Who Is This?

My daughter-in-law is due to give birth to a baby tomorrow.

There have been lots of babies in our lives. To someone like me, who hasn’t ever and never will carry the growing WEIGHT of A Life inside of me, it can become easy to get laid-back about all of that.

But the heavy truth is this:

Arriving Soon - a gift to the world that will take up to a century, perhaps, to reveal everything about itself. Many decades to demonstrate all of its incredible potential.

A gift that will daily be full of surprises for us.

And even more full of surprises for him or herself.

Who is this? Who could they become?

Those are the questions we can ask.

Because in a dark, warm place right now, rests a body that is fully formed and ready to enter the light. Ready to meet the woman who has carried all of the weight, and the family whose lives they have become gradually aware of, like silhouettes on a stage behind a curtain.

And deep inside an already sizeable brain, conscious of its surroundings but not too much else, a particular question will slowly start to emerge:

”Who am I? Who am I becoming?”

Wishful Thinking

Have you ever wished that you were someone else instead of yourself?

I have.

I’m pretty sure it’s not all it’s cracked up to be though. I’m sure that there are many things about your life that you wouldn’t wish upon me. Or your worst enemy.

And if we could wish our lives away, we’d never get back all those particular moments of irritation, sadness, ecstasy, laughter, surprise, embarrassment, pain, peace, and happiness, that only we could have experienced in that particular way.

Those moments that mould all of us into human beings who have something worth keeping.

And something worth giving.

Ourselves.

The Quagmire Of Uncertainty

The Quagmire Of Uncertainty
Is a place of discontent
I’ve visited there occasionally
Though it’s never what I meant.

That dreaded bog is full of doubt
And a hoora muddy sand
There never is a stone or rock
Upon which to stand

It tastes of panic and despair
When you’ve sunk up to your chin
And the dirty water gropes at you
To find the best way in.

At that point, the Quagmire speaks aloud
As the end seems to draw near:
”Could you answer just one question
- Do you really like it here?”

Well of course the answer must be “No!
I want to be set free!
No one could enjoy this place
Whoever they may be.”

And though your words are not that much
They’re real, and now you see
That in a place of doubt and fear
You’ve found some certainty.

The Strong Kind

Strong and kind. Kind and strong.

The strength of kindness that keeps standing when challenged. That fights off cynicism. That possesses the energy to keep on shining when darkness threatens to overcome.

The kind of strength that waits for the weary. That feeds off the success of others. That hands the trophy to the weakest member of the team. That is kind to itself.

It’s very hard to have both of these I think. Maybe impossible.

But it feels like it is exactly this kind of strength, this strength of kindness, that the world needs right now.

Riding White Horses

“The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men
Gang aft agley” - Robert Burns

I have come to the firm conclusion, a little bit later in my life than Mr Burns did in his, that we really, really, REALLY, can’t know what is around the corner.

Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t still go about our scheming and planning. But while we’re doing all of that we better be ready, waiting and willing to surf the wave that’s coming up there, right after the one just before it.

Riding those white horses. It can be exhilarating or exhausting. It can be both at once. But it can never be truly safe or predictable, however much we try to make it so.

Reaching Earendel

Our foster son’s secondary school transition week has gone well.

So despite the nervousness all round earlier in the week, things went a lot better than expected.

Better than expected is a good place to be. And it usually comes about when we set our expectations at low levels.

Which sounds like quite a negative mindset to have.

But not at all. It has nothing whatsoever to do with which star in which distant solar system we are aiming to reach. We can go all out to reach that star, but still acknowledge that we could well fail at each and every little step we take along the way. We’d be lying to ourselves if we denied that.


With that in mind, when we manage to get that rocket to fly away from the ground for a couple of feet, it can feel like a real victory.

A step that didn’t fail. Yes!

And now we’re just that little bit closer to reaching Earendel.

All Of This Life

That’s the way to do it. Darren broke his G-String on the final song on the final HomeSongs4Life in this current manifestation of online music, magic and mahem that we’ve been having.

It felt like an appropriate ending. But as I might have said on the night, not an ending at all really. Just a pause.

Because we couldn’t stop it all happening, if we wanted to. All of this Life. It’s bursting up inside of us, and it’s got to GO somewhere.

So, a little rest, while it all bubbles away, and then suddenly, without much warning, shoots off in the next direction.

We’ve just got to make sure that we’re there and ready when it happens.

Old Fashioned?

“I’m old fashioned. I think we should….”

I was going to use that phrase, but I’m not sure it’s got anything to do with what I was about to say. Which is that it’s important, if someone has sent you a message, to reply quickly. Even if it's to say that you’ll reply properly at a later date.

Or, if you’ve got an appointment, it’s important to be there on time.

