I was at yoga on Wednesday, which I love. My friend Jen is our instructor and it's an afternoon class with about 10 women. We were all reintroducing ourselves at the start of class. The intros came around the room to me. I said, "I'm Emily Dunbar" and the woman in front of me turned around; took a little breath in; raised her eyebrows slightly and gave an "Oh--" of recognition.
I know this Oh Of Recognition. It is followed invariably by, 'You are Pastor Paul's wife." Not this time.
To my great suprise she said, "Oh--you're Emily Dunbar, the singer."
And I cocked my head, looked down at myself to see if I was indeed Emily Dunbar The Singer, sat up a little straighter in the lotus position (okay, okay..half-lotus) and said, "Well, yes. Yes, I am!"
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Friday, September 29, 2006
I've got a peg leg at the end my stump (shake your rump)
Halloween Costume Roster:
Phoebe: Lifeguard
Ollie: Mummy
Moses: Pirate
Oliver decided a year ago that he would be a mummy. That costume will be easy enough to whip up. Phoebe, after much discussion, decided on a lifeguard. She idolizes them. Everyday at the pool she looked upon them with stars in her eyes and wished she could one day be a lifeguard. It all seems pretty glamorous to a seven year old--the red suit, the whistle, the first aid fanny pack, the life preserver. Moses is prettty psyched about being a pirate--there is one problem though. He really wants a peg leg. If you have any good ideas for a faux wooden leg, please let me know. I said, "The only way I can think of to make you a peg leg is to actually cut your leg off, and we can't do that." To which Mo replied, "Well...maybe..." That's how much he wants one. He actually considered amputation. Now that's commitment to character.
Phoebe: Lifeguard
Ollie: Mummy
Moses: Pirate
Oliver decided a year ago that he would be a mummy. That costume will be easy enough to whip up. Phoebe, after much discussion, decided on a lifeguard. She idolizes them. Everyday at the pool she looked upon them with stars in her eyes and wished she could one day be a lifeguard. It all seems pretty glamorous to a seven year old--the red suit, the whistle, the first aid fanny pack, the life preserver. Moses is prettty psyched about being a pirate--there is one problem though. He really wants a peg leg. If you have any good ideas for a faux wooden leg, please let me know. I said, "The only way I can think of to make you a peg leg is to actually cut your leg off, and we can't do that." To which Mo replied, "Well...maybe..." That's how much he wants one. He actually considered amputation. Now that's commitment to character.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Love, Logic & Spiderman Shoes
Last summer our friends who live about five blocks away went out of town and we took on the task of feeding their goldfish (singular). The kids took great joy in getting to be in Zip's house when she wasn't there and would have rifled through her drawers if allowed. Each day fight erupted when it came to who actually got to administer the flakes. Again, it was one measly goldfish, so there was no chance of everybody doing a little bit. Only one kid per day got to feed the fish.
On the last day of our fish feeding Mo really wanted the job, but alas, it was not his day. So when I handed the fish food can to whichever sibling's turn it was, Moses stormed out of the house. And I mean straight out of the house, down the driveway, and onto the sidewalk stomping toward home.
That's a gut check moment for a mom. Do I do what I want to do, which is leave the other two kids in the house go running and hollering after him, pick him up and drag him back into the house? In other words, exactly what he wants me to? Or do I stop and remind myself that he is five--not two, this is a quiet street, it's a good two city blocks before he reaches an intersection and by the time he gets there he'll be settled down and will wait for us? In an uncommon moment of mental clarity I chose the latter. We fed the fish, locked up the house, and headed toward home about a block behind Mo.
He became aware of us behind him and chose to show his displeasure in this way: he stopped, pulled of his tennis shoes, threw them down on the sidewalk and kept walking in his stocking feet. How weird is that?
I will interrupt myself here and tell you that I am no parenting guru, but I have one. Our director of family life ministries, Vicki, teaches fantastic parenting classes. She has trained at the Love & Logic Institute and now teaches Love & Logic classes open to the community and incorporates it into adult Sunday School and Sunday School teacher training. Founded by Jim Fay and Foster Cline, Love & Logic's approach to parenting and classroom management has literally changed my life and the way I raise my kids. I can't recommend them enough. Here is how they describe their philosophy:
Children learn the best lessons when they're given a task and allowed to make their own choices (and fail) when the cost of failure is still small. Children's failures must be coupled with love and empathy from their parents and teachers.
So, a big Love & Logic thing is not to yell and lecture, but as they say, demonstrate empathy, while allowing a decision’s natural consequences to occur. And sometimes that is very very hard, because I can lay on a lecture as good as the next crummy parent. And it is very hard for ME to verbalize empathy in these situations without sounding sarcastic, which is totally unhelpful and unempathetic and is absolutely my natural tendency.
So, I checked my temper. I took a deep breath. I kept walking until I got to those stinky, worn down, shoes that needed replacement anyway and half formulated a plan. The first step being to step over the shoes and say nothing. I used the rest of the walk to figure out my next step, and the rest of the afternoon to sort out it out completely. That’s another thing I appreciate about Love & Logic -- AND -- about my kids getting older. I don’t have to know what I’m doing all the time; consequences don’t have to be immediate. My kids are old enough to remember what happened a couple of hours ago which gives me time to formulate a consequence (if one doesn’t happen 100% organically--but sometimes it does). The trouble is you have to think a lot, to make sure the consequence actually suits the choice (how would being sent to his room get his shoes back?). And you have to stifle the urge to solve all your child’s problems for them.
Moses did wait for us at the intersection. We crossed together and he ran ahead again but waited for us at the next intersection, which is one door down from our house. It was there that I said in my calmest voice, “It’s too bad you left your shoes back there.” Moses scowled. “I don’t think they’ll let you into wrestling camp without tennis shoes on. Man, that would be sad if you had to miss wrestling camp” We had signed Mo up for a two day wrestling camp at theYMCA, which he was desperately looking forward to. He stared blankly at me for a moment. “Well, I’ll go back and get them,” he said, still with a hateful edge to his voice. I kind of laughed and told him we couldn’t go back now, it was too late, those shoes were blocks away. “Well, then I’ll get them tomorrow when we go feed the fish.” He still sounded mad, but only slightly. I held my cards close to my chest and bided my time until we walked through the front door, safely in the house, and said as convincingly as I could, as though I'd just thought of it “Oh, no! The Johnsons are coming home tomorrow. Today was our last day to feed the fish!”
By now the anger was completely out of his voice as he asked, “What am I going to do?!” I told him I didn’t know but I was sure we could think of something and left it at that for a couple of hours, in part so he could sweat it out and also because I didn’t know exactly where this was going.
Later, I asked Moses if he had any money to buy new shoes. “No.” I asked him how people earned money to buy things. “Jobs.” I proposed giving him jobs to earn a new pair of tennis shoes. He’s only five so money doesn’t really mean much to him -- calculating the cost of shoes and a pay schedule seemed a bit much. Instead we decided that he would complete ten jobs without complaining or being nagged by the day before wrestling camp started and then we'd get him new shoes. So over the next week he picked up sticks in the yard, he unloaded the dishwasher, he cleaned up the basement--stuff like that. He did great. He completed his mission. He picked out some awful Spiderman shoes, that, were I spending my own hard-earned-money I would have avoided, but they were his hard-earned shoes, so Spiderman it was.
Flash forward two months to yesterday.
We’ve been having a hard time getting out the door on time. We’re never late. It’s not life or death, but I really, really don’t like the last minute dash and scuffle. I give a fifteen minute warning. I give a ten minute warning. Everyone is sitting around playing legos or picking their noses or whatever and then I say, “It’s 8:00! Time to go!” And the kids start running around and screaming, “But I don’t have my shoes on! “ or “But I don’t know where my backpack is!” It just doesn’t have to be that way.
So I instituted this rule: At 8:00 we go out the door, regardless of the state you are in.
That is very Love & Logic. There are simple, predictable natural consequences.
A few days passed without incident. Then yesterday Moses was very involved in building a lego dragon. He ignored my 15 and 10 minute warnings. I gave the “It’s 8:00! Time to go!” Phoebe, Ollie, and our neighbor Annie who walks to school with us, filed out into the yard. Moses ran into the living room, aforementioned Spiderman shoes in hand, laces still tied in double knots from when he yanked them off his feet (my pet peeve, by the way--not untying laces) and said, “But I need to put my shoes on! You need to tie my shoes!”
