Golf Digest Magazine

Dear Golf Digest Magazine,

Thank you so much for your sending the October, November and December issues over the past few days. I appreciate you being so conscientious about getting my subscription caught up.

Interestingly enough, however, I in fact did not subscribe to your magazine. While I'm sure it is a lovely publication filled with glossy yumminess, (my magazine addiction speaks for me at times), I am actually not a golfer. I neither play nor watch golf. The last time I played golf, if we can even call it that, I was in Estes Park, Colorado, holding the iron (insert: lighting rod) while a terrible thunder and lightening storm rolled in right on top of us over the Rocky Mountains. I lived, thank you for wondering.

I'm not sure how it is that I subscribed to Vanity Fair Magazine and received 3 issues of Golf Digest Magazine, but I think we can all agree that a gross error has taken place. I look forward to your assistance in this matter.

Best,
Belinda

As long as we're talking about music...

I'm wondering what you think of the new Taylor Swift record. I'm not going to discuss the merits of her singing with you, but I will say, the chic can write a song. She's writing such appropriate songs for her personal experience, and for that, I bought the record. Yes, kids, I'm one of the million or so who bought the record in the first week. As a songwriter, I wasn't disappointed. While I'm not trying to wish her life away, or mine for that matter, I do look forward to hearing what she writes at 28...and at 35...and so on.
-b

Beating the Homeless, Killing their Dogs, and Staying Silent...or Not

Try as I may, and believe me I try, there is a part of me that just cannot keep silent about certain injustices. There are times in which every moral fiber of my entire being demand that I say something, speak up, lest my silence be misconstrued as apathy. Here is the first in a series of letters I've written this week. Will they make a difference? Maybe not. Will I sleep better knowing I said something? Absolutely.


Dear Kroger:

I have been following with great interest and disgust the story regarding your Madison, TN, location. Your armed guard shot and killed a dog and beat his homeless owner because the homeless individual stole some firewood.

Frankly, the entire story is appalling. This type of behavior by a gun-weilding officer is completely opposite of what your customers not only expect, but demand of you. I propose there is a basic code of human conduct and in no account have I found justification whatsoever for a firearm to be pulled out of its holster in reaction to the events which took place.

You have a security guard who fired his weapon four times on your behalf. He beat an individual to the ground and killed his dog to "defend" your merchandise. I'm mortified that you condone this type of behavior.

My information indicates that you have refused to take any responsibility for the incident. No apologies, no remorse, and perhaps that is the part of this that compells me to write. Your success or failure as a corporation is directly correlational to your community support. Let there be no question that we, your customers, do you the favor by choosing to spend our money at your store when we are being courted all the while by Publix, Wal-Mart, and Food Lion to name just a few.

I am calling for you to make this right. An apology that the situation got so out of control and a dismissing of the 'guard' would be a great start.

Sincerely,
Belinda L. Smith

p.s. The next time you're deciding between killing a guy's dog and beating him to the ground over a bit of stolen firewood, give me a call. I'll cover the bill.

Rewards and Opportunities

It is time, entrepreneurs. Invent a single rewards card that will hold all my other rewards cards.

Are you all having to sign up for all kinds of credit-card-like thingys in order to NOT have to pay a stupid inflated price for things you want? I get it: they want my information for research purposes. What I don't think they understand is that I become some random personality with each "application." At this point, I'm a doctor, a lawyer, an entertainment executive and a construction worker. Now GIVE ME MY REWARDS!

I've turned down what feels like a million rewards card, but these are the ones which are in my wallet as of tonight:

1. A drug store
2. Bookstore
3. Grocery
4. Coffee/Pastry house
5. Clothing place
6. Pet store
7. Art Supply Store

Gang, I have SEVEN rewards cards in my wallet right now. As far as I'm concerned, this is seven too many. How on Earth am I supposed to keep up with all these? Much less the ones I've turned down because my purse is too big. Hence, it is time for one of you business savvy programmers to develop a card which holds all my other rewards. Hurry before someone beats you to it.

-b

I cannot do another rewards card. This is absurd.

You Don't Bring Me Flowers...

