It's also being processed by CDBaby.com so very soon you can buy it there and via Amazon and BestBuy.com (and on the usual download services including iTunes, Amazon, & Rhapsody--but you'd be missing out on the terrific packaging and art direction by the amazing Annie Capps if you only download).  It is immediately available for $15 (S&H included) from www.andinaandrich.com--just e-mail becausewecan@andinaandrich.com until we have the link up and we'll get it out to you (we'll even remove the shrink-wrap and autograph it if you'd like).   Look for t-shirts and other merch as well very soon.

If you'd like to be part of "Andina & Rich's Attitude Army" ("street team" is so yesterday), let us know at our e-mail address!

Also, if you reside or have contacts anywhere along the road from Chicago to Hays (including the Des Moines, Topeka and Kansas City areas) and Columbia back home (the St. Louis and s. IL areas north along I-55 or I-57) and would like us to entertain you up-close-and-personal (but not in-your-face)--do let us know ASAP:  we will do house concerts, coffeehouses, bookstores, hoedowns, whatever.  By ASAP, I mean STAT, PDQ, yesterday!

Finally, a special shout-out to my good friend Jean-Luc Leroux in Nouméa, New Caledonia.  Besides being a wonderful singer-songwriter-multi-instrumentalist, he is the deejay and host of "Route 66," the Southwest Pacific's premier roots/Americana/Canadiana/bluegrass/country music program en français, on Radio RRB, Saturday afternoons from 4:30-6pm Nouméa local time (14 hours earlier for Central Daylight time, interpolate your time zone from there). Listen streaming live (and archived till each new show) at http://countrydanseetmusiquenc.lagoon.nc.He has been playing country selections from Andina & Rich's, SASS!'s and my solo CDs. And for the past month or so, I've been his American music correspondent, delivering the weekly "Nashville News" and spotlighting two noteworthy new releases per show.  (Aussi en français, bien sur).  The talk may be in French, but the music's mostly in English and always a delight.  I hope my schedule (and knees) will permit me to deliver one of those weekly reports live from Nashville when Jean-Luc visits there in late September! (And to let Steve take his French language skills out of mothballs).

Ah, I love the smell of shrinkwrap in the morning!

And after several fun weekends gigging and also entertaining for just the fun of it, plus furiously proofreading and e-mailing, I am excited to say that the new Andina & Rich CD is now wholly in the hands of the pressing plant. Yup-they have the master, the artwork, the text and the payment.  Soon as we get the hard-copy proofs back and approve them, pressing and packaging will be complete 16 business days later. And then, when the discs arrive, we'll schedule the release parties: one in Chicago, one in Madison, and maybe one even down near Sparta where the album was born. In any case, we will have the same instrumentation as we did on the CD so that what you'll hear on stage is what you'll get to take home (if we can't get the original studio musicians, we have some excellent subs at the ready).

We'll see you next at Cafe Carpe in Ft. Atkinson, WI on June 4 (co-bill with Rich Baumann, who may also join us on fiddle); and I'll be volunteering June 6 at the Sing Out! benefit concert at First Congregational Church (home of Two Way Street) in Downers Grove--tickets are going fast (Anne Hills is headlining). Then I'm headed to San Diego for a week of rest, relaxation and reconnection with friends---anyone down there who wants to host a house concert, let me know and I'll pack my guitar & dulcimer.  And on June 19, we'll be in Berwyn at Grounds For Appeal!

Next day was just about able to get through the three songs Steve & I did in the postlude, and tried to spice my cold into submission with a Southern dinner at Big Jones. Felt lousier & lousier till Tues. I called the family doc--who told me to come in STAT. I was wheezing & gasping so hard I even stuffed a toothbrush into my purse just in case I got admitted. It didn't come to that--but it turned out an allergic postnasal drip had combined with a cold (which I probably caught at a beauty treatment on Thurs.), turned bacterial and occupied my lungs. This bronchitis in turn triggered asthma--which had been impervious to even my nebulizer.

