Leaving a Legacy in Song

What do we do in our lifetime that lives on?  I am thinking about having an impact, about leaving a legacy.  Some might associate the word legacy with money but that is not what I am talking about.  I am thinking about something far more meaningful.

A young woman who I work with at my summer camp told me earlier this summer that she desperately wanted to find a way to have a meaningful impact in the world.  It was a curious thing to share to a group early on in our time together.  We were just getting started building our team and our community, but I know she felt it deeply.  We all want to leave a mark in one way or another. Whether we are starting out in adulthood or transitioning out of the workplace, many of us ponder where and how we will be able to make a difference.   What is it that we have done that will live on in the hearts and minds of our friends and family and community?

If ever there was a way to leave a lasting legacy, it is through creative work (think Shakespeare or Hal Prince) or through music.  The soundtracks of our lives give context and harbor memories for us over the years.

I was lucky enough to spend several days this week with a man who has become a legend at our summer camp in VT.  His name is Biff Fink and he has penned a collection of the most beloved songs that we sing. A career educator and musician, he lives in Nashville now and continues to write songs.  If you are a camp person you probably remember the boisterous singing that happens at camp.  And with luck, you also remember the reflective songs that help us slow down and appreciate our world and our loved ones.  This man has written songs of each kind.

This week he turned his pen and his heart to a small little play based on the children's book, "What Do You Do With a Chance".  I have no doubt that he worked on the script and the song that goes with it for some time before arriving to share it with us.  He certainly made it look easy.  We had about 20 little girls come and work with us to create our show.  We created simple costumes and made some fun wands with streamers.  We rehearsed the text that our actors would say and the movement that our dancers would do. We had girls playing simple instruments as accompaniment.  We called them the Jinglettes.  And then we learned the new song.

I was lucky to hear the song before he taught it to the girls and it was a moment I will never forget.  He had sent me the music and an MP3 of the accompaniment so I was able to read along as I listened to the music.  And I knew at that moment that I was listening to a song that would live on at our camp- probably for generations.  I am a fourth-generation camp person.  My grandmother and mother went to this camp and so have both of my children, along with a large extended family.  I now have a granddaughter who I hope, one day will be lucky enough to don her own green shorts and white shirt. And I am fairly certain that when she does, she will sing this beautiful song.  Here's a taste.

Aloha in the Hills

Another sun is rising in the sky.
Another breeze is blowing down the lake
Can't you hear the call of all that longs to be
In every single, sacred breath you take?

Whatever makes an ordinary day
Turn fresh and new and beautiful to see?
Well, it's not the things that we're so certain of
But chances that we take that make us free

Aloha in the hills, Aloha in the skies
Aloha in our hearts, Aloha in our eyes
And when at close of day
That ol' moon begins to rise
We'll bless this very day
(we'll bless this very day)
We'll bless this day
With thanks that we're alive. 

Of course, these are the lyrics which need the music to accompany them for full effect. But back to the question of our impact.  How lucky would we all be to know that something we had done had wriggled its way into the psyche of other people?  Our words, our deeds, even the smallest gestures might do that.  It could be something we have built or created, a recipe that we shared,  a nickname that we invented, a trip that we took together. (Think RV trip across the country with two girlfriends and a dog- "Ten Legs and a Tail"- see blog entries). Maybe it's a question that we ask someone at just the right time to help them start seeing things in a new way.  Maybe it's a funny joke that we told.  Maybe it's a tree or garden that we planted that we know will be there for years to come. There are countless moments in our lives, both large and small,  that will be remembered and yes, even cherished by others.

I for one, am awed by people like my friend Biff Fink, who have written a collection of beautiful songs that will stay with me for life.  What is the impact that you hope to leave?

