Yesterday, September 28, was my dad's birthday.  Happy birthday Daddy.  He was 50% of the team that gave me the gift of life (hey thanks dad, for loving my mom long enough to make me.)  He passed away 8 years ago (on the same day my grandson was born, just a few hours apart!)  Jerry left me some interesting (but unfortunately, not very exotic) DNA…I'm 80% milk toast.    I don't know anything about Jerry's biological parents, my grandparents adopted him as an infant.  But in case you have any suspicions about my grandfather's chastity (church ladies back in Tennessee spread a rumor that my grandfather messed around with some floozie nurse and that Jerry was the LOVECHILD of that affair, lovingly raised by my grandmother Mildred in spite of the alleged betrayal!) lab tests have proven Jerry is definitely not Dr Center's biological child.  

Jerry knew when something tasted good and he liked to watch others enjoy the delicious food he so expertly prepared for them.  If you ever tasted Jerry Center's kettle fried french fries you know how lucky you were to be dunking those things in ketchup.  He gave me a love of music and my first encounters with a real guitar.  I was awestruck.  He could also be a real jerk…not so impressive.  

So in case any church ladies back in Tennessee want try starting a rumor that my husband is the inspiration for this song, you are very wrong!!   

I've always had an appreciation for art.  Doesn't matter if it's a well-written book or poem, a delicate sculpture, simple folk art, or a beautiful painting that captures the imagination. I especially love MUSIC!  A thoughtfully crafted song can fill me with so much energy and emotion, it's hard to describe.  I started playing guitar when I was 16 and have been writing songs since I was in my early twenties...some keepers, some cringe worthy, and a few just for fun (such as a song co-written with my old college roommate about a soggy head of lettuce rotting in our dorm fridge).  Last year my son Skyler was visiting around Christmas time.  I was surprised and genuinely touched when he said to me, "Mom...I'd really like to have a copy of your music."  I hadn't been in a recording studio in almost ten years.  Sure, I had dabbled a little with recording myself at home, but it was a dismal failure.  My home recordings were almost as bad as my attempts to paint his picture when he was around 7 years old.  My brief journey as an "artist" (yeah, like the kind of artist who paints stuff) began when I tried my hand at water color painting.  I was into rustic home decor at the time, and hadn't yet embraced my artistic identity as "someone who makes music" so I decided to paint a grizzly bear using a book that walked you through each step.  My water color painting of a close up grizzly bear face turned out surprisingly well (even though the bear was slightly cross-eyed).  I thought, "Wow...I had no idea I have been gifted with all this natural talent....I can paint anything!!"  I decided to paint Skyler's picture, using a photograph of him and our dog as inspiration.  Things got a little wonky when I was trying to get the shadows of my son's jawline to look more natural.  The subject of my painting looked like a Cro-Magnon man who was the unfortunate result of years of inbreeding.  When Skyler came home from school that day he saw me working away on my masterpiece and asked, "who is THAT?!!"  I motioned to the sweet inspirational pic of my handsome little boy and his dog.  Right away Skyler started to cry and asked me with a sense of shocked horror in his trembling voice, "Why did you make me so UGLY?!!"       

I would like to dedicate this digital venture back into making music to my son.  Without his encouragement I might still be sitting on the sidelines, guitar in hand and songs in my head, longing to be an artist.  The world surely can live without another bad painter.