Now, whenever there's a flu or cold outbreak going around, health reporters do stories admonishing sufferers not to pester their doctors for an antibiotic 'scrip, since colds & flu are viral and antibiotics don't work on viruses.  I had a standing scrip for a Z-Pack I never filled, for that reason (I was also spooked at the prospect of abusing antibiotics), as well as Flonase and a Medrol (prednisone) Dosepak in reserve for a sudden laryngitis attack before a big gig; I skipped the steroids because I thought that they depress the immune system and shouldn't be used during an infection.  But it turns out that anyone with chronic sinusitis and especially asthma should have an emergency supply of both, according to my doc.  The pollen mixed with the viruses, awakened a colony of strep or mycoplasma in my sinuses and sent the whole stew slithering down into my lungs. Yuck.  

Also learned a better way to use an inhaler, more effective than even a nebulizer--exhale, shake inhaler, insert into mouth (closed around inhaler), inhale SLOWLY and during inhalation depress the canister for 2 short puffs. Count to 5, relax & exhale.  For the first time, I actually felt and tasted the medicine in my throat, not just the propellant in my mouth.

Breathing much easier now, not fully recovered, but enough of my range is back to handle two sets next Fri. night at Wild Hog.  So don't feel like a doofus or hypochondriac if you feel a cold coming on and you have allergies or asthma--especially if you sing!  You still might not need any more than chicken soup, steam, saline spray and hot tea.......but let that be your doctor's call, not yours.

Now if poor Ruby (my '02 Taurus SEL) would just get discharged from her "hospital;" did the math and the repairs are still less than low blue book value, but regardless of that, I don't want a new car.....nor a new loan.  3 motor mounts, 2 shocks, oil pan/steering/trans. fluid leak, new side view mirror and oil change....coulda been a lot worse. Gone through a few batteries, a set and a half of tires and a set of brakes, about par for the course over eight years (and all of the latest ones of those are new).   Come home, Ruby--I'd rather drive you than that crummy little rental car to Madison!

What's up next? Well, tomorrow we send off our 1040 so Tax Refund Fairy can wave her magic wand soon; this Sunday 4/18, Andina & Rich will perform our version of Tom Dundee's "These Cowboys Born Out of Their Time" during the postlude to the Dundee tribute concert starring Donna Adler, Chris Farrell, Mick Scott and Norm Siegel at Lilly's on Lincoln at 3 pm.  Then it's up to Wild Hog in the Woods in Madison on Apr. 30 at 8 pm, and The Newport Coffeehouse in Bannockburn, IL on May 14.  (Got some personal and family events to attend, hence the lessened amount of performing).

Apologize for no blog activity--between Facebook maintenance, TV and computer repair, tax doo-dah, a bad back and the above stuff I haven't had much of a chance to shoot off my mouth.....digitally.

Noticed along the way that as my throat had begun to clear, Steve was coughing and sniffling more & more. Uh-oh.  Checked into the Holiday Inn Express, found our way to our favorite Cantonese buffet, and I saw that I seemed to be out-eating Steve. This alarmed me--he (the man with a hollow leg and the metabolism of a blast furnace) was nibbling. I suggested he just go for the chicken broth in the wonton soup and he felt a bit better. Got back to the room--it was too late and we were too wiped out to record "Chasing Lightning" so we watched TV in our adjoining rooms. I fell asleep and was awakened by heartburn; as I sat up and it subsided, I heard him coughing and hacking. He assured me he'd be okay.  At breakfast the next morning, I suggested we pick up some DayQuil for him, and so we did.  We made excellent time going home (stopping at Effingham for snacks & Arcola for a late lunch).  Stayed a step ahead of the snow and behind the Chicago rush hour--smooth sailing all the way.

Both got home feeling like dreck--Steve had caught the cold that was going around FAI and I had caught it (a different virus than the one I'd brought TO Memphis) as well. We were both too exhausted and laryngitic to record; and I advised him to sleep over, as the guest room was ready for him and Ingrid confirmed it was snowing in Madison.  I slept in, and by the time I'd awakened, he was full of breakfast and on the road.  I had begun to run a fever again (this time accurately recorded) and so napped on and off, watching the Olympics on Wed. and catching up on bill-paying and this journal. Today (Thurs.) I found out he'd arrived home yesterday at 1:30pm with just enough energy to hit the sack; he slept straight through till 7 this morning!

