bob mater
bil vorndick
recording, mixing
john mayfield
tim calhoun
electric guitar
dan schaefer
background vocals
mollie garrigan
background vocals
george tidwell

mike henderson
resophonic guitar
andrea zonn
fiddle, viola
bryan sutton
ac. guitar, mandolin
tim o'brien
kathy hussey
ac. guitars, vocals
bob mater
byron house
ac./elec. bass
charlie chadwick
acoustic bass

We Are The Day

This started as a little guitar riff in DADGAD, and it felt to me like a sweet scene - and a lighthearted love story.

It was March 2 of 2003, according to the work tape, and I guess I was feeling like I needed a good dose of laying outside by a stream...I played around with this guitar part ALL DAY and have the work tapes to prove it. This string of words was the first stream-of-conciousness thing I typed after I came up with the hook "we are the day going by"

true real here familiar honest clear whole nice bright kind rare dream leaf dew frost earth

"you are tree-tall, bird swift and sweet as water" was an early lyric that didn't end up in the song

I recorded more of the working out process on this than usual...there's lots of experimentation...


March 30 2003

Emily was a favorite waitress at Wilhagans for longer than most of them tend to stay at the job - we picked her name as a Debut Tuesday* title in March, 2003... I had a long conversation with her one night soon after, in which we commiserated with each other about being in the bar business.

I was a bartender for many years, and I vividly remember some of the misery of the last few of those years (no offense to bartenders or servers who do it for a living - I have a lot of respect for what it takes to do it well - and I really did enjoy it right up until when I stopped enjoying it, then I didn't enjoy it anymore).

Anyway, a big part of our conversation centered on how hard it is to take the leap when you want to stop doing one thing and face the risk of doing something you hardly dare to dream of - to leave the familiar for the uncertain.

This song was very easy to write, and it is as much me as her. Some of the specifics are hers ("she wants to open her own place, red plaid napkins, a well-lit lunch space") , but most came directly from my experience ("they belly-up here every night, mostly drunk, and always right...she flirts a little more when money's tight, 'cause it's a straight line from ego to wallet"). The kicker of this whole story is that 5 of us wrote songs called "Emily" and she came out to the patio to listen to them (somewhat unwillingly, I must say...she was kind of uncomfortable for some reason)...I realized that mine, on the surface, probably seemed a little grim, but I was actually hoping that she would see it more as a call to action than a criticism of her choice...after all, it was a personal admonition as well, and I told her that.

She didn't say much about the song after the gig and I didn't press it...I had recorded live versions of all the "Emily" songs that night and went home and made a CD to give her the following Tuesday. When I got there I found out she had quit after we all left that night. YOU GO GIRL! I hope she is now proudly laying out red plaid napkins in her very own well-lit lunch place...

* Debut Tuesday - I have run a writers night in nashville for many years, and one of the fun things that we do is pick a title every month...everyone who writes a song with that title "debuts" them on the last Tuesday of each month...

The Same Mary

Friday March 14, 2003

This also started out as a cool riff in DADGAD, like many of the songs on this album, actually. The very first little bit of work tape that I have on this is just the riff and then me saying, "That is SO cool!". Later on the tape Bob calls from somewhere on the road and I describe it to him, kinda funwhen I forget to turn off the machine...

While I was in my office noodling around with this thing,my friend Carol called. She had recently lost her mother - a long struggle with Alzheimer's and various home care, group home, hospice care, and hospitalization scenarios that she was very drained from - and suddenly her father-in-law was needing constant care and was going to move in with them. I said how sorry I was to hear that she would be taking this on as well, without having had time to really recover her energy, and she said that she wouldn't have him all the time...that he'd be spending a couple weeks with this family member, and a couple weeks with that family member, etc...they would just rotate caring for him so no one had to do it full-time. When we hung up, it occured to me [ "he'd grown up just like me, yeah..." ] that it might be perfect for the caregivers, but what about this man who suddenly has no home and is bounced around knowing full-well that it's to keep him from being too much of a burden on any one household. The whole reality of getting so old that you can't take care of yourself anymore just bore down on me, and I extrapolated that even at my current, youngish age, I still find myself looking in the mirror and thinking, "who's the old broad?" I still feel the same as I did when I was 18, and I have heard MANY older folks say those exact words. It seems like no matter how old we get, we all continue to think of ourselves as one particular youthful age.

