A year ago, I wrote a not-that-happy-happy-new-year song, and I think it still rings true, perhaps even more so as we survive and struggle and thrive and push forward into 2017.

Here’s to us, my melting snow banks and shining January 1st stars. I love you so.


To Us (Happy New Year)

Happy new year! I wrote this wee ditty yesterday with all the best wishes for a new year of mess and beauty. To us!

Posted by Christa Couture on Friday, January 1, 2016


Oh, our human ways that we tally up the days
We fold the corner of the page to keep our spot
And then we act amazed to see a number change
Like it’s us that’s rearranged when it’s not

I’m not one to tell you, hon, “it’ll be alright”
Of course it might be, but here’s the rub: not tonight

So happy new year to choices, to losses, and divorces
To all the best intent that missed the mark
Happy new year to brilliance, to stillness, and to sickness
To that which didn’t kill us that made us hard

No I’m not one to tell you, hon, “we’re in the clear”
Of course we might be, but here’s the rub:
Probably not this year

So happy new year to resentment, to enjoyment, disappointment
To all the best laid plans we won’t pull off
Happy new year to the weary, to fury, and recovery
To that which doesn’t kill us that makes us soft

Yes, to that which doesn’t kill us that makes us soft

I’m not one to tell you, hon, “don’t give up”
But if you don’t you’ll get the joke that is yet to come

Happy new year
Happy new year
To us.

There are tour things I could tell you, and probably will, from the magical shows, to odd exchanges, to the new songs that found me on American highways, to having just two Canadian dates left before heading across the Atlantic for the wee string of them there.

But that can wait. Today — a day off in Ottawa, spent catching up on emails and paperwork and running errands (read: giggling my way through shops with my very dear friend Christine) — I am full of love for my friends.

There were shifts in September and I find myself out in the world now without my usual lighthouse to look to, nor my usual port to eventually steer towards. The metaphor could extend that I’m at risk of being lost at sea, but the reality is less melodramatic and the truth has more to do with charting new territory than getting lost.

That said the shift has been hard. But I have been amazed at my few nearest and dearest friends who have swept in to catch me before I could ever really feel like I’m falling, and at how quickly they’ve extended to bridge any gap I’m adjusting to. Being on the road can feel without landmarks of “real” life at the best of times, but I feel like I’ve had familiar beacons no matter my location thanks to Skype and (hands-free I promise) highway driving phone calls..

And especially thanks to mail. Physical, tangible, postmarked, travelled and handled snail mail.

My dear ladies of the infamous “Veggie Vag” collective — i.e. Lindsay and Susan — mailed me, prior to my Vancouver departure, a package containing one envelope for me to open on every day of my tour, plus two bonus envelopes (they truly are mad geniuses). From the backseat of my car, friends couches, hotel rooms, I have had the incredible delight of opening mail every day on the road. THIS IS THE BEST THING EVER.

The dated envelopes have thus far included:


  • road trip mix CD.
  • a Susan-made car air freshener.
  • chocolate.
  • a love letter.
  • sequins.
  • heart festooned bobby pins.
  • a letter on writing.
  • a brand new sharpie zipped in the sweetest bag.
  • cross stitch kit.
  • photo boothed Lindsay.
  • moustaches.
  • Cherry Bomb postcard.
  • print of Whoopi in “Chop Wood and Carry Martinis” (my one-day bio-pic).
  • print of Lindsay and I on the phone, as played by Cate and Whoopi. Plus a gin gin.
  • “I have loved you for so long” with teenage throwback photo of Susan and I.
  • blogbroidery by Lindsay.
  • astronaut straw.


AMAZING right? And upon my arrival in Ottawa I discovered THERE’S MORE. Round two for the European tour dates.


And so, a toast: to these two fierce and wildly wonderful gals of mine and their pile of mail, to the one whose kind ears and kinder words of “anytime” while I cried into my pillow made it possible to sleep, to the one who ran down the steps to pull me in her arms before I was barely out of the car, and to the ones who know the difference a duvet makes, I LOVE YOU. You’re saving my life out here and I couldn’t be more grateful.

And for those coming to the shows and carrying on through these nights of music with me with abandon and verve, I LOVE YOU TOO.