We had a marvelous time, despite mishaps and maladies en route (and news of mishaps at home as well--Ingrid had been rear-ended in Madison the night we spun out, and Bob had fallen on the ice Sunday walking from Holy Cross Hospital to the Mother House of the Sisters of St. Casimir to visit a sick nun who was one of his patients, and bruised his ribs so badly he thought they were broken; but he went to work anyway).  Despite his own injured ribs, he was eager to devour the BBQ'ed ones I brought home from 17th Street.

So it's back to my normal routine (with a bit more gray hair than usual--no time for a touchup) tomorrow: looking forward to reconnoitering with my Bar Show buddies at the Cast Party at Scoozi, to be entertained and lampooned by the rookies.  And more blogging, promoting, family stuff, and checking in with the office.  Life is good, even if uneven; music is better; family and friendship is best. Little mishaps engender big miracles.  All in all, as Andy Calhoun said on his Facebook page, living in the "now" is as good as it gets.

Amen. And so to bed (after a glass of bubbly with my darlin', who just got home from a grueling day at the hospitals).

 I collared the other officials and regional leaders to whom I'd made panicked calls and told them all was well. Said as many good-byes to departing friends and acquaintances as my diminishing voice and energy would allow and headed back up to the room for more e-mail, Olympics and naps. Awoke at 3:45pm, and for the first time that week, actually hungry.  Called Steve (and woke him up too) and we decided to grab a cab to Gus'. Got downstairs, said some more goodbyes, and headed out to hail a cab. Unfortunately, the heavens had opened: rain coming down in buckets, thunder and lightning, and saw some old bearded dude in robe and sandals carrying a yardstick marked in cubits and a pile of lumber, muttering something about having to find a male-female pair of rats.

We took this as a sign to eat in. There were too few guests left (the cotton-gin conventioneers had not yet arrived in force) for the buffet, but we ordered off the menu. Chicken soup (finally!) and the best piece of salmon I'd had in quite a while.  Just as we were debating dessert, we noticed Sue Fink, to whom I'd wanted to talk all weekend. We stretched out a lovely dinner and a lively conversation, and headed back to my room to work on a co-write we'd started earlier that week.  

We'd thought it'd take at least an hour.  Worked out the chords and melody for the verses and bridge (we'd nailed the choruses and lyrics earlier) and 20 minutes later we had the finished song "Chasing Lightning," the most equal co-write either of us had ever done. Only thing that kept us from recording it right then & there was that the remaining guests were not night owls and we didn't want to awaken anyone on a Sunday night.  We said goodnight, knowing we had to pack, load and leave in the morning.

Off the hook as a no-longer-Regional-Leader, I rested up and skipped lunch, and headed to a long but pleasant and productive Local 1000 EB meeting, breaking for Shabbat services in Cynthia & Dick's room. Joining us were Chico Schwall and Mara Levine.  It felt like family...it felt like home. Same prayers (synthesis of Gates of Prayer and the newer Mishkan Tefillah), different "niguns" (melodies--every congregation or region seems to have its own except for the major hymns).  I don't attend temple often enough, but I felt so at home and among a new family who felt as if I've known them forever. I still didn't quite feel up to real dinner, so I ordered another bowl of soup from room service, watched some politics and Olympics and dozed off, so I went back to rest up for the Local 1000 Showcase-Free-Zone song circles. Meanwhile, Steve had taken the car in to a GM dealership to determine the extent of unseen damage--and all there was were one cut and one off-kilter tire. Not bad--and with new tires, the car was better than even before we'd left Chicago.   I made it into the SFZ room with no voice but a guitar and dulcimer--croaked out "The Dream Deferred" a step-and-a-half low, and skipped a verse, but still did okay.  Went to bed knowing I had a full day of meetings and performance ahead.

