The Concert

Getting This Off My Chest and Out of My Mind

Sometimes I write songs to get something off my chest. It might be something I’ve carried for years and don’t quite know what to do with. A moment that still aches when I revisit it. “The Concert,” from my latest album Strange Ballet, came from one of those memories. It recalls a time when I felt painfully alone and unseen. I don’t share it to blame my parents, but there were moments when I longed for their approval and encouragement or comfort and didn’t receive it. Writing the song was my way of finally giving voice to that quiet hurt.

Isn’t it interesting how small, seemingly incidental moments can shape a life.

The Concert

She was in seventh grade at Central Junior High
She had her mother's face, she had her father's eyes
She walked terrazzo halls, lockers on either side
She pulled her knee socks up high to cover up her hives
	
She was a blue collar kid from the east side of town
Where the gravel road dust just hangs around 
And clings to everything
Where Little Hollywood* is just a bean field away 
Where stray dogs are dropped off near the Lincoln Highway 
And left to fend for themselves
Left to fend for themselves

She played second chair flute in the concert band  
There on the music stand were the notes of nightingale songs
She practiced in her room to get every note just right
There's a concert on Friday night and she wants to make them proud

When the big night came as she sat on the stage
In her black pleated skirt and a white blouse she'd made
She looked out at the crowd                  
But she could not find a familiar face
The nightingale notes just faded away 
And left her by the road
Left her by the road
		
No one told her to reach for the stars	
No one told her to shoot for the moon
And when she grew older she didn't go far	
Sometimes stray dogs and daughters sing the same tune

She was a blue collar kid from the east side of town
Where the gravel road dust just hangs around 
And clings to everything
Where Little Hollywood* is just a bean field away 
Where stray dogs are dropped off near the Lincoln Highway 
And left to fend for themselves
Left to fend for themselves

Notes:
* Little Hollywood: When I was in third grade, my family moved from our house on Duff Avenue in Ames to a new place east of town, just outside the city limits. Not far from us, “just a bean field away,” was Freel Drive, a dead-end dirt road my school bus traveled down twice a day to pick up and drop off the poorest kids in town. The houses sat low to the ground, more like shacks than homes, with no standard eight-foot ceilings, no garages, no nice lawns or flower beds, but plenty of old, dust-covered junk cars. Somehow, in a twist of small-town cruelty, that sorry, sad dirt road had earned the nickname “Little Hollywood.”

About the stray dogs. Our house was on Dayton Avenue. It is now paved, but during my time living there, Dayton Avenue was a gravel road that ran north and south between Lincoln Way (old Highway 30) and new Highway 30. People seemed to think it was a pretty safe place to drop off their unwanted dogs in the middle of the night. Far enough out of town that they could do this dirty deed without anyone the wiser. The first "stray" to wander up our driveway was a medium sized dog with black, curly fur. We named him Danny. When our house was being built, someone left a ladder leaned against the house overnight. When we returned that next day, there was Danny up on the roof unable to figure out how to get down. There was never a shortage of dogs for us to adopt. 

Notice the last line of verse 1: She pulled her knees socks up high to cover up her hives

The following is an excerpt from my February newsletter that will give you a peek into the story behind that line and my daily life struggles.

Spilling the Chronic Idiopathic Urticaria Beans

Thus far, 2026 has been a struggle and here’s why.

I debated a long time about sharing this very personal part of my life with you. I’ve never written about this, and up to now, only my family and a few close friends know of my plight. I’ve never written about a condition that has been a part of my life since childhood: Chronic idiopathic urticaria. Put simply - HIVES. I’ve been dealing with them all my life. Here’s what Chat GPT says:

With chronic idiopathic/spontaneous urticaria:

• “Chronic” means hives lasting 6 weeks or longer.

• “Idiopathic” or “spontaneous” means no identifiable external trigger.

• It’s a disorder of mast cell activation in the skin.

In many cases, it’s now believed to have an autoimmune basis, even if a specific cause isn’t pinpointed.

My parents and siblings were witness to the torment I was going through as a child. I would break out with hives from head to toe for no reason. I had them on my lips, tongue, vocal chords, palms and bottom of my feet and everywhere in between. Even today I remember feeling incredibly itchy, agitated, stressed, and tormented. I remember the look on my mom’s face when she saw how miserable I was knowing there was nothing she could do about it. Dr. Rosebrook had no clue and, as a precaution, put on my medical records that I was not to be given penicillin. The only good thing I remember while in the throes of my childhood hives was my mother putting me in my parents bed so she could keep an eye on my as the kids bedrooms were upstairs. Late that afternoon, when my father came home from work, he brought a carton of lime sherbet just for me to soothe my swollen lips and tongue. It made me feel special. A sicko kid, but special.

Hives are hideous. They make you feel like you’re on fire while giving you the chills at the same time and they itch like crazy. I was incredibly embarassed by my hives when I was in junior high school. All the girls were just starting to wear nylons, which I longed to wear as well, but instead I wore knee socks to cover up the hives on my legs.

I remember going through periods of my life when I was in remission. I don’t recall having hives in college or my early twenties. As an adult, I have gone as long as eighteen months and not had a single hive! I remember thinking, this is great! I will never have hives again only to learn that was not the case.

When my hives returned with a vengeance I got myself up to Mayo Clinic. I had every test imaginable - allergy tests, dermatology examine, a biopsy of one of the hives on my leg, an upper GI endoscopy - which was horrible. (The nurse who administered this test reminded me of Tommy Chong of Cheech and Chong. Remember those guys? It was a little disconcerting even through I’m sure he was a great nurse.) The bottom Mayo Clinic line is: NOTHING was found as a definitive cause of my chronic idiopathic urticaria.

So, I am on a steady diet of fexofenadine (Allegra 180mg) and famotidine (Pepcid) to reduce acid in the stomach as the acid produces more histamine which produces more hives. When the daily meds don’t work I double up on them. When that doesn’t work, I’m put on prednisone. Which is not the best drug to be on, but it’s better than being miserable.

This is why I say thus far 2026 has been a struggle! Below is my beautiful leg. This is me. My body. Most people never see my hives unless they’re on my face. If this happens they are usually on the lips, eyes lids, forehead and cheeks. I’m thankful to be able to cover most of my hives with clothing.

So, there you have it! Pity party over.

And to that young lady sitting on that stage, “I’m here. I see you and I applaud you.”