Fixin' Supper

When I was a sophomore in college, I answered a classified ad in the campus newspaper and started teaching piano lessons at the W.O. Smith Music School. The school, named for [and founded in part by] a legendary Nashville jazz piano player, has offered musical instruction to low-income kids for 50 cents a lesson since its founding in 1986. I taught until 2000, when work and family intruded too much into my schedule, but I’ve been back teaching for the past 2 years. The school is a magical place.

Each year, the school holds a fundraiser called The Birdhouse Thing. It distributes plain wooden birdhouses to artists and country music celebrities, who decorate them, and then return them for auction. This year, I’ve been serving on the event committee, and I passed out a number of birdhouses to my artist friends. [Let me know if you want one...it is not quite too late, and I have a few extra!]

The 9yo convinced me that we should do houses too. I initially was reluctant — I didn’t think my long-dormant artistic skills were up to par. But then I came up with a theme: Blue sky shining on me. It all kind of fell into place from there.

See how it turned out! Just click the photo of the finished house to open the slideshow.

Today [Update: Aug. 16]: Today is the 30th anniversary of Elvis’ death. It’s always fascinated me that we mark Elvis’ death [Aug. 15 16, 1977] with a much larger celebration than we do his birth [Jan. 8, 1935]. It’s probably a Southern thing, isn’t it? If you’ve never been in Memphis during Elvis Week [I swear to you, that is what it's called], you can’t understand the American psyche.

I was almost 6 years old when Elvis died. I honestly don’t remember tons and tons from being that age. I remember sitting in the recliner in the middle of the den, with all the furniture piled up, while my mother waxed the hardwoods. I remember lying in bed in the summer, sad because I could hear the older neighborhood children playing outside since it was light well past my bedtime. I remember a few things from kindergarten and from my neighborhood. But I remember very clearly when Elvis died, because my best friend’s mother cried.

Y’all, is there any musician today who could die and make your best friend cry ['cause I'm assuming you and your best friend are adults, as my friend's mother was in 1977]? Maybe if you’re in the music industry and your best friend is married to a musician. But this lady didn’t know Elvis. She was just so struck by the man and his music that she cried when he died.

She wasn’t the only one. There are thousands and thousands of people in Memphis this week who are hooked on Elvis.  Probably a lot younger than me, who have no personal memories of him at all. Since I grew up near Memphis, it was never a matter of learning about Elvis. My next-door neighbors [in the house we moved to when I was 7] went to high school with Elvis. Everyone knew someone who knew him. Elvis just is, and he just was, long after his death. He’s ubiquitous. I assume it’s still that way.

I’m not a sociologist, so I can’t tell you what made him, well, Elvis, but I’ll throw out these thoughts.

• It’s the rags-to-riches.
• It’s the phenomenal music. What a gift that man had.
• It’s the hips, and the sneer. Rrrrowr.

Little makes me sadder than seeing film and photos of the drugged up, sloppy Elvis of the late 1970s. But he could always move you with his voice, and the early years….man, he’s just incredible.

I hope he found his peace.

Surely the last person in Nashville who doesn’t play guitar, I decided earlier this summer to remedy that situation. I took piano lessons for years [even taught them for a long time], but excepting some short-lived experiments with trumpet in junior high and the xylophone in high school, I’ve been a one-instrument girl. I’ve now been messing around with the guitar for a few weeks, learning some chords and attempting to strum. It’s still pretty laughable, but I’m going to start with real lessons once the 8yo is back in school this fall and our schedule settles down.

I’ve wanted to play guitar since I was in junior high. I’m sure this is because I was a camper. I mean, every summer, I signed up for any camp I could convince my parents to let me attend. And I don’t care what kind of camp it is — church camp, 4-H, youth conference, whatever — the coolest people there are the guitar players. I first knew one of my favorite bloggers as a guitar-wielding summer staffer at Lakeshore United Methodist Assembly.

NYC sister [also a summer staffer at Lakeshore back in the day. Coincidence? I think not.] also took up guitar several years ago, though she professes not to be terribly serious about it. [No worries there; she has always played circles around me on the piano. She can also play drums.]

Though I’m not heading out for camp anytime soon [unlike say, Nashville sister, who STILL runs a week of camp every summer at Lakeshore], I’m determined to be able to lead Kumbaya next time I happen upon a campfire. Or you know, when I learn 3 songs and invite a whole bunch of you over for a sing-a-long. Now that will be awesome.

Anyone for s’mores?

