Excerpts from Chapter One
Moving Mountains
by Lucy D'Mot
THE DREAM THAT CHANGED MY LIFE
~ The Stage is Set ~
The night of July 6, 2003, my friend Jeannie and I settled into our twin beds in the guest room of our friend
Linda’s condominium in Pacific Grove, California. We had left our mountain homes in the El Dorado
National Forest for a short summer beach holiday. Ocean waves were crashing in the distance. Deer
were roaming the golf course outside the living room window.
For me it was a welcome break. At nearly forty-nine years of age I had announced that I was on the
verge of permanently retiring from my twenty-five year music career. I was choosing instead to work as a
data entry clerk, filling in the remaining hours of the day with social distractions. My physical and
emotional health was poor. Life in general felt pointless and dreary as I lead my zombie-like existence. My
musical partner, best friend and soul mate, Don, had died three years earlier. My passion for music, and
almost everything else, was gone.
~ The Dream ~
This was my dream, July 7, 2003, 5:30 AM.
In the dream, it is six months after the death of my partner Don (rather than the three years it really
was). My friend Jeannie, in an effort to be a good and caring friend, suggests we take some sort of fun
class together at the college to distract me from my woes. So we sign up for a fun, easy class together —
chemistry!
It’s the first day of school and Jeannie and I arrive at the classroom. We take a seat in the back (it is
genuinely typical of me to sit in the back). We sit and chat idly while awaiting the arrival of the professor.
When the professor walks in my heart almost stops. It’s Donovan, my favorite singer/ songwriter from the
1960s! The Hurdy Gurdy Man himself! I am instantly a nervous wreck................
..............Class begins and Donovan hands out the lab equipment. One by one he approaches each
student at their desk, cordially addresses them by name from the roster so as to familiarize himself with
each individual, and gives them their lab equipment—a clarinet! Of course. What else would you get in a
chemistry class? .....................
............ he stands before me in front of my desk. There is a brief pause, and then he says, without
looking at the roster, “Hello Lucy.” Words I have since heard in that exact tone. Another brief pause as he
draws a shallow breath. He looks directly at me and in a lowered voice says with genuine sincerity and
concern, “How are you doing?” .................
.............. with a forced smile I give a one word response. “Great.” But it comes out sounding sarcastic.
Damn. Donovan continues on to the rest of the classroom. Jeannie turns to me and reprimands me for
being so sarcastic. I didn’t mean to be...............
.............Donovan gives the class a reading assignment and the remainder of the class time is spent
quietly reading our textbooks. I open the book and stare at the page, absorbing absolutely nothing. The
letters will not form words, the words will not form sentences. I can’t focus at all. I’m in shock. When had
Donovan become a chemistry professor? Why hadn’t I seen his name on the class schedule when we
registered? .................. what were the odds of all of this, and what should I do now? One thing is certain.
It is only fair that I let Jeannie off the hook as my lab partner. Clearly I am going to have a rough time in
this class, and it is unfair to expect her to remain partners with someone, me, who is undoubtedly going to
fail the class.
Now I am in my car, driving.................... and I am once again thinking about the stunning events of the
day, with Donovan. What should I do? Should I drop out of the class? Should I stay with it in spite of the
incredible discomfort I feel? Suddenly I have resolve. I may not be focused enough to handle the textbook
portion of this chemistry class, but by God, I’m going to ace the clarinet portion of it! I’m fairly quick at
learning musical instruments. And I’ll take private lessons to boot! Don’s best friend Caroll Tuttle, is a
retired woodwind teacher. I’ll track him down and get individual tutoring.
No need to track him down though. As I’m thinking these thoughts, Caroll zips by me in his car. I honk
and catch up to him. With our windows both rolled down we exchange enough information whilst driving on
the freeway, for him to indicate that I am to follow him to his office, which I do.
We drive up to a small, decrepit pier on the ocean. There is a short row of ramshackle buildings,
perhaps three or four dark brown shanties. This is where Caroll has his office. We get out of our cars and
as I’m standing, waiting to follow him into his office, Caroll grabs me from behind, putting his arms around
my waist, picking me up and tossing me into the second building. A remarkable feat of strength! I land in
the second office. And who is standing there grinning? Why Donovan, of course.
Oh God! At least he’s smiling. Caroll says to me, “this is where you belong. It’s time to return to the
music.” Caroll leaves. Donovan continues to grin from ear to ear, beaming. He extends his hand to me.
And now here it comes. This is the moment. This is the very second that changed my life
forever. I reach out to his hand, and as mine touches his, dream time and reality merge. As I awake,
an energy surge of some sort enters into my hand, travels down my arm, and then convulses and contorts
my entire body in such a way I thought that I would lose consciousness. Yet it was a highly pleasurable
sensation as well. In a few seconds it was all over. I was awake and in a genuine state of shock.
All was silent. It was 5:30 AM, July 7, 2003. Hints of daylight were seeping through the bedroom
window. For about an hour I lay in bed, alternately watching the sunrise, and dozing. But each time I
drifted back into sleep, I was back at the ocean pier with Donovan, re-experiencing a less intense version
of whatever that energy charge was. And each time I re-awoke, I would find myself in a state of – of what?