A few months ago, I was standing in Kroger near the floral section thinking, "Wow, I would love to justify some fresh flowers today." They all looked so happy and bright and awake. I wanted that in my home. But, really, flowers are things other people give to you, or for special events, right? You don't just buy flowers for yourself. How lame.

But, in the time it takes to push your cart from the soda aisle to the frozen foods aisle, I stopped waiting for people to give me flowers and started getting my own. And that's a tiny bit of the weekly budget that I'd fight for now. Why? Because we really should be kinder to ourselves.

-b

Someone Asked Me Questions

A little bit of background. Thanks for the electronic press, Mr. Mount.

http://www.southerngospelblog.com/archives/8001

-b

Muses and Fruit

Sometimes writing a song is just copying down the words and music that something greater is giving me freely.

Sometimes writing a song a like birthing a watermelon.

Guess which one this is?

-b

Cliches and Records

I would like to go on record that the movie which made me want see Italy in person was a terrible movie from 1994 called, "Only You." It was really bad. Don't even rent it. However, because is was so bad, I was forced to look around the scenes for something--anything--interesting. And, that is when I decided I had to see Italy in person. It became a fat-free obsession.





It was NOT the book or the movie, "Under the Tuscan Sun."



It was NOT the book or the movie, "Eat. Pray. Love."



And I have signed up for a converstional Italian class because a) I will be going back to Italy soon and b) learning a new language helps to stimlate the brain, and I think my need for that goes without saying. I've been talking about signing up for a class for four years now mostly because I got lost in Montacatini and no one spoke English. It was kind of scary and I'd like to address that, post-trip even.




NOT because Elizabeth Gilbert likes Italian, too.



So there.



-b

Huge Announement

Today, Tuesday, August 17th, 2010, I, Belinda Smith, was EARLY for a writing appointment. Ten minutes early. Mr. Bourke captured the occasion video. I am not showing said video because the camera adds ten pounds. Still, it is documented.

And totally blogworthy.

-b

Birds

We went to dinner with my cousin, Darnell Arnoult and her husband, William Brock, last night.

The last time I visited Darnell and William at their home down I-40, there sat an extremely large bird in the yard. I had to walk past it to get around to the front door, but I really didn't want to disturb it. I knew William was making birds, but I didn't realize he was also displaying them in the yard. So, I crept down the sidewalk, fascinated by the huge bird, thinking, "Wow, this is what you get when you live in the country." Just about then, the sun hit it just right and I realized it was one of William's creations. Duh.

William makes each bird out of copper or tin and cuts each 'feather' by hand. Isn't that insane? I mean, in a really good way. You can see more images and get some information at www.rustedbirdstudio.com.

And to the lady who told him she could buy one of these at Wal-Mart: a double duh.

-b

Blue

Where have I been? Ugh. Has it really been a month since I've updated? Judge me. Go ahead.

The good news is the bad neighbor is gone. I'm guessing he abandoned the house since it appears to have been the landlord who removed the 100 or so tires that said bad neighbor had stacked up against my back fence. I haven't seen anyone over there for a few weeks. HOORAY! There is still a blue tarp over the roof of the house, but we'll take what we can get.


I played a show with Benton Stokes the other night. Benton makes me want to write different kinds of songs--a huge compliment to him. I think I've mentioned his record to you before, but if you don't have it, I would recommend it. He has a song on his CD called, "Blue."


I also spent a week at the TN Young Writers Workshop. We lived on the campus of Austin Peay University. My, how I'm missing that ridiculous plastic mattress. Yeah. Anyway, the young writers were really inspiring this year. I gave the kids a title prompt with the word "blue" in it, and the blue songs were some of my faves from the week.


And, in what is probably the most important news, for first time in my entire life, I've painted a room in my house blue. I know. Who have I become? Well, it's actually called, "Deep Ocean," and that's exactly what it looks like to me, and I LOVE it. And, if you're looking for a good paint, try Benjamin Moore's Aura line. It took one coat of paint to make a white wall blue. Stunning.

When Do You Care About a Book?

I've been reading a lot more since Jim got me my Kindle for Christmas. Have I mentioned how much I love this thing?

As I look back over my book list for 2010, I have to admit I'm a little underwhelmed. I listened to the audio book The Help by Kathryn Stockett and didn't want it to end, but since then I've been on a run of books that I just don't care about.

