It All Starts with a Dream

It all starts with a dream, as some say. Nashville says it all starts with a song. Either way, if it's a dream, you have to get out of bed and get dressed. If it's a song, you have to get out your pencil and paper, or at least your recorder. Then you might want to play it for other people, put it on an album, put it out on iTunes. You can't just lay around and "think" about these things.

Every year I dream of doing a  Christmas show, and beginning in January, I know that December is coming and my show won't happen with my head on a pillow dreaming about it. I can hear Auntie Em telling Dorothy "there's work to be done."

One element of planning a show is deciding how to tell other people about it.  You can't just hope that people will show up. "If you build it" a few might come, but just building it isn't enough. 

One day as I was brainstorming on the phone with a coach about all that there is to do, including the marketing, he said, "Why don't you bring your audience in on the planning of the show. Give them a peek into the planning part." 

So I got to thinking; I wonder what my audience would want to know about planning a Christmas show. Instead of me trying to guess, why don't I just ask them? I did and people responded.

Sorting through the questions, one in particular, catches my eye. I squirm in my office chair. I always struggle when someone asks this question: "What is your favorite song on the album?" 

The problem is, it's hard to pick one favorite. Songs are three-minute audio journals of my life. Each song has a unique significance and is part of the whole.

Though the question wasn't specifically about the show, it's a good question because the show actually started with a song. Ok, so Nashville was right. It really does start with a song.

It was a wintery January morning in 2000 and I was on my way to a local recording studio to record my first album. The snow was blowing and drifting across Route 696 in Shippensburg, Pennsylvania—a scenic road between two mountain ranges. I probably shouldn't have been driving.

But I was in my element...SNOW! 

The first line said it all...

Whispery winds of winter white

The blizzard-like winds seemed to applaud my bravery for driving in these conditions...

Dancing across the starlit night

Twirling and swirling and sweeping the lane

Whisking the blues of the season away

These are the portraits of white

I knew it [the song] was special the day I wrote it. I could hear the polished production of it in my head. Even though it would be years before I'd actually record it, I knew it would sound Enya-esque.  I had just encountered the music of Enya, and her stacked vocal approach resonated with me. Every time I'd listen to her, I wanted to sit down and write music. 

Portraits of White Album 2013

Years later, when I decided to record a Christmas/Winter album this song was a definite favorite. I learned to respect Enya's music all the more during the process of recording. It's not easy to stack vocals. You must follow every single intonation and nuanced note of the original take each time you sing a new take. For some reason, I really enjoyed the challenge of this style of recording. 

When it came time to choose a title for the Christmas album, Portraits of White felt the most magical. Portraits of White, both the song and the title would become the inspiration for my holiday show. If that makes it my favorite song on the album, then so be it.

The album title was just the beginning...

This week's video:

Farm Girl's Fascination With Musical Fantasy

In last week's blog, I introduced you to my "Kansas" — the one-red-light-town of Newville, Pennsylvania. If you go another three miles past the red light, you'll come to the farmhouse where I was raised. 

I can still picture my mother's brown Wurlitzer piano sitting in the living room. It was a treasure to her because as a young woman she purchased it with her own money in the 1940's. It was the centerpiece of my life.

I have no first memory of the piano...just a collage of memories. In fact, it feels as if the piano and I were womb mates and we grew up as playmates. 

According to my mother, I started playing by ear when I was two or three years old. In her opinion, one thing that separated me from other children was my approach to it. While others would bang on it, I'd touch the keys very gently, one note at a time. I later learned that there is a time and place to play fortissimo (very loud) but I had to come out of my shell before that ever happened. 

Together, we [the piano and I] would put on little shows for my "Auntie Em and Uncle Henry." I must have had a thing for shows because in the winter, I'd perform little dances on our farm pond—ice skating to music and creating lovely choreographed movements. I tried to be just like the Olympic skaters I saw on our black and white TV. I'm sure I was just like them. LOL! 

Sometimes, I'd create a little choir with the chess pieces from our chess set and of course, I always lined them up according to their height. The piano, the shows, the skating...these were all indicators of the creative path I would choose in the future. A convergence of skill and desire.

Angie — after her bath.

In addition to musical fantasies, I suppose every farm girl needs a dog and we had many. My personal favorite was Angie; a lovely apricot-colored poodle. Sorry Toto, nothing against Terriers. My mother liked poodles and picked Angel from a December litter—a Christmas dog. She followed me around the farm and sometimes she'd sit on my lap when I practiced the piano. Yes, I was one of those odd children who loved to practice. 

