The Price of Feeling Well

Number of doctors and specialists I've been to before finding one (who isn't even a doctor...a Nurse Practitioner!) who understands my symptoms: 4

Total cost of books purchased in my quest to feel balanced again: $77.27

Cost of annual gym membership that offers yoga, swimming, weight training and cardio: $600

Out-of-pocket lab expenses to have my blood and saliva evaluated (so far): $351

Balance owed to Integrative Health Clinic because insurance doesn't cover squat: $100 ($500 is paid off)

Number of prescriptions/vitamins/supplements I'm currently taking daily: 11

Total monthly cost of prescriptions/vitamins/supplements I'm currently taking daily: $291

Total cost of alternative therapies I've tried so far (accupuncture, therapuetic massage): $300

Feeling well again: Priceless

Some things in life you can't put a price tag on. For everything else, there's MasterCard.

Team Bridget vs. Team Keaton

My parenting style--make that my life-living style--vascillates between having it all together and holding it all together by a thread. I think of myself as sometimes being an Elise-Keaton- type, but more often being a Bridget-Jones-type. Take for example a party I went to on Saturday. After only two beers, I reached my "tipsy point" and entered that wouldn't-it-be-fun-to-have-a-cigarette-even-though-I-don't-smoke state. I was trying to secretly lure my friend away to the "smoking bench" but blew my cover when I asked her to "sneak off and go
s-m-o-k-e," embarrassingly spelling out the act I was trying to hide in earshot of two adults who can spell. Bridget Jones. Or the time I went back to work after the end of my first maternity leave, and I had on a navy slingback on my left foot and a black one on my right foot. Bridget Jones. Or just a few days ago when David discovered that I had laundered my ipod in my running shorts' pocket, ruining a perfectly good $200 piece of technology. Bridget Jones... and David says I have to go without an ipod for a significant amount of time, essentially being punished, before going out and buying a new one. Then there was the time I drove Grace all the way down to her preschool in Pittsboro only to find out it was a Teacher Work Day. Or the times I've been spotted pushing my kids in a grocery cart in downtown Chapel Hill and Boone, because the carts were there and my kids' feet were tired. Bridget Jones, Bridget Jones, Bridget Jones!!!

I do have some redeeming qualities as a parent and a person. Some of my Elise Keaton moments include pulling together a sold-out fundraiser for the Orange County Literacy Council and getting my kids involved with me to help promote the interfaith community CropWalk to help fight local and world hunger. And getting through a full day that includes dropping Grace off at preschool and a quick mini-conference with her teacher about my concerns over Grace's aggressive behavior towards Johnny, practicing my conversational Spanish via CD on my way to work, getting to work and paying bills, planning for the annual art and psychoanalysis lecture, scoring and entering self-report research measures, and preparing for the upcoming Board Meeting, stopping off at the grocery store on the way home from my forty-minute commute to pick up milk, juice and coffee, putting a square meal on the table in under thirty minutes, creating and implementing a fun yet educational after-dinner activity with my kids, bathing the kids, telling one too many stories about a.) FlatTop the Raccoon at MerleFest, b.) Running into Bob Henshaw at University Mall, or c.) Bruce "Rain" falling into the hole full of bats, reading one too many stories about a.) Disney Princesses, b.) Elmo, or c.) Dora, having a four-sentence conversation with David, and then falling into bed to finish reading the last two chapters of Screaming to be Heard: Hormone Connections that Women Suspect and Doctors (Still) Ignore.

Sometimes I wonder how I can be so scatterbrained one minute but so sharp and focused the next. Maybe it's because I am a Pisces?

Bat Kids

Last month it was Disney Princesses, two weeks ago, it was baseball. Now, it's Batman. Both of them. When David's cousin saw that Johnny was dressed head to toe in Batman regalia, she told us that if we wanted, we could have her kids' outgrown Batman cape, mask, shirt, and special utility belt. Best part: their were two costumes! Are you kidding? Johnny and Grace flipped out, and they've worn little else ever since. When Johnny dons the cape and mask, he is Batman. Grace is Batgirl. When asked to do something while wearing Bat-gear, Johnny corrects me, "I'm not Johnny. I'm Batman." Upon taking his hand to cross the street, Johnny, I mean Batman, asserts, "Batman don't hold hands." Batman also apparently "don't" clean up toys, "don't" hug his mommy, and "don't" eat vegetables. Oh, really. Batgirl is a little more compliant. The only curious thing she does is demand that I tell stories about "Bruce Rain."

