Friday, April 30, 2010


Let It Be came on the radio this morning on the way home. I was steering with one hand and picking a scab with the other. Ha. My first reaction was, "I love that song!" then, "I wonder if it's talking to me?" I continued to pick for a few more seconds.
but then I Let It Be. :)
but while I was thinking about it, I remembered this weird thing I observed while on a walk with the baby yesterday. We'd passed this giant ant mound, an irresistable sandy treasure for any child, and my wee tot quickly found a stick with which to pounce and poke the thing.
And mentally, while I watched the rapid red furies, I said to myself, 'At least now they have something to do.'
because if some child doesn't destroy their mounded homes or reveal their eggy nest, they're probably bored...right?
Then, the train of thought took me to people I know that consistantly find some sort of drama in their lives. You probably know somebody like that. At least one? dig deep.
At least one standing squirm of ants never content to Let It Be, always destroying their own ant mounds in order to keep the cycle of constant movement going. They require it.
Why? Because they don't want to be left alone with their own thoughts, I guess. sends me my horoscope via email, but only the first line; I'd have to click on the link to get the rest, and I'm too lazy to do that. It may mean trying to remember a password or something, and I don't write most of them down, so that would be a guessing game for me.
but the horoscope header today said,
"Messages are coming to you today in symbolic form and..."
& ultimately, I leave you with them. Scabs. Ant mounds. Let It Be.
yours truly

Thursday, April 29, 2010

Birthday Girl

the baby is counting down to her birthday; she's been counting down since March. How many days are in April? She's made a piece of paper writing all the numbers from about 45 back, then scratching on off per day, until she's gotten here, 3 days left.

What do you want? I ask.

Oh, I don't know, she says. 'Make it random.' (this is her new word, and it finds its way into everything. You want to grab a snack? Yeah. What? Oh, random, she says.)

Hmmm. Maybe a skateboard or a bike. Maybe I'll give her $100 and let her run wild in a toy store.

Ha, unfortunately, She won't be getting one of these:

(although I think it's pretty hilarious in general, they freak me out a wee bit. The new color softens it up. Nice touch, huh? )

Happy Day to you too. hope it's full of sunshine and fluffy clouds and puppies and cupcakes.

with glitter.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Old GypsyLand Stuff

I wrote a hundred or so pages of this thing years ago, and pulled it up wanting to look over it.
This is roughly pg 24-30. ha ha. enjoy.

Dirt Eater

The park in Seattle was pretty; wettish, but pretty. On again, off again rain gave way to doubts about whether camp would set up. Our girl played solitaire repeatedly, marking in a notepad her wins with a line, losses with a zero. Pages and pages of lines and zeros filled the space, seeming to mean something. Perhaps it did to her. A shadow crossed over the cards, moving leaves; where there was the lack of shadow brightening the cards from the overcast darkness to white in the middle, dirty fingerprints and gray around the edges. Everything gets put out and seen in the light. Sun?

Lisette hopped up, looking out the window. Shea was piling wood on a fire, a good sign. Jack had wandered a bit into the woods. He sat away, and was often distanced slightly from the group, sometimes talking to himself, or maybe God, but she wasn’t sure which or who. How could someone be so preoccupied with a God that doesn’t do anything? There was never an answer to any question she asked that sounded Godly…It was always her, she found upon reasoning. Yet, her friend spent hours talking to this invisible being and had an answer for everything. Was he hearing something she wasn’t? She found her shoes and then found her friend, lying stomach down on the ground, scratching, digging a bare spot of earth.


“Oh! Hello,” Jack smiled, a ring of dirt around his mouth.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m grazing,” he said, nonchalantly. She looked over, seeing piles of weeds and grass, their roots tangled in grand clumps of dirt. Jack raked one gigantic section into his mouth, still scratching, his fingernails a black accessory to the makeup on his face.


“Yes. You know, herbivores do it all the time.”

“Yes, I know. Would you like me to wash that grass for you? Or maybe I could just shake it off,” Lisette reached for a clump, shaking it slightly.

“No. No, I eat the dirt too,”

“You do?”

“Sure. You know, people are so afraid of germs nowadays, that they are over-washing. People were actually healthier before all this hand washing business, you know?”

“I don’t wash my hands all that much…”

“Good, that’s good. You know, more and more people are getting bowel diseases from lack of dirt, a large percentage of folks are having to drink microscopic parasites…literally maggots, just to fix the situation.”

