to out-love

Well, we chose this road.   We could have stuck with our degrees and gone down a different path.  We could have listened to the advice of our elders and folks who thought they were doing us a favor when they suggested that we choose a more stable career.  I for one, could have listened to the Grammy President when he told me in his office during my interview to be the receptionist that,  “This is a F’d up business.  Why would you want to do something like music?”  Yep, the president of the organization that gives awards for music accomplishments.

A lot of us were told to follow the dream, but have a backup plan.  Many of us took the advice,  still followed our dreams (with degrees and backup plans in our backpacks)  and now are fortunate to  make a little living out of singing, writing, producing & playing music.   We are not heroic.  Nurses, teachers, doctors,  counselors, first responders, military…and uncountable others are heroic.  We are just doing what we think we are here to do on this big blue marble.   Like any job, when it’s great, it’s great.  It’s a glorious feeling when you feel like you have connected in a way that aligns your life’s chosen profession with people that express that they love what you do…or have affected their lives in a positive way.  It’s pretty heavenly, really.  But, when it’s not, it’s not.

Friday night Walt was singing at an iconic Austin restaurant/bar/venue.  He was the first in their newly created songwriter series in town.   He has a strong following, with many beautiful souls that travel from all over the world to see him perform.   His solo show is perfect for the listener who wants to be moved.   He truly is a poet and storyteller of the highest caliber.   On this particular night, there was a table seated right in front of the stage, with a large group of folks.  We knew several of the people and knew they had come to listen.   They also brought some neighbors and friends who…well…weren’t there to listen.  They  A:   Did not know that one was supposed to keep quiet when the songwriter was singing at a singer/songwriter show.  B:  Were not informed that one was going to a venue, where to imbibe shots and talk super loud with your mouth full was probably not the best representation of a courteous listening audience member.  C: Didn’t give a rat’s ass if it was a listening show because they were the real stars of the night.  D: Could not take cues from ALL of the other people in the room that paid good money to HEAR the songwriter and not hear about your Thursday night alcohol binge while feeding your husband fried pickles.  Or E:  All of the above.   Needless to say, it was a tiny bit of a disaster.   The sweet host of the table of mystery was mortified.  His brother and his wife moved to the back of the room, to distance themselves from the oblivious people.  The audience who surrounded the table was giving all of the ugly stares they could, while keeping their own composure.   They were  trying to take in all of the goodness that was on the stage and not be distracted by the circus at the front table.

I was trying my best to not be the wifey in this situation and held my liquor.. I mean, my tongue.  I knew at some point, Walt was going to ask me to sing with him.  I closed my eyes and wondered how I was going to react to the couple talking loudly right in front of me, while I was trying to sing “Be Mine”.   Then I thought… there is only one way to “win” this situation.  I was going to out-love them.  I was going to send them SO much love and SO much gushy sweetness, that they would either, A:  Talk louder to assert their annoying presence or B: Leave, due to a force bigger than themselves.  I was prepared to out-sing them too.    I can sing pretty loud…and give them an evil, yet loving stare while doing it.  One time way back when I lived in Nashville, my musical partner and I had a short gig at an All You Can Eat Crab Leg night. (we did not know it was the all you can eat night, we thought it was just a paying gig)   It was the worst night ever.  I didn’t eat crab legs for years.   All I could hear was cracking and slurping.  We worked hard to bring meaningful and touching songs to the world and did not come prepared to play the soundtrack for gluttony.  Ah but after I got myself right, I out-sang them.  I sang until they  might have actually heard a song or two and maybe clapped a little with their buttery hands.   Another time when I lived in LA,  I was the opening act for a band that had an audience of strong Harley riding, leather-wearing ladies, who were not interested one bit in hearing my songs about my ex-boyfriends.   I out-sang them too.  I just stood there and belted what I could until one person, then two people, then 3 people paid attention.  Victory.  So I thought tonight, I will not only out-sing the pickle lady, I will out-love her too.   She clearly needed love and attention and I was the one for the job. Plus, I was angered by the fact that someone would be so rude to my poet husband… that it was either take her down by a running tackle or stare her down with creepy, smily love. How hard could it be?16251985_10154969131596726_3471446339357430034_o.jpg

As I was preparing myself to go full-on Julie from the Love Boat, I noticed another woman close to the front of the stage dressed beautifully,  and clearly there to listen.  I watched as her lovely face was turning bright red from anger.  It was like a slow motion movie.   She got up from her table, walked on over to the woman and man who were talking, and said something like, “I would appreciate it if you would shut the hell up”.   Well at least I hoped that she had said something like that.  She was probably classy with her delivery, unlike my embellishment.   She then slowly turned away and went back to her table, sat down and continued listening.

