Stumptown

Nobody is in a terribly good mood in the morning. The average amount of sleep that anyone managed to get seems to be two hours. Yikes. Feeling a wee bit fragile. Gary takes the initiative & procures breakfast sandwiches for all. Our hero. Thus fortified we are able to start the day.

We load up our luggages, toss them into the car, and pile ourselves into two vehicles--for, after the shows in Oregon we will be parting ways. Andrew will head back up north to Tacoma, and Gary & I will go south to beloved San Francisco. Gary & I enjoy some Beatles in the car & sing out, warming up our voices--the show in Portland starts early.

We arrive at Mississippi Pizza Pub in Portland, OR about 20 minutes before the show is supposed to start. Oof. Feeling rather fragile again...but we are here! The kindhearted Sheila has pity on me & grabs me some refreshing drinks whilst I gather my wits & my musical equipage. The gear is placed onstage in due course, and our fabulous opening act, the legendary Jenny Hoyston plays her fab set. Ahhhh--such a pretty voice!


We get up and do our thing. In addition to those who came specifically to hear True Margrit, there are an abundance of toddlers and youngsters watching (and of course their parents), clearly they're especially intrigued with Andrew & his battery & battering of drums. They mill about staring, dancing, waving their arms as if conducting an orchestra. It is sweet, funny, and so surprisingly surreal that I feel slightly feverish.

However, Andrew is DEFINITELY feverish. After the show he can barely speak, except in a scratchy basso profundo. He's sounding like Harvey Fierstein-- or a male Brenda Vaccaro...Kim Carnes? Rod Stewart? You get the idea.

Uh oh. We still have one more show ( Eugene!)--and a radio gig, although, Andrew doesn't have to be at the radio. Can he make it? I believe in him.