Wayfarin’ Stranger

Performed by Micaela Aldridge, Connor Dugan and Mike Agranoff

I’m just a poor wayfaring stranger
traveling through, this world of woe.
yet there’s no sickness, toil nor danger
In that bright land, to which I go.
I’m going home to see my father
I’m going home, no more to roam;
I’m just going over Jordan
I’m just going over home.

I know dark clouds will gather round me
I know the path is rough and steep;
But golden fields lie just before me
Where weary eyes no more shall weep.
I’m going home to see my father
I’m going home, no more to roam;
I’m just going over Jordan
I’m just going over home.

I want to wear that crown of glory,
When I get home to that good land;
I want to shout salvation’s story,
In concert with that blood-washed band,

I’m going home to see my Savior,
I’m going home, no more to roam;
I’m just going over Jordan,
I’m just going over home.

MICAELA ALDRIDGE (Vocals)

Micaela Aldridge is a High School sophomore who is interested in singing Classical music as well as a wide range of Folk, Jazz, and Contemporary. She occasionally sings in an Irish Folk group called “Dugan’s Hooligans”,  and has traveled with them throughout NJ in towns like Madison, Denville, and Morristown.  She has also attended many Music Festivals, including Brevard Music Center in Western North Carolina, where she will be returning this year to study Classical music and singing. She hopes to continue her Classical studies in college and become an Opera singer.

CONNOR DUGAN (Fiddle)

Educated in Classical, as well as Celtic and American folk music since the age of 6, Connor Dugan is a young violinist for the Baroque Orchestra of North Jersey, the NJ Concert Opera, and frequently accompanies the Harmonium Choral Society in their critically acclaimed concerts. But his talents aren’t limited to just one instrument.  Dugan also earned the first place championship in the Mid Atlantic Irish Fiddle competitions twice in a row — in addition to several other prestigious wins — and has been described by the New York Times as a “virtuosic fiddler.” He filmed this amazing rendition of Wayfarin’ Stranger expressly for HoSprings.

MIKE AGRANOFF (Guitar)

Mike Agranoff is an experienced folk musician who has performed in numerous music festivals and venues around the world. His prime instrument is the guitar, though he also plays the concertina, piano, banjo, and sings acapella. For over two decades, he has been the chairman of the Folk Project’s Minstrel Coffeehouse, one of the longest lived and most respected folk venues in the country. NYC’s Postscrypt Coffeehouse calls him “a word-smith and raconteur…that makes for a terrific live performance.”

Honeysuckle Winds

Written by Wayne Stegall

Performed by Annie & Mac

Today I went back again and smelled the honeysuckle winds
Out on the Little Vine Church Road
I sat beneath the tulip tree and relived old days of you and me.
I closed my eyes while the memories flowed

(chorus)
And the fragrance entwined with the honeysuckle vines
While the memories danced with the wind
How I wish that you were there, one more time, so we could share
The sweetness of the honeysuckle winds.

I saw two people side by side, a nervous groom, a blushing bride
Leave the church and stopped beneath the tulip tree
And then I raised your veil of lace
And gently kissed your smiling face
Our love was sweet, like the honeysuckle breeze

(repeat chorus)

ANNIE & MAC

Annie & Mac are from Front Royal, Virginia and have been performing together since 2000 at parties, festivals, weddings, farm markets and on the web. The duo — influenced by musicians like Uncle Dave Macon, the Bailes Brothers, Tennessee Ernie Ford and more — specializes in “deep catalog old-time music” with folk elements. Two of Annie & Mac’s albums — “Fresh From the Cave” and “Like a Winding Stream” — can be purchased here,  whereas “Loose Strings, Instrumental Favorites” and “Browntown, God’s Country” can be purchased directly from their website.

Stealin’

Performed by Patrick Metzger & Amie Rose

An Awful Lot Of Time

By Patrick Metzger

Have you been workin’ in the yard too long?
‘Cause I see that your brow is gettin’ wet.
I’ll help cook dinner and I’ll sing a song,
And gather all the cilantro I can get.

I know you think the years are goin’ by too quick,
But time is just a shadow, so they say.
You give that clock another long good look,
And you’ll see that time is just one long today.

Have you been lookin’ at the screen too long?
‘Cause I see that your eyes are gettin’ glazed.
Let’s take the puppies to Ruby Falls,
That mountain trail where our best thoughts were phrased.

You know that every single word you’ve said to me
Has formed to crystals deep within my mind.
You just keep bein’ who you’ll always be,
And I’d say we’ve got an awful lot of time.

Have you been workin’ in the yard too long?
‘Cause I see that your brow is gettin’ wet.
I’ll help cook dinner and I’ll sing a song,
And gather all the cilantro I can get.

PATRICK METZGER

Patrick Metzger was born in Macon, Georgia, and raised in Chattanooga, Tennessee.  He graduated from Sarah Lawrence College in May of 2010.  His music has been featured in Hartford Stage’s “Motherhood Out Loud”, off-off-Broadway shows like “Universal Robots” and “Roar of the Crowd”, as well as other music venues in New York City, like Carnegie Hall. He has written music for several student films and dance pieces, and many songs in pop, folk, industrial, and concert music styles.  He recently collaborated with Amie Rose and the ECC Singers to create an album of children’s music titled Playing Outside, which can be purchased by contacting Amie.Rose.Anderson@gmail.com. To listen to more of Patrick’s work, click here.

AMIE ROSE ANDERSON

Amie Rose Anderson was raised in Garrison, New York, alongside the Hudson River. She has balanced her passions of music and education throughout her life and, with the help of the ECC singers, has recently combined the two to create the children’s album Playing Outside. She will graduate from Sarah Lawrence College next spring with a Masters in Education. To purchase Playing Outside, contact her at Amie.Rose.Anderson@gmail.com

This morning I was googling whether there was a Piggly Wiggly in Hot Springs and I came across this tale of a grizzly unsolved murder. Strange, provocative, intriguing.

Will it work its way into the next season of Ho Springs? We’ll see. This season, my main job was introducing all the characters, setting up their relationships, getting the story launched. Next season we can push what’s established further, and introduce some new elements, like perhaps new facts come to light about an old murder.

Plus, Ho Springs, the story, needs a Season Finale, too. A wrapping up of all the story lines I’ve been developing since we launched in February. Plus a series of kickers to propel the story into a new phase when we start up again in the fall.

You know, like Betty Draper on the airplane heading to Nevada at the end of last season’s Mad Men. You know that when next we meet Don and Betty — which, for my taste, can’t be soon enough — they’ll be divorced, their individual stories and their relationship proceeding in a new direction.

That’s why George and Cora finally kissed today. So when they meet again, their relationship will be on another level. I’m as curious to see what develops between them and with them individually as I am to find out what’s up with the Drapers.

But a web novel is not a television series, and so my Season Finale is going to unfold over the next few weeks. We’ll visit all the major voices of Ho Springs and set them, a lot or a little bit, on a new path. Stay tuned over the next few weeks.

This interdenominational choir “powerhouse” was founded by gospel radio announcer Greg Harris in 1994. After gaining local fame for their musical ministry, they quickly caught the attention of Cabis Maurice Brown, who insisted they record an album on his label, Leo Records. Before long, Songs from the Heart was born, leading to gigs at New York’s Apollo Theater and even a memorable performance at the 1996 National Democratic Rally in Little Rock, which was praised by President Bill Clinton. You can purchase songs from this Arkansas-based group here.