I bolstered myself for the wrath which was to come and said, “It’s time to go. I guess you’ll just have to take them with you and we’ll put them on when we get to school.” He looked at me with disbelief until I walked out of the house. He came pattering behind in his socks saying “I can’t walk to school without my shoes on!” “Sure you can!” Boy, was he mad at me. He growled. He stomped (rather ineffective in just socks.) He ignored my cheerful questions like, ‘Aren’t you lucky it’s not raining today?!” And, “Boy, what a good deal! This could have happened on a snowy day!” We got to school. He sat down on a bench and we got his shoes on. He ran and got in line. I tried to hug him, no dice. Paul & I waved goodbye to him and he turned his back on us.
Love & Logic is not for the thin-skinned, but it really works. Today Moses was the first to get ready and was waiting out in the yard at five till eight. Will that happen everyday? Absolutely not. Next week he may have to carry his shoes again, but he’s learning. And given the choice between being pissed that his shoes aren’t on and begrudgingly cramming his little feet in, grumbling while all the other kids wait and then having it happen again tomorrow -- OR -- letting him have one bad morning, but learning what happens when you're late….it's a no brainer.
If only I can keep that presence of mind when, in barefeet, I step on that prickly lego dragon that is left on the floor, or when they flatly refuse to go to bed…I guess we’re all learning….
On the last day of our fish feeding Mo really wanted the job, but alas, it was not his day. So when I handed the fish food can to whichever sibling's turn it was, Moses stormed out of the house. And I mean straight out of the house, down the driveway, and onto the sidewalk stomping toward home.
That's a gut check moment for a mom. Do I do what I want to do, which is leave the other two kids in the house go running and hollering after him, pick him up and drag him back into the house? In other words, exactly what he wants me to? Or do I stop and remind myself that he is five--not two, this is a quiet street, it's a good two city blocks before he reaches an intersection and by the time he gets there he'll be settled down and will wait for us? In an uncommon moment of mental clarity I chose the latter. We fed the fish, locked up the house, and headed toward home about a block behind Mo.
He became aware of us behind him and chose to show his displeasure in this way: he stopped, pulled of his tennis shoes, threw them down on the sidewalk and kept walking in his stocking feet. How weird is that?
I will interrupt myself here and tell you that I am no parenting guru, but I have one. Our director of family life ministries, Vicki, teaches fantastic parenting classes. She has trained at the Love & Logic Institute and now teaches Love & Logic classes open to the community and incorporates it into adult Sunday School and Sunday School teacher training. Founded by Jim Fay and Foster Cline, Love & Logic's approach to parenting and classroom management has literally changed my life and the way I raise my kids. I can't recommend them enough. Here is how they describe their philosophy:
Children learn the best lessons when they're given a task and allowed to make their own choices (and fail) when the cost of failure is still small. Children's failures must be coupled with love and empathy from their parents and teachers.
So, a big Love & Logic thing is not to yell and lecture, but as they say, demonstrate empathy, while allowing a decision’s natural consequences to occur. And sometimes that is very very hard, because I can lay on a lecture as good as the next crummy parent. And it is very hard for ME to verbalize empathy in these situations without sounding sarcastic, which is totally unhelpful and unempathetic and is absolutely my natural tendency.
So, I checked my temper. I took a deep breath. I kept walking until I got to those stinky, worn down, shoes that needed replacement anyway and half formulated a plan. The first step being to step over the shoes and say nothing. I used the rest of the walk to figure out my next step, and the rest of the afternoon to sort out it out completely. That’s another thing I appreciate about Love & Logic -- AND -- about my kids getting older. I don’t have to know what I’m doing all the time; consequences don’t have to be immediate. My kids are old enough to remember what happened a couple of hours ago which gives me time to formulate a consequence (if one doesn’t happen 100% organically--but sometimes it does). The trouble is you have to think a lot, to make sure the consequence actually suits the choice (how would being sent to his room get his shoes back?). And you have to stifle the urge to solve all your child’s problems for them.
Moses did wait for us at the intersection. We crossed together and he ran ahead again but waited for us at the next intersection, which is one door down from our house. It was there that I said in my calmest voice, “It’s too bad you left your shoes back there.” Moses scowled. “I don’t think they’ll let you into wrestling camp without tennis shoes on. Man, that would be sad if you had to miss wrestling camp” We had signed Mo up for a two day wrestling camp at theYMCA, which he was desperately looking forward to. He stared blankly at me for a moment. “Well, I’ll go back and get them,” he said, still with a hateful edge to his voice. I kind of laughed and told him we couldn’t go back now, it was too late, those shoes were blocks away. “Well, then I’ll get them tomorrow when we go feed the fish.” He still sounded mad, but only slightly. I held my cards close to my chest and bided my time until we walked through the front door, safely in the house, and said as convincingly as I could, as though I'd just thought of it “Oh, no! The Johnsons are coming home tomorrow. Today was our last day to feed the fish!”
By now the anger was completely out of his voice as he asked, “What am I going to do?!” I told him I didn’t know but I was sure we could think of something and left it at that for a couple of hours, in part so he could sweat it out and also because I didn’t know exactly where this was going.
Later, I asked Moses if he had any money to buy new shoes. “No.” I asked him how people earned money to buy things. “Jobs.” I proposed giving him jobs to earn a new pair of tennis shoes. He’s only five so money doesn’t really mean much to him -- calculating the cost of shoes and a pay schedule seemed a bit much. Instead we decided that he would complete ten jobs without complaining or being nagged by the day before wrestling camp started and then we'd get him new shoes. So over the next week he picked up sticks in the yard, he unloaded the dishwasher, he cleaned up the basement--stuff like that. He did great. He completed his mission. He picked out some awful Spiderman shoes, that, were I spending my own hard-earned-money I would have avoided, but they were his hard-earned shoes, so Spiderman it was.
Flash forward two months to yesterday.
We’ve been having a hard time getting out the door on time. We’re never late. It’s not life or death, but I really, really don’t like the last minute dash and scuffle. I give a fifteen minute warning. I give a ten minute warning. Everyone is sitting around playing legos or picking their noses or whatever and then I say, “It’s 8:00! Time to go!” And the kids start running around and screaming, “But I don’t have my shoes on! “ or “But I don’t know where my backpack is!” It just doesn’t have to be that way.
So I instituted this rule: At 8:00 we go out the door, regardless of the state you are in.
That is very Love & Logic. There are simple, predictable natural consequences.
A few days passed without incident. Then yesterday Moses was very involved in building a lego dragon. He ignored my 15 and 10 minute warnings. I gave the “It’s 8:00! Time to go!” Phoebe, Ollie, and our neighbor Annie who walks to school with us, filed out into the yard. Moses ran into the living room, aforementioned Spiderman shoes in hand, laces still tied in double knots from when he yanked them off his feet (my pet peeve, by the way--not untying laces) and said, “But I need to put my shoes on! You need to tie my shoes!”
I bolstered myself for the wrath which was to come and said, “It’s time to go. I guess you’ll just have to take them with you and we’ll put them on when we get to school.” He looked at me with disbelief until I walked out of the house. He came pattering behind in his socks saying “I can’t walk to school without my shoes on!” “Sure you can!” Boy, was he mad at me. He growled. He stomped (rather ineffective in just socks.) He ignored my cheerful questions like, ‘Aren’t you lucky it’s not raining today?!” And, “Boy, what a good deal! This could have happened on a snowy day!” We got to school. He sat down on a bench and we got his shoes on. He ran and got in line. I tried to hug him, no dice. Paul & I waved goodbye to him and he turned his back on us.
Love & Logic is not for the thin-skinned, but it really works. Today Moses was the first to get ready and was waiting out in the yard at five till eight. Will that happen everyday? Absolutely not. Next week he may have to carry his shoes again, but he’s learning. And given the choice between being pissed that his shoes aren’t on and begrudgingly cramming his little feet in, grumbling while all the other kids wait and then having it happen again tomorrow -- OR -- letting him have one bad morning, but learning what happens when you're late….it's a no brainer.
If only I can keep that presence of mind when, in barefeet, I step on that prickly lego dragon that is left on the floor, or when they flatly refuse to go to bed…I guess we’re all learning….
