Hot Diggity Dog!
January 27, 2006
I played two and a half hours, just me and my Taks. And I have to say, I love those guitars. I love how they have the tuner built into the body, so I can be switching tunings all night, and it has a bypass switch, so I can chat and be tuning at the same time, and everyone can see me twisting the tuning pegs, but they don’t have to hear the boing-boing-boing-boinnnng of the strings stretching (or relaxing) into place. And I love how they have tubes, for that warmness and depth….Gosh, my guitars ROCK! And they make me want to be even better as a player. Plus, when I went to audition some Gibson electrics with my buddy, Bradley Kopp, he told me to dig in. And thinking about digging in on the electric made me want to work my acoustics more deeply, to explore every rythym and thought running through my mind. I work hard at staying in the pocket, too…I want my time to be solid. So, it’ll take a bit before I break out the electric, but thanks to Bradley for the lesson and thanks to Gibson for picking me up into their family of instruments. I’ll talk more about which models I end up choosing once I decide.
There was a man at the show last night named Michael, and he comes up to me afterwards and tells me he is from Boston. Then he tells me he asks the cab driver, “Where should I go tonight? I want to hear some music,” and the cabbie says, “I’m taking you to hear Sara Hickman!” Can you believe that?! Whoa. I nearly peed my pants when he told me that. You know, that is beyond cool. I don’t know who you are, mister cabman, but thank you for the reference and I owe you a box of Girl Scout Cookies. Thank you for the referral!!!!!! You made my day.
Off to make lunches for school and water the snake! Good morning, world…and thank you to Teresa and Winker and Lori and Kelly and Beatrice (again, I’m sooooo sorry I couldn’t remember your name! Gosh!) and Sarah and Kelly and Sharon. You moms rock and oh, the dancers dancing to my tunes….Golly! Golly golly golly that was feeling smooth!!! Or maybe that was the wine Sarah brought up.
posted by Sara Hickman at 05:56 am
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The Unselfish Concern for the Other
January 26, 2006
He declared that erotic love between married men and women is the center of God’s plan.
From the Austin American Statesman this morning, in which they released excerpts from the 71 page document, the pope states that
sex should mature into unselfish concern for the other, creating a love that ultimately leads to working for charity and justice for others and that
“Love is, indeed, “ecstasy”…not in the sense of a moment of intoxication, but rather as a journey, an ongoing exodus out of the closed inward-looking self towards its liberation through self-giving, and thus toward authentic self-discovery and indeed the discovery of God….”
The Pope began his message by stating that he fells God lavishes love on us which we must share with others.
WOW.
He didn’t come out condeming anything. He didn’t lecture anyone on what is right or wrong. He spoke of love.
And, I’d like to say, I feel like what he is saying is a beautiful rejoicing of what the artwork for MOTHERLODE exudes….a couple, intertwined, in the act of making love. Painted in a kama sutra, flat colorful style by local artist Aletha St. Romain, the woman and man are eye to eye, equal in their peaceful, gentle pose, with the slight hint of a smile at their lips. And there is an ironing board with a shirt draped casually, an iron, which is on fire, sitting calmly upon it. A basket full of unfinished laundry to fold….hangers scattered lazily about.
As if the morning chores were cast aside in this moment of passion. A mother in a state of creating more life, a woman in love with her partner.
Which leads me so nicely into John and Abigail Adams. While watching the PBS special on them the other night, my heart was bursting with love for my great-great-great grandfather and grandmother. The love and passion they felt for one another, the intelligent and thought provoking letters and conversations they shared over the span of their marriage….I don’t think I have been inspired by such a couple in a long, long time. I was crying with pride watching Abigail writing a letter during her labor with their last, and stillborn, child…a little girl…so strong was Abigail’s desire to share her sorrow and pain with her husband, she picked up a quill and paper and let her heart
spill over into her husband’s waiting hands. And can you imagine, to receive a letter like this? And to know weeks have passed since it was written, to know that you were not there when your beloved needed you most? To know that you are so loved to receive such
heartbreaking correspondence that only you will read? Oh, the amazing gifts that John Adams bestowed upon our country, and his tireless belief in the fact that this country could be a light to the rest of the world. How he stood up for the truth, even when others in his own party were turning against him. To have handed Jefferson the reigns to creating the Declaration of Independence because he understood Jefferson was from Virginia, and that his style of prose would be more suiting to the needs at hand. To have become best friends, to bring Jefferson into the warmth of his family life, and love him as family, only to have Jefferson betray him and undermine him with paid slander? To die on the Fourth of July, hours after Jefferson has passed; that Adams awoke, fit as a fiddle, and went out to his fields, walked the paths of his farm one last time, and on the very same day, only three hours later, lay his head upon his bed and exclaim, “Jefferson still lives!” and then to die himself! Unbeknownst to Adams, his beloved Jefferson had passed.
The fact that these two great men both died on Fourth of July….and the fact that Adams continued to be friends after forgiving Jefferson.
I am so honored to be a part of this family tree.
Perhaps I will dedicate this new cd to John and Abigail, for all they gave and suffered in the midst of one of the world’s greatest revolutions.
posted by Sara Hickman at 09:30 am
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International Holocaust Remembrance Day webcast
January 25, 2006
Dear Friends and Family,
So many of you wanted to attend the first Annual International Holocaust Remembrance Day program at the United Nations Friday. The numbers registering far exceeded the numbers the UN could accommodate and we know many of you are disappointed. Gerda has been honored by the response and thanks you all for your interest and efforts on her behalf. You now have a special opportunity!
We have been advised that the event will be available via a live webcast which can be accessed at http://www.un.org. Hope you can click in. The program is 10:30-12 PM EST, Friday Jan. 27.
In addition, there will be an article in USA TODAY early next week that will talk about Gerda as well as the work of the Foundation and its programs and partnerships.
With warm regards,
Beth Reisboard
posted by Gene Cowan at 04:38 pm
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Dinnervention/Chicken Tetrazzini
We feel for what we take,
The larger kind
We feel for what we give. Edwin Arlington Robinson
So….
I’m putting yogurt and sandwiches and napkins and cookies and carrots in the girls lunches this morning as Lance is serving up their breakfast plates, and we are chatting about someone we know and how we fear they might need an intervention, and I said maybe we could have them over for dinner and Lance calmly says, “Yes, let’s throw them a dinnervention!”
