Paradise

A cacophony of silences
A homemade shroud of stars
Elvis on scratchy vinyl,
Or Springsteen
Or Armstrong
And forgotten cup of tea
On the nightstand.

Sundance the banjo
Minnie the violin
Bo the big stuffed kaleidoscopic lion
And my small band of teddy bears,
Joe Jr., Kentucky, Sullivan, and Jesse.

My sighs and your sighs on a cold afternoon
We say we're taking a nap, but neither of us
Will shut up. We've too much to say
To each other, and so little time
To get it all out.

My room smells like coffee
And pizza
And onions from the greasy floor at work
And blackberries from my perfume
And dustbunnies on fire.

It's mine, and partly yours,
And little pieces of you scatter the place
And my food seems to disappear
Like magic
And you help yourself to my clothes.

It's new and cold and the neighbors are loud
But it's a place I can go when there's too much to know
And too much to do and I just want to sleep
And talk
And dream
And breathe
And be me.

You Made Me Love Banana Peppers

You're the reason I listen to
Jack Johnson, Kurt Cobain, Serj Tankian, and Aerosmith.
Your soul is music,
And in another life I might have been your melody.

You made me want to MAKE music,
Though you played my banjo better than I ever will.
I cried watching those web-cam videos of you and your guitar,
Because your voice was so soft and you never took your eyes off of me,
Watching.

It doesn't matter where I am, and I suppose it
Never will, but something's always there to bring you in when I'm alone.

Peach smoothies, the only thing I ever ordered from that coffee shop
Where we played chess (or at least we tried) and watched an entire
Mumford and Sons concert on your iPad.

Axe body spray, the kind that smells like chocolate,
because it's why I kept your green polo shirt and sometimes
Still wear it to bed.

A butterfly, because that was one of the first nicknames
You gave me.
You said it was because I always wore so many colors.

The color yellow, but not plain yellow.
Yellow like melted butter, the yellow that Crayola calls "Goldenrod".
You wore a shirt that color to that concert that changed too many things.

A phoenix, because you sometimes talked about wanting to die,
And I always believed you couldn't.

You held me tight in that cold little gazebo while I cried
Because I thought you were leaving me forever.
The wind howled and we both shivered but I was too busy
Getting snot and mascara on your jacket to care.

We ate frozen yogurt and big Italian sandwiches on the second day we met,
And went for that walk where both of us were nearly blown away, and I took pictures
Of all the plants and you told me what they were.
You dared me to try banana peppers and laughed
When I drank three cups of water, but I finished them all, and now?
I love them more than pickles.

You taught me what love is and what it means to fight
And apologize
And vow never to speak again
And talk for hours
All in one day.
You made me laugh and cry
And scream and whisper
And ache and relish
And smile and hate and love and cherish.
You made me never forget.

You made me love banana peppers.

(Rockstars) Under My Umbrella

People call me an old soul. A granny. If they're nice, they might say "wise beyond my years".

And let's face it, I drive a 1993 Crown Victoria, own a pretty impressive collection of records, own and operate a record player, and get excited about antique stores. I eat, sleep, breathe, and practically worship Elvis Presley, whom I consider the most ridiculous, incredible rockstar in the universe, and can proudly say takes up 376 of the 1935 songs on my iPod (which, by the way, wears a pretty sweet Elvis Presley skin).

And it's not just Elvis; most of the other artists on my iPod are either dead or well on their way to the grave: Johnny Cash
           Michael Jackson
           Ray Charles
           The Beatles
           Bob Dylan
           Creedence Clearwater Revival

and James Brown, to name a few. I love the soul and heart music had back in the 40s/50s/60s/70s, and will preach myself hoarse on the unmistakable difference between 'true' music and the auto-tuned, electronic chaos churned out today. I hardly ever listen to anyone too young to qualify for a AARP membership. I mean, for Pete's sake I've got Bo Diddley on my Spotify account. Look him up.

Except.