“Is that true?”

“It’s absolutely true.”

“I hope I never have to do that,” the world was a confusing place. “I spend a lot of time around dirt, though,”

“Yeah, I think you’ll be just fine,” Jack sat up with his hands full of green, a clown-faced ring around his smile. She couldn’t help but smile back at his dirty face and teeth.

“I think you will be too, Jack.”

Walking back, she thought about what they would be having for lunch themselves. Her father was tying a hammock. He swung around at her footsteps. “Here, child!” Lifting her on the hammock, he sent it swinging.

“Papa, I’m a little worried about Jack.” The Gypsy King lit his cigar and stopped the hammock.

“How so, girl?”

“He’s grazing.”

“Oh. Well, that’s strange but it won’t kill him. Nothing to worry about.”

“Maybe he’s hungry?”

“Oh. Are you hungry?”

“A bit so…Do we still have peanut butter?”

“We are having better than peanut butter today, child. And I think I know exactly what might help your friend, too. He just needs a mission!”

“A mission?” The Gypsy King laughed, and was already walking off, going to remedy all her morning woes.

Dirt Eater on a Mission

Eating a peanut butter and banana sandwich, she watched the morning routine of her fellow campers. Tammy talked to Sam and Martha, frying bacon on a little cook stove. The Gypsy King was setting up a rig to cook on. Shea bagged his laundry, and as she watched him, she made a mental note to ask if she could through a few things in.

Grandmere sat with her knitting, and Zeph with her smokes. She didn’t see Hugo, but he was probably somewhere with that nasty rabbit. Bassam approached, rubbing lotion in his hands. He was always so meticulously clean, this man. Clean and beautiful.

“May I?” He held the bottle of lotion in her direction, and she nodded. His fingers ran over her hands, in between her own fingers, squeezing and rubbing. She could imagine his lips on hers, but he’d never dared or even implied.

“Feet?” Entranced, Lisette thought he could do her hands, her feet, the whole shebang, but she said nothing, only raising her foot within his reach. The lotion, warmed in his hands, was slick across her arches, and he tugged and squeezed the foot with both hands. Those same hands ran up her ankle and leg, stopping at the knee. On to the next, and as a wave of warmth rose up her neck, she wondered if Papa Michel was watching. He was…but we’ll get to that later.

“Ca va bien?“ and just like that it was over. He walked away and picking up a guitar, started to tune it. Zepherine lit another smoke and stuck it into Bassam’s mouth, sitting beside him. Clearly, it was time for a walk.

“Where’s Jack?”

“Ah, he’s on his mission!”

“What kind of mission?”

“The secret kind. No, he’s in the woods, I think. Tell him to hurry if you must go after him.” The Gypsy King liked everyone and everything on time. Bassam watched as she took to the woods.

Sitting in a clearing, Jack squatted silently. For a moment, she assumes he was taking care of business, and turned away, “I’m sorry,” she said.

“No, it’s okay, come over, just be real quiet.” Tiptoeing, then squatting beside him, the two of them sat in silence. How long does someone have to be patient in order to actually have the quality ‘Patience?’ Who determines that? Sitting, sitting.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m on a mission,”

“A secret mission, probably?”

“Oh, no, your dad wants me to find a chicken or something for the grill.”

“Out here?”

“Yes, and I found it,”

“A chicken?”

“Better, a turkey.”

“Oh! Wow, where?”

“There look,” he pointed out towards a mostly bare field. All she saw was a tree stump.

“Where again?”

“Look, right there,” pointing again.

“I think that’s a tree stump,”

“No, I saw it move earlier,”

“Oh,” looking again, she was sure…it was a tree stump. “How long have you been watching this turkey?”

“About a half hour,”

“Well, maybe it died,”

“No, I believe it’s sleeping now. I’m just trying to figure a way to sneak up on it without it running away.”

“I’m pretty quiet, you know. Why don’t you let me sneak up and grab it, then when I have it, you run over and carry it back?”

“I think that sounds like a good plan.” So Jack let Lisette get up from her watchful squat, and she took a few careful steps. After those, she didn’t really feel the need to be that careful, or quiet, for that matter. There would be no chase, and she suspected the tree stump wouldn’t put up much of a fight. She turned to look over at Jack as she approached the thing, and saw he was mouthing the word ‘slowly.’

“Slowly, alright,” a few feet away, she jumped over to the tree stump, grabbing it with both arms. It this what they meant when people called the hippies ‘Tree Huggers?’ Jack quickly ran over, perplexed by what he saw.

