#53: RIP Doug Leland

I just learned Doug Leland, a neighbor, died. He had been suffering from cancer. I got involved with him purely by chance a couple of years ago when, on Facebook, I saw a note from him saying he needed some help with someone bringing him coffee and a morning breakfast sandwich because he was trapped at home due to swelling in his legs.
(His usual set of close friends who took care of him, were all, by coincidence this one week, out of town or unavailable.)

For some reason that day, I woke up with the resolution that if I see an “I need help” note on Facebook from one of my friends that I would say yes. I sent him a note. He lives in our complex at the other end of the block.

He asked it I'd go to Dunkin Donuts, only a half block farther on 10th Avenue. He had it all called in and ready to go. When I brought it to him, he tried to give me money but I refused. I explained that this is part of my morning walk and it’s no bother to bring it.

This became a little routine. His cat liked me. We would sit and visit. One day he said, “I auditioned for The Big Voice and you turned me down.”

I said, “I didn’t remember that!” (Back when we replaced ourselves Off-Broadway). That made me feel a little bad.

At this time I was really getting into cooking, so I would bring him soup and other items that I had made for Jim and myself. Wash his dishes, take out garbage.

One morning he said he was in a hospital room over on the far east side and he NEEDED his particular coffee.

I said no problem, and I went to the Dunkin’ Donuts, rode the M42 bus to wherever he was and delivered it. He kept trying to give me money. Then he asked me why I was doing this, since we didn't really know each other except for nods around the neighborhood (he was the tenant organization president for awhile).

I told him that it's more of a blessing for me to be of service. I believe human beings lose their sense of identity when they're not actively being of service. How wonderful the swell in our chests when we actually do something that really helps someone else, even if it's something small, like helping pick up someone's spilled grocery bag or, as I found myself later, sitting in a moving van while my friend moved himself into a new apartment -- that was another "Help Me" I responded to that week.

I learned, when I was flat on my back in the hospital trying to hold on to as much self-control as I could, how selfish I was being by trying to keep people from helping me. Until I finally couldn't lift my head up off the pillow. I finally just said, "I surrender. I can no longer care for myself."

After at time, I didn’t hear from him for a while. He declined help when I sent him notes. I saw him on Facebook a lot and I guess his friends took over for doing what I was doing. But sadly, he was in decline.

And now I see that he has passed away.

It was interesting entering his little one room world of glitter, show posters, veils, a desk and tons of silvery souvenirs from lives past. A Show Family lives as one for a brief while and then everyone transforms from lovers to distant cousins at the snap of a closing night notice. And what remains is a feather here, a key chain there. And memories. So many glorious memories.

[I told my friend and acting teacher, Andy Gale, this story and he said Doug Leland used to man the table in the Actor's Equity lounge, directing traffic. He said Doug was the kindest person he'd ever seen doing that. He made everyone feel comfortable and welcome.]

Doug, I'm glad we got to spend a little time together. I'm sorry if you suffered in your final days. You lived an active life as an actor and activist. And you made that little world better for it.


And that brings us our link of the week, which is a rare video of Stephen Bienskie singing "Going It Alone" Off-Broadway. His performance was one of the greatest acting performances I've ever witnessed especially him with Bob Stillman singing this together at the end. Amazing.

https://youtu.be/7qTe-UHPSPM?si=UfNeeH-w3I6d6Ewe

#52: Best Birthday Ever & Tooth Pulled

My birthday last Saturday was the best day of my life. First, I did the laundry, then we saw a Broadway show, “Death Becomes Her,” then a quick visit with old friends at the Greek restaurant downstairs, where I scarfed down all their crudo, then the C train to Strawberry Fields. Because we were starting at 6, I knew there was not much time left in the day.

But I declared it “Beatles Birthday Bash” celebrating my 72nd birthday, and I went full throttle on roping the people in, getting them to sing along, making jokes. I’m beginning to realize that I’m basically doing an impromptu stand-up act between songs. And that the more I do it, the better I get.


But it’s the part at the end, when we join together in a circle to sing “Imagine” that it turns really serious. It occurred to me that I’m not doing this in my backyard. This is sacred ground to people who feel very deep feelings about John and his death.


So, after all the jokes and the songs and the singalongs and the dancing and the kids, dogs and babies, I have the awesome privilege of conducting a mini-memorial service that not only mourns the death of a beloved figure but uses that moment to encourage them to live out the dream. To watch it happen in front of their eyes as they join in song with “the world.”


One woman approached me afterward, tears in her eyes, “I guess I needed that more than I realized.” We hugged a long hug. Her husband was beaming, eyes also glistening. Another lady said she had heard us before and dragged her husband along. He was also smiling. I remember seeing him sing along a lot.


And that was my birthday. I never in a million years dreamed that my life would take this course, intersecting John Lennon, especially. First, playing his Imagine piano for Bill Clayton and now this.


That for those people who visit the park, Gavin and I have become a part of The Beatles story. It's an awesome and beautiful burden to bear.


TOOTH STORY

Had my tooth pulled. One of my molars. It was killing me last July so I tried to get an appointment, but the only dental clinic that would take my insurance was one up in Harlem three months later. Easy to get there. 2 train express up to 125th street, then walk a block to 124th.


The office was bright and clean. I and another guy were the first patients and were early so I sat in the waiting room playing a Tetris-like video game, listening to a book about someone collecting miniature Japanese statues in France in the 19th century. I can’t tell if it’s a memoir or a novel. But it does name drop Proust a lot.


When the office opened, we were told to go to the 9th floor. Then we were told there would be a delay because “the interns went to the wrong clinic.” An elderly doctor with a vague East European accent and warm smile did apologize and reassure us it was all fine. The technician took x-rays. Always feels so odd, biting down on that plastic stick that holds the film in place.


More waiting and then escorted into a dental chair which was facing away from the door onto a room-wide floor-to-ceiling window with the whole of Manhattan before me, looking South. The tallest buildings were the pencil skyscrapers now lining Central Park South. Couldn’t see the park, though. Not high enough.


Soon, a younger woman entered, introduced herself as the doctor. I didn’t see her since I was facing away but when she showed her face, she was the image of warmth and confidence. I told that my tooth was very loose and it doesn’t hurt anymore but it makes eating uncomfortable. She took a quick look.


(Before, when I needed a tooth extracted, the dental clinic had to send me to a dental surgery center, which meant more months of waiting.) I asked if she could pull it herself.


The older doctor asked if she could do, if it was loose enough.


