The Song I Won't Be Covering in Celebration of My Daughter's First Birthday.

"Here's Your One Chance, Fancy, Don't Let Me Down," by Reba (coulda sworn it was Dolly) herself.

Chords and lyrics here for a good time.

Also, this:

Do you miss me?

It's myoootch.

Here's the thing: if you want to see what I'm doing these days, head on over here, to my OTHER blog, Wiener Dog Tricks. (I know: please don't be all "of course she has two blogs--because why wouldn't a woman with three children and a job also have two blogs?") It's because all this blogging makes me crazy happy.

I set up Wiener Dog Tricks because I realized that I was working on all sorts of stuff outside of music that I wanted to write about. This other blog, let's just say, covers all my other stuff-making bases.

I'll be back here sometimes too. I haven't stopped writing songs. (Sometimes it's like being kid song possessed, actually, but that's the sort of information I'll save for my therapist.) One of these days I'll share the next batch. In the meantime, I'm sewing, thrifting, gardening, baking and being hallucenatingly domestic in my own crabby way.

See you over there. Wave when you come.

The thing about DIZZY

Okay, I know I'm late to the party. I'm totally the girl who was supposed to bring the appetizer who comes as you're cutting the cake. I'm that girl. But just because I'm late doesn't mean I want to miss the party.

I'm just going to be one of the many others who have already yelled "Ooooh! Ooooh! Pick me!" Horshack-style to answer the question, "WHAT DO YOU LIKE ABOUT THE NEW LUNCH MONEY ALBUM?"

There's a lot I like about it. Here's a beginning list:

1. Molly always sounds like she's just about to laugh when she sings. And I think that almost-laughing-singer-voice is the best kind to have. Seems particularly terrific to have when you're singing the background (or foregound) to a little kid's everyday life.

2. The lyrics are really good. And I mean that in this way. But also I just mean they're funny. And really good lyrics are the best part of a really good song (for me, I mean, of course, because I already know some people think it's about the music more. Whatever. Lyrics Rule.) Please tell me you can come up with a better line than babaganoosh in a kid song. Right. I didn't think so.

3. It's a family project. And that just gets a big fat high five from everybody here at the Hendrix house. Yes, it would be better if Molly and Jay adopted J.P., but we are big believers in Chosen Family and so can settle for this minor discrepancy and still consider it a family-made album.

4. I keep wanting to push play again after it's over.

Well, now I'm gushing. And I didn't even tell you that "Tiny Dinosaurs" is my favorite song.

p.s. Here's the link to the get the album since I know you want to buy it now that I said all that.
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Singin' It

When I think about my son leaving for college, I imagine setting up a stage in front of his brick (apparently, he’s going ivy league) dorm hall—three mics for well-dressed back-up singers, some guy with sunglasses on synthesizers, a not-too-mean-looking drummer and me on the front mic. Everybody else—all those other college students and their parents—will be walking back and forth lugging boxes and ugly futon sofas and those Pier 1 chairs that take up too much room.

And I will be singing a KC & the Sunshine Band song: “Please Don’t Go”

It would be the very best-ever way to celebrate a passing and commemorate my own sadness without being grotesquely morose. I could wear a tight-fitting dress and a big wig and sing it all like I mean it even more than I do. I could jive my neck and belt out “Babe, I love you so—I want you to know. . . that I’m going to miss your love the minute you walk out that door: so please don’t go . . don’t go—don’t go away . . . Hey hey hey.”

If my son doesn’t go for this option—his standing in the grass with his foot up on a box, shaking his head a little and rolling his eyes maybe—but not in a disgusted sort of way, more in a “she’s always like that, but I love her” sort of way. If he doesn’t let his head bob a little while I’m singing and doing Diana Ross and the Supremes hand motions. If he doesn’t sway a little with his little brother (who will be thinking at that moment about which song Ill choose when he leaves for college the next year) If he doesn’t grab his little sister—an 11-yr-old by then—and high five her or throw her on his back or sing into his thumb with her.

If he sees me and pretends to be taking boxes out of some other family’s car. If he does then what he does now when I fall into emotion-balancing goofiness: stamps his foot, yells “Maaaaawm” with that growl that comes with the middle vowel sound. If his father shoots me that little look he does now—knowing, smirky, kind—when I miss the mark in an emotional moment.

If the band stops playing and we don’t get much past that tricky little hi-hat intro, never get to the psychedelic background work, never utter a head-swirling ”hey, hey, hey”

And nobody ever joins in with us—there are not other mothers working out moves together on the grass by the second verse, no fathers looking on and laughing or air-synthesizering. If I never get to the talking part at the end—the unsung pleading with the fade-out . . .