Unexpected Roadtrip

At 2:00 AM yesterday morning, we returned from an unexpected roadtrip. David called me at noon Thursday to tell me that his sister's husband had died, and by 2:00 PM on Friday, we were packed up and on the road to Ohio to be with Sandy. The thing is, we never met Brian, and Sandy and Brian had been married for five years. The last time we visited David's family in Ohio was Fall, 2000, before either of our kids were born. And the last time (only time) Sandy came to our house in NC was for a night when Grace was a newborn. Since David's parents moved to Iowa, that's where we go for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and summer visits (but only on one of those occasions per year). We are fortunate that David's other sister, Barb, and her children and their children, live so close to David's parents, because if it were otherwise, I'm sure five years could easily go by between visits with them.

Even though we all admitted it was too bad it took a tragedy for us to all to gather together, Sandy said it best: "That's just the way it is. Always." The point is, we did all make it and had the opportunity for Grace and Johnny to play with two-year old Emma Jane Jenkins and her big brother Justin, who took all three kids under his gentle wing, leading chase games in the basement and music time outside. There was Emma's and Justin's mother, Tina, whom I commiserated with over having a child with special needs. Cousin Ellen and I entered into a very natural conversation, at Laurie's baby shower, about our kids and desires, but also hesitations, in having more children. Aunt Judy raised people's spirits by delighting in the kids and snapping pictures of them in homemade Batman costumes that she and Ellen are letting us borrow. Sophisticated Cousin Brad drove in from Columbus, and it was good to chat with him as we haven't seen him since our wedding in 1998. Uncle Don made an impression on many, with his touching words at Brian's Memorial Service. Laurie and Bill provided new life and hope for the family to talk about and wait for as they count down the days before their first child, a baby boy, is born. Barb and I shared about our writing, books we'd like each other to read, and creative techniques in taking kids' photographs. This wasn't the time to watch movies, but Millie and I ate the famous cinnamon buns at Holiday Inn Express, stood in the kitchen nibbling chocolate cake, strawberry angel food cake, and chocolate chip cookies for hours upon hours, it seemed. And Sandy. Sandy was gracious, numb, happy, apologetic, scattered, tearful, exhausted, irritated, unapologetic, angry, loving, appreciative, sincere, and completely heart-broken over losing the man she thought she'd grow old with.

Letter From Toot

This is a letter from my mom (Toot) to her cousin Katie. Katie recently e-mailed it to me. Click on the image above to make the letter a little bigger. Only family will get most of the inside jokes, but I love the fact that my mom had this type of sense of humor. I'm assuming this letter was written between 1965 and 1970, after my mom and dad were married, but before they had kids. So, that would put her in her mid to late twenties.

Potty Talk

Proper Name: Jose Alberto Pujols
Born: January 16, 1980
Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic
Height: 6-3
Weight: 225 lbs.
Age: 26
Pronounced: POO-holes

Every parent who's been through it knows that a byproduct (no pun intended) of potty training is the relentless potty talk or "scatological" (That's a new word for me. Isn't that a board game??) talk that comes. Johnny was potty-trained back in January, and Grace joined the club in March. Ever since, it's been "poop" with this, "poop" with that, (even "poop" with a whiffle-ball bat!) If I ask Grace what she wants for breakfast, she replies, "poop." When asked if she's wants to wear the flowered shirt or the striped shirt, she says, "the poop shirt." When I ask her what she wants to take to show and tell, the answer is "poop." And when asked what flavor ice cream she wants, you guessed it, "poop." At first this was kind of funny, and David and I had to bite our lips and stifle our giggles at our sweet little girl's potty-mouth. Now, it's just getting kind of gross. My friend Amy has a rule that "potty talk" can only be done in the bathroom. Her three-year old actually goes into the bathroom and talks to herself about "poop" and "pee" and other expressions of excrement. Part of me celebrates Grace's potty-mouth, as it is "normal" for children her age to be fascinated with bodily functions, and we know how atypical much of her development has been. But the latest, and the funniest, antic is the hee-hawing that errupted when David introduced the kids to Jose Alberto Pujols, a baseball player for the St. Louis Cardinals, the 2005 National Leauge Most Valuable Player. Yep, his name is pronounced POO-holes. God, help us.

