Obsolete Stories

Of all the stories we each create to help us cope, perhaps the most difficult ones to let go of are those that are connected to our families of origin. 

It took a significant trauma in my family of origin to prompt me to begin examining a few of these ancient tales. The little bit I know about trauma has taught me I'm probably not alone in this regard. In addition, it stands to reason that the oldest stories would be the hardest ones to dislodge. Joan Didion once famously remarked - "We tell ourselves stories in order to live." I'm sure some of the family of origin myths I held onto in the years before that trauma helped get me through some rough patches. 

But for years now, some of those same stories have started to feel more like roadblocks than aids. At the same time, I'm learning how hard it can be to discard long-held myths, especially when I feel alone in attempts to dismantle, or even to inspect them. Add in my sometimes-volatile temper and its evil twin i.e., my big mouth, decades of shared history with all its attendant baggage, and an unwillingness all around to forgive easily, and what I'm left with are obsolete stories that interfere with genuine communication. 

What challenges do you face trying to free yourself of stories that have outlived their usefulness? 

When I Don't Get It

Pretty sure I'm not alone in saying sometimes I just don't get it. For example, a fair amount of modern poetry simply eludes me. When this happens, my internal conversation often ends up matching the kind of day I'm having. On a good day, I don't let my lack of understanding discourage me. My reaction on an in-between day is harder to predict. But when a bad day coincides with me not getting it, be it poetry, abstract art, avant garde theater or film, I can spiral into negative self-talk. How about you? What do your internal conversations sound like when you don't get it?

This dilemma most upsets my equilibrium when it's literature I'm not getting. And I'm not referring to books like James Joyce's Finnegan's Wake. I realize that kind of writing is aimed at scholars who will spend years analyzing it line-by-line vs. being read and understood as a through narrative by people like me. But how about the bestselling novels of Dom DeLillo, Thomas Pynchon, David Foster Wallace to name a few? I've tried unsuccessfully to crack V - Pynchon's acclaimed breakthrough - at least four times. As challenging as Wallace's non-fiction can be, I end up getting about 80% of that. But Infinite Jest, the novel that catapulted him into the literary stratosphere? Each attempt has left me feeling much the way I do listening to John Coltrane's final recordings, i.e., lost, confused, demoralized.  

I'm reasonably sure my intelligence puts me somewhere on the bell curve, not as smart as the top 5% of the population, nor as limited as the bottom 5%. That leaves me wondering: When I don't get it, how many other people don't? How often will my brethren willingly admit that they don't get it? How does it feel not getting it? 

Three Gifts Via Book Ears

At least for me, paying close attention when others talk about books can reap real benefits. I don't think of this as eavesdropping. Instead, I call it using book ears.

Except while asleep, my book ears are rarely off. If I'm with a group I know to be discerning readers - like my longtime traveling companions from Road Scholar or folks in either my hiking or my writer's group - I make sure the volume control on my book ears is on high. At other times, I may adjust the volume control a bit just to be sure I'm paying attention to the other stuff in a conversation. Although, I am obliged to admit that any mention of any book in any conversation sets my book ears buzzing. Which worthwhile books most recently found their way onto your radar - and then your list - via eavesdropping? I've limited this particular list to just three of the most recent worthwhile novels I discovered via my book ears. In descending order - arguably, in the case of #2 vs. #3 - of accessibility:  

1.) Heartwood: Amity Gaige (2025). Without question, the most conventionally straightforward of these three, especially in subject matter (a hiker disappears without a trace; a search ensues) and approach to the narrative line. A genuine page-turner, in the best way. Book ears route: Overheard being discussed by a book club - not mine - while reading at my local coffee shop. 

2.) The Glutton: A.K. Blakemore (2023). Difficult subject matter - the re-imagining of a myth from 18th century revolutionary France about a young man who ate everything - told in a compelling, matter-of-fact fashion. Of the three, I suspect this one will linger longest with me. Book ears route: Overheard being extolled while on a hike with the group mentioned above.

3.) Flesh: David Szalay (2025). A graphically sexual and totally modern novel with a protagonist so passive I have trouble imagining anyone relating to him. Yet somehow this undeniably talented young novelist managed to immerse me in the protagonist's story enough that the final sentence ("After that, he lived alone.") felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. Book ears route: Overheard an animated conversation between a patron and two trusted librarians while waiting on checkout line.

Your turn. I'm waiting. 

How Cool Is This?

"Friends half our suffering and double our joy." - Cicero

At what point in your life have you felt like your friendships couldn't possibly get any richer? I've been feeling that way for a while. It's possible I'm not remembering some earlier period in my life when friends filled me up as much as my current group does. But not remembering an earlier time doesn't matter much, considering how fortunate I feel this moment. 