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
wishes unfulfilled (what i did last night)
Lucky Number Slevin
wished it was
The Usual Suspects(it was not)
***
Josh Hartnett
wished he was
Jake Ryan from Sixteen Candles
(He, also, was not)
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Best Sunday School Questionnaire Yet
I often start off my high school Sunday School class with a questionnaire. They fill it out; I read each one aloud; they guess who wrote it. I admit, I often do this when my lesson is a little thin. I don't feel too badly about it -- fellowship is important, right? And it's fun for me to get to know them and it's fun for them to get to know each other better.
So, here is this morning's questionnaire. Please feel free to leave your own answers.
1. If you had a theme song, what would it be?
2. What actor would you want to portray you in the made-for-tv-movie of your life?
3. If you could do anything this afternoon, what would it be?
4. If you were a high school teacher what subject would you teach? (And you could teach anything--not just regular classes. Maybe you know good pick-up lines, maybe you‘re great at algebra--or-- maybe you know how to pick out the right shoes to go with a homecoming dress)
5. If you started a band, what you would you name it?
Here are my answers:
1. theses are the days - 10,000 maniacs
2. drew barrymore, i guess (gwyneth platrow just seems unrealistic...but so does jaeane garafalo)
3. take a short nap, build a fire outside, sit around, crochet, drink coffee and have friends drop by
4. open craft hour
5. the emily dunbar band (okay, that's a cop out. making up band names has been a favorite passtime for the past 15 years. i couldn't possibly pick ONE. that's why i'll remain a solo act).
So, here is this morning's questionnaire. Please feel free to leave your own answers.
1. If you had a theme song, what would it be?
2. What actor would you want to portray you in the made-for-tv-movie of your life?
3. If you could do anything this afternoon, what would it be?
4. If you were a high school teacher what subject would you teach? (And you could teach anything--not just regular classes. Maybe you know good pick-up lines, maybe you‘re great at algebra--or-- maybe you know how to pick out the right shoes to go with a homecoming dress)
5. If you started a band, what you would you name it?
Here are my answers:
1. theses are the days - 10,000 maniacs
2. drew barrymore, i guess (gwyneth platrow just seems unrealistic...but so does jaeane garafalo)
3. take a short nap, build a fire outside, sit around, crochet, drink coffee and have friends drop by
4. open craft hour
5. the emily dunbar band (okay, that's a cop out. making up band names has been a favorite passtime for the past 15 years. i couldn't possibly pick ONE. that's why i'll remain a solo act).
Friday, September 22, 2006
why bother teaching non-violence?
When this is what lives in Mo's imagination regarldess of what Jesus, Jimmy Carter or I have to say. At least he understands the consequence...and yet he's gleeful....
Bow + Arrow + Poison
=
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
wedding decorations
I will eventually write something about the wedding itself, but in the mean time, here's how the decorations turned out. As always, I'm having a hard time posting pics, so even this portion of the wedding recap will have to be done in installments. I'm sure you're all on the edge of your seats.
The Head Table:
Jean's friend Elpi has a party decoration business, so the table clothes, arch & garland are hers. The plants and luminaries are our design.
We used white mums and variagated grasses still in their plastic green pots from Walmart. The luminaries are white lunch sacks with a canning jar (I bought about 100 from good will @ 35 cents/jar -- I just noticed there is no "cents sign" on my keyboard, I suppose it's obsolete now...wierd), a scoop of sand and a tealight.
On a side note, I just finished planting all those mums and flowers in my yard, that's a perk I hadn't really considered in helping with the decorations. Nice!
More luminaries. The number of luminaries seemed excessive, but once they were all lit, the room had a nice, soft glow.
Here's the grapevine chandelier in all it's glory. It's suspended from a big metal hoop that can be raised and lowered from the ceiling. The canopy is simple plastic table sheeting bought by the roll. The plastic is taped to the hooped and attached with clothespins to the balcony of the auditorium. We were planning on installing the canopy ourselves but there was a wedding the weekend before and the building supervisor left their canopy up --SCORE! We just changed out their chandelier (ugly) for ours (lovely).
Below you can see the hoop lowered so we can install the chandelier. It took forever to get it all straight. In retrospect I should have just assembled it on site. I'm glad my mother-in-law is very detailed oriented and took the time to even it all out. I was ready to just launch it up there and be done with it.
The Head Table:
Jean's friend Elpi has a party decoration business, so the table clothes, arch & garland are hers. The plants and luminaries are our design.
We used white mums and variagated grasses still in their plastic green pots from Walmart. The luminaries are white lunch sacks with a canning jar (I bought about 100 from good will @ 35 cents/jar -- I just noticed there is no "cents sign" on my keyboard, I suppose it's obsolete now...wierd), a scoop of sand and a tealight.
On a side note, I just finished planting all those mums and flowers in my yard, that's a perk I hadn't really considered in helping with the decorations. Nice!
More luminaries. The number of luminaries seemed excessive, but once they were all lit, the room had a nice, soft glow.
Here's the grapevine chandelier in all it's glory. It's suspended from a big metal hoop that can be raised and lowered from the ceiling. The canopy is simple plastic table sheeting bought by the roll. The plastic is taped to the hooped and attached with clothespins to the balcony of the auditorium. We were planning on installing the canopy ourselves but there was a wedding the weekend before and the building supervisor left their canopy up --SCORE! We just changed out their chandelier (ugly) for ours (lovely).
Below you can see the hoop lowered so we can install the chandelier. It took forever to get it all straight. In retrospect I should have just assembled it on site. I'm glad my mother-in-law is very detailed oriented and took the time to even it all out. I was ready to just launch it up there and be done with it.
Good Morning & Welcome to Southwest Airlines
Two Things:
1) I am still recovering from a great but tiring wedding weekend. I went to yoga this afternoon and fell stone asleep. I had a dream and everything. So, pardon me, please, for not writing much. I'm going to get back into a groove here shortly.
2) Please listen to or download the song MGM Grand by Caroline Herring. I've heard her play twice and both times this song just killed me. I don't know what it is exactly...the slice of life quality to it...her going back and forth between singing and talking (like Nanci Griffith in Deadwood South Dakota)...or lyrics like "I've never staked a claim with the rich folk--though I am one." You can listen to most of it here or download it for a buck here (and won't it feel good to support independant music?)
1) I am still recovering from a great but tiring wedding weekend. I went to yoga this afternoon and fell stone asleep. I had a dream and everything. So, pardon me, please, for not writing much. I'm going to get back into a groove here shortly.
2) Please listen to or download the song MGM Grand by Caroline Herring. I've heard her play twice and both times this song just killed me. I don't know what it is exactly...the slice of life quality to it...her going back and forth between singing and talking (like Nanci Griffith in Deadwood South Dakota)...or lyrics like "I've never staked a claim with the rich folk--though I am one." You can listen to most of it here or download it for a buck here (and won't it feel good to support independant music?)
photo of Caroline by me at Folk Alliance in Austin last February
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Chalk-Full of Kirkwoody Goodness
My Sunday School kids were all aflutter about homecoming--who has a date, who has a dress, which schools have their dance/game on which day. This sent me reeling down memory lane. As many of you dear readers know, at my high school (your high school) we did not have a Homecomeing Game per se, but the Kirkwood vs. Webster Turkey Day game at 12 noon every Thanksgiving. Three weeks prior to T-Day, the rival schools joined together at Friendship Dance. Both schools together at one location. Wierd.
I have two stories.
One:
Not long into my junior year I started dating Sean, who I would have dated long before but he had a girlfriend (that sounds familliar). So, I bided my time and she went off to college and eventually we started going out. All was well. I really like him, we had a great time together and though we hadn't talked about it, it was customary to go a dance with your boyfriend. So I went looking for a dress. I found a dress, though in retrospect...yikes (if only I had a scanner I could show you a photo of this monstrosity).
One day I'm sitting at pommie practice (that's pom pon practice...like danceline or drill team...but NOT like cheerleading). We're sitting in Ms. Stein's room after having watched a video of our last performance....or waiting to watch one...either way. We're all sprawled out on the floor and gabbing, mostly about the upcoming Friendship Dance. I say casually to my friends, "Well, I have a dress, but not a date...yet." Wink, wink, nudge, nudge. Heidi, the captain of the pommies and, it is safe to say, the hot senior babe, upon overhearing this, turns around and says, "Huh...I have a date, but no dress."