Rhubarb, Apple and Pomegranate Crumble

I can’t believe I just let Medhi make love to me. Well yes I can, that was really the only thing I missed about him. That body, that mouth … I really needed him tonight. But afterward, of course he fell asleep, and of course I couldn’t – as exhausted as I am my mind is racing. So, here I am at the kitchen table, alone with my thoughts, a cup of tea and the remnants of tonight’s dessert – the one part of the meal he would allow me to make. Baking, unlike sex, is not one of his talents …

Rhubarb, Apple and Pomegranate Crumble

4 cups fresh rhubarb, sliced into 1/2 inch pieces (if fresh rhubarb is not available, thawed, frozen rhubarb works just fine)

4 cups tart apples, thinly sliced

1 3/4 cups whole wheat pastry flour (or unbleached white flour)

3/4 cup old-fashioned oatmeal

1/2 cup packed light brown sugar

1 tsp. cinnamon

1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, cut into small pieces

1/2 cup coarsely chopped pecans

1 large egg, lightly beaten

1 cup granulated sugar

finely grated zest of 1 orange

1/3 cup POM Wonderful 100% pomegranate juice

2 tbsp. cornstarch

Preheat the oven to 350.

In a medium bowl, combine flour, oatmeal, brown sugar and cinnamon. Cut in the butter with a pastry blender or your fingers (my preferred method). Add the pecans and egg and mixed until well-combined.

Combine the rhubarb and apple slices, granulated sugar and orange zest in a 3-qt. baking dish. In a small bowl, stir the pomegranate juice into the cornstarch, blending well, then add to the fruit mixture, tossing thoroughly to coat.

Distribute the crumb topping evenly over the fruit. Bake in the center of the oven until golden and bubbling, approx. 1 hour. Allow to cool slightly before serving –  with vanilla ice cream or heavy cream, or just plain is delicious too,

Mad Tom of Bedlam

By Jolie Holland

To see Mad Tom of Bedlam,
Ten thousand miles I’ve traveled
Mad Maudlin goes on dirty toes
For to save her shoes from gravel

It’s well that we sing bonnie boys, bonnie mad boys,
Bedlam boys are bonnie
For they all go bare and they live in the air,
And they want no drink nor money.

My staff has murdered giants
And my pack a long knife carries
For to slice mince pies from children’s thighs,
From which to feed the faeries

It’s well that we sing bonnie boys, bonnie mad boys,
Bedlam boys are bonnie
For they all go bare and they live in the air,
And they want no drink nor money.

I went down to Satan’s Kitchen
For to break my fast one morning
And there I got souls piping hot
All on the spit a-turning

It’s well that we sing bonnie boys, bonnie mad boys,
Bedlam boys are bonnie
For they all go bare and they live in the air,
And they want no drink nor money.

A spirit howled as lightning
Did on that journey guide me
The sun did shake and the pale moon quake
Whenever they did spy me

It’s well that we sing bonnie boys, bonnie mad boys,
Bedlam boys are bonnie
For they all go bare and they live in the air,
And they want no drink nor money.

Tonight I’ll go a-murdering
The man in the moon to a powder
His dog I’ll shake and his staff I’ll break
And I’ll howl a little bit louder

It’s well that we sing bonnie boys, bonnie mad boys,
Bedlam boys are bonnie
For they all go bare and they live in the air,
And they want no drink nor money.

To see Mad Tom of Bedlam,
Ten thousand miles I’ve traveled
Mad Maudlin goes on dirty toes
For to save her shoes from gravel

It’s well that we sing bonnie boys, bonnie mad boys,
Bedlam boys are bonnie
For they all go bare and they live in the air,
And they want no drink nor money.

JOLIE HOLLAND

After founding the Be Good Tanyas — a neo-traditionalist folk outfit — 28-year old Jolie Holland burst onto the music scene with her 2004 studio debut Escondida. Today,  the Texan songstress has three solo albums under her belt — 2006’s Springtime Can Kill You and 2008’s The Living and the Dead — and has staked her claim mixing elements of folk, swing jazz, and country over scattered rhythms and bluesy vocals. You can hear more elegant, homegrown tunes from Jolie Holland here.

Mean Mary is a lifelong performer and original musician who is the host of Nashville TV’s Mean Mary’s Cafe Americana. Her new CD, Walk A Little Ways With Me, comes out in June 2010 and can be ordered here.

Stuffed Leg of Lamb

It all seems very surreal … Medhi cooking here, in my mother’s kitchen, taking charge as he always does, Juliette and Hugo huddled together in one corner of the living room, Daddy and Jimmy Sue holding hands on the couch, talking with LaTonya and Darrell.  And Jamie upstairs, nursing his wounded testicles, George on his way over, with Beth … I’m not sure what to feel right now, except relief that Juliette is home, safe and sound. If Medhi wants to cook – he can go right ahead. He’s making his favorite lamb dish – I have no idea where he found a leg of lamb here in Hot Springs, but that’s Medhi – what he wants, he seems to get …

Medhi Laurent’s Stuffed Leg of Lamb

A whole (4-5 lb), bone-in leg of lamb, butterflied, either by you or the butcher – save the bone (you can use a boneless leg, but these are usually smaller)

1/2 cup pitted kalamata olives, coarsely chopped

1/2 cup crumbled feta cheese

1/4 cup sun-dried tomatoes, packed in oil, coarsely chopped

3 tbsp. toasted pine nuts

3 tbsp. fresh rosemary

Place butterflied lamb fat-side down on work surface. Sprinkle with salt and pepper. Distribute olives, cheese, sun-dried tomatoes and pine nuts as evenly as possible over the meat, then add 2 tbsp. rosemary.

Starting at a short side, roll as tightly as possible and tie in several places with butcher’s twine. Sprinkle the top with salt, pepper and additional rosemary.

Lightly oil a roasting pan and place the tied lamb in the pan, with the saved bone alongside, but not touching. Roast at 375 for about 1 1/2 hours, or until a meat thermometer reads 130-135. Let rest 10 minutes while you make a sauce. Remove bone from pan and discard. Set over medium heat; stir in 1/4 – 1/2 cup water and 2 tbsp. extra virgin olive oil, cook and stir until slightly thickened. Stir in 1 tbsp. butter and remove from heat. Slice lamb and serve with sauce.

And then I had an inspiration. Why not just find music videos that work for the site on youtube? That would really expand the range of music I could feature on the site, and open the boundaries of time and place and style. Plus, given that the look I want is very natural, down-to-earth, non-produced videos, wouldn’t youtube be the perfect place to find them?

Look forward to lots of adventurous new music on Ho Springs. And also to some great new artists I’m looking forward to featuring. Here’s more on the evolution of the new music plan:

Joe Le Taxi

by Vanessa Paradis

Joe le taxi y va pas partout
Y marche pas au soda

Son saxo iavne connait toutes les rues par coeur.
Tous les p’tits bars
Tous les coins noirs

Et la Seine et ses ponts qui brillent.
Dans sa caisse la musique a Joe

C’est la rumba
Le vieux rock au mambo.

Joe le taxi
C’est sa vie
Le rhum au mambo
Embouteillage.
Il est comme ca
Rhum au mambo. Joe – Joe – Joe.

Dans sa caisse la musique X Joe resonne

C’est la rumba
Le vieux rock au mambo bidon.
Vas-y Joe
Vas-y Joe
Vas-y fonce

Dans la nuit vers I’Amazone.

Joe le taxi et Xavier Cugat
Joe le taxi et Yma Sumac.
Joe — Joe – Joe.

Joe le taxi
C’est sa vie
Le rhum au mambo
Embouteillage.
Joe le taxi et les Mariachis.

Joe le taxi et le cha-cha-chi

Joe le taxi et le cha-cha-chi

Vas-y Joe
Vas-y fonce
Dans la nuit vers I’Amazone.
Joe le taxi et le cha-cha-chi.

VANESSA PARADIS

Before Vanessa Paradis was Mrs. Johnny Depp, she was a French child star who broke out at 14 with her hit, Joe Le Taxi.  While there are a few different version on youtube of the late 1980s teenage Paradis singing the song in her sweet young voice, this is the one that mesmerized me: She’s years sexier and more knowing than she was in the “official” video, but has not yet morphed into the soigne star who still occasionally growls out her old hit.

