Yesterday we went to another funeral, the second in recent months. Tom Murphy and his wife Madalyn have been good friends for years. We spent many an hour playing cards, "skinching" in Maine looking for hidden treasures in the junk stores there. Discussing the solutions to the worlds problems and counting their growing tribe of grand-kids.
It is not fair to say that Tom fought cancer. Cancer fought Tom and being the good Irishman he was, he gave it quite a tussle. He proved doctors wrong that sent him away years ago saying there was nothing that could be done. He proved the world wrong by keeping a positive, encouraging attitude. Sympathy was not needed, it was given by Tom. I only saw him twice during his fight as we no longer work together. Both times, though his body was stripped of the vitality it had once had, his smile beamed that Tom was still alive and well and ready for the next challenge.
Hundreds gathered yesterday, all touched in some way by this gentle, wonderful man. Our loss is heaven's gain. If it can be any brighter up there it is now because Tom's smile is bigger than ever.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Acoustic Nirvana: Or Betty Boop and Budha
There are accidents of time and place that put you in the presence of genius. Hopefully you will have the presence of mind and soul to recognize it. My story.
Day 3 of Ginger's birthday weekend. Kennebunk Maine. In a free paper we saw a notice for an Acoustic Guitar Concert at the River Tree Arts Center, admission $10. I love good acoustic guitar and for $10 each, not a lot of risk, right.
We arrive at the River Tree Arts Center (http://rivertreearts.org/) and are able to park right in front of the facility. Not a good sign. We walk in and we are among a dozen people or so, nervous musicians wondering if anyone will show, nervous exec director wondering same. We pay, browse and sit. The crowd swells to maybe 20.
The opening act was Ed Desjardin. A terrific player and songwriter. His unique style seemed to be rooted in a delightful mix of great musical styles melded into his own. After a short break the feature performer was Martin Swinger. (http://www.martinswinger.com/)
Martin Swinger, broad smile and commanding presence, drew us into the story of his song like a gripping novel that keeps the light on til 2 AM. He knits silly with serious, petty with poignant, leaving you asking, "How did he do that? How did we get from there to here? That was amazing!" From the first song, in my heart I was on the little red chair in the front of the room in first grade class where we sat and listened to Mrs. Simpson read those incredible stories. Time disappeared as you hung on the next phrase--only now it was set to music and delivered by tenor voice so clear it sparkled. Our 20 sojourners in the audience could have been in Carnegie Hall and we would not have had more pleasure than we enjoyed at the River Tree.
I sat thinking between songs, "Who is he like?" The complexity of sound and lyric were unlike anyone I had ever heard. Songs of grief, love, and depression delivered with humor, hope and delicacy. In one brief night at River Tree, I am a fan. His song Betty Boop and Budha capture his approach to life and music by pairing the most unlikely couple--the silly and the serious--to show how they coexist and inform us each of the other.
If you love music and good songwriting, do yourself a favor and click on the link above and listen to some of his work like the "Consider the Oyster", or "Gravity" to get a feel for this master of the ballad. You can buy his work in CD's or downloads from his website. An artist of this caliber must be shared and supported.
Ginger and I stumbled into the presence of genius last night. We are better for it.
Day 3 of Ginger's birthday weekend. Kennebunk Maine. In a free paper we saw a notice for an Acoustic Guitar Concert at the River Tree Arts Center, admission $10. I love good acoustic guitar and for $10 each, not a lot of risk, right.
We arrive at the River Tree Arts Center (http://rivertreearts.org/) and are able to park right in front of the facility. Not a good sign. We walk in and we are among a dozen people or so, nervous musicians wondering if anyone will show, nervous exec director wondering same. We pay, browse and sit. The crowd swells to maybe 20.