Ha ha ha. He is so clever, my man. We were giggling as the girls are eating in their morning daze; we are brushing hair and helping with socks as syrup is sticking to little hands and mouths are yawning. Our friend, Jen, toots the horn and out the door the girls go, backpacks in hand, a ride to school in a warm car on a freezing, chilly day… Lance out the door to feed the cats and head off to work, me to spritz the snake’s cage (Jeff Goldblum drinks water off the side of the glass and from the tiny pools that collect in the leaves of his plant) and to prepare for the day. Today I will be working on a private creative living class I’ll be giving this Friday, I’ll be heading off to Gibson to choose an electric guitar (thanks to Ellen Canas and my new Gibson endorsement!) and, then, off to electric guitar lessons. That’s right, I’m polishing and digging deeper into the realm of the six string, preparing to start playing a pedal to the metal on stage, taking solos, revving it up from the traditional acoustic rollercoaster thrill ride of my fingerpicking and slamming style up into the realm of
Jimmy and Stevie and Bonnie and Jennifer (Batten) and all the greats. Well, that is how I am going to approach it, but, of course, this is going to take a while. I play acoustic so hard, I’ll have to learn to be appropriately gentle, yet firm, on the neck of my new friend.
So, bare with me. Send up a prayer I can return to the world of solos! (By the way, I did have a brief career taking solos when I was in the reggae band, Lone Star Dub Band, back in college. I played keyboards, bubble style, and was, on occassion, handed my friend, and bandleader, Greg’s, electric…always on “Chain, Chain, Chain” and I would…gasp!…actually take the lead! Woo-hoo! And there were times in the shortlived bluegrass band I was in where I would take my chances, or in Domestic Science Club, but these were soft, small solos, nothing fierce…nothing full of freedom and fear less because I really knew what I was doing….so, I’m hoping to get the drift of the riff and burst out with glee into the clouds of what I can sing and transfer it through my fingers to string and pick up and amp to you.)
I would like to say, however, that I did play all the instruments on the song “Equal Scary People”, and I will never understand bass…man, those strings are THICK!…but I played that, and some pots and pans, and a Casio drum machine (which Terrence Slemmons wigged out to sound like a Thomas Dolby machine) and I played all the guitar parts, and if I may say, the guitar solos are funky and casual and full of spunk. I’ve always been proud of that song cuz it was nothing short of super fun to create. And it was about all the boys I was dating at the time, so it was cheeky, too.
My parents came over for dinner the other night. They were able to include a short visit to Austin after a week in Houston. I also had a nice time with my mom at Kerbey Lane yesterday morning. We both like cream in our tea, one of the gifts my mom taught me when I was a child. I remember sitting on the black manogahide (hmm…how is that word spelled…need to learn it!) sofa, watching her set a tray of white porcelain tea cups and a rococo tea pot on the coffee table, and we would always have milk and tea. No sugar. Just the English way, as my mom would say….she had learned this from her trip to England during college, where she lived in
an attic and swatted at the bats with her tennis racquet (they lived up in the rafters). She rode on the Queen Elizabeth, across the seas. Her hair was kept very short then, smart bangs and a quick trim, a bob, I believe. She has a long neck, my mom. She reminds me of Audrey Hepburn crossed with Carol Burnett.
For dinner, I had made Chicken Tetrazinni. Here is the recipe:
Cut up and prepare 1 pound 1/4 of chicken. Place cooked chicken to the side.
Sauce:
Saute in real butter 1/2 cup of diced onions and fresh garlic (to taste…I like about 1/4 of a clove)….Wait until the onions are translucent, then add one cup of quartered mushrooms. Let everything get stirred well and limp. Add some salt and pepper as you see fit.
Then , add 3 cups of unsalted organic chicken broth with an additional cup of water. Let everything bubble for a bit, and add 1/2 cup of white wine…then add 1/2 cup of heavy cream…Keep stirring…
While all this is going on, prepare 1/2 pound of linguini….drain….add chicken and sauce and mix well. Check for taste; if it needs more salt or pepper, add a little now.
Place all this goo in a baking dish and sprinkle Asiago cheese over the entire dish. I like a lot, but, you might just want a little!
Place in 350 degree oven for 30 minutes, until slightly golden on top.
Share with yourself and loved ones. Mmm. Makes a good snack next day or perfect for a smorgasbord (which we had last night…
left over chicken tetrazzini, home made stew (oh, yes….that is one of my favorite things to make!!!), tomato basil soup, grilled steak and
bell peppers, steamed zucchini, salad, homemade egg drop soup…it was INTERNATIONAL MAKE YOUR OWN PLATE night around the table!)
I’m thinking of entering this search for a PBS children’s host for a new show for pre-schoolers. I would love to do it. There is so much going on. With all the chopping and dicing and cooking and steaming and preparing for a new album and walking the dog and cleaning poop out of the rug and laundry and Girl Scout cookie sales and parents visiting and remembering birthdays and the lawn is a mess
and phone calls and refinancing the house and bankers and plants to water and a snake to bring crickets and bills to pay and songs to sing and guitars to learn and thoughts to bring and hulas to hula and Curves to slim and husbands to love (ok, make that singular!) and
cars to fill with EXPENSIVE gas that no one talks about and wars to speak out against and dreams to fulfill and sunsets to admire
and laughter to share and marriages to celebrate and bookings to find and prayers to pray and a pachinko game that needs to be fixed and the paper…I sure would like to read the paper. So, this is what I will do.
I am going to go sit in a chair and turn the pages of the Austin American Statesman and enjoy being still because being still
refreshes and I like to have a blanket over my feet. Perhaps I will light a fire. I will drink my decaf coffee and enjoy the rays of the morning sun as I absorb the news of the world and blink my eyes and breath in and out and Thank God for the abundance of Dave Eggers and Beth Orton and peanut butter patties and “Mutts”, the best cartoon my heart has ever loved.
I’d like to sign off by sending a loving, cyber hug to:
Kathy Carr and all the carrlings
Lori and her beautiful hair
Sharon (may Jack stop puking soon)
Julie C. (whoo hoo! Bonnie Raitt for your 44th!!!)
