Leave Your Extra At Home

How To Travel With The Band

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A hot, steamy, echo-y, hell is where I spent last weekend. The mass confusion of children running, barely supervised, around large bodies of water, as the snow comes down outside. Indoor water parks are almost as bad as play lands (ball pits will be equipped in my personal hell when I die) The only thing that sets it a grade above is that everything is dripping with chlorine, but that didn’t stop us all from bringing home influenza. I am not going to get into my week of misery that followed my weekend of hell, or as some bat shit crazed lunatics known as my children call it… “fun”.

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A rare picture of the crazed mammals enjoying the chaos they have created.

I am, however, going to discuss packing, because our over night trip apparently meant to my ten-year-old princess poopy pants that she needed to pack as only I could imagine a Queen would. Think I am exaggerating? Let’s go back to the night before we left.

We spent one night there, left Saturday morning, but the kids left Friday night to stay with my sister, and we met up with them the next day. I had to close Friday night, so I had the husband drop the kids off at my sister’s salon.

I sent a text (because it’s better to have it in writing when giving direction to the husbands, right Ladies?) to just have them change into something comfortable they can sleep in that night and wear on the way the next day, I will pack everything to go before we leave. I got out early and meet them at the salon, only to find them carrying a crate full of stuff.

The children apparently told dad that they had to take all the stuff, all the stuff in the world. Ah, no! I take the crate back home and not think of it until the morning, when I start to pack. This is when I discover how they had a whole crate heaped with bullshit. Or, when I say “they” I mostly mean, my daughter. Sweat pants, tights, Christmas dresses, jewelry, three stuffed animals, two purses, nightgowns, eight pairs of undies (this was the only logical thing packed, you gotta pack extra undies). It was ridiculous.

Then, I went to her room to grab her bathing suit and a pair of “soft clothes” to wear home the next day, because that was all they would need. But wait, there was more: in her room I noticed her prized tiara she got from Medieval Times was sitting on the edge of her bed. You and I both know damn well she was contemplating if she would need it on her excursion. She is so extra.

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She is a queen, even the bearded eye candy wearing leggings on a horse… I mean, winning knight, could tell when he hand picked her out of the crowd of many. Definitely, her “best day ever!”

This got me thinking that I have written a lot about traveling with the guys, but I have never explained packing when you’re with a bunch of dudes. I have made it such a habit, I now do it for all trips. These are usually only over night trips or weekends away (as I have said before, my husband isn’t to full tour level yet).

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Keep your luggage at home, Ladies, there’s no room for it and this isn’t a vacation.

The golden rule is to pack light, as light as possible. You will be on the go non-stop if you are traveling with the band and toting around luggage will suck. Also, they will have so much equipment packed on the RV, truck, trailer, van, whatever their mode of transportation is, and they ain’t got no time for your extra bullshit, so keep it as minimal as possible and then make it less.

In most cases, we travel on the day of the show, so I wear all my extra there, which for me the only thing extra ever are my earrings. Apply my make up at home, hair and nails. I will bring a sweatshirt for warmth just in case, and my flippy floppies for comfort, I will also bring a pair of pants soft enough to sleep in and wear on the ride home for tomorrow (my band shirt will work for sleep and travel). Then the basic toiletries: tooth brush, deo (always deo the B.O.), and phone charger. Why is the phone charger always part of toiletries? I don’t know but it is for me. The most important thing: My soft bra. I am sleeping usually very small quarters with band dudes, modesty is sometimes vital for us bigger girls. This is it, it’s all I bring for the over nighters, one small tote is all you’ll need. It might even all fit in your big purse if you pack it right.

 

I get a little fancy for the bigger trips, two nights playing out calls for a little bigger tote. The last two nighter we stayed in a hotel. Fancy! I made sure to pack some extras, makeup (still, only the minimum) straightener, an extra pair of earrings, and an outfit for the next day. I always use hotel toiletries, less to pack and if the hotel is decent they have some good products.

No matter how many days The Husband is on the road he can somehow fit all his stuff into his one trusty backpack, and his clothes are significantly bigger than mine. I haven’t figured out his trick, I think it has to do with not showering and wearing the same outfit for days on end (musicians, yuck).

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His trusty travel bag, hanging in our dining room, empty for the time being, but taunting me for the next time he leaves.

