No real blogs for this week...

I wrote a song instead!

YEEHAW!  HECK YEAH SONGWRITING!!!

So, get yourself a pen and paper y'all do the same.

~Billie.

PS- Apparently I have ads below my blog now?  Sorry in advance if you get something silly.

Goodbye, Winston-Salem.

Hey all,

Wow.

So much lately.

The holidays are finally finished and, as fun as they have been, I am finally ready to get back into the swing of things.

I just found out my school term ends May 6th, which is simply crazy.  I've never had school end so early!  Funny that.  In less than five months, I'll have my first year of grad school stuff in the bag.

That's so insane to think about.

What else is insane?

Leaving Winston-Salem.

12 years of good old 27101.

But, you know...?  It's time.

When I closed the door on my studio space for the last time, I was expecting tears maybe a hint of remorse.  But that didn't happen.

Instead?  I was excited.  Excited about the future and what it would hold.  I never thought this day would come, and it's finally here.

Story time!

My dearest of dear friends, Heather Watkins, stopped by her parents house in Rockwell, NC for Christmas/New Years.  The first night we were there I was feeling a little down, and Heather cheered me up by pulling out tons of old pictures from middle school and high school.  Smiling little teenagers, so excited about life.  Broadway shows, Drama Club productions, running around town, prom... all the essential teenager things.  Heather has a picture of me on her dresser at her parents' house.  It's me from a million years ago as we were getting ready for Broadway rehearsals.

"See that smile?  That's my favorite Billie smile."

I love this woman.  She always cheers me up.

The next day, after I clear out the studio with Dad, I send her a message.  It's 8 PM.  "You guys still up?"  "Yeah!  Get over here!"

Dad tells me to take his truck (since he's the Mayor of Granite Quarry and they tend to watch over such cars) and have a good time.

I open the door in standard high school Billie fashion, which involves opening the Watkins back door and saying "KNOCK!"  And I am greeted by Heather, Heather's husband Monte, Marie Donnalley and her beau, Josh, Brittany, their new little baby, and Mr. and Mrs. Watkins.  (I guess there are more than one pair of those now, which still boggles my mind.)

None of us drink anymore (or if we do, it's rare), so it's basically just us "old" folks sitting around the dining room table and talking about life.  It's funny... I remember Heather and I in the seventh grade lamenting the adults at the dining room table, dismissing them, and hiding in her room to paint our nails and talk about Star Wars.  Or KISS.  Or Aerosmith.  Or The Monkees.

Mrs. Watkins made a fantastic Italian Creme Cake (yuuuuummmm, Heather's mom is an amazing cook).  Yes, it was so good I have to mention it here.  True story.

"Billie!  Give me the hand you write with!" says Marie.

Marie is a palm reader (among many many many other fantastic things) and she proceeds to read my palm while giving me the most incredible facial gestures.  She nails a ton of things that happened in my life (with Heather interjecting now and then with comments about how right Marie is) and gives me some hope for the future.

At some point in the conversation, I comment to the table that I am no longer a Winston-ite.  I mention how I was more than a little surprised that I wasn't more upset about leaving.

Marie turns to me.

"Honey, that's how you know you did the right thing."

And there you have it.

I'm an odd bird (HA!  Get it?  Feather!), and more than a little indecisive and take a little extra time to make decisions (says my palm reading, thanks Marie!) but if there's one thing for certain...

When I FINALLY make up my mind?  I make up my mind.  Decision done.  Over with.  Put and stamp on it and put in the mail.  No regrets.

Winston, you've been beautiful and given me some of the greatest memories of my life.  But, you know what?  It's time.  Someone else can carry the torch, be the socialite, and make a holy mess of things downtown.  My good friends are still my good friends, and for that I am beyond thankful.

Onward to the next chapter.  :)

See you all around soon!

Take Care,

~Billie.

The P-90's and The Girlfriends at The Garage.

Photo by Jamie Kummerspeck Leigh

Hello all,

It's time for this Sunday's edition of my blog!

Whew!  

Guess what?