When I was growing up, I took piano lessons for eight years. Most of the time, I really enjoyed them — though if Mrs. Emerson is reading, I know I should have practiced more — and starting my sophomore year in college, I taught piano lessons for 10 years at the W.O. Smith Music School in Nashville. This fabulous institution provides music lessons to kids who qualify for Metro’s free/reduced lunch program for 50¢ a lesson, through an all-volunteer faculty. [Most of whom are eminently more qualified than I was.]

For the past few years, I have played for my own enjoyment [and to drive my 8yo crazy], more the last year or so than I have in a long time. Yay, me.

It’s always bothered me that the 8yo never showed a bit of interest in taking piano lessons, and in fact, is specifically opposed to the idea. She is clearly musical: A good dancer, nice singing voice, and knows the words and tune to any song she’s ever heard. Mind you, I didn’t start lessons myself til I was 9, but I remember wanting to learn for at least two years beforehand. I was very jealous of the friend who took lessons from a different teacher and was allowed to begin at the age of 8.

So when the 8yo started asking a couple months ago to learn to play the guitar [to help with her songwriting, no less], I was delighted. Though any instrument could be a lifelong joy, I have always thought that you have to work less to create the opportunity to play the guitar or piano. I know a fair number of professional musician types who play the oboe, say, or the clarinet or violin….but I don’t have many friends who are not musicians who go home at night and pipe away on the trumpet for a couple hours just for fun. [Go ahead, comment away about all the tubas you're playing that I'm unaware of....]

And the 8yo’s request reminded me that I have wanted to learn to play guitar myself for several years, but I wasn’t ever in the right time or place to do it. Now, a new music school has opened in our neighborhood, and I spent a while visiting with Danny Ray, one of the owners, tonight.

He gave me a list of things to look for when buying a guitar, and I promised to get back in touch a few weeks from now when I think our schedules will allow us to take a few lessons.

So then I came home, spent about an hour and a half online, and I bought a guitar. That’s the crazy part. But you know me, I don’t buy anything at a store that I could get online instead. And there was free shipping!

However: When the heck am I going to squeeze this in??

At any rate, I am so excited that I will soon be the owner of a Baby Taylor. It’s a 3/4 scale model, but both the reviews and Danny Ray said I would not notice much, if any, difference in tone. I found a review specifically from a woman who’s 5’3" who said this was much easier for her to handle than a full-size guitar. Since I’m 5’2" and the 8yo is maybe 4’3", this seemed like a good idea. If we both turn into guitar geniuses, we can see if it will work for both of us long term or not.

Let’s start with this: Even if you count the first season of the Real World, which I probably saw a few less than half of, I bet I’ve seen less than 10 episodes of reality TV, ever. I don’t get it. I’ve tried. I watched one episode each of Survivor, The Bachelor, The Bachelorette and American Idol. Each was so cheesy and boring I couldn’t imagine wasting further time in that fashion. [Believe me, I'm very good at wasting it in other ways instead.]

So tonight, around 8:50, I queued up last night’s episode of House on my DVR, and for some reason, I didn’t fast-forward through the last 3 minutes of Tuesday night’s American Idol like I usually do. [Anyone know why Fox shows run slightly off the hour? Terribly annoying.] I watched and learned that tonight, we’d find out who the two finalists are. And I saw clips of the three who were left last night. It was incredibly clear that Melinda Doolittle sings circles around the other two, from the clips I saw. And I realized it was about time for them to announce the two finalists, in real life! Flipped over to the TV real quick, where I saw them engage in the Miss-America silliness that makes me abhor reality TV:

Ryan Seacrest asks Jordan to step up, goes through a lot of rigamarole, then says, she’s in. When he called Melinda up next, I knew she was dead in the water. It’s not suspenseful to leave the loser standing alone. So clearly he was kicking Melinda out, and after much futzing around, that’s what he did.

I was loosely aware of the whole Sanjay business earlier in the season [you're dead if you've never heard of Sanjay], but I figured the best person would win in the end. At least, I hoped if Sanjay didn’t win, then the best person would.

So I don’t know what I missed in just watching 2 min of clips, but my prediction is we haven’t heard the last of Melinda Doolittle*.

* I realize that this sounds like hometown boosterism — I am at least aware that she’s from ’round these parts — but I’m going to claim to being mostly unbiased since I’ve not only not watched the show, I’ve also avoided almost all news coverage of it, too.

I don’t care if they get Bruce Springsteen, Paul Simon and Billy Joel — and Van Halen — to show up along with The Police at this year’s Bonnaroo. I’m too old to slog around in the mud with a bunch of drunks, waiting forever for the Port-o-Let.

I sure think it would be great if The Police played at a nice indoor venue near me. I’d be there in a heartbeat, despite my ban on mega-concerts.