By the time it was my turn to sing, the oblivious people were plenty uncomfortable and took turns leaving the room.   I didn’t even have to give them the creepy love stare- down that I prepared myself for.   Walt too, handled the whole situation with such class.   He said to the listeners, “Thank you for treating me, my wife and my songs and with such respect.”

Maybe the people never experienced a listening room situation.  Maybe they were nervous and had to make some kind of noise to even the playing field in their head.  Maybe they had a little too much to drink at the tailgate before the show.   But because of one awesome music loving woman, and the calm composure of my songwriter husband,  the room won.  Love won.   Maybe, just maybe, the couple learned something too.  Oh to react with love all of the time.  To react with love.  To react with love.  React with love.

 

Who will you out-love today?

 

Monday 12:19 am   waiting for the rain, thinking about songs

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

Choosing Love

Driving in and around San Antonio this weekend, I experienced the wildest of drivers.  It seemed that collectively, they were very slow & lost or very impatient and speedy.  I’d like to think that I represented a happy balance, but I may have leaned toward the slow &  lost side.   I was listening to the GPS lady who navigated us incorrectly looking for the college baseball fields.   We had a frustrating journey around UTSA (University of Texas San Antonio) for about 40 minutes.   The GPS kept saying “Turn left on Utsa Drive”.  We thought it was funny… the first 30 times.    We finally found our destination, dropped off the ballplayer and then got back on Utsa to retrieve my mom, who was at the hotel waiting patiently for me.

Before I made it back to the hotel, I experienced one of the bully-ist of drivers I have ever seen.   I was driving on the frontage road 10 miles over the speed limit.  A young woman was  beside me also being mostly mindful of the speed, as well.   The guy behind me,  in the bite-size grey Range Rover was in a HUGE hurry.  He was cussing, honking, visibly angry, swerving and so totally pissed off that we were not partaking in his Saturday Indy race.   He was so close to my bumper that I could see the horns poking through the top of his head.   So for me…this is a signal to slow way down.  Oh he loved that.   So he moved over and started drive-bullying the 20 year old girl in the white Accord.   She panicked, sped up and kind of dangerously pulled in front of me.   He sped off for 30 seconds and turned super fast into LOWES.   The dude was going to Lowes.   He was putting us in harms way to go buy a bougainvillea.  That poor girl was so shaken up.   She and I kind of bonded when we looked at each other and I mouthed, “What a F ing A Hole”, as we then went about our separate ways (within the speed limit, of course)

I then slowed down a bit as I mentally scanned the inside of my vehicle for something sharp.  Sharp enough to poke 4 holes in some expensive tires.   I know I have a Swiss Army knife somewhere.  An old blue one with emergency nail clippers,  that my friend Gary gave me in 1987.    Probably next to my Driving Meditation of Peace CD’s in the glove compartment.   I moved aside my  Yoga for Drivers book on tape  and hoped to find an ice pick.  That would be perfect.  I could roll up, puncture 4 generous holes in the A- hole’s car and be on my merry way to pick up my mom.    I know the color & the make.  I know he went to Lowes.  How hard could it be?   Then I thought damnit… what if I get caught.  That would be a tough tale to tell the judge.   The guy is probably a lawyer anyway.  (no offense to the nice lawyers out there)   Then I would be on the news as the crazed baseball vigilante mom who seeks vengeance on bad drivers.   That wouldn’t look good on a resume.   So I stuffed my anger with McDonald’s fries (not recommended) and finally picked up my mom.   She was happy that she did not have to take Uber to pick me up from jail.  She also reminded me that Karma will take care of people like Rage Rover guy.

I believe in Karma.  Living by the Golden Rule works for me.   I know that I experience more love and kindness if I set my life in that direction.  We all have crappy days, sure,  and sometimes the jerks win.   I wonder what would have happened if I followed the angry home improvement guy, got out of my car, walked over to him and gave him a hug.   Maybe talk to him gently and say, “You must be having a tough day…”  Maybe he was speeding because he needed a plunger and guests were coming over for the rehearsal dinner in 30 minutes.    That might warrant his behavior.   Maybe he was mad because no one said hi to him on his walk this morning. 😉 (a blog or two back)

Oh to be so evolved that I would choose LOVE  first over “What do I have in my possession that could teach this guy a lesson”.   I really did want to rattle him up, like he did to sweet Accord girl and me.   What if she had a baby in that car?    Choosing love should be the ultimate and the immediate.   I will do my best to set that as my barometer, rather than foraging for the dull tweeters in my purse.    I will put this next to my navy blue 1987 Swiss Army knife in my glove compartment:

“In a gentle way, you can shake the world.”