I haven’t been on many trips, but I have watched him go and comeback worn out enough to understand that they are not always a party. Sleeping conditions are not glamorous, travelling can get a bit uncomfortable, but if you pack accordingly (and always bring food to share), it’s a great time.

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This is what you look like after a weekend on a an RV with the band. Embrace the smells, half of them will be coming from you. 

Living Half the Dream

The life of a blue collared rockstar

It is no secret that the band wife life is difficult, you might know this now from my constant complaining and crying about it. Life is always a challenge, for sure, and this is just my point of view on the glorious paradise we are living. Also, as we all know, I am low key to the point where the slightest breeze of chaos makes me loose my cool. All in all, though, I know I am blessed with a simple, happy life.

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My face when gig season starts, and my always cool husband, ready for anything thrown his way. He is the cool to my cucumber.

I just happen to be married to a busy man, a very busy man and it’s that time again. He’s in the studio again, playing more gigs to make the money for the studio, and this busy, bitter cold gig season is fully upon us. You see, when I started this blogging journey it was just a little after the husband joined a band, the right band, the band that took off, which means they must take off frequently. So, he joined a band, and I joined some support groups.

Unfortunately, I find myself in a group on my own, most musicians I have noticed are self-sufficient. It’s their full-time job. The Husband, on the other hand is not. A very unfortunate circumstance, it obviously is his greatest desire to make it his career and mine for him as well. The band just hasn’t made it big enough yet to supplement the income needed. Sadly, a little-known fact, my early childhood education job does not pay enough to support a family, either.

The silver lining to this, is that he doesn’t travel far, yet (but, like I said, this is the ultimate goal). I am relishing the time we do have before touring starts. The down side, is he doesn’t have a lot of that time. He is trying to juggle the rockstar dream with white picket fence normalcy. Just call him Hannah Montana, but he’s an adult, with adult bills and responsibilities, and many more stresses.

His life is busy. I know, I constantly complain about my life being busy, and even though this is our life together, he is the one on the go. I just try to keep track of him and keep the house hold in check. I thought I would give everyone a peek into the life of a working musician.

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This image sums up The Husbands life, work boots drying after a cold hard day of work, next to a practice bass and amp, and a VIP pass left from a show.

The Husband’s day starts at around six in the morning. He gets up and gets himself and the kids ready. He is in charge of the kids in the morning because I am gone by five thirty for work. This works for now, because with all the band business in the evening, at least he still is consistent and has that time with them in the morning.

He drops them off at school and heads into work. We all know how work goes, it is supposed to be a nine to five, but usually goes until six or seven, depending on how busy he is. Texting me his frustrations as he goes. On top of the nine to ten hours he works a day, he also is on call one week out of the month, which has him going all hours of the day and night.

Then it’s home he goes… for a quick shower, maybe a bite to eat, and off he goes with a kiss good bye to the band room for practice, the studio for recording, or somewhere for a video shoot. There is loading and unloading the band trailer, before and after shows, set up time and drive time. Even when he’s home there is business, emails, networking, writing, practicing. He might crawl into bed around midnight, for a few hours of sleep and get up to do it all over again.

We are always grateful for his presence, though, the kids and I are grateful for that. Some people don’t get even that with fathers and husbands who are taken too early, some are sent thousands of miles away for months to years on end, to unsafe places. I know we are blessed beyond reason to have him home to sleep most nights.

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No matter how long his day is he still takes time out for family!

These musicians work double time for their dream, they challenge themselves daily, I know his band mates are all the same. Juggling family and music is not easy. These musicians love their families, and support their homes, but the music will always drive them and be embedded in their hearts. We hope one day they will succeed in their dream, be able to focus on music and take the second job out of the equation.

Until then, we make it work. The husband has always been a responsible family man, and I am blessed to have him. Not only does he always support and love us unconditionally, but he is always working toward his dream. I admire him, I am proud to call him husband, and he is really a fun guy to hang out with.

Why We Resolute

New Year, New(ish) Band Wife

Happy New Year! Ok, its not the new year yet, but at the pace I go it might be well surpassed twenty eighteen by the time I get another blog out.

I am going over all my accomplishments through this year, as always it was a kick ass year. For me, my family, my job, and this little blog I have started.

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Seriously, an amazing year!

 

This blog is the main thing I have achieved this year, surprisingly, it was not on my list going into the year but just a couple of weeks into seventeen and a spontaneous idea one morning turned into a physical entity by that evening. Jump in, two feet, somethings in life are just better done that way.

