music

The Brandy Bar + Cocktails — Photo by usarestaurants.info

It’s getting real, y’all. This month I will begin the formal editing process of my teaching memoir, Lessons: A Teaching Life. If all goes well, the book will be published by the end of the year. I’ve been told it’s never too early to get the word out, so I signed up to read a short excerpt from the book at The Brandy Bar+Cocktails.

For the past several years, almost every month, the North Carolina Writers’ Network–Henderson County sponsors “In the Company of Writers” at The Brandy Bar. It’s great. The Brandy Bar is in an old building on historic 7th Avenue in Hendersonville, NC. Writers gather to hear a presentation by a local or regional poet, author, or playwright, followed by an open mic.

Last Wednesday, the evening began with signing up for the open mic and chatting with writer friends to the sound of blues tunes by guitarist Charlie Wilkinson and Hollywood Jonny. Next, came a marvelous presentation by local poet Tony Robles who read from his two volumes of poetry–Where the Warehouse Things Are and Thrift Store Metamorphosis. Tony moved us all as he read poems about the soul-healing power of physical work and the intrinsic value of everyday life and ordinary people. After the reading, Tony answered questions, offering insight into his work and telling us about the novel he’s working on, his first.

The Reading Room — Photo by usarestaurants.info

I was the first to read after Tony. A little nervous to follow such a great writer and eloquent speaker, but I felt so good afterward. One of the best things about reading a work in progress to an audience is when you get affirmation that your work has value. In my case, I also picked up on a few things I needed to revise, which I was hoping for. I used to tell my students to read their work aloud when they were revising and editing. One of the best ways to check for technical errors, sure, but also an opportunity to analyze word choice, sentence structure, and rhythm.

It was also a joy to hear the other readers. Some were writers I’ve come to know very well over my years of involvement with the Network, but I was happy to hear the fine work of writers I’d never met, including quite a few younger writers. In the company of writers is a good name for the event, one of my favorite places to be. Extra nice to be sitting in a comfortable chair sipping on a specialty of the house, Brandy Alexander.

Lava lamp collection by the bar–photo by usarestaurants.info

One of the most moving pieces came from a bearded man wearing a cap, tattoos covering his arms. He wrote about addiction and dealing with it. After the readings, he approached me and asked if I had ever taught at the University of North Carolina–Asheville. I said I had not, but I had taught at Blue Ridge Community College for 27 years.

His face brightened. He had been there, too. He asked about his teacher, my colleague who retired several years before me. I told him that I met with her regularly, that she was doing well and enjoying retirement. He wanted me to let her know that he was at UNCA finally finishing his degree, in English. “Tell her I’m a little late in getting it but I’m getting it.” I assured him I would let her know.

Once long ago, a student gave me a little wooden plaque shaped like a pencil that said, “Time and distance cannot erase the influence of a good teacher.” I think I’ll remind my friend of that when I tell her about meeting her grateful student while reading at The Brandy Bar.

Woodstock

Joni Mitchell

I came upon a child of God
He was walking along the road
And I asked him, where are you going
And this he told me
I’m going on down to Yasgur’s farm
I’m going to join in a rock ‘n’ roll band
I’m going to camp out on the land
I’m going to try an’ get my soul free
We are stardust
We are golden
And we’ve got to get ourselves
Back to the garden

Joni Mitchell did not play at Woodstock. She wasn’t even there. Reportedly, she penned this homage to one of the most important musical events of the 20th Century from a hotel room as she watched clips of the festival on TV. Nevertheless, she caught the spirit of that time, experienced it in a true way and wanted to return to it–knew that it would be necessary to go back to the place where the spark became flame, built up and roared.

I was nine-years-old when Woodstock happened. My father was a major in Army Intelligence, serving in Vietnam; nevertheless, the country’s division over the war was not a part of my life then. My wonderful parents protected us as best they could from the reality of my father’s situation. Woodstock came and went while I was playing Kick-the-Can in my grandmother’s backyard, waiting for my little brother to be born and my daddy to come home.