It's Sunday night!  The Christmas tree just got put up at the Feather household, and it's sparkly. (I'm tempted to repost my Wonderful Christmastime video from last year... but sadly I can't find it.  I know, I know... you're missing out.  Don't worry, I'll do another one.  Maybe.)

BUT TILL THEN!  You can enjoy Wings doing the real version!

This is crazy.  I have literally DAYS off.  Which is good, there's a decent amount of stuff to do... but all in all?  I HAVE DAYS OFF.  Billie Feather never has days off.  I HAVE DAYS OFF.  It's doing wonders for my psyche.  I can clean.  I can work on guitar.  I can sleep in.  I can work on stuff I've been meaning to work on for months!  I can write songs!  *insert happy dance*

But enough about me.

Let's talk music!

The P-90's played with The Girlfriends last night at The Garage in Winston-Salem, NC.  

Let's have a little flashback, shall we?

We had to find a fill-in drummer for the night, and after two other local drummers bailed (it happens)... we're not sure what to do.  It's two days till the gig.  After cussing, sitting, and thinking (think, think, think Pooh Bear style) almost all at once, we said... KARRIE SHEEHAN!!!  

We call Karrie, luckily and amazingly she's free.

Allow me to take a moment to give some mad props to the other drummers in my life too.  It seems I have the absolute privilege of currently playing with some of the most professional and easy to deal with drummers in the business.  Thank you - Dave Hartman, Brad Porter, and John Howie Jr.  I don't take any of the people I play with for granted.  I am a pretty lucky lady.

On Saturday Josh Caldwell (the P-90's bassist) and I roll up into Clemmons to find Karrie Sheehan and head off to the practice space.  Within an hour and a half (I'm pretty sure she can clarify this for me) she had our 10 song P-90's set ready to go.  Yup, she's amazing.  Add in a bit of girl talk (which is kind of fun, since we're both pride ourselves on being super professional and low drama in the music world) and we're all off on our separate ways to get ready for the show.

It's Dillon White's 21st birthday party show.  Which is kind of crazy since I remember him rolling up into my guitar studio at Separk Music on 4th Street with blue hair at the age of 14.

Now?  He's in my punk band!

As I roll up, Dale's outside and Josh is walking down the street.  Serendipity!

We all say our hellos, give hugs, and grab some gear out of good old Loretta.

It's a pretty cool thing to be the first people in the Garage on any given night.  The smell of years of Camel cigarette smoke, beer, and band sweat hits you like a brick wall.  Yup.  The smell of dreams and glory, eh?  The first time I played The Garage, I felt like I had arrived.  It still makes me giddy all these years later, no matter how I felt earlier in the day.  Ah!  A million memories.  All the posters from my favorite shows I've played there are still glued to the wall.

I snap out of it as the sound of Josh's bass cab's casters hit the concrete floor.  

"You ready, BeeBee?!" as he goes off to the bar in search of Guinness and a whiskey.  

I've known Josh since I was... 23?  I remember meeting up in his garage a million years ago for guitar lessons once a week and reminding him to loosen up.  All these years later?  He's a bassist in my punk band.  He's now beating the heck out of some bass strings.

I think Josh has seen me through some of the toughest times in my life.  

"BeeBee, if I have to drag you kicking and screaming through this, I will... damn it!"

Somehow, we've all crossed a threshold.  I now drink Cokes and Dr. Pepper at the bar, Josh is chatting it up with a nice lady, and Dillon is laughing and having a beer with his girlfriend.  It's a good moment.  

Sound check gets rolling, and everything comes together.  

We might just pull this off.  

"Check, check, checkin' the microphone..."

It's still crazy to hear my voice fill up a room.  Always like a dream.

Dillon flashes a smile, and gives me a fist pound to the arm.  I head butt him back.  I check back at Karrie and she gives me a head nod.  I look over at Josh, and I raise an eyebrow in worry.  I'm not used to fill-in's in the P-90's.  Normally?  It's the whole band or it's nothing.  But, it's Dillon's 21st birthday, and I'll be darned if he doesn't deserve a show for a far as he's come from that electric blue haired 14 year old.  And Karrie is as pro as they come.  Have I said she's amazing?