-Gandhi

 

Although Gandhi probably didn’t experience road rage…but I think he would have stuck by his guns… (hypothetically, of course)

 

Screen Shot 2018-06-04 at 5.34.05 PM.png

 

Monday, June 5th 5:35 pm                safely at home

 

 

 

 

 

 

Saying hi

Kids say hi.   On my walk, they try to imitate me and my wacky stride, but they always say hi.   Even the awkward pre-teens.   There is this one little dude that seems like he has an ongoing conversation in his brain when he is walking (mmm…kind of familiar) but always asks me how I am when I walk by.   One day his pant leg was stuck in his bike chain and he didn’t want help.  He wanted to figure it out for himself.   So I kind of hung out for a bit and he reminded me and said, “Really, I got this.”   Cool.  He is not there still, so apparently he did indeed have it.

Most of the jr. high kids are kind of shy, but eventually they huff out a, “Hey”.   I do not see too many high school kids walking to and from school these days.   They either get a ride from their friends, parents or drive themselves.   Every so often I will walk by this awesome African American high school dude.  Very tall, thin, glasses and always has his headphones on.  He. Is. Always. Singing.     Always.   He has a great voice.  I cross the street to walk near, just to hear him.   He never says hi, but I give him a pass, because he is creating & lost in his musical wonderment.   I want to stop him one day and ask what he wants to do with this beautiful gift.  And then I think,  maybe he is doing what he wants to do with his gift.  Maybe singing himself home is enough.

On my walk I sometimes pass people within inches on the sidewalk.   You kind of have to acknowledge one another.  It’s an unwritten suburban Texas rule.  (although when I was in California in the fall, I took a couple of 6am walks on the beach and everyone said hi.  They were so happy to be 1. Alive 2. On the dang beach 3. Retired.)   So I say hi to everyone.   Granted there are maybe only 5 or 6 folks that I walk by on my 3-4 miler, so not too many.   There is this one dude though… that n e v e r says hi.   He kind of 1/2 smiles and walks right by.  It totally bugs me, because I do say hi…every time…and he doesn’t say hi back.  He is not wearing headphones and he is not hard of hearing.  He just isn’t a “Hi” guy.   I do not know if this particular dude is creating in his head or just ignoring me.  I think he hates that I am so walk-y and talk-y.   Maybe he really wants to be walking on the beach in So Cal, but 1.  He is not retired enough and 2. well that’s all I can come up with.    I know in the book,  The Four Agreements,  the number two agreement is “Do not Take Things Personally”.   I am usually pretty good about that, but I kind of take quiet-dude personally.  Tomorrow I will not say hi.  I will just stare at him.  Like I’ll just stop and stare.   See what happens there.

But then after I make that grand statement, I  come across this beautiful passage from one of my favorite books, The Gift..  (poems by Hafiz, the great Sufi Master), that I read a couple of times a week.  I love this book.

Where is the door to God?

In the sound of a barking dog,

In the ring of a hammer,

In a drop of rain,

In the face of

Everyone

I see.

 

Well dang-it.  I just want the no-hi-guy to acknowledge me one time.   Now I have to honor the fact that he is my brother in spirit and brother doesn’t have to say hi if he does not want to.   I will stare at him with love instead of power.  I will bless him as he walks on by.  I will still say hi, even though he will not say hi back.  Maybe in his blog he talks about this lady saying hi to him and how he isn’t going to budge.  This power struggle in the suburbs is out of hand.  I think we need counseling.

 

My whole point of the story….that I was planning on talking about…that I totally got off track with n.h.g.  is this:  You never know what a simple act can do.   Acknowledge others.  Smile.  Be kind when the kid in the fast food window is shy and awkward.  Be light.  Buy the impatient car behind you a cup of coffee.  Look people in the eye.   Put away your phone when you are in a waiting room, in line, on a bus, at a restaurant.   Listen more than talk.  Give the guy a buck that you know is going to go off and buy a beer on the street corner.  We all have our stories.  Today is good. Today may we create peace instead of dissonance.  The door to God might be you.

 

May 24   6:42 PM  fixin’ to walk

I will say hi.  Again.