She didn’t even hesitate. No problem. Of course, that meant I had to prepare myself for the dreaded novocain shots. I took a deep breath as the needle went in and escorted my brain out of the room, though I did jump once in pain.


After a moment, she tested the numbing, then reached in, I felt some uncomfortable tugging, but it was over in a flash. Not even a minute long procedure. And also, the numbing was extremely localized, so I didn’t have a frozen face or a numb tongue as usual afterward. That made me very happy.


Ah, but old age. And apparently, this bone loss is due to the side effects of one or more of my AIDS meds. The same issue I’m having with my right arm. I’ll be seeing that doctor soon, too, to decide if there is anything we can do about the implant.


UPCOMING:
October 28: I'll be singing some songs and accompanying others at a terrific literary event here in NYC called "The Power of Women's Voices" at the Triad Theatre. I'll be singing two of the songs I composed based on essays/lyrics by women in this group. Link here: https://www.thethreetomatoes.com/power.


December 9th, Tuesday at 9pm: Steve Schalchlin and Friends at Urban Stages with Blake Zolfo, our old pal Bill Goffi and new pal Brian Krinsky, plus the Rebel Nerds! It's gonna be great.





You are free to stream the songs below but purchasing them is the best way to support independent artists such as myself. Or if you have the means, you can make a small donation through PayPal or Venmo using my email address: steveshack@gmail.com.


And please share this with friends!


[This is the hand-crafted, no-AI, non-bot newsletter of Steve Schalchlin. If you wish to be removed from the list, send me an email. If someone sent you this and you want to be added, write me at steveshack@gmail.com]--



Steve Schalchlin

Living in the Bonus Round







Spotify Links

2024 Songs https://tinyurl.com/3su9t85m

Love Songs by Steve Schalchlin https://tinyurl.com/stevelovesongs

Personal Songs by Steve Schalchlin https://tinyurl.com/stevepersonal

Comic/Humor Songs by Steve Schalchlin https://tinyurl.com/stevehumor

Inspirational Songs by Steve Schalchlin https://tinyurl.com/steveinspire

Meditation Music by Steve Schalchlin https://tinyurl.com/stevemeditate

Political Songs by Steve Schalchlin https://tinyurl.com/stevepolitics

Rebel Nerd Songs - lyrics by Steve Schalchlin

https://tinyurl.com/steverebelnerd

#51: You Don't Want To See That

This past Saturday night, I did something brand new for me: Side man musician in a band playing the Latin-influenced music of a Billboard All-Time Top 27 dance pop star from The Bronx named Corina.


And I had a slight costume failure.


It was a great experience because I met three new musicians, one of whom is an outstanding artist/performer on his own, Edwin Vasquez +E. He has a featured song in a new indie movie called Brownsville Bred, which is playing in a limited run here on 42nd Street. And his friend, Ben, a violinist who plays with him and his band.


Corina proudly announced several weeks ago that she had found some costumes for us to wear. They were double-breasted, black. Kind of looked like the Monkees or a chauffeur. Fine. I'll wear a costume. But when I put it on just before the show, I realized it was midriff cut. Not cut way high, but definitely...


My belly was kinda hanging out there and it, unnaturally distended by AIDS meds, is not pretty. I try to stay as trim as I can but it is what it is.


The shirt, however, was just long enough that if I pulled my black jeans up high enough and snuck up the aisles fast enough when the lights were off, no one would see anything. I'd be sitting almost in the corner, mostly hidden. And Corina is so beautiful, all eyes would be directed to her. The other guys did not wear the outfit. Bastards.


The love that came across in the room at Don't Tell Mama was rare and beautiful. At times, they were singing along with her. She revealed that, like me, she had endured a health crisis which she hid from the public because of Covid. It was a life or death situation, and somehow, perhaps sheer personal stubbornness, but also because of Jaochin, who stood by her just like Jim stood by me when I was on my "deathbed," survived.


Perhaps this is the connection that the two of us share, why she would want me in her band. At one point, out of the blue during the show, they said, "Steve! Take the solo!"


SOLO?? I'm barely hanging on here! Play a solo?? With my damaged right arm. But in the moment, what can you do? I played a solo. Kept it very spare. Fools them every time. Makes them think you have taste!


Afterwards, a light misty rain began to fall, giving the many lighted up places here on Restaurant Row a dreamy haze. I walked quickly home without a big goodbye. She was surrounded by fans and friends. I had a Jim and a cat to come home to, and the memory of an impossible-to-imagine night of music.


I love New York.


THANKS
To you who wrote telling me how much you love people's reactions to The Beatles songs, especially the part about not participating in the war mindset the media and politicians are trying to keep active. Non-violent resistance is a difficult and specific way of life. I can mention more if you wish, but once you make that commitment, there's no turning back. :)


Also thanks to those of you asking about Jim. He recovered from his mystery fatigue disease but it keeps popping up every once in a while and he takes a day to recover. So he's still a little weak but he's eating well and is as obnoxious as ever.

#50: Safe Harbor & New Song

This past week, after together singing "Yesterday" by one Paul McCartney, a man looked over at me and said, "This has been a lifelong dream."


He was from Ghana and his little girl was in his lap as he sang, bright-eyes filled with wonder. What we must have looked like to her, two guys in bright satin pink and green coats with shiny gold buttons and dangling epaulets. We even picked up a couple of portable lights so we looked even brighter in the encroaching darkness of dusk in Central Park.


Then, last Friday, as Gavin Gold and I conducted our usual busy subway "Beatles Friday at Station 103," a well dressed, elegant woman asked if we knew "Yesterday." As we began to play and sing it, she went into a little trance and then tears began to stream down her eyes. Who knows where she went, who she was with or what year it was?


Again, at the park, after we sang "Imagine" all circled around the Imagine mosaic, a man with a wife and two kids, thanked me for saying how, when we're connected together even for just five minutes, we realize that we can fulfill the promise of a world with no war, no hunger, no labels, by just being humans standing together singing.


When I trained with the MLK Foundation during our March on Lynchburg, I learned that to participate in the war is to extend and exacerbate the war. I realize how I'm bringing that training to bear on one of the most iconic landmarks in the world.


If not there, where?


I began to appreciate all this when I took this past August off to be with family down in Texas. My family has members of all stripes from deep red MAGA to wild-eyed lefties (and back again).


When I got back in September, the one thing I wanted to get back to was singing The Beatles songs. I wrote about one day where I literally had to sing for 7 1/2 hours. It was the greatest day of my life.


