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Laurie Markvart's Diary of Nothing Left Unsaid

“Karma Burrito” from “The Cut Collection” – Scenes, scenarios, and passages cut from my not-yet-released memoir.

This is the first post in my “Cut Collection.” A group of scenes, scenarios or passages deleted from my not yet released book, Somewhere in the Music, I’ll Find Me: a Memoir.

I kept these “cut” pieces in case they’d go back in the book, but at this point they’re scrap. But not the kind of scrap you throw. They’re saved like a baking spice, used once and then shoved back into the kitchen cabinet to maybe use later. Expiration date: unknown. 

I think karma is a “thing.” It’s defined as A powerful action bringing upon inevitable results good or bad in this life or the next. Yup, that’s a big “thing.” If you believe. I don’t practice Hinduism or Buddhism, but I respect both and dabble with some of their concepts and beliefs. Especially this one. I do think what we put out, we get back. It’s the whole “universe” thing. So, if I see someone in “karma peril” (I just made that up, I think?), I’ll mention it to them. This happened in my life, and I wrote it into my memoir. And then I cut it. But, I cut the scene only because it didn’t move the full story forward. Yet, the situation did happen, and I do believe it’s worth sharing. If anyone can learn from someone else’s “karma peril,” good karma then!

Cut Scene from the book: “Karma Burrito” 

Who:
Laurie Markvart – a forty-something singer – waiting to audition
Stephanie – a forty-something friend of Laurie, along for support
Trey – early twenties singer, fresh out of college – waiting to audition
Jacob – early twenties friend of Trey, along for support
Jackson- thirty-something, experienced singer – waiting to audition

What: A group of five acquaintances (including a pair of two good friends) is waiting with over 8,000 other attendees, to audition for the reality TV show, X-Factor. The group is in their third hour of waiting. The scene is told from the perspective of the author, Laurie Markvart.

Setting: Los Angeles Sports Arena parking lot. Warm weather, in the upper 70s, but comfortable. Most people remain calm even though everyone is packed in like sardines within galvanized safety/police type barricades. There has been no announcement from organizers. There is tension in the air for the pending audition, but most of all, excitement is prevalent – just like the energy of a crowd waiting to go into a major sporting event. Except, those who are waiting are the sporting event.

When: May 2011, Los Angeles

“KARMA BURRITO” FROM “SOMEWHERE IN THE MUSIC, I’LL FIND ME: A MEMOIR”

“I am starving! I’m gonna look for food,” Jacob announces to our group. He departs and makes his way through the crowd, tapping people as he slithers through the shoulder to shoulder attendees.

“I wonder if we’ll ever see him again?” I say with a laugh.

“He better come back. I’m his ride!” chirps Trey.

A mere five minutes’ passes and Jacob appears from the crowd, right back to his stance at our circle. He hasn’t broken a sweat nor lost his breath.

“Whoa, that was quick,” Stephanie says.

“Yeah, there was no line for food. The worst part is getting in and out of this crowd. But I got an awesome burrito. Check it out.” He shows it like a prized turkey he shot for Thanksgiving.

I must admit; the burrito looks damn good, beans, cheese, and chicken oozing out of the wrapper. I’m getting hungry. It’s almost noon, and we’ve been standing here since 9am.

Jacob takes a big bite and in between chews offers, “I don’t know when I’ll eat again. And I’m low on cash, so this is good!”

“How much was that?” Jackson chimes in.

“Eight bucks,” Jacob slowly replies his mouth full. After a gulp he continues, “But check it out, I gave the girl a ten, and she must have thought I gave her a twenty because she gave me twelve back. So, hey, I got this badass burrito, and I made ten dollars.”

With a quick snap of my head, I say, “You didn’t tell her?”

Jacob eagerly stuffs another bite in his mouth, cheese dripping off his lip, “Nah, I need the money. Oh, well, too bad for her.”

“Wow, that is bad karma,” I reply like a school teacher.

He lifts his head, sheepishly, “What do you mean?”

