First things first – Happy Family Day, and a belated Happy Valentine’s
Day to my twelve loyal readers! I treated my lovely wife Shauna to her
customary gift, a package of cinnamon hearts. I usually buy my cinnamon hearts
from Dollarama, and that store sells some strange Valentine’s Day gifts. I once
bought red plastic handcuffs there, in the shape of hearts, lined with pink fur.
Nothing says “Happy Valentine’s Day!” like bondage accessories. This year the
dollar store was out of cinnamon hearts so, reluctantly, I bought Shauna’s gift
at Walmart. I have noticed that cinnamon heart quality control is going
downhill. Whereas they used to at least resemble little hearts, now they are
just irregular little red blobs; kind of like blot clots. I buy these crappy
little Valentine gifts for two reasons. Everyone knows I’m “thrifty” but I am also
making my statement that Valentine’s Day is a load of hooey. I love Shauna, and
she knows it. More than half my love songs (all five of them) are about her.
The fact is, I do not think love is something that can or should be celebrated
on one specific day, any more than Christmas should be the one day when people
celebrate peace and goodwill. About ten years ago, I wrote a Valentine’s Day
song for Shauna, and every year I sing it to her. I’ve gotten a lot of mileage
out of that song. This, year, I chose to share it with “the world” (read the
twelve people who might consult my Facebook page). The other day, I recorded it
for the first time, on my portable recorder, and posted it to Facebook. Take
that Hallmark.
One of the ways I am trying to grow as an artist is to play and write as
much as possible with other people. This is a relatively new practice for me.
My first writing session was with local artist Doug McLean, and since then I
have had sessions with several other artists as well. The other day I had my first
meeting with a female artist named Gina Horswood. Originally from Australia, Gina
now lives in Huntsville, and she is really talented. She certainly does not
need my help, as she is an accomplished songwriter in her own right, but we
gave each other notes on songs we are in the process of writing. My friend Buck
was a gifted banjo player, until a stroke interfered with the dexterity of his
picking hand. He’s getting that back, slowly, and we’ve played together a few
times lately. The brain never ceases to amaze me with its ability to recuperate.
Frankly, I don’t know who’s getting more out of these sessions, because Buck is
a remarkable source of information about local musicians. We’ve been practicing
one of my songs, with the hopes that he will be able to record with me by the
time I get the second album done. This should not be a problem, as the first
one is taking longer than expected to complete. Another local guy with whom I
played the other day is an older fellow I met while volunteering at the Katrine
Community Centre. Ed Brown impressed me with his gift for rhyme and, after he
learned that I write songs, he began to sing a cappella versions of various
songs he’d written every time I saw him. I think he’s pretty good, so the other
day, I went over to his house and we recorded a few of his tunes. I record a
lot of local artists on my little Zoom H4N field recorder, then I give them the
digital file. I think it is helpful for singer/songwriters to hear their live
performances, and I wish someone had done that for me when I was starting out. Also,
this is a record for posterity. Some of these folks have never before recorded
their music. Ed used to play around Toronto a lot, but life pushed him in
another direction, and he is now a little out of practice. If these recording
sessions help him improve, then I have succeeded. I have found with music, you
get what you give.
The big news this week is that it’s really
cold here. I think my car battery is lunch, but as much as we grumble about it
here in the Almaguin Highlands (last night it was -37C), places like Boston and
the Canadian Maritime provinces are getting hammered with one blizzard after another.
The problem has become where to put all the snow. My friends in Sharon, Massachusetts
said that the snow banks are so high now that the snow blower cannot blow over them. Now there is apparently
another big storm approaching. It’s time to pull out the summer photographs.
Again.
Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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