"Oh?" I reply, "Who are you going with?"
"Sean."
And time stands still.
I see it now with Matrix-like special effects. We seem to freeze but actually plunge into super slow motion (and total silence) as the camera circles around us. Sean's name spills out of Heidi's mouth with that low gurgling sound of a record being played at the wrong speed. The word literally spills from her mouth and the letters form themselves into a bullet which then shoots, very slowly...with the camera still 360-ing around...straight into my heart.
Time and sound resume.
My girlfriends try to hide their gasps of horror as they quickly turn their backs and fall into mock conversation, not in abadonment but in trying to save me the embarrassment of witnesses. I manage some lame reply ("Really?" "Huh." "Nice.") to Heidi who seemed not to notice the sound of my heart creeeeaking out of it's rightful spot in my chest and hitting with a clang somewhere down in my bowels...or the blank expression on my face as I flip through the rolodex of facts in my brain and try to reconcile them with what I just heard. Strangely enough, she also seemed not to notice that I was dating her date.
It worked out okay in the end. It turns out it was one of those, "if neither of us are married by the time we're thirty we'll get hitched" kind of deals, where a couple of senior guys and a couple of senior girls who were all good friends planned over the summer to pair up and all go together to their last Friendship Dance. It was a deal struck before the previous girlfriend had even packed her bags for college. Or that was my understanding and I was fine with it.
I actually ended up going with Heidi's younger brother. I made endless akward jokes about Sean & I picking up our dates at the same time, or double dating, or whatever would milk the absurdity of it. "We could all get our pictures taken together!" It was fine. Sean and I dated for a year and a half after that...obviously no hard feelings.
But that was one of those moments, heightened by the hormones and emotions of being sixteen and maybe in love or at least totally crushed out, where the floor drops out and your head spins and you're left with the choice of falling to pieces or laughing your ass off. For whatever reason, I was able to pick the latter. And I still think it's a funny story.
Two:
It's senior year. Sean and I were either broken up temporarily or unable to go to Friendship Dance together because he was away at college. I was nominated to be Friendship Queen, which added pressure to the pressure of finding a date. I simply couldn't imagine who would ask me. I decided to take matters into my own hands and ask my very favorite boy, who is still my very favorite boy (husband aside), Nate.
Kids often asked the boy or girl of their choice to dances in creative ways. Girls were sent on scavenger hunts. Boys went to the parking lot to find their cars filled with balloons with shoe polish messages scrawled on the windshield -- that sort of thing. I decided follow suite in asking Nate.
Two things happened at every football game. 1)The Boy's Pep Club Officers would go down onto the track between the third and fourth quarters and lead a cheer called "Down to the River." Nate was a Boy's Pep Club Officer. Yeah, man. 2) The cheerleaders had loads of little rubber footballs that they would throw into the crowd when Kirkwood scored a touch down.
I caught one of those footballs and wrote on it with a Sharpie "Nate, will you go to Friendship with me?" and threw it to him when he was down on the track leading "Down to the River."
Now, Nate was my best guy friend. We had gone to school together since sixth grade. We did school activities and Young Life and hung out. When boyfriends and girlfriends, for that matter, were fickle or mean or just plain nuts, Nate was always there to hang out with and talk to. When I needed spiritual advice or encouragement or needed someone to kick my butt into line with a little straight talk, Nate would do it. And then there was camp. Enough said. Unless he already had a date, which I didn't think he did, I thought Nate would want to go with me. And we always had a fun time. It seemed like a good idea.
So, third quarter ended. The boys in their matching shirts (JCrew rugbies, I think it was, how very preppy & Kirkwood, I could almost puke thinking about it) went down on to the track. I was nervous and giddy. I stood up on my seat shouting Nate's name and waving until he looked up at me. I chucked the football at him. He caught it, then read it and his face lit up. "Score!" I thought to myself, excitement building. I raised my hands, palms up and gave him that... sort of..."SO?" gesture. He cupped his hands to his mouth to make a little megaphone..I took a breath and waited... he yelled, "WHO IS THIS FROM?!?!"
Fizzle.
With a grand roll of the eyes I had to yell, "It's from ME!" DUH!
To this day I have no idea who he thought it might be from. Did he think I was playing matchmaker? Was I working on behalf of a third party?
There was a slight pause (eternity at seventeen years old) while Nate regrouped. He shrugged and shouted, "Okay." Ta-da! The not-so-big finish.
Again, I found all this hilarious. And again it worked out great in the end. We went to Chuck E Cheese before the dance. It rocked. In the year book photo of Nate escorting me up the aisle for the crowing of the queen (not me...wait till May and we can have nostalgic prom posting) you can see a Chuck E Cheese sticker still stuck on my dress (tartan plaid with a big black velvet bow at the neck!). Fifteen years later (15?!?!) I see Nate and his lovely wife Gina whenver I'm in town. And he's Oliver's godfather--all this despite his lack of enthusiasm at my invitation to the dance. Hey, now that I think about it, that night we doubled with our friend Stacy and her date Cam, Heidi's brother, my date the year before.
So, those are my two homecomingesque Friendship Dance stories. Nate or Sean, if you are reading, feel free to set me straight on how it really happened.
I have two stories.
One:
Not long into my junior year I started dating Sean, who I would have dated long before but he had a girlfriend (that sounds familliar). So, I bided my time and she went off to college and eventually we started going out. All was well. I really like him, we had a great time together and though we hadn't talked about it, it was customary to go a dance with your boyfriend. So I went looking for a dress. I found a dress, though in retrospect...yikes (if only I had a scanner I could show you a photo of this monstrosity).
One day I'm sitting at pommie practice (that's pom pon practice...like danceline or drill team...but NOT like cheerleading). We're sitting in Ms. Stein's room after having watched a video of our last performance....or waiting to watch one...either way. We're all sprawled out on the floor and gabbing, mostly about the upcoming Friendship Dance. I say casually to my friends, "Well, I have a dress, but not a date...yet." Wink, wink, nudge, nudge. Heidi, the captain of the pommies and, it is safe to say, the hot senior babe, upon overhearing this, turns around and says, "Huh...I have a date, but no dress."
"Oh?" I reply, "Who are you going with?"
"Sean."
And time stands still.
I see it now with Matrix-like special effects. We seem to freeze but actually plunge into super slow motion (and total silence) as the camera circles around us. Sean's name spills out of Heidi's mouth with that low gurgling sound of a record being played at the wrong speed. The word literally spills from her mouth and the letters form themselves into a bullet which then shoots, very slowly...with the camera still 360-ing around...straight into my heart.
Time and sound resume.
My girlfriends try to hide their gasps of horror as they quickly turn their backs and fall into mock conversation, not in abadonment but in trying to save me the embarrassment of witnesses. I manage some lame reply ("Really?" "Huh." "Nice.") to Heidi who seemed not to notice the sound of my heart creeeeaking out of it's rightful spot in my chest and hitting with a clang somewhere down in my bowels...or the blank expression on my face as I flip through the rolodex of facts in my brain and try to reconcile them with what I just heard. Strangely enough, she also seemed not to notice that I was dating her date.
It worked out okay in the end. It turns out it was one of those, "if neither of us are married by the time we're thirty we'll get hitched" kind of deals, where a couple of senior guys and a couple of senior girls who were all good friends planned over the summer to pair up and all go together to their last Friendship Dance. It was a deal struck before the previous girlfriend had even packed her bags for college. Or that was my understanding and I was fine with it.
I actually ended up going with Heidi's younger brother. I made endless akward jokes about Sean & I picking up our dates at the same time, or double dating, or whatever would milk the absurdity of it. "We could all get our pictures taken together!" It was fine. Sean and I dated for a year and a half after that...obviously no hard feelings.
But that was one of those moments, heightened by the hormones and emotions of being sixteen and maybe in love or at least totally crushed out, where the floor drops out and your head spins and you're left with the choice of falling to pieces or laughing your ass off. For whatever reason, I was able to pick the latter. And I still think it's a funny story.
