i grew up with a witch. not a regular, every day witch, but the kind that only appears on halloween. on that dark night, my friend shirley transformed from a kind, beautiful and generous woman into an ugly, screaming banshee who scared little children and terrorized her friends. hardly a day goes by that i don’t think of her – and i never let halloween pass without remembering her alter ego.

shirley and her husband were my parents best friends. i don’t remember a time when they weren’t in my life, or when stories of the antics they shared with my mom and dad (usually involving alcohol, gambling and dancing) weren’t tossed about at the dinner table. shirley had grown up a dirt poor nebraska farm girl, born of german immigrant parents who knew nothing but struggle and incredibly hard work. after high school, shirley made a break for it and headed to denver. before long she met and married her husband, an aspiring filmmaker who opened one of the most successful film developing labs in the midwest. they lived a much more sophisticated and moneyed lifestyle than my family, and i was never more thrilled than when we got to spend holidays – or any day – with them and their kids. they were all worldly and brilliant, hysterically funny and interesting.

in the early 70’s, when halloween rolled around, my mother would talk about shirley “going witching”. it took me a while to figure out how serious this was: on halloween, shirley donned a black a-line smock and pulled on a pair of black tights (and stuffed walnuts down her legs to give them an appropriate – and revolting – bumpy surface). she had a fright wig and pointy black hat as well as overdone, sloppy mascara. the piece de resistance: she sprayed herself with clorox so she smelled really, really foul. she set a big black iron pot filled with water and dry ice on the front steps. for the final touch, she raided her daughters closet for a couple of long-forgotten dolls (the large, 3 year old size) and pulled them apart. she dropped the arms and legs into the smoking cauldron, and after 2 or 3 stiff bourbons, sat down on the steps to wait for trick or treaters. needless to say, she terrified every child who approached. she would laugh and scream obscenities and pull child-parts out of the boiling water, waving them in the face of the little princesses and hobos who only wanted a piece of candy. i heard many stories about children who ran screaming and crying from that front porch. shirley had a heart of gold, but she loved scaring the shit out of those kids.

the evening didn’t end there. after a few years of witching, her reputation grew, and the numbers coming to the door dwindled in fear. so when the few brave trick or treaters had come and gone, shirley had a couple more drinks and hopped in her ‘65 mustang to cruise her very tony neighborhood. if a friend was having a halloween party, she would burst through the front door, screaming and cursing while throwing her trademark mixture of beans and candy corn (how she decided on this combination i’ll never know). she would roll on the floor, push people around and then run out of the house, cackling. she was “witching”, and i can promise you no one who was there will ever forget it.

its one of my big regrets that i could never convince my mother to take us to their house on halloween so i could see shirley in action. her witching went on for several years, until the time she snuck into a neighbors back yard and headed to the kitchen window, where the husband was standing at the sink. her plan was to leap up and scare the crap out of him. unfortunately, she neglected to notice the window-well directly in front of her, and took a rather serious tumble. i’m not sure her knees were ever the same. after that, her husband always managed to plan a trip to las vegas or new york that coincided with halloween. smart man – he knew the only way to stop the witching was to drag her out of town to one of her favorite places. so, shirleys witching faded into legend, and every halloween after, we heard stories about it.

a couple of years ago, one of my former employees was working in a pediatricians office in denver. a young father walked up to the desk with his paperwork. she looked at his information and noticed his address. “oh, you live in bow mar?” she asked. “yes, i grew up there and now that my parents are gone i’m raising my family in their house”. allison smiled and said “did you know the famous bow mar witch?”. the man looked momentarily stricken and stammered “uhh, do you mean shirley? that woman scared the HELL out of me when i was a kid!”. when i heard this story, i laughed out loud with joy – here was a grown man who had clearly been traumatized, with horrifying memories of his neighborhood at halloween. nothing would have made my favorite witch any happier.

i was a sophomore in college when i met ed. he spelled it edd then, with two d’s, a 70’s affectation that even today is the only pretentiously goofy thing i think he ever did. my college years weren’t happy – i’d enrolled at the music school in boulder to pursue my dream of being a singer/songwriter, only to discover they held that genre in complete disdain. i’d started my 2nd year with the hope things would be different – but my classmates still looked down their noses at me and i felt more out of place than ever.