I zone out.  Josh catches me.  

"Bee?" Josh says.

I give him a look.

"Bee!  Think of all the other women out there who need to see this.  You're leading a punk band.  These are your songs.  We've got your back, we know you've got ours.  All that matters is right here, right now.  And guess where you are?  You're.  Right.  Here.  With people that love you.  Let's do this!"

I nod.  He's right.  There's a job to do.  And no one else is going to do it.

I look down at my boots for a second.  You know the old saying?  Put on your big cowgirl boots and deal with it.  (Or something like that... ;) )

I remind myself silently, "I'm surrounded by people I love."  One big breath, and I step up to the microphone. 

-----------

The P-90's have some amazing fans.  

Let me say that again.

The P-90's have some amazing fans.

Rick Johnson, who has some massive Ramones street cred I won't even get into on here, turned up last night and it's always a joy to see him.  Magically, he was there at the P-90's first renegade photo shoot at Wake Forest University by total accident.  I can remember the moment... "John Howie Jr?"  "Rick, you'd like this band."  :)  He's always got an amazing rock and roll story.  But last night?  He gave me the best life advice I could ever dream of.  It's as if the universe spoke through him.  I'm not sure he knows this, but it's the second time it's happened.  :)  And, for that I am beyond thankful.

Charlotte Stewart, who is our Triangle torch bearer, came out as well, and it always makes me so thrilled to see her.  She's in her last term of Law School (Rock and Roll lawyer!!!) and she said the sweetest thing to me.  "When I get really angry about exams or school, I put on a P-90's record and let you do all the screaming for me!"  Her unabashed honesty and clever wit are second to none.

Thanks to Charlotte, Karrie, and Rick for sitting with me in the corner of the bar and having great conversation the whole night.

Mad props to Mr. White, who is always so supportive of his son, and who I've known as long as I've known Dillon.  He's always a smiling supportive face, and things just feel safe when he's around.

The Garage crew (Karen Shew, you are included!)... I love you guys.  All these years later, all the times you've seen me act like a complete fool, you guys are still super nice to me.  Thank you.

To Alex and The Girlfriends, what a fun night!  Thanks for sharing it with us!

And MASSIVE THANKS to Karrie Sheenan for stepping up to the plate and knocking it out of the park.  Girl, you rock!

Whew!

When I walked into the Garage last night, I felt like the old me was retiring and giving the new me the keys.  I like the new version of me.  30 is really starting to feel like the best part of my life.  I'm thankful for my 20's, but THANK GOD IT'S OVER.

Here's to all of you for listening and being so supportive of me, my music, and my writing.  I cannot thank you enough for taking this journey with me.

Get ready, because the best is yet to come.

It's always the darkest right before the dawn.  And it's going to be one hell of a dawn, I promise.

Until next time!

Hugs,

~Billie.

PS- http://www.cinemaretro.com/index.php?/archives/5255-MERRY-CHRISTMAS-FROM-THE-BEATLES,-CIRCA-1964.html

Home meditation.

Hello all,

I am wrapped up in a quilt with a cup of coffee my Mother made for me while I write this.

The house still smells like mashed potatoes and corn (I'm trying to win them over to the vegetarian side of things, but it's a slow battle... at least now they've let me have part of the fridge for my veggie burgers).  There are candles in the window, fake evergreen on the table (Dad's got allergies), and mom's trying to get me to eat a fruit salad with Cool Whip.  I just finished watching a double episode of Dr. Who.

Today I did something I didn't think I could do.

I finished my first term of grad school.

I'm not going to go into details as to how much of a personal battle that was for me, but the important thing is not what's in the past.  The important thing is that it's done.

I cried on the way home from school.

I've been spending a good amount of time at my parents house this holiday season, and that's a funny thing to think about.

I was kicked out of the house when I was 18, right around Christmas time.

I can remember the fight.