First, I read "Three Junes" by Julia Glass. I can say that it was well written, sure. But did I care about any of these characters? Nope. Not at all. Well, maybe the guy who died early on who had moved to Greece, but he wasn't around long enough to really mean anything. I kind of didn't even like the book and I definitely wouldn't recommend it. But that's just me.

Now, because my brother pleaded with me, I'm 25% into, "The Passage," by Justin Cronin.

This is apparently a 600 page horror novel, I found out today. All I know is that at 25% in, according to my fabulous Kindle, I don't care. I kind of care about one person, but I could give him up tomorrow for a better book.

I am interested in reading, "The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake," because, well, it's a great title. As one who has equated food with love her whole life, I could weep over the title if I thought about it too long. Oh, wait...that's too much information for you, isn't it?

Anyway, with that, dear friends, I'm asking: what books have you read that you really cared about? What's your favorite book that you've read in the past year that you are glad you did?

I'm in need, gang!

-b

Irons, Fires and Custom Decorative Mirrors, Oh My!

I have a million irons in the fire. At least it feels like it, anyway. As a true Scorpio, I'm really great at getting something started, but finishing takes a little more discipline. No, all that glitters isn't gold, but it still glitters, and I like glitter, darn it.

One iron of late has been making decorative mirrors. Anytime I'd see one, I'd think, "How did they do that?" and when I start asking that question, you can pretty much bet that I'm seeing "glitter." I found everything I needed to know about getting started on the internet, read everything I could, and went to it. Here is one of my first tries:

So, while this is a bit time consuming, it's a nice creative thing to do while I'm trying to come up with new lyrics or melodies. You can imagine how excited I was when the owner of the brand new James Gang Company in Nashville offered to sell some of my work. We've already gotten a few mirrors hung in the "not so general general store," and I'm working on some others. This is so much fun!

Here's one of my favorites so far:

There are some cool green splashes throughout that are hard to photograph. I love it.

Here's one I made as a gift for owner, John Grimes:

And, yes, I forgot about photographing it till I was loading it in the car. Oops. Trust me, it looks amazing over the antique upright piano at the The James Gang Company store.

I'll let you know when John is officially open for business and maybe you can pop in sometime. Thanks for indulging me, friends.

-b

$20

Seems like a small price to pay to get rid of a yucky neighbor, I suppose.

About four weeks ago, Jim and I were working on cutting down some extraneous foilage around the front fence when I heard this voice. "Sir? Sir?" he called from the side of the front yard. "I'm really sorry to bother you."

And the story went. His name is John, he lives behind me, but he had walked around to the side of my front yard to call to us. He works at the garage perpendicular to my street. John weaved an elaborate story about how he was out of gas just down the road and he couldn't get hold of his boss to get any help. He even faked a cell phone call in the middle of the explanation. "See?" he pleaded. Could he just borrow $10 for 20 minutes. "I'll bring it right back."

As a test, Jim brought him a container of gas from the garage.

"Uh, I don't think that's going to do it. It's a really big truck." Okay, big fat liar. Would you like my paycheck, too? Because I'm just here to give away my hard earned money.


Still, I wondered if this might be the ultimate gesture, the be-all end-all opportunity to do a 'right thing.' The gesture which either proved that there is still some good in humanity or the gesture that cemented the word "awkward" between us henceforth. He and I have already had some, er, "quality time" regarding some of his backyard behavior. And, so I handed him $20 in cash. Just gave it to him.

My Dad taught me early to never loan someone money. I either give it to them or I don't, but I never expect it back. I clearly thought this guy was a liar, and so I didn't expect to get the money back.

That was on Sunday. On the following Tuesday I came home to the following note on my front door: I'll be by at 6 P.M to return the money. $20. I'm sorry it has taken a few days longer to get it back to you. Please call me at (insert fake number here.) John

At 5:50 PM on Wednesday, John revved up his truck and pulled out. I haven't seen him since. That was four weeks ago.

My friend Patty says the best way to get rid of somebody is to loan them money. Seems like it is working.

-b

Freaks and Weirdos Welcome, but Blogged About

I haven't been to a public pool in the summer aside from the ones at the beach hotels in years. I'd guess I was in the 3rd or 4th grade the last time. You can imagine my apprehension over my recent visit. Granted the pool was part of a member's only type place, but still.