“What happened?” Laughing, Lisette didn’t hesitate with her ‘I told you so’s.’

“It’s a tree stump! I told you it was a tree stump!”

“But it wasn’t a tree stump. I saw it move.”

“I’m afraid I’ve never seen a turkey turn into a tree stump before, Jack.”

“God must’ve done it. God is the only one who could turn a turkey into a tree stump.” Of course. “What are we going to do now? I spent all afternoon trying to catch that turkey, your dad is going to kill me.”

“He’s not going to kill you! Maybe we can head over into town and get one of those giant fish!”

“That’s insane.”

“Not so insane, I like fish.”

“Well, yeah, but he’s setting up to roast it. Bassam always gets a goat or chicken or something.”

“Bassam doesn’t always get a goat,” then, there was silence.

“I’ll find something. You go on back and tell them I’m coming. Hey, let’s keep the turkey between you and me, huh?”

“Sure thing,” her feet walked back with the light effortless ways of a child, perhaps for the last time.

It's sorta funny rereading something you've written, and finding all the little nuances of your life over and over. Names and faces of friends that you'd stick in places they'd never go.

I once thought I saw a turkey outside the window while running on the treadmill, but it turned out to be a tree stump. The childlike but highly metaphysical qualities of my cousin Jack, who used to live with us. We'd play rummy hours on end, keeping pages and pages of score cards. He died in his twenties of a gunshot wound, perhaps self inflicted, and I went on to keep score of my solo card playing, only with lines and O's. Lines were good; pages with mostly lines were days that would surely be filled with luck. My writing continues to evolve & I don't know what of this old me stuff. but the memories are cool.

much love, kat

Saturday, April 24, 2010

a love letter

we lost our bubba (aka Reuben) yesterday.
a sloppy faced day.
today just
Remembering my friend.

dog slobbered microfiber, he'd grown too big for a lap dog

He's smiling because I was holding a tennis ball.

our love to you, boy.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010


i brake for turtles.
i also brake for pinecones
cause at a glance they
can look like turtles.
- Kat Lee

Monday, April 19, 2010

Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning. --Psalms

I found myself spending a beautiful Sunday afternoon at a kids party for the baby's soccer. Kid parties are usually Food hell, and the putrid smell of hot dogs and cheetos makes me a tad bit ill. Drinks in wee plastic barrels is flavors like Orange, Red, and Blue.
A few of the mom's were discussing how awesome the cupcakes were; it was,
"Oh! These cupcakes are so good!"
"The white cake with that fluffy icing, Yum!" My oldest and I looked at eachother. Should we dare? I mean, we usually don't like cupcakes. (Don't get me wrong, I like the 'idea' of cupcakes; the cute little emblems in pink, sometimes on clothing with glitter or confetti-like sprinkles. Cupcakes are cute. I just am not sure if they're meant to be eaten. Maybe in carrot cake form, but I don't know.)
But we'd eaten this mildly gross burrito we'd purchased from a white van on the side of the soccer field, and were feeling unsatisfied and left with a bad taste that needed a comb over. We decided, yes, we should try these much praised cupcakes.
Dyed neon green and black. And halfway into them, we were sticky, and one woman said, watch your fingers, they stain. And they did. Our fingers, lips and
And last night, in lieu of supper, I decided to just have a nice glass of wine. I felt sick from the random contents of my stomach. I don't recommend buying burritos from a van or black cupcakes, this is my knowledge that I pass on to you today. (Though I do think it's in your best interest to have your mouth all covered in black dye in public, people too often go years without a humbling or 'Dork' moment).
But today Food Karma kept Steven's work delivery from showing up, and he had to drive an hour to pick up supplies...
right near The Curry Pot. :D
Today I'm thankful for fresh mint chutney and a wedge of nan. Dal. Makini.
Getting to steal my sweet man from his too busy job.

I'm thankful for all sorts of things.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

We only become what we are by the radical and deep-seeded
refusal of that which others have made of us.
--Jean-Paul Sartre

Not really going to blog today, just saw this wee quote & wanted to share it.
Beacause Monsieur Sartre is right, you know; You aren't what people think of you, or only capable of someone's very low expectations. Do your best to be shockingly good today :).

