Hilliard's Wild Christmas Trees, "Hello", "Snow Angel" and "Happy Christmas" with Bruce Hilliard
29m
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Better Each Day Podcast Radio Show with Bruce Hilliard
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Hello hello hello and merry Christmas from the corner of Christmas Street and Better Each Day. Come on along and take a walk with me.
You're here just in time for an eggnog and my Christmas 2021 song Hello Hello Hello. It's about being committed to the Christmas fruit cake boom boom room for believing in Santa. “I believe in Santa Claus and giving.”
Christmas Street can be anywhere, anytime. It doesn’t need to be a street. It can be in a Victorian home or visiting the mother ship. In this story it’s down a gravel logging road near North River. It doesn’t matter where my North River is, just come along for the ride.
We’re riding with my dad in his veterinary van on a quest for the perfect North River Christmas tree. It’s December 1960 something. I’m about 10 and he’s about 42. It started snowing. The good stuff. The road is getting narrower with more snow and the thought of meeting a fully loaded log truck coming head on sucks even more than the cigarette smoke.
Dad finished his Winston and lit another one as we parked where only the Lewis and Clark Expedition would have dared…somewhere out in the cold wilderness where anyone could easily get carried off by a pack of bandicoots.
This is one of those areas where people disappear and later reappear as a bat. I made that up. But time seems to be moving at the speed of a parked car.
The 27 mile trek in the snow uphill both ways was just about to begin. The hunt for, not the Home Depot tree or tree farm tree or Bigfoot, but the majestic tree that roams with its herd in the hills of the Pacific Northwest jungles…the aromatic but ever so elusive wild Christmas tree. We walked. The snow was morphing from creamy to crunchy style under my boots.
Somewhere along the way Dad got far enough ahead of me to secretly drop some raisins in the snow along the trail. Why? You ask. It’s the trick where later when we walk by the little SunKist pile together, the funny one who planted the raisins cries out “hey, Santa’s reindeer have been here” as he picks up a handful of raisins and eats them. The unsuspecting recipient says “oh major ew” and hilarity ensues. Always a fav.
After two weeks we ran out of supplies and began eating each other. No we didn’t but that’s probably a better show.
Now, most of the trees in nature don’t look like they’ve been pruned. In fact most of the trees down North River way looked a bit like a Charlie Brown tree.
The scenery was getting whiter and I spotted an eight point buck not far away…just as Dad went to eat some of the raisins, at least what he thought were raisins. Yep. Once he got his mouth back we spotted what was to be one of the three wild trees required to make one domestic Christmas tree.
The trick was to take three trees home, cut them into thirds and use the best sections. Each tree was carefully selected by the master himself for high end, mid or bottom. The thirds were attached with dowels. The concept defies any known grafting techniques.
The snow was really coming down as we slid our three donors to the van. It was a Kodak moment ingrained in my mind forever. Even more impressive was Dad’s knot acumen. He could sinch down a load that would make a Peterbilt log truck proud.
Dad was busy tying off the trees, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. It was dusk. A snowy dark December dusk. I watched until I drifted off into a song. A song about a hot snow angel that shows up if you wish hard enough.
When I woke up I was 66-years-old, thrice divorced and living in a van…
The tree, as I’ve come to find out, once decorated, looked awesome like they always do. The experience is among some of my fondest childhood Christmas stories.
Special thanks to the co-writer, flautist and vocalist on Snow Angel. She is Victoria Lye and I wish you, Victoria, and your loved ones a Merry Christmas in...
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Better Each Day ~ From Rock to Robots with Bruce Hilliard
Always do your very best to live a life you’re proud of, and if it falls short, have the strength to start over again. I used Better Each Day as my mantra. In the words of 19th century psychologist and pharmacist Emile Coue: “Everyday in every way, I’m getting better and better.”
So here’s the spoiler. I moved to Mukilteo WA based on a gut feeling of following my own compass, making new friends and excelling in a career. After 5 years and 8 months I’m graduating from Home Depot Paint Associate to Buyer at Airbus Robotics.
The following are some words I wrote. Something from a lyric notebook. The spiral notebooks where I write poetry, lyrics, ideas and sometimes just what's on my mind. Here’s an excerpt from one of them.
“I spend a lot of time with those people. Time well spent. My mind and body get to do what they like best: chat about anything in the world with the brightest group of people I’ve ever met while doing a feel-good workout. Suddenly I realize how good it really is. No amount of money could buy this.”
These are the guys I see every week morning. I think we all have little slots of time where you’re with your friends, work colleagues or just warm thinkers. Sometimes it's at work, sometimes with your family. For me? I met this motley crue at the local YMCA. There’s over a dozen of us depending on the day. We’re ages from 42-80. Non-exclusive…it just worked out we gelled.
