a matter of record(s): honky tonk happy hour at the blue nile.

Posted on September 27, 2012 by junebug

Gorgeous paintings by Emily Rees.

Copyright © 2012 · All Rights Reserved · ilovemyburg.com. Photos by Brandy Somers. Written content by Katie Mitchell. This material may not be copied, downloaded, reproduced, or printed without express written consent. Thank you for respecting our intellectual property.

for the record(s): honky tonk happy hour at the blue nile.

Posted on September 25, 2012 by junebug

Nothing says “honky tonk” like Ethiopian nachos.

set the record(s) straight: honky tonk happy hour at the blue nile.

Posted on September 24, 2012 by junebug

In the car on the way there, we listened to some Johnny Cash. “Cry, Cry, Cry” came on; Bree asked, “Why does this song have to be so sad?” Because it does, I told her. Because it’s raw. Because it’s how he felt at that time, with no shiny gloss or double talk or self-pity. “He wants you to feel what he felt,” I told her.

“Well, I feel it,” she assured me.
Then, “I’m hungry. Are we there yet?”

We were on our way to Honky Tonk Happy Hour at the Blue Nile, hosted by DJ Real Gone (a.k.a., Jason Summer), and I was bracing myself for the likes of George Jones, Kitty Wells, and Buck Owen… songs about love and betrayal, about heartbreak and loneliness, about drinking and riding your lawnmower to the bar.

We arrived and there was Jason, ready to spin some old time, twangy vinyl… not behind the sound booth, but instead under the bright lights of the stage, where those musicians infinitely deserve to be.

He carefully thumbed through the albums which no doubt have brought him solace, hoping perhaps to transfer, through needles and grooves, the same impression to us.

Customarily, my kids started running around, and I sharply snapped, “Stop running! Where do you think you are??” To which Cal replied, “I really don’t know.” Fair enough. A few minutes later, Cal asked Brandy and me for “a tape.” “Tape? What do you need tape for?” “No,” he said, “a tip.” Ah. Money for the bowling video game.

We sat at the bar and listened to the full-bodied words of Loretta Lynn, Johnny Paycheck, and Hank Williams, and felt strangely uplifted. It’s like reading a book with a plot that just worsens and worsens, and at the end there’s absolutely no redemption. Most people like a happy ending. But unhappy endings make you feel better about your own reality.

This is not to say that all the songs were “sad.” Not all of them put a tear in your beer. Some were funny, some were romantic, some were feisty. But none were understated or devoid of intent. Music back then was simple and straightforward, both instrumentally and lyrically. Meant to be heard and listened to, not just enjoyed as some kind of sedating backdrop. People think music today is “explicit”… but vacantly, meaninglessly so. These old songs have an inescapable intimate quality that make one’s eyes moisten and one’s heart sting. These tunes SAY something, and often it’s something we really don’t want to hear because we already know it’s true. They not only shine a light which provides a path through the darkness, but which also causes our scars to glow white hot. And when everyone around you glows like that, you know you’re not alone.

You can catch Jason this and each Wednesday in the basement of the Blue Nile from 7 – 9pm. Leave your thick skin at home. It won’t work.

shine on, o moon of summer: poetry night at the blue nile.

Posted on August 15, 2012 by junebug

figures of speech: poetry night at the blue nile.

Posted on August 14, 2012 by junebug

our poetic harriSANDBURG: poetry night at the blue nile.

Posted on August 13, 2012 by junebug

I’m an English teacher. And I feel I know a thing or two about literature. But attending the Carl Sandburg poetry reading at the Blue Nile recently made me painfully aware of how disconnected from poetry I’ve gotten.

I’ve read tons of poetry–the “canon,” if you will–Yeats, Keats, Eliot, Thomas, Blake, all the Beats, the Brownings, Owens, countless others… but I’ve not even dipped a tentative toe in that pool in a long time. And even as a teacher, I ask myself, “What the heck is poetry anyway? I mean, really–what is it, other than a section in the textbooks collecting dust in my classroom?” It’s literature that’s alive. It has a pulse and a heart and lungs and a gut. It has genitals and a butt and blood and a soul and it walks amongst us every second of every day. It’s an art form which, like music, can bend and twist to meet mood and message.

I was inspired on this night. Yet again. By my city and the talented people who live here.

Local action figure Paul Somers puts on these casual poetry readings, each one dedicated to a different poet. The idea is that participants (and it’s open to everyone) write poems in the style of that poet. Then everyone gets together and shares their poetry. They can also read a poem of that poet. Really, anything goes.