I know I have talked before about throwing out those old, stagnant resolutions, and how we are all enough. As a band wife, though, your physical and mental health are very important. It is with everyone, of course, but I was thinking about how those same, old, tired resolutions differ in meaning when it comes to keeping up with the busy life of our musicians.

I thought I would break it down. Especially after the busy holidays, its nice to settle down, get back into the groove and gain a little control and perspective over our chaotic lives.

Losing weight is the most popular and timeless resolution. I hate focusing on the weight part of this, being always aware of body positivity, I always focus on being healthy instead. If you are with a musician you may run into some long days and nights. A lot of running around, hot days at summer festivals, and cold wintery walks to bars far down the street. I learned the hard way to keep hydrated, get lots of sleep, and for the love: wear extra deodorant! A little extra green leafies and cardio will go a long way (but I may be writing this while eating a brick of fudge).

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This was such a hot day, I really could have done with out a few pounds and sodium to help. There was more sweat dripping than I’d like to admit.

Finances. Oh man, if you are a band wife it is a true test of your bank account. I mean, you have to go out to eat before the show, surely you won’t have time to eat at home getting the kids, yourself, and everything else in order. Then you have to buy your ticket, band wives don’t get a free ride. Then drinks, and when you get done, The Husband is starving, so you need to go out for your second dinner at two in the morning. Let’s not forget how expensive music equipment and upkeep is. Budget, budget, budget. And sometimes you might just have to say no to a show, just because its not in the budget.

Quit drinking: This is my struggle bus, right here. Momma love her some cocktails, but after thirty, they aren’t loving her back so much. You are at a bar, and drinks are always flowing. I am not going to quit for good, but I have come up with a system. One drink per set, keeps a good cap on the morning after and the finances.

Then there is the ever elusive “me time”. Girls: this is so important yet the hardest. Last week I was laughing at the thought of getting some time to unwind by myself. I understand when you’re with someone where their hobby/profession takes over, along with your kids, jobs… you get lost. Squeeze it in, even if it’s a couple more minutes in the shower, binging on the ‘Flix until you have no thoughts at all, or having a good cry in the car. Take that time. You need it!

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My “Me time” and hobby are one in the same, coffee and blog Fridays! I look forward to the quiet morning alone. 

Hobbies, all the hobbies! This goal is so hard to achieve, like the me time, when you feel buried under your family’s stuff. When you are the oil that keeps your family running smoothly, you tend to run dry before you get to yourself. Find something you love to do, and be proud of it!

Getting organized is a freaking nightmare in my house. I don’t know about you but following a band around, keeping your kids school and extracurricular activities a float, along with your nine to five, is a daunting task. Get a calendar, ask for help, and try your hardest to stay on top. It makes life so much easier when your ahead of the game. which, in reality, will never happen, so just except your perpetual confusion as your new state of mind.

If you haven’t noticed I have a hard time saying no to a good time, and though it is fun it can all leave me feeling a bit worn out by Sunday morning, add the saturation of my own dose of the good old Irish catholic guilt and you have one tapped out Momma.

Even though I cringe at them, resolutions aren’t a terrible concept. They are meant to help improve our lives, give us goals, and keep striving for our best. But also keep in mind, we are all enough and if we don’t have the give to give that day, let it be.

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So, here’s to another year, crashing in, cocktail in hand, a few more wrinkles, and a few less mistakes. Sit back, enjoy the ride, and as always: Balls to the wall, Baby!

 

Dress Code

Wearing Your Band Shirt

If anyone sees me in the same t-shirt every time they run into me, you know, the one with the band logo on the front, don’t be concerned, I do keep up on the laundry and I can afford clothing. I promise you, it at least smells fresh every time I put it on. In all honesty, even though it looks like I am wearing the same damn shirt all the time, it’s just that I have an unlimited supply, I do have more than one of the same shirt. They just happen to be all from the same band. Conveniently, the band I am married to.

My last count was five: pink, white, and three blacks. I am literally a walking billboard. In my defense, they are so comfy, and I can get as many as I like (not really, like I said before, band wives still pay) but they are there, so I buy them, and wear them, everywhere.  As do the kids, and the husband. We might as well get our family pictures in them. Sometimes we will all walk out of our bedrooms and it’s a new episode of bitch stole my look.