It's pretty clear that my fascination with performing started with living room shows around the piano, skating to music and arranging plastic chess choirs. Once I began writing music and recording albums, I started getting invitations to sing at various churches and events. 

About fourteen years after my first album, Under The Big Blue Sky, I began to dream of doing a big annual Christmas concert and in 2014, I started Portraits of White.

This week's video:

Welcome to "Kansas!"

Outside my music studio window is a busy state road. If you head East about three miles, you'll arrive in Newville, Pennsylvania. It's my "Kansas" and I'd like to take you on a little tour of my town. I often refer to it is as a one-red-light-town. I'm not sure why I say red. It could be yellow or green, but it often feels red to me. Perhaps because I'm usually in a hurry?! Busted! 

According to the Newville Historical Society, Andrew Ralston first settled near the shores of the Big Spring in 1728. William Laughlin and his brother soon followed. The Big Spring is the second largest fresh water spring stream in the country and as such, it drew settlers wishing to capitalize on its potential. Laughlin built the first mill on its banks in 1762. By 1817, the town of Newville had incorporated and the economy began to grow and thrive.

Laughlin Mill - four seasons.

Photo credit is given to Steve Kennedy of Newville.

We moved to Newville in 1968 when I was two years old. Over the years, I've grown to love my little town with its nooks and crannies. I became much more observant of Cumberland Valley's beauty when my husband and I started riding motorcycles over ten years ago. We enjoy a nice leisurely ride on the back roads, not to mention the destination—soft serve ice cream. Chocolate/Vanilla twist please. In a cone.

During Covid, I started riding those same back roads on my pedal bike, often riding for hours just to enjoy the sites. With very little traffic on the roads, I felt like I had the valley to myself. I could tell when restrictions were lifted because I had to share the road once again. We have a lovely trail rail, but I prefer different views every day so I often ride the road instead.

It was over this time that I began noticing how beautiful my "Kansas" truly is. Here are a few of my daily views...

According to the World Population Review, Newville has a population of 1,341 as of 2021. Though it's very small, we have big appetites. Who wouldn't after all of those bike rides? We have a few places to satisfy your cravings. 

Now that restaurants are open again, as you are going through town, you can stop for a delicious "Skirt Burger" at Jaymee Lee's Diner, or Stromboli with fresh made bread at Kane's Korner Pizzeria. Craving a cheeseburger sub with crunchy-crispy-but-airy french fries? I recommend Brother's Pizza. You can park your car (or bike) at the fountain and walk to all three eateries. I recommend going back to Kane's for some Goose Brother's homemade ice cream. 

Sorry, we don't have a fitness center. But you're welcome to ride your bike on the Cumberland Valley Rail Trail and you can easily get to downtown Newville from there. Just be very careful about speeding through town. I can tell you from experience that it is well patrolled by our local law enforcement. :-)

I love our Newville Print Shop where the owner puts out soft water taffy for his customers during the summer—when he comes back from his trip to the shore. He keeps a small spiral notebook with a hand-written record of the copies I make there in his shop. I pay him every few years when he remembers to tally up my tab. Every time I go into the shop, he tells me he needs to get my total figured up and I always say, "sure thing, just let me know when you do." 

Then there's the local bank where they feed the local cat. I barely had the front door open one day when something dashed around my feet into the bank. A bit alarmed, I mentioned it to the teller who nonchalantly said, "oh...that's the neighborhood cat. It's ok, we feed it every day." The cat ran back behind the counter to its usual feeding spot. I smiled. Only in Newville, I muttered to myself.

I shop at the same grocery store where my mother shopped when I was a little girl. We don't have the fancy organic section that many superstores do, and sometimes I ask for ingredients that seem foreign to the stock clerks, but Saylor's Market has THE best homemade Bavarian cream filled chocolate icing donuts you'll ever taste. Just make sure you get there early in the day. The early bird gets the...donut.

As I'm writing this, I keep checking the clock—it's gotta be time for lunch soon!! All this writing about food is making me hungry and I think I might be forgetting the purpose of this particular post...

Ah yes. I just wanted to show you around my town and welcome you to my "Kansas."

Click here to enjoy a little video with sites of Newville and some news!