One Dog for a Lifetime

Wouldn't it be wonderful, for the dog lovers among us, if there was one dog who shared our whole lives with us?  This is what many people hope to find in a partner or a spouse.  But of course, that is not always how it goes, and sadly, it never goes that way with our beloved dogs. There is a theory however, that we actually have only one dog in our lifetime.  It's the same being who returns to us in different forms to teach us lessons along the way. In my case, it was Morganetta,  Punky, Noodle, Otis, Gussie, and finally Smooch. 

We all have times in our lives of great transition.   There's the time when you move out of your parents' house and start life on your own.  There are the big passages of moving to a distant city and starting a new job and a new life.  There is the monumental passage of parenthood.  That one lasts for decades.  And of course, then there is the big transition out of a professional career to a third act, whatever that may be.

When I consider how my dogs have walked the road with me through these transitions, I see clearly what their job was.  In the wonderful book, A Dog's Purpose, the dog is reincarnated in different lives with different humans, searching for his/her purpose.  But I'd like to think about one person's life and the dog that they love who accompanies them through each chapter. 

My first beloved dog, Morganetta, a blond Labrador retriever,  came into my life shortly after I had graduated from college. I was figuring out how to be a grown-up and make a living.  This dog was the perfect dog to help me navigate my single-hood, my twenties, when I lived in a number of different places with different people.  From three different houses on the ocean in Nahant, Massachusetts to a series of apartments in San Francisco with roommates and boyfriends and then back east to Boston where I met the man who would become my husband.  She was a dog that everyone loved- devoted, flexible, always up for anything.

She was also the dog who gracefully made way for my husband when he entered my life and then moved over again to welcome my two children.  I was utterly wrecked when she died at age 14. 

The next set of dogs taught me some painful lessons.  This was during the very stressful period of learning how to be a parent while working full time.  The first one of these dogs, Punky, a chocolate standard poodle, was run over in front of our house at five months old.  She had never ventured beyond the yard but spotted a squirrel on the other side of the road and made a mad dash.  The sound of the screeching tires and my wailing stayed with me for a long time.  I literally sobbed in my garage while my neighbor tried to spare my daughter from watching me crumble.  We were all heartbroken and I felt terrible guilt for months and months.  

Not to be deterred, we then got another dog, this time Noodle, a black Labrador retriever.  She misbehaved pretty much full time.  Whose fault was that?  Hmmm..  It was not until my mother-in-law came to visit and watched my three-year-old literally climb onto the kitchen table to avoid getting bowled over by this dog, that I began to learn the next lesson.  My dear mother-in-law looked me directly in the eye and said, 'you need to get rid of this dog."  I was stunned.  It had never occurred to me to get an animal and then give it up.  But the truth was we were not taking good care of this dog.  We had not given her good training. I was pregnant again and working full-time as was my husband, and we just simply didn't have the time and energy left over for the dog.  More guilt.  And the realization that there are limits to how many loved ones you can take care of- including yourself and your spouse.  Mercifully, our next-door neighbor offered to train Noodle and find her a home which he did.  

There was a bit of a gap before we got Otis, a black standard poodle.  Along the way, we had learned that my son was allergic to dogs.  We of course assumed he could probably live with a non-allergenic poodle,  despite the admonition of our allergist, who told us there was no such thing as a non-allergenic dog.  I would not be dissuaded.  Otis was a good family dog.  And he was soon followed by another black standard poodle who we named Gussie.  We thought that two dogs would be easier than one.  They'd keep each other company and tire each other out. It was pretty much a hump fest all day every day.  For all of Otis' smarts and good manners, Gussie was neurotic and needy.  Who knows what genetics or early trauma was at play.  I remember when we went to pick him up, he was the last puppy in the litter. The minute I picked him up to hold him,  he peed on me   Could it have been another sign that I simply did not wish to see?  Over time, it felt like I was the only person who actually appreciated this dog.  Or better said, I loved him despite all of his annoying qualities.  He taught me patience and to look for the best in others.  

These poodles accompanied us through the years of parenthood, of raising our children.  Busy lives, busy schedules and two dogs who went along for the ride. 

