September: looking back, looking ahead

When I began this post, the Yankees were about to play Boston in game 3 of the ALDS and I was cheering my pinstriped paramours in between sips of hard cider. Trays of cauliflower, savoy cabbage, sweet potatoes, and butternut squash were roasting in the oven, which I tossed with farro, toasted walnuts, and blue cheese for a very autumnal dinner. I was still feeling exhilarated from my late-afternoon run in the mist that hung in the air all day.

This morning, I woke up feeling a bit shellshocked by the fact that Austin Romine—a catcher, for the love of Pete—pitched in a playoff game that culminated in the most humiliating defeat in Yankees post-season history. That’s the thing about fall, though: everything seems to change overnight.

A lot of people have remarked on the speed with which September flew by, and I’d have to agree. The month began with a brief but soul-nourishing weekend in San Francisco for a couple of gigs with the great Harry Allen. With Harry at the helm, the music was guaranteed to be swinging—that the band was made up of dear friends, all of whom are smart and hilarious, was a big bonus. We performed in Bing Crosby’s mansion (!) and an elegant club in the city as part of a concert series presented by a dedicated, enthusiastic jazz advocate who understands and loves musicians. And while it feels banal to talk about, of all things, the weather when reminiscing about a weekend in California, the blue skies and cool breezes were exquisite after weeks of New York City summer humidity. My hotel room had a record player and a few LPs, so in the mornings I sipped tea and sat on my little terrace while Boz Scaggs or Little Anthony and the Imperials played in the background.

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Scenes from San Francisco: LPs in the hip little hotel; dim sum with the band; the city at twilight; the concert program.

The icing on the cake, though, was the time I was lucky enough to spend in the company of beloved friends from my time in Seattle (twenty years ago!). M. and E. relocated from Seattle to northern California some years back, and we don’t get to see each other nearly enough. M. and I went for ramen and a walk in sunny Golden Gate Park on Sunday afternoon before the gig, which (somewhat strangely) was at five o’clock, allowing us plenty of time to go to dinner afterward. M., E., and I drove through the pastel San Francisco twilight to a charming Nob Hill Italian restaurant where we laughed and talked as streetcars passed by. There are truly no friends like old friends, and I returned to New York City with a very full, happy heart.

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Duchess + our band after a successful couple of shows in North Carolina. Tired, sparkly, and happy.

September closed with a Duchess tour to North Carolina. We performed for a musical society in Oriental, a coastal town that was hit hard by Hurricane Florence, then traveled inland to sing at a music education gala in Pinehurst. Seeing the damage inflicted by the hurricane—roofs crushed by fallen trees, piles of insulation and furniture on the sidewalks—was sobering. We were honored by the opportunity to provide some musical respite for North Carolinians.

Looking ahead, I’m excited to do more running in the crisp autumn air. I’m eager to do more fall cooking and embrace decorative gourd season. But first things first. Tonight the Yankees are facing Boston again for one more game at home. If the Yankees win, they head up to Boston for the final game of the series. If they lose…well, they’re done until spring training. And they say April is the cruelest month.

In September I…
Blogged about: August. ‘Tis Autumn! (for Duchess). Singer-friend Emily Braden.

Watched: Mr. Selfridge. Jeremy Piven is (occasionally hilariously) miscast in this PBS period drama about an American-owned department store in turn-of-the-century London. Some of the American accents are…questionable. But I am nevertheless completely engrossed.

Read: 1984, by George Orwell. I have always wanted to be in a book club and I finally am. Orwell’s portrayal of life under a totalitarian regime was our first selection, and it felt way too timely.

Listened to: Lowdown, by Boz Scaggs. This song was on heavy rotation during my stay in San Francisco last month; I think I’ll always associate it with waking up at sunrise in San Francisco and having a cup of chai on the terrace.

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April and May: looking back, looking ahead

April and May, despite their flying past with blinding speed, were lovely. I sang a number of diverse gigs with dear friends, which is always good medicine for the soul. The performances ranged from being the “canary” in a Benny Goodman tribute to channeling my inner Patsy Cline for some western swing at Mezzrow to harmonizing background vocals with Duchess to singing socialist anthems in three different languages in commemoration of the Spanish Civil War…and that’s not even the complete list!