Mom and I were putting up the tree, and I snapped at her about something.  She snapped back.  I didn't want to back down, so I said something I shouldn't of.

Next thing I know I'm in my bedroom, both of my parents screaming at me.  Me being bullheaded and definant.

Next thing I know, I'm out the door.  *boom!*  With my Dad throwing out my guitar right behind me.

I remember that lonely car ride.

I didn't have anywhere to go.  But I was determined to not go back home.  Thinking I was doing the right thing.

Well, I made it work.  Kind of.  I struggled, lived in really bad places...

What does all that have to do with anything?

My goal for this week is to discover detrimental patterns in my life.

One of them?  My bullheadedness.  Next one?  My inability to listen.

My bullheadedness got me kicked out of the house at 18.  Luckily, my family is amazing and they have forgiven me all my misgivings.

I can be rash.  And then I stand by my stupid rash decision because I am bullheaded.

What I should have done was drive around to calm down, go home, apologize, and have Christmas with my parents.

Here I am at 30, helping my mom put up Christmas decorations for the first time in... yup.  11 years.  Making up for lost time.

I remember when my Grandfather Feather died, I thought to myself... this is the first time I've had a week off in seven years.  SEVEN YEARS.

If that's not a detrimental pattern, I don't know what is.

But here I am.  Now taking things slow.  Practicing not being so rash.  Practicing not being so obsessive about things.  Practicing the art of listening and hearing.  Giving myself time to just be.  Letting anger go.

I've made a lot of lists lately.

Daily lists of "what I will do today?" which include things such as:  eat breakfast, take a shower, take a nap, go visit Dad at town hall, call K. C.

A list of things I want in my life.

A list of things I want to accomplish.

And the hardest to face... THE list of horrific patterns I have with thoughts on how to break them.

That's my favorite list.  I get to use my scientific skills to get in deep and figure out how my patterns occur, what brings them on, and in what situations they are most likely to resurface.

It's kind of shocking how simple breaking the pattern in.  A matter of, don't go here.  Don't put yourself in this situation.  Walk away.  Go home at this time.

It's also a matter of deciding what is really important to you.

I made a list of those too.

Then I made a list of things that I do that are detrimental to what is really important to me.

It made me feel like a drug addict in a way.  It's a simple thing, right?  Just don't do that thing.  Don't take "that drug".

Right.

It's about atmosphere.

Here in Salisbury, there are no bars I would dream of going to.  I barely know anyone that lives around here, and I don't go "hang out".  It feels like rehab.  Lots of quiet.  Lots of time alone.  Lots of time doing chores.  If I don't get home in time, I miss dinner.  I miss seeing people I love.  I'm permanently cutting off bad friendships and strengthening the good ones.

BREAKING THE CYCLE.  BREAKING THE PATTERN.  Restructure.

I often think to myself, what a waste of time my 20's were.  Then, I beat myself up a lot of a lot of reasons.

But lately, I've stopped.  Why waste time and energy beating myself up or reflecting on how bad certain times were?  It's a better use of time to just think on what I didn't like about A, B, or C, write it down, and write how I will change it.  I'm putting my energy into changing habits.

I'm in the middle of a break from music.  There's a P-90's show coming up this weekend for Dillon's 21st birthday (no way I could say no to that) but beyond that Billie Feather has nothing in the books.

Can you believe that?  Billie Feather has NOTHING in the books.  No every weekend gigs, no running around everywhere.

It's kind of shocking.

But you know what?  It's really good.  I'm taking time to remind myself of why I enjoy music.  Funny that.  The same room I learned my first song in a long time ago is the same room I'm meditating on things.  Tomorrow, for the first day in weeks, I'm going to pick up my guitar and work on some school things.  It's on the "to-do" list.  I'm rediscovering who I am without a stringed instrument in my hands.

It's funny how that has been my identity for so very long.

What the hell am I doing with my time?