There's this band, you might've heard of 'em: Needtobreathe. Four of the most intensely passionate musicians on this earth, and also four of the most hardcore rockstars not yet putting their teeth in a jar at night. I saw them for the fourth time just a week ago, October 24th, in Omaha, Nebraska.

I'll save the (as far as I'm concerned) BEST for last. :)

First off, there's the drummer, Nate Hufford. New drummer, yes, but the drummer. I admit, I was particularly attached to Joe Stillwell, who helped build this band and was always the easiest one to talk to at meet-and-greets. But this guy Nate is something else. He gives that drumset a whole new energy until it almost seems to literally dance. He beats the music out of 'em like he's letting something out from inside himself. We never get to hear him sing, but those drums are his voice. To look at, he reminds me a lot of Waldo (as in, where's Waldo?) but he packs a serious punch and brings it hard like I was not expecting. So, welcome, sir, and congratulations on winning my appreciation.

Bass guitar time! Seth Bolt is THAT guy. You know what I mean. There's one in every band. That one band member who seems to be the reason there's an uneven ratio of girls to guys at a rock and roll show. He's, ahem, the female fan favorite. :) Which is cool, I understand, and it can't be an easy job. But seriously, this dude is not only charming, and (admittedly) good-lookin', but he's also a beast on the bass. This is the dude who made me appreciate such a underestimated instrument; I actually HEAR the bass in songs now. It doesn't hurt that the night I saw them, he played a beautiful gold instrument, which became an entirely unmatchable force in his hands. He's spellbinding to watch and both his voice and guitar skills are honey to the ears of any member of the congregation at the Church of Music.

I promise I won't take too long with this one. If I wanted, I could go on for pages about Bo Rinehart, the songwriter/banjo player/guitar player/mandolin player/drummer/backing vocalist. He's a living, breathing one-man band. He dresses like somebody combined a lumberjack, elderly Englishman, and the inventor of skinny jeans all in one. He makes a combination of elbow patches, suspenders, striped socks, and bowler hats look awesome. He sometimes sports a dapper blonde mustache. And the MUSIC. Bo Rinehart is the reason I took up the banjo, an instrument usually associated with toothless hillbillies in the Ozark Mountains who shoot and eat opossums. But he plays the banjo, and in a ROCK band, and manages to make himself and his battered/beautiful Fender five-string heard over the screaming guitars. But Bo does everything. He sings his own lyrics in that sweet high voice which never ceases to send happy chills from my spine to my toes, very nearly knocking down the microphone, the speakers, and anything/anyone else who gets in his way. You see, Bo dances. For the entirety of a three-hour show, he's jumping and leaping and kicking everywhere there's room, and some places where there's not. I love each of the band members (sorta) equally, but Bo's my favorite for that very reason. The music moves him, gets his blood pumping, makes him want to fly. What Nate lets out on his drums, Bo lets out through his crazy feet. Plus, he's an Elvis fan. :)

Bear Rinehart.
There aren't words, believe me. I might as well stop here. That's all I can say. Bear Rinehart.
No, but seriously, saying this guy can rock is like saying a tornado is windy. Lead singer, older brother to Bo Rinehart, and biggest/baddest/best guitarist/vocalist I've ever.....y'know? Like I said, there are no words. He's Bear Rinehart. He's the guy who opens his mouth and screams and it's a freight train hauling grizzly bears hitting your chest at a hundred miles an hour. Bear Rinehart passion is squeezing your eyes shut, stretching your mouth as wide as it'll go, punching yourself in the chest in time to the drumbeat, letting God voice his love through your vocal chords in a growling, snarling, Southern drawl, and rocking back and forth so fast and hard that everyone standing in the front row gets rained on with sweat. That's Bear Rinehart. He doesn't just sing, he doesn't just play guitar. He preaches. Bo's, Seth's, and Bear's boots beat the stage in time and it's thunder in a furious, fascinating, ridiculous storm. He is music, and passion, personified.

