Concert Diaries ~ Chapter Fifteen: Michael Franti (Soul Food)

 
I'd never heard of Michael Franti before this year.  I've explained it here a few times but I'll say it again:  I was living in the dark for quite a while and I have a lot of catching up to do.  But I do my homework and when it was announced he'd be joining the Train tour in Virginia Beach, I listened so I'd know the music.  And that's how I came to be a fan.  More music to love because of Gavin DeGraw.  Because I probably would not have gone to Virginia Beach for Train alone--I went for Gavin.  

I find it hard to describe Michael's particular brand of amazing.  He's a little rock, a little rap, a little reggae ... a lot of passion, a lot of love.  A whole lot of love.

Flying solo on Thursday night, I took the 4:15 to Port Authority and walked the mile+ to Terminal 5, the venue.  Ushered up to the rooftop bar, I had a glass of wine and then got in line to be assured of the coveted front row.  And make no mistake, I've learned to do the front row dash like someone 40 years younger.  Standing in line, I met another fan in my age range, also solo for the evening.  The short line began to move and we found ourselves headed downstairs where we landed right in front against the barricade in front of the stage.  I love general admission!  There was another woman right there in front too.  Another solo fan close to my age.  I was fascinated by this.  I meet people at most shows I attend but usually not my age.  D was from out of town, visiting her daughter; J was also from New Jersey.  She'd seen Franti 14 times (but had also seen The Who back in the day over 90 times).  D and I talked about meeting people at concerts ... about how gratifying it is to share a little of one's story and find the common ground, the places where your experiences line up and where you learn about someone else's humanity.  This is particularly true, I imagine, at a Michael Franti concert because humanity is what he's all about.

There was an opening act.  The Kopecki Family Band.  They're from Nashville (of course, everyone is from Nashville these days, it seems) and consist of six members only one of whom is a Kopecki.  Their indie rock sound included cello and trombone so I was captivated.  I love when bands include more than the standard instrumentation and these people were were so very clearly enjoying what they do that it was impossible not to be swept up by their enthusiasm.  It was their final night on this tour.

It was a pretty quick break tonight and before I knew Michael Franti and Spearhead were on stage.  I hate to quote Wikipedia but here's what it says:

Michael Franti (born April 21, 1966) is an American poet, musician, and composer. He is the creator and lead vocalist of Michael Franti & Spearhead, a band that blends hip hop with a variety of other styles including funk, reggae, jazz, folk, and rock. He is also an outspoken supporter for a wide spectrum of peace and social justice issues.

American poet.  I'm glad I'm not the only one who thinks that he is.  Here's a sample:

"11:59"

It's eleven fifty-nine and fifty-nine seconds. 

If I'm gonna die tonight I want heaven, ay, ay, with you. [x2]

It was eleven fifty-nine and fifty-nine clicks. 

The whole world's burning but the clock just ticks

over and over, every single day. 

Some people steal while other people pray

to God, to man, machines or whatever. 

Some of us just lost faith altogether. 

"No way," they say, "it can't be this way." 

That's why so many people stand up and say:

One love, one blood, one heart, one soul and 

one drum and only one rhythm,

One tribe and all of us singing. 

It's eleven fifty-nine and fifty-nine seconds. 

If I'm gonna die tonight I want heaven, ay, ay, with you. [x2]

It was eleven fifty-nine and fifty-nine clicks. 

Life's a cord plugged in, the whole world's sick.

Got diseases excited, they crawled up inside us. 

Superstupiditis, philosophies that divide us. 

Keep us in fear from one another 

so we can't recognize a brother from another mother. 

No way, we can't live this way, 

that's why so many people stand up and say:

One love, one blood, one heart, one soul and 

one drum and only one rhythm,

One tribe and all of us singing. 

It's eleven fifty-nine and fifty-nine seconds. 

If I'm gonna die tonight I want heaven, ay, ay, with you. [x2] 

(I wanna rock it with you)

Ay, I wanna rock it with you,

I wanna rock it with you,

Till the day I die, till the day I die,

I wanna rock with you, till the day I die.

It was eleven fifty-nine and fifty-nine clicks. 

The whole world's burning, but the clock just ticks. 

