Don't Jump!

I am not the kind of person who loves to do new things that challenge me.

I guess I'm lazy. Or comfortable.

It doesn't scare me, because every once in a while, like some sort of whiz kid, I say, when asked, "Sure! That sounds like fun."

(Dear Lord, please don't let anyone ask me to bungee jump, jump out of an airplane or even just jump. Thank you.)

So, some weeks ago a friend asked me to be part of a show. To read some of her bee-yoo-tee-full poetry and to sing a song she wrote. "Sure! That sounds like fun." says I.

And it was. The first few practices of the music weren't all that fun, as learning new songs is a little difficult for me now that I'm hearing impaired.

But the show itself was fun. Some wonderful paintings by artists both great and new, poetry,  music, tears and laughter.

Doesn't that sound like fun to you?

So today's lesson is this: Open yourself to new things and enjoy yourself. 

Unless it involves jumping.

Life in General and a Commercial (Ain't that life?)

I've been noticing life around me lately. 

That's a change, because I've been doing the old nose at the grind stone thing  lately, trying to get this book ready for the publisher. 

It's done except having my picture struck, which I reckon I will do Monday.

Ugh.

You  may be like all these other people who are taking selfies all the time and think it's a grand thing to see their mug plastered all over Facebook, texts, twitter, snapchat and whatever the heck else there is.

Not I, friend. Nope, nope, nope. I hates it, my precious.

You may have noticed it's rained here enough to float the ark. But today the sun is out and our tomatoes are turning red. I picked a few beans to go with the other handful I picked a few days ago. There might be enough that  maybe Husband and I won't have to fight over them.

On another note, I saw on the news the other day that a fella asked his mother to play the lottery for him. He carefully gave her the numbers he wanted played. She wrote them down.  

She wrote them down wrong.

She proceeded to go to the store and buy a ticket for him. Using numbers unknown to him. 

She won $100,000.00.

I bet he ain't mad at his mama.

So, commercial time!

Wait! Come back! It won't take long.

My new book coming out: "Poetry, Prose and Music: Life of an Appalachian Woman" is a whopper. No wonder I'm tired.

It's over 400 pages long filled with the funny and some sad, some light hearted mess and some introspection. Some of it rhymes, some of it doesn't, just like life. There are fifteen short stories, a few not very short. A few of these blogs you've read over the years are in there, as well as some "essays" that have been published elsewhere. A few short stories have won contests and been published. I even got money, people! And there's a great deal of photography included. Some of it quite good. Those are probably the photos I didn't take. 

And at the back, a musical CD. Three of the songs are written by yours truly. Some are contemporary Christian, a few old hymns. Daughter sings a solo and two duets with her dear old mama. Daughter also did the artwork on the CD. Show off.

I'll keep you posted (you were afraid of that) as to the progress and when it's done and when book signings will commence.

Commercial over.

So, have you read any good books lately?





















fifteen short stories

Art! Poetry! Music!

I am very excited to be a part of an art exhibition opening up tomorrow at Gilmer Arts. Candy Crawford Day will be showing over forty pieces of beautiful art. At the beginning of the show, I am honored to be reading some of the poetry that Lucy Harris penned, which were inspired by pieces of art. 

The whole thing should be a rip roaring good time, and I hope if you  like poetry, or you like art, or you  like  music or you  just like to support the local artists who work so hard, that you will drop in and spend a few minutes with us.

Candy says:

Getting close to Friday and the opening of my hometown show at Gilmer Arts in Ellijay. The special part of this show is the inclusion of Lucy Harris' poetry, with readings by Kathi Harper Hill and a song performed by Noah May. All the work in this show will feature local people and places.....thus the title "Where The Heart Is". Hope you'll stop by this Good Friday, from 4 to 7, 207 Dalton Street, Ellijay GA 30540

Don't Harp on Me

Several years ago, maybe twenty-five or so, I was asked to sing at a friend's wedding.

I've done that lots, and certainly had no problem saying yes. She requested I sing "The Lord's Prayer", which I  have also done many times. No problem.

My accompanist would be playing the harp.

Uh, wait.

There my blaise' attitude came to a stop, but I figured, hey, I knew the song, no big deal.