And sharing poetry’s a big deal. Because with poetry, it’s just you and your words and a microphone. Maybe a guitar or piano or bongo… but you don’t get to hide behind the noise of your band. You don’t get to hang your piece on the wall and walk away from it. You’re there with it and everyone’s reaction to it. The horror of performance art.

So I was with nine brave souls on a recent Monday at the Blue Nile who stood poetically naked in front of a crowd of seventy-five or so spectators. Paul, being the emcee of the evening, started things off by reading a description of poetry he’d written, comparing baseball to “a game of catch” and asserting that “Sandburg put the poem right in your mitt, every time.” Even in the humbling company of poets like Amy Lowell, Dorothy Parker, William Carlos Williams, Pound, and Eliot, Sandburg’s been hailed as the “first urban American folk singer.” In his poetry, Sandburg explores the guts of American society–the working poor, industrialism, farm life, and the geographic expansiveness of his nation.

Paul read Sandburg’s touching poem “Back Yard” (“Shine on, O moon of summer”)–fitting for this summer night with friends–and several of his own, including “Little Boy Pink” and “Animal Intellection,” about a fox, which I really liked… and this perfectly expressed teen love poem reluctantly titled “Fish Bone Poem,” containing the piquant line, “The world rolls off the edge of the table every time you walk in the room.” Oh, Christina Harbor, you’re killing us all. You and your weirdly symbolic name.

Next up was Brent Finnegan, who reminded us in his poem “To Breathe” that “touch, they say, is sometimes worth the pinch.” It’s true. What matters most also hurts the most. He then sang a couple songs with his pensive guitar, like “Waiting for the Wolf,” in which he howls, “When the darkness falls, I wanna feel nothing at all.” RESONANCE. And “The valley’s no greener and the love’s no deeper than the love we left behind.” By the end of his performance, I was stinging. Still am.

Then we heard ZaMont Burton read a couple of his poems, “MOTH” (Music Of The Heart) and “The Meadow,” both very sweet love poems told in a dream-like narrative in which the speaker moves through time and space as his perceptions change. He writes, “The next time I saw you I felt blues in your heart,” and “As we got closer to the meadow, my fear of you vanished.” The line between what’s real and what we perceive thins and thickens, appears and disintegrates.

Kevin Edwards, aka “the cat guy,” took the stage and felt the need to warn us that he “writes short poems.” He also provided a brief summary of each before he read it, in case we didn’t get it, like “This one’s about booze.” “This one’s about gettin’ old. Ear muffs.” “This one’s about loss.” “This one’s about not drinking so much.” I think he was trying to prepare us for some really bad poetry. Sorry, Kevin–your poems were good! Oh, how we all can relate to “a standard less handsome with time.”

Daniel Gilhart awakened for us Sandburg’s nature-loving side in his poem “The Woods of James High,” a lengthy, image-rich work evoking the joy and serenity of a meandering stroll, which, by the way, he delivered from memory. Lines like “we brushed the crumbs from our beards to leave a trail going home” make me long for a nippy autumn day marked by a blue sky so beautiful I keep staring at it to be sure it’s real. The poem also traces the emotions that come when one walks and thinks for a long time, remembering past sorrows and triumphs, bittersweet memories and the anguish of unknown terrors ahead.

Next up was Jeremiah Jenkins. Before he began he warned us: “I’m a little out of it. I’ve been camping in the woods for four nights.” And because of that, time crept up on him and he had to grab a few poems from his “pile of poems” for tonight’s reading. Pile of poems? You’re in better shape than I! I’m now determined to create my own such pile. Anyway, his first poem, “Her Children Followed,” was a narrative with a narrow focus–the story of a woman, who’s also a mother, who’s also a prostitute, and her struggle. He also shared “No Longer Our Own,” about what’s happened to his hometown neighborhood, how what was home has been razed and replaced with something both unrecognizable and generic. I loved the juxtaposition of sweet jelly with the “dark, dank basement.” But the poem of his that got to me the most was “What is Violence?”, a gorgeous/ugly/frightening/assaulting glimpse of violence in America and all its forms. We think of violence as gun shots and black eyes and dark-alley muggings, but maybe not as “needin’ three dollars that bad” or as “the severed ear I found one September morning.” Jeremiah, straighten up that pile. It’s actually a book waiting to happen.