Some people cry, others occupy,

throw your hands high as the bullets fly by.

I dried my eyes, others wonder why,

but I just wanna be with you till the day I die 

One love, one blood, one heart, one soul and 

one drum and only one rhythm, 

One tribe and all of us singing.

It's eleven fifty-nine and fifty-nine seconds. 

If I'm gonna die tonight I want heaven, ay, ay, with you.

This is my favorite song from the current album out recently--All People.  He made his way through the audience as he sang.  I'm so short that when an artist does this I quickly lose sight, but I can watch the wake like a slow stadium wave as the people turn towards the singer and the spotlight moves slowly along the path.  When I could no longer tell just where he was, I turned back to the stage to watch the indefatigable guitar player, Jay Bowman, continue to back up Michael from the stage.  Jay has more energy than anyone I've ever seen and his ability to share his positive vibe should have everyone taking notes.  It's impossible to feel anything other than sheer happiness in his presence.

Watching the band and taking some pictures, I failed to notice what was happening two feet in front of me.  Suddenly the air was filled with white confetti from an air canon only inches away.  I was blinded by the whiteness and looked around to see the bits of paper filling the whole room.  White--the absence of color.  The absence of ... things that divide us ... of race, of politics, of hunger and pain, of war?  It was a glorious moment and I felt like a child during a first snowfall--when everything gets all clean and white.  It was amazing.  I didn't want that moment to end.  I wished the whole world could be covered in white confetti.

Michael had made his way to the first balcony.  The people up there were undoubtedly thrilled with the visit, especially, I think, his half brother who was there enjoying the show.

Back on stage, Michael moved around filling the stage with his magnetic presence.  More than one time he was right in front of me.  Like everyone else, my hands were stretched in his direction.  When he held it, I felt his energy flow through me.  

In due time, he invited people to come up and dance.  Only one couple joined him though and it quickly became apparent that this was planned as the young man sank to one knee and pulled one of those tiny boxes out of his pocket.  As the girl buried her face in his shoulder, I couldn't tell if the audience had fallen quiet or was cheering loudly ... I'd become lost in their moment.  It was a beautiful scene.  After that there was dancing--lots of people took the stage and there was pure joy in abundance as people let themselves go and become one with the music and the message.  The floor of the venue was vibrating with the force of the joy.  During Say Hey, he had a little girl sing a verse with him.  I was reminded of our special day with 94.9, The Point radio, in Virginia Beach, when the children he pulled onto the small stage in the restaurant we were in were the daughters of the friends I was staying with.

More songs.  During "The Sound of Sunshine" giant yellow spheres were launched throughout the room.  As they bounced gently from person to person from the stage to the audience, up to the balconies and back, it was a though they were floating and, at times, suspended in the air, as though sunshine had really come down.  It was entrancing.  I knew I was losing myself to the music and that it would a while before I'd make my way back to real life.  I can't explain how amazing it was.  There's so much hope and love in Michael's music.  There's protest but it's gentle--a true example of what walking your talk really looks like.

Michael talked about his family, introduced his partner Sara, shared what it meant to be adopted by the Franti family and how he and his siblings were raised to treat all people with one love.  He brought the Kopecki Family Band out on stage for the last song and the performance that ensued was phenomenal.  Electric.  Emotional.  It was big. 

Then there were encore performances--three of them.  He sang I'm Alive and the confetti canons exploded again.  This time the confetti was multi-colored.  A riot of rainbow bits that flooded the stage and the floor, uniting musicians and fans in an interpretation of diversity and appreciation for its beauty, strength and sheer necessity.  Because if this planet is going to survive, if we're not going to kill ourselves and everything that good about this place, we're going to have to learn to get along.

I'm Alive.  And tonight I've been fed with food for my soul.  Soul Food.

I drifted out onto the sidewalk with a thousand other people headed off to hundreds of different destinations.  The harvest moon was glowing over Manhattan and everything seemed bathed in a silvery light.  A couple walked past me and turned to me ... he said "You have confetti coming off you."  I was still in a trance of sorts and all I managed to respond was a little smile.  I'd like to spread confetti everywhere I go, I thought.