Screen Shot 2018-05-24 at 6.29.22 PM.png

 

Late Work

I made a deal that I would write once a week.   So, since I was late with my “Walk” blog, here is another shorty for you.

I hope I get full credit for turning in my work late.  Funny how schools do that now.  You can turn in your work that was due on Monday only up to a week late for 80% credit.  When I was in school, I think you either turned it in on time or you were s.o.l.   Could we turn things in late and get any credit?   Pretty long ago.  Might be making up miles and snowfall.

Today is Mother’s Day.  I want to express my gratitude to the Big Beautiful Universe for the opportunity to be a mom.  It truly is the best job, career, calling, occupation, Divine appointment, blessing and gift to be Luke’s mom.   I call him my favorite son.   He calls himself our one and only.  Ichiro.  Number One Son.  There is no mystery that I LOVE this child & love being his mom.  Love x infinity.

My mom is cute.  She is funny, kind, talented and a youthful soul.  She never missed a softball game, a concert, a field hockey game, a recital, a swim meet, a pageant or the opportunity to buy me sparkly clothing. She is not afraid of a cuss word.  She attracts wandering souls who need a soft place to land.  She is a healer.  She reminds me to wear lipstick.  She travels often to enliven her spirit and brings joy to all she meets.  I got lucky.

I know some people weren’t lucky.  I know some people had tough moms.   Not everyone can walk down the HEB aisle and pick out the flowery card that says, “Mom, You were always there for me.   Our lives are blessed because of your sacrifice and dedication to our family”.    They walk down aisle 7 and cannot find the appropriate card to fit their particular situation.  ie:  The Maybe Just Flat Bad & Questionable Mom section.  Featuring winners like:   “Thanks for all of the criticism” or “You always took care of yourself. First” or “You never met a drink you didn’t like” or  ‘You always had a lot of boyfriends”   Those cards unfortunately might be big sellers.

BUT KNOW THIS:    WE love and adore you and surround you with deeply caring and accepting arms.    We celebrate the fact that you are here and you made it.  You raised yourself and/or you were blessed with alternative moms that helped raise you, be them Stepmoms, your friend’s mom, your grandmother, your auntie, your dad,  your church, your community, your dojo, your hairstylist, the two daddies  down the street, that awesome teacher.   You were lead to the right place and we are forever grateful.

I got bold on ya there.  Well, I mean it.  YOU didn’t choose your mom… but God chose you to be here now.

Thanks for being the light you always knew you could be.

Love,

An Alternative Mom in your life

 

 

Screen Shot 2018-05-13 at 5.45.49 PM.png

 

May 13, 2018   5:42 pm

Fixin’ to get ready to walk and pick up stuff.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Walk

I walk a lot.  I love to walk.  Yes, it is great for my physical health.  I walk, so I can drink wine without too much guilt.   Some dark chocolate = 10 more minutes.  Fries?  Another mile.   Burger & a shake?   Another 3 miles.   Big Mac?  Well…I haven’t had a Big Mac in 20 years.   That would be a marathon.  Not worth it.  Rather have wine.   It’s not a perfect science, but I can enjoy life a little more knowing I am doing my best to balance the crazy.   Food and diets and exercise can make us crazy.   Got a big occasion coming up?   That equals no bread, no wine, no chocolate for 2 weeks.   And an extra mile a day.   Oh Lord.. the Whole 30 plan calls for zero dairy & sugar (along with a myriad of other evils) for 30 days.   My coffee needs raw sugar and 1/2 & 1/2.   Needs it.  Like a bee needs pollen.  If I give up drinking coffee with the vices, I am NOT happy.  Because that means that I have to have coffee with fake stuff to try and make it look like and for the love of all things creamy, taste like it’s the real deal.  Mama don’t do fake.   I resent coconut milk 1/2 & 1/2.  I can taste stevia for a week if it is accidentally added to my coffee.  (Starbucks 4.22.18)  (but whatev)   Yes, I want all of the compliments…and the satisfaction of wearing an outfit that I might not have to delete all of the Facebook pictures of the minute I get home, but to give up coffee with beloved cream and sugar?  Well, life is too short for that shit.   The Whole 30 plan is a kickstart to finding out what you need and don’t need in your diet.   Your body will feel great after eliminating certain foods.  That I can agree.    I can tell you right now… giving up pasta…no big deal…bread…beans…hell, no prob….cheese… my Wisconsin relatives will disapprove, but fine I can do it… alcohol, I guess I can do that for the cause too, sssssugar…well, ok, maybe for awhile … 1/2 & 1/2…. I shall kill thee.