Two:
It's senior year. Sean and I were either broken up temporarily or unable to go to Friendship Dance together because he was away at college. I was nominated to be Friendship Queen, which added pressure to the pressure of finding a date. I simply couldn't imagine who would ask me. I decided to take matters into my own hands and ask my very favorite boy, who is still my very favorite boy (husband aside), Nate.
Kids often asked the boy or girl of their choice to dances in creative ways. Girls were sent on scavenger hunts. Boys went to the parking lot to find their cars filled with balloons with shoe polish messages scrawled on the windshield -- that sort of thing. I decided follow suite in asking Nate.
Two things happened at every football game. 1)The Boy's Pep Club Officers would go down onto the track between the third and fourth quarters and lead a cheer called "Down to the River." Nate was a Boy's Pep Club Officer. Yeah, man. 2) The cheerleaders had loads of little rubber footballs that they would throw into the crowd when Kirkwood scored a touch down.
I caught one of those footballs and wrote on it with a Sharpie "Nate, will you go to Friendship with me?" and threw it to him when he was down on the track leading "Down to the River."
Now, Nate was my best guy friend. We had gone to school together since sixth grade. We did school activities and Young Life and hung out. When boyfriends and girlfriends, for that matter, were fickle or mean or just plain nuts, Nate was always there to hang out with and talk to. When I needed spiritual advice or encouragement or needed someone to kick my butt into line with a little straight talk, Nate would do it. And then there was camp. Enough said. Unless he already had a date, which I didn't think he did, I thought Nate would want to go with me. And we always had a fun time. It seemed like a good idea.
So, third quarter ended. The boys in their matching shirts (JCrew rugbies, I think it was, how very preppy & Kirkwood, I could almost puke thinking about it) went down on to the track. I was nervous and giddy. I stood up on my seat shouting Nate's name and waving until he looked up at me. I chucked the football at him. He caught it, then read it and his face lit up. "Score!" I thought to myself, excitement building. I raised my hands, palms up and gave him that... sort of..."SO?" gesture. He cupped his hands to his mouth to make a little megaphone..I took a breath and waited... he yelled, "WHO IS THIS FROM?!?!"
Fizzle.
With a grand roll of the eyes I had to yell, "It's from ME!" DUH!
To this day I have no idea who he thought it might be from. Did he think I was playing matchmaker? Was I working on behalf of a third party?
There was a slight pause (eternity at seventeen years old) while Nate regrouped. He shrugged and shouted, "Okay." Ta-da! The not-so-big finish.
Again, I found all this hilarious. And again it worked out great in the end. We went to Chuck E Cheese before the dance. It rocked. In the year book photo of Nate escorting me up the aisle for the crowing of the queen (not me...wait till May and we can have nostalgic prom posting) you can see a Chuck E Cheese sticker still stuck on my dress (tartan plaid with a big black velvet bow at the neck!). Fifteen years later (15?!?!) I see Nate and his lovely wife Gina whenver I'm in town. And he's Oliver's godfather--all this despite his lack of enthusiasm at my invitation to the dance. Hey, now that I think about it, that night we doubled with our friend Stacy and her date Cam, Heidi's brother, my date the year before.
So, those are my two homecomingesque Friendship Dance stories. Nate or Sean, if you are reading, feel free to set me straight on how it really happened.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Nothing to Hide
I think it's time to let go of the Dudley Moore joke. I got my hair cut shorter and like it a lot better. Remember Northern Exposure? I always wanted Maggie's hair but I've always been too chicken. I'm pretty close now. I had this whole idea of waiting until I lost a lot of weight before I hacked my hair off, but I began to see that it just wasn't gonna happen. So here I am. You can't hide behind this haircut!
This is me in the triple door medicine cabinet before church this morning.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Let The Wedding Crafts Begin!
Exactly one week from today my sister-in-law Jean is getting married, or rather, having a celebration of marriage. They actually got married at the court house but the big ta-doo is next Saturday. It's going to be a hoot to have the whole family here. Plus, it's reason to go all out with the craftiness.
Today I made the chandelier for the reception hall. The pictures don't do it justice. And I'll post photos of it in coxtext--it'll make much more sense, and look a lot better than it does hanging from the rafters of my garage. It's three grapevine wreaths of graduating sizes, hung with wire and wrapped in garlands of flowers, lights and tulle.
I also made the pillow for the Ring Bearer (Oliver):
Today I made the chandelier for the reception hall. The pictures don't do it justice. And I'll post photos of it in coxtext--it'll make much more sense, and look a lot better than it does hanging from the rafters of my garage. It's three grapevine wreaths of graduating sizes, hung with wire and wrapped in garlands of flowers, lights and tulle.
I also made the pillow for the Ring Bearer (Oliver):I put the finishing touches on a wedding day purse for the bride--crocheted with chenille and lined with the liner from the bride's maids' skirts:
And almost finished Phoebe's outfit (still need to cut and hem the bottom of the skirt). She and Mo are Guest Book Attendants. I made her a skirt out of the same satin as the bride's maids'. Her top is a reconned shiny t-shirt (instructions in this fab/crazy book) found in a bag of hand-me-downs one of our babysitters gave us. Therefore, this cost $0. I also crocheted her a shrug out of the same chenille from Jean's purse, I just have to sew the seam.
The rest of my projects can't really be done until the day-of. We're hosting the rehersal dinner in our backyard. So Friday I'll be setting up tables & chairs, colored luminaries, tiki torches, and these cool scrap-fabric "car lot flags". We'll also set up white luminaries and potted mums & ornamental grasses (which I bought today in the driving rain. I left my purse in my cart inside, kicked off my shoes, rolled up my pants and went outside in the Walmart Garden Center to buy 10 mums and 10 grasses, carrying them back in by the arm load and got totally soaked. The Walmart Garden Center employees thought I was insane--and boy is that gonna keep me up at night), plus the chandelier in the reception hall. Then Saturday morning, make the bouquets and bouteniers (sp?) and floral centerpieces. Sounds like a lot, but there will be all hands on deck.
The worst part of all this will be cleaning my house, specifically cleaning my bathrooms. Yuck. Want me to build a chandelier, make 8 bouquets and bouteniers, and host dinner for 35 in my backyard? I can do that without breaking a sweat. It's mopping the bathroom floor that will throw me for a loop.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Date Night
I pulled off a coup at our house last night. I orchestrated a suprise for Paul and managed to keep the cat in the bag. I'm terrible at surprises. I open birthday gifts as they arrive--no waiting until the actual birthday. I get so excited about things I'm making, giving or planning for others that I have to tell them right away, completely spoiling anyone around me's chance at having a surprise. But I kept my lips sealed on this one.
About four years ago we saw a musican named Jalan Crossland at the Listening Room in Hastings. He is an unbelievable picker (guitar and banjo--five and six string). He has a whole old timey vibe going. Many songs have a traditional feel but with hilarious and bizzare lyrics and a dope smokin' hippy bent. We bought the one cd he had at the time and later sent away for the newer one when it came out. We listen to him all the time.
Once I got my mp3 player up and running -- yes, I did get an mp3 player and I love it in an obsessive and perhaps unhealthy way -- Paul had Jalan in heavy rotation. About this time I got an email that he was going to play at the Bieroc in McCook. I hid said email and made reservations for the show. A couple days later Paul asked if I would go online and see if Jalan had any new cds. Of course, I'd already been to his web site to investigate such things. But I didn't tell Paul that.
So, I told Paul to take off work early on Thursday Sept. 7 for a surprise. And bless his heart, he just said "okay" and never asked another question until Wednesday when he wanted to know if we were leaving town and what he should wear. I arranged for the kids to go next door after school until their aunt Jean could pick them up after dinner and stay with them the rest of the night.
I told Paul right before we got in the car and -- HOORAY--he was very excited. The show was great. Dinner was good. We met some nice folks. Got to talk to Jalan. Had a great date, just the two of us. Despite having to drive through awful storms on the way home, the drive was fine. We rolled in a little before 1 am. Matt from the Bieroc made us lattes before we left and gave us an awesome coffee cake that we had for breakfast this morning.
I'm a little sleepy at the moment, but --hey--all the kids are in school.....I might...just...zzzzzzzzzzzzzz....