The opening act was Ed Desjardin. A terrific player and songwriter. His unique style seemed to be rooted in a delightful mix of great musical styles melded into his own. After a short break the feature performer was Martin Swinger. (http://www.martinswinger.com/)
Martin Swinger, broad smile and commanding presence, drew us into the story of his song like a gripping novel that keeps the light on til 2 AM. He knits silly with serious, petty with poignant, leaving you asking, "How did he do that? How did we get from there to here? That was amazing!" From the first song, in my heart I was on the little red chair in the front of the room in first grade class where we sat and listened to Mrs. Simpson read those incredible stories. Time disappeared as you hung on the next phrase--only now it was set to music and delivered by tenor voice so clear it sparkled. Our 20 sojourners in the audience could have been in Carnegie Hall and we would not have had more pleasure than we enjoyed at the River Tree.I sat thinking between songs, "Who is he like?" The complexity of sound and lyric were unlike anyone I had ever heard. Songs of grief, love, and depression delivered with humor, hope and delicacy. In one brief night at River Tree, I am a fan. His song Betty Boop and Budha capture his approach to life and music by pairing the most unlikely couple--the silly and the serious--to show how they coexist and inform us each of the other.
If you love music and good songwriting, do yourself a favor and click on the link above and listen to some of his work like the "Consider the Oyster", or "Gravity" to get a feel for this master of the ballad. You can buy his work in CD's or downloads from his website. An artist of this caliber must be shared and supported.
Ginger and I stumbled into the presence of genius last night. We are better for it.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Travel Tip
I fly Southwest Airlines often because they go from where I am to where I want to be most of the time. I count it a great day when I score an exit row seat and luxuriate in the expansive legroom. Today I took the exit row aisle seat and by the window was a young man with a Yankee's hat on. There was a middle seat between us.
I strike up a conversation about our hope for potential candidates for the middle seat and shared a couple of wide body horror stories of trips gone by. Then came a shocking confession.
"I am really not a Yankee fan," confided James. "I am from Kansas City. I travel in my job a lot. I have learned that for the most part people hate the Yankees. I wear the hat and more often than not I get an empty seat next to me."
BRILLIANT! I realize that I am in the presence of a perceptive and wise young man. You will see in the picture the proof of his insight--the Yankee hat and the empty seat.
James, my hat is off to you.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Time Tripping
March 30, 1981:
Thirty one years ago today, I set up my workbench in the front yard of our home out by Fort Cobb lake. My project was to build a doll bed for my daughter Sara who would turn 3 the ne
xt day. I was listening to the radio as I worked. I was frozen mid project by the news flash that President Reagan had been shot in San Francisco.
March 30 2012:
Ginger and I fulfilled a long held desire to visit the Ronald Reagan Library in Simi Valley, CA. As I went through the exhibit that detailed the assassination attempt, I went back in time to when I stood there as a much younger man, shocked at the news of the attempt on our President. I went back to a day when my Sara was almost three.
We are told by neurologists that our brains hold memories of all the experiences we have ever had. During hypnosis and other tests the memories have been triggered and experienced afresh by individuals. There was a moment today when I realized that I was standing in the Reagan Memorial at almost precisely 31 years to the moment from the time of that tragic event. In my mind I stood again in the yard, felt the same feelings, called in the house to give Ginger the news. It was almost like a cheesy movie flashback, but it was eerie for me, as it was very real.
President Reagan, a great man, is no longer with us. The doll crib was restored last year
so that My Sara's three year old can put her dolls and critters down for naps. My Sara has grown to be a magnificent woman of depth, courage and skill. I see in her daughter my past, present and future all in one glance--and today I experienced all three in a moment.
Ronald Reagan Memorial, Simi Valley, CA
Thirty one years ago today, I set up my workbench in the front yard of our home out by Fort Cobb lake. My project was to build a doll bed for my daughter Sara who would turn 3 the ne
xt day. I was listening to the radio as I worked. I was frozen mid project by the news flash that President Reagan had been shot in San Francisco.March 30 2012:
Ginger and I fulfilled a long held desire to visit the Ronald Reagan Library in Simi Valley, CA. As I went through the exhibit that detailed the assassination attempt, I went back in time to when I stood there as a much younger man, shocked at the news of the attempt on our President. I went back to a day when my Sara was almost three.
