The Girl and The Boy were little when i wrote and recorded this piece of music GIVE ME ROOTS, GIVE THEM WINGS. the title wording was deliberate; it was stunning to me how rooted having children made me feel and yet i knew that, even from the very start, just as i was giving them roots, i was also giving them wings. the toughest part. that letting go thing. The Girl told me today that i was high maintenance. me??? “what???” i said. she said, “have you ever MET you?” wow. straight to the gut. lol. she made me laugh. i guess as a momma i may want a littlemorelittlemorelittlemore time….
when The Girl was a baby, jenny gave me a cross-stitched picture with the words “give them roots, give them wings.” bittersweet words. how little i knew back then.
no matter any other job i have had or will have or any other work i have done or will do, i will always consider motherhood the most important. i cherish every moment of all of it, even the very hardest moments. The Girl and The Boy are out in the world, doing what makes them happy, close or far away.
they root me. yes. even as i continue to watch their wings lift higher and higher.
when i wrote and recorded THAT MORNING SOMEDAY (you can hear it below) it was wistfully about any beginning…any beautiful or cloud-striated sunrise…any hopefulness…any new day. my big brother had died and i was yearning for the peace of understanding, a feeling of being ok in the world, a wish to wake up to something that had given order to chaos.
many many years later, i can’t honestly say that i always have the peace of understanding or a feeling of being ok in the world and i often wish to wake up to something that has given order to chaos. someday is still out there.
only now, a little older and the tiniest smidge wiser, i realize someday is waiting too long. someday is right now and i am sitting right in it, with lots of time behind me and, hopefully, lots of time in front of me. the only thing that really counts right now is right now.
i yearn to make it more peaceful than my last moment. i step in the world, ok or not. i try to help create order out of chaos. maybe someday it will all come together. but in the meanwhile, i will do the best i can in right now.
heidi and i performed together for years at innumerable oncology and cancer survivor events. heidi is a breast cancer survivor and speaker and we wove her spoken words and my songs or instrumental music into performances of celebration, of gratitude, of honoring…performances we cherished together.
heidi would speak of a lazy river she had been in. how, without doing anything, you just become part of the river…tubing on a slow river is like that. no real thought, just meandering in the flow. like life, it’s easier when you don’t fight the currents.
there is something, for me, about gathering riverstones. we gave them to everyone at our wedding – to mark that each person is part of the river of our life. these beautiful riverstones – the way water created a smoothness on rock…years of the flow has worn down the rough edges, made a beautiful patina. i’m hoping, maybe, i’ll be just like that.
on our work table in our sunroom we have three wedding invitations. each one is beautiful, sent to us by the children of friends or relatives. it is that time, when the next generation is marrying. we are excited for each couple and celebrate with them, whether or not we can be at the event with them.
when we were choosing a piece of music for this ks friday, we decided to honor these celebrations of love-found with the song AS SURE AS THE SUN. (scroll down to listen) it is our hope that in each of these couples they are, “in for the long run, forever…safe to be who (they) are” and that, in that universe mystery of ultimately finding each other, they are loved “as sure as the sun.”
i could hear the saxophonist on the corner out the window; it’s not uncommon in nyc. at yamaha artist services to record the two solo piano hymn albums, i was caught up in the christmas carol he was playing, only a little concerned that it would bleed onto the recording. the amazing “it’s fine!” ken can handle anything.
my task was to get onto tape (so to speak) the material for both of the hymn albums: ALWAYS WITH US Volume 1 and ALWAYS WITH US Volume 2. it was easy for me to compile a list of the hymns to play; so many years of church music gives me an advantage that way. but on every album, even if it is music i haven’t written but am giving my own voice to (like the hymn albums or christmas albums or lullaby album) i always include one or two pieces that i have composed – a signature of sorts. for always with us volume one it was the title track. ALWAYS WITH US is a statement of my belief that we are never alone, we are always surrounded by infinite grace and love – God is always with us. like all the tracks on the hymn albums, this piece is solo piano.
