Death to Provocation

I guess some people like being provoked.


“What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living?” –William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing, 1598-99

Today I’m tired of illogic. It’s so burdensome and heavy-feeling to be aware that people all around you are making decisions, operating under and acting on grossly untrue thoughts, (a/k/a delusions.) Not to say I am 100% objective – but sometimes you see an epidemic of “The Dumb” and you just wonder to yourself how some people live. The prognosis is not good. It’s a total car accident. A train/ship wreck. A plane crash. Nauseated, you just watch in dismay and withdraw within yourself, (kinda glad you’re not them.)

They live to argue. They will not listen. They’ll just keep lashing out and lashing out despite being ridiculously off-base in their assumptions. Nope. They’ll just run with it until you give up. You feel like you want to demandingly shake them by their shoulders, but there is no prevention for the inevitable. It feels so disappointing, so you just get out of their way.

I guess some people like being provoked. They get off on the emotionalism of a “righteous,” erroneous tirade.

So, today, I gave up. Tired of trying to logically explain things to people. Tired of having my words interpreted with emphasis I did not place. They Do. Not. Want. I’m tired of living disdainfully. I deleted all my social media apps and will be taking an extended break to focus on other priorities demanding my emotional attention and energy.

I learned as a university student in 1993 that 90% of communication is vocal tone, facial expression and body language. Hopefully, one day we’ll return to interrelating in the flesh, humanizing one another, instead of wasting time arguing with screens by angry button tap.

It’s a twistedly reactive world from the vantage point of social media. Since every viewpoint is subjective, I’m going to shift mine and re-settle my perspective. It’s a comforting and beautiful privilege to exercise free will. Hope you’ll join me.

No good deed goes unpunished.

No good deed goes unpunished.

Just a quick blog post so I can get this out of my head and on paper (on screen) and finish the paper I have due tonight at midnight for grad school.

Today I had the very unfortunate experience of the classic saying, “No good deed goes unpunished.”

If you know anything about me at all, a large percentage of my life has been devoted to helping other people. A large percentage of my current life and most of my devotion to helping other people these days is in the world of live music in the city of Nashville.

Running a professional Blues music jam every Tuesday night for the last year and a half, plus attending live music events like jams and other people’s gigs in town for the last almost 9 years has afforded me the incredible and honorable gift of an extensive network and database – on paper, online, and in my head – of some of the most wonderful, world-class musicians, many of whom I am incredibly pleased and blessed to also call my friends. I’ve never suffered for needing a sub for a show with my band – even at the last minute – as the case required a couple times!

As a result of owning this incredible treasure of names and talents, quite frequently I am called upon to provide suggestions for musicians or my opinion on a musician’s talent, character or nature by artists and managers of many different levels of power, success and popularity in the local music industry. I always let them know that I am very happy to “vet” players if they would like. So reputation with me and for me goes a long way. I am known to always tell the new players to town that, “The assholes don’t last long.” No one wants to be on a tour bus with a jerk-face or alcoholic for 14 hours. A recent star from American Idol told me specifically that he would rather hire a mediocre musician that was a “great hang” than hire the most talented musician in the world with a bad attitude.

That brings us to yesterday. A lovely singer/songwriter friend, mother to a brave American soldier, arranger of frequent house concerts to promote other musicians, reached out to me asking if I knew of someone who could join her on one of her out-of-town gigs on a particular instrument – a paid 24-hour turnaround. When the players I knew off the top of my head said they were not available for her show date, I created a Facebook post requesting recommendations that I cross-posted in several of the most appropriate and popular musicians groups in Nashville.

Unfortunately, this post did not seem to meet the standards of one musician in particular in one of these popular groups (with 13,000+ members) who took it upon herself to aggressively attack and threaten me publicly and privately, despite the fact that I have been Facebook friends with her fiancé for the last year and a half. While I understand better than most that there are musicians who are taken advantage of by certain individuals, organizations, venues, and festival arrangers in the music and performance industry, my being a fellow musician, (not to mention a fellow female musician in the same city, and decidedly NOT an industry professional,) there was absolutely no reason whatsoever for this person to transfer her extreme anger and visit her rage upon me. While quite upset and triggered myself, I attempted to keep things civil with her. She continued to harass and argue with me – and my friend, the hiring artist – all afternoon lecturing us on how evil we were via private message. There was no reasoning with her because she was not listening, which is often the case when someone is indignant and full of rage. While I did absolutely nothing to provoke or deserve her anger, she felt it necessary to take it all of it out on me, who was really just doing a simple favor for a friend, trying to get another local musician a paid gig. Win-win, right?

