Work

At exactly 10 am today, I heard my battery-operated clock explode off the bedroom wall -- I found it face up on the edge of a prized pillow where it had stopped working.

Work, inner and outer, lots of it. Picture time, which captures approximately 1/4 of recent goings-on.

The harp needs no amplification
in the monster space of First Congregational

I'm playing differently as a result of this year's workshop in Maine. This is extremely important though I'm unsure where this is headed. More on this later.

One of the highlights here included getting stuck
with my harp in their tiny and ancient elevator

Big projects are in the works. And they keep coming... or going.

Before

After

Tree removal and shingle removal / replacement that took way too long. Yes, that's right, the roof is now WHITE.

Before and after gigs and teaching and yet another meeting I try to remember what day it is and crochet a few more rows and bake focaccia or orange bundt cake with chocolate ganache and don't exactly follow recipes. And then dive into working on the massive commissioned floorcloth that required tearing up the art room while listening for what Pandora deems similar to my entries of Radiohead and Nick Drake.

Floorcloth clampdown hem-gluing and
blue blob of a kneeling towel -- highly technical

And if the sun shines through the turning maple outside, the workroom is washed with a nearly perfect ethereal hue that for as long as I can remember has inspired me to keep going.

B gets tired of all this and curls up quiet
when I pull her bed up next to me while I work

What's your work?

How to catch a falling harp

1. Let go of everything that does not matter.

2. Throw yourself completely, unequivocally, under it.

3. Repeat 1 & 2, without hesitation, for all that is precious.

Writings / Sitings

A friend asked me to contribute an article to the July-August 2009 edition of Journey Magazine; the topic was "Old Wisdom, New Age" to coincide with a feature on Don Miguel Ruiz, author of The Four Agreements. Follow the links below to the online pdf version of the magazine to read how my submissions turned out.

Bios of Contributors -- page 5.
(Yeah, would have chosen a different photo here, given the chance.)

The Wisdom of Remembering We Are Enough -- page 10.

Somewhere between Summertime and Stairway to Heaven
at the last concert. Thanks BD -- better than the other photo
of my elastic face at the harp. Looks like a squint, eh?

I was also recently quoted in the Party & Special Events Planner 2009 (June) of the Ohio Jewish Chronicle. This article, "Professionals Are Gold: Don't Be 'Penny Wise and Pound Foolish'", addresses the benefits of hiring professional musicians to play for wedding ceremonies and receptions. And because I can't find an online version, below is what appears in the publication, page 5:

"Local harpist Trista Hill agrees that using professional musicians for weddings is important. 'A lot of times someone will get a brother or friend who plays in a band and they have no idea about adjusting the timing or tempo as the wedding party processes,' she says. 'Music is most often what pulls all the "actions" of a special event together. A professional musician knows the importance of timing and transitions, and demonstrates a level of musical skill that enables her to also pay very close attention and adjust to what is happening around her. Being present in this way is crucial in creating a seamless musical experience, and can make even the unplanned parts of an event appear intentional!"

Thanks TC and PS for the opportunity to contribute to your publications.

How often do you, as a writer / musician / creator, want to completely redo your work after the world sees it?

Spillage

Every gig lately has involved successively more sky spillage.

Even if the harp did fit under the umbrella, this is no protection in a deluge.

I happen to love rain. I just don't enjoy getting caught in it, nor solitarily moving gear after gowns and heels and tuxes and leather have run for cover. Harp and bench and stand and amp and DI do not move quickly, especially when there is mud in which to slip, yellow-jacket-infested electric boxes from which to unplug, and the only real cover -- the car -- is a good half mile away.

But I love the rushing of the river after a good rain, the way the mist rolls in over field and fence, the renewed ethereal intensity of nature's palette, and the way music floats more readily over dampened landscapes -- chamber piano and horn and strings from the looking-glass home on the river, Freebird and other guitar solos from the rock band rehearsing somewhere in the woods, violins readying for this weekend's Dublin Irish Festival in the white farmhouse squatting roadside.

When certain news hits out of nowhere, and it's difficult to discern if it was better not to know at all, what remains is to notice the rush of what comes up and either edit or allow the flood.

Maybe it results in pulling out harp versions of a bluesy Janis Joplin "Summertime" and a free-form "Stairway to Heaven" at a church concert when the audience least expects it, even when the tunes need a lot more work. Maybe pushing them out unpolished is worth the surprise and joy they elicit from fellow musicians who have a certain affinity for music from that era.

Maybe it results in excessive talking when it's obvious there can't possibly be anything left to lose.

Maybe it's diminishing the haunting by finding new homes for possessions that quite suddenly no longer have weight or meaning.

Maybe it's trusting that you will know exactly what to do at exactly the right time.

Where and how do you safely spill?

Listening to: Imogen Heap, Canvas (perfect lyrics and video), and the gripping Hide and Seek

Lemon Chocolate

This weekend I played at one of Columbus' most beautiful venues, the Southern Theater! And irritatingly, my camera crapped out and died just as I was trying for the first shot with my harp. So, no pictures (yet).

I love this place and am eager to play there again -- the staff was so helpful and knew how to move the harp, i.e. not grab it out from underneath causing me to lurch into some subhuman twist to keep it from falling. Of course the acoustics are amazing so amplification for solo harp was unnecessary. This greatly affected how I played the harp and confirmed two Very Important Things that I may (not) expound upon later.