Whose Bath is it, Anyway?

David and I started this thing awhile back of taking turns giving the kids their baths each night. We both work during the day, so we try to split up childcare and household responsibilities in the evenings and on the weekends. With each of us working late one night per week, we just fell into this rhythm of me bathing the kids one night, David the next, etc. Grace and Johnny bathe together, so it's easier in that respect, but ever since Johnny hit his terrible two's, bathtime is a nightly battle. First, he doesn't want to get in the tub, then he doesn't want to wash anything, he wants to sit where Grace is sitting, he wants to play with the toys that she's playing with, he doesn't want to get out of the tub, he wants to turn the water off, he doesn't want to turn the water off, he wants me to dry him off, he wants Daddy to dry him off, he wants to dry himself off, ENOUGH! It got to the point that I'd much rather clean up the supper dishes and maybe steal a couple of minutes on the couch than go through the bathtime dance every. single. night. So, we know that I have Mondays, David has Thursdays, and we switch off in between. It means one of us does two in a row on the weekends, but often on the weekends we say, forget it, let 'em be dirty, at least once. Now I can stretch baths out for at least 30 minutes, (we paint, we play, I give pony rides afterwards) giving David a nice little break if he uses his time wisely. For some reason, I regularly get ripped off on my nights off as the kids come running, naky-butt just mere minutes after they got in.

But the best part about our system (and this was David's idea) is that we have a mental-health-get-out-of-bath-free-pass that we can chip in whenever we feel like we just can't deal
even though it's our night. So, if on Wednesday (my night) I'm having a bad day, and I just want
to chill by myself during the bathtime slot (usually 6:30ish), I can call a mental-health day and David will fill-in for me. But, I have to notify him (e-mail is preferable) by 3:00 PM, and I can't abuse the priviledge. I'm treading on shaky ground, because I've called in a lot of mental-health days in the last few months, and David has even been so kind as to overlook the fact that I didn't e-mail him ahead of time. At one point, not too long ago when I really wasn't doing too well, he volunteered to do bath every night. This lasted two nights before he rescinded his offer. It's Wednesday, whose bath is it, anyway?

John Edwards: Better Looking in Person

Last evening I took the kids to a Rally/Fundraiser for Habitat for Humanity of Orange County. For $25, we could all three eat Bon's BBQ, enjoy being outdoors doing kid-things (inflatable slide, face painting, balloon pumping and popping, cotton candy), hear some live music, contribute to an excellent program and hear the venerable John Edwards speak. I ponied up for all of the above reasons, plus I wanted to see how the event all came together (and I wanted to see, first hand, exactly how hot John Edwards really is in person). I have to admit: not bad. At the Village Green in Southern Village, right on time, Edwards sauntered up to the mic to give a brief, but captivating, speech to the crowd of about 150. He's shorter than I thought he'd be, and his skin was strikingly suntanned. Edwards is the director of the new Center on Poverty, Work, and Opportunity at UNC, and he spoke about the lies of 'America's Great Promise' (that anyone who works hard and plays by the rules will be successful). He said that Americans are hungry for inspiration and that, when asked, young people (namely college students) step up to provide service in our country's greatest areas of need. I was into it, right up close, clapping at the right times, thinking about how the Poverty Center and the Orange County Literacy Council (of which I've been a volunteer for the last ten years) need to connect in some way, when the kids starting poking, biting, and kissing each other and saying, (loudly) "I want to go home, Mommy." I heard all of the speech but missed my chance to shake hands with our ex-(handsome) senator. Maybe next time. What if there's not a next time? I'll make a next time. Connector, remember?

Millie, My MIL

Hanging out with my mother in law reminds me of a junior high slumber party: dinner at Applebee’s, a trip to the Gap, home for popcorn, coke, lots of chocolate, and a good Julia Roberts movie. Except that neither of us are in junior high. In fact, Millie is a mother of three, grandmother of eight and great-grandmother of nine (soon to be ten). She’s the most stylish, active, fun, beautiful (inside and out) and remarkable great-grandmother I’ve ever met. When faced with buying you a sweater that looks great with your eyes or the one that’s on sale, she opts for the one that makes your eyes shine. She gives the kids gifts that they absolutely want, but may not absolutely need. And when choosing between fruit cup for dessert or triple-decker-chocolate-scrumptious-dream cake, she’ll order the cake every time. She has an impeccable eye for style and fashion, and a thing for good-looking men. (When we were thinking of baby boy names, she offered up “Lance,” as in from the boy-band InSync, because she thought he was cute). Born in the 1920’s, you’d expect her to raise an eyebrow or two at the way things are now, but she’s right in there with us, keeping up with who’s gotten voted off of American Idol and who will the Batchelor give a rose to next?

