Remembrance & Realization

Hello my dears,

It's finally nice outside for more than two days in a row! Whew! I've added a few people to the list who I thought would be interested in getting the newsletters. If I'm wrong, feel free to click on the link at the bottom of this email and unsubscribe. Please ignore the fact that you'll be causing me grievous psychological injury.

I am certain that my preoccupation with Facebook is bordering on some sort of disorder. But that aside, today is my mother's birthday, and I want to send her the biggest hug in the world. Thanks Mom for having me and helping to mold me into an acceptable human being. =) I love you and am grateful for all that you have given and continue to give.

This week is also the 3-year anniversary of the passing of a very special man, who I adored for all that he was and all that he saw in me. Very often, actors or singer-songwriters will talk about finding the one director or producer who really "gets" them, who is able to sit with them and almost immediately and effortlessly knows exactly who they are as artists, what they have inside of them, how to pull that out and the way best to illuminate it. Unfortunately, I discovered that person only seven months before he died. It's a difficult loss to explain. This was a glorious human being and a consummate musician who had worked with people I can't even speak my name in the same sentence with, but who had a crush on my music and told me so in those very words. He was a student of the sound of New Orleans, who played the blues like he breathed and could mosey on over to folkland or rockland without batting an eyelish. Those blue eyes held more soul in them than just about anyone I ever knew. And his belief in me as a songwriter overwhelmed me. I remember playing my songs for him on his piano, and he'd sit perfectly still and just stare at me singing. He would listen so intently, leaning in on occasion... smiling... and he'd let out little yelps or the smile would become a grin when he heard a chord change or a vocal line or lyric he loved. I wouldn't even notice that he'd grabbed his lap steel or his mandolin or percussion until I heard the sweetest sounds beside me. Sometimes the song would end and there'd be silence. He'd simply give me a kiss on the forehead, saying nothing, or stand behind me resting his hands on my shoulders and chin on my head. Then he'd suddenly take my hand, jump up and ask "Okay - ready to work?" with all the enthusiasm and childlike excitement of an 8-year old headed to Disneyland. When he died on May 30, 2004, the scream that came from my throat was nothing compared to the scream that bounced off the walls of my head and my heart.

There are people who kept my light from going out when the idea of making music without Ed seemed like sacrilege. My friend Mark gave me tireless support for which I am so thankful. And the amazing Jordan O'Connor, who helped a grief-stricken girl start all over again by making the album Overflow with her, is a wonderboy. I will always feel so much pride in the fact that we ploughed through that period and made that record, even if it wasn't the one I originally set out to make. I used entirely different songs from those on the original tracklist, because the pain was too fresh and the thought of recording them with someone else just felt wrong. I made sure that Ed was a part of that record though, by penning the song Morphine. I didn't write it until we'd almost finished tracking, but I'm so glad I did. I lost a soulmate the day that he left, and I see now that I have mourned him, and the loss of him as my champion, for 1,000 days since. I do believe that it's time to stop. It's time to create an album carrying a mantle of devotion not devastation, of serenity not sorrow. I realized this on Tuesday night, sitting in the audience at the CD release of my friend Tanya's band, The River Pilots. I sat there as this bright soothing light beamed at me from the stage, and I was overcome by the beauty and the unbridled joy evident in what I was hearing. I couldn't remember feeling that kind of joy for making music in 3 years. It reminded me so much of Eddie, the organicness of it, the brilliance of it. It reminded me too of what he always believed I had in me. It was a flash of greatness that rocked me to the core and I sat in my seat long after the show ended, in tears. I knew right then and there that something was over and something was starting. What "it" was, I wasn't exactly sure. I just knew when I walked out of Clinton's that night that I was not the same person I was when I walked in. It was good.

It's time to take Eddie's spirit and his faith in me and infuse it into what comes next. I am writing a brand new record, and feeling a new sense of appreciation for the fact that I can express my thoughts and feelings in this wonderful way. Perhaps I had come to take it for granted. And after taking a semester off from school to produce V-Day, I am back and facing the most challenging acting work I've ever done. For my Scene Study class I am doing Judith Thompson's Lion In The Streets (interestingly, Judith and I were in the cast of the Monologues together in 2006... how interconnected it all is...) and I'm playing the role of Scarlett, a deeply troubled woman with cerebral palsy. She also has a bit of a foul mouth, which I'm sure is mildly horrifying my mother as she reads this (did you read the first line Mom where I said how much I love you???), but I'm so excited to step outside of myself and crawl into her skin and her head for awhile. It's funny. Playing different characters really gives you a newfound perspective and appreciation for your own life.

Well, I think that's it for now. Pick up the album The Story by Brandi Carlile. It is my newest addiction. Beautiful.

Have a blessed weekend.

Grace&Gratitude, Tanisha