When a man’s home is born out of his heart and developed through his labor
and perfected through his sense of beauty, it is the very cornerstone of life.
~ Gustav Stickley
Home is a word that conjures many different images. More often than not, “home” is a sanctuary; a place of peace amidst the storms of life; a safe harbour even when those storms rage within, for there is an anchor that keeps one from drifting away. It is snow on the ground outside, a fire in the a fireplace, a big dog on the rug in front of it, a pot of tea on the stove, gingerbread baking in the oven, pen and paper in hand and meeting the loving gaze of one’s Beloved over the heads of children listening enraptured to yet another thrilling verbal enactment of Tolkien or Lewis.
On Saturday, another picture of home was added to the gallery: Studio A. Sitting at the piano, with my drummer and new guitarist (who is one talented player!) and housemate Di for moral support, I had a sense of belonging and homecoming. I was born to be here. I was at peace. And then Mike the engineer’s voice came over my headphones: “We’re rolling.”
I froze. My eyes get twice their normal size and I experienced fully what is meant by the phrase: ‘her heart leapt into her throat.’ I took a deep breath, flexed my fingers and began the opening notes. Halfway through I panicked for no good reason and played the wrong chords. On my own song. Groan. How incredibly stupid is that!? Luckily for all of us, technology came to the rescue and we just played that line over and punched it in.
Note to self: studio time is like God-time: two hours is like a second and a second is like an eternity. Bottom line: two hours is not enough time to walk away with a finished product. Which means going back in a month or two.
For now, I have a CD that I can play in my car. Which is a dream come true for me already.
Oremus pro invicem,