Walking.  Riding my bike.  Reading, a lot.  Watching some Dr. Who.  Writing, a lot.  Taking baths.  Doing household chores.  Spending time with my family.  Finally getting the sleep I needed.  Not worrying so much.  Trying to let things be organic.  Do their own thing.  Not being rash.  Cutting out recipes from Southern Living Magazine and putting them into little baggies.

I'm resetting.  Giving myself all the things I haven't had since I was kicked out of the house at 18.

All in all, I'm doing much better.  I feel better.

I felt like for years I had a massive cloud over my mind.

And, I did.  It had nothing to do with anyone else but me.  I finally have time to sit back and reflect on what is really important.

So... what is really important to Billie Feather?

Quality of life.  My family.  My good friends.  Helping others reach their goals.  Teaching.  Music.  Love.

Living the best life I can.

I've cried a lot lately.  I'm finally letting myself feel things.  Not judging the feelings, just using it as information and letting it pass through.  Learning what makes me cry.  Learning why I am crying.  Learning what is important enough for me to cry about.

Anyways.

Actions speak louder than words.

I hope you all take the time to find what makes you really happy.  I mean, really really happy.  What, in Buck Owen's own words, makes your heart skip a beat.

Another list I am making is of things that make me happy.  For a while, I thought nothing would.  But, slowly... the list began.  I forced myself to write down anything that cause even a small glimmer inside of me.

It started like this:

Warm baths.
The Monkees.
The color of the sky.
A hug.
Bava, the dog.
Glitter.
Nail polish.
Dinner.
Smiles.
Dr. Who.
Christmas lights.

Insanely, coffee is still not on the list.  But, warm mugs are.  It's funny when you take time to realize EXACTLY what makes you happy.  You start to value things a lot more.

Yes, Elvis Christmas records made it on there too.

Suddenly, I started to wake up.  There is a lot of good in the world.  Things aren't so bad.

I'm also learning how to ask for help.

I'm queen of DIY, thinking that all you need are a couple of tools... and bing bang boom!  You have a solution.  (Bullheadedness)

Well, not quite.  I'm learning that I can't do everything on my own.  I have to allow room for someone else, and for me to not always be right.  Too see that my solution is not the only solution.  Trust me, I'm spending a lot of time not getting my way lately.  And, you know what?  That's really okay.

My parents are awesome.  I noticed something my Dad keeps saying, "I know you're not going to listen to me, but..."

And I thought, oh my God.  That's my MO.  Not listening.  Reactionary.

Hmmm.

Here's to the first month of the rest of my life.  I am thankful for this time.

I hope you all have a lovely evening.

Take Care,

~Billie.

Mandela and South Africa

Good morning all.

I am sitting in songwriting class listening to my South African classmates talk about Nelson Mandela, and I am moved to tears.  It's one thing to be a white person in a white world talking about Mandela...

It's another thing entirely to be in a predominantly African-American college listening to my South African classmate reflect on such a great man.

His will is astounding, and he accomplished some of his greatest feats after the age of 70.

Proof standing that it is never too late to make an amazing impact.  We are never too old.  Never to give up to what you believe in and love.

What a beautiful class.  Here's the poem we read:

By MAYA ANGELOU:

His day is done.
Is done.
The news came on the wings of a wind, reluctant to carry its burden.
Nelson Mandela’s day is done.
The news, expected and still unwelcome, reached us in the United States, and suddenly our world became somber.
Our skies were leadened.

His day is done.
We see you, South African people standing speechless at the slamming of that final door through which no traveler returns.
Our spirits reach out to you Bantu, Zulu, Xhosa, Boer.
We think of you and your son of Africa, your father, your one more wonder of the world.

We send our souls to you as you reflect upon your David armed with a mere stone, facing down the mighty Goliath.

Your man of strength, Gideon, emerging triumphant.

Although born into the brutal embrace of Apartheid, scarred by the savage atmosphere of racism, unjustly imprisoned in the bloody maws of South African dungeons.

Would the man survive? Could the man survive?

His answer strengthened men and women around the world.