part of that time in the city, i also recorded the album AS IT IS. i had a list of titles and in-between recording hymns, i would take out the list and simply play the word. but i’ve talked about that before. this album was a personal creative challenge and took on a life of its own.
back in chicago, in post-production work, ken wrote orchestration arrangements (he is brilliant) and brought in musicians to record on tracks for the AS IT IS album, starting with the solo piano recordings. these new tracks went beyond the solo piano versions – in texture, in diversity, ultimately, in emotion.
yesterday i wrote about process in david’s painting. the same -yet different- process exists in recording music. the coming-together of layers, with what is in a layer below sometimes hidden, a breath you can’t hear, but can feel. i am awed by what the whole becomes from the whole.
always with us exists in two forms. both are relevant to the album they are within. both speak a language. but both tell the same story – for those who listen – that we are never alone. God – or whatever you call this presence- is always with us. and if you listen, maybe with your mind’s eye, you might even hear the strains of a saxophonist on the corner in the city at night.
ALWAYS WITH US – on the album AS IT IS
ALWAYS WITH US – on the album ALWAYS WITH US VOLUME 1
with the advent of ancestry kits and accessible dna testing, we are a society of people with more desire to learn about our individual heritage. for christmas, The Girl and The Boy each got a dna testing kit from their father. i’m excited to hear the results of these. it’s fascinating to me to find out what our roots are; despite some specificity flaws and rounding up (or down) of genetic heredity in the testing and reporting kits i have read about, it is still interesting to know just a little bit more about where we come from.
my sweet momma and poppo traveled to salt lake city to work on the genealogy of our family. they spent hours in the library there, researching. they would have loved the idea of simply submitting dna to find out a broad spectrum of heredity, of lineage, but i suspect they still would have traveled to work on this the old-fashioned way, looking for names of family and how the branches of the tree spread out.
without doubt you have seen the commercials for these tests. my favorites are the ones where people find that they were either mistaken about their ethnic heritage or they found that there were some surprises. the best part is that – and i know it’s a commercial, but hey, i’m gullible – they embrace learning about this new part of their identity they had no idea existed. they embrace something different. they want to celebrate ethnicities they knew nothing about. why not celebrate these whether or not it is a part of our heritage? maybe we can make the legacy we pass down one of inclusion and acceptance and a curiosity to learn and welcome others, whether or not their dna matches ours.
as much as i like black and white, NOTHING is really quite black and white.
we walked the tax stuffff into the accountant’s office this morning. it’s been over 20 years that i have been keeping precise records for the company that is my recording label: sisu music productions inc. this company (like me, like any of us) has seen its ebbs and flows through the years. some of it was due to economy, some due to personal reasons, some due to technology and the internet changing every professional musician’s life, some due to the matter-of-fact financial challenges on any independent recording artist.
while i was compiling all the information this year, i had many conversations with d about how i was feeling. at one point, he turned to me and said, “this is like reading your calendar at the end of the year, isn’t it?” mmm. yes. a cruise through the year in my life as an artist with albums, an artist who has spent time on the radio, on stages, on wholesale show floors. some years that ramble-through is exciting; some years that ramble-through is disappointing. there is always back-story behind the activity, the sales, the decisions. it’s not black and white.
i stand here in march, 23 years after the release of my first album, touching the very very black of my piano and the very very white of the scrap paper i use so often to write on, and look out ahead of me. i wonder where – in this arena of my life, this heading, this column – i am going. the view from here is foggy and unclear. do i have albums to make? stages to play on? my end-game is different now – it has to be; i am 23 years older than i was back then – at the beginning. i can only wonder if the music that is still a part of me, still inside me, never yet hitting anyone’s ears as a finished recording, will find its way, will find relevance, will lead me into the next. it’s not black and white.