And now I realize why. Because I (with Gavin) are living out a dream of non-violent resistance. What are we resisting? We are resisting being recruited into the culture war. Refusing to participate in war is the first step to ending war. And it starts right in your heart.


In these past few weeks, we have been seeing more and more the results of the violent mindset being created, for profit, by the media who knows that anger sells. And then they look us right in the eye and ask us what could possibly be the cause of it all.


I haven't written a song in two months. I can't. I'm frozen thinking maybe sometimes it's better to shut up.


Jim asked me why I didn't send a newsletter last week. (Did you miss me?)


I said, "Because I don't have anything to say."


I guess this week I do have something to say because I just said it.


All we are saying is give peace a chance
All you need is love


Sounds old fashioned, those words. But connected to the music, with a park full of people singing along?


In the end, the love you take
Is equal to the love you make


STEVE IN PERSON:
This next Saturday, I'll be playing piano for the brilliant force of nature that is Corina. We'll be doing an acoustic version of her latest, incredibly powerful album "Spanglish."
https://shows.donttellmamanyc.com/9153-corina-spanglish-unplugged-new-york-city-9-27-25


October 28: I'll be singing a couple songs at a terrific event here in NYC on October 28 called "The Power of Women's Voices" at the Triad Theatre, sponsored by The Three Tomatoes Book Publishing. Link here: https://www.thethreetomatoes.com/power.





December 9th: Urban Stages with Blake Zolfo, our old pal Bill Goffi and new pal Brian Kritsky, plus the Rebel Nerds! It's gonna be great.




NEW SONG: 43rd Street Fair featuring footage I shot on September 13.




https://youtu.be/CaFYX9znLZw

#49: They'll Come Looking For You

Quick note: I'm honored to be a singer/accompanist at a terrific event here in NYC on October 28 called "The Power of Women's Voices" at the Triad Theatre, sponsored by The Three Tomatoes Book Publishing. I'll talk more about it as the date gets closer. Link here: https://www.thethreetomatoes.com/power. But Cheryl Benton has a knack of finding lost or ignored female voices and bringing them to life.


Note 2: I'm also performing as a back-up musician for the great pop star, Corina. We'll be doing an acoustic version of her latest, incredibly powerful album "Spanglish."
https://shows.donttellmamanyc.com/9153-corina-spanglish-unplugged-new-york-city-9-27-25


Now, to today's song and video. I got so excited about the response to the last video I right away jumped on another "lost" song I've loved but never quite figured out how to record, "They'll Come Looking For Us" in honor of a friend of mine, Billy Block, a promoter of Americana music and open mics in Nashville, who had just died. So it's dedicated to him.


It's a message of hope for any kind of creator (like the wonderful women authors at the Three Tomatoes Publishing). That if you stay on your path and stay true to your vision and work on it, preferably with a creative community around you, and if that vision has any kind of real meaning, people will find you. They will come to you.

For some reason -- maybe it was the way I was raised -- I have always lived with great positivity. The belief that no matter how bad things get, we can and will get over it and defeat it.

Or rather, that people inherently, once they realize they've been hornswoggled, will go looking for Truth. We humans can be conned and fooled and led astray easily, but when Truth hits us, when we hear it, we recognize it. It's something beyond and above the normal stream of culture.

When we performed The Last Session, or even earlier when I sang those songs on my own, I saw people's heads practically spin off their shoulders once they heard Truth in my lyrics and felt if in my music. I watched it every night. I could see their bodies change shape as they became totally frozen in the moment.


So here is the video. I spent about four days imagining and then using AI tools to create the musical setting and the animation. If you are a creator, yourself, I hope this song gives you inspiration to fight on and make your mark!


https://youtu.be/27d9jc7Wl2Y


THEY'LL COME LOOKING FOR US
©2025 by Steve Schalchlin

BILLY BLOCK RAN THIS OPEN MIC
HE’D SAY, SON, YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG
DON’T BEG AND PLEAD FOR ATTENTION
IT’S DEMEANING AND IT RUINS YOUR SONG

THERE’LL COME A TIME THE PARTY’LL CRASH
GAMES AND FUN WILL BE IN THE PAST
FOLKS WILL WANT SOME SUBSTANCE
SOME GUTS AND TRUTH THAT WILL LAST

THEY’LL COME LOOKING FOR US
THEY’LL COME LOOKING FOR US
THEY IGNORE US NOW
AS WE HUDDLE TOGETHER
STORYTELLER AND TROUBADOUR
BUT THEY’LL COME LOOKING FOR US

THEY'LL COME LOOKING FOR US
CUZ FAKE IS FUN FOR A SEASON
THEN IT GETS OLD AND WE ALL WANT MORE

I SAID YOU’RE JUST A PROMOTER
SELLING A ROMANTIC DREAM
THE TRUTH IS THE WORLD DON’T CARE
AND WILL SPIN ON WHETHER WE’RE HERE OR THERE

HE SAID MAKE LOVE AND SURVIVE
FROM YOUR HALF EMPTY SHELVES
CUZ WHEN THEY’RE ALONE WITH THEIR
HALF-EMPTY SELVES

THEY’LL COME LOOKING FOR US
THEY’LL COME LOOKING FOR US
THEY MAY NOT KNOW OUR NAMES YET
SO MUCH NOISE THEY MUST CUT THROUGH

BUT THEY’LL COME LOOKING FOR US
THEY’LL COME LOOKING FOR US
THEY MAY KILL US, THEY MAY EAT US
THEY MAY STICK US UP ON STATUES
CUZ THAT’S WHAT PEOPLE DO
TO THE ONES WHO SAY WHAT’S TRUE

THEY’LL COME LOOKING FOR YOU
THEY’LL COME LOOKING FOR YOU
HE SAID TURN YOUR BACK
MAKE ‘EM LOOK OVER YOUR SHOULDER

THEY’LL COME LOOKING FOR YOU

#48: Doctor Follow-Up & Inspiration for Creators

Jim is back to totally normal.


The doctor told Jim that his partner had a similar occurrence, several days of chills, no fever, no appetite, sleeping all day also just recently. And like Jim, bounced right back with no lingering effects. He also speculates a mild kind of new little virus or "bug" popping up. (He googled the symptoms and then proudly announced he had malaria. Thank you, AI. He did not have malaria.)


I also forgot to mention that the video for "If You Don't See God" last week was created by me. I thought it should look like a homemade project made of felt, something a kid might bring to school or church.


