Crowspun... Crow Johnson Evans

Writing

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Capital “T” Truth.

As I approach the new year, my thoughts swirl and my imagination stretches for tree limbs and ideas beyond the reach of my fingertips. Here’s a conversation between the elderly, woodsy, recluse Miss Henrietta and Lillian… a teen with the world spinning out in a million directions before her.

“Miss Henrietta, what does truth mean with a capital T?

“Child, you do ask tricky questions. Didn’t you want to start today with an easier question? Like what makes rain? Or rainbows? Or what makes the world spin on its axis? Or who made the man who made God, and the man who made the man who made God?”

“Seriously, Miss Henrietta, everyone says I must tell the truth with a capital T. But you told me that Wisdom is wise because it imagines looking through the eyes of others. Like if a hunter shoots a beautiful deer he sees a sacrifice that will feed his family. And the deer might see tragic murder  with a gun that leaves the deer family orphans in the tough days ahead. What is the capital T truth of that story?”

“How old are you Lil? Fourteen going on four hundred and fourteen? Darn girl.”

I wrinkled my nose and just gave her my “and so what?” look. So she continued.

“As life developed on this planet, it was important for creatures to know things that were beneficial versus things that could get them injured or killed. Are you with me?”

“Yes, you are talking about A or B choices, things falling into two columns only, black or white, life saving or losing.”

“Right, Lil. Our early human minds facing a meat-eating dinosaur didn’t have time for a philosophical discussion. Fight, flee, or hide were their immediate choices.

“It is frightening to most modern people to consider that there are a million gray tones between black and white. We want a clean answer, “that was right” or “that was wrong.” “Should I do it or not?” Dear Lil, please be suspicious when someone tells you they have all the right answers.

“Well, how do I find the right answers if I can’t rely on other people?”

“Do you know the meaning of the word discernment, Lil? It is the curse and joy of our human minds. We weigh the situation and make a judgment.”

“But you told me that judging is a bad thing. We shouldn’t judge others.”

“Yes, but how do you know if you in your life are making the best choice? You must consider without prejudice all the implications of your actions.”

“Oh heck, Miss Henrietta, it’s easier to know, “this is right and that is wrong.”

“Lil, people your age have the opportunity to make the choices that will steer the rest of their lives. Do you choose to take the more difficult path or the easy way? Do you choose to think with your own unique, exceptional mind or to follow the opinions of others who appear more powerful, better-informed, or smarter than you?

“It’s a decision you can’t ignore. Deciding not to decide, Child, is a choice.”

“Miss Henrietta, you are doing it again. You’re making me think without telling me the easy answers. I’m only 14 years old. I’m not qualified.”

“Lillian A. Bohanan, those are fighting words. Don’t ever try to run that trick by me. Young minds are capable of limitless astounding thoughts. In fact some of the most brilliant scientific discoveries have germinated before the student was 19 years old. Those who tell you that you are not qualified are only trying to control, subdue, and discourage you. My advice is to politely say ‘thank you,’ but deep in your heart, don’t believe it for a minute.

“If each human soul and mind were loaded with the same exact hardware and software, perhaps generalizations could be made about human potential. But each person on this planet is totally unique. Yes, I said totally unique. You are the only you there ever was or will be. And you may not be able to juggle ten balls at a time, or win a race over hurdles, or swim the fastest… but I promise you… you have gifts that no one else on this earth has…or will ever have in future generations.

“But how do I figure out what my skills are or what I might do with my special skills?”

“Now you are asking good questions. You laugh, love, dream, and listen deep inside your person. Some Hindus believe that the holy is in each of us. Namaste means, the part in me that is the divine… recognizes that part in you.”

There are no shortcuts. Dear Lillian, you have embarked on a glorious and difficult journey. You are in good company back through the centuries. If you choose to pretend that you have not seen the expanse of the Universe before you, I still love and support you unconditionally..

I like to envision a world where your spirit has contracted or accepted special challenges, but those are not my business. Those are between you and your gods,.

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JUST Kid Stuff?

Why do people say JUST when talking about things for children?
It’s JUST kid’s stuff?

When I was playing music for adults, people would ask if  I entertained young audiences.   I sure backed away from that question in a hurry.

“What? I don’t have children or siblings. I don’t understand kids even a little. It would be like talking with a science fiction creature for them.”