I was excited to see Susan Facknitz on stage next. You might know her–she teaches literature and creative writing at JMU. Her poems were so mesmerizing I forgot to take notes about two of them–“The Fence” and “Endless Relations.” But “Girl 3” is about her being the third child of eight with not a lot of money or possessions to go around. It’s a situation to which many of us relate–the hand-me-downs, the seeming injustices among siblings in a large family, the strange meals our mothers pieced together right before payday. And although those challenges are frustrating, Susan’s rendition radiated a gentle beauty that entered me the way a photo would. As she put it, her family “lived a discarded life. Barn doors for picnic tables.” Making do, yes–but there’s something about barn doors that’s better than a brand-new Ethan Allen table, right?

Katelyn Romaine’s poems were about American girlhood, so half of us could relate, and the other half eagerly listened for some mystery about the human female to be revealed. Her funny and sarcastic poems garnered several chuckles from the crowd, but they also, like “Questions About Limbo,” hinted at the uncomfortable parts of life, like “how reunions remind you of death and little meannesses.” Exactly. That’s precisely why no one likes them, but we all get roped into going somehow.

The final poet of the evening was Chad Gussler, who happens to be a fan of Basho, a 17th-century Japanese poet who wrote lots of haiku and also mixed haiku with prose. Chad wrote his poem “Millrace Canal” combining Sandburg’s love of nature and Basho’s simplicity of expression, and it worked beautifully. It even contained a few haiku. The poem takes the listener on a journey through fields of “white phlox, white roses, milkweed, and body odor” and past “a floating, sinking red canoe.”

I really wish there were room in this post to publish all the poems shared that evening. But there’s not, nor could I write them down fast enough, ha ha. I do have, though, a few bits and pieces of poems left in my notes, so I’ve put them together into a poem, collectively written for Carl by Paul, Brent, Zamont, Kevin, Daniel, Jeremiah, Susan, Katelyn, and Chad. Here it is:

A lightning bug like a pixel of the coming dawn,
When darkness falls, I wanna feel nothing at all.
As we get closer to the meadow, my fear of you vanishes.
The stars abate themselves, just as we abate ourselves,
And the kids say, “Oh, we hate what we’ve become.”
The children follow–they seem to know the way.
Blurred and blended… death and little meannesses…
Everything is
As it should be.

The next poetry reading will honor the life and work of Walt Whitman. You should come–it’ll be at the Blue Nile again, sometime in September. You can find their events calendar here. You don’t want to miss it!

See you out and about!

multi-FACEted: art lotto 2012.

Posted on August 10, 2012 by junebug

The last sweet morsels of a special treat…

Sing it, ladies!

Portrait of Mariza Dovis by April Sedeen.
mixed media

Portrait of Kurt Rosenberger by Todd Yoder.
oil. That’s right–oil.

Portrait of Sarafina Landis by Toviah Morris.
photograph

*Some photos by Danielle Campbell, Rachel Herr, and the artists themselves.

making faces: art lotto 2012.

Posted on August 8, 2012 by junebug

Photos from all three days of Harrisonburg’s first ever Art Lotto!

Portrait of Kevin Edwards by Morgan Fink
Oil
aglow and smiley

Portrait by Rachel Herr
Crayon–shared by little Cole :)

Portrait of Elliott Downs by Pat Jarrett
He had one shot. It worked.

face paint: art lotto 2012.

Posted on August 7, 2012 by junebug

A few more images of Art Lotto 2012, inside and out…

Portrait of Luke Watson by Esther King
“Be water/It flows and crashes/change with change. Every little thing is gonna be alright.”
Mixed media.

Portrait of April Sedeen by Sarafina Landis
Mixed media.

Portrait of Jay Herr by Trip Madison
Watercolor and India ink.

Portrait of Raechel Hurd by Chris Whitmore
Underwater photograph burned into wood.
Whoa.

face value: art lotto 2012.

Posted on August 6, 2012 by junebug

I’ve known Brandy Somers a long time, and I know that when she decides to do something, she does it. She doesn’t make promises she can’t keep, and she doesn’t like the feeling of letting anyone down, including herself. I admire her so much for that. So when she hatched this Art Lotto idea, I knew it would be a huge endeavor. I knew it would take countless hours of planning, hard work, late nights, pots of coffee. And, I knew she’d do it. I wasn’t sure how… but then along came Denise Allen. Could you possibly ever ask for a nicer, more pleasant, more positive person to work with? No. Even when it looks like nothing’s going to work out, Denise smiles and laughs and makes it fun again.

