A Page, Author at ANNE MCCLARD

December 14, 2020December 14, 2020

You are My House

Three years ago when I started this site, I posted a few bits of my writing. One piece of prose that I posted was called “You are a House.”

mississippi-river

The song, “You are My House” is loosely based on that piece of prose, and also was a songwriting exercise that I gave myself–to write a song in a minor key, and to use a different song form. Most of the songs I wrote prior to this one followed a simple verse-chorus-verse-chorus structure. This song, in contrast, does not have a chorus, but a short bridge. I hope you like it.

Anne Page McClard · You are My House

Lyrics

Rooted on a granite bluff
Above the great river
Windows of your soul look west
Watching flows of smooth waters
Water never rests
You stand witness to human toil
In fecund fields of fragrant soil

Winter blankets you in snow
Below your walls shiver
Timbers of your bones stand tests
They lie above flood waters
Water never rests
You fear nothing but river snakes
In dormant dreams fear awakes

You are my house
Let me in.
Talk to me
Talk to me.

Silence is your favorite sound
Inside your echo chamber
The attic of your mind keeps pests
They feed on thoughts of tired tears
Water never rests
My love survives in constant quiet
Your inner life is far too private

Talk to me
Talk to me.
Talk to me
Talk to me.

December 7, 2020December 7, 2020

Heaven Can Wait

One day last February, I was driving home from my Saturday jam class, just before the pandemic broke loose, and I found myself humming and singing the phrase “Heaven can wait, heaven can wait, heaven can wait for me.” Not sure where it came from or why it popped into my head, but I thought, okay, I am just going to go with this idea. Maybe I should try to write a song. That same day I came up with the lyrics and the melody for this song. I was thinking about how every time one falls in love it feels like you have died and gone to heaven.

Inevitably, the initial elation of love fades away. I had never written a song in my life, but why not give it a try. So here it is. I hope you like it.

Anne Page McClard · Heaven Can Wait

Lyrics

When I was eighteen, and I fell for you,
You were pretty and sweet, and I thought you were true.
I thought It was heaven, but you proved me wrong,
You lied and you cheated, so I said so long.

Ain’t rolling over and ain’t playing dead
Heaven can wait, that’s what I said.
Heaven can wait
heaven can wait
Heaven can wait for me

When I was twenty-two, and I fell for you,
You were smart and good lookin’—I thought you’d be true.
I thought it was heaven, but it wasn’t to be,
You lied and you cheated, then you walked out on me.

Ain’t rolling over and ain’t playing dead
Heaven can wait, that’s what I said.
Heaven can wait
heaven can wait
Heaven can wait for me

Then I was twenty-six, and I fell for you
You were handsome and good, I knew you’d be true.
I thought this was heaven, it truly seemed so
You loved me well, more than you know

Ain’t rolling over and ain’t playing dead
Heaven can wait, that’s what I said.
Heaven can wait
heaven can wait
Heaven can wait for me

Now I am old, and I’m still with you.
It ain’t been perfect, but we have been true.
Not sure if this is heaven, it’s pretty darn near,
Give me kiss, I’ll be happy dear

Ain’t rolling over and ain’t playing dead
Heaven can wait, that’s what I said.
Heaven can wait
heaven can wait
Heaven can wait for me

Heaven can wait for me

December 3, 2020December 3, 2020

The Dark, by Portia Casanova

In September when the school year was getting started, I saw a Facebook post from my niece, Maggie. I can’t remember what it said exactly, other than that they had just learned that all schools in Chicago were going to be online. I jokingly posted that I would be happy to work with my then 7 year-old grandniece, Portia, maybe do a songwriting workshop. Kind of preposterous since I only started writing songs the previous spring, but I had taken some classes, and learned some things along the way that I thought would be worth passing on. I knew Portia liked making up songs, and that she was good at it. I thought, maybe she would be interested in writing a song that she could perform, and that was documented so other people could sing it too. Turns out she wanted to, and her parents were wholly behind the effort Thus was born Portia’s Song Workshop.

We have just completed her first song, “The Dark.” That was our semester goal. We met each week for 30 minute sessions. We began by exploring what a song is and what makes writing a song different from other writing activities. By the end of that first lesson, Portia was literally climbing the walls.

We studied different aspects of some of her favorite songs to learn about song structures, line length and number of lines, rhythm, rhyming schemes and types of rhymes. Portia came up with an idea for a song on her own. She had been singing it around the house, and in fact had the makings for a first verse, a pre-chorus and a chorus. So we started with that. Each week we focused on some different aspect of her song–rhythm, rhyme, verse development, honing the melody, identifying the key, and then came the really fun part. Her dad, Antonio, developed a piano accompaniment for her song. Her mother, Maggie, and I helped her with verse development. She practiced. She listened to the piano track on her iPad with headphones and sang to the accompaniment over Zoom. I captured just her voice.