The discovery of the guitar lick and the conversation with Carol happened within moments of each other - one of those magical combinations that I am always so amazed by and grateful for - the lick started to sound like a time-changing device to me, like the Wayne's World thing [you have to know exactly what I mean, to know what I mean] or the thing in old TV and movies where the picture starts to go all wavy and then you're in the past, or the future, or even a dream.

The name Mary came out of nowhere, really...actually the phrase "I'm the same Mary" just handed itself to me, and I started coming up with images. I think the first one that struck me was a picture of me when I was maybe 3 years old, visiting my mother's grandmother, who, to me, was indescribably ancient and absolutely terrifying. Her hands were gnarled, her face was wrinkled into what I guess I took to be a menacing scowl, and she smelled like antique books and mothballs. I remember it vividly. I also recall being completely aware that my revulsion was both cruel and unfair, but I never went near her on my own volition. I couldn't help it. My mom would always come get me and forcibly propel me over to say hello - that's where the line in the song came from "the kids are all frightened of me, they only come with Mom's hand at their back"

The thing that fascinates me about this song is the many ways in which it wrote itself - I mean, of course, there were plenty of things that had to be coaxed and/or wrestled into place [see side note below], but so much of it was just a gift. I didn't even know that Mary's husband was still alive until he walked in the room "not just a tired old man, but the love of my life" - I'm completely serious. And when he did, I cried. I was so happy and relieved that her story was going to resolve in such a joyful and life-affirming way.

People come up to me all the time since I wrote this to tell me about their grandmother, or aunt, or mother, and most of them mention the "pillow fight champion of the world" line.

A funny side note or "Don't Start Handing Out the Cigars Just Because it Makes YOU Weep":

I can make my mother cry by playing just about anything - so when I play something that is truly moving or sad (like "Man's Best Friend" off Stranger than Fiction...I'm not even ALLOWED to play that one) we're guaranteed a gusher. After I finished the first version of this song (I'm not sure that I have the original lyric anymore, too bad...), my mom was over here for coffee or something and I immediately played it for her, thinking "this is gonna be good". When I finished playing it, I looked up at her and not only was she dry-eyed, but slightly distracted - nodding and smiling, like, "yeah, that's nice honey - do you have any more of these lovely millet scones". WAIT a minute. Something had gone completely turned out that somehow, the way I phrased the first verse left her thinking that Mary was a girl a wheelchair in the corner of the room, and she didn't get the old lady thing at all - therefore none of the imagery made any sense. Wow. Back to the drawing board. The revised version got a good deal of help from a writing group that I participate in. They gave me some great ideas that allowed me to tweak it into submission. It's a tired old lesson that seems to bear repeating ad nauseum : Even the songs that arrive in a brilliant flash straight from the gods, all whole and stunning and complete, may actually need a rewrite or two.

Sing My Memory

June 13 2002

If you tend to be cynical about unexplained spiritual experiences, talk of past lives and things like that, you should move on...this is a very strange and mystical story, and to me, perfectly plausible.

Several years ago, while teaching a songwriting workshop in Colorado, I met a woman who had the gift of being able to "read" people. She didn't fully understand it, herself, but basically she would sit with a person and focus her attention and energy on them, and she would be flooded with images that she would then relate as they came to her. She and I sat in the middle of the Yampa River one afternoon and she read me. To her surprise, the images that she got for me were more specific than usual, and in the form of a story - she was absolutely certain that what she was seeing was a past-life scenario, something that she hadn't ever experienced before.

The story: I was on the run, in fear for my life, in possession of an ornate dagger that I had to hide before it was discovered by the "enemy". I was the last in a long line of women Healers, and the most powerful yet - sort of a "chosen one". The impression that she had was that it was probably Scotland and that the persecutors were Christians who viewed us as witches. There is much more to all that, but one of the things that she was sure of, was that I have had one person with me over the course of MANY lives and that I hadn't met that person yet in this one...

Several years later (I had stopped actively looking for this person by this time), I met Jim Savarino at the Kerrville Folk Festival and we hit it off like a brother and sister, or like cousins - that feeling that you have known someone all your life - you know all their quirks and share private jokes, etc. We had a blast and hung around each other the whole time he was there...about a week after we each had returned home, he emailed me some lyrics with a note saying that he wasn't sure what it was about, but that he was thinking about me the whole time he was writing it.