In case you missed it: https://youtu.be/J1kfRAs1rRs?si=zoB1Qq7z40rRrn4a


I'm excited by September. I'm working with the pop star Corina again, assisting her on her own show at the end of the month.


My arm is healing slowly. It's a bit harder to walk for long periods of time, as I love to do.


So, I'll finish this off with a promo video I just made for Gavin and me.


https://youtu.be/K1OKR0igFnM


(And today is my late mom's birthday. Love you, Carolyn.)

#47: An ER Visit & Universal Gospel Song

1. ER
Close friends know that Jim was in the ER this weekend. He had a very bad weekend where he was almost catatonic, sleeping 23 out of 24 hours. It was so weird and inexplicable, when he finally agreed to go to the ER on Sunday morning, we were relieved that there was no one in the waiting room and we went right in.


They tested everything but nothing came up positive. On Monday, I was really in a panic because it seemed like they had no diagnosis and he looked worse.


Then suddenly, he came out of it and was absolutely normal. We will be seeing his primary doctor today to see if there is any explanation. Thanks to everyone who wrote and expressed sympathy.


2. If You Don't See God.
With AI music proliferating, a single person can "create" and upload hundreds of phony mediocre "songs" based on nothing but a "prompt," thus denying actual songwriters royalties by flooding the market with this crap.


THAT BEING SAID, if someone told me when I was a kid that a song I wrote (YES, THAT I WROTE WITHOUT AI), could come to life almost immediately, I know I would have jumped on it. Now, others may disagree and that's fine.


So what I've done is I've taken a gospel song I wrote some time ago but always wanted to hear in its full glory. But what it needs is a killer soul vocalist, a huge choir and instrumentation. I couldn't afford this kind of production even if I did have the right singers and musicians.


I said above, in the title, that this was a "universal gospel song" and it came from my desire to write songs that could universally apply across any and all faith traditions based on my belief that, in all ethical religions, there is a lodestone of truth-love that runs beneath them all.


Since the rules of the use of AI in streaming is still being worked out legally, I'm only releasing this on YouTube because, frankly, I want everyone SINGING this song.


Long ago, when I left my home church due to their rejection of gay people, it was 25 years before I ever darkened the door of a church again. I'm still not back in or out. As I wrote in another song, "I stand outside," not because I think I'm better but because that's where I am. Period. Pushed out and now outside. And that's fine with me because I have found that I'm welcome in any congregation with an open mind. Whether that's Christian or Jewish or Unitarian or any other other sacred space, it doesn't matter because Truth is Truth and Love is Love.

So, here is the song! I hope it is meaningful to you.


https://youtu.be/J1kfRAs1rRs?si=bqs44AXz-QADY6fO


IF YOU DON'T SEE GOD

If you don’t see God
In the eyes of the people
Then you don’t see God

Search in the stars
Check all the nooks
Know every word
Found in your books
Sort through creation
Sift all the clues
Pay all the dues, but…

If you don’t see God
In the eyes of the people
Then you don’t see God

Pray every prayer
Follow each rule
Learn every lesson
Taught in your school
Wear the right clothing
Walk the right way
Know what to say, but…

If you don’t see God
In the eyes of the people
Then you don’t see God
If you don’t see God
In the eyes of the people
Then you don’t see God
Then you don’t see God
Then you don’t see God

©2004 by Steve Schalchlin / Lil Shack O Tunes ASCAP

#45: When Beatles Magic Happens

First of all, after my breast-beating end-of-the-world night sweats I poured into your generous souls last Tuesday, something really wonderful happened that reminded me there are larger things going on in the world and the best thing I can do is simply be in it and let opportunity happen.


I woke up Wednesday morning suddenly filled with energy and positivity. And thanks to all of you who wrote me and expressed your love.


[Summary: After seven and a half hours of performing in a sweltering Strawberry Fields, Gavin and I witnessed something truly magical. A small circle of strangers who had just sung "Imagine" with us began sharing where they were from. The crowd included people from Israel and Palestine, standing together in a moment of absolute love. This experience was the ultimate testament to the song's promise—that music can transcend differences and bring people together, one heart at a time. It was the moment I had been waiting for, and it finally happened.]

WED JULY 30

This was an epic day. When we arrived it was hot and muggy. We set up beneath the branches where we were most likely to avoid the arriving, arcing sun. Not many people came through. And if they did, they didn’t stay long. Too hot.

I was buying bottles of water from the women along the path, who are manning insulated coolers. “Agua, un dolar!” The first one I got was almost frozen solid so it lasted through the whole morning.

After three fruitless, difficult hours, we finally stopped when the next guy showed up. He didn’t even bother with his electrics. Just brought a guitar doing his best avoid the sun.

Then we were told the next three people have all canceled because of the heat and if we wanted to hang out or go eat something, we could have the 1pm slot. We quickly said yes. I got a lamb on salad from the cart and we rested under a tree while Dave did his set. He had Blue, his new puppy with him, who was just sleeping in the roll cart.

We went on at 1 and then watched the clock tick by as each hour passed. No one came at 2. No one came at 3. No one came at 4. Finally, someone came and took over at 5:30. That means we performed for 7 ½ hours total. I could believe my voice held out.

Gavin leads the way as we run through our set. Then, he'll say, “Time for Imagine. Do the circle.”

First I tell my story about playing the piano and the cigarette burn groove. Which brings an image and a story into the mix that we can all focus around. Then we sing. Everyone is shy at first. They giggle at themselves when the first “I” comes up. That little musical figure that leaps up high.

By the time we get to the last verse, they are almost singing full out. Almost. The phrase “Sharing all the world” is where I turn it over to them. And they usually deliver, surprising themselves with how good they sound.

Then Gavin, still over on the bench, vamps while I ask everyone where they are from. The usual countries are Italy, France, Spain, Portugal, England, Canada, Mexico, Brazil, Argentina. Today we also had Senegal, Luxembourg, Lisbon.

Then a man quietly said, “Israeli.” Then the next man said “German.”

Then a man said, caution in his voice, “Palestinian.”


I treated it as normally as if he had said my hometown. Welcomed him, as I did all the others, and then moved on to the next person (Peru, then Mexico). No one winced. No one reacted. It was a circle of absolute love amongst a group of strangers standing around a mosaic with the word IMAGINE on it.

I have been waiting for this day. I knew – I hoped – it would someday happen. And today it happened. (And I can’t help loving that Germany was in the middle).

