In the music world, “unplugged” is synonymous with the occasional very raw and real show with no amplification, editing, or effects. In the blog world, it means that I’m not editing or going in any particular order with the following seven Monday (or rather, Sunday evening) thoughts…

1 - Junk Drawer blog will continue

The Sequel to the Junk Drawer blog will be posted next. I just flew back from DC, and it’s raining hard here. My focus isn’t so great, so I decided to write random thoughts rather than try to be coherent.

2 - “Rain Falls. Money Comes.”

This is an affirmation I created years ago. As the rain splooshes on the skylights, I’m reminded of it. I started saying it in my head any time I caught myself getting hooked by public panic about drought. Around that same time, I realized that almost every self-employed person I knew (including me at that time) could get panicky about the next client, the next gig, the next sale - you name it. And they’d often run themselves ragged for fear of the money running out. I have no idea what made me come up with these two simple sentences together. But honestly, it’s one of the best affirmations I’ve ever used.

3 - Sold out show

My performance at Jammin Java sold out on Saturday night. Thank you, dear reader, for letting friends know about it. I hope the people who emailed me about coming were able to get in! It was a fun night!

4 - “Well, folks…”

I wonder if there’s a required course at Commercial Jet Pilot School called, “Well, Folks.”

In the class, all commercial pilots would learn this little opening greeting and the importance of introducing bad news with it. They would spend the entire course rehearsing things like, “Well, folks…it looks like we’re gonna be experiencing some turbulence here, so I’m going to put the seatbelt light on.” Or “Well, folks, it looks like the folks at air traffic control are concerned about the weather in Charlotte, so we’re going to sit here on the runway for another hour.” I imagine that using “folks” several times in one sentence would net them a higher grade. (After all, it’s hard for a passenger who is “Folks” to get angry at other “Folks” at air traffic control.)

5 - Great Big Dreams e-Seminar

I’m teaching my six-week Great Big Dreams e-Seminar again in April. Email christine@christinekane.com for more information.

6 - Dog Delight

My dog was so happy to see me that she threw her entire body into a pile of Let’s-Not-Speculate-What when we walked through the field late this afternoon. The ride back home was aromatic bliss. (I swear she was actually smiling.)

7 - “The soul won’t invest in a compromise.”

Last week, I was in Shepherdstown, WV teaching the Federal Government how to be creative. (One of my regular training gigs.) One of the coaches on the staff was talking with the group about jobs and fulfillment. He was bold enough to talk about the soul. And he said, “The soul won’t invest in a compromise.” I love that. It’s so true.

Here are a few photos from my four day adventure in Florida.

Of course, any road trip has to start with the look my dog gives me as I’m walking out the door with my suitcase…

I got bumped into First Class on my USAirways flight to Orlando. This was mighty exciting.

One time, my friend Joy took a picture of her First Class seat and sent it to me on my cell phone. She was so excited that she didn’t care what all the grumpy business men in first class thought of someone taking a photo of her own seat.

I was excited. But I couldn’t bring myself to actually take the photo!

On Friday morning, I drove to the WMNF studios in Tampa for the Live Music Showcase with Bill Dudley and Nell Abram.

It’s a challenge to sing and do an hour-long interview at 9am. Luckily, WMNF is just about the best station out there - so it makes it worth it. The interview was fun. And everyone at the station was unbelievably kind. (Julie Scheid at the front desk even printed out directions to the Wild Oats, so I could go find some Kombucha for my lunch!)

This the Friday Morning Musicale, a 400 seat theatre in the Hyde Park area of Tampa. I found my way there in spite of MapQuest’s attempt to make me turn right into the Hillsbrough River.

I took this photo as we were getting ready for sound check.

Someone borrowed my camera and took this picture during the show. (Apparently, there were two of me.)

On Saturday I drove across the Everglades - with Carl Hiassen on the iPod - over to Ft. Lauderdale for a show at the Labyrinth Cafe. This shot is after the show. It’s me with two of my favorite music promoters in the world - Susan Moss (left) who promotes the Labyrinth shows, and Cindy Edwards (right) who came all the way down from Sitka, AK just to see me play. (She surprised me by walking right up to me as I was about to get on stage. She’s the promoter I work with in Sitka. And she happened to be in Florida for the week.) I love these two women!

