and they danced all night, to the fiddle and the banjo...

My good friend, Joseph Edward Decosimo, married a lovely young lady from Shelby, North Carolina, Ms. Kasey Poole, now Mrs. Kasey Decosimo. We three California kids had the privilege of attending the affair, which was probably one of the finest weddings ever held in Chattanooga - beautiful stone chapel for the ceremony, good friends from all over the country, a sit down dinner at the historic Read House in downtown Chattanooga, and a string band present to play for a square dance once the eating was over with...

To give you a little background, I met Joseph during my first year of boarding school at McCallie. Our paths crossed on the cross country team - he was a freshman, and a rising star from the ranks of the Junior School running program. He was a muscular, shaved head rock climber with in an intimidating seriousness in his beady little eyes. I was almost 16, (older), scrawny, uncompetitive by nature, fresh out of the Atlanta the suburbs, and I had big hair. But I scared him because he was afraid I would beat him. And I did!  But we became fast friends when we realized we shared a profound love of music, particularly traditional music of Ireland and America. Since then, we've played music together on and off for the past 10 years, performed together a few dozen times all over the southeast at restaurants, on bridges, at the diamond of the South - The Mountain Opry, at a few weddings to the chagrin of just about everybody but ourselves, and we even made a goofy little CD before I went off to college. (The album was entitled "Traditional Non-Chilean Music" and featured traditional and original string music, as well as an album cover photo of an ancient Chilean woman sipping on Yerba Mate. Don't ask. But be informed that the album went platinum in Indonesia 4 years after it's release.) Since all of that, we've remained good friends - he stood by me when I married Laura, and I was honored to do the same for him two weeks ago when he wedded Kasey. 

On the musical front, I ended up quitting my job as a teacher and moving to California to play music for a church. Joseph, on the other hand, got hired as a teacher and has meanwhile gone on to become one of the most well-respected fiddle and banjo players in the old-time music community. (Note: Old-time is distinct from bluegrass in subtle ways, but most clearly in the way that old-time music has remained relatively uncommercialized, whereas bluegrass could be considered, among other things, a radio-friendly version of old-time music.) He can be found playing for awed audiences everywhere from the streets of Chattanooga to the legendary stage of the Ryman auditorium in Nashville, home of the original Grand Ole Opry. He won first place in the old-time banjo contest at Uncle Dave Macon days, a huge festival in the southeast. 

If you have a moment, check out this link to a Chattanooga Times-Free Press article about his accomplishment. There's even an mp3 and video linked from the article. 

Newspaper article link

Listening to him play might be one of the nicest parts of your day...And check out his band's myspace page for a few more tracks of good old time music.

River City Roustabouts link

superstar

When people ask me how I became the most famous person in my family, I smile and bow my head with deep humility and reply:

"No, no no...I can see how you would think that to be the case, and in fact, people ask me this question all the time, which is no great surprise, really. But, I must be honest and tell you that it is not I who am most famous in the Heiskell family, but rather, my younger sister, Constance."

She, also known by aliases Connie, Connie two, Lil' Connie, LC, and Connie the Younger, is the superstar of the family, which is ironic, because out of all 5 of us, she is the one who would most rather not be...well, except for John. The others of us are more likely to be fame-grubbers than not, but me least of all and Jamie MOST of all...

Anyways, getting back on track here: you may be wondering what this humble young lady did to propel herself to the top of the charts of humanity?

Well, she is the winged-foot-wonder. 

That's right. She's fast.

fact:

She can outrun most women.

fact:

She can outrun most men who deny the fact.

fact:

Highway patrolmen mistake her for a red corvette.

(that wasn't a fact, just an opinion)

fact:

She ran a half marathon a couple of weeks ago in Birmingham in 1 hour and 33 minutes (i think). And for those of you out there doing your long division, that's blazing.

I won't list her laurels from nearly two decades of swiftness. She'd run me into the ground. (ouch).

Instead, in a somewhat unrelated vein, I'll try to make myself more famous by posting a song that I wrote for her some 5 or so years ago. I didn't get around to recording it until the day before last. It's the first song of my own that I've ever recorded, and it's homegrown indeed, but the quality is tolerable enough. Hope you enjoy it.