This is Needtobreathe. I managed to talk to Seth, and he sang a bit of Joe Cocker's "Feelin' Alright" while standing under my bright blue umbrella, which is covered with little green owls (It was maybe 20 degrees out, and trying really hard to decide whether it wanted to snow or rain; not normal weather for guys from South Carolina). I got to hug Bo, and I gave him a big bag of candy corn and circus peanuts (his favorites--- does anyone else eat circus peanuts??) The poor guy was soaking wet and shivering, but still stayed long enough for a quick chat and a picture, and literally made my year. I could talk Elvis and music with that guy for hours, if I was ever lucky enough to have that chance. Bear stood under my umbrella too, and talked for a bit. Let me tell you, that guy under a cute little owl umbrella was a picture. :)

My point is, Needtobreathe has become my soul music, and one of the few bands I listen to who are young, and current, and popular with people who are actually my age. I've only seen them four times, but this last time was the best by far. I love their passion, their normal-ness; it's so great to me that people with such overwhelming, crazy-awesome talent can be so sweet, so nice, so human. They are a blessing to the music world, and as long as they keep playing, I will never stop listening. Kudos to you, Bear, Bo, Seth, and Nate. YOU GUYS ROCK.

Elvis and the Night

Fireflies

And velvet skies

And a soul crying out

For redemption.

I drove home fast

And I flew down gravel roads

Til I found the perfect place;

An empty field.

My silver lady on wheels

Carried me right into the center

And I stopped, turned off all my lights,

And turned on the music.

Elvis Presley, reinvented

Backed by electric guitars

And extra drums, singing a song

I knew by heart but loved like this

Even more.

The speakers shook

The car rattled til I thought

The 19-year-old Crown Vic would just

Lay down and die.

I sang every word as loud as I could

Screaming to hear myself over the King

Laughing too, because my heart seemed so light

So carefree, so liberated, so happy

In the pulsating blanket of night.

I almost cried it felt so good

And I drove home for real this time

With a smile on my face

Because no matter what the days bring

I’ve got Elvis

And I’ve got the Night.

The Time of My Life, take 19

You told me to save you a seat and I did and oh I got dirty looks from some of the other women and I couldn’t look anybody else in the room in the eye and it was such a relief when you finally walked in and every eye was on you you owned the room you made us all breathe and when you laughed it was like no music I’d ever heard and I was so proud when I was the one to make it happen even at my expense but I laughed at you too like when you couldn’t figure out how to clip the moustache to your straw and you ended up breaking the straw and dropping the moustache in your Coca-Cola (“Diet WHAT? Diet WHO?”) and Michelle gave you a bacon-flavored mint to try and you made such a face when you put it on your tongue then you spit it out on the table right in front of me and the woman seated across from me used her mother’s silverware to push it onto the floor then the sweet potato fries came and I don’t know which one of us ate more of them faster but we finished them together and you ate the rest of the apple butter with your fingers and I couldn’t help but think that I knew where you got your lovehandles and then you stuck all the straws together and 

 then we started spitting spitballs at Sheryl and Bobby and your dad and each other and then it was ice cubes and you had a spitball stuck in your hair and when I pulled it out your hair had something greasy in it like Brill Cream and I wondered if that’s what you used then you started singing Lonesome Cowboy and without even trying you sounded just like Elvis and didn’t even seem to know it and I got goosebumps which I tried to hide from you which was hard ‘cause I swear our arms were touching the entire night and yours was so warm and we’d both taken our shoes off under the table and a couple times your toes touched mine and mine touched yours and it was like the deadliest electric shock that was just like drinking pop too fast and having bubbles build up in your stomach and also like eating your favorite kind of ice cream but it doesn’t make you cold and we got to talking about how Elvis died and you said you’d read all this stuff about the people who didn’t believe he was dead and I remember thinking oh crap this kid could easily beat me at Elvis trivia after all and I thought too that I’d never talked about Elvis with anyone who understood how I felt before I talked about him with you and

