The Countdown

From the outset of this blog in March 2011, I have not been evasive about my worldview. At the same time, across 2,400+ purposefully eclectic posts, I've mostly steered clear of politics. My reticence is not connected to the strength of my beliefs and core values. I've avoided politics on this blog largely for the same reason I avoid the subject in day-to-day conversation - the power of confirmation bias.  

All of us are all hard-wired to seek out information that reinforces our strongly held opinions and tune out the information that does not. Though it's possible to neutralize that automatic internal screening mechanism - one that helps us make sense of the world - we can't do so without a fair amount of effort. Complicating things in our 24/7 news/TVs in every public space/Smart phone in every hand world is the unceasing barrage of misinformation hurled at us these days via rogue Internet sites and uneducated bloggers, our "friends" on social media, and those conspiracy theorists and tweeters/re-tweeters with millions of followers. I see little percentage in adding to that divisive screaming fray with my puny blog and predictable political positions. What possible purpose would it serve except to confirm the biases of any like-minded reader? If I'm not adding value or helping to reverse the incivility of what passes for nuanced political discourse these days, what is the point? Call it confirmation bias, preaching to the choir, or screaming into an echo chamber. It's all the same stuff. Which brings me to my plans over the upcoming ten-day countdown. 

Sometime around ten days from now - could be later - we'll know who'll be sworn in next January as our 47th president. Between now and November 5th, I'll publish a few posts, none of which will touch on the final pleas of either viable candidate or mention those battleground states we all know will decide the winner. And even though my vote is less than critical - New Jersey has not been in play in a presidential election since the early 80s - I will vote to help ensure the popular vote reflects my voice, however marginally. If that sounds weary to you, mea culpa. I do have a more compelling reason, one I've mentioned previously and connected to my politics, forged by studying U.S. history: I will vote to honor those who came before me and were denied that right. Let the countdown begin.

Small Successes in Patstan

For years now, I've regularly tweaked the layout on my home page to make use of the widgets called Featured Post and Popular Posts. Sincere thanks to those of you who have clicked any of the posts that have appeared under either heading, no matter how infrequently.

Because of Blogger's robust analytics, it's easy to know how many new views these posts get. For some time, my arbitrary threshold for changing the Featured Post widget - located on the left of the home page - has been to do so after that single post gets twenty new views. When that happens, it reminds me to switch the grouping of Popular Posts - "all time", over the last year, last thirty, or last seven days - located on the right side. 

I have no way of knowing how many of those views mean someone has actually read the featured post I've exhumed from my archives. But based on new comments received and offline responses, I'm often confident at least a few people are paying attention, sometimes. Call me needy; I consider this a small success, my version of getting a royalty check for .50 for a song that was popular sometime in the 60s and got some recent airplay or sold a record or two in a bargain bin in Omaha. Except, I don't get paid; oh well - details. 

Unpaid royalties aside, there have been more than a few days I've been sustained by someone who reacts to an old post, featured or "popular". And though I've been tempted to edit my old work more times than I can count, it has also been gratifying when an old post gets a reaction but holds up under my scrutiny - another small success. What small successes have you recently had?

Coming Clean, Sort Of

Though nine evenings still remain in October, my record for most movies watched in one month has already been shattered. Lest anybody be tempted to recommend medication, I'll keep the number to myself. I will confess we're already talking double digits. Really.   

Duly chastened as I am about the hours I've spent indulging my indiscriminate film jones this month, I offer two mitigating factors in meager defense. See if you can relate at all. 

* I've spent over ten hours on airplanes. I had books and my journal. Mediation or listening to music were additional options. I did end up doing a little reading. But the lure of that tiny screen in my face undid me. Then, scanning the choices, I was overwhelmed, pathetically, in both directions. Watched two on the way to L.A. and one on the way home. Only one will stick: Carlos, a documentary about the incomparable Carlos Santana.

* The TV in our two week rental in L.A. dominated the living space. There was a door to the bedroom that could be shut when I played guitar, meditated, read, or wrote. However, there's a solid reason why the only TV in our home is not in our living space. If it were, it's possible I'd be regularly searching the streaming services for the latest and, in many cases, not so greatest movies. In our rental, I was thoughtlessly ensnared in that trap. Saw a few OK documentaries, went gaga watching Vera Drake - a Mike Leigh gem from 2004 - but otherwise squandered some serious time. Low point? There was significant competition for that dubious distinction, but my near-complete disillusionment with Stand By Me - a Rob Reiner film I've held in high esteem for many years - landed with a thud on a re-watch. Should have played the guitar or something.   

If only I'd gone into the bedroom more vs. getting continually mesmerized by that big screen. In the meanwhile, since returning home, I will not claim total abstinence. But my film consumption is now under control again. Don't ask exactly what that means; allow me a little dignity. Besides, the record has already been broken. What's the harm now?             

Putting First Things First

Perhaps my continuing journey into Act Three is at play here. But how many of you have also noticed the disconnect that can separate introspection and optimism? For example, on days when this optimist is in a more introspective space, the probable "lasts" in my remaining life come more easily into focus than the likely "firsts". Does this make my optimism suspect? Or does it render me more realistic?  

Either way, beginning when my first grandchild entered the world, I made a pledge. Each time a probable "last" crosses this introspective optimist/realist's mind - e.g., my trip to Africa this past winter might be my last - I will immediately capture an actual "first" in my journal. I've been pleased to discover how easy this has been these past two weeks. Doing it has also fortified my optimist bona fides. Directly below are three recent firsts that helped provide some ballast for three probable "lasts" that popped into my head in some recent moments of introspection. I'll spare you those gloomy bits.   

* Played my first-ever applause-worthy guitar solo in an open jazz jam session.

* Was grateful having a cell phone nearby for the first time, in the hours leading up to and after the birth of my grandson.

* Had my first experience with acupuncture.

Why not join me? Doesn't matter if you consider yourself an optimist, realist, pessimist, anythingist. Also doesn't matter if you introspect more than, as frequently, or less than me. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised about the light this brings to you.     

  

Mike; Have You Met Anne?

Have you ever imagined having an opportunity to speak with a favorite artist about another artist you are sure they would enjoy? I suspect no regular readers will be surprised to learn this particular thought has crossed my mind frequently with respect to musicians, authors, and filmmakers. 

Ever since watching Vera Drake, a 2004 treasure by director/writer Mike Leigh that somehow got by me until recently, I can't get Anne Tyler's quotidian novels out of my head. Given their respective reputations and substantial oeuvres, it's more than possible Leigh and Tyler are already aware of each other's work. But if not, I want to be the one who turns them onto each other. Before continuing, however, I have a request: If a scenario like this has occurred to you, even once, please share it with me and include your logic - no matter how far-fetched - for believing each artist would enjoy the work of the other. It would be nice to know I'm not alone on the bell curve with this.  

Mike Leigh - Wikipedia  

Although Mike Leigh is hardly a household name, I'm reasonably sure many of you have seen at least one or two of his films. Secrets and Lies (1996) is arguably his most widely known, and my personal favorite. All of his films I've seen - including Vera Drake and Secrets and Lies - share an essential and under-valued quality with Anne Tyler's novels; they are quiet. His characters, like Tyler's, are not larger than life; they are life itself. Each character in Leigh's films and Tyler's novels is revealed at an unhurried pace, their strengths and flaws in equal measure. The messiness and miracles of everyday life get the same amount of attention. Car chases and crashes, intrusive music, and capital "d" drama are all blessedly missing.

Anne Tyler's novels are criminally under-represented on film. Only the adaptations of The Accidental Tourist (1985) and Breathing Lessons (1988) got much attention. My last visit to Tylerstan - a world I've journeyed to at least a dozen times since the mid 70s - was reading A Spool of Blue Thread soon after its 2015 release. I'm confident Mike Leigh would make cinematic magic out of the multi-generational story of the quirky Whitshank clan. All I need is his contact information. Anyone want to assist me?  

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Anne Tyler's World  

Initiation to the Miracle of Music

I always made it my mission to surround my daughter with music, beginning the day we brought her home from the hospital as an infant. From then on, whenever we were in the car, a CD or cassette (remember those?) was playing, or the radio - pre-Satellite and Internet iterations - was on. Although recorded music was not always on at home, my guitar was never out of reach and I frequently played for her, almost from the start. One of my most cherished memories from her childhood occurred soon after I recognized her singing potential. 

I was casually accompanying her on They Can't Take That Away from Me. In the repeat of the middle section, my seven or eight-year-old lifted an improvised turn from Sarah Vaughn's version of that well-known Gershwin classic. Right after doing so, she stopped singing and asked me -"Daddy, where did that come from?"  I explained that she'd been continually listening to Sarah, Ella, Billie, and many others for her whole life and that, sooner or later, something like this was bound to happen. I will never forget that moment of musical magic. And now, I get another chance.   