As I sat uncomfortably in my white plastic chair peering over the top of my Kindle, I categorized my fellow pool goers as one of four groups.

First, we had the Normals. These are the people who came quietly, snagged a chair, and lost themselves in a great summer read. They may have gotten up and taken a quick dip in the cool water, but they mostly stayed in their chosen seats. These people felt no need to leave a big impression. I guess you could say they were my kind of people.

Next, we had the Paraders. My, my, my. Some of these people should just grab a baton and get on with it. Oh, for just a thimble of the self-confidence Flower-Trunk-Guy possessed. I heard a lady a few chairs down from me heckle to another particularly proud middle-aged man, "We get it already. Now sit down!"

Then you had the Lappers. Why use the mostly vacant indoor pool to swim your laps at 2 o'clock in the afternoon on the weekend when you can go outdoors and make everybody move so you can have one whole length of the pool to yourself? And, then, go ahead and yell at the innocent ladies who dared to float into your path. Because you're every bit the Michael Phelps you think you are, Coach.

The final category, and I suppose my most favorite, was the SCUBA diver. Granted there was only one participant in this group, he made the biggest impression by far. By far. With a heat index of 104 degrees, Dude walked out to the crowded pool with a full wetsuit (long pants and long sleeves), full head cover, goggles, flippers and oxygen tank. Little kids actually ran screaming to their mothers. He walked to the pool steps, lowered himself into the 3 foot water, and disappeared.

Makes you think, doesn't it?

-b

Dear Heidi and Spencer:

I actually don't know what show you come from. Some reality show, I gather. I do recall David Letterman ripping you to shreds, Spencer, some time ago on his show. It was vintage David, actually. So funny that I saw it replayed on the little TV in the NYC taxi I was riding in probably a week later.

Anyway, I digress. Now, aren't the two of you the ones who went on some other reality show and you went to the jungle or something and decided to come to Jesus? I think there was a baptism in the water or something. Was that you?

Anyway, what I'm finding with your public personas isn't the kind of disdain I have for the whole Gosslein 'celebrity' circus. It's a new kind of feeling that I haven't been able to put a word on. It's nothing short of yuck, but that's not quite it.

I think it is tragic that a beautiful young girl has such a low self esteem that she had ten plastic surgeries in one day. That she is at the legal limit for plastic surgeries in CALIFORNIA? Really? I think it is criminal that the guy who says he loves her actually encouraged this. I saw a clip of Heidi's mother saying, "Enough." She was so, so right.

And so I sit here wondering, yet again, how we will explain you two to the next generations. When they ask, "Now why were these people on TV?" we will have no good explanation.

Maybe you should've stuck with Jesus.

-b

Wrong Place at the Right Time

You know how sometimes you're just sitting around minding your own business, reading and such, and then a blind person walks by and whacks you in the shin as hard as she can with her walking stick?

Wait...

You don't?

So, it's just me, eh?

Right.

-b

Beautiful, Even on Tuesdays in the Sam's Parking Lot

I feel like everyone knows this about me already. I forget that I don't really offer it up and just assume that you figured it out. And, frankly, doing a blog post about it is as weird and freeing as the day I put on a skirt that hit above my knee (for the first time) and made myself walk from one end of New York City to the next. Let the stares come. Let my knee shoot pain through my body. Come hell or high water, I was finishing that one.

I remember that day like it was yesterday. I chose a pink skirt and sensible black shoes, because that's the only kind I can wear. I would walk through the busiest city I frequented and reveal my physical weirdness and see how it went. If I could make it through NYC, then I could soooo make it through Nashville, because everybody knows if NYC thinks you're weird, then you really are. If not, then you're good.

Before I was born, while I was in the womb, I caught what they later termed a "temporary virus." I was born in Chicago and the Chicago Children's Clinic had no explanation and certainly nothing to which my case could compare. When I was born, my Mom describes these places all over my body that looked like cigarette burns. They were red, roundish and some were deeper than others. I still have the faded scars today in some places.

