Tag: Life

Stories with a Soundtrack

If you had told me five years ago that I’d be spending this much time writing songs, I’d probably have laughed.Actually, I definitely would have laughed. At you. Openly. I would have lost a lot of money if you had laid bets too. Dont get me wrong, writing has always been part of who I am. Stories, magazine articles, newspaper columns, product reviews, radio dramas, blog posts… if there was a way to tell a story using words, chances are I had tried it or I wanted to. Songwriting was the one box that remained unchecked until a friend challenged me to write just one song. (If you haven’t heard that story, see previous blogs). That “one song” turned into Country Cause of You. Then another. Then another. Somewhere along the way I stopped thinking of songwriting as something I was experimenting with and started realizing it had quietly become part of who I am. What surprised me most wasn’t that I enjoyed writing songs. It was discovering just how incredibly powerful music is. A story can make you laugh. A story can make you cry. A story can make you stop scrolling for five minutes and think about your own life. But when you wrap those same words in music, something changes. Music has this amazing ability to slip past all the walls we build. A melody can make a lyric hit harder. A single note can carry emotion that would take three paragraphs to explain. Sometimes a chorus says more in thirty seconds than I could ever write in a thousand words. That’s what keeps drawing me back. I don’t write songs because I expect everyone to love them. I write because I hope someone out there feels something. Maybe they laugh. Maybe they cry. Maybe they stop for a moment and think about someone they love, something they’ve lost, or a choice they need to make. If a song can do that for even one person, it was worth writing. Lately, that creative journey has grown into two very different musical projects that Carla and I have been building together. Backcountry Bandits gives us the freedom to tell stories about the people and places that shape us. Sometimes those stories are funny. Sometimes they’re about life in the outdoors or the kind of adventures that become legends around the campfire. But other times they’re deeply personal. Our first release, The People Others Have, is a tribute to the quiet heroes who show up, help others, and never ask for recognition. It’s a reminder that the people who make the biggest difference are often the ones nobody notices. Whether we’re making people laugh or wiping away a tear, the goal is always the same: tell honest stories that connect with people. Feral Warrior lets us explore a different side of storytelling. It’s darker, heavier, and often more introspective, drawing inspiration from mythology, resilience, grief, strength, and the battles people fight – both around them and within themselves. Songs like Better Men Than You ask listeners to look beyond ego and remember that history has always been filled with people who came before us, overcame more than we can imagine, and left the world better than they found it.Oddly enough, both projects come from exactly the same place – storytelling. One looks at the world through the lens of everyday life. The other looks through the lens of legend. But both are really about people. Working on these projects together has become one of my favourite parts of writing life. Carla has an incredible ear for what a song needs, and we’ve spent countless hours throwing ideas back and forth, rewriting lyrics, debating melodies, laughing at terrible first drafts, and occasionally wondering if we’re both completely insane. It’s been one heck of a ride – and we’re just getting started. If you’d like to hear what we’ve been creating, I’d love for you to start by listening to these two songs:

The People Others Have by Backcountry Bandits is a tribute to the everyday heroes who quietly make the world a better place without ever expecting recognition.

Better Men Than You by Feral Warrior is a reminder that no matter how accomplished we think we are, there’s wisdom in humility and in recognizing the perils of a woman scorned.

Follow and subscribe to our channels on your favourite streaming service link below to keep up with all of the new releases coming this summer ❤️

Backcountry Bandits listen here ▶️

Feral Warrior listen here ▶️

Whether you’ve been reading my writing for years or you’ve just stumbled across this little corner of the internet, thank you. The words may have found a new melody…but they’re still trying to do exactly what they’ve always done: Make people feel something. And hey, if you find yourself tapping your toe and singing along, that’s even better.

