Category: What’s New

A place to track links to new posts found in other areas of the site.

Dream Within a Dream

Today is Friday the 8th of December. By the time this post is published, I will be on my way back home from Atlanta. I wish I could say that the last eleven days were a rollercoaster of events and emotions, but the reality is that it’s been intense the entire trip.

My Hotel California (it’s her ringtone on my phone) sister arrived the same Tuesday as I, but a while later in the evening. We are here to support my We are Family (yes, her ringtone) sister and her husband Yoav, and my younger sister who lives in Atlanta (To My Little Sister – not a ringtone, but an unrecorded song I wrote for her), and each other through the final stages and aftermath of moving our Mother to memory care. That event took place last Friday, the 1st.

My sisters and I round out our Mother’s biological children. Mom has been staying with, and been primarily cared for by Jan and her husband Yoav for the past four and a half years with Darla’s valuable help.

Continued preparations masked the emotional stress associated with a life altering event such as this. And though we were able to discuss some of that emotion, we could not let it interfere with the task at hand.

Emotional stress can manifest in many different physical and behavioral ways. From cramps and rashes to a spectrum of silence to complete outpouring of thoughts and feelings. The five of us, first with Mom present, then with her absence, manifested several symptoms of both types.

But our time together was just that – together. We have been sharing a common, deeply personal yet communal experience of grief, loss, empathy, fear, and hope. We knew it individually and recognized it in each other.

My sisters and I took walks together, and individually, as we worked through our thoughts and feelings. On one walk I saw an eagle soaring high above, yet nearby. I texted my sisters who came out to see. I don’t attribute any higher power significance to seeing the graceful, flying creature, but experiencing it together was a treat.

As I knew it would, preparing for this transition over the past few months has pushed the loss of Pam back toward the surface of my conscious and subconscious mind. I could feel it lingering and swelling just below the surface. Of course it did. Not as a cataclysmic volcanic eruption; more like a fissure opened with thick hot lava oozing and moving along the surface of my psyche. I was able to express my feelings to this private support group of family. It helped to stem the flow.

Today I woke with vivid awareness of two dreams that actually were a dream within a dream. I was at home in the kitchen looking through the pass-through to the living room where Pam was sitting in her chair. It was a comfortable, normal scene with pleasant conversation. I watched her get up slowly (not normal) and realized, within the dream, that I was hallucinating and that Pam wasn’t really there. As she walked slowly toward the hallway and began to fade, I cried out that I knew it was a hallucination but I didn’t want it to end. Please!!!

I woke to find myself in a strange location, in some kind of garage with screened in, open, door. There were several other people there that I think I recognized, but can’t identify. Sitting next to two of these vaguely familiar co-occupants, I tried to relay my dream, only to have them tell me to get professional help. And so I tried to explain, even argued, that such manifestations of emotional stress are normal with loss and grief, but they couldn’t understand.

Commotion outside. An eagle pounced on a squirrel atop a power pole just down the street. Screeching. Flailing. The squirrel fell, with the eagle in pursuit. But missing that opportunity, it swooped toward a small dog outside a house across the street. Grabbed it. But it, too, got away.

I woke as the eagle was flying low, chasing the dog, who was chasing the squirrel! Now, awake for real, and as you can now see, I was able to recount in my mind exactly what had happened. This, too, was a manifestation of my emotional stress. Played out in a dream within a dream.

Epilogue

We continue to navigate our new logistical and emotional terrain since last Friday. Cheryl went home yesterday to California, and, as I said, I will be traveling as this post is published. Jan, Darla, and Yoav are left to take care of Mom’s daily needs, though in different roles, and they will have different experiences than before. From my perspective it has not been a rollercoaster. Rather an intensely emotional experience that we are all thankful to have shared together.

Life is But A Dream? Or are we dreaming within dreams? Too deep for me to contemplate now.

Anything and Nothing

Musing to my sister of my difficulty deciding on what to write, she suggested I write about nothing. I could write about anything; too broad. Nothing; too narrow.

Where does that leave me? I guess I’ll try writing anything about nothing in particular. But what does that look like? How would it sound? What can I show that you would want to see?