Amy Rigby…buy her music. It is great.
Laura Freeman…..I can’t wait to see your colorful house!
Gene…you’re everywhere. how do you do that?
Laura Scarborough. I want to hula hoop with sparklers with you now!
Todd Wolfson….click! I just took a mental picture of you. Those are nice pants, by the way.
posted by Sara Hickman at 07:22 am
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Ridiculous & Sad
January 23, 2006
I just spent five hours on the computer answering email. Most of it was work related, but good Lord! I still have 150 emails to go.
Should I farm them out? Should I take a break? Yes, I am taking a break. Now I am writing in my blog about catsup.
Tonight there is a PBS documentary on about John and Abigail Adams. This is going to be educational family night in front of a tv!
As you may or may not now, we are not proponents of TV. However, we do love PBS. And since the Adams are my great, great, great oh-so-super great grandparents, and they are the subject matter of “A Song Of You”, the first cut on one of the cds on the upcoming release, MOTHERLODE, I feel it is rather important my children and I watch about them on TV.
Now the sad news:
While we were selling Girl Scout cookies on Saturday, and having a marvelous time doing so, I might add, our dog was at home digging open the door to our mouse cage and subsequently killed Yo-Yo, our last mouse. Thankfully, Lance got home before we did and discovered what had happened and cleaned up before the girls and I came home. He had to announce the news after dinner, and it was quite traumatic.
But, I tell you what. There is a sacred beauty the love a family can deliver to someone who is grieving within the realm of death. I was in awe of how we circled around Lily, touching her hair, her hands, cooing quiet words of love and allowing her to sob and cry and question and become angry and back to tears. I am grateful for my family. We are small, and gentle, and the love is so apparent and real and deep and I don’t know how else to describe it. I guess this is why there is no name for love…..it is so universal and such a mystery.
I am grateful to experience it.
I just don’t want any more pets to die for awhile.
posted by Sara Hickman at 11:58 am
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Creative Love and Public Apologies
January 20, 2006
When I was in high school, I had a tomato red Carmen Ghia…loved that thing! Not only could it go 110 miles an hour (not that I would know
that to be true, mind you) but it could FLOAT during any of the dreaded floods Houston is famous for.
I mention this car because it is an integral part of the story.
I was a senior, and I would pick up two younger classmates to carpool down to HSPVA every morning. One morning, we were sitting at a red light, when we all started admiring this very handsome man sitting in a blue, Toyota pickup next to us. He had a sort of John Lennon quality: brown wavy hair, aqualine nose, tiny, round glasses sitting on the tip of the aqualine nose.
The girls in my car started daring me to ask him out, and guess what I said? Yes, those of you who know me, you smarty pants, you know what I said. The rest of you, well, let me finish my story.
Egged on, I immediately put the car in park, hopped out and sprinted over to the blue truck. I rapped on his window, and after a glaring moment of surprise, he rolled the glass down and I said,
“Hey, I was wondering if you’d like to go out sometime,” handed him a card with my name and number scribbled on it, and ran back to my car as a light sprinkle started to fall from above. The light changed just as I hopped back in the car, and off we went to school.
The girls were screaming laughing, and I was high on adrenaline. He had been even cuter up close, but mostly, I put it out of my mind after that day. Especially since the phone didn’t ring.
Until…..
A month later, I went in to the dentist’s office for my dental appointment. There, on the receptionist’s countertop, was a dozen, lush red roses. The receptionist says to me,
“Did you see him?”
“Him? Him who?” I asked.
“The guy who brought you these roses….” she answered with a smile.
“What?” I was puzzled. Who would leave roses for me, a 17 year old dorky girl at the dentist office? I realized there was a card attached, so I slipped the note out of the envelope. It read:
Meet me outside.
I looked at the receptionist, she looked at me. I said,
“I’ll be right back…”
Excitedly, I rushed outside, and there, sitting on the curb, was THE GUY FROM THE TRUCK!!!!
Well, I plopped down right next to him, and that was it. We chatted up a storm, and we started dating, and we went out for quite some time, and that’s the kind of gentleman he was. He was charming, and funny, and always creative with his adoration. He was a good man.
And, you may wonder, where is this guy today? Well, I think he is in Colorado. Last time I saw him was many, many moons ago…in D.C. when I was on the tour with Windham Hill records and he showed up at the Birchmere. I even spent the night at his house, although I don’t think his wife liked me too much (I’d been out on the road with a bunch of male musicians, so….I’m pretty sure my banter wasn’t, how shall we say, reflective of my true nature nor very feminine. I apologize! Or maybe I was just artistic and she was a little more conservative and Gary and I stayed up too late chatting and that was making her uncomfortable….I don’t know. I just want to say thank you for letting me into your home and giving me time with an old friend!)
In fact, while I’m at it, I’d like to apologize to all of these people. You know that movie, “Phone Booth”? Have you ever seen it?
Well, it is quite an intriguing film in that it pushes one man’s psyche to tell the truth about everything in front of not only his loving wife, but complete strangers, television reporters, etc. It was intense and made me reflect on all the dumb, ludicrous, spontaneously stupid,
inappropriate things I’ve done in my life. And, you know what, it made me want to apologize to all the people I’ve ever hurt.
So, here are some folks I would like to make a public apology to (not in any particular order, just those that spill from my mind)…
I would like you to know that I am very sorry for making you uncomfortable, for hurting your feelings, for saying/doing anything inappropriate, for not being there when you needed me. I am grateful to each of you for the opportunity to learn from you, to
live with you, to love with you, to sing with you, to be reprimanded from those of you who gave me grief or pointed out what was upsetting you because of something I said or did.
Gary’s wife
Caryl
Uncle Calvin’s
The audience at Uncle Calvin’s
The man who wrote the letter to Uncle Calvin’s and me
Sandy
Mark E.
Brian
Keith
My mom
Addison
Chloe
My kids, for when I’m exhausted and I need a time out
Lance, for when I’ve been pissy or rude
Marty
God, for when I’ve not been the best you request of me
I’m sure there’s more, but those are all the folks I can think of at the moment. Thank you for letting me start my new year in humility and I will do my best this year to be the best human being I can be, as a mom, a wife, a performer, a daughter, a sister, a friend, an artist
and a woman.
