Sleeps With Fists. I do. In the film Dances With Wolves, the Lakota Indians gave the name “Stands With Fists” to a woman who was mourning the loss of her husband and I guess she stood around a lot with fists at her side. Me? I sleep with mine under my pillow.
We don’t need material gifts, Santa….just some shift in the Universe that gives musicians faith in the idea that we, and the young people who will come after us, will be able to sustain ourselves and keep giving the world what they can not live without: music.
I took an Abmien last night at 9:30. Slept like a baby. Woke up despondent and Stepford. Sort of like when my otherwise healthy father had an aortic aneurysm and the doctor told me he would probably not live and I kept thinking I’d get a call saying it all turned around overnight and he’d be fine. It didn’t. He wasn’t. He died.
Last year when I returned home to an empty nest, it was a very busy time for me. I was furiously crossing the T’s and dotting the I’s of Confessions of a Serial Songwriter. There was no time to think about 'Now What?'
I am of a certain age and they call my generation, "digital immigrants" for a reason: we had to adapt to the digital world, unlike the young "native" millennials who were born into it. They make it look easy. But I'm determined.
When I entered my name and the book's title on the Amazon search bar and it popped up with an ISBN I couldn’t stop staring at the screen. Much the same way I felt the first time I had a song released and I couldn’t stop staring at the label copy.
When I woke up on the first morning after delivering you to college it was quiet.Really quiet. Just as I thought, nobody was in your bed. I knew you weren't at a sleepover. Or on a school trip. This was for real.