Here's just the most recent example why I'm feeling this way. At a meeting of my book club of two (How cool is this, having a friend that you meet with monthly to discuss a book? We're in our tenth year, BTW), that friend mentions a NY Times essay by David Brooks that she knows I would enjoy. Before the day is out, she sends me the link for the essay. I get busy and don't read it that day.

The next day - before opening the link - a different friend invites me to see a show in NYC (How cool is this, having a friend who invites you to see live music? Saw Graham Nash with her not long ago, BTW), and we begin making a plan. Before hanging up, she mentions an essay she knows I would enjoy and also recalls I don't get the NY Times delivered anymore. You've already guessed who wrote that essay, right? Both friends were right. It was amazing.

How cool is this, having a group of friends who have taken the time to know me well enough that they continually nourish me and, in the process, help elevate me as a thinker? 

p.s. The Brooks essay is entitled When Novels Mattered. Didn't provide a link because when I've tried including NY Times stuff in the past via my blog it hasn't always worked well. Won't be hard to track down if you're interested. 

A Pizza Mitzvah

I'd like to take full credit for a recent tiny act of generosity taken at a local pizza shop while enjoying my pre-workout slice. But I'm obliged to give partial credit to a stranger who paid for my coffee at my go-to convenience store some months back. That stranger said "pay it forward" to me when I thanked him. 

It could be that stranger's kindness was rumbling around somewhere as I watched five young boys - probably twelve or thirteen years old - negotiate how much pizza and soda they could afford with their combined cash. The interchange they had about their money vs. their hunger with the good-natured woman behind the counter made me smile, at first. But the uniformly polite and quiet back-and-forth that continued really caught my attention. And then, the perfect manners of one of them saying "Yes, please" to this patient woman moved me into action. 

I briefly thought about telling these boys how proud their parents would be if they had been watching the courteous behavior of their sons. After all, they had quickly learned and been disappointed by the fact of being able to manage just one slice and one soda each with their limited funds. But I quickly discarded the idea of only talking to them, anticipating they might think I was just a weird old man; these were teenagers. 

While finishing my slice, I quietly asked the counter woman to put an additional five slices in the oven and paid her. As I began walking out, she told the boys there was more pizza coming their way via the man leaving the shop. I got a final sign that my small act of largesse was earned as one of the boys said "Actually, thanks!" I replied "Actually, you're welcome."

#75: The Mt. Rushmore Series (3/4)

Reflections From The Bell Curve: #1: The Mt. Rushmore Series

My blog was still a toddler when Mt. Rushmore was launched in July 2012. At that point, unsure how long I'd continue blogging, I could not have predicted it would evolve into my most enduring series.   

Today marks the first time in its thirteen-year lifespan that I'm requesting help. First note the three metaphorical song titles at the bottom of this post, my first ever 3/4 size monument. Your mission, should you decide to accept it: SUPPLY ONE FINAL SONG TITLE TO HELP ME COMPLETE MT. RUSHMORE #75. Why this digression from the usual model i.e., where I present my choices and then assume you'll endorse the perfection of those selections and/or offer one-four alternatives for my august consideration? Two linked reasons: 

1.) My brain hurts. I've been searching - without using Google or any AI - for months for a fourth perfect metaphorical song title. I must move on or risk permanent musical brain fatigue. 

2.) Although this series has generated a fair comment rate over its lifespan, I suspect asking for a nomination to complete my 3/4 perfect monument might generate more than the usual participation.

Remember: In order to help ease my pain and ensure satisfactory completion, make your nomination a stand-alone song title and a perfect metaphor just like each of the three below. If you think I might be unfamiliar with your song, please note the composer and/or the artist most closely associated with it.  Compensation for the nominator providing the perfect fourth to be negotiated. Also: LONG list of considered - later rejected - song titles available upon request.     

* Bridge Over Troubled Water

* Sleep's Dark and Silent Gate

* Wind Beneath My Wings  

Smitten

When was the last time you were smitten?

My journey today with that word began when the capable moderator of a writer's workshop passed around an essay on reading by Vladimir Nabokov as a prelude to a stunning Billy Collins poem entitled Books, which she then distributed and read to us. Though I was familiar with the poem, it floored me anew. You would be right in saying I was smitten, although the word did not occur to me that moment. 

No matter. Because with Nabokov's wisdom and Collins's majesty still igniting me, the moderator then asked us to highlight words, phrases, or sentences from the poem to help us with some prompts she was about to give. Among others, the sentence Collins used to start stanza #3 in Books mentioning the voice of his mother had hit me hard on this re-read. Then, one of the prompts the moderator offered was for us to write about when we'd first been smitten by books. Now I was on fire. I was smitten by the exact verb our moderator had used, effortlessly connecting early memories of my mother and books. 

In addition, the word smitten brought to mind widely quoted advice Nabokov gave to aspiring writers about aiming for verbs that "...caress..." My brief response to the prompt, borrowing one word and one phrase from this remarkable poem, was midwifed by the caressing verb suggested by our moderator. I'm grateful for moments like this when cherished memories and words I write are fused.   