On the back of my left leg, one was particularly deep, even now. Whatever it was, it damaged the nervous system in my left foot. Most of my foot is paralyzed and I have no motor ability in the foot at all. I can't move it, I can't feel it, and it really doesn't do much else except give me a place on which to land. It is just there.

I remember moving to Nashville and thinking I needed another operation, and so I thought I would visit the head of orthopaedic surgery at Vanderbilt University. He took one look at the X-ray and said, "Amputation is your only option." I never saw him again because I don't respect surgeons who aren't creative. Then, I flew to Cleveland Clinic and saw the head of foot and ankle orthopaedics there. He said, "There's not much we can do, and we could try, but I can't make any promises." Regarding surgery he said, "Your foot is in amazing condition. I'm stunned. But, you'll know when it is time. Here's a friend of mine's number in Nashville. Go see him."

And, so, I visited Baptist in Nashville and had the routine X-ray. The surgeon said, and I quote, "What a mess." I laughed. Finally, some honesty. Then he said, "I'll do the surgery, but you probably only have one surgery left based the number you've had, and I just don't know. I won't fight for your foot, though, because you would get along so much better with a prosthetic." More honesty. I didn't like it, but I respected it. That was ten years ago. I'm still not interested in a prosthetic.

When I was little, I wore a metal brace from the knee down. My ankle leaned and it took what they called a t-strap (get it?) to hold it up in place. The brace attached to one pair of brown leather shoes, because that was all we could afford. One pair. I wore the same pair of shoes every day until I outgrew them, and then I would go and be fitted for another pair. Every few years I'd get saddle shoes, but mostly I chose the brown leather ones. All I ever wanted, though, was to wear a pair of tennis shoes. Really.

Finally, as I was entering my freshman year in high school, Dr. Jack Pushkin (RIP) did a little creative surgery and fused my ankle. It has been fused in that walking position ever since. I wore my first pair of tennis shoes, which were fashionably Keds, in the 9th grade. They were followed with Reeboks. (Randomly, I remember Donell Henthorne smiling and holding the door open for me my first week of high school while I was still on crutches. She was a God-send in that Annex building that moment. I never thanked her for that.)

And life goes on. Imagine having no feeling in your left foot and it is fused in walking position, and that's life as I know it. I cannot wear heels nor will I ever be able to. I cannot run, which is FINE by me. I have ongoing knee issues, but whatever. I just don't know any different. This is all I've ever known and so it is just not a big deal to me. I will say that I am very adept at compensating. I'm a master at covering it up. People I cherish even now are probably surprised at this. "I knew she limped sometimes, but I had no idea it wasn't from a sprained ankle." I love that.

I love that the people in my life, those who hold that title for more than a few weeks, are looking inside. Those are the people who are just not so concerned with what society tells them is most important, the way you look on the outside. You, my friends reading this, are the ones who didn't even think to judge me for the matter in which I had no choice.

Thank. You.

In case you were wondering, New York City didn't give me a second glance, either. I mean, not one person looked down and got 'the look.' It was amazing. Even in Times Square. Nobody. Seven years ago, New York City gave me a gift I can never repay. NYC reminded me that we are all a lot more concerned about ourselves than anybody else is. Such a hard lesson to take to heart.

We were talking yesterday in my writing session about songs that we felt were more Divine than anything. Those songs that were in the room, that we got to put our names on, and those songs that we really didn't have too much to do with. They were already there waiting to be written and all we had to do was not mess them up. Here's the lyric to the one that came to my mind first. It was my privilege to write it with Tony Wood.

Beautiful

There's a feeling deep inside me
Like I never measure up
When I look at those around me
I'm just not good enough
But there's a truth that cuts through all my doubts
and insecurites
it's like a song from Heaven
my Creator sings to me

All your scars and imperfections
All the things you hide
All the hurts and broken pieces
All the things you've locked inside
You don't have to be afraid
to open up and let Me see
I'm the One who made you.
You're beautiful to Me.

Just as He has formed you
and you're wonderfully made
the same hand is still working
in the story of your days
And in those hands your failures
somehow become a part
of what goes into making
the masterpiece you are

All your scars and imperfections
All the things you hide
All the hurts and broken pieces
All the things you've locked inside
You don't have to be afraid
to open up and let Him see
He says, I'm the one who made you
You're beautiful to me

When at last we see Him
Oh, how we'll understand
When we bow before our Saviour
Touch His feet
Take His hands

All our scars and imperfections
All the things we hide
All the hurts and broken pieces
All the things we've locked inside
We don't have to to be afraid
to open up and let Him see
He says, "I'm the One who made you.
You're beautiful to me."

