I should have a guitar. This is the time of day people write songs about.

I’m getting ready to take the Oregon bar exam. Today is the last day before two days of testing and two more days of focused networking. The last test before I can just focus on working and on being a human. That happens tomorrow. Today I will go for a run in the gray, soft rain and sweet clean air of Northwest Portland, then curl up with some coffee and some flashcards in front of that big window.

I should be lonely in the condo, but for now, the peace and quiet and the rain on the window are simply calming. The room itself is beautiful – spacious, and tastefully decorated, with a high ceiling and a curtained bed nook. The bed is boosted up so high that I have to get a running start and jump to get in, and it’s blissfully comfortable. Last night I woke up every hour or so, acknowledging the unfamiliar sounds and the lack of bed-hogging dog, but I still feel refreshed this morning.

Yesterday, after eight hours of trains, planes and automobiles, I walked into the condo and felt like a huge, thick, sweaty blanket had been pulled off of me. The air hit my skin like freedom and a glass of impossibly clear water. I walked two blocks to get some groceries for the week. I have no car this week, and I don’t need one, because I can get anywhere by transit or walking here.

It’s funny; after becoming so invested in improving things in Atlanta, I feel like a kid in a candy store just walking around. Every street has wide sidewalks in good repair. Drivers are slow and wave pedestrians ahead of them. Crosswalks are everywhere. Storefronts are small and accessible and everywhere. All these things I took for granted years ago, when I lived here. Yesterday I resisted a strong urge to just keep crossing the street. Just running back and forth, again and again and again.

*Written last week at the beginning of my awesome, too short, whirlwind trip to Portland.

Ignore the Tulip trees! Miss Oreo the foster dog has been adopted by a fantastic family with a Mom who works from home and two kids who argue over who gets to sleep with her. Scott’s hand is improving, and we’re starting to practice again; just in time to get a set of new stuff together for a couple of shows at Bread, in March and April. I finally got a full time job, but even that is waiting for the flowers to bloom, starting at the end of March. It’s sort of poetic really. It will be almost exactly 6 years from our first visit here. I’ll be defending the innocent (and probably a few of the less than innocent) from The Man by day and making sweet music with the Jane and Scott Show by night.

So anyway – we’re back. Check out the shows page for our spring dates, and stay tuned.

Currently my expectations are being disappointed by the NPR Christmas song list. With the possible exception of the Louden Wainwright ditties, it is not fulfilling my festivity goals. According to popular music, Christmas is more about missing people than about actually being with them, or making out with Santa.

I’m particularly driven to force the festive spirit this year because I can’t go back to my parents’ for Christmas. It’s the first time in thirty years, and it’s a bummer. The disappointment is exacerbated by the fact that this christmas was supposed to be the first one in years where I – as a graduated and (I expected) employed lawyer – would be able to not just go home, but also buy presents for everybody. That set of expectations rested on my finding a job, or course. And here I am.

Scott, who professes to be happy to have me home for the holiday, is also keeping his distance. Because I’ve managed to get gloriously sick. I am the disgusting, snot sodden mother of stuffy, sneezy, miserable contagion right now.

Ehn.

I read somewhere that humans have winter holidays precisely because winter is such a difficult time of year. So we’re supposed to hunker down and hang on to each other and wait for the sun to come out and the colds to go away. (Possibly we’ve since effectively negated the positive impact of our primitive genius by incorporating airports into the equation) So I am hunkering.

The Christmas tree is decorated, I made a garland for the arch between the living room and the dining room, and our poor little half-attended creche set is on the mantle. (It’s a hand-me-down; apparently the shepherds got lost during its first life.) I have also created my own Spotify Christmas Song list, since NPR is disappointing me. Currently I’m listening to Jerry Orbach singing ‘Try To Remember’ and looking (somewhat avariciously) at the packages under the tree. If my nose will permit it, we’re going to the kids nativity service this evening. I’m contemplating trying this recipe.

So, my fellow hunkerers, Merry Christmas. I wish you Bing Crosby, pine smells, eggnog and puppies.

Here we are struggling
Fighting the slick nylon ropes
A new knot each year
Tighter and stronger with each dollar

Fighting the world
Fighting one another
Clinging to the strangling lifeline
Clinging to each other

Come with me
We’ll ride the silver water path
into the moon
On my black horse

I know a place
Where the evergreens grow
Dark and cool and endless
Where rolling mist and rolling waves kiss

I’d take you if you’d come
Speak the words and part the mist
Take the risk and leave the ropes behind

Come with me
We’ll ride the silver water path
into the moon
On my black horse

In the meantime, we’re attempting our first stint as dog foster parents. So far it’s been pretty exciting. Our little foster is a lady Australian Shepherd who is cute as a bean. Her previous family couldn’t take care of her any more, and she has to wear a cone because she has an itchy skin problem. Right now most of her back end is bald, which we’re working on fixing with some allergy medication, more activity, babying and good food. (Wow. Lots of commas there. Sorry.) She’s very well behaved and sweet, bobbing around in her cone. She does get reeeeeally excited when it’s time to come out of the crate and play or walk or whatever, and as soon as she gets to go outside, she completely forgets about being itchy.

Other observations for week one:
1. Loves people – not entirely certain what to do with other dogs. Tried to T-off with both Buster and Maggie, and gets nervous when they play with each other.
2. Excellent soccer player, though I’m not sure I agree with her that barking at the ball facilitates her footwork.
3. Smiles all the time. Full on, scary fang style smile. Ridiculous.
4. No food aggression, though she does have to be reminded which treat is hers and which is someone else’s.
5. She loves getting pets, leaning against you and wiggling with so much delight that she topples over. Then she proceeds to wiggle around on the ground on her back for a while, with just as much enthusiasm.

If you think she sounds so cute you want to adopt her, let us know. Because she is waiting for the right people. . .

That’s the Orlean report, Day 3. More to come.

We got to schmooze a little bit with Rusty Belle, and group we’ve heard before and loved.

The reaction to our stuff was decent, I think, especially considering we had to follow Rusty Belle. I heard some giggles where I was hoping to get giggles (hooray!), and one man stopped me on the way out to tell me that a song was “interesting”, and that it certainly highlighted an interesting phenomenon today. One has to agree with these observations, but since I had a huge bass case in one hand and Molly in the other, I couldn’t really stand and chat. But it was a new sort of response. I’m choosing to take “interesting” as more of a compliment when it comes to music than say, an outfit choice. Maybe not as satisfying as “incredible!” or “stunning!”, but at least he was listening. That is the nice thing about playing the open mic at Eddie’s Attic. They always listen.

*I am feeling parenthetical today. You’ve been duly warned.

Then come out and hang with us at Eddie’s on Monday.

My bid to be one of the Chicks of Dragon Con

In other news, we have some stuff coming up, so check the shows page.

I sort of miss that immense self-confidence.

So now I’m trying to reconnect a bit to what’s going on in that big, shallow kiddie pool. Today, I give you a link to my new favorite artist. This guy is one of the best songwriters I’ve heard in a long time, and least for my set of preferences. I like lyrics first. Withered Hand has the ultimate combination of funny and poignant, which to me is the ultimate for songwriters. (yeah, I have opinions. wanna fight?) Plus sort of folky sound with sweet vocal harmonies and interesting instrumentation. Cellos make most things better.