Arizona Mornings

Touring has offered me the opportunity to see something I normally don’t when at home-the sun rise. (I know, I’m a lazy butt.) The sun rise brings a frenzy of activity on the bus-mainly by me-the band won’t be up for at least another 6 hours….

On this particular day, somewhere between Arizona and California, our stomachs begin to growl. The toaster comes out. The hot pot begins to boil.

 

It’s time to make breakfast (or really it’s lunch for us)-which is usually an egg sandwich using egg whites, toast, and cheese.

 

Arizona begins to give way to California as we travel a long stretch of I-8. We munch on our little sandwiches, drink some hot tea, and take in the landscape.

 

But in the light of day, we see the stark reality. We are both surrounded by a circle of toasty crumbs from our egg sandwiches. But it was worth it.

I suppose now, it’s time to clean the bus…
Hello, stinky toilet used by 10 men. Here I come.

Grant’s Farm in St. Louis, Mo

Every once in awhile it works out that while we are on tour, we get to stop by to see friends and family. These moments of normalcy bring a balance to the late nights where weird people are left meandering outside the club after a show hoping to catch a glimpse of what I lovingly refer to as the dirty, stinky boys (or girls in some cases).

On this particular day of normalcy, I was able to visit my beautiful, fun and awesome mother. She took me to Grant’s farm-just a short drive away from their home in a suburb of St. Louis.

 

If you aren’t familiar with Grant’s farm, then let me tell you a little bit about it. It’s weird-but in a good way. Named after our President Grant who farmed the land way back when, it eventually was bought up by the Busch family (yeah, that Busch family who makes the beer). Grant’s farm is FREE to get into, it’s right in the middle of sprawling St. Louis suburbia, and espouses a crazy amount of weird animals, live shows, food, train rides and…yes, free beer.

 

We walked around the main portion of the farm, before hopping on the train. This guy received a lot of attention from these here mid-westerners. I couldn’t help but think about the time my Grandma asked Biceps, “One hump, or two?”, about the camel he had ridden at a state fair.

 

This guy was giving me the shy treatment. But later, he came out of his shell.

 

I don’t even know what to say to this. I should have been wearing Bicep’s lederhosen and traversing the side of a steep mountain while herding him back to the stable, followed by several ducks.

 

This proud little bird busily protected his female companions, squawking anytime we got too close.

 

I cannot resist a baby version of any animal. This cute little buffalo plodding along next to his momma just nearly broke my heart. I know he could still kill me if he so desired, but I instead pictured him curled up at my feet in front of the fireplace, with the two kitties asleep on his back.

 

After all of this walking around and riding on of trains, I needed some refreshment. We headed over to a beer garden which felt like I was back in Dusseldorf or Munich or Heidelberg…to taste the Busch beer and rest our own little hooves. In the back of my mind, I knew somewhere a stinky bus awaited me, but I was in heaven-sitting next to my mom, with a cold glass of free beer and the sites and sounds of my homeland, Germany. You can’t beat that.

A Bug’s Death

Throughout our years of touring, we have witnessed many a death. We must claim responsibility for single-handedly removing these flourishing lives from this earth. This day we turn our hearts from seeing these deaths as merely a nuisance that must be scrubbed off at the next truck stop, to wondering-“Just who was that bug?”.
We have decided to honor the squished victims and ask, who were they, where were they trying to go and why did they choose to fly into our windshield?

This bug for example-he was very watery. Was this a water bug? And just what is a water bug? This well-hydrated victim probably shouldn’t have left the pond, but with what I suppose was a great thirst for life, decided to explore the world and got squished.

 

Major Mustard. This may not have been his name, but I believe this bug defected from Germany where he was was part of some militant army he did not approve of. He enjoyed wienerschnitzel loaded with lots of mustard and flying. He was a good bug.

 

And you-were you a wasp? Then I have no regrets, because I was recently stung by a wasp and it really hurt. If you weren’t a wasp, then I’m sorry. I guess, even if you were a wasp, you probably weren’t the wasp that stung me. Of course you could have stung someone else so I have avenged their wrongful stinging. I’m not sure how I feel about you.

 

A Haiku for you, winged bug.

Oh, little winged bug
How glisteny are your wings?
Sleep, sleep, death on glass

 

These two bugs came to us simultaneously, so I’m assuming they were a couple. Perhaps they were flying hand in hand, or maybe it was hand in hand in hand, since they are insects and have six legs. But I don’t really know how bug relationships work. Do they hold hands? And if so, just one hand, or all hands on one side?
There was so much about them that we didn’t know, but one thing I’m fairly certain of, they seemed to be in love. It’s quite romantic, actually.

Tornado Alley-Devastation in Joplin, Missouri

I grew up in Kansas, presently am living in Oklahoma and have no plans to leave the Midwest. Therefore, I am accustomed to and plan on spending many a night huddling in the closet with my loved ones, a radio at my side, while listening to the storm brewing. And praying.
This event has become so routine, that I often don’t think the tornado will actually touch down. Even though we are smack dab in the middle of “Tornado Alley”, I have yet to be affected by one.

Until now. The tornado that hit Joplin in May was the seventh deadliest tornado in all of U.S. history. I really couldn’t look at the pictures until now.

A short drive from Tulsa (my hometown) is Joplin, Missouri. When the tornadoes hit Joplin, the world as I knew it was rocked.

I waited several weeks before driving to the scene myself. I wasn’t sure my tender little heart could handle it.
This is not the scene of a construction site-this is the total annihilation of several businesses.

This used to be a neighborhood I would often cruise past on my way to watch baby brother play a basketball tournament.

What kind of unnatural force could curl a steel yield sign?

Debris was piled everywhere, next to the remnants of what was once a house. Thousands of people were instantly homeless, a 162 dead.

The outpouring of food, shelter, financial gifts and elbow grease from surrounding communities, churches and non-profits was tremendous for the people of Joplin. I was impressed with the quick response from so many and the practicality of what people were willing to offer and do. Some just came to clean up, others to offer counsel, others opened their homes to those displaced-even as far reaching as Tulsa.
It’s often the disasters that bring us together, reminding us of the preciousness of life, and of the finality of death.
I suppose the weighty-ness of Joplin was the reason I couldn’t talk about all of this until now. I usually reserve my blog for butterflies and rainbows.
But hey, life throws some crap your way from time to time. Let’s be real. ..