We are told by neurologists that our brains hold memories of all the experiences we have ever had. During hypnosis and other tests the memories have been triggered and experienced afresh by individuals. There was a moment today when I realized that I was standing in the Reagan Memorial at almost precisely 31 years to the moment from the time of that tragic event. In my mind I stood again in the yard, felt the same feelings, called in the house to give Ginger the news. It was almost like a cheesy movie flashback, but it was eerie for me, as it was very real.
President Reagan, a great man, is no longer with us. The doll crib was restored last year
so that My Sara's three year old can put her dolls and critters down for naps. My Sara has grown to be a magnificent woman of depth, courage and skill. I see in her daughter my past, present and future all in one glance--and today I experienced all three in a moment.
Ronald Reagan Memorial, Simi Valley, CA
Thursday, March 1, 2012
The Cousinette Epistles Volume 6: Spandex, Estrogen, and Yoga.
Dear Cousinettes:
One of my highest values is to keep things fresh. It is easy to get into ruts and routines. So, on this Leap Day I said to your Great-Aunt Ginger, "We only get this day once every four years. Let's do something we have never done before."
Well, needless to say she googled up a dandy. Rooftop yoga on top of the Valley Ho Hotel (seriously, I could not make that name up) in Scottsdale followed by all night happy hour with $5 beverages and snacks. She had me at happy hour, and the event qualified since neither of us had ever done yoga, much less on top of the Valley Ho.
Upon our arrival we were escorted to the elevator by a lovely young lady. I had an humorous conversation with her about working at a place called the Valley Ho, (I could not resist) and launched up the elevator to the 8th floor--to infinity and beyond! We signed in and shortly there were about 60-70 people of various ages, shapes and sizes. Most of them clad themselves in spandex of assorted colors. All but about 5 or 6 were Venusian in gender.
As some really nice old jazz played on the sound system, Ginger and I found our way to the back of the staging area and spread out our mats. I immediately assumed a proper position, for which I received a lot of grief from your parents on Facebook. I learned this position from my father, your great grandfather George. He usually would assume it in his recliner and provide some interesting sound effects--not unlike rolling thunder--as h
e became one with the universe. Who knew he was so far ahead of his time.
The instructor was introduced and she began to lead us in a series of exercises. Remember, we have never done this before and I understood almost nothing sh
e was saying. She kept talking about dogs, birds, warriors and such and I never saw any of those things. My theory is that it is another Venusian Code to keep us Martians from knowing what they are talking about. Well, the Venusians among us understood and began to do all sorts of moves and gyrations. I followed along as best I could. I confess, my positions did not resemble in any way those exhibited in the pictures you see. First, my body does not bend in some of the ways theirs did. Second, I was so busy trying to understand what was going on there were times when I just stood up with a confused look on my face. This is one position with which I am particularly skilled and quite experienced. I waited for them to start something
else and tried to catch up. I am sure your Great Aunt Ginger did much better with this. She had an advantage in that she already speaks Venusian.
We finished the session after what seemed like at least 3 or 4 hours (actually 60 minutes) with the sun setting over the Arizona desert. All in all, it was a fun experience. Which brings me back to the point of all this. As professor Gump was known to say, "You never know what you are going to get." Life can be full of interest
ing twists and turns as long as you are moving. Try something new. Explore your options. Who knows, you may find yourself surrounded by spandex and estrogen on the roof of the Valley Ho.
Your crazy Great Uncle
One of my highest values is to keep things fresh. It is easy to get into ruts and routines. So, on this Leap Day I said to your Great-Aunt Ginger, "We only get this day once every four years. Let's do something we have never done before."