This is the beginning of the motherlode.
posted by Sara Hickman at 09:06 am
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Meet Lucky
January 19, 2006
posted by Sara Hickman at 05:00 pm
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Overflow and Cedar
January 17, 2006
We were at our Girl Scout troop leader Heather’s house by 8 a.m. We all loaded up in vans and drove to the Rosewood Church in East Austin, where we met up with even more Girl Scout Troops and rode buses down to the Capitol to march in honor of Dr. Martin Luther King. Sadly, the bus driver told us Lucky could not ride on the bus, so there were tears from Lily, and Lucky the dog was left behind to wait for us, sleeping in my van, windows down, over cast day….we don’t believe in leaving ANY living creature in a car, so there was a lot of trepidation, but I reassured Lily our little doggy would be fine, and she was upon our return. And while waiting for us, she only peed a tiny bit, on her leash, at that! Good aim, Lucky!
The march was incredible. I’m not sure how many thousands of Austinites turned out, but my guess would be 10-12, 000. The McCallum High School Drum Corp kicked things into high gear, lots of showmanship (and womanship!) on snares, kick and timbales…oh, yes, and high fallutin’ cymbal crashin’ with dance steps and hand moves intertwined. Then the Greater Mt. Zion Baptist Church sang to the heavens; I was singing along, full throttle, right into the ear of a teenage boy. I was trying to sing off his shoulder, but there we all were, jam packed in together at the capitol steps. He didn’t seem to mind. Frankly, I was shocked we all weren’t singing, or at least boppin’ and movin’ and clapping hands. It was such joy filled music!
AN ASIDE: Is it my imagination, or are people so downtrodden they are losing their ability to swing? Come on, people, now, shine on your brother! Everybody get together, try to love one another…RIGHT NOW! And that means getting giddy with it, shaking along, hollerin’ response and feeling the beat. I love when I’m in traffic and I look over and I can see someone is just wailin’ along with their favorite music! Oblivious to what anyone might think of them….I always wonder what song they are responding to? Something by Sly? Marvin? Insane Clown Posse? Billy Jonas? Celine? Garth? Cher? Carrot Top? Fishbone? Grateful? Billy Ray? Dar? Joni? Rockapella?
Brothers Figaro? Eels? Joan (Jett? Baez? ie and Chachi?) Parliament? James (Brown? Taylor?) Carly? Zeppelin? Polkacide?
Raffi? Django? Hamilton’s Pool? Decemberists? Cake? Randy (Erwin? Newman? that country dude that lives in Hawaii and is married to his manager…oh, yea, Travis?) Crowded House? Sheryl? Rusty Bucket? (made that one up) Local band? Their own music?
XM?
After a few speakers (you know, the mayor, local officials, and we missed Marion Wright Edelman cuz the girls needed to go to the bathroom and we had to wade through the 10-12,000 people to get to the side of the capitol and ride the elevator and ooh and aah from the second floor balcony and stop at the star in the middle of the entire building and look up and sing a few notes), the march began!
All of us facing south, we headed down the vast front sidewalk, out the iron gates, me and one other woman singing “We Shall Overcome”, and let me say: if you, yourself, are ever caught up in the middle of 10-12,000 people and start to sing “We Shall Overcome”, you will remember this blog entry because it felt like two tiny raindrops in the middle of a vast sea. But we sang!
We sang about six verses before it petered out. I love that song! Just love it. And I love that we were singing among all the bodies, laughing, talking, walking, raising banners and children and hopes and memories of all Dr. King had aspired to create, through his words, his actions, the gift of his life.
There were folks on the sidelines handing out gold coins full of chocolate, and water bottles, and one of the banks was giving out lip balm with their name printed on the side….there were corner stores with outside tables selling B-B-Q and soda pops….the scent of B-B-Q and fresh bread was wafting every which way, making me think about food, so I tried to concentrate on the greater goal: JUSTICE FOR ALL. EQUALITY FOR ALL. LOVE FOR ALL.
One group had a giant banner that read:
U.S. Department of Non-Violence and Peace
And I turned to one of the moms and said, “Wow! Did you know we have a department of Non-Violence and Peace?!” and just as the words were leaving my lips, I noticed the banner also said:
HELP CREATE A
And my heart sank. But then it rose again, cuz I liked that someone had gone to the trouble to make this big proclamation, and so now I’m passing on the good word to you, my friends:
HELP CREATE A U.S. DEPARTMENT OF NON-VIOLENCE AND PEACE
Won’t you?
We reached the church, and the kids were starving. We played African -American Historical Figures Bingo. We ate pizza. Girls mingled.
Brownies and cupcakes and Lucky, the dog, vaccuuming up all the crums.
It was about 2:30 pm when we got home. Whoo. I was wiped! I only had to carry one child on my shoulders during the march, but we had another older girl get sick, so I was helping to carry her while my daughter rode on the shoulders of our troop leader (she promised me she was very strong and did not mind carrying io! God bless her!)
THINGS I LEARNED YESTERDAY:
That there are more people who care than don’t care (well, I was reminded of this cuz I already really knew it). That black, white, brown, yellow…all of us already do get along. Why do we forget this?
That our troop of white and brown girls and the troop of black girls….we should meet more than once a year on a day of rememberance.
We should meet all the time. We should build friendships across the city and become sisters now. This is the message Dr. King wanted us to hear. Now is the time, not once a year. How can communities share cultures, history, religious thought, joys and sorrows if we are still divided? I’ve asked our troop leader and the other troop leader: how do we make this happen? How do we become sister troops?
And how can my church (First United Methodist) invite other congregations of different idealogies to come visit? How come we don’t go visit other churches? Why aren’t we all, truly, mixed up and tussled up into one big joyful noise? Isn’t this how division occurs? Isn’t this how conflict leads to war? When people don’t spend time getting to know one another and understanding one another’s differences, similarities?
March on, I say!
SUNDAY
Went to church. My parents are in town. They go to church regularly with us when they are visiting, so they are recognized and adored and that is so cool. Went to Sunday School. Great discussion on social justice and how we play a role (as individuals, as a church community). Went to lunch with a group from class.