Then a good friend (thanks Dragon) showed me what good friends can do. In one sentence, she made me rethink. “Everyone remembers what it was like to be a child. Just go back to those years.”

My early years were often fabulous and sometimes completely horrific. I’m sure I buried many of those memories and threw away the map. Why would I want to go back there?

Still… the glorious adults in my childhood were spectacular. They treated me like a fully legitimate human being. They explained complex things to me with passion and clarity.  They made me laugh and think. I felt like I belonged.

These days, deciding to tap into earlier years has expanded my heart and brought me great pleasure.  I believe that we carry within us all of the ages we’ve lived.  Today I have 76 years on paper, but I’m also 5 years old, 22 years old, 3 years old…

 

Writing for kids allows us to be the kinds of people we loved as children.  Energy, compassion, humor, and puzzles all explode in stories.

I’ve learned that young humans are not simple. and writing for them is not a simple challenge.  It fills me with joy and humility.

 

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Miss Henrietta’s story about Fox, Bunny, and Day of the Dead

She had that look she gets when her mind flies at the speed of lightning and zaps memories from her early life. Half the time I don’t know if she’s making ‘em up or not, but they’re always entertaining.

Momma put a rocker in our tiny kitchen that just fit Miss Henrietta’s bones, as she put it. We’d been talking about Halloween and pumpkins and making money to buy things like pumpkins and costumes.

Explaining who Miss Henrietta is, is difficult. First I thought she was the Woodsy-Witch, then she became a friend, and now, although she’s not blood kin, we declare her as family. When Momma is at work or the weather is bad, she stays at our house to help look after me and my brother.

Miss Henrietta rocked slowly and looked up at a cobweb in the ceiling corner, then she turned to me with a look of duck-like purpose. That’s like a duck staring at a Junebug it’s about to eat.

“Lil, I’m proud of you for turning your mood around and figuring out how to buy a pumpkin.. rather than bemoan the fact that somethings cost money we may not have. It made me think about the Autumns when I was about your age.”

I complained that looking at her gray hair and wrinkles I could tell that she NEVER could have been my age. That wisecrack earned me a half-hearted stink-eye. She threw that look across the room and hit me square on my giggling-triggering button.

With pretended elegance, she added, “May I continue, Miss Lillian A. Bohannan aka Lillian the Fearless?”

I gave my approval by nodding and waving a spoon covered with pumpkin goo.

“As I was saying, WHEN I was about your age, the world was very different in some ways and very much the same in other ways. My people believed that there was a day every year in late October when the here-after and the right-now could touch.”

My skeptical look urged her to go on with her tale.

“The gypsies, as you called my Romani people, said that the people who had died could reach through to those still alive and vice versa.”

“That’s just too spooky, Miss Henrietta. Yuck.” I got chills and made an eyes-wide wrinkled-nose face.

“Well, Child, let’s think about it for a while. My dear husband died, he crossed over, but I’d love to have him wrap me up in his arms at least one day a year. Heck, I’d even cross over momentarily to feel that hug and hear his Scot laughter.

“And I told you about my wonderful grandmother with her bare feet and long skirts. Well, little could make me happier than to sit and talk with her again.” She smiled and covered her mouth for a minute in private thought.

“So, to your comment about SPOOKY, it’s like most things on this darn crazy planet, Lil. Halloween might remind you of skeletons and ghosts—-while I think about my happiest memories of my beloved family. You still look a bit puzzled.“

After a minute or two, she added, “Try this out. A fox and a human see a baby rabbit. Do they see the same thing? The answer is “Yes and no”. The fox sees a meal and the human sees a fuzzy adorable creature.”

I told Miss Henrietta that she’s always doing that to me, making me think differently. I’m still not sure I like the spooky stuff.

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Miss Henrietta and Lil face a Pumpkin Predicament

I walked home from school, mulling over and over the unfairness of life for a 12-year-old girl in the Ozarks. As I cleared the porch, I saw Miss Henrietta at the stove stirring a steamy pot.

I growled, “Miss Henrietta?  Why does everything that’s fun cost us stuff we can’t afford?”

“What do you mean Lil? Where did that come from? What happened to good afternoon and how was your day? You got a burr under your saddle, Child? Do you have a better preface to the verbal explosion you just sent flying?”

“I’m sorry. I hope you had a nice day, but every kid in class is getting stuff for the church Halloween festival… costumes, candy, jack o lanterns…. you name it and they get to have it”

“You mean to tell me that every.single.thing. that is fun must be purchased? Wow, I didn’t know money had that kind of power” Miss Henrietta whistled that kind of sigh that sounds desolate and without hope. What about MCBs?”

