Vinnie MacDonald Music

I’m posting a new video HOT off the press.. I wrote this song over the weeks leading up to my 40th birthday (which was last month)..

I was sitting at my computer a couple of weeks ago contemplating my last few days in my thirties.  It should be a big deal right?  After all, I was about to turn 40.  I’d just spent a couple of hours with a good  friend of mine, who asked “What does turning 40 mean to you?”

I guess I should start acting like an adult.  But it’s so much fun being Peter Pan!  Ask my kids, they can vouch for me.

So there I was, resplendant in leggings, my fave Bruce Lee T-Shirt (I have several) and shower cap, dyeing my hair whilst blogging.  I should say bleaching my hair from Black (and a few grays) to.. well wasn’t sure..  It had only been 20 minutes.  My head was really hot, which I assumed was good – I think I read on eHow that this meant the bleach was working.  Or I’m going bald.

My thirties were a flurry of pregnancies and child rearing, with a splash of songwriting and lawn mowing thrown in for good measure.  I had three businesses – Book-keeping/Office Admin, an Ebay Craft Shop with a friend, and a Cleaning Business.  Business number 4 – Music – should have been Number 1, but hey, better late than never!  I lost my Dad to Dementia which is still recent and heartbreaking.  I learned how to play piano, had singing lessons and joined a gym (three years dutifully training!).  I learned how to love my husband again, after drifting away quietly and insidiously through the trials life brings.  I fought battles with giants in my head.  I forgave those who have trespassed against me.  I learned how to ask for help.

Is life perfect? No way.  Is it hard?  Yes.  Some days I don’t want to get out of bed.  But what I’ve come to understand, is that this – is not all about me.  And not with a sense of condemnation and guilt, but with love and hope.  I am filled with hope because I am loved.. there is definately a way out where the good guys win.  It started by kicking the Giants out of my head who dictated the rule of thumb to me.  Theirs was the thumb (guilt, shame, depression and fear) and I was under it.  Have I been here before?  Yes.  But I’m not about to give up and hide away again.

Being 40 for me,  means it’s time to move out of the wilderness and into the promised land. There is nothing left to lose.

After all, being the daughter of a King has it’s benefits.. and that’s another story.

I’m posting a youtube clip I did for my Mum and Dad in 2011.

Today  (25 February 2013) would have been my Dad’s Birthday.  In a little over 2 weeks, it will be a year since he passed away after battling Dementia for 6 years.  Grief is a fickle thing – it can connect you to strangers who have lost loved ones, and can separate you from people around you who love you the most.

Last night at Home Group we were going round the circle and asking for specific prayer requests.  I didn’t want to say anything, so kept my mouth shut.. then one of the girls piped up and said “What about you, Vin?”  to which I awkwardly replied “My prayer list reads like a novel”..

The only words I managed to get out were “It’s my Dad’s Birthday tomorrow”.  I had  pretty much intended to say the first two sentences in this blog, but ended up trying to keep a lid on the explosion of tears and emotion trying to escape, sitting on the floor hugging my knees.  Any semblance of decorum evaporated and I was lost for words.  I managed a tear-choked “sorry” and then concentrated on my knees again.

I’ve heard it said that it can take a couple of years for the grief to run it’s course, and I can only speak for myself.  My biggest struggle is still talking with people around me.  Most of the time I’m cool dealing with it’s ebbs and flows on my own, but sometimes it’s all a bit much.  When that happens, generally I’m not prepared..

It sneaks up and ambushes me in the Carpark at school, in the middle of dinner with friends, at rehearsal with twenty other people, on my way to a meeting – all times I’d rather it not happen.  Instantly I’m berating myself for the “it’s my pity party and I’ll cry if I want to” attitude, wrestling with old foes doubt, fear and depression who are all amping to get a foothold in me again.

I’m still learning.. and the things I’ve found that work are simple.  I know it’s ok to miss Dad, that I have regrets, that I might make mistakes while stumbling through the process.  I am weary about who I tell face to face..  But I still make myself talk about it – even if I only have the courage to tell John for a start.

I pray.  They’re not eloquent beautifully scripted prayers, they usually start with “God, please help me..” and I might cry for a while. I read or listen to my favourite Psalms (Check out The Bible Experience for an awesome Audio Bible). I’ve written letters.. to my parents, to God, to myself.

And of course, there’s music.  I journal, draw, play and sing.  Great therapy..  It’s not a quick fix, believe me, I wrote “Mistakes and Regrets” for my parents a couple of years ago now, and cried every time I sang it for months.  Music is how I talk about it – and I hope that someone out there might find comfort in these songs.  There is a Remedy.

I’m having one of those days where the pieces of my life don’t fit.. I’ve got the right pieces in my head, maybe I can’t articulate what I’m seeing. I’ve got the right pieces, but they all seem too big. I can barely managed to piece together two at a time.

Am I too close? Is the picture too big? Or my belief too small..

The direction is clear enough (yes yes, music is who you are, go for it) but I’m soo ridiculously scared of making the wrong move I’ve trapped myself in checkmate.

The song I picked to release first has proved self prophesying.. “We need a remedy to the chains that bind us”..

God, please help me.

No. No New Years Resolutions for me.

I was avoiding Facebook as much as possible, only checking in to see if my Sister In-Law had given birth (which means going on once a day as opposed to every other spare moment). HOWEVER. Amongst the masses of New Years greetings of fb love and warm wishes broadcast over the past few days, I saw a post that said something like:

“Stop making resolutions and just do something.”

Oh. Okay.

So I am.

So there.

If there’s one thing I’ve had to do a lot of this year, it’s waiting.

Waiting for planes.
Waiting for kids.
Waiting rooms.
Waiting for results.

Death, Doctors and letting go.. my theme for 2012.

A few days after Dad’s funeral in March this year, I watched my Mum meticulously go through Dad’s things and cull all the surplus things, you know, like his clothes, shoes, medecines, personal toiletries..

It was grim, personal and yet refreshing at the same time.  Mum was ready to let some of the heartache of the last 6 years go..  She was ready.

I felt a sense of urgency to help her with this task, understanding a little of what it meant to her

Things.. they weren’t my Dad.  Of course, I kept a couple of things, his old dressing gown for one – Mum got him a new one when he went into respite care, and the old one was perfectly functional and warm.  Before Dad got sick, he never wore slippers or dressing gowns, so keeping the gown was for me a purely practical reason.  I left it with Mum so I could use it when visiting from Australia, but I wonder if she kept it (I’m in Australia, she’s in New Zealand).

It was tough to start, but, once you get the hang of it, momentum kicks in and before you know it, you’ve pulled everything out and spread it on the bedroom floor..

Familiar things were reduced to their individual function and form without Dad, and became the emptiness we felt, his absence personified in a way. His shirts.. his watch, everything amplified the still new rawness of our grief – still in shock, numb but sharp, clearly in focus.

Something Mum said still stands out in my memory.. “this isn’t Dad, these are just things. He’s in my heart and my memories now.” Suddenly my feet touched the ground and the emptiness dissipated. I was ready to hold onto things.. items, belongings that were his, as ordinary and every day as they were.. but Mum was right. I needed to simplify my grief, otherwise I’d never know how to be at peace with it.