“Well, you just put something dishonest out into the universe. You lied. Don’t you know that what you put out comes back to you?”

After my brief rant, I look around for support. The rest of our group have their heads buried in their phones, or they’re not listening.

Stephanie looks up, eventually, with a snicker, “Laurie, it’s bad karma to call someone out on their karma. It’s like double karma.”

I shift my attention to Stephanie annoyed she may be killing the point I’m trying to make to the kid. Tapping my foot, I reply, “What are you talking about, Steph? If that’s the case, you just called me out on my bad karma by telling Jacob about his! Isn’t that the same? Are we now at triple karma?”

Steph looks at me with a blank stare, wrinkles her face in confusion and looks back at Jacob. “I’m confused now. Whatever’s,” she says, diverting her gaze back to her phone.

I adjust my footing and unfold my arms. I’ve been holding them tightly against my chest ever since Jacob disclosed his shenanigans. Maybe I need to lighten up.

“Look, I’m not the karma police, and I shouldn’t call you out on it because I don’t know the true deal with karma, but my point is, that girl is now short ten bucks, and it could get her in trouble,” I say. Stephanie hums the Radiohead song Karma Police. The entire group chuckles, except me. I nudge Steph’s arm with my elbow. She stops.

Jacob squirms a bit in his stance. He takes his final bite of the burrito, rolls up its foil wrapper and shrugs, hesitantly smiling in my direction.

Maybe he didn’t get my point, or he really needs the money. I do remember being that age. Short on cash and common sense.

©Laurie Markvart

Featured post

Time Capsule: A Thinning, Yellowed Newspaper of 1983 Memories and Way of Life in Rural Wisconsin

I love how newspapers turn yellow over time. The paper feels crisper, thinner, more delicate to the touch. It’s as if the stories, now memories, remind us they are delicate too, marking a time that passed that should be preserved with care.

Today, cleaning out boxes, I stumbled upon a January 6, 1983, Waterloo Courier, from my rural Wisconsin farm town. I kept it because I made the front page for getting my poem published when I was fifteen.

Poetry and publishing aside, and my 1983 stripped sweater and feathered hair, I enjoyed paging through the relic. Newspapers not only hold stories that become historical but display and classified ads become time capsules as a way of life and the cost of living. Here we go:

1983 ads from the .25 cent Waterloo Courier:

Milk = $1.63/gallon
Twelve-pack of Pabst beer = $7.15 at Fuzzy’s Liquor
Two-bedroom house with garage and full basement = $310/month
Prime rib at the local steakhouse = $9.95
Mode movie theater, where I saw An Officer and a Gentleman. Per the ad: under 12 get in for $1.50, adults $1.75. It was rated R, but I remember going.

See, in a town of two-thousand-people and being a teenager, and not much to do in the dead of winter, except skate on frozen ponds, listen to music and apparently write poetry, I do recall my parents letting me see R rated films. I’m sure their goal was to get me out of the house. Besides, at that time, R rated movies were not infested with intense violence, gore, and disturbing images. I regress. Back to the poetry and newspapers.

While I cannot recall the muse behind my poem, “My Crime Just Done” (things get fuzzy when you get older, just like that liquor store), I’m sure on my mind, as for any fifteen-year-old, was rebellion from my parents. However, I wasn’t the rebellious type, so I wrote about it. And with honor, got published for it.

Now as an adult, free as a bird, what I wouldn’t do to jump back to January 1983, and enjoy the local prime rib with my parents on a Saturday night at Park Place Steak House. That restaurant is long gone, and sadly are both my parents, but the memories live on as does my poem, in a frail, yellowed newspaper called Waterloo Courier.

My Crime Just Done by a young Laurie Markvart

Run like the wind,
Preserved for me.
I hide my shining smile,
I respond, my crime done.

Wind in my hair,
Shifting, gone.
Value here today,
Scented air tomorrow.
The crime I’ve done,
Beyond in time.

Suddenly I stare.
Gleaming around me.
The crime is done,
As I am gone,
Backfire over me.