Which brings us to Smooch.  Smooch is three years old.  I had been waiting for over 25 years since Morganetta to get another wonderful lab.  We pondered getting a rescue as so many people feel that is the only thing to do.  But finally, my husband said to me- "just get the dog you want.  You know you want another lab."  So, we did.  I had recently left my company and for the first time in 30 years, I was not devoting most of my time and energy to a company.  I was living full time in Vermont with my kids long gone and a blank slate in front of me. Enter Smooch.  

If ever there was a moment to believe in reincarnation, this was it.  She was Morganetta reincarnated.  These two dogs were eerily similar in every way.  They looked identical, they had virtually all of the same qualities.  Perhaps it's the breed, but I also think it was us.  We were so ready for this dog.  We had lots of time to nurture her, to train her, to love her.  She has learned to co-exist with our backyard chickens.  She has learned to be a camp counselor with me during the summer.  If ever there was a camp dog, Smooch is it.  She is there for all of the kids who left their dogs at home.  She is there to comfort the child who is feeling a bit homesick.  She dispenses kisses all day long. We didn't name her Smooch for nothing.   She is even the perfect dog to win over the child who was afraid of dogs.  It is nearly impossible to be afraid of Smooch.  She has taught me to savor each BVD (Beautiful Vermont Day).  She has taught me to be present and to be outdoors

as much as possible.  She has eased this challenging passage for me.  From a big, busy career to a life that is slower and more measured.  She has been with me as I have welcomed my first grandchild.  Now there is a game changer.  And it is all the more rewarding to have my trusty Smooch by my side.

The lessons from my "dog" have been ongoing.  Each chapter, in whatever form my dog has come to me, has taught me important things.  Now I just need Smooch to live as long as I will.  That will be the perfect end to the story. 

Expect a Miracle

Art, Community, and the Entrepreneurial Spirit

I am often moved to write when I've been part of a collaborative theatre project.  This time, it has taken me a bit longer to put pen to paper or fingers to the keyboard.  This time, I was part of something that was extraordinary in ways that I could have never anticipated or imagined.  A very dear friend told me that he believes that we should go through life "expecting a miracle".  That is what happened this winter on The 1776 Project.

This time, a group of wonderfully talented and dedicated people came together and created something magical, something that moved a community and created real meaning for the people who experienced the performance.  Many people have asked me how I pulled it off?  How did I bring this disparate group of people together and create such magic?

Well, I expected a miracle.  I have spent a good portion of my business career working at early-stage companies for some wonderful entrepreneurs.  I learned from them what it is to believe in a vision and assemble a team to make it happen.  I learned from them about not giving up even when confronted with obstacles and bumps. And there were definitely bumps.  There were people who dropped out, who couldn't stay with the project.  There were actors who were sick and actors that missed rehearsals. There were the normal challenges with the design team.  Mercifully, there were no significant weather challenges which was it's own miracle since we are in Vermont and the show opened at the end of March.  All in all, we weathered all of the small storms and managed to get a cast of 26 humans along with a crew of 12 to stay on their feet through a three-week run.

Expect a miracle.  In this particular project, our goals were very ambitious.  We set out to spur a conversation in the community and to engage with kids and adults around the very important issues in the play.  We invited local politicians and thought leaders to participate in talk-backs after every show. And our audiences stayed for the conversation.  The feedback from patrons has been extraordinary.  They went home and re-read books about our Founding Fathers.  They engaged with their families and friends in meaningful discussions about civics, and race and what it means to be an American.  The story is not all peaches and cream.  There were real compromises that were made in order to birth this great country. And everyone involved in the project explored that part of the story very thoughtfully.