In the Alamo, in San Antonio, Texas, on the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, in Chicago’s Loop, in New Orleans Mardi Gras, in New York City’s Times Square, we watched as the hope of Africa sprang through the prison’s doors.

His stupendous heart intact, his gargantuan will hale and hearty.

He had not been crippled by brutes, nor was his passion for the rights of human beings diminished by twenty-seven years of imprisonment.

Even here in America, we felt the cool, refreshing breeze of freedom.

When Nelson Mandela took the seat of Presidency in his country where formerly he was not even allowed to vote we were enlarged by tears of pride, as we saw Nelson Mandela’s former prison guards invited, courteously, by him to watch from the front rows his inauguration.

We saw him accept the world’s award in Norway with the grace and gratitude of the Solon in Ancient Roman Courts, and the confidence of African Chiefs from ancient royal stools.

No sun outlasts its sunset, but it will rise again and bring the dawn.

Yes, Mandela’s day is done, yet we, his inheritors, will open the gates wider for reconciliation, and we will respond generously to the cries of Blacks and Whites, Asians, Hispanics, the poor who live piteously on the floor of our planet.

He has offered us understanding.
We will not withhold forgiveness even from those who do not ask.
Nelson Mandela’s day is done, we confess it in tearful voices, yet we lift our own to say thank you.

Thank you our Gideon, thank you our David, our great courageous man.

We will not forget you, we will not dishonor you, we will remember and be glad that you lived among us, that you taught us, and that you loved us all.

Friday is Lyrics Day.

Friday just became lyrics day.

I'll check back in with you cats soon.

Till then,

~Billie.

"Brand New Colony"

By The Postal Service

I'll be the grapes fermented,

Bottled and served with the table set in my finest suit

Like a perfect gentlemen

I'll be the fire escape that's bolted to the ancient brick

Where you will sit and contemplate your day

I'll be the waterwings that save you if you start drowning

In an open tab when your judgment's on the brink

I'll be the phonograph that plays your favorite

Albums back as you're lying there drifting off to sleep...

I'll be the platform shoes and undo what heredity's done to you...

You won't have to strain to look into my eyes

I'll be your winter coat buttoned and zipped straight to the throat

With the collar up so you won't catch a cold

Thanksgiving Pheonix.

(A post-script as a pre-script... I don't really go back and edit these, but... enjoy!)

Good Lord.

It's been a while.  Welcome back.  Hope your journeys have been fulfilling and enlightening.

Good Lord, mine have.


Wee... how scary a blank piece of paper is.

In my awesome and wonderful songwriting class, our teacher has been giving us tons of ways to deal with a blank piece of paper... different ways of thinking, tricks to get your mind out of blocks, random assigning of chords...

but it's still a little scary now and then.

The great unknown.

I'm discovering just how painful writing can be.

Say the wrong words, take them in the wrong context... you start wars.

But with the right words you can heal, teach, educate, and enrich.

My first outlet was with words.

Music came second.

And today I remember this.


So, it's Thanksgiving.  A time to reflect.  A time to be thankful.  A time to be still.

Stillness is something I have been HORRIBLE at, up until my 30th birthday.

When you move around all the time - you never stop.  Stopping is good.  One must rest, one must heal, one must listen, one must be still.

If you're not still you (or at least me) find yourself adapting to all sorts of bizarre things.  Humans were not meant to spend hours upon hours in a car.  It's not organic.  It's not normal.  It's too fast.

You loose yourself to the running.  You loose yourself to the speed.  You don't think anymore, you just do.  Reactionary.  Impulsive.  Rash.  Not thinking.  Doing.

And when I realized all that, I came crashing down.  HARD.

Turning 30 was catastrophic for me.

I discovered I'd been running since I turned 21.  Running away from home, running away from anyone and everything.  Being the rebel.  Not listening.  Just doing.  Act first, and pick up the pieces later.

When you run, you can't think straight.  You're only worried about getting to point B and yourself.

But you're not really worried about yourself.  You become a machine.  Throw a bunch of stuff in your car so you won't forget anything, start the engine, throw on a CD, and loose yourself to the road.

