Oh look, the two weirdos found each other.

The topic of conversation around here between my husband and myself has been about young love, love, what is love and how in the world we've stayed together.

You'd think it would be a celebration of a life shared and thanksgiving for all we've been given. 

That's what you'd think.

But because I've been blessed with a darker shade of mind, I turn it into a practice of realizing just how different we are from one another. Again. For the first time.

My senior year I was in this class called Humanities. It was a hybrid History/English/Sociology/Philosophy class. One of the teachers, every year, notoriously made an argument for why he believed young people could not be in love. We all listened intently and then tried to come up with counter arguments, but I remember agreeing with him. When I look back, I remember wanting the attention of someone but having absolutely no idea how to get it (especially since I sure as hell wasn't going to bare my legs or do my hair). And then the minute it seemed like some boy might want to pay attention to me, I would get so fearful of the prospect that I would retreat back to my bedroom and never come out. 

Later on I realized interactions between men and women had nothing to do with love, but more to do with vanity, ego and beer and so I took risks knowing it didn't mean anything, really.

And then I met Jon and , together, we've spent sixteen years learning how to love each other. I look back and we were two people in fancy clothes signing up for something we didn't understand. Marriage, for me, has been the education I needed to understand love in human form. So when I think about young love, I think that there's no way a kid could handle any of it. There's no way a kid could get this vulnerable, this naked, this helpless in front of another person. 

I'm not the kid anymore. Now I've got kids and I have to come up with better advice than, "You're all using each other. Stop it." I've got to come up with ways to help them dip their toes into the river of love. That means a measure of healing needs to take place. This weirdo wants the best for her little weirdos. It's not about me or my story. It's about helping them write their own story better than mine. 

That means considering love in abundance instead of in shortage, listening to Jon because he's wiser than I am, and seeing that it was his love who helped me figure out who I really am. That's a pretty great gift. That's the kind of gift I want my boys to have too.

I didn't sleep much last night. Love, along with copious amounts of coffee, is going to see me through.

My slip is showing

My slip is showing in that picture of me talking to those ladies this afternoon. How do I know? Because after doing my presentation, I scamper to the bathroom, pass a full length mirror and there, plain as day, is my slip having slipped below the hemline of my skirt. Come on!!

That was speaking engagement number three. I have a problem saying "No" to things. I suffer great anxiety trying to come up with something to say in front of people as a speaker. I was fearful and tearful before driving over there, but I did it. It went OK, but I told my husband, if he were able in any way, to get me to say NO to the next invitation, I would love it. I like singing in front of people. Speaking in front of people is much harder. 

Tomorrow my middle son turns eleven. We are having nachos and modest gifts. My husband naturally gravitates toward no party and one or two tiny gifts. I am not big on parties or gifts, but I did persuade him that it was not extravagant to get him one more gift and invite a couple of friends over. Nachos, gifts, friends, cake. That's our jam. Pretty soon he'll be too big for all of it and he'll be in therapy because of me. It's just a matter of time.

I came home from my speaking engagement to find three funny girls from church over at my house. One was playing the piano, the other two were giggling. One son was home, the other two were nowhere to be found. They were looking for my husband (also gone) in order to give him an old encyclopedia. They thought it was hilarious. I love small town life.

This time last week I was with my parents, brothers and their families in Oregon having the best time. This Sunday it's just me and the two little boys. Jon has meetings, Sam is working at Boy Scouts and all is pretty quiet. I miss my family. I wish we lived closer. 

My next scheme: an Oktoberfest Party.

My next job; write the Christmas program

My next dream: hit the road and go sing some songs.

Go enjoy the day. That's what I'm doing. Much love from the tall corn.

A blank page and news from the homefront

I have three sons. They are 13, 10 and 9. I remember them being tiny babies not too long ago. I remember that they were small for a really long time and then in a blink of a eye, they became these small people asking existential questions the minute they walk in the door after school. Yesterday's questions included, "Would you like to die of poisoning or of old age?" And "You know that song 'Next time around'? It makes me think about how quickly life goes by." These were thoughts from the nine year old.  

Yesterday, at work, my boss and I talked about where were were on 9/11. He was working in Washington D.C.. His roommate worked at the Pentagon. His roommate was out of town and all his co-workers died that day when the plane crashed. They were living in an apartment next to the Naval Annex which was next to the Pentagon. That plane flew right over their house.  I was in a sad grey little office at Wash U. School of Medicine in St. Louis with no T.V., slow internet and a radio feed that only gave confusing and inaccurate information. I still remember standing around our cubicles worried and confused and in a strange fog of disbelief.  

Now, 15 years later, we both live in Nebraska with families and kids who go to practices and have homework. None of our kids were alive in 2001. Now I'm old enough to think that 15 years ago doesn't seem like that long ago after all. 

Today includes chores, breakfast duty at school and driving to Lincoln for guitar strings and modeling clay. Turns out the 8th grader has a MODEL OF AN AMERICAN INDIAN ITEM DUE ON THURSDAY!  He thought my freak out last night when I heard this news for the first time was an overreaction. I disagree. And then I remember he is my son and I pulled the exact same thing when I was his age. So we're making a model tonight. 

And I keep listening for a song to come up. Someone posted a clip of David Bowie talking about why we create in the first place and I've watched it four or five times now. I keep thinking that if I'm paying attention something will come up, but so far, it's all a blank page. I was a blank page once. Some days, even after all these years I still feel like one. That's weird, right? 

