Prairie Blue

Kenmore 158 Model

The Journeyman

Richard Franklin Andruchuk is my muse, an inspiration and my father.
Like the exposed and detailed inner workings of a motorcycle, my dad is and has been many things traveling on his endless prairie highway. Dad is one of Life's Journeymen with countless stories and titles under his belt; teacher, electrician, mechanic, builder, outdoorsman, poet, athlete, musician, geographer and a layman's philosopher.

Yes, you are detecting an overwhelming sense of pride in my voice. And yes, I am completely unapologetic for my love and admiration for this man - he is the original Highway Man - he is my dad.

Although my grandfather groomed my dad at a young age to one day take over the family electrical business, in true "New Canadian" thinking, Grandpa A had always hoped Dad would become a doctor. Depending on how you spin it, one could argue that Dad did eventually become a physician - with the ability to assess, diagnose and fix many things - just not in the Western Medicine kind of way...

Dad learned to drive the company trucks when he was thirteen or fourteen. I love picturing him gassing up the vehicles for the electricians before they started their shift each morning. On the day of his drivers test, there was a snow storm that emptied most of Winnipeg's streets due to severe black ice and snow drifts. Dad showed up anyways, took the test in one of the company trucks, and elegantly skied into his parallel park. Dad reminisces, "I didn't have to finish the test after that; the instructor simply expelled a huge sigh of relief with a big grin on his face and passed me."

In high school Dad went by "Richard". He played for the Saint James Football and Hockey teams. His varsity jackets still hang modestly in my folks basement den, and were staples in the Andruchuk Girls Halloween costume repertoire. I often wonder if dad was wearing one of those jackets when he met my mom in high school, on that fateful day when he pulled over in the family station wagon while mom was waiting for the bus somewhere on Portage Avenue. In my mind dad leans over the passenger seat and shouts out the window "Hey Al, you need a ride?" Yes indeed she did, eldest daughter of six children she took care of her siblings and had to walk everywhere. That one gesture provided her a refuge. It was the founding moment that solidified their partnership traveling down an endless highway together.

He struggled in school, often contrasting his academic and home life to Paul Simon's lyrics "I am a rock, I am Island". Such information evoked my first inclination that my dad is a deep thinker and a non-conformist - an Artist. He plays piano like Jerry Lee Lewis and can harmonize with every song on the radio. He's also a poet and a songwriter responsible for co-writing songs with me about farmers turned World War II Vetrans and abandoned highways in Northern Ontario.

Dad rode a Honda motorcycle until the early 90s and smoked a pipe in the 70s. He's the father of four girls, a grandfather to a girl and a boy and has been a husband to my mom since 1969. He has constructed 6 of our family homes and has owned more vehicles than I can recall. He has eternal luck when it comes to finding a parking spot and has a tendancy to close his eyes when he is reflecting or giving one of his daughters a "life" chat.

He did not end up taking over the family electrical business. Instead dad went to Teacher's College, moved the family to Alberta and worked on the Siksika Nation Reserve as a Vice-Principal for fifteen years. When all the Andruchuk girls moved out, mom and dad moved back to the city where dad teaches shop, mechanics and career and life management courses at a Calgary high school.

Dad still loves vehicles of the Japanese variety for their efficiency and precision. This is a quality that reflects a true mechanic and his philosphy on life. It is also the reason for my imaginary Father's Day gift to my dad this year - the Honda 450. Happy Father's Day Dad, I love you!

Perimeter Highway

Mom and I used to make the trip to the Husky Oil out on Perimeter Highway. The hum of the diesel engine would lull me to sleep. I was four years old. I don't know if this was just one day, or a mix of little outings on different days, but my memory is fixed with images of mom and I in Winnipeg...

Once the older girls were off to school, we would load into the Vanagon and head to the St. James YMCA for preschool. The building's entrance had two sets of doors with frosted glass; a particular detail that stayed with me because this was the "drop-off" point. The dreaded moment would come when mom, in a sing-song way, said "Okay Holly see you in a little bit, have fun!" Without fail I cried and wailed.

Later, mom and I would visit my Grandma A, whose house was 2 blocks from the Y. I'm guessing they would have coffee while I banged on the piano and explored the never ending supply of over-stuffed cupboards and closets.

Afterwards, mom and I took the Perimeter Highway to the Husky Oil to gas up the Vanagon with diesel. On our way back into the city the light poured into the van exposing every dust particle floating in the air. Mom in the drivers seat, the warmth of the sun on my face and the rattling hum of the engine. The day was complete and perfectly ours.

Happy Birthday Mom.

The Monster and Her Music

The woman you see in this photograph had to do a lot of self talk before performing her latest show...
She is suffering from SIRDs - Societal Induced Reluctant Dreaming.

Note the somewhat reserved look on her face combined with great focus and determination in her arms and hands. What you are observing is a young bird learning to stretch her wings and ruffle her feathers. What her mentor and dearest friend calls - unleashing the Monster.

In a few days I will be turning 27, which marks the 20 year wedding anniversary between the Monster and her Music. A while back, during one fateful trip to Winnipeg, my dad re-claimed his 1950s Jumbo Acoustic Guitar from his younger sister. My Aunt Justine had given her "Musical Prodigy Sons" the opportunity to plunk away on the guitar as a form of recess from their very regimented piano academy education. When my Pa realized the little brats were pawing away at his first and oldest musical instrument, he slipped it into the family van before heading back to Alberta on the No. 1 Highway.