One of the regulars said the group is a sweet thing. I found what I set out for years ago when I moved here from Aberdeen. This was written for the relationship between her and her sister. Freya and Annie, The Sweetest Thing I’ve Ever Known.
It’s a team that was formed purely out of showing up to start the day at a gym. That simple gesture of peace to your body and mind is a good way to begin a day on your A game. We do our best work when all cylinders are firing.
So back to the Trainwreck of Aberdeen. Sometimes life is a complete tornado of disturbing changes and rip offs. I was spending a moment now and then on the edge of I don’t give a shit anymore. With a little help from my friends the train got back on track. And somehow when you look back at it all, it plays out like a finely crafted novel.
Flashback to June 2016. I moved from a trainwreck in my hometown Aberdeen. I was looking for love in all the wrong places. Maybe it’s ironic the first friend I made when I landed in my new hometown was named Haight. I met Graham Haight as a fellow real estate broker at Windermere and followed him around town like a stray puppy. I was a rescue. He later had me fixed. Then he had me sew some on.
I joined the same gym, hired the same doctor, dentist and even auto body man as Graham. When I needed to buy a car on my Wendy’s wages budget, he was there with a car dealership of a guy Graham was a corner trainer for in boxing. Graham was my ride for my hand surgery. I drafted behind him.
He became my head football coach and the guy to bounce things off. Someone to give me some focus and direction. The big brother I never had.
My real estate attempt in Mukilteo was an unreachable dream. Competitive beyond my budget and timeframe. I fell back on my painting business, gave guitar lessons, worked at Home Depot and spent the rest of my time writing, producing podcasts and playing an occasional gig.
All the while, I searched and applied for jobs. Then the pandemic hit.
I didn’t stop applying for jobs. I was looking for a job in procurement but was willing to start at any level with upward mobility.
Back in September Graham mentioned his daughter needed some paint work done. She’d just bought a house that’s nearby the Y and only blocks from her new place of employment, Airbus Robotics.
I said I
A Kaleidoscope Heart Christmas Card to My Friends and Listeners 2022 with Bruce Hilliard
Hey to all the Better Each Day Listeners, this is Bruce and welcome to episode 251. Welcome to the show but most importantly welcome to the first annual year end Christmas party where we feature a special theme.
Now keep in mind that I am, and apparently always will be, a hopeless romantic love song writing fool. One thing we can all agree on is that some songs just need to be written. And some people need to be written about.
This year the vote was unanimous to introduce some songs you may have heard on previous shows, songs that were inspired by friends. The friends I speak of are sisters Freya and Annie. They are the stars of the show.
Now, I wrote, produced and performed everything you’re hearing but it wouldn’t be happening without someone to write about and an audience.
Just to set the scene, I met Freya and Annie at the local YMCA almost five years ago. They’re happily married with kids but while we’re at the Y we are all kids.
When I see them it's in a noisy environment full of competition for their attention. Sometimes I’ll squeeze in for a chat and hear a story that leads to a song like this one.
Roses and Strawberry Rain was inspired by my friend Annie, now grown and a mother of two, who played with Little Ponies…the toy Little Ponies. So I did my best to capture a story about a little girl playing pretend with her hero and champion race horse, Strawberry Rain. Rain wins the roses at the Kentucky Derby, the rain washes time away and years later she tells her children about her legendary story of…Roses and Strawberry Rain.
Annie’s older sister Freya, who like Annie, is the warmest of warm people. Going nose to nose with Annie’s miraculous ability to jump rope and defy gravity, Freya, who has super powers also, saw the crappy clothes I wore when I performed…my ragamuffin clothes weren’t hittin’ it and she went into her rescue mode to save my sorry ass. Freya took me by the wrist and we went clothes shopping. And she organized a photo shoot with Annie as part of Operation Dress Bruce for new promo pics.
One of the new promo images created by Annie was the result of a filter that, I don’t know if it was intentional or not, formed several images of my head in the shape of a heart. It looked like a kaleidoscope version of a heart with me in my Freya shirt.
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I turned, walked away and looked back. I thought “That’s all I got?” Other than stand ups, who says “that’s all I got?” I turned to see her waiting for me with a goofy smile.
That’s all I got? Sometimes we end a conversation with “that’s all I got”...or even end a sentence.
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Combine Kerri, Freya and Annie, put them in a blender and voila, a song, the...
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Hey folks and welcome to the Better Each Day Podcast Radio Show with your host, Bruce Hilliard. This is a special episode with the ghost of John Oates past. I was reflecting on a conversation from a while back where we talked about band names, the Beatles and Hall and Oates being two of them, and the famous Abandoned Luncheonette.
