and never the twain shall meet

Oh Canada, you failed me today. Perhaps it isn't fair to blame the evenings mishaps upon an entire fair nation.....

First things first.
Thanksgiving was a myriad of family turmoil and love. My best friend and part of her family were in town. Strickler visits are becoming a Thanksgiving tradition, I think.

Tonight ended the opening weekend of Irving Berlin's White Christmas at the Baldwin. I feel quite fresh as this marks my first experience as a cast member at Stagecrafters. Our director seems to demand the excellence of Broadway, but at the same time, recognizes that it IS community theater. We all laugh a lot. It amazes me how much of a family we have become amidst the 30 second costume changes, breaking jewelry, and wig catastrophes.


Ignore how green I look. I NEVER wear foundation! ick.

After the Sunday matinee ended around 5:15, we set out for Hamilton, Ontario to finally see Jeremy Fisher live (a dream not realized in Pontiac a few weeks ago as planned, but sweetened by the opportunity of meeting the fellow). I had even baked a sweet potato pie for Jeremy, Peter, and Julien.



Thinking nearly 4 hours would give us enough time for the trek to Hamilton, we stopped for gas, then fast food salads (observe our attempt to be healthy), then were stopped dead in our tracks by the HOUR AND A HALF we spent at the Blue Water Bridge border crossing! Naturally, the Acura overheated JUST as we reached the booth. The customs official certainly took his job seriously. He had the gall to have never HEARD of Jeremy Fisher! Imagine! haha. He simply could NOT understand why two Black American girls would want to travel to Hamilton in the dead of night and gave us quite a hard time about it. He was then kind enough to point out that our "car was smoking."

Despite his cool demeanor and mustache, the fellow was quite fetching in his skull cap and bulletproof vest :P When he finally let us through, we wandered around searching for a restroom. First attempt was out of order. Second attempt was at the back of a grocery store and looked as if it had been "out of order" all day. The car had some time to cool and we were on our way. I had no idea how bleak 402 was going to be. No lights, no stops for miles. My eyes were already beginning to droop. Kendall was unable to join me for the trip and Deb didn't feel comfortable driving a stick. We drove another hour before sighting a Tim Horton's sign.


Silly Americans expect immediate availability. We must be so spoiled, because it seemed like we drove forever before stumbling upon the Tim Horton's in Strathmore, Ontario. After more mini-mishaps (first failing to find the drive through, realizing they didn't accept visa, and realizing that the mocha looks different in Canada), we decided to pray about what to do next. We were so behind schedule at that point, we wouldn't have reached Hamilton until around 11. Driving 4 hours home in my state in the wee hours sounded like a bad situation to both of us. Especially since my tired driving abilities are nill. If I am tired, I sleep. Whether I am behind the wheel or not. Not good.

In the end, we turned around, pie still intact and feeling lonely and abandoned. (The pie, not us).
The customs official on the U.S. side, after hearing our dilemma, asked 'WHY in the world did I not slip my phone number into his pocket? Then you could just call him up!' NEVER would I. haha. She did inform us, however, that Sundays are usually the busiest days at the border (who knew?) and that THIS sunday in particular was one of the busiest border crossing days of the YEAR due to Canadians returning from Black Friday weekend shopping. Just our luck. Or, I guess, just not God's will :(

In conclusion, I am infinitely disappointed by having to miss such an epic opportunity, but will never stop being a fan of the wonderful musician, Mr. Jeremy Fisher. I hope tonight's show in your hometown was EPIC. I have no doubt that it was! Kendall and I send our love to Peter and Julien as well and wish they could have enjoyed the pie. Thank you Deb for joining me on this grand adventure and for striving to keep me awake using Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Sinatra, and the Beatles along with your own cunning wit and humor!


I shall now rest my weary bones in preparation for another busy week and try not to let my heart feel too acutely the pain of such a loss. I have decided NOT to blame Canada, but my inability to STOP and live. I can only GO, GO, GO, piling my plate high with more and more lovely life. I'll stop when I die.

Summer's end. It always makes me savor the morsels of life that make summer....summer

Earlier this week, my partner and I brought a patient downtown for a dialysis appointment. (Yes, un-glamorous, I know. And, yet, dialysis makes up a good 50% of the life of an EMT.)

As we stepped out onto the corner of West Grand Boulevard and Second, the thick, sultry, and sorrowful strains of a saxophone drifted through the air. I say "drifted" only because the wind had a graceful feeling as it carried the sound through the air.

I could have used a stronger word, since it arrested the souls of every passer-by no matter how hard they struggled to maintain their passionless, American personas, but I'm sure the old, homeless man delivering the melody didn't care what word should be used to describe it. He loved it enough to play it. And that was enough.

