Harpbroken

Worse things have happened to musicians.

I wasn't on the plane with Buddy Holly, Richie Valens, and J.P. Richardson ("the big bopper") "the day the music died" in 1959 (probably due to the fact that I wasn't yet alive).

I wasn't on the plane with Lynyrd Skynyrd and companions that day in 1977 more music died, or with John Denver the day in 1993 even more music died (note to famous musicians, please do NOT get on planes. Ever. Even your own personal tour jets).

But, nevertheless, having your harp fall over and break is pretty bad.

I was finishing up a day at the Herbfest in York last week, and all had proceeded well and good. I had arrived, unpacked all my gear, and played to a variety of artsy people into gardening, many of whom were dressed kind of like me (and probably resembled exactly what I will look like and how I will be spending my weekends in forty years).

I packed the harp into its case and stood it upright. The wheels were a couple of feet away, so, slightly harried and rushed, I turned my back for an instant to grab them. You know what happens the minute you turn your back on a toddler...BAM!

Immediately I heard this awful echoing crash, and spun around (too late) to see my harp on the concrete floor. I went over (as casually as I could, since there will still people milling about) and gingerly lifted it up, and felt a string through the back of the case, where it definitely should not have been. Yikes.

At this point I didn't even want to open the case to look, as if not looking would magically give my harp a chance to mend itself, so I wheeled it out to the car (this part is a bit hazy to remember) and then slowly unzipped the case and looked inside.

My harp had cracked. Not cracked as in a hairline, or even a split. Cracked as in huge chunk of the neck at the top had broken off (where the levers are) with nearly all the string but ten broken. Yep. Cracked as in totalled.

In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have driven home right after this discovery. My mind was insanely numb, and when I thought about the sad pile of wood and string in my trunk I felt basically nothing, and just gripped the steering wheel tighter with my icy fingers.

I calmly called home to prep my mom (and I had gone so long without having to make the "you better sit down" type announcement to my parents!) and then thankfully had to rush out to another gig, so was still able to postpone leaving a state of shock and returning to reality.

About 9:00pm at night it starting sinking in that my harp of seven years was damaged, perhaps unrepairable. It is in its case right now in the schoolroom as I write this, and it still creeps me out a little (it is kind of feels like writing in a room with a coffin).

Okay, it is an inanimate object. Yes, I do have another harp (thank goodness) and things could be much worse. But this was my first harp, that been my musical companion through high school and college (where I wheeled it countless miles around campus) the harp of Eventide Lullaby, Which Way to Dublin Town, and EWTN. We've been through alot together.

I am not sharing all this because I am asking for a pity-party. I naturally did have a small, rather private one, with only my former piano teacher as a guest, and we lamented the loss together. But then, I sat down at Grace's harp and we played some music together.

Yes, having my harp break was an unexpected and unwanted turn of events. Do I wish I could go back and not turn my back just when the harp fell over? Of course. However, dwelling on that one moment combined with the phrase "I wish," has never, ever, in the history of the world helped anyone get back to the past (you're better off spending your days trying to build a time machine). As Gandelf would say "All we have to decide it what to do with the time that is given us."

The time that is given to me is the time right now. So right now, I am going to call the Marini's to get my harp into the shop to start getting it repaired. Right now, I am going to thank God (as my mom pointed out) that I wasn't in a car accident. Right now I am going to enjoy life, even if my harp is broken.

Temporarily.

I hope.

Close Encounters of the Religious Kind

Stockbridge is one of those small New England towns that makes one sigh and remark “Ah, New England!”

Perhaps this iconic quality explains why Stockbridge was a haunt of Norman Rockwell, author Catharine Maria Sedgwick, and sculptor Daniel Chester French. I am sure that Saint Faustina never had reason to sigh and remark “Ah, New England!” but I am sure she is well pleased with the National Divine Mercy Shrines’ location.

In any case, it was St. Faustina that led Seasons to the National Shrine of Divine Mercy to accompany Jeff Petryk and Mercysong Ministries at the masses over Mercy Sunday weekend, the time of year when the National Shrine of Divine Mercy is inundated with 18,000 pilgrims. Yes, 18,000.

Driving through the town from the Yankee Inn (not to be confused with the Liberty Inn, which was a mental invention on my part) one passes by quiet brick and board houses settled on neat green lawns as properly as a fine lady at a picnic (can you tell how delighted I was?). The whole air of the Stockbridge, from the antique stores to the ice cream parlor, seemed to radiate “well, we’ve done it this way for the past hundred years, why stop now?”