About four years ago we saw a musican named Jalan Crossland at the Listening Room in Hastings. He is an unbelievable picker (guitar and banjo--five and six string). He has a whole old timey vibe going. Many songs have a traditional feel but with hilarious and bizzare lyrics and a dope smokin' hippy bent. We bought the one cd he had at the time and later sent away for the newer one when it came out. We listen to him all the time.
Once I got my mp3 player up and running -- yes, I did get an mp3 player and I love it in an obsessive and perhaps unhealthy way -- Paul had Jalan in heavy rotation. About this time I got an email that he was going to play at the Bieroc in McCook. I hid said email and made reservations for the show. A couple days later Paul asked if I would go online and see if Jalan had any new cds. Of course, I'd already been to his web site to investigate such things. But I didn't tell Paul that.
So, I told Paul to take off work early on Thursday Sept. 7 for a surprise. And bless his heart, he just said "okay" and never asked another question until Wednesday when he wanted to know if we were leaving town and what he should wear. I arranged for the kids to go next door after school until their aunt Jean could pick them up after dinner and stay with them the rest of the night.
I told Paul right before we got in the car and -- HOORAY--he was very excited. The show was great. Dinner was good. We met some nice folks. Got to talk to Jalan. Had a great date, just the two of us. Despite having to drive through awful storms on the way home, the drive was fine. We rolled in a little before 1 am. Matt from the Bieroc made us lattes before we left and gave us an awesome coffee cake that we had for breakfast this morning.
I'm a little sleepy at the moment, but --hey--all the kids are in school.....I might...just...zzzzzzzzzzzzzz....
Friday, September 01, 2006
where i'll be tonight
a conversation in the van between me (e) and ollie (o):
o: hey, mom, did you know that sometimes at night i hear god talking to me?
e: you do?
o: yeah. late at night when i'm in my bed i hear him talking and i know it's not phoebe or moses or papa or you. it's god.
e: wow, what does god say?
o: i don't know really but sometimes he tells me about good things.
e: how does it make you feel when god talks to you?
o: happy...mom, does god ever talk to you?
e: i don't think so, ollie, he has not talked to me with his voice so i can hear him.
o: well, sometime you should come in bed with me. we'll have a snuggle in my bed and if we wait a long, long time...maybe we'll both hear him.
o: hey, mom, did you know that sometimes at night i hear god talking to me?
e: you do?
o: yeah. late at night when i'm in my bed i hear him talking and i know it's not phoebe or moses or papa or you. it's god.
e: wow, what does god say?
o: i don't know really but sometimes he tells me about good things.
e: how does it make you feel when god talks to you?
o: happy...mom, does god ever talk to you?
e: i don't think so, ollie, he has not talked to me with his voice so i can hear him.
o: well, sometime you should come in bed with me. we'll have a snuggle in my bed and if we wait a long, long time...maybe we'll both hear him.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
the only thing to fear is..failure, rejection, self-loathing disappointment, change...and oh, yeah, fear
I got a really nice email yesterday from a couple in Holdridge (surely you've heard of Holdridge, NE?) who run a house concert series. They were at the Beiroc Café last winter when I did the opener for Justin Roth. It was my first (and only) out of town gig. They asked if I would come do the opener for Peter Mayer at their house concert on October 7. I am so pleased to be invited. And I really enjoy and admire Peter Mayer’s music. I’ve checked my schedule (and Paul’s and the kids’ and the church’s) and I think we’re clear (Paul has to do a wedding so he might come late…?).
Like every singer/songwriter venue in rural Nebraska (okay, so there are three: The Listening Room, The Beiroc & The Balcony--which is the house concert series), The Balcony is not minting money. I know from working with the Listening Room that it is a labor of love to scrape together funds for a venue, lights, sound and artist’s fees. Then you hope enough people come to recoup and leave a little extra for down payment on your next show. None of them can afford to pay an opener. Tim from The Balcony explained that rather apologetically, but I’m not surprised or shocked or offended. I’ve yet to be paid for a show. He did say that I could certainly bring cds to sell.
I don’t have a cd.
There is absolutely no reason I don’t have a cd, except my own fear.
My unbelievably kind, generous and supportive friends bought me a gift certificate for some studio time over a year ago. I didn’t use it. I just kind of froze up. I didn’t know how best to use it. I could go in, just me and my guitar, and get some clear, simple recordings down. I could chalk it up to education and be pleased if I got a nice demo out of it. Or I could get an ensemble together, rehearse and go in and try to make a full recording of one or two songs. I feel bad asking people to invest their time in that---which makes no sense because I’d be thrilled if one of my musician friends asked me to do it for them! And everyone is always so willing and eager to play--it has everything to do with my fear and nothing really to do with my pals. Which songs to record? What if I got in the studio and wasn't feelin' it? What if the engineer and I didn't hit it off and s/he didn't understand what I wanted to do? What if I made a fool out of myself because there is so much stuff I should know but don't?
My friend Tom, who often plays & sings with me--he‘s my wingman, has a cousin who is a sound engineer in LA. He told Tom, and me when I met him last year, that if I email him digital tracks he’ll mix them for me….unbelievably cool and generous. But I’ve got nothing.
What I need is a mentor. A producer. Someone I trust to take me by the hand and say, “Here is the first step….[enter whatever the first step is]. Here is what instruments I think would sound best on this song.. Here is where you should record it. This is the engineer we should use. Here is where we’ll send it off to be mixed and mastered.”
So, yes, I am afraid of the unknown wilds inside a recording studio. I need a guide.
I’m also afraid of the unknown wilds of life with a cd to promote.
Because making any sort of cd. Having any sort of budget is going to be an investment and a risk. If I shell out money ($100 or $5,000) I am going to want to earn that back and then some. That’s kind of the point, right? And that stirs up a myriad more fears.
I don’t think I’m afraid that people won’t buy it. I know that, although all entries to contests or showcases have born no fruit, in general, my music is liked. People come to my shows. People ask me to play more shows. People ask when I’m going to have a cd for sale.
It's that recording a cd is a commitment. It’s a commitment to pursuing the singer/songwriter thing as more than just a hobby. Once money enters the equation it becomes a business. One can’t really fail at a hobby, but one can fail at business. It’s a commitment to the songs I record. If I want to entice listeners to buy a cd, I have to play the songs that are on the cd. I’m already developing a complicated relationship with my greatest hit, Boone’s Farm Wine. I’m proud of that song. Everyone loves that song. But I sometimes I feel like that’s all people think I am: Boone’s Farm Wine. I usually close with it, but the last time I did the opener for the Listening Room (for Darrell Scott!) I played it first, which was freeing. I thought, “this is not my best song anymore!” But it is still the one that everyone wants to hear. Once I record I am going to be committed to those 10 songs.
It’s also a commitment that means change. It’s taking the next big step. It means I might have to start pursuing more gigs--outside the places I know. I might have to drive more than 2 hours to a gig. I might have to stay overnight. I might have to set up my own sound, which would mean having to learn something about sound engineering or actually purchase a mixer or something. I might have to figure out how to juggle my schedule and my kids‘ schedule and Paul‘s schedule. I might have to learn how the finances of booking and royalties and all that other stuff that I know nothing about and don’t know enough to name work.
It’s taking a leap. And it scares me. But maybe now is the time. Maybe next year is the time. Maybe I should stay a hobbyist with half-decent basement recordings. Maybe some music business angel will swoop down and whisk me smoothly into the world of recording and playing paying gigs….or maybe I should get off my ass and start learning some of this stuff and making my dreams and my life happen for me. We’ll see.
ps.
thanks to jill for teaching me how to do these links and please pardon my overuse of them...it's fun.
Like every singer/songwriter venue in rural Nebraska (okay, so there are three: The Listening Room, The Beiroc & The Balcony--which is the house concert series), The Balcony is not minting money. I know from working with the Listening Room that it is a labor of love to scrape together funds for a venue, lights, sound and artist’s fees. Then you hope enough people come to recoup and leave a little extra for down payment on your next show. None of them can afford to pay an opener. Tim from The Balcony explained that rather apologetically, but I’m not surprised or shocked or offended. I’ve yet to be paid for a show. He did say that I could certainly bring cds to sell.
I don’t have a cd.
There is absolutely no reason I don’t have a cd, except my own fear.