 

Walking for health has taken on a lot of different meanings to me these days.  It is my therapy.  It is my prayer time.  It is my creative time.  I talk to God, pick up trash along the way and look pretty ridiculous.  I know the driving people talk about me.  This little city has gotten so very busy in the last 5+ years, that the streets are always packed with cars.   I have kind of a routine and see some of the same vehicles on my route.  I know they wait for me to see if I am taking out loud or singing out loud or stuffing my pockets with candy wrappers that the kids drop on their way home from school.  I am that lady.  I have the same 3 outfits that I wear (no, not at the same time), so there is no mistaking me.  I have the same exercise bra from 1998 (the drivers don’t know that, but I thought I would share it with you) that I love and I know it’s too stretched out to do any good.  But I can breathe in it.  It doesn’t make me gasp for air each time I squeeze it on.  Ok. I have 2.  A pink stretched out one and an orange super stretched out one.  Bra shopping sucks.  Especially sport bra shopping.  How can you really tell if it is going to hold the girls well in the Dick’s Sporting goods dressing room.  Do I blissfully open the door and speed walk though the Carrie Underwood area?   Her tiny bralettes (evil invention) wouldn’t even hold two strawberries, lest 2 small cantaloupes.   Good singer, bad bra.  For me at 50+, that is.   I am sure it’s awesome for middle schoolers.

 

So walking.  For the first 15 minutes I cuss a lot.  I let my frustrations fly.   Then for the next 15 minutes I apologize to God for my language and my lack of gratitude.  Then I ask for blessings for my family & friends and lean heavy on my direction.  Hea-vy.   I know where I am going on my walk, but on my “Walk”, I do not have any idea.  So I humbly ask for guidance.  By the time I get back home, I have enough serotonin in my system to love the world.  I love everyone.  I love me.   I think I am so totally awesome and I am full of all kinds of hope and creative energy.   Things creep in in-between the walks and again, I am ready for a purge.  I dislike that word, purge… it is an onomatopoeia of sorts, I think, but yes, I need a negativity purge.  (ew)

So I find time to walk.  If I skip a day because we are traveling or I simply just didn’t make time, I can feel it.  I am not as understanding and as calm.    It can become mostly cloudy in my head those days with a good chance of thunderstorms, without my walk and meditation.  We do not want tornadic supercell activity brewing.   The swirling green vortex that looms is not fun in my head.   So I walk and the weather clears up and it’s sunny for another day.  Good medicine, these legs.

 

I have this big goal.  I want to walk the The Camino de Santiago (The Way of St. James).  I have had walked marathons and 1/2 marathons.   Those were lofty goals and I am proud of my physical accomplishments.   “The Way” is a pilgrimage for the soul.   The trails start in France and end at The St. James Cathedral in Spain.  There are abbreviated versions of the hike, so one can choose many options for their spiritual adventure.   I am not sure when or how long my walk will be, but I know it’s calling me.   Not sure what I will find or discover about myself.  Maybe I’ll discover that I could have walked the Cedar Park Trail and felt the same at the end of my destination, but I am willing to train, buy the ticket, plan the trip and see.  Maybe I’ll discover that cream and sugar are indeed the answers to a happy life and I had the answer all inside me all along.    I do not feel lost, but I am willing to go and be found.

 

Let’s take a walk together.  No, you do not have to join me on the Camino.  Just a walk around your block would be wonderful.   You can vent all you like and I will listen.  Or we can just laugh our way down the street.  Maybe you will feel lighter in spirit.    I walk kind of fast, so you might burn an extra calorie or two…and then you we can have a donut.   That might be the ultimate pay-off!

 

Saturday, May 12  11:35 pm

IMG-6615.jpg

Coffee with my beloved sugar in the raw and 1/2 & 1/2.   My “Spirit is Ageless” Journal, handmade by Marti Perkins.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Let’s Begin

ageless-20171008-122.jpgSpirit is Ageless.   I believe I saw it on a sign driving on Anderson Mill Road in Austin, Texas.  It was a rolling LED sign that posts Daily Affirmations, brought to you by the Unity Church.   I like the Unity Church.   Good folks, good messages.   Good cookies after the service too.