Although I did not bring him home from the hospital, within twenty minutes of first holding him two days after he was born, my grandson's musical education began in earnest. The good news? Because of Internet radio - and the twenty plus flawless stations I've created over the last fifteen years - I can expose him to whatever I want, whenever I'm holding him, wherever we happen to be. I can curate tune-by-tune from every genre, at any tempo, helping to ensure he's endlessly eclectic when he begins choosing his own music later in life. No more reliance on sometimes sketchy DJs, no more worries about a cassette flaking out or no CD player available, no more needing to be in a car. If a computer and Blue Tooth are nearby (when are they not?), he and I will be consistently co-joined in musical heaven. Want to guess what Gershwin song and which version I picked to initiate him to the miracle of music? Will lightning strike twice? How can it hurt to try?    

I Vote Because

 "I vote because..."

How would you finish that prompt?

I'm not sure how many different endings I've created for it since my local activist group first linked up with Vote Forward. At a recent meeting, I was gratified to learn that Vote Forward - in partnership with local activist groups like mine all over the U.S. - has encouraged over 37 million people to vote since 2018. The sample letters and instructions are provided to anyone who wants to get involved. Visit their website; it's not too late. 

Vote Forward (votefwd.org)

The final Vote Forward push in this election cycle is aimed at under-represented voters in the swing states. I mailed forty letters just before leaving home to welcome my new grandson into the world. Doing so felt right because the energy I'm putting in right now aligns with my growing concern about the fragility of our democracy and the potential impact voter suppression could have on his future. Working with Vote Forward the last six years and assisting the League of Women Voters in their voter registration drives since 2020 are two ways that have helped me put into action my belief in the importance of voting. 

For the record, in my latest group of letters, I finished the prompt as follows: "I vote because I want to honor those who came before me and were denied the right to vote." As a student of history, I was satisfied making my plea this way. I hope it speaks to at least one potential voter who receives it. 

   

James

James is the best novel released in 2024 that I have read so far in 2024.

What a relief it is to make that statement without any concern about being overly praiseworthy. After reviewing my book journal, I couldn't locate another 2024 novel finished between January-September that closely rivals Percival Everett's re-imagining of Huckleberry Finn told through the lens of Jim. 

"...where does a slave put anger? We could be angry with one another; we were human. But the real source of our rage had to go without address, swallowed, repressed."  

My insatiable hunger for books combined with the pledge I made in 2011 to publish posts about only the ones that move me has sometimes made it challenging to find fresh ways to say "wow". No such challenge when it comes to James. This is exceptional literature.

"I hated the world that wouldn't let me apply justice without the certain retaliation of injustice."   

Having so many discerning readers in my life is a gift I do not take for granted. To any of those folks who happen to be reading this post and recommended James to me - I owe you one. Wow.

" 'And who are you?' 

'I am James'

'James who?' 

'Just James' ".

 

Dilemma #1

Right around the time he was born last night, I began reflecting on what the world might be like in 2098, the year my new grandson is the same age I am now. Those of you with grandchildren: Ever let your mind wander this way? What have you envisioned?

When any of my reflections began meandering toward a doomsday scenario of any stripe, I willed myself to return to hope. And I quickly discovered the best way to do that was by focusing on the certainty that the unknowable future my grandson will live through - calamities aside - will continue to produce memorable literature and music, both of which have given me immeasurable joy. Thus, my first dilemma as a grandfather: Tomorrow - when I'm with him for the first time - do I read a book before or after the first song I play?    

But back to 2098. Will people still be listening to George Gershwin's music seventy-four years from now?  I believe they will - more cause for hope. Will Oliver Twist's story continue to enchant readers? I think it will. Isn't thinking about the lives of our grandchildren through the filter of memorable music & literature preferable to wondering if wars will ever end, etc.? 

I'm sticking with this plan. 

A Muse About To Be Born

Egotistical impulses aside, I do try to resist re-reading my older posts. However, the pleasant surprises that frequently await me when I do so - a turn of phrase that satisfies, an insightful comment from a reader, and most rewarding, recalling what inspired a post in the first place - sometimes reinforce my solipsistic urges. Closing the confession booth now. 

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the inspirations I'm referring to often spring from a conversation or some kind of interaction with one of the many people who enrich my life. When one of those people recently described how becoming a grandparent is guaranteed to transform me, her words moved me to tears. I wondered: Will my imminent membership in a club that everyone reveres - days away now - become my newest source of inspiration? Based on what happened when my daughter entered the world and how much she has brought to my life since 1989, I'm reasonably sure it will. 

Here's something I anticipate with joy. Years from now, I'll stumble across an old post - maybe this one? - celebrating my first grandchild. I'll then be driven to do a search using "grandchild" as the keyword. Several dozen posts will pop up. I'll re-read them all and feel no guilt about it.  

Editorializing

Is it possible these days to speak without editorializing? 

The older I get and the more closely I pay attention to my own words and the words of others, the more I've come to believe that editorializing is fast becoming a nearly inescapable fact of human communication. Consider the following:

* The load many everyday words and expressions now carry - e.g., "choice", "identity", etc. - and how frequently more words are added and become similarly loaded.    

* The way our increasingly partisan media exacerbates the issue, endlessly repeating sound bites filled with those same loaded words, nuance be damned. 

* The ubiquity of 24/7 screens in almost every public and private space, further compounding the issue by isolating us as well as promoting allegiance and respectful interaction to only those with whom we agree.  

How will younger people who have been educated in this screen-saturated world learn how to break free and communicate without editorializing? How can the older folks among us make a difference in this arena with the time we have left?

   

#32 (On My Way to 100)

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Always on the Lookout

Given just five authors have been added to my list in two years, it appears the strategy I announced in the 2022 post above was well considered. At my current pace, I will still be well under 100 "favorite" authors in my centennial year. I wonder who else might ascend into my pantheon between now and 2049. More to the point, how likely is it that I'll still be blogging as my first century comes to a close? I guess we'll see.  

For those keeping track, on the strength of The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store, James McBride now holds author position #32 on my venerated, non-hierarchal list. Not only is this the third McBride title in a row that has knocked me out, this 2023 powerhouse also holds the dubious distinction of being my longest ever book journal entry. I couldn't stop gushing/writing; I wanted to hold onto this reading experience as long as possible. 

"Chona had never been one to play by the rules of American society...To her the world was not a china closet where you admire this and don't touch that. Rather she saw it as a place where every act of living was a chance for tikkun olam, to improve the world. The tiny woman with the bad foot was all soul." 

McBride's gift for creating memorable characters like Chona is surpassed only by his generous heart. If you read just one book this year, consider making it The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store. Please. 

 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Swinging With James McBride

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Reading Re-Cap: 2020

Stay Tuned

Ever heard of Shane Atkinson? 

I hadn't either until watching LaRoy, Texas. Soon after arriving back home, I had to know who wrote the screenplay for the film I'd watched on my flight. After learning Atkinson had also directed this little gem, I knew his was a name worth remembering. The last film written and directed by the same person that impressed me this much was The Fabulous Baker Boys. For anyone taking notes, Steve Kloves was responsible for that 1989 treasure. 

Given how frequently over-hyped marquee movies disappoint me (Maestro or Killers of the Flower Moon, anyone?), being pleasantly surprised by something I never heard of is such a treat. I'm guessing Atkinson has seen Fargo more than once - who hasn't? - but the Coen-ish comedy-noir tone he juggles expertly in LaRoy, Texas did not strike me as derivative. Also, his casting of the criminally under-used Dylan Baker as a vicious killer and Steve Zahn as a hapless private eye is nearly perfect. I was less impressed by John Maguro in the lead role, though he held his own until his final scene, the only place this movie let me down.  

The best part? Because my daughter is part of a writer/director team beginning to make inroads in the wacky film industry, movies like LaRoy, Texas and The Fabulous Baker Boys - as well as the reputation of the Coen Brothers - all give me hope. Stay closely tuned and I'll be sure to let you know when you can start looking for her name, as I did for Shane Atkinson's.      

Rocky Mountain High

Though it's possible this third trip to Rocky Mountain National Park could be my last, my gratitude for having even one chance to visit here easily displaces any potential letdown. If you've never spent time in this part of heaven, I strongly recommend you add doing so to your list; you will be blown away. Picking a favorite National Park may be a fool's errand, but RMNP is clearly in the top tier. 

Today's hike to the aptly named Dream Lake was a fitting coda to this week. I can't imagine anyone who could resist being moved by the resplendent beauty of this place. Can any picture hope to capture even a small fraction of its idyllic splendor? Of course not. But if either the picture below or my entreaty to visit RMNP entices you - even in the smallest fashion - I'm satisfied.

In the meanwhile, I'm soon to be Jersey-bound on a Rocky Mountain High.

  

Women of Heart and Mind

It's difficult to say what juices me most about the music courses I've been developing and delivering for over a decade. My creative life has been enhanced, my network of friends has grown, my devotion to music has deepened. Despite the significant investment of time required to develop a new course, each time one begins taking shape, the mental effort is invigorating.    