Samuel Clemens, later known as Mark Twain was born in Florida, Missouri on November 30th 1835. He died on April 21st 1910. Both his birth and death coincided with the perihelion of Halley’s Comet. You can read a short, but interesting bio here. Do you know how he came about with the name Mark Twain? I’ve always been intrigued by these tidbits of trivia.

Writing about domestic politics and issues, or world events, is too fraught with diverse and conflicting opinions to share my thoughts and opinions thereof. It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World! Different subject, but it sounds right.

I’m having even more trouble than usual getting into the holiday spirit. I’ve never been good at it on my own, but Pam made it exciting and fun by her joy and enthusiasm, and her loving, giving nature. I don’t think I’m a scrooge. I don’t use any form of the term “bah, humbug”, but I suppose that I come across that way sometimes.

By this date of the year, we would already have at least one card table set up with scotch tape dispensers (Yes, multiple. Got to have the double-sided variety too.), ribbon spools, straight and squiggle-cutting scissors, you get the idea. And it’s not just the big gifts. It’s the little “stocking stuffers” that often delighted her most.

I left home with four inches of snow on the ground. It was a deep and wide swath, as I was through Missouri and into southern Illinois before the last traces disappeared in the fields and in the wooded hills. Enjoying the landscape and topography along the highways and byways as I drive is still a life’s little pleasure for me. I am constantly reminded of how much Pam enjoyed the scenery and we so enjoyed experiencing our travels together.

I also realized on Thursday the extent to which caring for Pam during her illness and grieving for her (and myself) after her death, zapped my energy. Now, however, I am being energized, and I like to think it is her universal energy, through pleasant memories of her, and of our life together. I recognize how her energy enlivens me still. It doesn’t make the pain go away, but I think it does put salve on the wound.

I hope to have something specific to write about next week, rather than anything about nothing. I will try to convey the experience of transitioning my Mother from home care to memory care. But it may be too raw to put into words yet at that time. Meanwhile I continue to consider topics to write about because I enjoy the writing. And based on reader responses, you enjoy it too.

Well, I kind of wrote about anything. But it turned out not to be about nothing. Now that I think about it, that’s difficult to do. If you get nothing out of the reading but enjoyment, that’s something too. In fact, that’s everything my writing is about. And that’s not nothing either.

Behold – Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving

I was playing this song, Behold – Psalm 133, during practice last weekend within the context of Thanksgiving. Thinking about family, thankful that I will be with them on Thanksgiving. I thought of so many things I am thankful for as the holidays approach again this year. Consider playing the song while you read the rest of this post.

The season comes with some trepidation as I navigate through another round of celebrations without Pam. Thanksgiving today, and our 27th wedding anniversary next Tuesday loom largest. But transitioning Mother to memory care, Christmas/Channukah holidays, followed by Mom’s 99th birthday in January, all add emotional weight to the season.

Yet, I am able to be thankful for my family, my health, my neighbors and friends. I like where I live and have settled into an as yet unfamiliar lifestyle – enjoying retirement! I am thankful for my music and my songs and how they might positively impact others’ lives. And Pam follows me on this journey. For she is always in my mind and in my heart. But I wish she was here to share! I miss her.

Behold – A Little Story

I am working on a short story that will include some of this history. Here, I want to share the origins of the music behind this song of a Psalm.

By the time I got to college I was totally disillusioned with my Jewish upbringing. I was a heavy pot smoker and did some other mind-altering drugs as well. I read books of Eastern religions, took Yoga classes, and enjoyed my philosophy class more than any other.

During the fall semester of my Sophomore year I met some people who would facilitate the most significant change in my life. At that time, Navigators was a college campus ministry who’s origins were with the US Navy. I met a young man and a mentor who would play pivotal roles in my conversion to Christianity and total upheaval of my life. But that’s part of the bigger story.

After my being “born again” during spring semester, I headed home to Atlanta, where my parents had moved the previous year, with the weight of wanting – needing – to tell my family about my “good news.” My angst was validated by the icy reception that my good news evoked in my parents and siblings. I found myself alone, with little guidance and lots of questions.

I read. Mostly the New Testament that I was almost totally unfamiliar with. But it made so many references to the Old Testament that I was very familiar with! I read Proverbs, and I read the Psalms. Understanding that the Psalms were put to music a few thousand years ago, I decided to try my hand, developing music for three.

