I can’t believe that I first started playing with the Four Bitchin’ Babes 25 years ago!? That simply can’t be! But yes, it’s true. This year marks the 25th anniversary of a group I’m proud to be a founding member of, and I’m so excited to be touring the country with them this fall to celebrate every minute of those years.
 
It started as so many things do, as a great idea and an invitation from my friend, folk goddess Christine Lavin, to join her on tour to lend fun and support as she recovered from carpal tunnel in her wrist. Patty Larkin, Sally Fingerett and myself had our first gig with Chris at a funky little art gallery here in Chicago. It was so much fun that we agreed to stay on and go to California.
 
Now, musicians have a rule. If you’re not making a lot of money on a date, the hang has to be worth it, because sometimes a hang with great players and FUNNY people is priceless. The hang in the early days, before the group was even formed, was spectacular. We lost our blouses.
 
We were playing the infamous Birchmere in Alexandria, Va., when soundman Billy Wolfe popped in a DAT tape (high tech in those days) and recorded our set. It became our first of many CDs, but one of the best sellers. And The Four Bitchin’ Babes — a name recommended by the 15-year-old son of our agent — was born.
 
We hadn’t set out to be a band — we were just four solo performers who got together and played some gigs together and recorded — so, like in love, you ride the wave as long as you’re able. So after a time, Christine and Patty returned to their solo careers, and Grammy-winning songwriter Julie Gold, who can make you laugh ’til you beg for mercy, stepped in.
 
Julie is the most inspiring human being I know, and a New Yorker to the bone. When she could not bear being away from her beloved New York, or her cat, any longer, the amazingly gifted Debi Smith of The Smith Sisters stepped seamlessly into her spot. When Chris stepped out, the funny and talented Camille West hopped in with heels on! When it was time for me to switch things up, Suzy Roche sat on the third stool from the left.  Then Nashville girl Nancy Moran jumped in strummin’. Cheryl Wheeler was also a Babe a couple of times.
 
And a few times, folk goddess Mary Travers sat in, most memorably at The Bottom Line in New York City. I first met Mary when I was 19 years old and opening for John Denver at Carnegie Hall. I remember her sweeping in to the very tiny dressing room at the top of the stairs of the infamous concert hall, complimenting me on a great set, and directing me to not change my clothes but to go immediately next door to The Russian Tea Room and celebrate! I was star struck and speechless. I saw her a few times after that, and I loved her passion for life and for the music.

Here is a picture of me with her and Sally.

I was single as a Babe, got married as a Babe, had a baby as a Babe, and got divorced as a Babe — all these huge life changes in the last 25 years. And each one of them was made a little easier because I had the great good fortune of having friends, sisters and women who, in the end, are a great hang!

​Hey, Mother Teresa is now officially a saint. I’m happy for her, though I’m pretty sure that’s not what she was going for, but I don’t know. She was pretty interesting.  She has taken a LOT of heat/criticism for how she did things in Calcutta. What do they say? No good deed will go unpunished? Mostly people criticized her for having “an agenda” when it came to speaking out against abortion and birth control. But hey, news flash — she was a CATHOLIC NUN! And she was working in CALCUTTA, INDIA. I’m not sure I can criticize her or any of the good sisters for speaking out about their beliefs. It sort of goes with the gig I think.
 
What will always astonish me though is that she chose that life. And stayed with it! That she took the smallest, hottest room in the convent/home for the poor, above the kitchen.

Now, on the other hand, she took private jets, and I’m sure was given beautiful accommodations whenever she spoke or received one of her many awards. It makes me wonder if she requested a broom closet at the Ritz. Because a part of me thinks it would be crazy to not take in the abundance God Herself was making available to you.

Apparently Pope John Paul II worked hard to get her to the head of the line of saint candidates, and the current Pope, Francis, made it official on Sept. 4. I was astonished to learn that he waived several requirements, but the two-miracle rule still applied. The Vatican needed to prove that Mother Teresa performed two miracles to make it official official. Jeez, it reminds me of when I went to the DMV to change my name on my driver’s license after my divorce. I didn’t have the right forms, papers, and documents and had to keep going back. At a certain point you really start to think; “Oh ferthelovagod, never mind!”
 
Yeah, it was just like that — I should be a saint.
 
So, here’s what I think… anyone who devotes their life to helping the poor and is sleeping in a hot closet night after night — for whatever reason — is automatically a saint. And anyone who complains about having to go back to the DMV three times because they don’t have the right paper work is a whiner.
 