Well, needless to say she googled up a dandy. Rooftop yoga on top of the Valley Ho Hotel (seriously, I could not make that name up) in Scottsdale followed by all night happy hour with $5 beverages and snacks. She had me at happy hour, and the event qualified since neither of us had ever done yoga, much less on top of the Valley Ho.
Upon our arrival we were escorted to the elevator by a lovely young lady. I had an humorous conversation with her about working at a place called the Valley Ho, (I could not resist) and launched up the elevator to the 8th floor--to infinity and beyond! We signed in and shortly there were about 60-70 people of various ages, shapes and sizes. Most of them clad themselves in spandex of assorted colors. All but about 5 or 6 were Venusian in gender.
As some really nice old jazz played on the sound system, Ginger and I found our way to the back of the staging area and spread out our mats. I immediately assumed a proper position, for which I received a lot of grief from your parents on Facebook. I learned this position from my father, your great grandfather George. He usually would assume it in his recliner and provide some interesting sound effects--not unlike rolling thunder--as h
e became one with the universe. Who knew he was so far ahead of his time.The instructor was introduced and she began to lead us in a series of exercises. Remember, we have never done this before and I understood almost nothing sh
e was saying. She kept talking about dogs, birds, warriors and such and I never saw any of those things. My theory is that it is another Venusian Code to keep us Martians from knowing what they are talking about. Well, the Venusians among us understood and began to do all sorts of moves and gyrations. I followed along as best I could. I confess, my positions did not resemble in any way those exhibited in the pictures you see. First, my body does not bend in some of the ways theirs did. Second, I was so busy trying to understand what was going on there were times when I just stood up with a confused look on my face. This is one position with which I am particularly skilled and quite experienced. I waited for them to start something
else and tried to catch up. I am sure your Great Aunt Ginger did much better with this. She had an advantage in that she already speaks Venusian.We finished the session after what seemed like at least 3 or 4 hours (actually 60 minutes) with the sun setting over the Arizona desert. All in all, it was a fun experience. Which brings me back to the point of all this. As professor Gump was known to say, "You never know what you are going to get." Life can be full of interest
ing twists and turns as long as you are moving. Try something new. Explore your options. Who knows, you may find yourself surrounded by spandex and estrogen on the roof of the Valley Ho.Your crazy Great Uncle
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Christmas Cheer
Today is Christmas Eve. We stopped at the grocery store to pick up a couple of last minute items--hot chocolate mix, marshmallows, half & half--in anticipation of our Christmas sojourners. We stepped in line behind a lovely lady with a cart full of food. She invited us to go ahead.
"Are you sure?" we asked.
"Absolutely!" She replied, "I have five kids at home and this is the closest thing to peace and quiet I have had all day."
We laughed and I continued the conversation, "How old?"
" I have a twelve, a ten an eight and twin toddlers," she smiled.
"You have some built in babysitting, don't you." I added.
"They are really good," she was beaming now. It was obvious to me that this woman was a mom who was a real Home-Maker.
"May I ask a question," I pressed on. "Do you get some strange looks when people find out you have five kids?"
"People look at me and say 'You poor thing!' But I think it's great." She was still smiling.
"I think it's great too. Merry Christmas," and we parted.
There are moments when you know you are in the presence of someone special; someone with influence and strength. Too often we look to political leaders, business people or entertainers for inspiration. Tonight I was inspired by a woman with whom I shared a brief conversation. I saw in her a person creating an environment for her children for them to grow into people with the opportunity to be like her. In a very real way she is shaping the future by the sheer joy evident in her presence.
"Are you sure?" we asked.
"Absolutely!" She replied, "I have five kids at home and this is the closest thing to peace and quiet I have had all day."
We laughed and I continued the conversation, "How old?"
" I have a twelve, a ten an eight and twin toddlers," she smiled.
"You have some built in babysitting, don't you." I added.
"They are really good," she was beaming now. It was obvious to me that this woman was a mom who was a real Home-Maker.
"May I ask a question," I pressed on. "Do you get some strange looks when people find out you have five kids?"