I think this matters more, not less, the busier we get.

I’m a scatter brain, so I need my reminders. And we all make mistakes. I missed an appointment yesterday. I was going to be interviewed for St. Helens Speakerbox podcast. (She’s interviewed a number of other HomeSongs4Life performers too)

But I forgot to give myself the required reminders and, what with one thing and another, it completely went out my head.

I nearly sent my apologies with excuses regarding the crazy start to the day that I’d had. Which was true. But the true Truth was that I forgot. So, that’s what I told my prospective interviewer, who was very gracious and re-arranged for today.

It’s better to be on time. And it’s better to be open an honest when we’re not.

That’s not old fashioned, is it? I hope not.

Big School Day

It’s transition week at the local secondary school here in Campbeltown, when anxious 11 and 12 year olds toddle off to the Big Building on the Hill for the first time. A very short while ago we watched our tenth child do just that.

This is the last time (as far as you can ever know anything for sure) that we’ll have that experience. But for a whole heap of reasons I was more nervous on behalf of our foster son Ryan than I have ever felt.

Experience is useful, but it doesn’t automatically mean that everything becomes easier. Sometimes knowing more makes the experience more difficult.

But knowing more also usually means that our involvement is more important. Certainly not something to be treated lightly or to hide from.

Experience brings more awareness of the problems and therefore more responsibilities.

It’s another of life’s little conundrums.

It’s A Beautiful Day In The Neighbourhood

Very short blog today. If you haven’t seen the film “It’s A Beautiful Day In The Neighbourhood” starring Tom Hanks then you really should find a way to watch it.

the end.

Happy Pausings

This is a nice quote from actor Judi Dench playing a character who is quoting somebody else in the film The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel:

“Everything will be alright in the end. Trust me, if it’s not alright, it’s not the end”.

It’s the sort of thing we like to hear, but struggle to believe to be true. Happy endings often seem to be several places, or people, removed from reality.

But life, unlike a piece of writing, only really has one genuine full stop. Most of the time it is punctuated by the much less obtrusive comma.

We regularly pause for a wee breath, and then move on.

So here’s wishing you many Happy Pausings.

A Murder Mystery?

It’s called a murder of crows.

That’s the collective noun for a group of the most intelligent birds on the planet. And they are intelligent. The Sherlock Holmes of the bird community. They could solve their own demise and be back home in time for tea.

I don’t think I ever knowingly listened to The Black Crowes before. They lay down some good old rock ‘n roll, mamma.

But boy, can they murder a lyric.

It’s not really a mystery though.

Sometimes the lyric isn’t the point.

Lost And Found

Old songs that got lost in the pile, because….well, who knows why?

Sometimes, they simply weren’t good enough, sometimes they didn’t shout out at you “Sing Me!” And sometimes they weren’t for you to sing. The job of finding somebody else to sing a song is a full time one, which I personally have never had the commitment needed to follow through on.

Anyway I’ve just discovered one like that, a song for somebody else, that I wrote a few years ago. It was written when someone I know came up with this title “Work Shirt”. Not normally the sort of title I would jump at.

But I clearly went for it anyway, and wrote this kind of male version of Dolly Parton’s Nine Till Five. A country pop thing about a guy, tired of the world he’s now living in, and looking back on his working career. The song is, though I say so myself, very hooky and sing-alongable, even if the lyric has a dark side.

Maybe I’ll have to put it in a bottle and hope it finds its way to Nashville.

Anyway, here’s the lyric, if you’re interested:

It could be a bind, when you were serving time
Down at the daily grind
There was a job to do
You had to push on through
To the end of the line, to the end of line

But when the boss was shouting to get it done
You could laugh with the boys  (Work Shirt)
It’s a hard sweat, but you still had fun
You made some noise (Work Shirt)
No excuses, and no fuss, till the job was done
Work Shirt , you put your Work Shirt on

Who knows what the future holds
It’s a mad old world out there
Each night  on the news 
You can’t help but curse
Could it get much worse
So much to lose, so much to lose

But when the boss was shouting to get it done
You could laugh with the boys  (Work Shirt)
It’s a hard sweat, but you still had fun
You made some noise (Work Shirt)
No excuses, and no fuss, till the job was done
Work Shirt , you put your Work Shirt on

Musical Bridge

There’s a lot of things that you can’t change
Looking out from the cage
Each day you find
You need to let your mind
Focus the rage
Focus the rage

But when the boss was shouting to get it done
You could laugh with the boys  (Work Shirt)
It’s a hard sweat, but you still had fun
You made some noise (Work Shirt)
No excuses, and no fuss, till the job was done
Work Shirt , you put your Work Shirt on

But when the boss was shouting to get it done
You could laugh with the boys  (Work Shirt)
It’s a hard sweat, but you still had fun
You made some noise (Work Shirt)
No excuses, and no fuss, till the job was done
Work Shirt , you put your Work Shirt on

No excuses, and no fuss, till the job was done
Work Shirt , you put your Work Shirt on

You put your Work Shirt On 
Work Shirt
Put your Work Shirt On 
Work Shirt
Put your Work Shirt On 

Running Smooth

It has to be said that it’s nice when everything runs smoothly.