It's not done yet, but it's darn close

It's like I'm afraid to pick up the pen. I keep trying to write a song, but I feel like putting words on the page is too permanent so, for the last few songs, I've gotten into the habit of writing half the song in my head, then writing it down only when it was almost done.  

This is not working for me.  

What is working for me? My super friends. I wrote a Facebook post yesterday about fear and not writing a song and Emily said, "Just make it up."  And then Ken chimed in with, "I'm writing from 8-10pm." 

And that's what I needed to get back on the horse. Just make it up. So I did.  

It is an AABA structure song. I just need to write the last A section. I wrote it like a schoolyard song, maybe like something you might sing while jumping rope. But I'm sick and I've got this low, grumbly voice so it gives it a kind of broke down carousel/Miss Havisham kind of feel. 

Here it is: 

There was a young lady from Saskatoon, Saskatoon, Saskatoon, 

She was as crazy as a loon, as a loon, as a loon, 

She dove in the lake by the light of the moon, light of the moon, light of the moon, 

There was a young lady from Saskatoon. 

There was a young man from Tehachapi, Tehachapi, Tehachapi, 

He was as mad as a hatter could be, a hatter could be, a hatter could be, 

By the light of the moon he swam in the sea, swam in the sea, swam in the sea, 

There was a young man from Tehachapi. 

And she never laid eyes on him, and she cried herself to sleep

In the silvery light she swam alone and so did he, so did he. 

(Enter final section here) 

Are you stuck? Stop trying to open the door that won't budge and look for a different way in. This is what I had to do. Are you stuck because you're afraid of the next song not being as good or as loved as the song you've already got? That's the kiss of death. At least it is for me. Forget the stuff that's come up before, and give yourself permission to find the stuff that does not yet exist. I keep learning and forgetting this lesson over and over again. I'm thankful for my friends who reminded me how to get back on track. High five. 

In other news, it's Homecoming tonight. My son is playing in the pep band, I rediscovered a book of short stories by B.J. Novak that Emily had lent me and I love it,  and it's so good to be home. Heart emoji. 

This song is hard and the work is harder

I started writing a song a couple of weeks ago. I thought it would come quickly and the first draft did come rather easily, however, the first draft was not even close to right. And I'm still writing it and I haven't found the gold just yet. 

My husband is not a songwriter, but he is a writer. He writes more than I do but in a different medium and he is not one to tell me my work is good when it isn't. He asks me hard questions, he pushes me to stay focused and admit when I don't have it yet. 

This is where I'm at. Not the best feeling in the whole world, and yet, part of me loves it.  

When he walked in the door last night I pounced on him with a new version before he could even set his stuff down. He listened and then asked, "What's it about?"  

I defensively said, "It's about a waitress seeing her childhood friend on television while she's waiting tables. It's a scene." 

And he says, "Yeah, but why?" 

And then it hits me. I hear all these voices I've heard before. I know exactly what he's saying. I've written a song about the song. I've written trying to hide the truth. There's something I'm not saying. I'm not fooling anybody.

GUT PUNCH.  

In a good way. 

I think this could be a good song and I think it's a challenge. I haven't rolled my sleeves up like this in a while so I am due. I love that my husband is here to keep me honest, to remind me how important it is to do the work. I'm impatient to get it right and find the sweet spot, but sometimes it takes time and lots and lots of rough drafts. This morning I'm considering getting rid of everything I already have and starting over. At least for this go around. 

For now I'm going on a run in the country. It'll give me time to think, to sing out loud, to find what I've been avoiding. Stay tuned. We're doing this. It's hard, but hard is good. 

Let me tell you about the Dixie Chicks

Emily, Marty and Natalie

Emily and I met up at my house yesterday at 1:30pm, I quick threw some clothes and makeup in a bag along with a travel mug and water bottle and we drove to Kansas City. We drove down listening to Dixie Chicks the whole way and getting super excited for the show. 

We got there just a little after 5pm, found a place to park and took turns changing clothes in the back of the van. Now I know how Superman feels and it's not great. I put on a little lip gloss and mascara then we joined the throngs of 40something lovelies drinking Coors Lite in a courtyard across from the Sprint Center in downtown K.C.. I was super excited for many reasons. First, because our friends, Smooth Hound Smith, were opening the show. Second, because I really haven't been to many arena shows. I like my music outdoors in a festival setting or in a more intimate venue so I rarely make it to the big productions that tour the country. And finally, I love me an adventure and this was an adventure. When you leave at 2pm to go to a show and plan to drive in the middle of the night to make it back home after the concert, well that's an adventure and that's just what happened. 

Smooth Hound Smith were fantastic. I saw them perform at Nebraska Folk and Roots Festival this past June and I was so glad to see them up there rocking that huge stage and making tha great audience fall in love with them effortlessly. They've got a great show and I'm so glad we were there to see it. 

Vintage Trouble was the second opening act and those guys knew how to do their job. They had huge energy, they got the crowd stirred into a joyful, groovy frenzy so that when the Chicks hit the stage, the place went bonkers. 

I think the place would have gone bonkers no matter what had happened for the opening performers.  

My impression is that the world (especially 40 something women) has desperately missed the Dixie Chicks. It was like we all found a piece of ourselves and our story that had been hiding for 13 years and last night we all rejoiced in its discovery and made some serious noise in celebration. It was amazing. Of course, we knew most of the songs, we knew the changes and the anthems and we sang along accordingly. I asked Caitlin of SHS if the crowds were like this every night and she said she thought people were just so happy that the Chicks were out playing again that each night had a celebration feel to it.  