I was absolutely stunned when I read these lyrics, because it was the first time that I realized that he was probably this kindred spirit that I had now found - his lyrics included the "healer" element, the "Scotland" reference, and the notion of continuing to be in someone's life even after your physical death. It was startling and truly amazing. I picked up my guitar and just played the lyrics, with no concious effort to "write" the music or the melody, as though I already knew it. (As it turns out, Jim had already written music to it, but I didn't know that at the time - the version on this CD is my music)

This song has taken on a sort-of life of it's own...the very first time I played it, it was in a listening-room-type situation. I told the story, played the song, and when it was over there was dead silence, and the entire room was just staring at me. It's not that they weren't paying attention, it was as though they were rendered immoble. WEIRD.

Also- before the CD was even released, our recording engineer, Bil Vorndick, got the song cut by Carmel Scheerin and the Bluegrass Ravens, an Irish Bluegrass band. There was some concern about a good Catholic girl releasing a song with such pagan content (the healer thing) ...which is ironic, considering my past-life episode...luckily, they decided to do it anyway.

One further odd twist - without even knowing my story about rendering my audience immoble, Bil came home from Ireland and described the very first gig that the Ravens played this song. Apparently, their crowd, which included a bunch of music biz and press folks, in spite of being loud and appreciative for the rest of the evening, were dumb-struck and silent at the end of "Sing My Memory". WEIRD.

This Water

February 15 2002

I read an article in Smithsonian magazine called "Digging Ditches" (Bruce Selcraig) which was about the "acequias" or irrigation ditches that have been used for generations by the people of Northern New Mexico and Southern Colorado to irrigate the dry region for farming. There are "majordomos" who oversee the water usage, and control how much goes to whom along the length of the ditch, by regulating when and for how long the individual gates can be opened. When the area started to be invaded by developers, people began to sell their individual water rights, which, by definition, affects everyone who shares the acequia.

Very complicated and very fascinating subject - the movie The Milagro Beanfield War was about this very thing. I watched it after I had written the song...

In researching this I found out that it takes ONE MILLION gallons of water A DAY to keep a golf course green in the desert. That includes all the golf courses in California, Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, Nevada...etc. Just another way in which we (I hesitantly include myself) as a culture, place value on the most inane and destructive things. Why on earth (!) couldn't we come up with a version of golf that could be played on the sort of terrain that naturally occurs in this part of the country? But the people with all the money, and none of the sense, have decided that they are entitled to amuse (and house, and feed) themselves in whatever way they see fit, regardless of the impact on the environment or the future.

I could go on....

This was a Debut Tuesday * assignment - a song based on the article. I think Dan Schaefer is the only one who joined me on this and his song "Majordomo" is pretty cool too.

* Debut Tuesday - I have run a writers night in nashville for many years, and one of the fun things that we do is pick a title every month... everyone who writes a song with that title "debuts" them on the last Tuesday of each month...

Maybe Tomorrow

February 19-23 2003

Maybe Tomorrow was a Debut Tuesday* title - and it generated two album cuts (David Llewellyn also wrote a haunting and beautiful song with this title that he included on his 2004 self-titled release) and at least one other really good keeper (for Alan Oatley), anyway...

In my living room, there are a couple of hooks between the front door and the coat closet. As I was toying with what to write about using this title, I was staring over there at a dark green plaid wool was summer in Nashville, at the time, which means blistering hot and clinging sticky , and I thought "Well isn't that the height of procrastination? It would take 2.5 seconds to put that scarf away for the season, but there it is". Hey - procrastination! Maybe Tomorrow!

So I invented this situation in which the scarf represented someone who had gone away, and the procrastination, or not cleaning up what remained of him or the relationship, was based on not wanting it to be over yet.

"August heat
And I can't bear
Your wooly scarf still hanging there
Tartan green
By the slammed door
All the things you left behind
That's just two more..."

This is one of very few of my songs that are completely fictional...entirely possible, but completely fictional.

* Debut Tuesday - I have run a writers night in nashville for many years, and one of the fun things that we do is pick a title every month... everyone who writes a song with that title "debuts" them on the last Tuesday of each month...

Out of Sight, Out of Mind

April 3 2002

When I was a kid, we moved a lot - 2 years in one place was about average, which means that sometimes, it was a lot less than that. Often it was in the middle of the school year, too. One of the results of this is that I learned how to make friends quickly, but also how to forget them quickly and move on. You can't cling to people or places when you live like this - you develop an ability to live, love and let go without regrets, and, unfortunately, often without realizing that most of the world doesn't operate this way.