My newest course - Women of Heart and Mind: A Changing Musical Landscape - is currently in its embryonic stage. I already know some of the women composers and songs I'll feature and some links I'll make connecting trailblazing musical pioneers like Carole King, Joni Mitchell, and Laura Nyro to the advent of second wave feminism. But as always, as the course moves toward its maiden voyage, songs and composers will be added and dropped. And that's where you come in. 

Which women composers would you expect to hear represented in a course like this? Which songs are strongly linked in your mind to the feminist movement? I've already gotten a few solid ideas from people in my hiking group, my writer's group, my book club. Why not toss me a few of yours? 

The Historian's Annual Report

Although no one suggested we needed one, some years ago I appointed myself historian for the group of sixteen of us who met in Alaska in 2015 and have reunited somewhere in the U.S. ever since. This year, we've returned to Rocky Mountain National Park, the sight of our first reunion in 2016. That year found us based in Grand Lakes, Colorado, on the west end of the park. This year, we're in Estes Park, on the east end. Given the stunning beauty of this National Park, it hardly matters.

Over nine years as "Rogue Scholars", a few group traditions have been initiated, each one enriching our time together. Throughout the week, we all contribute to a gratitude jar by writing on post-its some things we are grateful for. These can be things about each other, about the group itself, about our current location, etc. Then, on our last night, we take turns reading aloud all the post-its. The tradition reminds each of us how fortunate we are to have found each other and to have built these lasting friendships.

We also have a book discussion on one evening of our time together. For the past three years we've linked the book to our location to help deepen our appreciation for the area we're visiting. This year's book - The Meadow - is James Galvin's moving memoir/prose poem about the changing face of Western America. I've been elevated by every book discussion this group has had and expect nothing less tomorrow night.   

Playing music has been another evolving tradition helping to fortify our bond. I was able to bring my guitar along for reunion #2 in the Adirondacks, #5 in Acadia National Park, and #7 - last year - in West Virginia. Our group includes a husband and wife who also are musicians - violin and piano respectively - and this year the wife brought along her harp. I look forward to hearing her play over the coming days and also to hear the impromptu a cappella duets she frequently sings with another Rogue Scholar companion. The blend of those two women's voices has enchanted all of us many times. What a blast.      

Book Club Bonanza

This week has been a book club bonanza. In order of the riches:

* On Tuesday, my own club - now in its 8th year - met to discuss This Is Happiness, a 2019 novel by Niall Williams. Pleased to report the book - the first home run I finished in 2024 - was universally well-received. One charter member of my club - a serious reader - called it "...the best book I've read all year." 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: This Is Happiness

* On Wednesday, I attended my first meeting of a club that reads only non-fiction. My tenure in this group is officially off to an auspicious start with The Spy and the Traitor (2018 - Ben Macintyre), the best non-fiction book I've read in months. Spending time with a new group of people bonded by a love of reading is an almost surefire way to keep my mojo buzzing. I'm now pleasantly anticipating next month's discussion.    

* The Return by Hisham Matar was the subject this morning at my smallest club; just two of us have been meeting every month for ten years. Although memoirs have been a lower priority for me for a long time, Matar's 2016 account of his quest to learn of his father's fate in a notorious Libyan prison is worth any discerning reader's time. Muscular prose, riveting story, significant cautionary tale about the dangers of unchecked political power in the modern world.  

And there's more soon to come. When we re-unite tomorrow with the fourteen folks with whom we've been travelling since 2016, one of our first evening's activities will be spent discussing The Meadow.  James Galvin's 1992 moving meditation on the majestic Colorado landscape and one man's relationship with the land is an ideal choice for this group given we'll be spending a great deal of our time during this eighth reunion in and around Rocky Mountain National Park. What a week for this bookworm; I'm a lucky guy. What have been some of your most recent reading riches, book club or otherwise?  

" I used to think the greatest gift you could give a person was a book, but now I think it is to have a conversation about a book." - Will Schwalbe     

Thank You for Being a Friend

"Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive.": Anais Nin

Though I've always been someone who has made friends easily, acknowledging how much value each friend adds to my life can never be overdone. How about you? If you could rewind your tape, would you do as I wish I could and make sure every friend you've ever had knew for sure "...a world was born when they arrived?" 

It's fitting that Anais Nin's words came to me many months ago via a friend who reads my blog enough to know how little treasures like this often find their way into my reflections. After thanking her for sending me the quote, I copied the words into my blog journal with little idea how they might later be useful. 

But my life is rich with friends. Months later, a different friend suggested a visit to Swaminarayan Akshardham in nearby Robbinsville, N.J. Although I had heard of this Hindu mandir (temple) - the second largest in the world - had this friend not suggested a trip there, I might never have visited it. I was awed by its majesty, ennobled by the history, and grateful for my friend's suggestion. I think I remembered to thank her and made a note in my blog journal about the experience. 

The most recent link to Nin's words then occurred to me soon after returning from guitar camp at the end of August. I was perusing my blog journal and catching up with e-mail when I noticed one from another friend. This friend has been sending me great music links and lectures by trenchant cultural critics for many years. I knew it was past time to acknowledge how our long friendship has aided my development as a musician and a thinker. I wrote a torturously lengthy e-mail doing exactly that. Inspiring words, ennobling experiences, transcendent music & incisive social commentary; a few of the worlds that might not possibly have been born had these friends never arrived. Thank you all.   

   

Words for the Ages: Line Thirty-Three

"There's a crack in everything; that's how the light gets in."

One of my genuine pleasures in life since initiating this series in 2017 has been the search I've been on for timeless kernels like the one above. I owe this particular re-discovery to the guitar camp I attended last month. In one of the discussions following a morning meditation, a fellow student reminded me of this profound lyric from Leonard Cohen's 1992 song entitled Anthem. Context: We were discussing the value in embracing the flaws we all have as musicians. 

Not long after, I was further reminded of the wisdom of Cohen's words when I had cause to re-read a post I'd published in early August a few weeks before the camp. A reader's comment from that post brought back a mantra I've long repeated to my own guitar students, i.e., "when improvising, there are no wrong notes, only notes you didn't intend to play". Which is not far from what Cohen was getting at in Anthem, albeit with more poetic finesse.

 Reflections From The Bell Curve: Taking a Third Swing

What are the cracks in your life or experience that have allowed light to get in? And, do you have another Leonard Cohen lyric you'd nominate? I'd welcome hearing something you unearth that stands alone, is brief enough to be easily recalled, yet still reveals a universal truth. Given Cohen's substantial body of work and poetic sensibility, I wouldn't be surprised if several of you came up with a different lyric of his that could reasonably be called words for the ages.          

Still on the Job

Which national holiday would you cite as the least celebrated? Put another way, when did you last propose a toast to organized labor? Or, when you got up today, who were you most anxious to contact to wish them well? 

The last time I recall actively thinking about Labor Day was years ago when someone much younger than I declared that unions were an "obsolete" concept. Like many past conversations, I've since re-played that unsettling one in my head, persuasively and articulately demolishing the wrongheadedness of that simplistic statement. Wouldn't it be great if real life worked like that? 

What actually happened was less dramatic and wholly unsatisfying. I found myself getting emotional and had trouble putting a single coherent sentence together. Perhaps the word fairness crossed my mind. I do recall thinking of my father's life as a working man and the importance of unions for him. But recounting that piece of ancient history would not have helped me deconstruct the word obsolete for the clueless individual who'd used it. 

That bad-tasting, long-ago conversation had faded from memory until I got up this morning and noticed the holiday. When the memory returned, I discovered I was no longer disappointed in my inadequate response. Instead, I welcomed the memory because it broke back thoughts of my dad as well as the importance of this under-celebrated holiday. Any day I remember to honor my dad is a good day, holiday aside. 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: What Holiday?

The Magic in Words

"Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien

When did you most recently allow yourself to wander? What did you discover when you did so? What prevents us from wandering more frequently? 

Like most people, I'm a creature of habit. I practice my guitar a certain way, I do similar exercise routines, I often read in the morning. But months ago - after hearing Tolkien's words cited by a composer I admire as he described his process - something shifted in me. I decided on the spot to begin integrating a small dose of wandering whenever I picked up my guitar. How could doing so possibly hurt?  

After several weeks, a small but noticeable effect took hold. Some of my improvisational ideas began to feel less predictable to me. Though I'm sure no one but me would notice the difference, something definitely opened up as I allowed myself to wander more in the musical unknown. Fresh songwriting concepts soon presented themselves. It's been magical and thrilling.

This morning, more magic. I decided it was time to share here what I've discovered about wandering and the connection to that composer's use of Tolkien's words. As I began typing, I mistakenly inserted the word wonder into the Tolkien quote. Isn't it intriguing how the words wander and wonder share five letters? I can't recall ever taking note before of the magical connection between those two words. Have you? 