And that everyone — absolutely everyone — is a walking, talking miracle.
 
Here are the lyrics to a new song that I wrote about Mother Teresa. Enjoy!
 
A miracle, a miracle, a miracle or two
A miracle, a miracle, a miracle from you
 
Then we will know
You were the one
And not a simple human nun
 
A miracle, a miracle, a miracle sitting there
A miracle, a miracle, a miracle in your chair
 
That’s what you are,
Born of the stars
I look at you
And see that spark…of
A miracle, a miracle, a miracle that’s you
A miracle, a miracle, a miracle, it’s true

​Most days I love writing. I love the process and the “click” that sometimes comes when I start writing, as if the wheels have been greased.
 
And I’ve heard from every writer: “Writing is hard work.” But, it’s not the writing part that’s hard for me. Noooo, it’s the sitting my ass down in the chair without having to warm my coffee, get a better pen, check emails one more time, meditate or do the dishes first — that’s the hard part!
 
Scott Pressman tells us in The War of Art that resistance will bury me, so I know that when it comes to writing, the most important thing is to move past my resistance and just do it.
 
Lately, in addition to writing my blog, I am also working on writing a memoir piece about my days as an 18 and 19-year-old girl touring with John Denver in the early ’70s. I’m calling the piece “Rocky Mountain All Time Low.” Hey, it wasn’t all horrible, but it was the pivotal point in my life and career that left me pretty well traumatized and putting the pieces together at 60.
 
I’ve even decided to sign up for a month-long writing class and hire an individual writing coach to help me turn the piece into something I can be proud of, and taking both of these steps has really made a difference in not only the piece itself but also in letting go of my resistance to writing.
 
When I was younger, I had a hard time asking for help or going to teachers for advice. Not only did my mother discourage me from going to school (she said I didn’t need an education if I was going to be a singer), she also said I didn’t even need a voice teacher. She would say: “You have a natural gift, and you don’t want anyone to ruin that.”
 
Hmm. Well, while it’s true I was born with a gift, I’ve realized over the years that it’s only when I have had teachers, coaches and help from those who knew the terrain I wanted to travel that I really started getting somewhere.
 
So, here’s to all of us students who know they don’t know and to those of us who are willing to show up to learn every day, work every day and practice — ugh — every day. (It’s a goal…) And to all of the teachers who are helping us to grow.

​I love making records. It’s something I’ve gotten a thrill out of my whole career, and the excitement never seems to go away when I get into the studio and start to sing.
 
This past weekend I recorded with some other Positive Music artists, and it was so much fun to get back to doing what I love. I recorded a song called “I Will Surrender,” by David Roth, Karen Drucker and Faith Rivera, as well as an original song called “I’m Not Alone.”
 
Then later this month, I’ll be traveling to Nashville to start recording some songs for a new record (I will always call ’em records) that I’m working on that’s tentatively titled Burnin’ Karma.

I’m planning on recording a few songs written by other songwriters — including “Train Leaving Dallas” by Thom Bishop and Billy Panda and “Empty Hands,” a beautiful song by Daniel Nahmod — as well as some of my own. I can’t wait to get back into the studio and see what magic happens!

To date, I have recorded 19 albums — seven of which are compilation CDs, including five with The Four Bichin’ Babes (we are celebrating out 25th year this year!) and some Christine Lavin projects, including On A Winters Night, Just One Angel and holiday classics.
 
I recorded my first record when I was just 14 years old, after a family friend submitted a reel-to-reel tape of my original folk songs to the “WLS Big Break Radio Contest” and I WON FIRST PRIZE! One of the prizes was a recording contract with Mercury Records. I cut two singles, as many as Mercury said they’d make, and — well — they released me instead of the record. But it was still amazing to be able to record my first record at Universal Studios in Chicago with Mini Ripperton as one of the background singers! I was in heaven.
 
A man named Bobby Monaco produced the two songs for Mercury, and we stayed in touch after my deal was over with Mercury. I would get home from high school, change clothes and either take the train to the city from Crystal Lake, or drive downtown to his office and play him my latest songs. There were always cool rock musicians at the office working on songs too. More heaven.
 
One day Bobby called to tell me he and his partners were moving their production company to LA to start a label, and maybe I could come out too and he would try to get me a record deal! So, I finished my junior year of high school, packed my bell bottoms and headed west. Hippy heaven.
 
I got a record deal in about six months with Wooden Nickel Records/RCA; a manager, Jerry Weintraub; and a tour with John Denver after I recorded my first LP, In The Megan Manner. To this day, it is my favorite recording of mine. Songs I had written to heal from grief and loss and now loneliness for the same small town I couldn’t wait to leave a year earlier.
 
