Just a reminder Chicago, it's getting cold.

Dear Chicagoan's,

It's that time of year again! I'm not really talking about the Holidays or consumerism or yada yada yada, I'm talking about the cold, dark, ickyness. I think the cold dark days have a tendency to put a damper on everyone's mood and while for about 2 months we have the added jolliness of the holidays, that only lasts till the beginning of January. I'm writing this to remind everyone that we're all going through a similar time right now where we all need an extra pick me up, we all need that extra ounce of love and "oumph" of motivation to get together with people we love. I think that sometimes people get to this part of the year, start feeling icky, and think that they are alone in this feeling. I'm writing to tell you you're not. I know I will be making the extra effort to get out of the house, and if you need some one to hang out with do not hesitate to call me up, even if it's just to watch River Monsters or something.

Love, cheer and Joy to you all!

And Happy Hanukkah starting tomorrow!!!

Love, Leigh

Enough is Enough.

There have been some key instances in my young life where I learned what happens when my expectations for people I care about come crumbling down before my young eyes.

For instance when I was in 10th grade a handful of my friends started smoking pot and I was NOT happy about it. I might have said a few choice words and handled it poorly, both sides over reacted and I lost some perfectly good friends...for about 3 months. Then we all came to our senses. I learned that I need to pick my battles.

11th grade I had a girl I'd been best friends with since kindergarten drop off the face of my planet, start abusing drugs and only calling me out of the blue for rides. I didn't talk to her for a couple years until I realized maybe she needed my reaching out to. Wrote her a heart felt letter, cut her to the quick, now she's on the right path (not really because of me).

But my question is:

As adults, as Christians, as caring, loving, understanding, close friends, what is our breaking point?

When do we speak up when it comes to people you love abusing their bodies, taking abuse in a relationship be it physical or psychological, or even just abusing the code of friendship? How many times should it take before we speak up and say "No, enough is enough".

After the first sign? The second instance? The third? Just when we start noticing? Should we say anything at all? Ever?

"If you loved me you'd let me be."

"My life is my life!"

"You have no place."

"I don't want to talk about it."

Where do the responsibilities to our friends begin

These are questions I've been struggling with for a while and have recently been struggling with daily.

When I was a kid I had an extremely low tolerance for such matters. Me and my sisters caught my Mom smoking behind our house one day, the cigarette was immediately snatched from her hand and stomped upon dramatically and what ever cigarettes were remaining were found and disposed of. I was maybe 7 and I never saw her smoke again. I think inside I still have this same gut reaction but as I am an adult I ask myself questions like "has this person made a commitment to quit smoking? Is it my place to say anything? Do they want/need my help? etc.". Because, hey, it's easier to just ignore it anyways, right?

sigh.

I think when it comes down to it I have to look to the Big Guy for this one. After all he puts our options before us and then gives us infinite chances to get it right "70x7". Loves us unconditionally and is waiting there when we get it right. Not to mention there is a log in my eye I've yet to get out. ...

I try my best to do good by this, but my nerves are shot.

The Bible's GOT to say something about getting the go to meddle, it should be in here somewhere *flip flip flip*.

Anyone?

Radiohead - Kid A

This album still helps me breath deeper, think deeper, feel deeper.

I've recently dusted it off and gave it a good listen again. I think it's been a while only because I played it so many gosh darn times for years after I discovered it. Listening to it now it's still just as powerful to me.

When I was 15/16 I refused to listen to Radiohead because I thought Tom Yorke's voice was too whinny, I didn't listen to Nirvana for similar reasons. There was one day when I finally got it. I believe it was during a ride home after Jazz Band from our guitar player Chris Rue, he had been telling me about it for a while and finally made me listen, and thank God he did.

I have a very good and detailed memory of sitting in the little apartment above my best friend Katie's Garage out in the middle of the heavily wooded Gates Mills, OH and listening to Kid A on full volume in the dark, the only thing to focus on was the lights from the stereo. This near out of body experience was broken only by laughter only after Katie muttered "I feel like i'm on a spaceship". But it does make you feel that way, doesn't it? Like you're zipping through the cosmo's at varying speeds? And for two classically trained musician nerds it was just the trip our brains were looking for.

Kid A would be the gateway drug into a world that I hadn't tapped into yet, having been cuffed to my boom box by album after live album of Dave Matthews Band music.

I seem to remember specific points in my life when my friends introduced me to music that would take me to that next plane of understanding. Like when my friend Ben saw that I needed a heavy dose of good tunes and invited me over to burn album after album of tunes that would open my eyes, (ie- AIR's Talkie Walkie, numerous Stereolab albums, The Bad Plus, Brad Meldeau, Waltz for Koop, etc.). Even a short moment when my friend Craig had me listen to Juana Molina's Segundo just asking "Do you like this?" my eye's wide I respond "What is this?".

At that age me and kids like me were always looking for the newest sound, it was like a drug in one way and a contest in others. Eventually I grew out of it and lightened up in my pursuit of the new and the interesting. I come across things now and then and I'm still the go to girl for some friends seeking new tunes. But surely I'm not as intense about it as my friends Ben and Craig still are.

But still, I can honestly say Radiohead's Kid A changed my life musically. Listening to it now I'm falling in love all over again.

Self inflicted Music.