Every French teenager knows and still idolizes the teenage Paradis, and so I wanted to post this in honor of Juliette.

Decor:

ditch that rickety shelving

lace curtains for the front windows

round table from the apartment covered with one of Mom’s pretty tablecloths – good for displaying new gift items and seasonal things in front

fresh flowers at all times – I could do these myself but it would be nice to give a local florist the business

Merchandise:

homeopathic remedies

aromatherapy oils

makeup lines – Lancome, Clinique, Stila, La Mer, Darphin …

candles

lotions, soaps, etc.

pretty cards, stationery

jewelry (local artisan?)

handbags?

new mom and baby products

Food:

Breakfast:

Keep traditional breakfast items – eggs, etc., and biscuits with sausage gravy (have to find a good line cook to make!)

Breakfast crepes: eggs, bacon or sausage and choice of cheese; orange marmalade

Find good source for croissants and pain au chocolate – I read somewhere that good ones are available frozen here and you just bake them off, but I’m skeptical …

Lunch:

Keep hamburger, cheeseburger and fried catfish sandwich with Creole mayonnaise

Homemade soup – tomato-dill bisque? plus soup specials daily

Sandwiches:

Ham and brie with honey mustard on croissant

Croque Monsieur

Grilled Mediterranean vegetable – eggplant, sweet red peppers, onion and zucchini with goat cheese and pesto mayonnaise

Salads:

Mixed baby greens with roasted pear and warm brie – champagne vinaigrette

Frisee with bacon, blue cheese and poached egg – red wine vinaigrette

Arugula with asparagus, walnuts and goat cheese – balsamic vinaigrette

Salade Nicoise (with or without anchovies)

Crepes: Chicken Florentine; Chicken and mushrooms with Gruyere  and pesto; ham and Gruyere

Specials: (Dig out Mom’s recipe for hot rolls to go with these.)

Thursday: Eleanor’s Famous Pot Roast with mashed potatoes and green vegetable

Friday: Fried Catfish with fries and coleslaw

Saturday: BBQ ribs with fries and coleslaw

Desserts:

Sweet crepes – lemon and sugar; strawberries and whipped cream; Nutella; vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce

Creme brulee

Mom’s old-fashioned chocolate layer cake

fruit pies, shortcakes in season

Beverages:

Must buy a good machine for espresso, cafe au lait and cappuccino

Check soda fountain to see if everything still works

Real lemonade and iced tea (sweet and unsweetened, herbal?)

Loose teas by the pot

Perrier

There … I think I’ve written the whole menu. But what’s the matter with me … how can I possibly let myself think about moving ahead on any of this when Juliette is missing?  Oh, merde, none of this makes any sense without my daughter!

I’m not sure this was such a good idea. To be honest, I never really planned running away after church. Maybe hide out for the night but never THIS. Now Darrell hates me…my mother is probably freaking. I’m cold. I’m hungry. I have no idea where to go or what to do. And all I can think about besides how miserable I am is Hugo…He’s an ass for sure, but I can’t help but miss him, especially right now. If Hugo were here, he’d make this an adventure, not a trial. My phone isn’t dead yet. I don’t care what time it is over there….I need to talk to him.

Oh, god. Where did I go wrong?

Juliette

Lost and Found

by Jim Gaven and Matthew Michael

Summertime has ended,
and you have changed too soon
all the while you pretend that
this is you

Some might say that you have drifted
into something that you’re not
you say you see it as a gift
that you can take a lot

But these days are just too painful
so you drink away the nights
wishing you could just be happy
in this life

Lost and found, You run around but you can’t find me
just slow it down
You’re losing me
hit the ground
your feet are moving but you’re eyes can’t see
This race is over and you’re only sixteen

Push away the friends you’ve grown with
trading trust to the gain the right
to lift your head in front of strangers
night after night

Now the people that you run with
Like to bet and float their cards
trading their minds away to
try to hide these scars

But the longer that you do this
the deeper in the dark you’ll fall
until there’s nothing left to save before you hit the wall

JIM GAVEN

Jim Gaven joins Matt Michael on the new song Lost and Found. Jim has a passion for music and has been playing guitar, piano, bass and drums with his heart and soul since high school. As a creative outlet, Jim writes and records on a daily basis, constantly evolving as an up-and-coming artist. Armed with the goal of helping others, Jim remarks “I want to write songs that make you think of a good time in your life, make you feel good about yourself, and most of all, put a smile on your face. I want to make a positive difference in the world and inspire you to do great things as I have been inspired. I truly believe that music has the ability to do that. The fact that you can create something out of nothing and have it last forever is amazing to me.” Jim’s music has touched many listeners, and will no doubt have a lasting impression on you as well. You can hear more from Jim Gaven at http://www.myspace.com/jimgaven.

Here’s a site I saw today, sent to me by my son Joe. They’re reading this site at Yale, people — Yale! I like the way the windows lead you to different stories, and I like the little movies. The poems, not so much. In fact, I most immodestly believe that Ho Springs is much more worthy of Ivy League scrutiny.

Another site I just found is Suzanne. Well, it’s not really a site but an email mystery: the story is emailed to you day by day, just as if you were reading a real person’s emails. Brilliant, and the story setup — a husband-hunting widow heading to a rich summer colony — is intriguing. After reading the samples, I ponied up $3.99 to have the story sent to me every day, more in admiration for the author’s enterprising monetization technique than because I felt I couldn’t live without finding out what happened to Suzanne. Her emails were a bit stilted and lengthy for my taste and took me out of what John Gardner called The Fictional Dream. But I like it all enough to move forward.

The world of digital fiction is a narrow one, and I can only guess it’s going to expand radically as the medium for reading fiction becomes, well, digital. I’m getting an iPad for my birthday and can’t wait to see how that inspires Ho Springs. Steve Jobs, don’t you think Ho Springs should live on the iPad? Call me.

I’ve been hearing some strange noises in the woods. I don’t know what they are and don’t want to find out. Maybe we should find some place else to stay. But that means trying to talk to the moron again which is pratcially impossible. Asshole.

I had to turn my phone off. It won’t stop ringing. Non stop calls from Cora and Hugo, neither of which I want to answer…well…one I kind of do want to answer. That’s my problem…I can’t let go…

What the hell is it with men? First Hugo now Darrell’s being an ass. He kept trying to find out what was wrong with me. I told him it was non of his business and to leave me alone and he hasn’t spoken to me since. All he did was say I’m acting like a bitch and that he was sorry I let him drag him out into the middle of nowhere. Then why the hell did you come with me, I asked. He didn’t have an answer to that one. All he did was stare at me with this dumb look on his face. I told him he was pathetic for not having the balls to stand up for himself and stop being such a little mamma’s boy. He told me to go to Hell and stormed off towards some trees. To hell with him. I can take care of myself. It was stupid to even bother with him in the first place.

Juliette Samantha

Now I can’t stop crying. The phone won’t stop ringing. I thought I’d feel liberated and free. I thought I’d feel good starting fresh. But I feel like total shit, worse than I’ve been feeling. Argh! I have to stop crying. Darrell’s waiting and we don’t have much time…but the tears won’t stop. Goddammit!

I can’t believe Cora bought that shit. Now I just have to wait for her to disappear into her room or something and I can meet up with Darrell. Fuck it. I might as well check out of this whole. It’s not like anyone here really gives a damn anyway. Papa’s across the world with one of his whores. Hugo’s too busy making an ass of himself and Cora’s too wrapped up in her own damn head. Fuck it. I’m out and I don’t care where I go. Once I leave this town, I’m leaving behind Juliette Eleanor Laurent, and stepping out into the world as Samantha Bright.

Once and for all,

Juliette

So cold.

No one here.  All alone.  No one else at all.