When not singing for my supper in recent weeks, I was delighted to partake in some quintessentially New York City cultural experiences:

  • at the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens, the scent of lilacs hung heavy in the air and a rainbow array of tulips stood at attention;
  • Passover Seder included our traditional boisterous rendering of Dayenu;
  • we feasted on a rustic seafood stew in a Brooklyn brownstone for a dear friend’s 75th birthday;
  • at Yankee Stadium we leapt from our seats, elated, when Gary Sanchez hit a walk-off three-run homer;
  • an entire evening’s program was dedicated to the key of C minor at the Chamber Music Society; and
  • beloved friends hosted an evening of intimate theatre in their home, where their friend (an accomplished stage and film actor) presented excerpts of a thought-provoking one-man show about the Israel/Palestine conflict.

Kicking off summer: lakeside in CT; a busy bee at the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens; Yankee Stadium; my annual nose-in-the-lilacs photo.

As if all of the above weren’t enough, my husband and I celebrated our seven-year wedding anniversary with a trip to Savannah. We had a few touristy to-do’s on our list (eat at Mrs. Wilkes Dining Room; take a tour of the Owens-Thomas mansion), but our days were largely free-form. We mostly ambled down shady tree-lined streets, taking in the architecture and thinking about Johnny Mercer. Lest I give the impression that things were too idyllic, I should disclose that I also caught a bitch of a chest cold. However, I found the bourbon cocktails to be extremely medicinal.

Scenes from Savannah: sniffly and sipping bourbon for its medicinal value; a plate of home cooking at Mrs. Wilkes Dining Room; the Mercer-Williams house; a rendezvous with the Sentimental Gentleman from Georgia himself, Mr. Johnny Mercer.

Looking ahead, I’m feeling quite territorial about my time. Things are bound to get busy this summer, what with tour dates and assorted professional obligations, but I’m determined to set plenty of time aside for reading, seeing friends, picnicking, listening to music, watching baseball, daydreaming in the park…all the things that make summer, well, summer. Spending Memorial Day weekend lakeside in Connecticut felt like a good start.

The pas de deux between productivity and recreation can sometimes more closely resemble the French Danse Apache, but I firmly believe we sacrifice leisure for busy-ness at our peril. The very word “recreation” holds the key: when we take time to smell the roses, i.e. recreate, we re-create ourselves and emerge renewed, ready to meet our obligations with joy and optimism.

In April and May, I…
Blogged about: March. Close-harmony girl groups (for Duchess).

Watched: Baseball, natch. Via Dolorosa, live and in-person, acted by the wonderful Jonathan Tindle. Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, in preparation for Savannah.

Read: Her First American, by Lore Segal. Vivid, sad, and beautifully written. I loved this novel about a young Jewish woman in love with a Black intellectual in post-WWII New York City. Caroline: Little House, Revisited, by Sarah Miller. I re-read the Little House series a handful of years ago for the first time since my childhood, and the books were…different than I remembered. For one thing, I was stunned by the rampant racism against Native Americans that runs throughout the series. For another, whereas the character of Ma (Caroline) once struck me as a bit of a wet blanket, as an adult woman myself I realized how selfish (and occasionally reckless) Pa was. Reading Miller’s thoughtful re-imagining of the Ingalls’ story as told from Caroline’s perspective was satisfying. Blue Nights, by Joan Didion. Brilliant, stunning prose…and also one of the most depressing books I’ve read in ages. The Scribe of Siena, by Melodie Winawer. Definitely a light read, but we all need a little fantasy and escapism from time to time. How to Eat a Peach, by Diana Henry. Part memoir, part cookbook, completely delicious. Diana Henry has long been one of my favorite food writers, and I think this may be her finest book yet.

Listened to: Connie Converse. The only thing more mysterious, heartbreaking, and unique than Converse’s story is her music. Janelle Monaé. I am always sooooo late to the party when it comes to contemporary music, but consider me obsessed. Kat Edmonson. Duchess sings backup vocals for Kat from time to time, and her new album, “Old Fashioned Gal,” accomplishes the nigh-impossible feat of being both a throwback and utterly of its own time. Les McCann. Les McCann. Les McCann.

April: Looking back, looking ahead

April was filled with travel and music, including a sunny week on the Baja in Mexico, filled with painterly sunsets and pizzas on the grill, weathered wooden doors in sleepy little towns, and morning tea in oversized Talavera mugs. It’s always restorative to soak up the sun for a few days, especially in early April, when one is thoroughly tired of winter (even a relatively mild one) but spring has not yet officially made her presence known.