Dinner at midnight after the show at the Peter Pan Diner (Restaurant, Bakery and Lounge - now there’s a classy joint!)

Susan’s dog Rocky - the bad-assest Shih Tzu in the whole state of Florida. (And I’m not just saying that.)

I drove about 20 miles under the speed limit the whole way back across the Everglades because I couldn’t stop watching the birds. I got honked at and flipped off several times by angry pickup truck drivers who had more important things to do than smile at the herons. I happened to see this alligator in time to pull over and take a picture.

My Sunday evening show was at 6pm. A house concert at one of the most beautiful homes I’ve ever seen. It was designed by the owner himself and will be featured in Dwell Magazine someday, I’m sure.

Even though time was pretty tight, I got to take a boat ride out on Lake Tarpon right before the show. (One of my mantras is “My kingdom for a boat ride.”) We did a brief ride down an inlet so I could see the way Florida used to look before ol’ Walt came and paved it over. (…she says as she moves her Complaint-Free-World bracelet over to the other wrist.)

A House Concert is a concert in someone’s home. This particular series is promoted by Craig Huegel - who sells the tickets and presents the shows in different homes in the community. (Spacious homes work well!) As you can see, the view is spectacular. I took this before the show…

Eddie Hoffman took this during the show…

At the end of the performance, I took pictures of the audience. Aren’t they a beautiful bunch?

I would conclude with a photo of my dog upon my arrival to my house. But she refused to sit still for a photo at such an eventful moment.

On Saturday night, my friend David LaMotte and I did a special performance at the Grey Eagle Music Hall in Asheville, NC. Though we’ve been friends since forever, we rarely perform together.

The show was totally sold out. And I’ll go ahead and let you know that you missed a riveting version of Extreme’s More Than Words. (We played it in honor of a wedding gig that we did at back in the mid-90’s.) Though I did my best Nuno Bettencourt on the guitar, we still managed to giggle our way through it.

I think there may have been lighters held high out in the crowd.

And yes - as some of you read in the comments on the last post - we did an acoustic on-demand version of Dancing Queen.

Anyway, the highlight of the evening was when David read a new poem he wrote. When he finished, the crowd applauded and woo-hooed wildly for a good three-minutes. It made tears come to my eyes. I asked David to let me reprint it here for my blog readers. It’s better to hear David read it himself - but you can read it aloud if that helps!

White Flour

by David LaMotte

(a true story about events that occurred on May 26, 2007. © 2007 Lower Dryad Music)

The day was bright and sunny as most May days tend to be
In the hills of Appalachia down in Knoxville, Tennessee
The men put on their uniforms and quickly took their places
In white robes and those tall and pointed hoods that hid their faces

Their feet all fell in rhythm as they started their parade
They raised their fists into the air, they bellowed and they brayed
They loved to stir the people up, they loved when they were taunted
They didn’t mind the anger, that’s precisely what they wanted

As they came around the corner, sure enough, the people roared
They couldn’t quite believe their ears, it seemed to be – support?
Had Knoxville finally seen the light, were people coming ‘round?
The men thought for a moment that they’d found their kind of town

But then they turned their eyes to where the cheering had its source
As one their faces soured as they saw the mighty force
The crowd had painted faces, and some had tacky clothes
Their hair and hats outrageous, each had a red foam nose

The clowns had come in numbers to enjoy the grand parade
They danced and laughed that other clowns had come to town that day
And then the marchers shouted, and the clowns all strained to hear
Each one tuned in intently with a gloved hand to an ear

“White power!” screamed the marchers, and they raised their fisted hands
The clowns leaned in and listened like they couldn’t understand
Then one held up his finger and helped all the others see
The point of all this yelling, and they joined right in with glee

“White flour!” they all shouted and they felt inside their clothes
They pulled out bags and tore them and huge clouds of powder rose
They poured it on each other and they threw it in the air
It got all over baggy clothes and multi-colored hair

All but just a few of them were joining in the jokes
You could almost see the marchers turning red beneath white cloaks
They wanted to look scary, they wanted to look tough
One rushed right at the clowns in rage, and was hauled away in cuffs

But the others chanted louder marching on around the bend
The clowns all marched along with them supporting their new friends
“White power!” came the marchers’ cry — they were not amused
The clowns grew still and thoughtful; perhaps they’d been confused?