A Better World

I'm confident saying each of us has fantasized at least once over our lifetime of one thing that could make the world a better place. In this moment, what one thing comes to you?

Although I've indulged in this harmless fantasy more than a few times, the one thing I seem to come back to most predictably is empathy. Imagine if every one of the over eight billion people alive today had even just a little more empathy. How could the world not be a better place if all of us more routinely took the time to walk in the shoes of those we encounter? 

Reviewing my bumpy journey, my lowest retrospective moments are often connected to instances when some base instinct - judgment, spite, envy - displaced my empathy. Often, I re-play those instances in my memory until I'm the person I wished I'd been. I want to believe that this strategy - i.e., re-inventing moments when empathy was not my automatic response - has helped me be more mindful in parallel situations when they later occurred. 

What are some of your strategies for continuing to expand your empathy? Who in your life most embodies this noble instinct? And what's another thing in short supply that you think could make the world a better place?     

Repayment Day

Over the thirteen-and-one half years I've been blogging - aside from my wife and daughter - there have been perhaps three dozen other regular readers who have made more than a handful of public comments here. Though I disabled the "followers" widget from my home page many years ago, I also know there have always been some other regular non-commenting non-family readers. I know that mostly because those folks have frequently communicated with me offline, in some fashion, about posts they've read.  

I'm grateful to everyone in all three groups - frequent commenters (past & present), infrequent (past & present), and non-commenters. And, if you are what I've come to call a "passer-by" - comment or no comment variety - thank you for reading me today, although you can stop now. Almost everyone else: Feel free to skip the next paragraph. It is pertinent only to one person from group #1, present tense variety.   

Thank you for taking eighteen minutes out of your life this morning to make comments on four of my posts. Although this is not the first time you have written more than three comments in one day, and it's not even your record for most comments made in one day, because I happened to be writing a post on a different subject as your comments arrived, I was able to notice how much time - at minimum - you spent today on a task that rewards me but gives you nothing in return.  

Back to everyone from all three groups and any passers-by who ignored my earlier suggestion. If there is a way I can re-pay any of you for reading or commenting, please tell me what that is. Connecting in a small way with anyone who has taken precious time to read or comment here has been - since March 2011 - a powerful and affirming experience for me. If I'm able, I'd like to reciprocate. 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Maiden Voyage

Here I Go Again

What did this camper/student take away from a week spent with eighty-nine other guitarists, not including the faculty?

* From his fellow students, he re-learned that the people he gravitates toward are those who are genuinely good listeners in a non-musical context, e.g., sharing a meal. Since good listening is a critical skill for any musician, it follows that some of those same people are the ones this student wanted as jamming partners, technical skill aside.

* From the faculty, he re-learned that kindness - in demeanor, in language, in delivering critical feedback - trumps all. How well someone plays, how many famous people someone has played with, how much praise is heaped on someone by their talented peers, matters far less to this student than if that someone appears to be a kind human being.    

I need more time to fully process what I learned about guitar and what I learned about my playing this past week. Periodically reviewing my notes will help me with those things. But what I learned about myself as a person this past week is how much work I have to do. Not terribly profound or unique but clearly true. Fortunately, every day I'm alive gives me time to practice, both my guitar as well as all the other stuff. Here I go again.  

The Sixth Inning Stretch

On my seventy-fifth birthday in November, the years 2009-2024 will represent exactly 20% of my life, i.e., five parts, each fifteen years long. When this arbitrary mathematical marker interfered with a recent meditation, I was unsure where it would take me. But as is my lifelong habit, soon after my return, I began writing. Perhaps some of you will follow me down this short four-pronged path? I found it instructive; I suspect you might as well. 

* Depending on your age, divide your life into between two and five parts with an equal number of years in each part. Then, write down the years of each part, e.g., in my case, part five reads 2009 - 2024.

* Looking at the years comprising each part, do a brief automatic writing exercise, capturing the first several things that come to mind that occurred during those years. Capture as many or as few as you like but avoid overthinking, evaluating, or editing. Just write.  

* Next, give each part a descriptive name/title/heading. Again, avoid over-thinking; go with your gut. If you want, you can re-name any or all of the parts after you do the final step. For example, my part five ended up being later re-named "The Post Full-Time Work Years". 

* Last, try to identify at least one predominant feeling attached to what you captured in the second bullet above. Dig deep here; try to be as specific as you can. For example, I wrote "most personally satisfying" alongside part five vs. a word like "happy", which is accurate but less precise. It's possible this final piece will end up being the most challenging and most revealing for you. It was for me. 

"And now a quarter of my life has almost passed, I think I've come to see myself at last."

If anyone has contact information for John Sebastian, please ask him on my behalf if he stands by the sentiment expressed in that lyric from Darling Be Home Soon, written in 1966 when he was twenty-two years old. Since Sebastian is now eighty - making twenty-two close to a "...quarter of his life..." -  it's a fair question, don't you think? And how about you? Would you assert that you were able to "...see yourself..." when a quarter of your life had passed? I know I wasn't that precocious. If I shared with you my title for the second 20% of my life, i.e., from age sixteen through thirty, you'd know for sure that John was way ahead of me. 

  

Skipping the Occasional Meal Together

Watching my wife lost in her garden early today, I thought of instances when she's commented on me being in a musical trance. Soon after, it dawned on me what a gift it is that our individual interests don't necessarily always overlap. 

Although powerful music gives my wife as much pleasure as beautiful gardens give me, I believe the solitary moments each of us have spent consumed by our passions have strengthened our bond. This is so in part because those moments have helped animate many of our subsequent conversations, like the one we had later in the day.    

Have you known couples who appear to enjoy doing almost everything together and spend very little time apart? I have; bravo to them. I'm guessing no one who knows our forty-six-year partnership well would ever describe us in this fashion. Bravo to us. Although I'm good with "...for better or for worse..." and proud of how I've risen to the occasion with respect to "...in sickness and in health...", I'm also relieved those vows say nothing about "... having lunch together every day..." 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Magnet? Glue? Dessert?

Hypocritical Ambivalence

 ambivalence: the coexistence of positive and negative feelings toward the same person, object, or action.

That dictionary definition of ambivalence perfectly describes my everyday attitude about how most of us - willingly or not - have become insidiously tethered to technology. My positive-negative toggling about this modern-day blessing/curse frequently gives me whiplash. To wit:

* I'm a blogger who lusts after readers. But ... I stubbornly resist using my cell phone for anything but the most basic tasks. I also resist giving out my always-asked-for e-mail. Unless, that is, you want the URL for my blog.   

* I cherish the efficiency of bar codes at supermarkets and the ability to communicate with multiple people using a group e-mail and online resources that make research easier. But ... I'm easily triggered by the use of cell phones within nanoseconds to retrieve a factoid - before anyone has a chance to exercise their memory or otherwise use their brain - and indiscriminate dependence on any social media for commentary/punditry, and unquestioning belief in the "truth" of anything found online, e.g. Wikipedia.

* I like having a watch that tracks my steps, and GPS to help me avoid the directionally-challenged who roam among us (although I reserve the right to say it's advisable all of us should know north from south and east from west), and lots of choices of easy-to-access music and other entertainment content. But ... I really don't like the intrusive, ubiquitous beeping/buzzing/purring/meowing of watches, or automobile instrument panels, or everything, or so it seems. Quiet moments, revealing conversations, even intimate encounters are constantly at risk of being invaded by some infuriating sound or worse, a snippet of song.  

I considered using my oldest series - Words That Can Haunt Me - as a way to frame my ambivalence about today's kowtowing to technology. But in the end, it's not the word ambivalence that haunts me. It's my own surrender to select pieces of the technology that prompted today's reflection. At its base, I guess it's my hypocrisy that haunts me.

A Pesky Dilemma

How is it that the short, episodic chapters in Cloud Cuckoo Land (2021) worked so well for me as a reader? Ever since finishing Anthony Doerr's mind-blowing novel a few weeks back, I've been trying to land on a satisfactory answer to that question, given how bite-size chapters in many other books have predictably annoyed me over much of my reading life.  

"Each morning comes along and you assume it will be similar enough to the previous one - that you will be safe, that your family will be alive, that you will be together, that life will remain mostly as it was. Then a moment arrives and everything changes." 

Could it be as simple as the reliably rich insights found throughout Cloud Cuckoo Land?  Perhaps, though I do wonder if worthy insights in some of those other books were overlooked simply because I got put off too quickly by bite-size chapters, especially when the prose wasn't as muscular as Doerr's.

Doerr divides his 622-page masterwork into twenty-four parts, each prefaced by a brief passage from an ancient text by Antonius Diogenes, which itself tells the story of a shepherd's journey to a utopian city in the sky. From there, this gifted author further divides his narrative across three time periods - 15th century Constantinople, 2020, and the near-future - using the stories of five well-developed characters, via individual chapters devoted to their interlocking stories. For me, the architecture was both challenging and thrilling. Did that contribute to my higher tolerance for those short chapters? Perhaps, although again, I do wonder if this kind of structure in a more traditional linear story might have struck me as gimmicky.  