Looking back, It is today.
The crime cheated,
I lost glory.
Walk like the wind.

Taken and blown away from me.
My burning smile,
Is clearly seen.
I respond, my crime just begun.

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WHITE-KNUCKLING SPRING BREAK: Life Lessons While Four-Wheeling with My Teenager

I’ve always been an adrenaline junkie, and I’ve been chasing the jolt for so long there is probably a new term for it. My fearless fifteen-year-old son possibly knows it, but he skimps sharing hip terms with his mom. As he should. But wait, who’s the mom who skydived, drove a Ferrari at high speed on a race track, zip lined, sang the National Anthem before a pro hockey game? Oh, and she also plays ice hockey? Yup, my kid’s mom. But, my teenager still prefers not to be seen with me (typical), but he likes to hang out occasionally. But only if our activity involves fast cars, a hint of danger, and no one sees us together. So, I figured our “bonding” time over spring break should suit us both: adrenaline filled, memorable, and helmets (you know so we won’t be identified). 

We’re heading sixty miles north out of Los Angeles to a four-wheel rental destination in the high desert. I’m excited. It’s a bright, sunny Saturday morning. It’s a long drive, so, I’m thinking: I have my son alone, and I can’t wait to catch up! But, after he slams the passenger door shut, he says, “Mom, I’m kicking back. I need sleep.” He fully reclines the seat, and he’s OUT. Like, BAM…out! So, I let him sleep. But naturally, I glance at him every chance I can. Moms always watch our kids sleep. I don’t know if its because they’re finally quiet, NOT arguing with us, or we’re so in love with them, we stare when we know they’re not looking. Right now, I’m all that as well as amazed this almost full-grown human with facial hair and size thirteen shoes, is no longer my little boy.

After navigating freeways in silence and perfecting mom glances to the passenger seat, I wake my son with a pat on his leg and the announcement, “Time to wake up.” Blurry eyed he inclines his seat and asks, “Where are we?” I want to answer, “We’re here,” but instead I’m forced to say, “Crap, I’m lost.” We end up at a park ranger station at the entrance of Apple Canyon Park and Hard Luck Road. I’m sure there’s a good story for the naming of this road, but I don’t ask. The park ranger reassures me I’m not the first to get lost and advises me to turn around and go back to Hungry Valley Road and take a left. My son rolls his eyes and declares, “Come on Mom, I even saw that road.” I raise an eyebrow. I may leave him here and let him figure out why Hard Luck Road has its name.

After we navigate two miles down the gritty and bumpy Hungry Valley Road, we know we’ve reached our destination by the significant number of dirt bikes, four-wheels, and dune-buggies zooming about. The aroma of gasoline and the sandy haze also confirm we’ve arrived. I park my dusty car and find our guide. The twenty-something gal in braids double checks my ID and asks if I want insurance on the ATV. “You know, one of you may run into a tree, get stuck in a dry creek, or flip over,” she says nonchalantly while pointing at insurance options on her iPhone. My shoulders tense and my eyes squint. I usually don’t fall for these insurance ploys. Then I look at my yawning teen. I buy the insurance.

She offers top of the line helmets, but my son declares he brought his own from his extreme down-hill mountain biking days at Mammoth a few years back with his dad. This was an adventure I did not attend, but I heard a lot about it, and I helped nurse my son’s scrapes and bruises upon his return. The guide agrees his helmet meets safety standards, but it’s too small. It’s an adult medium. She puts him in an adult extra-large. My eyes widen when it fits him perfectly.

She begins the debriefing as we sit on our ATV. The vehicles are the same size except his has only one handbrake, and mine has brakes on both handles. Shouldn’t he have the ATV with two brakes? A more pressing reality draws me back in that my son is not listening to her (he’s not making eye contact) as he’s checking out his machine, touching this, touching that. I’m diligently heeding all the darn details. She yells, “There will be other riders out there. There will be animals that could cross your path like coyotes, snakes. There is a lot of brush, deep sand, so pay attention!” Now my son is softly pressing his right thumb on the throttle and smiling with each little pop of exhaust. Until I knock my fist on his helmet and shout, “You listening?” He gives thumbs up. I snicker. My stomach sinks. Maybe we should’ve gone to a movie.