We went to Atlanta to a beautiful old Episcopalian church where the ceremony was to take place.

I had borrowed a pretty dress and I was feeling fine.

Someone greeted us at the door and I told them who I was and where I needed to be, so they took me directly to a very severe looking woman and made introductions.

She looked even in a worse mood when that was done, sporting a very sour expression as she peered down her nose at me.

Screwing her face up as though she smelled a foul order, she said she understood we had driven down from the  mountains where we lived. (Translation: What is a hillbilly like you doing in a place like this?)

I told her yes, we had been driving over two hours.

She then asked, rather arrogantly, if I had ever sung "The Lord's Prayer" in public as a solo. (Translation: Can  you even sing at all, coming from up in those horrible mountains?)

I allowed (slowly) as how I reckoned I had. (Translation: You are beginning to annoy  me.)

And more arrogantly, had I ever been accompanied by a harpist? (Translation: The harp should be the center of attention, doing a solo all its own)

I told her no, but that my maiden name was Harper, so it was probably in my blood. (Translation: Probably one of my drunken Scots ancestors played better than you can)

She really liked that last remark. Not that she said so. What she said was it appeared obvious that we must practice right away. (Translation: Dear God, I'll never live this down, it's going to ruin my reputation)

I agreed as she eyed me as though I was about to kick off my shoes and pick my teeth while I tried to sing.

Can't say I wasn't tempted.

Before I go any further with this tale, I want you to know I wasn't getting angry. I was amused. Why, I was downright tickled. I figured no matter how badly I performed, I could never perform as badly as she was certain I was about to.

She closed her eyes and began to play the harp, swaying back and forth and nodding her head.

And dang, this was just the intro.

Me?

I just sang.

When we finished, she opened her eyes (I think she had peeked once). She said, "That was very good." Translation: You didn't sing through your nose)

I thanked her. (Translation, Sorry to disappoint you)

She glanced down at her watch, full of self-importance and said she hoped the ceremony began on time, because as soon as it was over she had to fly across town for another performance.

I smiled and said I was sure she could make good time. (Translation Just hop on  your harp and fly right over there!)

We drifted apart (gee I wonder why?), she searching for whatever, me for Husband.

He was standing in a nearby corner, boiling.

He'd heard the way she spoke to me and was ready to give her what she deserved.

I placed my hand on his arm and said, "It's just a song. It'll be over soon."

His face softened and he said, "You sounded like an angel."

Of course I did. Wasn't that a harp playing while I sang?

We burst into laughter and went in search of the sanctuary.

The moral of the story is this: Be nice. You'll feel better at the end of the day.

And the harpist? I don't know if she has been happy yet. But by now she probably has a cabin somewhere perched in these here hills and brags about it to her city friends.

The times, they are a'changin', after all.

There was Another Anniversary Yesterday

I saw on something or other that ten years ago yesterday was when Clay Aiken sang on TV for the first time, when we heard his audition for American Idol.

I remember him walking out and me groaning, feeling like he was going to be splattered all over the place. It was as though he was trying to look as awkward as possible. You could tell he was nervous. And when he spoke and had the same Southern accent as I do, I almost cringed.

But then he sang. I hollered at my  husband to come in the room. I said, "That boy may not win because of the way he looks, but you won't hear a better voice."

I was right. On both counts. Except there was all the hoopla saying that he really did win, if phone lines had been big enough to take all the calls.

His voice is one that actually does something to me. No matter how long I go without hearing him sing, the minute I do, it's like myself stands up and takes notice. I guess his voice speaks to me somehow. I've had other singers do that from time to time, but Clay Aiken is the only one who does it almost every time.

All my family likes his singing, and we have seen him perform live several times. He is a funny, down to earth young man that engages the audience in a way that makes you feel like you know  him. In fact, the one time I've actually talked to him, it was like talking to my nephew, who is close to the same age and uses the word "whatnot" all the time in speaking.

But then again, I have yet to be star struck. I've never wanted anyone's autograph or anything like that.

I had forgotten that I heard him sing for the first time on my wedding anniversary.

Anyway, music is a wonderful and mysterious thing. So many kinds, so  many singers, so many instruments out there, it leaves almost no one out.

Aren't you glad that the good Lord blessed us with this thing we call music?

I know I am.