Psalm 38 is a plea for forgiveness and healing. My interpretive song begins with verse 21, “Do not forsake me, oh Lord. Oh, my God, be not far from me.” I really felt it at the time, and enjoy the music to this day, though I don’t play it often. I just realized that it did not make the Catching Up On Life album. Interesting.

Psalm 24 follows the famous “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want” verse of Psalm 23. It’s focus is totally different. It ascribes ownership of everything to God and describes the totality of devotion required to be with God. Beginning with, “The earth is the Lord’s, and the fullness thereof”, I rarely play it anymore.

Psalm 133 I call “Behold.” It is a regular part of my repertoire. I enjoy the sound and the sentiment. It’s easy listening and presents an attitude of thankfulness.

I find it interesting that, as with many artists, dark times often influence creativity. Though I did not write the lyrics, I hope that the music does them justice and is true to the original author’s intent. (I also wish the recordings were better 😉 )

So I am thankful today for everything I have. Everything I have had and lost. For those who have touched me with their lives, and for those lives I have touched.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Compost Posting

Note: Thanks to Jan for the concept. I don’t know what I would have written about this week otherwise 🙂 You can skip to the bottom to get to the point of all this verbiage if you like.

Cooking for two people is challenging. But usually, leftovers are consumed quickly without much food waste. Open bags, cans, and bottles sometimes remain in the refrigerator too long and their contents must be discarded. Cooking for one creates significantly increased challenges.

Each day and week for many years I’ve been disappointed whenever I throw rotten food or leftovers in the trash, or through the disposal and into our water treatment system for that matter. This coincides with efforts to minimize paper and plastic waste and recycle whatever is allowed by our city/waste management company.

The city offers an option to rent a 20+ gallon container on wheels in which I must place a $1.85 yard bag to fill and put out at the curb for pick up. It would take me weeks to fill, and I would most likely replace it often, adding to the cost. I convinced myself that the “aroma” would overwhelm me and my garage long before. Plus having to find space to keep a third container.

Normal recycling has been and is going well. Now that I am single, I rarely have more than one “trash” bag to put out each week. And with an 85 gallon recycling bin, and all that I recycle, I still only put it out to the curb every two or three weeks. I feel good about that. It may not be much in the scheme of what our society wastes each day, but as they say, “Every little bit helps.”

My son has a large family of seven and a corner lot with a big yard. I envy his energy and ingenuity to build a rain water retention system, complete with solar powered, battery operated pump system to supply water for his extensive garden and small orchard. Additionally, he implemented a two-barrel composting station that supplies nutrition to the garden. He and his family are proactive about saving composting material every day (which can be significant with seven people, even when there are few leftovers – as you can imagine). My daughter’s family saves compostable materials in a small covered can on their counter. There is a convenient drop-off a few blocks away where new insert bags are also freely supplied.

Which brings me back to my plight. Knowing that they, and others, find some way to compost, whether privately or through public options, exacerbates my guilt feelings when I throw too much leftover or old food in the trash! So I researched my options. The least appealing was the city option. With the storage issues and an ongoing payment plan, it was easy to eliminate.

I seriously considered the rotating drum option. But the combination of where to house it, and keep it accessible even in the dead of winter, and the need to keep an interim container in the kitchen or garage, made this a cumbersome, though slightly more attractive option than that provided by the city.

Ah, Amazon! A myriad of options, as usual. Almost so many one can get lost trying to compare and choose. I decided to concentrate on countertop electric composters. Still, many options. Read the features. Read the reviews. Watch the videos. I know you’ve all done the same for whatever device you’ve considered buying.

Having made a decision after days of angst, I purchased the Airthereal Revive Electric Kitchen Composter, 2.5L Capacity with SHARKSDEN® Tri-Blade, Turn Food Waste and Scraps into Dry Compost Fertilizer for Plants. A big decision! Expensive! Worth it!

Composting my coffee grounds, tea leaves, table scraps, even rotten cottage cheese, gives me a feeling of doing something good! I’ve already “made” about a gallon of compost in a couple weeks, running it about every other day. The charcoal filter nearly eliminates any odor (it smells a bit like something is baking in the oven), and the sound is similar to a quiet dishwasher. I am impressed with this unit.

