Five years, or twelve, or forever, depending on how you count it
Lanea on May 4th 2007
Today is our fifth wedding anniversary, and a little over twelve years since Scott and I decided we were, well, us. I generally try to quell the sap. But I can’t for a single second hide the fact that I think I am one of the luckiest people in the world. I met Scott when […]
Bruce Molsky, the Inca, the goat, and the madman
Lanea on Oct 17th 2006
Mike and Tara took me to see Bruce Molsky as an early birthday present last night. It was amazing. I’ve blathered before about the musicianship to be found in Old-Time. I think Bruce leads the bunch. Since he was playing solo last night, he really had a chance to show his range. Fiddle, banjo, guitar, […]
Euterpe
Lanea on Sep 19th 2006
As I was saying, Bill and Shirley, Scott’s aunt and uncle the llama-ranchers, were in DC last week for a conference. We got to claim them over the weekend. Like most people, we get stuck in the daily work-cook-clean-sleep routine, and forget what our hometown has to offer us. When guests come to town, we […]
You know what really hurts?
Lanea on Jul 31st 2006
The pain. i.e., sewing through your finger with a monster sewing machine. I don’t recommend it. I don’t recommend it at all. Thankfully, it actually sounds worse than it is. I didn’t hit the bone or the nerve pad. It doesn’t hurt as long as I keep the broken nail stabilized. And yes, I am […]
Mood Indigo
Lanea on Jul 21st 2006
I don’t know where you were on Wednesday, but, damn girl/boy, you should have been with us. Claudia wanted to see the Indigo Girls for her birthday. Dami, in her own Dami-like way, started buying tickets and threatening to buy more tickets and possibly kidnap people and make them have fun, if it came down […]
Send me your ears
Lanea on Jul 10th 2006
Writing a blog, I am often frustrated by either my failure to take the pictures I should or my inability to transmit certain sensations to all y’all. I want you to be able to smell what I’m baking or cooking, or the flowers in my garden, or even my wet dog when he comes in […]