You know that feeling when you pull away from your house, drive down your street, and then you suddenly remember something you’re going to need real bad? So you turn around and pull back in the garage, dog wondering why you’re back so quickly because she barely had a chance to close her eyes, and then try the whole leaving thing again.
Well, this recently happened to me. But instead of being down the street, I was 30,000 feet in the air, and somewhere over New Mexico. I was on my way to Whistler, British Columbia. A beautiful mountain village about 1½ hour north of Vancouver—in metric that’s about 90 minutes.
But I wasn’t sure if I was even going to be let into the country, because it’s not like I forgot my contact case, or a hairbrush. I had forgotten my passport. Not usually one to panic, I waited until we landed in Las Vegas for a brief layover and then hit the internet to see if I could find out exact details about border crossing. The best information I could find was from the Canadian Border Patrol—sounded credible enough. They said, officially, you don’t need a passport to get into the country, but you do need one to get out. The catch is, you need to prove your U.S. citizenship. All I had was my driver’s license and my Starbucks card. Not quite enough.
We decided to give it a try—surely they’d have some kind of computer system that can look up citizenship, credit score, horoscope sign—it is 2010, for Pete’s sake. Not so fast, Yankee.
January 31, 2010
January 16, 2010
Listening to the Right Voice
“Don’t forget this one…” The muffled sound of music plays in the background.
“Which one?” I ask, not able to discern a melody. She can’t remember the title, but she will.
My sister, Jody, sings along with the music in the car, “Call me from this boat, I wanna walk on the water.” It’s my song about wanting to escape from the doldrums of life, into something more fantastic. There’s got to be something more, kind of thing.
“Oh yeah, I love that one,” I reply.
Jody and I try to talk on the phone every Friday morning on her way to work, me on my way to a weekly meeting with some guys. It’s our regular time together. And it’s usually therapy for one of us.
“But my favorite is still ‘hold onto me forever, and I’ll hold onto you,’” more singing. That someone would actually like my music enough to consider one a favorite is mind-boggling to me. But I don’t have the average sister.
Throughout most of the Nashville years, she has been a steady source of encouragement to me about my music. She keeps old cassettes I’ve sent to her over the years, and plays them in her car. Or jams along to the tunes in her basement music room. She makes me think there’s actually value to some of my songs, when it seems like no one else in the world cares. I have always believed what my sister said because she was older, which meant wiser.
“Which one?” I ask, not able to discern a melody. She can’t remember the title, but she will.
My sister, Jody, sings along with the music in the car, “Call me from this boat, I wanna walk on the water.” It’s my song about wanting to escape from the doldrums of life, into something more fantastic. There’s got to be something more, kind of thing.
“Oh yeah, I love that one,” I reply.
Jody and I try to talk on the phone every Friday morning on her way to work, me on my way to a weekly meeting with some guys. It’s our regular time together. And it’s usually therapy for one of us.
“But my favorite is still ‘hold onto me forever, and I’ll hold onto you,’” more singing. That someone would actually like my music enough to consider one a favorite is mind-boggling to me. But I don’t have the average sister.
Throughout most of the Nashville years, she has been a steady source of encouragement to me about my music. She keeps old cassettes I’ve sent to her over the years, and plays them in her car. Or jams along to the tunes in her basement music room. She makes me think there’s actually value to some of my songs, when it seems like no one else in the world cares. I have always believed what my sister said because she was older, which meant wiser.
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