I don’t have a garden – yet. I do have plants and landscaping, and some lawn areas in much need of fill and nutrition. I do have room for a garden. It might be my next step in being food and planet friendly.

Back to the top to wind your way through how I got to the point

“Are You Sitting Comfortably?”

What a question. What a concept.

In fact, I was sitting comfortably, sipping my morning coffee, listening to SiriusXM radio Deep Tracks (Channel 308) from my stereo speakers connected to the TV, when The Moody Blues song asked just that question.

Take another sip my love and see what you will see,
A fleet of golden galleons, on a crystal sea.
Are you sitting comfortably?
Let Merlin cast his spell.

Ride along the winds of time and see where we have been,
The glorious age of Camelot, when Guinevere was Queen.
It all unfolds before your eyes
As Merlin casts his spell.

The seven wonders of the world he’ll lay before your feet,
In far-off lands, on distant shores, so many friends to meet.
Are you sitting comfortably?
Let Merlin cast his spell.

Raymond Thomas

I know I’ve touted the beauty of The Moody Blues music previously. This is another example of how, over many years, their songs continue to speak to me or reflect my current lot in life. Sitting comfortably is something I have rarely been able to do for several years. Yet here I was. Feeling rested. Feeling strong. Aware of my loss, yet not consumed by it at the moment.

Then comes this mystical music and tantalizing lyrics. I’m also a big fan of J.R.R. Tolkien’s Middle Earth fantasies, and of the stories of King Arthur’s court. Raymond Thomas sets the lyrical stage while The Moody Blues weaves its musical spell.

Several challenges face me in the coming weeks. In addition to the traditional holiday season and what would have been our 27th wedding anniversary, my siblings and I are preparing to transition our nearly 99-year-old (January 7, 2024) Mother to a memory care facility in the middle of this time. Sitting comfortably for a few minutes, listening to some of my favorite music that mirrors my emotions, is a true ethereal gift.

Also good is my recognition of such gifts. It is easy, as the days grow shorter and colder, to sink into the gloom with the season. In deed, last year at this time I was pretty much an emotional mess! I’ve been concerned about how I would fare this winter. But though it has not actually arrived yet, my comfortable chair and easy listening offer a glimmer of hope to me and to the season.

I will be with various geographically distant family members over the holidays. Last year I worried whether I could remain emotionally stable – for good reason. I was only marginally successful.

I still anticipate some difficult moments. Last year my family was instrumental (no pun intended) in my coming through the darkness of my grief. This year I am hopeful to enjoy them and celebrate them along with the holidays. I am not a religious person, though I have delved deep into faith and dogma. Nor am I a fan of the commercialization of the holidays. But I do appreciate people. I love people. I love family. And I love our common hopes and dreams for ourselves and each other.

So here I am, sitting comfortably in my office chair, writing these optimistic and hopeful words. I don’t really care who casts the spell. But if it continues to be a good one, please don’t break it!

Tomorrow (Sunday, November 12, 2023) marks the 18 month anniversary of Pam’s passing. I had no concept of the emotional challenges that I would endure nor how my life would change without my other half. I still love Pam and am in love with her. This fact has given me strength to reshape myself into a new life. It is transformed and is still transforming. I can no longer be what I thought I would be with Pam. I can only go on being me without her. Yet, knowing she will always be part of me. In doing so, I am confident that, even with my fits and sputters, she would be happy that I am.

I can sometimes now sit comfortably with that knowledge.

Dreams – and the Blues

Just one more mornin’ I had to wake up with the blues

Greg Allman

Thursday morning was just like many, feeling the emptiness of a moment I used to enjoy, saying good morning to the one I love. But also like some other mornings in the past year and a half, I was singing Dreams in my head. Not only do the lyrics speak to me at some level, the music is entrancing.