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Crazy morning indeed.
I wanted to weigh myself this morning before I ate breakfast, so I stripped down. Two weeks of not running and eating complete junk, and I weighed less than ever. Nice, because I'd been beating myself up over throwing the Chicken in a Biscuit crackers in the buggy. Seriously, I know better. But I loved them as a kid and forgot what they tasted like, so there I was. I'm going to practice restraint even though they make me lick my fingers from the chickeny buttery salty taste. Not everyone likes the same things. :P
Anyway, I had weighed in, but hadn't eaten breakfast. I eat the same breakfast everyday- Nature's Path pumpkin seed granola with almond milk. If I feel adventurous, I go hemp seed granola. I tell Steven the almond milk is better because is doesn't have all that mucus and it's healthier, but he then reminds me that I eat yogurt, which is dairy, so it cancels it out. Either way, I eat it everyday same time-ish. But I hadn't showered yesterday & I reeked, so I didn't want to get dressed before I showered. I threw my t-shirt on and decided to go pour my cereal. Today I discovered that I cannot eat breakfast without pants on. I am all for airing out, but apparently that's just a little too odd for me. I had to set the bowl down and find some underpants before I could enjoy my breakfast.
Women and their weight, huh?
This is the first year I've been watching the Biggest Loser. I love it, they've really changed some of these folks. Look at Sam- he's downright hot. He may be 20-30 pounds away from having his own calendar. & While we're talking hot- I secretly imagine that Bob & Jillian are getting it on when I watch the show. While I would never buy a celebrity porn dvd, any porn dvd, that one I would buy. Bob, with that lispy kindness but tattooed scruff (please don't comment that Bob is gay. If he is, I don't care. That possibly makes it even better), and Jillian with her crazy aggression- seriously, if you watch the show with a little imagination, you can make it much better ;). I'm so bad. Terrible.
But you never know.
I showered, got dressed, put my shoes on, then went to shake the towel off my head. Looking in the mirror at my wet hair, I didn't remember if I washed my hair or not. Did I? So I deattached the shower cord and washed my hair with my head hanging over the tub. At worst, I washed it twice. I find it's the things I may have just done or heard that I forget the easiest. Ha ha ha!~ My brain is a work of art, but also a work in progress. (Did that come from me? I guess I'm gaining faith in myself these days...)
We went to see How to Train Your Dragon 3-d last night. The movie was way better than the previews let on- too darn cute. And I guess it's fitting as I was mentioning mythical creatures yesterday and my discovery of the first ever unicorn fossil.
I'm starting to feel sad for you if this is your first visit to The Kat Lee Reader. Sad but grateful you're here. Probably an innocent bystander, googling Granola & weight loss.
& you get me instead :). I wish you a bright & shiny day! yours truly

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

One with Nature

I walked to the mailbox, Soleil D'Or in hand (the latest of my collection-I collect roses if you're new here). I set Soleil atop her future home, glanced in the mailbox and at the emptied trashcan, and decided 'later.' The mailbox contained some medical bills (which insurance companies have claimed they need 'more information' before payment- this is just for the day I went for tonsilitis...argh) and the trashcan? It needed to air out a bit.

I ran for my life, frightened and out of breath, but not sure if I could risk stopping. Maybe he was bluffing? I slowed and turned my head. Thud-Donk! That's supposed to be the sound a possum long dead makes when someone running after you throws it and it hits the ground.

"You have to get that thing out of the pond," I told him.
"I don't want to. I don't even want to see it. I wish you girls would've got it out while I was at work." (I bet!) I walked him down the trail and pointed. He'd brought a big plastic bag and some gloves. The beast had been there a few days, bulging eyes, fly ridden, patches of hair off in clumps. He started to raise it by the tail.
"I'm going to need you to hold the bag open while I put this in there."
"No, no, I can't do that. I don't want to be that close."
"You have to," he tells me. I say that we should just think about it, and that I have to go in for something. Maybe somebody else wants to hold the bag? Knowing my Steven, there's a chance he'd see humour in grazing my arm with it's sticky possum body whilest I am holding the bag. I opt out.

"No you don't!" and as I start to walk away, he tells me he's going to throw it on me, so I run. I run, and I can hear him running behind me. Surely he wouldn't? I run, then out of breath, I look back to see it fly close.

Thud-donk. You're lucky I didn't try to get you with it, he tells me. It was so tight it would've splattered across your back. The can could stay at the end of the road, as well as the bills. For today.

I was loading rocks to move under the fig tree & found a fossil (I guess).