They huddled and consulted, this bright and silly crowd
They listened quite intently, then one said “I’ve got it now!”
“White flowers!” screamed the happy clown and all the rest joined in
The air was filled with flowers, and they laughed and danced again

“Everyone loves flowers! And white’s a pretty sort!
I can’t think of a better cause for marchers to support!”
Green flower stems went flying like small arrows from bad archers
White petals covered everything, including the mad marchers

And then a very tall clown called the others to attention
He choked down all his chuckles, and said “Friends I have to mention
That what with all the mirth and fun it’s sort of hard to hear
But now I know the cause that these strange marchers hold so dear

“Tight showers!” the clown blurted out, and hit his head in wonder
He held up a camp shower and the others all got under
Or at least they tried to get beneath, they strained but couldn’t quite
There wasn’t room for all of them, they pushed, but it was tight

“White Power!” came their marchers’ cry, quite carefully pronounced
The clowns consulted once again, then a woman clown announced
“I’ve got it! I’m embarrassed that it took so long to see
But what these marchers march for is a cause quite dear to me!”

“Wife power!” she exclaimed and all the other clowns joined in
They shook their heads and laughed at how mistaken they had been
The women clowns were hoisted up on shoulders of the others
Some pulled on wedding dresses, “Here’s to wives and mothers!”

The men in robes were angry and they knew they’d been defeated
They yelled a few more times and then they finally retreated
And when they’d gone a black policeman turned to all the clowns
And offered them an escort to the center of the town

The day was bright and sunny as most May days tend to be
In the hills of Appalachia down in Knoxville, Tennessee
People joined the new parade, the crowd stretched out for miles
The clowns passed out more flowers and made everybody smile

And what would be the lesson of that shiny southern day?
Can we understand the message that the clowns sought to convey?
Seems that when you’re fighting hatred, hatred’s not the thing to use
So here’s to those who march on in their massive, silly shoes

I’m five days into a two-week tour with the North Carolina Dance Theatre. They’ve choreographed a ballet to some of my songs, and I perform them on stage while they dance. This show debuted in 2005, toured for six weeks in 2006, and is winding up next week. It has been a whole different touring thing for me. And I’ve loved every minute of it. I’m writing this from La Crosse, Wisconsin.

Here are a few snapshots of this tour so far:

- Edna Mae is the tour director and organizer of all things timely and efficient. When she was going through security at the Charlotte Airport, they took away her sliced apples and carrots, claiming that these items had too much water content. (Edna’s theory is that they had taken away someone else’s ranch dressing and peanut butter, and they took her stuff so they could have a snack.)

- We performed for an almost-full-house at Viterbo University’s Black Box Theatre last night, and the crowd was the wildest we’ve had since Shepherdstown, WV. They were on their feet by the last dance. We got a great review in the paper this morning. It was a fun night. Lots of good energy on stage.

- One thing you might not know about a show like this: the lighting and tech crew are the reason it happens at all. They get to the theatre on the morning of the show and work the entire day. They spend the whole show talking to each other on headsets. They make the lights sit, roll-over, and play dead. They make it work. It’s an art unto itself, and quite fascinating to watch.

- Nate is the stage manger who runs all this stuff. He’s the slightest bit high-strung.

- Sasha, one of the male dancers, found me in the sewing workshop in the basement of the theatre the other night. I had unplugged the ethernet cable of the only computer I could find, and I was on-line listening in RealTime to the UNC basketball game on my laptop. He pointed out that no matter where the company went, and no matter what we were doing, that I always managed to find a way to get on line. This is true.