I had planned to take a cab back to Port Authority but having missed the 11:00 bus, I now had two hours to kill, so I decided to walk.  It was a beautiful night and every nerve had been tuned to notice every nuance of all I saw.

Eventually I sat at my familiar gate #402 waiting to board the 1:00 bus that would get me home just after 2:00.  I leaned over to take my phone from my bag.  Confetti.  Confetti floated out of my hair.

I'm Alive.

~

Usually I choose one or two videos to share.  Although none of these are from Thursday night, I couldn't settle on just a couple.  Watching these versions of each of these songs took me right back to the magic of that night.

11:59 

Say Hey

The Sound of Sunshine (Yes, I was jumping ...)

I'm Alive - (Red Rocks, high on my bucket list now ...)

Dancing.

And dancing.

Concert Diaries Chapter Fourteen ~ Financing the Obsession

Tyler Hilton, January 2013

I have a problem.  I have this new hobby and it's not cheap.  Even the free concerts aren't cheap ... they're never in my backyard so usually travel is involved.  Hotels in big cities, train tickets or tanks of gas ... it's all starting to add up.  Actually, it's past adding up.  I'm now scrounging to make my adventures happen.

And scrounge I will because it's an obsessions and an addiction.  Maybe if I'd done more live music before now, "middle-agedness", this need wouldn't feel so great but I didn't and it is.  I can't explain the feeling that comes over me hearing someone that I admire a lot perform in person.  It invigorates me for days.  Really and truly.

So ... how to fund the new "hobby?"

Well, for starters I took on an extra duty at work.  In the world of education (at least around here), they're called stipend positions (coaches, advisors, etc.), extra work done after work, in addition to your regular job description.  I'm our district's new web master.  It's a decent stipend and I actually enjoy the work ... it's another creative outlet for me and I love the challenge of improving communication.  It should be pointed out, however, that I am, by no means, a master at this yet.  But I'm learning a lot every day and a day when we learn something is always a good day.  And that's one nice chunk of change for the concert jar.

One of the best and most upscale consignment stores in Northern New Jersey is right in my town.  Today I had an appointment for my first batch of clothes to consign.  They only take 20 pieces at a time so I already have a second appointment in a couple of weeks.  I have lots of professional clothes in sizes I can no longer wear (thankfully).  And I'll confess it here ... I'm selling clothes that are 2X, size 20 and 22.  I looked at the pile of them last night and could not believe that a year and a half ago, I was wearing them.  Thank goodness I'm healthy now.  And even though I've given away most of that wardrobe, I'm glad to have the opportunity to sell some and contribute to the concert jar.  And since I'm continuing to lose, there should be a few more drop-offs at the shop.

I'm thinking of ebaying.  Is that a word?  Can it be a verb?  I'm making it so.  I've been thinking of ebaying a variety of "stuff" that's hanging around the house.  Knick knacks that I've acquired while closing up my aunts' homes, duplicates and edits from the antique Girl Scout stuff collection, zillions of books.  It's all that little "stuff" that accumulates and you hang on to for really no good reason.  I shop a lot on ebay but I've never sold.  I'm not sure about doing it because I know it's a commitment.  Proper and timely shipping of sold "stuff" might prove difficult for me.  Work has been relentless lately and there are many, many days when getting to the post office would be a complete impossibility.  Although I could use those flat rate boxes ... hmmmm ... maybe I could do this.  It's worth investigating.

That's the plan for now ... it's not a lot but hopefully it will be enough.

Because there are other adventures planned.  One of them takes place tomorrow ...

~

Restyle Renew ~ consignments

Walk Journals ~ September 17 (Contrasts)

Back in May when I was writing one of my concert diaries I referred to myself this way: "I am my own study in contrasts."  It's pretty true.  

After 11 hours in the office, I couldn't wait to get out and walk tonight.  I was anxious to move after so many hours sitting and I had a lot of energy because that's what happens when you're particularly productive--at least that what happens to me.  Productivity breeds energy.  But I didn't have a lot of time tonight because I had a date with my television so I tried to make the most of the time I had by picking up the pace a lot.  Having walked only sporadically these last couple of weeks since the pain started, I was finally feeling really well and was able to get to 15 minute miles.  I think I'll be back to a decent pace really soon.