it was a gorgeous fall morning and i was walking to campus when a smiling, handsome guy made a beeline across the street to me and said hello. he was so friendly, so comfortable and easy-going that i immediately opened up in a way i did not back then. he was a graphic designer who had taken a year off from his high-pressure job and moved to boulder to hang out, audit classes and experience colorado. he had a huge lust for life, he was brilliant and well-read, and seemed to have lived several lifetimes in his 27 years. i started spending as much time with him as possible, and over the next few months, i learned invaluable lessons from him about opening your mind to the arts, to the world, to living. he was exotic and wordly and never stopped searching. he was the first independent adult i ever met whose life looked like the one i imagined for myself.

one evening, ed and i drove to denver to see kenny rankin, a musician who was a big influence on me. opening the show was a local singer/writer named mindy sterling – we were captivated by her beautiful voice and heartfelt songs, and i wanted nothing more than to meet her and work on music together. ed wanted to meet her as badly as i did, and i have no doubt they would have become fast friends. he later told me that after the show he went home and tried to find her in the phone book. alas, he could not. i saw mindy perform several times after that, always with the same admiration and desire to get to know her.

a few months later, ed decided to return to the east coast. i was lonely and inconsolable. we stayed in sporadic touch – he was too busy living to write or call much – but i knew he was out there: ed starting his own design business, ed ending his long relationship and beginning a new one, ed buying an apartment and settling in. i was making my way into the boulder music scene, but by this time mindy sterling had moved as well, to california. news came back once in a while: mindy singing backup for donna summer, mindy working on a smashing demo tape, mindy about to be signed to a major recording contract.

by 1986, i had fallen in love. the two of us decided to save every dime and take a year off from our everyday lives to travel the country together. that january, i called ed to tell him. not only did i feel like i was following his template, i was excited to be coming east so that i could see him. he sounded oddly unenthused, and his response, “well, look me up when you get here…” seemed distant and uninterested. i was incredibly let down, and decided i would call him again when plans were more solid. 2 months later, during an ordinary evening at home, the phone rang. it was ed’s ex. in a halting voice, he told me ed had died the night before. i was dumbfounded and stunned and remember crouching on the floor as the room began to spin. i had feared that with his uninhibited lifestyle he was susceptible to this new disease called aids, but when i talked to him, he gave no indication he was ill. except to say, “look me up”. suddenly his lack of commitment made sense – when we talked, he knew his future was uncertain. ed taught me that every situation was an opportunity to learn, to experience, to open your mind and be – but the senselessness of his death left me angry and confused. months later, when i finally got to washington dc, i stood at the lily pond where his friends had scattered his ashes. i could see him crossing the street towards me the day we met, his smile wide and his heart open. i thought of the day he made the first martini i’d ever had, i thought of all the wise things he’d taught me. and i was numb.

fast forward to 1992. i was working with a denver music agency that booked me as a singer for weddings and parties. i got a call asking if i was available for a certain saturday, and the agent added “oh, and you’ll be working with mindy sterling – she’s back in town and doing gigs with us.” i nearly dropped the phone. finally, 15 years later, i was going to meet her. i don’t think i’ve ever been so excited to arrive at such a mundane affair. i told mindy about seeing her perform so many years before – she seemed genuinely touched. better yet, when i opened my mouth to sing, she loved my voice.

in the years since, mindy and i have worked together often, and have become close friends and confidantes. along with her brilliant musicality, she is eerily intuitive and perceptive and has given me wonderful advice many, many times. her life experiences amaze and inspire me, and i often think of ed and wish i could tell him what has happened.

a few weeks ago, mindy invited me to see her husbands band play an outdoor concert at a venue in downtown denver. it was a warm summer evening, with clouds moving in. there was a big crowd and we squeezed our chairs into a prime position in front of the stage. it occurred to me that we were sitting together, close friends laughing and talking, just a block from the club where i had first seen her perform so long ago. she was hungry and had gotten food from the outdoor grill. when she jumped up to run across the patio to greet another friend, she turned and thrust her sandwich towards me. “here! have a bite!!” and i did. in that moment, finishing what was left of her dinner, i could feel someone over my shoulder. i looked up at the swirling clouds. there were drops of rain. “oh my god”, i thought to both of us. “i’m sharing a chicken sandwich with mindy sterling!”. and i know ed was there, and smiling.