Disbelief. Alarm. Shock. Bewilderment. What had happened??? .....................
............That evening Jeannie and I drove back home to Pollock Pines. I could hardly wait to be alone
with my thoughts. It was such an effort to make conversation in my current state of bafflement..............
Finally around 11:00 PM I was home. I switched on my computer and googled “Donovan.” Is he even still
alive? Omigosh! Not only was he alive, but according to his Web site, he was doing a mini-tour in the USA
this summer. Eight cities. His first USA tour in years. And in two days, he would begin his tour—in
Annapolis, Maryland. Annapolis!!!—my Don’s hometown!
In late August there would be a concert in Grants Pass, Oregon, just a few days before I would leave for
a dolphin workshop in Honduras. Grant’s Pass is only a five or six hour drive. I decided to get a ticket for
that one............ For the next week I sort of just stumbled around the house. Numerous times I would find
myself standing in a room, doing nothing, and realize I’d been standing there for five or ten minutes in a
daze. I could not shake the dream.
~ A Mellow Yellow Answer ~
The last words that were spoken in the dream were: “It’s time to return to the music.” During the month
prior to the dream, there were a number of separate occasions when friends would take me aside and ask
what my future musical plans were. My musical presence in the community had been conspicuous by its
absence lately. “Was I writing anything new?” they would ask. NO! “Did I plan on doing anything musical
soon?” NO! “Would I like to set in with the band tonight at the party?” NO! “Would I like to contribute an
original song to an Off Broadway Revue?” NO! You really should be playing music Lucy... you really
ought to write some more music Lucy... you really should... you should... you should... DON’T BUG ME!
“It’s time to return to the music.” Does that mean I’m supposed to do a Donovan Musical of some sort?
How ridiculous. I didn’t know anyone else who liked Donovan. I knew a couple of people who did not like
Donovan. Even way back in my teenage years, the late 1960s, Donovan was one of those artists who
people either adored or loathed, and those of us who liked him were often ridiculed for it. There didn’t
seem to be any gray area in Dono-world. So now I had difficulty with the concept that doing a Donovan
musical may have been the message of this overwhelming dream.
After a week of bumbling around in a daze and trying to make sense out of all this, I prayed. I asked the
universe for an unmistakable sign that this was my new path. Then and only then would I be willing to
pursue the idea of a Donovan musical. I prayed, and let it go and got on with my day. Well, at least as
much as I could in my new confounded state. “What day is this? Why are my dogs staring at me? Did I
forget to feed them?...”
It was one week after the dream, July 15, 2003, the anniversary of Don’s passing. Six months earlier, I
had sold the home we lived in and moved into the downstairs apartment of my friend Mary’s dome home,
on twenty beautiful acres that butt up against the El Dorado National Forest. I told Mary that in honor of
Don’s memory on his “new birthday” as I like to call it, I was going to plant a yellow rosebush. I love
gardening although roses are not my personal favorite. But the yellow rose was Don’s favorite. We had
several yellow rosebushes at the old house and dozens of yellow roses at his memorial service. I thought I
would like one here at my new home to remember him by.
I told Mary that I would know which rosebush to purchase by its name. It would either honor Don’s wry
sense of humor with a funny name like “Urine Sample,” or have something to do with music, like “Bebop.”
Don was a bebop drummer.
Off I went to the nursery. Being mid summer, there were literally hundreds of rosebushes to choose
from and at least fifty yellow ones. I began searching for the right rosebush but kept finding they all had
cute or pretty names. Sunny Sprite. Victorian Lace. So not Don. I spent about an hour looking at the
rosebushes over and over again, but not finding the one I wanted. Disappointed, I was headed back to
my car when I noticed an understated yellow rosebush I had not yet looked at.
Now remember, I’d just finished asking for a sign about the Donovan Musical. As I stooped down to look
at the name of this rose, my jaw dropped when I read the words “Mellow Yellow”—the name of one of
Donovan’s top forty hit songs. I flipped the tag over. Referencing the song lyrics the tag read, “If you’re
mad about saffron or electrical bananas, this mellow yellow rose is probably not for you.” Don’s new
rosebush was Mellow Yellow.
I bought the bush and put it in the back seat of my car. Then, on this hot, still, summer day, as I turned
the key to the ignition, the opening words of Donovan’s song Universe Am I rang out from my car stereo as
yellow rose petals floated to the front seat, landing in my lap. And I cried.
When I arrived home I put the rosebush next to a patio chair, sat down and stared at it for a couple of
hours. It was all too surreal, too unbelievable. But I had my answer.
From the heavenly realms Don was not so gently guiding me back to the music. While Donovan sang
his melodies in Don’s home town of Annapolis on the East Coast, here in California on the anniversary of
Don’s passing I bought a Mellow Yellow rosebush. Oh, and by the way, there actually turns out to be a
rose called Bebop, but it is red. It now lives in my garden next to Mellow Yellow and Marmalade Skies!
So! A Donovan Musical it is! There was no turning back now.
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