Where are they?  Beth’s toys are gone.  And George’s bag.  The safe is open.

So he knows.  Or thinks he knows.

No lights.  No warmth.  No phone.  No love.

I could jump back in the lake and let myself sink to the bottom.

Or I could sleep and then decide what to do next.

This is the most alone I’ve felt since arriving here…I feel like complete shit and really have no one to talk to this time…Cora will just say I told you so. My father hasn’t had any contact with me at all. Darrell’s crazy brother won’t allow him any phone calls and the one person who I was always able to turn to is the reason I feel like hell in the first place.

Argh! The damn phone keeps ringing. The idiot keeps leaving messages begging me to talk to him. I texted him saying I hate him and want nothing more to do with him. It was just a little joke he said. Well, he is a huge asshole who wishes his dick was as big as his ego. That shut him up and I turned the phone off. Well, I told him to fuck off before I did it. I’m almost tempted to turn the phone back on just to tell him again.

I need to get out of here for a while….

Juliette

I HATE HUGO! Can you believe what he did? The fool called me up in the middle of the night, just as I was actually beginning to doze off. He sounded very serious and so sombre that I got worried. He started talking about our history together and how this separation has opened his eyes and everything. Then do you know what he did? THE IDIOT ASKED ME TO MARRY HIM!!! At first I said you idiot you can’t be serious, but he kept saying he was and kept begging me to say yes. I didn’t know what to do. Cora would be furious if I said yes but to say no would mean being stuck here forever. I didn’t know what to say then the fool started laughing his ass off. I asked what was so funny and do you know what his answer was? APRIL FOOLS.

Idiot…I hate him.

Juliette

After midnight and I’m up again. I was sure I was going to pass yesterday’s quiz, but my mind was all over the place. I’m not even sure I want to go in tomorrow. I have no idea what to do. I have no one to talk to. Except…..

Once again I turned to Hugo. At first I was worried because he rushed off and said he’d call back. I thought he wouldn’t, but he did in just a few minutes. I explained my problem to him (and he actually LISTENED without rushing me off the phone or anything) and do you know what he did? HE LAUGHED! I asked him why he was laughing and he said because the answer is simple: don’t go to school. If you don’t feel like going, then don’t go, he said. And I admit, it does make sense. I hate him for making me smile, even a little!

Juliette

It’s way past midnight and I have to be up in a few hours to get to school, not to mention a history quiz. The last one murdered me. I was doing fine just participating, but the damn teacher springs quizzes on us because everyone else is too lazy to do the readings. Argh! I barely got two pages into the chapter and shut the book. It’s so hard to concentrate…maybe I’ll just skim over the summary during homeroom and wing it. I’ve done all this before in Paris, so I should be able to skim by. I don’t even care if I make it out with a C right now, just as long as I get out. Then again, I’ll need perfect grades in order to get scholarships for college. Damnit! When the hell did life become so hard?

Juliette

Should I feel anything for people I’ve never really known? Does it make me a bad person that I don’t feel anything or that I don’t know how to feel? I was sorry when my grandmother died but it wasn’t painful for me. The only thing I feel towards my grandfather is humiliation. I’m humiliated that I’m connected to that man, that man who was on the verge of self destruction and rotting away in his own filth like a pile of garbage. Something like hate is heating up inside me when I think of my mother, but underneath is another heated feeling, an uncomfortable one like guilt…or maybe it’s pitty…I don’t know anymore…I feel guilty in a way for not feeling anything other than what I already feel and I don’t want to get any closer to feel something else….or even to anyone else…Is something wrong with me?

Juliette

I did a simple past-present-future spread. Past: Wheel of Fortune. Not a surprise. Some people consider that the card of luck, but it can be good luck or bad luck, and for LaTonya it had almost always been bad. Present: King of Swords. That was clearly her crazy holy roller of a son Dwayne, pastor of the Divine Light, who had kidnapped LaTonya’s baby, Darrell.  Divine Light my ass. If you ask me, Dwayne’s the worst of the lot, even worse than the one that ran the go-go. A tyrant.

It was the future card that was interesting: Six of Pentacles. Generosity. LaTonya clearly doesn’t have anything to give, so it must be some other source of generosity. Generosity…not much of that going around in Hot Springs. I’ll keep my fingers crossed. LaTonya’s a good lady. She could sure use some. Still, I can’t see her taking any handouts either.

I did a simple past-present-future spread. Past: Wheel of Fortune. Not a surprise. Some people consider that the card of luck, but it can be good luck or bad luck, and for LaTonya it had almost always been bad. Present: King of Swords. That was clearly her crazy holy roller of a son Dwayne, pastor of the Divine Light, who had kidnapped LaTonya’s baby, Darrell.  Divine Light my ass. If you ask me, Dwayne’s the worst of the lot, even worse than the one that ran the go-go. A tyrant.

It was the future card that was interesting: Six of Pentacles. Generosity. LaTonya clearly doesn’t have anything to give, so it must be some other source of generosity. Generosity…not much of that going around in Hot Springs. I’ll keep my fingers crossed. LaTonya’s a good lady. She could sure use some. Still, I can’t see her taking any handouts either.

Lemon meringue cake

I can’t believe Juliette went off to school looking so dreadful, with that horrible boy’s black suit and her beautiful hair all chopped off. I’m trying hard not to overreact, to chalk it up to normal teenage rebellion and her understandable distress at leaving Paris, but there’s a little voice in my head telling me maybe it’s something more. We used to be so close, and now I feel like she’s slipping away. I want to remind her of all the fun we used to have, especially when she helped me in the kitchen. She always loved that, as a little girl. I’ll bake her one of her favorite special treats, gateau de citron – lemon cake. It’s not so humid out today, so hopefully the meringue will work. And at least baking always makes me feel better!

Lemon Meringue Cake

1 stick plus 1 tbsp. very soft butter

4 eggs, separated

1 1/2 cups plus 1 tsp. sugar

3/4 cup all-purpose flour

2 tbsp. cornstarch

1 tsp. baking powder

1/2 tsp. baking soda

zest of 1 lemon

4 tsp. fresh lemon juice

2 tsp. milk

1/2 tsp. cream of tartar

2/3 cup heavy cream

1/2 cup plus 2 tbsp. lemon curd

Preheat the oven to 400. Line two 8-inch cake pans (I used 9-inch) with parchment paper and butter the paper.

In a food processor, mix the butter, egg yolks, 1/2 cup sugar, flour, cornstarch, baking powder, baking soda and lemon zest. Process until smooth, then add lemon juice and milk and process again to blend. Spread batter evenly in the prepared pans.

In an electric mixer, beat the egg whites and the cream of tartar until peaks form, then slowly add 1 cup sugar, beating until mixture stands in peaks when beaters are lifted. Spread meringue evenly on top of batter in pans – smooth one flat and use a spatula or the back of a spoon to create little peaks on the other one. Sprinkle the peaked meringue with the 1 tsp. sugar.

Bake for 20-25 minutes or until meringue is golden brown. Remove cakes to a wire rack and let cool completely in pans.

Up to an hour before serving, whip the cream until soft peaks form. Place layer with the flat top meringue-side down on serving plate. Spread with lemon curd, then cream. Top with second layer, cake-side down. Keep in a cool place, but do not refrigerate, before serving.

Adapted from “Feast”, by Nigella Lawson

Dirty Road Home

by Arlene L. Tessman

I’ve walked so long
On this dirty road
All I wanna do
Is get back home
I miss my life,
my family
I can’t seem to make it on my own

There’s a hole
In my heart
So I filled it with this song
It’s medicine
To ease my pain
As I walk along

And every night
I dream of you
I can feel your body next to mine
But you disappear
Every time I wake
And all that’s left is such emptiness
That I don’t ever want to fall asleep again

There’s a hole
In my heart
So I filled it with this song
“Dirty Road Home”

It’s medicine
To ease my pain
As I walk along
This dirty road

I hang on to hope
Cause it’s all I got
Lord take my hand
Show me the way
I realize that I am lost
And could you keep the devil
Far away
Cause I got my own hell to pay

There’s a hole
In my heart
So I filled it with this song
It’s medicine
To ease my pain
As I walk along
This dirty road

Dirty Road Home words and music copyright by Arlene L. Tessman

ARLENEWOW!

