Near the end of the Woodstock/1960s exhibit at the Bethel Center For The Arts, anyone who wants to can record their thoughts about that tumultuous decade or tell a story about where they were when the concert took place. Though I passed on that opportunity when visiting the exhibit recently, the summer of '69 has been playing in my head ever since. Which summer of your life do you recall most vividly?
My location that summer? The Windsor Hotel in South Fallsburg, NY, about 15 miles from Yasgur's farm in nearby Bethel. My job? Playing drums with my college quartet called "Sky". My companions? Bob (Farfisa organ), Sandy (Gibson guitar), Bruce (Fender bass). We were there all summer, including the weekend of the legendary concert, playing top 40 cover tunes to entertain the teenage children of hotel guests at this past-its-prime Borscht belt hotel. My pay? I do not recollect. I do remember the snarled traffic on the road leading past the Windsor and I remember it was a great summer, notwithstanding our abysmal living quarters. If you're old enough, what is your summer of '69 story?
Walking through the exhibit, I wondered what might be going through the mind of the teenage attendant I kept running into who worked there. Day in and day out he gets to watch us geezers and geezettes peer at hippie artifacts, wipe away tears, gaze at Carlos, Sly & Jimi doing their magic. What does he make of this codger spectacle? And which event (summer or otherwise) of his life will someday be codified in an exhibit? When he's walking through it will he also feel haunted and happy at the same time?
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Welcome To A Life
It's so refreshing to read a memoir where the author doesn't mythologize her parents.
Before beginning "Don't Lets Go To The Dogs Tonight: An African Childhood" (2001) by Alexandra Fuller, I read the jacket. My first thought? I hope this doesn't turn out to be one of those tales about noble white people. I'm so tired of celebrities and authors claiming to have been raised by the enlightened. Have no famous people had parents like mine, i.e. good and decent even if they were not ahead of the curve vis-a-vis racial matters? Turns out, Fuller's parents were like that - what a relief. The author doesn't draw a great deal of attention to this - it's likely I noticed because her candor about these non-heroic but loving people stood out in contrast to all the insufferable celebrity garbage about larger-than-life, unfailingly progressive parents.
In addition to the author's complete lack of sentimentality, her matter-of-fact descriptions of life in Zimbabwe (nee Rhodesia), Malawi & Zambia made this book a welcome read. Her life from two years old to twenty was no stroll through the suburbs but the writing never made her difficulties feel exceptional; it was simply her childhood. Because Fuller doesn't distance herself from the reader, either by making her parents mythic or by turning her childhood into a vision quest, anyone can feel authentic drawing parallels to their own life, no matter how different it is from the one described here.
Before beginning "Don't Lets Go To The Dogs Tonight: An African Childhood" (2001) by Alexandra Fuller, I read the jacket. My first thought? I hope this doesn't turn out to be one of those tales about noble white people. I'm so tired of celebrities and authors claiming to have been raised by the enlightened. Have no famous people had parents like mine, i.e. good and decent even if they were not ahead of the curve vis-a-vis racial matters? Turns out, Fuller's parents were like that - what a relief. The author doesn't draw a great deal of attention to this - it's likely I noticed because her candor about these non-heroic but loving people stood out in contrast to all the insufferable celebrity garbage about larger-than-life, unfailingly progressive parents.
In addition to the author's complete lack of sentimentality, her matter-of-fact descriptions of life in Zimbabwe (nee Rhodesia), Malawi & Zambia made this book a welcome read. Her life from two years old to twenty was no stroll through the suburbs but the writing never made her difficulties feel exceptional; it was simply her childhood. Because Fuller doesn't distance herself from the reader, either by making her parents mythic or by turning her childhood into a vision quest, anyone can feel authentic drawing parallels to their own life, no matter how different it is from the one described here.
Saturday, June 8, 2013
Triggers
Wonder how much heartache could have been avoided if I were as skilled recognizing the things I do or say that trigger others as I am recognizing what triggers me?
Family interactions are fertile ground for this nonsense, possibly the place where we each fail the most predictably. Each time someone shares with me a mother/daughter, father/son, brother/sister story that caused them pain, my own family of origin stories come rushing back . And no matter how ancient the story, I can often identify what was said or done by a family member that triggered me, even if no significant pain followed.
Interesting how I have to work harder to remember the part I played in those family dramas. But play a part I did so putting effort into recognizing what triggers others remains important work. Each time I hear a new story and remind someone how we each trigger others as much or more than we are ourselves triggered, I'm the one most benefiting from that reminder.
Family interactions are fertile ground for this nonsense, possibly the place where we each fail the most predictably. Each time someone shares with me a mother/daughter, father/son, brother/sister story that caused them pain, my own family of origin stories come rushing back . And no matter how ancient the story, I can often identify what was said or done by a family member that triggered me, even if no significant pain followed.
