Another in a series of posts as I head toward my 50th birthday.

A few weeks ago I rediscovered a single sheet of paper that had been handed to me a least a decade and a half ago.  It was song lyrics written by the mother of an old friend of mine.  A prolific writer of prose and verse, this wonderful lady knew that I was finding my way musically.  At the time I had written some songs and recorded them and did a few things playing some places and it probably appeared like I knew what I was doing.

She had confidence in me, I suppose.  She had more confidence than I did, I can tell.

She handed me a that piece of paper and asked me to put music to her words.  I am quite sure I had a silent scream on my face.  I was trying to find my own words and music at the time.  And now this wonderful lady, whom I respect beyond words or music, was asking me to score some lyrics she had written?  Oh my.

“Now don’t rush.  I’m in no hurry.  But if you find time and can do something with it, I’d like to hear it one day if you can.”

She said these words with the same cadence and delivery that she used when her son’s friends would show up and she would show us to the kitchen table for some home-cooked vittles.

“Oh boys, it ain’t much.  I got some fried taters and fried chicken and here’s some green beans and a few biscuits.  Get what you want if you can find anything there worth eatin’.”

They lived in Milltown.  We quickly renamed the place “Mealtown”.

So a few weeks ago I found those lyrics.  When she handed those to me I was scared to death.  I was not worthy!  The gravity of putting music to her words was too much for me fifteen or seventeen years ago. I couldn’t do it.

When I came across those words on that sheet paper recently I was relieved that I found it.  I was glad I still had it.  Of course I had it.  I keep all important writings.

I pulled out my guitar and in fifteen minutes I was singing this song and a shiver went up the spine.

A few days ago I called my friend, this lady’s son.  I asked if he had ever heard mention of a song his Mom wrote of a particular title.  He told me he had not heard of it.  I was not shocked.  I have written scores of stuff that I have not introduced to anyone.  If you write, that is what you do.

I told my friend my old fear of touching this song was replaced with relief that I had found it and could now…musical confidence is not a quite the same problem anymore…do something with it.  I told my friend I was not scared of it anymore.  He said something prophetic to all these recent speaktherights.com posts, “I think that happens when we get older.”

So I plan on stopping by her house soon to pull a guitar strap over my neck and say, “Jackie, do you remember that song you gave me to put music to a very long time ago?  I hope you like it.  This my debut of putting music to someone else’s words.  I like it.  I hope you do to.”

Glad I could share this with you.  It means a great deal to me.

Now I got some practicing to do.

Speaking the rights…

Danny Johnson