Mexico…I think that’s a perfectly reasonable size for a margarita, don’t you?

Later in the month, I found myself in the verdant, misty Pacific Northwest with Duchess for some teaching and a few shows in Portland and Seattle. I spent my early twenties in Seattle, discovering the city and adulthood itself through waitressing, singing, and some ill-considered love affairs. Singing has brought me back to Seattle several times in recent years, and I’m always grateful to be able to (at last!) enjoy the memories and familiarity without carrying the weight of old, bad decisions and cringe-worthy moments.

I’ve been traveling pretty frequently, mostly for work, since December and it feels great to be at home for a while. Looking ahead, there’s much to do and the calendar has a way of filling up, for which I am thankful; my official performance schedule is fairly bare until mid-summer, but a number of private party gigs have materialized in recent weeks. I’m also putting the finishing touches on my new website (huzzah!) and firming up release plans for my new recording project, a piano/vocal collaboration with Ehud Asherie.

I am buying armloads of lilacs at every street corner flower stand that still carries them and waiting, with bated breath, for warmer temperatures and clearer skies.

In April, I…
Blogged about: February and March.

Read: In Altre Parole, by Jhumpa Lahiri. I’ve longed to recommence thinking and speaking in Italian, and since a return to la bella Italia isn’t on the horizon at present, I figured that reading in Italian would be a good place to start. I found Lahiri’s bilingual memoir of studying and writing in Italian to be circular and overly precious, but I loved the ritual of reading aloud in Italian every evening with an Italian/English dictionary at my side. I’ve got a couple of Italian-language books here at home, and the Brooklyn Public Library has a great foreign language section, so I’m looking forward to making this a new habit.

Watched: Z: The Beginning of Everything. Christina Ricci stars in this Amazon series about the early years of Zelda and F. Scott Fitzgerald. The clothes, music, and art direction are lots of fun, once you get past Ricci’s Southern accent. The New York Yankees! This team is on fire and I had a blast at my first game of the season. I can’t wait to go back.

Listened to: Louis Prima, The Wildest. God, what a fun record.

Here come the Yankees!

I grew up in a “baseball house.” As in, there was a pitching machine and batting cage in my backyard. My brother played Little League and American Legion ball as a kid and my father coached, as well. When March rolled around, we’d flee the frigid temperatures of Alaska for the scorching Arizona sun and MLB Spring Training.

In short, my jazz-and-theatre-loving Alaskan tuchis warmed up many a bleacher during my formative years. And despite my best efforts to appear disinterested and disengaged, I osmotically wound up with a fairly good understanding of the game of baseball. I’m no expert, by any means, but I know the basic rules of the game and have tremendous respect for all the strategy involved. Being at the ballpark just makes me feel good.

So it’s fitting that I am now living with a rabid Yankee fan, which I suppose is a redundancy; is there any other kind? I am known to grumble when he turns on the Yankee game the second he walks in the door, but the truth is, I like watching the games with him. And he always laughs in bemusement when a batter fouls one off and I shout things like, “Atta kid, atta kid, you got a piece of it, now just straighten it out. Straighten it out!” Then we clink our beer bottles and cheer on the Yankees.

I’ve been a New Yorker at heart forever, so it’s only natural that I’ve grown to love the Bronx Bombers. I mean, after every win at home, Yankee Stadium is filled with the sound of Frank Sinatra singing “New York, New York.” How could I not love the Yankees?

And so today, on the eve of Game 1 of the World Series, I leave you with a simple, heartfelt: Go Yankees! (See, Dad? You made me a baseball fan, after all.)


“Here Come the Yankees,” by Bob Bundin and Lou Stallman, recorded by the Sid Bass Orchestra and Chorus

Y.A.N.K.E.E.S.
Here come the YANKEES
Let’s get behind and cheer the YANKEES
They’re gonna learn to fear the YANKEES
Everyone knows they play to win, cause

They’re the New York YANKEES
Show them today why you’re the YANKEES
No other way when you’re the YANKEES
Wadda ya say we win a brand, new, ballgame

We’re gonna shout when ya powder the ball
We’re gonna scream, “put it over the wall”
The other teams gonna know what it means to play the Y.A.N.K.E.E.S
We love the Yankees
Shout it out loud , We Love The YANKEES
We’re really proud of our YANKEES
And we’re gonna win today
2, 3, 4, Hit, Run, Fight, Score, Go! Go! Go!