I had broken the hearts of at least two people that I truly cared for before I realized that just because a person is not, at the moment, in my immediate circle of vision, they haven't actually ceased to exist.

With affection and apologies to CS and PH.

"It had nothing to do
With the way I felt for you
I was raised to leave behind
Out of sight, out of mind"

On the technical side, I had written this in a very "folkie" form, with the verses containing a common last line (the title), and no formal chorus. The "B" section was originally intended to be sung once as a bridge ("if you think it's easy leavin, I've done a good job deceivin both of us..."), but my friend Dan convinced me that it was a great chorus and should be repeated as such. This may be the only time I've written a chorus that didn't contain the title of the song. Just another of my tricks to ensure a complete lack of commercial viability.

Sunset on the LaGaritas

August 31 2002

Several years ago, my friend Steve left his life and a long-time girlfriend in Aspen, CO to move to a wonderful rugged little town in southern Colorado called Creede... I actually met him there while I was in town teaching a summer songwriting workshop, which I have done for a number of years. He told me his story about leaving his girl behind because she wouldn't leave Aspen and he just couldn't live there anymore (he calls it "the big city", which illustrates why he loves Creede so much...imagine Telluride 30 years ago). So, he's in Creede, and talking about his plans to buy a lot and build a house - a lot of the visual details in the song came directly out things that he said ("as we watch the storms roll in through the big glass wall of windows".)

I wrote the song in his voice, and tried to capture his excitement about creating his new life in this extraordinary place, but it being tempered by not having his love to share it with.

An interesting detail: The LaGarita Mountains actually lie to the east of Creede so the sun doesn't set on them, it rises over them...but the real show at sunset is usually on that side of the valley as the light changes and reflects off the mountains.

Other Side of that Hill

September 1 2002

This is a song about wanderlust, plain and simple. My family moved so often when I was a kid, that I guess I feel somehow out-of-balance unless there's some sort of a trip in my near future. I love HOME - I also developed maybe even an excessive appreciation for having one place to return to...but you'll notice I said "return to" and not "live in"...there you go, it's in every fiber of my being.

This song is also about my love for the mountains - any mountains - and for exploring in them. I do have a tendency, when walking anywhere, to keep pressing on just a little further, to see around the bend, or get to the top - and most of the time, once I'm on the top, I see another hill and wonder what's on the other side of that one...

Though you can't really hear the influence (I don't think), I wrote this after listening to Steve Earle's "Ft. Worth Blues" that song. It made me want to pick up my guitar and play - this is what I played.

La Bonne Glace

June 14 2002

J'ai ecrit ce chanson...oh, sorry. In English please.

My husband, Bob, and I were in France in the mid-90s...he was in the house band for a music festival in Montpelier (backing up Kathy Chiavola and Randy Howard, Molly Scheer...etc). We had the most incredible time there, and in our down time spent some days lolling about on the beaches in the south of France, mostly Palavas and Carnon which are close to Montpellier.

The one thing that stood out the most from those few days on the beach, besides all the breasts, was the ice cream vendor, who pushed a cart up and down the beach, selling italian ices and "glace", which is french for both ice and ice cream, in this case it meant ice cream. He had a song that he sang ALL DAY LONG and he would disappear for a while and then you could hear him slowly approaching again, singing his song at the top of his lungs (which, as we singers know, is not the best place from which to sing, but I digress).

The bridge of this song is what he sang, exactly. "Ohhhhh, la bonne glace. Glace, glace, glace:|| ad infinitum. "La bonne glace", directly translated, means "the good ice cream", and I have come to suspect that it was a brand name...

It was actually 6 years between that trip and when I finally wrote this song, but the kernel of inspiration never faded because it was drilled into my brain those couple of days. Funny thing, speaking of kernels, there was also a popcorn vendor who handed out free samples...we decided that he was most likely hired by the guys selling "glace" and "limonade", because between the dry popcorn, the sun, the sand and the salt water, all you could think about was something cool to eat or drink by the time you had eaten a couple handfuls....