it was 1970, and i was sitting in junior high band class next to my friend kim, who i’d known since first grade. she’d always had really good taste in music, and she was also the only girl in elementary school to actually own, and wear, a paper dress (bright pink with huge graphic white daisies – not that it made an impression on me or anything). between her wardrobe and her collection of 45’s, i thought she was about as cool as you could get. consequently, i was thrilled we sat next to each other so we could talk about the latest albums. she had just bought ‘live peace in toronto’ by the plastic ono band – john lennon’s first foray into post-beatles life. kim thought side one was okay, but the other side contained only two very long yoko ono songs. “all she really does is scream” was kim’s succinct review. that was all it took to intrigue me. i hinted for a few days until she offered to let me borrow the record.

i’d heard about yoko ono. she was ‘the woman who broke up the beatles’. i had read about her strange, minimal artwork and her mysterious persona that lured john lennon into her evil trap. of course, all of that was completely untrue, but thats how she was seen in those days. most of all i was curious about her ‘music’ (people often referred to it in quotes – sometimes they still do). when kim brought the record to school i couldn’t wait to get home and hide out in the basement and listen.

i didn’t really care about side one – the old rock and roll cover tunes that john played – i’d get to that later. i dropped side two onto the turntable and set the needle on. “yoko’s going to do her thing…all over you” john announces. and then, yoko begins. screaming. howling. making sounds i didn’t realize a human could make. the band flails behind her. i stood dumbfounded for a moment and then began laughing hysterically. the thing is, i didn’t find it one bit funny – its only as i’ve gotten older that i realize i sometimes laugh out loud – with joy, excitement, thrill – at something that grabs me deep inside and won’t let go. i couldn’t believe what i was hearing. it was amazing in a way i couldn’t yet put into words.

something changed for me that day. i had fallen into the world of the avant-garde and i was hooked. i started reading everything i could find about yoko and her work. i bought her book of minimalist poetry, “grapefruit” – i’d never read anything like it. it seemed incredibly quirky to a 14 year old country boy, but i was mesmerized, and began to see the world in a totally different way. this was a woman with an amazing imagination, expressing herself and her opinions without walls or borders. the images and ideas were frequently breathtaking, vivid and beautiful.

eventually, yoko made her own albums. on a trip to denver i cajoled my parents into taking me to a store called ‘gem’ (sort of an early version of target) where i had to special order the double album “fly”. the cover featured a portrait of yoko’s face, and i remember my mother being tremendously embarrassed as i carried it to the checkout. i’m still not sure why. i love that album – 2 sides of more conventional songs, and 2 sides of extreme, experimental music. i listened to it incessantly and even made up reasons why i needed to take it to school, so i could carry it around where people could see how hip, progressive and worldly i was. i probably don’t need to mention their actual reaction was more like disgust and confusion. for me, that was just the start of enduring years and years of yoko-bashing. i quickly learned to shrug it off and carry the torch for this singular artist.

many years later, after her solo albums, after john’s ‘lost weekend’, their retreat into domesticity, and then his murder, a friend of mine was working in a denver art gallery. through some cosmic coincidence, the gallery booked a show of john lennon’s lithographs, and to my complete shock, yoko was slated to appear at the opening. my friend managed to get me a job working the t-shirt table outside the gallery during the reception. i arrived in the afternoon and took my post behind a long table piled with colorful shirts. yoko was inside doing press – though i couldn’t see her, i was practically vibrating with excitement. she was less than 50 feet away. suddenly, an entourage spilled out of the gallery, and before i could really think, yoko ono was standing across the t-shirt table, 3 feet from me, surveying everything. i was absolutely, completely speechless. she looked at me. we smiled at each other. i was frozen in place and could not utter a word. and then, she strolled back into the throng of handlers and was in the car and gone. i have no memory what happened for several hours after that.

