Looking Through the Glass Darkly

Because the eyes are the windows of the soul, it is important to know what we look at and what we see. Sometimes the glass is to look through in order to see what is on the other side. Sometimes the glass is to see one’s reflection and to better understand who we are. And sometimes, the glass is simply meant to be looked at and enjoyed.

Such was the case at a recent gig we played at Brownville, Nebraska. The Hussies had been invited to play at the Wine, Writers, and Song Festival at The Lyceum. Brownville is a lovely piece of Americana, nestled next to the Missouri River, with the self-proclaimed purpose of celebrating the arts, and especially literature. A woman explained to me that Brownville was an international Book Town, one of many locations around the world with the express purpose of celebrating the written word. But I digress.

As we set up for the social hour and our performance, Barb and I took our usual places. Barb always sits on the left, and I always sit on the right, which means our positions dictate where we look, and how much of the audience we can see. On this particular occasion, I found myself looking at a beautiful stained glass window. It was an interior window, and since there was no illumination, all I could see was the window and the colors it contained.

Throughout the performance, when my mind would wander, I watched the window and explored the colors. There were muted shades of greens and reds, but the standout color was the amethyst, a deep, rich purple that I found particularly appealing. I was enraptured by its color, watching the hues and the swirls, and as my mind tried to grasp what I saw, I was lead to this thought. If amethyst were a sound, what kind of sound would it be.

To me, if amethyst were sound, it would be a contralto (which is handy since both Barb and I are contraltos). It would be husky, with the slight hint of smokiness. It would be warm, not too warm, but warm enough to be a place where you felt safe. It would be luxurious, like a mink coat or a velvet couch. And it would invite you in and sit you down, and embrace you until you no longer remembered why you came.

And now amethyst has become a symbol to me. A symbol of rich, sweet song, of lilting verse and rich accompaniment, of light and dark, and of being given the gift to make music that I love and others want to hear. Amethyst has come to represent what I love about music, and how much I love getting lost in its sound.

So the next time color beckons you to become lost in its glory, don't be afraid. And when color and music embrace, I invite to become lost in the combined richness, and to reach out and feel the depth of what music means to you. I promise, you won’t be sorry.

And Still She Danced

One of our St. Patrick’s Day gigs this year was in Junction City, Kansas. The Hussies always love a road trip, and this one was especially important because we were hired by my sister to play at the Good Samaritan Center for the residents and their families. Everyone was decked out in green baubles and rub-on tattoos, and looking forward to the music and the treats to be served after the performance.

The highlight of the day, besides seeing my sister, brother-in-law, and his parents, all of whom are so precious to me, was a young woman for whom life must have been very hard. She wandered in and out of the room several times during our warm-up. The first time she came in, we were playing the Welsh lullaby, All Through the Night. She sang along with great gusto, and it made me smile that the tune was familiar to her.

The next time she came in, I was focused on the music, and not really paying attention to what else was going on. We were playing something sweet, I don’t remember what, and when I looked up, I saw her dancing in the back of the room. I was mesmerized, and grateful to witness such a private moment. Her countenance was transformed and her face glowed with transcendence. Suddenly, the hardships of her life faded away, and even the fact that she was in a wheel chair couldn’t stop her from moving to the music that inspired her.

It is these moments that keeps me making music for others. Music touches our lives in ways nothing else can or does. It brings us to tears and makes us laugh. It fills our hearts and eases our pain. And it gives us moments when we can see the face of God in the here and now.