“I know MCBs are the stuff money can’t buy, like sunsets and bear farts… but this is serious.”

“Lil, what makes Halloween fun to you?”

“I like making stuff, taffy or pumpkin faces, and pretending to be something else by dressing up.”
I twirled and pretended to be a dancer.

“Whoa there, that looks mighty close to having fun, and there’s no money involved.” Miss Henrietta guffawed,

pleased with herself.

I felt like I could cry, but she chimed in. After turning off the stove, folding her apron, and fetching her floppy hat, she said, “Lil, you want to walk to town with me, seems you need to air out your attitudes and a fall walk may improve your outlook too?”

She didn’t wait for my answer, but simply put on her old jacket and headed out the back door.

A half-block down the dirt road she said, “Why do jack o lanterns always have scary faces?” Miss Henrietta spoke as if speaking to the forest, knowing her, she might expect the trees to answer.

I started to think about it, “Why WERE jack o lanterns scary?”  I couldn’t find an answer. About the time I began to run out of possibilities Miss Henrietta began a story.

“You know that my people were travelers and one thing that traveling gifts each traveler is the opportunity to see, hear, and experience different cultures and ideas of where stories come from.  Where do Jack o Lanterns come from in YOUR story, Lil?”

She does that, she asks me something that takes me from today to a memory. “The first time I saw a jack o lantern it was in the window at the mercantile. It was a pumpkin with a face cut into it, the insides were scooped out and he had a candle in it lite at night, I didn’t know why I just liked the way it glowed like it was alive.”

“Did you believe it was alive Lil? or did it scare you?” Miss Henrietta looks at you when she asks a question like she really wants to know your answer.”

“No, I don’t think so, I just thought, that’s interesting, they made a man out of a pumpkin.”

As we passed the old apple orchard she squinted at me. “You know what I thought, Lil?  I wondered what happened to his insides.”

Just her saying that gave me an idea like one of those lightbulbs in comic strips. “Miss Henrietta, what if I offered ‘Pumpkin scooping out’ for money? I bet every one of those Moms doesn’t like the mess their kids make scooping out the innards out of their pumpkins. I bet the town kids don’t even use the innards for anything but trash.”

“Now you’re getting creative, Lillian the Fearless. What would you do with all the innards, make a pie? feed the chickens? or bake some bread?”

“I don’t know yet, but I bet I could put up a sign at the mercantile and offer to clean out the pumpkins to prepare them for jack o lantern carving. I bet they’d pay me a nickel a pumpkin..and if I got 10 of them I would have enough to buy my own pumpkin”

We walked the tracks and through the tunnel into town and sure enough, out on the cart near the store was a fresh crop of pumpkins waiting to be jack o lanterns. The Mercantile had them displayed a full week before Halloween.

As I started into the Mercantile, Miss Henrietta stopped me at the door and reminded me about my big question. “Why does everything that is fun cost money we don’t have” and she asked me the question a different way. “Why do you believe you can’t have something before you consider HOW you might be able to afford it, seemed like in less than a walk to town you changed the table on your thinking from “I can’t” to “I can” now go see if you can put that plan into action.”

I went straight to the counter and asked the proprietor, who’s the father of my best friend, “Can I offer a service of cleaning out Jack o lanterns for your customers to save them the mess and trouble?”

He looked me up and down, he asked “You won’t make a mess in my store will you?”

“Oh no sir, we’d do this on a table on the side of the store in the alley.”

My heart stopped for a second with his words, “No young lady, you cannot sell that service.” but after I counted 10 Mississippis he added, “But I can hire you to clean out 10 of them, and I’ll charge the customer a nickel more for the cleaned ones to offer as a service.”

“Great.”  Before I turned around to see Miss Henrietta’s smile, the storekeeper had put a knife, plastic, and a trash bag out for me to use and he started separating out 10 pumpkins.

It wasn’t long before I had all the pumpkins cleaned out. My fingers were wrinkled like I’d stayed in the creek too long. Each pumpkin had its top set back at a jaunty angle like little hats. Headed home I had the pumpkin innards in a bag, and not only with the 50 cents per pumpkin…but I also had my very own pumpkin.