Fueling my walk tonight is Pat Monahan of the band Train and a couple of his podcasts in which he interviews music friends he's made over the years.  I listened to him talk with the Secret Sisters whom I've been wanting to get to know for a while and Brandi Carlisle was in on that conversation too.  Interesting and talented ladies.  One of the best parts of Pat's Patcasts (that's what he's called his podcasts) is that he sings along with his guests on one of their songs.  And it's the whole song, not just a bit of a song.  The Secret Singers decide to sing Black and Blue. Lydia and Laura Rogers have that uniquely southern sound that I tend to love a lot and the tightness of their harmony makes me jealous.  I wish I could do that.

At the 2-mile mark I start up another Patcast, this time with Butch Walker, the singer, songwriter, producer who's worked with so many amazing artists (including one I happen to like a lot).  It's a really long interview and they cover a lot of territory.  I have Butch's autobiography too and have read a bit of it. Now that the summer is over and I'm back to longer days at work, it's harder to commit to a book but I will finish it; he's fascinating and I'm learning a lot about the music business. Butch is a wonderful storyteller and has had a lot of experiences that make for great stories.  I'm enjoying hearing about his start in music during the "hair-metal" days.

Pat is a wonderful interviewer.  These sessions are actually less like interviews and more like being "a fly on the wall" during personal conversations between old friends.  Butch sings a new song and it's simply beautiful.  Let It Go Where It's Supposed To:  Let it go where it's supposed to.  Let your life hang out the window to dry.  And if it catches the wind and you never see it again, Then I guess it probably was time. Did I mention he's a heck of a guitar player and such a good singer? 

As always, while I'm walking, while I'm rambling, I'm looking for the picture that tells the story of that day's walk.  Most often it has to do with light on the river or lake or bits of nature that catch my attention.  Sometimes it's something downtown that I find amusing or has struck me for some other reason.  Not having an enormous amount of time tonight and with light fading fast, I decide to walk to the pond and back, about 4 miles, 4.5 if I walk around the pond.  There is a sidewalk most of the way on this route so it's relatively safe when the sun goes down.  I have to pass the Diamond Spring before I get to the pond.  The sky over the spring is striated with pink and grey and pale blue.  The almost full moon is shining like diamond, low on the horizon.  Evening light.  Gracious light.  Phos Hilaron.  

O gracious light, 

pure brightness of the everliving Father in heaven, 

O Jesus Christ, holy and blessed! 

Now as we come to the setting of the sun, 

and our eyes behold the vesper light, 

we sing your praises, O God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. 

You are worthy at all times to be praised by happy voices, 

O Son of God, O Giver of Life, 

and to be glorified through all the worlds. 

It's from Evening Prayer in the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer.  I've loved this poetry my whole adult life.  My son sang with my church's very traditionally Anglican Choir of Men and boys when he was young and on Tuesdays, after the boys had rehearsed they would sing Evensong for whomever was around at 5:30.  Evening Prayer is an ancient office of the Church and Evensong is it's sung version.  It's quiet and quite perfect.  We don't do Tuesday Evensong anymore at church.  There aren't enough children in the choir right now ... but I miss it and, sometimes, that time in my life.

I choose the moon over the Diamond Spring as my picture tonight and send it off to Facebook with a verse from Phos Hilaron.  And just like that, I return to the Patcast.  That's how I ramble ... from Butch Walker to ancient texts and back again.  My own study in contrasts ...

Concert Diaries Chapter 13 ~ Mixfest 2013, At Which I Make My Radio Debut

Saturday, September 14.  It's MixFest 2013.  The annual free event put together for listeners of Mix 104.1 in Boston takes place this weekend every year.  It's my second time here.  It's the third visit to the MixFest stage from Gavin DeGraw.  I drove up for the concert yesterday and have met up with some special friends I've met through Twitter--yes, more friends through Twitter!  It's still astounding to me that I've done a complete social media about-face but I have and I wouldn't trade these new relationships for anything.  I mean that sincerely.  