i used to spend a lot of time driving across the country to wholesale shows where i would represent my cds and sell to stores everywhere that stocked music. the world has changed since then and not only are there less boutique-type shops with original work (inexpensive copies have taken over), but there are few shops that actually sell physical cds. in this world of downloading (read: streaming, but don’t get me started on THAT subject) it is hard for a proprietor to invest in anything they aren’t sure will fly out the door.
when i drove east with a vanload of boxes and merchandise, i would pass a lake called meander lake. i looked forward to these signs and the view of this lovely lake through the trees. the word “meander” conjured up images of every time i had taken the time to do just that: meander. on a back road, on a trail in the mountains, in the woods in a state park, along the lake, through a magazine or book, or in my mind’s eye. i am a meanderer. i believe i come by it naturally; my sweet momma loved meandering…any day she would suggest a car drive or a bike hike to some distant spot, meandering on the way. she wasn’t afraid of getting lost; for her, meandering WAS the meaning in the time spent.
sitting at yamaha artist services in nyc i had a list of titles i had collected, words that had spoken to me or touched my heart. “meander” was on that list. with “record” on, i simply ‘played’ the word “meander.” the amazing “fine” ken orchestrated this piece back in chicago, bringing in musicians to add tracks.
sitting next to me right now, david just listened to it. the richness of that orchestration wrapped around me and i was back on I-76, jotting down on a scrap of paper the word “meander.”
years ago i was commissioned to write for and perform at the annual breast cancer symposium in san antonio, texas. after talking with the producers, i had gathered enough details to know that this symposium is a very big research event in which new research is both shared and celebrated, at which researchers and physicians from all over are honored. these folks are often the people in the foreground of new advances but the background as far as survivors and lay-people knowing who they are. it was from that place that i wrote this song.
a couple of years after that, lance armstrong was leading the tour of hope across the country. despite his more recent fall from grace, there were countless good people working on this tour of hope – bicyclists riding across the country with big rallies in various cities – to raise awareness for cancer and celebrate survivorship. i performed alongside my cherished friend and breast cancer survivor speaker heidi on an out-of-season gorgeous day in october in downtown chicago at the block 37 on state street park that is now a high-rise. lance was there and was laser-focused and passionate in his support of cancer survivors. at the time, i was honored to work with him and i credit that day with meeting my dear friend scordskiii, his photographer, who brought many a laugh and hours of conversation during subsequent years when i really needed both.
this song is personal for me. the moffitt cancer center in tampa, florida used it as a thank-you in a hospital-wide video to the staff for their work. for me, their efforts included extending my poppo’s life 12 years beyond diagnosis. i was proud and honored for this song to be featured.
in the last two decades, heidi and i have performed all over the country at innumerable oncology events together (walks, runs, survivor celebrations, conferences, hospitals, cancer centers, churches, memorials): she, speaking from a survivor’s viewpoint; me, performing songs i have written to resonate with these events. each event has been a shining light for us.
as i listened to this song YOU MAKE A DIFFERENCE the other day, i realized, once again, that this is not a song dedicated to one effort, to one fight. it is a song that is dedicated to any effort in which people gather together in community to fight against darkness, whatever that darkness might be. it’s for the people in the foreground, on the front line. and it’s for the people in the background, not looking for any credit whatsoever, just looking for change…good change. it’s for all the people we don’t know who walk, strike, write, argue, research, march, petition, and present clear options to the light.
this week i would dedicate this song to those young students who have risen up from the pitch-darkness shooting at marjory stoneman douglas high school in florida. to have a voice. to bring light. we are all proud of you. you make a difference.
every summer i break one of my two little baby toes. every single summer. last summer alone i logged tons of miles on my $2 old navy flipflops as a result. i even talked about it on this blog. what did i learn? in particular, what did i learn THIS time as opposed to all the other times? i learned to either 1. slow down a little 2. watch where i’m going a tad bit more 3. never go barefoot. the thing is, i’m pretty sure it will happen again. i’m still learning.