Interesting how I have to work harder to remember the part I played in those family dramas. But play a part I did so putting effort into recognizing what triggers others remains important work. Each time I hear a new story and remind someone how we each trigger others as much or more than we are ourselves triggered, I'm the one most benefiting from that reminder.
Friday, June 7, 2013
The Song Is You
There's always something there to remind me - always...something. No matter what, I can't get you out of my head. It's the same old song all day and all of the night.
As time goes by, there's no easy way. I've got you under my skin; goin' out of my head. I can't help myself - crazy...witchcraft. Who can I turn to? Only you.
Day by day, night and day, every time we say goodbye I need you - more today than yesterday. You and me against the world; just you and me, always and forever.
As time goes by, there's no easy way. I've got you under my skin; goin' out of my head. I can't help myself - crazy...witchcraft. Who can I turn to? Only you.
Day by day, night and day, every time we say goodbye I need you - more today than yesterday. You and me against the world; just you and me, always and forever.
Thursday, June 6, 2013
A New York Post: Risking The Risque?
It's been over two years. I've written about 550 posts. Though I've given it way too much thought, it's still not clear to me why some get a lot more attention than others.
Recently one regular reader, and someone different who reads only on days I post to Facebook, both told me they decide which ones to read based mostly on the title. So although many of the titles from my "top ten" don't strike me as real provocative, I'm strongly considering giving crassness a shot now and then. Just saying.
This could go awry. And with no desire to have porno search engines easily find my blog, the craven attempt (above) at a sexy title is mild, right? Now, if any NY Post headline writer stumbles onto this post (gotta love those keyword searches!), maybe you'd consider helping out this needy, marginally-attention-seeking, doesn't-want-to-be-XXX blogger by giving me about 550 grab-by-the-throat titles in case this pathetic try doesn't yield the desired results?
Recently one regular reader, and someone different who reads only on days I post to Facebook, both told me they decide which ones to read based mostly on the title. So although many of the titles from my "top ten" don't strike me as real provocative, I'm strongly considering giving crassness a shot now and then. Just saying.
This could go awry. And with no desire to have porno search engines easily find my blog, the craven attempt (above) at a sexy title is mild, right? Now, if any NY Post headline writer stumbles onto this post (gotta love those keyword searches!), maybe you'd consider helping out this needy, marginally-attention-seeking, doesn't-want-to-be-XXX blogger by giving me about 550 grab-by-the-throat titles in case this pathetic try doesn't yield the desired results?
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Socrates, Primates, Questions
"The unexamined life is not worth living"
With that epigraph from Socrates, I was confident William Boyd's 1990 novel "Brazzaville Beach" was going to be up my alley. Over two years later, Boyd's tour-de-force keeps returning to me, "...like a spar of driftwood".
For example, when yesterday I began reading Alexandra Fuller's 2001 memoir "Don't Lets Go To The Dogs Tonight" about her childhood in Africa, something jarred me. I found some of Boyd's vivid descriptions of the continent in my notes from his book: "Rabid energy and bustle...brutal frustrations and remorseless physicality..." This kind of stuff is sprinkled throughout.
As masterful as Boyd's language is in "Brazzavile Beach", it's just the icing. He nails all the traditional elements - compelling and believable story, multi-dimensional characters, pitch perfect dialogue - but then ups the ante. The main narrative involves researchers in the field of primatology so Boyd sets up many of his chapters briefly describing a relevant scientific concept - catastrophe theory, the neural clock, Fermat's last theorem, etc. It's not a showoffy gimmick. Each concept connects to both the primates and the human story being told. And his descriptions are such that even a science nincompoop like me understood.
Hope Clearwater, the narrator of this gem, has also stuck to me. How can I resist someone who extracts the following from her experiences? "I have taken new comfort and refuge in the doctrine that advises one not to seek tranquility in certainty but in permanently suspended judgment." Questions are much more interesting than answers, aren't they?
With that epigraph from Socrates, I was confident William Boyd's 1990 novel "Brazzaville Beach" was going to be up my alley. Over two years later, Boyd's tour-de-force keeps returning to me, "...like a spar of driftwood".
For example, when yesterday I began reading Alexandra Fuller's 2001 memoir "Don't Lets Go To The Dogs Tonight" about her childhood in Africa, something jarred me. I found some of Boyd's vivid descriptions of the continent in my notes from his book: "Rabid energy and bustle...brutal frustrations and remorseless physicality..." This kind of stuff is sprinkled throughout.
