Is Your Life A Song?

Is your life a song? Is it a scintillating, soul grabbing, emotion retching, gut crying story? Would I dance it, wallow in it, and slurp it up like a smoothie? I just realized my own life is pathetic. How do I know? Here's what happened Saturday morning.

My Granddaughter and I were having our usual little week end chat on the phone with me learning more than I need to know about the loves and flirtations of the young single life.

Especially when she started out with, "Do you know where I spent last night?"

Big alert for the Nana. "No and I don't think I want to."

"It was with Sam."

Sam was the guy the whole family approved of. (Do you think that could trigger a rebellious break-up?) We covered the details but it wasn't at all the shocking scandal you might expect.

We finished our conversation, hung up and I started my morning green drink. I gulped down the drink (shouldn't do that, bad for digestion) and quickly washed the parts of the juicer. I had just finished cleaning the kitchen when my Granddaughter's phone-ring sounded again. I picked up the phone, thinking she had forgotten to tell me more of the Sam story.

She was breathless. "I just wrote a song about you."

"Aaaaaah." I didn't know what to say. It had been fifteen minutes (at the very most) since we talked and no song. Fifteen minutes later, how could she have a song? But, I swear she did. She put the speaker phone down and sang (with guitar) three verses, plus chorus, a song about her Grandmaw. Holy Moly, I was shocked. Songs come to her as a vision, in a flash. The song had a foot-stomp'n, old-tymey waltzey melody with words that would tweak your heart strings into a quivering mass of emotional tears.

OMG..... that's me. That's my pathetic life. I'm a loser. I blew it. I wasted what little talent I had. The chorus was a real dancey beat, repeating"Twirl on, twirl on." The verses told of my Grandpaw who played the fiddle as I danced and my yearning to be a dancer, go to NY and be a star but instead, the babies came and by this time, I'm sobbing for the girl in the song and what a dumb jerk she was.

But I liked it. I more than liked it. It had that hit tune quality that stuck in my head long after we got off the phone. She said her song inspiration had been looking at the old fiddle of my Grandfather's that I had recently passed onto her. I told her I remembered going out in the barn with him and grabbing some hair from the horses tail for his fiddle bow. Oh, that was in the song too. My life in three verses!

But would I change it? Nawww. Not a teeny bit of it, pathetic as it sounds in song. I still danced, though never a star. The picture above was Flamenco in my early 20's. I'm in the middle.

Imagine your life in song. It's actually fun.

Zip-pate Do Dah. I Sat In On A Recording

I'll let you in on a big change. They don't "sing into the can" anymore like George Cloony did in "Oh Brother, Where Art Thou." My Granddaughter, Ashly, is making her 2nd CD and I sat in on a little of it. The recording companies want the performer to be relaxed so they make the recording room personal by bringing in some of their items from home. Here is Ashly with her lamps and pictures and a big "I'm Gonna Ace This One" smile.

Ashly writes all the songs for her band, "Little Jane and the Pistol Whips." She lives and breaths Loretta Lynn, not that her voice is especially like hers, but she idolizes Loretta for her songs, lifestyle and the person that she is.

I had never set foot in a recording studio before. In the old movies (not the "can" one), the performers were always behind a big window and people could sit outside and watch. No. Not today. The performers are in this closed recording room, where all the personal stuff is set up with their instruments and techie stuff and you can watch what's happening on a big screen. (Of course, dummy Manzanita. Techie Time again.)

Below is Ashly with Doc, the head honcho recording guy, who has been awarded the coveted award of Grammy for outstanding achievement in his field. Doc is a charismatic artist who runs a relaxed but totally efficient ship. I sat behind him during a recording and watched him manipulate the big scary board with all the knobs, buttons and lights.

Below is a short vid that I made of part of a song being recorded. Nothing is more annoying to me than uninvited music on a blog, so I always give you a button and a choice.

Besos you little country gal.

Henry According To Marilyn

Here's another "according to Marilyn." To you new readers, Marilyn has been my best friend for over 50 years. We share a brain. Marilyn is a gypsy. As I write, she's driving to Minneapolis in her gypsy-wagon and is smack in the middle of Nebraska with her flamenco guitar. Woo those corn-huskers with a little Alegrias. (Or is is Iowa corn-huskers? I've been away from the mid-West so long, I can't remember.) Help me out.

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Henry's Story~~~~~~~According to Marilyn.

Henry is a talented, retired musician who for 25 years, has played a Saturday night piano bar in San Francisco just for the love of music.

It wasn't for salary he played but for socialization.

He connects with old friends, and reaches out to new ones, as he plays requests with his drink sitting on top of the piano. Kinda reminiscent of Hoagy in Casablanca. On this particular night, a new pompous young executive introduced himself, with .....

''I'm your new manager. You can't leave that drink on the piano."

Henry answered with, "I've put my drink there for 25 years."

"Yes, yes, new rules. Take it down immediately," the young exec ordered as he turned his back to walk away.

Henry had enough. His answer was, "You're just a corporate pussy."

With that, the young executive whipped around and zinged out at Henry, "You can't talk to me like that. That's going to be one mark against you. Three more and you're finished."

"How many more did you say?" asked Henry.

"Three. You get three more and your're outta here."

Henry stood up, closed his piano and said, "Corporate pussy, corporate pussy, corporate pussy." Picked up his drink and walked out.

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What do you think? Should Henry have moved his drink and kept playing or do you think he did the right thing?

A Day In May In Montana

Rebecca Hartka is a most talented cellist, a beautiful person and also a hot married chick. Also fun to the core. I jumped at the chance to tag along on her Folkfire video shoot, mainly because I love the Geeky video stuff and I love Rebecca and her young university friends. There were 3 locations and 3 costume changes for Rebecca. Montana weather does not always cooperate and we used up all the little icons the weather station offered for the day. Wind (OMG did it blow & try using my cheapy camcorder in the wind), sleet, sun, rain, and real, real cold...... except on top of a steep mountain where we stripped layers because of the altitude. God, that was a steep climb for an old lady but those beautiful athletic kids mountain goated it up and down while I clung frantically to a lodgepole pine branch.

Not a complaint all day from anyone. Smiling, joking, singing ........ you'd think we were spending a day in the woods with spring daisys and 80 degree weather. They loved their work and they loved life. Absolutely remarkable group of 5 helpers. Stephani, the talented videographer toted around a heavy tripod and camera and she was "oh, so comfortable with what she was doing." They let me take photos and vids in-between the shoots. I was thrilled. I felt so Hitchkockian.d

I later discovered that Folkfire Production is shy $3,000. If anyone wants to donate to a great artistic endeaver for a paramount group of people and help Rebecca realize her cello dream, please contact Rebecca Hartka at http://rebeccahartka.com