Slurry with the fringe on top

slurry

The other evening we heard a train approaching, and we both commented that it sounded different than the usual freighter that passes by… quieter, smoother. At first, we figured the sound was carrying differently due to the blanket of heavy, wet snow that we got as an April Fools Day present. But no, the locomotives were also different than the usual creaky New England Central engines we usually see.

The whole train was comprised of these white tanker cars, and they are all labeled “Limestone Slurry.” Lee said she had noticed something similar the day before but hadn’t thought anything of it. Well, well, we say to ourselves, why are trainloads of limestone slurry heading south all of a sudden?

It turns out that limestone slurry is primarily used to clean the emissions from coal power plants, which incidentally creates gypsum to be used in drywall manufacture.

Without actually knowing anything, I don’t know whether this represents a good thing or a bad thing… cleaner coal is good, but all coal is bad. Drywall seems basically good. Activity on our local rail lines seems basically good.

But prescience is unequivocally good, like flying or becoming invisible. Two of my recent “Trade Unionists for Trump” posts specifically call out slurry and locomotives. So, if anybody needs a stock pick or a lottery number, hit me up, just sayin’…

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A matter of scale 

Inside that cloud of smoke is a full size semi truck loaded with FedEx packages. One of those must’ve caught on fire, and now the whole load will probably be lost to the fire itself and damage from water etc used to put it out. 

So there’s a fact… FedEx burns up whole truckloads of packages! I can imagine all the hassles and genuine trouble this incident has caused. Maybe somebody didn’t get into college because of a delayed document, or had their car repossessed, or got kicked off the transplant list… Maybe a birthday party was ruined: scarred for life.

But there is an alternative fact… Dr. Deming and his disciples have helped FedEx successfully deliver an astonishingly high percentage of packages, on time, to the correct address. Is it 99%, 99.9%, or 99.99%, or more? I don’t know, but it’s a lot, and it’s amazing. Seeing this truck on fire doesn’t change my willingness to use FedEx one whit… most of the time, more or less always, it works. 

In the current political climate, differences in our personal willingness to ignore or at least discount the burning truck — or not — seem to be at the heart of a lot of what divides us. A lot of the issues we want to freak out about are only visible on some spreadsheet description of “the big picture” or in the economist’s “long run.” And on the other side of the coin, a lot the issues we choose to freak out about may NOT be visible on that same spreadsheet, but can’t be ignored, like the burning truck.

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Signs of the Times, Texas Edition

Putting the shat back in washateria


We appreciate usiness. 

I like this one especially. Usually when I get these sign pictures, they’re here because something broke or changed or because of a juxtaposition or translation problem. But in this case it appears there was never any attempt to spell it all out. The “your b” I expected to see was simply deemed surplus, like the EPA or ethics rules. 

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I appeal to your sense of decency 

If you look at sewer drains, you see a lot of variations on this theme… don’t put motor oil or whatever here, because it ends up polluting some body of water. 

In this case, I thought “national estuary” was a nice touch, because im not sure how much sympathy there would have been for plain old Galveston Bay. 

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My Triumphant Return

To Pasadena isn’t a return at all… wrong state! But this Pasadena is at least named after my Pasadena. There are a lot of similarities, like both are places. In America. With people in them! But beyond that, I admit to focusing more on the differences in terrain and civic sense of self. 


Before my b-in-law moved here a couple years ago to turn over a new professional leaf and escape a horrendous commute from Katy, I’d only ever heard of Pasadena TX as the home of Gilley’s (mechanical bull, John Travolta, etc.). In fact, that was just down the street, but it’s long gone, and now there’s a middle school on the site. 


We crossed a giant bridge over the Ship Channel the other night. I wish I’d gotten a picture of the refineries (which are far more emblematic of this town than Gilley’s ever was) lit up like dystopian fairy castles, but our rental car was too low to really see over the side barriers. Which explains why everyone here drives such big trucks!!

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Kim and Bill’s Excellent Adventure 

We’re in Houston for an interview, which gives us an unexpected chance for a little family visit. 


On Saturday night, Brother Frank (there’s also an Uncle Frank, and somehow Brother Frank has always rolled easily off this only child’s tongue) surprised us with tickets to a jazz event. It was put on by Kim Prevost and Bill Solley, a couple he’s seen play lots of times and knows through a network of mutual friends. 

Things started off with us having to find Lucky Run recording studio, around back in a building even a Realtor would describe as gray, anonymous and industrial. 