We essentially built something from nothing.  We had no company, we had no team, we had no real support at the outset.  But we had an idea that we believed in.  We were able to convince some very generous funders to support our vision.  We began to talk about the idea and everywhere we went, people would nod and begin to get excited.  While many of the people who came out to audition and to work on the production were known to me, many were not.  There is a long list of people who simply appeared and got on board.  That's what happens when you expect a miracle.
It would have been so easy to say- whoa, this is going to be way too hard.  Who will do all of this work? Who will we get to play these very challenging roles?  Are there enough accomplished actors and singers to make this happen?  If we're planning to do community outreach, who's going to do THAT work?   And how are we going to assemble a group of musicians for the pit?  Who's going to run our spotlights and our soundboard?  But we started recruiting a team, and as the energy grew, the team grew.  When we began marketing the show, the word of mouth started to spread.  As the actors became more confident in the quality of the show, they began to spread the word with enthusiasm.  And then when our audiences left the theatre, they told their friends. The word spread.  Miracles do that. We sold out 8 out of 10 performances.  And we built something really special.  Sadly these pop-up communities are a bit ephemeral.  Actors often mourn when a show is over.  The cast and crew become like family and it's hard to replace that when it's over.

The 1776 Project is now behind us.  The gratitude that I feel knows no bounds.  And now we turn our sights to the next project.  It'll have something to do with talking to each other and with celebrating our unique stories.  And yup.. you guessed it.  Once again, we'll start out expecting a miracle.

The Dirty Little Secret About Grandparents

There are so many times in life when people say to you-  Just you wait!  Just you wait until you stand on the rim of the Grand Canyon. Just you wait until you lay eyes on your first child.  Just you wait until you see Hamilton on Broadway.  The list goes on and on.  I have heard the same refrain from a number of friends about becoming a grandparent.

I remember a conversation a year or so with a wonderful theatre director/friend.  My daughter was newly pregnant and I was bemoaning a lack of focus in my life since leaving my company. I confessed to feeling a bit adrift.  She looked at me knowingly and said- just you wait.  Everything will change when that grand baby arrives. Okay. Sure. I guess. It's kind of hard to imagine it before it happens.  And then I recalled conversations with dear friends who were absolutely, positively smitten, over the moon,  in love with their grands.   This was not, mind you, just confined to women.  I've seen male friends equally nutty and deliriously in love with their next generation of small fry.

So now it's been my turn.  The day finally arrived when my sweet little Mabel entered our lives.  I  had the privilege of spending two months taking care of her.  To put into words the indescribable elation that I have experienced has been difficult for me.  I have shed more than my share of tears without really understanding why.  It is well documented that my heart lives just below the surface so it doesn't take much to send tears down my face. But this was something different than anything I'd ever experienced.  This felt biological or hormonal. I even asked friends if it was possible to have postpartum depression when you have a new grand baby.  I learned recently to my amazement that there is something very real that happens between mothers and their daughters and their babies.  There is an exchange of DNA between them that makes the experience truly biological.  It makes sense that a mother would pass down her DNA to her baby and that the baby would in turn share her DNA with her Mom.  I mean after all, she co-habitated inside your body for 9 whole months.  And then when your baby became a woman and had her own baby, the DNA exchange happened again, forever bonding the genetic thread from mother to mother.  This is not to diminish the power of parenting, no matter the circumstances, the gene pool, the family of origin.  When it comes to DNA exchange, fathers share their DNA too when they conceive a child. The difference is that they don't receive the DNA back from their children in the same way since they don't carry the baby.  I know, it all sounds a bit mumbo jumbo-ish.  This idea was shared with me by a friend so I have not researched it's veracity.  But it makes a lot of sense to me as it explains how profound the experience has been for me.