Just one more mornin’
I had to wake up with the blues
Pulled myself outta bed, yeah
Put on my walkin’ shoes

Went up on the mountain
To see what I could see
The whole world was fallin’
Right down in front of me

‘Cause I’m hung up on dreams
I’ll never see, yeah, baby
Ah, help me, baby
Or this will surely be the end of me, yeah

Pull myself together
Put on a new face
Climb down off the hilltop, baby
Get back in the race

‘Cause I’m hung up on dreams
I’ll never see, yeah, baby, yeah
Ah, help me, baby
Or this will surely be the end of me, yeah

Pull myself together
Put on a new face
Climb down off the hilltop, baby
Get back in the race

‘Cause I’m hung up on dreams
I’ll never see, yeah, baby, oh
Ah, help me, baby
Or this will surely be the end of me, yeah

Greg Allman

I am not a blues artist. I am a fan of some southern rock, The Allman Brothers in particular. I was fortunate to have seen them multiple times in the early 70’s. Pam’s brother, Dave, gifted me with prints of Duane and Greg Allman that he meticulously crafted (Dave German Art). So many of the great guitar players and song writers of my generation learned their trade by listening to, and playing, the blues. But I am not writing this about that genre, rather, how the lyrics and music express how I feel.

Blue is how I feel these days. It’s not all I feel. I have a love of life – of my life – even as it so deeply hurts to live it without Pam. I enjoy my surroundings. I enjoy being and interacting with family and neighbors. I might even be making new friends!

Many routines are now metamorphized extensions of those we used to share. Which, of course, make me sad that I perform them alone. Even such things as doing the dishes or making the bed leave me feeling empty and blue. But often I also smile that I still perform them. Not necessarily exactly as she would have or how we might do them together. But they, as she, are part of the fabric of my being.

I am crying more often again these days. I miss Pam so much. Sure, life goes on. Much of what I am is good, better having known her and been loved by her. Sadness engulfs me without warning. Any of the many things such as those mentioned above trigger its onset. Such a paradox. Living and loving life. I rue Pam’s death to the depths of my being.

Last July I wrote a note of expression, “Letting go means giving up on all your dreams.” Sharing that with someone close to me, she suggested that I’m not giving up all my dreams, only those I had for Pam and me together. That may be true. They are/were more important than mine alone. And those I still cling to, such as creating and performing my music, are emptier now without her. I guess I’m still “hung up on dreams I’ll never see.” But it surely won’t be “the end of me.”

I live without Pam, and with her, and in honor of her. Yet, I dream.

Another Season

Driving the back roads toward central Iowa this week, I was reminded again of the beauty in the changing seasons. Giant, rolled hay bales break up the landform of freshly harvested, stubble fields. Machinery still dots tire-track paths around them.

And the trees! I was lucky to have picked this week to travel. Last week would have been too soon. Next week the cold and wind will bring down most of the colored leaves in the trees and turn those remaining, brown and brittle. As viewing goes, this year’s turning is, in my opinion, above average, with the full range of greens, yellows, oranges, reds, and browns splattered on the clear blue canvas sky, in contrast to plain tan/brown fields at the feet of trees on the hill tops and along the waterways. These pics were taken on my return trip. A cloudy day with periods of spitting rain.

(There is more to read after these pictures)

Near the Iowa River
Cemetery Road

Two recordings came to mind while driving and gawking at the wonders of nature. The first is Leaves That Are Green by Simon and Garfunkel. Beautiful poetry! Kind of sad. Light and lilt tune.

I was twenty-one years when I wrote this song
I’m twenty-two now, but I won’t be for long
Time hurries on
And the leaves that are green turn to brown
And they wither with the wind
And they crumble in your hand

Once my heart was filled with the love of a girl
I held her close, but she faded in the night
Like a poem I meant to write
And the leaves that are green turn to brown
And they wither with the wind
And they crumble in your hand

I threw a pebble in a brook
And watched the ripples run away
And they never made a sound
And the leaves that are green turn to brown
And they wither with the wind
And they crumble in your hand

Hello, hello, hello, hello
Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye, good-bye
That’s all there is
And the leaves that are green turn to brown

Simon and Garfunkel

The other “song” is The Dream from On the Threshold of a Dream album by The Moody Blues. I’m sure I’ve quoted The Moody Blues in prior posts. So many of their songs spoke to me in my youth and young adulthood. Shout out to Sam who suggested To Our Children’s, Children’s, Children as the first vinyl album I ever bought. At one point, I’m sure I owned a copy of them all! My brother, Bruce, always suggests their earlier music, pre-Justin Hayward. Also good stuff. He also gave me an excellent Moody Bluegrass album.