later that evening, after the opening – literally thousands of people crowded the streets to listen to yoko speak from a podium on the sidewalk – there was a private reception at the hotel where she was staying. my friend, to whom i owe everything, got me an invitation to that event. it was crowded, and i surreptitiously kept my eye on yoko from across the room. i hope i appeared cool, but i was not calm. i was not collected. i was in the presence of someone i had worshipped for nearly 20 years, and it was overwhelming. finally, i saw my opportunity. yoko was perched at the edge of a sofa, with no one around. i approached her, smiled, and kneeled down before her (which even in the moment struck me as oddly appropriate). i told her how i had always loved her work, how it had changed my life. how it taught me that imagination and creativity should have no walls around them. how important it is to be utterly brave and fearless to create. at first she had a quizzical look on her face, and i found myself thinking “oh god, do i have it all wrong? have i misinterpreted everything???”  but then she smiled and started nodding, thanking me repeatedly. she was gracious and kind and receptive, and i was over the moon. sadly, i’d prepared and rehearsed my speech and delivered it flawlessly, but when i was done i had absolutely nothing else to say – i couldn’t dredge up casual conversation once i had elevated her onto the pedestal. in retrospect, i’m sure this has happened to her countless times. yet, i said what i had always wanted to say – thank you. i was in heaven.

yoko has continued to create art and art installations, and even began making music again. a few years ago i was in new york, and went to one of several of her exhibitions i’ve been lucky enough to see. finally, both her art and music are starting to be recognized as the groundbreaking and influential work that they are. the punks, the rocker grrrls, experimentalists like sonic youth – all credit her as a major inspiration. at the gallery, i picked up a postcard – a picture of yoko on the front, and on the back, a quote from the ny times: “as an instrument, yoko’s voice is in every way the equal to hendrix’s guitar or miles davis’ trumpet. this woman is a genius. and god, how stupid lennon must have thought the rest of the world was for not seeing this.”

its true. and i’m happy to say, i knew it all along.

the doors of the train slid shut, and i waved sadly to myrna. through the glass she blew me a kiss goodbye as the car pulled away. i walked up the ramp and into grand central station, staring at the ceiling, the intricate stonework, the late night crowds rushing through the cavernous room. out on the street, there was a brisk breeze, and i took my usual route back to the hotel – stopping once in a while at a favorite landmark, looking at it silently for a long moment. it was my last night in new york, and i was saying goodbye the same way i’ve done a hundred times before.

i felt the familiar sting of leaving, my stubborn desire to stay. but this time, i felt something else – an intense urgency, the realization that there was someone at home, a reason to go. i’m always torn when i leave new york, but this was new – i was torn over wanting to stay, and pulled by the need to be at your side. walking faster, i tried to take everything in, to soak up the energy of the city. i always do this before i leave, as if i can store all the manic motion, the traffic noise, the garish lights to keep me alive until i return. strange, though, that it suddenly felt hollow, voodoo that no longer had power – and i was ready to be home.

i stopped for tea at the corner deli near my hotel. when i stepped back outside, there was a homeless man on the street, singing in a dark, soulful voice:

there were bells on the hill
but i never heard them ringing
no i never heard them at all
’til there was you…

i stood, frozen in place. and i wondered: has your view of the world changed and shifted now that i am in it, as mine has? do you feel yourself leaning towards me, even when we are hundreds of miles apart? do you wish me home? are you anxious for my return? are the things you always counted on drifting away, leaving just the two of us, washed with the sound of bells?

there were birds in the sky
but i never saw them winging
no i never saw them at all
’til there was you…

i stared down 7th avenue, the bright lights in times square blurring. do you feel this longing as i do? do you feel even one iota of this longing that has suddenly come and spun my calm world off its axis?

like the song says:

“everything must change/nothing stays the same/everyone will change/nothing and no one goes unchanged”.

i first heard it, on a judy collins album no less, the year i graduated from high school. i thought it was goofy and simplistic and i couldn’t believe it ever got recorded. four years later, after college, it began to make a lot more sense. it took some growing up to realize you didn’t need a lot of grandiose words and images to convey such a basic and real fact: everything must change.

i’ve had my share of change and loss (they’re really one and the same, of course). i’m better at accepting it than i used to be, more resigned, definately more philosophical. i might even be close to admitting that when change is difficult and bad, it can end up being ‘for the best’ – a phrase that always annoyed me, regardless of the fact its usually true.