I think it said something like Spirit.. and then somewhere down the line was Ageless.   I drove by at 46 miles an hour and didn’t think twice about it.  Then somewhere between the sign and the major intersection, putting three words together made me slow down and pull into the nearby neighborhood.  Like when you hear an awesome song and you just have to pull over to give it a good listen?  Yeah, that was me…  the Universe or God or whomever was whispering to me to stop and listen.   “Spirit is Ageless”.  What does that mean?   I would like to say that it was a voice like James Earl Jones in Field of Dreams..(“Go the Distance”), but it wasn’t.  I would like to embellish that story and say it was the voice of Ellen or Oprah or even Mother Theresa to guide me to successful, spiritual woman-dom,  but it was probably more like Wallace Shawn from a Princess Bride.  “You’re trying to kidnap what I have rightfully stolen” or something like that.   I tried to shake it.  But Wallace kept at it.  “I can’t compete with you physically and you are not match for my brains”… he repeated it to me again,  with his Vizzini lisp  “Spirit is Ageless”,  So I decided to write it down.   You win Wally Shawn.  You win.

I do not play guitar well.   I practice very infrequently (usually for a week, think I am totally awesome and ready to tour, get a tiny bit distracted, get hungry, go in the kitchen for a snack, wander around the house and the yard, check facebook and then don’t practice for another 3 months)  But that day I picked up the guitar and “Spirit is Ageless” found it’s way out.  I was closing in on a new season in my life and the words and the music just seemed to flow.  This has happened a few times for me in the past, but not in a long while.   It was exhilarating!   I felt terribly insecure about playing it in front of my accomplished and talented songwriter husband, but I did.  He was very encouraging and made me feel like it was a special song.

Jumping ahead, I had the opportunity to record my 3rd solo CD around that same time in my life and thought it would be a great opening song.  I loved singing it.  I loved performing it.  I noticed that other people, mostly women around my age, resonated with it too.  We all grow older every day.  We do, friends.  No matter what cream or injection or doctor we seek, we still grow older with each break of day.   I had a painful realization that I was not on the path to youthful stardom, the new kid in town, the ingenue, the next American Idol, that incredible “Voice” girl or the next big thing or the latest trend or the hot new chick singer or omg! that songwriter, or the next signed artist to Sony, or the girl on facebook that just signed a publishing deal smiling with a pen in hand surrounded by a bunch of guys with Make Me a Damn Star Records, or even that girl on tour in Europe opening for Sting.  No.  I was a mom in the suburbs having lunch with my husband and a young lady whom he was going to produce, who happened to be extremely gifted and humble and worked hard as a singer/songwriter and was following her calling AND… who could be my daughter.  She was about 22 years old.  I. Was. Not.   I remember that day so clearly.  That is the poignant day I lost my virginity.  Well, my naiveté, if you will, to what I thought my life was going to turn out to be.  Even though I had a record deal in the past and all the support of family and friends, the signs were all around me.   I still held on to the thought that somehow, I was going to “make it”.   This is not a unique story.  I am sure by this age, many of us have reassigned our dreams to other floors.  You, Dream of being a Lawyer, will be assigned to floor 3, where you can flourish for some other woman, who does not have 5 children and a mortgage.  You will find a warm, comforting & brilliant home there.  You, Dream of Dancing with the New York City Ballet, will be assigned to floor 7, where you will find a passionate, young soul to carry this arduous job through, while I take care of my aging parents and work 2 jobs to do so.  So as I lay down my dream of a world tour with the Lilith Fair metaphorically in front of the young female spirit at Cracker Barrel that day, I started praying for other ways to fill the void.

Wallace Shawn did not whisper in my ear quickly.  It took a long time to pull over and be open to hearing voices of Movie characters direct my life’s purpose.  I drove by a lot of signs with answers to my deep questions too. But eventually things began to make sense.

So here I gloriously am.  53, 16 year old son, married 17 years.  Even though I have not toured Asia with my precious Sting, I have performed on the banks of the Llano River with my husband, with our son kind of listening in the audience and our dog picking fights with anyone who would come close to us while we were on “stage”.  And even though I have not accepted a Grammy for Best New Artist, I have had the opportunity to see almost every baseball game our son has ever played since age 4.  And even though I have not been on the cover of “You are Bitchin’ and Thank God,  Young”  magazine for my wild success in life, I have landed in a tribe who uplift all with their love of humanity,  love of art and love of giving unconditionally.  And for those things and for many, many other things, I say Thank You and  Amen.

Spirit is Ageless.   As our bodies and dreams age, may we stay forever youthful in hope and joyous abandon.

 

Sunday, April 29, 2018   a sunny day in Cedar Park, ready to clean the windows.