So the two of them teamed up, and over the course of ten months (ten months!!), they solicited artists, secured sponsors and donors, made a commercial with the help of Lurid Pictures, collected and catalogued the work, created a yearbooklet with color photos and artist bios, hung the work at their host location, The Artful Dodger, and threw a big party. And I’m sure I left something out of that list. I got the fun task of watching and judging and writing about an art show featuring forty-three (forty-three!!) local artists who created portraits of each other. So, this is my chronicle of a three-day odyssey into the local art scene. Here goes.

DAY ONE: Wednesday, August 1st. Judging.

I made my way to the Dodger at about 12:30 Wednesday to serve as a judge for Art Lotto. Ballot and freshly sharpened pencil in hand, glasses on, I browsed the forty-three portraits hanging starkly on the wall. The simple and well-organized ballot employed a numerical scoring system… easy enough. But as I stood there gazing at those portraits, I felt a paralysis come over me. I heard other customers, who were also visibly impressed by the display, make comments like, “This is unbelievable.” “I can’t believe how great these are.” “What an amazing idea–who came up with this?” and “So powerful–all these faces…”

Moved by Teale Davies’ portrait of Lynda Bostrom, one young man even said he felt inspired to finish his own piece he’s been struggling with.

I tried so hard not to be, but I was moved to slight, restrained tears. There’s something about seeing all those faces together, a silent crowd, the solidarity of all of them–captured and hanging on a wall… stuck together. I hope we’re all stuck together for a very long time.

Of course the collective talent is also overwhelming. Each piece a testament to natural-born skills and years of practice, refinement, frustration, and dedication. But for me it’s how each artist “saw” the other. Because we never see ourselves the way others do. And this might be the first time one of these people looked at himself or herself with tenderness. It’s the wish we all have for our fellow souls–that they might see their own beauty the way others do.

So I regained my composure and started to put my feelings into single digits that fit into tiny boxes. Alas, it had to be done. Thank goodness for math. It decides things for us when we’re too warm and fuzzy to do it ourselves.

DAY TWO: Thursday, August 2nd. Artist/Sponsor/Judge Party!

Finally, after months and months of work and planning and outright panic + nightmares, the evening Brandy and Denise envisioned had arrived. Brandy was a little nervous beforehand that people wouldn’t show up. Puh-lease! Not only had she and Denise planned an event that no one would want to miss, but also, what better way to get a bunch of artists to show up to something than to promise them their own face would be on display? Hee hee :)

Writers can be vain, too. <sigh>

The opening, hosted once again by the Artful Dodger, was quite lively. Nearly all the artists, judges, and sponsors were there, plus their dates, so the crowd easily exceeded a hundred people. All the artists were super-excited to see how the portraits of themselves turned out and to see how their own work was received. To the sounds of DJ Fayo, people mingled and chatted about their experiences and processes, nibbled on light snacks, sipped beverages, laughed and cast their votes for best portrait for an hour or so. Then Brandy and Denise began their presentation, starting with a list of excuses some of the participants gave her for being late with their work:

Ahem, “My work is late because…
“the economy is bad.”
“it took me several days to remember how to paint again.”
“I have caveman Internet.”
“my piece exploded.”
“my cat seriously won’t leave it alone.”
“… of sparklies.” ???

Then they moved on to Art Lotto Superlatives, like Best Hair, Oh Snap!, Smallest Piece (I was glad, because the smallest piece always goes unnoticed), and Herr-ay!, which you automatically got if you were a Herr. Seems like that one’s rigged, but maybe that’s just me.

Next came the awards. These came from judges’ scores, kid judges’ scores, and votes from the artists themselves. This year’s judges include Suzi Carter, Kai Degner, Martin Rees, Vada Kelly, moi, Sherrie Hurt Gordon, Blake Somers, Paul Somers, Ragan McManus, Aaron Ludwig, Valerie Smith, Abigail Kate Garber, and Andy Conner. Pictured below are the award-winning portraits:

Portrait of Anne E. Hogan by Ben Fraits
Winner: Out of Box-ness
______________________________

Portrait of Ben Fraits by Rhoda Miller
Winner: Seeing Double
_________________________________

Portrait of Teale Davies by Denise Allen
Winner: You Got Skillz (tie)
________________________________

Portrait of Cora Cloud by Bruce Rosenwasser
Winner: Show Stopper
________________________________

Portrait of Raechel Hurd by Chris Whitmore
Winner: You Got Skillz (tie)
Winner: Artists’ Choice Award
_____________________________

Portrait of Denise Allen by Lynda Bostrom
Winner: Kids’ Choice Award, female
Winner: Best MediYUM
______________________________

Portrait of Brandy Somers by Luke Watson
Winner: Kids’ Choice Award, male
*Note: this is not the finished product. Updated photo forthcoming.