five years ago, sarah and i discovered a gem of a place called ‘the lab’. we both love art, artists, the creative process, and this new institution had it all. anything you could possibly consider art – and most likely some things you wouldn’t – it was all fair game. everything was treated irreverently, with humor and an off-kilter approach, and just enough respect to keep the whole thing from toppling over. we started attending every lecture, and each week we seemed to experience some amazing moment of magic, when the subject matter was unexpectedly illuminated by the speaker or an audience member or some random occurrence. many times i sat shaking my head at the wonderful ways we were learning to see the world, with a new perspective.

after the first few visits, sarah and i coaxed our shy selves into joining the creme of the crowd for the post-lecture dinner. as we got to know people, this became an event in itself. wine-filled, joyous, thought-provoking, hilarious – for me, coming during a difficult period of major change, it was water for a parched soul. it became our education, our social life, our hang out, a new circle of friends. i may even have started recognizing the different seasons not by the weather, but by the lab’s programming.

the lab has always been about art and creativity, which is never static. but somehow i thought our routine – the car pools, the cocktail hour, the always amazing lectures, dinner after, would stay the same. but nothing and no one goes unchanged. as the lab morphs to a new location and a new shape, i know there will be more magic. it can’t help but happen at this level of creativity. but i don’t know what can compare to the unexpected surprises of those first evenings at the beginning, watching the crowds and programming grow, the excitement over the opening of the new building and the first real exhibition, and the feeling that we were there to see it happen – glasses of wine in hand and huge grins on our faces, as the world was laid out before us in a brand new way.

i love the way music connects us, instantly and without warning, to moments in the past. last night i jumped into my car and ran a few errands while listening to my new blind faith cd. of course it isn’t really new, since blind faith made only one album, in 1969. family friends gave it to me that christmas, and i played it to death. a couple of weeks ago i found it on cd for $5, and since i hadn’t heard it in years, i bought it. not surprising that it sounded completely familiar, as if i’d just played it the day before. towards the end of the first track, the music sort of melts into a freaked-out stew of sound, all warped and spacey. its a quintessential 60’s moment meant, no doubt, to replicate some kind of psychedelic acid trip. and like an acid trip from long ago, i experienced a flashback, though of a more unexpected kind.

i was a little too young to get caught up in beatlemania, but i was certainly aware of it. a few years later when the monkees appeared, i was entranced. like a lot of kids, i wished i could be a famous rock star, chased by screaming throngs and worshipped by rapt listeners. there was none of that singing into a hairbrush in front of the mirror, though – nothing so pedestrian for me. i cajoled my brother and various cousins into forming musical groups. we would clear out our entire basement, hang up my op-art posters as a backdrop, and create a stage where we could mime along with our (my) favorite records. no inanimate object was safe from being put into service as a musical instrument, and we dug out our most rock-star worthy clothes and raided my mothers jewelry box for ‘love beads’. how our very old stereo managed to survive without blown speakers i’ll never know. eventually it all became so fantastic we simply had to put on a show for someone – in this case, our parents. not my first choice, but they were the only available audience. so what if they didn’t appreciate the music like we did? i was bound and determined to turn them into screaming fans and enlighten them to the power and majesty of rock and roll. my cousins would come out from denver and stay for several days, most of which were spent in the basement, plotting and rehearsing our big concert, with me cracking the whip. i took it all deadly seriously, and there were quite a few arguments when they mutinied and insisted we add some ‘funny’ songs that were performed like comedy skits. much to my complete annoyance, these were the numbers our parents laughed at and responded to. why they weren’t equally amazed and impressed by their children miming to a jimi hendrix song, i’ll never know.

i have fond memories of those times, and think of them once in a while. but when i popped in the blind faith cd last night, i had completely forgotten we’d performed that first song in one of our concerts. when the wierd, psychedelic freak-out came along, i vividly pictured us pantomiming through it, and then i looked at my cd player and noticed the song is almost 8 minutes long. in horror and panic, i thought “oh my god, we (i) made our parents sit through this whole thing just because i thought the last 15 seconds were SO cool?” i was mortified. i mean, it was almost 40 years ago and i still felt embarrassed. i briefly considered sending apologetic notes to everyone involved, or maybe hitting the gas and running my car into a tree. i know that all parents have to endure enjoy and foster the creative things their kids come up with, but these concerts went on for an hour or more, all of us earnestly waving around our brooms and decorated 2×4 guitars while our parents pretended to be interested. looking back, i am incredibly touched and grateful that they put up with us. i also hope they’ve completely forgotten about it.