Our guide says she’ll lead us, my son will follow her, and I’ll bring up the back. “And stay five seconds behind each other. And watch my hand signals,” she shouts. And she’s off dust and gravel whooshing out from her tires. And then he’s off without a look back for me, kicking up even more gravel and dust. I literally have been left in the dust. Untypical for me, I gingerly ease into the thumb throttle and then pick up enough speed to join them. 

The three of us are moving along suitably no more than 20 mph over gravel bumps, through dips, around high grass and sand covered corners. We go faster on straight stretches of flat dirt. My son doesn’t take long into our scheduled one hour adventure to take curves tighter or go higher on embankments. While I’m driving conservatively, he’s standing up on moguls, gunning it trying to catch air. When we come to deep, loose sand, he doesn’t see it as a time to slow down but as the best time to spin the wheels, skid sideways and spray sand. Of course, this is all out of our guide’s sight but I see everything, and I’m white-knuckling my handlebars. I’m not sure if I’m pissed at him for his stunts or impressed he’s at that beautiful age when adrenaline flies through your veins with no worry of consequence. He’s seizing the moment, but he looks back often. One time he does the universal arm wave of “come on!” He’s right. I need to step this up and go faster. And I want to! But all my adrenaline is in my tensed shoulders and eagle eye focus on him. But, this is the same kid who ruthlessly battled me on a paintball course, leaving me welted. You know what, this kid can handle himself out here. But can I handle myself? I’m terrified following him. I think it’s better not to watch your teen’s every move.

Rain begins to lightly come down, enough to speckle my goggles and ruin visibility. Our guide stops and tells us to remove our goggles if needed. My son genuinely asks, “You alright, Mom?” Shouldn’t I be asking him that question? “Yes, I’m fine. Let’s keep going,” I say, swallowing my anxiety.

As we continue, I relax a bit with each stretch. On a straight away, my son takes one hand off the handle and rests it on his thigh as he looks around calmly, apparently taking in the scenery. I realize then that watching my son navigate the ups and downs of the hills, the abrupt changes in path and traversing around small boulders, that today’s exploration is just like everyday life. I daily observe him dealing with unexpected complications, frustrations, and joys of being a teen.

I ease my ATV back to ten seconds behind and give him more space. He again waves me to him, but I shake my head and wave him on. Just like in life, I need to let him move forward a bit, without me.

When we finish, and helmets come off, he quizzes me. “Why’d you fall back so far? Were you scared?” I chuckle, shake my head, “No, I was giving you space.” “But, did you see what I was doing? Did you see how I took that last curve?” he says as he mimics the action with his hands and body as if he’s still on the ATV. “Yup, I never took my eyes off you.” He smiles. I wasn’t sincere though. A few times I looked away to take in the beauty of the desert trees, flowers, and the jagged mountains, and to try my mini adrenaline tricks, knowing no one was watching. But most the time I was all eyes on the young man in front of me.

We fill the ride home with energized conversation recalling the adventure, small talk, and his begging of when I’ll let him get a motorcycle. I nervously giggle and reply, “You know I’m not comfortable with that but how about I sleep on it. By the way, I need a nap.” “Dang, you’re getting old, Mom. Four-wheeling made you tired?” he says. I scoff thinking of him comatose on our departure. I gently pat his leg and reply, “No, I’m not tired. I’m just a mom.”

My Parent, My Friend: A Daughter’s Wish for Adult Children

Twelve years ago, my dad, Leonard left this world. The sky today is similar to then – a bright, gorgeous blue – his favorite color. Today, I celebrate him.
 
But my world changed drastically on March 29, 2006. Most of all because I not only lost my dad (and a damn good one) but he was also a terrific friend in my adult years. What I wouldn’t do for a long walk with him now. Also, it’s not quite two years since my mom has passed and OH the things I’d like to talk to her about and get her sage advice. You see, I had the same with her, she was my best friend in my adult years. And the only one who could make my cheeks hurt with laughter.
 
