Memorial Day & A Song in His Memory

My Memorial Day memories default to sweating in a navy blue wool uniform as we, the Lodi High School band, marched through my little hometown toward Mount Pleasant Cemetery in the annual  Memorial Day Parade.  In my mind I see my dad, Glen Frank (Mike) Clark, among the veterans that gathered at Mount Pleasant, wearing his gold-rimmed Government Issue sunglasses, a pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket, staring past the crowd at his own distant memories, during the prayer of invocation and the 21-gun salute. He served our country in World War II as a Navy radio man on a freighter that transported supplies to U.S. ships, all while trying to avoid getting blown out of the North Atlantic by German U-boats. Dad never missed the ceremony at the cemetery.  

 

Dad, age 6-9 months?

"Mike" was born May 26, 1924, so our family often tossed a birthday celebration into the other Memorial Day festivities.  He would have been 88 this year.  My dad hunted, fished, trapped, gardened, mowed the yard, fed the cows and the horses, hauled water when the windmill broke down, sang Ray Price songs and whistled a lot.  And he always had a dog!  Dad passed away on May 8, 1993.  Some of my most treasured little girl memories are of him and me on the rocky shoreline of the Wisconsin River catching blue gill.  Of course, he'd probably remember there was more hook baiting, snag clearing, and line untangling than fishing!  

Walleye from Lake Wisconsin

Which brings me to the song, "Meeting My Maker", written by me, Lee Black and Chris Filer. The idea came to me a couple summers ago, while walking in the North Woods of Wisconsin, one of my favorite places on God's green earth!  I love the warm piney smells, the loon's lonesome call, and waves of wildflowers... I feel God's presence when I'm out there.  "Meeting My Maker" is a song about a man who feels closer to God, not in church, but out in the woods.  In the Bible, Romans 1:20 says, "For [God's] invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made."  I'd like to think my dad felt God's presence when he was in the woods or on the lake, too.  And I'd like to hope that, out there, he heard God speak to his soul.  

So, in memory of my dad, I'm posting Meeting My Maker. Click on the title to hear it.  As you listen, remember---remember fathers, brothers and sons who served; pray for those serving still. But most of all, remember that though there are wars and rumors of more wars than we can count, God will one day bring an end to them all.

(The awesome singer on this demo is Matt Dame.  

Check him out at http://www.reverbnation.com/mattdame.)

Songwriter Envy - Cymbal Crashing Clouds

Songwriter envy - I've got it  - I confess.  But not in the dark, malicious, green-eyed monster kind of way, but in the "aspiring to" and "hankerin'" kind of way, i.e., "this song makes me want to go write a new song..."

Certain songwriters' lyrics inspire me and move me to delve deeper into my own creative mine.  Recently, it was Ben Shive and his latest cd "Cymbal Crashing Clouds".  The record's been out almost a year... but it's new to me and hopefully new to a few of you!

Now, I have say to that a few people I've talked with are not big fans of Cymbal Crashing Clouds, probably in the same way they may not be big fans of modern visual art (myself included here).  I understand that and I had to listen a few times myself to wrap my mind around this imagery.  And sometimes records like this can make me feel like I'm not a real artist because, generally speaking, most of my lyrics make sense on the first listen!  But this record doesn't make me feel that way... in fact, it makes me want to be a better writer!


I seriously love the brilliant way Ben employs words.  Andrew Peterson says it best, "These songs are quirky, brilliant, poetic, and joyful... with pop hooks, chamber strings, great sounds, intricate poetry, and on top of that, Scriptural allusions galore."  In "Cymbal Crashing Clouds" Ben creates fascinating images through word collisions that explode in my mind like fireworks!  

LISTEN!

I pass through a door in a dream

Hidden in the cleft of the night

Among the parked cars lining the street

Robed in petals of white 

Where the seeds spin down from the trees

Whirling angels in free flight

And the houses mutter in their sleep

Covered in shuttered eyes

Listen!

I'm skipping to the end here...

