Synaptic Sparks Create Brain Fire

The first synaptic spark involved Leo Tolstoy and John Lennon.

"...and it seemed to him that he was Nikita and Nikita was he, and that his life was not in himself but in Nikita." (from Master and Man, 1895) 

"I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together."  (from I Am the Walrus, 1967)

That first spark lit as I was reading Tolstoy's passage near the end of his short story in preparation for a discussion of it with two discerning readers. Lennon's words just popped into my head. Then, as our discussion concluded, one of those readers added fuel to my low flame by citing a Lou Reed lyric from Perfect Day (1972):  "You made me forget myself; I thought I was someone else, someone good."  

Despite repeated exposure to Perfect Day - it's a song I've taught to several guitar students over the years - if my bookworm friend hadn't pointed out Reed's lyric to me, the connection between Tolstoy's prose and Lennon's observation could have been one of those short-lived synaptic sparks, one perhaps not even worthy of a blog post. But Reed's self-effacing, honest lyric raised my brain temperature. It also made me want to ask you something. 

How many of you can relate to what I believe all three are getting at here, each in their own way? When I'm with certain people, I feel like I'm the best version of myself. Or, at minimum, those same people can help me "forget" versions of myself that I welcome being rid of, like unkind Pat, harshly judgmental Pat, self-centered Pat. In other words, I'm more consistently "good" when those folks are nearby. This sound even vaguely familiar? Thanks to my bookworm friend, the flame grew a bit hotter as I walked out of our meeting place. I jotted down the three sparks in my notebook and then ... 

"You complete me." Remember that scene from Jerry Maguire (1996)? I'll refresh your memory. Renee Zellweger and Tom Cruise are sharing an elevator with a couple who are speaking to one another in American Sign Language (ASL). Those three words are how Zellweger translates to Cruise what the man has just signed to the woman. Now my brain was on fire. Did Cameron Crowe - the writer and director of that terrific film - ever read Master and Man? Given he is an unrepentant rock n' roll junkie, I'm sure he was quite familiar with I Am the Walrus, and it's highly likely he'd also heard Perfect Day. But for the purposes of this reflection, none of these hot-wired connections need have ever occurred to Crowe. Tolstoy, Lennon, Reed, and Crowe all landed on an inescapable truth, and it doesn't matter who came first or whether any of them were influenced by the other. I was reminded, again, that we all need others to help us discover our best selves. Literature, music, film, and the synaptic sparks between each that light up for me periodically; I live for moments like this. 

Her Story

What I wish most today, on the anniversary of her passing forty-seven years ago, is to remember a lot more about my mother. 

I've got fragments. She collected salt and pepper shakers. She enjoyed it when I would sing Honey Don't for her. She laughed easily and loved doing so. But I don't remember her favorite movie star, singer, author, or food. I don't recall how she reacted to Kennedy's assassination, Watergate, Neil Armstrong walking on the moon.  

I remember she taught me the cha-cha. I remember her terse advice about public speaking: Stand up to be seen, speak up to be heard, sit down to be appreciated. I remember she volunteered to be the parent chaperone on nearly every school trip. But her speaking voice and the smell of her perfume left me long ago. I want to clearly recall both. 

I still own an end table with a marble top she gave me when I moved into my first apartment. I also have a three sentence note of appreciation I wrote her for Mother's Day in 1957, in cursive. And a picture of the two of us taken at my youngest sister's wedding in 1970 regularly rotates among the photos in the Aura frame sitting in my kitchen. Today, I want more than these few reminders of her. 

I want to remember every song she sang when my dad accompanied her on the ukelele, every joke she enjoyed telling, every story she told me about growing up, her marriage to my father, being a mother to four children born in forty-nine months. I want to remember every part of her story. 

Let the Screening Commence

The screening process for acceptance into my reading posse, an august and widely-sought-after sinecure I've referred to on this blog more than a few times, has officially opened. Compensation is negotiable, requirements listed below are not.

* Applications will be accepted from only those providing proof of having read a minimum of one book by at least 20% of the authors from my list of favorites. Said list provided upon request. That's a paltry six books from a list of - at this point - thirty-two unquestionably exemplary authors.  

* After providing said proof, the first five book recommendations made to me by any applicant must hit the ball solidly. Attached FYI is my elegant baseball metaphor, a useful reference for this bullet and the next. 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: 2nd Attempt To Capture The Sports Market

* Should the first five recommendations meet my indisputably erudite mark, viable candidates then enter a probationary period wherein the next three recommendations must be, at minimum, a base-on-balls. 

* Successful completion of the eight-book vetting period earns a candidate a slot on my posse. Said slot is permanent unless future batting average dips below .333 at any point, triggering an adjustment in compensation, public censure, and a potential reason for me to re-open the screening process. 

Let the screening commence.       

One of the Greatest Generation

It doesn't take much to remind me how fortunate I am to have had a father like mine. His strengths as a man, a husband, and a father are more evident to me today than ever. And though he's rarely far from my thoughts, certain days each year - like Veteran's Day - bring him into sharper focus. On those days, I owe him the small honor of celebrating his life and his role in helping shape me into the man, the husband, and the father I've become. In what manner are you honoring the veterans from your life today?

My Dad's role in helping shape me into a man shows up most via my strong work ethic. Throughout my working life, I always had at least one part-time job in addition to my full-time one. I'm also pleased to say I never collected a day of unemployment from the start through the finish of my full-time work years. 

His role in helping shape me as a husband is more profound. My Dad's unwavering loyalty to my Mom showed me the critical role that trust plays in building a solid marriage. I know he would have been proud of how I've followed his lead for over forty-one years.