i haven’t fallen off my bike in quite some time (and hope not to cause these days it will hurt much more than it used to) but i can relate in countless ways to our chicken marsala monday in the melange this week. i can distinctly remember taking off the training wheels and teaching the children to ride their two-wheelers, running down the sidewalk next to them. for that matter, i can totally -and (yougetthis) viscerally- remember teaching them how to drive.
we’ve been watching the olympics. athletes of inordinate ability who had to start somewhere – and, for sure, who fell in the process. not afraid of failing, but keeping on keeping on. being an ace anything is far off. do any of us ever really get there?
as an adult (ugh, i guess 58 qualifies me if for no other reason than sheer number) there are a lot of things i still want to learn. a few years ago i wanted to throw pots. i spent more than i bargained on for clay and lessons and studio time and more clay and ended up with the most wonderful tea light holder. (ok, i also threw a cereal-size-bowl and a few other assorted incredibly-shrinking-bowls as i struggled to center them and not have the clay collapse on the wheel.) let’s just say i was not gifted at this. but it did (and still does) make me laugh. and i know that i will someday try it again and i will add to my assortment of teenytinyclayobjects in which i can store paperclips.
when we see my amazing son and his boyfriend, we seem to be developing this tradition of bowling together. now, even though i live in wisconsin – and it is practically a law to be a good bowler here – i am pretty bad at bowling. every now and then i do something (like pick up a spare or get a strike) and am shocked, but most of the time i am aghast at how the ball creates splits in the pins and i find myself leaning while watching it careen (generous term) down the alley. the thing i must say, though, is that each time i do a little better. and the reallybadscores will, if i dedicate any time at all to practice, perhaps improve. mostly, i laugh. and i wish i could bring that to ANY thing i am learning – be it a new sport, an artform, a study of some philosophy or political issue, or – a big one – relationship. we fall. we get up, brush ourselves off, ask for grace and try again.
even though there are so many venues of crashing, the recording studio is a prime place to watch yourself fall down. you’ve written music, lyrics. you’ve practiced and practiced – there’s muscle memory in each measure. you’re ready, water and coffee by your side. (for me, not so much water once in the studio as it ….toomuchinformationalert…makes throat noises i can’t avoid.) and then you start. there’s so much riding on the line. and some days? some days you can’t get through a track. something is amiss; something is wrong. the first track of my first album was recorded in a studio in evanston. ken, my producer, was a stranger to me and i drove down with a posse of friends. i felt a little nervous, but mostly felt confident i was prepared. hours later, i had recorded the solo piano track for galena (the album released from the heart) and ken gave me a cassette tape (how funny is that?!) to listen to. i put it in the cassette deck of my old chrysler blue minivan and turned it on. and was appalled. rigid playing met my ears. it sounded nothing like me or my playing, or my piece of music, for that matter. all that confidence translated to a coldness, an unemotional-ness instead of a good track. i called ken (who i barely knew then, but now the same brilliant producer who has produced 14 of my 15 albums) and he suggested that, “maybe you should just write the music and have someone else play it on the recording FOR you.” what???!!! uhhh, i didn’t even know what to answer that would sound in the least bit polite.
and so i painfully listened to the recording again and sat back down at home on my bench. and i realized i needed to be ready -at any moment- to fall. THAT is what would make the piece sound like me and sound like, well, music. the rawness, the every-moment-ness, the vulnerability to mistakes and moving beyond them. that is what would make it shine as a learning. preparation is wise, flexibility is a must, a sense of humor is required, confidence is irrelevant, perseverance is utmost.
i could hear the saxophonist on the corner out the window; it’s not uncommon in nyc. at 
it was easy for me to compile a list of the hymns to play; so many years of church music gives me an advantage that way. but on every album, even if it is music i haven’t written but am giving my own voice to (like the 
surrounded by infinite grace and love – God is always with us. like all the tracks on the hymn albums, this piece is solo piano.
reverse threading 