We made this trek down to K.C. For the show because Zack and Caitlin of Smooth Hound Smith reached out to me and offered me a pair of tickets and I couldn't pass up such a  generous offer. Our seats were amazing and we quickly found out that our section held friends and family of both opening acts. When Zack joined the CHicks up on stage for a Beyoncé cover, Caitlin was sitting next to me and her aunt. Pretty cool.

The Dixie Chicks show was seamless and superb. They played lots of tracks off their album, "Home," they played "Nothing Compares 2 U" in tribute to Prince and they satisfied the appetite of all their fans with "Cowboy Take Me Away," "Earl," "Long Time Gone," "Sin Wagon" and "Ready to Run" among others. It would be hard to say at which point the audience reached fever pitch, but I'd venture that "Earl" threatened to the blow the roof off that fancy place. 

And then this happened. The show is winding down, we are on our feet when Zack comes to our section and motions to us to come with him. We go. We follow him, Caitlin and their tour manager back stage to their green room. He asks, "You guys want to go up on stage with the Chicks for the encore?"  

There's only one answer to that question. We (me, Emily, Aunt Lauren, her daughter, Mary Jane and Adrianna) are lead to the side of the stage where we watch them sing "I'm not ready to make nice" and marvel at the place where we are standing and what we are about to do. The Chicks finish the song, they get off the stage and the audience cheers and cheers and waits for them to return. The tour manager explains to the six of us what we're about to do, she hands us tambourines and shakers, we are given the cue and file UP ON THE STAGE looking out at 13,000 people!!!! It was the most amazing sight I've ever seen, not to mention that the Chicks are 10 feet in front of us and we're UP ON STAGE WITH THEM for the final song. Incredible.  They play the song, we dance and play tambourine, we try to wrap our heads around what it is that's happening. Emily of the Chicks turns around at one point and flashes her beautiful smile at us and that right there is worth it. And then just like that, it was over and we were lead back down the steps off the stage. We walked back to the green room to process the gift. I did a cart wheel. It felt like a good response.

Emily, Zack, Hope and Caitlin

We talked. We had a chance to catch up a little and laugh. What a night!! What an unforgettable show made even better because it was shared with friends. 

Emily and I got back to our van and started the drive back home. We drove through a McDonald's in St. Joe at 1am where we changed out of our show clothes and back into our travel clothes. We got gas at Sidney on Highway 2 where Emily bought us both "Poo poo piggie" key chains. Ridiculous. Because that's what you do at 2am on the road.  

WE got to my house at 3:30am. We got up again at 6:30am. Some days you go to see the Dixie Chicks and get up on stage with them. Some days you get 3 hours of sleep, regret all your recent dietary choices and go to work. You just never know. My advice to you? Say yes and see what happens. Showing up is the only way stuff is ever going to find you.  

Tuesdays are for the Dixie Chicks, and "We live here, that's why it's messy."

I'm off on Tuesdays. Today I'm driving to Kansas City to go see the Dixie Chicks with Emily. We got tickets from my friends, Zack and Caitlin. We're meeting up around 2pm and driving down there. 

The hard part is that we have to drive home after the show tonight. We have steeled ourselves for the pain that tomorrow will bring. It's totally worth it. The Chicks are back and we should be there. Our friends are the opening act and getting to see them on that stage is going to be so cool! They once played the beer garden of the cafe where I work so I knew them when... 

We're bringing the rough cuts from our latest studio sessions to listen to in the car while we drive and talk production, we're bringing money and a change of clothes so we're comfortable driving through the night. We've already talked about what it's going to be like to meet the Chicks (we let our imaginations run wild on a regular basis). 

I spent most of the past weekend reupholstering a chair in my living room. I did it with a needle and thread and fabric I bought at the second hand shop. It was such a great project. I loved sitting and working the needle and slowly seeing the pieces come together. The work was helped along by "Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell", a new series on Netflix. I recommend it.

I also played two gigs this weekend. One was a house concert at a B&B and the other was a private family party. The house concert was a gathering of new friends and old friends in a beautiful space I had never seen before. We had a great time. The family party was held at a local restaurant's private dining room and I was so touched that I was invited to join in the love of family coming together to celebrate. I was truly honored. The best part was that both shows were close to home so I was back for bedtimes and I was there for breakfast with the boys.  

And then there's the song. I thought it was done and then I sang it and it didn't land where it should have. I'm thinking about it and thinking about it. I haven't had one lately that's required some real puzzling and pondering. It's good work, but it might take me a while. It's one of those cage match situations where all the lyrics go in and the best ones come crawling out bloody and crying (but they won so that's good).

For now I'll return my books to the library, do the breakfast duty, fold the laundry and go see the Dixie Chicks.  

We will live here. That's why it's messy. 

Song School and Folks Fest 2016

Ten days of camping. First at the Hootenanny at Banker's, then down the canyon to the Planet Bluegrass in Lyons. Reggie Barrett was on hand at both places to gift me socks in an effort to help me stay warm in the middle of the night. 

I spent ten days offline, out of doors, talking songs, singing songs, listening to songs and learning. It was a magical year.  We sat in the river and talked about life, we got up on the Open Stage and sang funny songs, we had a fairy garden song circle complete with twinkle lights and kindred souls, we had our Thursday sandwich on a Sunday, we rode in the back of a super sweet truck Sarah got as her rental car. It was awesome. 

Kathy Mattea shared her story and it taught me that I have something in common with a country superstar- she's trying to figure it out one day at a time just like me.  

Bonnie Hayes is my hero. She knows songs inside and out, she's in love with songs and she's funny and awesome. I want to be Bonnie Hayes when I grow up. 