Check back this week for more photos of additional portraits!!

DAY THREE: Friday, August 3rd. Public Opening!!

In the blink of an eye, Thursday’s party was over and done and First Friday was at bat. I’d had a frenzied day by the time the kids and I got back to the Dodger, but I was nowhere near as pooped as Denise and Brandy. I don’t think those two girls had yet sighed a single molecule of relief or satisfaction. To make matters slightly worse, it looked like it was going to rain any second, and they’d gone to great lengths to set up some kids’ activities on the patio. Still, they pressed on, the rain passed, and the people came in droves.

The event welcomed folks of all ages. Kids could draw with sidewalk chalk, blow bubbles, get their faces painted, or join the coloring contest. Brandy and Denise had made special coloring pages of the Art Lotto sponsors and donors–like one of Miranda Lancaster from The Yellow Button, and one of Chris Clark, and one of Brent Levy and Amanda Garber from Rise. But, sorry–and this is not a comment about Amanda’s appearance, we all know she’s gorgeous–on the coloring page, she looked like Moe Doodle. Just sayin’. <cringe>

Inside, scores of curious pedestrians viewed the portraits, commenting on how different they are from each other, how cool all the portraits look hanging together, and the ridiculous amount of talent in that modest space. My daughter strolled through with her notebook (hello, mini-me), taking notes about her favorite portraits. When we got home that night, she said “Mom, I loved that. I felt like a grownup.” My son said, “I feel like I was at college!” (He’s 5.) I asked him what he meant, and he said, “I just feel a whole lot smarter.” Many of the artists were on hand, too, and the public seemed to enjoy seeing the work of forty-three artists–not just one–in one place. Several of the pieces have sold. If you haven’t been in yet to see these works, go now. The portraits will be up for the month of August, but it’s not something you want to put off. Trust me.

One last note: I would like to personally apologize to anyone who got swindled by pirates at the door. Blake decided to be the “door man” for “tips,” and then Bree and Cal crashed his gig. And with their faces painted like pirates, the three of them hung off the railing and “demanded” money (well, Cal was the one who demanded) from anyone entering or exiting, like some kind of Clockwork Orange-esque gang.

They didn’t get much loot. And I promise, if you ever meet my son in a dark alley, just threaten to tickle him and he’ll back off.

Brandy and Denise have created something fantastic that I hope will become a Harrisonburg tradition. They worked extremely hard, but if you ask them, they will tell you they could not have done it without the support of local businesses and patrons. So, Art Lotto would like to extend special thanks to these Sponsors and Donors for providing food, prizes, and yearbooklets, and for being consistent community supporters:

The Artful Dodger, Mint, The Yellow Button, Dietrich Dental, James McHone Antique Jewelry, Estland Design, VBS Mortgage, Tiller Strings, Rocktown Rollers, Lurid Pictures, Family Talk Magazine, Rise, Happy Dogs Unleashed, B & L Glass and Mirror, Midtowne Market, Wonder, Majomi Bags, Larkin Arts, Arts Council of the Valley, Court Square Coffee, DJ Fayo, Doodle Du Jour, Wonder Records, Last Light Photography, Metamurphosis Design and Photography, Herr Jewels, The Lady Jane, Campbell Copy Center, Polished, Inc., Brandy Somers Photography, SuperGr8, and Wine on Water.

See ya next year!!

**NOTE: Some photos by Danielle Campbell, Rachel Herr, and the artists themselves.

city blocks: arts council of the valley, northend greenway, and blake somers.

Posted on July 26, 2012 by junebug

it’s a start…

by sarah and ella. ella added the little blake next to the ribbon.

living LEGOcy: art in the park, northend greenway, and blake somers.

Posted on July 25, 2012 by junebug

building from the heART: art in the park, northend greenway, and blake somers.

