It’s about starting over . com

Last night, I performed at the Tzora Folk club near Jerusalem. Although I had closed with the organizers some time ago, I hadn’t been able to decide on a set list. Should I perform songs that Ray and I had done together, or should I stick with more neutral material? I’m really rusty on the guitar and haven’t sung much lately anyway, so I figured I should go with something I’m secure with. That means something I’ve written, or am used to performing. But for some reason, I just didn’t feel like practicing. I kept telling myself, “that’s no way for a performer to behave,” but it didn’t help at all. I just didn’t have the desire. On Wednesday, I ran through the songs I had decided on: Changing Horses  by Dan Fogelberg, Further and Further Away by Cheryl Wheeler, and If I Could Only…by Ray and myself. I was forgetting words and flubbing the guitar parts, but that would happen at this point with any song I chose so I stuck with those.

There was a pre-opening jam. This was the first one I’d joined and I just loved it. There were friends, good friends, and potential friends all around, and the music was bluegrass, olde timey and whatever. I tried to catch the chords and rhythm, but mostly just had fun. I thought to myself, well, I can do this, I can perform here without breaking down. I was feeling relaxed and happy. Then people started arriving and we had to clear the floor.

I was third or fourth on. By the time I was introduced, my hands were beginning to shake and I was feeling a lot less relaxed. I had been quietly running through the guitar part while the others were performing, so I knew I was capable, so why was I nervous all of a sudden?

I made it through Changing Horses without a hitch, but it ends unexpectedly and the audience was silent for a moment, probably expecting the song to go on. Further and Further away is one of those songs that can touch you deeply in a very personal way–it’s written just right (Cheryl has a way of doing that). When I came to the last verse, I cracked, but didn’t let it show.

I can hear the songs you used to sing,
I can swear I won’t let go.
You were strong and you knew everything,
That was all I had to know.

Then I shake my head, clearing my vision,
I keep those scenes at bay,
But I can hear the songs you used to sing
Slipping further and further away.”

I spoke the words, “…I can hear the songs you used to sing…”, holding back the tears. Okay, I said to myself, pull yourself together, it’s been almost two years now, you can do this.

I dropped the fancy introduction to “If I Could Only” and went straight into the first verse. Voice and hands shaking, I made it to the end of the fist verse okay, but the second one, which Ray used to sing to me, was hard. Really hard, and I began to remember the day we wrote it. We were at his home in Jerusalem (the one in the picture on his website.) We had argued briefly over some stupid thing the night before, and with the morning light, we both regretted it. We were deep into recording songs for our CD, Poor Working Slob, and after breakfast, Ray went right to the editing. I stepped outside with my guitar, and the verses started coming. At one point, I noticed that Ray had opened the front door to come outside but when he saw me writing, he disappeared–Ray had the highest respect for the artistic process and hadn’t wanted to disturb me. After I finished the fist verse, I went inside to show him what I had written, and asked him if he wanted to write it with me. Ray being Ray, he said no, “It’s your song,” but I could tell that he wanted to so I nudged him on. He wrote the second verse with vigor, and then we wrote the third together. He loved the song because he said that it expresses the artists frustration at not being able to do what everyone thinks s/he already does. As I was standing there onstage, finishing up the change between the second and third verse, I could see his face clearly in my mind–smiling, calling me Joey, eyes all a-crinkle.

The third verse begins, “If I could only have the time, ’cause there’s so little time…” And that’s when I really broke. I barely finished the song, walked “off stage” with my eyes down so no one could see that I was in tears, tucked my guitar into its case and ran to the ladies room. I want to tell you that the grief hit me full force. It was as if Ray had died again that very day, and my whole world fell apart yet again. The hole in my chest was new and gaping, and I don’t know how long I stayed there, sobbing silently.

