A bumper crop of warmth.

Tags

knitting, retreat, touring, warmth, winter

Shawn and I are on our way home now from a short run of shows in North and South Carolina, where we encountered all kinds of warmth, both from the weather and from the hearts of those who came out to see us.

To our thin New England blood, the temps in Bluffton, SC on Saturday night were especially delightful – it was 82° and sunny when we arrived a little early at the venue!

We met a lot of New Englanders in our travels this weekend, many of whom moved south to escape the very wintry conditions that were actively bearing down upon our New Hampshire home and informing some of my onstage banter. The crowd on Thursday night in Elkin, NC collectively gasped when I told them that our beloved Mount Washington made the national news last month with a record-breaking wind chill of -101°! And I spoke to the Bluffton crowd specifically about the snowstorm that was happening right as we were performing for them, giving everyone a shudder.

And of course, as I was speaking and singing – and looking out the venue windows at the moss hanging from the trees – I was reminded that we would soon – very soon – find ourselves back in our little home, shivering at the cold that our bones have been eager to forget, and preparing for what’s next.

And what’s next is – we’re headed on silent retreat. If all goes to plan, we’ll be entering the silence for a 7 day retreat that starts this Wednesday in Massachusetts. I’ve been looking forward to this so much. As you may already know, I’ve extensively explored previous retreat experiences in this blog – and if you don’t know, go here to get caught up here.

But before that, there is getting home. I’m typing these words as we are pointed north on I-95, and we’ll likely be home by suppertime.

And it’s gonna feel cold when we get there.

And someone in the audience on Saturday night in Bluffton was thinking about that, too.

After we had played our encore to another standing ovation and the crowd began to clear, a woman and former New Englander (whose name I’ve forgotten, and I’m awful with names – forgive me if you’re reading this, lovely lady!) approached me straight away, beaming, and she said, ‘I put all the love and joy from the performance into my knitting tonight and I want you to have this!’ and she placed this beautiful, soft, warm, comfy new hat – pictured above – on top of my head. I couldn’t believe it! I thanked her and gave her a huge hug. Shawn laughed as he looked on and said, ‘You couldn’t have known that Heather’s favorite color is purple, and you couldn’t have known that she has quite a collection of knitted hats!’

I have mused before that my job, at bottom, is giving and receiving joy. I was reminded this weekend that it’s also giving and receiving warmth. I’m looking forward to wearing this hat on retreat this week, and remembering the warmth of kindness and love that isn’t registered in mercury, but in the memories that live in the mind and heart.

Hark! These tired angels sing…

Tags

Christmas, gratitude, life, touring

‘Is my life today what I pictured a year ago?’

I had thought to write about something entirely different this morning – Christmas caroling, actually – and that built-in WordPress prompt got me thinking…

So, is it?

Sitting here at this table, looking at this laptop?

Looking past the screen at several inches of new snow through which the birds and red squirrels are now digging for their sunflower seed breakfast?

Watching the sunlight come up over the hills behind the house and light up those pines and birches just so?

Sipping the coffee that Shawn just made moments ago?

Listening to a Benny Green/Christian McBride/Gregory Hutchinson live-stream recording from earlier this year?

Feeling joyfully fatigued from another weekend on the road creating and sharing music and memories?

DAMN, this is nice.

But is it what I pictured a year ago?

Honestly, I don’t think I pictured anything too specific a year ago. I knew I was planning to be touring New England with Shawn and Craig with the Charlie Brown Christmas show. What I didn’t know for certain is that we would all have our health, our wits, and our skills intact, that we would shoulder through all the storms, literal and figurative, that we would be here at all to do any of it, and continue to deepen our connection to and love for and trust in one another. There is, of course, never any guarantee of any of that, for any one of us.

But yeah, this current moment, this frame in time, here and now? I’ll take more of this, please and thank you.

And thank you, dear reader! And Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown! And happy holidays to one and all. Whatever you celebrate – if you celebrate – I hope it brings you joy.

Hope and trust written in chalk.

Tags

anxiety, gratitude, mindfulness, musician, touring

This past Saturday night was the first of the last Acoustic Trio shows, and it was a big deal for us – Caffe Lena, the legendary listening room in Saratoga Springs, NY. We’d played there before, and it is always special there.

I’ve been experiencing a strange mix of excitement and dread recently. The sudden return to what feels like the normal I remember of ‘B.C.’ – driving, setting up, soundchecking, playing, greeting friends and fans, sleeping, rinse lather repeat – has been the driving force behind this recent emotional tug of war. The pandemic is still very much here, and still leaving 400ish dead each day, on track to 100k Americans dead each year.

So, I’ve been making friends with anxiety again.