Yes, yes, yes.  That can be good.

SOMETIMES.

The weeks before my birthday, I'm thinking...

"Oh my God.  My 20's!  I haven't done enough!  I must run more!  I must do more crazy stuff!"

Then one day, your worst nightmare comes true.

You're 30.

Your twenties!  They're gone!  Holy shit!  What are you going to do?!

Well, for me it was sit in a car, cry my eyeballs out, and basically act like a selfish idiot.  Wanting to cry out for help, but not knowing what to say, how to say, or even what the hell to ask for.  Needless to say, I am thankful that I have the support system I have that allowed me to go through that nonsense with some dignity.

Apparently this kind of break down is a normal thing for people that have a nasty habit of always moving around.

Moving around started for me as a child.

We moved at least every couple of years.  The first two moves are pretty devastating, but then you get used to it.  Leave things in boxes, knowing that they'll have to be re-moved eventually.

Moving didn't stop in college.

Every year?  A different place.

That's a good thing, right?  Sure!  Adaptation is a wonderful trait.

And then I turned 30.

I realized pretty quickly that my 20's were not all they were cut out to be.  Graduated college.  (That was good.) I had a ridiculous amount of fun playing in bands, touring the United States and Europe, making tons of new friends, and basically being ridiculous.

But... what did I do?

Sure, yes... "I had a ridiculous amount of fun playing in bands, touring the United States and Europe, making tons of new friends, and basically being ridiculous."

But what did I do?  What deeply mattered?

Graduating.  Teaching.  Owning my own business.  Making people happy through music.  Making good life-long friends.   Helping to raise a little boy.  Watching my students grow and become amazing adults.

That's what mattered.

Not the fact that at one point I could drink half a bottle of Jameson without batting an eye.  Stay up late singing songs till my fingers bled.  Getting attention I never had before as an awkward teenager.  Driving all over creation always operating on half-awake status.

I hear that's how they do torture.  They keep you half awake and delusional.

I can hear you.  "Yeah, sure, that's great... what does this have to do with 'Thanksgiving Peonix?'"

Easy.

I finally had a chance to stop these past few days.

Park my car, and not move it for a while.

From 23 to 30, I had been making some really bad decisions in between some really good decisions.  These past few months leading up to 30, I felt as if I had become a fireball burning out of control.  Mass destruction.  Everything coming to a fiery end.

I guess Billie Feather had to do with with as much gusto as humanely possible.

And this led to a cold night with me crying in my Loretta.  Not even knowing what to feel or how to feel it.  Taking it out on everyone.  Completely and utterly selfish.

But that's your 20's, eh?

And what happened?  Somehow one of the most amazing men in the universe managed to get me back into the house, to eat a piece of wonderful birthday cake, and start to calm the hell down.

The burning was stopping.  The ashes were beginning to gather.

Since October 24th, the embers have grown cold.  I have a rather lovely pile of mess at my feet.

And now, here, in my middle school/high school bedroom, I feel like a tiny baby bird.

Weak.  Small.  With big glossy eyes.  Alone.  Defenseless.

Which causes one to look inward.

Who is Billie?

What does she want?

You've crashed, you've burned, you've raised all hell, you've done it all that any self-respecting rebel would and could do...

But now what?

And here I am.  Back to where I began.  With words.

A tiny baby bird with her words.

A much smarter, more together bird, but a tiny bird.  Fresh from the flames.

I like the phoenix idea.  I like rebirth.  Welcome to half of my cusp... the Scorpio.

Everyone has something they attach to.  An element, a symbol, a movie character...

Mine's a fire bird.

I am weak.  I have damaged myself.  I have ruined things I hold dear.

But!  In these past few days of stillness, I am healing.  Raising from ashes.  Learning to love myself and to recognize what it is that drives me.  What makes my heart skip a beat.  What makes my pulse race.

I decided to start looking back at the beginning and what made me happy as a little girl.

Writing.  Dancing around the room to music.  Strumming on my guitar.  Watching the sunlight through the windows.  Cowboy boots.  Quilts.  Performing on a stage.  Making people happy.