No good deed goes unpunished.

In fact, unfortunately for this inappropriately behaved young musician, her “good deed” of “speaking up” for fellow musicians being taken advantage of, has backfired on her as well, punishing her too. All she has really done is proven publicly that she has a real bad attitude that will continue to not get her hired. (Her ridiculous rate request was more than twice what my whole band gets paid for a four hour local show.)

So, if you’re a young musician in the city of Nashville looking to get paid for playing an instrument, writing a song, singing a song, or giving some sort of a live music performance, I would suggest to you that you do not attack the people offering you a paid gig opportunity. I would also suggest that if you are looking for paid work as a musician, you will have to dig for it. You will have to “waste your time” asking a lot of questions when you don’t have enough information about a gig offer. You will have to actually spend time looking into and researching thoroughly every opportunity that comes your way. Just like interviewing for a day job, you’ll want to know about the company that’s hiring you and if you want to work for them, if they are going to value your contribution to your satisfaction, and if they can actually afford your reasonable going market rate. You’ll need to figure out what a reasonable going market rate for your services is and to be ready to offer a quote upon demand for any inquiring potential hiring agent. Due to the informal nature of these transactions, you’re going to want to build up a great reputation of following through on the value that you have been paid for, otherwise your job opportunities are going to dry up real fast. Reputation is everything in Music City – in the South. People talk.

Let me tell you from experience, in Nashville, unless it’s happening, “It’s not happening.” There are a lot of different kinds of “talk” in this town. Recently, I met a musician who uprooted his entire family from another state to come do music in Nashville with a band who then only gave him the runaround upon arrival. It happens all. the. time. You must be diligent in your due diligence. Get references for yourself and from the people you work for. You can not assume that every offer is a bad one or a poor one. Find out the truth before you accept or don’t accept. That is part of your job as a professional person, as a professional musician.

There is a gig for every musician at every level. You must figure out your worth and be able to provide a quote for someone who doesn’t know what your services cost. No one knows better than you, what the value of your services are. You should know what your services’ fair market value is and what you need, to do a show. Stand your ground and don’t take anything less than what you deserve. People ask me all the time why I don’t play more around town. It’s not just that I “can’t get hired.” It’s that local venues often won’t pay the reasonable market rate that we ask. They can always get someone cheaper. Many musicians will play for “exposure.” Don’t be mistaken about the law of supply and demand among musicianship in Music City. Someone will always play for free in your place. And if you find that an offer is below what you need for you to do your job professionally, move on. That gig is not for you. There is absolutely no need whatsoever to attack the person who is offering it. They weren’t looking for you in the first place.

So I’m leaving my original Facebook post up in that local musicians group having blocked my attacker, and her poor unwitting fiancé, because, although the thread may paint an unflattering picture of me, to a certain extent, from some peoples’ perspectives, those who know me will understand me, and people will also know – all of them – that they probably really don’t want to hire the extremely unprofessional player with the nasty attitude who unnecessarily went after me today.

So don’t shoot yourself in the foot – either at a jam, on a stage, or especially on social media which is an electronic log that will live for as long as there is electricity. That’s my next good deed of the day to potential music/buyers looking to hire a player. (I’ll probably be punished for that too!)

Blues Music Musing: On Target

Blues Music Musing: On Target

I make jam posters every week. My Mac lets me use a dropper to choose a single color pixel from a special guest’s promo photo to change the page color. Sometimes it’s the cherry red of a Strat, a bright yellow highlight on a funky button-down gig shirt, or a perfect match to the curvy pink lips of a gorgeous singer, but I try to keep it blue. It’s only appropriate. I run a Pro Blues jam.