Part of normal touring life is staying in cheap motels, and also with friends of friends and friendly strangers. I’ve always enjoyed this aspect. But as I put fingers to keyboard recently and put out feelers for housing, I was fully aware of what a huge ask this is. Putting on in-person shows and getting butts in seats is hard enough in these strange ‘pandemic-is-kinda-over-but-not-really’ times – but asking some friend of a friend of a friend if you can sleep in their guest room? It’s a big deal.

So, as I was connected with a friend of friend, I felt so grateful – and also super anxious.

The show was great – the friends and fans who came out, and the venue staff and volunteers, were all beautiful.

Shawn and I got the last of the gear loaded up, and navigated to the friendly stranger’s house. And I was feeling nervous. The street was dark and quiet. We didn’t even know which door to go to.

I’ve forgotten how to do this, I thought.

Then, there was the light on at the side door and the two friendly smiling faces (human and dog) to greet us as warmly as you could hope. And there, just in front of her kitchen door – a message of hope and trust written in chalk: ‘Welcome Heather & pals.’

And in a flash, I felt so much more at ease.

As we made our way in with our gear, I briefly expressed my anxiousness to our host, who understood completely and responded by putting the kettle on for tea. She showed us around the house, and then excused herself to bed.

Perfection.

The next morning, we all shoved off in our respective directions, all feeling a bit more hopeful and trusting in a future that has always been uncertain, even before the pandemic.

And the coffee was delicious.

More road adventures await this weekend, and for the rest of this month. I’m taking it all one mile and one moment at a time.

Fixing the old grip.

Tags

touring

A week ago today, Shawn and I set out from home for a month on the road. One week in and a few great shows under our belts, we’re kicking back now and getting after some sunshine and some new song ideas before we get moving again.

On Saturday night, we played a show hosted by our friends at the Americana Community Music Association in Fort Myers. It was, like the shows before it in Tallahassee and Pensacola, a night full of connection, joy, and fun.

Before the doors opened, one of the ACMA’s volunteers took notice of my merch case – an old cardboard suitcase that I found years ago at a second-hand shop in Northampton, MA. It’s been slowly coming apart in recent months – and though I know I ought to replace it with something more trustworthy, I’ve grown irrationally attached to this old thing and the many stickers that I’ve put all over it. I recently learned this type of suitcase was once referred to as a ‘grip’, and I now think of it as ‘the old grip’ (though we still call it ‘the merch case’ when we’re packing and unpacking the car).

‘Oh, I love those old cases,’ the volunteer said as he took the last bites of his dinner. ‘I love it too!’ I answered, and when I told him how I use it, he smiled and said, ‘I know so many of you musicians use them for your merchandise, but when I look at them, I just think, “Hey, that’s my mother’s luggage.”‘ And we both laughed.

As I started setting up the CD table, he came over and looked at the recent repair that Shawn had done with some aluminum tape around one of the bottom edges. I noticed this and said to him, ‘Yeah, it’s really coming apart, especially at the hinges.’ The pins have been slowly pulling out for quite a while now, and it’s an odd job that we just hadn’t gotten around to yet.

He looked at me and said, ‘Tell you what. My wife and I are gonna go take a walk, but when I get back, I’m gonna fix this. I think I’ve got all the tools I need in my truck.’

‘Oh, that would be awesome, thank you!’ I answered.

‘Just make sure it’s all emptied out for me when I get back,’ he added.

True to his word, he came back some time later with some tools and got to work on the empty case. At one point, he went to the kitchen in search of an ice pick that never materialized.

He was still at it when the doors opened t 6:30, and as ticket holders filed in, many were asking him about it. ‘Saving a piece of my mother’s luggage,’ was the answer I heard more than once. The whole scene elicited many smiles, sweet little conversations, and offers of help.

I was really moved that he offered to fix it and ended up spending as much time on it as he did – and what moved me most was how the old grip put this stranger in touch with fond memories of his mother.

In the end, he wasn’t able to fix the hinges to his satisfaction, but he left it in much better shape than he found it. He reiterated how happy he was to have a go at it, and again, the comment about his mother’s luggage. After the show, he spoke with Shawn briefly about what he had done, gave him some pointers about how to finish the job and what tools to use, and, as he got ready to leave, his wife approached me with a wide smile and said softly, ‘The show was absolutely beautiful, thank you.’

Small moments, many times.

Tags

meditation, mindfulness, touring

This past weekend was another one filled with traveling and live performances, this time with the Acoustic Trio. Shawn, Davy, and I zigged and zagged across upstate NY and NJ to bring our songs and stories to folks in three different communities, each one hungry for live music, each one warm and sweet and open.

