http://lorriesinger.com/blog.cfm Fri, 02 Dec 2011 09:30:00 GMT http://bandzoogle.com http://lorriesinger.com/blog.cfm?feature=2672730&postid=1572498 I drive a Honday CRV.  I used to drive a Honda accord and I loved that car.  I had a car mezuzah in the glove box.  I don't remember who gave it to me or where I got it, but you can't ever be too safe; and it seemed to work just fine until one day about three years ago, when I was rear-ended at a red light by a drunk driver who was going about 60 - let me qualify that - a drunk LAWYER who was going about 60 and I, who was going zero, came between him and the car in front of me. A drunk lawyer... what are the odds?  Where is the justice?  I guess it's just a matter of who you know, or if somehow the blood tests and the witness statements mysteriously disappear from the records... OR if the ONE policeman at the scene suddenly gets deployed to Iraq for three years...  Anyway, Mr. Drunk Lawyer is back out there on the streets terrorizing God knows who. I now drive a Honda CRV.  And I love this car.  You don't have to "SIT" down into a CRV, you can stand up and scoot your bottom right over onto the seat of this car.  Now I don't have to worry about people not being able to see my mousy little car and running right over me ever again.  So I can feel safe, like I'm not so close to the pavement any more. This is good.  This is the American way.  I have a mini-suv and me and all the other SUV drivers are in harmony on the roads. I'm loving my CRV and feeling safe and harmonious; the car mezuzah is in the glove box; all is well.  And then just last week as I was driving down the highway minding my own business, this big, black Dodge Ram decides I shouldn't be in his lane.  HIS lane, mind you.  And all of a sudden I'm in the little car again, and I'm feeling my blood start to boil.  What is it with Dodge Ram drivers and their stupid gimmy caps and gun racks and subzero IQ's and entitlement?  Is there some kind of Texas good 'ol boy law that states that if you drive a big black Dodge Ram everybody just has to immediately get out of your way?  That you have a special license to intimidate everyone else on the road?  That all you have to do is just keep getting closer and closer to whoever is in front of you until they're scared senseless that you're going to hit them and they'll move over to another lane?  What if you CAN'T move over, because there's already someone IN the other lane?  I know they say if someone is riding your bumper "just slow down", but what if THEY don't  slow down?  And what if their big Darth Vadar truck is twice the size of your nice little law-abiding, peace-loving Honda CRV?  Who's gonna be the one in the neck brace? It's the Dodge Rammers that give Texas a bad name.  It's the bullies and the ones who think they're gonna live forever....   Dodge Rams put the Moron in Oximoron.  And it just makes me so mad I could scream.  It makes me wish some big 18-wheeler would come along - like in that movie "Duel" with Dennis Weaver where he was sassing that trucker and all of a sudden the tables were turned and that guy scared the pants off him?  Yeah!!!  Take THAT Mr. Dodge Ram!!!
A drunk lawyer... what are the odds?  Where is the justice?  I guess it's just a matter of who you know, or if somehow the blood tests and the witness statements mysteriously disappear from the records... OR if the ONE policeman at the scene suddenly gets deployed to Iraq for three years...  Anyway, Mr. Drunk Lawyer is back out there on the streets terrorizing God knows who.

I now drive a Honda CRV.  And I love this car.  You don't have to "SIT" down into a CRV, you can stand up and scoot your bottom right over onto the seat of this car.  Now I don't have to worry about people not being able to see my mousy little car and running right over me ever again.  So I can feel safe, like I'm not so close to the pavement any more. This is good.  This is the American way.  I have a mini-suv and me and all the other SUV drivers are in harmony on the roads.

I'm loving my CRV and feeling safe and harmonious; the car mezuzah is in the glove box; all is well.  And then just last week as I was driving down the highway minding my own business, this big, black Dodge Ram decides I shouldn't be in his lane.  HIS lane, mind you.  And all of a sudden I'm in the little car again, and I'm feeling my blood start to boil. 