But once we got inside, it started to look more like I expected… framed records on the wall, lots of name-checking (Solange! Lady Gaga!), and a young man behind the desk who clearly had other things to do. 


I said ‘event’ on purpose, because this was a hybrid of concert and recording session. As VIP ticket holders, we got to sit in the master control room. Each musician was in a separate room (though all could see each other through windows). Here’s Bill in his room on the left, then Kim, then the background singers.


Drums, bass, and two keyboardists were off to the right. Because of that setup, each musician could be on their own track (or tracks: the drum kit had eight), while listening to while on headphones. 

We got running commentary from the engineer, which was really interesting and all new to me. Most of the time he was just letting it run, but occasionally he would fiddle with something. He would turn players on and off on our monitors to explain how a recording gets made and edited. Lots of dials and switches. 


Kim and Bill are from New Orleans, part of the great post-Katrina diaspora like Brattleboro’s own Samirah Evans (they’ve been on multiple festivals together back in the day). The music was great, soulful and jazzy, and complex enough to listen to way more than once. They did two complete shows, and will produce a DVD of the session and a fully edited recording. 

Maybe this is a new performance concept or maybe not… but it was new to me. I thought it was a really cool way for them to pay for some studio time while cultivating a much deeper audience connection than in a regular lounge setting. 

Thanks, Brother Frank!

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Insert Title

Insert story

The Brattleboro Reformer sponsors a periodic contest for young writers, with a prompt in words or pictures. So here’s such a prompt from our morning walk the other day. 

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Stella by Starlight

Followed immediately by A Sunday Kind of Love. With these historic chansons, my clarinet “playing out” cherry has been popped. 

For the last few months I’ve been going sporadically to the Wednesday night open jam at the Vermont Jazz Center, trying to follow along in my own score. Last night I actually got the horn out of the case… and got up… and played a few numbers. 

Astoundingly… I didn’t die! I mean, most fourth-graders could’ve done better, but in terms of actually physically dying, it didn’t happen. I hit more notes than I missed, and only squeaked a few times. I hit the pickup notes on Sunday Kind of Love sweet and clear, all by myself. I solo’ed. 

There’s a whole A&E documentary series to be made about these Wednesday sessions and the people who show up. From working professional jazz men to the busboy at my local bar to the girl singer (sorry, my language-correct sisters… in this world you’re a girl singer until you’ve got grandkids and rehab on your CV) (and maybe more) whose pure voice seems ripe for coaching and more practice, everybody plays as well as they play, they all figure out each week how to make the available instruments work together, and they all have a good time doing it. 

My debut was recognized warmly, particularly by the pianist, a retired psychotherapist, and so perhaps especially empathetic to my abject terror. This is an overtly, intentionally supportive environment, and I needed every bit of that support. Maybe it’s better to say they didn’t let me die, and thank you for that. 

Whew! What a rush. Having now tasted the limelight… I’ll be back. 

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Just breathe

Q: What does a good progressive say when she’s sick to death of all the political catastrophism, and especially getting tired of hearing about ‘The Resistance’?

A: Ohm………..

(I crack myself up sometimes, I really do)

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The Emblem Museum

We went for an afternoon walk about town yesterday and chanced on a signboard that read “Emblem Museum.” Ok, I’ll bite…


It’s upstairs near Bhava Yoga on Elliot Street, and a beautiful space. It’s really two rooms full of paintings, which take their inspiration from Ethiopian scrolls and a Victorian travel book found in an attic. 


Julia Zanes, the artist and proprietor, greeted us warmly. We learned that ‘museum’ might not be quite the right word, but ‘gallery’ sounded too commercial.   She explained both the creative and physical processes behind the painting series, which resonated with me… finding this this old F. Hopkinson Smith book in the attic of her new home, connecting somehow with these old scrolls, hanging out with someone who just happens to do gold leaf… and a few hundred hours later you have Art. And art we liked, it would look good in this house. 


As a side project she makes puppets and does puppetry, because why not, and hopes to put on shows for kids, but maybe with less disturbing puppets, so they don’t cry. Good idea, but as grown ups we thought the creepy puppets were really cool. And also creepy. 

Can Brattleboro support another somewhat esoteric gallery/museum? One is hopeful, but… I’m glad we got to see it and meet her now. 

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Everett Raymond Kinstler 

I was glad to see this interview with Kinstler flash across my news feed the other day. 

I heard him speak at the Mark Twain Library in Redding, CT a dozen or so years ago, and got a couple signed copies of his book of portraits. Since then, it’s been fun to see some of his works around New York and DC. 

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