I was in way over my head. I fell in love with a guitar player who, it turns out, had “a thing for young girls.” I was definitely a girl from Crystal Lake, IL. Naïve and groomed by a pro, I recorded three more LPs, and then before I knew it, I became privy to an affair that a certain someone who had a hit song for his wife on the charts was having. I checked it out with Guitar Man, and next thing I knew, it all went away — the tour, the record deal and the love of my life, the married guitar player.
 
Opening acts are dispensable.
 
I came home to Crystal Lake to help my mom out, and slept for a summer. I didn’t get back into the studio for four years. Shame will silence a person so completely that I feel blessed it was only four years.

And luckily, my love of making records hasn’t stopped since.
 
Thank you for the love, and support, and for being on this journey with me. So far, heaven.

​​Oh everybody’s got a Blue Star Highway
To take them somewhere else
No matter where you go — you only need to know
The road back to yourself
Yes, everybody’s got a Blue Star Highway
In their heart or in their mind
‘N’ what keeps us here is mainly fear
Of what we will or will not find
                        Megon McDonough ~ Blue Star Highway
 
Wow, I am probably not the only one thinking: “Where does the time go?” I wrote this song in 1992, after I’d had my son, Denvir, and I will play it at The Woodstock Opera House on July 16 in my show A Girl And Her Guitar.
 
I grew up in Crystal Lake, a couple miles from The Opera House on West Hillside Road, with — literally — a white picket fence in front of our house and a beautiful oak tree, which is the main reason my father bought the place in the ’50s. It was heaven. I would drive those back roads way too fast. In fact, I learned how to drive on those roads when I was about 13 in Danny Powell’s little VW Bug — on a shift stick, no less! To this day, one of my favorite questions to ask people is “Who taught you how to drive?”
 
Danny not only taught me how to drive, but he constantly encouraged me to sing, too, and play my guitar. He’d always be saying, “Bring your guitar to my parents party!”
 
I’m really looking forward to this show for many reasons. I’ll get to see some family and friends. We will all, most likely, be a little surprised and accepting of the changes we see in each other.
 
Danny won’t be there though.
 
See, Danny was the first gay person I ever knew. He and his family moved into the neighborhood when I was about 10, and he loved my sister, Kevin, because she was the most irreverent, passionate, creative, talented person I ever knew. She was an actress and painter, and had been in several plays at Crystal Lake Community High School. She was planning to go to The Royal Academy after graduation to study acting and art, but was killed in a car accident her senior year on her way to the local theater to meet her boyfriend, who was in rehearsal for a play. We were shocked, and broken in places that healed over time, but the bones never really got set right.
We were heartbroken. Especially Danny. He lost one person who loved him and supported him and “got” him unconditionally.
 
He moved to the city after school, and changed his name to Chris. He was closing up a bar where he worked late one night and was the victim of a stabbing. I had been living in Los Angeles at the time, and didn’t hear until weeks after it happened.
 
So, I will sing Blue Star Highway for Danny. And for all the beautiful souls I knew and loved when I was just a girl and her guitar.

I have enough
I do enough
I am enough

This weekend I attended the most gorgeous wedding of the daughter of one of my best and dearest friends. It was held in Charlottesville, VA, in a handsome old church with the reception at Thomas Jefferson’s home, Monalto. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

I’ve been to lots of weddings before, but this one was rare for me because I didn’t bring my guitar. I rarely go anywhere with out my guitar. This time, it was deliberate. I wanted to be a guest.

I wanted to simply “be” and not perform, and performing is what I do best. At least that’s what the little voice in my head says. It also says performing is the only thing I do best.  This voice is not my friend. It’s the same voice that says I’m not doing enough, I don’t have enough and that I am not enough without performing/doing/being on. And that, unless I am DOING, I’m not going to have enough, or be enough, so hey, do you see where I’m going with this? It’s unending torture. And I know I will never do enough to silence the voice. Oy.

I had a wonderful time. I did sing an a cappella song at the rehearsal dinner that I have sung at the weddings of my sisters and friends. I am the family Bard after all!

But I wanted to see what it would be like to not enter the weekend as the performer, but as the guest. Here’s what I learned about myself: It was a little easier than I’d anticipated. I was in my body more, and more present.