ArleneWow! is a solo musician who performs frequently throughout the northeast, particularly near her hometown of New Haven, Connecticut. “Dirty Road Home” has won first place in “The Best Song In The World” a quarterly online contest hosted by Gary Allen of the Charlie Daniels Band, and ArleneWow! was also nominated for best solo artist of 2008 by the Hartford Advocate . Check out the ArleneWow! website.

Two things inspired me to write my new novel, Ho Springs, online, day by day, instead of writing it for a conventional publisher the way I did my first five novels. Well, two things that are easy to explain.

The first was my husband, after watching the DVD of American Gangster, telling me he found the movie good enough but ultimately unsatisfying. “It was a movie,” he explained, “so you knew from the beginning that everything really interesting was going to happen to Denzel Washington and Russell Crowe, and that it was going to build to this big climax at the end.”

That was the problem with conventional novels too, I thought. They were predictable, limited and finite in form and scope. Wouldn’t it be more interesting to write – and read – a novel that unfolded in a way that was both more leisurely and more compelling, the way TV shows like Mad Men and The Wire did?

The second influence was creating my blog How Not To Act Old after no one wanted to buy it as a magazine article, turning it into a book and making that book a New York Times bestseller. That experience taught me that not only was it more fun and exciting to write without an editor between me and my readers, but my own creative instincts were often better than those of the traditional publishing world.

My experience writing five “real” novels and developing two big websites – I’m also a partner in the site nameberry.com, based on the ten baby name books I coauthored with Linda Rosenkrantz – put me in a unique position to create a piece of digital fiction that would combine the best of both worlds. Rather than writing episodic pieces, I wanted to create a novel that included such conventional elements as a character-driven story, causally-related scenes, and an extended plot that would unspool in unexpected ways, but in a form that could exist only online.

My blueprint was a television series I’d created (but hadn’t sold) a few years ago, set in a fictionalized version of Hot Springs, Arkansas. A place-based story was perfect for an online novel, I thought, offering a wide range of characters and settings and the potential for stories to expand in an unlimited number of directions.

The big problem was the name, Hot Springs. The url hotsprings.com was obviously taken. And then, driving one day, I had a eureka moment: hosprings.com, or Ho Springs. I was so excited I did a u-turn and drove right back home to track down and reserve the name.

From that moment on, I knew the idea was right. I wanted to create the site in wordpress, so it would be free and I’d have total creative control, but I couldn’t find a theme that included all the elements – videos, graphic windows that opened to places in the town and story, room for a big block of text.

I needed a designer – or, as it turned out, three designers. I had a vision for a logo that would look like all the letters were in realistic flames, with the T up in smoke, which called for a photoshop expert. My budget was zero, or as close to that as I could get. I was lucky to find Katie Mancine who built me an amazing logo.

The only problem was, Katie said, she couldn’t design a good-looking site to go with that logo. Rather, she sold me on the concept “Vintage Tourist Guide,” which was great, but in the end that didn’t work out either. Katie finally ended up with the design you see now on the site, and my friend Dennis Tobenski, who’s really a composer, made the whole thing dance. Combined cost: under $1500, and several hundred gray hairs.

Weeks and then months were passing, during which I found a musician, Matt Michael, to write and record two original songs for the site, and also drafted several writer friends to create independent blogs from the characters’ viewpoints. But the only writing I was doing during this time was putting together the static content describing the characters and the settings.

A novelist creating a work for the web is not, then, just a writer, but a designer, a logician, a manager, a tech guy, a producer.

And then, once you do start writing – or at least, once I did – the process is different too. I suppose you could write one long story and parcel it out day by day, but the whole point for me was to create it as I went along, publish it immediately, to swing by the crook of my knees with no net below.

That’s the only way to feel the wind on your face, which is something you rarely feel when you’re writing a conventional novel, one that won’t be published for two years or maybe five, that no other person may even see for all that time, or maybe ever. Writing all my other novels, I’m a big planner, outlining the big story and even each individual scene, revising and reimagining, working on the same piece until I lose sight of where I started and when it will ever end.

With Ho Springs, I get up in the morning, having a vague sense of what I’m going to write about, from which character’s viewpoint, but letting myself be swayed by whatever I encounter between brushing my teeth and opening my computer. A David Sedaris story in an old New Yorker got one of my characters beaten one morning; an email from a writer friend inspired me to make a video of myself talking about what had influenced me that day.

It wasn’t until after I launched the site that I looked at what anyone else was doing in this arena. The only site I’ve found that’s similar is All’s Fair in Love and War, Texas, by the brilliant Amber Simmons, which makes me believe God saved me from that Vintage Tourist Guide idea. Penguin’s We Tell Stories is brilliant, but much more expensively and expertly produced than I could hope for, and more limited in writerly ambition. Visually-based web fictions that blow me away include Unknown Territories and The Flat on Dreaming Methods. But they’re movies, really, not novels.

Where is this project going? My ideal vision is that someone like HBO or a publisher with a production arm will buy it and produce it as a multimedia property, with a television and a web and a book element working together. I believe that this is how fiction will be written and published in the future, that this will become the new standard long after anyone remembers that Ho Springs ever existed.

Or I may take it down tomorrow and build something else. The excitement is in creating something. Holding it in your hands, or staring at it on a screen, holds so much less satisfaction.

Here’s a look at one of those:

There are a couple of reasons Ho Springs is not going to be more like either of those things.

The biggest one is money. We Tell Stories is produced with high-powered design and technology talent far beyond my budget. It’s just me, folks, with the help of Dennis and Katie whenever they can give me a few free minutes away from their own artistic pursuits and low-wage jobs.

I would love it if Ho Springs were a television show — HBO: Call me! — but it’s not, and producing even tiny shoestring episodes with high school kids would be a huge undertaking. Plus, I don’t want photos or actors to give form to characters that, novel-like, I hope exist as much in the readers’ imaginations as they do on the page.

But there was one thing I could do visually, I decided, and that was tell the story of what influenced today’s post. In this case, the talent was free and available, and I just recorded myself with my iPhone. This one’s for you, Alice.

Some things I’m thinking about today:

Design Fictions. I first heard this term on the Twitter feed of Craig Mod, who was writing from SXSW, where I am not. Craig wrote this brilliant piece on books in the age of the iPad. He also has this very cool site called Tputh — love love love the way this looks.

Craig also has a wonderful place-and-story site called Hitotoki. This combines real live stories about a place with maps of it and gorgeous design. I love the way this site looks and how it works, but what Ho Springs has that Hitotoki doesn’t is an extended fictional narrative and — well, I hope — consistently better writing.

But does this matter? I’m not sure. I mean, it matters to me, and obviously with Ho Springs I’m writing what I want to write, what’s engaging to me as a person and as a creator. But I’m not sure that readers today prefer a long fictional story to a short real one…..in fact, I’m pretty sure, in most cases, that they don’t.

Lionel Shriver’s “So Much For That” — I adored Lionel Shriver’s last novel, “The Post-Birthday World.” It was one of the best books, to my mind (and my daughter’s too) of the decade. I’m also intrigued by the themes of her new book: money, long-term marriage, hope and disappointment in middle age. And so this is the one new novel I rushed out to buy. Wanting to be as good a novelist as Lionel Shriver is one of the shrinking number of things that makes me want to keep writing novels and pushing the boundaries as with Ho Springs.