Up early for the remainder of the L1K EB meeting--had a granola bar, DayQuil and a quart of hot herb tea and honey for lunch & dinner.  Broke in time to rehearse with Steve for our 2 pm Parkington House showcase--again, though the audience was small at first, our energy level and ensemble vibe brought people in and we got a gig offer (and, we hope, entertained our hostess). Then on to set up for the L1K membership meeting--which was warm and enjoyable.  Next, to Cynthia & Dick's room for Havdala service--the ceremony marking the end of Shabbat, almost always held at home rather than in temple. Again, I don't think I'd ever felt as at home at a Folk Alliance as I did with the Roths.  Chico joined us at the conclusion. I begged off a repeat fried chicken dinner, as it was the first evening I had enough appetite to handle a full dinner and Steve had been craving our annual trip for ribs at the Rendezvous. Acting first upon advice to try Tops instead, we arrived at the branch across from the Medical Center only to find they served only pulled pork and burgers--no ribs. So we cabbed it back to the Rendezvous--during our wait for a table, we ran into a family from Northbrook, who'll be coming to our Newport Coffee gig this May. Small world!  And the ribs?  Oooohhhh  my...........there's a reason why Food Network, who employs the Neelys (who run a competing joint) had its panel of critics rate the Rendezvous as the best.  Hey, how can you go wrong at a place referenced in a John Hiatt song? ("Memphis in the Meantime," if you're keeping score).

Back to the hotel.  I'd not been comfy with my voice at the L1K meeting closing song--I think my vocal energy'd been spent giving my all at the Parkington House showcase earlier in the day. Steve and I both had writing and blogging to catch up on too, and the semi-open writer's round in Kari Estrin's room had a line stretching out the door and down the hall.  I drifted off during the Olympics and was awakened by a call that our presence was requested at a writers' round in the Roths' room.  We hightailed it up there and I did "Dad's Harmonica." We then sat through a delightful set from Canadian Kerry Katherine, and then the closer from the inimitable Andy Cohen.  Though he is a "blues" player, it is impossible to feel anything short of energy and exultation after one of Andy's sets. No way were we about to fall asleep. (Heck, he can spin his Gibson in the air mid-run--take THAT, Los Lonely Boys!--and not miss a note).  We said our heartfelt good-byes to the Roths, who were leaving for north Texas in only a few hours and headed off to sleep (which did not happen till close to 5 am, since the Andy-Cohen-induced musical high took that long to wear off).

Awoke Wed. morning intending to hit the breakfast buffet, but it was all I could do to choke down a couple of cups of coffee and an Atkins bar.  Yup--I had come down with not just the mother but the mother-in-law of all colds. Spent much of the day napping and then headed to Exhibit Hall setup. Only there was nothing yet to set up--nothing and nobody had arrived at our table but yours truly. It was COLD in there too--I looked longingly at the "clothing petting zoo" of velvety tops and jackets but dared not buy one. I decided to rest in my room and skip the Exhibit Hall welcome reception--just not up to it and needed to practice my parts, and conserve my strength and voice.

Eschewed dinner for a bowl of room-service soup, then napped. Uh-oh.  For those of you with colds or reflux who must sing later in the day, do NOT, I repeat, DO NOT nap, no matter how rotten you feel. (I knew I had a fever, but the thermometer I did find--packed into my bags long ago when Gordy was still a kid--had such an old battery that it informed me my body temp was somewhere between Popsicle and sushi). I awoke at 8 for our 10:30 showcase with very little voice, all of it either basso profundo or Minnie-Mouse falsetto. I figured we'd focus on the songs on the CD featuring Steve on lead and me on soft harmony and instrumental prowess.  I could barely croak out that harmony. By sheer dint of water, vitamin C, a tangerine (thank you, Doug Spears!), Ricolas, throat spray and hot tea with sugar and soft warmups, we were able to get through both the rehearsal for the set for which we were Cynthia Bennett's backup band (along with Chico Schwall and her husband Dick Roth), our own set (note to anyone who saw that--my voice is much better!) and then Cynthia's. On the whole it went well.  We were then informed that Louis Meyers, the Exec. Dir. of FAI, wanted us to record Cynthia's hilarious parody, "The Bassist Who Never Returned" (a situation familiar to anyone who ever found themselves first waiting forever for and then unable to exit a crowded convention elevator) the next day---on a true Edison wax cylinder!  (Good thing I'd brought my acoustic bass guitar!).  En route back to my room and dreamland, Cynthia hugged me softly and sang a Mi Sheberach for my healing.  I realized that I was in the process of making not a contact, but a real friend.