I listened more. I was still nervous when people asked me if I was going to sing and had to tell them no. I had a great conversation unrelated to what I “do” with the women sitting next to me at dinner. I still talked a little too much about myself with my friends’ cute brother. And, I gladly sang in the bus/shuttle after the reception at the request of a few people I’d not seen in a very long time and had heard me at other weddings. It was so fun to sing Patsy Cline songs on a bus with a couple iPhone flashlights on me and then singing I Want To Hold Your Hand with the other passengers.

And, here’s what I know: I am at a crossroads. I love to sing, and most likely always will. I love entertaining people — I love to make them laugh, feel and think, and many times even cry.  Singing still feels like what I’m here to do, but I am realizing that it is ok to be me, too, without the label of “singer.” Trying another label on feels a little scary and exciting at the same time, but not only am I curious as hell — I’m trying to stay willing and welcoming.

So, just for today, I have MORE than enough, I am doing enough, and truly I am enough. And you are too.

Friends had an extra ticket to a Cubs game yesterday, and invited me along! I've been a lifelong Cubs fan but I haven't been to a game in a long time, and I have to say, it was wonderful. Being at a Cubs game while they are on fire, and being with friends talking, cheering, and dancing in my seat, and letting go of THINKING for a while was just what I needed.

I didn’t take any selfie’s though. I did get one shot as we were leaving the park.

Here’s some of what I learned at the game:

Watching the players work really hard, both mentally and physically is so inspiring. And although it’s a game, you have to play it with strategy and skill. You have to be prepared. You have to rely on others and you have to listen to your coach. You have to be completely in the moment or you’ll miss something.

Yes, all the baseball game metaphors I’ve heard my whole life are TRUE.

Go outside. Play well with others and as a team. When you strike out – let it go and get back in the game. And, even though sometimes I need a good cry – there is no crying – in baseball.

​Batter up. Go Cubs go!

“End of the road, nothin’ t’do, and no hope of things gettin’ better.” — Eeyore
 
My inner Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh, seems to be louder these days than Tigger, who shows up if I’ve had too much coffee, or Pooh, who I like being because he’s content with a simple life. But it’s Eeyore today, and while I don’t want him hanging around too long, I do want to acknowledge him because he is part of the family.

Recently, however, I think I’ve found a way to get my inner Eeyore to be a little quieter: Take action. I’ve been following the adage, “Move a muscle, change a thought,” and when I do I start to make changes.
 
However, I say I’d like to change, but then change shows up, I often say “Hey, not THAT change!”

Spring always seems to ask a lot of me. It’s as if I am breaking through the cold hard soil against my will. It’s been really gloomy here in Chicago. (Eeyore again). Taxes? Ugh. But still, something seems to be pulling me forward. It’s a little like the feeling of wanting to buy new pens, pencils and notebooks in September. Spring makes me feel mixed feelings of excitement (which can often feel like fear), hope, and anticipation of better things to come. And learning — I love learning.
 
Both Spring and Fall ask a few things of me though: to be open to change and GROWTH. Most times I don’t want to grow. I love my winter cave. I made it really nice! Besides, it’s still cold and kinda’ dark out there. But, can I learn without growing and vice versa?
 
So, I made my last stew a few days ago, I’m locating some bank statements, and I’m getting to work rehearsing for the four shows I have this month. I’m moving forward while still staying grateful for the cave, and for having a cave to come out of, and for the fact that I saw two robins the other day. They’re out of the nest and catching worms through the snow! I can do this — c’mon Spring!

Happy St Patrick’s Day! The parade has been paraded, the river has been dyed green here in Chicago, and I have a confession — I’ve never been in or watched the St. Patrick’s Day parade.

Many times I’ve been down at WGN on the day of the parade with my friend Susan O’Halloran talking about our show, “Pot of Gold,” that we have done for the past five years and will be performing at SPACE in Evanston again this Sunday, but I’ve never actually watched the parade.

The parade I have seen is the steady stream of people before and after the parade.
Mostly loud clans, looking for the next bar, and that’s when it hits me, I feel sad and angry that alcohol is one of the main things people think of when the Irish come to mind. I loved the movie Brooklyn for many reasons, but I especially appreciated a more refined, genteel view of Ireland. I’m guessing it’s a lot like how the Italian Americans feel about being associated with organized crime. Not all Italians are in the mafia.
 
And I got to thinking about how the Irish love affair with drinking started — centuries ago — and wonder if it will ever end. I don’t think so. Not as long as the Irish continue to constantly look back and resent or hate others, namely the British. Being half Irish (another confession), my experience of my people is that a lot of us seem to be the great stuffed potatoes of the world, rarely expressing ourselves for fear of being vulnerable and – heaven help us - defenseless. It’s as if the Irish have two settings, angry/fighting and angry/depressed. Drinking goes with both dishes.
 