Anne Page McClard · The Dark

Using these pieces in GarageBand I began to build Portia’s recording. I am a neophyte though, and when I played what I had done at the weekly family meeting my brother, Peter, and cousin,Garth, both experienced musicians and music producers, called out some problems. Later, Peter offered to help me fix them because he has more sophisticated software and knowledge, and I happily accepted. I really didn’t know what to expect. The result is beautiful, much better than what I had done with the same basic material. Anyway, I am grateful to have had everybody’s support with this effort. It has been magical and rewarding. Turns out there is light in the darkness that is now.

I hope you like it!

The Dark by Portia Casanova

When the lights turn off,
And you say good night,
and the door goes SLAM,
my eyes grow wide.
And I think…
Now that it’s night
Nightmares come to fright,
But I know deep inside
If I look at the sky
I’ll see the only star in sight,
and how it shines.

And then I get a little shiver,
a shiver unlike others;
but I like it… I like the dark.
Ohhh ohh, I feel scared of it,
’cause there’s not a spark of light.

But I like it…
I like the dark.
There’s fright in the night.
Ohh Oh Ohhhhhh……
The dark, the dark,
The dark, the dark.

When I fall asleep,
And begin to dream…
What dreams may come…
will teach me things.
Strange scenes,
And I wonder why.
What’s real and where am I?
But somehow I know,
I’m asleep in my bed,
And this thought calms me down,
and I’m at rest.

And then I get a little shiver,
a shiver unlike others;
but I like it… I like the dark.
Ohhh ohh, I feel scared of it,
’cause there’s not a spark of light.

But I like it…
I like the dark.
There’s fright in the night.
Ohh Oh Ohhhhhh……
The dark, the dark,
The dark, the dark.

When the sun comes up,
And the light flows in
And the night is done…
The day begins.
And I think…
Now that it’s day
I have something to say
There’s no fear in the way
I see the night anew.
Now I know the light is there
In the dark of night.

And then I get a little shiver,
a shiver unlike others;
but I like it… I like the dark.
Ohhh ohh, I feel scared of it,
’cause there’s not a spark of light.

But I like it…
I like the dark.
There’s fright in the night.
Ohh Oh Ohhhhhh……
The dark, the dark,
The dark, the dark.

November 25, 2020November 26, 2020

Thanksgiving Thoughts

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. It still is, because in modern times at it’s core it is about giving thanks, but that doesn’t mean that we should forget the origins of this American holiday tradition.

The origins of Thanksgiving are something many Americans take for granted. In my childhood history lessons, I learned that the pilgrims, the first settlers from the Mayflower, initiated this tradition by feasting with indigenous people–it was portrayed as a peaceful coming together of two cultures. Historians and archeologists tell a slightly different story. The first thanksgiving gathering was likely initiated by indigenous people who far outnumbered the English settlers at the feast. There were 90 indigenous participants, and only about 40 pilgrims. Paintings always depict a small gathering of mostly pilgrims feeding a few partially clad native people sitting on the ground. The Pilgrims in these depictions are a mix of men and women and children.

The first thanksgiving feast is now thought to have been where men (women and children cooked) gathered in peace talks that ultimately resulted in a peace treaty between natives and settlers that would last 75 years. Native peoples were right to fear European settlers, their muskets, and the diseases they brought decimated their ways of life. Today, many Native Americans consider our Thanksgiving day, a National Day of Mourning.

We should never forget the genocide that allowed our country to emerge, and we need to make sure that injustices like those suffered by Native Americans do not ever find their way to our country again. We need to maintain vigilance against the rise of facism and the ideologies of white supremacy. I find myself mourning with my native brothers and sisters.

This year has been challenging for the whole world for so many different reasons–climate change (terrible storms, droughts, and fires wrought by it), political strife (the tearing apart of families, expressions of hatred, rampant racism, and general social unrest), and not least, the COVID-19 pandemic (which has had a disproportionate impact on the most vulnerable, and brought poverty and hunger to many in the world). And yet, this Thanksgiving, I find much to be grateful for, and feel a need to express my gratitude.

I am grateful for my family. For me, family extends beyond blood kin, as I suspect it does for most people.

I give thanks for ken–his love, devotion, and steadfast support over the last 34 years. And of course for his magnificent cooking and gardening! Oh, and did I mention his sense of humor?