I'm most grateful for what my own father modeled that helped shape me into the father I hope I've been and continue to be today. His unconditional love for the four of us was never in doubt. That all of us would get a college education was a given. Though he was proud of having served the country in WWII, he never once lobbied my brother or I to follow that path. I don't recall him saying these exact words but his example always said to me "Be who you are, not who I am." From the time she was able to understand that message, I tried to convey the same thing to my daughter. My goal from the day I became a parent was to be a father as good as my own. 

To all veterans and especially you, Dad: Thank you for your service.   

Passing the Torch

My brother and I have been bonded by music our whole lives. Our passion transcends genre. I can't easily recall more than a handful of groups or solo artists over whom we've differed musically. If not for his influence, it would have taken me longer to discover Thelonious Monk's quirky music and Tom Waits could have passed me by. Also, my dives into King Crimson, Santana, and Steely Dan would likely have remained shallow if not for his prodding.   

Now he has delivered to me an immense young talent who I can envision filling the space left by Ella Fitzgerald - Samara Joy. And here's a cool part of this brief musical story. Although he was the one who made sure I'd be exposed to her, it was my brother's son, my oldest nephew, who discovered Joy in the first place, and then turned his father onto her. It gets better.

Both my nephews are fine musicians, no surprise given my brother's relaxed and natural musicianship and the stereo that was rarely silent as they grew up. The oldest is now a music teacher and during the years I taught guitar to children new to the instrument, the younger was - without question - my most innately talented student. The two of them played together - piano, guitar, vocals - for their cousin's wedding ceremony in 2019. Right? Now the best part.

Last night, as the four of us sat enraptured watching Samara Joy's show at the Count Basie Theatre, I felt lucky. Lucky to share this passion with these three people I love dearly. Lucky to know that each of them understood the musical riches we were experiencing together. Lucky to hear each of us, in turn, laughing when either Joy or one of the seven extraordinary musicians supporting her pulled off a feat of super-human musicianship.  Most of all, lucky how we will pass the musical torch to one another for as long as we live.    

p.s. You owe it to yourself to sample Samara Joy's magic. Begin by checking out the You-Tube video below.

Samara Joy - Can't Get Out Of This Mood (Official Studio Video)   

On This Night of the Day After

I'm grateful for my good health and financial security and will look forward to embracing the passions that sustain me.

I'm fortunate to have a lifelong partner and loving daughter who share my values and a new grandson with whom I will spend as much time as possible through my remaining years. 

I pledge to continue reflecting here regularly and will anticipate you joining me to celebrate moments of hope and joy.   

Rescuing Ourselves

If asked to rate yourself as a listener - with one being poor and ten being exceptional - what would you say? How closely do you suppose your self-score would match how others see you? 

You're Not Listening: What You're Missing and Why It Matters (2019) will stick with me. I know this because my extensive notes on Kate Murphy's carefully researched and skillfully presented book are a potent combination of the following:

* New learning: Being exposed to the psychological phenomenon called "closeness communication bias" provided powerful insight into how easy it can be to stop listening carefully in any long-term relationship, i.e., "We think we already know what the other person will say." 

* Questions to ask others about their listening skills and ... using the same questions to more carefully examine my own listening skills: Start with the two questions opening this post. Then explore others that came to me as an accompaniment to my new learning, like ... Which people close to you do you have difficulty listening to? What makes listening to them difficult? What does the difficulty you're having with that person - as a listener - say about you? Which of your listening behaviors might turn off people who are speaking to you?

* Straightforward, sharp prose: "Perhaps the greatest barrier to keeping our minds on track and following someone's narrative is the nagging concern about what we're going to say when it's our turn."  Or... "Secure people don't decide others are irredeemably stupid or malicious without knowing who they are as individuals. People are so much more than their labels or political positions." That's just a small taste.  

Without question, You're Not Listening is the best book of its type I've finished since Sherry Turkle blew me away in 2015 with Reclaiming Conversation. And though the research cited in both books supports my own belief that the unceasing distraction of ubiquitous cell phones has helped to create a culture where empathic listening is increasingly at risk, both books are also hopeful. Each offers practical advice on reining in the technology. I believe we need books like these to rescue us from ourselves.    

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My Favorite Holiday

I require neither an excuse nor permission to be weird. But October 31 is the one day each year even the most buttoned-up can let it rip. How did you transform yourself today? If you didn't, why not?

OK, if you didn't get weird today, here are two ideas for next Halloween. If you use either in 2025, make a note to return here and give me a report on how it went. It's OK to steal my stuff but at least have the decency to let me know the results. 

* Have you lived in a well-established neighborhood a long time and paid enough attention through the years to how your neighbors dress? How about a neighborhood party - definitely want to include drinking at this party - where everyone dresses as someone from the neighborhood? Enliven it by awarding a prize to whoever does the best job simulating a neighbor's look/couture. FYI, I suggested this to folks in the first neighborhood where my wife and I owned a home. It didn't take off. However, I'm reasonably sure that happened because I made it too risky for some of my highly hetero male neighbors by suggesting opposite gender roles for costumes. Learn from my mistake and keep the men as other men and the women as other women. Boring, but more likely to launch.  

* Don't think that will work? How about this instead? Why not use Halloween 2025 to dress up as a person of the opposite gender you admire from history? No need to go trick or treating; just don the garb and have some fun. I've always imagined I'd make a great Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Susan B. Anthony, or another of the earliest feminists. Why the opposite gender? Why not? It's Halloween - What other day of the year would you try this?

If either of the above is too tame for you, get your disguised self into Greenwich Village next October 31. Try to stand out there. I dare you.