Inspired by something my friend Ted Warmbrand says. He’s a songwriter, too, so I told him if he wasn’t going to write the song, I would. He gave me the go-ahead.

I was sure, years ago, I knew everything there was to know
Thought I knew dark from light, when to stand my ground, when to fight

But I learned to let it be
The more gray I get, the less black and white I see

I’ll tell you how it came to this, every day was a special kiss
Fell into the arms of hope, never knowing how it’d go

Then I learned to let it be
The more gray I get, the less black and white I see

Indigo or blackest night
Palest pink or brightest white
It all depends on the light

I learned to let it be
The more gray I get the less black and white I see
© 2010 Jamie Anderson

(chorus)
Pink, vermillion, crimson
Ruby, garnet, maroon
Orange, magenta, fuchsia
Mamaw’s roses bloomed

Taller than me
Even on my toes
Bright like her lipstick
And most of her clothes (to chorus)

Against a desert sky
Of watercolor blue
No matter how little it rained
Mamaw’s roses grew (to chorus)

Oh how pretty they were
When I see roses I think of her

When I’m gone don’t mourn
Sing no songs in minor key
Find a desert with roses
And think of my Mamaw and me (to chorus)

© 2011 Jamie Anderson

Fiery crimson, swirl of silk
Flash of kohl-rimmed eyes
Shoulders tremble, bellydancer
Under a velvet sky

(chorus)
Oh the pleasure, whisper to your soul
A thousand secrets, only the dancer knows

Body sways to beledy, toss of coal black hair
Her hips in rhythm with the drums, in the patchouli air (to chorus)

Moonlight sparkles in her hips, a whirlwind in her feet
Your heart is pounding, she blows a kiss, you must admit defeat (to chorus)

© 2009 Jamie Anderson

I actually love my yoga teacher and not for the reasons outlined here.

Lay down here, she says
Move closer like this
I want to please her
I’m at her will
But something is amiss
She’s so pretty, yet so cruel
As she puts her hand on my knee

She commands me to stand
Reach for the sky
I want to please her
For her I fall
She looks me in the eye
You’ve got to try harder than that
She says with an evil glee

My yoga teacher hates me

My arms are tired
My hands are numb
My leg is stuck in my armpit
My neck is sore
My hips are out
Please let me quit
I think I wrenched my back
No! Not the strap!

My yoga teacher … loves me

©2006 Jamie Anderson

Words by Lois Hoover
Music by Jamie Anderson

I wrote my first songs back in the 70’s with Lois. We lost contact in the 80’s and then found each other recently. She told me she wasn’t writing poetry anymore, but a few months later, I found these words in my inbox. I wrote a melody and performed it at the National Women’s Music Festival in 2012. She was in the front row.

I dreamed about a visit to a woman that I knew
And just before the week was out, that crazy dream came true

I knew the pictures on her wall, the knick knacks that she kept
I knew the pattern of the quilt, in the bedroom where she slept
The way I saw the universe, forever more was changed
The dream and the reality, can sometimes be the same

I thought I had a memory, a memory of you
It turned out that the memory was never even true
The life I live inside my dreams is just as real as this
Emotions running just as high, the anger or the kiss

I dreamed I fell asleep beneath a shady maple tree
I dreamed a dream within a dream, but still I wasn’t free
I can’t be sure of anything, I don’t know which is true
The dream I dreamed within a dream, or the dream I had of you

I thought I had a memory, a memory of you
It turned out that the memory was never even true
The life I live inside my dreams is just as real as this
Emotions running just as high, the anger or the kiss
Don’t awaken me just yet, I’m still waiting for the kiss

© 2012 Jamie Anderson and Lois Hoover

I started this one because I was mad at someone who’d cut off communication with me. Then I heard Dolly Parton in an interview, talking about someone similar in her life, and she said, “Honey, get off the cross, somebody needs the wood.” I took the religious imagery and ran with it.

This could be a holy place
Stained glass colors floating in the air
Sacred music, golden cross
Why are you hanging there?

In between the silence, I look for god
Don’t disturb the martyr, because she loves the job

I read the bible that you left me here
Joyful praise with heaven’s call
I sent a prayer, there was no answer
Maybe it doesn’t matter, after all

In between the silence, I look for god
Don’t disturb the martyr, because she loves the job

I can worship without you
Warm up this chilly place
I’ll sing these hymns of love
Without seeing your face

They say that rapture happens at the end
But for us, it was the start
I want no savior, what I need
Is right here in my heart

In between the silence, I look for god

© 2008 Jamie Anderson

When going through some of Dad’s things, I found the crayon drawing mentioned in the first verse. For the recording, I played his ukulele.