(Remember, all of us had just sung “Imagine” together.)

I said to them, “When we sing this song together, all superficial labels fall away. We are just human beings. We fulfill the promise of the song when we sing the song. Put it in your heart, spread it around because that’s how change happens, one heart to another heart, one at a time.”

Then they all broke out into applause.

#44: X-Ray Results, Fears, and a 2 Beautiful Moments

SUMMARY: In this newsletter, I share some challenging news about my arm: severe arthritis in my wrist and a detaching shoulder implant. This has led to a lot of reflection on my "bonus round" and what it means for upcoming performances. While it felt like an "ending" at first, a beautiful moment singing at Strawberry Fields reminded me of music's healing power and the joy it brings, putting my worries into perspective.

TUE JULY 29
Tough week for Steve.


After last week, which contained a few dark nights of the soul, based on my prognosis following my fall (after I went and got x-rays thanks to readers of this newsletter,) I am no longer in the dark about my condition.

No broken bones but the arthritis in my wrist has been off the chart. Worse, my shoulder around the implant, which is a blade that has been placed and cemented into the arm bone just above my elbow, is becoming detached due to my having bad bone density loss. You know, my elbow could fall on the floor.

So, going forward, I have to take into account whether my right arm will be functional enough to play on that date, December 9th. I’m also planning to play for and sing with Corina in September at Don’t Tell Mama.

My point is I sat for a moment in the reality that I’ve crossed another bridge in the bonus round. Until now, I’ve had the energy and physicality of a four year old. Yes! I can wear them out!

But it’s been a kind of fantasy. I have been living this life as if everything will last forever. That I still am that four year old or nineteen year old.

Back in the days of the original diary, when I got to a moment like this, I would simply declare “”End of Book One.” And invent the next chapter as if I were reading a novel or watching a telenovela.

The old diary! What was I doing on July 24, 1996? Here it is.

“Wednesday, July 24, 1996

“PICC Line Failure. End of an Era?

“It was bound to happen sooner or later, I suppose, but my PICC line -- intravenous catheter which was inserted into my arm about seven weeks ago and which feeds me every night -- became irreversibly blocked today. Nothing the nurses did would unclog it. And since I had only one more week to go on the Total Parenteral Nutrition anyway, we decided I would see if I could make it on my own.” [end]

In layman’s terms, this was our sink or swim moment. The feeding line crimped, which was, until the Crixivan arrived, the only way I got any nutrition. So do we go through a painful reinsertion procedure or do we see if he can make it on his own? I had been gaining weight. I was keeping food down. We pulled it out of my arm and I never looked back.

This was the start of “Living in the Bonus Round,” which I wouldn’t name until much later.

The contrast was startling to me. Back then, 29 years ago, it was a new beginning. To be fearless and do everything I vowed to do if I were set free from the looming grave.

Today, it’s feeling like an ending. I’m not intending to be dramatic. I’m just trying to soberly face the possible consequences so I don’t panic if the news gets worse. I’m calm. I’m calm. I’m perfectly calm.

But, in those dark nights, I wondered, what if December 9th is my final show? What would I do for a final show?

Which immediately brought out my black humor. I thought, That’d be an interesting press angle. Just like Gideon in The Last Session. One more show.

Calm down, PT Barnum, it was just me spinning out. That was my week. On the other side…


1. A beautiful thing happened. We were meeting friends at the newly revived West Bank Cafe, when our host hesitated, and then approached us saying how important The Last Session cast album was to him when he was in high school.

2. At Strawberry Fields last Saturday, as Gavin Gold and I started to play and sing, a woman sat near me to my left on the same benches with her family. I looked over at her to smile and suddenly realized she was mentally challenged, not quite looking at me. She seemed a bit unsure of what was happening. So I sang to her.

Soon she was waving her hands to the music. Then a big grin came on her face and she began to sing the words, staring as a trusting child into my eyes. Her family surrounded us with cameras. Her face was beaming! Their faces were beaming. My heart was bursting.

On their way out, I blew them a kiss. The dad tapped her on the shoulder. She stopped dead center and with both arms, blew us a gigantic kiss back.

Nothing I worried about this week was as informative to me as that moment. Every week, I sing “Let It Be.” I need to just realize that stuff happens and you just have to survive it as best as you can.

HOWEVER, if I populate my December date with the best singers in New York singing my songs, and act AS IF it were my last show on earth, it might make me set my sights even higher.

#43: I Fell and Hurt my Hand

As I write this, I'm not able to use my right hand much so the entry today will be the full story that I recorded in my personal journal. Saves me from having to type.


UPDATE: Our Urban Stages concert will be on December 9th, not the 4th.

WED JULY 16

I slipped on a subway gate there on the sidewalk to the side of a Chik-Fil-A. I’ve been walking this route for years. It wasn’t raining. But perhaps some misty something came.


All I know is my right foot slipped as if on oil. I landed on my right hip and right wrist. I started to get up, but then I thought, “No. Don’t move. Stay still. Assess your situation.


I felt pain in my wrist, and still do as I write this. There were three reddish blue marks, parallel — the metal grates! — on the heel of my right hand.


I could move it but it hurt a bit.


A woman walked by wearing sunglasses and kinda wrapped up tight. She didn’t even look down. Walked right by me without a glance. Which is fine. Nothing she could have done.


I was too far away from the doorman I greet in the mornings and I was facing the wrong way. I couldn’t tell. And I couldn’t move yet.


I was carrying a heavy bag on my left shoulder (microphone, cable, etc.) and, strapped on my back, the plush seat cushion I sit on when we play at Strawberry Fields.


I suspect they might have helped cushion me, protected me from falling backward, hitting my head but I was aware of not falling backwards.


I heard a European male voice calling from across 43rd street. A man in his 40s and his wife ran across the street and asked if I was okay. He extended his hand.


I told him I was okay and didn’t need an ambulance but then I realized I couldn’t stand so he pulled me to my feet. I resettled myself, thanked them profusely, turned toward the C train entrance, down to the metal gates, winced when I had to use my hand, but got in, and down another staircase to the track.


The lighted signs were blazing yellow that the A train had an emergency stop at 34th (mechanical breakdown) and so would not be running, or heavily delayed.


I needed C train Local. Just as I descended the metal stairs, I put my audio book back on.


I was a teenage human girl living in an outer planet who has only ever known work, enslaved from birth. But she escaped and stumbled on to a disabled space ship, whose AI starts teaching her about the world.