I'm reasonably certain better minds than mine have published well-researched critical theories teasing apart distinctions between best-selling page turners that use episodic morsels vs. books of literary merit like Cloud Cuckoo Land that utilize a similar cadence. I guess my next step is to educate myself to some of those theories. In the meanwhile, I'm curious to know if my pesky dilemma sounds at all familiar to readers out there. If yes, please share with me what conclusions - if any - you've drawn. 

Taking a Third Swing

By the time I got around to attending my first weeklong guitar camp in 2001, I was fifty-one years old. The numerous advertisements I'd seen for these camps in Guitar Player had enticed me through the previous twenty+ years I'd spent studying jazz guitar.  During those years, I frequently wondered how long I'd postpone this experience that was on my list of goals. After all, before I began studying at thirty, I'd spent the previous ten+ years making a living playing guitar to accompany my singing. What would it take for me to finally take this plunge? Aside from remembering how inadequate I felt that week in 2001, all that remains with me now is my mantra when I got home - "never again".  

Reflections From The Bell Curve: School's Out (& In)

In 2016, a good friend and jamming partner talked me into taking a second shot, an experience I wrote of in the post above.  At that point, I was five years into my project to memorize 300 jazz standards, started soon after leaving the world of full-time work. I guess I felt ready for the challenge. Although my sophomore effort ended up being a marginally better experience than my maiden voyage in 2001, I still returned home discouraged. I had some good moments jamming with my friend in the cabin we shared but - surrounded by guitarists who intimidated me - I barely played in the classroom settings and skipped performing at the student concert held on the final night. Though I don't recall saying "never again" again, I probably thought it.   

And yet, later this month, I'm taking a third swing. I cannot identify the logic for me doing so. It's been eight years since my last guitar camp experience but wait. Read that again. Camp? At seventy-four? With or without a guitar, how do I make this sound less weird? More important, how do I ensure I don't return this year either saying or thinking "never again"? 

Words for the Ages: Line Thirty-Two

"Our differences do a lot to teach us how to use the tools and gifts we've got." 

Although I took two small liberties with the lyric above from I Won't Give Up (2012), my doing so takes nothing away from the message Jason Mraz delivers in his excellent song. These are seventeen words for the ages - i.e., a terse phrase that stands alone, is easy to remember, and conveys a universal truth.

And that universal truth not only applies to love. It also applies to us as a species. Imagine if people embraced and celebrated their differences - race, religion, ethnicity - as a way to teach us how to use the tools and gifts we've got. Isn't it safe to say our world would be a more humane and civil place? I have no idea if Mraz had this larger truth in mind when he composed what sounds to me like a love song. But it doesn't matter. His are words for the ages, regardless.

As always, I welcome your nominations for this series of mine, now in its eighth year. Got a different Jason Mraz lyric you think fits the criteria at the end of the first paragraph above? Or, how about a terse phrase from a song by a different songwriter? For the record, the two minor liberties I took were deleting the word "they" in front of "do" and changing "we" to "we've". Apologies, Jason. 

Scuttling Saint James Day

Every August 1 since 2012 I have proposed here the establishment of a new national holiday in a valiant attempt to rescue August from its barren state. Alas, though all my holiday proposals have been brilliant - Hallmark has a line of cards ready for each - not one has gotten enough richly deserved notice. This indignity is hard to bear in light of the massive reach of my blog. The hoi-polloi can be so fickle. How much can one holiday-inventing genius stand? 

This year, I gave serious thought to proposing August 1 be heretofore declared Saint James Day - honoring my middle name - a superbly logical suggestion given the March holiday that already venerates my first. I know there is guaranteed support for this superlative notion, given the number of people sharing my noble middle moniker as a first, middle, or even last name, e.g., Henry and William - rest their souls - and LeBron. Imagine the cheering throngs. Who knows? Perhaps initiating a Saint James Day movement could have acted as an entree for my blog to finally win over reluctant sports fans who have yet to join the bell curve minions. 

In the end, I concluded that proposing Saint James Day - inspired as it is - crosses an egotistical bridge too far for even this breathtaking mastermind. Instead, I decided that providing the links below for a few of my outstanding earlier proposals is a reasonable compromise. Anyone who wishes to be further dazzled just say the word and I'll forward the remaining nine to you. Resist the temptation to steal my ideas; remember the Hallmark deal.

Reflections From The Bell Curve: August 1, 2014: National Book Day

Reflections From The Bell Curve: National Immigrant Day

Reflections From The Bell Curve: National Gratitude Day

Becoming You

By now, even the most casual follower of my blog might have noticed that, aside from indulging my indiscriminate movie lust, I don't spend a lot of time watching TV. But for weeks now I've been talking to everyone I know about Becoming You, an exceptional six-episode series recently streamed on Apple TV. Without question, it's worth your money to pay for a one-month subscription just to watch this series alone. 

Subtitled The First Two Thousand Days, with a captivating narration by Olivia Colman, the premise is brilliantly simple. Traveling around the globe, the filmmakers capture children from over one hundred nations as they approach important and universal developmental milestones. Some of my favorite moments involved learning about the impact of culture on children as they "become themselves" over their critical first five years of life. 

The opening sequence - a Japanese custom called "First Errand" - will hook you, I guarantee it. But there's so much more - getting to a play date in Borneo, transportation in Mongolia, the universality of first words, how gender exerts itself. Over almost 2400 posts across more than thirteen years, this is only my second endorsement of a TV show. I hope that level of discrimination has helped me earn your trust. If you do end up watching Becoming You, I'd enjoy hearing your impressions. I'm confident others would as well.    

Crabby About Grade Inflation

As a way to alert readers whenever one of my blog posts might sound a bit crabby, beginning in 2014, I began using some form of that word - or a synonym - in the title of any such post. Over the ensuing decade I've published about twenty, an average of two per year. I'm not claiming to have been crabby about so few things over the ten years. I am human and 2016-2020, in particular, gave me a lot of material, though I have mostly stayed away from politics primarily because too many people scream too much and too loudly these days. 

But when it comes to grade inflation, this crab has had enough. Specifically, how is it possible that so few books graded by readers on Goodreads have a cumulative rating lower than 3 stars, aka "I liked it"? It mystifies this curmudgeon to know how so few readers find so few books deserving just 2 stars, especially given the descriptor that accompanies that rating, i.e., "It was OK." What are these grade-inflating readers afraid of? Hurting an author's feelings, perhaps? Clearly, there are many books that are - just like many movies, many songs, many paintings, many meals, many anything - in fact, just OK.  

This cranky blogger is using Goodreads only as the latest example of grade inflation, a subject that has made him cantankerous for decades. As an educator, I've had students of all abilities. But I've had few who believed they deserved a "C", i.e., an average grade. Truth be told, the overwhelming majority of students I've had thought they deserved an "A" or, at worst, a "B+". But if no one is average, of what value is a "B" or an "A"?  

Reflections From The Bell Curve: A Crab Out Of Water

Swinging With James McBride

Of course, James McBride is a musician. The prose in Deacon King Kong (2020) swings as effortlessly as Duke Ellington. The sharp dialogue has an unmistakable cadence. The interplay of the characters in this quintessential NYC novel reminded me of the way great jazz musicians listen carefully to one another when trading eight bar phrases and the laughter that frequently follows. Even the passages with an improvised feel in this book were tight.  

The narrative momentum in Deacon King Kong makes it an easy book to race through; avoid doing that. Pay close attention in Chapter One ("Jesus's Cheese") when McBride introduces folks from Five Ends Baptist; their role as a Greek chorus is a crucial element in the satisfying moral symmetry of the novel. The skilled depiction of secondary characters - e.g., the Governor, Soup, Harold - felt musical to me. It was as though each took a superb guest solo and then walked off stage. 

If you end up liking Deacon King Kong, go onto The Color of Water next. Ever since reading it upon its 1995 release, I've recommended that memoir to more people than any other I've subsequently finished. More McBride? The Good Lord Bird (2013) is his wild re-imagining of the life of radical abolitionist John Brown. If Deacon King Kong indeed swings like Duke, the musical analogue for The Good Lord Bird could be the controlled and inventive anarchy of the Mahavishnu Orchestra. And me? I'm onto his most recent novel, The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store (2023). 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Geeky Reading Magic 

A Satisfying Substitute

What mental picture do you have when thinking of someone meditating? I'd guess many folks would envision a person alone, eyes closed, sitting still in a quiet place, paying attention to their breathing with or without repeating a mantra, aloud or silently. On many days, that picture would closely match what my meditation practice looks like.

Several years back, my mental picture was broadened when an instructor at a retreat spoke of "a walking meditation". Ever since, there have been infrequent moments when I'm so fully present that my mind feels nearly as empty as it does when I'm sitting still and alone with my breathing. Am I meditating? I'm not sure but I do know the chatter has momentarily stopped, I'm not judging anything or anyone, and even the usual minor annoyances that sometimes trigger me - like a noisy leaf blower - somehow don't intrude on the moment. I'm clear, grateful, and quiet.