Missing You...on Memorial Day

“Now this is what we call a happy sad song,” the music professional [Jonathan] said in an affirmative tone as we sat in the prestigious Dark Horse Recording Studio in Nashville, Tennessee. My song, Missin’ You, had just received a thumbs up, so it seemed. I was watching his body language as studiously as he was listening to my songs. Not only was I studying the craft of songwriting…I was learning to “read” my audience. I liked what I saw.

Jonathan making notes.

Jonathan had been called in by my new producer [Eric] to listen to all of the songs I had been writing — looking for gems. They were listening to my babies and I felt vulnerable. The songs that made the cut would go on my upcoming recording project.

As a newcomer to the Nashville culture, I was both eager and nervous. I gazed out the wall-length window above the ominous soundboard. The outside lush spring-green landscape was strikingly similar to that of my home state of Pennsylvania and it comforted me. 

I had a fair number of sad songs (without the happy) in my notebook. I hadn’t realized just how many until after Jonathan’s final wrap-up sentence of the day: “you seem to write a lot of songs about death.” I had heard that same assessment from Eric the day before. Two different individuals, independent of each other, had made the same observation. It was unsettling news to me. 

I had a feeling that this pattern wasn’t necessarily a good thing. We laughed when Eric said, “We can call you The Grateful Dead.” I didn’t know who that group was. I laughed as if I did.

I squirmed in my chair, silently wondering: how on earth could it be? I made a mental note. Someday I must figure out why I write so many songs about death… But in the present moment, I needed to focus. Therapy would have to wait. They were giving me a songwriting lesson about happy sad songs.

While their explanation was supposed to be educational, I simultaneously felt like I was receiving a verbal award of accomplishment for writing this particular song. After all, it was different than my other sad songs. It was “happy.” I had managed to write sad feelings in a happy way, though I had done it unknowingly. The professionals seemed to approve. 

My mind drifted back to the day I wrote the song…

I am 36 years old, sitting in my backyard on a metal folding chair, guitar in hand, experiencing my first birthday without my father. I am missing him. 

I look at the lovely purple lilacs in front of me. I breathe in their sweet fragrance. It’s the first year the blooms have made it past a hard freeze since we planted the bush over a decade ago. It was a birthday gift from my parents. My very own perennial bouquet of lilacs for annual birthdays. 

Mysteriously, the bush is choosing to bloom the first year after my father’s death. I receive it as a gift from him. Yet, there is a surge of grief accompanying the pleasantness of the moment. I strum my guitar as a lyric comes to mind. 

“Well we’ve seen another winter come and go…” 

I look at the lilacs again. 

“All the lilacs are blooming there’s no more snow…” 

I think back through the events leading up to his death. 

Less than two years earlier I released my very first recording project, Under The Big Blue Sky. Daddy was there for the release concert, supporting me. But not too long after that celebration, he began feeling ill. Months later, we found out why. He had cancer. 

I remember standing outside his hospital room trying to gain my composure. He too had just been given the news. I didn’t want him to see me cry.

Back in front of the lilac bush, I know what I want to say next. Lyrics flow effortlessly…

”But I miss you more than ever 
and the sayin’s not true
that time will heal 
‘cause I’ve been missin’ you.”

He was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma that summer and less than a year later, he was gone. In one short year, I witnessed the birth of my professional music career and the death of my father. Summer, fall, winter…

“Springtime reminds me of you
in the winter season
I’m thinking of you”

May 2021 marks the twentieth anniversary of Daddy’s death. Our last holiday together was Memorial Day. I should have known something was wrong when he could barely lift a piece of wood from the trunk of the car and carry it over to the BBQ pit. 

The morning after our family picnic, he started coughing up blood and died three days later on May 31, 2001. We were all there beside his bed, surrounding him, serenading him with hymns, including one of his favorites…Under His Wings.

This past week, knowing the 20th anniversary of his death approaches, I’ve been digging out my old photo albums — faded pictures of his youth, pets, his violin, weddings, births, reunions — snapshots of our family. Organizing them into a visual soundtrack to go with the song…

“and if time is a healer
then it’s moving pretty slow
‘cause I’ve seen another season
and I’m missin’ you.”

Click here to see the song. Or click the image below.

Mother's Day Musings from a Childless Musician

It's September 7, 2018 and I am on my way to Ontario, Canada, to participate in a "Mother's Blessing." My niece, Paige, is expecting her first baby and my sister, Aspen, has planned something unique. This isn't going to be a normal baby shower, if I know my sister.