I decided that since the inspirational phrase was in French, the rest of the song should be as well. I had a great time writing this with my French/English dictionary and a newly procured Dictionary of French phrases close at hand. It was actually easier than I thought it would be to be poetic and to actually RHYME in French - I kept getting very lucky - I'd decide what i wanted to say and then look a few things up and there would be a perfectly rhyming set of words that fit exactly with my intended could have easily gone to the contrary, and I might have never finished. I have an interesting relationship with the language - lots of school French and not nearly enough practical usage, but plenty to get me in trouble, as it turns out:

This festival was held on the grounds of an ancient castle, and we were treated incredibly well - wined and dined as only the French can do - but when the music was happening, everyone that I knew was onstage, and I was left to my own devices.... one night, I was out in the crowd with one of our lovely hostesses, and she introduced me to several women who were friends of hers...I had insisted to her that I was fine with speaking French and she didn't need to coddle me by asking everyone to speak English. One of them asked what I was doing in Montpellier and with a gesture towards the stage, I said "Mon mari est le tombeur" which I was certain meant "my husband is the drummer" and I was quite pleased with myself for having prepared this phrase for just such a moment...every one of them sort of gasped and uttered the French equivalents of "really?!" and "oh my!" - I darted a look at Christene who managed to stop laughing long enough to tell me that "tambour" [tom-boor] (as in, tambourine) is the word for drummer... "tombeur" [tome-bare], the word that I used, is what they call a man who is a womanizer. A fine, but very significant pronunciation distinction. The icing on the cake was that just moments later, Molly Scheer, from the stage, introduced him as "International Playboy, Bob Mater". Mon Dieu.

Dim Flickering Light

April 14 2000

This started as an instrumental - I had just worked up another Joni Mitchell song, "Case of You" which was in the tuning E A E G B E, and I started working on several little guitar things around that tuning. I actually don't tune the D up to an E, I drop the other 5 strings down a step - I broke a couple strings to learn this lesson, and it always made me uncomfortable putting the extra strain on the neck anyway.

So my tuning is D B D F A D ("Emily" is also in this tuning). After I had the guitar part I just started loving the feel - it was dark and mysterious and romantic and the image formed in my mind of a cozy room lit by a fire and by lots of candles. I love light - or, more accurately, the proper use of it...maybe it's the photographer in me. I have been known to go around changing the lighting at a party if it's not right (obnoxious at first, but the aesthetic is everything!).

Dappled sunlight under a canopy of leaves, campfire, candles - the warmth of natural light... what could be more romantic?


July 11 2002

I almost called this album "Turtle" because as soon as I wrote this song, my life was positively INFESTED with turtles - no, that's too negative a word... maybe FESTOONED with turtles would be a better way to describe it.

First, where this song came from: Nashville is infamous for being the torment of allergy sufferers. People who have never had problems with allergies at all come here and find that in the spring, everything is covered with a fine yellow powder for several months...POLLEN. The upside is that everything is also covered with flowers. The flowering trees are some of my favorites, the Bradford Pear (not native...but beautiful), and the Crepe Myrtle which comes in lots of different colors from white to purple and 15 different shades of pink and fuschia... oh, and the Forsythia which is bright yellow. I was on my porch with my guitar a nd thinking about my sister (my twin) who was out-of-town and had been for several weeks. It occured to me that if she didn't get home soon she would completely miss some of the flowering trees - they started after she left and would, no doubt, be done when she returned. The really funny thing about that is that in the lyric, I said, "you can catch the pink crepe myrtle, if you get here soon"...what I had never really noticed before is that those crepe myrtles keep blooming for months - well into the summer. Not much chance of missing them if you're gone for 3 weeks...but never let the truth ruin a good story...

Why turtle? Because it rhymed with Myrtle. Oh yeah, and because a turtle is the perfect metaphor phor how time slows down when you are anxiously anticipating something.

So, about the festooning of my life with turtles - I am guaranteed to leave things out here, because for about a year after I wrote this song, there was a parade of turtle-related incidents, none of which I wrote down, many of which are now, sadly, forgotten. What I most remember is a single day in which the first three examples occured. Right after I wrote this song, I went to Creede, CO, like I do every year, to teach a song workshop, play a few shows and enjoy the mountains. I had a 7 year-old girl in the workshop that summer and she came up to me at the end of the class one day and handed me a picture that she had drawn for me...of a turtle. I told her how wonderful it was because I was thinking of calling my new album "Turtle"..the look on her face is the one thing that makes me regret not using that title. So sweet. Anyway, that very afternoon, I went to the local bead store with a new friend - we made a few necklaces and stuff and then as we left she said "I got you something", and presented me with a bracelet made of stones carved into turtles. She didn't know anything about the significance, which made it even more amazing. At a local bar THAT NIGHT, I struck up a conversation with a guy who looked like Grizzly Adams, an eccentric character whose name I wish I could remember...he started talking about his wife and said her name a few times before I realized what he was actually saying. Her name was Turtle. Yes, really.