Miss Henrietta was quiet for a good bit of the walk home then she stopped.  “Well Miss Lilly of the Valley, businesswoman of the year, what will you complain about now?” She said with her very best British accent. Lilly was thinking deeply and didn’t hear Miss Henrietta’s words, but answered “What if we make bread from the pumpkin and next year we can sell the pumpkins to the store that we grow from these seeds?”

“Whoa, Nelly girl,” she grinned at me,” you’ve gone from ‘no fun allowed’ to ‘no time for fun for all the work you have planned up on the walk home.’ But pumpkin bread sounds mouth-watering to me, I like it with cinnamon butter fresh out of the oven.”

I brought the pumpkin home carried on the top of my head. It had warts all over it. It wasn’t solid orange like the typical ones but was green and gold and brown and orange and bumpy all over. When I got it to the table, I measured the pumpkin innards into 2 cup portions and put them into the refrigerator for later.

Miss Henrietta settled into her chair and had that look of faraway times and places. I knew it would be worth paying attention to hear another of Miss Henrietta’s amazing stories.

 

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An Interview with singer songwriter Tom Prasada Rao

Have you ever met someone you simply want to share with the world? One of those persons for me is Tom Prasada-Rao

Crow: Tom, your willingness to provide information that I can share with others is a gift.  I talked bluntly about my cancer. How have you chosen?

TPR: I have not been bashful about talking about cancer, I feel like it’s a normal part of life, or at least my life – doesn’t make me special, but might explain a few things along the way: Stage four cancer of the parotid (salivary) gland, spreading to the lymph nodes, subsequent surgery and radiation, followed by metastasis in the left lung for which I recently completed six rounds of chemo.

Crow: I confess that my wonderful experiences visiting India made me notice you. And then you sang and my heart melted. At what point in your life did you realize that you had the gift of translating love to music?

TPR: I guess that’s the aspirational goal of any musician. And when does one reach the point of saying “I have achieved my goal?” I certainly haven’t, but I do feel the energy of the creator flowing through me at times, and I am grateful when that happens.

Crow: Did you try to deny your gifts? 

TPR:  Yes, I fought it for a long time. I didn’t even decide to devote myself to music until I turned 30. And even then I gave myself five years after which I would turn back to a straight job if it didn’t turn out.  Sometimes I think the only artistic struggle is one of self-worth, and I certainly have had my battles. I’m not sure I have anything helpful to say, other than – take a breath, go to sleep, wake up in the morning, and walk outside.

 Crow: How did you learn that your creativity is beyond ego… something to share with joy?

TPR: That’s a lesson I am still learning. Why is it that our ego as songwriters is often tied to the things that songs are really bad at?  We could never be Dylan Thomas, or Eddie Van Halen, nor should we strive to be. At some point, hopefully, we realize that’s the writers’ kryptonite.

    The point is stopping the listener dead in their tracks upon hearing the one line you want them to hear, to bring them to tears, or shake their booty.  That is your sacred duty as a songwriter, and when you achieve that you will find joy.

    As Mary Gauthier would say “sing the song that only you can sing” (Here’s the contact for her homepage.  https://www.marygauthier.com)

Crow: Did you have one vision of your contribution?

TPR: Ha, I will confess to starting a write this way “I’d like to thank the members of the Academy”. We all have dreams, I don’t know if mine were ever codified, but I can say whatever dreams I had were exceeded by my life the last several years.  

Crow: How have your health challenges changed your trajectory? 

TPR: One of my pet theories about musical arrangements, as well as composition, is that limitations are gifts. They are opportunities to find another way, the Universe saying it’s time for a different path. I find with my diminishing physical capabilities, I have more of a reliance on my voice, and saying what I want to say, rather than playing what I want to play. Also because I don’t have much energy, I have less time to waste. I have to make my time count when I’m writing, and that leads to letting go of a lot of unnecessary equivocation – to trust my instincts.

Crow: My sense of time and awareness changed drastically.  Have you experienced shifts in your perception?  How have you kept being so creative? 

TPR: The weird thing about chemotherapy is the three-week cycle, during which I had one good week which I had to make count. It was like something I looked forward to every cycle to say to myself – OK, if you’re going to do it, do it now. I didn’t view it as a barrier; I looked at it as an opportunity, as a gift that I would most likely not have accepted but for the cancer.  Time and the future quickly became here and now instead.