With all of the experience she has with child rearing, I’m sure she’s had questions about some of my parenting decisions, but I’ve never once detected a judgmental tone from her. You can talk to Millie about anything, and I wish I made more time for those tell-all chats on the phone. And she likes to laugh. She’ll laugh with you and at herself. Spending time with Millie feels like cozying up in your most comfortable pair of PJ’s, gabbing away about nothing, and everything, with your best friend. Happy Mother’s Day, Millie!

Walter Sikora Pics

So, here are two pictures from Walter's party...he's the one in the sailor hat.

Batter Up!

Monday night as the kids and I had settled in to watch Bambi for the first time (honest to God, we were watching Bambi), David burst through the door, home from work, with two new kids' baseball mits, a "lefty" for Grace, and a "righty" (that doesn't sound right) for Johnny. The kids flipped their lids. Way to one-up me, David. So long, Bambi, hello, baseball. From that moment on, everyone in the house (except me) has had baseball on the brain, 24/7. Really, all day and all night--I woke up this morning to find two adults, two kids, and three baseball mits all in our queen-sized bed. (Ok, David's mit wasn't actually in bed with us, but it was on the bedside table).

Baseball is the current sport de jour in our house. David grew up a Cleveland Indians fan, living just outside of Cleveland, and when I took him to his first Durham Bulls game, he ridiculed the minor-league fans who had to resort to interludes of MC Hammer ("You Can't Touch This") chants and dances just to make the baseball-game-watching experience fun. Real baseball fans don't do all that crap. Still, it's the closest thing to "real" baseball we have in our area, and the games can be fun, especially with kids. Last summer, we took Johnny and Grace to their first Durham Bulls game, and David was real excited to show Johnny the players up close, what they were wearing, their gloves, the bats, the bases, etc. Wouldn't you know, Johnny showed no interest in the baseball game but was completely caught up with the over-sized, red-haired, goofy-toothed, "Rugrats" character that was milling the stands. Whenever David referred to the baseball game we went to, all Johnny remembered was that a "Rugrat" was there. This season is going to be different.

Johnny takes his glove in his backpack at school, and the minute he gets home he wants to play outside until bedtime. He wants to bathe with it, sleep with it, and even wear it as a hat. For a two-year old, he's got quite a throwing arm, I'm told, but his catching needs some work. Speaking of catching, David's mom was glad to hear that David is sharing his love of baseball with the kids. She shared her memories of sitting in the stands watching David's baseball games when he played as a boy. That is, until the parents started saying nasty things about how lowsy the catcher was. After that, Millie started watching the games from her car. David was the catcher.

I'll teach them about Bambi but baseball is all David. It's good to see David sharing something he knows and loves with his kids. (And I'm sure David is glad that Johnny is consumed with something other than wearing tutus and high-heels these days). Batter Up!

Mama, You've Been On My Mind

Dear Mama,

I've been thinking about you a lot lately (a lot more lately), I guess with Mother's Day coming up and all. The roses in our yard are blooming, so by Sunday I should be able to cut a real pretty arrangement to have on the table for dinner. I remember our first full spring in our house back in 2002 when I brought you a great big bouquet of roses from our yard when we all went camping for Mother's Day, my first Mother's Day. Our azaleas looked pretty this year, as did the peonies. I need to work on my "annual" flower bed in front, but our irises and daylilies are starting to come up, so they're adding a bit of color. I'm most proud of my daisies, though, as I planted the seeds two years ago. Last year David inadvertendly mowed over the daisy stems as they were coming up (He thought they were weeds!), so this is the first year they've done right. I've invited Kate, Daddy, and Daniel to come to Chapel Hill this weekend because the kids are singing at church at the second service. I've been helping all year with Johnny's Sunday School class, and each Sunday, all the 2's through 5's go in and sing with Miss Beth (remember, you met Beth Alexander?). The kids are going to sing some of the songs they've been working on all year. Last year Grace stood up there but was the only one who didn't open her mouth to sing. In fact, she yawned at one point, and that of course made David and me laugh. I think Kate and Daddy are planning on coming, but Daniel said he'll probably be having lunch with Sheila and her family.