I think of Blues as a target genre. Not that the intertwining circles are defined, but probably general rings that bleed into one another. And while you might like to move these names around, it’s like there’s an inner circle of classic Blues artists most people are familiar with. Household names, (at least in America,) like Muddy, BB, Etta, Buddy, Hendrix, Clapton and Diddley. Then there’s a circle just outside of that of people who just plain like Blues, and they might know Tedeschi Trucks, Keb’ Mo’, Joe Bonamassa, Gregg Allman, John Lee Hooker, Koko Taylor, Robert Johnson, Stevie Ray Vaughn, Howlin’ Wolf, Son House, Little Walter, Freddie King, Willie Dixon, Albert Collins or Big Mama Thornton. The circle just outside of that are real Blues aficionados. They know Beth Hart, Johnny Winter, Taj Mahal, James Cotton, Bobby Bland, Robert Cray, Junior Wells, Charlie Musselwhite, Kenny Wayne Shepherd and Johnny Copeland. Just outside of that circle, there are contemporary Indie artists that true Blues lovers and people in the Blues music industry are probably more familiar with like Gary Clark Jr., Shemekia Copeland, Bobby Messano, Dave Fields, Robben Ford, Coco Montoya, Janiva Magness, Popa Chubby, Ana Popovic, Tommy Castro, Tab Benoit, Anson Funderburgh, Walter Trout, and Joe Louis Walker. Then just outside that is a whole host of Indie Blues artists some people have heard of, and some indie artists most people will never hear of, and that’s pretty much where my band is. For now anyway. Thanks to our completely awesome Indie Radio friends and social media platforms, a few people all over the world have actually heard my stuff! How exciting is that??

Where this metaphor ends is that you can’t say what constitutes Blues music is a target. With a field of so many varied artists, one absolutely may not point to a bulls-eye or inner circle and say, “This is what the Blues is.” Just because everyone knows an artist, doesn’t mean the genre is defined by them. It means they’re very talented and had some consistent marketing and money to back them. Doesn’t mean those folks run the whole genre with their singular influence, (no matter how you interpret what Eric Clapton is quoted to have said about being ‘responsible for keeping the music alive.’)

Lately, my jam posters have been several different cool shades of blue plucked by the Mac Page Color dropper from artists’ jeans, shirts, guitars, etc. So, I looked it up. Officially, it looks like there are 69 varieties of blue, and infinitely more actual shades of blue. How many different Blue notes, licks, riffs, bends, solos, shuffles, hits, breaks, shouts, grunts, growls, howls, moans, screams, complaints, laments, and tongue in cheek gender ribs are there? Mm mm mm. I love me some Blues. I. Love. Me. Some. Blues. And every Blues artist, old and new, known and unknown, contributes a different shade or coloring to the genre, making listening to Blues music a deep, magical, rich, beautiful, bright, soulful, passionate, knee-knocking, toe-curling full body experience. It clenches your fists, opens wide your palms, raises your arms, makes your hands clap together, shakes your hips, taps your foot, closes your eyes and nods your head in heartfelt agreement. It moves you. As a Blues artist, it is incumbent upon me in a live performance to provide the opportunity for you to be so moved and engaged, and I do it with you – we share it together.

… … …

I’ll step off my soap box. Sorry…I was enjoying a moment there.

Hey, if you haven’t heard of some of the artists above, I highly recommend you step out into the next ring of the Blues target and try a taste. Those artists sure are all on target.

Surf Boards & Ditches

In the summer of 2004, I spent two weeks in Ghana, West Africa serving communities in the West coast seaside area of Busua Beach with a team largely from the United Methodist Church of Newton, Massachusetts with residing pastor and former Boston University Professor of Evangelism, Reverend Dr. Seth O. Asare.

I kept a journal during that time, recording every sentient detail – what I saw, heard, smelled, ate, felt – everything I could remember. I still have two water bottles filled with talcum-fine beach sand from Busua Beach I returned to the States with as a souvenir. One day, I will reread those memories and smooth my hands over the sand, as I did on that last night on the beach, opening my eyes as wide as I could to view stars in positions I’d never seen before, and would never see again, trying to burn it into my memory.

What I learned there, that I just stumbled across in a follow-up email to my financial backers at the time, inspires me to this day. Hoping it will do the same for you, here is that letter, unedited, with the same photograph I attached in the original.

I’m not cut out for overseas mission work; bless those who are. This was an experience that impacted me more than I think it impacted those we “helped.” For that reason, I would rather send money than spend money on traveling. Besides, everyone who loves God and wishes to share that love can be a missionary in their own backyard. Life a life of love. Don’t worry about ditches, just get back on your surfboard. #mixingmetaphors 🙂


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“We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.”

