31 January 2006

Hey lover,

There are casual comments of concern and trepidation lingering about. They've come from the unlikliest corners and are always heart-warming. They've come from the voyeurs, the audiences who are subjected to the most drab or dynamic of our exchanges. And they keep asking, "are you okay?"

It's true that the last round of letters from my short but eventful January tour around the Canadian prairies was less than optimistic. But I'm a glutton for emotional intensity. I've heard it said that joy stems from the same place as sorrow. That the body can't distinguish stressful anxiety from heightened anticipation. Makes sense to me.

So I've returned from the January tour, cleansed it seems, and with the car transmisson sweetly in tact. There you were waiting. But we've spent every minute since gearing up for the next departure!

I've come to appreciate what I love about touring. Someone recently asked me if I've ever followed my heart to do something that I was deathly afraid of, but knew I had to go through with. The answers came quick and easy and all had to do with traveling--the sweet sheltered prairie girl busting out for more cosmopolitan adventures and finding herself in spaces absent of expectations.

Sorry to say, lover, that this time around feels different. The tour will be a long one. But I've gained an affinity for love letters and a newfound faith in the road adventure, promises of postcards and pics, and a companiero for the traveling: Peter Katz. And I've got the deepest catharsis of January's emotional rollercoaster to thank for enough epiphanies and lessons to take me a hell of alot further the next time.

C

P.S. Okay, I lied. The whole impetus behind my recent change of attitude has nothing to do with life lessons and emotional catharsis. It's all bullshit. If you want to know the truth it has more to do with one night at a northern Saskatchewan cabin with food, booze, cigarettes, scandulous gossip, and the sweet, good, unconditional love of my favorite women.

16 January 2006-Alberta. . .still and again

Yesterday, I called because I desperately didn't want to feel the way I was feeling. Had a bad cold tying me down, but would not resign myself to a day of rest. So I puttered about, unproductively, waiting for the bloody, freaking car to get fixed. Turns out it'll be a day later than anticipated, maybe two. Turns out it'll be $1,000 more than they quoted. This news, atop the aimlessness and frustration that surfaced throughout the day, made me desperate to hear your voice. I needed a home.

At least, that's what I thought I needed--the sound of a familiar voice to reassure. But it wasn't enough.

Being on the road has taught me that home isn't something you can hold onto. It's not a place you leave and return to. It is not a structure or a place. It flows through you. There is a beautiful beach on this island, and I'm setting up my own little grass hut and building my own fire. And I don't want to stay there alone. My phone call should have been an invitation for you to put down anchor for awhile and check out the sand. Not a desperate request for you to build the fort.

I have no intention of making this home inaccessible. I'm no siren. I think I'm just learning what it feels like to be at home in your own body. To be at home with yourself.

And I'm learning that home is about people, not places or things or pillows that you can't sleep without or food that you can't find in this province or slippers that I forgot to pack. (Although having said that, I really do miss those slippers. Damn, do I miss those slippers. . .)

Perhaps this makes no sense. But I think it makes sense to me.

C

15 January 2006-Alberta. . .still

Hey lover,

There is nothing that makes me feel quite as vulnerable, lost, bewildered, helpless, frustrated. . .as when the bloody, freaking car breaks down. Those enigmatic warning lights in panic-inducing shades of orange and red. The way they blink, chime, or stare. The foreign shapes and abbreviations. It's maddening really. It drives me straight into the heart of the evil empire: the mechanics shop. There, large men blather out words that have no meaning and watch me stare back at them blankly. They scribble out estimates of astronomical proportions and watch me stare back at them blankly. "We'll start by removing the transmission," they tell me and watch me stare back at them blankly.

Perhaps I exaggerate. Nick was lovely on the phone, and quite lucidly explained the problem with the transmission. Doesn't change the fact that I'm finished the tour, absolutely aching to see and touch you again, and am stuck in Calgary. I shouldn't complain. The storm that I hear is raging on in Saskatoon would make driving today a bitch. Instead, Vic took me out to breakfast at a groovy little restaurant with good wholesome food that reminded me of our favorite breakfast joint on the west Victoria--ah, to visit Mole!

The last house concert on the tour was a blast. Deana and Steve were fine hosts and the crowd was really interactive and engaged (including ten-year-old Taylor who continued asking questions between each song)! Had some great conversations, tested out some new material on the crowd, and enjoyed some good wine. (Should I smuggle some home? Wine is so much cheaper here!)




Spent last night with Brent--the artist and manager conspiring on topics of music, business, life, love and world domination. We went for a long walk along the river under simply balmy conditions until we hit a restaurant and stopped for mexican supper and Coronas. By the time we emerged, balmy had turned into a mild snowstorm which we endured the entire walk back to the car. Woke up with colds and sniffles, and hear that Brent's feeling the same.



So today is a day of rest, tea, and prayers to the gods of auto repair asking that the final numbers fall short of the mechanic's exhorbitant quote. As the patron saint of travel, would Saint Christopher also cover car repairs in his realm of expertise? I'll throw a couple prayers his way, just to be safe.

Can't wait to see ya lover. Anyday, now. Anyday.

C

10 January 2006--Alberta

Hey lover,

I've become utterly, ridiculously emotional this tour. Was so hesitant to leave you and am surprised that the call to the road is never less inviting, but never less heartbreaking. I resorted to taking Findlay along, my trusty, accepting (stuffed) sidekick as support. He squeezes into a suitcase just dandy. Was feeling quite foolish about it until I realized what a superb driver and navigator he is--really eases the burdens of touring.




Performed at two house concerts (both birthday parties) which helped pull me out of this funk. I do love a good birthday and seek out excuses for celebration at every corner! Findlay accompanied me onward to Edmonton, the home of my first CD, so it's filled with nostalgia and my sweet girl Alison whose futon is as familiar as her idiosyncracies, which never cease to fill me with affection.

Looking forward to a few more shows in Edmonton, then back to Calgary for the house concert, where this overflow of emotion can find an outlet. (Ah but the focus is technique! Technique, true enough!) Dear lord, save the crowds. And the other thing that preoccupies me is the thought of a reunion, not too far off. It's a short tour, and the thought of that simple kiss (unassuming at first, are your eyes opened or closed?, then more intense though not intentionally) follows me everywhere.

Love C