You wouldn't believe how happy Daniel seems these days. He and Sheila live in a house on Grand Blvd. (not too far from where the Chases used to live), and Courtney (Sheila's daughter)stays with them every other week. Courtney adores Grace and Johnny, and they adore her. When I was in Boone for my birthday, we all went to one of Courtney's soccer games, and there was Daniel, cheering on the sidelines. Who would have thought he would grow up to be a soccer dad? Kate's renting a really neat apartment attached to Jim McMillan's house, and we usually all gather there when we're in town. Daddy has let his/your/our house totally go, and we haven't been invited to even so much as step inside in over two years. It's really sad, but it's another one of those situations when we've done all we can and there's no changing him.

I've been feeling better these last few weeks and think I might have finally turned a corner with all of my hormone issues. I've been doing extensive research on the internet, and found a good book that address the three "energy gland" systems; thyroid, fertility (estrogen and progesterone), and adrenals. I have confirmed lab results that show imbalances in all of these areas and am now being extremely mindful of all food, drink, vitamins, supplements, and prescription medications that I put in my body (and when I put them into my body). I've been going to an integrative clinic in Chapel Hill that reminds me of the one you were going to in Boone. I'm finally satisfied with the medical care and advice I've been getting, after two years of seeing various doctors and specialists that are too quick to dismiss my "vague" symptoms as a result of too much stress. But overall, my depression and fatigue have lifted a lot, and I'm just in a much better place. I'm doing yoga and running on the treadmill and outside several times a week. David has been running too, and we're thinking about running the Half Marathon in Virginia Beach this September to raise money to benefit the Leukemia and Lymphoma Foundation.

Work is going well, but busy. I'm still at the Foundation and got a really big promotion in November that basically has me doing three positions: Executive Assistant, Research Associate, and Executive Director. You should see my office. I'm at work now, sitting at my lovely desk looking out the big picture window across from my colorful leather couch and chairs. I feel like a sqatter in this office, like it's not really "my" office, it's so nice. The work is challenging and very interesting, but I've been thinking a lot lately about going back to get a Masters in Social Work.

Grace and Johnny are both doing just great. You would just eat them up. They are both just endless sources of joy, pride, (frustration) and love for me. Grace's IEP is May 26, and Ms. Diane thinks she'll be eligible to stay in pre-K one more year to receive services. We think it's best, and then she will start Kindergarten a little bit ahead instead of behind. That means Grace and Johnny will be only one year apart in school. You should see them together, we call them "Thing One and Thing Two." They way they interact and carry on must be like Daniel and I did when we were that age. I don't know how you did it with three kids so close in age. Johnny is so smart and eager to learn and empathetic to other's emotions these days. David said that on the way to school yesterday, out of the blue, Johnny said, "Mommy is sad. She misses Grandmama, right?" When I asked Johnny about saying that, he admitted it and said, "You're sad because you can't see her? But I can see her. " Boy, I wish that was true. Is it? I've been telling Grace and Johnny the stories of their births, and even though we don't have any pictures of you holding Johnny, (or pictures of Johnny when Grace was born), he likes to say, "But we were there in spirit, right? We were there in spirit, Mommy?"

I've got to close, because I need to get back to work, but I wanted to tell you that I made your potato salad recipe the other night when the Henshaws invited us over for dinner. I don't know if you ever met Bob Henshaw, but he and Matt Mielke were housemates, and then Bob and I served on the Literacy Council Board together. Also, Bob plays guitar, and his wife Cindy plays the mandolin. The three of us (me on penny whistle and flute) are going to play at a wedding this summer. It's actually our second wedding and third public appearance; Bob and I played at the Council's fundraiser last fall and received lots of positive feedback. Bob and Cindy have a three-year old daughter, Wesley, who also goes to preschool at Spanish For Fun Academy. Anyway, I took your potato salad to dinner, and they said it was the best potato salad they've ever tried. I wanted you to know that. It's become my specialty.

I've got to run and get back to work, but if you think about it, please look down on Sunday morning at around 11:00 AM to hear the kids sing. And Happy Mother's Day.

