After a few teaser "shorts-and-T-shirt" days, winter decided to evict spring and move back in here. Came home in the pouring rain Sat. night and awoke yet again to a winter wonderland....that is, I wonder why it's still winter in this land. We had three inches of wet snow; but an hour later it began to freeze and then melt. I was greeted by what sounded like an army of crazed sports-fan-hooligan squirrels throwing teeny little beer bottles off the roof on to my deck--turned out not to be beer bottles, of course, but really ice chunks. Can't be sure that it wasn't the squirrels throwing 'em, though. We are facing some more "wintry mix" this Thurs. night and then--oh, joy!--possibly accumulating snow next Sunday. Just in time for the benefit for Mick Scott--a Chicago music legend fallen on medical and fiscal hard times--at the Heartland Cafe 4/5 from 4-8 pm. I'm doing a song or two with Andina & Rich and am also in the pre-show rock band. Please don't let the weather keep you from helping Mick and hearing some of the greats from Chicago's folk scene from the 1970s onward! (Wish I could say this weather forecast was an April Fool's prank, but it was on TV tonight, still in March). Re my last journal: So I lied--I didn't blog before New Year's or Kwanzaa. But I had a good reason. A few days after the terrific time I had playing at WDCB on Christmas Eve-Eve, I awoke to discover my "trigger thumb" (stenosing tenosynovitis) from three years ago had returned with a vengeance. I could not move my left thumb at all, and it hurt like a motherf......no, that's an insult to motherf*s..... Couldn't get a surgeon's appt. till after New Year (and had a devil of a time trying to type!) and this time there wasn't enough time between then and leaving for my Coffeyville-to-Memphis odyssey to rehab from surgery. Had to settle for one more cortisone shot, which was to tide me through the gigs and then get flushed out during the tendon release surgery I wished I'd had originally. Meanwhile, while I didn't get to make it down to Washington, DC for the Inauguration (even if my sis had room for me, it'd have been a looooooong cold walk from the Metro to as close as I could get to the Mall), I was able to do the next best thing: Broadway Cellars in my neighborhood had an incredible inaugural brunch bash--my son Gordy, my "right hand" Carrie and I joined a restaurant packed with our neighbors and bedecked with HDTVs to chow down on Eggs Benedict, wash down copious amounts of Graham Beck (Stellenbosch AOC) Champagne--the Obamas' favorite bubbly--and see Pres. Obama drop the "-Elect" from his title. We laughed, we cried, we hugged, we sang and we chanted as Mr. Potter (er, Dick Cheney) and the chopper bearing our former Nightmare In Chief left for lives of leisure. (Won't tell you what we chanted, but if you are Sox or Cubs fans who have witnessed home team four-baggers, you can guess). We're facing even tougher times than we expected in January, but let's let our President have the latitude (and our patience) to bring our nation back up out of an eight-year hole. Two months is barely enough to put out the competitive bid specs for the pulley, rope and harness, much less put them to use. So the new cortisone shot took (could have seen how long it'd hold up, but that might have dissolved the tendon!) and Steve and I did the Coffeyville Humanities Project--17 shows in 5 days. As it was when I did it solo in 2003, it was exhausting but exhilarating. It was also heartbreaking, as massive floods had leveled much of the east side of town two years ago and severely damaged much of the rest of it. Whatever the flood and a continuing exodus did not take away, this horrid economy exacerbated. Venues I'd played and places I'd eaten and shopped no longer existed--not just gone out of business but physically destroyed. Lives were damaged...and lost. I had written "Carry You" for the victims of the Katrina flood, but I truly personally felt every word and note of it and sang it to the good folks of Coffeyville with tears in my eyes. But Steve and I also had the joy of being able to sing "Orange and Pink Prairie Sky" to the folks who and in the place which inspired it! After finishing our sets, developing nasty blisters on my fingers, and taking several tasty detours to King's Coffee in Dearing, KS (still the home of terrific espresso drinks and pies to die for....and now killer quiches) and Dink's Pit BBQ in Bartlesville, OK (the real deal), we headed off to Memphis, delightfully playing tourist all the way. Visited the Tom Mix Museum in Tyler, OK (wish we'd had time for the WIll Rogers Museum); on the way out of Broken Arrow our trusty GPS, Chatty Cathy, began to have a nervous breakdown. She suggested "better routes" that seemed to exist only in a parallel universe, told us we were on different roads than what the signs said, sent us in circles (literally) at the OK/AR border--endlessly repeating "recalculating," and finally cried, "Insufficient memory available to calculate route!" So I had to fire her and replace her the next day in Fayetteville with a more competent model (which set me back an arm and a leg and somebody else's arm and leg). All was well, we made (and ate--BBQ, catfish, fried green tomatoes, sweet tea, Arkansas wines--BURP!) our way east to the Delta. We visited the Delta Cultural Center in Helena, AR, where we saw some wonderful exhibits on the roots of blues, soul, rockabilly, and gospel and even saw the actual King Biscuit Flour Hour radio studio. Then across the mighty Mississippi to the epicenter of Delta blues: Clarksdale, MS, site of the legendary Crossroads where Robert Johnson is said to have sold his soul to the Devil for his talent. We eagerly drove into