Three shows in three weeks made this introvert exhausted. It was fun though. Here is a short clip from one of them. A group of us did a family friendly show at the Bin and had a decent turn out. Hope we can do that one again. Boy was it fun. The sound is a little wonky, sorry about that.
Hey there boys and girls. I am still alive. I’m actually out at my cove trying to get a jump on Spring (even though it’s 28 degrees outside) and wanting to get at least the inside finished. I’m only two years behind. No biggie. The gardens, and gazebo will get built in time.
I hope everyone had a great holiday and that 2016 is turning out well for you all. I’m still sorting through mother’s things and settling her estate. You only get one Mom, for better or for worse and when they die everything seems to come back at you. At least it’s that way for me. All the good, all the bad. All of the in between. So grief takes on a new level. Most days I’m okay but I still fall apart some times and that is to be expected.
So what do you think of the photo? I found that beast of a collage hidden back in one of my closets at the cove. I’d forgotten about it. I took an art class back in 2012 and never got invited back which cracks me up! It’s hideous. So I turned it into a meme. That’s also the year I started playing banjo and yes, I’m a much better banjo player than I am an artist. Thank heavens or I’d still be out there trying to find something I was good at besides comedy.
Besides – do you see the dagger looking things near the bottom of the canvas? I’m pretty sure that is reminiscent of my state of mind back then what with menopause and hating men that year. That was also the year I came out against the Tea Party – lost friends I’d had for over 20 years and that hurt.
I think I might have taken pissy to a whole new level that summer.
Oh well. I just might hang it in the guest room after all. If nothing else as a warning label.
I’ve been writing and rewriting, wanting to sum up 2015 for you guys, and for myself to no avail.
Word picture: Me, butt in chair, staring at a computer screen and eating potato chips, for hours. That and drinking massive amounts of coffee. Then going outside in our forever summer to smoke. I know, smoking is bad, but it relaxes me.
Then I saw this cartoon on a friend’s Facebook wall and I’m thinking YES, this is it. THIS is 2015 in a nutshell. That which did not kill me has made me weirder. And maybe a little harder to relate to. Or not, I’m not sure really.
Oh no worries, 2015 did not make me neurotic. I’ve been that way for years. Ask anyone, they’ll tell you.
I’m the daughter of a prom queen. The rules were simple, Mom was always the prettiest woman in the room. If I gained five pounds, she threw up and I pay for my own therapy.
I can live with neurotic, trust me.
Part of me believes that I have this semi-empty-nest-grown-kids thing down cold, but when the guys (husband included) all went to see a movie over Thanksgiving weekend and didn’t invite me, that got me right in the feels. We made up for at Christmas by going to see Sisters with Tina Fey and Amy Poehler. Wonderful movie. I loved it. I also loved spending time together as a family. So even though I’ve proven since 2012 that there is life after kids, the bottom line is, they are still my favorite people to spend time with when they are home.
Now, where was I?
Oh yes 2015.
This is the year of Catch Me If You Can. I’ve traveled everywhere it seems. Sometimes for fun and sometimes not. We lost my brother-in-law to cancer this year and my mother died from COPD and Depression. She was miserable in the end. That doesn’t necessarily make her passing easier though. She was my mom. Our relationship was complicated by a lot of things including the lack of relationship she had with her mother but we made the best of it and had our moments. I miss her. A lot.
We saw Garth Brooks in concert (It was AWESOME!). I went to San Francisco for the first time ever to see my best friend from childhood. I performed at the Syracuse Funny Bone and was given the nickname “Hippie Chick.” Went to New Orleans (Another First) I spend five months in Upstate New York taking care of Mom before she passed away. Went on a Muse Cruise with my girlfriends and visited Haiti, Jamaica and other islands. Every place I visited, I found someone playing banjo which is pretty cool to me. I spent a week in St Petersburg Florida with friends performing at Coconuts. I did a show at the Tulsa Loony Bin with other friends. Celebrated my 25th wedding anniversary. Turned 50 (E-Ghads) and didn’t die. Recently discovered my Dad is in the early stages of dementia and will soon need more care than I can provide. (I’m not even going to discuss the bed bugs in my NY apartment or my airplane catching on fire and the emergency landing)
Simply put, I survived the roller coaster that is this crazy mixed up life. And if that makes me weirder, so be it. If nothing else, it gives me great material.