I give thanks for Zoë, my firstborn–for the joy she brings into my life, her wisdom, her kindness, her daily help and support. Oh, and did I mention her sense of humor?

I give thanks for Søren, my youngest–for his devotion to those he loves, his social consciousness. He stands up against injustice, and leads an exemplary life. Oh, and did I mention his sense of humor?

I give thanks for my mother–the matriarch of our clan. Without her sacrifices none of my life as I know it would have been possible. Definitely thank her for transmitting a sense of humor.

I give thanks for my siblings, Michael, Kevin, Liz, and Peter. Without them, I would be fighting all of my battles alone. And, yes, they all make me laugh. The pandemic and the election would have been insufferable if it weren’t for our weekly family calls.

I give thanks for Judy–she is one of the pillars of my life and is a steadfast supporter of my creative efforts, and the efforts of my mother. She makes things happen. She has been a devoted friend to our entire family.

I give thanks for my cousin Garth–he is truly one of the most generous and kind people I know. I am grateful for our renewed friendship through music, and that he joins in our weekly family calls.

I give thanks for my mirthful sisters, Marita, Jean, Sara, Lisa, Valeriya, Sherry and Sarah who have been with me all the way. We have had some wonderful adventures together in this life.

I give thanks for my neighbor, Ginger, one of the most kind and caring people I know. She always thinks of others, and even though I can be quite introverted she forces me out of my cave into the daylight sometimes.

I give thanks for my music teachers, Tim, Linda, and Greg. They don’t make me feel stupid, and they listen to my emerging musical self.

I give thanks to my jam mates, Sharon, Greg, Laura, Niel, Hannah, Matt, Melissa, and Rob. Without you, I would be tuneless instead of just off-key. Also, you guys make me laugh.

Other things I give thanks for in no particular order: music, fantastic neighbors, living on this beautiful earth, shelter, nourishment, health, the Internet (in spite of its flaws, it has made it possible for me to reconnect with so many people that were lost to me).

And now, I give thanks for you and to you.

Happy Thanksgiving!

November 21, 2020

Bristlecone Pine

Those of you who know me, know that I am caring for my 93 year-old mother. She long ago expressed her interest in having her ashes released in the Bristlecone Pine forest on Mount Evans, Colorado when her soul has departed to wherever souls go. In this song I equate her with a Bristlecone Pine. Against all odds from the moment of her birth, she has survived the changes of time. The song is written as a waltz about the lasting dance that she will have among her sister pines.

Anne Page McClard · Bristlecone Pine

Lyrics

In her first act of defiance
She extended a crooked limb
Small soft fist, her hand
A show of self reliance
Her mother gently lay her down
on carpet of alpine moss
Seed sown in tundra
A prayer she’d soon be found

She dreams at night
of her lasting dance
High at timberline
You’ll find her spinning with the stars
Among the bristlecone pines

A seedling’s tendrils drilled deep
In breach of limestone and ground
Gave her strength to endure
Assaults of wind, ice, and sleet
Another year of casting seeds
As winter yields to spring
Her trunk twists and turns
in time with earth’s lead.

She dreams at night
of her lasting dance
High at timberline
You’ll find her spinning with the stars
Among the bristlecone pines

She survived changes of time
Became a graceful old soul,
Tree beyond compare, a
Beautiful bristlecone pine
She’ll waltz there with her sister pines
Her soul will whisper in the wind
Caress pink asters
And kiss blue columbines

She dreams at night
of her lasting dance
High at timberline
You’ll find her spinning with the stars
Among the bristlecone pines

You’ll find her spinning with the stars
Among the bristlecone pines

November 21, 2020

Hummingbird

One day last summer I sat on the back deck practicing fiddle tunes on my mandolin. A hummingbird lit directly in front of me on a tomato cage, not more than four feet away. As I played, it seemed to be nodding in time to the music, and stayed there through at least seven tunes. I had never seen one still for such a long time. What a thrill. That moment inspired this song. We fell in love, and that’s not a lie.