Last Friday’s lunch with my friend Rita — Rita always says plenty of smart and insightful things and has great ideas: It’s thanks to her that we have the new What’s New guide in the left sidebar, so you can check whether there’s anything new inside the site. Thanks, Dennis, for working on this — look for more fine-tuning down the road.

But what Rita said last week that’s been playing on my mind all weekend is that she thinks Ho Springs as a site needs to be alive. I agree completely, and have kept it alive for myself by writing it on the spot and publishing it instantly, by giving my fellow authors independent access to the site so they can post their diary entries and recipes etc without needing my editorial approval.

But Rita pointed out, and she’s right, that the story could feel more alive to the reader. How? By allowing people to vote on plot twists? By asking opinions on what the characters are doing? Maybe, I’m not sure. I have to think about this and welcome your ideas.

And so where the process of designing and building Ho Springs seemed interesting and dynamic before, now I’m more absorbed in the day-to-day writing and this stuff seems like so much back story that I want to rush through.

I’ll just say that Katie talked me out of my beloved flaming logo with a new concept I loved just as much: Vintage Tourist Map.  We both had a lot of fun looking at vintage tourist maps and guides online, like the one here.

But in the end, it just didn’t work.  I was worried about it looking too kitschy and retro, Katie couldn’t find a style that she loved, and ultimately we abandoned an excellent idea for what you see on the site now.

I only really stopped being sad about letting go of the Vintage Tourist Map concept when the brilliant Eli James of the site Novelr directed me to the equally brilliant online novel All’s Fair in Love & War, Texas, created by Amber Simmons.  Amber is a visual artist and a writer who lives in Austin, and she uses the map motif to much better effect than we would have on Ho Springs.   I really admire her site and, vampires aside, she’s doing the closest thing I’ve seen to what I’m doing.

Daddy's favorites: fried chicken, Mom's famous succotash and buttermilk biscuits

____________________________________________________________________________

Mom’s Famous Succotash

Serves 6

5 slices bacon

2 cups frozen lima beans

2 cups fresh or frozen corn kernels

1 medium onion, chopped fine

3 medium tomatoes, coarsely chopped

salt, pepper and hot sauce to taste

In a large, cast iron skillet, cook bacon until crisp. Drain bacon on paper towels. Pour all but 3 tbsp. fat out of the skillet. Add the onions and cook until softened, then add the corn and lima beans and cook over medium-high heat, stirring frequently, until the vegetables are just beginning to brown. Add tomatoes; continue to cook and stir until tomatoes are “broken down” into the vegetables. Add the salt and pepper and hot sauce, if desired, to taste. Crumble bacon into the mixture in the skillet and stir to blend well.

_________________________________________________________________________

Buttermilk Biscuits

Makes 8-10 biscuits, depending on size

2 1/4 cups unbleached, all-purpose flour

4 tsp. baking powder

1/2 tsp. baking soda

1/2 tsp. salt

1/4 cup unsalted butter, chilled and cut into bits

1 cup buttermilk

Preheat oven to 450. Mix all dry ingredients together in a medium bowl. Add butter pieces to the dry ingredients, mixing with a pastry blender or your hands (hands are really better) until the mixture looks like coarse meal. Add the buttermilk and stir with a wooden spoon  just until the mixture is combined, then turn out onto a floured board and pat into an oval 1/2 inch thick. Cut into circles with a round cutter or a juice glass and place on an ungreased baking sheet. Bake the biscuits until lightly browned, about 10-12 minutes.

Both recipes adapted from My Mother’s Southern Kitchen by James Villas

“Hooligans!” I screamed. “Thieves! Miscreants! Devils!”

Devils. As soon as the word left my mouth, I remembered. That’s the card that Cora had drawn, and here was her little spawn, speaking French like a preacher speaking in tongues, setting fire to my house, almost killing me. And that other devil, that Daryn boy. I’d been too soft on him for years, letting him lift a little pot now and then. And this was how I was repaid for my kindness.

My cards were spilled all over the floor. My cards, my precious cards. Sure, by now I could tell a fortune with a poker deck. But these were soft at the edges, these cards were informed by years of my touch, these cards contained my soul. I tried to scoop them up but the flames were coming too fast, the cards spread too far. Some had slipped under the couch.

People laugh when misfortune befalls a reader. “If you’re so smart,” they say. “Why didn’t you see this coming?”

Well, I did see it coming. The Tower had been popping up in my readings for weeks.  Card of fire. Card of doom.

But let me tell you something: even fortune tellers can lie to themselves. There’s a reason a doctor doesn’t take out his own appendix and a lawyer doesn’t defend himself.

The Tower had been there, like a great big honking billboard. And I even had that extra clue when Cora picked the Devil.

But I’d deluded myself into thinking it was meant for someone else. And now, I was barefoot in my own backyard with nothing but a nightgown on my back.

“Hooligans!” I screamed. “Thieves! Miscreants! Devils!”

Devils. As soon as the word left my mouth, I remembered. That’s the card that Cora had drawn, and here was her little spawn, speaking French like a preacher speaking in tongues, setting fire to my house, almost killing me. And that other devil, that Daryn boy. I’d been too soft on him for years, letting him lift a little pot now and then. And this was how I was repaid for my kindness.

My cards were spilled all over the floor. My cards, my precious cards. Sure, by now I could tell a fortune with a poker deck. But these were soft at the edges, these cards were informed by years of my touch, these cards contained my soul. I tried to scoop them up but the flames were coming too fast, the cards spread too far. Some had slipped under the couch.

People laugh when misfortune befalls a reader. “If you’re so smart,” they say. “Why didn’t you see this coming?”

Well, I did see it coming. The Tower had been popping up in my readings for weeks.  Card of fire. Card of doom.

But let me tell you something: even fortune tellers can lie to themselves. There’s a reason a doctor doesn’t take out his own appendix and a lawyer doesn’t defend himself.

The Tower had been there, like a great big honking billboard. And I even had that extra clue when Cora picked the Devil.

But I’d deluded myself into thinking it was meant for someone else. And now, I was barefoot in my own backyard with nothing but a nightgown on my back.

I have to interrupt this backstory to bring you the news, relayed by a reader of Ho Springs, that the real Palm Reader shop in the real Hot Springs burned down.

Fiction writers often have the experience of things happening in life that they’ve only imagined, though before this event I hadn’t imagined Jimmie Sue’s Futureama burning down.

In fact, I’d totally invented Jimmie Sue’s Futureama.  I had no idea there was such a place as the Palm Reader’s shop in Hot Springs, though apparently it was a town institution.  The place even had a sign like the sign of the hand that Katie drew for the Futureama.

Also by chance yesterday, I was interviewed by Bradley Robb of Fiction Matters, who asked whether I was going to let readers’ comments influence the Ho Springs plot.

I told Bradley that I did not plan to let the comments influence the course of my story any more than I’d let my neighbors’ casual comments change my mind about where I worked or who I loved.

But then, curious after our interview about the overall subject of digital fiction, I went poking around online, something that, oddly enough, I hadn’t done at all before creating Ho Springs.  I figured if there was anything really innovative out there, I would have heard of it, and for the most part, I was right.

But I did come across a few really intriguing sites, including something called We Tell Stories that Penguin produced a few years ago.  Six fantastic writers and designers teamed up to create innovative projects, with a lot of technical flash — the reader can choose the direction the story will go in, in one case, and literally watch the story being written live, in another.   Gorgeous, much more expensive than anything a non-corporation like me could hope to produce, and inspirational.  Yet different, I was relieved to find, from what I’m doing and what I want to do.

Yet it made me think about different ways I could make full use of the digital format, and when the reader alerted me to the fire, I thought that this was something I needed to incorporate into my story.  Jimmie Sue’s must go.  I even know how it’s going to happen.  I can already smell the smoke.