The ride back was as memorable as the first informal guitar lesson from my dad. The next 20 hours were full of firsts:
1a. Making acoustic sounds in a moving vehicle while drinking in the prairie scape and powder blue sky - music and movement is so powerful and spiritual.
1b. Open Tuning. Dad tuned the guitar strings to an open C chord so that I could bar the frets and strum like a crazy little thing. I realize this was very smart on my dad's part, simply because to all those listening on, all notes sounded major and somewhat melodic...
1c. Song Writing. The old guitar and the movement together, made me feel like an old hobo. Which inspired my first lyrics. "When I first came to Calgary, I strapped some wheels on my guitar so I could be a big, big star...Uh huh, um hm, oh yeah..."

After that, the monster was born, only to battle with me for another 20 years before I finally fed her properly and showed her the light. My future brother-in-law explained that an artists' craft lives in the swamp, to the lay-person this is their gut or their belly. All the air comes from the swamp, the soul lives their amongst the mess and the music. Once you acknowledge the mess, there is an acceptance that one simply wades through it, sometimes going under, but inevitably finding a warm spot in it.

Then last week when my friend Maggie was counseling me about a show I played during Canadian Music Week, she said plainly, "Just sing with the Monster." I confided in her that the show felt like a flop because I was so affected by my surroundings and I felt vulnerable on this huge stage. My gear wasn't working and by the time I went on we watched about 150 people bleed out of Lee's Palace. But the worst part was knowing that such crap doesn't matter. I was disappointed in myself because I just wasn't myself. Which got me thinking who is she?

According to Maggie, the Monster in its natural state just knows, doesn't hold back and does not listen to societal conventions. Such information tugged on my heart strings because I instantly recognized what I was bringing to the stage and what I was ignoring within myself. I was acting like some haggered, emotion-less worker - a reluctant dreamer. Throughout my years of guitar playing, singing and songwriting, I have pretended to be a good student, a community worker and a teacher. I have a section in my closet solely devoted to my attempts to work as a full-time worker with collegues and professional development. Beleive it or not, I have 12 more weeks as an Educational Intern and Community Service Coordinator at a private school. Now for others this is a respectful path, for some of my peers, this would be a magical career path or portfolio builder. For me, it feels like I'm steeling this opportunity from someone who would truly benefit. This is someone else's dream.

All the while, within me I see colour and hear sound, feel peoples excitement and worry, sense purpose and things through song. Things that translate into music and lyrics. So I struggled to live the life of "Full-time worker bee Holly" and the life of the "Monster in her musical swamp". Which resulted in a CMW show that flopped. Good. There has to be a breaking point that led to the inevitable discussion about the Monster.

So I listened, and I sensed her, and by March 20th, I stepped onto the stage again. The Brothers Elliott and I traveled to Avening Hall in Creemore to open for the Monster of all Monsters, Fred Eaglesmith. But this time, I was in the swamp. Amongst the mess of Fred's tangled patch cords and pedals I sang for Fred's audience. And she spoke, she sang, she played, and she was surprisingly funny and polite. So the Monster can stay.

Now what about the other characters? Like the 1950s Kay guitar or the bratty Piano Playing cousins? Well the Monster in me continues to harass my folks about rescuing the Kay guitar from their basement in Calgary, maybe this story will be the final envelope to push them back to their senses...

As for the cousins, like anyone on recess, the boys both dropped piano playing after completing all 12 grades in piano lessons, only to totally fall in love with Ibenez 7 string electric guitars, Dream Theatre and 1970s Fender Stratocasters with over-sized headstocks. One more reason to beleive whether you like it or not, the Monster in you will find a way to come out. Just be warned, it will feel like a mess at first, but then you will find a warm spot in it. After 20 years...I love you Monster.

Black and White

Some Things that are Orange

Doris Day

This woman means many things to me:

No. 1
I knew her famous song before I knew her. My mom would sing "Que Sera, Sera" around the house. These days it seems I have fully adopted the phrase as my daily mantra.

No. 2
Doris Day's birthday is right in between my mom's and I. I was born on April 2nd, Doris was born on April 3rd, and mom was born on April 4th.

No. 3
She is such a Rockstar! Her voice has a thick jazzy underbelly with a bit of salty and sweet mixed in there. The sweet bit is what allowed her to be so believable as an artistic mother of 4 boys or as an endearing music teacher who juggles acting, mothering and keeping her husband happy after convincing her whole family they should move to the 'burbs.

No. 4
I fantasize that if ever I lived the life of a movie star in another life, I would be Doris Day.

No. 5
The opposite pictures of Doris "The Bikini Babe" and "Miss. D" the school teacher represent my life at the present time - Ms. Full-Time Job by day and Rock n' Roll Diva by night...

Graffiti With Faces

Winter Blues and Big Thoughts

During the month of January it became apparent that all things romantic and magical were tied up in Christmas and New Years celebrations. What we were left with was frigid temperatures, snow that felt like a burden on my feet, and salt. Too much god damned salt. But on return from a mandatory 4 day school trip to the "Big Nickel" I managed to conjure up some "Big Thoughts".

The Big Thought - "There must be a balance in winter..."
- Wear a healthy mix of warm, weather appropriate clothing
- Experience real outdoor activity! Like snow-shoeing and skating on lakes
- Have more artful appreciation...radio shows, live music, good biographies and re-discovering the lost art of conversation with strangers
- Live in a place that feels like a neighborhood - not a pushy rat-race
- Eat amazing warm foods and soups
- Seek out colour - the winter blues are actually the clearest and crispest, and when you combine deep breathing while looking at blue skies you can feel the balance seep in.