The Broken Road

On my way to work this morning, already fighting tears as best I could, some divine sort of intervention happened and Rascal Flatt’s “Bless the Broken Road” started playing.

There was no fighting the tears anymore.

I set out on a narrow way, many years ago
Hoping I would find true love along the broken road
But I got lost a time or two
Wiped my brow and kept pushing through
I couldn’t see how every sign pointed straight to you

Every long lost dream led me to where you are
Others who broke my heart, they were like northern stars
Pointing me on my way into your loving arms
This much I know is true
That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to you

And I guess it was what I really needed to hear and I guess someone out there knew that.

I don’t regret him, he wasn’t a mistake.

But there are better things to come.

The Perks of Living In Nashville

LADY ANTEBELLUM SIGHTING!  LADY ANTEBELLUM SIGHTING!

On my way from the parking garage to my office this morning, I walked right past Charles Kelly.  Like, we were less three feet from each other.  I watched him step into an unassuming RV with a mini-van towing along at the back.  We made eye contact.

And I’m sure he was all, “whoa, does that girl not have complete control of her facial muscles?  Her jaw is dragging along behind her.”

What I really wanted was to stop him and exclaim:

“Ok! Pick a song!  You be you, I’ll be Hillary!”

But I just smiled and waved and kept walking.

Someday…

The Song

I’ve been trying for over a week to record the most perfect version of “When I Fall In Love” ever.

It has nothing to do with actual recording quality because if you could see my set up you’d know it can only ever get so good, and it’s not even worth the effort it might take to make it that good.

But you’ve seen me post up mp3s of covers I’ve done in the past.  They’re usually songs I love in one way or another.  Something that’s fun to play on ukulele.  Something I really love singing.

But this song, obviously, is different.

I just can’t seem to make it perfect… not perfect enough.  This one HAS to be.

A few weeks ago I taught my last voice lesson for the foreseeable future.  That’s a whole other post in itself, but what it meant was that I could finally set my piano back up in a permanent sort of way, knowing it wouldn’t have to be torn right back down days later.  I put it up against the wall, and I put together some sheet music collage “art” to hang above it, with ribbon wrapped around it to hold music when I actually wanted to play.  Interchangeable musical art.

It hasn’t been changed yet.  I don’t suppose I’ll change it until I’m done needing that perfect version of the most perfect song ever written.

But really, it is, don’t you think?

The Singer

It’s pretty killer when you meet a band who’s in town from California on tour in line for an open mic at the Bluebird Cafe, which, if you’re unaware, is famous and a big deal, and after having sat through two and a half hours of music, you go up and play and come back down at sit at your spot at your table with your new friends and they look at you wide-eyed and say, “Easily the best thing all night.”

I used to hear that all the time and I never believed it.  I was at school, in a music program, surrounded by a million other people who were just as good as me and probably working much harder than me.  And most of the people telling me I rocked were people who probably were pretty biased.  Or a lot biased.  Or just generally untrustworthy when it came to such things because of the SERIOUS BIAS HAPPENING.  Did I mention they liked me for ME so they had to tell me I rocked?  Yeah.  So yeah, heard it all the time and never believed it.

But to hear something like that in Nashville from people I don’t really even know and will probably never see again?

Killer.

The Happy Distraction

Do you ever walk into a room to do something simple  like, I don’t know, say get dressed, and get completely distracted by the ukulele laying next to the bed?

And then an hour and a half later you’ve sung your heart and soul to the Raggedy Ann leaning up against your pillows and you think to yourself,

“Wait…”

No?

Just me?