Posted on July 24, 2012 by junebug

If people seem in these photos to be dressed funny, there’s a reason, and I’ll get to it. But first, let me take you back to the night I first heard The Greatest Idea Ever Hatched by a Ten-Year-Old Kid. (Actually, he was nine at the time.)

Back in May, Brandy and I attended the final meeting of Ignite! Harrisonburg to present our blog to the other attendees there and get some feedback. It went fine. But what I didn’t know was happening that night, and I’m sooooo glad my kids were there to witness it, was that cute, little SUPER-BRAVE Blake Somers was giving a presentation about his own idea for our community. Which is (drums rolling)… a giant memorial ribbon sculpture made entirely of Legos and painted pink in honor of his grandmother, Peggy Somers, who succumbed to breast cancer last summer. When it’s finished, the sculpture will be on display on Harrisonburg’s soon-to-exist Northend Greenway. Of course, most of us were sobbing at the end of his presentation, and he won the People’s Choice Award that night, beating out his own mom. Twice. :) And my kids hugged and high-fived him to pieces and cheered his name in the car the whole way home.

Since then Blake’s been busy scrounging for Legos here and there to amass a collection large enough to build his vision. And he’s getting there.

His most recent Lego-raising endeavor was at Art in the Park this past Saturday. Art in the Park is a monthly event hosted by the Arts Council of the Valley. The goal is to explore social issues through art, and it’s aimed at kids. The next one will be August 25.

This past Saturday, Blake Somers hosted the event. Kids came to build with Legos provided by the Arts Council of the Valley and to drop off any donations. Sharing the event was the Northend Greenway and Suzi Carter. She was there to inform the public about the Greenway: where it’ll be, what it’s for, and when it’ll happen. Personally, I can’t wait for the Greenway–it’s an awesome way to preserve green space, it’s a great use of that land, and it’s one more thing that will make Harrisonburg special. Another reason to love my burg.

Okay, so getting back to the funny clothes. I don’t know if any of you remember Saturday and the weather forecast, but it was calling for upper 70s and a thirty percent chance of rain. So we all dressed in short sleeves and flip flops with no umbrellas or rain coats… and it was a truly icky morning.

I got downtown with the kids at about 8:20 (Art in the Park started at 9) because I wanted to get a few things at the Market first. Sheesh! It was rainy and chilly and windy… people were all huddled up under whatever they could find, and Tom’s coffee stand was slammed. I bought a couple of pairs of earrings from Jan Carter, and she was trying to rig some kind of multiple-umbrella rain barrier because she was getting literally sprayed with rain, the little bitty stinging kind. Ick! So before the kids and I walked over to Art in the Park, we went back to the car in search of more layers. I happened to have a bag of clothing for Good Will in the back of the car, and I was able to grab a sweater or two and a couple of long-sleeve shirts to offer other shivering people. Sarah Murphy had several coats in her car, too, so we managed to get warmed up. Hence the “layered look” you see in some of the photos.

Then we pitched tents. The Arts Council had a couple, and Suzi had a couple, and soon we were all snuggled under there with our strange outfits. And the humidity was causing my Ronald McDonald hair to come out, but I had coffee and Legos and friends, so all was good. And there was even an amusement park feeling because every so often, too much rain would collect on top of the tent and then suddenly splash down on the lucky person who happened to be sitting there or walking by at that moment.

People came and went, playing with Legos (they were building Lego flowers for a garden) and chatting, and even blowing bubbles, which remained on the grass for quite some time, because of (we hypothesized) the moisture and low pressure. At one point two different conversations morphed into one and I swore I heard someone say, “In school you lose all of your youth through your head.” In reality it was probably “all your heat through your head,” but the other statement is equally true (I know, I’m a teacher)… and that’s why grown-ups like Legos, too.

Toward the end of the event, the Daily News Record arrived to interview Blake. The story was in yesterday’s paper; if you missed it, you can go to their website and, for a limited time, search for Blake Somers. Hopefully, the news exposure will bring in some Lego donations. Just so you know, Blake plans to donate to charity any Legos that don’t make it into the sculpture. So this week, rattle around in your attic or garage, call your parents, negotiate with your own children, and see if you can get your hands on some Legos for Blake. If you can, please drop them off between eleven and five at the Arts Council, located at 311 South Main Street. While you’re there, be sure to see the Lego garden created by Harrisonburg kids that day. Or if that doesn’t suit, you can email Brandy at brandysomersphotography@gmail.com to make other arrangements. And then YOU can have a part in a memorial that’s meaningful to our community and to one really special kid.

it just feels good to live here: fridays on the square.