Awoke Thurs. feeling somewhere between hit-by-a-truck and death-warmed-over.  Went to my final Regional Leaders luncheon, passing the FARM President baton into the able hands of Annie Capps. Nibbled my way through the omelet & salad, passed around my fries. Then off to the Trolley Stop for the wax cylinder recording.If you've never seen this before, it was like going back into a time machine.  Everyone: vocalists, instrumentalists, gathered in front of a small condenser mic atop an old-fashioned gramophone horn.  A hollow wax cylinder was slipped over a slightly smaller metal tube and rotated at over 100 RPM while a steel needle etched the analog of the sound funneled through the horn.  Each cylinder is only 2 minutes (about 5") long, so we managed to capture only the first half of the last chorus.  So another cylinder was slipped on and we picked up with the last part of the last verse.  Now, you young'uns used to editing a computer-screen ProTools or Logic waveform with a few mouse clicks may never have seen analog reel-to-reel tape spliced with a metal block, a razor blade and sticky tape.  Imagine going back a step further--actually cutting off parts of the wax cylinder and pressing them together to make an edit!  Can't wait to hear the finished product!

Sent Steve to the Folk-DJ reception while I set up the Local 1000 table.....except none of our materials had appeared to arrive save for the guitar picks which I'd brought with me, and nobody from the union was in yet. Then, to my immense relief reports of arrivals trickled in on my cellphone and I met Local 1000's interim office mgr. Amanda--who was friendly, professional, and bearing loads of literature, forms and our two banners. We quickly set up and sat at the table, despite the still-arctic hall temps and dearth of passerby. Still, I stayed till 5:45. Steve came by and had been able to hand out only 6 CDs--the lines at the reception for each DJ were THAT long. Oh, well--there were several days left, and I had handed some out myself.

Our next showcase wasn't till 2 am in the GoGirls room.  Gratefully accepted Cynthia & Dick's offer of dinner at Gus' Famous Fried Chicken (Cynthia pointed out I'd be getting my chicken soup in solid concentrated form). Madalyn Sklar of GoGirls Music, her partner and another friend came along and we had a marvelous time (although I learned the hard way that as with fried green tomatoes, one prudently eats fried pickle spears with knife and fork--those are HOT). Went back to the room to nap. Awoke at 12:20 for our 12:30 rehearsal---and I had NO voice. NONE. ZIP. NADA.  Enough wind to play harmonica but my croaking wouldn't have satisfied the least discerning frog.  So Steve arrived and I bludgeoned my way through every therapeutic warmup exercise I knew, gobbled Ricolas, guzzled hot tea and tepid water and whatever Singer's Saving Grace I had left--slowly my voice came back, we dropped everything a step and went for it.  Arrived in the GoGirls room to find Mara Levine softly, soothingly and calmingly charming everyone--and then noticed the webcam.  We weren't going to need to blast, just be ourselves, audible and entertaining. And it worked--we kicked butt and took no prisoners, knowing the world was watching. We had fun to make sure our viewers would too.  We closed out the night; and if I'd had the strength to pick up Madalyn Sklar and hug her I would have--we settled for a high-five, a hug and a goodnight!

Steve put the engine into park but kept the motor on for heat.  (Fortunately, we'd gassed up before dinner. Insert fart joke here). Hearts pounding, lungs panting, we looked at each other. "You okay?" we asked each other simultaneously--and in unison sighed and nodded "yup." After a moment of silence (and a murmured Shehechyanu in thanksgiving), we turned to each other.  "If we don't at least get a song out of this," I said, "we're in the wrong da*n business." We both guffawed and reached for our cellphones (mine with GPS) and called 911 and his insurance company.  (I said a second thanksgiving that I had not been driving--first, because I'd have panicked and the results would have been far direr; second, because there might be a breathalyzer involved--and all Steve had to drink for days had been black coffee and lots of it; third, that there had been no other drivers around us; fourth, that there were no trees or ponds; and fifth, that it was a flimsy barbed-wire fence and not a wooden fence, stone wall, K-curb or metal guardrail we'd encountered).  Before the state police could arrive, a nice young man with a pickup truck appeared and offered to tow us up on to the shoulder. We all took turns rocking and pushing, but we were mired just too deeply in the snow to get us close enough to his tow-strap and he could not get his truck backed up close enough without miring himself as well.  The state trooper arrived and we turned to thank our good Samaritan, but he left before we could even get his name. We're dedicating "Where Did the Good Man Go?" to him in our liner notes.