Darrell Scott was there being his Darrell Scott-est and melting hearts and blowing minds like he does. He opens most classes with us closing our eyes while he walks around singing a song. I cry every time.  I learn from him every time. It's an added bonus that he's my friend and will make us the most amazing grilled peaches smothered in magic sauce for dessert.

Every year I go to Colorado to see friends I only meet once a year. We're our very own community and it has been such a blessing to return year after year and see how everyone has grown, get to know everyone a little bit more, cheer each other on as we take risks and grow in our art. This year Shannon brought her itty bitty baby, Rick came for his first year, Cheryl was the official "Hamilton" ambassador, Connor was on the teaching faculty, Rob gave me Spanish language CDs for me to listen to, Korby won the Song Contest, Jagoda was back, Amy was a newlywed, Michael and Siobhan inspired us all, Mike brought his new girlfriend and it made me smile to see them so happy. Good times. 

There were so many conversations I wish I had had, but didn't. There were people I saw in passing but never got a chance to hear from. There were songs I wish I had heard, but didn't. 

On Sunday morning before we drive home, we eat breakfast at The Barking Dog where we sit together and write down our goals for the year. We've done this for at least the past 4 years. This year my goals include: 

- write 5 AABA songs/ practice the business of music/ book more studio time to get over my fear of the studio/ practice my booking skills (book 6 "big" gigs). 

The Folks Fest Highlights included Mavis Staples, Andrew Byrd, Darlingside, the Song Contest finalists, Connor Oberst (he was a mess, but if he gets his act together he might be pretty good), Cheryl Wheeler, surviving the rain, that wine slushy, an impromptu song circle using a borrowed guitar on Sunday afternoon (Ben's birthday) and THE DECEMBERISTS!!! They won the whole thing. They were amazing. I love them. 

There are so many things I want to tell you, but don't know where to start. Like every year, the week in Colorado feels like a gift that will sustain me for a while. I am glad to be home and be with my people. I loved a week of creativity, but I am also content with the day to day life of our household. I'm back waiting tables, doing breakfast duty, driving the van, that kinda thing. Life is good. 

Colin Meloy of The Decemberists closing out the festival on Sunday night. They were incredible. 

The life I love is playing music with my friends

Star Belle Ukulele Band works in the summer, takes a break, then works again around the holidays and then rehearses in the spring time to get ready again for the next summer. We started out as friends hanging out while our little ones played on the floor, then we took our cover tunes and played them in the beer garden of the BBQ joint where I waitress. Fast forward six years and we played our last show with Jessica. She's stepping away from the band to focus on school and family and we are so happy to cheer her on in her future pursuits, but we'll miss her too.

Last night we played our last summer show before going on break for a few weeks. The next time we play we'll be three people instead of four. Last night the good Lord smiled on us and blessed with the most beautiful summer night in Nebraska. I'm just sorry our families weren't there to share it with us. They would have been just as enchanted as we were.

Star Belle has kids, she's got a job, she doesn't go far from home. She plays in Nebraska mostly. Star Belle gets into the newspaper and the Nebraska Life magazine. Star Belle just does her thing and has a good time. Star Belle is about the music and the friendship and she's all about the making magic. The hardest thing she has to deal with is scheduling because we've all got lots of stuff going on. I am so thankful for this band and what it has given me.

Hope Dunbar, the solo artist, is always worrying. She's always wanting more than she has and coming up short. She can make music a real drag sometimes. But Star Belle is pure joy and fun and respite and relief. Star Belle Band reminds me what the most important parts of the journey are when I get off track.

Last night was glorious. We played a great set to a great crowd with a rodeo in the background. We went to the beer garden afterward and toasted a great night with Bud Lights. Emily line danced and then we ate super nachos at a picnic table in the dark while the magician on stage finished up his show. We drove home 2 hours and talked like we always do. Then we unloaded gear from my car, loaded it into the other cars, hugged one another, looked up at the stars and said goodnight. It was a good night.

The life I love is making music with my friends. For sure.

22 songs since Song School

My year doesn't move from New Year to New Year. It moves from Song School to Song School. I meet up with my friends. I get inspired. We camp, we jam, we sing songs, talk about songs, dream of new songs, cry over songs and music careers and cheer each other on about songs and music careers beside the St. Vrain buzzed on good beer and that Colorado August that feels so so so so good.

I keep a count of how many songs I write in between the weeks spent in Lyons. This year I tried to write more. I wrote 22. It's not my biggest year, but I think the work was pretty solid. Of the 22, I'd say I sing most of them out at gigs. Here's the list:

My last hit- about a hit man, music careers and gun violence

Jeneane- about a guy trying to win back his old girlfriend 

Renegade Crown- A "Hangover" type song inspired by Folk Alliance International

The Facebook Song- about my facebook feed

Every day after Today- coping with grief and loss

She keeps going- About a mother raising her kids after losing her husband

That time of year again- About the time of year between Christmas and New Year

Leap- About Timmy falling a well without Lassie to rescue him.

Thy Will be Done- About not winning the Power Ball

Revolver- About a battered woman deciding to end the abuse

Doc, I don't think these pills are working- about depression and feeling unloveable

Riverside- A song for peace

The shooter- about mass shooting violence

Lilly Pond- About Claude Monet

Nothing at all- Looking back on past relationship and seeing how stupid they were

We're not kids anymore- About fairy tales and stuff

I write in the morning- A true to life song about the every day life of my music career

Seven Sisters- a Song commission for P.E.O.

Hard to Love- Written after the death of my brother

In these 40 days- A song for Lent

Daniel Clark- A song about a cad who deflowers a farm girl.

