to return temporarily. The glasses cannot be found (to be fair, this particular heated dispute is with the party in the navigator’s seat).
8. You may be in a small snit, Serena, but please allow yourself to be stuck on the windshield again. Please I say. Please
9. Don’t make me stop this van to reprogram you for Rossland, BC and not Rossland, AB.
10. It is your fault that I have to stop this van to reprogram you for Rossland, BC and not Rossland, AB.
11. I don’t have time to mess around with your high-handed directions. Now I’ll have to turn this rig around.
12. I don’t have time for my high-handed directions. Now, I’ll have to turn this rig around. It’s your fault.

I say this to everyone else in the van: I’m sorry for the anxious outburst that caused me to scream a four letter word and demand we do a U turn on an unfamiliar road. I blame Serena. I’m sorry that the little talks I had with myself every night to come to some reconciliation with Serena did not bear fruit. I’m sorry I missed the turn off to Sherwood Park. I’m sorry you had to witness all this.

Were I Serena, I might be a tad thin skinned about the heaped abuse she bore during that last trip. But I am…well, me.

Not the appropriately named Serena.

*Points of interest. Unlike this blog.

I seemed to have lost my past post. Probably trying to make these photos fit on the page in a sensible way. I have to forget that now, and let them fall where they may. They include: a western sky: me either trying to hide my neck in my sweater or grab a quick nap; still life with fat cat and chips; Cindy napping; Christina Lake; a stop for an interview and me noticing and pointing to the huge canine tracks on the roadside; Clarence and Raylene waiting for me to stop pointing. Most pictures by Cindy and her iPhone. The cat is mine, though.

It’s a singular joy to arrive home to a sparkling house, fresh floweres, a nice Pino Noir, a tasty little snack and fresh sheets on one’s own bed. Even better is to rise, have familiar coffee, find two New York Times crosswords (saved from the Saturday papers), and then discover that the basement landing had been cleared of all bottles and cans that awaited recycling. Best, to go to the basement to notice it’s been tidied, cleaned and organized. How good and satisfying, and for all this I’m grateful.

To me, this was a happy tour. Going into it, none of us knew how it might be  -  how we would travel together, how the work would be divided and completed, if we would get along. Turns out we travelled well together, we did our respective jobs with no question or fuss, we got along splendidly. There were many, many laughs and even some great meals, considering all the traveling we did through remote areas. Sometimes good coffee was beyond easy access, but it made arrival at a Starbucks-like establishment an great occasion.

My compatriots, Raylene, Cindy and Clarence, were easy travel companions and colleagues. The shows went pretty well, every one in its own way. With one or two exceptions, accommodations were comfortable. One place was a bit dodgy, but the welcome was warm.

One place was not so dodgy but the welcome was cool,  and the coffee – supplied by the roaster one block away – cost $3.30 per cup. As Clarence and I were leaving our breakfast table, Cindy had come to the dining room to grab a coffee to take to her room. We chatted a bit, and she decided might as well take two coffees, thereby saving a trip downstairs. Cups in hand, she politely asked how much she owed. The response was “$6.30″ “Pardon me?” said Cindy, and the young woman re-calculated. “Oh, I’m sorry – I made a mistake” she said. “It’s $6.60″.  It seemed that every “Could I…? Would it be possible…? Are there any…? Could you please…?”  was met with a half-smile and a sorry little “No” accompanied by a pathetic head-tilt that seemed to suggest an tacit understanding of the disappointment the requester would experience. However, the promise of hand-milled soap was kept and there was a Saltine-sized wafer of it in each room. I would have traded it for a private bathroom, I can assure you. The lasting upside, though, was the re-telling of the story which was revived regularly. We would often answer requests with a sorry little “No” and tilt our heads in sympathy.

However, one good thing about that particular brief stay is that my dear friends, Stephen and Lorne, showed up unexpectedly and arranged a nice little after-show snack and beverage. How they did it, I’m not sure. I expect money passed hands. I’m absolutely certain no violence occurred.

There were many other running jokes and routines, but they fall into the “had to be there” category. Will I include them here? Well, I must say “No” and tilt my head in sympathy.

The weather was unseasonably warm and fine. The clear days allowed us to see the breathtaking beauty of Southern Alberta, and BC. The foothills of the Rockies are soul lifting, and especially beautiful this time of year, with a skiff of snow and golden grass poking through it. I think it was Geronimo who said that horses made the land more beautiful and he was right. Whenever horses were visible from the van, a little stir of excitement lifted the whole experience a bit, as if there had been a sudden burst of extra beauty erupting for our additional pleasure. The Foothills, the Rockies, the Cascades, the Arbutus and Redwoods of the coast, the plane-flat fields leading to North Saskatchewan – they made the long drives pleasurable.

The folks at all the venues were beyond welcoming. Food, hot and cold drinks – some providing hot meals. No complaints. And the audiences were responsive and enthusiastic.

I would be hard pressed to recall a better group experience, although traveling with John Reischman ranks high not only for his musicianship, but also his uncanny ability to sniff out great food and lead us to it.

We parted last night and returned to our respective homes. All happy to be back, I suspect. I know I’m happy to be here, but will look forward with joyful anticipation to the time when we can do it again.

Hope no one tilts their head, smiles a little and says “No”.

It is: in hotels, slip the remote control into a ziplock bag to avoid the bugs left behind by previous guests.

Very good tip. Thank you, Clarence Deveau.

I think this is Day 10, not Day 9. Some confusion on my part, owing to my numbers phobia.

In many of these community arts centres, volunteers figure prominently in making the shows happen. They’re cheerful, enthusiastic, helpful. They sell CDs, make food appear in dressing rooms, attend to your comfort- they are the lifeblood of the venues.

Bragg Creek is outstanding…in fact, all of our Alberta dates have been smooth and welcoming. There must be something about the expansiveness that allows a relaxation of spirit. It’s palpable.

Off to Edmonton today, for our second to last show. That would be -and here it is again- the penultimate.

Oh, must mention that the food had been exceptional on this trip. A very pleasant and nourishing thing for the tired and roadworn.

More tomorrow.

Kind of lost track of what day of the week it is, but it’s all good, no matter the day.

I guess my show at the Carleton was erroneously advertised as taking place on March 7th….it’s still on the 14th.

Off to finish laundry. Quite a treat.