Were all Just Passin’ Through

There’s a strange, quiet reckoning that comes with getting older – one that doesn’t arrive all at once, but creeps in gradually. It is hidden in the comfort of familiar faces that once felt immortal.
If you, like me, were born anywhere around 1970, then the 80s weren’t just a decade – they were a proving ground. A time when music felt louder, movies felt bigger, and the people on our screens and in our stereos felt untouchable. They weren’t just entertainers, they were larger than life. Indestructible. Permanent.
And now, as time goes by, one by one they’re going, going, gone.
When a musician or actor from our youth passes away, the grief hits differently than it used to. It’s not just about them anymore. Not really. Of course, we feel it – we remember the scenes, the lines, the moments burned into our memory. Heck, a full half of my vocabulary is made up of 80s movie quotes and song lyrics. Underneath that however is something deeper, something harder to quantify. It’s the realization that time didn’t stop where we hoped it did. Back then, those people represented a kind of invincibility. They were fixed in place, a moment in time. Frozen at their peak. Forever in their leather or neon jackets, their iconic roles, their very prime. And if they were permanent, then in some way, so are we.
Unfortunately time doesn’t work like that.
Now, when we hear that another one has passed, it’s not just a loss – it’s a marker. A reminder. A quiet voice that says, that era is ending… and so is the illusion that we’re somehow immune to the progression of time.
So when we lose a childhood staple of our youth, we’re not just mourning that person; We’re mourning the version of ourselves that existed when they mattered the most to us. That kid blasting cassette tapes in their room. The teenager watching the same movie for the tenth time. The feeling that life was wide open and free, stretching endlessly ahead of us. The feeling that we still had forever to go.
What’s different about our generation (and generations to follow I’m sure) though, is this:
We have never in history had the kind of access to the past that’s available to us now.
At any moment, we can pull up a song, a movie, an interview, even a photo. We can see our heroes and idols exactly as they were – unchanged, unaged, still in their prime. It creates this strange dual reality where the past is both gone and completely alive at the same time.
They’re still there. But they’re not.
And neither are we.
That’s the part that lingers in the back of my mind.
Because while we can revisit those moments endlessly, we can’t fully step back into them. We can’t be the person we were when they first meant something to us. Time only moves one way, no matter how many times we hit replay.
And maybe that’s not entirely a bad thing.
Maybe the point isn’t to hold onto that illusion of immortality. Maybe it’s to recognize just how powerful those moments were – and still are. The fact that a song from 40 years ago can still hit you in the chest means something. It means it mattered. It still matters.
And so do we.
Because if the people who felt invincible aren’t physically invincible, of course, they can be “immortal”. Time doesn’t just take – it leaves things behind. Memories. Soundtracks. Stories. Pieces of who we were that we still carry. We’re not just watching the past disappear.
We carry it forward.
And maybe that’s how we make peace with it – Not by pretending we’re still young, but by realizing that those years didn’t vanish. They became part of us. Woven into who we are now.
  So when the next headline comes, as it inevitably will, and another name from our youth fades into history, take a moment. Feel it. Remember.
And don’t just mourn the passing of a person or a period in time, recognize that you were there for it. Celebrate that those moments were in some way, large or small, a part of becoming who you are.
Time marches on, for all of us.
Now get to the choppa

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My Dog Bit Santa on the A$$ – a new chapter

So Apparently… I Write Songs Now

Fun little story time. The original story can be found here – https://theinvolvedhusband.com/2023/11/28/the-challenge/ – but I’ll summarize with an update. Back in 2021, my friend Scott McWalter posted one of those harmless-looking, bucket list / life goals questions on social media. You know the kind — the ones that sneak up on you and make you take inventory of your creative life. I replied honestly. I had written:

magazine articles

short stories

stories that became radio dramas

stories being looked at for short films

how-to articles

product reviews

news articles…and on and on.

But there was one thing missing.I had never written a song.

Scott, being Scott, didn’t let that sit. He gave me an arbitrary but very real deadline — January 1st, 2022 — and challenged me to write one. At the time, it felt like a fun creative dare. Something to try, maybe fail at, and then move on. That little challenge turned into a song called “Country Cause of You.” That song was recorded by Rick Stavely and the incredible Tabor Creek band. Even wilder? It cracked the Top Ten on the Canadian Indie Country Countdown. Yeah. That happened. I still have moments where I shake my head at how a casual comment turned into something very real, very public, and very meaningful. It reminded me that sometimes we don’t avoid things because we can’t do them — we avoid them because we’ve simply never tried. Which brings me to why I’m writing this post. A New Chapter for The Involved Husband. Going forward, I’ll be sharing songs here — songs I’ve written, songs I’ve produced, and projects I’m involved in from the songwriting side of my creative life. This doesn’t replace the heart of The Involved Husband. If anything, it expands it. Being involved isn’t just about marriage, parenting, or showing up at home — it’s about saying yes to growth, creativity, and the unexpected paths that open up when someone challenges you to try something new. Sometimes that looks like learning how to better support your family. Sometimes it looks like writing a country song you never planned on writing — and watching it take on a life of its own. I have started a YouTube channel to collect some of these productions. “My Dog Bit Santa on the A$$ is the first one I’ve uploaded. I hope you enjoy, thanks for being here. More music coming soon.