Anne Page McClard · Hummingbird

Lyrics

I once heard a hummingbird sing
Know it seems like a fanciful thing
He sang a song as sweet as sweet tea
Beautiful words he sang to me

Listen and you can see reality
If you watch you can hear the truth
Open your eyes to the world around
Open your mind to magical sound

We danced by the light of the moon
In his silvery wings I did swoon
He glittered in the starry night sky
We fell in love, that’s not a lie

Listen and you can see reality
If you watch you can hear the truth
Open your eyes to the world around
Open your mind to magical sound

He perched awhile then flew away fast
Whispered to me, our love will last
I dream of his song by day and by night
Not heard a word or ever caught sight

I gaze to the heavens above
I think, maybe I’ll hear my true love
Listen and look, there’s a chance you’ll see
If you see him tonight , send love from me

Listen and you can see reality
If you watch you can hear the truth
Open your eyes to the world around
Open your mind to magical sound

November 20, 2020November 21, 2020

She Stands Tall

I wrote this song as a love anthem to my daughter, Zoë, who is 28 years-old now, on the occasion of her birthday. Anybody who knows her can attest that she has overcome some pretty incredible odds. Not going to delve into all the details, but suffice to say, today she stands tall at 6 feet, and of all of her gifts her kindness and caring for others rises high above others.

Anne Page McClard · She Stands Tall

Lyrics

She came into my life
On a cold October day
The leaves were falling
And the skies were gray
She was pink and
perfect as a simple rose
Pure and soft
as rain in the spring

We’re all born blind, and learn to see
We must walk before we run
Everyone babbles before they talk

She stands tall as an oak tree
But she bends like a willow in the wind
Different child
Gentle soul
Heart of gold
She stands tall as an oak tree
But she bends like a willow in the wind

We’re all different she used to say
And she knows this too well
Still she found her way

She reaches to the sky
Sun shines golden on her face
Green eyes opened wide
She is full of grace
She has pride, is
Stronger than an ocean wave
Push and pull
As moon to tide

We’re all born blind, and learn to see
We must walk before we run
Everyone babbles before they talk

She stands tall as an oak tree
But she bends like a willow in the wind
Different child
Gentle soul
Heart of gold
She stands tall as an oak tree
But she bends like a willow in the wind

Different child
Gentle soul
Heart of gold
Heart of gold
Heart of gold
Heart of gold

November 20, 2020November 21, 2020

What Have I Done?

This song began as birthday musing about my life of accomplishments, or the lack thereof, but as I worked on it, it became a song about childhood regrets, and thoughts of simple acts of living life, like making bread and putting out ant traps. All in all, life has been pretty good to me. Ends on “What haven’t I done?”

Anne Page McClard · What Have I Done?

Lyrics

Fell in love when I was just five
Barely alive
He was a pretty boy
Skin chocolate brown
Chased him home, and knocked him down

Wondering what I have done?
Lord, oh lord, what have I done?

I’ve lived a long time
Drank some fine wine
What have I done?
Had lots of fun.

Son of a gun
I’ve had lots of fun
Son of gun
I’ve had lots o fun.

Made a friend, told her she was fat
Tit for tat
Blue bells and cockle shells,
Open to hope
Kissed her lips, and jumped some rope

Wondering what I have done?
Lord, oh lord, what have I done?

I’ve lived a long time
Drank some fine wine
What have I done?
Had lots of fun.

Son of a gun
I’ve had lots of fun
Son of gun
I’ve had lots o fun.

Woke up this morning, another year gone
Drank a cup of coffee, made a loaf of bread
Put out some ant traps, made my bed
Life is short
Life is short
That’s what I said
Another year older, but not finished yet.

Once was young, was pretty and smart
Had a big heart
I still have my dreams
Got lots of love
Racing through life, and kicking its butt

Wondering what I have done?
Lord, oh lord, what have I done?

I’ve lived a long time
Drank some fine wine
What have I done?
Had lots of fun.

Son of a gun
I’ve had lots of fun
Son of gun
I’ve had lots o fun.

Lord, oh lord, what haven’t I done?

November 20, 2020November 23, 2020

Oh What a Journey

Three years ago, while undergoing treatment for breast cancer, I began this site as a way to keep sane. My life felt like it was spinning out of control and my career going down in flames. I sought refuge in writing and photography. These creative outlets saved my life, and that’s not hyperbole. During the year that followed I dealt with a number of family crises that ultimately resulted in my becoming primary care taker for my elderly mother. We moved her from Denver to Portland, and until the pandemic started, she lived in assisted living.

The year she moved here, 2018, coincided with a Christmas gift from my husband, ken (he spells it with a lowercase “k”)–a Big Muddy mandolin, something I had wanted for a long time. I hadn’t played a stringed instrument since the age of 13 when I gave up playing the cello. I wanted a mandolin because it was small and highly portable, great for taking with me on business trips, and because it was melodic. Little did I know how this gift would change my life forever. Armed with an ability to read music and a rudimentary knowledge of music theory, I began a new musical journey and obsession.