Or, you know, at the local nursing home.

UPDATE: Maybe a late-summer visit to NYC sister is in order. [Full tour sked at the bottom of the link.]

Last night I had just the best time. And certainly I can’t provide you with the quality event blogging that Mr. Roboto can. But let me see if I can’t give you the tiniest idea of what the evening with the women of Magdalene was like.

Magdalene House is a program started in Nashville about 10 years ago by Becca Stevens, the Episcopal priest at Vanderbilt. It houses and supports women with a history of prostitution and addiction, uplifting them back into society through programs that include job training, education and the other support they need. My friend Holli Anglin directs the cottage industry arm of the program, Thistle Farms, which provides many of the women of Magdalene with job training — in sales, marketing, accounting and other areas.

I volunteered at Magdalene years ago, and have been involved off and on in small ways through Junior League. Mostly, I’ve just been a bystander who’s thrilled and inspired to see their amazing, phenomenal success. It’s grown into a program with true vision. Today they’re thinking bigger than ever: they’d like to expand Thistle Farms nationally. Wow!

Well last night’s program was incredibly moving, as always. Chief of Police Ronal Serpas was there to give his endorsement of Magdalene. Marcus Hummon [Becca Stevens' husband] played keyboard, sang and directed a choir of the women of Magdalene and Nashville music luminaries. Charlene Ibrahim soloed with the choir. The music was so perfectly designed to bring the message of the evening. There’s no way to recreate here what they did last night. Another highlight was Don Schlitz singing his song "I Think About You."

But if you’ve been to a Magdalene event before, or hung around at their office, you know that the people who tell their story best are the women of Magdalene themselves. We must have heard from 10 or 15 last night. Each starts her story with her name and how long she’s been clean and sober. Last night we heard from women who are 6 months new to the program and some who’ve been clean 10 years. One beautiful, poised funny lady will graduate from college next month. They didn’t all end up at Magdalene through the same path. The assumptions you might make about these women wouldn’t always be correct. But every story makes you cry and every one makes the problem–and the solution–to prostitution and addiction very concrete.

See if there’s a way you can support Magdalene and Thistle Farms.

Hey everyone. Here’s a great Friday lunch item. My friend Jeanne, in addition to being a talented marketer, is an amazing songwriter. [Hey, it's Nashville. Everyone has a friend in the music biz.] Her song "World Famous" [as in, I'm world famous in my hometown....] is the challenger on a radio station in Ohio. Here are the details from Jeanne:

Hey!  Our friend Rachel Williams cut "World Famous" a couple weeks ago (a song Karleen Watt and I wrote). We’d love to get some radio play, so please take a minute to vote for it at this link. 
THANK YOU!
J
PS:  Please pass along if you want to help out!  Thanks!

 

http://www.myspace.com/jeannerichardson

Well, it’s a great song — I’ve even heard Jeanne sing it. Give a girl a hand, won’t you?

I’ll just go ahead and say it out loud: I love Toby Keith.

He’s the guy the literati love to hate. You know, they imagine he’s the vision of a real redneck. They hate that whole boot-up-the-ass thing ["Courtesy of the Red, White and Blue"]. At the time, that song really bothered me though I couldn’t say why. I’ve listened to it again a number of times recently and it’s not xenophobic or racist — tell me if I’m wrong — but what I hear is, you screw around with America and you’ll regret it. I don’t think that’s any different than the chest-thumping patriotic fervor we’ve had any number of times in the past.

Here’s another great song: "How Do You Like Me Now?" It’s a great kiss-my-ass to anyone who thought you weren’t good enough. Everyone’s been there.

Though Keith is clearly a massive commercial success, I do think he phones it in more often than not. I want more of the real thing. Some of his ballads are incredible though I am rarely a ballad fan….more of a party girl myself.

Regardless, he speaks to the heartland. Though I’ve now [gasp] almost lived in Nashville longer than anywhere else, Bolivar, Tenn., a town of 5,000 or so, still holds a narrow lead. It’s the kind of place where folks would warn you not to get above your raising. Surrounded by cotton and soybean fields, producing more hardwood than any other county in the state, with a bit of industry and most jobs from government or other services — the schools, a prison, a hospital and health care — it’s not an economically robust area. It’s a lot like many other rural areas across the country. But it has some fine high-school basketball teams. People who get up in the morning, work all day and raise their kids. Have a beer on the weekend. [When I lived there, you could only buy beer at a few places, mostly right outside town. I don't know if it's still like that or not, but you see what I'm saying.]

Toby Keith, he speaks to me.