Over a Century of Stories

The first week of March took me to Hot Springs, SD, to the State Veteran’s Home. It was a different experience than expected. Normally, a workshop is a combination of music, writing, and meditation, but a few minutes into this one told me that I would have to do something I have never been very good at: surrender control. At home and at work, I tend to struggle for control, over what my students are writing, over the way my daughter does her chores. In truth, the best results in my life have usually come when I have finally thrown up my hands, surrendering the outcome to the universe. This residency was no different. I came to Hot Springs toting stacks of paper, pencils, and a suitcase filled with my favorite books for one of the writing exercises I love to do. I quickly realized that many of the participants’ hands shook too badly to write, that many of them had a hard time hearing me, and that several had led incredible lives, but had a hard time remembering the details of them. So, instead of struggling against the reality of the situation, I leaned in.

I took a deep breath, told a story about my grandmother, and then sang a song that I wrote about her after she passed away. I did the same thing again, but this time about my little brother, Jeremy, who died when he was only 20 years old. And instead of worrying about the fact that nobody was writing, I started asking people to tell some stories of their own. At first, it was quiet, always a deep fairly uncomfortable quiet, and then someone would finally start talking. Over the course of the week, I heard many people’s stories. One man told me how he had been a paratrooper in Germany, jumping out of airplanes with bullets whizzing through the air around him. He said he never felt fear, just 18 year old adrenaline coursing through him, until an incident, the details of which he did not discuss, took from him forever the use of his legs. The there was Dick, who came to hear my songs every location I went throughout the week, morning and afternoon. He was a boom operator, which means he was in a large aircraft that gassed up the bombers, in midair! I had no idea that was a thing that happened! Dick and I had a lot in common, and we spent a long time talking over days. He made his living doing stone masonry, and ever since we did stonework around the foundation of our log cabin in Alaska years ago, I have dreamed of building a stone cottage on a few acres in the Black Hills.

My last night in the beautiful apartment where I stayed, in a sandstone building that once housed soldiers who served in the Civil War, I sat down to write a song that illustrated my experience there. I recalled all of the conversations I’d had with men and women who served for our country, and all of the feelings I’d had walking through the buildings and across the grounds of that historic place. The melody and lyrics came to me at the same time, as a gift of pure inspiration.

I am working on funding to record an album of the songs that come out of these workshops I do, including this one. Once complete, I will put samples on my website, and of course the album will be available for sale on the website as well… www.yourinnervoice.org