So signal the cymbal crashing clouds

Pluck all the steeples and spires

Cue the rivers with the reeds in their mouths

Conduct the electrical choirs

Rattle every window in town

Strum all the telephone wires

Crossing arms drawing the phrase out

Crossing arms drawing the phrase out

‘Cause my bones are all bells to be rung

My nerves are attuned and tight

So come knock the air from my lungs

Out over the cords in my windpipe

My skin pulled taut like a drum

I am bracing myself for the strike

Waiting like a song to be sung

Hidden in the cleft of the night

And sprinkled throughout the record are lines that I have oohed and ahed over more than once:  


"the bitter's end" in "Last Time For Everything";
"panning ordinary rivers on rumors of gold" in "EGBDF";
"the city is a mirror ball throwing rainbows around" in "Someone is Asking"
"tearing at my soul with oblivious claws" from "She's Invincible"

Dang!  Thanks, Lil Wrangler, for stirring things up!  Isn't that what great writing does?

Visit Ben's website And at http://www.rabbitroom.com/2011/08/psst-listen/ Ben shares his writing process for "Listen".  

The Day I Began To Miss My Mother---Post Mother's Day Reflections

Mother's Day was yesterday.  A friend asked me if I missed my mother.  Hmmm... good question. 


Mom died July 4th, 1997.  Do I miss her?  The truth is, I missed her when she was still living.  My mother was an alcoholic. 


Don't get me wrong, she was a great mom; she worked full time and stayed married to my dad; she tucked me in at night; and woke me up with this funny little nursery rhyme song, "Good Morning Mary Sunshine", that always made me laugh (till junior high, that is).  She cooked and cleaned and grew beautiful flower gardens; drew pictures of Snoopy on the brown lunch bags in which I carried my bologna sandwiches to school; she bought my horse, Duke, for my 10th birthday; she drove me to band practice and piano lessons.  She even let me learn the hard way.


Now, we always had beer in the house.  A couple at dinner was the norm for mom & dad when we kids were younger.  A few more on Fish Fry nights or when friends or family came to play Euchre.  Occasionally, when they got a little schnokered, they'd argue.  Oh, heck, even when they weren't schnokered,  I can remember some real roof raisers!


But as we kids grew up and mom & dad grew older, something changed--or so it seemed to me.  By the time my brothers & sisters were grown and gone, and I was in my early teens, my parents drank more and more often.  I came to hate dinner times when it was just me, mom & dad.  They'd take verbal pot shots at each other like drunken cowboys with 6-shooters picking tin cans off a fence.  If Dad ate out of the green bean bowl with his fork, mom would roll her eyes & swear at him under her breath, and he'd fire back that he never was good enough for her; and so on.  Then it escalated to name calling and fists pounding on the table--only on the table, fortunately.  My knotted stomach was the cue for me to get the heck out of Dodge.  Thank God for big Duke, my horse!  He was my savior more times than I can count in those days.  We'd ride until the sun set, then I'd stay in the barn currying him, singing and talking to him, till my parents ran out of ammunition.  (After I got my driver's license, I avoided being home routinely, sometimes staying out till I was sure mom & dad were in bed.  And I was tipping a few myself by then.  But that's another story with another Savior.)

Being the youngest of the five kids, I think I was more aware that alcohol was overtaking our parents, especially mom, and it affected me deeply.  The beer soon gave way to harder stuff.  Cemented in my mind is the vivid image of her swigging whiskey right out of the bottle.  I was 16.  With a hand on each hallway wall to steady herself, she staggered to my room, leaned against the door frame, swinging slightly like a saloon door, slurring I'm alrights and I love yous...  That was the day I began to miss my mother.

Please do not misunderstand me.  This is not intended to dishonor her in any way or vent my anger.  Jesus helped me deal with that years ago and, in fact, it was His forgiveness of my sins that taught me to forgive mom and to repent of how I had dishonored my parents during those teen years, and spurred me on to love and honor them the way the Bible commanded me to.  God redeemed our relationship and I'm profoundly thankful for that.  Perhaps you find yourself where I once was and need to forgive a parent or someone else who has wronged you.  Jesus can help you do that.  Trust Him.


Mom wasn't perfect.  Neither am I.  I am certain she loved me and I loved her, even more as the gospel renewed my mind and heart toward her.  So, yes, friend, I miss her. I missed her then. But I miss her now.

Object Writing--work out in the word gym

Lately I've been "object writing" as described in Berklee songwriting prof Pat Pattison's book Songwriting Without Boundaries.   Object writing is the daily exercise of sense-bound writing--digging into the sights, sounds, smells, tastes, feels, etc., that a certain word or words evoke.  Here's a link to a sample...  


http://www.hillbillyculture.com/#/articles/Day_9_Songwriting_Challenge
www.patpattison.com.

If you are a writer of any kind, jump on in.  We're still going...