For lyrics and other stories about this song go to this link: TAKE ME AWAY
Composing after a long dry spell has been wonderful for me. It is truly an exploration, as I search to find interesting chords.
My motivation to compose again has come from the beautiful meditation audience I have on Insight Timer. The love and appreciation from that community buoys me and has become my inspiration.
I released my newest instrumental “Farewell Love Song” on Insight Timer last week. I’m excited to share that Insight Timer featured my track on their home page under the category of “Staff Picks.” This morning, I received the following message:
I’m not sure what I’ll name my newest piece. In 1980, I composed an instrumental named “Waterfalls,” and I’ve greatly slowed and expanded it to create a meditation track.
I’ve really enjoyed the many new passages I’ve discovered. I had fun performing my instrumental in progress and it was great practice for me! I share a Part 1 and Part 2, which were recorded a month apart.
I used to post regularly to my blog, but haven’t for a while. It feels great to share myself here. This year, I’ve continued to record my music steadily. It is more of a solo venture now, since I am not working in a studio with an arranger like I used to.
When a friend mentioned to me that my 52 song compositions were like a “deck of cards,” I chuckled and haven’t forgotten that.
I have arrangements for all of them, but over the last three years I’ve recorded simpler versions with two guitars and a vocal. I also create a piano guitar version that works well for a meditation medley of ten songs.
I am down to my last five songs and will hopefully finish those this year.
My song “Take Me Away” was based upon the chords for “Waterfalls” and that explains my post title. I recorded a new acoustic version of “Take Me Away” a few weeks ago.
Below is my latest vocal and piano/guitar recording:
Last week I began recording sections of my new composition late at night. The serenity of recording at 4 a.m. is amazing. It is also hard work and I get stiff after playing for a long time. Sometimes my hand becomes numb. I have to stop and shake it out for a few minutes because I can’t feel it.
I realize that the editing is going to take a long time because the track is so complicated and long. But it is my joy to do this. I spend a lot of time editing my music.
I can admit that sometimes I feel like I’m very isolated. I’ve longed to connect more with people in person. This wish has now become a reality for me.
I played my guitar for a support group a few months ago, and it was such a beautiful experience. I decided to try reaching out to many healing sites online.
Well, I landed something! At the end of July I’m going to lead a grief/healing/music workshop up in the mountains of Idyllwild for Spirit Mountain Retreats.
I can’t wait – I’m taking myself away!
(For fun, I’m sharing old pictures that were taken in Idyllwild long ago . . .)
I especially love this picture with my mother holding me. The lyrics to “Take Me Away” are about wishing I could see my mother again.
This page was from a book of lyrics created for a calligraphy class assignment in 1981.
In 1980, I composed a very simple love song. It only had two stanzas and was unfinished. I named it “This Song Unsung.” I clearly fantasized about falling in love, as evidenced from a diary entry around that time.
My simple song truly went unsung and for thirty years it was a distant memory.
When I began playing my guitar again in 2010, I eventually expanded “This Song Unsung” and it was renamed “Her Song Unsung.” This time, the lyrics were about rediscovering music and joy that translated to saving my lonely marriage. The last two lines went: “In his arms she did belong, her life became her love song.”
Unfortunately, what I projected did not fit my reality and It was very awkward for me to sing “Her Song Unsung” because it wasn’t honest. Also, writing in third person was very detached.
A few years later, I rewrote the lyrics to fit my life and the new title was “My Song Unsung.”
I am so grateful that I was finally able to do justice to this old song of mine. It’s no longer “unsung!”
More recordings, videos and stories can be found at this link: MY SONG UNSUNG
I am attaching audio from my spoken tribute to Debbie at her memorial:
I’m in pink and my cousin, Debbie is in the middle. My childhood buddy, Joni is on the right.
Almost every week, I would pick up my cousin, Debbie to go to dinner and occasionally a movie. I searched for movies that were wholesome and upbeat for her.
I laugh. remembering how I wasn’t always careful about researching my movie suggestions in the beginning. I thought Moonlight was going to be romantic, but when it became violent Debbie covered her eyes during most of the movie. I told her we could leave, but she wanted to stay and was a trouper. It was probably her least favorite movie even if it won the best picture Oscar!
A picture of us in a movie theatre last year.
No one was like Debbie in my life. Her first words upon getting in my car were usually, “Judy, can you please play me your latest song?” She oozed sweetness and love.
Debbie was only two months younger than I. We shared a lot of memories of growing up together. Our wonderful times included parties, beach trips, double dates and sleepovers.