We have to live with the bumps in the road and the bum notes, the hair-tear times and the let downs, the impossible hurdles and our own strangled screams when it all falls apart.

We live with it, and it all helps to make the journey more interesting.

But it really is quite a lovely moment, when everything runs smoothly.

A Paddle’s A Paddle

I like words. Which is helpful when it comes to writing blogs and songs.

Sometimes I instinctively want to use a word (usually of the longer, more posh variety) which feels like it’s the right one to use. But I’m not completely sure.

So I look up the definition.

Often my instincts are correct. (I think I might have swallowed a dictionary once).

But sometimes they’re not. Sometimes the word doesn’t even exist.

It’s at that point when I find myself up shit creek without a hydro-displacementory stickthingy.

No Satisfaction

I hear some wonderful and well known singers and musicians, and sometimes I think….if only.

If only I could warble like that or play that, my songs might find an audience.

But here’s what happens in reality:

I write a song. A song needs a performer. I don’t happen to know any of the aforementioned famous talented people to sing my songs for me. But I play guitar a little and I sing a little. And so I become the performer. And…

Well, actually, that has been enough to find me an audience.

But of course, in my opening sentence, what I meant to say was “a bigger audience”.

How big?

Well, there’s the crux of the matter.

What would it really take to find some satisfaction?

Awkward Conversations

Why did the chicken cross the road?

It’s hard to get inside a chickens head to be honest. It’s hard enough to get inside the heads of some of our fellow humans, even the ones we know well. And they share the majority of our DNA. So understanding a chicken’s motivations might well be a step too far.

Empathy is the most human of qualities though, and leads to everything that is good about us. And the failure to even try to understand, to everything that is bad about us.

Sometimes the furthest that our attempts at empathy and understanding will take us, is to an awareness that some folk see things completely differently from ourselves. And that that is unlikely to change very much, if at all.

But those folk will continue to exist in the world, just like we do. Seeing things differently isn’t a criminal offence. And we don’t have to be the chicken who crosses the road to avoid having an awkward conversation.

Sometimes those are the conversations we most need to have.

Stick Or Twist

So, I recently decided to pull the plug on the present manifestation of HomeSongs4Life. Last show on May 4th.

The messages of support that I received regarding this particular decision have been wonderful, and at the very least have soothed any doubts I might have had.

But it’s never easy to know whether to stick or twist. And you can get your twickers in a knist thinking about it sometimes.

Because doing anything worthwhile involves certain levels of difficulty - therefore stopping might just be about running away from all of that. On the other hand, continuing regardless can also sometimes be a way of hiding from reality.

It’s a dilemma, and there is often not a cut and dried answer with these kind of decisions. We simply have to make them and move on.

However, the main raison d’etre of Homesong still exists.

More of this sort of thing will always be the goal.

And finding the best way to promote it is the ongoing task.

Thank you to everybody who has supported or is supporting that task in any way.

Those Pesky Rooks

I got bombed by a rook this morning, who intentionally dropped a stick on me while I was innocently walking by.

That’s one point of view.

But of course, what might have happened, though I can’t prove it, is that the rook was flying past with a beak-full of material for maintaining the nest, and accidentally dropped her stick.

The whole of life, my life and yours, is full of such happenings. Things that could have more than one explanation. And quite often we put a twist on the truth in our minds. Especially when it comes to other people’s intentions and motivations.

There’s usually a more prosaic and less interesting explanation for things, and I usually go for a walk to get a more realistic perspective on all of that.

But I’m not sure that’s a solution anymore, now that those pesky rooks are out to get me.

One Sock At A Time

The socks are off! For the summer!

I’m a minimalist when it comes to clothing. That’s not the same as naturist, I should say. Although a bit of skinny dipping never did anyone any harm.

Personally I feel more comfortable, more relaxed, the less stuff I’m wearing or carrying or using. It’s hard to avoid “stuff” in our consumer driven, materialistic age. But it can be done. One sock at a time!

When we’re making art, we often have to make the most significant decisions about what we should leave out. What are the words, the notes, the clay, the paint we can forsake. Because sometimes, perhaps often, we overdo it.

So what’s the least amount of clothing our creations can wear?

It’s an important question.