Went to Mother/Daughter book club. Snacks galore, fancy snacks, at that! The book we had read was “Lily’s Ghosts”, so there were lots of ghost related craft activities and ghost related snacks. Then we read questions from a hat. All the moms and daughters wrote a question related to the book, and each girl drew a question and then we had group discussion. Ok, I have done a ton of cool things in my life, but this ranks right up there in the top ten! The mom who was hosting wanted to share some wine with us, but she couldn’t find her corkscrew. Which was ok by me, cuz I was loving the iced tea and conversation. Wine would just make me giggly, and then I would have fallen asleep on the couch. This I why I hardly ever drink. (Unless it is with George at a Bonnie show.)
Next: Lily and I get home, and grab roller skates and Dad and io, and off we go to Playland Skate Center for school skate night.
Disco balls! Light show! Loud music! Whirling, dashing, zoom! Hot dogs! The claw (that claw is horrid, but maybe only because the girl in front of me nabbed SEVEN TOYS so there wasn’t any good treasure to trove)! Injuries! Shock! Everyone’s ok! Thirsty! More Zoom!
Chatting with other parents! Watching over a baby boy as he sleeps on the sidelines so the other parents can have some big people time (if you are a parent, you know what I mean)! Change for the video games! Driving Race Cars! Driving Fast Boats! Slam! Bam!
The girls run the engine and I drive and I am constantly saying, “Slloooooooow down! No, ok, yes, faster! Speed ‘er up! No! Look out! Ahhhh!” Time is up! We are all tired…head home. Snacks, pajamas, brush teeth. Storytime. Bedtime.
Lastly: I’m out the door, glasses on, roller skating/book reading tee shirt and jeans. Nothing fancy. Off to sing at a benefit concert for a friend who needs eye surgery.
There is no place to park downtown because the UT celebration has ended and everyone is filling up the bars. Well, ok, not everyone. 22 year old boys and girls. Ok, I take that back, too. The guys look like high school graduates and a lot of the girls look like they are normally dancing at Ugly Coyote on top of the bar. My goodness! Anyway, I find a place to park next to a motorcycle and a young lady dressed in not much, kinda like a cheerleader with a even tan, and I can’t quite see how much room I have to back up before I flatten the cycle, so all these dudes lean out the bar windows and start guiding me in with hand signals and hoots. At first, my reaction is that they WANT me to run over the motorcycle. Now, why would I think that? That is terrible! So, I let go and trust that they are doing a nice thing, and they are, and all the crowds on the street get involved…I’m driving forward, I’m turning my wheel as far as I can and backing up in tiny increments: they are waving me on! C’mon, c’mon…six more inches, they shout! I finally get the van situated and exit the vehicle to a burst of applause. I feel so happy! People are so good. Look at that. I’m tucked in neatly between and SUV and a silver BMW bike. Nice! Thank you! Thank you! I smile.
Flamingo Cantina is packed. Bands are on stage playing country swing. Oh, no, I think, I can’t play. Me and my guitar after THIS?
Oy. I will bring the whole room to a standstill. Everyone will leave. People are DANCING! I feel panicky. I see tons of friends/musicians I know. They are all like, no sweat, no problem, ask some of the cats to jump up and play with you and I’m like oh no it’s not that easy
And this is the part where I feel like such a misfit….My songs don’t have 1-4-5 progressions, nor do they generally follow a standard pattern….and I’m thinking me alone is just not gonna cut it.
Now, after thirty years, why do I still freak myself out? Why didn’t I just get up there and smile real big and keep my focus on Steve, my friend, and just have a good time? Because I’m still that 8 year old girl, getting up in front of the school, thinking my song about
the eagle is just about as goofy as you can get. There it is.
But I get up on the stage…other musicians stay to lend a hand. I am twisting my body around so they can watch my hands change
on the neck, the pulse. I am singing into a mic as a contorted UT hippie secretary, my black glasses, my orange tie dyed shirt.
I play the easiest songs I know. The guys are doing their best to follow, and these are musicians of the highest caliber. Oh, my songs are weird! Oh, I am so mean to me. I ask the Hudsons up to sing on the angels/Chuck song….I remind those at this big party of celebration that it is great we are gathered here to help our dear one and his health needs…but what about all those who have no insurance and no friends to throw them concerts to raise money? What about all those people? I beg people to keep voting, to keep speaking out, that we are each others’ angels. We must continue the good fight. We sing. I get off the stage. I feel like I let everyone down with my low self-esteem. I am trying so hard to remember who I am. Who am I? I feel more confident in everyday life than I ever have, but the stage seems big to me now. Thank you for your patience…all my friends who hear me worry. Thank you to anyone who reads this blog and gets that I am a girl with a guitar with a dream with two kids who is returning to something that is a dream on it’s way to becoming what it will be. Thanks to all the people at my shows who cheer me on and say “Welcome back!” or “You’re doing great!”
Thanks for loving me through stage fright and stage fun and stage bloopers and stage moments of connectedness, for all of us.
Gosh, I love what I do. I won’t always be scared.
My friend, Mary, walks me outside, and I head back to my mommy van, and I chuck my new guitar in the back (thank you, again, Takamine) and I shut the door and hop into the front seat. I sit for a moment. All the lights of nighttime twinkling, people walking past with funny hair, kids shaking their body to loud music, people making out, a drunk man slumped against the side of a wall….there is a sky up there, I can’t see it. But I know it is above us, and we are all just moving and living, searching and dying and giving birth, making love and making music….watching one another and wondering how to be this or that, celebrating, writing, learning, traveling, staying at home behind closed curtains…lonely, adventurous, humorous, curious, needing, believing, angry, touching, smouldering, liking and hating.
What a curious thing, to be alive. To make choices. To learn more, to be given so much opportunity. To reach and stretch and want and grow into that which we must become—-ourselves. And there is no one who can teach us better than the voice within. I hear you, I really do. I am listening. I am trying. I get closer every minute. I long to know myself completely, and I must release control and have faith
that I do the best I can, and that will lead me to the me I know I can be.
By the way, the cedar count in Austin is ridiculous. My eyes are shut tight from all the rubbing and itchyness. My node is tuffed up, too.
Dere you hab it. I will led you dnow when da cedar goed away.
posted by Sara Hickman at 05:51 am
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Exactly 35 Years Later She Returns Unannounced!!!