i love the way music connects us, instantly and without warning, to moments in the past. but as a former 14 year old pushy impresario, proud artiste, wanna-be rock star, this was what i’d have to call a bad trip.

a few days ago, i was reading one of my favorite blogs by one of my favorite singer/songwriters, amy rigby. she was talking about her very optimistic horoscope, and helpfully provided a link to the website where she’d seen it. i took the bait and looked up what is in the stars for me in january and february, and basically, it raved on and on about what a fantastic 2 month period lies ahead. jupiter is about to enter my something, and then something else is going to affect my this, and that affects my potential for jobs and money-making. mercury will be in retrograde and something, so be careful not to sign any contracts without reading carefully even though they are going to be really, really fantastic anyway and something else, too. and this will probably never happen again because jupiter only shows up in my whatever once or twice in my life. and something else really great will happen and then some other stuff, and….

oh. did i happen to mention i don’t really believe in this? 

in my early teens i came across a detailed explanation of my sign, taurus. i don’t remember specifically what it said, but i remember it talked about taurus ruling the throat, and taureans tend to be sensitive, perceptive, stubborn, spoiled, shopaholics, impatient, crave dessert, have addictive personalities. okay, it only said some of those things, but i was struck – as only you can be when you are a perceptive, sensitive taurean teenager experiencing the world for the first time. after all, i was a budding singer/songwriter, so the throat thing really did ring true, along with most of the other traits it described. over the next few years i was quickly disappointed by day-to-day horoscope predictions, and somewhere along the line i decided that there was enough truth in astrology to make it interesting, but certainly never enough truth to live my life by. my saturn return year? totally. may 2008 when everything was supposed to turn around and become fabulous? not so much.

still, when i read this gushing account of my next 2 months, i have to admit i was hooked. i even found myself waking up the next day with a whole new attitude. at this point in my life, anything that perks me up and makes me optimistic is not to be taken lightly – and i even started thinking “if all this great stuff is in the stars and just waiting to happen, what do i have to do to help it along?”. so in this way, i guess my astrology chart worked, sort of like a cosmic jump-start. its strange what we grab on to, in spite of ourselves, when that thing is inherently hopeful. yet if it leads us someplace we’ve been wanting to go, what in the world is wrong with that? i don’t know about jupiter, but i’m pretty sure there’s nothing wrong with wishing on a star.

i’ve been obsessed with the phrase “christmas is the new black”. not because christmas is suddenly the new, popular, hip and fashionable thing – but because this year, more than ever, it feels empty and disappointing and a huge letdown. its not like i just found out there is no santa claus, but maybe in a way i finally did.

like most people, the childlike thrill of christmas ended for me sometime in my early teens. okay, that is a total lie – i was unnaturally excited by it all the way through college. thanks to very generous parents and my own inability to grow up and let go, christmas was very, very good to me until my early twenties. in college, christmas break and the month i got to spend at home was something i lived for from september on. i usually got really great gifts (spoiled) and had wonderful times with my large extended family. i was incredibly lucky, and my memories of those times are precious.

after college, when i finally moved in to my own place and belatedly began adulthood (though that distinction is debatable) i was trying to get my band known around town and covering the bills working in a restaurant. restaurant work is totally unforgiving during holidays, and suddenly all the freedom and free time of college break was gone. i think its called ‘growing up’. after that i supplemented my income in retail – a card store, no less, and december was a blur of intense hard work. then i got fed up with booking my own band and joined an agency that booked me. december was always the busiest month, so weekend nights were spent working corporate events. when i finally opened my own retail store, i continued with the corporate bookings – december weekends were spent at a dead run during the day followed by late nights – sometimes 3 in a row – singing at boring company parties. the first christmas my store was open i went home on christmas eve, had dinner, sat down by the tree to open my gifts and instantly fell dead asleep. i have no memory of christmas day. this went on for years.

