Laurie Gould: Don


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On my mind

So I am walking down the street in Boston and I find myself in the middle of a group of young, blonde women, in their late teens or early twenties.  They are beautiful, these young women, with long legs and silky golden tresses.   I am thinking that when I was their age, theirs was considered the pinnacle of female beauty:  the willowy Scandinavian, the blonde bombshell.   And I am thinking how wonderful it is that our culture has evolved to embrace beauty in so many more colors and cultures and varieties.  

Still, I'm thinking, these blonde babes are undeniably gorgeous.  It's the first truly warm day of spring and they are wearing shorts, and sandals, and crop tops.   And I'm thinking about the story that the Boston Globe ran a few days ago about fashion trends for spring.   Fashion is a realm in which I am inept, but aspirational; so I read that article start to finish (easy to do; there were lots of pictures and not many words).  

Voting feet

I am in a shoe store, trying to replace the ugliest shoes in the world.


Seed Porn

It was a grueling winter in most of the country; certainly in Boston, where the first day of spring still looked like this:

But I am a gardener, and gardeners know that winter is a critical season.  It gives the earth and its human cultivators a chance to recharge, re-assess, rehydrate.   To engage in long, leisurely fantasies about the growing season to come, unhampered by the realities of pests, diseases, or evil bunnies.   Also to buy things. 

Plant fantasies and the acquisitive impulse unite gloriously in the seed catalogues that start filling my mailbox as early as November.


Boarding the Friendly Skies

We will be boarding the plane this morning by group number.  Your group number should be printed on your boarding pass in inescapably large font.  If you do not have a group number on your boarding pass it means that you have failed in some way.  Please approach the podium so that we can mock you.


A sneak preview video from my new album, "Anxiety Dream," to be released this summer!   But I'm sure you'll agree that this particular tune is much more appropriate now:


Calling all lactobacilli

If you know me, or if you’ve been reading the blog for a bit, you may be aware that I have certain Earth mother habits which, depending on your perspective, make me a paragon of righteous living, a sanctimonious prig, or a hopeless eccentric.    Most of these habits center on food:  I make all of our household’s bread (whole grain, sourdough), as well as salad dressing, soup stock, corn tortillas.   Most important, I’ve never met a vegetable I didn’t like, with the exception of okra, because it is objectively disgusting.

Before you get too concerned, let me set your mind at ease. I wear lipstick.  I don’t own a pair of Birkenstock.   I made damn sure that my children got every single one of their vaccinations, right on time.   And then I had the pediatrician give them a few extra shots for good measure.

But I do have this vegetable thing, which led me to sign on to a year-round farmshare.  Yes, this is in addition to my vegetable garden.   So there are times of the year when I harvest head after head of lettuce, and then eagerly tear open my farmshare box to find....a half-bushel of lettuce.  But that’s OK with me.  Because who can ever have enough lettuce?



For the record....

Tomorrow I will head to the recording studio for my first session for my second album.

There is a fabulous bunch of session musicians lined up to play tomorrow.   It is an unbelievable kick to hear tunes I've written performed by truly talented musicians -- the songs become something else entirely, so much better than I could have imagined.  And these are guys who could make "Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star" sound great.

The only problem is that I am the vocalist.  And I am going to suck.

The Stork Goes to Europe

In a couple of weeks I will be heading to the recording studio to start work on my second album.   This is enormously exciting for me, but also a little scary, since it will once again involve an outlay of a bit of money and a lot of time.  But no problem, because my first album continues to rake in the cash:   $54.87, in fact, deposited in my bank account by CDBaby on December 24.   It was the only music-related payment I received in 2013.

I am definitely keeping my day job.

A good birthday scrub

Yesterday was my birthday.   I was blessed with calls from family, sweet and thoughtful gifts and notes from friends, and a lovely dinner out with dear friends followed by an equally lovely dinner out with my husband and our younger daughter.   Email brought birthday wishes from my dentist, the Red Cross, and a dating service.   Along with messages from friends near and far, Facebook (clearly respecting the sanctity of my personal information, like, I don't know, my birthday) offered me this:



The memos I didn't get

I spent much of the past week trapped in a hotel room with a jacuzzi.


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