Aspen will do all she can to make sure the women gathered will connect with each other on a "below-the-surface" level, even though some of us will be meeting each other for the first time. Our common bond is womanhood and Paige. We are there to celebrate and to offer emotional support in Paige's final stages of pregnancy.

At this gathering, we most likely won't be playing games (which is fine with me.) It will be filled with ceremonial-type experiences; singing, candles, sharing, laughter and tears. That's just the way my family is. 

My siblings and I were raised to contemplate. We went deep. Our conversations were usually centered around spirituality—serious matters. Our words and activities were chosen carefully. We continue that tradition, even today. So I know this upcoming occasion will be meaningful.

We've all been asked to come prepared to share nuggets of wisdom. (See what I mean?!) Not words written in a card or in the front of a baby book, but spoken out loud, in front of the group. Just the thought of this makes me nervous. I tend to be very quiet when I'm at a baby shower. I feel awkward...like a single woman at a friend's wedding. 

I'm puzzled by this rush of feelings. As a musician who performs in front of people, I love sharing songs, stories and life-experiences (wisdom) with audiences. But for some reason, I feel very inadequate and unworthy to give advice in this scenario. 

As I drive through the mountains near Williamsport, PA, I realize I probably feel inadequate because I'm not a mother. I've never conceived or given birth to a human. I'm a daughter, sister, aunt (even a great, great one) and wife. But I'm not a mother and I'll never be a grandmother (a reality that I didn't fully grasp until my friends started having grandchildren.)

So as I'm making the eight hour trip, I ponder how to handle the upcoming gathering. I have plenty of time to think. 

A voice in my head says, "Who are you to share any wisdom with Paige? What could you possibly tell her? You don't know anything about being a mother. People will think you're stupid for even thinking you have anything to contribute. Your words will seem useless."

The childless part of me wants to turn around and go home. The aunt part of me keeps driving.

Another voice, more soft and barely discernible, seems to say, "Talk to her as a woman, not as a mother. Tell her what you wish you could tell every woman—mother or not. You've heard the lament of enough "empty-nesters" who say that once their babies grow up and leave, they [the mothers] wonder who they are and what their life will consist of beyond their family." 

The creative musician part of me thinks about writing a song. 

I pull into a McDonald's in Bath, New York, order a sausage, egg and cheese McMuffin (a treat usually reserved for road trips) and start writing. 

What is the one thing I want to tell Paige? It will take me the rest of the weekend in Canada to finish the song just in time for the celebration. 

As Mother's Day 2021 approaches, I still feel the complicated feelings many women feel at this time of year, on this weekend. But as I've had time to reflect and think about what I'd say to women in general, not just mothers, I'd still say what I said in this song to Paige...

And oh, by the way...Paige gave birth to a beautiful little girl named Nova Rose, on October 6, 2018. 

The song has not yet been professionally produced, so I feel like I'm showing you a newborn baby. 

Click HERE to listen. 

Look at the Birds

I am standing in my kitchen, looking out the glass sliding door staring at the foot of snow that fell yesterday. The snow-covered woodpile next to our house (and under the bird feeder) makes a perfect ski slope for the birds. I'm smiling as I watch a few of them make their way up and down the slope. Do they know they are skiing?

The older we get, the more my husband and I enjoy these creatures...talking to them, caring for them and studying their habits. We've observed that birds seem to eat more when it snows. I feel like I can relate.

The last of the storm is spitting out a few more flakes, but I can't seem to enjoy the snow like I normally do. I feel anxious and worried. Again. 

I just received an email letting me know that a concert event I had scheduled for February has been cancelled. It's an unwanted reminder that things still aren't normal in our world and it's been almost a year. It's unusual to have anything scheduled these days so I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was disappointed. Is this what 2021 is going to be like?

I continue staring at the snow. My husband is standing beside me—having just finished his third cup of coffee. He's been outside plowing snow since 7:00 am this morning so that his shop can open for business by 8:00. I really appreciate his dedication to his work and offering another cup of coffee is the least I can do.

I was shoveling snow and feeding the birds while he plowed. I had hot chocolate.

Normally, I'm mesmerized by snow, but this morning my heart is distracted and I seem to be paying more attention to the birds than to the snow. The bright white snowy blanket has provided a beautiful backdrop to the various birds flocking to the feeder on this cold winter day; finches, cardinals, doves, sparrows, juncos, tufted titmouse and the Carolina wren.