Love,
Bird

Bad Fun, Anyone?

We had a beloved game growing up in my family that we called, “Bed Fun.” Essentially it was my dad and his three kids, Daniel, Kate, and me, all rolling around on the bed together, laughing, tickling, poking, and eventually, crying. Usually Kate (being the youngest) was the one who ended up crying, or at least crying first. We all knew that Bed Fun always ended in someone crying, so it was a game in which you played at your own risk. Just because someone started crying didn’t mean the game was necessarily over, and amid the fits of giggles, shrieks, quacks, and cries, the doorbell always rang. That shut us up. The doorbell meant someone was at the door, right? Wrong. It was my mom’s way of getting in on the game; she rang the doorbell, every time. But, every time (at least until we figured out my mom's ruse), when the doorbell rang, we all hopped off the bed and ran to see who was here. Just, Mama, again, laughing and reminding us all to be careful on the bed, because someone could get their eye poked out, you know. Because “Bed Fun” always ended up in someone getting hurt and crying, Kate (being the youngest) started calling it “Bad Fun.” “Can we play "Bad Fun," Daddy? We all thought that was a hoot, but so appropriate. Isn’t it funny how we're drawn to activities and situations that knowingly bring both pleasure and pain? Anyone up for a game of "Bad Fun?"

Top Ten Cooley Family Guilty Pleasures

#10 "Mmm Bop" by Hanson

#9 "Your Hips Don't Lie" by Shakira

#8 "You're Beautiful" by James Blunt

#7 Curly Fries

#6 Weekly People Magazine fixes

#5 Soy Milk (Not guilty...and now that I think of it, not really a pleasure either)

#4 Reality TV

#3 Southpoint Mall

#2 Sugary Cereal

#1 All four of us sleeping in the same bed.

Just Pictures

Photos by Genevieve Fridley. genphotos.com

MerleFest 2006: Saturday

We actually "slept in" on Saturday morning, til 8:00 AM, all four Cooleys in a luxurious king-sized bed in a lovely master suite with a private bathroom, and awoke to the sounds of, "I'm hungry." "Mommy, I'm hungry" And then, "Are we in a new house?" Don't they wish. Jane has a friend that works for Sprint. Sprint is a major corporate sponsor of MerleFest. Sprint rented this brand-new, lovely three-bedroom house on some of Wilkeboro's most scenic private property from a homeowner for $800 for four nights. Jane and Ted were in one room, some neat young people from Wilmington, Laurel, and Dustin, were in the second room, and we got the third room, the best of them all. Finding the place the night before, in the dark, with faulty directions, was an inch away from being a nightmare, but it ended well, and we all had a good night's rest. Sprint left a big tub of goodies for us to enjoy: bottles of wine, bags of cookies, a variety of chocolates, trail mix, gum, 'Jamaican Me Crazy' coffee, etc. We all sat out on the big deck enjoying coffee and homemade granola bars, while Dustin strummed his guitar. I asked Jane whether Laurel and Dustin were a couple, and she said, "They are now." We took our time enjoying the unblievable accommodations and all got our cars packed up and headed to MF, Day Two, by about 10:30 AM.

Our first stop for the day was the Hillside Stage to hear the bluegrass band, "Chatham County Line." I mean, we live on the Chatham County Line, so we had to see what our homeboys were all about. Enjoyed it. Fast, furious, and fun. (And the music wasn't bad, either). After a potty break (no small undertaking with two preschoolers) we were on to a little sidewalk shopping before meeting up with Jane, Ted, and our new friends Laurel, and Dustin, at 12:00 PM at the sand scuplture. Everyone arrived on time, but it was quickly clear that we would not all stay together as we all had different places we wanted to go. Jane and I went shopping and bought matching hats that we wore for the rest of the day. My brood found our spot once again in the "Litte Pickers" area and waited to meet my brother, Uncle Daniel, and his girlfriend, Sheia. They also scored free passes including backstage access. The entire seating area filled up so quickly, including the open "Little Pickers" area, that I was grateful for the time and space we all enjoyed the night before.