2 Corinthians 4:8-9


Dear Friends and Family,


I am so grateful to you all for your financial and prayer support toward our mission trip in Ghana this summer.  The country was beautiful and the people wonderful.  I am thrilled to report, mission accomplished!

By God’s grace, the site was prepared, palm oil processing equipment was installed, an initial delivery of palm fruit was supplied, and the Azani Women’s Palm Oil Processing Cooperative was formed, during Ghana Mission 2004.  As a result of the efforts of the mission team and donations received through Friends of Ghana, Inc., at least 15 women now have the opportunity to increase their family’s income and thereby improve their lives and the lives of their families and community.

Nearly 1000 women, children, and men received much needed medical consultations provided by Ghanaian doctors and nurses at the villages of Dixcove, Azani, and Busua over the 4 days we conducted free clinics.  Various medicines were distributed free of charge.

Rev. Seth Asare, Rev. Charlie Bark, and Rev. Tom Getchell-Lacey shared the gospel of Jesus Christ with those who attended services at Bethel Methodist Church in Takoradi, at John Wesley Methodist Church in Sekondi, at open-air revival services at Dunwell, Effiakuma, and at the Azani chapel, built during Ghana Mission 2002.  Ghanaians and Americans prayed, praised, and worshipped together, and some of the laypersons on the mission team shared their personal testimonies about their relationship with the Lord, how He has been working in their lives, and the difference that knowing Him has made in their lives.

I spent much of my time with the children of the local villages, talking, laughing, playing volleyball, singing songs, making rubber glove balloons, and holding hands.  I have already received letters from one sweet young boy named Solomon.

I will never forget Busua Beach, the tropical paradise where our hotel was located.  The ocean was very powerful there, the undertow and current immediately sucking you out to sea!  I always say that when it comes to God’s will, I must just get on my surfboard and ride the wave.  What that means to me is that I cannot control where God takes me in this life, but I can learn to ride the waves of my life, the ups and downs, and learn to enjoy them for what they are.  My experiences in Ghana taught me that sometimes, while I’m learning to ride the waves, I am going to fall off the board, be tossed about by the waves, get sand everywhere I don’t want it, and be swept out further and further to places I am unsure of.  If I do not put my feet down and stand, I will inevitably drown.  If I do not keep getting back on my board, I will never learn how to love my life as He has planned it.  Each new experience with God is practice surfing, is learning more about Him, His ways, and His purposes for me.

This summer I also learned of God’s awesome power to rescue people out of ditches.  Sometimes that ditch is physical, emotional, financial, or relational, and sometimes it’s just a plain old ditch.  On a very rainy Saturday, August 14th, while traveling back to the capital city of Accra for our flight home, our tour bus hit a patch of clay-mud, swerved off the highway, and rolled off a 15-foot cliff.  God was in the boat with us that day – we were all alive.  Immediately, I began to pray for God’s presence to surround us.  Next, we began to help those who were injured, while people came in droves from the highway, kicking out windows and the windshield with their bare feet to rescue us.  These brave souls led us out of the bus and hoisted us up the cliff onto the highway.  Many good people stopped to help that day, taking our things to the local police station and transporting the injured to the Central Regional Hospital emergency room where we spent the rest of the afternoon.  Only because of God’s good grace, injuries were limited.  Sometime, during the aftermath of the crash, some despairing person, seeing what they felt was a golden opportunity, ran off with my passport, yellow card, wallet, and money.  But again, because of God’s awesome provision, with the help of other mission team members and the police, my things were miraculously returned to me by the end of the day.

We may have been knocked off our wave that day, but God was with us the whole way.  Always trusting God, I was never frightened.  I am so grateful I had the opportunity to go to Ghana this summer.  Thank you again so much for helping me get there and come home safely.  To me, falling off a wave is not a deterrent to getting back on my board.  I am ready for my next lesson.  I understand that God wanted to teach me more about Himself and draw me closer to Him through my experiences.  Can’t wait for the next one!

May God bless you and keep you!

With my love,





Were you close?


Were you close?

 An older man who works close to my desk, who has previously been inappropriate with me, (surprise-hugged me from behind once in the lunch line,) asked when he saw the absolutely lush and gorgeous little Spring bouquet on my desk, (actual photo above,) I received from one of the teams I support administratively at my day job.