A few mornings back, sitting on my deck, one of these infrequent moments arrived unexpectedly. Perhaps it was the beautiful weather. Or maybe it was gazing at my wife's wondrous garden with all the butterflies. It could have been as simple as the cup of coffee on the table, the book in front of me, my guitar one room away. In the end, it doesn't matter because at that moment I was alive with wonder and awash in the feeling of being loved. I knew there was no need later in the day to rely on my normal meditation practice to center myself. Somehow, I'd gotten "there" without it.        

I've Got Your Number (#5 - The NYC Street Version)

a.) Pursuit on 52nd St.

b.) The 53rd St. Bridge Song

c.) 57th St. 

d.) Across 59th St.

e.) 110th St. 

Before anyone chastises me for leaving 42nd St. from this list of scrambled titles, please recall I've used only numbers above fifty since kicking off this series early this year. Anyway, that iconic song/musical would have been too easy for this latest - perhaps final - iteration. Ready to try solving another puzzle in pop ephemera without using Google? Here we go.

Four of the five NYC street names above have been featured in pop songs beginning with a 1967 hit by Harper's Bizarre, probably the easiest of the bunch. However, none of the four "correct" street names are in the titles from the a-e list as noted. Those four street names are scrambled throughout, meaning you have to take one of the four correct street numbers and transplant it to a different title until you have four correct song titles. Hint: One of these four - when you get the right street number in its appropriate place - was also the title of a feature length film around the same time as the song. 

The remaining item has a NYC street name that I can't recall ever crossing my always-on musical radar. However, the number in that item was featured in a song title from the early 1990s, bemoaning the wasteland. Final challenge? Identify that song. As with iterations #1-4, additional hints will be provided after a suitable length of time but only if necessary. Warning: There's one nerd out there who is pretty quick responding to these silly challenges but even he needed a little help at least once. So, if you're out of the box quickly, you have a shot at besting him. I'm waiting.                

Recommended (Despite Slipping Film Bona Fides)

Back when there were just five, it was a point of pride for this movie buff to say he'd seen all the films nominated for an Academy Award before the February ceremonies. But beginning in 2010 - when the number of nominees increased to nine or ten films - I started falling behind regularly. How can I claim to be an aficionado in mid-July if there's still a 2023 nominee (Zone of Interest) I haven't seen? Worse, there are a few still-unseen nominees from 2010-2022 continually reminding me of my slipping film bona fides. The horror. (Get it?)

Despite my fall from grace, I remain confident recommending Anatomy of a Fall as a movie you don't want to miss. Although it earned a well-deserved Oscar for best original screenplay, I'll stake my claim as a cinephile - albeit a recently truant one - and say that end to end it is a better film end than 2023's winner (Oppenheimer). Every pause in Anatomy ... is beautifully modulated, every moment of silence fully earned, every screenplay cliche - including a final twist - averted. It is a 10. (There I go again.)    

About the other 2023 nominees. I'll pass commenting on Barbie. American Fiction is as ambitious as The Holdovers is modest. Both films succeed, though - good as they are - I suspect neither would have gotten a nomination when only five movies got that nod. Poor Things is so over-the-top it defies description. For my money, among the nine nominees I've seen, only Past Lives approaches the subtle mastery of Anatomy of a Fall, both in sharp contrast to the bloated bombast of the two over-hyped marquee messes I wrote about in late January. 

Don't want to disappoint anyone waiting for a film reference at the end of this post. How's this? The geek abides.               

Reflections From The Bell Curve: A Decade of Crabbing

Two Pieces of Mind

Grateful and weary; energized and tortured; inspired and demoralized. 

My fluctuating posture toward the everyday; my ever-toggling thoughts about my creative output; my varying reaction to artistic brilliance, moment dependent.   

Necessary and self-indulgent.

Today's reflection from the bell curve. Anyone?  

  

The Gloves Are Off

Over thirteen years and almost 2400 blog posts, I've exercised superhuman restraint with respect to how often I've bragged here about my daughter's professional accomplishments. Today the gloves are off. Feel free to tune out right now if two short paragraphs of effusive gushing about her strikes you as unseemly. But before doing so, ask yourself these questions: Have you ever met a parent who wasn't proud of their kids? Would you want anything to do with such a parent?

As much as her move to Los Angeles last July pained me, it appears that my daughter's professional instinct about the need to be closer to the epicenter of show business - her chosen field since the 5th grade - was wise. Damn it, anyway. In less than a year, her career as a writer and director has rocketed to a new level. Aside from two feature-length films in development, including one she created and co-wrote with her writing/directing partner, her current contracted gig represents the culmination of more than ten years of hard work trying to break through in the wacky industry she chose. 

My daughter and her partner - collectively called BONABART- are presently part of a team of seven in what's called a writer's room, all of them at work on a TV series that features two marquee actors. I'd name the actors but my daughter wouldn't be happy with me publicly crossing that line until after the series has its debut. All the better: You'll have to check back in for my next round of gushing. 

ALISON BARTON (hialisonbarton.com)

Science and Faith

How do science and faith overlap in your life? 

If you're interested in exploring that question via a novel, I suggest you pick up Transcendent Kingdom (2020). Using the intersection of neuroscience, addiction, and depression, Yaa Gyasi tells a memoir-like family tale which gently prodded me to consider how faith and science are not as mutually exclusive as I've often made them. 

I don't know about you, but this long-lapsed Catholic, sometimes Unitarian, aspiring Buddhist struggles to square a strong belief in science with the many unexplainable miracles of the natural world and the unending mystery of bad choices we all make on occasion. Gyasi's protagonist faces those challenges and others, pushing her to question her rejection of her mother's unswerving faith. As the reader tags along with this talented young author, it's clear the novel's central dilemma has no solution. And that tantalizing ambiguity - carried through to the final sentences - prompted me to re-examine my scientific lens even more intensely. I need more than science to help me deal with the randomness of life. How about you?  

Any book that guides me away from being reflexively skeptical is a book I can endorse. Transcendent Kingdom is that kind of book.  

Declarations on Independence Day

As someone prone to criticize but slow to praise the United States, today seems an ideal day to reverse that paradigm. Taking anything for granted, even a country, is short sighted. Join me. What are your declarations on Independence Day?

* I'm proud of the bill of rights and especially partial to the first amendment declaring freedom of religion, speech, press, and assembly. For all our arguments, where would we be without those freedoms?

* While on the Constitution, I'm real fond of the checks and balances established there. Anytime one of the three branches lets me down or oversteps its bounds, it's nice to know the other two are there to provide ballast. It's a pretty cool set-up, don't you think?

* Though I know it's hokey and, I'm also aware lots of people were dragged here against their will, I'm proud of how the U.S. continues to (mostly) welcome people from all over the world. Lots of challenges go with that "give us your tired..." motto, but July 4th reminds me how this country has made that work as well as most.

A Wonderful & Surprising Re-Entry

There's no question that growing up with the Temptations music helped to make Ain't Too Proud To Beg a peak Broadway experience. If Covid hadn't shut down the world soon after I saw it in February 2020, it's possible I would have made my first-ever return visit to a show. 

Because my exposure to Alicia Keys's music has been quite limited, my enthusiasm about seeing Hell's Kitchen was muted. But I'm always up for hearing new music and I'd been blown away recently when a friend introduced me to an all-vocal version of Empire State of Mind featuring just Keys. Still, my last Broadway show had been over four years ago and that one had me reliving my early musical life with the Temps.  

My ambivalence dissipated the moment Hell's Kitchen began. If jukebox musicals are your jam, this is a show to see. Anchored by Keys's infectious music, the dynamic singing and electrifying choreography brought new life to an oft-told story of a young person finding herself. I was never out of the spell and moved several times, first by the Act One closer - Perfect Way to Die. The penultimate song - No One - re-purposed as a mother/daughter duet, and the rousing finale, Empire State of Mind, were unimprovable.  My new experiences with the latter have catapulted it into the musical stratosphere alongside some of my all-time favorites. 

I'd enjoy hearing your reaction if/when you see Hell's Kitchen. What a wonderful and surprising re-entry to the Great White Way this was for me.  

Conversational Hell

For those of us who do not live alone in a cave, an occasional visit to conversational hell is an unavoidable fact of life. What are your strategies when you've found yourself unable to escape a conversational situation that has you involuntarily grinding your teeth?