After a while, I dried my eyes thinking maybe I should go back in. I began to remember the words of the grief counselor I had gone to–she had said that the grief never really goes away, and that it doesn’t lessen in intensity, it just comes less frequently and subsides faster as time goes by. She said that the first year is like a field filled with landmines, and that the griever never knows where they are or when s/he’s going to step on one. But when you do, you can bet it’ll blow up. Some of these landmines, or “triggers” are unexpected, but some are predictable. For me, performing is a real trigger, and performing at a place like the Tzora Folk Club is a real trigger because not only did Ray and I perform there together, but it was his home away from home–indeed, he’s even buried there (well, not in the folk club )

I left early, having a long drive back and wanting to visit with my son and his girlfriend before starting for home (they live near Tzora). The visit was nice, and I got home around 2:30 a.m. I looked at the clock and thought, “Well, now I really am living like a musician.” It felt good. I had breakfast today around noon and did a lot of thinking.

Should I stop singing the songs that Ray and I used to perform together? Should I stop performing at places where we used to perform? Would any stage awaken the same feelings in me, that expectation that, if I only turn my head slightly I would catch sight of him? That I could see that smile of his, those crinkly eyes, and the expression on his face that let me know exactly what he was feeling again…if I could only…

I think I’ll try to make it to the monthly jam session if it’s at all possible (money and time are big considerations). Since I never took part in one with Ray, it should be easy, not to mention fun. As for the songs, I don’t know but I’d be interested in hearing your comments. I’ve got another performance coming up next weekend, so I’ll need to decide. It’s another place where Ray and I never performed, so maybe it’s a good chance to see if the location is my “trigger.” Might be worth a try.

Today was a beautiful day, cool and quiet with the whole country gearing down for the Sabbath. A sweet breeze tickled the leaves of the Acacia tree in my front yard and I played my guitar for over an hour just for fun–I simply put on a CD of music I love and played along.

School begins the day after tomorrow–After that, I’ll be having real practicing to do, guitar, drums, piano. Maybe the jams will be just the thing to break the tension each month.

It’s been one year since I first conceived of this site and several things have happened since then. The first and probably most important is that I completed my first year of school. To say it wasn’t easy would be a major understatement, but it has been a learning experience in more than the obvious way. I’m here to tell everyone, if you want to find out about yourself, take a thirty-year break and then go back to school. There’s nothing like it. I knew I suffered from major insecurities, but in music school, you have to deal with all the usual stuff like tests, writing papers, and dealing with teachers, and you also have to deal with performing. Everything comes out and you have a choice: deal with it or run away. In the past, I think I might have run away but it’s not an option this time. In spite of my insecurities, I managed to finish with almost straight A’s.

Going to a therapist - a liberating step

Of equal importance is the fact that I finally took the big step and sought a therapist. I always thought I could benefit from therapy (I hate that word. It was so popular in the 70’s), but there were always reasons why I couldn’t do it - too expensive, couldn’t find a good one, didn’t have the time and so on. I don’t remember what triggered the thought, but I realized that I could actually shop for one and so I did! I’ll be writing about that soon. I’ve only been going for a few months, but it’s one of the best things I’ve ever done. If you’ve suffered abuse of any kind there’s no way you came out of it unscarred. Most likely, you could benefit from therapy, but it’s essential to find a psychologist who is experienced in helping people like you, and with whom you feel at ease. If you can find the right person, it’s absolutely liberating. Like school, it’s not easy, but it can help to set you free.

Interrupted by more surgery

Unfortunately, I had another surgery during this year, or maybe I should say fortunately? Okay, unfortunately I needed surgery, fortunately, I was able to have the needed surgery and it was a wonderful success. It was rotator cuff repair that included removal of most of the bursa in my right shoulder and was extremely difficult and painful, but it did repair the problem and relieve all the pain. It’s supposed to take a full year to regain full range of motion and become pain free, but seven months after the fact, I’m already almost there. The surgery took place during the semester break which really threw a wrench into finals, but the up side to the whole story was the outstanding support that was offered by my fellow students (many of them in the same age group as my children) and the entire (almost) staff of the Rimon school. One teacher in particular put in hours helping me with the material until I felt ready to take the final. Most of the others were simply patient, allowing me to turn in term papers and take tests as soon as I could. During new student orientation a year ago, the principal told us that the school provides everything we need to succeed. If we don’t succeed, he said, we only need to look to ourselves to find out why. At the time I thought it was a copout, but now I see how very true it is. Rimon is a haven, a remarkable place filled with remarkable people. And just think, if I hadn’t had the surgery, I wouldn’t have had the gift of seeing this side of these people.

