Betty’s Diner (the first musical cut on the above video)

Miranda works the late night counter
In a joint called Betty’s Diner
Chrome and checkered tablecloths
One steamy windowpane

She got the job that shaky fall
And after hours she’ll write till dawn
With a nod and smile she serves them all

Here we are all in one place
The wants and wounds of the human race
Despair and hope sit face to face
When you come in from the cold

Let her fill your cup with something kind
Eggs and toast like bread and wine
She’s heard it all so she don’t mind

Arthur lets his earl gray steep
Since April it’s been hard to sleep
You know they tried most everything
Yet it took her in the end

Kevin tests new saxophones
But swears he’s leaving quality control
For the Chicago scene, or New Orleans
Where they still play righteous horns

Here we are all in one place
The wants and wounds of the human race
Despair and hope sit face to face
When you come in from the cold

Let her fill your cup with something kind
Eggs and toast like bread and wine
She’s heard it all so she don’t mind

Jack studies here after work
To get past high school he’s the first
And his large hands seem just as comfortable
With a hammer or a pen

Emma leaned and kissed his cheek
And when she did his knees got weak
Miranda smiles at ’em and winks

Here we are all in one place
The wants and wounds of the human race
Despair and hope sit face to face
When you come in from the cold

Let her fill your cup with something kind
Eggs and toast like bread and wine
She’s heard it all so she don’t mind

You never know who’ll be your witness
You never know who grants forgiveness
Look to heaven or sit with us

Deidre bites her lip and frowns
She works the stop and go downtown
She’s pretty good at the crossword page
And she paints her eyes blue black

Tristan comes along sometimes
Small for his age and he’s barely five
But she loves him like a mama lion

Veda used to drink a lot
Almost lost it all before she stopped
Comes in at night with her friend Mike
Who runs the crisis line

Michael toured Saigon and back
Hair the color of smoke and ash
Their heads are bowed and hands are clasped
One more storm has passed

Here we are all in one place
The wants and wounds of the human race
Despair and hope sit face to face
When you come in from the cold

Let her fill your cup with something kind
Eggs and toast like bread and wine
She’s heard it all so she don’t mind

 

Faithful Rebel: Songwriter Carrie Newcomer on A Permeable Life

Carrie_Newcomer_Before_and_After_guitar_case“When you live a permeable life, you’re making a deal with the universe that I will be here and I will be present and I will take in the world,” Carrie reflected with me over the phone last week. I say her name plainly but this is Carrie Newcomer, folk singer and songwriter, who on April 1st is officially releasing her fifteenth studio album, A Permeable Life, and – for the first time – a book of poems and essays with the same name to accompany it.

Songwriting, like a permeable life, requires the practice of attention, says Carrie, and the choice to show up as your true self in the world. Even after just a few moments of spotty cell coverage, me in my Durham office and Carrie in her home in the Indiana woods, it’s clear that this woman practices what she preaches. Her speaking voice is as kind and slow as her singing voice is deep and wise. I decide to count my conversation with her as my spiritual practice for the day. She’s that good for the soul.

I’m a fairly new fan to Newcomer’s music. I met her for the first time last August at our annual Habits of the Hearts for Healthy Congregations retreat with Parker Palmer where she shared her music with a group of over 100 clergy and faith leaders and shared her life in quiet conversations played out over mealtime. I remember asking her about dogs, and whether Rush and I should get a second one. I worried we couldn’t love another with the kind of teeth-clenching intensity we felt for our red-headed mutt Amelia. “Love is not like a pie where there are only so many pieces to go around,” she said. “With every dog, or every child, you just get more pie. There is always more love available to us.”

With that same bent toward simplicity, she set out to create her latest album. Her voice quickens for a brief moment as she divulges the collaborative process with producer Paul Mahern and a handful of talented musicians, many under thirty. “There is simplicity when you don’t know what else to do and then there is simplicity when you can play all sorts of notes and say all sorts of things but you don’t. It’s elegant, myself and all the musicians, it’s a very ego-less kind of playing.” These are true enough words for a musician as they are a writer or a preacher. Two kinds of simplicity – the one that comes out in your first draft, lazy in its pomp and wordiness, and the one that finds you on the other side of time. It’s after the throat-clearing quotes and meaningless jargon disappear that what you’ve been trying to say all along becomes clear.

I listen to Carrie’s music when I need to de-clutter my mind. I put her music on when I do yoga in the sun room; sometimes Amelia comes in and does a downward dog under the bridge of my downward dog and I collapse over the mystery. I put her music in my CD player when I’m driving to church on Sunday nights and mustering the courage of true self. Carrie is by no means a “Christian artist.” She says, “Theologically you get the eight crayon box in the Christian music world; theologically I’m the 48 crayon kind of girl. There are beautiful things than can be created with the 8 crayons but at the same time, there’s a hunger and longing for music and story and dance and art forms that lean into the spiritual, that is looking for new language.”

I ask Carrie about her spiritual heritage; I tell her I suspect she’s what I call  on this blog a “faithful rebel.” She grew up Methodist but her fury with the traditional church’s treatment of women led her to find spiritual community with the Quakers. Friends commented, “You make your life with sound and yet you go to a silent community!” She laughs as she’s telling me this, but then becomes serious. “We talk at the universe or God or the Light as Quakers would call it, but something really amazing happens when you are quiet long enough to hear.”

A_Permeable_Life_CoverIt’s hard to be quiet in a culture like ours where the impulse is to do more, be more, throw one more ball up in the air. Carrie challenges the assumption of “not enoughness” in her pie-life-philosophy and prophet-like-words in the new album and book (available for pre-order on her website). When we’re all scrambling to find a life of more, maybe the answer is to do less. “We expand time by actually being there,” Carrie tells me.

We’ve only been talking for forty minutes, but what she says is true; my breath is deeper than when we started.

 

 

 

 

I Believe

I believe there are some debts that we can never repay
And I believe there are some words that we can never unsay
And I don’t know a single soul
Who didn’t get lost along the way

I believe in socks and gloves
Knit out of soft great wool
And that there’s a place in heaven for those who teach in public schools
And I know I get some things right
But mostly I’m a fool

I believe in a good strong cup of ginger tea and that
All these chutes and roots will become a tree
All I know is I can’t help but see
All of this as so very… holy

I believe in jars of jelly put up by careful hands
And I believe most folks are doing just about the best they can
And I know there are some things that I will never understand

I believe there’s healing in the sound of your voice and that
A summer tomato is a cause to rejoice and that
Following a song was never really a choice and never really…

I believe in a good long letter written on real paper and with real pen
I believe in the ones I love and know will never see again
I believe in the kindness of strangers and the comfort of old brands
And when I close my eyes to sleep at night it’s good to say amen (amen)

I believe that life’s comprised of smiles and sniffles and tears
And in an old cook that’s still there, another good year
And I know that I get scared sometimes but all I need is here

I believe in a good strong cup of ginger tea and that
All these chutes and roots will become a tree
All I know is I can’t help but see
All of this as so very… holy

I believe…
I believe…
I believe…
I believe…
I believe…

carrie newcomer

 

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