I'm not asking about the far-too-frequent political garbage all of us routinely face in our contentious present. Instead, I'm curious what you do when you've been trapped by one or more of the following types:

* the over-explainer

* the know-it-all

* the clueless, aka "I'll fill every available conversational space with jabbering, mostly about me"

My visits to conversational hell have been infrequent enough to be tolerable. But some recent experiences were so egregious I was desperately searching for a new way to escape, short of bolting from my seat screaming. In what was supposed to be a book discussion - for at least twenty painful minutes - I worked on a flat affect look in a vain attempt to hide my disbelief at the incessant rambling of a clueless prattler. Then just a few days later, as a prelude that went nowhere, an over-explainer launched into an extended dissertation about the merits of rap. Because of where I was seated, unnoticeable egress was not an option. I put my head down - the flat affect approach was impossible - and wrote in my journal. I filled three pages; he was still obtusely pontificating.  

Now about the know-it-all. I suspect there have been instances when others may have felt they were in conversational hell with know-it-all Pat. Mea culpa. And perhaps because I've worn that hat, it's possible my radar is oversensitive to other types who occasionally corner each of us. In the end, the many hours I've spent in conversational heaven - and my own work mitigating the know-it-all to ensure people enjoy conversing with me - make me grateful for 99.5% of my conversations. Hell can be hot but it's preferable to a cave.               

Miracles of the Natural World

I'm still buzzing from the thrill of having a butterfly land on my nose during a recent visit to the vivarium at the Museum of Natural History. Thanks to magnifying glasses located all around this magical place, I was able to closely examine the delicate lines of several species of butterflies, a new experience for me. Many of those lines looked as though they'd been painted on with a fine brush. And my favorite part? The awe in the eyes of every giggling child roaming around that room. Never been to a vivarium? I encourage you to add it your list. You will not be disappointed.

 

My vivarium experience also delivered an unexpected bonus. It deepened my appreciation for my wife's unflagging evangelism about the critical role native plants play in any local ecology. Gardens full of native plants - like the one in front of our home - help ensure butterfly populations thrive. Does anyone object to more butterflies? Standing still in my wife's garden or watching enchanted children covered in butterflies in a vivarium are two excellent reminders of miracles the natural world bestows on all who willingly embrace them.   

   

   

Degrees of Darkness

Each of us has our own definition of what constitutes dark, be it a book, a film, a conversation, etc. Differing definitions aside, I've learned the hard way that it's sometimes wise to issue warnings. The book I'm recommending today - if not capital "D" dark - will never appear on anyone's list of light reads.   

"He doesn't plan these things. He only acts and each action remains separate and complete in itself: the fucking, the killing, the shitting, the eating. They could come in any order at all. No one is prior to or superior to the rest."

Since finishing The North Water weeks ago, I've vacillated about breaking my longstanding practice of avoiding offensive language here. But that graphic passage - a succinct distillation of the psychopath inhabiting Ian McGuire's 2016 novel - seems to me an ideal way to help any reader decide if they want to spend time with this book. Is it dark? If you choose to read it, you decide. Is it narratively thrilling? It is. Is the choice of third person voice perfect? Yes. Is it compelling from first sentence ("Behold the man.") to last? Without question. This is Melville without the sidebars, Cormac McCarthy without the nihilism, Donald Ray Pollock without the grotesquerie, entwined in a primal tale pitting evil vs. less-than-heavenly. 

Although I'm often uncertain when finishing a book how long it will stay with me, I had no doubt after reading the final sentence of The North Water that this story of survival at any cost would be with me for some time. I remain haunted. 

"He feels a moment of fear, and then, in its wake, as the fear fades and loses its force, an unexpected stab of loneliness and need."

Words for the Ages: Line Thirty-One

"Love shows that God has a sense of humor."

Since the advent of the written word, writers of every variety have tried to define love. Which of those definitions have come closest for you? 

Though more a comment than a definition, the words that open this post - from a Joe Jackson song entitled Stranger Than Fiction - nail an essential and enduring truth about love. Although Jackson's lyrics are an acquired taste, I believe this terse nugget snugly fits the criteria for words for the ages: it has the ring of lasting truth, is brief enough to be easily recalled, and stands alone. And the lyric that sets up this gem has the sardonic edge Jackson is known for: "And when love grows, it's like a flower or a tumor."

Got another Joe Jackson lyric you'd nominate as words for the ages? Or, getting back to love, how about a lyric by a different composer you think comes close to capturing that hard-to-define word? 

Grandpa Hits the Jackpot

I've had a life filled with sustained pleasures - satisfying work, enduring passions, rich and long-lasting friendships. In the father's sweepstakes? I hit the jackpot.

Except for a temper that sometimes gets the better of me, nearly every other lesson my dad taught me through example has helped me successfully navigate my fortunate life. He modeled the importance of loyalty, hard work, and lifelong learning. If he ever wavered in showing me unconditional love, I don't remember it. 

As a father, I've been equally fortunate. My daughter is the most emotionally intelligent person I know. She is talented, compassionate, and funny. I also see in her all the same good stuff my father passed along to me. I'm certain my dad would have been just as proud of what she's accomplished in her life as I am. I'm grateful he was around for her first eight years.   

Later this year, I'll be a grandfather myself for the first time. Without exception, every grandparent I've ever met has raved about this later-in-life experience. And I hope to have more time with my grandson than my dad did with my daughter. But one thing is certain, no matter how much time I end up having with him. He'll know Grandpa hit the jackpot three times.  

Suffering School

Long ago, I settled on an ego-preserving definition of what "going viral" means in the blogosphere. I'll spare you the numbers I use to prop myself up. But checking my cumulative stats just once a year helps prolong the fantasy, especially with Blogger's nasty interface intruding via thrusting those daily numbers at me. That daily pain is invariably mitigated whenever I get reader comments - online or off - bringing me to today's mission. 

notesfromsufferingschool.substack.com

Please open the link above. All six entries are worth reading; my favorite is entitled Suffering School Semester Abroad. The one most closely related to today's solipsistic reflection from the bell curve is entitled To My One Substack Subscriber, although it's much funnier and also has a cute picture.  

At minimum, I believe you'll enjoy the honesty, humor, and vulnerability in any entry you choose to read. But back to me. If you comment either here or - even better - on an entry from Notes from Suffering School, you'll be helping preserve my fantasy about breaking through in the blogosphere. Don't tell me that's not tempting. 

Questions from the Seesaw

"Early in life, I made a choice; I chose honest arrogance vs. hypocritical humility." - Frank Lloyd Wright    

My first thought upon seeing those words early this year at Taliesin West? Good for you, Frank. 

I immediately wrote Wright's words in my journal. In my first several attempts using them as the centerpiece of a blog post, I didn't get far. Given Wright's notoriety, I had difficulty justifying any honest arrogance of mine, considering his massive legacy. Insecure thoughts hampered me every time I tried to frame a coherent post claiming his words as a viable credo. Then, each unfinished blog post pushed Wright's words further back into journal purgatory.  

Such has been my multi-month seesaw. I recall those words, an internal dialogue begins, no resolution is forthcoming. That dialogue persists to this day. I've been called arrogant at least a few times. Have you? No one who knows me well would likely describe me as humble. How about you? Did I make a choice early in life - as Wright did - to land on the side of arrogance? I don't know. Did you make that choice? Is my continuing struggle perhaps connected to the two adjectives in Wright's formulation i.e., honest and hypocritical? Do you see yourself anywhere in Wright's words? Which would you prefer being called - honestly arrogant or hypocritically humble? 

Finally, if you were to take a poll of people who know you well, on which side of Wright's formulation do you think the majority would place you?        

My Day & My Dad's Day, Eighty Years Apart

A little while ago, after getting out of my comfortable bed and putting on some clean, dry clothes, I brushed my teeth. I then had a simple breakfast - juice, toast, hot coffee. I'm now looking forward to enjoying my day. 

I don't know what my Father climbed out of on the morning of June 6, 1944 but I'm guessing it wasn't real comfortable. Wouldn't be at all surprised if he skipped brushing his teeth that morning. If his clothes were clean or dry when he put them on, they didn't stay that way for long. Breakfast? K-rations, perhaps. Juice or coffee? Unlikely.

Though I can't imagine what the rest of my dad's day was like on Normandy Beach eighty years ago, I'm quite certain he wasn't looking forward to it. I will never experience anything even remotely like what he did that day. Writing this to honor what he lived through is not enough. But it's the best I've got to offer this moment. And I owe him - and all the others who were on that beach that day - at least that much. 

A Lingering Tidbit

"I don't know what I'll do with myself when I retire." 

Although not his exact words, I'm confident that was the essence of a remark a neighbor made to me many years back. Isn't it peculiar how tidbits from otherwise inconsequential conversations linger? Do you have an example of a lingering tidbit to share here? Have you ever given thought to the reason(s) your tidbit has remained with you?  

My tidbit has surfaced repeatedly almost from the day I left the full-time work world in 2010. For example, soon after getting up today, I felt grateful anticipating what the next few days look like for me. Nothing complicated: Lots of reading and guitar, meeting some friends to discuss books, time in NYC with my wife, writing a blog post or two, visiting myself via meditation. The simple richness of my life brought my tidbit to mind. 