My unbelievably kind, generous and supportive friends bought me a gift certificate for some studio time over a year ago. I didn’t use it. I just kind of froze up. I didn’t know how best to use it. I could go in, just me and my guitar, and get some clear, simple recordings down. I could chalk it up to education and be pleased if I got a nice demo out of it. Or I could get an ensemble together, rehearse and go in and try to make a full recording of one or two songs. I feel bad asking people to invest their time in that---which makes no sense because I’d be thrilled if one of my musician friends asked me to do it for them! And everyone is always so willing and eager to play--it has everything to do with my fear and nothing really to do with my pals. Which songs to record? What if I got in the studio and wasn't feelin' it? What if the engineer and I didn't hit it off and s/he didn't understand what I wanted to do? What if I made a fool out of myself because there is so much stuff I should know but don't?
My friend Tom, who often plays & sings with me--he‘s my wingman, has a cousin who is a sound engineer in LA. He told Tom, and me when I met him last year, that if I email him digital tracks he’ll mix them for me….unbelievably cool and generous. But I’ve got nothing.
What I need is a mentor. A producer. Someone I trust to take me by the hand and say, “Here is the first step….[enter whatever the first step is]. Here is what instruments I think would sound best on this song.. Here is where you should record it. This is the engineer we should use. Here is where we’ll send it off to be mixed and mastered.”
So, yes, I am afraid of the unknown wilds inside a recording studio. I need a guide.
I’m also afraid of the unknown wilds of life with a cd to promote.
Because making any sort of cd. Having any sort of budget is going to be an investment and a risk. If I shell out money ($100 or $5,000) I am going to want to earn that back and then some. That’s kind of the point, right? And that stirs up a myriad more fears.
I don’t think I’m afraid that people won’t buy it. I know that, although all entries to contests or showcases have born no fruit, in general, my music is liked. People come to my shows. People ask me to play more shows. People ask when I’m going to have a cd for sale.
It's that recording a cd is a commitment. It’s a commitment to pursuing the singer/songwriter thing as more than just a hobby. Once money enters the equation it becomes a business. One can’t really fail at a hobby, but one can fail at business. It’s a commitment to the songs I record. If I want to entice listeners to buy a cd, I have to play the songs that are on the cd. I’m already developing a complicated relationship with my greatest hit, Boone’s Farm Wine. I’m proud of that song. Everyone loves that song. But I sometimes I feel like that’s all people think I am: Boone’s Farm Wine. I usually close with it, but the last time I did the opener for the Listening Room (for Darrell Scott!) I played it first, which was freeing. I thought, “this is not my best song anymore!” But it is still the one that everyone wants to hear. Once I record I am going to be committed to those 10 songs.
It’s also a commitment that means change. It’s taking the next big step. It means I might have to start pursuing more gigs--outside the places I know. I might have to drive more than 2 hours to a gig. I might have to stay overnight. I might have to set up my own sound, which would mean having to learn something about sound engineering or actually purchase a mixer or something. I might have to figure out how to juggle my schedule and my kids‘ schedule and Paul‘s schedule. I might have to learn how the finances of booking and royalties and all that other stuff that I know nothing about and don’t know enough to name work.
It’s taking a leap. And it scares me. But maybe now is the time. Maybe next year is the time. Maybe I should stay a hobbyist with half-decent basement recordings. Maybe some music business angel will swoop down and whisk me smoothly into the world of recording and playing paying gigs….or maybe I should get off my ass and start learning some of this stuff and making my dreams and my life happen for me. We’ll see.
ps.
thanks to jill for teaching me how to do these links and please pardon my overuse of them...it's fun.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
There is a loving God
I have a million reason to believe that God exists and He loves me.
It is with great joy that I present the reason of the day:
It is with great joy that I present the reason of the day:
In November comes the new Christopher Guest film "For Your Consideration."
Godspeed & goodluck to us all as we wait.
I just discovered the giant heaping layer of icing on this cake! Besides the regular crew (Chris Guest, Catherine O'Hara, Parker Posey, Eugene Levy, Fred Willard, Jennifer Coolidge, Bob Ballaban, Harry Shearer, Michael McKeen), For Your Consideration also stars RICKY GERVAIS ( Creator of the BBC's The Office, who also stars in that show as David Brent, the most hilarious character ever.) UNBELIEVABLE!
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Little House on the Prairie
The Dunbars (maybe excluding Paul) love Little House on the Prairie (LHOTP). I've read all the books to the kids. I thought the boys might not like it, but Little House in the Big Woods is full of panthers and there is always danger of some sort--so a big hit all around. Last year I got one season of the tv show on dvd and Phoebe got another for her birthday this year. At the park down the street there's an old-school jungle gym that's shaped like a covered wagon with horses on springs in front of it. Right next to it is a wooden fort (also old-school playground stuff). We play LHOTP there. Sometimes Phoebe is Mary, Moses is Laura and Ollie is baby Carrie. Sometimes Phoebe and Mo are Ma and Pa and Ollie is is Laura. We haven't gotten to Albert yet in the show, so there is a dirth of male charachters. No one seems to mind, which is great.
Yesterday we took Paul's "new" vehicle out for a spin in the country (1982 Jeep Wagoneer with wood paneling). Paul got out some map with crazy details (crucial in birdwatching, I guess) to find minimum maintenence roads so we could put'er in four wheel drive. Minimum maintence roads (for you city slickers) are basically sandy tracks through the prairie with grass growing up the middle. We found some great ones--it's actually hilly in very northwest corner of Adams county. We parked the jeep and filled our pockets (and mouths) with wild plums the kids picked out of the thicket. I cut all manner of wildflowers to take home. We strolled up the road (no cars or houses around for miles) and caught grasshoppers and toads.
At one point a foot path (for cattle maybe?) veered off the road and up into a field. Phoebe and I took it, as we were the only two in long pants. It climbed up about six or eight feet so we could just see over the little blue stem and down on the boys in the road on our right. On our left was open prairie. We could see soy bean fields on all sides, be we were walking through a patch of native--gorgeous--prairie.
We walked and talked and sucked on plums, spitting the pits out on the ground. I said, "You know what? This makes me feel like Laura Ingalls."
"WHY?" Phoebe asked a little indignantly, which I thought was wierd. Wasn't it obvious?
I said, "Well, we're walking out here on the prairie and they lived on the prairie. We're eating wild plums, and that seems like the sort of thing she would do --they lived on Plum Creek after all. And I bet she walked paths just like this between their house and their neighbors house and..." I could have gone on and on.
But Phoebe said, "No, I don't get why you feel like Laura and not Ma."
Ouch.
Thirty two years caught up with me in a rush. BANG. I'm old. Phoebe is Laura and I am Ma.
But I was always Laura in my mind. Spunky younger sister to smart, pretty older sister...? I always wished I was more of a tomboy and got in a little more trouble to really seal my identity as Half Pint. I also always wished I had an arch nemisis like Nelly Olsen, but what can you do? Reading the books and watching the show growing up I...WAS...LAURA. And now Phoebe thinks she's Laura. Truth be told, she's more of a Mary, if you ask me, but maybe that's just bitterness talking.
I can't believe how much this shocked me. I can't believe that I'm seriously having to readjust my self-image. I am Ma. Of course, Phoebe sees me as Ma. I'm the MOM. I have three kids, just like Caroline (before Grace & Albert came along, we haven't gotten to them in the series yet). I cook the meals. I discipline the children (though that was really more Pa's job). I manage the household. I am Ma. I guess it's time to pass the torch...painful as it is, and accept that I'm a grownup.
But, even Laura grew up. She met Almonzo (oooooo...Manly!) and got married and moved out of Ma and Pa's house and had a child of her own.
Maybe I'll just think of myself as the grown up Laura--hair upswept instead of in braids, freckles faded, buck teeth mysteriously corrected--but still mischevious half-pint at heart. Then Phoebe and I can both be Laura--her in Little House in the Big Woods,the first couple books and season 1-5 of the show and me in These Happy Golden Years, The First Four Years and seasons 6-9 plus the subsequent tv movies. Seems like a good compromise.
Yes, I'm totally geeked out on LHOTP. You go ahead and geek out on your Lord of the Rings or Star Wars or D&D....or whatever. I'm sticking with the Ingalls gang...and Narnia...and...
