Everything is New

Have you ever met a parent who you've never heard say their life has been richer having raised their children? If I have ever met someone like this, that person long ago disappeared from memory. How many parents have you met who name the day of their child's birth as one of the best in their life? In my experience, this is so common it's almost a cliche. But count me in, cliche or not. 

Imagining my life without my daughter is impossible. She has given me and her mother moments of nearly transcendent joy. Her light has helped me navigate several dark patches in my life. Over and over, she has shown me ways to become a better person.

Everything Is New | Patrick Barton (bandcamp.com)

Everything is new. Those three words wouldn't let me go the day my daughter was born. When I completed the song partnering with that simple phrase, I was satisfied I'd captured how those early moments of her life transformed me. Tomorrow marks thirty-five years I've been waiting for another song to visit me. But nothing has yet materialized that comes close to capturing what my daughter has brought to my life since January 19, 1989. I'll wait.

Happy birthday, sweetheart.   

Book Club Report: Year Seven

Since beginning this series in January 2018 - exactly one year after the inception of my book club - I've been pleased to get at least a few comments each year. I'm always glad to hear from members of the club and the infrequent comments from folks who are not in the club have been a nice bonus. Thanks to all. Hope some of the rest of you will chime in this year.  

The books I selected in 2023 for the No Wine or Whiners club landed in both surprising and expected ways.  I'm slowly learning to avoid trying to anticipate how any book will land and instead adhere to my only standard for selection: Does the prose clearly show the author has spent adequate time learning their craft? Anything goes with respect to subject matter, setting, tone. The author's style, reputation, or politics - past or present - do not matter. "Classic", contemporary, or in-between = all are welcome. After noting this past year's top prize for novel and non-fiction below, if you've read something you think my club will enjoy discussing, please tell me. I'll read it. If it fits my only standard, it could end up in a future queue. If it does, thank you in advance for the suggestion. 

2023's Top Prize for Novel:  Small Things Like These - Claire Keegan (2021): The club's reaction to this tiny treasure took me by surprise. In my experience, books that whisper can easily be undervalued. I was as overjoyed as I was surprised that the club warmly embraced it. 

2023's Top Prize for Non-Fiction: Rocket Boys - Homer Hickam Jr. (1998): Although I expected this straightforward memoir to land well, I did not expect the nearly universal acclaim it garnered. In fact, it was me who had perhaps the most muted reaction to it. Can't take full credit for selecting it either; it was my wife's suggestion. I read it, found the prose sturdy and unfussy, and there you go.

See you next January.  

Living History

I was an 18-year-old college freshman on April 4, 1968, the day Martin Luther King Jr. was shot. 

I remember the day clearly. Walking across campus, the first question I thought to ask my closest black friend was if he hated me. He answered by saying something about how angry he was at white people that day but that no, he did not hate me. I recall being relieved. I was so young, so naive and I so wanted to be liked. Where were you that day? Who in your life was hit hardest by King's death?  

Years later, when the talk started about establishing a holiday in King's honor, I have an even clearer recollection. I thought - How can this be? I was alive when King was. How is it possible his historic importance escaped me? Was it because I was young and so self-centered? Or, is it because his place in the grander scheme wouldn't have been part of the conversation in my white world?

Did you know you were living history if you were alive when Martin was? I did not.

p.s. Sitting at my laptop early this morning, intending to write a post to honor King to start the day, I decided to first search my archives to see how much I'd referenced him over the years. Right after reading the four brief paragraphs above, I concluded I could do no better honoring King at seventy-four than I'd first done at sixty-two. I'm proud standing by these same words - verbatim - and ask you now to consider - or re-consider - some or all of the questions I first posed on January 15,2012 when my blog was less than a year old.         

Let's Be Sure, Shall We?

I'm confident attentive readers have noticed the six mid-January forays I've made into constitutional law, etc. Yeah, right. For the inattentive among you - no doubt interested in my savvy and prescience in matters constitutional - attached below is my first proposal, published in 2014. FYI, this is currently under consideration by Congressional committee. A simple search of my blog archive - using the word constitution or amendment - will quickly uncover my other brilliant proposals. Yeah, right (redux).

Reflections From The Bell Curve: XXVIII

In the meanwhile, given the circus that is about to unfold in this Presidential election year, it seems fitting to suggest some long-overlooked but obvious requirements for any presidential candidate. 

* An IQ test. At minimum, I'd feel much more confident if viable candidates were all empirically smarter than me, i.e., let's ensure we elect someone who resides at least above the middle of the bell curve, IQ-wise.

* A comprehensive test administered to all candidates regarding the contents of the U.S. Constitution. OK, my two amendments and the other stuff can be left out, if you insist. But seriously, isn't it time to ensure our Chief Executive actually knows the fundamental concepts upon which our nation was founded?

* Screening for Alzheimer's and other old-age, dementia-related ailments.

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Preserving The Republic (couldn't resist providing you with another link - it's connected both to my mid-January constitutional mojo and the last bullet above, I promise) 

I'll resist getting snarky by suggesting candidates have no pending criminal indictments. But please don't let my polite reticence stop you from adding to my short list. Isn't it about time we took some prudent precautions before we elect the person who has a finger on that button none of us want to think about too much? 