 

As the day progressed, little things began amplifying my gratitude. First, an e-mail from a new friend asking me why a book we'd both read was meaningful to me. I pulled out the book, re-read some underlined passages. We agreed to talk later in the day. Then, Manfred Mann's cover of I Think It's Going To Work Out Fine played on the radio on my drive to get coffee. After that song transported me, I mused about the mental detour and then wrote about it in my journal. Later indulged in some Atlas riffing when an essay I'd started reading before opening my e-mail reminded me I was ignorant of the pertinent geography mentioned. And so went the rest of this special not-so-special day.  

I suspect my tidbit has lingered with me largely because I had a strong sense many years back what I would be doing when I retired. 

I've Got Your Number (#4)

Ready for the latest challenge in this series? 

Start by identifying the twentieth century year linked with the four phrases below, each extracted from a well-known piece of popular culture. The four are listed chronologically:

1.) Oh what a night

2.) He loved Big Brother

3.) No one ever left alive

4.) Tonight I'm going to party

Next, answer the three questions below related to the number of years separating #1 from #2, #2 from #3, and #3 from #4. 

What popular game - also referred to by a rhyming word - matches the number of years between #1 and #2?

What do the songwriters Marvin Hamlisch and Harry Nillson have in common with the number of years separating #2 and #3? 

Append "92" to the number of years separating #3 and #4. What historical significance is attached to this date? 

Bonus question for the truly geeky among you: Which well-known Frank Sinatra song did I initially consider as an alternate title for the 4th iteration in this nerdy series?

May 30, 1920

Even though both have been gone many years, I'm still struck each year when the birthday of one of my parents comes around. I'm certain I'm not alone in this regard. If you are lucky enough to still have your parents with you, I hope you honor them regularly, on birthdays and otherwise.

Although I don't know anyone with a parent who is one hundred and four - the age Mom would be had she lived to this day - I know several people with parents doing reasonably well despite their advanced age. I have one friend who turns ninety-four later this year and my list of active friends who are eighty and older continues to grow each year. I lost my mother way too soon. 

I've often wished my mom had the chance to meet my wife, lived long enough to watch her seven grandchildren grow up, been there when I got my master's degree at forty-eight. There are many landmarks I would have liked her to witness. Mostly, I would like to have had a lot more time to simply hang out with her. 

Another Keeper

Immediately after leaving the full-time work world in 2010, I committed to the practice of keeping a book journal. For those of you who do the same - no matter how long you've been doing so - tell me: What have you learned about yourself, books in general, your reading tastes, or anything else, via your book journal?

One starting prompt I frequently use in my journals is "How did I come to this book?". Weeks back, while beginning an entry for William Boyd's Trio (2020) using that prompt, I recalled my book club's muted reaction to a Boyd spy thriller I'd read and enjoyed a great deal entitled Waiting for Sunrise (2012). 

And my journal entry for that earlier book brought back to me - full force - the intensity of my reaction to Brazzaville Beach (1990), my first exposure to Boyd, soon after I started my book journal practice. In that moment - before starting to write about Trio - I realized how my practice has enriched me in several ways. When a book knocks me out - as Brazzaville Beach did - and I take the time to capture why in my journal, that author gets more firmly rooted in my memory. I usually return, more than once, as I have with William Boyd. And, re-reading a rapturous entry - like the one I wrote about Brazzaville Beach - brings back that rapture. What a gift that is. 

Finally, later journal entries for books by the same author are often informed and frequently shaped by earlier ones. Put another way, writing about my reaction to a book deepens my discernment as a reader. For example, here's part of my entry for Trio: "Not quite as masterful as Brazzaville Beach or as suspenseful as Waiting for Sunrise but engaging and enjoyable end-to-end. William Boyd is a keeper." 

That Name Thing

"I'm so bad with names."

How many times have you heard someone say that? Better yet, how recently did you hear someone say it? If you've been in a social situation with more than a few people recently, even money you heard at least one person say it then. Was it you who said it? How is it possible for so many people to be so bad with names?   

I don't believe it is possible. There are clearly a small minority of people who have a facility for recalling names. No doubt, a similar small minority exist who truly struggle with it. That leaves the rest of us in the middle. We repeatedly tell ourselves we're bad with names. We say it to others who say the same thing back to us. We frequently think it - or even say it - near to the moment when someone is first introducing themselves. Anyone detect a pattern yet in this textbook case of self-fulfilling prophecy? 

If our attention is anywhere else in the precise moment when a person new to us first says their name, the chance we will recall that name is close to zero. The many memory techniques we've been exposed to - association, using a pneumonic, repeating a name back soon after learning it, etc. - are all helpful and well tested. But no technique can replace 100% laser-focused attention in the moment. Total focus on only the name being said guarantees nothing. But if our minds are anywhere else in that moment - including how bad we are with names - we're destined to forever continue saying how bad we are with names. 

Words for the Trash Can

Since May 2017 I've published thirty blog posts under the heading Words for the Ages, each featuring a short phrase lifted from a song lyric. All the phrases I've selected capture what I feel is some universal truth. My criteria have remained the same for seven years: The phrase must be terse enough to be easily remembered and also able to stand alone, i.e., not necessarily dependent on a rhyme to complete the pithy thought being expressed. And each time I've ask for your nominations of other lyrics from whichever songwriter I've featured. 

Today I'm making a different request. Please nominate a terse lyric - by any songwriter - that you feel can top the bolded one directly below for wrongheaded arrogance. Think of this as the antithesis of words for the ages. Words for the trash can, perhaps? 

"Everybody knows the world is full of stupid people."

The first thing I wondered months back upon hearing Ryan Hamilton's obnoxious pronouncement in his otherwise OK song Banditos was how old he was. Early in my reflections, it's likely I was giving this up-and-coming songwriter the benefit of the doubt via recalling some of the stupid things I said - maybe even thought - in my young adult years, although even then I didn't pen a lyric that dumb. Then as more time went by, the "everybody" in this lyric began gnawing at me. Aside from being reliably inaccurate, the lazy use of absolutes signals to others a writer who has trouble with nuance. In a young person, this is troubling. In an older person, inexcusable. 

Age aside, did Hamilton have his tongue in his cheek when he wrote this phrase? I hope he did. Still, I've made it my mission to steer clear of the close-minded, black & white, misanthropic people who have a worldview that lines up with his boneheaded lyric. I'll not be accepting a lunch invitation from Mr. Hamilton anytime soon.        

Prolonging a Reading Experience

A good friend and fellow bookworm recently remarked how certain books beg to be discussed. Only later did it occur to me that a book that doesn't beg to be discussed is - almost by definition - probably not worth reading in the first place. 

Siri Hustvedt's 2015 novel What I Loved is packed with provocative ideas. The critical elements like narrative momentum, organic character development, and strong sense of time/place are masterfully handled. But it's the depth of the author's insights - about grief, loyalty, the fickle NYC art scene, friendship, disillusionment, redemption - that will compel you to find others who have finished this treasure so that you can discuss it. 

"We manufacture stories, after all, from the fleeting sensory material that bombards us at every instant, a fragmented series of pictures, conversations, odors, and the touch of things and people. We delete most of it to live with some semblance of order, and the reshuffling of memory goes on until we die."

I hope that passage acts as further enticement for you, one example of the muscular prose infusing this novel of ideas. When the friend who made that remark about books begging to be discussed also said she felt smarter reading What I Loved, her words rang true. If you end up reading it, please reach out to me here or otherwise. The one discussion I've already had about it was great, but I'd welcome prolonging this exceptional reading experience indefinitely.              

Preservation Vs. Progress

Although I've resisted being a fatalist most of my life, the conflict between preservation of the natural world and the inexorable march of man-made progress seems to be an insoluble one. And the most disheartening aspect of this insoluble conflict? Choices I routinely make that land squarely on the side of progress despite claims that the preservation of the natural world is sacred to me. 

It's easy to label others as hypocrites when they say one thing and do the opposite. It's also intellectually lazy doing so if we don't routinely examine our own choices and see how well they line up with what we claim are our values. For example, if the natural world is that sacred to me, how to reconcile my use of an automobile? I let myself off the hook occasionally because I've embraced the use of a hybrid vehicle. I also choose often to walk or ride my bike locally in place of driving. But in this instance, progress - embodied by the automobile with its demonstrably negative effect on the environment - clearly has the upper hand over the natural world. Like many people, my way of coping with this disconnect - as well as others that plague me in the preservation vs. progress dichotomy - is to rationalize. I live in the modern world, not the horse-and-buggy era, automobiles are an inescapable part of life, blah, blah, blah. Who am I kidding, aside from myself? Inescapable? 

Meanwhile, I can hear the realists/pragmatists/empiricists from here in the cheap seats. That chorus screams: Get real, Pat; find some middle ground, tree hugger; get out of the way of man's dominion, dreamer. Though I haven't yet surrendered, each uncomfortable compromise I make to accommodate progress at the expense of the loss of more of the natural world hurts a little more than the last.