Going Vs. Throwing

At this point, regular readers have likely grown accustomed to how frequently my partner of 48+ years appears in these reflections. Absent her grounding presence, my life could have easily spiraled into chaos long ago. Under certain circumstances, this becomes inescapably clear.  

For example, as the two of us finished preparations for a celebration we hosted earlier this week commemorating the 100th book/tenth anniversary of my book club, that steady hand of hers reminded me again how fortunate I am. At one point during the weeks leading up to the event, I tried to imagine what a party like this would look like without her common sense, attention to detail, and unerring ability to anticipate what our guests would enjoy. I had trouble conjuring anything short of a mess if she wasn't right there with me for every step.  

Though the events we've routinely hosted have steadily decreased in size, the time and effort we expend seems not to have decreased exponentially. In addition, the time we both need to recover has clearly increased. Still, we're not planning to stop just yet. I'm ready to continue being the go-fer, sous chef, and second fiddle in her orchestra as long as she remains willing and able to uphold our half century reputation for not-to-be-missed parties. And the fun the two of us have de-briefing and talking trash for days after - as well as all those yummy leftovers - makes it even less likely we'll be hanging up our party hats soon. 

Without her? This blogger will only be going to vs. throwing parties. Those of you who have attended one of ours? You better remember to invite me to yours. Promise I won't compare. 

Reflections from the Bell Curve: My True North

The Ready Answer to Why Not?

Reflections from the Bell Curve: Close to a Guarantee

Soon after publishing the post above, I was challenged - not for the first time - about my longstanding resolve to avoid bashing any author or book on my blog. The conversation began when a reader casually mentioned the number of authors and books I routinely endorse here, then asked if I'd ever considered having a separate blog exclusively devoted to literature. When I said I had given that idea serious thought early on - and had re-thought and dismissed doing so several times over the ensuing years - the conversation moved to a friendly challenge. 

The first part of that challenge was asking what my rationale is when deciding whether or not to publish a post about a specific book. Answering that was automatic because that rationale is the same as when I select a book for my own club or suggest one to a different club: 1.) The quality of the prose must meet my admittedly subjective standards and ... 2.) The book must have moved me, at minimum, or better, elevated me. All other factors - date of publication, subject matter, politics, narrative approach, profane or chaste, etc. - never enter the picture. If a book does the above, a future blog post is possible.    

Answering the follow-up question was more time-consuming but still manageable. "How often do you read a book that doesn't make your arbitrary cut?" (OK, maybe the "arbitrary" part there is less friendly but it's still a fair question.) Because the practice of keeping a book journal pre-dates my blog by just under one year - April 2010 vs. March 2011 - I then scoured the table of contents for each of my book journals - just started #9 for anyone vaguely interested - and tried to recall which of those books never showed up on my blog. I resisted actually counting - I swear - but was able to later resume the challenging conversation with an estimate. It was a substantial number.  

The final part of this recent challenge returned to solidly friendly territory with another question for which I had a ready answer. "Why not publish posts about some of those books that didn't move you?" (There was no mention in the last question about my snobbish requirement for quality prose.) Until I publish, self or otherwise, my own first long-form book, I have not earned the privilege to publicly bash - no matter how limited the reach of this blog - someone else's. 

A Conflection

Several decades and an adult life with ample sin - none of it of a mortal stripe, thankfully - have passed since I last stepped into a confession booth. But confess I must. 

It took this lifelong movie aficionado a long time to begin regularly watching documentaries. 

I feel better already. And I'm open to whatever movie-connected penance any film geek who reads my blog thinks might help me further expiate my sin of omission. If you know of a pre-2010 documentary you think may have bypassed me in my wayward years, please share it here so that I can be cleansed.

Today's conflection took shape while I was being pummeled by You Can See Everything, the recently released documentary about Elizabeth Holmes of Theranos notoriety. I'm reasonably sure I'll be processing this disturbing multi-leveled film for weeks. Makes me wonder how many important documentaries escaped me despite my indiscriminate cinematic promiscuity. Forgive me father. 

Wanted: Catchy Title for Series

"Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself. I am large; I contain multitudes.": Walt Whitman

Soon after publishing a post entitled Anchoring (Etc.) a few weeks back, it dawned on me how many times over sixteen years of blogging an alternative approach to a dilemma often occurs to me after I've released a reflection into the blogosphere. Am I saying I frequently need to contradict myself? Possibly. But even if saying that is not wholly accurate, it feels close enough that I'm ready to create a new series to potentially capture under one rubric all those instances when the use of words or phrases like "balance" or "fine line" or "perspective" seems mandatory. I'm open to suggestions for a catchy title and prefer something noble sounding. To be clear: Titles like The Wishy-Washy, Flip-Flopping, Perpetually Equivocating Blogger will not be considered. 