When I got home from that trip, I decided that maybe I was supposed to be involved with turtles in some way, and started looking into turtle rescue. There are several different organizations that rescue and find homes for abandoned and unwanted pet turtles. I decided that my mission was to rescue turtles. This past year, I traveled to Tupelo, MS several times, a trip that takes about 4 hours on the Natchez Trace parkway, a beautiful, completely uncommercialized 450-mile road that is actually a National Park. What I discovered is that box turtles who live near the Trace, tend to walk back and forth across it...the grass is always greener, perhaps? They also tend to do it slowly (!). So slowly that they usually are just sitting there. I realized that this was my test, and I have, ever since, stopped for every turtle that I have seen on the Trace to assist them to the other side. I actually have a whole set of criteria regarding how they are rescued, where they are placed, and sometimes, which ones I leave where they are, but I have gone on long enough about this...if you'd actually like to know more about my theories on this subject, email me. The picture underneath the disc, behind the clear tray, is one of those box turtles, in the middle of the Natchez Trace, right before I moved him.

Festooning update: Hadn't had any turtle incidents in a while...until...I typed the above stuff yesterday afternoon, and then went to meet my friend Laurie at her house because we were going to a party. I was standing in her kitchen, and looked at her bulletin board - right at the top was a cute little hand-drawn banner that said "Turtles Rule!" with a cartoon turtle. I asked her what it was about and she said she had no idea (?!)... so I told her the whole saga, and said, "Watch, turtle things will happen tonight"... on the way out of the house, I glanced at a side table and beheld a beautiful turtle sculpture (actually a box with a geode inside). We went to the party and had a great time without furhter turtle sightings...until...we were about to leave. I went to get our coats and said something about being wrong about this night being filled with turtles, but when I pulled her coat out of the closet, the label caught my eye - Martha's Turtle. : )

We Are the Day

you are sun warm
cloud soft
clover sweet
you are bird song
grass green
and I am yours
and I am helpless
and I am free

I stretch out longer like the shadows,
the light goes golden in your eyes
we're rooted in this ground and we are sky high
we are the day going by
we are the day going by

you are rain fresh
sky clear
still water deep
you are dream rare
earth real
and I am yours
and I am helpless
and I am free

I stretch out longer like the shadows
the light goes golden in your eyes
we're rooted in this ground and we are sky high
we are the day going by

we are morning and twilight
we are darkness and highlight
we are silence and thunder
we are moments of wonder
the sun moving through the sky
we are the day going by

© 2003 rakukat music bmi, all rights reserved


It’s the formula that never fails
A quick smile and the bottomless cocktail
She pours their drinks with
A splash of something female
In this brass balls bar on the backroad

They belly-up here every night
Mostly drunk and always right
She flirts a little more when money’s tight
Cause it’s a straight line from ego to wallet

Oh Emily
What a short memory
Every night you send them home
You swear you won’t be here too long
But tomorrow, here you’ll be

She wants to open her own place
Red plaid napkins, a well-lit lunch space
She’d see more of her kids working days
But this job pays the rent, not for “maybes”
There’s never enough left to bother saving

Oh Emily
What a short memory
Every night you send them home
You swear that it won’t be too long
Until you are free...

And it seems the hands are getting bolder
As her smile keeps growing colder
But somehow she lets habit hold her
In this brass balls bar on the backroad

Oh Emily
What a short memory
Every night you send them home
You swear you won’t be here too long
But tomorrow, here you’ll be
Such a short memory

©2004 rakukat music, bmi, all rights reserved

The Same Mary

I’m over here in the corner
At yet another family affair
It’s strange to be the old relic
Propped in this rocking chair
The kids are all frightened of me
They only come with Mom’s hand at their back
It’s okay
There’s no way
They could know that...

