The Way of the First Day

Today I sang my song "First Day of School" at the official opening of the June Callwood Way near my home. I took a risk in choosing that song--it wasn't specifically about activism, or social justice, or even community leadership--but on this late-August afternoon it somehow seemed right.

After the singing, Mayor David Miller said in his speech that Ms. Callwood had specifically asked that her new street be near children. As I watched my own children sitting patiently in the folding chairs, near the toddlers from the South-Riverdale Child Parent Centre nearby, I knew I had picked the right song.

Every day is a "first day" as I continue to make my way in music. I often feel excited as a child learning to walk...until I trip and fall and bruise my ego. I'm often feel as if I don't know what I'm doing...that I'm a neophyte, a newcomer, too "green".

Where will this lead? Will I succeed or fail? What do those words mean? Can I look the definition up somewhere?

On "first days" like today, I glimpse the answer, and try to write it down so I don't forget. It goes something like this.

I succeed when I give my music to people, instead of expecting to get somewhere with it.

I succeed when my song is a contribution to a greater good, not a good that is confused with a commodity.

I succeed when I am grateful for the gift of music, and when I share it freely and without expectation.

Those lessons, as right and clear as they seem today, seem at the same time completely at odds with the commercial entertainment industry and how "indie artists" are supposed to think of themselves: as products instead of service providers. We're encouraged to want to be "idols", we're not encouraged to serve.

Needless to say, I'm hardly immune to this skewed value-system myself. Like everyone in our culture, I'm dazzled and seduced by money and power. As a performer, I find myself wanting the kind of prestige that the celebrity class of artists enjoys--and sometimes walking in "ways" that are out of tune with my own deeper personal values. Running pell-mell toward professional achievement in music, I often overlook the other paths to fulfillment...ways that are, frankly, simpler and easier to manage. And which may reach more people in the long run.

What am I doing (the ambitious indie artist asks herself) playing yet another tiny community event for free, in a little tucked-away laneway, with my children in tow (people say I should hide my age and the fact that I have children if I want to "make it in the music business"). What am I doing? Am I crazy?

No, I'm not crazy. I'm playing The June Callwood Way. (Not "the Rogers Centre way".)

Today, June Callwood was simply bubbling over with pride to have that humble laneway named after her. The Way shined as brightly (and attracted as many luminaries) as any new four-lane expressway...and Ms. Callwood vowed to return frequently to help keep it well-maintained. Throughout her 82 year-old life, she has understood the worth and strength of each person and each small action. She knows that great things--such as the more than 50 community service organizations she's founded--start with humble first steps.

So there we were today, in a little lane, far away from the busy street. We were tucked away with the children, near the library, the community centre and the women's shelter. It felt right to offering my songs in that setting, among people who support others, as we gathered to honour a woman who is a radiant example of the power of service.

It was another first day, of many more to come, as we continue to make our way in the world.

Garden Salad

Yesterday my sister-in-law came over to help me with my backyard garden.

Actually, "garden" may be too optimistic a word. It's the kind of space best described as "having a lot of potential". At the moment, it's mostly bare earth, patchy grass, and a few hopeful perennials I planted last week. My sister-in-law insisted that we remove all of the proliferating violets which had taken over most of the yard. I had been keeping them, not wanting to call them weeds, but Carina said they just looked like salad. Besides, she assured me, they'll come back anyway.

My now-barren back yard stands in stark contrast to my overly exuberant front yard. In that garden, the black-eyed susans have gone berserk, taking over the modest 15' x 15' space in an explosion of golden blooms (seen above). They're even taking over the neighbours' garden. (I must apologize when they come back from vacation.) And yet, I can't bring myself to pull out any of these overachieving flowers. They're excessive, yes...but they're healthy and strong and blooming and, well, beautiful. (I make a mental note to thin them in the fall.)

As I haltingly approach both yards--wondering what should stay and what should go, what I should water and what let die--I admire my friends who seem to be born gardeners. They achieve harmony and balance in their gardens: planting and watering faithfully, weeding decisively when necessary.

A few weeks ago, our daughter put a positive spin on a dandelion. Picking it up and blowing the seeds into the wind, she called it a "wishing weed". It's a touching irony that by making a wish on a dandelion, we scatter its seeds and virtually guarantee more pesky, proliferating, unwished-for growth. There's something about the dandelion's design that makes wishing on it come naturally. Its seeds are held more beautifully aloft than others'; yet, when they land, those seeds become "weeds" that are difficult to uproot and to ignore. It reminds me of that old saying, "Be careful what you wish for". Our hopes and dreams always carry the seeds of troublesome change.

In the removal of some plants and the encouragement of others, we create personal gardens that may, at the best of times, be balanced and harmonious...and at other times, may be pleasing (or at least amusing) in their un-balanced-ness.

I like mine on the wild side, and I'm inclined to be kind to weeds.