Well then, I’ll be sad. And only sad.

There will be no moment to offer up my sadness as a gift—as a celebration of having something worth being sad about: that we will have all loved being a family together for the years that we were all here on the planet at the same time—especially those ten where everybody was born and we were five working out life together in one house.

And I’ll carry that unsung sadness with me. And I wonder who I’ll be if it stays inside of me.

I hope he lets me sing.

Lucy Rae Hendrix

Well, friends, she's here! Our little Lucy has arrived--just two weeks old now and we're still not finished staring at her . . . when the Dr. said, "It's a girl!" I said, "It's a WHAT?" I was completely ready to continue this all-boy adventure and--even though we didn't find out before--I somehow felt sure we were staying on that road.

Apparently not! And this one's a sweet cutie. Sleeps a lot (I've always liked that in a newborn) and is generally agreeable. Sometimes even crosses her eyes, which I find very creepy and entertaining.

So there's our news.

Some of the best of it all has been sharing it with our guys--and the sing-a-longs have been my personal favorite moments. They've been a little OVER singing with me in the last year (no news flash there--how many times can a boy sing about pasta?) So hearing their little boy voices belt out SKIP TO MY LOU for their sister has been a small (almost teary--give me a break, I've still got lots of extra hormones) joy.

We're all glad she's here. (And she's got really long fingers, so now we've got our KEYBOARDIST for the band. Score.)

Lovely Inspiration

Inspired by my good friend who writes about kids' music to write about whatever-in-the-blasted-universe she wants to, I'm finally writing my recent thoughts--which have nothing whatever to do with kids music. Or my kids. Or even just music.

(Plus, there's nothing like moving to make you do things like blog instead of packing.)

I've found myself lately on this path I didn't know I was on--the kind where one book you read leads you to another and then another and you end up deep into a forest of some topic you didn't really make some master plan to explore.

It started with a novel by Wendell Berry--slow-moving, incredibly readable, beautifully prosed (and with none of the guaranteed unsettled scenes of my favorite tv host's book club choices). I started with Hannah Coulter, one of the Port Williams novels, and got so into it that I kept reading more of Berry's Port Williams books: Jayber Crow, A Place in Time . . . as many of them as I could get to dig in deeper with all the shared characters. They're all farm books--lovely character-focussed reflections on changing farm life over the last 50 years. Not at all connected to my world--I live on the coast and tend to kill even house plants.

Then a friend recommended Michael Polan's The Omnivore's Dilemma--a farm book, but non-fiction. All about where our food comes from (without too many harrowing details about how crammed together the chickens are). Lots of thoughts about organic food (which I can never decide whether to afford) and farmers again, of course. More farmers. I couldn't put it down--and it poses these really challenging questions about the choices we make as consumers without ever offering any answers, which is annoying and freeing all at the same time.

When I put that one down another friend recommended Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. And that's where I am now--and it's a super-enjoyably-readable walk through one family's resolve to eat only what they could grow themselves or buy within 100 miles. More farmers.

And now I'm seriously considering having a garden of my own. I look at food in the grocery store differently because of these books. I live in California, but I'm actually considering paying attention to the seasons of food.

It's funny how books can take you somewhere you didn't plan on going. Even more hysterical, of course, that I've done most of this organic food reading while eating a daily intake of Taco Bell.

Here's to unplanned trips.

And Happy New Year, friends.

Apparently They Need More Television

My sons just wrote their letters to Santa.

My seven year old asked for an "elf friend" (Him: I bet they're all sweaty from working hard and they could come here and not work. Me: Where would they sleep? Him: In my sleeping bag.).

My five-and-a-half year old asked for "a talking dog that wears a hat." (Dad: Who's going to pick up the poop? Him: It won't poop.)

Apparently I'll spend our breakfast time together trying to explain to them that Santa doesn't give "live" gifts. If that doesn't work, well, then . . . I'm going to plot them in front of Nick so they'll beg me for something I can drive somewhere and buy. That's my plan. Yeah, that's it--that's my plan.

I miss the good old television-induced materialism that marked my youth.

Merlin, anyone?

Confessions of a Candy-Eating Pregnant Woman

1. I've eaten easily 40 - 50 halloween-sized candybars in the last 3 weeks. (I actually said, "NO! DON'T GIVE AWAY THE TWIX!" to my son who was handing out the candy on Halloween night.)

2. I'm, um, pregnant--for real! The Hendrix family is adding baby number 3 this spring. A super joyous decision to end up with a bigger band within 10 years.

3. I think my baby might come out with a Taco Bell wrapper around its head also.

4. I'm missing my blogger friends.


Thinking of you all,

--ginger.