Crow: When did you first realize that music was a special language? Was Christianity the door that opened your heart? As a person of Indian heritage born in Ethiopia, how did you find grounding in this wide world?

TPR: Despite growing up a brown kid in a white world, I had the gift of not looking at myself as something different. I owe that to my parents and I owe that to the community that I grew up in which was indeed a very devout Christian. I felt protected and insulated growing up, and I’m supremely grateful for that childhood dirt which still clings to me. I have a cross to bear, however, and that was being the fat kid. And that continues to shape my life (so to speak). I fear sometimes that it’s in every song that I write.  

I purposely don’t have a specific faith perspective anymore, though I have a special fondness for the words in red. Instead, I take great pride in calling myself a spiritual mongrel. If I had a Bible it would be Hafiz and Mary Oliver – that’s my holiest ground.

Crow: Your part in the Sherpa’s trio (

www.thesherpas.net) of course, blew me away.

How did that meeting of minds create so much magic? (one of my favorites is 

“Honor Among Thieves” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iif9qRvfA-A)

TPR: I consider my relationship with Tom Kimmel and Michael Lille divinely ordained. I had no idea when I went to the Kerrville Folk Festival in 1993 to be part of the new folk song competition that I would meet these two beautiful souls who would be such a big part of my life for the next 25 years. We were drawn together by our common values, even though our backgrounds couldn’t be more diverse. The songs we wrote together, and the harmonies we created were born out of our admiration for each other. I have come to love them more than I can say, and I can’t imagine my life without them.

 

Crow: When did you have your lowest point… and how did you find your way out of it? What did you gain by the journey?

TPR: The lowest points in my life were the break-ups of my two marriages, having nothing to do with music but just epic failures to do what was necessary to tend the garden of love. My advice to young songwriters is to take great care in watering your garden. You have to go to greater lengths to honor the thing that is most important to you – and trust me it is (or will be) more important to you than music. 

 

Both times, it was The Muse who called to me, and brought me back to myself. It was songwriting that made me realize I had something left. 

 

Crow: How have you memorialized in song your highest moments in this life?   

I’m not sure that I have – at the very least I’m not sure how to answer this question. The highest moments of my life are filled with tears and laughter that are not marked by my creativity, but elsewhere – by this palpable sense of touching the garment of the divine. Sometimes I think the highest moment in my life was the first time I heard Donny Hathaway sing “A Song for You”. 

Crow: Which mistakes personally and professionally have shaped your journey?

TPR: My personal mistakes are also my professional ones, it is all about overcoming self-doubt. Courage is not always rewarded, but it is inevitably rewarding. I wish I had overcome more of those doubts in my life, but I’m grateful for the ones that I have worked through, and hopefully I still have time for some of the others.

Crow: If you do have limited years ahead, what would you hope to be remembered for?  This is the kind of stuff I’ve contemplated myself without finding an answer, except maybe loving people unconditionally.

TPR: I wrote a song a few years back, actually a spoken word piece put to music called “Tenderness”.  As I look at it now it’s kind of a closing statement – an epitaph if you will.  When my time comes I am ready to go regardless of what people think. I will leave grateful for this life, sorry for the things I didn’t get right, and resolved to do it better next time

Most of us carefully decide what we will share with the world ‘out there’.  Tom’s responds to my questions as few could– with wisdom, humility, and honesty.   (Tell him you appreciate) at www.tomprasadarao.com or  https://www.facebook.com/iamTPR

 

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Laura Castoro’s full bio…

Laura A Castoro, author of 39 novels, including Icing on the Cake, Love On The Line, and available in ebook A New Lu. Her new releases in ebook are Rose of the Mists, A Rose in Splendor, and January 2013, The Secret Rose.  These three books form the Irish “Rose” Trilogy, a series of historical romantic adventures set in Ireland and beyond.  Once in a generation  Once in Many Generations Does a Woman of the Fitzgerald Clan Bear the Mark — and the Gift–of the Rose. Only  love can turn change each heroine’s cursed life into a legend to be remembered down through the ages.  Romantic Times said about the series, “Four stars – highest rating!  Read like a beautiful romantic fairy tale.” The San Francisco Herald-Examiner called the series, “Quite simply a treasure of reading delight.” Says Affaire de Coeur, “This is not only Laura Parker at her very best, but it is, without a doubt, super-excellence in the field of Historical romance!  5 stars!”

You can learn more about Laura Parker Castoro and her other books on her website, www.lauracastoro.com