He’d first pondered, “Pretty flowers. What’s the occasion?”

“My grandmother died.”

“Oh. Not what you’d expect. Were you close?”

OMFG I had no idea what to say.

The relationship was complex, convoluted, amazing and twisted. She was a manipulative, charming woman whom I felt love from and for, but never knew how far I could trust her. A charming snake of a woman who feigned innocence so well; she won  big at Black Jack regularly at Atlantic City.

So I said with limited emotion, “I’d prefer not to talk about it.”

Really, what is that question about? Will your level of empathy or sympathy match my response? Like, “Oh you were really close, I need to support you, because you’re clearly struggling,” or “Oh you weren’t really close, so I don’t need to offer you any condolences, because you’re probably glad she’s gone.” You’re trying to establish how YOU should feel about it, not how I feel about it, as IF that could be quantified. You’re actually only thinking of yourself and how you should feel.

WHAT THE ABSOLUTE F? It’s none of your goddamn business. Why would you ask that question? It’s just not even polite. I’d prefer not to talk about that, and, quite frankly, I’d prefer not to talk to you ever again. About anything. Especially not things of a personal nature such as my grandmother dying. I’M NOT TELLING YOU ABOUT THAT, Mr. Inappropriate, and if you touch me again in the lunch line, or anywhere else in this workplace, I’m reporting you to HR for sexual harassment.




What Were You Thinking?

Archie Bunker is dead.

What Were You Thinking?

We’ve learned to take the elevator between 10:56 and 11:06 to get to the cafeteria these days since the lines for both take forever until after 1:00. (Productivity is not everyone’s priority here, but that’s the South for ya too.)

We were standing in the elevator lobby to go down to lunch today, several of us, and one co-worker in her 30s remarked to our co-worker in her 50s that she forgot to check the menu online to find out what was being served today.

50ish Woman: “I think it’s Oriental.”

30ish Woman: “What? Oh.”

Me (bewildered): “Does it really say ‘Oriental’??”

50ish Woman: “Yeah!”

The 30ish woman and I looked at each other wide-eyed. The 50ish woman looked quizzically at me, as I remarked that I was surprised the in-house caterer would use a word that’s long been considered a non-PC, offensive word.

She had no idea, and said something quietly about not knowing anything about that stuff.

We arrived downstairs to discover the menu actually says, “Peking-style.” Good choice, chefs.

This unsophisticated lady, the 50ish woman, is the same woman who saw me in the restroom a month (or more) into my temp/contract role at my job here and remarked, “Oh! So, I haven’t been around much. Aren’t you the new secretary?”

“Yes…err…Admin Assistant,” I mumbled and walked out without making eye contact nor smiling.

C-Suite right-hand, yes. Business manager, yes. Executive resource, yes. Program services manager, yes. Complex comms/logistical and tactical technician/coordinator, YES!!


The fuck?? Who even hires a “secretary” anymore? It’s like not even a job title in the market anymore. No lady, you REALLY haven’t been around much.

God forbade I had APAC heritage, otherwise, today I would have had to punch old fuddy-duddy 50ish lady “in the nose,” as my dad says.

Why don’t people know this stuff? Because they don’t care, because they don’t have to care. One day? You know, they will wish they had. One day when the “Orientals” and “Secretaries” are in charge of their healthcare, their golden years standard of living, their retirement resources, their end-of-life care, they’ll wish they’d been respectful. One day they’ll piss off the wrong one, and it’ll mean something more than an angry blog post.

There can be very serious social and financial consequences for not being thoughtfully socially concordant. Just because you’re in your 50s doesn’t mean you behave like it still IS the 1950s. (Besides, if you’re in your 50s today, you don’t even REMEMBER the 1950s.) Get with it! The ramifications of being out of touch these days can mean your very job and social standing.

Times change. You have to keep up, people. Archie Bunker is dead. You have absolutely no justifiable excuse. You simply have to be aware and in touch.

What were you thinking? You weren’t. You didn’t. You haven’t. Do it. Try it sometime. I promise, it’ll hurt (all of us) less.


I’m the luckiest girl in Nashville.


One of my co-workers is retiring this year after 35 years of service to our healthcare company. Earlier in his career he worked in a lab in a hospital affiliated with my employer where Elvis was brought to after his death in 1977. Who else can say that? It amazes me. These are pieces of this man’s extensive legacy, his special history and story, with this company; these are the items that will fill his memoirs.