So after an intense two months of being the Granny Nanny, the full time caretaker for this morsel of deliciousness, I had to leave her.  I had to get in a car with my dog and drive back to Vermont, leaving her 2000 miles away.  The heartbreak was practically unbearable.  I have reflected on the fact that our society today has enabled us to move across the country, across the world to pursue our dreams. This often requires that we leave behind our family and friends.  There is something unnatural about that.  Of course I would never get in the way of either of my children's dreams and ambitions but when they start having babies, is it really necessary to be so far away?  Can't I just pop over occasionally for a hug and some play time?  Wouldn't it be great if we could visit and read books and sing songs? Wouldn't my sweet Mabel like to sit on my counter playing with measuring spoons while I bake some cookies?   Of course I am not alone.   There are legions of grandparents who drive away from their grand-children and weep.  They sit in their garages and weep.  They are depressed when the visits are over.  They cling to the photo stream and the memories and the videos of their grands.  And they are sad that the visits aren't more frequent.   There are some who are lucky enough to be close by.  They are the really lucky ones who jump at the invitation to come babysit, or to help out with all of the challenges of parenting and working and creating a strong, loving family.

The dirty little secret is that grandparents are really really sad when they say goodbye.  They yearn to be closer.  They weep.  It's good to know that I'm not actually going completely insane and to know that I am not alone.

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Anyone driving to Denver anytime soon?  Need a co-pilot?  Sign me up.

It's Christmas and I'm Back

A few years ago, I wrote a blog this time of year, reflecting on why I had lost my Christmas mojo.  I speculated that perhaps it had to do with my kids moving out. I dubbed it the lull between parenthood and grandparenthood.  I just wasn't feeling it.  I didn't really want to decorate my house or spend a lot of money on presents that no one needed.  I complained about decorating the house by myself.

But something incredible has happened. I have crossed over. I am back in the spirit and I attribute it to the newest gift in my life. I have a delicious baby grand.  I call her Mabelicious.   I am now a GramPear. I have been called Pear by many friends and family so it seems only fitting.  I was lucky enough to spend the last two months taking care of her as her Mom and Dad got ready to put her into daycare. Taking care of a baby is a tough gig, don't let me sugarcoat it.  But it got easier every day and by the time I was ready to head home, I was heartbroken. I was besotted and I was bereft.

So here's the Christmas miracle.  I'm back into celebrating the holiday.  I have holiday music playing full time.  From the Mormon Tabernacle choir to Pentatonix and everything in between.  I am a decorating fool.  I have every manner of Christmas lights up all over my house.  I am opening boxes of ornaments with new wonder and delight and recalling the stories that go with each one.   A friend told me a little known fact that the sooner you decorate for the holidays, the more you enjoy them.  And whether or not our house will be full of family and friends, I'm doing it for me. I'm doing it because it makes me feel warm and filled with the spirit.

I'm still not spending a lot of time shopping or buying presents.  I am all about getting rid of things, not accumulating them.  But buying presents for a small one is a wondrous experience.  And I still love the notion of gifting "experiences".  On Christmas night this year, we'll be in NYC and are going to see a Broadway show.  How much fun is that?  It'll be a different way to spend the holiday but I'm excited about it.

So if my newfound spirit is part of what this new chapter offers, bring it on.  I may have had to change my picture of what a holiday looks like.  But the best lesson I've learned is to do it for me. Do it because it makes me feel happy.  I wish all of my friends the same.

A Different Kind of Birthday

As I sat in the rocking chair tonight, with my sweet Mabel, wishing her to sleep, a dark shadow emerged from the hallway.  And then another.  It was Sydney, the black lab and Smooch my devoted blond lab, coming to make sure all was well. They plopped down on the floor in the nursery.  Always there. Always available.  Always attuned to me and my loved ones.  It was the end of a long day.  My new job, for now, is being the Granny Nanny.   This was not the birthday of years past.  There would be no dinner out with my dear husband or celebrations with my peeps at work.  A few times over the last few years, I have been lucky to be in rehearsal for a show so my birthday was celebrated by a big, larger than life, boisterous group of actors.  This year it was me and my grand baby and two Labrador retrievers. As usual, I enjoyed the bounty of a Facebook birthday where old friends from near and far, from this life and the lives before, resurfaced to send birthday greetings.  There is much to appreciate about what social media has allowed in our lives.  I love that annual tradition of reconnecting with so many.  Some of my friends posted that they hoped I was having a big party or celebrating with fervor. I have been known to be a bit of a party girl.  Hmmm.  Maybe not this year.