The Disaster Cocktail

To create a Disaster:

Combine in a rocks glass over ice

2 oz. vodka

1 oz. each peach brandy and amaretto

3 shakes Angostura bitters

Stir, then fill the glass the rest of the way with Mountain Dew

Well, easy theoretically, that is, if you can find a theme (that’s a template or design) that jibes with what you want to create.  Given my vision for Ho Springs, that very quickly proved to be a challenge.  I couldn’t find a ready-made theme that incorporated video and picture icons with a central blog that also had a design I liked.

So I started emailing theme designers and asking if they could adapt or build a theme just for me.  Most didn’t respond; those that did either didn’t have time or were too expensive.

Ditto with designers I knew.  I didn’t even bother to ask the brilliant and wonderful Jeff Rabb, who created nameberry: as much as I’d love to work with him again, I couldn’t afford him and didn’t want to make him feel like he had to do me a favor.  Likewise J.P. Welch, who created the mewsie site for my Montclair Editors & Writers group for free and also remade the How Not To Act Old site after the book came out.

Besides the fact that I had no money, I’d been spending a lot of time the past few years creating wonderful projects for free and I couldn’t justify spending much on yet another creative flyer.  Plus, I knew what I wanted the site to look like and didn’t really need to pay for a top-to-toe design.

Or so I foolishly believed.  I asked my friend, the composer Dennis Tobenski, whom I’d met a few years ago at the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts (we collaborated on a deathless torch song called “I Want You To Kiss The Back of My Neck”), if he would put together a site for me based on my own design, for an absurdly low amount of money.  Dennis, plied with burgers and beer, agreed.  But before we could put together the site, he said, we’d need the logo.

This is the difference between being a designer and being a person with semi-good taste.  It had never occurred to me that we needed to start with the logo.  Couldn’t we just design the site and make the logo fit the design?  No, Dennis said firmly.  The logo set the tone and I needed to figure that out before we built around it.

Lucky me, I knew what I wanted my logo to look like.  Flaming letters, was my vision, with the T in Hot Springs up in smoke, or steam, or something symbolic.

But, like every other detail of the site, I soon discovered that creating my flaming logo was anything but simple.  I needed a photoshop expert, and after, ahem, burning through a few who couldn’t set the letters on fire, I encountered one who could….for $1500.

That’s when I turned to Katie Mancine, who did a lot of design work for my friend Debbie Galant’s hyperlocal news site baristanet.  Katie promised to create my logo for the very reasonable price of $300.  And, after a month of work, she did.  I was thrilled.  Here it is:

The only problem was, no matter what Dennis and I did to build the website around this stupendous logo, it looked like shit.  Finally, right before Christmas, I turned in desperation back to Katie.  I needed her design help to create the rest of the site.

She’d love to work on it, she told me.  The only problem was that she thought I needed to scrap the logo and start from scratch.

Next: If There’s A Fire in Hot Springs, Is There Smoke in Ho Springs?

George is trying this tough love shit with me and he can try all he wants, it’s not gonna work; next thing I’m sure he’s gonna try to keep me from seeing Beth. I’m not sure I wanna see her but I don’t want him thinking he can keep me from seeing her if I want to. Who the fuck does he think he is?

Shit, his old ass is now slumped against me breathing his stinking ass breath in my neck, sour ass breath, sour old man. Looking in my mouth, if I gave a shit I’d make him give me some free dental visits but I don’t give a shit. This oxy is nice, but I need to fly like I do with the meth. I gotta get this mutherfucker to give me some damn money.

“Come on baby, that was good. Don’t you wanna give me something for all this good stuff.”

“Yeah, you right little lady that was some good stuff, but I already gave you the oxy now so we bout even.”

“Oh, come on Wade, you know you gonna want some more…think of it as a down payment.”

Wade threw his head back and let out a cruel chuckle.

“A downpayment? On some pussy from a junkie. You must think I’m Bo Bo the fool.”

Rearranging his newly satisfied area and zipping up his pants.

“See you ’round honey pot.”

“Yeah see ya pops.”

Things I have to buy, see, do, read, accomplish, remember, bring to fruition:

1.  Buy chicken.

2.  Find new chicken recipe because I cannot bear to eat roast chicken one more time.

3.  Find massage oil with a scent that will come off, I mean completely off, at night.

4.  Ask George to explain how the muscles of the hand work, i.e. how to keep other fingers strong after one finger is injured.

5.  Get college brochures for Darrell and try to get him to look at them.

6.  Lose 28 pounds.

7.  Throw out all elastic waist pants so I will not be comfortable in anything at this weight.

8.  Throw out all sugar in house.

9.  Call bank to make sure they do not bounce my mortgage payment again.

10.Check why that funky water is lying in the corner of my basement.

11.Fire Sharise.

12.Advertise for new facialist.

Okay, I’m exhausted and though I have one more thing I want to add to the list, I do not want to stop on number 13 and I will never have the energy to make it to 14.  To be continued.

13. Find Darrell.

14. Make sure Ms. Fallon is all right.

15. Make sure Darrell doesn’t get arrested.

16. Try not to act so weird at work and school and at my lesson with George that somebody guesses what’s wrong.

17. Talk to Cora about getting Darrell back.

18.Get Darrell back.

19.Get Darrell back.

20.Get Darrell back.

King Cake

A little history: This coffeecake-like sweet honors the three kings who visited Christ on Epiphany – also known as King’s Day – which was traditionally the start of the revelry that ends today on Mardi Gras, or Fat Tuesday. The colored sugars match Mardi Gras beads: gold for power, green for faith and purple for justice.

Makes 2 cakes

1-16 oz. container sour cream

1/3 cup sugar

1/4 cup unsalted butter

1 teas. salt

2 envelopes dry yeast (I use rapid-rise because I am usually impatient!)

1/2 cup warm water

1 tbs. sugar

2 large eggs, lightly beaten

6 to 6 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

1/2 cup unsalted butter, very soft

1/2 cup sugar mixed with 1 1/2 teas. cinnamon

Glaze (recipe follows)

purple, green and gold sugar for sprinkling

Place first four ingredients in a saucepan over low heat and cook, stirring often, until butter melts. Set aside and cool until mixture is 100-110 degrees.

In a glass measuring cup, combine warm water, 1 tbs. sugar and yeast. Let stand for five minutes – it should puff up as the yeast is activated.

Scrape the sour cream mixture into the bowl of a stand mixer. Add yeast mixture, eggs and 2 cups flour; beat at medium speed until smooth. Reduce speed to low and gradually add enough of the remaining flour to make a soft dough.

Turn dough out onto a floured board and knead until smooth and elastic – adding more flour if necessary (This will take 5-10 mins., depending on your kneading skill). Grease a bowl generously with butter, place the dough in the bowl, turning to coat it, cover the bowl with a dishtowel and place in a warm spot for 45 mins. to an hour or until it has doubled in bulk. (Tip: I use my oven for this, I turn it on to 200 for a few minutes while I’m kneading the dough, then turn it off before I put the dough in.)

Punch the dough down and divide in half. Roll one piece into a rectangle, 22 x 12; spread with half the softened butter and sprinkle with half the cinnamon-sugar mixture. Starting at a long side, roll the dough, jelly-roll style and form into an oval shape, pinching to seal the ends. Place seam side down on a greased baking sheet and cover with a clean dishtowel while you repeat this process with the other half of the dough.

Let the cakes rise again in a warm place for 20 mins., or until doubled in bulk.

Preheat the oven to 375 and bake the cakes, switching shelf positions if necessary, for 30-35 minutes or until golden brown (be careful not to over-bake them).

Let the cakes cool on the pans for 10 minutes before removing them carefully to a wire rack. Ice immediately with the glaze and sprinkle with the sugars in alternating, wide bands of the three colors. Let cool before slicing (always the hard part!)