Pretty soon the community will all assemble in the Wildflower and kick off another year of reflecting and laughing and singing and dreaming and goal setting. I'm really excited. I'll tell you all about it when I get home. Love, Hope

Utica Heritage Days 2016

On Friday evening we walked up to the Utica Auditorium for the Utica Heritage Family reception, we ate ice cream and cookies, talked with our neighbors and heard stories of Dr. Meyer and his wife, Pat, and all they had done for this town over the years.  

The Star Belles and families getting the float ready for the parade. 

The rain threatened Saturday's car and tractor show, as well as the Fun Run and 5k, but we were able to run before the sky fell and the rain dried out in time for the cars and tractors. 

The kids and parents setting off for the one mile fun run! 

Then the Star Belles and families met up at my house for float decorating, beer drinking and lunch eating before heading uptown on the flatbed sitting in hay bales. This was our second time in the Utica Heritage Day parade and we really upped our game for it.  

The Bronco Spur handed out coupons for free small ice cream cones and we rewarded ourselves for a job well done with ice cream that afternoon. Meanwhile, the Burn Out contest took place, the Beer Garden opened, and they had the kiddie tractor pull up by the bank. 

Cheering on the little ones pulling the tractor. 

Then they had the street dance and the midnight breakfast. On Sunday I got up and took pictures of the 16 and over softball tournament right before the rain came and delayed it until the afternoon. There was the horseshoe tournament in the pool park, Famous Bob was setting up for his BBQ feed, there were the kids water games out by the ballfield, the Splash for Cash at the pool and then the Sunday evening entertainment that I was in charge of. I ran around town trying to get pictures of all the different things. I'm glad I did because it was the first time I had seen some of the activities. I rode my bike around town and, at one point, I saw a group hanging out in a parking lot sitting in the back of a truck and on lawn chairs drinking Bud lights. I asked if I could take their picture and they said, sure, as long as I had a beer with them. It was so great. Then they offered me another beer and I wanted to accept, but I had to drive to Seward for a gig. Next year I'll make time for riding around and hanging out more.  

Sunday morning softball before the storm. 

Horeshoes at the pool park.  

Next year I'll stick around for another beer.

I accidentally added this twice. Sorry. 

The water fights hosted by the Utica VFD

Tim and Lisa on stage at the high school PAC. 

Backstage with Rebecca and Becky. I'm going to miss them when they go. 

The Sunday evening music was really great. Tim and Lisa played their first gig and they sounded awesome together. I can't wait to hear more. Rebecca, Becky, Bronson, Hunter and Shiloh are wonderful singers and musicians and it's always a pleasure to hear them perform. Hayden and Peyton ran sound, Cathy got me in to the building, Tim closed up and we loaded up the cars with our gear and went home. I changed out of the church clothes I had been in all day and scooped up ice cream, took our lawn chairs to the front yard and watched the fireworks. It was such a beautiful night after a fun, busy weekend. Some of you might know exactly what a festival like this is. Some of you might not know there are places that still do stuff like this. We do stuff like this. We'll start planning for next year come January. I'll be at that meeting. 

Did I ever tell you I was an exchange student in high school?

Did I ever tell you I was an exchange student in high school? I lived in a village in Paraguay for six months when I was 15. 

This was a long long time ago during a period we like to call, "the early 90s" and it was all the way back when international phone calls were really expensive and there was no internet. Or maybe there was email, but that greedy Al Gore was hogging it all.

Anyway, when I left home part of the deal was understanding that communication with my family would be mostly through letters and that I would be able to call home maybe once every two weeks, or even better, once a month. They told us that because of that, writing letters was kind of a tricky art form. You see, I could be down in the dumps on Monday and write a letter lamenting to my parents which they would receive on the following Monday. They get this super sad letter from their super sad daughter and start freaking out, but really, I was bummed out one week earlier on a rainy afternoon. By the time they get the letter, I'm fine, I'm having fun. No biggie. That's why they told us, "Don't write letters to your folks when you're sad. They won't get that it was a moment in time. They'll think you've been suffering for the past week and a half."

That was good advice. 

Remember that last blog I wrote about the hard day of recording? I sounded distressed. I was distressed for about an hour and then I was totally fine. I chose to illustrate one moment and that one emotion that colored that one moment, but that's all that was. I got the rough tracks sent to me after our session and I got so excited to start listening and working up arrangements for the next session when we add instrumentation. 

The take away from the recording session once I got over my horrible self is that, yes, truly, I need to be in that room more often to learn that art form. It's the only way to get comfortable with creating in that manner. 

I hate going off the high dive. Partly because I hate heights and also because I only ever force myself to go off it like once a season to prove to my children I can do it (because for some reason they like the idea of Mom going off the high dive). If I practiced going off it more often then I'd be cool with the high dive. I wouldn't love it, but I would make peace with it. 

Honestly, I've got a better chance of falling in love with the studio than falling in love with that stupid platform looming over that pool of water. 

P.S., I got better at writing letters to my parents on the days when I wasn't sad in South America. It was a hard six months, but it changed my life forever. I learned Spanish, I realized how much I could handle (LOTS), I learned how to do things myself. Every new experience really is an extension of that first adventure. We all have stories like that. 

Tune in next time when I tell you about all the songs I've written since last year's Song School!

My inner dialogue is killing me or "My day at the studio"

Before going into the studio on Saturday, Emily and I came together with the list of songs we wanted to record, we logged the time signatures and BPMs and practiced the list with our instruments and metronomes in preparation. As much as I was looking forward to getting to recording day, I know that recording music in a studio is not my strength and makes me want to crawl into a hole.