A train zooms in. E train. No good. Doesn’t go north enough. But it’s on the local track so that means the C is running.


Five or six minutes later I see a train on the local track coming but real slow. I see it’s a C train. Hooray!


It creeps into the station. I am waiting by the first car. Doors don’t open. A young man next to me pulling a case and I race to the second car, making it just as the doors close.


My wrist is throbbing but I’m trying not to use it. I look down at the three stripes and pressed the area around them. No swelling. No painful spots. Probably sprained.


Got to 72nd and carefully walked up the stairs to the corner, Central Park West. Four lanes of traffic. Big stoplight. It’s hot and muggy and I’m feeling miserable.


For the first time, I wore a cap, a white runner’s cap with a nice bill because we face the sunrise and, as it rises, the shadows move around us, sometimes peeking through the leaves, blinding me.


But our bodies do get fried if there’s no cloud cover.


Gavin arrived and I told him what happened, I called Jim who said he was sending an ambulance. (He didn’t).


Today was a hot slog. Toward the end, some people stayed around but mostly it was hot. We have regulars come. A dad with two babies in a stroller, three different young Black women with cute white babies in strollers. An older woman who sits in the corner feeding the pigeons,


But mostly small groups of tourists. Usually Italian, French, Mexican…


Blake didn’t come today so I texted him and said I couldn’t come to yoga. He was worried. Said it was okay.


Got home, then went to CVS to get a wrist supporter.


Spent the rest of the day on the couch letting him take care of me. Meatloaf sandwich with cheese.


Then I roasted a frozen turkey breast.



--

New Show on December 9th at Urban Stages. More details soon!


You are free to stream the songs below but purchasing them is the best way to support independent artists such as myself. Or if you have the means, you can make a small donation through PayPal or Venmo using my email address: steveshack@gmail.com.


And please share this with friends!


[This is the hand-crafted, no-AI, non-bot newsletter of Steve Schalchlin. If you wish to be removed from the list, send me an email. If someone sent you this and you want to be added, write me at steveshack@gmail.com]--



Steve Schalchlin

Living in the Bonus Round







Spotify Links

2024 Songs https://tinyurl.com/3su9t85m

Love Songs by Steve Schalchlin https://tinyurl.com/stevelovesongs

Personal Songs by Steve Schalchlin https://tinyurl.com/stevepersonal

Comic/Humor Songs by Steve Schalchlin https://tinyurl.com/stevehumor

Inspirational Songs by Steve Schalchlin https://tinyurl.com/steveinspire

Meditation Music by Steve Schalchlin https://tinyurl.com/stevemeditate

Political Songs by Steve Schalchlin https://tinyurl.com/stevepolitics

Rebel Nerd Songs - lyrics by Steve Schalchlin

https://tinyurl.com/steverebelnerd

#40: Another Day in the Life

The show at Don't Tell Mama last Thursday was fun and exciting. We have some video footage, so I'll do a full report soon. Meanwhile, I had another of those unbelievable Sundays. I will include the full diary entry below. Here is a summary in case you don't want or can't read the whole thing.

SUMMARY: Steve's Sunday took an unexpected turn when Gavin informed him they were hired to lead a peace march. After busking and resting his voice, Steve, in his pink satin jacket, met the eccentric Tony at the New York Historical Museum, learning they'd be playing with a saxophonist named Tequan from St. Thomas. The "march" ended up being a lively, impromptu street performance near Central Park, where they jammed on Beatles songs, chalked peace messages with passersby, and spread good vibes before Tony concluded the "gig." Steve reflected on the unique, adventurous nature of his life in the city, taking such serendipitous musical encounters for granted. SUN JUNE 22

Gavin texted me that we had been hired to lead a “peace march from Lincoln Center to Central Park.” And something about going to Frederick Douglass’ statue and singing “Rise Up, Frederick Douglass, Rise Up.” (?)

I wondered, “Wow! How did a choir at Lincoln Center find out about that song?” I remember Bill Goffi told me he had tagged our St. Clement’s video to choirs around town after hearing it at our Juneteenth show.

Confused and excited, I went early down to Union Station to find out. 

It was humid/hot and rainy when I first got out. My bag was heavy but I went past the subway entrance at 43rd and 8th, turned the corner and went to the 7/11, past the homeless man who stands there and opens the door for you so he can beg for change on your way out.

I pushed past him and up to the Indian man at the counter asking if he had an umbrella. He did. I left my last one at Don’t Tell Mama.

Down in the L station, between the two trains, Gavin had set up farther down because they’ve now turned on the big overhead fan. He said the hurricane force hurt his ears. 

I went and tested it. He was right. The fans are hanging in cages which are coated in that black-crusted oil/dust that permeates the ceiling and pipes in the yellow-painted station.

And they feel fantastic. First day of summer and it’s a hot one. But you can’t sing under it.

Gavin was sitting, backed up to a round metal trash can, facing a staircase, Two hot white girls in very short shorts suddenly started dancing freely while trying to sing along to All My Loving, which I sang directly to them. They were keeping up the hook,, but I didn’t know if they actually knew the song.

As we ended, they said, “Tell us the name of the next song so we can look it up.”

I think we sang Blackbird. They sang and made videos of themselves dancing. If I were straight I probably would have found it extremely provocative. Gavin’s only comment was they seemed very free.

Finally, they took a group selfie with us and disappeared into the train.

But we were facing away from the larger space. We moved to the other side of the black canister and suddenly, we had a platform filled with patrons coming and going. 

I recall a hot young 20s couple with big smiles. He was in shorts and had such beautiful legs I had to keep looking away from them! Gave us a dollar.

But after about 45 minutes, I could feel my voice was tired. I was tired. My left ear kept popping on my m’s and n’s, which makes singing Hey Jude’s chorus na-na-na’s painful. It’s a sinus thing but it happens when I’m tired.

I knew if we were gonna do some big event, I’d need some rest. 

I quit after an hour, then trained home. Gray L to Blue C to 42nd. 20 minutes to a half hour. Jim was asleep so I crept onto my beloved couch and fell promptly to sleep. (And scared him later when he went to pet the cat and the couch moved.)

As I rose, I wondered what was expected of us. 

All I knew was to be at CLARA, a restaurant in the NY Historical museum on 77th and Central Park West. Jim and I had been there before for an Al Hirschfeld exhibit. Nina (whose name is inscribed in each of Al’s drawings), was there. 

Out front on the landing as you enter the door? A life-sized statue of Frederick Douglass. I snapped a selfie.