January 15, 2006
Two nights ago, Friday night, the kids announced there was a large package with my name on it. They had found it out by the front door and dragged it into the house. It looked to be an Oreck vaccuum cleaner. iolana said, “No, it is a guitar.”
With my husband and children standing around, curiously speculating on what the box contained, I looked for a return name and address. Only “Parcel Plus” and an address in Houston.
“Hmm, ” I said. I started to cut the binding, racking my brain to see if I could remember ordering a vaccuum cleaner. I do always admire Mr. Oreck. He seems to be an upstanding guy. I like his commercials. We always need another vaccuum cleaner. But no….I haven’t ordered one. What could this be?!
As the tape split apart and the box was opened to a carefully assembled gathering of bubble wrap and cardboard, I recognized, indeed, the shape of a small guitar. iolana was right!
I had the wierdest feeling. Could it be….?
I gently pulled apart the bubble wrap, and the bottom half of a small, goldenrod body appeared, complete with a stainless silver mount for the strings. There was a heart in the mount….
And MY heart was exploding, words pouring out of my mouth…”But this can’t be….Oh, it is! It is!”
“What is it, momma? What is it, honey?” Words coming from my family, surrounding me with love as I kept repeating myself like a crazy mindless parrot.
“It is my very first guitar! My first….” I kinda trailed off, memories of early lessons surrounded by adults in a church sanctuary, strumming “Michael Row the Boat Ashore”, strum strum strum D - A- D. Seven years old. It is cold in this sanctuary. Everyone is old, and I am the only child here. Where are my parents? I keep strumming in my memory.
“Who sent it? Is there a note?” Mad scrambling, everyone looking for a note, a letter, a sign. The box gives no clues.
Nothing. Lance and I are stunned. Where did this guitar come from? Why now? (Lance speculates Grace Das must have bought a new vaccuum cleaner and thought, “What a good box to send Sara her guitar!”)
I marveled. I touched the front, the back, the strings (brand new!), the nicks and scrapes, the criss cross pattern on back where my belt buckle added the first cuts and bruises of so long ago.
I can not believe that this little guitar is still alive! That she is here, in my home, that she has been out there in this gianormous world, sitting somewhere, sitting with someone, and now she has returned, unannounced, humbly. The love and thought….I am in awe.
I am thrilled!!!! I am wanting to give flowers to the kind soul that kept her all these years. And how? How did they know my address?
Who are you, kind angel?
I think it must be Grace. I see at the very bottom of the large, white sticker, covered in bar codes and anonymous numbers, down at the bottom, in small print, at the very bottom of the box are three letters: DAS.
Grace, are you there? Could you feel my joy when the box arrived in Austin? Are you smiling in Houston? Can you answer the mystery? Can I give you your ten dollars back (ha ha!!), wrapped in jubilation and intense gratitude, along with songs and memories and an afternoon of catching up, hearing about your life, your dreams, this little guitar. Did you play this six stringed childhood dream all these years? Do you have children? Did they play it, too?
Bless you, thank you….a miracle….or a co-incidence? For me, I’m sticking with miracle.
posted by Sara Hickman at 12:53 pm
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Monday Night at the Saxon Pub
January 11, 2006
me and zirkel (on bass behind me) from our show monday night at the saxon pub…
photo by Winker!
posted by Sara Hickman at 07:09 pm
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Malls, Michael Lille, Basketball, Poop
January 08, 2006
After basketball, and lunch with Lance’s lovely mom, I went to the mall. This was my first time to go shopping in a mall since, hmm, since I was fourteen? Anyway, I was there FIVE HOURS….also got a massage while I was there for $12 and let me tell you….I gave the lady $20 cuz it was incredible. I watched people’s shoes walk by as I sat in the massage chair, my face peeking through the leather face hole, and then I fell into a warm sleep as she pounded and kneaded all my cares away. I think I’m gonna go to that mall once a week now and get Miss Amy to work on my shoulders. Oh, yes, and I got some new clothes for stage. My theme this year is to dress feminine.
Then I went grocery shopping at 7:30 pm and I love to go grocery shopping. It is such a zen thing. There’s something about walking in, pushing an empty basket (and always stopping at the claw to try and win a toy), and going up and down the aisles and filling the basket and then standing in line and perusing the wierd array of magazines and then paying for the purchases and loading up my car and going home. It makes me feel like I’m a mom in the best sense: planning meals, buying the items, putting them in the fridge and cabinets, and making the meals all week. So inspiring to be a mom!
Off to church. Just checking in. I know my last blog was intense, so wanted to reassure you that there are many sides to a human being. That we should all stay complex. But it’s still nice to roll in the grass with your dog and stare at the blue, blue sky now and then.
Oh! And I hung out with Michael Lille the other night, here in Austin. He is a songwriter from Colorado, here in town to work on a new album. Very nice man. Very tall man! We sat and chatted and ate some good food, and I even had a Fuzzy Navel at the Z Tejas. It was refreshing! We are going to co-write some songs.
Here’s the poop: we have a dog! A six year old Jack Russell Terrier named “Lucky” who we adopted from a rescue resource. She is incredibly intelligent, but because we don’t have a doggy door, we have poop in the house at night. Yes, we’re working on this!
So, now we have Jeff Goldblum (our snake), all of our fish (including Maestro) and our four cats (Toonce, Mimi, Shadow and Pepper) and we still have Yo-Yo, the black and white mouse. Sadly, Dot died last week of cancer. Her poor little body was riddled with enormous
tumors, and she finally just went to sleep and didn’t wake up. We buried her the next day. Oh, it was sad. So far, Yo-Yo seems to be handling her sister’s death well, which is amazing as she was always nuzzling and caring for Dot. It was a beautiful, caring relationship.
Mice are very inspiring creatures.
I am getting very excited about my new album and all that this entails. New album=new music=live shows=radio and tv appearances=press=hopefully people will buy the new album and come to the shows=more ideas=more songs=and the whole cycle will start again.
Love,
You know who
posted by Sara Hickman at 07:09 am
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What Do You Call Such A Thing?