- A tour like this involves either being completely frenetic, stepping into the spotlight with your heart racing, doing rehearsals, fixing sound foibles, or repairing something as fast as you can — or having absolutely nothing to do but wait until you’re on stage, or wait until the bus arrives, or just wait because you have to wait. It’s a strange back and forth.

- Nate and I were talking about this lifestyle as we sat in front of the hotel this afternoon. He was about to go meet some college students from the stage crew, and talk with them about what it’s like to do this for a living. I asked him what he says to college students about this stuff. He held up his coffee in one hand and his cigarettes in the other. He said, “These are the only two things you will ever need.” (Now you know why life expectancy isn’t so high in the entertainment business.)

- My husband put me on speaker cell phone tonight so I could talk to my animals, and my dog spent five minutes walking around the house looking for me.

- The dancers call these tours “Flat Meat Tours.” The contract rider for the NCDT requests meals with soups and salads and raw fruits and veggies. We usually walk into the green room to find bread and “flat meat.” There is much discussion about flat meat. Last year on the tour, I wrote a song called “Flat Meat.”

- I took a cab to the YMCA at 6am the first morning of the tour in Edwardsville, IL. The woman who signed me in at the Y had quite a Wisconsin accent. And she was “soooo distressed” that I had spent “soooo much for a cab.” So, while I worked out she solicited people to drive me back to my hotel. Which is how I ended up riding in a Honda Element with Bill, who has recently retired from the Air Force. He seemed a little confused as to what the hell I was even doing there. And no, he didn’t want free tickets to go to the ballet that night.

- Our bus driver is the quintessential bus driver. It’s like he came out of Central Casting. (Last year’s bus driver used to shout obscenities at his own GPS system in a loud Texas accent. We’d end up going miles out of the way only to have to turn back around because he had “intuitions” that the GPS “didn’t know what the hell it was talking about.” Edna Mae almost lost her mind.)

- There is a stray black young cat outside of my hotel room. I’ve watched her both mornings. She’s a hoot. (I’ll probably end up going to the food co-op and buying her something ridiculously expensive and spend tomorrow morning trying to convince her to eat it.)

- We get back on the tour bus and go to Kansas on Wednesday. We have to fly to another venue on Saturday morning, so I’ll be sure to make sure Edna Mae has emptied her pockets of all of her organic matter snack plate weaponry.

I’m on tour with the North Carolina Dance Theatre as I write this. (They’ve choreographed a ballet to some of my songs, and I’m performing with them for a five week run.) We had a week off between shows, and then we all got on the bus in Charlotte, NC and headed north. We rode nine hours mostly in silence with the occasional announcement or out-of-the-blue-trivia-question — “Hey! What was the name of Captain Stubing’s daughter on Love Boat?”The next day began early for the dancers. We arrived at the theatre at 1pm because they take a class during the day prior to a performance.

This first show was at a theatre in Pennsylvania. A really great theatre. When we unloaded, I was shown to my dressing room. I threw my stuff down, and I walked out into the hallway to look around. I was feeling a little jittery. One of my biggest challenges on the road is to wander into all these new places AS an artist. I can’t put up a front. I feel like I’m showing up soft and vulnerable. This is what I’ve put my life into. And here I am getting ready to present it. I don’t know if venue owners or theatre presenters ever can really get how intense that can feel for some performers. On an intensity scale of 1 to 10 on this issue, I’m probably at a 17 or so. So I need lots of space and breathing time.

On the wall by the dressing room, there’s a bulletin board at eye level. It was the first thing I noticed, and I glanced at it. Holy moly. Each show of that season had been advertised in a program that must have been sent out to season ticket holders. On this bulletin board, someone had pinned up the blurb and photo of each show, cut out from the program after the show had run. Then, with a thick black magic marker, they had written on top of the clipping a one-phrase “review” of the show. Some of the reviews were fine. “Good show” was on one. But several of these shows had been dismissed by this black marker with a swift “NEVER AGAIN!” or “WILL IT EVER END??” And other sarcastic remarks here and there.