I’m the same Mary
Who once was her Daddy’s little girl
I’m the same Mary
The pillow fight champion of the world
Catcher of lightning bugs,
Bull frogs and garden slugs
Climber of sky-tall trees
I’m the same Mary

They raise their voices at me
So I’m sure to hear what they say
Usually some pearl of wisdom like
“Are you feeling okay?”
Young men rush to my rescue
When I show signs of wanting to stand
I don’t need it yet, but I accept
Cause they don’t understand

That I’m the same Mary
Who danced ‘til they threw us out at dawn
I’m the same Mary
Who played tackle football on the front lawn
Fixer of broken joys,
Mother of four strong boys
Coach and referee
I’m the same Mary

But then he comes in the room
Not just a tired old man, but the love of my life
And I’m saved by his wink at my cranky ways
Cause I know that in his eyes
I’m the same...
shy little thing in pearls
prettiest of all the girls
just like the day he met me

I’m the same Mary
It’s just me...the same Mary

© 2003 rakukat music, bmi, all rights reserved

Sing My Memory

by kathy hussey and jim savarino

Well I went to see a healer
In her house upon the hill
But the healer wasn’t healing
It was she became so ill

And as I held her in the darkness
And soothed her fevered brow
She said take these robes of healing
Cause you’re the healer now :||

As I walk the foggy highland
There’s nothing on my mind
Just half formed shreds of memory
From some forgotten time

My family and my loved ones
They don’t know who I am
I’m just a ghost they cannot see
A shadow on the land :||

Love may come and love may go
Life may ebb and life may flow
Remember me when I am gone
Sing my your song

I know that I’ll be with you
Whatever road you take
I’ll be in the air you breath
And every song you make

Though years may bring the curtain
to mark the final hour
Nothing will replace the time
Of love’s bright burning flower :||


©2003 rakukat music, bmi / jim savarino music, bmi, all rights reserved

This Water

This water puts food on the table
This water's like ice in my hands This water means that I am able To coax green from a dry brown land This water runs from the mountains This water runs through my veins This water provided for many Who came long before you and your personal gains

This water is blood This water is years This water's the ghost of my ancestors' tears This water is hope This water is frail This water is life And it's not for sale This water's not for sale

This water makes the adobe You fashion palaces from
This water's been a possession Only since you and your money have come
This water has always been plenty This water has sprouted each seed
But this water's never seen any Thing that compares with your Thirst or your greed


And my life's not some romantic notion And it's hard as a tooth or a nail Working this land is not a past I need rescuing from


© 2003 RakuKat Music BMI, All Rights Reserved

Maybe Tomorrow

August heat
And I can’t bear
Your wooly scarf still hanging there
Tartan green
By the slammed door
All the things you left behind that’s just two more
And it seems like yesterday

Maybe tomorrow
I’ll get around to it someday
Maybe tomorrow
I’ll sweep these scraps of you away
Maybe tomorrow
But not today

I don’t go
Near our old room
Sealed it up like a pharoah’s tomb
To stir the dust
Could tempt a curse
Remember or forget, I can’t tell which is worse
And it still seems like yesterday

Maybe tomorrow
I’ll get around to it someday
Maybe tomorrow
I’ll sweep these scraps of you away
Maybe tomorrow
But not today

I could find the time
There’s just too much to undo
And this mess is all that I have left of you

Maybe tomorrow...

©2004 rakukat music, bmi, all rights reserved

Out of Sight, Out of Mind

To look at what I’ve done
Is to look straight at the sun
How it burns, wish I’d go blind
Out of sight out of mind

It had nothing to do
With the way I felt for you
I was raised to leave behind
Out of sight out of mind

If you think it’s easy leavin
I’ve done a good job deceivin both of us
I’m so good at make believin
I’ve convinced myself it never really was
But it really was...

Soon gone far, and finally free
Is not the way I choose to be
But once I’ve let the miles unwind
Out of sight out of mind

If you think it’s easy leavin
I’ve done a good job deceivin both of us
I’m so good at make believin
I’ve convinced myself it never really was
But it really was...

To look at what I’ve done
Is to look straight at the sun
I couldn’t see
The hurt in your eyes
Out of sight out of mind

© 2004 rakukat music, BMI, all rights reserved

Sunset on the LaGaritas

I'm gonna build a house at the high end of this valley Nothin too grand, 'cept this great big view All I really need is a porch that wraps around the end of every day This old guitar, and you

Here at the end of the rainbow There's a fire in the sky As the sun goes down
And nothing could be finer Than to sit right here with you And watch the sunset on the La Garitas

Right here is where I'll stack the stones I've carried I'll shape a hearth Where you can warm your feet As we watch the storms roll in Through the big glass wall of windows Where wild raindrops and slanting twilight meet


