Sleepless again. I'm not supposed to work on the computer when I'm battling insomnia, but I'm not supposed to lie in bed either, nor watch TV, nor read. I think the idea is for me to walk the floors like Marley's Ghost, like Miss Havesham trailing her rotting lace. Admittedly, no doctor has ever suggested anything like that, but what else is one supposed to do in the middle of the night?
It's been wild and wooly in southern Oregon this week. Two or three times a day, the sky cracks open and hails like the lord's own fury. Luckily it's not those pebble-size rocks produced by a summer thunderstorm that can smash a windshield. The weather man has a name for for this softer hail: gropple. Doesn't that sound like some kind of hideous Scandanavian pickled fish or something? Whatever it is, it's made for a weirdly beautiful night in the Colestin. Just enough hail gathered and froze to highlight the hollows when the moon emerges from the clouds. It's like looking at a film negative, the landscape in frozen relief this late in April. I'm happy to see it. There's been enough rain this month to bring the totals for the year back towards normal. They aren't all the way there, we're still 3" below average for the year, but we were more than 5" low at the end of March.
I'm playing some dinner music with Joe and Jesse at the Elks tomorrow night, another small line-up that has evolved out of Hamfist. Jimmy might sit in for a couple of tunes. I love the big show band feel of Hamfist, we have a great time up there rawkin' in our rose shirts, but I have to say these smaller, tighter, more focused sessions are really satisfying me musically.
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