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I started taking lessons with Tim Connell, an accomplished musician and mandolinist known best for playing Brazilian Choro. At my first lesson, he recommended that I attend Saturday jam classes at Taborgrass, because ultimately one must play music with others. Although I had always enjoyed American folk and alternative country music, I had never given bluegrass music much thought. My first time playing with others was terrifying. I could barely play three chords, and they weren’t the right ones. Other players were incredibly welcoming, and I sooned forged lasting friendships, and an appreciation for bluegrass that I didn’t have before.

Hello, 2020. The year began normally. Taborgrass was meeting as usual. I had weekly jams with my friends, and then the COVID-19 writing appeared on the wall; everything was shutting down, and shutting in. We decided to move my mother home lest she die of loneliness in the retirement community that had closed down to outside visitors. We imagined things would be better in a couple of months. Well, you know how that story has unfolded.

Around the time of the shutdown, I wrote my first song called “Heaven Can Wait.” I haven’t properly recorded it yet, but one of these days will get around to it. I took a couple of online songwriting classes, one through Artichoke Music, and the other through Berklee College of Music. During the pandemic I have spent my time playing music with friends, mostly online, and writing songs. For my birthday this year, ken bought me a good microphone, and a pre-amp, which upped my ability to record my songs decently. Thank you, ken, for enabling my obsession, and for providing endless support in every other way.

I have shared my music with close friends and family members, all who have been gracious listeners, and now I am feeling brave enough to share my songs with a wider audience. I am not a virtuoso singer, and at best am an intermediate mandolin player. I see myself as a songwriter first. I will post my songs on SoundCloud, but you will find links on my site, and I will also provide back-stories and lyrics for songs in separate posts.

As Matt Meighan encouraged us to say in his class at Artichoke, I hope you will like it.

Check out my tunes:

June 6, 2020June 7, 2020

Anne’s Danish Rye Recipe

This recipe is developed from many different recipes I have tried over the past year. Every loaf I made prior to landing on this one failed in some way–too dense, too hard to cut, too hard of a crust, bubble under the crust, crack in the top, gummy interior, etc. Most recipes omit the “Secret Handshake,” which I am including here. From Christian Mjadsberg I learned that having some white flour is important. Previously, I had gone the all-rye route. The texture is much better now. Hope you enjoy!

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If you don’t have a starter (takes 4-5 days):

3T European Yogurt (the runny kind)—buttermilk would work too
50g Rye Flour
100g warm water

Each day, add 25g of rye flour and 50g of water. You just leave this out on the counter, covered.

After you use it for your first loaf, put remainder in refrigerator in a jar and feed it (25g of rye flour and 50g of water), every couple of weeks. On the day you plan to use it, take it out, feed it, and let it warm to room temperature.

The night before you plan to bake your bread:

For the levain—mix together in a large bowl, cover, leave on counter for ~12 hours:

300 grams dark rye flour
100 grams white flour—I have made all-rye, but the texture is not as good
350 grams water
70 grams ripe sourdough starter—you can use more if you want, not an exact science

Grains and seeds—soak overnight covered

300 grams of grains and seeds (I use rye berries and sunflower seeds, but you can use a mix of anything, flax, pumpkin seeds, etc.)
285 grams water—I use boiling water.

Bread Baking Day

Final Dough—add the soaked seeds/nuts, and their liquid to the levain, then add the rest of the ingredients to the bowl and thoroughly mix. I just mix with a wooden spoon—it should be a gooey mess.

200 grams dark rye flour
130 grams white flour
180 grams water
18 grams salt
2 tablespoons molasses

Further instructions:

Grease a 13 x 4 inch (1.5 lb loaf pan). Set aside.

Using a sturdy wooden spoon, transfer the dough to the prepared loaf pan, distributing it evenly across the length of the pan and smoothing out the top with spoon or rubber spatula (if you are having trouble smoothing out the top, dampen utensil slightly with water). Let it rise until it comes to within a ½ to ¼ inch of the top of the pan. This may take anywhere from 1 ½-4 hours depending on the temperature of your kitchen and the dough.

Secret handshake: Just before putting into the oven, take a skewer, moistened with water and poke holes to bottom of pan. I used the following pattern (hocus pocus):

ryeholes

As it turns out, this is very important for allowing steam to escape; it will keep the loaf from popping up in the center, and forming a bubble between the top crust and the bread!

Preheat oven to 350 degrees fahrenheit, bake for ~60 minutes, until bread has an internal temperature of 205 degrees–this is also an important secret to bread-baking success. Remove from pan, place on cooling rack and cover loosely with a clean tea towel Don’t cut it until the next day. To cut, use a good serrated knife, and cut in thin slices.