This is not a pity party. This is PSA. If you’re lucky enough to have your parent(s) still around, and they’ve been good to you, and if you’re fortunate enough you can call them a friend now that you’re an adult, you’ve struck gold. Enjoy them, foster the relationship, never underestimate their love for you and laugh, laugh, laugh.
 
And if your parent(s) have been mediocre, or shit to you. Just remember, they’re only human. And so are you. Sometimes it’s never too late, and sometimes things just are what they are. But believe me, I know I had something extraordinary, and I wish it upon everyone else who still has a chance.
Photo – Canyon Lake, Texas. 1997. On one of our many, many walks.

“intro” Album Re-issued on iTunes

Hi Friends –

Just a word today, my album “intro” has been re-issued on iTunes. The music is also available on Spotify, Amazon Music, and YouTube, but I know lots of ‘ya use iTunes and Apple, so head on over there and get the download. Or, you can listen to the first song off the album, “Faith”, above.

This album now is 18 years old. What?! Yup, I recorded it in Austin, Texas back in 2000. It was a labor of love. Studio work is never easy but can be incredibly fulfilling. The process captures creativity in pure form. That’s the beauty of it. Through hard work and tenacity, (sometimes lack of food and sun), outcomes something extraordinary. But, one of my favorite places in the world is to be holed up in a dim light recording studio. Especially when I do it with my friends.

I’m proud to say this album was analog recorded. At a time when everyone was going digital, we wanted to keep that authentic tape sound, albeit analog recording is indeed more labor intensive. Cue: great engineer! Digitally, we did add some effects, sounds, loops, and samples for added color and taste but overall, a Quantegy 456 Grand Master tape ruled the project. Funny thing is…18 years later and everyone wants to record analog again. Funny how it goes.

“intro” included some of the best Austin musicians. I was honored to work with them then, and I’m blessed to still watch their careers soar in whatever direction they’re off to. Most especially my producer, Aaron Barrera. He put his heart and guts into this project, and he celebrates this reissue with me.

I contributed the voice, some keyboards, and naturally, the songwriting but here’s a BIG call out to the fantastic session players on “intro.” I guarantee you’ve heard their work on other recordings. Google them!  Some have their own projects, but most the work they do is in the studio or backing live bands. They are there busting out the best they have; take after take after take. Thanks, to all session players!

“intro” by Laurie Markvart
Aaron Barrera  – Producer, all guitars, songwriting
David Green – Engineer and mastering
Scott Marshall – Drum loops, sounds, effects, samples, mastering
Michael Stevens – Upright Bass
Glenn McGregor – Electric Bass
Shawn Lucas – Electric Bass
JJ Johnson – Drums
Bryan Keeling – Drums
Ephraim Owens – Trumpet
Stewart Cochran – Piano, Clavinet

Additional contributions:
Rodney Connell – songwriting
Todd Wolfson – photography
Brandi Cowley – hair and makeup

SUPPORT INDEPENDENT MUSIC! Not just mine, of course, all artists.  

Happy Listening!

 

 

Happy New Year – That I Can Do

The New Year is the perfect time to say “That I Can Do.” It just depends on what you plan on doing. And then after you say it, can you do it? Alright, I’m messing with you all.

I’m blogging to post lyrics for my song “That I Can Do” that went live on iTunes a few days ago. But if you can say to me, “Yes, that I can do, Laurie. I can buy your song for a meager .99¢.” Well, thank you! Head on over to iTunes! And, Happy New Year!

Lyrics for THAT I CAN DO

There are many things you ask me
Some are tough, and some are meant to be
You’ve tried so hard to believe
That I’ll be more to you than truth can really be

There’s never been a question of my faith
It lies deep when I see you
But my life has taken me away
And time has no offer to replace what you have missed or what I regret

All I can offer you isn’t much, but it’s love, that I can do
All I can offer you isn’t much, but it’s love, and that I can do…for you.