I got the usual phone calls from my family.  That’s kind of what we do.  We call each other and sometimes we sing happy birthday.  But I missed each call today as I attended to my sweet Mabel.  This is a different gig for sure.  It is consuming in ways that I didn’t imagine or managed to forget. I was happy to know that my family remembered me today but not unhappy that I was busy when the calls arrived. My husband, still in Vermont,  sent a beautiful bouquet of flowers that I will enjoy all week long.  I guess he misses me.

I had been in charge since 7:30 this morning when the kids went off to work and then to a rehearsal dinner for a wedding that they will be celebrating this weekend.  It was a long day but not without joyful moments.  What is better than teaching your first grand baby to sing Happy Birthday?  We sing and we sing a lot.  She seems to love it and of course so do I.

But my heart aches a bit for the life I had when life was overflowing with friends and colleagues and loved ones.  This experience of being in a different city, with a different family, albeit my own daughter, is a bit disorienting.  I am NOT complaining.  Not one bit.  But I am feeling the loss of my old life, in Vermont, in Boston, in business, with my a cappella group,  even at camp.  This year, it’s just me and the baby and the dogs.  I guess it’s all part of the passage of becoming a grandparent and leaving behind a busy work life, at least for now. 

Babies have an uncanny way of making us live in the moment.  Thankfully, they are not worrying about the stock market, or the shenanigans in our nation’s capital.  They eat, they sleep, they laugh, they sing and they appreciate the care that we shower on them.

That’s my gig for now.  Perhaps next year, I’ll throw a different kind of birthday celebration.  Who knows.  Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to celebrate with some of you.   

Smooch's Tales- Lost on the Trail in Colorado

I'm so excited that my Mom is letting me blog again.  I had another big adventure this weekend in Colorado.  We went up to the mountains to this place called Frisco.  And we went hiking every day. I. Love. Hiking! The trails are so beautiful here and there are lots of dogs on the trails.  You know how much I love meeting other dogs.  I especially love running through the woods.  You can't even imagine how many smells there are.  And there are creeks and little rivers to swim in.

Usually I run ahead of my humans because I am so excited.  My cousin, Sydney, is more grown-up than I am.  She always waits for my Mom, who is not the speediest hiker on the trail. Just sayin'.

So on Saturday my Aunt Ames and my Uncle Andy took me on a big hike on a trail called Ten Mile Creek Trail.  My Mom decided to do some other things. We had such a blast.  There were tons of dogs and people on the trail and even some kids.  I. Love. Kids.  And there was a rushing river near the trail.  It was kind of like a canyon but the water made it really hard to hear anything.   I ran ahead and met some new friends.  And before you knew it, I was kind of lost. I was a little bit worried.  It turns out that my Aunt Ames was really worried because she sat down on a rock and started crying.   She worried that she would have to call my Mom and tell her that I was lost.   Meanwhile, I met a very nice man who petted me and checked the tag on my collar.  I guess he was worried because it seemed that I was by myself and I was whining a bit. Remember I said that I was a little worried?  I guess I whine when I get worried.   So the nice man called my Mom's number that was on my tag. I just sat down on the trail for a rest.  I had been running pretty hard all day long.  I couldn't exactly hear the conversation but I guess my Mom told him that I had been hiking with Ames and Andy and she was going to try and call them and figure out where they were.  Before long Andy arrived at the spot where we were waiting.  He and Ames had been hiking behind me.  So while Ames cried, Andy just kept hiking until he found me.

Well that was a relief!  I was sorry that I worried my Mom and Ames but I still had a really fun time.  I just hope they keep taking me out on the trails.  It's about as much fun as a girl can have.