I didn’t really start listening to Mitchell’s music much until college. I attended a rather conservative Christian university, and because I’ve always been a contrary soul, probably to get attention more than anything, I subscribed to Rolling Stone magazine and carried each issue around with the cover always carefully arranged to show off the title. Oh, what a rebel.

Joni Mitchell painted a self-portrait for the cover of Wild Things Run Fast

I did, however, truly read Rolling Stone and often times bought albums that were reviewed favorably in the magazine. Joni Mitchell’s 1982 album Wild Things Run Fast was reviewed (Review), and I liked what I read, so I bought the album. It moved me, especially the final track, based on the beautiful “Love” chapter in the Bible–I Corinthians 13.

But not until I took my first teaching job in Aliquippa, PA, working at a private Christian school that paid me a pittance (less than the male teachers with equal or less experience), did I hear Mitchell’s “Woodstock.”

In PA, one of the things I did to amuse myself was go to the nearby mall and “shop,” rarely buying anything unless I had gotten a little care package from home or pushed paying a bill back a little. In the mall was a record store that also sold cassette tapes (CDs were not a thing yet). I was single then, and there was this good-looking young man who frequently worked there, so I would always take time to visit and linger if he was working, looking through the used and discounted cassette tape bin (I couldn’t afford a record player), searching for something that looked interesting.

One day I found something of value to me–Joni Mitchell’s third album–Ladies of the

Canyon. Even then the “Woodstock” track on that album didn’t appeal that much to me. I preferred the rock version by Crosby, Stills and Nash. Other tracks resonated with my single, 20-something self–“Big, Yellow Taxi” and “Conversation,” especially.

I was lonely then. Still am in many ways, whenever I’m away from my family and close friends. Then as now, I just never seemed to fit in anywhere else. Southerner from Alabama living in dying northern steel town. Liberal in the conservative world–conservative in the liberal world. Devoutly Christian yet disillusioned with institutionalized religion. But whenever I listened to Mitchell’s songs, I just felt better. Her distinctive voice would waft over me, soothing away the frustrations of the day–the loneliness, the isolation, the otherness.

Life got much better and infinitely less lonely when I started dating the man who would become my wonderful husband. After we moved from PA and settled in North Carolina, I still listened to Joni Mitchell, now on CD, but different songs began to resonate with me–my daughter was born and “The Circle Game” became my favorite, but now when I listened to “Woodstock,” Mitchell’s piano and poetry began to sink in: “We are stardust. We are golden.” Yes, yes we were.

by seriousfun@Morguefile.com

Then we come to yesterday–twenty years later–over twenty years doing what I love to do and in which I always thought I excelled. “Perhaps you’re not as good as you think you are,” I thought as I drove home after a particularly disheartening day, not of teaching, but of listening to how my colleagues, my friends, are being dismissed, belittled and even harassed by people who are supposed to have their best interest at heart, and worst of all, hearing an administrator, who has never taught an online class, denigrating our students in an open roundtable discussion about distance learning.

Feeling empty, I drove. Then, as if mystically planned all along, I tapped the CD player button. “Ladies of the Canyon,” the song, “Woodstock” was playing–the second verse. Joni’s voice soothed me again and started bringing me back.

Then can I walk beside you
I have come here to lose the smog
And I feel to be a cog in something turning
Well maybe it is just the time of year
Or maybe it’s the time of man
I don’t know who l am
But you know life is for learning
We are stardust
We are golden
And we’ve got to get ourselves
Back to the garden

Thanks to Joni, I’m on my way back.

photo by hmjmiller@morguefile.com

I have decided to add a creative non-fiction category to Teach. Write: A Literary Journal for Teachers of Writing. Send me creative non-fiction pieces about your experiences as a writing instructor. I will also be accepting poetry and short fiction. See Submissions Guidelines here. I will be accepting submissions until July 1, 2017 for the first edition of the journal.

Hey, Mrs. Winkler!

Musings and Mutterings About Higher Education in the South

Reading at The Brandy Bar

Got to Get Ourselves Back to the Garden

Thanks to Joni, I’m on my way back.