I feel the shame shallow in my pain
I fall upon my troubled heart
But I’ve kept my heart pure in touch with you
Grown apart you need more of what I can do…what I need to do

You’ve been long in my heart, fast to my rescue
Never one to compromise your hand
You’ll never need love the way I do
I’ve become your fool with love all I offer

 

© Laurie Markvart

“HOW” Lyrics for Lovers and Those Who Are Done

Hello Friends,

Here are lyrics to a new song I’ll post to Youtube within the coming weeks. If the words resonate with you then embrace them. You’re not alone.

X,
L

HOW

How do I say I’m sorry
When I’m not sure I’m wrong
How do I fix broken glass
With shards that are gone.

How do I relapse into a love
That has been drunk dry
How do I care about a story
When a sigh become a lie.

How is it here, we became this
Broken in two, no longer fit
How many times did we try to make it right?
Not enough, not enough
’cause we’re here.

How the hell does ambition
Turn to regret
And trust to lust
For another to get.

How does intention
Become a memory
And purity to anger
It’s all I see.

Lyrics ©lauriemarkvart 2017

 

Quotes, Thoughts, and Notes

Below are things I’ve said, wrote or sang. A few may be from my memoir. Query me if you desperately(!) need to know which ones. And yes, this is a picture I took. We should all at some point drink wine in a tin coffee cup while watching a tremendous sunset – February 2017. Malibu.

I’m providing these quotes below because sometimes shared words help others. 

Feel free to share if they interest you. Especially the last one considering today:

“It’s the way you look at me, piercing love astray.”

“How do I say I’m sorry when I’m not sure I’m wrong.”

“I feel your touch, I hear your sigh and you’re not even here.”

“But, he is the alpha, I know she will not debate him. At least not in front of me. But I’ll take him on. One last time.”

“Make sure you’re not running from something that leads you to nothing.”

“I hate to knock anything, although it’s such a bore.”

“There’s never been a question of my faith, it runs deep when I see you.”

“Most of the time I would listen to music, practice music, escape into music.”

“I never thought I’d struggle to say such tempting words.”

“I’ve got to believe in something to get me through this, some glorious forgiving fate that’s unexpectedly true.”

©Laurie Markvart

 

 

 

 

 

“Listen, Be Heard” – Lyrics from Yesterday for Today

I wrote these lyrics below in 1993 for my band Wicked Gypsy. We were collectively devoted to national and world issues, environment, equality, politics, justice, love, and peace. And to play music! But, often these topics were the muse behind our songs. And today, I know my brothers in the band feel the same.

When I wrote this, I was poking at our government and big corporations to play fair, be transparent and honor ALL people. Fair pay, equality to gender and race and to listen to us…WE are here. These lyrics ring truer than ever TODAY. Hence, the reason I’ve brought them back.

I usually do not explain lyrics as I prefer the listener or reader to come to their own definition, but I must clarify the line, “the truth of the dumb man always wins.” The dumb man is the everyday man, the one the government thinks is dumb and not worth worrying about, the one they think they can fool. Actually, this is the one who is left standing. And we all must stand. We must keep our mind positive, learn, and continue to fight for what is right. Period.

We also need an administration who can speak wisdom with their mouth shut. Most people know exactly what that means. If you don’t, stop talking and listen.

PEACE, L

Listen, Be Heard 

Speak the wisdom with your mouth shut
Win the system with your cutting blood
Call your lies out under your skin
Bleed to mercy your forgiven sin
You ask why? Why? You ask why? Why?

The truth of the dumb man always wins
For he is always the standing kin
He wastes no time on foolish trust
Just pay him once and time is lost
You ask why? Why? You ask why? Why?

Don’t you know? It is here.
Close your mind. Never find.
Why don’t you listen? Be heard.
Decision. Learn.
All you learn. Is decision turn.
Be heard.

Talk your thoughts out over the rest
Cry your fears out to the best
Call your lies out under your skin
Bleed to mercy your forgiven sin
You ask why? Why? You ask why? Why?

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