As I continue to weave myself back into the 3D world of touring, I find that my practices of all sorts have become even more important. One of my favorite phrases in meditation practice is: small moments, many times. The idea here is to erase the boundary between formal practice and the rest of life, and cultivate a life that is itself the practice. Bringing one’s attention back to the present moment, again and again, whether it’s always to an anchor like the breath or the body, or in a choiceless awareness of whatever bubbles up – the idea is to keep punctuating one’s day – one’s life – with these small moments of awareness.

The cardinal calling from across the road.

The aroma of this cup of coffee.

The delight and gratitude at seeing two friends who drove nearly two hours to see us.

The tiny spider crawling up my arm.

The steepness of this spiral staircase.

The smile on the woman’s face when I sang that one line.

The beauty of the storm clouds letting go of their rain.

The sweetness of these fresh strawberries.

And while I do appreciate, and will continue on with, my extended daily formal practice ‘on the cushion’, I was and am thankful for the opportunities this past weekend to bring the ‘small moments’ practice into focus, all of which helps illuminate my path, my heart, and my life.

Stage plot

Tags

life, live music, touring

(just before doors on December 12 at One Longfellow Square, Portland, ME)

Stage left:
1 acoustic piano with 88 keys
1 bench
2 piano mics
1 vocal mic

Stage center:
1 XLR
1 wooden stool

Stage right:
1 XLR

Personnel:
1 pianist/vocalist
1 bassist
1 drummer

Equipment:
1 upright bass
1 bass amp
1 kick
1 snare
1 rack tom
1 floor tom
1 hi hat
2 cymbals
assorted sticks, brushes, aux. percussion
12 limbs
6 hands
24 fingers
6 thumbs
3 hearts
1 Charlie Brown Christmas tree
decades of practice
an infinite amount of gratitude, joy, and love

Doors at 3p/6p
Show at 4p/7p

Empty houses and full hearts.

Tags

friendship, gratitude, life, touring

(A lovely little spinet that I got to know this weekend)

The acoustic trio was back out on the road this weekend, playing a short run of shows that included stops in Chicagoland and just west of Ann Arbor. It’s been exciting and strange to be out on the road again, and while I have enjoyed, and will continue to enjoy, live-streaming, seeing and performing for folks in three dimensions again and watching the corners of their eyes tugged into smiles above their masks has been tremendously satisfying and nourishing.

In the time I refer to as B.C., I had no qualms about asking friends and fans about sleeping in spare bedrooms, on couches, sometimes on floors. It’s part of the touring experience – one of the many perks, in fact. This time around, I was feeling rather sheepish about reaching out and asking for what really amounts to a huge favor. We are still living through a pandemic, after all, and maybe folks would rather not be asked if three musicians can stay in their home, and not have to say ‘NO’ to someone that they would otherwise say ‘YES’ to, because they are feeling understandably uncomfortable. Hell, *I* felt uncomfortable, too! What extraordinary times we are living in.

I did put out a couple of feelers, and so did my Chicagoland buddy Joe Jencks (thank you Joe!), and much to my delight, he reconnected me with someone I already know who has an apartment right in the city. She was going to be out of town anyway, and why yes, we could stay there. Holy moly! An apartment all to ourselves in one of my favorite cities, quiet and clean and comfortable, and I even got to play some rags on her spinet on Saturday afternoon. What a gift.

We performed on Sunday afternoon in Hudson, Michigan, and I’d alerted some friends in Ann Arbor ahead of time, one of whom said she would be out of town, and that we were welcome to stay in her home afterwards… which is precisely what Shawn and I did last night. While Davy headed back towards Erie to be with family, we relaxed our travel-weary bones in the peaceful quiet of my friend’s empty house, surrounded once again by evidence of a full and well-lived life – and by love and support, filling our hearts to the brim.

This morning, the early morning light coming through the backyard oaks is especially clear and sweet, and all I can think is, I am a lucky so-and-so.

Saturday Morning Musings – Remnants of stars reuniting.

Tags

gig, gigs, life, music, musician, singer, singing, song, songs, songwriting, touring

Writing from the road again.  This morning I am in Northampton, MA at my friend Carrie Ferguson‘s house.  She’s a wonderful soul and songwriter.  I fell in love with her songwriting at NERFA in 2012.  Her song “Paris” is an aching ode, mourning the obsession that often overtakes the mind when your lover leaves you.  The first time I heard her sing it, I was hooked.

We became quick friends that weekend.

Last night, we played a show together in Becket, MA at a wonderful gem of a place called The Dream Away Lodge.  We swapped five-song sets all night.  Attentive crowd, snapping fireplace, glowing smiles, full bellies, beaming hearts.

I tried out a brand new song last night.  “Like You’re Already Gone.”  It’s dark and it’s heavy.  The moment that I strummed that last E7 and the applause came, a man said, “Wow, is that your song?”  I told him it was.

It really got to him.