needless to say, at some point i began to feel like i was missing something. i watched the shoppers stroll in and out of my store, sipping the hot cider we joyfully provided (except for the year the crock pot cracked and it drained out all over the floor), packages wrapped, laden with bags, carolers strolling by. and there i was in a total frenzy, exhausted and counting the minutes until it was over. where was the joy for me in christmas? sure, the huge leap in income was a great gift – but i was missing all the fun, the festivities, the parties, the lovely glittering world i could see outside the store windows.

this year marks the first time in 25 years that i haven’t been in retail at christmas. the first time i haven’t worked until 4 pm on christmas eve, the first time i haven’t had to get up at 6 am on december 26th to get to work in time to do markdowns before we opened. i looked at the calendar a couple days ago – december 15th. okay, wait. where are the festivities? where are the piles of gorgeously wrapped gifts under my sparkling tree? the party invites? the smartly dressed and laughing friends standing around me with glasses of champagne? dinners in elegant restaurants followed by a stroll through streets lined with twinkling lights and gently falling snow? this is finally my year for these moments to happen, damn it, so where are they?

i’ll admit it. i’m a sucker for marketing, and i’m starting to realize i’ve never fallen harder for anything than i have for the myth of the christmas season. people used to complain to me about it all the time when i was ringing up their purchases, but because i was stuck behind the counter, i figured they just had temporary burn-out or were being incredibly stupid and ungrateful. now i realize they were chasing the same dream of the season that i thought i was missing. now that i have time to enjoy it, and discover that it doesn’t exist, the disappointment is significant. it makes me sad. it seems like everyone should get to have a holiday season that looks like the one in magazines. maybe the layouts are always so appealing because no one can really make it a reality. the reality certainly wouldn’t sell anything.

i’m moving towards christmas day with the hope something will magically kick in and there will be at least one mythical moment. it seems unlikely. if not, there is always new years eve. i’m sure there will be a year when i’m not out singing with the band, and thats the year i’m really going to experience the excitement it has to offer!

one of the questions i dread most is “what is it you love so much about new york?”. i’ve been there so often i now have something of a stock answer: “i just love to wander through all my favorite neighborhoods and stare at everything”. this is usually met with a trying-to-be-excited-but-blank look and a resounding “oh…?”. i know its a totally general and unsatisfying response, but its impossible to put into a few words what a visit to nyc is like for me. there’s the obvious reasons: the intense energy, the iconic sights, the history, the architecture, the culture, the food. but one overarching concept says it all: the sense of possibility. the feeling that around any corner you’ll find a great store, a fantastic restaurant, a gallery, an amazing building or landmark. or you’ll realize you’re standing next to janet jackson in the prada store, or elliot gould on the subway platform. there is always something random and unexpected waiting to happen.

on a beautiful warm and sunny saturday afternoon last may, i walked south from midtown on 10th avenue. the first few blocks were a bit of no-mans land, and then i began to recognize the tree-lined streets of chelsea, with row after row of picturesque brownstones. it felt as calm and serene as it ever gets in new york, and i thought, “okay, this is exactly where i want to live” – a sincere statement i make about 50 times per visit, in every neighborhood in the city. the possibilities.

i walked further south to the twisting puzzle of streets in the meatpacking district and stepped through the crowds into the west village. then down bank street, so european, to bleeker. this is one of my favorite routes, because it is also exactly where i want to live.

on the corner of bleeker and west 11th sits the magnolia bakery, a teeny-tiny shop famous for its amazing cupcakes and a cameo role on ’sex and the city’. in a town full of them, it has become a destination in its own right. there is almost always a line out the door and down the block – even as late as midnight. this is the city that never sleeps, after all, and apparently everyone stays up eating cupcakes. again, the possibilities.

across the street is a small park, and i could see something going on there. 6 girls in fuchsia satin dresses doing a kind of modern dance. slowly i realized they were performing some sort of homage to the magnolia bakery cupcake. i stood dumbstruck for a moment and then grabbed my camera.

there was music from a boombox but i have no memory what it was – i was too bowled over by the complex choreography. this was no unrehearsed, fly-by-night troupe. there was a crowd gathering by now, and everyone clapped and cheered. the dancers raised their cupcakes high, they bowed down to them.

there was a battle scene, as they paired off and fought over their cupcakes.