There is a happy ending. The happy ending is that we worked really hard and finished what we set out to do which was record guitar and scratch vocals for 22 songs in 6 hours. But, if you don't mind, I'm going to tell you how I felt before the happy ending.

Recording music isn't fun because it takes out the human connection and storytelling of songwriting and music and replaces it with clicks and bars of eight and microphones in a sad little room. And then they press "record" and your heart dies a little every time you have to stop and start over. And in between takes you're looking at your watch thinking, "You are wasting time and money. Time and money. Time and money. " And then you think to yourself, "If you can't get a clean take in the next 15 minutes then this song isn't going on the album. You suck."

And here's the thing: recording is fine. It's a normal thing that musicians do. But, for me, it's a place where all my insecurities and vulnerabilities get up and start stretching their legs, walking around the room and seeing how bad they can truly make me feel. And so the struggle is trying to get work done while my brain is trying to push me off a cliff. 

Grown ups don't like feeling weak and stupid and small, but I will argue that it's really good  to feel all those things if you want to try and get better at something.  And I'm a grown up. I should be able to do this work without a pep talk or help. So, for me, recording is listening to the click, thinking about the words, remembering where I am in the song, messing up, dying inside, wanting to leave, but forcing myself to stay and trying to take calming breaths in between the takes and pray I can just get through the song. That's what it feels like. 

And then I do the vocals and I think , "You wasted so much time on the guitar that the very least you can do is sing these songs and fast as humanly possible (to the click) so you don't drag this out any longer than it has to be."  I wish I could say this is an exaggeration.

Now I know. I had the drive home to reflect on the day. It might seem weird, but I am thankful for the day and what we accomplished. The hardest part is done (hopefully). 

I've been wanting to do a solo album for over a year now, but maybe not. Unless I get into some intense therapy and perhaps start taking street drugs to improve my self-esteem. 

Live music is better. I've been able to quiet those voices that tell me to get off the stage long enough for me to do the show. I know I just have to work more in the studio in order to get comfortable there. Maybe one day I'll feel like I have a right to be there. For now, it's super hard. But good. I pulled it off as best as I could by the grace of God, methinks. 

It won't be perfect, but it'll be mine.

The computer at work died. Or is presently dead so yesterday I wrote out receipts by hand. The workers came in from the heat, the family came in for a birthday, the office colleagues came in to order the special and I asked my co-worker to make a Bloody Mary because I never feel like I can make that drink. We had a late rush and I didn't get home until 3pm. The boys were already at the pool by then. They came home dripping and went straight to the freezer for an icy pop. We called them, 'Otter Pops' when I was a kid.

I looked at my husband last night and asked if we were frittering our summer away. I scrolled through the pictures on my phone and it looked like we've had lots of fun over the past couple of months. I looked at my list  of things to do I keep rolling over to the next day's list of things to do and wondered what I'll achieve before the wind turns cold. It's anyone's guess.

We got a call yesterday about sweet corn. We got a bag full of cucumbers, onions and zucchini. It's a glorious time to live in Nebraska. And here I am belly aching about nothing and whether or not we're making the most of it. I'm wondering if we're making the most of it while the good Lord brings neighbors to our door with warm Rhubarb cake. We get homegrown veggies and an invitation to pick corn. I get on my bike to go for milk and pass two friends on their morning walks. I walk in the door to see the boy with the messy hair wrapped up in a blanket lounging on this free Thursday morning where we don't have to be anywhere in particular. 

The band is going to be in the town parade. We plan on how to decorate our flatbed trailer that will be pulled by a tractor. The band gets together and plays the best set ever in Jessica's living room and I am given the gift again because the Lord withholds nothing from sinners and saints alike. He showers His love and patience and goodness, He smiles when we smile resting in the beauty of His creation. And even though I've experienced blessings and richness over and again, my vision blurs and worry and despair still manage to grab hold. 

I tell myself, "Stop trying to write a story that isn't your's. Stop wishing for something you can't see so much that you ignore what's right in front you. You're not a kid anymore. We ain't kids no more. That means we don't wait for Christmas morning so much that we don't see the beauty of Christmas Eve. Take it in. If your present is a cup of coffee on a cluttered table beside a bay window in need of dusting, then write that. Don't write the champagne flute and high heel shoes that are nowhere to be seen." 

That's what I'm gonna do. I bought the wood, I'm gonna build the planter. It won't be perfect, but it'll be mine. 

The Texas tour with Darryl Purpose

First it was me standing in my living room singing the songs to my reflection in the glass of the picture hanging on the wall. It was me in the car waiting to come in on the chorus and it was me writing down the lyrics by hand in a notebook Eric gave me the last time I was in St. Louis. The notebook became my field guide for the tour.

Then it was me on the airport curb keeping watch for a white Nissan Altima. Hellos, throwing the stuff in the car and driving up the windy hill country highway to get us to Blue Rock Artist Ranch. The most beautiful artist oasis I've ever seen in my life complete with library, pool, a porch to die for, soft pillows, great coffee, COOKIES, oh and did I mention a small army of super talented, super cool souls who excel at making music, being hospitable, and pretty much taking life and art to eleven? That's what it was.

After the coffee and the talking, the crew started getting set up for the show. The microphones, the wedges, the cameras, the sound board, the room, the desserts, the control room, the studio. Joel Guzman came in to play accordion and keys, Darryl and I rehearsed in the library, we went over the set list, I had to figure out what to wear. 