I spent Monday night in one of my favorite pursuits that often gets swallowed and pushed aside by school and work when Fall comes. Open Mic at the Plymouth Coffee Bean. Some performers were professionals enjoying the no-pressure vibe the Bean provides. Some were nervous high schoolers, having just discovering their talents, and performing for the first time. You can always read the thoughts on their faces: I love this, will they?

Of course, some performers were wonderful, some less wonderful. Being surrounded by music for a few blessed hours is always worthwhile.
It was one of those nights that can only be sweetened by summer. The night was just cool and, for once, free from humidity. Coffee was being downed like water.

Nights like those should always be spent with friends.

Dear friends.

The kinds of friends that one can communicate wordlessly. The ones who know you well enough to know when to slap you and when to let you be. The ones to whom you don't have to explain yourself. Do you know the ones I mean?

Friday night, I intended to get off work in plenty of time to go with my sisters to The Civil Wars concert in Pontiac in the Pike Room at the Crofoot. But, naturally, the whole world seemed to need an ambulance that night.
We arrived in time to hear their last three songs. A dissapointment? Maybe. If we had let it. But we were appeased by an unplugged after-show and Joy and John's careless mingling during the afterglow.

We talked to Joy about God.

Then to John about family.


Joy was one of those smiling individuals who has a sort of MEGAcompatible personality with everyone she meets. Her smile is permanent. The kind of person I can never quite manage to be. thankfully. Her voice amazed me with its strength.

John blew me away with his warmth. WARMTH. And he was huge! You know how people sometimes seem so big on camera, but turn out to be way smaller than you think in person? Like M. Ward, for example. Not John Paul. He was gigantic, broad, and warm. In every way possible.

The ease with which he wields his guitar and voice are enviable to be sure. I canNOT believe how well their voices blend. Male/female harmony blends that I can truly appreciate are hard to come by.

Only three others immediately come to mind:
1) The Swell Season
2) Mates of State
3) She & Him

I ran into a regular performer at the Bean who happened to be one of the openers that night. He gave me one of his CD's. Free music always puts a smile on my face. Especially when its good. And it is. Surprisingly honest. [Jeff Pianki's the name, by the way]

Is it bad that I am currently listening to Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk over and over and over again?


I've been experiencing a period of unfortunate writer's block as far as music goes. I hope it passes soon.

I hope to spend endless hours soaking in the Jazz Festival at Hart Plaza this weekend. I think you should too :)

Summer Swell Pt. 1

I’m not famous.
I’m not an art student with an awesome camera.
But I’m Deb’s friend, so I’ll write a blog anyway. And she will read it.

My life for the past month has been a celebration of summer.
I spent three weeks in the sweet South where I learned to run at night, love the smell of Egyptian Queen tobacco, and that God wants to fill my mind with Himself.

I experienced Greyhound yet again when I traveled from Dallas to Birmingham. What an adventure that was. I utilize the word “adventure” only as a mechanism to make myself feel better about the food stuck to the seats, the coolant that dripped from overhead, and the creepy old-timer that sat next to me.

I flew home from Birmingham on Thursday and went straight to my 10-year-old brother’s tournament baseball game. Klark’s team had made it to game 6, the highest anyone from their age level and league had ever risen, but lost that day. They had played like men, but that day they cried like boys :(

From there, my bags in tow, I went to band rehearsal with Katie on Grosse Isle. The Willing had two shows that weekend. My dear friend, Stephanie’s wedding in Mackinaw and the iArt Festival in Redford.
We left for Mackinaw the next day.
Four and a half hours to the tip of the mitten.
Four and half hours of pure Michigan.

Good music was scarce past Bay City, so we talked about life and I twisted my unruly hair.

The next day I ran in the early morning with the pines and the crows, the smell of the Great Lakes filling my heaving lungs.


We were late to the reception of course, but arrived in time to play and sing as the boat that carried ourselves and the wedding party slid between Lake Huron and Lake Michigan beneath the Mackinac Bridge.

As beautiful as the wedding was, I was pleasantly surprised at my little heart.
No emptiness. No girlish longings. As independent as ever. An attitude befitting an Iron Maiden ;)

We left in the rain and sped back to Detroit. Kendall rode back with us. Shockingly, we arrived in time to catch the Avett Brothers at the Philmore! Every cent was worth my while. The Brothers delivered their usual energetic and heartfelt performance and I danced and sang my heart out.


Better still, Ken and I got to meet them afterwards. I was finally able to ask Scott about the meaning of my favorite song: Down With the Shine.
They were as warm and genuine as old friends and I can’t wait to see them again!

The next day, I carried my weary feet to Redford for the art festival. Unfortunately, my exhaustion and a less-than-competent sound guy made for a sub-standard show. Time to shove the practice notch up a gear!

I think I might move to England next year.
More later :)