Can I Embroider This On a Pillow?

We were getting ready for soccer. My husband really said this to our 7-yr old:

"Son, getting ahead in life means wearing underwear."

I feel as though the world should know our complex value system here at the Hendrix house.

Thank the Good Lord We Have a Roadie

Okay, we don't really pay her or anything, but she's really terrific and does stuff like takes pictures of us. Thought I'd put these photos up so you could all see me in action with Daddy Pete and the Big Bass Bandalone.

(At this gig, we were introduced as "Please welcome THE HENDRIXES: GINGER AND DADDY" I don't know . . . somehow it didn't quite translate . . .)

Anyway, here's proof that we do this together and have a good time:



Thanks, Sunshine--you're the very best Band Photographer and Coke-Getter and General Cheerleader ever! She even supplied these two kids to lead the songs . . .



Happy singing, everyone.

Soccer & A Gig

Today was the first real day of soccer--you know, the whole sit-in-the-sun-and-watch-your-kids-run-into-other-kids for two hours sort of day. Here's the proof of why it's worth it:

Exhibit A:



Exhibit B:



We also closed out the summer season with our last gig--we sang in downtown San Luis Obispo at the old Mission amphitheatre. Very fun. It's a place I used to go to as a kid, so a hoot in that way.

And now it's time to hunker down and work on this next CD. You'll hear from me occasionally, but if you wonder where I am, I'm writing and working out songs with Pete (who will be a true partner on this next CD).

Here's a little sneak preview of the working titles of what we're working on:

1. My Daddy Thinks I'm Great
2. But I Like You ("I don't like stale croissants, cold ocean water or pants that fit too tight; I don't like grape jelly, shitake mushrooms, red apples or mime . . . but I like you . . .)
3. We Know Where Everything Goes
4. Girl Next Door
5. Sniff

There you have it. I didn't want you to think we were just sitting around over here.

First Day of School

Well, here they are: the Hendrix Boys on the first day of school. Kindergarten for Theo and First Grade for Will.

What I've Done Instead of Writing Songs

Yeah--I know. I'm not posting this summer. See below for extended angst-ridden/child-rearing reasons why.

But here's the stuff I've been doing instead of writing songs. . .

CAMPING. We've taken two super fun trips. One to Lodgepole (in the Sequoias--gorgeous, super-big trees and lots of cheeky chipmunks):

And one to Yosemite. We headed for Bridalveil Creek campground up above the valley floor (where all the tourists are) and saw more big trees and squirrels the size of dogs (well, that was when we drove down to the valley floor) . . . We're shooting to squeeze two more camping trips into the picture before school starts up again. Good times. It will be especially fun when our new tent arrives tomorrow and we no longer have to safety-pin our tent shut.

And don't forget PRE-CAMPING (which is stuff like roaming thrift stores for plastic pancake flippers and Camp n Pack for a new axe) and POST-CAMPING (which is mostly just 45 loads of laundry).

SINGING IN A WEDDING. Man, I thought I practed a lot for shows. How about a wedding? You just don't want to be the wedding singer lady that everyone is going "Oh--wow--it's too bad they had to have a relative sing . . . " so I practiced my guts out. And it was worth it. A beautiful song and no one groaned.

SWIMMING LESSONS. Um, the boys, not me.

GENERAL SUMMERTIME HOOPLA. This category is for things like going to the library, driving to Target, swimming at the community pool, watching movies, playing video games, thrift shopping--you know . . . hoopla. The sort you drive around for. This sounds fun and sometimes looks like this:



. . . and other times looks like this:



So, while I thought I'd be writing songs, I've been doing this stuff instead. It's not what I expected, but it hasn't been half bad. I broke out the board shorts and bikini at the beginning of the summer and don't think I've really combed my hair since June.

Anyway, I hope your summer is bringing you the unexpected too. And if you want to sing, come and sing with us at our next two shows:

Thursday, August 23rd at the Cayucos Library (11 am) and Saturday, September 8th (2 pm) at the Mission Plaza in SLO-click here for the deets.

About summer and how cold it is.

Well, we played in Cayucos and then two shows in Paso Robles all for great kids and parents. And then we went camping.

Somehow that whole "summer" thing made me think that since I'm not teaching I'd be able to spit out scads of songs to share--I did, however, not seem to account for the whole "your kids are also not in school, Dear" factor. So we're having a fun summer together, but I'm really hurting for time to work. . .

And then there is the thing of wanting ENOUGH time to do REAL work. My chances to dive into my creative life seems to come in these strange 29 minute increments and I have this constant longing for something like 7 straight hours.