"Still the Birds" is a great album. It holds up real well. It was recorded at Blue Rock as was Darryl's previous album, "Next Time Around." The production is so perfect because it aims to bring out the artistry that's inherent in the work. I love it whenever someone's serving the song and that's exactly what they did. Singing the songs live drove that point home. Darryl's voice is so beautiful and warm that the ear just wants to hear more of it. It's so fun to sing with him and that's what the Texas tour was all about. Even so, Darryl was kind enough to let me sing some of my own songs from the stage each night. That's the coolest. He did not have to do that, but he chose to hand it over to me during his CD release shows and I'll never forget it.  

The Blue Rock Artist Ranch in Wemberley, Uncle Calvin's in Dallas, Dosey Doe Big Barn in Woodlands. We played Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Each show was all its own and each show was colored just right for the evening. I think we got real good by the third show too. We were pretty good to begin with. 

The tour was seeing Heather Miller at Blue Rock and Bill Nash at Uncle Calvin's, making new friends, driving, thinking about songs, thinking about my own goals, looking for the Starbucks, finding the Starbucks, telling stories, meeting Darryl's friends at Dosey Doe, and trying to remember to write it all down so I don't forget.

I came home yesterday and it wasn't at an unholy hour. It wasn't 6am, it wasn't midnight. I strolled through the door at a reasonable 2pm to find my youngest son in the living room, my middle son in the basement, my oldest still working in the corn alongside all the other 8th graders and freshmen while my husband was out making a hospital visit (I think. The boys were unclear where Dad was exactly). I set my stuff down, changed my clothes and promptly walked my youngest son to the pool. 

As we walked down the road, we met Sammy with a fellow detassler who needed a ride home so the three of us got in the car and drove out to the country. I felt real good about that homecoming.  

I love home. I love going out and playing shows. I look forward to more. 

To welcome the guests before the show. 

Soundcheck at Uncle Calvin's. 

Getting ready at Dosey Doe Big Barn. 

The best view ever. I sat looking out, playing songs and thinking about songs. And then I took a swim. 

Neve console at Blue Rock. 

I sat and watched a little overdub session.  

Finding friends on the road is the best. With Heather Miller. 

I've never been to Austin before/ Chubby chunks of time

I've never been to Austin before or Dallas or Houston and I'm going around about to all three of those cities this weekend to sing songs with Darryl Purpose. This is a perfect example of my "Say Yes." philosophy. Darryl emails me out of the blue to come sing with him, I call my husband to let him know I was invited to go sing and then I say yes and figure it out. I leave this afternoon. I love music.

We were away for 8 days on vacation and, besides practicing, I didn't get as much music time as I'm used to and I'm feeling it. I came up with a verse and a chorus of something that is half clay blob/half arm and leg. I don't know what it is or where it's going, but I wish I had to time to watch and listen and find out.

It takes time to do lots of things, but it feels like time is something we've turned into Chiclets and Tic Tacs. We've chopped it up into tiny tweets and posts and shares and texts that we're not comfortable with big chubby chunks of time anymore. And by "we", I mean, "me." I know how to work with long afternoons and a guitar in my hands, but I have to choose it over the bread crumb trail I seem to follow over and over again into a dark wood just so I can have a little spark of joy with every like or comment or text. 

What if we let ourselves think it through instead of react? What if we listened longer than the first sound bite before forming our opinion and what if we sat in the corner of a coffee shop to enjoy our brothers and sisters coming in and out the door, toddlers in tow, heads down staring at phones, hair askew but there nonetheless and took them in as strangers kindred in spirit? Don't let the shares and posts tell you something about something that has more to do with some online popularity contest in a culture of outrage and less to do with the humans walking with you and around you trying hard like you are and thankful for that blessed cup of coffee, just like you.

I think this parsing of time is killing us. I know it's killing me. I need long moments more and fewer tic tacs, likes and texts. In a world that feels so fragile, we can turn this ship around. I know it. There are things to discuss, but we should be talking face to face in pubs and coffee shops until 2am and not on the internet. We need to see each other, hear each other and not score points off of one another online. Let's face it, Facebook is an empty room where everyone is yelling at the same time. No one is really there. 

So I'm going to miss my family this weekend, but I'm thankful for the waiting in the airport, the seat beside a stranger, the music and the new friends I'm going to meet. This whole weekend will be a big chubby chunk of time among real flesh and blood human doings just like me. I'm going to watch and listen, and try and work on that half man/half clay blob. 

Get out there and do likewise in your own way. Walk with a friend, talk in the pubs, pull weeds, write a song, take your camera and capture moments happening all around you. I'll be better off out there instead of squaring off in a pretend room where no one really exists.

Thankful for the gifts.

Tomorrow we drive to the lake to spend time with Jon's parents and visit some college friends on the way back home. After having been all over the place in the past three weeks, I will be glad to spend one week with all five of us together in the same place.

Last Sunday while Jon was at cub scout camp with our younger two boys I got an invitation from a fellow artist by the name of Darryl Purpose to go sing with him down in Texas for a weekend of shows. It came out of the blue.

Darryl and I met at Folk Alliance in Kansas City this past February. We were on a shuttle bus together on our way to sing some songs at the Children's Hospital along with 10 other songwriters. 

We became Facebook friends and met up again in person about a month later when I opened for him at a show here in Nebraska. My brother had just died and I needed that evening of music badly. I needed it for healing and for a chance to take a break from the sadness. If you were at that show you'll know it was a room filled with magic and joy that evening and I'll always remember it as being a really special show. Darryl and I sang together and I gave him my CD.