What is it with Dodge Ram drivers and their stupid gimmy caps and gun racks and subzero IQ's and entitlement?  Is there some kind of Texas good 'ol boy law that states that if you drive a big black Dodge Ram everybody just has to immediately get out of your way?  That you have a special license to intimidate everyone else on the road?  That all you have to do is just keep getting closer and closer to whoever is in front of you until they're scared senseless that you're going to hit them and they'll move over to another lane?  What if you CAN'T move over, because there's already someone IN the other lane?  I know they say if someone is riding your bumper "just slow down", but what if THEY don't  slow down?  And what if their big Darth Vadar truck is twice the size of your nice little law-abiding, peace-loving Honda CRV?  Who's gonna be the one in the neck brace?

It's the Dodge Rammers that give Texas a bad name.  It's the bullies and the ones who think they're gonna live forever....   Dodge Rams put the Moron in Oximoron.  And it just makes me so mad I could scream.  It makes me wish some big 18-wheeler would come along - like in that movie "Duel" with Dennis Weaver where he was sassing that trucker and all of a sudden the tables were turned and that guy scared the pants off him?  Yeah!!!  Take THAT Mr. Dodge Ram!!!
]]> Fri, 02 Dec 2011 09:30:00 GMT 0634DC9FF7499E0978F9BAAFB7C2841A http://lorriesinger.com/blog.cfm?feature=2672730&postid=1569611 Fernando has bone cancer. Dr. Burke says we have at least 2 weeks with him. It’s in his front leg, and the kind that spreads fast. It’s the beginning of February. Last week Bradley got the all-clear from his oncologist after a year of radiation, chemo and taking all sorts of additional stuff. We’re convinced the “additional stuff”, this amazing herbal formula called Essiac, was magical, so we’re going to give it to Fernando too. Bradley told me that when he was in the worst part of his cancer, he did a lot of his healing work in the shower, with the water pouring over him. That’s where he’d envision thousands of soldiers entering his body and conquering the cancer cells. We think Fernando feels the same way, because even though the cancer is devouring his leg, he will limp down to the pond to sit in the water… sometimes for up to an hour. When he gets out he runs like the wind. Only now, on three legs instead of four. This beautiful being, this dog, this person in a dog suit, this people lover and music lover, “floor manager” at our busy studio… this one who cares and takes it all on…. This one is my friend. I watch him greet the musicians who come in. Nobody is a stranger to him. And once they’ve been there more than once, well, they are an old friend and there’s always a celebration. March, April and May roll around. Fernando is slipping. When we have to go out on the road we try not to think how this goodbye could be the last goodbye. We call home and find out he’s hanging on by some miracle, and that he’s still making his way to the water as often as he can. We have to believe the water, and his incredible will to live, are keeping him with us so much longer than we believed possible. June comes and finds his courage challenged beyond our imaginations. We are warned that even his weight on that leg can potentially shatter what is left of the bone and we all tiptoe around him, help him up, help him down. But still, he wants to go to the water, and I swear I can see the determination on his sweet face as he limps down the street to get there. There is no question that water heals, that it can wash away what’s negative and painful and then rejuvenate in amazing ways. There’s no question that water is a precious and irreplaceable blessing, and that water gives us, and Fernando, Time. July comes. On a clear, hot Texas day, I get a phone call and then get in the car by myself, and drive over to the veterinary clinic. I pick up a package, beautifully wrapped. Then I go and sit by the pond with my friend.
Last week Bradley got the all-clear from his oncologist after a year of radiation, chemo and taking all sorts of additional stuff. We’re convinced the “additional stuff”, this amazing herbal formula called Essiac, was magical, so we’re going to give it to Fernando too.

Bradley told me that when he was in the worst part of his cancer, he did a lot of his healing work in the shower, with the water pouring over him. That’s where he’d envision thousands of soldiers entering his body and conquering the cancer cells. We think Fernando feels the
same way, because even though the cancer is devouring his leg, he will limp down to the pond to sit in the water… sometimes for up to an hour. When he gets out he runs like the wind. Only now, on three legs instead of four.