The son and I matched at his junior high orientation. He loved that! He is always ready to support the band, not so much with matching his Mamma. I told him I wasn’t changing, though, I was too comfortable at that point and that would have taken too much energy. He wasn’t changing, either, because he wanted to wear it for his school picture, starting his junior high years off on the right foot. We walked into that high school slow-mo style, made sure we were known. Flying our colors high.

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The kid found his locker, I think surviving the high school will be a breeze for this little bad ass.

I was probably feeling a little cooler than he was, or cooler than he thought I was.

Sometimes I plan this look, if we are going somewhere new where I can spread the word, I don’t ever mind a shameless plug. Vacations are a great time to plan some band t-shirt wear, not only for the husband’s band but other locals I love. You’d be surprised at how many people have stopped me (or another fan) to comment on a band shirt. Then, once a person sees something they like, they usually will Google it. Spread their names far and wide, I say.

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Onward, children, we have a band to promote and mountains to do so!

Sometimes the band t shirt is because I am too lazy to put on anything nice, and like I said, these shirts are so comfy and I really like the fit. I make anything look good, so I can get away with wearing band shirts every day.

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They are great for just cleaning the house, having mental break downs, and self medicated-ice cream-life breaks.

I do have a rule to wearing my shirts to shows, though. I don’t wear the band shirt to local shows, unless it’s a competition type show. You see, a show is a night out for this girl, and this girl likes to look good occasionally. Cute top, cute jeans, cute boots. If the show is local enough where everyone already knows their name I don’t need to go full support. They got that covered.

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There is enough merch to promote themselves, they don’t need me to sport a shirt all the time, and seriously, a girl needs variety!

I will, however, wear the band shirt if the show is farther down the road. They are a little unheard of, or a competition type of show where your support is vital, where their name and logo are a force that needs to be reckoned with. That is when the shirt, the wrist bands, the whole uniform comes out. Because, we gotta represent.

Band shirts are not just a way to express yourself with the music you love, but also a way to support your favorites. Purchasing one also is helpful to the bands account (trust me, merch can be a bands life line sometimes). General rules of band shirts are: buy it because you love the band, wear it because you look good in it, and always express yourself with the music you love.

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It was a hot day on the deck with the fam (isn’t she a doll?), always express yourself, and keep cool!

 

And maybe pack a few the next time you go on a trip.

Living Fearlessly

When tragedy strikes

I got a glimpse of it on the news, when turning my laptop on and getting my hustle ready for work that morning. I only heard about it through talk throughout work that day, and I hadn’t realized the severity of it all until I got home that afternoon.  Then it hit me, watching the videos, the news reports, and the posts. The same feeling I got with the attacks of September 11th years back and columbine years before that, and so on and so forth.

Again, the world stopped and our hearts shattered, no one doesn’t feel it. The wave of odd emotion, humanistic urge to mourn for those we don’t even know. To feel fear, anger, sorrow, and confusion for a situation that isn’t anywhere near you.

I felt it all, relief, followed by guilt that we were the lucky ones who hadn’t felt worse. My family is still here, we are all safe.

And the questions flooded. How could this happen? How will these people ever go on with their lives? How do I explain this to my children? How do we step foot out our doors in the morning feeling security of the world around us?

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Time keeps moving but it seems to stop on days like these.

It is a terrifying world we live in and getting scarier by the day. Knowing that my husband gets on that stage, just like the ones at the harvest festival in Las Vegas or Arianna Grande in Manchester and many other concerts that have been targeted, is terrifying still. The only thing that can give me peace is the thought that he works on a much smaller scale, for now.

We shouldn’t have to fear a concert. A large group of people coming together for their shared love of music shouldn’t be an invitation for the insane, but a place of harmony. I shouldn’t fear for my husband, or worry if I should take my children to see him play in case someone picks that venue to take their anger and hate out on.

Music should always be a place of peace, a place in time where we can connect, let go of our frustrations, our fears, take a moment to step out of our heads and enjoy. It is devastating to think that we can no longer fully enjoy the heart and soul of what makes us all flow.

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Music should always bring us comfort, it should be home to where we can gather and enjoy. 

My heart goes out to all the families of the victims, and to the musicians, I am sure they carry their share of grief after such a horrific event. No one should fear sharing something they love, but we do, every day. Marathons, festivals, rallies, and so on. We, as humans gather to share, to comfort, to love, and to enjoy.