OK, back to the post called Anchoring (Etc.). Within minutes of hitting publish that day, I realized how I'd overlooked some critical elements therein connected to living a life of balance (there's that word). For example, that post advocated having clear strategies aimed at helping integrate new practices into daily life without mentioning the importance of being in the moment regularly, my rationale for starting a meditation practice over thirty-five years ago, anchoring aside. I also forgot to extol the value of frequent daydreaming, a reliable portal to creativity. And I neglected to speak of the fine line (see what I mean?) between being disciplined about our practices and simply allowing the restorative power of the natural world to work its magic on us daily. BTW, none of those critical elements require any anchoring. That was my perspective on that day. I guess that's understandable. I mean, this is my blog.   

While I'm waiting on your suggestions for a catchy title for this heretofore undeclared series, I've got almost 2700 posts to review to see which ones snugly fit this retroactive rubric. Will I re-name all of them using your noble-sounding goop? Stay tuned.     

Reflections from the Bell Curve: Anchoring (Etc.)

  

Using the Signs

How easy it is to become used to things that are all around us. But while driving recently it suddenly dawned on me - I can make better use of signs to remind me of important stuff needing my attention. 

STOP:  Being judgmental
YIELD: To others with a different view
CAUTION:  Ambiguity ahead

If I remember to apply this new concept only each third time I see one of these ubiquitous signs, I'm batting .333 - hall of fame territory. I'll be thrilled to succeed just that often. What other signs are worth paying more attention to? What would you add to the sign? I think I'm onto something here - join me.

Holding On

Twelve years ago, I began developing and teaching music courses for a robust lifelong learning program featured at a local community college. Although still not a foregone conclusion, at present it appears that program is wheezing toward its end. My time teaching at this college - the entree into an invigorating element of my third act - has been fulfilling from the start.    

What I'll miss most if this chapter of my life concludes - isn't this always the case? - are the people. Since 2014, I've had numerous moments of musical communion with many of the folks who have regularly attended my classes at this location. More than once, I've written of these moments here. Beginning my current class - which could be my last at this college - this past Thursday, I was once again rewarded when an astute student pointed out a lyrical subtlety in Don't Stand So Close to Me that had bypassed me despite having listened to that Police song repeatedly for over forty-five years.   

Have I had special moments like this at other places while teaching? Of course. However, knowing I may not have future opportunities to musically connect with some of these specific folks - a few have been with me from day one - gives me genuine pause. Label me sentimental; I've been called worse.

Good news to close. I've managed to build a bond with several of these repeat students outside the classroom. A few have joined my book club, several are now regular readers of my blog - one has become a prolific commenter - my wife and I have become close enough to one couple that we travelled with them early this year. The others? My plan is to collect as many e-mails as possible over the final two weeks of my current class in the hope that some of these folks may decide to attend a future course I'm conducting elsewhere. Completely abandoning a group of serious music lovers I've become attached to? No chance. 

Culling

Ever known anyone who didn't collect something? If I have, that person does not come readily to mind. Ever wonder when this nearly universal propensity in homo sapiens began, i.e., once upon a time was it necessary to occasionally de-clutter our caves?  

As my later-in-life culling project continues apace, my reflections about collecting are, unsurprisingly, front and center. And though my collections of books and music paraphernalia never got really out of hand, it's been harder to part with that stuff than I sometimes admit. If you're at a similar juncture in your life - you know it's time to let go so that your adult children are not burdened with doing the culling after you're gone - which of your collections has given you the most pause? What useful culling strategies have you discovered that you can share here with me and others?

As the time approaches to jettison a lifetime of journals, medication might be required. 

Words for the Ages: Line Forty-Three

"We all have wings, but some of us don't know why."

Of the several long-running series created for my blog, Words for the Ages - now in its tenth year - seems to light a brighter fire than others, especially with respect to reader comments. Special thanks today to JT, who recently reminded me of the terse phrase above from an INXS song entitled Never Tear Us Apart. Today is the third instance when I've used a sharp reader's input to help keep this series vibrant and true to its mission.   

Who can reasonably dispute that some people go through life without realizing their potential? This essential truth is delivered in the phrase above via the use of wings as a metaphor; simple and elegant. Eleven words for the ages; concise, able to stand on their own, timeless. Although not often cited for his lyrics, Michael Hutchence, the charismatic lead singer of INXS, clearly hit the mark this time. Got a lyric you think conveys a similar message just as succinctly? Please share it here. I'm confident I'm not the only one interested.  

I'm paying close enough attention all the time to know there's a finite supply of these aphorisms disguised as song lyrics. However, I'm pleased to report some astute readers have apparently been inspired enough by recent iterations of Words for the Ages that they have given me a surplus to work from over the coming months. So, stay tuned commenters. That gem you suggested could be next. And big thanks for your help.