"My mother's voice was the music accompanying my introduction to books. She was the conductor; she was the score; she was the choir and the musicians. I can never repay the debt I owe her for the chords of language I've heard all my life."

Today's Thank You & Belated Acknowledgment

My mother was fond of saying you can never say thank you to others too many times, something I've tried to remember and do regularly ever since.  

Today, I want to thank folks who comment on the posts I select for the featured post widget located on the left side of my blog's home page. The boost I get whenever someone does this lingers for hours. Please know that I always reply to your comments, no matter how old the post is. Blogger makes doing so easy because all comments appear in the order in which they are made, irrespective of the date the original post was published. And solipsistic as it may be, part of that boost is connected to re-reading whatever it is I've resurrected from my archives so I can respond appropriately. Sometimes, it can be a little like visiting a younger version of myself. 

Re-visiting these older posts when someone makes a new comment also gives me an opportunity to re-read any comments that were made when the post first appeared. Coming across a frequent early commenter who has since stopped doing so, for whatever reason, can bring that person back into my life, at least briefly. In addition, as with the comment made by my daughter to the post at the bottom of this one, it's not uncommon for me to be struck anew by some insight from a reader. In this case, I realized in retrospect how my emotionally intelligent daughter - all of twenty-two years old at the time - had helped her old man navigate a thorny issue that had plagued him for some time. 

Sweetheart: Consider this a belated acknowledgment of your precocious wisdom, especially since I neglected to thank you or even to respond to your comment back in 2011. Mea culpa.  

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Repelling Toxic People

Recent Musical Highlights

Can't recall when I most recently had a week as musically satisfying and diverse as the one that ended about an hour ago. In reverse order, chronologically and with respect to both my degree of enjoyment and the notoriety of the musicians involved:

1.) Although I wasn't as surprised by Diana Krall's choice of material this second time seeing her, her re-working of Great American songbook standards in tonight's show was musically thrilling. Peak moments included her arrangement of All of Me for her trio, a mournful solo rendition of In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning, and the encore, a straightforward, moving version of the Brian Wilson classic In My Room. 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Thanks For The Surprises, Diana

2.) On Wednesday, thanks to a tip from a friend, I was newly exposed to Marel Hidalgo, a ludicrously gifted teenage jazz guitarist. His live show - with a talented trio supporting him - featured two generous sets, the first showcasing the music of jazz giant Horace Silver, the second a vibrant reggae-flavored mix with original music and imaginative interpretations of a few jazz standards. Check out Hidalgo's reel via the YouTube link directly below.

Solo Jazz Guitar-15-yr old Marel Hidalgo

3.) Two nights before that, I attended an open jazz jam session, something I've been doing on and off for a while. After one song, feeling moderately pleased with what I'd played, I left the bandstand. Then I spent the next 90 minutes listening to this music I've come to revere, enjoying most of what I heard, including the work of two other guitarists. I tried not to compare my playing to theirs and was partially successful. Despite my lapse, in the end, I was pleased that I put myself out there, again.

What have been some recent musical highlights of yours?   

Help Me Keep This Buzz, Please

Playground (2024) will elevate you as a thinker while enchanting you as a reader. It might confuse you; it will definitely challenge you. If you've read or end up reading this most recent novel by the astonishing Richard Powers, please remember to contact me either here or offline. I desperately want to retain the glow of this extraordinary - if at times frustrating - reading experience for as long as possible. And I really want to hear your take on the mind-blowing conclusion, perhaps the most imaginative ending of any book I've read in two decades.  

My journey with this remarkable book was not a wholly smooth one. Because both of the trusted readers in my life who finished it before me - my wife and the reading soulmate who first recommended it to me soon after its release - told me simply that it was another home run by Powers, through the first 200+ pages, I was innocently captivated. As he did with both Echo Maker & Bewilderment, Powers grabbed me immediately with his undeniable storytelling gift, expertly balancing human dynamics with the miraculous mysteries of the natural world. As with The Overstory, I was dazzled by his staggering prose and masterful toggling of first and third person voices. But then the foreshadowing curveballs - make that screwballs - began to upset my reading equilibrium. Not enough to extract me from the compelling story but, my unanswered questions began accumulating. Playground demands any reader's full engagement.   

I'll spare you the details of my childish temper tantrum as I finished mid-day this past Sunday and tell you that all I could manage at that point was a visit to the gym to cool down. Later, two conversations with my wife helped me come to peace with the stunning denouement of this treasure. Still not able to let go, I scheduled a coffee meeting for early today to further digest Playground with that reading soulmate who'd first recommended it to me. That helped some more. But I'm far from sated. That's where I hope some of you enter the picture. Please: Help me keep this buzz, will you?  

Final note: Though tempted to write a post about some of the other novels I finished since publishing the post directly below on June 8, now I'm glad I waited until I read Playground. 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: The Line of Beauty