On Mercy Sunday Peter and I had to arrive at the Divine Mercy Shrine at 7:30 am (which meant getting up in Yankee/Liberty Inn at 5:30 am to get ready, pack and drive over) and Peter took his coffee and reflectively sat on one of the still-empty wooden benches, gazing at the mountains that curled around the back of the outdoor shrine like a crown. “Many a poem has been written while staring at the Berkshires,” Mary Flynn remarked in a crusty British accent.

Besides the amazing blessing of getting to experience Mercy Sunday at the National Shrine of Divine Mercy with other Catholics from around the world (and some who had seen us on Life on the Rock) singing “The Helmsman” before mass on Mercy Sunday, randomly running into Emily Davis, AND staying at a hotel where there was an attractive Hispanic man who made incredible omelets (trust me, when a stranger in a strange land like New England, good breakfast is quite a blessing) we also got to spend time with some of the wonderful Flynn family.

The Flynn’s are the multi-talented family behind Mercy Song Ministries. After just meeting them it felt like we had known them for years (though apparently Peter has known Mary Flynn for years since they go to Franciscan University together, and she has even guest stared with Postscript).

Mr. Flynn is the author of “Seven Secrets of the Eucharist,” a brilliant little book that will change the way you go to communion. Erin Flynn’s Album, “Though the Darkness,” has great songs, including an awesome rendition of “Yet I Will Praise.” Brian Flynn has several albums and is a gifted songwriter. We had a chance to accompany the Flynns on some of their songs (Peter got to play keyboard on Brian’s Prolife song and was so pumped!) and sometimes I would be enjoying the lyrics so much it was hard to remember to play!

To read up on the Flynns and their music, you can pay a visit to their website:

http://www.mercysong.com

And also can check out the Flynn’s singing the Divine Mercy Chaplet (in the National Shrine of Divine Mercy):
Part 1:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=__RbWgxA2G0&feature=related
Part 2:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nnE9z7gwows

Finally, to learn more about Mercy Sunday or the Divine Mercy Shrine (since all of this probably sounds like Swedish if you are not Catholic) check out:

http://thedivinemercy.org

Ever wonder what 18,000 people looked like? Well, here you go!

Back to College. Well, Sort of...

Just so you know, this isn't Kutztown, since we didn't take pictures, but a Seasons stock photo used to get your attention. At least I'm being honest...

Being back at college, after graduating, can be an odd experience. After returning to Franciscan University last weekend for Holy Week (and playing at Living Stations) and last night playing an Acoustic Roadshow gig at Kutztown University, I have had quite a lot of this lately.

For me, going to Kutztown University was an odd combination of nostalgia and novelty. There were the college staples that come with the first arrival of gorgeous weather: girls strolling around campus in short floating skirts and colorful tops, guys sitting outside a dorm playing cards, and of course, Frisbees. Lots of Frisbees. Of course, my college experience with Frisbees was getting hit twice in the head with them orientation weekend while I wandering accidentally through cames thinking freshman-type thoughts (anyone who knows me will not be surprised by this) and then trying to stay as far away from them as possible for the remaining three years. But I know that most people enjoy them immensely.

As we boldly drove the red fan down a wide sidewalk toward our destination, the South Dining Hall (we’d been assured by a student that sometimes people drove down it) the similarities between my college years and this campus began to end.

Kuztown University has more than one dining hall, a fitness center with more than four treadmills (that everyone fights over), and, live music Thursday nights while students eat or study (courtesy of Acoustic Roadshow).

Upon arriving, Butch Imhoff was waiting for us and presented Grace and I each with a voucher to use at any of the dining hall options (there was an Italian station, sandwich station, coffee station, and a burger/fast food station). Needless to say, this improved our spirits immensely after an hour and a half car trip. We were both suddenly happier then we are at many higher-paying gigs, simply because we were getting free food (potential employers take note: fed musicians=happy musicians).

Once again we joined forces with the Martin Family Band, and took turns playing sets for the variety of senior citizens and college students chilling out in the dining hall. We also had the first ever team up of the Martin Family Band, Seasons, and Butch in a cover of the song, “In Christ Alone.”

One thing that Kutztown U. did NOT have when we showed up in the dining hall was air conditioning. Apparently the college had not been expecting the sudden surge of spring, and their air conditioner was still in hibernation, turning the glass- covered building into a giant terrarium.

To wrap things up, we had a great jam with the Martin family and the two Steves, whom I met back at the January session and happened to be in the audience with their flute and banjo. Grace had never played many of the tunes, so I would be hissing to her, “just play a lot of Ds!” as she tried to look professional and play along with a song she’d never heard at the same time.

So, being back at college, but getting to jam and eat a free dinner instead of studying, is a pretty swell deal, even if it is without air conditioning...