you saw the picture of Carmel on my phone and I told you we’d put him down and your eyes like chocolate heaven got so sad and your chin actually trembled and my heart swelled til I thought it’d burst because you were sad simply because I was sad and I loved you for it then you told a story about getting caught with your girlfriend in your car by your dad and gave way too many details ("all you could see were his two feet in the window") and you were laughing so much and talking about the steamed up windows and I knew I was blushing ridiculously red and prayed you wouldn’t notice and wouldn’t know why and you took ibuprofen thinking it was a mint or something and you chewed it and the face you made made everyone laugh and you drank my diet Coke to wash it down and then the food came and the waitress looked at the mess we’d made and looked like she was gonna cry but you made her smile because you could make a lost soul the Devil or anyone smile like you’ve made me smile just sitting backwards in your chair talking about Elvis like he was an old friend you knew everything about and

then everyone was starting to leave and I was scared I guess scared because I didn’t wanna leave and face the world again out there I didn’t want to drive home at 2 in the morning I didn’t want the insurmountable joy I felt all over to end I didn’t want to stop feeling your arm pushed up against mine and I didn’t want to stop staring into your eyes while you talked about Love Me Tender and I had no idea what you were saying and you caught me at it because yours are eyes I could study forever and never see everything in them and I didn’t want to realize that I wasn’t the girl in your life that I only could pretend I was for a couple hours then you were driving back home to her and I was driving back home to my parents and my cat and I couldn’t go with you and go on pretending that your family was mine and your father said he loved me “so much”  and he hugged me then I hugged you then both of you hugged me at the same time then I hugged you again and held on just a little too long and you kissed my ear and

I could feel the tears burning so I walked too fast through the dining room deciding that the other people there could probably tell I was about to cry and not really caring I almost ran out to the parking lot and actually made it into my car after waving goodnight to Adam before the tears came hard and fast and wet and salty and uncontrollable and I sat sideways in the driver’s seat and watched the door until you came out and I watched you walk and my windows were down so I heard you faintly laugh and I watched and watched you until you walked around the corner and then your dad was gone too and it was really over and I had to go home and

Then I remembered that moment when I went up to the stage for a scarf (“I guess I will, I might as well”) tripping over the crazy selfish cougars and the ones who brought their handicapped children just to get your attention because you’re too nice to say no because you love the children and not the parents and I waited by the stage hoping you’d see me and you did and you knelt and said right into the mike with happy surprise in your voice

“THERE you are!”

Touching Elbows

Touching elbows
Meeting eyes
Brushing toes
Stealing fries.

Talking Elvis
Sipping Coke
Swapping stories
Telling jokes.

Spitting spitballs
Stacking straws
Making fun
Yawning jaws.

Telling secrets
Laughing loud
Blushing red
Ignoring crowds.

Crying
Touching
Eating
Laughing
Yawning
Telling
Loving.

Touching elbows
Meeting eyes
Brushing toes
Stealing fries.

The Gospel According To......

Deny me not the God I’ve built to save myself

But let me see that in which I scarce believe

When the righteous rise on chariots of fire

And the sinners crumble under the weight of the Unknown,

Who will free them from this mental slavery

These years of persecution

This time of rights and wrongs

Of blood-stained rosary beads

And dying for the cause

When Death is so vehemently held over their weary heads

As a punishment, not a promise

Of Hell, not Heaven like for those who are

Righteous, righteous according

To the book of Who?

Persecuted for my feelings

Made to seem smaller than those

Who cross themselves and pray and fast and long

But do not satisfy.

Was it really His intent to make us suffer?

Did He mean to have us deny ourselves PLEASURE for His sake?

Did He not allow the First People these feelings that the world might grow?

Am I really going to burn for all eternity simply because I embrace a man too closely?

And what does it mean, to be SAVED?

Saved from what? From Hinduism, from Judaism, from Krishna?

Who are we as a human race to send Ghandi, or John Lennon, or Khalil Gibran

To Hell for simply believing in a different Higher Being?

Why do we condemn what we do not understand?

Why do the rules we write and live by and persecute according to

Come not from God

But from Man?