Inside, through glass doors, past the two security guards who looked in my bag, I turned left into CLARA.

It looked very elegant. A very, kind attractive young woman approached me so I told her I was looking for a group. She asked me what name. I said, “I don’t know. Some guy named Tony.”

She continued, “We don’t have a reservation, and we’re about to close.” She was trying to be helpful. “Across the hall is the cafe in the gift shop.”

Over there, the girl and guy behind the counter offered me a glass of ice water. Everyone was being so nice.

Then I remembered I was wearing my bright shiny pink satin Sgt. Pepper jacket with the bright yellow epaulets, dangling fringe and gold buttons surrounded by sparkly lines of embroidered rickrack.

Suddenly, in comes the hurricane that is Tony. I’m standing at a counter against the wall with my ice water in a paper cup. 

He rushes up to me and says, “Oh, good. You’re here. Let’s push some tables together there in the corner. I got a saxophone player, too. And some people are coming.”

Ignoring the several groups of ladies already seated, quietly sipping their tea and sandwiches, Tony bulldozed into the corner and directed me to drag some tables together. They were heavy.

As soon as I saw him, I knew exactly who this mysterious Tony was. 

THAT Tony!

In our first busking days at Strawberry Fields, he once, out of nowhere, stood up and proclaimed to everyone in the circle, “This guy knows more about the spirituality of The Beatles than anyone on earth.”

Tony is cool. He also never stops talking/suggesting/planning/meeting people. He's a friendly and kooky-in-the-best-way free range psychiatrist who dresses in browns, is always excited and is always writing in chalk on the concrete. 

He excitedly and as if making it up on the spot, explains he has planned a march, hired us to lead it, and he’s invited people to join us, but he’s not sure how many. 

I asked Tony what he wanted us to do. He looked at me and said that he wanted me to do all the talking. 

“Talking about what?”

“You know, that stuff you usually say.”

Me: Blank look on my face.

Gavin arrives in his bright green jacket carrying guitar and amp. Soon, we are joined by a sunglasses-wearing Black guy in a maroon polo shirt and black-colored jean jacket. I asked him if he was crazy in this heat. He shrugged and smiled.

He said his name was Tequan and he was from St. Thomas.

The saxophonist! Tony had met him the night before (?). He was stage managing a concert at the New York Society for Ethical Culture. And they got to talking.

Finally, two friends, an elderly couple with great energy joined us at the table. We bonded over her shoulder surgery and his recent hand surgery.

Tony said we may get one more, dialing his phone.

He pulled out two books. One was a compendium of Jewish Comedians and their stand up jokes and the other was a book of quotes by musicians about music.:“From Bach to Tupac.”

He said, “Maybe you can read some of those.”

I looked through it while he told us a joke from his book. Something about a farmer and a Jew.

I saw the workers peeking behind the counter with their phone, taking photos of us. We smiled.

Finally, after trips to the loo, as Gavin would say, we exited the museum, snapped a few more shots with Frederick Douglass and crossed CPW onto the sunny side of the street.

How long is this march? Where are we gonna play? 

We walked down to a shady bench between 75th and 74th street. The stone wall at our backs, facing an elegant stately Gilded Age apartment building way across the boulevard with two doormen.

Tony said, “Here. Play here.”

First of all, it’s illegal to play amplified music in NYC without a ticket. But the cops don’t usually approach you unless someone complains. 

I was on cordless mic, Gavin to my right with his Telecaster plugged into a small amp. Tequan was to my left on the next bench, bright brassy sax hanging from his neck.

We started with “Love, love, love… All you need is love.”

Tequan was brilliant. I learned later he had graduated music school and moved here from St. Thomas. He had jazz chops and even though we play our songs in different keys from the originals, fitting them to my vocal range, he found the right keys and played some incredible solos!

Tony and friends began chalking up the sidewalk with messages of peace, peace signs, no war, etc.

Passersby were amused. Many took a chalk and wrote something. “Paz Y Amor.” “No más guerras.” (Peace & Love, No more war.)

One guy in particular came along with a camera and began taping us. Then he and Tony had a long conversation on the side. 

Meanwhile, people across the avenue waved at us, people in pedicabs pedaling up Central Park West waved at us, people gave us the peace sign, and we just jammed our butts off, the three of us having a blast as musicians.

After about an hour, Tony said, “Okay, I’m ready to go.” And he grabbed his bag, along with two kites he had planned to fly, and took off.

We looked at each other and said, “I guess that means the gig is over?”

The three of us walked down to 72nd, eagerly enjoying a review of our jam session, promising to stay in touch. 

I love saxophone.

Got home, found a great chicken meal with peas and gravy from the other night, zapped it and we watched “Slow Horses” until I passed out on the couch. Took my pills at 10, went to bed.

I never dreamed, living in Buna, Texas that one day I’d be here having these adventures and completely taking it for granted, like, of course people meet guys named Tony, march down the street with four senior citizens and sing Beatles songs with your South African guitarist and the saxophonist you just met from St. Thomas. 

Doesn’t everyone? 

#39: A Day in the Life

Getting ready for our show on Thursday, I thought you might enjoy an insight into a normal day. So, here is my Sunday.

SUN JUNE 15

I woke up depressed and angry about only 11 reservations. I complained to Jim, "I’ll be so glad when this next week is over." I ate the last of my keto breakfast muffins.

Then I stuffed my blue Sgt. Pepper's jacket into my bag. Got on the train and went to the L station at Union Square. I was feeling kind of down, of course, and Gavin was also a little bit down, because we were bemoaning our previous night at Strawberry Fields, which got kind of rainy and dark. So it was a short gig and there was nobody there.

So now we’re standing on the platform of the L train. There are two trains between us. No, we are between two trains. One goes to eighth Avenue and the other goes to Brooklyn so the people getting off the train on the right are going up the staircase, and the people that get off on the left are also going up the staircase.

But when they come down the staircase, they run right to us and the majority of them are wearing earbuds or talking or engaged in some kind of avoidance activity, we do get people who smile and start to dance, or, not dance, their body starts to move. And the knees of the feet or the upper body.

The trains come at about three minute intervals if that long.

Half the crowd leaves with every train. Sometimes both trains arrive at the same time. And, poof! We’re alone.

This morning it was slow. Single bills trickling in. Maybe one every other song. Our backs were hurting, my neck had a knot from me turning toward him for harmonies.