January 04, 2006
It was the middle of a Saturday afternoon, the sun was shining, and they were clever. They had positioned themselves directly in front of the theatre, which happened to be attached to a street full of lazy passing cars. People standing in line didn’t seem to notice, didn’t even seem affected. Not one of the cars responded with a blaring honk. I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone.
I was with friends. Some of us walked over to a couple of police officers standing nearby.
“What’s happening here?” I asked.
“They are protesting Schindler’s List,” one of the officers replied. “But you’ll need to stay fifteen feet back.”
My face must have decried my disgust. I glared at the officer.
“You’re kidding me.”
“Sorry, that’s their right. You can say whatever you want, but you can’t get within fifteen feet of them.”
I yelled something. I think, perhaps, the Nazi boys laughed, or replied in some fashion to my horror. To this day, I could not tell you what I said or what they did. My mortification was so great. They were completely self-assured in their righteousness.
We walked shaking and tongue-tied back into the line. My friends and I were numb with anger. We began to break the barrier of odd, cold silence by talking about what was happening. It was unbelievable. It was ugly. It seemed unfair. Perhaps no one was responding and no protesters had turned up because it was best to just ignore these idiots; by ignoring them, they would realize their own idiocy and return home. It was the only rational justification we could come up with for the absence of reaction.
The discussion began to turn when one of us, George, asked a question. I have to paraphrase because I do not remember his exact words, but it was something akin to “Do you know who the largest number of people slaughtered has been?” Perhaps one of us responded, but he went on to finish, “People with birth defects. The handicapped. Think of all the people put in carnival freak shows, or forced to be court jesters, or left to die after birth because no one wanted them. We were gassed, too, you know by Hitler. And who has been our voice? Who knows our numbers? They can never be tallied up.”
We were struck quiet. Here was our friend, George, born without arms and born without one leg from the thigh down. A blossoming photographer, he was handsome, funny, smart, and young, as well, but full of wise passion. Had he been born in another time, wouldn’t he have been struck down or locked away? This might still have been his fate In many countries today. Yet here he was, alive, decrying the history of abuse of others who could have been allowed to achieve full potential except for the fact that they were physically different from those around them. And so they suffered. And so they were murdered.
The Nazis were chanting behind me. We shuffled our feet. We talked about Schindler’s List.
Some of us had seen this beautiful, terrifying film. Some of us had not. My face grew hot.
Suddenly, I felt myself growing angry to what George had said. My anger wasn’t directed toward him, but it was a deep, fierce repulsion in general to what he had described. I then replied, “What you say is true. Yet, I must disagree with you, George. The largest number of persons slaughtered since the dawn of time would have to be women. Women and girls.” No one said anything, and the words continued to tumble from my heart.
“Women have been burned and mutilated, tortured, raped, maimed, abused, neglected, defiled and castigated. We have been banished and assaulted for no other reason than we can be and no one speaks up. We have been held against our will and used as sexual slaves, gang raped and incested. Women have been born, only to be murdered because of their gender. Countries like China to this day are still murdering us the moment we arrive. And if we have always been half of society as we are today, think of the numbers of us who have been silenced.”
The discussion continued. I don’t remember what all we said after that. The movie was about to begin. We got our tickets. We went inside and watched a film. Life went on.
I woke up this morning, all these years later. I could not sleep. This conversation appeared out of nowhere and would not leave my head. It’s 5:30 am, and words are pouring out of me. I run to my computer.
I feel I must say this:
There is violence in this world. A violence that is evil and twisted and twisting itself deeper into our psyche. A violence that can no longer be tolerated. Perhaps the human race was once malevolent because as a whole it acted out of self-preservation, but times have changed. All of us have access of some sort or another of understanding and educating ourselves about each other. Why aren’t we learning each other’s histories and changing our behavior? We are living in a world chock full of technology, literacy, churches, synagogues, malls, schools, medical advances, television, film, music, the internet. Even the homeless, even the poor, can request help and somewhere, somehow, someone is willing to want to assist them.
And, yet, a young man in Wyoming is tied to a fence and bludgeoned to death because he is gay.
A black man is dragged to his death, decapitated, by white supremists.
People in Sierre Leone are having their hands chopped off by rebels.
Car bombs explode and children kill one another with guns.
Countries invade one another on the premise of human rights only to become feared by those they claimed they would assist.
What is going on?!
There are no words to describe how sickened I feel by these acts of evil.
There is not one ounce of goodness that can come from this except people speaking out to stop this violence. There are people attempting to get your attention, to get you involved. To get you up and out of your chair to say, “I’m sick of this. I want it to stop right now.”
Thank God for these people. May they never grow weary of their battle to get our attention.
To get us to DO SOMETHING.
I feel I must do something. I feel I must always speak out for myself, for my own fears. For my own womanhood and for my daughters. For everyone I love. Because this is my world, too.
Every moment, every second, women all over the world are bludgeoned to death.
Women all over the world are raped. Stalked and terrorized into submission. Women all over the world are dying from every evil thing you can think of. No woman is ever safe. We are born “less than”. We are the ones in society—regardless of our age or color or size or weight—who remain victimized. Every day I read in the paper: eighty year old woman raped and murdered; six month old baby girl sodomized; nine year old girl sex slaves in Thailand; sweatshop discovered to contain seventy girls working twelve hour days; genital mutilation victim escapes family and walks halfway across continent before finding help. Girls in Africa are gang-raped in schools. The reaction from officials? “Boys will be boys.” I am not kidding you. These are stories I have read. The list goes on and on. Try to find a paper that doesn’t list an act of violence, but harder still: find one that doesn’t list an act of violence against a woman.
When a woman speaks out on behalf of another woman, she is labeled a “feminist.” Or worse yet, a “femi-nazi”. We are laughed at, scoffed at, turned off and out because the sheer number of us being de-humanized is so great, it is accepted as a part of life. It does not seem to bother anyone that these things are happening every second of every moment of every day. The sheer number of people being victimized simply because they are women is so great that each one of us could probably attest to someone we know being affected by it.
Where are the marches on Washington? Where are the outraged fathers, husbands, sisters, activists, friends and women themselves in general? Why aren’t they banging the gong, screaming and demanding for this annihalation to stop? Why do musicians and film makers continue to create harrowing, violent art with women as the ultimate receiver? Why is this ok? What are we teaching our children?