When the white eagle of the North is flying overhead
And the browns, reds and golds of autumn lye in the gutter dead
Remember then the summer birds with wings of fire flame
Come to witness springs new hope, born of leaves decaying
And as new life will come from death

Love will come at leisure
Love of love, love of life and giving without measure
Gives in return a wondrous yearn for promise almost seen
Live hand in hand and together we’ll stand
On the threshold of a dream

The Moody Blues

Also previously mentioned, nearly everything I experience on a daily basis reminds me of a song or some music. Or, in moments of revelation, I create my own. Simply said, I love music!

“To everything there is a (another)…“

Ecclesiastes (and The Byrds)

On Thursday, a neighbor showed me a picture of our neighborhood, taken from a drone, showing the fall colors. Beyond the Field Day Brewing Company building and condos are our homes. I can see the red-leafed tree in my back yard, and the one in the picture leading this post! Amazing photograph and colors. Enjoy!

Another Milestone

Sunday was a difficult day – but not all of it.

Our daughter and her partner came for a visit on their way back from a seminar in Indianapolis. Please direct your thoughts and prayers for Greg’s daughter, Val, as she fights a medical battle!

Knowing of this visit in advance, Kelley and Greg brought a covered pickup truck to take the last of the boxes filled with Pam’s stamping materials and a bunch of holiday decorations I no longer want, but may have sentimental value to other family members. I prepared a spread of smoked brisket, pulled pork, and baby back ribs, with sides of beans, corn, and Texas toast. Way more than we could eat, but they took home the leftovers. I had the rare pleasure of preparing the meal and having people visit!

Just a few days prior, I considered they might be able to use some of the extra furniture, specifically, Pam’s office chair and her recliner. The ones matching mine. I’ve been looking at it with trepidation for over seventeen months now (more on that a bit later). As Kelley and Greg hauled boxes from downstairs, I dismantled the recliner. A wave of sadness gripped me (and still does as I write this), realizing another loss related to losing my dear Pam. I broke down crying even before we had a chance to get the chair out the door! So hard to let go, but I knew I had to.

Then, off they went. And, due to my nature, I could not let things remain in disarray. Get out the vacuum. Rearrange. Tidy up. Good for my psyche. More crying. I found myself saying, “I’m not getting rid of ‘you’, I’m just getting rid of stuff.” And don’t worry. There are many reminders of Pam still here. Many things we bought or created together. Things that meant a lot to her. Things I still use and enjoy every day.

Having completed my rearranged “therapy”, I took a picture and sent it to Kelley so she could see the change. I also sent it to my sister by text, knowing she would like to visualize the new configuration. She replied, “All yours now.” I must admit that it stung to read those words. But I know she meant well and, reflecting later, I realized that it is true. The transformation of this house, from ours to mine, is pretty much complete. Basically, every room now has my personality stamped on it. I know not what additional changes I will make. Hopefully, I won’t add too much “stuff!”

I took a walk around the neighborhood on that sunny, cool, autumn Sunday afternoon after all of the commotion. It dawned on me that last Thursday was October 12th, seventeen months since Pam died. For the first time, a monthly anniversary passed without my acknowledgement. Another milestone – one that passed without notice!

The evening was filled with sorrow for missing Pam! I sat in my chair and cried. I may be further along some continuum of recovery, but the pain is still sharp when it rears up. I miss her nearly every hour of every day. Yet I go on with my rearranged life alone in my rearranged house. Again I say, Pam wanted it this way. Every time I notice something of hers, something of ours that we acquired and enjoyed together, when I do things around the house the way she would (and obviously “trained” me), I have to say, “I love you, Pam.” Rearranged life or not.

New Tools of the Trade

Updating the Instruments on Wutjavia is overdue. Allow me to show you new members of my musical tool box here, as I have added them to the Instruments page.

I have always wanted a Taylor Guitar! I’ve played them several times at music stores and have a couple family members who own them. I have played those as well. I love the sound. They have great action, and are beautiful as well.

Unfortunately, my Gibson B-45 12-string no longer functions even close to performance level. At least 20 years ago the neck began to detach from the body. I had a luthier who was able to restore its function, but I could no longer keep it at the normal E tuning. I stepped it down to D, attempting to lengthen its usable life, but not a complete fix.

