NEWSLETTERS

February '05 GoatNotes

* Feel free to pass my GoatNotes on to others *
I compiled some of my lyrics and random thoughts and merged them with the quotes of others. Lately, I've been reciting this at concerts.
Need need need. I've got a need to be wanted and a need to be free.
Freedom comes with the ability to dare! (Unknown)
To love is to dare and to do so is to be ... naive.
To be naive is to take a chance.
If you're never scared, embarrassed, or hurt it means you seldom, if ever, take a chance. (Julia Sorey)
However, if you choose to take a chance on love ...
Time will prove that loving is the greatest teacher and you are its life long pupil.
Take off the dunce hat and learn to love.
Because you know, we have just enough religion to make us hate but not enough to make us love one another.
As for me, the first thing I remember loving that loved me back was ... FOOD. (Rhoda Morgenstern)
Loving a person takes courage.
Liking a person takes even more courage.

Maybe courage is not always the loud roar of the lion. Perhaps courage is that quiet voice at the end of the day saying I need love, I have allot of love to give, and I will try again tomorrow. (based on Mary Anne Radmacher)

The question I get asked most often by folks in my travels is if I ever get weary from the road. I'll be honest with you: it's not treading the asphalt that makes me weary, it's the logistics. Getting from point A to B on a tour can be quite tedious due to the moodiness of Mother Nature, road conditions, schedules to keep, faulty Ford Ranger pick-up lids (as you'll read below), and my geographic dysfunction (as you've read in the past) when it comes to translating road maps. In addition, it's difficult to fly these days with my tour gear. It really makes my arms tired. You know ... carrying instruments, CD's, equipment, and luggage. It gets hard to wing it! You understand 'cause I know we're on the same plane. That said, it has still proved rewarding for me to travel. Taking to the road has enabled me to meet folks and discover destinations I'd never have been able to reach otherwise. Take, for example, my recent stay in a tucked-away town at the crossroads of the Ozarks, historic Harrison, Arkansas.

My first morning in that quaint, chilly little town, I awoke to snow. Several gasps of shock (I'm a native Central Texan ... snow's a big deal) and several snowballs later, I found myself at a local cafe, where I indulged (eating for the blizzard) in steaming cups of bitter coffee and sizzling sausage and eggs on chipped orange Fiesta plates. A waft of cigarette smoke and creaking hardwood floors along with "Are you done, hon?" signaled the long-awaited return of my bleach-blonde waitress, who put down her smokes just long enough to smile, remove the breakfast plates, and leave my ticket. I smiled back, relishing in Arkansas time up in the mountains, where the only fast thing in recent history was the beating of my heart the night prior after our show at the sweet Dulcimer playin' Mike Sherkey's Good Folk Concert Series (aptly titled) in Fayetteville, Arkansas. This was where my truck lid froze shut, trapping me, Lloyd and all of our gear outside of my vehicle, in the snow, in 4 degree temperature. Shuddering at the memory, I paid the bill and then ventured into town to go ... thrifting, of course.

Two bags of baby clothes (Lloyd's buy for his grandkids), a Mexican dress (fodder for my decorative overalls), and two jackets (snow clothes) later, I happened upon Ashley's Music Store (conveniently located across the street from yet another thrift store). Inside Ashley's, I discovered one of the most eclectic CD selections I've ever encountered in my travels. Although my head was buried in the sales bin, I kept hearing rumblings about "something special" in the back of the store. So three Eva Cassidys, one Indigo Girls (located next to the "White Gospel Brothers Greatest Hits"), an Alison Moyet, Amanda Marshall, a rare Loreena McKennitt, and two Subdudes later, I slowly made my way past the acres of CDs, dusty instruments, and instructional videos to the hubbub in the back. Once in the room, I was surprised to find a band of musicians well into their 70s, consisting of two electric guitarists, three pedal steel players, a bassist, a drummer, a fiddle player, and two singers (one of them blind) wielding acoustic guitars. They were all tuning up at the same time for that Saturday afternoon's open mic. As they bantered over their gear, I took a seat in the back. Before long, the place was packed. As an animated gentleman in the audience passed out green and red foiled Hershey's Kisses long since left over from the holidays, the band broke into "Silver Wings" followed by "Heartaches by the Number." All of a sudden, the blind guitar player (with the great voice) looked puzzled, stopped singing, and said, "It sounds like there's three pedal steel players all playing at once!" To which Arkansas Red (a skilled electric guitar player ... Lord only knows his musical history) replied, "No ... that's just ... Bill playin' all those parts ... and hey, if you're lost, just watch my hands!" They both chuckled. Everyone laughed. The music continued. One silver-haired woman watched her feet and tapped her toes and sang every lyric to every song. Occasionally, her head would come up and her hand would dart out for a Hershey's Kiss, and then she'd go right back to daydreaming ... watching the floor and dancing in her chair as she listened to the band. I'll always wonder who she was dancing with that day.

After regretfully leaving Ashley's open mic, I returned to the hotel where I realized my truck lid leaked and the dang lock on the devil had broken. Undaunted by the truck lid from hell, Lloyd and I s-qu-eez-ed all of our gear into the inside of my Ford Ranger (I rode in a fetal position, with my knee caps in my mouth, an instrument case crushing my skull, and my face squashed against the glass) and made the quick jaunt to the town's mecca for the performing arts, the Lyric Theatre. Saved from becoming a parking lot by folks who had a love for its classic beauty, the building had been restored to its original condition. With intricate historical hobo art decorating the theater's vintage walls, good hearted volunteers, and an appreciative friendly audience, we enjoyed a memorable performance. If folks like that didn't make venues like the Lyric Theatre possible, not only would slices of American history be lost, but I'd never get to travel to places like Harrison.

After the show, we fought with the truck lid, it won, and we drove back to the hotel with me in a fetal position, my knee caps in my mouth, an instrument case crushing my skull, and my face squashed against the glass. But despite the logistics -- discomfort, cold, the world's most useless truck lid, etc. -- I wore a big ol' grin the whole way, thanks to all I'd witnessed that day. Do I ever get tired of the road? You bet. Would I trade it for anything?
No way.

Well, I'm off like a chocolate wrapper ... until we meet again.
 
P.S. I sold my lil' red Ford Ranger truck in 2002!
 
Happy Valentine's Day & thanks for your support!
Terri Hendrix
(C) (P) 2002
 

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