We had to walk Johnny around, in David's arms, to get him to fall asleep, and while David and Johnny snoozed in the shade, Grace and I took in some of the Laura Love Band set. Glad I saw it; I appreciate the musicianship and the humor but not my favorite act of the day. I didn't want to miss any of the Gillian Welch set at the Creekside Stage, so after a little Laura Love, Grace and I walked over to Creekside and got a spot at the very top of the hill. The area was packed, yes, but our view was clear enough that we could catch the facial expressions of Gillian and her partner (musical and otherwise) David Rawlings. Right before the set started, my childhood best friend, Monica, and her husband James walked by, and we signaled them to come sit by us. Not a total connection coincidence since Monica knew I'd be at that stage and that time, but quite fortunate, as there were thousands of other listeners there as well. It was kind of a full-circle thing for Grace and me to be watching that set with Monica and James, because it was with Monica, ten years earlier, that I first discovered Welch and Rawlings, in their earliest days, at the 1996 Spring Black Mountain Music Festival. Loved them then, love them now. "Revival", a 1996 Grammy-nominated album, is one of my CDs on which I've learned every word to every song and have listened the heck out of over the years. I've sung songs from this album at backyard bonfires with friends, and beautiful renditions have made it to our family reunions, delighting those of us who know the songs, and those who don't. Welch and Rawlings do old Appalachain-esque gospel tunes in a compelling, pure, contemporary way. That time in '96 at the BMMF, Welch said that she tried singing different styles in different genres, but settled into the gospel, folkish stuff, because she felt it suited her singing-style best. It does. The 45-minute set on Saturday was a blend of their new and old songs, but the crowd pleasers, the ones we really wanted to hear, were the ones she played from "Revival": By the Mark, One More Dollar, and Tear My Stillhouse Down. I hadn't heard Welch and Rawlings live in about eight years, but the magic came back. And this time I got to enjoy it with my childhood best friend and my daughter.

Part of me thought I would make it back to the Hillside Stage to meet up with Jane and Ted, but deep down I knew I wouldn't. The kids and their wants and needs dictated otherwise, and David, Johnny, Grace and I spent the rest of the afternoon at the face-painting booth, the sandbox, the inflated jumpy thing, running into a familiar face here and there, just enjoying the afternoon together. We caught back up with Daniel and Sheila, briefly, until they were off to their next spot, free as birds, flitting from snack bars, to music sets, to free food backstage.

I attempted to go catch Tony Rice and company, again at Creekside, and while walking there with Grace on my shoulders and Johnny on David's, I saw Gillian Welch in her sundress, cowboy boots and hat, in front, carrying a big box, talking amicably to what looked like an ordinary MF fan. I wasn't going to miss my chance to speak to her. (I'm a connector, after all). I galloped up, and said with enthusiasm, "I enjoyed your set so much, and I'm really glad to be sharing your music with my kids." I said something about how she commented that 'By the Mark' was like the number one song people have been requesting lately, and I gushed that I thought her first album was "magical." She agreed, and as I looked into her clear blue eyes, she said something like, "You can never do that first album over, you know? The one where people start to recognize you and it all starts taking off..." And that was it. I actually had a conversation with Gillian Welch! And as David watched the interaction from behind, he'll never forgive himself for not snapping a picture. It was really cool, a highlight of the weekend, and I followed it up by reviving "Revival" in our CD player at home.

As the afternoon turned into early evening, folks started making their way back to their spots at Watson for the Nickel Creek show. Again, I appreciate their musicality, but I prefer to listen to the fast-paced traditional bluegrass. Jane and Ted found us at the Tee-Pee and after a few Nickel Creek songs, we all decided to go find Laurel and Dustin at the Dance tent for some Contra dancing. (Another thing I was introduced to at the BMMF and hadn't done in a long time). We all partnered up and (awkwardly at first) started moving to the caller's instructions. Grace and Johnny didn't last too long, which meant David didn't either, which meant I had to find a new dance partner. I had fun dancing with strangers, not entirely knowing what I was doing, (the beauty of Contra dancing) but after awhile of that, I knew I needed to get back to my family.

It was dark now, and we were all officially tired and ready to go home (home for the night was a hotel thirty minutes 'up the mountain' in Boone). We made it to the bus line that was, oh, about three-hundred people long. I was not looking forward to standing in this line with tired feet, overly tired kids, who, for some reason, make more noise, and create more chaos, the more tired they are. We were able to rock Johnny to sleep, holding him the whole time, of course, but Grace kept chattering and pulling my hat and hair, and wiggling, and asking for gum, and squirming (but not whining, thank goodness) the entire hour we waited in line. MerleFest had been so good, and I hated the thought of ending it on this "I'm-so-freakin-tired-just-get-me-on-the-BUS-already!" mode.