So we're here at the Hatch Bandshell set in the Esplanade, three and a half miles of park set along the Charles River.  There are sail boats on the water and people packed in tightly from one end of the park to the other.  The bandshell is the outdoor home of the Boston Symphony and the Boston Pops hence the names of classical composers affixed to the levels of stage at the venue.  It's a beautiful setting and the day is pretty nice, more overcast and chilly than I'd thought it would be but the body heat from the crowd is making up for my lack of proper packing.

I got in line to be admitted to the park at noon.  My friends were all scattered in other lines; there were several places of admission.  I was at the corner of Arlington and Beacon Streets at the bottom of a footbridge that takes pedestrians over the busy Storrow Drive.  When we finally began to move, I saw the extraordinary security precautions the organizers and law enforcement were taking to keep everyone safe.  We were searched with wands and I had the most thorough bag check I've ever been subjected to.  In the wake of the Marathon day bombing, these are changes which were inevitable. 


I quickly find my friends near the front of the park, quite close to the stage but not front row.  We're next to the fence that separates the regular crowd from those who won VIP seats--they have chairs.  We are standing.  It's about 1:00 and we'll be standing here until the concert starts at 4:25.  After that we'll be dancing.  We pass the time catching up.  I've not seen one of these ladies in nearly a year.  Two others had come down from Boston to Yonkers a couple of weeks ago.  Two of us were together at Virginia Beach too.  We get around!  There may have also been a moment when four grown women hollered at drummer Ian O'Neill while he was out on stage during soundcheck.  It was some pretty loud yelling which attracted attention from everyone but the one whose attention was being sought.

Karen Blake is part of the weekend DJ staff and is a writer for the station.  She was out trolling the crowd for enthusiastic fans to chat with during live radio segments between the songs that are spinning at 104.1 this afternoon.  And this is how I came to make my radio debut--my three seconds of air time enthusiastically proclaiming I'd come to see Gavin DeGraw (not the Back Street Boys or Of Monsters and Men, the other two acts).  We all declare our unabashed adoration of the object of our musical affection and thank the station for the free event.  Karen hung out with for quite a long time while waiting for the cue to go live.  We chatted about the radio business and she was full of advice for my friend who dreams of a career in radio.

The station had run a contest for a local musician or group to open the show.  Alex Preston of New Hampshire was the winner.  He offered two selections that he'd written and they were pretty nice songs.  He has a good voice and I imagine if he can stick with it in this tough-to-get-ahead business, he'll have a career ahead of him.  It's not easy though, and he'll have to be pretty single-minded about chasing down his future.

Following Alex's performance, an interview that radio personality Erin O'Malley had done with Gavin backstage was aired on the jumbotron near the stage.  She's apparently a huge fan and was the first to play his first single, Follow Through, 10 years ago.  Gavin was charming as ever and Erin asked good questions that elicited hilarious answers about his recent performance in the air on a Southwest Airlines flight and singing in the shower from him.


A few more minutes of waiting, radio people thanking the sponsors, and last-minute soundchecking and then it was time.  Gavin took the stage and opened with In Love With A Girl, one of my favorites.  It's been the opening number lately and it's high energy gets the crowd in the right place for the rest of the set.  Radiation, another upbeat and truly sexy song quickly followed and we were all singing and dancing and typically enthralled.  The next song is a new one and is title of the new album (out October 15) as well.  Make a Move.  I love this and all the new material a lot.  I imagine that the new album will be my favorite.  Well, actually, I don't have a favorite record or even a favorite song.  There are records and songs for every mood and feeling I have.  Any day will find me playing one CD over and over or just one song or a playlist I've made to fit my mood.  James Cruz, the bassist, is one of the back-up singers for Make a Move.  I'm happy he's singing more this year.  He's got a fine voice and I enjoy hearing him blend with Gavin and Billy.

Gavin talks to us about the 10th anniversary this past July of his first album, Chariot and then sits at the piano to sing it for us.  It's a beautiful arrangement they're playing this year and I think to myself that his music director, Billy Norris who also plays guitar and sings back-up, has enormous talent and really good taste.  He balances the music and performances really well.  The band--Ian, Billy, James and Eric Kinney on keyboards--is as tight as ever today and each member contributes equally to the magic that is a Gavin DeGraw performance.  