And, of course, it's about BALANCE. Which is an annoying thing to say since even Plato (or somebody old wearing a sheet) already said it. But I mean it in a "not too much sacrifice / not too much much sacrifice" sort of way Sometimes I feel as thought I'm not leaning toward as much as I'm leaning away--I am veering away from the inner deadness that comes when I don't point myself toward my creative life, and then I look over after a while and see that wild-eyed look my children get when I've been physically present but otherwise absent for too long and then I veer back away from the desk and throw myself over there. It's a little whiplashy.

And, I realized too, I've needed a PLACE to work. I was feel all agitate-y and crabbed out and finally my husband had the wherewithal to say something sweet like "Honey, um, what's wrong with you?" And after some flipping about, I realized that I don't have a spot in our house to deem WORKING SPACE and while I'd love for my house to be lovely, my sanity seems more crucial.

So I made one. And it's smack in the middle of my living room. And it's not super cute or anything, but it's a place. And I'm writing here to celebrate it. And even to say something more Streisand-like in the level of drama that I feel about it: I'm celebrating commitment and perseverance for my creative life.

I have been convinced for a good while now that the people who get to live out their creative lives--really live them--pull it off because they decide to. It's not really because they're popular or published or recorded or rich--it's because they decide to. Like those really cold people who are at the top of mountains and about to freeze themselves to sleep but decide to walk out instead.

And this desk in the middle of my living room is my walk out of the cold.

And there's more to say here--about going this creative life with kids; about doing even creative work FOR kids WITH kids--lots more thoughts. More later. My 29 minutes are up.

I Never Actually Saw Enzo Eat Breakfast

I'm just saying--he probably DID eat breakfast, but we never actually saw it.

He DID, however, play some super nifty instruments--Pete just kept STARING while Enzo played the accordion because he had serious Accordion Envy and would love to play like that. The thing I loved about watching Enzo was that he works at the just-right pace of his little-kiddie crowd. He wasn't afraid to be quiet here and there and sing softly and pause a bit--and he had a room full of mesmerized pre-kids. It was a great sight. We were glad to have the chance to join in. Frances England will be joining him this Saturday. If you're in the SF locale, get yourself over there. Really.

And now Pete and I are both a regular couple of Dorothies--there's no place to play like HOME. We head 5 miles north to Cayucos on Saturday and that will be all fun. No worries. Just a big barn full of people who we mostly know and who mostly know our songs and are mostly still loving to sing them (a phenomenon that I never stop being grateful for).

We pulled out the recording junk last night and started fiddling with it all in the living room after the kids went to sleep. I think the first post will be a little lullaby-ish love song called "I Love You Every Day." If I've figured out anything from this music (ad)venture, it's that everything takes about 7 times as long as I want it to. But you just don't want to be the girl saying, "HUSH---MOMMY'S TRYING TO MAKE SOME KIDS MUSIC!!!!!"

So I'll put that song up as soon as I can manage it without being crabby about it. And then you'll all like it better--knowing that I was friendly and all.

I'm glad for summertime. It's the air and the park and the pool and the puzzles and the toys and the friends. All good times.

We get to eat breakfast with Enzo.

Hey--we're heading up to San Francisco next weekend--Saturday, June 23rd--for a nifty chance: we're special guests for BREAKFAST WITH ENZO, a terrific every-Saturday musical hoopla that he puts together for the lucky kids of California's best city.

If you're in the top half of California, come on over--Enzo offers two sets on Saturday mornings: 10 am & 11 am. It's all B.Y.O.B. (Bring your own breakfast). Details about the where and the how-to-get-there here.

Wait--I'm Not Finished Not Being Finished Being Inspired

I posted a week or so ago about my big Jonathon-Coulton-inspired dreams for putting up my songs as I record them at home so that we can all at least be singing in the car together (that's me and you--not the royal "we"). But getting my home studio together has been a bigger task than I guessed.

I've got: Garage Band; fancy usb-ported Pre Amp; mic; mic stand; pick-up-ready guitar. I'm set, right? Wrong. I didn't have that THINGY that connects the mic-holder to the mic stand.




RIGHT.

So here's the big news: I went and got the Thingy from my buddy Ed at Central Coast music, so now there's real hope for getting these songs down.


That's my update. More to come. . . . some time after I find the disc with the driver software that I've misplaced somewhere . . .

Reading Cookbooks

In an effort to avoid writing--which, as a writer by trade, hobby and temperament, is my prerogative a good part of the time--I have been reading cookbooks lately. I'm also waiting on the set up of my little home studio and have had to do something to keep myself busy while I obsess over having to wait so long to work on recording my songs.