Some of my favorite artists have played at the Southern -- out of necessity and because time is always an issue, I quickly located and made use of the restroom just off the stage that probably many artists have occupied for various reasons before their performances. I have no idea if this decision broke rules. In that space I was reminded that no matter what we do and at what level, we are all simply human with similar needs. And oh yes, I played on the birthday of a certain Mister Andrew Bird, who was the last person I saw there and am eager to see again in October.


Playing a wedding on July 4 inevitably entails fireworks. Just over this hill at the Longaberger Golf Club (yes, just a few miles past the basket building), and after the kiss, an immense amount were launched. Because it wasn't yet dark, the goal was to create a lot of noise and vast amounts of colored smoke. Almost too-predictable comments followed about the power of that kiss.

I occasionally write about food and exercise here because they greatly influence how I show up for, execute, and recover from performances. A friend says that as musicians we are also athletes. This was put to the test at the wedding that immediately followed my playing the Southern this weekend. Rain, wind, intense sun, distance walking in dress shoes, moving the harp without a dolly (lifting!), complete setup and tear-down in two different areas, and smiling professionally (captured forever by photographers!) despite looking like a drowned river rat in black -- oh, and did I mention prettily playing unconventional music I transcribed specifically for harp? -- in a matter of two hours at the second gig of the day would leave me grim, silent, and in pain. I don't hurt today, aside from still having "Endless Love" playing in my head (truly it was endless). It also didn't hurt that I was able to play Radiohead's Fake Plastic Trees for part of the ceremony. The lyrics are entirely inappropriate but I wasn't singing and it was... Radiohead. On harp.

I have put running on hold. Pain in the left knee, hip and back aren't subsiding -- the fantastic gripping spasm that seized my middle back during a run last week had me hobbling home for several miles and rethinking the necessity of sprints. So it's back to walking and biking. My new shoes arrived and perhaps they will make a difference. Today I rode the bike earlier in the day and thus the scent from the grove of pine trees on my route that carries me back to Colorado wasn't as intense. But I had a delivery to make (no, not on the bike).

Today is my parents' fortieth wedding anniversary. FORTY years. I made chocolate and lemon (lemon added to this recipe) cupcakes, no eggs or dairy (= vegan) since I haven't had those ingredients in the house for quite some time. The chocolate are topped with a simple ganache and the lemon with a glaze that may or may have not turned into a type of lemon jelly. I wouldn't really know, because I didn't sample. It's hard to sample cupcakes when you are making one dozen. Eleven just looks suspicious. In case it's not obvious, one likes lemon and the other adores chocolate, and combining the two flavors in one cupcake would be something maybe only I'd enjoy. Symbolic cliches about this combo abound -- a long marriage requires a balance of sweet and sour, bitter and sweet, two very different entities coexisting in one happy piece of tupperware...

I am perfecting my artisan bread recipe. I'm getting closer to the bubbly pockets and crisp crust I crave. There is nothing like hot organic whole wheat bread fresh out of the oven. There is also nothing like breaking your best largest bowl that used to be your mother's as evidenced by its glowing orange color and hilarious 70's flower print. While it wasn't an heirloom, it was a relic from childhood that I'll actually miss. I guess they call these pieces "vintage" now. *SIGH*

Continuing my computer / internet fast means that if there is more happening in the world on which to comment, I don't yet know about it.

Summer light

One of my most enjoyable recent harp gigs was the Stone Academy Bicentennial in Zanesville. The group there was so appreciative and the acoustics were perfect. My photo of the performance space was less than stellar.


So I'll also include a picture from a May wedding held in a remote and obscure area of Delaware that had me severely testing the extent of my vehicle's gas tank emptiness.


Also less than stellar are this year's administrative gig dilemmas. Let's just say I exuberantly appreciate being paid the correct amount, on time.

I love summer -- light lingers until 9:30 at night, and if it weren't for the mosquitoes, I'd linger longer with the fireflies. Light this late conjures of memories of sitting on the shores of Saint-Malo, France (and one my favorite places, Mont Saint-Michel) at 10:30 pm, watching the sun go down.

But I'm not in France, I'm in Ohio, still working on the house. Er, outside the house. Whatever, it all needs work.

I know damn well this isn't done right. No gravel, sand (except for between pavers), or edging were used for this square-paver extension of the front sidewalk, despite my knowing exactly how much and what kind of materials are necessary to ensure it doesn't heave with the ground as the seasons change. The clayish soil on which they rest -- under all that topsoil -- might save it from this demise. Ha. A gigantic crack in the original sidewalk demands the whole thing be replaced. But for now when the road and the... um, property next door aren't too loud, this makes a nice space for students / parents to wait during lessons, or for me to eat a colorful meal, especially after the plants I added today (not pictured) fill in. Oh yeah, and it uses up some of the bunk from the hell hole that is my back / side yard.

The other and more logical spot to eat a fresh meal has become irritating. This tree will probably have to go this year. I am not attached to it -- in fact, I've grown to hate it. There are dead spots and I've spotted bagworms. Any movement by wind or bird or other creature triggers a downpour of brown needles.

I picked these cherries from a tree in my (overgrown) yard! However, most of them already had a small white occupant holing up inside. Those that didn't were tossed in with a few organic peaches to make a fantastic compote.

My current fast from media delayed my hearing of the passing of Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett. Is there any graceful way to die when the entire world knows who you are?

I can't remember what to do with summer, except be outside as much as possible, running or walking or biking. Yeah, on that bike. I'd like to add more *fun* before the season slips away.