This beautiful being, this dog, this person in a dog suit, this people lover and music lover, “floor manager” at our busy studio… this one who cares and takes it all on…. This one is my friend.

I watch him greet the musicians who come in. Nobody is a stranger to him. And once they’ve been there more than once, well, they are an old friend and there’s always a celebration.

March, April and May roll around. Fernando is slipping. When we have to go out on the road we try not to think how this goodbye could be the last goodbye. We call home and find out he’s hanging on by some miracle, and that he’s still making his way to the water as often as he can.
We have to believe the water, and his incredible will to live, are keeping him with us so much longer than we believed possible.

June comes and finds his courage challenged beyond our imaginations. We are warned that even his weight on that leg can potentially shatter what is left of the bone and we all tiptoe around him, help him up, help him down. But still, he wants to go to the water, and I swear I can see the determination on his sweet face as he limps down the street to get there.

There is no question that water heals, that it can wash away what’s negative and painful and then rejuvenate in amazing ways. There’s no question that water is a precious and irreplaceable blessing, and that water gives us, and Fernando, Time.

July comes. On a clear, hot Texas day, I get a phone call and then get in the car by myself, and drive over to the veterinary clinic. I pick up a package, beautifully wrapped. Then I go and sit by the pond with my friend.


]]> Thu, 01 Dec 2011 22:21:45 GMT B89D0B044385F8BECC9BA5326D6890CF http://lorriesinger.com/blog.cfm?feature=2672730&postid=1538151 For me there's a mingling of excitement and terror surrounding Thanskgiving.  I've been hosting the dinner and weekend for our extended family for probably 20 years now so you'd think I'd have it down and could do it in my sleep.  Well, I probably do half of it in my sleep anyway, getting up at the crack of dawn to get the bird in the oven.  I won't go into my animal pacifist rap here.  I'll save that for another blog.    There are a few traditional (for us) dishes that are required every year.  One is the spinach-artichoke-cheese casserole.  I can still remember the first time I ever  made it.  I was a 20 something newlywed who'd never cooked anything more complicated than spagetti in my entire life (ok, except for the time my girlfriends and I made dinner for our dates before the Sadie Hawkins Dance and we cooked salmon croquettes we'd learned how to make in Home Ec and just about burned down the kitchen - oh and spagetti, which was stuck to the ceiling for a week afterwards and Marybelle  tanned my hide over that one).  So my husband-at-the-time and I were invited over to dinner somewhere and I had to bring a dish.  My friend and supervisor at work (Louise Lawrence Schesel,  the perfect, best dressed, cutest woman I knew and who I absolutely idolized) gave me a recipe for a never-fail casserole.  I fought down the intimidation the word  "casserole" carried and gave it a shot.  It involved squeezing a lot of chopped frozen spinach dry with my bare hands and doing this one other fascinating process that was totally empowering: MAR-inating.  Once everything is mixed together you MARINATE it for 24 hours.  So all you have to do is take it out of the 'fridge the "day of" and pop it in a cool oven, turn on the oven and you're good to go. Sometime during the past few years, this particular holiday dish turned into 2 casseroles and then 3 casseroles so now when I go to the store to buy the ingredients people stare at the lady with the cart full of boxes of frozen chopped spinach, and there's no room in the 'fridge for the turkey any more. So it's a process: the shopping, the prepping, the squeezing, the MAR-inating.... that I have to gear up for, usually for a week or two.  Then inevitably by the day before Thanksgiving I'm busting out of my skin trying to keep my mental lists organized; my husband can't see himself in the bathroom mirror because of all the sticky notes on it......  Thank you, God, for my husband.  My hunter-gatherer.  No woman could ask for a better husband.  He's loving and thoughtful and patient.  He takes out the trash even when he's too tired, goes to the store if I have a craving, kisses me first thing in the morning, last thing at night and constantly throughout the day, brings me flowers, opens doors for me, listens to me even before his morning coffee, loves his two stepkids with all his huge heart.  