GOODBYE LIMBO

“When you think that you lost everything

You find out you can always lose a little more

I'm just going down the road feeling bad

Trying to get to heaven before they close the door”

Bob Dylan

Part I - Hell Is Cold

They’ve decided to get rid of limbo.  This is in many ways a tremendous relief -  I’ve been living in a suspended state most of my adult life and now, at last, there is no choice but to actually be somewhere.

I started out the year by recording Little Fugitive with the help of my pal Jon Graboff.   We convened with Dennis Diken, John Conte and Joe McGinty at Brooklyn Recording, under the watchful eye of Andy Taub.  The basic tracking was a jam-packed two days and when I got on a plane to see my daughter in Cleveland afterwards, I felt confident that if the plane went down they could release what we’d done and even call it a finished record and I could be proud and maybe even sell a few records.  Of course we eventually had the fun of doing some overdubs on the stuff but it was a comforting thought given that the rest of my life was in a total state of disarray.

After a few short days in the wintry world of Cleveland I found an apartment, a temporary job and a glimpse of my new life which basically involved speaking only to my daughter and the person behind the counter at Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts.  It was kind of a shock to move through life like a ghost after the hyper-social atmosphere of Nashville, but at the moment abject loneliness seemed to suit me.  The temp job was excrutiating - proofreading medical records in one of those frozen office parks you see from the road and wonder what generic work is going on in there, and then pity the poor unfortunate people who are doing it.  It was dark when I left for work every morning and dark when I returned at night.  And it snowed every day, even into the month of May.  No one ever spoke a word to me in “the office” and I began to wonder if I had somehow stopped existing.  Once in the lunch room someone was trying to remember the name of the monarch who’d abdicated the throne for the woman he loved and I spoke out loud for the first time since I’d been there - “Edward, Duke Of Windsor.”  No one looked in my direction.  I went back to eating my microwaveable stir fry.

A small bright spot was a visit from Amanda, who’d been sent by a producer in Hollywood to research my life for a possible documentary/tv show.  She filmed me skidding into the icy parking lot at work, playing songs in the living room, cooking quesadillas, taking Hazel to her S.A.T.’s, getting lost on snowy one way streets and turning around in parking lots - in other words, my life.  The pitch was pretty much “Desperate Housewives meets American Splendor,” but without the sex, murder, hipness or humor.  I realized as I talked and laughed with Amanda how desperate I was for human contact, and she couldn't have been sweeter.  Rosalie Sorrels showed up for a gig in the middle of this and she and her daughter came over for brunch one morning.  Rosalie raised five kids basically on her own while eking out a living as a musician and she is a brilliant singer, performer and storyteller who I’m thrilled to know.

There's so much I could discuss, about basically being between lives, but there's nothing very entertaining to say about it.  Lurking around certain sections of the bookstore at least reassured me there was a perfectly legitimate reason for a person of my age and gender to feel so at loose ends.  I was lucky to be close enough to drive to New York City in 7 or 8 hours, so I could have a drink with my girlfriends, or watch a stupid TV show with my brother Michael, or see his or my brother Riley's band.  I felt too tired to try to make new friends, start over.  I went to the gym some, just to be around other people, and because the sidewalks were so covered with ice and snow it was impossible to walk for exercise.  I gave my daughter rides where she needed to go because I was incapable of teaching her to drive - I’d brace myself against the ceiling of the van and shriek and cringe when she was at the wheel.  Her dad was a much better teacher but out of the country for a while.  Eventually the van was stolen, after I’d spent several hundred dollars fixing the too soft brakes - a necessity in what has to be the tailgating capital of the country.  Clevelanders are known for their defensiveness, and especially in winter walk around with grim resignation.  But behind the wheel all their latent aggression comes out, particularly in icy conditions when they ride your ass, oblivious to (or anticipating) pleading looks in the rear view mirror.  I guess they have to get pleasure somehow.

Hazel and I went to South by Southwest in March and it really did feel like we’d stepped back into the technicolor world for a little while.  Austin was at its best, and we stayed in a wonderful straw bale house filled with mysterious books about alchemy and stuff, with a great Austin couple named Norm and Kat.  We saw John Cale and Alejandro Escovedo and had a surreal moment running into Hazel’s high school friends Be Your Own Pet being shepherded down 6th Street by my old friend David Newgarden after their packed show.  I played a Signature Sounds party and people told me they were excited that I had a new record coming out and Hazel and I played at the Pop Culture press party just before an intense rainstorm (which Steve Wynn played through like a champion).  It was fun, and hopeful, especially my gig at Cactus Café with my multicultural band (Jon Graboff from NYC, Rick Plant of Nashville and Austin’s Stephen Belans) and Sarah Lee Guthrie and Johnny Irion who are two of the sweetest,  most adorable people and performers, and of course Buddy Miller and his incredible gospel singers.

Next day Hazel won a drawing at the Austin flea market and we dragged an old record player home on the airplane.  We stopped off in Nashville for a day so I could refinance my house, go to the dentist and catch up with some friends at my favorite coffee place.  It was 70 degrees and lovely.  When we got back to Cleveland the snow was still there, but the temp job ended so some of the pain went away, for a week or so.

I had to look for more work and it started to dawn on me that Hazel probably had a better chance of finding gainful employment at this point than I did.  An interview at Case Western included a computer test of my customer service “skills” for some unknown reason, since it was secretarial work I was applying for.  Spending my time answering questions like “1.  The customer is A) always right B) sometimes right or C) to be despised” truly tested my patience.  When the human relations specialist was interviewing me and asked “Tell me, what’s your biggest motivation in life?”  I hissed “Anger ”

I tried out as a fit model for a catalog company that made garments so hideous the interviewer actually apologized when I had to put some of the clothing on.  I hate to tell you how perfectly the purple and white gingham polyester pantsuit fit me.  But I didn’t get the job.

I went in to interview with an older surgeon who was described by the agency as a “wounded soldier” - he’d been demoted and was taking it out on the support staff.  Yet I eagerly answered his questions and didn’t even tell him to go fuck himself when he demanded that I sing him a song.  Instead I sang, blushing and sweating so much he pushed a box of tissues across the desk at me.  At this point the phone sex industry was starting to look very appealing.

But I signed up for a catering company instead, riding in a van with a few other middle-aged women, all with extreme Ohio accents, to the Football Hall of Fame in Canton where we served hot dogs and hamburgers to Miami Dolphins fans who were actually a lot nicer than I would’ve expected.  It was the catering boss who was hateful.  Halfway through the afternoon someone mentioned that the company was going out of business and this was the last job - it occurred to me I should grab a beer and start drinking heavily since they weren’t going to be giving me any more work but I was worried they’d leave me in Canton, dressed in an extra large catering company polo shirt.

Next: Part II - Things Improve