town, crossing below the underpass brightly emblazoned tagger-style with "Clarksdale--Home of the Blues," remembering the countless images of a lonely crossroads, at the center of which stood a solitary man holding a simple guitar and waiting for the demon whom he believed could ensure his genius would endure for the ages. What we saw instead was a busy street corner bearing a pole, atop which were a crossed pair of garishly painted stylized fake guitars, bearing the legend "Crossroads" and signs for US 49 and 61. On three corners were gas stations and a strip mall; on the fourth, a Church's Fried Chicken. Were Johnson to have encountered the Crossroads today, he'd probably have shaken his head, gone to Best Buy up the road and bought a copy of Guitar Hero. (But he's no dummy---he'd have stopped at Church's first. Good chicken. Used to have one in my neighborhood. Makes KFC and Popeye's taste like dog food). One more piece of advice, though--when visiting the birthplace of the Delta Blues, renowned for its juke joints and smoky bars and exhaustive museum, do NOT do so in broad daylight on a Monday which happens to be a national holiday. You will be bitterly disappointed. We hightailed it out of town and caught some great 'cue at a truck stop just east of the river. On to Memphis--Folk Alliance was terrific! This year I cut way back on performing (four showcases compared to last year's thirteen!) but had to, since as the President of the Board of FARM and the new Midwest Rep. on the Board of AFM Local 1000 (those of you who are traveling musicians and not yet members, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?) I had a slew of meetings to attend and chair. And I was flabbergasted to find myself given--along with my antecedent FARM Board Presidents and those of the other FA regionals--Folk Alliance's Spirit of Folk Award, at a ceremony broadcast live on XM Satellite Ch. 15, The Village. My husband Bob called me excitedly from the side of the road between hospitals when he heard my name mentioned on the radio. But these are the names unjustly missing from that plaque: fellow "Boardies" Chris Gaylord, Joan Hellmann, Tom Gorman, Roger Little, Annie Capps; and FARM pioneers and mentors Margaret Nelson, Walt Campbell, Dave Humphreys, Diane Ippel, Art Lang, and many more. We should circulate that plaque among us all year, much like the Stanley Cup among the players of the winning NHL team. At Folk Alliance I got to hear wonderful performances from Roger McGuinn (and throw in harmony from the front rows!), Kathy Mattea, Rosalie Sorrels, John Sebastian (and even meet some of them), and share songs and enjoy the warmth and solidarity of my brothers and sisters of Local 1000: John McCutcheon, Steve Eulberg, Tret Fure, John O'Connor, Ken Whitely, Deb Cowan, Amy Fix and Paul Reisler; and have my songs adorned with tasty fiddle licks from Gina Forsyth of the Malvinas. (Gina, when it's time to record "Quarter Rat," we have to talk!). Of course, there was wonderful food galore, including the dry rub ribs (that must be served in Heaven despite not being Kosher) from the Rendezvous---Bon Appetit and the Food Network agree; the soul food brunch and mimosas at Alcenia's and Gus' World Famous Fried Chicken; and a delightful visit to the Stax Museum of American Soul Music, where I was transported back to my teen years--transistor radio under my pillow, Top 40 lists meticulously kept in my looseleaf. Saw Isaac Hayes' incredible solid-gold-and-ermine-trimmed Cadillac, Tina Turner's dress, James Brown's cape: and Steve Cropper's Strat, Duck Dunn's P-Bass and Booker T's Hammond (encased in plexiglass in such a way that I could pretend to be playing it!). Walked out grinning from ear to ear. It was worth tearing my left hamstring getting into and out of the van that got me there and back. Missed the trip to Rev. Al Green's church (it was opposite the Stax tour). Turns out I wouldn't have been the only Jew there. (As Marc Cohn put it in his marvelous song "Walking in Memphis," when a rousing gospel singer asked him, "Boy, are you a Christian?" he replied, "Ma'am, I am tonight." I'm sure my rabbi would understand...I hope). My voice held out just long enough--days of singing and endless hours of meetings and schmoozing and catching up with friends old and new in the corridors and hallways, as well as a ubiquitous late winter cold virus, took their toll and gave me laryngitis to keep my aching hamstring company. Both healed within a week. Good thing, because two days after I got back home I was under the knife to fix my trigger thumb. Dr. Schlenker's surgical skill and copious amounts of painkillers, ice (cans of soda make great icepacks) and physical therapy have brought my thumb--and playing--back up to speed (as did rest, chicken soup, and my voice teacher Randy Buescher for my voice). Got to test my newly healed hand and pipes at Madison Songwriters' Group's (the only MSG that's good for you) Songwriters in the Round showcase this past Tues. at the Brink Lounge with Steve and the marvelous "Biblegum pop" duo Stereo Sinai (newlyweds Alan Sufrin and Miriam Brousseau, who honeymooned at SXSW!); and Sat/ night at the Chicago Songwriters' Collective's showcase at Sacred Grounds Coffeehouse (inside Living Hope Lutheran) in Frankfort, IL with fellow members Donna Adler, Steve Brasel, Ron Hayden and John Ludwig. See you this Sun. afternoon at the Heartland, singing for Mick; and next week (Apr. 11) at the monthly Saturday concert series at Skokie's Ethical Humanist Society (great room and terrific acoustics, plenty of free parking), doing double duty as half of Andina & Rich and 1/3 of the SASS! Trio. Oh, and Happy Birthday, Maggie (tonight!) and especially Rona (the 10th!!!!!)