Two nights ago, Shawn, Davy and I saw The Stray Birds in Portland.  Incredible night of music.  For me, my love for them began the first time I ever heard their “Dream In Blue”.

What is it about a song?  The emotional power of just a few chords, a melody and, sometimes, some words; an instrument in the hands of a performer; voices echoing; vibrations rising in the air; ears, minds and hearts to receive it.  All of it remnants of stars reuniting.

All of us singers and songwriters are after that special bit of stardust.  Joni sang about it this way: “The lights go down / And it’s just you up there / Getting them to feel like that.”

Carrie and I captured a little bit of that tonight.  Tonight, we’ll go after it again in Portland, ME, then tomorrow night in Portsmouth, NH.

Then.. in the intervals between gigs, I’m sure we’ll each, in our own way, seek to capture that lightning bug in the jars of our hearts, kindle the flame long enough to set another heart ablaze in another room somewhere, sometime.

I love my job.

 

 

 

Saturday Morning Musings – The city that rarely sleeps.

Tags

Big Apple, New York, New York City, NYC, touring, traveling

Last week at this time, Shawn and I were on the road.  We made lots of new friends, reconnected with old friends, and played some well-attended shows for appreciative and attentive audiences – life can’t get much better than that.  (And you can watch a short clip from our Maryland show here.)

We were in New York City for three nights, staying with a friend in Harlem and exploring the Big Apple for the first time, at least for me, since high school.

After our show at Bowery Electric on Sunday night, we rushed over to The Blue Note to see an incredible trio: Donald Harrison on alto sax, Ron Carter on bass and Billy Cobham on drums.  I was dumbstruck by their arrangements and their effortless virtuosity.

A visit to the American Museum of Natural History was a dream come true for both of us.  The Dark Universe show at Hayden Planetarium, narrated by director Neil deGrasse Tyson, was especially humbling and awe-inspiring.   Spitzer Hall of Human Origins, with all of its undeniable evidence of the evolution of our species, nearly brought tears of wonder to my eyes.

Dinosaurs, gems, minerals, ancient Chinese art, painstakingly crafted dioramas – by the end of our visit I was exhausted from the sheer volume of information and stimulus.

Later that evening, we had dinner at Silvana, a great little Middle Eastern spot in Harlem, and listened to the Ekah Kim Quartet.  Fantastic!

And that was all on Monday.

On Tuesday, hand in hand, Shawn and I took a stroll through Central Park.  Even though the Reservoir was still frozen, it was 65°, sunny, slight breeze.  In other words – perfect.

At Greywacke Arch, we were treated to the gorgeous sounds of a classical guitarist from Chile.

After lunch on the West Side, we made our way to Steinway Hall.  Downtown.

“I’ll take one of each, please.”

Finally, we took the subway back to Harlem, waited for Andi to get home from work and planned our last evening in the Big Apple.

There was even fantastic music in the subway.

I’d made reservations at Iguana in Manhattan to see Vince Giordano and the Nighthawks, who perform 1920s and 1930s big band and jazz arrangements.  Our friend Dan Levinson was playing clarinet and alto that night and we wanted to be sure to see him while we were in NYC.  Great food, awesome music, swanky vibe.

We vowed not to visit Times Square – once in a lifetime is more than enough.  We came within a few blocks before the descent into the subway saved us.

Our time with Andi in the city was coming to an end.  We were looking forward to being home (despite the snowstorm that awaited us) but we were sad to leave this amazing place.

We left for home the following morning, just one hour before the terrible explosion in East Harlem – just a few blocks away from Andi’s place.  He’s okay – but many more are not.  So sad.

Not only was the entire trip inspiring and exhilarating, something else happened that I can’t quite shake.

On the way back to Harlem from Iguana, an older disheveled man staggered into our sparsely-filled subway car.  He had urinated many times into his dirty blue sweatpants.  His voice was rough and hoarse as he asked for something to drink.  A woman across from us reached into her purse and gave him what was left of her small bottle of water.  He didn’t drink it.

He then asked everyone for spare change.

None of us – including me – did not reach into our pockets.  We did nothing to help him.

I don’t know why I didn’t help him.  I wanted to help him.  And yet… something stayed my hand.  I honestly don’t know what that something was.

No one in that car made a move or a sound in response to his plea.

As we walked home from the subway, I voiced this to Andi and Shawn.

“Why didn’t I help him?”

“I didn’t either.”

“I wish I had.”

“Well, next time.”

Does the city harden hearts?  Maybe.  Who knows, really.

Shawn recalled all the beggars in New Orleans that we had helped with many fistfuls of spare change and dollar bills.   True – we had done that, and I remember the time we gave someone an entire bag of oranges.

And yet… we were unmoved by this one man in New York City who, at this moment, is probably still in great need, still asking for help.

I hope I don’t make that mistake again.