And did I mention he's good lookin'? Thank you, God, for my children.  My perfect daughter and my miracle son.  I love them fiercely.  They mean everything to me.  They are so wonderful and so right and so perfect in every way that I can't even verbalize it.  My emotions overflow when I think of them and I lose the ability to put into words how constantly amazed and grateful I am that they are in my life, that they came from my body and are such strong, wonderful people giving so very much to this world.   Last year, my son made the turkey.  The year before, for the first time, he got up early with me and we made it together.  This year, tonight, my daughter is coming over and we are going to cook together.  We are going to peel potatoes, make pies, sqeeze spinach.  My sister is driving in from Dallas to  help out.  We'll stay up too late and play cards like we used to do when we shared a bedroom growing up.  Thank you, God, for my sisters. I talk to my dad every day.  He's the most amazing man in the world.  He is always happy.  He has a thoughtful word for everyone he meets and is the most distinguished and gracious man I've ever met.  My girlfrends all were in love with him and some still are.  If I were a man, I would want to be just like him.  And best of all, he's a great father.  He's Papa.  He's John Wayne, the Marlboro Man, a movie star and a crooner all in one.  From the time we could toddle, his three daughters would run to the door at 6 o'clock when Daddy came home from work, climb all over his lap and drink his coffee in the morning.... he taught us how to ride a bike, drive a car, reach for our dreams.  Thank you, God, for my Papa. My mother passed away in 1973.  She was killed by a drunk driver on a Sunday afternoon.  She is sorely missed.  She didn't get to meet Bradley or my wonderful kids, or my fantastic nieces and nephews.  She was an amazing woman.  One of the most unconditional and enduring gifts my mother ever gave me - a true legacy and blessing - is my two sisters.  Beautiful women who, along with my dad, I've known longer than anyone else in the world.  We've laughed and cried together, shared each others' hopes and dreams, stood up for each others' marriages and stood by in the best and worst of times.  We know we can always lean on each other and tell each other anything.  I thank God every day for my sisters. I hear so many people say, when the holidays roll around every year, "why can't people be like this to each other all year long"?  And they make resolutions and determinations and slowly things fade back into the routine again and after a few weeks the holidays - and the holiday spirit - are forgotten: a thing of the past. But this year I'm thinking about all those I know and love who are fighting for their lives, their homes, their jobs, their families, their country.... and praying that this time I will hold on a little longer to that spirit of love and peace and compassion and hope.  That this time, we will ring in the new year with clear hearts and minds and the knowledge that it doesn't take all that much effort to make a difference.  Maybe it won't be so hard after all, this day of Thanks Giving.  Here's my wish to you, who are reading this right now.  I hope your life is happy and healthy and that the road down which you travel takes you where you want to go without too many bumps.  I hope when you sit back today and look at the things you have going for you, you can smile and be thankful.  Have a truly wonderful day.  (ls) For me there's a mingling of excitement and terror surrounding Thanskgiving.  I've been hosting the dinner and weekend for our extended family for probably 20 years now so you'd think I'd have it down and could do it in my sleep.  Well, I probably do half of it in my sleep anyway, getting up at the crack of dawn to get the bird in the oven.  I won't go into my animal pacifist rap here.  I'll save that for another blog. 
 
There are a few traditional (for us) dishes that are required every year.  One is the spinach-artichoke-cheese casserole.  I can still remember the first time I ever  made it.  I was a 20 something newlywed who'd never cooked anything more complicated than spagetti in my entire life (ok, except for the time my girlfriends and I made dinner for our dates before the Sadie Hawkins Dance and we cooked salmon croquettes we'd learned how to make in Home Ec and just about burned down the kitchen - oh and spagetti, which was stuck to the ceiling for a week afterwards and Marybelle  tanned my hide over that one). 