Posted on July 10, 2012 by junebug

sweet and twangy: the judy chops.

Posted on July 10, 2012 by junebug

Fridays on the Square

a rollicking good time: fridays on the square.

Posted on July 9, 2012 by junebug

I love a stand-up bass and a drummer decked out in a mini-skirt and cowgirl boots.

It was Friday on the Square in Harrisonburg–a downtown outdoor film and music event presented by Citizens for Downtown and Harrisonburg Downtown Renaissance and (this particular week) sponsored by Alexiou Hearing and Sinus Center and Davenport Windows and Doors. We were stoked to get outside and see the Judy Chops perform: the week had been nauseatingly hot. On this breezy, beautiful evening, the heat finally broke and the city itself exhaled in relief.
We’d gotten to the courthouse early and set up our chairs and blankets so we wouldn’t have to carry them as we walked to Cat’s Cradle–which we featured on the blog a couple weeks ago (you can find that post here). Ducking into The Corner for a quick snack and drink, we noticed some portentous clouds rolling in and remembered all our stuff sitting on the square. Then some chugging and gobbling occurred, and six sets of feet scurried up the sidewalk to the barren courthouse lawn. Everyone else, including the band, had moved to Turner Pavilion (home of the Harrisonburg Farmers Market) and made themselves at home. As the band warmed up, we set up camp: chairs, blankets, lunchbox dinners, crayons, markers, and the like.

Brandy got into her human tripod position and I settled into my chair with my notebook. Among the couple hundred folks in attendance, I saw familiar downtown faces, like Anne Juarez, Mariana Bowling and Chris Howdyshell with their two cuties, Steve McClay from No Strings Attached with his family, the always-fun Sarah Murphy and legendary sound guru, Dave Beaver.

The band started playing. The Judy Chops are a six-piece band out of Staunton who perform in the Burg pretty regularly. They feature a drummer, an upright-bass player, and several guitar strummers/banjo pickers/fiddle pluckers and what have you, and they encourage (literally–by suggesting so, and figuratively through their mirthful demeanor) foot-stompin’ and dancin’ and sangin’ and howlin’ and whistlin’ and clappin’ and cluckin’ and hootin’. Yes, everyone was sitting in chairs at the start of the show, but it didn’t take the Judy Chops long to inspire some movement in the crowd. And you know? It’s always the older generation that starts the dancing. They’ve finally reached the nirvana of “oh, what the hell!” And so a couple of folks started to dance, and a few more joined in, and Sarah Murphy roped three of our kids into dancing with her (God bless that woman!)… they were linking arms and kicking up their feet, smiling and laughing, spinning in a large circle. It must be the Harrisonburg dance because I got swept up in it at The Little Grill Open Mic Night back in September. Wheeee! Needless to say, everyone was completely entertained by the band.
Meanwhile, in the grassy lot, kids were running wild. This is another reason I love my Burg: kids are so comfy hanging out here. They were playing tag and frisbee and throwing baseballs, they were climbing trees and dancing and spinning… there was giggling and (mild) taunting and hugging and stick swords… In fact, Ella got a little miffed at my son, and when Brandy asked her about it, she said “Cal thinks tagging people is stabbing them in the stomach with a stick.” :( Ooooch. Sorry! <cringe>

Parents rotated in and out of the grassy lot, taking turns supervising the youngsters. We all felt a collective responsibility for the kids, no matter whom they belonged to, and I really love that about this town. Not that I would ever let my kids get too far away from me, but I appreciate being able to take the kids places and not worry about their safety the whole time. We look out for each other here. It’s what we do.
This coming Friday on the Square, you can catch films from the 2011 SuperGr8 Film Festival. These three-and-a-half minute films made by local residents might just inspire you to pick up a super 8 camera and start rolling for this year’s festival, which will take place in November. There were more than 40 films last fall, and because Friday’s viewing is only one night, there’s not time for them all. The folks at SuperGr8 carefully selected a balance of color and black and white films for your enjoyment. They are as follows:

