Mo Mo

Last weekend when I was in Florence, Oregon for a performance I met a young woman named Molly. Her mom was in a wheel chair and was present for the whole three hour show.  She drank red wine and seemed enthralled by the Italian flamenco guitar and Russian violinist not to mention my Spanish songs. She hand wrote a note to me about singing a ballad but it was late into the performance and my stage time was over. I went outside and met her daughter and smoked a couple drags off of her clove cigarette for old times sake. I was delighted to know her name was Molly because my favorite dog from my childhood had that same name. I called her Mo Mo.  She was a poodle Pomeranian and died when I was 18. She will always have my heart. I recall that when my parents were divorcing in 1978 or so Mo Mo once licked the tears from my cheeks to try to help make me feel better. I dreamed shortly after she died that she was on the beach below a cliff near where my mother lived off of Elizabeth Street. She was swirled into the sand and at peace during a brilliant dreamy sunset. And actually she is laid to rest right there near the house underneath a pink rhododendron bush. So it was nice meeting Molly and seeing my brother and sister there in Florence.We go again for another performance on November 13th.