One of MerleFest's most striking elements is the incredible fellowhip, and if you've never been there, you truly have to see it to believe it. In the two days of masses of people and lines, and crowded spaces, I didn't hear a cross word uttered by anybody. Not even when frisbees bonked strangers on the head, or when drinks were accidentally spilled on each other, or when one kid jumped in line in front of the extremely patient two-year old waiting to bounce in the bouncer, or when drink bottles went avalanching down the very steep hills into strangers' backs, or when toes were stepped on, or when people talked through sets. Literally, people just smiled at each other the entire weekend as if to say, "That's what you expect to happen at MerleFest." It was the most well-behaved crowd of 80,000 Americans I can imagine ever being in one place. And it's always been like that. It is like the biggest family reunion ever, with total strangers, and true-blooded family members meeting back in this special place year after year to enjoy the music and the company. Once we finally got packed in like sardines on the bus, all of us weary and tired, a final special thing happened: The music from the Watson Stage was playing on the bus, and the song was "This Land is Your Land." A group of musicians, including Sarah Lee Guthrie, Johnny Irion and Jimmy La Fave, were singing this well-known anthem on the main stage, and slowly but surely, voices from the bus started singing too. What happened on the bus was a microcosm of the festival at large. A hundred random people, from all over, old and young, big and small, rich and poor, family members and strangers, were united by a single moment and harmony, singing, "This land was made for you and me."

MerleFest 2006: Friday

I've just returned from what I calculate to be my 5th MerleFest. They've all been fun and yet very different experiences considering my family's metamorphosis over the years. At MF #1, I was married without children, #2, six-months pregnant with Grace, #3, Grace was eight months old, by #4, Johnny had been added to the mix, and this year, #5, MerleFest is now a common term around our house and highly anticipated and enjoyed by all.

The story is that for the second year in a row, my friend Jane has given us free day passes to attend MF. (Last year it was for one day, Sunday, and this year for two, Friday and Saturday). To sweeten the deal this year, she threw in a free place to stay Friday night, only 2-3 miles from the festival, in a rented out three-bedroom house. So, on Friday, after David put in a half-day's work, we got on the road by 3:00 PM, got to the festival's Blue Lot by around 5:30 PM, and inside the gates by around 6:00 PM. We had people to hook up with, but the first order of business was to stake a spot in the "Little Pickers Family Area" across from the Watson (main) Stage. We put our blanket down near the big Tee-Pee and let the kids begin to run around freely. By about 6:30 PM, the jam-band the Waybacks started playing with guest Bob Weir of Grateful Dead fame. The weather was great, the vibe was good, the music was groovin, and for the first time in a long while, I felt totally at peace, lying on my stomach, chin propped up by my hands, beside David, watching our kids run around with the other "little pickers" and hoola-hoopin' hippie chicks, thinking, "There's no other place right now at this time that I'd rather be."

Tried calling Jane (couldn't get through) and my dad (got through, but due to a misunderstanding couldn't find him where I thought he'd be). It was great to run into our friends, the Stinehelfers and Boyers, MF regulars. Their kids were running around, too, accompanied by a variety of their parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, and great-grandparents, and I was reminded of the great photo of Grace and Alex Boyer, (one day apart in age) at MF #2, each in the arms of their aunt, smiling and reaching out to one another. By 7:30 PM, though, when a voice on stage mentioned how great it was to be at MerleFest, this great big 80,000-people family reunion, my heart began to ache. I was homesick for my mom, who I shared MF #1, #2, and #3 with, and I wanted to take another stab at finding my dad who was there in the crowd somewhere. Johnny and I made it up to the edge of the reserved-seating area, but the guy wouldn't let me go past since I didn't have the right-colored wrist band. I said, with a sense of urgency, "But my dad is up there, WAIT! I see him, that guy, standing up facing us!" "You mean the guy in the navy shirt?" "YES!" "Go, ahead, Mam." Connection. Finally. Granddabs spent the rest of the evening at our blanket frolicking with his grandchildren, to the crisp and soothing sounds of Sam Bush, as the moon and stars came out, one by one, to join the party.