Facebook: Deletion Day and Other Principles

I have a love/hate relationship with Facebook. I mostly hate it until I connect with someone interesting or re-connect with someone I miss, and then I love it. It really has helped me stay in touch, even minimally, with people I deeply enjoy but don’t get to see often.

I can’t help but wonder, though, is it just me or do you all have to purge some “friends” periodically? For me, I find that I purge about every three months. Usually someone will post some comment that makes me no longer want to be associated with them, for either personal or professional reasons, and I’ll end the cyber relationship. One deletion always leads to a few more—“Oh, that’s the person who posted THAT nasty comment that one night I was too sleepy to figure out how to delete them”—and away they go, too. Granted a few innocent bystanders, or alphabetically close names, have accidentally gone in my haste, but overall, my general purging schedule seems to get the job done.

Today, we’ve come upon another deletion day. I don’t want hate comments or hate language on my news feed, bottom line. There’s enough negativity in my daily life that I will not allow a cyber acquaintance to perpetuate even more.

Oh, but that’s not the point of this post.

This is probably just me, but if you’re going to use Facebook as the ultra-marketing tool for your business, then sending me daily “become a fan of” emails is a good way to make me hate your business. Why? Because I don’t want to have to clear out your stupid email every day. So, I’m going to delete you from the entire friend list instead of becoming a fan of your business. It is a matter of principle.

-b

20 Things About the Cable Guy

I've been dealing with a lot of service people during this move. I must seem friendly. Here are just a few things I learned about the cable guy while he was at my house installing my lines (and he did a good job, I'll add.)

1. He moved here from Orlando a year ago.
2. He has been married twice.
3. He has a thirteen year old son.
4. His thirteen year old son sees ghosts.
5. The lady who lives across the street from him spies on him.
6. He threw away a couch.
7. He threw away an old green chair.
8. He moved to Nashville to sing.
9. He used to be roof installer and roof cleaner.
10. His first wife gives his son back some, but not through the courts, and so he is still liable for child support during those times.
11. His second wife was from Denmark.
12. He speaks a little Danish.
13. He lives 20 miles out of town in a condo.
14. He would like me to fix him up with one of my hot friends--any of them will do.
15. He makes $20 for installing three lines in my house. The cable company gets the rest.
16. He works 60 hours per week.
17. He has no time for a social life.
18. He would like to make a demo of himself singing.
19. He is afraid it is too late for him to get into the music business.
20. He gives his Mom money.

Kindness

It goes a long, long way.

I'm not a big crier. Or, maybe I'm in an age-defined denial. The older I get, the more I get weepy on someone's behalf. Regardless, my friend T. got me today with this quote: No one has ever said they will handle something FOR me. Can I give you a hug to thank you?

She had big crocodile tears streaming down her face. I had recommended two people to her to help her realize her "one dream." "Call them," I said. "Stop being intimidated by your unknowns."

She is beautiful, and she has been dealt a much more difficult deck of cards than I. And, two of my friends, one old and one new, showed a beautiful kindness today. I called them both to tell them so, and to thank them. "You made a difference in someone's life today," I said to both of them.

Kindness matters.

We should be more conscious of that.

-b

Here's One for the Songwriters

When I'm included on the faculty at songwriting worshops and seminars, the one thing I've noticed over and over that the registrants want is access. They want a few minutes of time from someone is who doing what they want to do. People just want to talk, some people just want you to listen to their songs, some people really want honest feedback, and then some people just want you tell them how great they are (whether they are or not.)

My awesome friend and songwriter J.P. Williams called me several months back and invited me in on a writing session with someone who I think most any writer worth their salt would love to be in the room with. Since then, I've written many times with Rory Bourke. Here's just the first paragraph of his bio:

During a career of more than thirty years, Rory Michael Bourke has had songs recorded by Anne Murray, Elvis Presley, Bonnie Raitt, Cher, Phil Vassar, Dolly Parton, Tom Jones, The Oak Ridge Boys, Ronnie Milsap, Julio Iglesias, Tim McGraw, and many others. He was inducted into the Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame in 1989 and has been named ASCAP Writer of the Year three times: 1976, 1979, and 1983. He is a four-time Grammy nominee and the recipient of two CMA triple play awards. He served on the Board of Directors of the Nashville Songwriters Foundation for many years.