As easily as I can navigate social situations, I'm an introvert.  Maybe I'd been fighting that.

But, I like being still.  It's nice.

Sure, I enjoy movement.

But, after burning, you become a little more cautious.

You value things more.

Images burn.  They can't sustain.  Strong foundations and strong buildings do not burn.  They stand the test of time.

So, here I am, finding my foundation.

A tiny bird, learning to use the legs she burned up.

Accepting that I am going to be weak for a while, until I learn and earn the right to use my wings.  To watch.  To listen.  To help others.

I am not a cartoon character from the realms of some dark honky tonk.

I am a girl born in the mountains of Pennsylvania in a mobile home.  Raised surrounded by love, family, and wild open woods.  My head reluctantly filled with values and morals.  Lessons on how not to lie, and how to treat others as you wish to be treated.  To nurture.  To help others and things grow.  Because when you don't have a lot, you value what you do have.  You work for it.  You work on it.

I am girl who loves country music from when I lived in Knoxville, Tennessee.  I started my first country band in the 4th grade.  (True story - we played the heck out of some pre-recorded Diamond Rio) It's in the water over there, I promise.  :)

I am a girl who loved turning her amp up to 11, cranking the drive as loud as it would go, dressing in goth makeup, and playing punk rock.  Learning how to wrangle a guitar much like you learn to wrangle a bull (I'm pretty darn good at mechanical bulls, by the way) and laughing the whole time.

I am girl who loved running through the woods with her friends in Granite Quarry, making up new trails and paths on my bike.

I am a classically trained guitarist, who worked her tail off to get her degree.  I remember that awesome feeling when I got my piece of paper and thinking "If I can do this, I can do anything."

But... what are you now, little bird?

I'm a student.  I'm back in school to be a teacher.  To enrich others lives.  To help them find happiness.  I repair instruments, bring them back to life so someone else can find their joy.  I'm no longer the bar fly (yes, I still love whiskey, bourbon, good beer, and the occasional gin and tonic AND LORD KNOWS I love a good jukebox).  I no longer want to stay up until 6 am till my fingers bleed.  I don't need a scene, newspaper, or anyone else to justify or explain my musical endeavors or myself.  I am a musician, and I love the music I play.  I only play music I love, with people I love.  I don't have tattoos because I'm too busy paying off my musical instruments.  (Not that I don't want one, or that I don't have a design that I've been sitting on for years...)  I don't have the deepest southern drawl (although I've been south of the mason-dixon line since I was four).  I have a military jacket with patches on it because I couldn't afford a bad ass punk rock motorcycle jacket when I was a teenager.  I like sweaters and snap button shirts.  I will damn well be buried in my cowgirl boots.  I like all music.  I adore lyricists.

Quite frankly, my dear... this little bird doesn't give a damn about what you think of me in the past.

What I do give a damn about is my friends.  My loved ones.  My family.  My studies.  My music.  My honor.  My integrity.  My professionalism.  My well being.  My health.  My future.

When you take time to think and reflect, you realize what matters.  You grow.  You take time to look in the mirror, see all the damages, and go... "Okay.  All I can do is go forward from this point."

And there you have it.

I am thankful for the stillness.

I may have ruined everything in my burning, but now I am still.

Quiet.

Reflective.

Growing up, yet again.

I hope to goodness this helps someone be smarter than I was.  Maybe we all have to go through it, but hopefully you won't make as many mistakes as I have.

For all my intelligence I like to think I have ( :) ), my emotional intelligence is clearly a little slower to catch up.

They never teach you emotions in school.  Apparently you have to deal with those when you get older with a therapist.  :D

But!  Yes!

I am so thankful today.  Thankful for my 30's.  Thankful for growing up.  Thankful for my awesome friends.  Thankful for my family.  Thankful for my fantastic bandmates.  Thankful for words.  Thankful for music.  Thankful for the chance to be alive.

Hug your loved ones close.  Life is short.

God bless you all, and goodnight.