Alleviating some stress

But before all that, I took a major step and quit my job (that’s taking ‘going for broke’ a bit too literally!) I had fully intended to study full time and work part time, but early on, I found the stress to be way too much. I figured that if I worked myself into a heart attack, what was the use? I had decided to go back to school to enrich my life, to make myself happy, not miserable. I figure that, if I’m dead or hospitalized, I didn’t exactly accomplish that goal. Thus, I am applying myself fully to studying, developing myself as a musician, writer/composer and performer, and to the creation of this blog. Okay, so I’ll be a starving student. Huge step.

If I can do it, you can do it!

And, of course, there’s my personal commitment to the purpose of this blog’to encourage people to start over, regardless of what they have been through. For people who have suffered severe abuse, lost a spouse, experienced something extremely traumatic or are simply stuck in a rut, my attitude is that if I can do it, you can do it.

Second year of school

The coming school year holds several exciting challenges, and I’m really looking forward to it. I invested in a ‘real’ guitar too, a Martin OMC-15E. No small investment and no, I could not afford it, but I felt I had to have an instrument I could actually play. I had to sell off most of my other guitars to finance it, which was really difficult to do. That includes the first guitar I ever bought (using money I earned by babysitting when I was sixteen!), and the guitar I owned when I first met Ray. It was the one I always played when we performed and wasn’t a bad one at that, but it was too large for my body and playing it was more of a battle than a pleasure. Like finding a good psychologist, one should always shop for an appropriate guitar. A couple of Ray’s old instruments went too. It was really hard to let go of those icons, but for me, it’s all part of clearing out the old to make room for the new. My new guitar is smaller, and we fit each other well.

All in all, it’s been a good year, a year of growth and accomplishment and I’m very happy. I can’t wait to see what the coming year holds.

At Rimon, people register for classes in the order in which they registered for school. Thus, the first person to sign up for school gets to be the fist person to register for classes. I was that person this year (unlike last year when I registered relatively late and a lot of classes were already filled) and so I had my choice of teachers, subjects and times. In addition to required subjects, I chose fun things that I’ve been dreaming of taking for ages. They include guitar, piano (second year) and drumming! Not only will it be fun, but each will help with all the other classes - ear training, rhythm development, counterpoint, composition basics - the list goes on (I am so looking forward to it all!) At least one of my teachers is a Julliard graduate so I’ll really have to be on my toes (my ballet background should help).

My first year as a songwriting major - the audition

This year also marks my official first as a songwriting major (along with the other two: composition and general performance). I had to audition before being allowed to take even the prerequisite courses. The audition consisted of performing an original song…IN HEBREW! Aach, I barely read Hebrew, but I allowed myself a few moments of doubt as to whether I would be able to do it. Others do it, so I can and I did. Besides, I figured that, since it’s an audition for a class, I’m not really expected to be able to write yet, I just need to show that I have the basic ability needed to enable me to learn. Remember, the audition is only to be allowed to take the prerequisit course - next year, I’ll have to apply again to be allowed to continue with the major. Below is the translation of the lyrics to the song I wrote (in Hebrew, it has cadence and some of it actually rhymes ). You may think it’s about a love that left. In a way, it is - it’s about the soldiers who were snatched just prior to the most recent (unfortunately I can’t say the last) Lebanon war, written from the perspective of a wife or mother.

You’re not here

Again, dishes pile up in the sink
Again, the kids are playing the violin
Again, the dinner I prepared
Alone
You’re not here.

In the street, teenagers laugh loudly
They’re preparing for army life
And they all take that one-year trip
You’re not here.

Again, in vain, a haircut in autumn
A letter on the pillow
A left-wing demonstration 
Again, in vain, we sit on the balcony
Waiting for word
But you’re not here

Again the night turns to light and hope
And the day to a week and then to a year
Birthdays pass and a son becomes a grandfather
You’re not here.
Still, you’re not here.

Well, it may not sound so good in English, but I got in to the course! Wish me luck!