It's been such a pleasure getting to know Rory and Rita. He's not even billing me for hanging around so much (yet.)

I say all of this to say that if you're interested in writing songs, and truly writing those songs that last a lifetime, Rory is an expert proven time and time again. While I can't offer you access, I can get you the stories. Well, actually, you'll have to get those yourselves, too. Check out Rory's blog:

www.rorybourke.com

Enjoy-
-b

Satisfaction

I've been looking over my tax returns. Fun stuff. I just put down the tax return for 2003, actually. Looking back over the years of self-employment, the up's and the down's, has gotten me to thinking.

Over the past ten years, I've turned down two big-salary job offers outside my creative field, and I've basically done everything I can to keep my time focused on my creative passions. I've passed on the kind of security many people work their whole lives for. I've chosen my dreams over common sense options time and time again.


I'm not saying that my life choices would be for everyone. Certainly not. But, I can say that I'm okay with how I've done what I've done. I may never own my personal island in the tropics, but I've made a good life, with good friends and a good family. I can pay my bills, I have food on my table and I get to travel a little. Most of my dreams have already come true. That's a big thing to be able to say.

So, no, I wouldn't change how I've done things. I definitely would not.
I'm satisfied.

-b

The Winter White Wool Coat

I don't remember how I old I was, but there was one year in high school that I decided I wanted a full length winter white wool coat. Since it was going to cost a little more than our standard issue, Dad had to make the final approval.

I went to Dad and asked, explained the do-or-die necessity of this grand investment, and he finally agreed with the following stipulation: it had to be made in America.

So, off to the Charleston Town Center mall we went. After searching the racks of the various stores, I walked in to the final place and the clear blue sky rolled back giving way to the Heavenly choir's "Hallelujah Chorus," and there hung the perfect--PERFECT--winter white wool coat. It was floor length, lined with silk, pleated in the back from the collar down, with flawless subtle tan buttons. Oh, it was a glorious find, and I was going to look like a million bucks.

I bought it right there and we drove the hour home. As I unwrapped this brilliant piece of fashion iconism and carefully placed it out on my bed, my brother looked over my shoulder and asked, "Is it made in the USA?"

I'm not saying it was right or it was wrong, but sometimes a girl's just got to have her 80's winter white wool coat. When you know it is right, sometimes you just have to do what you have to do and figure the rest out later. I said, "Well, if it's not, then I'll cut the tag out."

I checked tag there was it was: Made in the USA.

Life lesson learned.

-b

p.s. I had never planned to mention the whole thing to Dad until my brother so helpfully retold the story at Christmas. And, the truth is, I had been so overcome with perfection that I'd totally forgotten to look. I'm really not a bad person, Dad.

Convenience

I've had a slight toe in the real estate market this weekend. Let us not get carried away, it was just a toe, and a pinky toe, at that.

Nonetheless, I called and made an appointment to view a home in a "transitional" neighborhood. Because, you know, I'm cool...I'm hip. Er...right. Anyway, I made Jim go, too, mostly because he just loves that kind of stuff...er...right.

Anyway, so we made the left turn onto the street of what could be my brand new home and we both started laughing out loud. Not an "lol," which we all know really means "chuckle out loud," (col), but an actual audible laugh.

Jim looked over and said, "Well, the good thing about this neighborhood is that if it's eleven o'clock at night and you need some crack, all you have to do is go out on the porch and say so. All the dealers will be able to hear you."

...I do like me some convenience...

-b

Thick and Luxurious

I looked in the cabinet where I keep my towels and washcloths a few weeks ago and noted not one, not two, but several towels and washcloths I bought the mid-90's. Yes, there, I said it. The mid-90's. I specifically thought, "Hmmm, these things are losing their steam." Then, I realized that they have been in use for 15 years or so.