So my husband-at-the-time and I were invited over to dinner somewhere and I had to bring a dish.  My friend and supervisor at work (Louise Lawrence Schesel,  the perfect, best dressed, cutest woman I knew and who I absolutely idolized) gave me a recipe for a never-fail casserole.  I fought down the intimidation the word  "casserole" carried and gave it a shot.  It involved squeezing a lot of chopped frozen spinach dry with my bare hands and doing this one other fascinating process that was totally empowering: MAR-inating.  Once everything is mixed together you MARINATE it for 24 hours.  So all you have to do is take it out of the 'fridge the "day of" and pop it in a cool oven, turn on the oven and you're good to go.

Sometime during the past few years, this particular holiday dish turned into 2 casseroles and then 3 casseroles so now when I go to the store to buy the ingredients people stare at the lady with the cart full of boxes of frozen chopped spinach, and there's no room in the 'fridge for the turkey any more.

So it's a process: the shopping, the prepping, the squeezing, the MAR-inating.... that I have to gear up for, usually for a week or two.  Then inevitably by the day before Thanksgiving I'm busting out of my skin trying to keep my mental lists organized; my husband can't see himself in the bathroom mirror because of all the sticky notes on it...... 

Thank you, God, for my husband.  My hunter-gatherer.  No woman could ask for a better husband.  He's loving and thoughtful and patient.  He takes out the trash even when he's too tired, goes to the store if I have a craving, kisses me first thing in the morning, last thing at night and constantly throughout the day, brings me flowers, opens doors for me, listens to me even before his morning coffee, loves his two stepkids with all his huge heart.  And did I mention he's good lookin'?

Thank you, God, for my children.  My perfect daughter and my miracle son.  I love them fiercely.  They mean everything to me.  They are so wonderful and so right and so perfect in every way that I can't even verbalize it.  My emotions overflow when I think of them and I lose the ability to put into words how constantly amazed and grateful I am that they are in my life, that they came from my body and are such strong, wonderful people giving so very much to this world.   Last year, my son made the turkey.  The year before, for the first time, he got up early with me and we made it together.  This year, tonight, my daughter is coming over and we are going to cook together.  We are going to peel potatoes, make pies, sqeeze spinach.  My sister is driving in from Dallas to  help out.  We'll stay up too late and play cards like we used to do when we shared a bedroom growing up.  Thank you, God, for my sisters.

I talk to my dad every day.  He's the most amazing man in the world.  He is always happy.  He has a thoughtful word for everyone he meets and is the most distinguished and gracious man I've ever met.  My girlfrends all were in love with him and some still are.  If I were a man, I would want to be just like him.  And best of all, he's a great father.  He's Papa.  He's John Wayne, the Marlboro Man, a movie star and a crooner all in one.  From the time we could toddle, his three daughters would run to the door at 6 o'clock when Daddy came home from work, climb all over his lap and drink his coffee in the morning.... he taught us how to ride a bike, drive a car, reach for our dreams.  Thank you, God, for my Papa.

My mother passed away in 1973.  She was killed by a drunk driver on a Sunday afternoon.  She is sorely missed.  She didn't get to meet Bradley or my wonderful kids, or my fantastic nieces and nephews.  She was an amazing woman.  One of the most unconditional and enduring gifts my mother ever gave me - a true legacy and blessing - is my two sisters.  Beautiful women who, along with my dad, I've known longer than anyone else in the world.  We've laughed and cried together, shared each others' hopes and dreams, stood up for each others' marriages and stood by in the best and worst of times.  We know we can always lean on each other and tell each other anything.  I thank God every day for my sisters.

I hear so many people say, when the holidays roll around every year, "why can't people be like this to each other all year long"?  And they make resolutions and determinations and slowly things fade back into the routine again and after a few weeks the holidays - and the holiday spirit - are forgotten: a thing of the past.

