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Taller Dog: News & Muse


This morning, as I was waking up from an anxious dream, I discovered
that in bed I had been changed into a monstrous blonde bombshell.
I lay in bed on my back and saw, as I lifted up my head a little,
blond wisps divided across my brow, like sections. From this height,
the blanket, just about ready to slide off completely, could hardly
stay in its place. The color, several different shades, incredibly
exciting in comparison to the expected brown and red, flicked in
indifference across my eyes.

"What's happened to me,"I thought. It was no dream. My room, a proper
room for a human being, only somewhat too small, lay quietly between
the four well-known walls. Above the table, on which an unpacked
fiddle and bow was spread out--as I am a musician--hung the picture
which I had cut out of an illustrated magazine a little while ago and
set in a pretty gilt frame. It was a picture of a beach. The light...
the soft brown sand disappearing into the still turquoise water, the
color continuing into the sky with no visible horizon.

My glance then turned to the window. The dreary weather--the rain
drops were falling audibly down on the metal window ledge--made me
quite melancholy. "Why don't I keep sleeping for a little while
longer and forget all this foolishness," I thought. But this was
entirely impractical, for I was used to getting up and looking in the
mirror on the way to let Pawleen, my dog, outside. And I knew,
somehow, I was going to look different this time. It might scare me.
It might excite me. But I knew I had to do it.

"O God," I thought, "what a demanding job I've chosen! Day in, day
out, on the road. The stresses of selling are much greater than the
actual music I play, and, in addition to that, I have to cope with
the problems of travelling, the worries about who will come to the
shows, irregular bad food, temporary and constantly changing human
relationships, which never come from the heart. To hell with it all!"
I felt a slight itching on the top of my head. I slowly pushed myself
on my back closer to the bed post so that I could lift my head more
easily, found the itchy part, which was much softer than usual--I did
not know what to make of it and wanted to feel the place with both

I slid back again into my earlier position. "This getting up early,"
I thought, "makes a woman quite idiotic. A woman must have her sleep.
Other musicians live like harem women. For instance, when I come back
to the inn during the course of the morning to write, gentlemen are
just sitting down to breakfast. If I were to try that, I'd be mobbed
and not able to do the work I sat down to do. Still, who knows
whether that mightn't be really good for me?

Thanks to Franz Kafka.
Thanks to Lainie lamb.
Thanks to you! I would try to explain why, but honestly, you know
better than I why you read my news. I'm happy you do.

Here's to a new, different, and most of all, positive 2008!
Metamorphisis- Darcie Deaville (Jan 6, 2008)
Here's my first (and I expect last) blonde story. My first day as a blonde, I went to the grocery store. I got out of my car, locked it, went in, shopped, and came back out and looked for my car. "Oh", I thought to myself, "I didn't pay a lick of attention to where I parked". I walked up and down two isles, pushing my cart, when the first nice cute young man asked if I needed help. He didn't work for the store, and he was polite enough to say that if I wasn't comfortable enough having him help, he would get a store employee instead. With all the scary internet stories about women and parking lots, I looked him over carefully. I decided he was OK, as long as I followed him, rather than the other way around. Dusk was upon us. As we went up and down each isle, four other nice people helped by spreading out, looking for my car. Until recently, I had the greatest license plate. It used to be K94GRR. For those of you know know or have seen photos of Pawleen, my taller dog, it was perfect. But alas, the county recently made me change my plate, and I don't quite remember it yet.
Anyway, this DOES have to do with regular down home Texas friendliness, but my experience as a brunette tells me five people wouldn't have helped me quite so readily if I hadn't been blonde. They were all so nice! They said it's happened to them all the time.
So, was it general distraction on my part, or was it my new hair color that made me not pay attention in the first place?

(For all you blonde women out there, this is a joke, by the way. I seem to easily amused these days).

On another note, one of the things I did while in Edinburgh last summer, was play at a union rally. Here's a link with the story and a photo of us, the "Woodysez crew:
Darcie Deaville - Blonde Story (Jan 8, 2008)
I'm writing this sitting up on my bed, with my foot propped up on four pillows.

I've been doing a lot of thinking.

I think I was supposed to slow down and think about a few things last year.

It was one year ago today I fell off a ladder. It was a nasty fall,
hitting my head on a hardwood table, and breaking my left wrist and thumb in the process. It's not a topic I like to dwell on, It took
about nine months of pro active, hard work to recover, but I did.

I didn't slow down, stay in bed, and think.

Then in April, I had some major abdominal surgery and a couple of
biopsies. I know I wasn't supposed to, but I started doing gigs one
week later.

I didn't stay in bed, slow down, and think.

The day I broke my foot was the day before my final "A-OK" check up,
meaning I could go back to living normally, lifting over 10 pounds,
doing what I wanted. So, that very day, I was getting x-rays and
being put in a boot. It was my left foot, so could still drive. It
hurt, and I needed crutches, but that wasn't stopping me.

But the surgery to put the screws in, and the broken bone that
shattered into fragments, and the secondary break in another location on my foot.... well... that did it. I'm halfway through my six weeks with a big red cast on.

THIS made me stay in bed, slow down, and think.

And think I have doing, but also writing, planning, and healing. Best of all, the healing has also been inside. Past, present, and future are all (somewhat) clearer to me.

John Lennon's quote "Life is what happens when you are busy making other plans", and Willie Nelson's "Fortunately, we are not in control" both make a whole lot of sense to me.
Recovery (Jul 4, 2007)