"People look at me and say 'You poor thing!' But I think it's great." She was still smiling.
"I think it's great too. Merry Christmas," and we parted.
There are moments when you know you are in the presence of someone special; someone with influence and strength. Too often we look to political leaders, business people or entertainers for inspiration. Tonight I was inspired by a woman with whom I shared a brief conversation. I saw in her a person creating an environment for her children for them to grow into people with the opportunity to be like her. In a very real way she is shaping the future by the sheer joy evident in her presence.
The Cousinette Epistles Volume 5: Oh Wow! Oh Wow! Oh Wow!
I turned 60 this year. My life is busier than ever and filled with the joy of children and grandchildren that never cease to bring a joy to my heart that is difficult to describe. In all that, my thoughts turn often to my dad, mother and sister who are no longer with us. I miss them.
I don't necessarily have anything to say to them. I don't know that they have anything left to tell me. Their absence from this earth has left a vacuum in me. This Christmas Eve, I remember them. I think of their lives, their trials, their joys and their legacy, and honor them. They were not heroes. They were not famous. They were just good people, loved by their families and friends and remembered fondly.
With that in mind, I share this essay by Peggy Noonan from today's Wall Street Journal. It gives me hope.
Your Crazy Uncle
Jobs, Thatcher and the Force of Life by Peggy Noonan WSJ 12.23.2011
I don't necessarily have anything to say to them. I don't know that they have anything left to tell me. Their absence from this earth has left a vacuum in me. This Christmas Eve, I remember them. I think of their lives, their trials, their joys and their legacy, and honor them. They were not heroes. They were not famous. They were just good people, loved by their families and friends and remembered fondly.
With that in mind, I share this essay by Peggy Noonan from today's Wall Street Journal. It gives me hope.
Your Crazy Uncle
Jobs, Thatcher and the Force of Life by Peggy Noonan WSJ 12.23.2011
The Apple founder's final words sound an awful lot like an expression of awe.
The great words of the year? "Oh wow. Oh wow. Oh wow."
They are the last words of Steve Jobs, reported by his sister, the novelist Mona Simpson, who was at his bedside. In her eulogy, a version of which was published in the New York Times, she spoke of how he looked at his children "as if he couldn't unlock his gaze." He'd said goodbye to her, told her of his sorrow that they wouldn't be able to be old together, "that he was going to a better place." In his final hours his breathing was deep, uneven, as if he were climbing.
"Before embarking, he'd looked at his sister Patty, then for a long time at his children, then at his life's partner, Laurene, and then over their shoulders past them. Steve's final words were: 'OH WOW. OH WOW. OH WOW.'"
The caps are Simpson's, and if she meant to impart a sense of wonder and mystery she succeeded. "Oh wow" is not a bad way to express the bigness, power and force of life, and death. And of love, by which he was literally surrounded.
I wondered too, after reading the eulogy, if I was right to infer that Jobs saw something, and if so, what did he see? What happened there that he looked away from his family and expressed what sounds like awe? I thought of a story told by a friend, whose grown son had died, at home, in a hospice. The family was ringed around his bed. As Robert breathed his last an infant in the room let out a great baby laugh as if he saw something joyous, wonderful, and gestured toward the area above Robert's head. The infant's mother, startled, moved to shush him but my friend, her mother, said no, maybe he's just reacting to . . . something only babies see.
Getty Images
Steve Jobs (1955-2011)
Anyway I sent Ms. Simpson's eulogy to a number of people and spoke to some of them, and they all had two things in common in terms of their reaction. They'd get a faraway look, and think. And if they had a thought to share they did it with modesty. No one said, "I think I can guess what he saw," "I know who he saw," or "Believe me, if he saw anything it was the product of the last, disordered sparks of misfiring neurons."
They were always modest, reflective. One just said, "Wow."
Modesty when contemplating death is a good thing.
When words leave people silent and thinking they are powerful words. Steve Jobs' last words were the best thing said in 2011.
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