I forfeited throwing in the wagon, staring at the thing. Porous and round, I imagined it a femur of some sort of long ago animal, and stuck it in my pocket. Maybe a cow bone, but maybe something exotic and undiscovered. Because there's no hurt in having an imagination, maybe a unicorn. I think if you discover a new species you get to name it. So above is the first photo of the remains of a unicorn, the Katleecorn. Or um, Katleecornysaurus. Of course, I can't prove it, but you can't prove it's not. I welcome you to try, but til then, Katleecornysaurus.

On Facebook recently I saw friends join a group called Unicorns are real, they're just fat and slow and we call them rhinocerous. Funny. I imagine that mythical creatures were once real. Dinosaurs were real, so maybe dragons were once real. Who knows.

I also passed this grass stuff -
I don't know what it's called; it grows everywhere. My mother told me when she was a girl, my grandmother Georgette told her to eat the little leaves when she was thirsty on long walks. So it grows in France as well. We all eat it as we walk past, and it tastes like the sour peel of a green apple. Yum.

How did you get here?

Hmm. So next month the roses will be blooming & you can expect I'll be posting garden photos. I can't wait, though it's may seem like an occasion where I should have a separate blog. I collect roses, and at times, I feel I'm contributing in some weird way to the continuation of their dwindling species. I grow no Hybrid Teas (okay, one- Senegal) because I find them ugly, and no knockouts, because they are 'mall roses' and belong only in public areas or in stepford wives effortless yards. Okay, I find them ugly too. Don't get angry if you happen to grow one of these. Some folks don't know any better. But the mass sales and marketing of Knock Out roses puts some great vintage roses at risk of becoming scarce. Roses that have been around for hundreds of years, that honestly can out perform any knock out and do it with throwback style are harder to find. Nurseries are going out of business, and the ones that are doing well are selling you more and more bad stereotypical roses- in some cases how can you not hate roses?
But there are treasures, and I am humbled to serve them in any way I can.
If you'd like more information on roses, try, click the roses tab.
Also, stay tuned for some photos of favorites, coming soon.
I hope your day is blissfully cool & peaceful. :)

Friday, April 9, 2010

Retrospect - 4/8/2006

I haven't done a retrospect in awhile, and since there's tons of crap festering in a drawer, I thought I'd dig through and see if I could find something from this time of year. Here's 4/8/06.

Hi again!
I'm back! Feeling great, too! It's not quite time for chips and salsa yet, but getting there. The wisdom teeth thing wasn't too bad, the drive there was probably the worst part.
So anyway, I went through my hope chest yesterday. It had been a few years, and some of the things I have held on to for far too long made it out for good...others didn't.
There are obvious things you'd find; my high school diploma along with the little beanie hat that you wear on your graduation, stories and drawings from the girls, special awards they've gotten at school. A few things I made when I was ten years old. Some antique French picture frames, bought at a flea market in France. A pottery porcupine I bought near Alsace, France. My husband says it's an ashtray, I say candy dish.
"It might hold two or three pieces of candy," he tells me. There's the chipped snow white plaque that my namesake, Gracie, painted for me. It doesn't really go with my decor, but one day I'll find a spot for it. At the bottom, a new car brochure for a 1988 Honda Prelude...along with a pristine licence plate reading 'I Love my Prelude.' Funny that I hold it so fondly- I never owned that prelude. Even so, it's not something I could break free of yet. I set it back inside.
I have a little ceramic teapot, where instead of a spout, it has these giant red lips, and a Marilyn Monroe type mole. I also have the matching cups. I think my mother bought this for me when I was eight or nine years old because I thought it was funny. I sat in the floor and emptied the pot. Inside, some eighth grade junk. A few notes from friends I lost touch with, a poem I wrote for a boy named Roger, who never loved me back.
(It's funny, over a decade later, Roger ended up working with me for about a week, and we laughed about what luck he'd had. At fifteen or so, he just quit going to school, was in and out of school, married to a woman old enough to be his mother, and living in a park full of singlewides from the seventies.
"It's your fault," I was brave enough to say, "It's because you didn't love me. I put a hex on you!"
"Take it off! Please!" he said.
"Well, to take it off, you're going to have to bring me a live rooster," I said. We jokingly agreed he would. Unfortunately, his car broke down before he could get it to me, and with no ride, he lost his job. There I sat with my back to the old trunk yesterday morning, folding back the notebook paper with Roger's poem scralled in my sloppy cursive. I hope he's doing alright.)
Inside was also a note from a Secret Admirer. It said something like, 'I want you, I need you, I can't live without you! Love, Your Secret Admirer.' Chances are, it was some sort of joke, but since I can't be sure, I fold it and stick it back with the others. I find a tiny clear box beneath all the other stuff and give it a little shake.
Fingernail clippings. I don't open the box. Some are kind of long, and on some, remnants of polish. Was I going to glue them back on? Am I that strange? Certainly not. But am I strange for putting them back inside and keeping them? Does revealing this to you make me strange? Hmmm. I'm going to say it's not so strange, for now.
There's a huge vintage quilt, silk with a giant peacock embroidered in different colors in the center. I bought it years ago on Ebay; it's an old Asian thing, and I typically like old Asian things. Steven wasn't so crazy about it, so it makes about 1/3 of the trunk.
Some newspaper clippings. A couple old books. I read somewhere that people used to go to libraries to get high off the old books; there is actually some type of paper mold that makes that smell and gives people a high. I like the smell of old books, and they go straight to my face. I hold it back, because after reading that, it gives me a curious pause. I bring it close again and inhale deeply. It that gorgeous smell of musty books is such because it gets people off,
What better than a book high?
My own writings, you know, the gypsies...who knows when I'll be done with it and who'd buy it then?- are going good, but I don't type at the computer anymore. I do better freehand, then typing it in later. I don't really have anything interesting to tell you this week; having my wisdom teeth out is the biggest event lately. Oh, I'm going to Office Depot later to buy some boxes. That may be uneventful, you never know.
I hope every one of you are doing swell! My love, my love my love to you all~