A fierce fighter jet flies through a crayon sky
Over a brightly colored countryside
In a childish hand, on the other side (it said)
Gary Anderson, age nine

(chorus)
He was the boy
He was the boy
He was the boy who wanted to fly

Only seventeen, he decided to enlist
His parents signed permission and gave a goodbye kiss
The Air Force didn’t meet him, exactly eye to eye
They put him behind a desk, still he dreamed of the sky (to chorus)

He played the ukulele for his buddies there on base
He met my mom and fell in love, soon the babies came
Though he became a salesman, he always loved to play
With a guitar in his hands, he could fly that way (to chorus)

Four months ago, I got the call
He’d been sick awhile, I wasn’t surprised at all
Even as the tears form and I begin to cry
I like to think he’s up there, in a bright blue crayon sky (to chorus)

© 2013 Jamie Anderson

“Carla Williams” sings better than her real name. Carla is a real person, though. I heard about her from my friend and fellow songwriter Jamie Purnell. When he was in high school (or maybe it was middle school) and the most popular girl in school, Carla Williams, asked him to help her with her math homework, he excitedly thought she was asking him out. Turned out, she just wanted help with her homework.

It was raining in Seattle but we never felt a drop
Only ten, we puckered up, I thought my heart would stop
She tasted just like caramel, her hand warm upon my knee
The day that Carla Williams kissed me

It was sunny there in Phoenix but I never felt the burn
Only 18 in that crummy bar, thought I had nothing to learn
She laughed and crooked her finger, said baby shake my tree
But it was never good as the time
Carla Williams kissed me

I’ve kissed a thousand girls, I remember every one
Some tasted like candy, some made me want to run

It’s cold in Canada but I don’t feel the ice
At 55 I can’t believe that lightning has struck twice
She has a sexy grin, oh what she does to me
It’s even better than the time
Carla Williams kissed me

© 2007 Jamie Anderson

If you’re from immigration … or Alberta … please remember that this is comedy.

I really do miss living in the US, especially great Mexican food and my mom. Not necessarily in that order.

Twenty below, snow and ice
People look at me and try to be nice
Then comes the question I dread
They look at me like I’m not right in the head

(chorus)
Yes I could be in the U S of A
1. Eating cheese in a can every day
2. Getting mail delivered on Saturday
3. Eating Little Debbie snack cakes every day
4. Eating grits with gravy every day
Doing without it that stuff isn’t hard
I moved to Canada for love … and a health card

What keeps me here they wanna know next
Well, there’s no Sarah Palin or creepy rednecks
Sure there are hosers but they’re far from me
I think they’re all in Calgary (to chorus)

We love Timmys, we love the queen
We drink double doubles with our poutine
Beaver tails and Boxing Day
The tea party is so far away (to chorus)

Don’t tell immigration about this song
If they’re from Alberta, they might take it wrong
I love it here and I plan to stay
Even if I get frostbite in May (to chorus)

© 2011 Jamie Anderson

I wrote this after overhearing a conversation that broke my heart.

Behind me was the conversation
Standing in line at the bank
“Are you a veteran?” he asked
The other guy said, “I just got back from Iraq”
“I lost five men, I’ve got this plate in my head”
He said, “You’re lucky”
“No,” was the reply, “The lucky ones are dead”

I clutched my deposit and stared straight ahead
Then turned slowly to catch a glimpse of the vet
He could be my son in his T-shirt and jeans
I can’t imagine all he has seen
To think the lucky ones are dead

We sit and watch our TVs until we’re numb
We let our politicians make decisions that are dumb
We send our children off to fight, never knowing who they are
They come home with much more than scars
The lucky ones

© 2008 Jamie Anderson

Shaped by the earth, worn by the wind
Polished for years with grains of sand
Scent of the ocean, warm with the sun
Fits perfect in your hand

Like a stone, hold me, smooth in your palm
Like a stone, I’m sturdy and strong
Like a stone

Kiss of the water, calm as a friend
Salty and cool against your skin
Blue of the sky, reflection of light
Let the waves guide you in

Like the sea, rock me gentle as the tide
Like the sea, my arms open wide
Like the sea

Rock and ocean
Stone and sea
Born of the earth
Hold me

Like a stone
Like the sea
Hold me

© 2012 Jamie Anderson

I have an older song, “Menstrual Tango.” After extensive personal research, I’ve written a sequel.

Rachel, feel free to call me.

Don’t tell me to try meditation
Or to drink that nasty tea
Ointment from wild yams
Will not cure what’s ailing me

Menopause mambo, menopause mambo, menopause mambo, oh …

I’m going to strip to my underwear
If you don’t turn up the air
Then you’ll see I’ve lost my butt
Take pity, send chocolate

Menopause mambo, menopause mambo, menopause mambo, oh …

I need moisturizer … everywhere
You don’t wanna know where I’m growing hair
And the thing that I most dread
Is that the gray isn’t just on my head

Menopause mambo, menopause mambo, menopause mambo, oh …

I don’t wanna wake
In the middle of the night
Unless it involves Rachel Maddow
And candlelight

Menopause mambo!

© 2010 Jamie Anderson