We are beyond excited when Gavin announces that's he's premiering another song from the new album today for us.  It's called Everything Will Change and was utterly spellbinding--at least for me.  As I listened to the lyrics which seemed to me to be about growing up, making conscious decisions about your life and accepting that change is inevitable but how you handle it is what counts, I reached over and grabbed my friend's hand.  I've been through my share of "stuff" and I know she's been through more.  It seemed to me that he'd written that song for us.  It was a privilege to hear the first public performance.

A few more songs followed including the single available this week on iTunes, Who's Gonna Save, a beautiful song that I suspect was written with someone specific in mind.  It's another song that really speaks to something inside me and although I've probably played it nearly a hundred times this week, it sounds like the first time every time.  In fact, hearing it brings me back to the first emotional performance of it I'd heard in Virginia Beach.  There are no encores at this "Fest" and so after a rousing rendition of Not Over Year and his customary thanks, Gavin's set is over.

As we had no interest in hearing the retooled Back Street Boys who'd curiously brought out thousands of very young ladies (I thought it was curious since many of them appeared to not have been old enough for BSB the first time they were popular).  I'd never heard of the headlining act, Of Monsters and Men (or as I mistakenly kept referring to them ... Of Mice and Men ...  what can I say?  It was the literary part of my brain taking over.)  Later on, a friend whom we couldn't find in the huge crowd reported that the Back Street Boys didn't sing long and she thought the pieces Of Monsters and Men offered all sounded similar so she'd left as well.  Clearly, we think, the station had the line-up backwards ...

Crowds on Storrow Drive

We began to find our way out of the park to grab a drink and talk over the concert but it was hard.  The crowd had grown to the point where they'd had to close the park and the overflow crowd lined the other side of Storrow Drive, a major parkway on the river edge of the city.  They were on the other side of the lagoon too.  All the exits were closed so we strolled up a sidewalk hoping to find a way to cross Storrow.  We were stopped at a driveway while a large black van began to back into the busy roadway.  I said to my friends, "That's Gavin and the guys; they're leaving now."  And sure enough, it was them, making a quick getaway.  We waved and got a little excited (okay we were pretty excited) and Gavin and Ian O'Neill waved back.  We just happened to be there at the right time.  And we were the only ones there.  Probably the only ones not interested in the Back Street Boys because when we finally found our way out the State Trooper at the barricade seemed amazed we were leaving.  

Four friends relaxing at Tico (222 Berkeley Street)

Eventually we headed over the closed footbridge and made our way to, of all places, Tico, the restaurant my daughter had worked at until very recently.  It was great to sit down (really, it was about 6:00 and we'd been standing since noon) and have drinks and some food.  The talk centered on Gavin, the man, the musician, the instigator of new and rewarding friendships.  Our gratitude for our having found each other through his music and modern communication tools continues to grow within each of us.  It was another magical day spent with people I love, making memories and hearing music I love from the musician I love.

~

Everything Will Change

Walk Journals: September 14 (Walking is Good for the Heart)

I'm walking in Boston today.  I arrived late yesterday afternoon for a weekend getaway.  It's MixFest 2013, a free concert in the park sponsored by Mix 104.1, a Boston radio station.  I was here last year too.  Because, if you haven't guessed by now, Gavin DeGraw is one of the performers.  But that's for a different set of thoughts and impressions ...

I'm looking forward to spending time with my daughter too.  But she's pretty busy, having started a new job this week.

I'd wanted to walk last night when I arrived but just as I checked in, it began to pour.  My hotel is attached to a shopping mall ... so that's where I walked.  Except that shopping doesn't qualify aerobically and carrying bags isn't exactly weight training.

So I roust myself out of bed early for a Saturday and set off for the Public Garden, my favorite place to stroll.  Along the way, I pass Tico, the restaurant where my daughter had worked until recently.  I've eaten there a few times now and I really like the menu.  It's one of several restaurants owned by chef Michael Schlow and even though she's not with that restaurant group any more, I'll likely continue to drop in for margueritas and lobster tacos.  And the fried manchego cheese.  No wonder I need these walks ...