How do we keep going after so many hits we take as humans? Life is so fragile. Isn’t there a way we can wrap it up and put it up somewhere safe, so it doesn’t break anymore?

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There really isn’t. We can stay safely in our homes, keep hidden from all the scary pieces of the world out there, tucked away safely where no one will hurt us. But that is not life, there is no living in that.

After the many, many thoughts, prayers, tears, and hugs that day, I swore, as I have done many times before, that I will not let fear keep me from sharing what I love. As we have all done in the past, dust ourselves off and go back in.

We risk our lives every morning when we wake up and our feet touch the floor. We also prove to the world that we could survive another day when our feet hit that floor. We shout it from the rooftops every day our eyes open, we will not be afraid!

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This will not stop us from concerts, from running, from music. From love. From gathering, and sharing, spreading our love. Hold tight, my friends, the storm is not over, but we can weather it well, together.

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Battle of the Sexes

The complicated puzzle that is a relationship

What a shit storm this past week has been, the week before school starts for our fifth grader, last year for us in the elementary, sad. The sixth grader has his first year in the high school, so bittersweet.

I have been to open houses, and registration nights, and oh, dance class started also. There has been welcome back picnics, and hair appointments, and back to school shopping, which I like to wait until the day before to scrounge around in a panic to try and get everything ready. It keeps us all on our toes.

Of course, as with most big, strung out weeks, cram packed with all the crap I cannot avoid as a parent, The Husband’s was just as packed with band adventures (it’s like he plans it that way). The latest being a gargantuan of a mobile they planned on cruising around in that weekend, that had a list twice as long as mine to fix before they could get it on the road.

So, on my free nights (because I get a lot of those, right?) my only choice was to help out or be left behind and I didn’t want to spend another evening alone. Which meant, the only night or so I had available was with a paint brush and tape. Trying not to lose my damn mind with my two precious pre-teen and pre-angst angels that were trying their hardest to “help”.

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One part of my bickering angsty clan that was trying their best to drive me absolutely insane while the guys were practicing. I was putting myself in some compromising positions, there is a lot of nooks and cranny’s to a campers interior.

I was exhausted, frustrated, over worked, stressed out and wanted to blow up. I was tired of having to do it all alone, I was sick of being put second, and I wanted to send the worst shit text to The Husband, but I stopped and remembered that this was my choice.  I chose to be with a musician, and that comes with its share of carrying the load so he can travel, play, and record.

Is this fair? No, hell no, and you feel it. The pressure of knowing you’re doing it alone. It was a choice I made when we started dating, a choice consciously made when we got married, and a choice that I knew full well what I was getting into when we had children.

It was a choice we made together, and as much as I wanted to scream and yell, I knew it wouldn’t do any good, they already planned the weekend gig, they were already packing to go. It was pointless, so I took a deep breath and I texted him. I told him I loved him and missed him a lot.

And you know what? He missed me too, he was feeling it too. We live together and barley see each other during these times. It doesn’t just affect me, he is in this too, but this is his life. He could walk away, but neither of us want that for him. For us.

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Sometimes we do get to spend time together. I love watching him do his thing and that makes it all worth it.

The main thing that softened the blow and warmed my heart this past week also, was throughout the chaos of it all was that he was adamant about making sure he was there to take our son to pick out his first instrument for sixth grade band. He wanted to share that moment with him, and I understood that he can’t do all of it, but he tries his hardest to be there for the moments that most count.

In our many years of all our trials I have observed that most men want support, and most women want reassurance. And that there isn’t too much of a difference in these two marital securities. Men want to know that at the end of the day, they have someone cheering them on. When I first approached this theory, I thought it literally meant be his cheerleader.

Ok, I cheered in high school, I can do this. And I texted him throughout the day with “I am so proud of you” and “I appreciate everything you do” until he asked me to stop. That wasn’t what he wanted and let’s be honest it can make the best attention whore feel uncomfortable.

After stepping back and reevaluating I realized one thing in all the books I have read and seminars I have taking about the male/female brain (my work in early childhood education has given me a lot of time to study brain development, and I totally nerd out on it), is that men are doers, they don’t need to be showered with words and affection. They need a foot rub, or joining in on their most favorite activity. In our case, going to see them play, helping set up the merch table, understanding that what they do is hard on them also.

Women need words, we like to talk, talk about our day, talk about our feelings, talk about every aspect of our lives and how they work and who is where and why we are mad and so on and so on and so on…  we like to listen too, we want to understand and be understood. That is what makes a relationship tick for us.