Starting about 9:30. Going to noon. It was miserable hard work, especially since I have to do it with a smile and a playful camp counselor attitude.

But then, ten minutes to noon, a group of women saw us and started dancing. Singing along. That got the passengers going and we had about a 5 or 6 minute Beatles party.

Suddenly, all my aches were gone. It felt like I could do this for four more hours.

One older lady came up to us from behind and said I have been riding this train for 15 years and this is the best thing I have ever heard underground. And she threw down a $10 bill.

Two trains went by. And we were alone.

It was time to go. But I needed to pee. Gavin said there was one in the station so the balancing for me was do I try to find it or do I hold it out long enough until we get to Brooklyn to rehearse with Jake, which was our next stop?

I decided to go find the bathroom. First, I went up some steps and it was another train platform so I thought it was the wrong place so I went down and I went back to Gavin and then he said no, it’s on the platform up higher, so then I went back up to steps and then got more steps and then I found on the other side of the gate or there is a booth and there was a service worker in there so I asked him where there was a bathroom and he pointed me down the hallway.

I went all the way to the end of the station and I didn’t see a bathroom so I made my way back and it found the same guy but this time he was unloading a trash can. So I asked him again where the bathroom was and he said no, you go down this hallway and stay completely to the right. Just stay completely to the right.

So I went down that hallway and sure enough there were these two open doors that I could tell were bathrooms, male and female.

All good, we got on the train to eighth Avenue to catch the C train down to Brooklyn. Jake's apartment is this tiny little bedroom with a kitchen area and all of his musical gears on the walls. I love this guy so much.

The challenge of writing a show — I hate the word “show” — is that to do it right, you have to figure out who you are. Which means a lot of novel gazing, the kind you don’t do in public because it’s boring to other people.

I mean, some people may enjoy it, but for the most part, it’s the boring personal stuff that you have to figure out. Who am I? Why am I here? Who am I speaking to? What is my message? Do I have a message? Why do I do the things that I do? What is it that has put me in New York City at Strawberry Fields? And is that even significant?

And how is that related to who I am? I can tell the story of having played on John Lennon’s Piano, but what does that got to do with the small town Baptist boy whose first exposure to the outside world was the music of the Beatles? Well actually, it was the Monkees. Because of TV.

Timelines are confusing in my mind because in the world of Steve, they are my peers, meaning I think of them as my pals. Like distant friends who I know intimately and they know my songs just as well as I know theirs.

Every single time I meet a Beatles fan and they know some intimate piece of information about them, I feel almost personally violated. It’s totally stupid. Those are my friends. How dare you know as much about them as I do?

But what I have discovered is by singing three times a week for one to 2 to 3 hours at a time my voice is becoming very strong. I have the advantage of not needing to project. So I sing sometimes so softly I sing as softly as I possibly can, and I’m learning new techniques.



ADDENDUM: Our reservations, thanks to friends and Jim shaking the trees, have been climbing rapidly, so now I know Thursday is going to be awesome. I'm so relieved. But remind me to never do this again.


Until the next time.

#38: When Musical Magic Happen

It was magic.

There I was at my friend Jane’s piano. Sitting next to me is the beautiful pop star Corina. She had agreed to guest star on my show on the 19th and this was our first real rehearsal.


Could we find common ground? Her big dance pop chart hit, “Temptation” was nothing like my music. Also, she was born in the South Bronx, Puerto Rican — her new album is called Spanglish! — and I’m a white guy from a rural town in Texas.

But then we started to sing together and yes, it was magic. I'll cut to the chase and link to the video I made of our rehearsal. Just listen to it and I'll tell the full story below of how all this happened.


https://youtu.be/qiUY1DzfKWY

Total New York story. Gavin Gold, my partner in our Beatles act, was busking alone in a subway station playing guitar solos. Corina heard him from across the tracks and eventually ran up to him and said how she'd love to work with him. She and her husband, filmmaker and actor Joachin, had us over for a beautiful meal and we all became fast friends.


As we sat together and planned how we might work together on a show for her in September featuring her material, I casually mentioned I was doing a show on June 19th and would she be open to being a guest singer. She immediately said yes, but then I wondered what songs of mine would work for her.


When we finally met, I ran through a few numbers and we bonded as if we'd been singing together for years. We settled on my two newest songs, both of which I've released over the past month or so. But it was "Something I Meant To Do" -- the song I released only a week ago -- that really sealed the deal. It was so powerful and beautiful.


So now June 19th is all set. We do our final rehearsals this week and then next week, whoever comes is going to be truly blessed by what we've put together.


In BEATLES news, Gavin and I have been having a blast in Central Park when we're not getting rained on. Last Saturday evening, the sky was clear and we had a huge crowd when suddenly a rainstorm passed over us. It didn't drown us, but we did get wet and everyone flew away. But it passed quickly and by the time we started back up -- in our new pink and green jackets -- the park was filled again with Beatles fans.


On Sunday, we sang a set at a Jewish senior center and that was really rewarding to watch the faces light up as each new song brought up memories in their faces. Smiles and laughter and dancing! It was so fun.




RESERVE YOUR TICKETS for June 19th at Don't Tell Mama!
https://tinyurl.com/steve-dont-tell-mama


[This is the hand-crafted non-bot newsletter of Steve Schalchlin. If you wish to be removed from the list, send me an email. If someone sent you this and you want to be added, write me at steveshack@gmail.com]--



Steve Schalchlin

Living in the Bonus Round

#37: Renewal Summit Video

Today, I shall be behind a piano at my friend Jane's place. First, I'll tune it and then I'll get down to putting together the show for June 19 at Don't Tell Mama. https://tinyurl.com/steve-dont-tell-mama I also have to sell tickets! Not easy but I'm working on it!

I have new songs, new singers and my great band, of course. Bonus Round Band with Rebel Nerds. 

On Thursday, I'm going to meet with special guest Corina Ayala on Thursday. She's an electrifying performer who's had chart-topping hits as well as her own successful one woman show. We already met once and developed a great rapport. So, I'm excited to see what we can cook up together.

RENEWAL SUMMIT:

The big news was how much fun it was to be a part of the Renewal Summit produced by the Three Tomatoes. They posted all the lectures -- as well as my short musical presentation -- online. So that's today's link. 

Scroll down to find me, but do look at the other videos. They are fascinating and informative. Then plan to come in person next year! Cheryl Benton has led an incredible team. 

https://www.thethreetomatoes.com/renewalsummitvideos2025 

See ya next week! And thanks for your support.

Steve