In the park I head for the 9/11 Memorial.  It's only a couple of days past the anniversary and so it's only fitting that I spend a minute or two there.  When I come upon the low granite wall with all of the names of local people who perished in New York that day, I am unprepared for the flowers and wreathes that are lovingly placed there.  I don't know why ... of course there'd be lots of flowers this week.  There are often small bunches of flowers left there but I've never seen the whole wall lined with them like this.  I stop to photograph the name of the one whose name is inscribed here whom I knew.  His family attended my church.  I remember his rambunctious, smart, curious boys--they were so little then.  They must be teenagers now.  Maybe in college.  I offer a silent prayer for them and their mom.

Making my way to the other end of the park, I glance up at the Four Seasons, wondering if my favorite singer is staying there.  I'm not sure but I have my suspicions--forensic tweet reading from last year points that way.  I'm listening to the song he released this week as I walk, Who's Gonna Save Us.  Standing at the traffic light, waiting to cross over to the Boston Common I notice a lady glancing sideways at me.  Suddenly I realize I'm singing along.  Aloud.  As in out loud.  Loud being the operative word.  I shrug.  This isn't the first time people have been unwittingly been subjected to my voice (which actually isn't that bad ...).  Although I majored in music, I went out of my way to not sing--especially solo--the entire four years I was in college.  I've just never felt that strong in the vocal department.

Narrow old steps lead from street level up to The Marliave

I pass through the Common.  It's not as pretty as the Public Garden but hugely historic.  Little shelters are being set up for some community event and food vendors are already grilling giant slabs of meat and more.  There are homeless folks sleeping in small groups everywhere.  It's disheartening to see but Boston is no different than any other community and we, as a people, haven't given the issue of homelessness the attention it needs and deserves.  I think I'm headed in the direction of my daughter's new place of employment, The Marliave.  But, even though I'm a Girl Scout Leader, I head off in two wrong directions before deciphering the map in my phone correctly.  Good thing I've never had to teach orienteering.  I finally find the right route and before long I'm standing in front of a really old building in one of the oldest parts of town.  The Marliave is a French restaurant named for it's founder, a Parisian immigrant who opened the establishment in 1885.  It's in a narrow street, Province Street, once known as Governor's Alley as it was the route between the Statehouse, a block or two away, and the residence of the Governor of the Massachusetts Colony before the Revolution.  I marvel at my daughter's opportunity to be working in such a historic venue--at all the ghosts that must linger in these cobblestone streets.

The tomb of Paul Revere

While finding the restaurant I'd passed the historic Granary Burying Ground where Paul Revere is buried.  I decide to take a side trip through the site and learn that several signers of the Declaration of Independence, Samuel Adams, Ben Franklin's parents and many other folks of historic significance are buried there too.  The headstones are tightly packed with tiny child-sized headstones layered close to their parents'. It's a beautiful place filled with stories of the ones who conceived our country and stood up for their experiment called democracy.  It's a place that forces you to be grateful for those men and women who've shared their lives in public service, whether historical or quietly local.  One large tablet simply read:  Freeman Tomb, 1807 Benj. Bangs.  It's positioned right next to Paul Revere's.

Prayers for peace.
Pray for peace.

Looking at my watch, I realize there's not much time before I have to get ready for the concert so I hurry back through the Common and Public Garden.  Across from the Garden is Arlington Street Church, a Unitarian Universalist Congregation.  The church was completed in 1861 and was the first public building in the Back Bay neighborhood of Boston.  I'm struck by the hundreds of ribbons tied to the old wrought iron fence that surrounds the church (like many of Boston's beautiful churches).  Randomly I read a few.  They're all tributes to those affected by the bombings the day of the Boston Marathon; they are prayers for peace, for love and for a future free from fear.  Toward the end of the fence, a plastic bag filled with blank ribbons hangs along with a bucket of pens.  It's an invitation for all of us to add our prayers.  I don't stop to add a ribbon but for the second time today, I offer up a silent petition for peace and understanding.

Four and a half miles.  Pretty comfortable ones with barely a trace of sciatic trouble.  Four and a half miles packed with significance, history, proud feelings for someone I love dearly.  Meaningful miles today.

Gosh, I love Boston.