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Let’s face it, males and females don’t necessarily fit, that is why it takes work, support, and dedication.

What we all want is companion, and what we get is confusion. You see, the battle of the sexes is real. Misunderstanding of what each other needs is the struggle, but if we remember to work together, our love becomes easier when we remember we are on the same team.

 

 

 

The Dynasty of Music

How my grandfather inadvertently is the reason my husband plays.

We are going to have a little history lesson today, because I LOVE history, and this is a cool story about The Husband and my families. The Husband and I grew up together in a very small town, the same little farming town both of our grandparents grew up in, and our great grandparents, and so on. We went to school together, the same school our families attended. Our families even had farms right down the road from each other. We have some very deep roots here in our lovely rural mid-Michigan village, and that is where our rockin’ story begins.

As I mentioned back in my first blog, my grandpa played an upright bass in a western swing band throughout the ‘50’s and 60’s. I, unfortunately, never got the chance to hear him play it. I only saw this larger than life beast of an instrument and an old black and white picture sitting on a small table next to it. The fiddle was always tucked behind a bed in the upstairs of the old farm house, covered under an old sheet. As a child, my cousins and I would sneak over and peak at it, plucking the thick strings quietly, letting off its thunderous tones. Fortunately, the rest of our big, Irish catholic family was being naturally too loud downstairs to hear us messing with Grandpas fiddle. It still sits in the upstairs of that old farm house, now occupied by my parents, it seems the only place it should live, relocating it just doesn’t seem right. It’s a bit more weathered these days, but a beautiful steadfast remembrance of my childhood memories and my grandfather. With the exception of my Grandmother talking about her “band wife” experiences (which are much different from the 2017 version I am living) I don’t remember much of anyone talking a whole lot about it, how he came about playing, or anyone else in the band. So, this is where the story begins for me, my grandfather and his big upright fiddle.

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My Grandfather and his big, beautiful bass. I wish I could have be able to watch him play.

I do know, after some fishing, the band played at town halls, old stages, and barn dances across rural mid-Michigan. One being a barn down the road, a family close with ours, the same family in which I would one day, far in the future, be deeply and legally (maritally) tied to. Where my future father-in-law (just a child at this part of the story) saw him play. He says my Grandpa was amazing. “I love watching those guys play, but especially the way your Grandpa hammered on those strings of that big bass.” He told me.  This inspired my father-in-law to try out the bass, as a teenager in the 60’s western swing would not have been a sound music choice, nor would an upright bass, so he went with the electric bass. He still plays to this day, he played in some great local cover bands. His lovely wife, my mother-in-law, even sang for them and played a little percussion. One of my childhood memories of my father in-laws band playing was at our towns (something)centennial celebration, right in the saw mill that sits next to our home now, the home my husband grew up in, and his father before him (roots, people, lots of roots here). I am sure the little boy, my future husband, was running around somewhere as well. As a teenager, they would play at my uncles annual Halloween bash, at this point the future husband was most definitely there, sneaking out back with the other group of teenagers (which included me) to get into teenage trouble, it’s all laughable now, but then I was only a starry-eyed teenager, pining for his attention, trying my hardest to act cooler than I really was. Thank dear, sweet, baby Jesus he actually finds my awkward, straight laced personality somewhat charming and irresistible… I think.

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My father-in-law and his bass. His archives for music is pretty amazing. He’s like the encyclopedia of classic rock.

Before that, though, there was that little boy (one of six), who watched mother and father on the stage with the same inspiration his father had as a child watching my grandpa. With a little guidance from his dad he taught himself to play bass, and with each ‘generation’ they take the music a little further. It now melts my heart to see our son watch him play, and practice with his dad. I wonder if he will follow through, if our son will take the music even further than his most talented father has. It also warms my heart to think that my grandfather is, inadvertently, the reason my husband now plays bass. Sure, it was his own hard work and dedication, it was his father’s own ambitions, but along the line, my grandfather was an inspiration. Our roots run so very deep, an intertwine in a dance that has been written for us in a way that amazes me every day. My husband has almost been chosen for me, but I am getting away from the coolest part of our love story. Of the very beginning of The Husbands journey to music love, a story that keeps writing itself.

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And finally, The husband and his bass. Always learning, always challenging himself… and, I mean, damn, I am pretty lucky!