then, a peaceful resolution…

…followed by a chirpy celebratory dance around the statue in the park.

it was hilarious, and everyone knew it, but the dancers took it very seriously. its the worst cliche in the book, but…only in new york. and only in new york could one dancer be massively pregnant while another rather hefty girl turns out to be a beefy guy, all tarted up in fuchsia dress and the biggest pair of black pumps known to man. or, uhh, woman.

was this a marketing move orchestrated by the bakery? a neighborhood group obsessed with cupcakes? unemployed broadway actors dying to put on a show? a performance project by a student at nyu? so many possibilities, and an answer that doesn’t matter. it was silly, it was art, it was deadly serious – or was it? for me it was a fantastically random moment of magic that needed no reason. warm may afternoon, sunlight thru the bright green leaves, shiny fuchsia dresses, soft pink and yellow cupcakes held up to the cloudless blue sky. the possibility, the unexpected. is there a better reason to love new york city?

a couple of months ago, the bandleader i’ve been working with called to ask if i’d like to do a charity gig. we would be playing at a ‘make-a-wish foundation’ fundraiser, and most of the people attending would be directors of other country clubs around town – a good way for people to see us play live, and for a good cause. since it was a charity gig we wouldn’t get paid, but the rest of the band was on board so i agreed to it as well. i’ve been enjoying working with them and it seemed like a good deed, too. my friends were impressed i’d been invited to perform at such a prestigious event. a sweet thought, but none of them have been to these functions to see the real, sordid truth.

the evening unfolded at a suburban country club that is so architecturally similar to the grade school i attended i can only think of it as “the little elementary school that could”. granted, it has been glammed up a bit – a lot of bad molding and fake ceiling beams to detract from the popcorn texture, but it really is the worst excuse for ‘ritzy’ in town. when i played there 10 years ago, dinner ended, they turned off the lights in the dining room, and the waitstaff paraded in carrying trays laden with flaming baked alaska. fancy. the fire department was there because they’d had to disable the sprinkler system for fear the dessert would set it off. i remember thinking “wasn’t this an episode of bewitched?”

this time around, the grand ballroom (and i use that term loosely) was lined with long tables, and chefs from every country club in town had set up stations and were offering up an entree. the band was set up in the corner (note: i said ‘corner’, not ’stage’) about 5 feet from one of the buffet lines. right after i arrived, i noticed the room was getting very smoky, and there was a seriously pungent smell in the air. several maintenance people were running around the room carrying large fans, flinging them down in every open doorway hoping to draw the smoke out. the chefs doing the ‘asian stir-fry entree’ must have overheated their griddle or something. that kind of atmosphere is horrible for a singers throat, so i went outside to find some fresh air, and hopefully avoid going home with my clothes reeking of burned cooking oil. i noticed most of the large crowd was doing the same. and i couldn’t help but wonder why there was always something on fire when i was at this club.

much of the big crowd arrived sooner than expected, so the bandleader decided we should start 25 minutes early. most of the musicians had come straight from their day job to the gig, so there was much panic and disorganization as they all hurried to get set up. i think the keyboard player was still plugging in his amp when the first song started. i have to say it was a very odd sensation to spend the entire evening facing a line of chefs busily heating and plating up ‘italian pot roast with mushroom risotto’, though on our first break i had some, and it was delicious. of course, they were from the high-end country club across town. no burning oil there, i bet.

as the evening wore on the smoke cleared, people ate and drank and i enjoyed myself as best as possible. apparently there were many nice compliments about the band, though i would never have guessed it since the crowd mostly acted as though we were invisible, even as they went through the line for their italian pot roast. before i left i heard the event raised $20,000, to be used to send underprivileged kids to culinary school, hence the food theme for the evening. i got in my car and realized i was starving. it was too late to go somewhere decent, so i stopped at 7-11 for food. when i got home i was sorry my well-wishing friends hadn’t been there to see it – the billowing smoke, the (largely sub-par) food, the crowd that didn’t know we were there even as they practically tripped over our cables. and here i was, ending the evening at home with a turkey sandwich, reeking of burned oil and asian seasonings. not really the life of a star, i’m afraid. the sandwich tasted pretty good, though. i hope one of the ‘make-a-wish’ kids learns to make something so delicious.