Like the day I stood in horror watching the Nazis and wondering, “Where are the protesters?” I am left wondering every day, “Why am I so afraid? When will things change? Where are the protesters?”
What can be done? What can be done I ask you?
Here’s what can be done. Start it. You start it. Start it in your own heart, and you will start a movement. You can start it right now by making a commitment to end violence. Violence against anyone, not just women. Violence in even the smallest degree.
If you hear a co-worker crack a racist joke, call them on it. If you see a child being slapped, call the parent on it. If you see something on television that makes your stomach turn, call them on it. If you find yourself angry at your partner and want to scream at them, or hit them, call yourself on it.
Don’t buy violent music or support violent films.
Speak out against war.
Join groups that can help you in your desire to change violence, like Amnesty International.
Make a decision right now. Right now or I promise you this: it will be never.
Make this decision and tell your friends and family. Say to them that you want them to be aware of the amount of violence bombarding us daily. Life does imitate art. Action follows thought. We create what we believe.
What do you believe?
What kind of world do you want to create?
Create it now.
— — — — — — — —
For the Women
of the Speaking of Women’s Health Conference
By Sara Hickman/2001
Open your eyes and ears so that you can be alert
To the injustices of our sisters
Around the world:
Women suffering from lack of education,
From malnutrition,
From inhumane treatment and the
Disrespect of their societies.
Use your hands to build up our daughters
Give them the foundation
To become strong, healthy individuals
Who demand safe homes and streets
So they will no longer be victims
Of domestic,
Racial,
Sexist,
And unnecessary violence.
Walk on, though your feet may be weary
For you leave tracks behind you
That other women may find direction
From the lessons you have learned.
Be pleased with your unique bodies…
They represent your individuality!
Celebrate your spiritual, mental and physical journeys
That mold you
Into the person that only you can be.
Open your hearts;
Be proud of your empathy!
Nurture one another
And be jubilant in your tears
for those less fortunate,
For the moments that cause you to pause
And feel what life has to offer.
And, lastly, remember your voices!
Speak out, shout out, sing out
With the honor and integrity inherent in each of you…
Remember who you are with your song,
For it only takes one voice
To start a choir.
posted by Sara Hickman at 09:41 pm
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Rockin’ in the new year!
January 02, 2006
brad and chip…
zirkel and punky sara…
sara and mark, sara and chris…
and janet and sara!
posted by Sara Hickman at 11:20 am
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Let’s Rock For Peace!!!!!!!
January 01, 2006
Arrived to available parking, empty club, lights low, happy faces, big hellos from Nancy and John and Deanna and sound guy took his time as we unloaded, set up, getting levels, mics just right, bass funky and drums punky and me strumming guitar to accordian and keys and vocals level LET’S GO
To the hotel where we change clothes t.v. on: watch Pakistani children needing $10 worth of steel sheeting for roof for onslaught of winter
I’m determined to do more brushing hair falling in love with the Pakistani doctor telling story showing families needing shoes, needing food
volunteers from around the world rushing in with aid and the doctor is calm and caring and time to get back to the club I carry his voice in my heart I want to reach the world’s suffering and snuff it out I want to sing for grace and compassion and
BACK AT THE CLUB I am chatting and having some hot tea with whiskey to clear my snuffled cold head bloated blodgy throat and laughing at the bar enjoying Chris Gonzales sing about a chicken shack in his Grandma’s front yard and Brad (drummer) is smiling back at me as I whisper goofy things in his ear and everything is sparkling the lot is full of cars, the club is full of people…sparkly crowns and
party tooters ready to revel in reverie over the old and welcome the new and
IT IS TIME to hop on stage and Deanna introduces me with the kindest of kind words and up I go! and the swirl begins to settle in
my body and out through my fingertips, tips on strings, mouth on mic, smile on audience, audience embraces back the swirl of
what is to come and what is happening all at once and words are pouring out of my head and laughter is racing round the room and boom I hear my voice and we are one, this connection of energy so prevelant but captured in a room for just this night and then a trumpet
ZOUNDS! IT’S SOUNDS FROM MY RIGHT and Zirkel has bounded on stage trumpet in hand! I have never had trumpet on “The Very Thing” and WHY NOT cuz it was SUPER BEYOND COOL…yesh, yesh, lovliness occurring!!! Then everyone in the band on stage (Chip Dolan: accordian, keys, singing…Brad Evilsizer, drums, percussion, singing) ONE LONG JAM-A-GLAMA and we got our giddy on and I was actually ON THE FLOOR with my guitar at one point, trying to mesh completely with it, just banging away on it like I haven’t in YEARS and wailing on the mic and throwing my body around with zest and zeal and my hair flying like seabirds in a tsunami and
wow wow wow and Janet gave us a standing ovation at some point it is all a blur of music/breaking strings/crashing of cymbals/accordian licks and I couldn’t have crawled into the sound more than I did.
THEN AT MIDNITE we count down, one crazy happy room of I love yous and WHAMMO! we jump into old Auld Lang Syne and sing Robert Brown’s original Scottish lyrics now we are silly, goofy trying to pronounce the Brogue and forget it cracking ourselves up I yell out, “Now sing like yer drunk!” (which, of course, no one at my shows ever gets drunk…see, that was the joke) and suddenly we are all thirteen year olds play acting like Carol Burnett, drunk outta our minds, singing the song….next verse: sing it like you mean it and the voices are clear and strong and the statement and sentiment entertwine and the new year is ours.
THE MUSIC GOES ON and we sing more songs and eat more of Deanna’s delicious homemade enchiladas and quiches and
soon it is time to kiss goodnight and send each other out into this good world and believe in the hope that we can make this world function with harmony and togetherness….and the room is trashed as I walk around and pick up the little flags I had handed out before the night began and I read the testimonies and well wishes of those who sat in the dark and poured their conciousness with pen to paper….and I will leave these ambassadors of good will scattered about this planet for others to find and ponder over.
AND THIS IS HOW THE NEW YEAR STARTS a drive home to austin arriving at five thirty a.m. and my house is still and the gentle breathing of loved ones, cats mewing in the driveway, my snake asleep on his greenery in his clear, glass house. And I crawl in bed, exhausted and on fire with the body of music alive.
posted by Sara Hickman at 12:40 pm
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