Late last year I became aware of Taylor running a year-end sale; buy a qualifying guitar and get a choice from another list for up to 70% off list price. I’d had my eye on a 12-string for months, having played it at a guitar store in Minnesota. This might be the time to jump in. I selected Model 352ce to replace the Gibson.

Taylor 352ce 12-String – Double Stitch

For the “sale” guitar, I selected a Taylor GS Mini-e Koa, sight and sound unseen or heard. What a pleasant surprise! Its beautiful Koa wood body only enhances the overall quality and sound of this smaller-body instrument. With the included custom gig bag, it travels easily in the back seat or cargo area of my vehicle and produces bright, yet deep sound. It is versatile enough that I can play any song, either native to six or twelve strings.

GS Mini-e Koa – Stitch

I picked up these two beauties in early January of this year. Having not seen nor heard either guitar prior to purchase, I can say that I am thrilled with their workmanship, sound, look, feel, and playability.

Playing at Galilean in June confirmed my concern with my Alvarez Yairi. You can read about it, and how I selected it, on the Instruments page of this site. I love this guitar and have created and played numerous songs with it since purchasing it in 1997. Wow! That’s 26 years ago. Recently, though, it has been misbehaving. Adjusting the neck/action, and keeping it in tune – especially during performances – has become a frustrating distraction.

Consequently, I made a trip to a guitar store that I knew had several Taylor guitars of varying price levels, in stock. A funny side story developed as I began trying to test some of the options. Most of the Taylor guitars were on locked wall brackets. The salesperson was only allowed to unlock one at a time, making it difficult to compare sound and action between models. I finally complained and ended up being assisted by the store manager who had the authority to unlock multiple guitars for me to test.

I spent between two and three hours playing the same songs on various models, winnowing the field, eventually down to two models with one being significantly more expensive. Ultimately, there was no doubt that the Taylor 724ce LTD, priced literally thousands of dollars less than the competition, exhibited higher sound quality and playability. It produced sound similar to that of my Yairi, an important consideration when trying to marry its sound with my playing style. Not to mention the beauty of its solid Walnut body! The store manager was in total agreement, saying that the sound from each string rang true and clear.

Taylor 724ce LTD – Anchor

Meet my Taylor Guitars, Stitch, Double-Stitch, and Anchor (stitch).

My Taylor Stitches

There is yet another addition to my toolbox, a Breedlove Pursuit Concert CE NY. Purchased prior to Anchor, I was looking for an option specifically to address my finger-picked songs. I hoped to gain a different sound for softer songs, while providing increased playability with a wider neck and more flexible, nylon strings. This is a Classical style guitar that I use to develop sound and practice with less left-hand stress. I have not used it in performance, but I don’t rule out that option. I also anticipate new music emanating from its use.

Breedlove Pursuit Concert CE NY

So here they are; my updated musical toolbox contents. Those who have heard them played have commented on my sound, a sound that I greatly attribute to the tools I use to create it. I am composing, practicing, and playing with a renewed zeal. And I look forward to performing, with eyes on various venues in 2024.

New Tools!

Thanks for allowing me to introduce you to the new members of my musical family.

“Grief is a Relentless Companion”

It takes so many forms, and affects so many aspects of learning to live with major loss.

Written in the journal I keep by my living room recliner on September 29th, the statement continues to resonate as the days have passed since then. The journal itself is a gift from my son and is from his trip to Machu Picchu. It is a wonderfully hand-made leather book of empty white pages bound by a leather tie, that I, being left-handed, turn upside down to write on the pages from right to left. I’ve been adding entries periodically since last October.

At times I’ve thought that being in this house exacerbates the ongoing reminders of Pam missing out on our retirement years, of the emptiness I feel as the months go by without her, of the forfeiture of my hopes and dreams of our future together – of my future alone. I constantly change things around, rearrange the bedroom furniture, new linen and quilt, some of the wall hangings. I have changed the towels, mats, and shower curtain more than once in the last year, trying to change what was ours into what is now only mine. But I still get into an empty bed and wake up in the same. Getting into the shower, grab bars still in place, reminds me of Pam’s last year when she needed help with her intimate needs. The grab bars remain as an admission that I, too, am aging and admit the potential need for assistance, another reminder of having to make do on my own.