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And that is 2015 in a nutshell. I learned this year that I am stronger than I ever gave myself credit, that we all need community and I have wonderful friends, that I’m a halfway decent banjo player and I am going to go back taking lessons after the first of the year, that life after kids comes with twinges, that a name (or lack there of) on a birth certificate doesn’t mean anything really, that alcohol and grief don’t mix well, and that I am indeed funny.
May you look back on 2015 with peace and gladness and may 2016 be all you ever dreamed of. Happy New Year my friends.
I recently spent a week in Tampa Florida, doing a Clean Comedy Show at Coconuts Club on St Pete Beech with friends. We had a four day run and after that, Joby, Michelle and I performed at the Ale and the Witch at St Pete Mall. Oh what an incredible week.
I have great memories of St Pete. My in-laws used to live there so we visited quite a bit. That and my youngest was conceived there years ago.
It turns out those “cute name” little drinks they serve on the Tiki Hut bars become verbs instead of nouns if you have enough of them.
Yes my mother in law did that math, giving her second reason for hating me.
Do you know her first reason?
I married her son.
Back to my story.
Someone told me recently that they wish God had given them a gift that allowed them to travel. I didn’t know what to say so I just smiled and hugged her. She’s in the middle of young child season and i miss those days. I could try and explain that, or tell her how i woke up one day, my kids we’re grown and the career i had before I became a stay home mom no longer exists and cutting my husbands meat really isnt an option, but she wouldn’t understand.
I could tell her don’t rush this season, it’ll end soon enough, cherish those days. I could tell her that all I really know how to do is be a wife (its all I’ve done for 25 years)and while that isn’t a bad thing really, I’m in a new season with no clue how this is going to turn out. Not better or worse, just new. And that’s okay.
Besides, it’s not like God said to me, “Go! Though shalt now be a comic.” It’s was more like a whispered, “follow me.”
So I follow the whisper.
How did I get here? This place where I can travel with friends and tell jokes. I still think it’s a dream some days.
Truth is though, I can sum it up in one word: FAILURE.
That and of course GRACE.
So I guess that makes two words really. I never was good at math.Which really messes with my name it claim it friends who want blessings in return for right behavior.
Yes, hard work, faith, and other things come into play here. But there is really more than that going on in my life right now.
I can still remember my lowest point ever in my life. My dream of working in a church fell to pieces around me due to spiritual warfare. And the Non Profit I worked for closed it’s doors. I stood on the precipice of “now what” and shook in my boots.I also went on meds and spent three years in therapy, so you know. I wasn’t firing on all cylinders for a while. My hobbies back then included wrapping myself in a blanket, chain smoking and staring out into the abyss that is my back yard.
I LOVED that life. I didn’t want to let it go.
The pre therapy one I mean not the abyss. That would just be weird. And sad.
As much as I hated that time, and as painful as it was – the most amazing blessings have unfolded as a result. A stranger came along, grabbed my hand and put me to work for her promoting her events. I took one small step after the other until I learned how to breathe again. I went from there working larger events and helping plant a church. Each step, each choice to say yes beget more things and more opportunities. And so, I pulled up my bootstraps, leaned into God with everything I had, put one quivering foot in front of the other, and with the help of a delightful mentor I learned to say yes to the Holy Spirit.
Didn’t realize I was saying no until she pointed that out. Note: Never use the words “I could never do what you do, I’m just happy to be here” to a Spirit Filled woman – she will start praying over you and well — you’re toast.
She suggested an experiment – she wanted me to spend one year only saying yes to where I am invited. Don’t knock on a single door and then watch God work. Let’s see what He thinks about these so called limitations you think you have.Now I don’t always recommend that because we can get too complacent sitting around waiting for God to move. I still moved – I said yes to things I never would have said yes to before because I was so busy. And I learned to say no to the things and places I didn’t belong.