We all have a special story to tell with our lives. When a friend posts about a passing on social media, I usually will respond with some sort of commendation or awe of the legacy they lived, the stories and memories they have left with us. I love reading about other peoples’ contributions. We’re here to give.

Makes you think of what lasting impression you’ll make with your story. What impact has your life made, beyond consumption of oxygen and carbon-based food items? What will you leave behind beyond that to share with the landscape or air? How long will the ripples of your personal impact last?

As a childless person, I actually mourn more that I will never have grandchildren than I do never having children. Isn’t that a bit funny for a 40-something? I’m sad no one will ever call me Nana or Gramma. I will say that being Auntie Cara has been incredible. I recently was talking with friends about the birth of my nephew. When he arrived, oh my goodness, he had my father and brother’s eyes. I “recognized” him instantly. This huge adrenaline rush came over me – he is OURS! He is ONE OF US! Funny for an adopted person, perhaps, but my brother and I are pretty close. When my nephew was born, I miraculously and instantly grew another ventricle of my heart for this little baby with the enormous cheeks and furrowed brow with his first bottle shoved rudely in his mouth by the nurse who was simultaneously trying to hold him up to the window for us to admire. He confusedly nursed and checked us all out. We beamed. I wanted him to know me, and I wanted to know him. I love him so much – and my niece as well. I had to go back and add that we had a wonderful Christmas this past year together. It was the first year both kids (6 and 3) were over-the-moon excited to see Auntie Cara and spend time with me watching movies and having a sleepover. With tears, I write that I miss them terribly.

I know my niece and nephew will carry my love and influence with them, and maybe pass some of that to their own children, should they have their own families one day. I know the children of my friends will also carry pieces of the Auntie Cara story with them forward also. I know the public/private and Sunday school students I have taught over the years will carry knowledge, love and maturity I helped cultivate. I don’t foresee my music making a tremendous impact on the world. It’s hardly socially relevant in any Bob Dylan, Prince, Michael Jackson or David Bowie kind of way, but it’s fun. It’s pieces of me I will lay scattered among my trail as I journey forth should anyone have a mind to pick one up to examine it.

I think the greatest impact I may have on the larger world will be the Pro Blues Jam I run at The Country Nashville every Tuesday night. I can’t adequately say how proud I am of that baby that’s grown quickly into an adult and taken on a life of its own. I gave birth to it! I am its cultivator! I help it flourish and grow. I water it, give it sun, and prune it when necessary. I’m its caretaker! I’m its parent! What a gift to create a space for some of the most talented, but largely unrecognized musicians in the world to practice their gifts and to taut them on social media after the fact. I am the luckiest girl in Nashville.

At the end of the year last year, the most frequent feedback I received was from many of the younger musicians who reported they REALLY LOVED the opportunity to receive healthy critical feedback from peers they respect. They like hearing how they can get better. It’s a classroom for them. Jams were a classroom for me – I learned how to work a mic, work a room, and work with varying sound systems & sound engineers! I’ll say it again, what a gift!

I KNOW for a fact we will someday say of these young folks that we “knew them when.” Kids like Preston James, Will Beeman, Dan Wecht, Nick Novelli, Eric Ganis, Chase Walker, Kyle Law, Brandon Salaway, Mike Tebrinke, and that’s just the ones off the top of my head; there are so many, and they ARE going to be more widely known, and they will be a part of my ripple, part of my story, part of my legacy, that they used to come to Cara’s Pro Jam and learn from folks like Shaun Murphy, Kenne Kramer, John Marcus, John Prestia, Dave Isaacs, Stan Lassiter, Jimmy Dormire, Dave Fields, Big Mike Griffin, Donnie Miller, Funky Z (Darryl Fields), Shakey Fowlkes, and my very own Val Lupescu, G. Lee Worden, and Stevie Dee. Good Lord there are so many I feel guilty for leaving out on this list. Hundreds of them. Have I said it? I’m the luckiest girl in Nashville.

I savor and relish the fact that my legacy will one day be years of service to Blues music and to the Nashville music scene. Thanks to my day job, my band, and our awesome venue for enabling me to do that. Our legacy is each other. The ripples are interrelated. Where they are part of my ripple, I am part of theirs and so on and so forth.

Let’s start making waves, friends.