You can't imagine the meal I made last night: sweet chili-crusted pork tenderloin with homemade mango salsa. Come on. It was delicious.

If you're killing time or maybe just putting off doing what you're meant to do, take a look at Pam Anderson's (um, yes, unfortunate name for a cookbook author who's trying hard not to be imagind by readers in a bikini) How to Cook Without a Book and CookSmart. I'm telling you, they've been absolutely wonderful. They read like novels and take away the mystery of adding flame to meat (something I've always been stumped by.)

I'll let you know when we're back to frozen pizzas and more new songs.

I'm Not Finished Being Inspired

I'm not finished chewing on what I read last week in this NYT article about Jonathon Coulton. And then today I found this--Coulton's own play-by-play of his accidental (well, not really accidental--just not exactly perfectly planned out) rise to success. He figured out a way to dump his software job (always a good idea) and dive full on into songwriting. And playing. And troubadouring. (A very good life choice in my opinion.)

And I love his honesty that he didn’t have some Dr. Evilish Master Plan that deployed him right over to where he is now.

Here’s the part I’m still thinking about: he makes a terrific case for releasing music for free. And the reason that I'm still chewing on this and thinking about actually doing something about it is because I've been bothered by the idea of selling my own music for a long time. WAIT! I know what you're going to say. Yes, an artist has a right to sell what they make. It's real. It's worth something. And yes we assign dollar amounts to things in our culture to deem them legit. And (not at all a small detail)—how else am I going to fund my next project unless I sell some of these CDs I’ve got? I financed my first project with money from my dear mother-in-law. That money’s not around now for the next one, so I’ve got to make it back with sales if I want to do the next project—and I really want to do the next project. This is all legit. Selling the music, I mean, is legit.

Here's the rub, though: I couldn't have afforded to buy what I'm selling back when it would have been really nice to buy it.

And I don't know if it's more true that I wouldn't have afforded it than that I couldn't have afforded it, but either way, I wouldn't have forked over the 14 or 15 bucks to myself for my CD. Not because I wouldn't have wanted it--I really would have, if you must know--but because I didn't have any extra cash in those days—all that diaper-ish money was just flying out the door and I was working hard to make sure we had enough for groceries. (In fact, there were days I was standing hopefully at the Coinstar maching during the last week of the month.) Don't start playing violins or anything--my husband and I made a choice to one-income it for a while so I could be home with our guys. And it was a good choice for a while (though I was, at that time, the proud recipient of two facial ticks and a surly demeanor). And it meant that things were tight. Really tight. (I didn't make that thing up about the Coinstar.)

And so during those years, musically speaking, I was square in the spot to have only the kids music that other people gave to me--hence the onslaught of bad kid choirs and electric synthesizers that drove me to my own guitar to try to get myself and my children out of the music-less pickle that we were in.

And this might make me different from the general Alterndad-ish community of my Gen X-ish generation. Maybe everybody else has plenty of cash for music. Maybe our generation thinks of music as a “staple” category and not an “extra”—maybe nobody else hesitates to drop 10 bucks or 30 on music every month. But I notice that even now when the belt’s been loosened a bit, I’m still not Mrs. Got Cash or anything, and I still don’t have a lot of music money. And maybe, I’m thinking, I’m not alone in this way.

So what I'm saying here is that I'm thinking about sharing my new stuff this summer. I've got all my songs written for the next CD and these really terrific plans to record them in a shiny studio--but only God's Uncle Bob knows when I'll be able to pull off the right convergence of cash and back up bands and chutspah to really do it.

So I’m going to post the tracks that I make on my own souped-up Garage Band set up. Because wouldn't I have liked to be able to download songs that I could sing with my kids in the car--for free?

Yeah, I would have really liked that.

Come back and check soon for free songs. They’ll be really terrific homegrown versions of the stuff I’ll record in the Big Kid Studio some one of these days. And I’ll sell those when they’re ready—I really will—for the next project and maybe for fancy t-shirts or something.

For now, though, let’s sing in the car together this summer.

Song Help

I'm an only child, so it doesn't cross my mind much to ask for help from friends, but I just read this article about Jonathon Coulton and his ten bazillion web friends, and it made me think about those of you who hang out with me here. We're having a nice time, aren't we? Yes.

I'm working on a song right now called "Out of Town Grandma"--I've got some stuff I really like, but would love some more quirky routines that any of you have going in your families (don't worry, I've already covered she-buys-them-a-ton-of-candy). Anybody want to give me some really good tiny little strange details about the routines of life with an out of town grandma? I'm open. Hit me.

Let's write a song.