Yesterday we took Paul's "new" vehicle out for a spin in the country (1982 Jeep Wagoneer with wood paneling). Paul got out some map with crazy details (crucial in birdwatching, I guess) to find minimum maintenence roads so we could put'er in four wheel drive. Minimum maintence roads (for you city slickers) are basically sandy tracks through the prairie with grass growing up the middle. We found some great ones--it's actually hilly in very northwest corner of Adams county. We parked the jeep and filled our pockets (and mouths) with wild plums the kids picked out of the thicket. I cut all manner of wildflowers to take home. We strolled up the road (no cars or houses around for miles) and caught grasshoppers and toads.
At one point a foot path (for cattle maybe?) veered off the road and up into a field. Phoebe and I took it, as we were the only two in long pants. It climbed up about six or eight feet so we could just see over the little blue stem and down on the boys in the road on our right. On our left was open prairie. We could see soy bean fields on all sides, be we were walking through a patch of native--gorgeous--prairie.
We walked and talked and sucked on plums, spitting the pits out on the ground. I said, "You know what? This makes me feel like Laura Ingalls."
"WHY?" Phoebe asked a little indignantly, which I thought was wierd. Wasn't it obvious?
I said, "Well, we're walking out here on the prairie and they lived on the prairie. We're eating wild plums, and that seems like the sort of thing she would do --they lived on Plum Creek after all. And I bet she walked paths just like this between their house and their neighbors house and..." I could have gone on and on.
But Phoebe said, "No, I don't get why you feel like Laura and not Ma."
Ouch.
Thirty two years caught up with me in a rush. BANG. I'm old. Phoebe is Laura and I am Ma.
But I was always Laura in my mind. Spunky younger sister to smart, pretty older sister...? I always wished I was more of a tomboy and got in a little more trouble to really seal my identity as Half Pint. I also always wished I had an arch nemisis like Nelly Olsen, but what can you do? Reading the books and watching the show growing up I...WAS...LAURA. And now Phoebe thinks she's Laura. Truth be told, she's more of a Mary, if you ask me, but maybe that's just bitterness talking.
I can't believe how much this shocked me. I can't believe that I'm seriously having to readjust my self-image. I am Ma. Of course, Phoebe sees me as Ma. I'm the MOM. I have three kids, just like Caroline (before Grace & Albert came along, we haven't gotten to them in the series yet). I cook the meals. I discipline the children (though that was really more Pa's job). I manage the household. I am Ma. I guess it's time to pass the torch...painful as it is, and accept that I'm a grownup.
But, even Laura grew up. She met Almonzo (oooooo...Manly!) and got married and moved out of Ma and Pa's house and had a child of her own.
Maybe I'll just think of myself as the grown up Laura--hair upswept instead of in braids, freckles faded, buck teeth mysteriously corrected--but still mischevious half-pint at heart. Then Phoebe and I can both be Laura--her in Little House in the Big Woods,the first couple books and season 1-5 of the show and me in These Happy Golden Years, The First Four Years and seasons 6-9 plus the subsequent tv movies. Seems like a good compromise.
Yes, I'm totally geeked out on LHOTP. You go ahead and geek out on your Lord of the Rings or Star Wars or D&D....or whatever. I'm sticking with the Ingalls gang...and Narnia...and...
Saturday, August 26, 2006
a picture of you holding a picture of me in the pocket of my blue jeans
Ray LaMontagne was on NPR this morning. His new CD comes out Tuesday. I hope it's a rainy dreary day. That's the best way to soak his music in. OOOh-- imagine this: a rainy day with a new Ray LaMontagne cd and a Patty Griffin chaser. I already feel like crying.
Here the NPR interview and in-studio music here: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=5704463
And you can catch him on Conan Tuesday night.
PS
Can any of you bloggers or anyone with a little html knowledge tell me how to make the above so that the word "here" is the link with the actually web address invisible. It must be something simple but I can't figure it out. Thanks.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Living Vicariously
Today I took the kids to the skate park on our bikes. It’s right next to the pool and we always stop to watch for a minute. They’ve wanted to check it out for some time. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, on the penultimate day of summer vacation, the park was packed full of fourteen-year-olds on boards and BMX’s. It was not conducive for a five- and seven-year old to try to ride the ramps for the first time, but they got a few runs in. Mo wiped two or three times--didn’t turn fast enough going up a six-foot quarter pipe and dropped about 18 inches, right off the edge. A couple of times Phoebe started to go up a ramp but ran out of momentum and went down backwards, just the way she came.
More than anything we were just in the way. Phoebe and Mo just don’t have the reflexes or cognitive skills to watch the other skater/riders, anticipate where they are going and steer themselves clear all the while operating their own bikes. While kids who hang out at the skate park aren’t known for their manners, these guys were very generous and gave the kids a wide berth, but I knew we would soon outstay our welcome.
Of course Mo wigged out when it was time to go. We didn’t stay as long as he wanted. I promised we would come back again--soon--when it was less crowded. He did not believe me. He screamed and cried the whole ride home and for the following half hour--happy birthday to me.
You would think it would be easy to convince them that we really would be back, but they don’t know me as a person….a person with my childhood not so far behind me…they think I’m just their mom. And they are little--it means nothing to them that right now I’m wearing checkerboard Vans and a Beastie Boys t-shirt.
How could they know that when they hit junior high and high school if I got to choose between suffering through afternoons of wrestling matches and Friday night football games OR going to the skate park….!? If PHOEBE someday picks working on the half-pipe over volleyball or soccer….!? Good land, would I be a happy mom.
I know I spent high school on the pompon squad and singing and dancing and doing all sorts of straight squeaky clean school sanctioned activities. But deep down I always wanted to be a skater chick. I idolized Stephanie King and Marcy Spanogle -- the coolest skater girls to ever walk the halls of Kirkwood High. I watched the Bones Brigade videos a bazillion times (The Search for Animal Chin? “We’ll travel round the world, we’ll go the to equator just to find this incredible skater. But if we don’t find him that’s okay because we had a rad time anyway.”) One summer there was a skate park set up at the Kirkwood Ice Rink--Thrasher magazine or somebody sponsored it --and there were exhibitions and a skate camp. That was the coolest thing ever--hanging out there, seeing Steve Caballero and Lance Mountain! I still have my Dead Milkmen & Red Hot Chili Peppers cassette tapes and I mean OLD Chili Peppers--can you say Uplift Mofo Party Plan?
I’ll probably end up being just as bad as any Husker-fan parent who pushes their kids into football for the slim, slim chance that they might someday go to UNL and play ball. Just as bad as any Harvard grad dressing their kids in little blazers, yammering about GPA’s and pushing the ivy league. Only I’ll be saying, “Seriously, Moses, a Mohawk would be a good look for you.” And “You’ll never make the X-Games with a backside air as sloppy as that!” Or “If you want a Powell Peralta sponsorship someday you better get your butt on down to the skate park--you won’t get one sitting here making student council campaign posters, that’s for sure!” And “We named you Ollie for a reason! Now get out there and show me whatchoo got!”
We’re all doomed.
It's Meat-Free August!
This is the third year we have had a meat-free month. The past two years it has been July, but we forgot...so, hooray for Meat-Free August! We got the idea from our friends Susan and Ben who did something similar. It's actually a nice when the weather is hot to steer clear of heavy meats. It's good practice for when we have our vegetarian friends over (come home, Tim!) and it's always fun to try something new.
Dinner Menu Items:
Sweet Potato & Corn Soup
Spinach Lasagne
Quiche
Olive Waffels
Moroccan Sweet Potato & Spinach Stew
Cream of Broccoli Soup
Black Bean Burgers
Veggie Joe's
Scrambled Eggs (thank you Sparky)
Stirfry Tofu & Broccoli
Red Potato & Red Pepper Tart
Cream of Tomato Soup (thank you Steinauers)
Black Bean Tacos
We're not too strict about it. If we go out to eat, anything goes--hence the hotdogs & shishkabobs at a cookout last Friday.
I mentioned Meat-Free August last night at dinner (black bean burgers -- delicious) and Phoebe said, "That's a good idea. We should do that sometime!" The kids obviously haven't missed the meat. Moses said, "Let's do it until December!" Oliver saw that December and raised him, "Let's do it forever!" And Paul and I both said we liked bacon too much to never eat meat. That was an argument no Dunbar could deny.
I'm not stingy with recipes so if you want any of those, let me know.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
