The Rising of the Bread

"Well just a regular Martha Stewart you are," was Boyfriend's comment (in a fabulous Brooklyn accent) when he got up Sunday morning to find me with bread dough rising in the fridge.  And he particularly enjoyed the fact that I was happy as a clam about it even if I did get up before 7am on a weekend to revel in a cloud of flour in the kitchen.  Now, granted, Martha Stewart I am not because the bread didn't rise and despite my efforts to instill edible miracle grow on it, came out of the oven as a much harder and slightly browner brick of dough than it was going in.  But I still ate a couple of bites to prove that it was edible before chucking the rest.

I had a blast this weekend cooking up a storm.  There was risotto, quiche and meatloaf.  Yummy.  I surprise myself at how domestic I can be sometimes.  But I've realized cooking is very therapeutic and rather than paying to sit on some one's couch I get to eat the results!  One day I'm sure my waistline won't be as forgiving, but for now I'm going to enjoy every bite.  And it's fun to share.  I love making other people smile... sometimes to a fault.  I can't decide if most creative types are people-pleasers or not.  

I'd be very curious to know because there's a great deal of risk in exposing a part of yourself in something like a song you've written, yet the goal is for people to appreciate it.  Do I have to be the rebel who believes in my creative genius and doesn't give a hoot about other's opinions?  I hope not, because to a certain extent I definitely care.  Actually, I care to a really large extent.   Because if you're not enjoying it, what's the point?   Plus, I don't want to be one of those creative types holed up like a hermit squirreling away at my next epic with unwashed hair and funny glasses on the brink of a psychotic state.  The trick for me is not letting a fear of failure paralyze me from creating something new that is inevitably less than perfect.  

But in all it's imperfection, music has a way of bringing out emotions, sparking memories.  There are certain songs that will always bring a tear to my eye.  How does that happen?? It's really a mystery that the combination of words and a melody can have such a powerful effect.  But as long as it does, the people-pleaser in me will keep striving to make people smile, maybe even bring a tear to their eye with songs that soothe and make each day just a little brighter.  Kind of like waking up to the smell and taste of my bread will next Sunday morning if I can just get the damn stuff to rise...

The Home Sweet Home Tour (with one Yankee in tow)

My first tour... even though I was heading 'home', this was my first experience of a week on the road playing night after night to a different audience in a different town.  I'm happy to report we were warmly received everywhere we went and had a string of great shows!

Here's a slideshow you can use to get a visual taste of the variety of places we visited:

I sold a lot of CDs, made some new fans and reconnected with old... but some of the more amusing anecdotes of course came during the day to day grind, particularly my darling Andre Fratto, who played bass on this trip while also serving as album producer in residence and on display. 

Dear Andre hasn't spent much time in the South, unlike the rest of us guarding our precious 5 cubic feet of space in the minivan.  In fact, he confidently told all that he had lived in Mexico for 2 years when asked about previous visits to 'the South'!  All of you who have lived below the Mason Dixon I'm sure are rolling your eyes right now, just as we did. 

So you can imagine our amusement as Andre marched into each filling station convenience store we stopped at to request a New York Times - and was not only disappointed but surprised when he was met with a blank stare (or even mildly angry reproach).  

On a separate occasion I would have paid money to have my camera handy when we arrived at Whaleys, my old stomping ground where I cut my musical teeth on Edisto Beach, SC.  Part of the beauty of the Whaleys experience is that it actually used to be a filling station and while it has now converted fully to a restaurant and bar (star rating system doesn't really apply), when I first started playing there I used to stare directly at a cooler of milk gallons for sale across the room while sitting at my keyboard.  Classic. 

Anyway, the story goes: we walk in and I see Van, the owner, and give him a hug to say hi and discuss the setup.  Andre then approaches in search of directions to the bathroom.  Without hesitating to think about it, I gave him truthful instructions and respond, 'Outside'.

Now the crowd that gathers at Whaleys is a truly friendly bunch, but I forget that all of the steel toe boots and grizzly beards might be a little intimidating to someone who's been deprived of a New York Times for days on end... So when I saw Andre's expression in response to the thought of wandering into the dark bushes out back to relieve himself I had to laugh out loud!

I think Whaleys actually turned out to be one of Andre's favorite gigs once he discovered there were still doors on the restroom.  

I, myself, thoroughly enjoyed being back in the South - got some good food, played some good music and saw lots of smiling friendly faces.  What else could you ask for??

A Not So Balanced Act

Well I had a bit of an epiphany this morning, and it was all connected to my blog ... kinda. So here's to profundity on a Saturday morning! (The advantages of a genetic alarm clock: productive mornings despite yourself or the activities of the night before).

So, it's the new year, right? Resolutions and all that jazz. Not really into it. But I admit, loitering in the back of my head with Mr. Quit Smoking For Good and Ms. Lose That 10 Pounds, is a nagging thought "I should write on my blog more." Alas, this morning I'm pondering the topic of today's self-imposed mandatory writing session and I decide BALANCE should be the subject.

I constantly struggle with who and what receives the devotion of my time. Short attention span may be the culprit. Regardless I seem to always have a lot of balls in the air and I'm always lamenting the fact that none of them gets my full attention. But I've come to grips with that. Or so I thought.

In my head this morning, I'm preparing a written speech of sorts about the importance of trying to keep a balance in life. The kind of thing you expect to hear at graduation ceremonies and other events involving folding chairs and paper fans. For me the balancing act is usually between pursuing music and holding down a full-time day job. (Do you know about my crazy career situation? Where I stumbled into one accidentally? That's a whole blog unto itself.)

See, last night I had dinner with a long-time friend who has set up camp on the far left side of the philosophical fence, shall we say. And we ended up discussing the stimulus package and the economy, the elections, society at large ... all those grand subjects, as usual. In our friendly debate, I found myself sounding very moderate in response, very "realistic," very boring. The words came out of my mouth as I thought them, but then they travelled to my ears and I digested them again thinking, "what a stooge you've become."

This morning, me and my stooge-y self sat down to write a (most likely boring) blog about balance. But as I logged on to Blogger, I noticed a post at the bottom of the page from a blog that I follow about a young musician who's managed to make a living at it. I've been meaning to read this, so I took a moment and clicked and started scrolling down the page ... reading and remembering all the aspirations I seem to be slowly edging away from.

The girl he interviews talks about how she has managed to make a living at music and there's some super helpful info in there about booking and tours, but then she says,

"It's important not to have a backup plan. If you want to be touring, you should not have a job. Make it work. Any time you have a backup plan, you can always fall back on it."

This has been said to me before by my mentor, Ann Ruckert, and struck me again with equal weight, i.e., a ton of bricks. My backup plan has become my life in which I struggle to squeeze in my dreams. And consequently I'm never satisfied. Does that mean I've strayed or I'm just growing up?

I'm not sure of the answer, but I think it's time to re-evaluate. I've worked hard and I've made progress, but I still grapple with the bigger picture. I'm a vice president of a company, and I'm good at what I do, but not necessarily proud. In the world I grew up in, and the circle of friends I maintain, that title doesn't carry any clout. Instead, they want to know if I'm happy and if I'm making the world a better place.

I've bucked that trend the last few years and charted a new course in the world of business, partly because "success" has been handed to me on a silver platter to a certain extent, but my heart's not in it. As logical as balance sounds coming out of my mouth, I don't think I like what it represents when I hear it being said.