But this year I'm thinking about all those I know and love who are fighting for their lives, their homes, their jobs, their families, their country.... and praying that this time I will hold on a little longer to that spirit of love and peace and compassion and hope.  That this time, we will ring in the new year with clear hearts and minds and the knowledge that it doesn't take all that much effort to make a difference. 

Maybe it won't be so hard after all, this day of Thanks Giving.  Here's my wish to you, who are reading this right now.  I hope your life is happy and healthy and that the road down which you travel takes you where you want to go without too many bumps.  I hope when you sit back today and look at the things you have going for you, you can smile and be thankful.  Have a truly wonderful day.  (ls)
]]> Wed, 23 Nov 2011 21:50:00 GMT F143D959C489B53A0C91FBD61104A442 http://lorriesinger.com/blog.cfm?feature=2672730&postid=1521136 October 26th, live on the air with Jim Jenkins in Bishopville, South Carolina at WAGS AM Radio!   What a great guy, and what a fun interview we had.  Jim played "Where'd All The Money Go" from our new CD as well as his fav "America Walking By".  It was great to be able to share some stories on air with Jim about how these songs came about, or came to be on the CD.  Which reminds me, I've finally gotten all the lyrics up for "A Deep Oasis" and added stories along with them.  I loved writing the short stories almost as much as writing the songs. October 26th, live on the air with Jim Jenkins in Bishopville, South Carolina at WAGS AM Radio!   What a great guy, and what a fun interview we had.  Jim played "Where'd All The Money Go" from our new CD as well as his fav "America Walking By".  It was great to be able to share some stories on air with Jim about how these songs came about, or came to be on the CD.  Which reminds me, I've finally gotten all the lyrics up for "A Deep Oasis" and added stories along with them.  I loved writing the short stories almost as much as writing the songs.
]]> Sat, 19 Nov 2011 04:30:00 GMT E3F0637BD0C8E9E9724A7DF117E40C4B http://lorriesinger.com/blog.cfm?feature=2672730&postid=1308254 Adam is moving back to Boulder on Wednesday.  Today we are celebrating his visit here, which lasted about 18 months longer than he expected it to!   I wonder how many people can say their son moved back in for almost 2 years and every day was a wonderful blessing that they'll cherish forever?   I'm so blessed that I can say that with no hesitation.  And I'll miss him a lot.  So today we are tubing the Comal, taking a couple of  hours away from everything else and listening to the cicadas, feeling the hot Texas wind on our faces, the cool Comal water on our feet, and just appreciating each other.  Now that's Texas at its best. Adam is moving back to Boulder on Wednesday.  Today we are celebrating his visit here, which lasted about 18 months longer than he expected it to!   I wonder how many people can say their son moved back in for almost 2 years and every day was a wonderful blessing that they'll cherish forever?   I'm so blessed that I can say that with no hesitation.  And I'll miss him a lot.  So today we are tubing the Comal, taking a couple of  hours away from everything else and listening to the cicadas, feeling the hot Texas wind on our faces, the cool Comal water on our feet, and just appreciating each other.  Now that's Texas at its best.
]]> Mon, 19 Sep 2011 23:30:00 GMT F1016828FFF775E123BACC0E98FA91FC http://lorriesinger.com/blog.cfm?feature=2672730&postid=1308233 August 29th and it's hotter than ... well, hotter than I can remember here in Austin. I remember my first visit to Austin to see Bradley when I still lived in Colorado and we'd just reconnected. He took me to Wimberley and we went swimming in the Blanco and it was about this time of year but humid, and I think probably in the low 90's. August 29th and it's hotter than ... well, hotter than I can remember here in Austin. I remember my first visit to Austin to see Bradley when I still lived in Colorado and we'd just reconnected. He took me to Wimberley and we went swimming in the Blanco and it was about this time of year but humid, and I think probably in the low 90's.
]]> Mon, 29 Aug 2011 23:25:00 GMT AB1A3877D88ADB5AA8EB45474C50DC3E