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?