But it’s not the house, now my home. Reminders are everywhere. Go to a restaurant, a park, visit a friend, go bowling – which we enjoyed so much together. As I found out many years ago during my rebellious time as a youth, being happy, being “good” or “bad”, loving and hating , etc. are not dependent on location or one’s lot in life. Extricating myself from everything I know and have in life does not eliminate what is going on inside my head and heart.

Nearly seventeen months after Pam’s passing, I continue to live hour by hour, day by day. Some are better than others. And though I have few elated moments, I can still slip into despair that I cannot live up to what I think is worthy of Pam’s love and faith in me.

As she and I discussed, and I have mentioned before, I knew, and it has come to pass, that I am not the same person without her, not as “good” as I felt when bolstered by her love and presence in my life. Just this week my sister reminded me that Pam knew me, knew my weaknesses, knew my strengths, and loved me for who I am. Those things she saw in me are still part of me.

I believe this is why I am able to continue to get into an empty bed and wake up in the same. It is why I continue to reshape my surroundings to reflect who I am without her, still not understanding who that is. Yes. Grief is my relentless companion. But Pam’s love, the love and support of my family and friends, and my own will to live keep grief from having complete dominion over me.

On a lighter tack, as part of my process of carving out a new life without Pam, I recently attended a 55+ luncheon at the rec center. I’m pretty sure that at age 69, I was the youngest attendee. Lunch was catered and, I still can hardly believe it, I played Bingo after lunch and even won a round!

Two positive outcomes emerged as a result of my attending. A nice man named Frank took the initiative to sit with me during the luncheon. He recognized that I was new and graciously helped me feel less alone. He is twice widowed! Frank invited me to join a seniors bowling league, either bowling for at team, or as a sub. Three weeks ago I did just that, substituted for someone who could not bowl for their team. I bowled poorly, but I have always enjoyed bowling, and the challenge of being better at it than I am. I’ve now been there three weeks in a row and am known as a “regular” substitute available to anyone who cannot attend. My bowling has improved significantly since the first week and I look forward to subbing again next week. I’m getting familiar with some of the people there, have heard a few stories about their losses, and I am becoming familiar to them.

But this positive aspect of my new life is still tainted by my relentless companion. Pam and I used to enjoy bowling together with family and as members of church leagues. She was quite the bowler with the straightest delivery I have ever seen. Starting down the middle and barely wavering by a board! It is hard to avoid the guilt of enjoying bowling without her. An example of how life is changed and grief lingers.

In addition to my new social interactions, I received an email, through this web site address, wutjavia@gmail.com, from the 55+ luncheon coordinator, the only person attending who was clearly younger than I! I had given her my Wutjavia card after the event. It turns out that Bingo is not the only weekly luncheon entertainment. Guest speakers are invited to present, I suppose, just about anything, to the luncheon audience. She perused this site, read about my Glacier travels, and has asked me to present a travel log of my choosing to the group, inclusive of narrative and pictures. And though it won’t be delivered until sometime early next year, I enthusiastically agreed to do it.

One of the blessings of being with Pam was our mutual respect for the things we loved as individuals. She had her stamping and greeting cards. They were amazing outpourings of her love of people and of life. She attended conferences with her stamping friends, conducted online research, bought incredible tools, paper, and stencils, and created phenomenal works of art that she gave freely to others to honor special occasions, or just “thinking about you.” Sometimes she even asked for my advice on a design, or to hold paper or ribbon while she attached them to a card.

I had my travels (and my music), mostly to mountainous regions, camping and backpacking. With camera attached at the ready, I hoped to capture, as much as a picture can, amazing landscapes, vistas, and animals experienced along the way. And though she hated me being gone, and in potential danger, Pam encouraged me and supported me each year as I planned, either on my own or with my son, then departed on another adventure. She used to make “car treat” bags with anything from Pez candy to mini tissue packs, games and booklets. Anything she thought we might enjoy and laugh at as we drove many hours to our mountain destinations.

Now, though I am constantly reminded of what I have lost, I also remember what I/we had and can at least get a glimpse of a life that continues to evolve, with grief as my relentless companion.