For some reason I love the concept of musicians getting hurt as a result of being so into the music they're making that they can't stop even if it's inflicting injury.

When I was a kid and I heard about Flea playing bass so hard that he had to put glue over the intense bloody blisters he got as a result, I was impressed. I thought, "Wow! He must play really hard! Why would anyone - that's crazy - whoa!". Now that I've played bass for a number of years now that's like..."Oh....yeah....that happens."

When I was touring Sweden and Austria with my University Jazz bands we were playing one to two shows a day and it did a number on my fingers. By the 4th or 5th show the tour guides son was being sent to the store to get me some super glue (cuz God knows what I would have ended up with not being able to read Swedish). And yes, I had to put a layer of super glue over my red, bleeding, pussing, raw blisters that had formed on my middle and index finger. But it wasn't

weird or gross, it was just something that I had to go through to get the job done. I get blisters all the time, it's just become an extension of being a bass player.

When I met Esperanza Spalding I made sure to ask to see her fingers, of course they were callused and red and blistered, beautiful. All a part of being a dedicated bass player.

Guitar players can usually avoid this by using pics.

Drummers, however, beat them selves up on a daily basis. Blood on a snare drum is a regular occurrence.

One of my favorite photo's that I've taken is of my friend Ben's fingers after he's played a show. knuckles cut up and bloody. Followed by another photo of his forearm, bruised and red, all part of being an impassioned drummer.

These injuries are gross to people who don't understand that these things are part of the gig, and that's amusing to me. I love these photo's because usually the messages taken from such images is one of anger or sadness. For these people, it's one of passion.

Can we say, "Leigh's new photo project". I think so.

An artist doesn't stop.

Yesterday I was talking to my best friend Katie about this and that. The skinniness and tonedness of her older sister came up and Katie, who is a professional Classical Bassoonist said this. (and I'm paraphrasing)

"I mean she has such a cushy job though, (she's a lawyer in London or something) she can come into around 10 or 11 and always leaves before 7 and then she's done! She can go home and work out or whatever and doesn't have to think about work anymore. Unlike an artist where what you do consumes your life 24/7, it's hard to fit in a work out."

Now while Kate is required to practice every night for hours and make reeds whenever possible, not all artists are as physically restricted from exercising as musicians can be.

But I do agree that creative persons can never truly escape their "Job" and most of the time don't want to. Where people with a more "Type A" kind of job have the ability to go to work, come home and forget about whatever profession it is that they have. Of course there are some exceptions, but I'm pretty sure accountants don't think about accounting all night and all weekend.

This is why artists who are lucky enough find jobs in the artistic field barely sleep until a project is finished, (i.e. working on an album, film, play, etc.) and artists who don't have a job in their field use every ounce of their spare time to work on artistic endeavors.

Personally, I know that I will not be happy if I don't have a career that is in some way creative. And I think that's a mind set that most if not all artists I know have.

So there's that.

New Blog/ RIP

I made another blog today called "Look At What I Made Today" that will have a post each day of something I made. Check it out:

http://lookatwhatimadetoday.blogspot.com/

This blog will remain for my ramblings.

On a sad note:

My Grandfather Robert Rickert Died the Sunday after Thanksgiving my senior year of High School. He was an amazing man, a story teller, seriously wouldn't stop telling jokes and stories. He was tall and lanky like me and always said "You're slender, not skinny". I recently watched a home movie from 1987 when him and my grandmother were visiting us at our home in Texas, he was playing a pretend game with us where we made a string grow between us and then played jump rope with it, he was always a creative instigator. I miss him.

Recently his best friend Edwardo passed away, a man that my Grandfather waited to see before dying the same night. I remember him by the stories he would tell me and my sisters about catching my Mom sneaking out of the house at night back in the 70's, and from him reading me and my sisters stories in Spanish.

Two great men that are surely missed.

RIP

Wanting to exist in the space in between

There is a time of day that is like no other:

I've brushed my teeth and put on my pj's, set my alarm and kissed Ryan good night. My ear plugs go in and i lay in bed trying to go to sleep. Then what happens between that time i roll over and the time i fall asleep is what i wish had been happening all day. That time is when the ideas start to show up.

Soon my brain is like a dream like interactive poster board filled with amazing images, designs, song ideas, stories, even fall fashion collections, all things that only exist in my mind, all images that you cannot google, all so complex that turning on the light and scribbling something down wouldn't do them justice. But I guess for now I'll do my best.

I want to exist in this space all day. This limbo between waking and sleeping where all my idea's seem too flow freely out into my conscience mind. During the day I am so distracted or if I'm not I want to be, I get lonely so quick that I turn to the internet or i turn to the television, why can't I just put my ear plugs in, close my eyes and return to the space in between?

I have a memo recorder filled with song idea's, a head filled with photo shoot concepts, and a note book filled with stories, an eye filled with fashion lines and yet something in me stops it from going any further. It all stops just after it leaves my finger tips, or just before, terrified of going any further. What does it take to make it go the extra step.

Does this fit into any job description you've ever heard of?

I want to exist in that space between, where anything is possible and my idea's flow with limitless freedom.

Tomorrow is going to be nothing like today.

(excuse the hippie, trippy psycho babble shit, I just rolled out of bed to write this.