So here are a couple of covers starting with one from an album called Help! It’s by that band with the name that catches on after a while, the Beatles.
I just recorded this last night. The Bee Gees’ To Love Somebody.
Here are two songs in a row that I wrote about my imaginary romance.
This is a song I’m proud to say was written and recorded by two brothers of different mothers from mine, the Murchy Brothers with On The Harbor…that would be Grays Harbor where we grew up together.
Thank you so much for listening. Here’s on more of my tunes. This one is one of those “stop and smell” the roses…Doesn’t Anybody Fall In Love No More.
New "Runaway" Song Plus a Collection of Originals By Request with Bruce Hilliard
Hey folks and welcome to the Better Each Day Podcast Radio Show with your host, Bruce Hilliard. We had a storm here in Mukilteo WA that knocked out our power yesterday. I was reduced to a pencil and an acoustic guitar, two of the best inventions ever.
This song was the result.
Runaway
Thinking again of leaving it all behind
Packing my things and wondering why oh why I feel this sometimes
You and I will runaway, taking our time, let the whirlwinds blow
You and I will runaway, I wanna run away with you
You and I will run away, taking it easy time can wait
And I will run away with you
So sleep silent angel go to sleep until the morning comes
There is a place, where we both can live and never live without love
You and I will runaway, taking our time, let the whirlwinds blow
You and I will runaway, I wanna run away with you
You and I will run away, taking it easy time can wait
And I will run away with you
Here’s a set of originals. I’ll list the titles in the show notes. I hope you enjoy your drive with me on an ocean road to wherever you want. A little influence from the Byrds and anyone with a 12-string Rickenbacker. I’m Going Home.
Our Mr. Wines Aberdeen High School Music Instructor Passes At Age 97 with Bruce Hilliard
Bruce Hilliard speaking. The leaves are falling, times are a-changin’ and I heard Mr. Wines took the coda. My most influential band director Mr. Wines passed away a few days ago. In music, a coda is a passage that brings a piece of music to an end. It may be as simple as a few measures, or as complex as an entire section. This guy was an entire opus, an epic rock opera for me and many others. Mr. Wines, one of my personal influences and motivators of my music career, passed last Sunday October 23rd 2022. He was 97. A long life for anyone. It deserved a long coda. He was the lifeblood of my music community…the Professor Harold Hill from The Music Man. And to think he was old by my standards when I had him in his late forties…what seems like a lifetime ago.
In my hometown Aberdeen WA, Hampton Rudolph Wines is a legend. He came to us as a young teacher from Eastern Washington, Pasco is the city I remember him mentioning. In Aberdeen he set a standard for excellence in everything from marching band, symphonic band, pep band, stage band, brass choir for Christmas, witty humor and other psychological mind games he messed us up with.
So, after working closely with him during some very formative years of my life, I’m writing a pod letter to my dear and recently passed high school band coach, teacher and visionary, Mr. Wines.
Dear Mr. Wines,
Thanks for the mind games. I say mind games in a good way. You knew what we were capable of and figured out ways to trick us into achieving it. You taught us as teenagers the importance of discipline and accountability. You preached respect for our instruments and uniforms and most importantly the attitude to carry it off with 100+ other students fueled mainly by fries and hormones.
You used signature phrases like “well this week is shot”, “moxie, intestinal fortitude” and if we sucked you encouraged us with suggestions like “you might as well take that horn and make it into a planter.”
The “this week is shot” speech was a landmark in my way of thinking everything, yes everything, is funny. Do you remember how 52 weeks per year could be shot year after year?
Every Monday morning sounded like this: Well today is Monday and the day is half shot already. Tomorrow will rain so we can’t rehearse on the field but we can stay inside but since it’s Tuesday we’ll be getting ready for Wednesday…and that day is shot. (And he’d be diagramming this on the chalkboard.) That leaves Thursday and Friday. Friday is the pep rally and game (actually the Friday concert at the football stadium). So Thursday is the only day of the week we can do anything…unless it rains. (Which it did.)
And Mr. Wines…I was apprehensive to visit you in your house on the hill later in life because when you’re busy you say “don’t bug me man.” I wonder what you think about the current educational system. I believe you took an early retirement when budget cuts hit the arts first. Many people were disappointed to see you retire.
Music was morphing into the rock era and in your lifetime went from Gershwin to Nirvana, from analog to digital and back. From formally educated musicians and composers to garage bands. Did you like my bands Denny and the Chadwicks and Tahola Toilet Authority?
Somehow those that followed your fundamentals went on to appreciate your white glove inspections. You literally wore white gloves during our periodic inspections of our gear. You commanded cosmetically perfect white marching shoes to march in the football field mud.
And...