This picture was taken after a wonderful day at the beach. Debbie is on the upper left side.
My cousin’s life wasn’t easy. Her biological mother died when she was a baby. Her father married my aunt and she adopted his three children. In her late teens, mental illness took hold and Debbie was diagnosed with bi-polar disorder. At one of our last sleepovers, she babbled and cried out in the middle of the night and it was scary. She was in and out of treatment for many years. I did visit her at the hospital once or twice. But I was not really close to her after that.
During the time Debbie struggled with mental health challenges, she was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. She beat it, but was left with many health issues plaguing her later in her life.
So after my carefree years of childhood, I rarely spoke or saw Debbie. I was happy that she found love and got married. She was invited to every family event, but often didn’t show up. But Debbie was vigilant about keeping in touch with my parents; she would call them on a regular basis. I was sad when her parents passed away and she was sad about mine, too.
After I left my long marriage in 2012, I moved back to the home where I grew up and Debbie lived only few miles away. One day, I spoke with Debbie and we made plans to get together. She didn’t drive and I was happy to go pick her up.
Our relationship was revitalized and we began to make plans more frequently. She became my “movie buddy.” Before that, I would go to the movies alone when I had the desire to see something. Now I had Debbie’s eager company.
I used to feel guilty that I had pulled away from her when she went through her mental health issues. Now I had the chance to turn things around, to feel good about making a difference to her life.
Her excitement to go out with me was infectious. I’d pull up to her house and call her to let her know I was there. She’d eagerly walk down the driveway and happily slide into the passenger seat of my car.
After a few years her gait became unsteady and she began using a walker. It reminded me of taking my mother out. Although it was challenging at times, it heartened me to feel my mother’s presence during our outings. I loved talking with Debbie about our parents and memories of them.
Only a month before she died, Debbie seemed to be gasping when she spoke. She shared that it was hard for her to sleep at night and she was hoping to get a prescription for an oxygen tank to help her. It took hard work and advocacy for her to get it, but she prevailed.
On our very last outing, her husband, Tom came out to my car holding a big bag next to Debbie. In it, was her oxygen tank that she now needed during the day. He explained to me that I would need to change the battery after two hours. As he showed me how to snap in another one, I watched carefully and felt a little nervous about this important task.
It was definitely tricky to get her into my car with the tank. She finally eased into the passenger seat but didn’t have the strength to put on her seatbelt. After fastening her in, I started to ask her where she’d like to go for dinner. Then I had an idea. I said, “Deb, how about coming over to my house? I’d like to fix you dinner tonight.”
She said softly with a small hint of a smile, “That would be wonderful.”
It wasn’t easy getting her to manage up the 3 stairs into my old apartment. This was where she had stayed with me when we had sleepovers as teenagers.
She was breathing hard as she sat at my dining room table while I fixed some of her favorite foods. I could see she’d lost a lot weight since the week before. I put a plate in front of her, but she hardly ate any of it. I was worried.
Despite my worry, I saw that she was happy being there with me. This was so much better than going to a restaurant. After I cleared the dishes, I had another idea.
I brought out a box of old photos from my closet. It wasn’t organized, but I knew there would be many interesting pictures inside. I found one of Debbie as a young child. She glanced at it and asked who was in the picture. “That’s you, Deb!” I made a pile for her to take home.
A picture of 4 cousins, Debbie is on the far left and cut off in this picture. My pose is so silly!
I pulled out some pictures taken at my Sweet Sixteen party. It amazed me to think that those pictures were taken right in front of my apartment building – the same place where I was now living. Debbie studied them, but then she revealed something very sad to me. Normally, everything she said was positive and perhaps with her recent struggles it was hard for her to stay that way.
“Judy, did you know that I was crying when that picture was taken at your party?”
I looked carefully again at her picture and said, “Deb, I don’t see tears. But tell me, why were you crying?”
“I was crying because I felt left out,” she said. You had so many friends and I didn’t.”
I felt tears well up in my eyes and I hugged her.
Debbie is leaning toward me in the upper left corner. Was she teary?
Now she was struggling to breathe and said, “Can you please change the battery? I’m not getting any air.”
I reached into the bag to get the replacement battery. My hands were shaking as I pulled out the dead battery and inserted the replacement. I hoped I was doing it correctly and Debbie was gasping as I fumbled. I pushed a button and we waited. Then Debbie reached over and pushed another button anxiously. It turned the unit off.
My heart was racing as I pushed the correct button again and gently held her hand away. The machine whirred and started pumping again. I was so relieved!