But right now I'm sitting on the cold bare ground And you are nowhere to be found One of these days you'll turn right around
and come back to me
Cause I can feel you on my skin I can taste you in my tears I can hear you on the wind But for now I'll be right here... the end of the rainbow Where there's a fire in the sky As the sun goes down
And nothing would be finer Than to sit right here with you
And watch the sunset on the La Garitas
And someday soon I know that I'll be sittin here with you
Watchin the sunset on the La Garitas
Yeah, we'll watch the sun go down

© 2004 rakukat music, bmi, all rights reserved

Other Side of that Hill

Everywhere I go it stares me down
Unconquered high ground
Everytime I’m freshly spellbound
Straight to the top for the best view
What have we got here?
It’s not the last, it’s just the next frontier

What’s on the other side of that hill?
I don’t know
What’s on the other side of that hill?
I don’t know
But that’s why I’ve got to go

So, goodbye darlin one more time
You know I hate to see you cry
So just smile and kiss me goodbye

No, it’s nothing you did wrong
It’s just time to move along
Some faces I don’t know and some new songs


I think it’s all some grand design
It’s more a circle than a line
And I’ll be coming back this way sometime
Cause I know that’s the way it goes
Every high has its low
And a goodbye can’t help promising hello


©2004 rakukat music, bmi, all rights reserved

La Bonne Glace

en francais:

Il fait chaud et
Le soleil tape
Je dois me rafraichir
J’ai un brulante soif

Glace, glace, glace
Glace, glace, glace
La bonne glace
Glace, glace, glace
La bonne glace

Sable entre mes orteils,
Bruits des vagues
Je dors les seins nus
Me reveille et puis je nage
Vive la plage!


Le chanson sans cesse
Le long de ma mollesse
Proche puis loin
Ici ensuite partie
(Ç’est çe qu’il dit:)

“Oh, la bonne glace
glace, glace, glace
Oh, la bonne glace
glace, glace, glace...”


Je suis sur que
Le chantuer port bonheur et joie
Tous les plaisirs de vie
Sa charrette ouvre la voie
comme ça

in english (no attempt here to be poetic)

Good Ice Cream

It is hot and
The sun is beating down
I need to cool off
I have a scorching thirst

Ice cream....
Good ice cream
(this may have been a brand name "La Bonne Glace")

Sand between my toes
Sound of the waves
I am sleeping topless
I wake, then swim
Long live the beach!

The song is unceasing
All along my lethargy
Near then far
Here then gone
This is what he says

"Ooooh, la bonne glace
glace, glace, glace" 3X


I am sure that
The singer brings good luck and joy
All the pleasures of life
His cart paves the way
like this


©2004 rakukat music, bmi, all rights reserved

Dim Flickering Light

Time stands still
In a darkened room
where only candles glow
We’re alone, and this moment here
Is all we’ve ever known
And I can feel forever
Its always there somewhere
But to fill this place with it’s white bright
Forever wouldn’t dare

In the dim flickering light
In the dim flickering light
In the dim flickering light

You’re golden warm
And quiet blue
Your kiss is crimson wine
I’ll never get my fill of you
Your taste is sweet, sublime
And fear will never find us
Though it’s dark outside the door
The peace, the glow, the crackilin fire
It’s not what fear is looking for

In the dim flickering light
In the dim flickering light
In the dim flickering light

© 2003 RakuKat Music BMI, All Rights Reserved


If I had a nickel for every penny I’ve spent
I wouldn’t be sitting here wondering where the hell it all went
If I had a dollar
I’d put some gas in my car
But that wouldn’t take me as far as you are

So I’m just sittin in the hot summer shade
Longin for you, love, and some cool lemonade
You said a week you’d be comin
Now it seems like a year
I’ve been wishin you were here

And everything is covered in flowers
You’ve missed the Bradford Pear they’re past the bloom
But you can catch the pink crepe myrtle
If you get here soon
You know that time goes by like a turtle
When I’m waitin for you
Time goes by like a turtle
When I’m waiting for you

If I had to carry my house on my back
I s’pose I’d tarry or have a heart attack
So I can’t blame time for doin like it does
Anymore than I can quit my wantin what was

And everything is covered in flowers
You’ve missed the Bradford Pear they’re past the bloom
But you can catch the pink crepe myrtle
If you get here soon
You know that time goes by like a turtle
When I’m waitin for you
Time goes by like a turtle
When I’m waiting for you

©2003 rakukat music, bmi all rights reserved