Personal trainer or Pirate? – planks and pain

walkingplank

  1. Anyone who has been married or in a relationship for a long time will know what support is.  When your spouse is trying something new it’s your duty to get behind them and help in any way possible.  You may not agree with their  decision or even believe it will work but if their mind is made up you need to support and back them 100%.  For me these little plans usually come and go, like that time she decided we were going to use scent free laundry soap, or start a cardboard recycling program to help save the world – you betcha girl, I’m with you to the end.  So imagine my trepidation when she included me in “our” new years resolution to improve physical fitness.
    It actually sounded simple enough at first.  We were already eating pretty well so all I had to do was join her doing something called “planking”.  Nothing to it, I’m with you sweetheart, sunshine, oh light of my life!  I don’t know what a plank is but I see boards just lay there, I can do that!
    For those that don’t know, a plank is basically a pushup without moving.  After she explained it to me I figured this had to be the silliest, easiest exercise known to mankind.  “You mean, I get in a push up position and then don’t actually do any pushups?”  I was incredulous.  The world record for holding a plank is 8 hours; she suggested we start with 30 seconds.  I scoffed.  I shouldn’t have.
    I confidently got down on the floor while she got the timer set, dreams of my new rock hard abs dancing through my head.  She said “ok, GO!” And I lifted myself up, making sure my back was square, and I waited , wondering why the world record was only 5 hours for this.  After some time passed I noticed that my stomach muscles were complaining a bit and wait – did my arm just shake slightly?  Hmmm, pay attention… yep there it is again, more pronounced – my arms definitely have started to shake.   “How much time?” I asked, starting to doubt my original estimate of an hour duration for my first ever plank.  “20 seconds to go” she said.  WHAT?  That can’t be right, I have to get that timer checked.  I can’t possibly have only been doing this for ten seconds?  My stomach muscles are really starting to let me know that something is wrong.  They have gotten used to being relaxed in a sitting position, covered by the cushy layer of warmth I have developed over the years.  My stomach muscles are spoiled to be honest.  I didn’t treat my children as well as I treat them.
    As my wife called out “10 seconds!” I realized that if I was to continue my analogy comparing my stomach muscles to my children then I am now entering the realm of child abuse.  The discomfort turned to pain and I noticed that my arms were not the only thing shaking now.  Shoulders and legs also shook like the paint mixer at a hardware store while my stomach started a full revolt, threatening to just collapse and leave me in a heap on the floor.  “Keep your back straight, you’re slouching, five more seconds!” she barked.  She was no longer the sunshine of my life. At this point I was convinced that she was pure evil, the root of everything that is pain in this world.  I’m also pretty sure she was laughing at me.
    As my wife and personal trainer counted down from five I glanced down, half expecting to see a pool of feces on the floor.  Or at least a pool of blood.  I actually would not have been surprised if I had found myself face to face with a small alien head as it ripped himself out of my stomach like the movie “Alien”.  “FOUR!” She called out as I envisioned the alien climbing free of my innards.    “As seen on TV!” Crossed through my mind and I started to giggle. “THREE!”  the countdown continued and the giggles increased, apparently the pain has made me delusional.  “Hi little guy!” I imagined I’d say to my new friend as he peered out of my intestines.  I’m laughing harder now.  This chuckling did not match up well with the shaking the rest of my body was already doing and it occurred to me that this whole fitness thing was a terrible idea.  I have now decided that I would rather actually walk a plank at knife point than do these planks any longer.
    “TWO!”  I’ve really got to check that timer, either that or she is just messing with me now.   There is no way time is passing this slowly. Kind of a mean thing to do for someone that supposedly loves me.   I also realized at this time that I wasn’t breathing.  In fact I don’t even remember the last time I had taken a breath.  Have I been holding it this entire time?  Shouldn’t I be dead?
    “ONE!” She continued the painfully slow countdown and I started to do the math on when I could quit and not be considered cheating.  Acceleration is 9.8 meters per second squared so if I dropped now I should be down about the time she says stop.  How long are my arms, how far to the floor?  Should I allow for air resistance?  So many questions but I decided I was close enough to let myself go, anticipating the sweet relief of giving in to gravity.
    As she shouted out “DONE!!” I was already about halfway to the floor and I realized two things: 1 – my math was dead on, and
    2 – my arms no longer worked as expected, meaning my face was about to be the first thing to meet the relief of the floor.
    As I laid in a sobbing, laughing, sweating, heaving pool on the floor I did an assessment to see if I had a bleeding nose.  Apparently the human nose is not designed to stop the body from a free fall, which is pretty poor engineering I would say.   I did not dare look down further to see if there were any other fluids leaking onto the carpet.  This was her idea, she can have cleanup duties – I’ll let her figure out which towels to use for this mess too.
    Hour later, after the stomach pains subsided and I regained the use of my arms, I stood in front of the mirror (which showed absolutely zero improvement I might add) and quietly considered moving to Tibet.  However I am not a quitter! (or I am not allowed to quit, thats kinda the same thing isn’t it?)  With the same resolve that allows a woman to have another child after enduring the pain of child birth I too decided I can press on.  I mean, I am only 7 hours, 59 minutes and 30 seconds off of the record, right?
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