Around the corner from this bulletin board were framed displays of this review process for the past seasons of this theatre’s shows. One frame per season. The mats were shaped so that each clipping of each show (with the black magic marker smart ass review) was prominently displayed. Every single performer to arrive at this theatre would see how quickly their work could be dismissed by the marker. Of course, my voices were shouting like a troop of Monty Python soldiers, “LOOK AWAY! RUN AWAY!” But I couldn’t stop. I was looking at these quick strokes of this marker, and the delight it took in meanness. And it was framed! As if to say, “Everyone look at how clever we are at this theatre!” With my heart racing, I walked out to the lobby.

Now, I know that in my blog on Discipline I wrote about the process of stopping your negative mean despairing voices from taking over. There are times when that method works. And then there are times that I may not be quite strong enough. Sometimes a situation warrants a moment of feeling what needs to be felt. This was one of them.

So, I sat there and let the thoughts run their course for a little while. I’ll give them credit. They had quite the ticker-tape parade. “It’s-just-too-hard-people-are-too-mean- I-should-never-have-been-an-artist-and-probably-the-marker-will-hate-me-too-and-
probably-every-marker-will.” The lobby was empty and big. The dancers were on stage taking their class. The sound of their ballet piano was tinkling in the air. It was overcast and cold outside. My voices get particularly good when it’s overcast and cold.

But I’ve gotten particularly good at knowing that I get to choose whether or not to stay in the space of grossness. And because I knew I probably couldn’t find my way out of it on my own, I stopped, took a breath, and said to the nothingness, the tinkly piano, the lobby, “Help.”

I noticed some display cases all around the lobby. This was an art exhibit of student’s work called “More Than a Book.” The books were hand made, hand painted (most were mixed media), hand bound, etc. One of the books was open to a sketch of a forest. The trees and the light and the shadows were gorgeous. Daina White (’07) was the artist, and the poem titled “Faith” ran down the side of the page�Ķ “the wind stirs the trees as sunlight filters through�Ķ I can feel another presence beyond me from a much higher place, the warm sun dances across my skin and reminds me I am not alone �Ķ”

So, my little call for help yielded me an angel in the form of a college junior who I will never meet. And she made me remember that there are others like me. Millions who are open and soft and noticing the world in all its wild beauty and sharing what they see.

All of the books were beautiful. I took in the images and the words and the willingness to create. My heartbeat slowed way down. The last book I looked at was by Iris A. Bogaert. The very last page of her book, which was painted in bright colors that made me think of Mexico, said “Love like a butterfly emerges from our souls unstoppable when we share what we have with others.”

And I got it. That was all I needed. The black magic marker wasn’t sharing with others. It was trashing people. The performers were sharing what they have with others. I am sharing what I have with others. This is all you can do. You decide to share. You decide to shine.

So, with my Iris and Daina angels beside me, I returned to the backstage area and decided to do just that. The black marker gets to do its thing. I get to do mine. Cynicism is rampant. It’s so EASY to be cynical and criticize the game, and not play the game. It’s much easier to be the marker than the person in the picture. Much.

I don’t want to be the marker. The markers have never once changed my life, inspired me, encouraged me. The people in the pictures, however, have. Quite a bit. Think about anyone who has ever made you laugh, or cry, or opened your heart, or made you believe in yourself. They’ve all faced their own black markers and so will you. This is not a call to fight the markers or to get self-righteous and go on a rant about the marker people. They’re certainly allowed to have opinions and express those opinions in any way they want. (Though I think the frames and the big display are a bit much.)

This was my call to open up and decide yet again. If you shrink because of the marker people then they get exactly what they wanted, and no one wins. Yes, it takes some self-esteem to believe that you even have anything worth sharing. But of course you do. Don’t waste your time waiting for the world to agree that you do. It’s all service. You don’t know what random person in an empty lobby somewhere is going to benefit from your openness. So, serve. Share. You’re not alone. Get bigger. Shine anyway.