Black and White

1. Overcome by Ernie Didot (Winner of best Black and White Film)

2. The Park Bench by Elwood S. Madison III

3. Raveler by Brandy Somers (Winner of best B/W Actress)

4. A Year of Dying by Jeremiah Knupp & Holly Marcus (Winner of Best B/W Cinematography)

5. The Wrestler of Casus by Michael Trocchia

6. Noir Justice by The Brothers Sedeen

7. Drew by Brent Finnegan (Winner of Audience Choice for Best B/W Film)

Color

8. Chasing Shadows by Nicole Martorana

9. Myddfai by Martin Rees

10. My Love is Blind by Tim Estep & April Sedeen Estep (Winner of Best Color Film)

11. You Go To My Head by Lynda Bostrom

12. How To Reinvent Yourself by Jay Zehr (Winner of Best Color Cinematography)

13. Something Else by Chris Whitmore (Winner of Best of the Festival)

14. The Ride by Elliott Downs

The show starts at sundown on the courthouse lawn. See you there!

drenched in summer: westover pool.

Posted on June 15, 2012 by junebug

water… the universal solvent: westover park.

Posted on June 14, 2012 by junebug

Water is the ultimate miracle drug. Since our very conception, we’ve been comforted by it. We spend nine peaceful months cradled in water, then emerge with a lifelong desire to return to it. We soak in hot water after a stressful day, letting it relax our weary bodies and minds. We seek cool water on a hot day; it invigorates and cleanses us.

We take trips to the beach to get in the water and feel the weightlessness it provides with each passing wave. In water, pain seems to dissolve; it envelops us in softness and freedom. Our hearts beat more easily with less weight. Our joints feel better, our muscles relax, tension floats away. And when the kids are bickering and whining and have gotten on the last millimeter of my last nerve, it’s TIME TO GO TO THE POOL. Westover, as a matter of fact.

Once there, we sprayed everyone down with sunscreen, put floaties on Cal, and dug all the torpedoes and diving toys out of last summer’s still-sandy beach bag, and shooed the kids off to the pool. I settled down into a chair in the sunshine, letting my entire being sink into the solid frame and feeling my thigh flesh seep into the seat cracks, and letting a barely audible “thank God” escape my mouth. Ahhhhh.

welcome to the pharmacy.

classic beauty!

Our friend Danielle accompanied us, pretty in pink and a straw hat. For a few minutes no one said anything–it just felt good to be in the sun and near water. But then “Sexy and I Know It” came on the radio and that got us to talking. Cal had started singing it in the car earlier (by the way, he pronounces it “suxy”) and Bree had answered (in sing-song fashion), “Cal’s inappropriate and he doesn’t know it.” We also heard “Party In the Whatever Rockin’ House Tonight” and some Katy Gaga. We continued talking about the usual–boys, do-I-look-okay-in-this-swimsuit, kitchen counter tops, and Brandy’s awesome ultimate rainbow fantasy towel, courtesy of Nanny.

The kids were having fun swimming and splashing around and getting out of the pool now and then to warm up, chat, and play. From where we sat, we could keep an eye on everyone, plus the place is well staffed with rotating lifeguards (“pool police” I call ’em), Another nice feature of Westover Pool is its shady areas. You can get out of the sun when you feel you’ve had enough. There’s a grassy area, too.

Then Bree and Blake decided to go down the water slides. There are three, and the tallest one is a long, huge spiral. I knew that Cal, whose head is the only part of him that seems to grow, was much too little to ride, plus he could get his giant head stuck in there. Blake was tall enough last year. But I was nervous about Bree. Two years ago she was just a hair too short to ride, and though disappointed, she felt confident she’d be tall enough for the next summer.

So last summer when she was still too short, she was TICKED. HOT. IRATE. In a small, cute kinda way. Maybe they raised the height requirement–who knows, regulations change, but to her it felt like she’d never catch up to that blasted red line.

It reminded me of my brother and the whole drinking age debacle. It was 1983, back when the drinking age was 18. My brother was 17, and he was counting down the days to his first legit beer with Dad. But just two months before the big day, the threshold was raised to 19. Then the next year, 20. He was TICKED. HOT. IRATE. Anyway, if Bree was somehow, after a year of outgrowing every pair of pants she owned–twice, still too short… well, I just covered my eyes.

YAY!! Vindication!

Just a few minutes later I found Cal in line at the diving board among towering teenagers. I had to break it to him that he’s too small for that too. Meh. He took it in stride.

We stayed for a good three hours before a new case of the crankies set in. Next time this happens in your household, try Westover Park. You can easily make a day of it, what with the playground, picnic areas, frisbee golf, a skate park, activities center, and pool. The pool is open Monday through Saturday noon til 7pm, and Sunday 1pm to 7pm.