It was one of those days…that catches you looking for answers…no synchronicity, no balance…and at the end of it, the kids in bed, Amy my wife not feeling well so she’s out, and me standing in the kitchen, my tired body looking at a sink full of dirty dishes and I know that I must find the strength…so I dial up the iPod to Patty Griffin and “Burgundy Shoes” and start the dishwater. Behind me in perfect time, my son walks into the kitchen carrying the dirty clothes he forgot to take to the laundry basket earlier. Yes, he got out of his slumber to do a chore that he had forgotten. He saved the day for me. Czelaw Milosz said, “there are nothing but gifts on this poor, poor earth.” Jake’s disciplined action was a timely gift that reminds us of the goodness and purity that life can offer; and suddenly, scrubbing the dishes seemed more like a gift than a chore.
I’m constantly asking my students: “what will be your story?” Will it be magnificent? Do you believe it can be? I was thinking this morning that as a songwriter I always attempt to write the perfect song; the song that touches indiscriminately and deeply. Most of my time these days is spent writing songs in the fleshy form of my children. They are my attempt at writing masterpieces. And soon, like my songs, they will begin writing themselves; the ebb and flow of verse and chorus aching to be free. Will they know that they can write any lyric they wish? Through my children-songs I reach beyond the universe to places my lyrical songs will never go. They are left to paper and the venerable walls of local coffeehouses. And like my songs my children will learn, if my writing is true, that they are not bound by place or convention or rule or fate. They are as agile with possibility as the many different ways a song reaches heart. I will write some more today and listen to the telling soul of the search for masterpiece.