I started writing again and I remember wanting to write a series about life after kids and pondered her advice to say yes to everything I was invited to even if it made me throw up from fear. The result? I made amazing new friends, learned that I can too stand up for myself after all, that fame means nothing to me (Hey my husband AKA “Guitar man” opened for Mitch McVicker remember? Cool yes, but Mitch isn’t a rock star and never wants to be – best lesson ever), worked production for some amazing christian artists who aren’t rock stars either. I’ve even invited a few of them to come to my church and perform. I also rode a horse through the jungles of Belize, swam with sharks, and started doing stand-up (which is a huge stretch for a story teller like myself.)
Every single thing a blessing. I’m not a name it claim it girl. I don’t throw God’s promises back in his face, rather I thank him for today and go on. Now some people are really good at reminding God his promises. It’s just not my way. it’s not our relationship. It’s not a theology I understand even though it is a popular one.I wouldn’t go around demanding my parents, family, or friends do really spectacular things for me just because I’m so awesome. They’d call me an entitled brat if I did that. So, I don’t treat God that way either.
The only way I can describe the past few years is it feels like I’m in the middle of this passionate love affair with a God who’s yes trumps every no I’ve ever been told in my life.
No you can’t join this church, you’re just a kid.
No you can’t be on the this board, it’s already full with charter members.
No you can’t be a deaconess (I don’t care if you took the classes already) you weren’t raised Lutheran.
No. No. No. No.
Here bring cookies to the funeral.
Jesus didn’t die for me – or you – to be relegated to sitting in a pew on Sundays and being told that’s all you deserve because you are an adult convert. Which is a common occurrence in some older churches. I know this: Jesus lives so that you can have abundant life.
God’s YES will ALWAYS triumph a world full of nos.
That is pretty cool.And if someone is telling you otherwise – they are lying. So when somebody asked what I did to deserve this or that event, (and they usually do) I honestly answer “Nothing.” I tell the truth about who I am and what my accomplishments are – and my goals. I don’t embellish (because getting found out is easier than people realize) and I trust God with the journey. I could run around and “work” my connections and strive to arrive more quickly, but that’s exhausting. I’d rather take my time, make friends and learn. I’m enjoying the journey.It doesn’t matter what any of us do for a living really. No one is “more called” than some one else. No job is more important than the other. The hand is just as important as the foot.
Remember Mitch? – That man travels to small churches, cut up blue jeans, shirt, bare feet (much like Rich) and plays his heart out for God – not stadiums. I LOVE that. And even so – his job isn’t any more important that the janitor who takes time to talk to troubled teens, or the gal at the check out counter who smiles every day – or the corporate executive — They all matter to God. We’re all called to live life by a God who adores us not for our “here is how I’m going to bless you today Lord” lists quickly followed by an open hand wanting something back as if he were a vending machine – but because He created us and he’s mad about us. Oh that we could love him back not because he’s Santa handing out wishes and accolades based on our own perceptions of righteousness and entitlement, but because he’s God. Would that not just be the bees knees right there?
NOTE: No clue why my formatting is messed up. But thank you for reading. Have a great day peeps.
Have you ever seen a Southern Woman throw a wall-eyed hissy with a red rubber tail? Someone is fixin to.
I did the math, I’ve been gone 152 days out of a possible 275 so far this year.That is almost 22 weeks away from my family. 21.7 weeks to be exact. Seven of those days were for fun. I spent my friend’s 50th birthday with them. The rest of those days weren’t even close.
In that time:
My mother died.
I missed my 25th wedding anniversary and my 50th birthday.
The airplane I was on caught on fire and had to make an emergency landing in the middle of a runway.
The apartment I was renting had bed bugs – I’m violently allergic to those by the way and the pain inflicted was incredible. I had to go to a small town ER where they were so freaked out that they tested me for everything from HIV to Ebola. I have scars on my arms and legs people. SCARS!
The night gal at the new hotel had pet rats that stayed on her shoulders while she worked – RATS people, think about that for a minute, will you?
After dealing with bed bugs and rats, I not so wisely decided I was better off sleeping in my dead mother’s home while I organized her estate. I do not recommend that. For one thing, that’s just heartbreaking really and for another it’s creepy sleeping there alone, especially if oh I don’t know – her radio suddenly turns on in the middle of the night when you are there.
I left. Locked the doors and flew home.
The house can wait.