FIFTEEN YEARS for a towel and washcloth???? How did this happen? When did I become that person? I guess the flipside is that they have actually survived for fifteen years, but still...that amount of time is equivalent to the amount of time between when I was born until my junior year in high school.

Indeed.

So, I asked for some new towels for Christmas and then I headed to the J.C. Penny white sale today. I don't even know who am I anymore through this fog of glorious grown-up bliss. Did you all know that towels can be thick and luxurious? Did everyone know this but me?



-b

Virtual Friends: What the Internet Can Do

Early last year I sent an email to Ohio-K. I didn't know her, but I felt like I had something snarky to say and that she would appreciate it. After a few exchanges, she introduced me to the email commune. Within the email commune, we then had Ohio-K, New Jersey-P, Nebraska-R, California-P, California-A and Oregon-H. Then we voted in North Carolina-G.

So, now, the commune consists of G, P, K, R, P, A, H and me, B. We've been emailing back and forth for months now. I love these people. We are all so different and so the same that the Commune makes perfect sense. We've been through bankruptcies, religions, buying new homes, trying to find work, angry times, bitter times, family crisis', great celebrations, and pure, unadulterated support of each other. I know things about these guys that I don't even know about my closest in-person friends.

The beauty of the internet is that I'm allowed to have friends that I otherwise wouldn't have had. I call them friends. How can I not? They know too much about me as it is.

I remember when I purchased my first computer. I was a sucker for the "chat room" commercials. I just wanted to be in touch with people from around the world. Well, years later, when the 'being in touch with strangers' thing came to fruition, it was with this particular group of strangers. And, it far surpassed what the commercials promised.

California P is brilliantly clever and talented. He has a way a seeing through the forest straight to the tree. I adore him and his sense of humor.

New Jersey P has a generous spirit. It shows through in so much of her work and her murals. And, though we've never met in person, she sent me an amazing pottery piece for Christmas. Why? Because she has a generous spirit. I'd hire her to do a mural for me in a heartbeat.

California A is a constant surprise. I never know what to expect from her. I do know that regardless of the specifics, she will be clever and passionate, and that is inspiring every single time. And I'm so proud of her for buying a house this past year.

Oregon H is the one who chimes in with what I call the last sentence. She's clearly clever, and a GREAT Scrabble player. She's the one who wraps up all of the nonsense and gives it a little meaning.

Nebraska R is stupid talented, and on the verge of fantastic new things. We all kind of watch to see where he's going next. He's indeed someone we root for. Plus, he draws these awesome cartoons.

Ohio K is an artist. She is savvy enough to work the system without making it look like work and she has more energy than anyone I know. I have so much great respect for her. She is a true artist, and a darn good hang.

And North Carolina G. Ridiculously talented. She is the one who goes beyond the call to make sure everything is okay. Someone I would want to be friends with if I wasn't already. Just a neat person.

Actually, I'd want to be friends with all the members of the virtual commune if I knew them in their daily lives. Which, brings us back to the internet and what it can do for you.

I feel lucky.

These are my virtual people. I've given them parts of me that my real-life people don't have.

And, I don't want to move on without them.

Here's to internet friends. Thank you for enriching my life and for, quite simply, making me better.

-b

Happy 2010 and Signs

Oh dear, gang. Can you believe it's 2010? It seems like yesterday that we were hoarding bottles of water wondering if the world was coming to a sure end, doesn't it? Good times. Can you believe it was ten years ago?

I started the new decade today with a writing session I was very much looking forward to. J.P. Williams and Mark Narmore are two of my favorite human beings on top of being two of my favorite writers, so I was glad to start the year on a good note.

The past several months in my creative industry have been filled with up's and down's. I know that the music industry is certainly feeling the effects of the current economic climate, but I'm hopeful. How can I not be? Regardless, on the way to the session today, I said a prayer. It was kind of a response to the past year as well as to the new one--God, I need this to be good today.

And it was.

Yay.

Then, when I got home and looked at my brand spanking new bedspread, I noticed a small wet spot down on the corner near the floor. Just a small one. Upon further inspection, it became clear that Pete, the 11 1/2 year old min pin, had hiked his leg. A statement of his own, I suppose.

I've chosen to let him live, and I've decided not to let him steal my optimism. Clearly, animals pray, too.

-b