video tuesday : Grace Potter and the Nocturnals

On a Friday afternoon in February, Grace Potter and the Nocturnals spent time outside of San Diego recording stripped down versions of songs from their new album. “Paris” is the second in a series of them.

New GPN Album Available for pre-order here: http://amzn.to/gpnamazonpre)

Vocals, Guitar:Grace Potter
Guitar: Benny Yurco
Guitar: Scott Tournet
Knife: Catherine Popper
Ice Bucket and Hair Dryer: Matthew Burr

Directed by: Mason Poole.
Location: Rancho Bernardo, CA

happy birthday dear orchid

birthday orchid

My birthday orchid seems very happy in it’s new home. It had bloomed twice in our old place in South Philadelphia where I was happy to keep it alive. It was hard work for some reason.

Now in Old City it is thriving.

I don’t think it is just the light and the water. I really think the energy here is so different. It seems to love Old City and the people that come and go in the gallery. It is joyful.

Post-it notes an amazing invention

Post it notes continue to work their way into different parts of our lives. Their not so stickiness encourages us to use them in all kinds of unexpected ways. Their uniformity is another excellent attribute. Even the straight-lined challenged can line post-its up in a grid. Now that we aren’t confined to the Post-it yellow the possibilities are multiplied — by the number of new colors added.

So, what have you done with Post-it notes lately?

Reprise: It’s too hot, too hot. Just too darn HOT.

It has become a science fiction dream to me. I cannot say I ever thought I would see and feel these temperatures. These temperatures are those of my visits to the desert and hiking the canyons of New Mexico. I imagine the scrub bushes and the dry runoff streams. I taste the red dust on my lips. Then I am jolted back to reality. My sense of place is askew. Our planet is so confused. It’s 104°.

poem today : Native Trees, W. S. Merwin

Neither my father nor my mother knew
the names of the trees
where I was born
what is that
I asked and my
father and mother did not
hear they did not look where I pointed
surfaces of furniture held
the attention of their fingers
and across the room they could watch
walls they had forgotten
where there were no questions
no voices and no shade
Were there trees
where they were children
where I had not been
I asked
were there trees in those places
where my father and my mother were born
and in that time did

my father and my mother see them

and when they said yes it meant

they did not remember

What were they I asked what were they
but both my father and my mother
said they never knewW. S. Merwin, “Native Trees” from The Rain in the Trees (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1988). Copyright © 1988 by W. S. Merwin. Reprinted with the permission of The Wylie Agency, Inc.

Source: The Rain in the Trees (Alfred A. Knopf, 1988)