Now we get to try out our magic down in Texas and I am so happy at the prospect of making music together. I am so thrilled that I was invited. It was another example of never really knowing what's going to happen next and receiving with gratitude the blessings that come our way. 

So I'll go to Indiana and then come home, do some laundry, work at the restaurant for a couple days then meet up with Darryl down in Texas. I can't wait.

It's raining today. We're doing laundry, chores, and watching the rain fall after some hot and dry weather. Tonight I'll go over to Seward and play my songs to the friends I always meet at the Red Path. It makes me smile just thinking about it. The neighbor boy will take care of the pets and the plants and we'll take care of the swimming and boating and fishing. So far, this summer is pretty awesome.

A women's convention, Hamilton, and being far away

I drove to the panhandle of Nebraska with my friend, Karyn, last Thursday for a Lutheran omen's Convention (LWML). We drove through the sandhills and lots of nowhere to get there and once we did we met kindred spirits, sisters in Christ and we remembered who we were and we laughed and shared peace and comfort with one another. 

I was invited to be the keynote speaker. I am not a speaker. I am a singer/songwriter. I wrote that speech about 6 times over the course of the past two weeks until finally, I had to fall back on old advice and practice it again for the first time, "Be honest. Tell the truth." I spent all those hours trying to write as if I were a speaker and as if I had some wisdom that I don't really have. So in the end, I got up there and did what I do. I sang some songs, I tried to tell my story because it's the only one I know and pray that someone might see themselves in the story or consider the gifts of God in a new way by hearing how I've discovered them. Or something. 

I did not feel qualified. I felt less than qualified. I felt vulnerable and out of my depths, but I did it anyway and I'm glad that I did. I was inspired by the people I met there and I was encouraged by people who did hear something that helped them. And I'm super glad I made it over that hurdle. Phew!

Hamilton. Do it. Buy the album. Especially if you've ever felt like you've got something to share with the world and you feel like the world isn't listening. Hamilton. The story is hard to believe and it's true. The music is hard to believe, but it's true and it's pivotal. It will change music. It will remind people what art can do. It's already doing that. "Rise up" is not a sign hanging in a dusty museum. It is a call to all of us. I, for one, am NOT throwing away my shot. I'm going after it.

I left home for the sandhills on Thursday while my husband was still in New York, I came home late on Saturday night from the retreat and my husband and two little boys left for camp on Sunday after lunch. I've been far away from my family for a long time now and I'm craving our togetherness. We leave for Indiana on Sunday after church and the thought of a 10 hour car ride sounds wonderful. I need my people. We're going to spend a week together at the lake with Jon's parents. Thank God for quiet and for water and for summer time. It's exactly what we need right now.

That garden hose has a hole in it

That garden hose I use in the front yard has a hole it. It makes it look like I'm watering the garden and have a fountain-y water feature spouting up from half way down the hose. Depending on how it snakes through the grass and the plants it can look like I meant to do that or it can simply look like a busted hose. 

For Father's Day we bought Jon a second grape vine. Since I was at a cool garden shop I purchased a couple of hostas and a Russian sage as well. We presented Jon with the grape, we went over to the gas station for Father's Day ice cream before I had to load the car to go play a show in Lincoln.  At the gas station we found out that, in honor of someone's birthday, they were giving out free cookies and ice cream. Winning.

Jon's in New York City. I'm here with the boys. I have goals that are making me cower, I have things that I'm leaving undone. I made the coffee and now I just have to walk the 5 steps to get it, but sometimes that feels real hard. 

We planted the grape, the hostas and the sage before Jon had to go. I got up this morning and watered them all determined to keep them alive while I hold down the fort. The drippy hoses aren't perfect, but they got the job done. And so will I. 

Things I'm thinking about: life, Jesus, death, housework, the ever-elusive album, new songs, paying off the credit card, wishing I could lose weight if I weren't so lazy, my bad hair, swimming, hollyhocks, mosquito repellent, Hamilton The Musical. My next post will probably be about Hamilton The Musical. 

"The jelly is impossible to open" and other things

My youngest son wakes up either real grumpy or real silly. We thank the Lord that today he is silly. He is making his favorite breakfast- peanut butter and jelly on a flour tortilla. From the kitchen I hear, "The jelly is impossible to open."

My prayer is, "Guard the door of my lips." Speaking is my problem. If I would shut up then life would be better. I envy people who are slow to speak, slow to anger, slow to action. I see them as smarter. I see them as better. Are you a recovering talker? How did you stop? I wish I knew how to do it. 

Crisis of character? Yes. Existential crisis? Pretty much. Feeling a bit lost? You betcha.

"You could give me the moon and I would squander its shine."  Yes. Yes I would.

I went on a run this morning. The sun was beautiful, the sky was blue, the high schoolers were lapping me on the track. 

I've been thinking about writing a love song. They aren't easy. They are made even harder when you question whether love is really love if it's practiced by a broken person like myself. I'm only capable of shadow love. I'm capable of a poor replica of the real thing and is that really love if you can't get it right? It's like little kids playing house. They pretend and so do we. What do you call that? Which thing wins out? The love or the brokenness? Part of me thinks that broken people only ever experience broken things and then sometimes we get a vision of something true and real and good...and then our own humanity comes along and kicks it in the nuts. 

I do that. I kick myself, my neighbor, my family and my friends. I do it all the time. I don't have a gun. I don't raise my fists, but I might as well be the shooter because I'm definitely not the victim. And you gotta choose one of those, right?

So I lower my standards and I pray, "Come quickly, Lord Jesus."