As masterful as Boyd's language is in "Brazzavile Beach", it's just the icing. He nails all the traditional elements - compelling and believable story, multi-dimensional characters, pitch perfect dialogue - but then ups the ante. The main narrative involves researchers in the field of primatology so Boyd sets up many of his chapters briefly describing a relevant scientific concept - catastrophe theory, the neural clock, Fermat's last theorem, etc. It's not a showoffy gimmick. Each concept connects to both the primates and the human story being told. And his descriptions are such that even a science nincompoop like me understood.
Hope Clearwater, the narrator of this gem, has also stuck to me. How can I resist someone who extracts the following from her experiences? "I have taken new comfort and refuge in the doctrine that advises one not to seek tranquility in certainty but in permanently suspended judgment." Questions are much more interesting than answers, aren't they?
Monday, June 3, 2013
A Sneaky Third Wheel
My guitar playing can be a great source of relaxation for me. At other times, especially following a public performance when I've been satisfied, my playing acts in exactly the opposite fashion. Instead of being relaxed, I am exhilarated. This second state also occurs, if less frequently, when I'm alone playing. Do you experience a similar dichotomy with your passions or hobbies?
If only this were the whole story. For me, whether sitting alone playing, jamming with others, or performing publicly, frustration is a sneaky third wheel. Even though I'm aware of the importance of containing negative self-talk, when I flub the execution of something I know I'm capable of, frustration sometimes gets the better of me. As soon as that happens, I'm in trouble for several self-defeating moments. And then it can be easy to lose sight of the relaxation or exhilaration nearby and the whole thing rapidly deteriorates.
Where in your life do you find yourself battling this sneaky third wheel?
If only this were the whole story. For me, whether sitting alone playing, jamming with others, or performing publicly, frustration is a sneaky third wheel. Even though I'm aware of the importance of containing negative self-talk, when I flub the execution of something I know I'm capable of, frustration sometimes gets the better of me. As soon as that happens, I'm in trouble for several self-defeating moments. And then it can be easy to lose sight of the relaxation or exhilaration nearby and the whole thing rapidly deteriorates.
Where in your life do you find yourself battling this sneaky third wheel?
Saturday, June 1, 2013
Touching The Untouchable
"Uncle Patrick, are you a Buddhist?"
Even after answering "No" to my 14 year old nephew's guileless question, doing a blog post on the topic of religion didn't immediately occur to me. Considering my format of three or four brief paragraphs, in that moment, this forum just did not feel suitable. I also guessed his curiosity about why there were several CDs about Buddhism on the floor of my car would be satisfied by my one word answer.
"So, why do you like learning about Buddhism so much?"
His second penetrating question brought me somewhere else. Because of his age, and still thinking this would not go on long, I tried to strip my second answer to its essence. "I'm attracted to a spiritual belief that puts emphasis on living in the here and now". Then as the conversation deepened more, I realized something magical was occurring. Listening to carefully considered words coming out of my mouth, I was landing on some powerful insights about my 63 year religious evolution. But more importantly, nothing I said was at all sarcastic, dismissive or judgmental about the faith in which my nephew is being raised.
It's possible my epiphany will not resonate with many. Anyone whose faith is strong or those who struggle less than I with attempting to deconstruct other beliefs instead of building a positive case for your own belief, might well be saying right now "What's the big deal, Pat?" But as I processed that unexpected conversation, something stirred in me. The post itself waited until a little clarity about what I'd learned about religion emerged more fully. What was the last interaction you had that triggered something similar in you about this often untouchable subject?
Even after answering "No" to my 14 year old nephew's guileless question, doing a blog post on the topic of religion didn't immediately occur to me. Considering my format of three or four brief paragraphs, in that moment, this forum just did not feel suitable. I also guessed his curiosity about why there were several CDs about Buddhism on the floor of my car would be satisfied by my one word answer.
"So, why do you like learning about Buddhism so much?"
His second penetrating question brought me somewhere else. Because of his age, and still thinking this would not go on long, I tried to strip my second answer to its essence. "I'm attracted to a spiritual belief that puts emphasis on living in the here and now". Then as the conversation deepened more, I realized something magical was occurring. Listening to carefully considered words coming out of my mouth, I was landing on some powerful insights about my 63 year religious evolution. But more importantly, nothing I said was at all sarcastic, dismissive or judgmental about the faith in which my nephew is being raised.
It's possible my epiphany will not resonate with many. Anyone whose faith is strong or those who struggle less than I with attempting to deconstruct other beliefs instead of building a positive case for your own belief, might well be saying right now "What's the big deal, Pat?" But as I processed that unexpected conversation, something stirred in me. The post itself waited until a little clarity about what I'd learned about religion emerged more fully. What was the last interaction you had that triggered something similar in you about this often untouchable subject?
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