Now, I can’t begin to explain why the Irish are the way they are, it is a deep and complex culture – (I like that). Growing up I heard terrible things about the British, and I just took on the resentment like it was in the Baltimore Catechism.  But I do know this; if I hold onto an ancient resentment that I didn’t even experience first hand, but one passed down to me, I will say, think and do things that will keep me chained to the past. And I cannot walk backward to a bright future — I’ll fall every time.
 
I remember the first and only time I flew to London, I was sitting next to a very proper-looking English woman. We started exchanging small talk, and when I asked her about “the conflict” between the English and the Irish, she said, “Well, the thing about the Irish is that they have such dreadfully long memories.”
 
I have such great affection for my Jewish friends and how they seem to honor their devastating history and commit to never forgetting, but they have used the past as fuel instead letting their pain rob them of a beautiful life now. They do not seem chained to the past in a futile effort to change it. Not even God can change the past.
 
So this St. Patrick’s Day, I am committed to acknowledging the pain and sadness that the Irish have endured while also celebrating all that is good and wonderful about being part of this beautiful culture — the music, the mysticism and especially the humor!  
 
I hope you will all join me, Mary Megan Margaret McDonough and world class story teller Susan Eileen Marie O’Halloran Sunday as we do what the Irish do best — tell great stories and SING!!
 
Oh… and have a RAFFLE!!

Did you watch the Grammy’s? I did. They were terrific.

Bruno Mars fills my longing for James Brown. Halleluiah! Adele is not only a great singer, but oh so beautifully real. And I am sure there’s a sound person in Hollywood out of a job and on his way to doing sound for The Ice Capades in North Dakota for the dreadful sound we were hearing during her song.

Turns out it was a mic in the piano that had fallen onto the strings. Both Adele and her pianist were PROS! She said afterward she was going to treat herself to an In and Out burger. Yeah, baby!

Gaga is a force of nature and never fails to entertain and demonstrate what true cutting edge creativity looks like. My experience of her is that she is truly fearless, and, my guess is that what fear she does feel, she pushes right through.

Then Bonnie Raitt saunters on, guitar hung low, and plays “The Thrill Is Gone,” and I’m doing a Wayne’s World bow to her in front of my TV. Goddess.

As if I’m not slayed enough – Alabama Shakes finishes me off.

These are just a few of my favorite moments that reminded me of the courage and discipline it takes to follow a vision for your life. It takes courage to shine as brightly as Maurice White, to be as alive and raw as Kendrick Lamar, as innovative as Gaga, and as long lasting as Bonnie Raitt.

You might ask yourself the same thing I do: How do they keep going? How do they block out the negative thoughts and naysayers?

Well, how do you do that?

For me, I learned long ago it all starts in my mind. And my mind is not my friend most of the time. I have learned that focusing on what is right in front of me and letting go of the past is one of the best ways to make progress.

Connecting with a Power greater than myself is also a really good idea. (Although that is constantly morphing). I have to trust that if I’m not moving in the right direction, this Power will guide me. I also connect to my Higher Power through getting help and support from others – which I need to ask for!
And I connect to my Higher Power by taking action. I love the saying, “Move a muscle, change a thought,” and I know when I do something differently, my Higher Power brings me different results.

So, hey, while the feud between Kanye and Taylor has been playground fun, I think it’s time for them to move on and to send Kanye some good thoughts. He is clearly in some trouble, and I ask myself, “What would it be like to send him some healing energy instead of criticism?” Taylor Swift too. She has been really graceful through this, and might have a hard time putting her sword back in the sheath, but I hope she can take Bette Davis’s mother Ruby’s quote to heart: “It’s the best fruit the birds pick at.”

Even though I wasn’t on stage at the Grammy’s, as I write this from my hotel in Newark, OH, where I have a gig with The Four Bitchin' Babes in a beautiful theater tonight, I feel grateful and proud to be a member of this musical tribe. As a voice teacher, I love encouraging others to follow their vision by passing along the wisdom of those who have gone before me. This is what they taught me:

1. Believe in yourself and whatever you conceive to be a Higher Power.
2. Keep your eyes on your own work. (Thank you Sister Mary Martha – 5th grade)
3. S.I.T. Stay in today
4. If you never want to have stage fright again, never criticize another performer
5. We are all sparks of The Divine. We just forget.