Monday, April 5, 2010

Every house was burning off nature's rubbish yesterday, including ours, a giant bonfire aglow, crackling long into the night. It's been warm and I glance over at each homes orange yard beacon. Hum. A trip to town would mean 45 minutes there and back. My internal Peanuts Gang sighed at the idea of it. Worse, the waste.
No Marshmallows.
An evening fire is a complete waste sans marshmallowy goodness caught on fire, blackened til in peril of sliding off its stick. I walked the can to the road and back in. Even without the cheap and ordinary treasure I wanted, I was pretty well off.
The sprinkler ran that day and the girls jumped over it while I swatted giant carpenter bees with the badminton racket. You hit em then hit em again once they fall to the ground, to ensure you've finished the job. I watch for the wasps and honeybees intermingled.
'You just want the juicy ones,' the girls tell me. They look like bumblebees; I don't know the difference. There may not be any, I don't know. I'm unafraid of them, the 'juicy ones'...we've read that the females can sting, but won't go after you. The males can't sting but they like to fly at your face like they can. I guess that just makes them easier targets.
The cat was fixed last week, and for the past 6 days, she's worn a cone on her head, or what they call an Elizabethan Collar. She looks sad but takes it well. She occasionally will hop on the bed and proceed to lick the inside of her cone. Lick lick lick. Lick lick. 30 minutes of licking the cone, waking the crab. He becomes even more crabby. Where is he, anyhow? I suppose he's been at work almost 15 hours.
Made some exciting discoveries lately! If you have 5 hours in Chattanooga, go to the end of Lee Hwy and stop at McKay's used books. I LOVE this place, imagine a couple Barnes & Noble's, but used and full of discontinued treasures. While you're out & about, follow it up with a trip to The Curry Pot. $6.99 Indian lunch buffet. Yum. The folks there are nice, the food is great. A recipe for a great afternoon. (Okay, if you've never been to Chattanooga, you'd better get the aquarium out of the way first, the bridge walk, the carousel & Clumpies ice cream. But the next day, hit Lee Hwy).
The crab is home! Much love to you guys, but I'd better go! Please visit again~ I'm happy you stopped in. One day you may find treasure of your own (on the kat lee reader :D).

Thursday, April 1, 2010

I'm a huge fan of Rachmaninoff. Moody & ghostly Rachmaninoff. & I take my Rachmaninoff straight; plain old piano. Often our generation gets then wants things fast. fast food, movies before reading the books, instant information online...the idea of classical music being a complete entity can put people off. We've grown accustomed to having someone throw the lyrics in, and we don't really have to think too much. Rachmaninoff changes things. And yeah, I do wonder what he was thinking when he wrote some of these songs, but that's what imagination's for.

Watch Valentina Lisitsa's hands go at around 1:12. Love her interpretation- She's got mad skills!!!