The trooper took note of the Wisconsin plates on Steve's Pontiac Vibe after giving us our exact map coordinates and contacting the nearest available tow-operator who'd take insurance and/or plastic.  We asked him how bad it was out there in his experience, as we had counted about ten salt-and-plow trucks go by as we waited, only to watch the west crosswind blow the snow eastward back on to and the salt off the road as soon as each truck passed.  "Pretty bad," he replied, "about a dozen accidents so far tonight. All in a day's work."  We asked him to elaborate on how many crashes.  He answered, "You guys are the mildest accident so far. About four Wisconsin cars--none of'em hit anyone, only one flipped but landed upright. Some damaged, only one driveable besides yours. No injuries. The Illinois ones? Coupla two-car crashes, one into a tree, and three rollovers. None of 'em driveable. Had to call EMS for a couple."  Not saying anything about the relative merits of Pontiac Vibes, AWD, or Wisconsin vs. Illinois drivers.....just sayin'.

Tow operator finally arrived and looked at the car--just some scratches on the bumper and front of the hood where the barbed-wire fence suffered the injury to its dignity.  He surmised what had happened was because of the temperature and the snow texture, the snow had begun to collect and compact in the tire treads and freeze, turning the tires into virtual Indy-car "racing slicks."  We hit several patches of black ice beneath the snow, and didn't have a chance. We'd done everything right, per high school Driver Ed., but some road hazards can be avoided only by staying off the roads and inside one's living room.   (Of course, en route to a show, I believe in pressing on--there's always at least one fan who's braved awful conditions--sometimes, as on Dec 23, from a very long distance--to come and be entertained, and we performers owe them our all, even for an audience of one, so long as the venue is open and there's power).

After some ominous jerks and groans, we finally felt ourselves towed back up on to the shoulder. The trooper told us we were just north of Arcola, with the closest town to the south likely to have lodging being Mattoon.  We called the Holiday Inn in Mt. Vernon, and after they grumbled that we should have called them before 6pm to get a refund and we pointed out that we didn't run off the road till after 9:30, they grudgingly agreed not to charge us for our rooms.  We practically crawled those 12 miles south to Mattoon, car shimmying as the chunks of compacted snow and ice in our wheel-wells (as the trooper and tow guy had advised us) slowly worked their way loose, and semis and SUVs zooming past and honking at us. We gratefully pulled into the parking lot of a Holiday Inn Express which--till we found ourselves at the front desk--we weren't entirely sure was not a mirage.  Thus (wishing I'd a Valium and/or a drink but settling for decaf and a hunk of chocolate), we repaired to our rooms, phoned home (carefully explaining our late arrivals).....and so to bed.  (At least I did---Steve stayed up in his room multitasking--working on his next song for FAWM--February Album Writing Month--writing, blogging, etc).

Two hours later I awoke, unable to sleep, lyrics swimming to the surface--I hauled out my trusty Sheaffer Snorkel and journal, set them down in my groggy stupor and then slept fitfully till breakfast time.  Neatened up the rhyme and syntax, headed down to breakfast, and sang it a cappella for a tableful of fellow tourists (who'd asked what I was doing) and the day manager (the night manager'd requested I bring down the dulcimer but had already gone).  They laughed, so I know something good---besides unscathed survival--had come of Steve & Sandy's Excellent Adventure the night before.

As Orlando folksinger-songwriter Doug Spears put it a couple of days later, "You know, in MY part of the world, people drive hundreds of miles and pay good money for a ride like that!"

More to come, but I'm beat--my first full day home (to several domestic physical injury crises, but I'll explain those later; you've probably already read about 'em in Facebook).

Bad news:  I threw my back out, big time. Thank heavens for muscle relaxers, NSAIDs and my nukable heating pad.  (Much as I hate to do so, gotta keep moving OR ELSE).   Unfortunately, shoveling snow is not back-healthy exercise.

But how about those Saints? Who dat? Champs!  Well-deserved. (And though the temptation for schadenfreude is strong--after all, we can't forget who beat Da Bears back in '07--we can forgive. And the Mannings are Louisianans, after all).