They keep to themselves, mostly, but I do like what they’ve done with the place.  The lighting is dim and warm, and it filters through a thin haze of aromatic pipe smoke.  The small beds are always carefully turned down — though they are young, artistic types, they are extremely tidy.  They have brought antiques and decorative furnishings that vaguely recall cities I might have traveled to, decades not too far past.  Though I have never seen anything exactly like them before, it is impossible not to feel that everything has been put in its right place, and that all of it belongs together.

There’s an instrument rack that might supply a folk rock band, a wind quartet and a Javalese Gamelan all playing at once, with several electric keyboards to spare.  I often hear their music quietly echoing up through the floors.  Though I cannot count the beats without becoming confused, I cannot help but move with it.  Phrases end when they need to end, and begin again when it is time for them to begin.  The pace is always slow, but the drive is powerful.  Harmonies are stacked four or five deep, and voices blend inseparably with bass clarinet, synthesizer, viola, and trumpet, one starting as another leaves off.  They sit comfortably in the grey space between chordal and atonal, refusing to fall back on progressions or to create dissonance for its own sake.  Quite simply, they play notes, and the notes combine to make music.

They speak tersely, but they have a lot to say.  In moments of realism, their dialogue encompasses the quiet despair of an interminable search for love and its many twisting detours.  In moments of fantasy, they rave softly about the moon or repeat indecipherable mantras: “cotton candy money.”  Somewhere in between are the little things that never seemed important until I heard them in that beautiful composite voice: the sound of the printer, a particular stack of cardboard boxes.

Cuddle Magic makes me remember things.  It could be the way in which they suddenly fall silent to listen to a single instrument or voice; it could be the way they articulate syllables like words and words like insights; something they do makes me remember times when small things were vital, times when I stood on a moment like a razor, unable to look forward to back.

I hope they stay on here.  I will be impressed if they can make rent — though the time is right for their music, it is unbrandable and made for small rooms.  But I will keep them as long as I can.  I will probably become acquainted with the band members individually, each an extraordinary music maker with a unique share of skills and quirks.  But I am glad I haven’t yet.  For tonight, I am enjoying Cuddle Magic as an indivisible unit, settling into their special new space and playing for me from not so far away as I fall asleep.

However, tonight I want to use this space just to say thank you.  Thank you, in particular, to everyone who came to the Ezekiel’s Wheels shows today and/or the impromptu jam session in the afternoon.  And thank you, more generally, to the people that support me in my musical endeavors in any way, either by playing music with me or otherwise encouraging me.  Thank you also to the people who are allowing themselves to be drawn into my extended community, musical and non-musical.

My person is powered by contact with other people.  The most consistently rewarding thing I do is bring people together.  Joining and building a klezmer community with Nat has been a labor of love and rewarding every step of the way, but is only now starting to show real fruit.  We packed the house at the Lily Pad, and brought two new and intensely talented friends to the stage to join us for several tunes.  And counting the friends who came to see us this morning at Union Square, I saw more klezmer musicians today than I have in any day since the NEFFA jam session.  I got to watch people I cared about meet each other and establish the first tiny meristems of the roots that tie together real communities.  I had the time of my life, and it is because I am surrounded by wonderful people.  So, thank you.

- Musicians and music appreciators abound.  Classical, certainly, but a fair share of trad as well.  Leif Karlstrom is a bluegrass/western swing all-star.  We rocked out over Salt Creek for ten minutes — he took a handicap by switching to mandolin, and I still couldn’t keep up.  Tom Carter has a pretty classy gruff western voice, and croons over simple chords to nice effect.

- Sharp wits and charisma are the norm.  As if matching me in foozball and bluegrass wasn’t enough, I’ve met men and women here who can banter me under the table.  Most of them aren’t even native English speakers.

- I think these are my people.

- Nothing ignites my interest like passionate people.  Case in point: the bass fisherman on the megabus from New York to Boston Saturday night.  Now I firmly believe that bass fishermen are like Willem Dafoe in Boondock Saints, but for bass instead of Irishmen.  If you haven’t seen it, ask me.

- For perhaps the first time in my life, I am hydrated.  I went through four or five nalgenes yesterday.  I am peeing clear.  I can’t remember the last time I peed clearly.  ”I can pee clearly now, the rain is gone…” has been stuck in my head all afternoon.

- Dry electricity storm in the big sky over the desert… God must be shuffling His feet.

- You do not know a thing until you have relearned it from a good teacher.

- Science is a good way to make friends.

- Beer is a GREAT way to make friends.

Check back regularly for more bulleted lists — if today was any indication, I am going to have a whole lot to write about.

Today I flew a kite by myself. I had always assumed that it took two to raise a kite: one to hold the string and one to toss it repeatedly into the air.  Apparently this is not the case; or perhaps it was only true when I was a child.

Here are the things I learned:

- Flying a kite for the first time requires persistence and experimentation.  Sometimes, there is just not enough wind.  Sometimes you are in the wrong place.  Often, you will be convinced that your kite is not like other kites: perhaps it will never fly at all, or has very special needs.  You are probably wrong.  It may turn out that your kite flies better upside down.  This is fine.

- When your kite is finally flying, you need to allow it string at a very particular rate.  If you keep it too close, it will probably crash.  If you give it too much slack, it will also probably crash.  I am not entirely sure why this is, but I imagine it has something to do with lift.  You need to maintain tension while letting it rise when the wind takes a good turn.  A rule of thumb is to give it slack about half as fast as it seems to want.

- Sometimes when you are paying attention to a kite, you are not paying attention to where you are going.  Take care of yourself.  Watch out for mud.

- When you have finally unwound most of your string, make sure the end is attached to something.  Otherwise your kite gets to have all the fun.  And then it will probably crash.

- At some point, even if you have done everything right, your kite will probably crash.  At this point, it needs your help.  However, you do not need to start over: you have already found the right place and conditions to fly your kite, and it will be easier.  Don’t wind all the string back up.  Just grab the string near the kite, set it aloft, and let it gradually through your fingers until it’s back where it was before.  In some ways, this process is actually more rewarding than raising it the first time.

- If you’re not flying a kite, you may not be able to see why flying a kite is fun.  But it is.  Watching someone else’s kite is not the same.  It’s not just about how well you’ve done, and it’s not just about the kite.  It’s somewhere in between.

My kite is shaped like a pterodactyl.  Its name is Utica, because that’s where Lucy and I bought it.  Kite ownership is complicated — at this point, we should probably be sharing custody.  But we’ll work something out.  Maybe we’ll both fly solo for a while.  Maybe we’ll find other people to fly with us.  Maybe, after some time has passed, we’ll decide to go fly Utica together the way we had intended in the first place, just for an afternoon.  It doesn’t take two to fly a kite, but I imagine it helps.

Maybe I should call my parents more.

You know that sound from the hard times
Working wet stone with soft chisels
The breathless incompetence of slow awakening.