"Look at the birds," I suddenly spoke out loud—which seems odd since that's exactly what we were doing. 

"They really show up against the snow," I continued. 

"Now we can see the markings more distinctly and identify them." As if my husband wouldn't know this.

As quickly as I said it, I remembered a phrase from scripture that I used to meditate on frequently: "Look at the birds. Don't worry about tomorrow. Take no thought for what you will eat or what you will wear." 

Ah yes. That's one of the reasons I've loved having birds around. They are a constant reminder that I don't need to worry about the future. Their melodies carried me through the initial challenges when COVID hit and all my events were being cancelled last spring. 

But today, I am simply drawn to their presence, not the songs. I take a breath and continue reflecting.

It took a lot of prayer and effort to keep my mind-set positive throughout 2020. I want to keep moving forward, looking for the positives—and there are many...it's just harder to pull them up in this moment.

I suppose like everyone else, I was planning on 2021 bringing a brighter future—a return to normal. The cancellation this morning felt like Déjà vu, which these days threatens to bring a deeper sense of despair. What does this new landscape look like for a self-employed musician and others whose work has been obliterated by the pandemic? I've been innovating like crazy. Sometimes it gets tiring.

So this is one of the ways I'm currently dealing with pandemic-inflicted anxiety and fatigue. I can't change the circumstances it has created, but I CAN work at replacing the worrisome thoughts with the phrase "don't worry about tomorrow....look at the birds."

I pulled out the verse to refresh my heart and mind...

"Look at all the birds—do you think they worry about their existence? 

They don't plant or reap or store up food, 

yet your heavenly Father provides them each with food. 

Aren't you much more valuable to your Father than they? 

So, which one of you by worrying could add anything to your life?" Matt. 6:26-27 (TPT)

So here I am again. Looking at the birds and saying to myself..."Don't worry about tomorrow." 

If you're feeling a bit worried too, here's a solo piano piece I created called "Bird Song."

Enjoy...

'Chariots of Fire' Rekindles Hope

"When I run I feel his pleasure." That one phrase alone from the 1981 movie, Chariots of Fire, challenged the foundation of my beliefs. I wasn't used to thinking that God would take pleasure in something that we love to do. 

Though I would have never said this out loud as a child, my beliefs about God went something like this: The only time God had pleasure was when he first created man and woman. Then they "fell" in the garden. We've had to work ever since then to please him. Of course, I always felt like I came up short. 

However, during the viewing of that movie a long time ago, a seed was planted. It was a small seed of hope, but over the years it has sprouted and grown. The seedling has had to fight with all kinds of elements to keep growing and push its way to the surface, breaking through some tough thinking. But over time, I began to believe that it IS possible for us to feel God's pleasure when we do what we love. 

I had forgotten about the movie until one day when I was playing the piano in the lobby at PennState Health, someone requested the theme song from Chariots of Fire and as soon as I began to play it, I remembered the little seed and was amazed how much my thoughts have changed since I first saw the movie years ago. 

There are definitely certain songs that get an immediate reaction from the listener. I can see it clearly from my spot on the piano bench and I could see a flicker of light in their eyes as I played the simple but evocative melody. It seemed as if hearing the melody was stirring something very special in their soul. I felt it too. I wondered if they had the same reaction to the movie as I did.

Playing the piano at this venue every week allows me the luxury of paying very close attention to people and how they respond to songs. Unlike most of my concerts, where I share my story by creatively weaving stories, music, humor and media together (which I also love), this is the one time I can just sit down at the piano and play. 

I've added that theme song into my repertoire when I play at the hospital. I love to watch the reaction of those who pass by. One day I was playing the song and someone came over to the piano, with watery eyes and a shaky voice, obviously struck with emotion. He couldn't thank me enough. He tried to express what this meant to him but he really didn't need to say much. I saw that same familiar flicker of hope in his eyes. 

I think we could all benefit from the reminder that we each come with a unique gift and personality. There are thousands of piano players, but only one Frances Drost and how I might play a song is very different than the next pianist and that's what makes us each unique. 

You're the only one of YOU the world will ever know. I believe God loves it when you find what it is you love to do. And when you do THAT, he smiles with pleasure and I believe he is pleased because we are doing exactly what he created us to do.