Over the past few weeks, I wrote a few posts about my family. I pondered what boundaries to maintain since I felt like I had a right to tell these stories, because they did explain a lot about the dynamics that affected my life. That still make me who I am today.
But life doesn’t work that way, at least not for now. I think I hurt a lot of people in my family, more than I realized I could or ever would and so I have pulled down those posts. I love them more than I love this blog or even my love of writing. I haven’t yet picked up the phone to say I’m sorry, mainly because I think they’re all still upset with me and I can be a coward like that. But I am sorry and will find the balls (Has anyone seen my balls? Anybody? Bueller?) to call them soon.
A little over a decade ago, I bought a guitar so I wouldn’t do recreational drugs. When I realized that I wouldn’t just learn through osmosis, I decided to pick it up and teach myself some songs. Mostly Indigo Girls, Patty Griffin and some Dar Williams – you know, the really “bitchin” stuff.
Well, let me be clear about one thing. I use the term “learn” loosely. If by saying learn, I mean that I could actually hold the guitar in my hands and make sounds to accompany my voice, then we are both on the same page. I was no Jimi Hendrix. Or even Taylor Swift for that matter with the 8 open chords I knew how to play at the time.
During one of the indie performances I went to see, a young woman named Kris Delmhorst played, opening for Dar Williams. (I say these names assuming you do not follow Indie folk artists like me. If you do, ROCK on. Totally bitchin!)