In Memory of My Dad, Who Died January 7, 1997.

I need to share this experience with LM's music.
An experience proving how perfectly her songs seem to have been crafted to interact precisely with my needs. It's as if her voice and music fills nooks and crannies in my core, nooks and crannies that, empty, produce a weak, porous identity. Nooks and crannies waiting to be filled so as to create a smooth, unblemished surface. A surface made impervious to the cares and worries of earthly existence.

Posted To The Old Ways Mailing List
From: blbeast@win.bright.net (Greg Meier)
Date: Fri, 17 Jan 1997 23:26:40 -0600
Subject:Sad personal news/to drive the cold winter away

Dear Old-Wayers,

My Dad died on January 7, the day after his seventy-third birthday. He had
gone through tremendous mental and physical suffering for over a year.

 Now he is at peace.

The day after his funeral, in the bitter cold of northern Wisconsin, my
wife and I sat at his grave, keeping him company. We retreated to the van
where we drank hot chocolate and tea, and listened to
 "To Drive the Cold Winter Away"

 We brought an extra cup of tea for my Dad and I helped him drink it while
Loreena helped bring comfort and peace to my mind.

Two feet of snow covered the cemetery, and the temperature was near zero
with a wind chill of, who knows how cold, but after 45 minutes of musical
therapy, spring seemed to be much nearer and the perfectly preserved,
freeze-dried flowers decorating his grave seemed so alive.

 I must tell you that LM's album,  "To Drive the Cold Winter Away" 
is an amazing creation  that I never fully appreciated 'til now.

 "Snow" is especially meaningful to me, now, because my Dad was a dairy
farmer for 30+ years and I am following in his footsteps.

 "Snow" is so real to me now, because, as I ponder the lyrics,
 I realize I live in that place.

 I've seen.... yon buried stream,
 and....... white far-off plains,
 and heard..... a silence everywhere,
 and...... sound remote and clear,
 while a...... snow-fall hoods me round.
 And my Dad, as....... the meadows and far-sheeted streams,
 does now........lie still without a sound.
 And I, I.....plod dumbly on and dream. and dream.

                                   Greg Meier
       The Original Christie Mountain Blue Hills Beast
             Jack of Many Trades, Master of None