Why am I about to unload crazy? I gave a guy $3,000 to clean up my trees while I was gone. He did half the job and won’t come back. Oh he says he will, but he never does — really? While it is true, thatI know better – half up front, half when he’s done, I was in a crisis and had to be in NY to take care of Mom while she died so I trusted him on good faith. And I came home to learn, NOPE he didn’t do it. Even after my husband hounded him.
My best pecan trees are dead now.
That good faith is gone. Not a good choice for that man.
I am sorry that I haven’t been around the blogosphere much these last few months. I’ve been living in New York taking care of my mother. She passed on August 19 (The day after my anniversary). To be honest, my emotions are raw and all over the place which is why I haven’t been writing.
I run the gamut of relief, grief, anger and acceptance all in an hour’s time.
I’ll write more once my heart settles down and I can once again assemble clear, intelligent thought. You deserve my best. I’ll get there again. I promise.
My summer hasn’t been all crazy. There have been many good moments. Like this for instance.
Hubs got me a new, custom-made Bishline Banjo for our 25th wedding anniversary. The arm rest says, “Breathe Darlin’ ” (something an old friend used to say to me when my shoulders were in my ears and my anxiety was readily apparent) and the head-stock reads “Hippie Chick” a nickname given to me by the lead guitar player from Korn when I played the Funny Bone this Spring.
I am not making that up you guys. I shared a stage with Thaddeous Challis from Korn last Spring and he dubbed me “The Hippie Chick.” that was so freakin cool that I still want to pinch myself. My son thinks I’m a rock star now and wants an autograph. HA!
of HIM, not me. Just to be clear.
Granted, Hippie Chick doesn’t exactly fit (I’m a little too naive for that name) but I like it and I’ll take it.
This banjo is an open back model and is designed specifically for Claw-hammer style banjo which is something I’m trying to teach myself and is also what Rob is playing in this video.
Check out the video to see what it sounds like. It has a bright, clear, and happy sound and is exceptionally made. I met Rob almost three years ago when my then banjo teacher invited me out to hear “a real banjo player play,” as he put it.
Rob is local to Tulsa and is not only a gifted musician, he’s a well gifted Luthier as well. I’ve wanted a Bishline Custom banjo for almost three years. I’m thrilled to add this beautiful instrument to my collection. The action is low and perfect for my smallish stature. It’ll take some time to readjust the muscle memory. My Recording King had wider frets and a longer neck. I keep missing the chords but I’m getting there.
This is officially my favorite banjo in my collection.
Even more fun, I bought my guitar playing husband a Madera (Also made by Rob). It’s a banjo that looks like a guitar. Rob called us “This really cool dead head couple” — HA! Again with the not quite right nick names, but then again, I DID have him put a wheel of roses and a dancing bear on my hubs Madera, so you know.
Guitar man and I do play together on our front porch as time allows. What takes me months to learn, he picks up by ear. I’m okay with that really. Playing together is pure joy.
My banjo teacher used to call me “High Strung.” Some how, I don’t think that was a compliment. I’m always in such a hurry to finish up whatever we are working on and get to the next plateau that I don’t enjoy the moment.
I’m the same way with losing weight, mastering cycling, and my career. My eyes are on the mountain tops. The next gig, the next movie, the next song.
8 months with my leg in a boot has changed that. 8 months of sitting on my front porch overlooking the cove brought such incredible peace. No late night gigs, no rushing to finish projects around the house. no exhaustion. I just got to be.. 100% wholly me and no one else for 8 whole months.
I’m not sure I want to get back in the fray. The mania of striving and networking.
I want to build my garden at the Cove, write poetry, play my banjo on my front porch, go to church, take my time cooking fabulous meals, and spend time with friends. Maybe write my book and sling some jokes here and there when I feel like it.
Rebuilding a “suitable” web page that brings “results” doesn’t have the appeal it did a year ago.
Neither does being a star.
Or chairing yet another board at church.
Sounds crazy to me though.
Meeting Howard this weekend reaffirms that change.
Howard is a luthier. It can take him a year to make ONE violin. He has 10 more he wants to make. It took him a year to rebuild ONE clock from Germany. His father purchased a real log cabin for $20, took it down row by row, transported it back to his house and rebuilt it, row by row.
I’m guessing it took longer than a week.
How is it that at 48, I can still be in as big of a hurry to grow up as I was at eight?