In Pearlspective

I've never really told this story before, but I think it's time... As an entertainer, I've seen music touch many people, some who don't understand the language being sung, and I've even seen deaf people respond to the joy of music! But music touched me - physically , not just emotionally - long before I started sharing it with others. Yeah, I know. "Physically?? What does that even mean?" Well, it's like this: The harmonica changed my life - maybe even saved it. But I never wanted to play it or asked Santa to bring me one. In fact, about the time I started playing harmonica, it was maybe the last thing on my mind. Why? Because as an 8 year old kid, for no officially diagnosed reason, I had gone from outrunning teenage boys to being so weak that I couldn't walk, stand, or even sit up. I couldn't do much of anything, and honestly, I didn't even care anymore. I was giving up. One day my mom came home from the store, said "look ...

I can remember it like it was yesterday but yet it's somewhat of a blur. It started on October 11th, 2015. We were relaxing in an Oklahoma hotel room on a Sunday afternoon, and some of us were going to take a short nap before going to set up for our show that evening, but the phone rang before any of us could fall asleep. The call was from a friend in Minnesota who had gone to visit my grandparents that day. Grandma had been quite ill for a while, but we thought she was on the mend. Our friend, who had a background as a hospice nurse, could see otherwise. "How soon can you get here?", she asked my mom. "I know performing is your livelihood, and I feel sick telling you to cancel a show, but I'd feel worse if I didn't. The time it takes to do the concert might be all the time you'd have to say goodbye." So, we canceled our show and left the hotel as fast as we could pack. We got in the van and headed north. We stopped after a few hour...

" Y ou're growing up to be... so big, so smart, so cute, so much like any number of relatives...", and the list goes on. The phrase "growing up" has been thrust upon me since before I could talk. It was usually based on different adults' varying expectations of me, but it was never really explained. I'm Too Little D oes the phrase "growing up" imply that wisdom or talent is acquired with height? I certainly hope not because if it does, I'm an idiot! Folks, I'm short. Period. In our current residence I can reach the bathroom faucet, but I have to stand on tiptoe to see my forehead in the mirror; at our house in Branson it's the other way around. My Grandma said I drank too much coffee (impossible) and it stunted my growth. If she's right - it was worth it! However, I don't think my height affects my intellect. W ell, if growing up isn't measured by height, then does it mean growing beyond our childish imaginati...

O n this day in tomorrow's history, a new blog appeared on the Internet. I am starting this blog for a very important reason: I want to! You see, I am addicted to thinking and when I think, I write. A blog gives me bit more space to write, making it easier to communicate a thought or idea more thoroughly. Image by Thought Catalog via Unsplash What will I be writing about? Life. My life, mostly, and the things I learn from living it. Being a traveling musician, a southerner who grew up in Minnesota, and a young American, gives me a wide variety of experiences to write about; but for starters, there are two basic things about life that I'd like to point out: 1. It's not easy. 2. It's worth living! That first point is probably rather obvious to most of us, but I didn't always believe that second point. In fact, for a while I believed exactly the opposite. That was many years ago after a childhood illness had left me with physical handicaps. At that ti...