Bring On the Team

I genuinely appreciate and enjoy the before-song riffs Steve Van Zandt uses when introducing some of the music featured on the satellite radio station bearing his name. In particular, I like the serpentine fashion in which he strings together some of the wildly disparate elements contained in those riffs. I know a few listeners who think Steve overdoes it from time-to-time. Not me; I'm with him all the way, frequently laughing out loud.

At the same time, it's difficult for me not to be a little jealous of the research team I suspect is behind at least some of that seemingly effortless riffing. This mild jealousy visited me most noticeably while doing my own research for a recently developed music course I entitled Journey Through the Past: History Via Song. It felt like every rabbit hole I'd begin to innocently explore - connecting a song to a piece of or person from history - had no end. In particular, the three songs I picked as "epics" for the course (as one example, Al Stewart's Road to Moscow) made me yearn for my own team.

And that started me fantasizing about how cool it would be if each of us could have a research team at our ready disposal. If not as regularly as Steve Van Zandt, how about if we could have that luxury for one week a year? What week would you pick? I'd take the last week of the year. That way I'd have all year to advertise myself as a New Year's Eve party-starter, then use that last week to have my team ply me with material, enough to get the dullest party popping. How much do you think I could charge for my endlessly sparkling repartee? Hell, I'd offer a money-back guarantee. 

OK, maybe you don't want to monetize yourself like me. How about this instead? With that research team feeding you bon mots, puns, historical tidbits, and the like, imagine how well you could dazzle a potential romantic partner one week every year, predictably. Come on, tell me that's not enticing. 

Gotta Love Those Collections

Walking by any collection of "free" books is difficult for me. Doesn't matter much where I am, who I'm with, how much time I've got; almost without exception, I've got to have a look. To anyone sharing my inability to bypass these collections: What treasure did you most recently uncover in this way?

Andrew's Brain is an intriguing, inventive, thoroughly modern novel. Though unsure how this 2016 gem by E.L. Doctorow escaped my attention, I suppose that's reason enough to be grateful for my compulsive need to peruse these ragtag collections. After all, I've been enthralled with Doctorow since finishing Ragtime upon its 1975 release and this late title in his oeuvre is yet another example of his massive ambition as an author. Over a long career, Doctorow tackled a dizzying array of subjects, always with an eye toward the possibilities of the novel as an art form. In this experiment, he tells the story by using a dialogue involving Andrew - a man beset by unspeakable tragedy - and an unnamed interlocutor who may be Andrew's psychiatrist or his jailer or both. 

Andrew's Brain is an early 21st journey - including 9/11 and the subsequent and futile search for those weapons of mass destruction - meticulously constructed marvel by a modern-day master. Many of my favorite authors have disappointed me at least once; not Doctorow.

Endlessly Re-Training the Brain

The brain is an exquisite pattern-making machine. And the more I learn about creative pioneers, the better I understand how important it is to challenge those reflexive patterns regularly.

While roaming through Taliesin West, listening to an audio narration describing architect Frank Lloyd Wright's creative process, I was simultaneously inspired and disheartened. The inspiration compelled me to take notes in the hope that small pieces of Wright's process might find a way into my own.  

The disheartening came as I reflected on how easily the brain can box us into reflexive thinking. For example, when you envision a swimming pool, what shape does your mind's eye see? Because most of us see a rectangle does not mean we are not innately creative. My years of studying creativity has taught me that our brains, having seen many rectangular swimming pools, will reflexively re-create a rectangle. If we want to harness our creativity more completely, we must intentionally force ourselves to see different shapes, hear different sounds, use different textures, i.e., break patterns. 

Wright envisioned a triangular swimming pool. This happened in part because while looking at the spot he'd selected for the pool, he let his eyes take in the background. Consequently, his design for the pool mirrored the triangular shape of the Arizona mountainside behind the spot he'd selected. This is an elegant example of someone challenging the exquisite pattern-making machine that is the brain, a machine that reflexively warns when a saber-toothed tiger is nearby at the same time that it boxes in the innate creativity residing in us. 

Sit in a different place each time you're in church. Park in a new spot on each visit to the gym, favorite coffee shop, friend's home. Put your pants on left leg first instead of right for two days or weeks or months, and then return to right leg first. Notice how breaking any mindless pattern makes you feel. After trying that, move next to breaking patterns as you paint, take photographs, write songs. Then after trying that, return here and tell me and others how doing so opened a creative door for you.

Stop - Start - Continue: 2024

What is one thing you plan to stop doing as the new year begins? One thing you plan to start doing? Something you'll continue doing?

Each New Year's Day since 2012, I've asked you to join me in this exercise. And it's been gratifying to hear from more than a few of you that the stop - start - continue model has been helpful. In my experience, doing this instead of making a single new year's resolution increases the likelihood of sustainable success. In particular, the continue piece is affirming because - as each new year begins - I'm reminding myself of a new or longstanding practice I've already integrated into my life that has been beneficial. 

In 2024, I will stop adding any new writing vessels into my life. Juggling these vessels has started to get a little out of hand.     

In 2024, I will start taking guitar lessons with a local jazz guitarist I met in 2023. 

In 2024, I will continue the regimen established with my start pledge of 2022, i.e., consistently exercising four days a week. 

Avoid getting bogged down if you struggle coming up with a stop, start, and a continue for 2024. Instead, do just two of the three. Or, at minimum, take a moment and tell me and others just what you plan to continue. What's the downside to simply congratulating yourself for a past success as a new year begins?