Glaze: (make this while the cakes are baking)

3 cups powdered sugar

3 tbs. unsalted butter, melted

2 tbs. fresh lemon juice

1/4 teas. vanilla

2-4 tbs. milk

Combine first 4 ingredients and 2 tbs. milk, mix until smooth. Add additional milk a little at a time until the glaze is a spreading consistency.

Recipe adapted from Southern Living magazine.

I’m the only one who knows the future, though.

She called me, no shame, no explanation, at 1 in the morning. “Please, Jimmie Sue, just one card.”

“Without even touching them?” I asked.

“Oh I don’t have time,” she whined. She was always one for whining, that Cora. “Please, just one card.”

I don’t like one-card readings and I especially don’t like one-card readings over the phone. But you have to feel a little bad for a gal who’s just found her daddy splat on the floor, being used as catnip.

“Okay,” I said. “Just don’t blame me if you draw ‘Death.’”

“I won’t, Jimmie Sue! I promise.”

“Then concentrate,” I commanded. “And focus on  your question.”

I could practically see her squeezing her eyes tight.

“Okay,” she said. “I’m ready.”

I unwrapped the silk scarf and took out my cards, cradling the phone against my ear. Throws your whole posture off, doing that. It can lead to a herniated disk. Only for Cora. “I’m shuffling,” I said. “Tell me when to stop.” I led her through the shuffling and the cutting of the cards, and finally pulled her card, which turned out to be number 15 of the Major Arcana.

The Devil.

I hesitated.

“Not Death?” she said.

“No,” I said. “The Devil.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It depends on your question, Cora, but it usually aint good. It’s the beast inside you, your dark side, addiction.  Everything you’ve been hiding from the world. It’s evil, Cora.”

“But is it me, necessarily?” she asked, pleading a little. “Couldn’t it be Medhi?”

“Maybe in a full spread,” I said. “But a single card reading, that’s you. And I’ll tell you something else. You’re not done with that man. On the card, at the Devil’s feet, are two people, a man and a woman, naked, connected by a chain. ”

“So should I have come home, back to Hot Springs?” Cora asked me.

So that was the question Cora had formed when I’d asked her to concentrate. I’d hoped for the Six of Cups for Cora, the nostalgia card, the one that always reminded me of garden gnomes and fairy tales.

“I don’t know,” I said. I felt a little shiver. Not for Cora but for Hot Springs. The Devil had come to town, and it didn’t bode well for any of us.

I’m the only one who knows the future, though.

She called me, no shame, no explanation, at 1 in the morning. “Please, Jimmie Sue, just one card.”

“Without even touching them?” I asked.

“Oh I don’t have time,” she whined. She was always one for whining, that Cora. “Please, just one card.”

I don’t like one-card readings and I especially don’t like one-card readings over the phone. But you have to feel a little bad for a gal who’s just found her daddy splat on the floor, being used as catnip.

“Okay,” I said. “Just don’t blame me if you draw ‘Death.’”

“I won’t, Jimmie Sue! I promise.”

“Then concentrate,” I commanded. “And focus on  your question.”

I could practically see her squeezing her eyes tight.

“Okay,” she said. “I’m ready.”

I unwrapped the silk scarf and took out my cards, cradling the phone against my ear. Throws your whole posture off, doing that. It can lead to a herniated disk. Only for Cora. “I’m shuffling,” I said. “Tell me when to stop.” I led her through the shuffling and the cutting of the cards, and finally pulled her card, which turned out to be number 15 of the Major Arcana.

The Devil.

I hesitated.

“Not Death?” she said.

“No,” I said. “The Devil.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It depends on your question, Cora, but it usually aint good. It’s the beast inside you, your dark side, addiction.  Everything you’ve been hiding from the world. It’s evil, Cora.”

“But is it me, necessarily?” she asked, pleading a little. “Couldn’t it be Medhi?”

“Maybe in a full spread,” I said. “But a single card reading, that’s you. And I’ll tell you something else. You’re not done with that man. On the card, at the Devil’s feet, are two people, a man and a woman, naked, connected by a chain. ”

“So should I have come home, back to Hot Springs?” Cora asked me.

So that was the question Cora had formed when I’d asked her to concentrate. I’d hoped for the Six of Cups for Cora, the nostalgia card, the one that always reminded me of garden gnomes and fairy tales.

“I don’t know,” I said. I felt a little shiver. Not for Cora but for Hot Springs. The Devil had come to town, and it didn’t bode well for any of us.

In France, this is traditionally a summer soup, but I make it ‘year round. And it goes together vite vite (that’s French for fast).

Soup Ingredients

Soupe au Pistou

Serves 6

For the soup:

3 quarts water

2 cups each: diced carrots, potatoes, leeks

1 tbs. salt

2 cups diced fresh or frozen green beans

2 cups canned kidney beans

1/3 cup small pasta, such as orzo or small shells; broken spaghetti works too

1 slice good quality white bread, crumbled into bits

few grinds of fresh pepper

pinch of saffron

The vegetables

For the pistou:

4 cloves garlic, mashed

4 tbs. tomato paste

1/4 cup chopped fresh basil or 1 1/2 tbs. dried basil

1/2 cup finely grated Parmesan cheese

1/3 cup good olive oil

The Pistou

Put the water, salt, carrots, potatoes and leeks in a large heavy pot, bring to a boil and simmer for 40 mins. Add the green beans, kidney beans, pasta, bread, pepper and saffron. Simmer for 15 mins., or until the beans are just cooked. Taste the soup and correct the seasoning if necessary.

Make the pistou while the soup is cooking. Combine the garlic, tomato paste, basil and cheese in a medium bowl. With a whisk, slowly beat in the olive oil. When the soup is finished, stir the pistou into the soup in three batches. The soup is ready to eat immediately but may also be made a day in advance and reheated.

Soupe au Pistou

Adapted from “Mastering the Art of French Cooking” by Julia Child, Louisette Bertholle and Simone Beck

I want to love George.  I wish I woulda never tried meth. Shit, I wish I could be the kind of mother to Beth that I want to be.

I look at myself and all I see is trash. Beth looks at me and it hurts because I know that when she looks at me she sees something good, something she loves. When I tried to get myself clean the last time the lady at the place said to turn the picture of Beth into feelings; that if I could just be how Beth feels about me then I could become who she needs me to be.

Well how about I just feel how to pull a million dollar bill outta my ass. These people are so full of shit. You wonder if they really believe what they say or if they just watching the clock, saying any old shit till the damn 50 minutes is up and they can get you outta the office  and go wash their hands. That’s what I think they do. Like the whole time I sitting there, she’s thinking what a piece of shit, I hope she doesn’t mess up my chair.

I always make sure I at least that I wash my hair, cause I know, even when I fucked up, that the difference between me with clean hair and not is a stringy mess who looks like the poster child for PWT. When I get cleaned up I look good. I know that–but that’s what got me into this shit in the first place. If I was fat with bad skin, George wouldn’t married me. He would’ve just taken me in like another stray but he wouldna tried to save me, make me be a wife and a mother and a member of the goddamn PTA.

When I’m clean, I’m countin’ the time, the hours, the days. I feel like Ima climb outta my skin. I have a drink at noon. I make myself wait till then, a respectable time to have a beer. If he was comin’ home for lunch, I’d try to hold off cause I didn’t want him asking about me drinkin in the middle of the day and what kind of example and blah, blah, blah. Beth was in the first grade thankfully so no more coming home half days. I feel like all I do, sober and not is count time.

It’s like when I’m on stage at the club and I’m doing my thing, grinding up and down on the pole, I’m countin. I figure I do six dips, five rounds, four spins a few shimmies and then I’m done. Sometimes I hold my breath cause the beer sink is so strong I feel like I might just wretch right there on the platform. That would be some shit; DaShawn would have a damn baby cow if I did that and he’d try to beat the shit outta me, not that he has ever put his hands on me, but I think that would push him right over. He’s a tense motherfucker, that one.