I still needed to drive her home, and could feel the weight of responsibility upon me. We had three steps to go down and a short distance of walking to reach my car. I gathered some extra food and pictures I wanted her to keep. I maneuvered her walker down the stairs and held onto her firmly.
As she sank into my car, she whispered, “Judy, this is pretty tough.”
I said, “I see that. I’m so sorry, Deb!”
After dropping her off, I cried. I knew she was going to have the best surgeon and hoped her heart procedure was going to “fix” this awful situation.
When she didn’t make it through, it was a reminder to me of how my son died. All the hope in the world and medical treatment didn’t change the outcome.
A picture from Debbie’s wedding.
I will miss Debbie and I share one of my last fond memories.
Two weeks before she died, we went to dinner at her favorite restaurant. We stood up to leave and I went to get her walker.
Debbie stood holding her chair. She reminded me of a willow tree swaying in the wind and asked me to help button up her sweater. She did not have the energy or dexterity to do it.
I stood very close to her and gently pushed each button through, one by one. When I finished the last one, she beamed at me. I felt like I was bathed in a glow of joy. Her face shone with a radiant smile and her eyes sparkled. “Hey Deb, what’s the big smile for?” I asked.
This is an excerpt of solo guitar that will be part of a new meditation song for Insight Timer. “Heart Song” begins after a short riff of an older song named “Farewell.” I plan to add piano and the entire track will be approximately 30 minutes when completed.
I retreated into my bedroom. I had hoped our lovely family gathering would be uplifting, but unfortunately it turned into something else. There were hurt feelings, anger and lots of drama and it continued after I excused myself.
I closed my door and took a deep breath to calm the pit in my stomach. Most of the time I felt peaceful in my “post-divorce life.” Triggers like this emotional conflict threw me backwards, but thankfully they were rare.
My guitar beckoned me. I gently picked it up and wiped away my tears. For several weeks I had been working on a new instrumental composition that was definitely special. My goal was to expand an older instrumental named “Farewell” with additional passages in the same key.
Every day, I searched for ideas. I already had several bars but I hoped I could add more to them. I heard emotional discussions going on outside my door and tried to ignore it. As I played my guitar, I felt shaky and sad. When a few sweet chords appeared, I played them repeatedly and went further with it. My heart was soothed.
Eventually, I had to address the family drama. I extended my love, despite my own hurt feelings. I was unable to share my truthful emotions, which drained me. I felt turmoil for a few days afterwards, but held onto the beautiful chords that were created during such a stressful time.
It was challenging for me to decide when my new composition was finished. I had to balance my excitement of recording it, while hoping my song had reached it’s full potential.
After another week, I was ready. I planned to record it early on a Sunday morning. There would be less traffic noise that way, except after sunrise there were noisy birds chirping outside my window.
The night before my planned recording, I set up two microphones in my bedroom. I cleared a small path so I wouldn’t trip over them at night when going to the bathroom.
Guitar recording involved intense concentration, as well as sitting still for long stretches while playing. I actually had two songs to record – my older composition of “Farewell and my newer addition to it.
Because this music was for meditation, I would play slowly. I estimated it would take about two hours. The main issue was to align my body and guitar in the exact same position for those hours. I wanted to record enough material to work with and tried different variations so I would have many choices while editing.
I slid into my chair and tuned the guitar carefully. I began when it was still dark and delicately fingerpicked in my quiet bedroom. I felt the guitar notes flowing from my heart. My body actually was tingling as I played.
Eventually, I had to stop because the chirping of birds was getting louder. I unplugged the mics and labeled the tracks. My old song was named “Farewell,” but I wasn’t sure what to call the newer part. I chose “Heart Song.” The full version could be called “Farewell Heart Song.” Of course, it was possible that I’d change my mind later on.
I stretched and made breakfast. I was so glad I had decided to record that morning. Later in the day I planned to visit a dear relative who was in the hospital. I sipped my coffee and then noticed someone had left me a voicemail message while I was recording.
As I listened to his tearful voice, by heart sank. My dear cousin, whom I was very close to, had taken a terrible turn for the worse.
I thought I would be seeing many relatives, but when I entered her hospital room there was only a nurse. I asked if it would be okay to hold my cousin’s hand. The nurse pulled down the sheet and I grasped her limp fingers.
I could hear the notes to “Heart Song” playing in the background as I leaned my face next to hers. She had one eye open and there wasn’t a glimmer of awareness behind it. I cried and poured out my heart.
How could I have known that my newest meditation song truly was a farewell?
She died a few hours after I left.
I share an excerpt of a recent performance of “Heart Song” before I became more confident with it.
myjourneysinsight 