Day 6: Write On, Mamas! Blog-Off

Today’s Generous Soul is Amy London. Amy is my Baseball Tutor and is Chiara’s godmother. She introduced Matt and me to each other. And she can do anything. She made her own wedding cake. She has been known to weld her own props to go along with her choreography. I am not making this up.

Many, many years ago when Amy and I were roommates on tour together, our company had some gigs in a small, crappy little trailer trash town in Napa Valley that I’d rather not mention by name. (I don’t want someone read about her hometown and say, “Hey! I like Rohnert Park!” So let’s just call this little po-dunk town “Los Angeles.”)

We get to “Los Angeles” and check into this little crappy motel that’s like the Bates Motel of Trailer Trash Town. I’d rather not mention the actual name of the motel because search engines being the powerful purveyors of information that they are, I’d hate for someone to Google “Rodeway Inn off Hwy 101 in Rohnert Park” and find this blog post instead of Trip Advisor. So we’ll just call this crappy motel “the Mark Hopkins.”

The room to which Amy and I were assigned was fine, albeit full of cigarette burns in the polyester comforter and rust rings in the sink. But the room that our friends and colleagues Dalyn and Rachel were in didn’t have hot water. So they called up the “concierge” of the "Mark Hopkins" there in “Los Angeles” and asked for a new room. The second room had a dead body in it. Or maybe the room just hadn’t been cleaned up yet. Anyway, they asked for yet another room. Room #3 might as well have had a dead body in it. It stunk to high heaven. Specifically, it stunk like the feet one of the ballet dancers in our company. Let’s just call this person with the incredibly stinky feet, “Kirkegaard.” I’d hate for Osmani to read about himself and think, “Thass no true.”

By this time, it seemed like they should just go back to their first room—the one that didn’t have hot water—but they didn’t want to go back to the concierge again. After all, we were staying in the Mark Hopkins.

So Amy and I talked Dalyn and Rachel into staying with us in our room and we all snuggled together like those four in the bed where the little one had said “I’m crowded.”

But at least it didn’t smell like Kirkegaard.

Did you see any of this week’s blog posts? Then you already know that the Write On, Mamas! have started their Indiegogo campaign to raise $$ for our anthology. And I decided to write a blog post a day for every day of the campaign to remind people and at the same time pretend that I was really just writing instead of what I am actually doing, which is to find different and creative way of writing about asking for money.

Then I hit upon the genius idea of writing a blog post about each wonderful friend who decides to donate.Yesterday’s post was about Sofia.