(Hint to those not too familiar with "the internets" - click on the word "song" if you want to hear the song.)

an other stuf peepls made 4 me, by nora

my papa is reelly gud at making stuf with wood and hammers and nales and things. he's also gud at telling corny jokes, but that's not wut this blog post is about. my papa made this cradle for me out of wood and  hammers and nales and stufs, and i luv it. i sleep in it all the time so mama can eat bon-bons and watch tv, except that mom and dad don't even half a tv, which really stinks. anyways, i'm getting sidetrackted. since my oma didn't want me to sleep on the wood and hammers and nales that my cradle is maid out of, she made the mattress and bumpers and bedding for me to sleep on in the cradle. dad says that he had to sleep on a bed of wood and hammers and nales and stufs when he was a little oompaloompa like me, but i doesn't beleeve him. he's not tuff enough. mom, on the other hand, is tuff enuff. but she doesn't say silly things like that. oops, i keep getting sidetrackted. i would tell you hoo made the blanket 4 me, but i have to go sleep in my cradle now so mom can eat bon bons and stare at the wall, so stay tuned. thanks papa and oma for my cradle! i luv you!

nora

sights and sounds of berkeley

      As I'm trimming the water shoots off of a redwood burl by the university's North Gate, I sense an object in my peripheral vision moving rapidly down the hill of Hearst Ave. running adjacent to campus. 

     (Shouting from onlookers and pedestrians)

    "IT'S A MAN!"

    "IT'S A BICYCLE!"

    "NO!...it's....it's....UNICYCLE-MAN!"

(Author's Note: This part didn't really happen, nobody really said this, but everything else did, I really, really promise that it did. Please believe me.)

     Lo and behold, to my wonder and dismay, I see a mangy looking teenager pedaling the single wheel of his vehicle furiously, arms flapping and waving akimbo. 

     I make a mental note that unicycle's don't have brake's, and then I continue watching.

     Gaining speed, he begins a parabolic path off the street, heading towards the north gate where too-cool-college Joe's and Jane's can neither see him from behind their googly-eyed Prada sunglasses, nor hear him over the din of their inner-ear iPod headphones.

     I make another mental note to feel sorry for these sheltered youngsters, missing the show that UNICYCLE MAN is providing for everyone, and then secretly hope as I watch from my perch under the redwoods that UNICYCLE MAN'S lack of a proper braking apparatus, and too-cool-college Joe's and Jane's oblivion to the world will result in the holy ruckus of a collision.

     However, with circus-performer-skill, UNICYCLE MAN weaves through the throng of under-20-somethings, makes the death-defying turn while maintaining his blistering velocity of 15 mph, and pedals on under the granite arches of the North Gate, passing a few middle-aged women in business suits and sneakers, out for their lunchtime exercise. 

     These excercisers - they are not oblivious. They know a good show when it pedals by them. They see the acrobatic-acumen of the mangy kid. And wanting to show their appreciation, they begin applauding, hooting and hollering, smiling and expressing their awe and admiration.

     Yet, to everyone's further wonder and dismay, UNICYCLE MAN will have none of it. Looking over his shoulder as he pedals off into the distance, he shouts:

    "It's NOT a performance! It's a MODE OF TRANSPORTATION!!"

letter to nora - part 3

     "Go ahead boss," Juan said, answering the radio right as we climbed back into the cab of the pickup. With the defrost on high, wrapped up in my plastic rain gear, I felt like a drowned rat sealed up in a ziploc, except for my feet, which were more like a couple of scumpond catfish wrapped in wet newspaper and shoved in Uncle Marion's icebox next to the jar of peach moonshine in South Carolina.

     Maybe I'm exaggerating.

     "Yes boss, we cleared the drain and there is no more flood on the road." Juan spoke loudly, slowly, his hispanic accent thick, into the radio.

     "Great!" the boss squawked back, his voice adding another element to the aural chaos of heavy rain on the windshield and the accordions blaring from the local latino radio station.

     He continued, "I want you guys to me at 9:30 at Cafe Strada. With this terrible weather today, I'm buying coffee for everyone at break time."

     Score, I thought. Free coffee and a new baby. Aside from warm feet, this day couldn't be better.

     It wasn't but 30 seconds later while Juan was still on the radio and we were driving along the row of sycamores by the Valley Life Science Building that I felt my phone begin to buzz in my pocket. Sorting through the layers of raingear, flannel, and polarfleece, I wondered if this would be like every other time your mom called me over the last two weeks. No fault of hers, she always seemed to call as I was running some heavy piece of machinery, or was up 14 feet in the air on an orchard ladder, or was in a department meeting with one of the university bigwigs. And every time, the panic and the excitement was the same - could this be it? Were you finally coming? Up until now, the voice on the other end of the line always said, "No news."

      I yanked the phone out - mama was indeed on the horn:

      "Hey, I think you should come on home. I think this is it. I think the contractions are coming more regularly."

     "I'm on my way home," I said breathlessly as I stepped out of the truck.

     I told Juan, "I'm going to go home..."

     "Go!" He said, his eyes grinning, "Ok! Go! Good luck! Hurry!" His accent still as thick as the rain.

     I walked off quickly, detouring back again five minutes later when I remembered he had the keys to the room where my bike was locked up.

     Another interminable walk back across Lower Sproule Plaza, a stop by the the gardener's room at the edge of campus, and I was finally back on my bike again, again riding the 2 mile stretch between home and work in the newest, heaviest rainfall of the new year...