Tag: Music

Travel Log – Nebraska 2024

My trip to Nebraska was both rewarding and painful. I hope to expound on the rewards, but can’t help mixing in some pain. My planned route included stops at two lunch spots that I had seen on Only In Iowa, and designed to avoid any major highways.

First, I must say that Friday was an interesting and ultimately difficult day. I was packed and ready to go by noon. and considered taking off early, but didn’t know where to to. I kept busy outside all day which was good. But the evening relaxation turned into a major letdown that further exhausted me mentally, adding to the physical tiredness.

A ray (or rays) of hope on Friday evening

Waking early Saturday I left before I’d planned. That was good because it was a five-hour drive to Malvern, Iowa and Classic Cafe. I found the downtown area to be bustling with quant businesses, pedestrians, bikes, and cars. I could have spent more time there if I hadn’t another place to be that afternoon.

Classic Cafe was excellent. With decor epitomizing small town downtown cafes, It was comfortable with “Please sit anywhere” and welcoming friendly staff. The main special this day was Hot Beef Open Faced Sandwich. Not my favorite fare. But I jumped when the server mentioned Made Rites. One of Pam’s favorites, we used to seek out places that had both Made Rites and good pork tenderloin sandwiches. Accompanied with sweet potato fries and iced tea, my hunger was soon satisfied. If you are ever in the area, I highly recommend it.

The lengthy morning trek, enjoying the wandering state and county roads (mostly IA 92) of southern Iowa, left me less than two hours of yet more pleasurable travel to Leid Lodge at Arbor Day Farm. I had not been there in over 30 years when I stayed while consulting at Cooper Nuclear Power Plant. There on business, I never got the opportunity to enjoy the many interesting features at Arbor Day Farm. Taking Pam there to share what I thought would be a fun and enjoyable venue was on my bucket list. But we never made it there. I thought it fitting that I return now as part of my journey to Pam’s bridge.

Leid Lodge and Arbor Day Farm did not disappoint. A Baltimore Oriole greeted me as I walked toward the entrance from my car. The lodge reminds me of some in and around the mountains out west. Its timber construction, vaulted ceilings and glass walls are augmented by the use of recycled materials that finish the room decor, such as carpet made of recycled plastics.

I walked about five miles along wooded pathways and apple and nut orchards around the perimeter of the grounds. There are interactive displays in hundred-year-old farm buildings, a Tree Adventure ideal for family excursion, and a really neat shop, Apple House Market, where I spent more than I probably should have on honey, popcorn, candy, and a sweatshirt that colorfully says “Plant Trees.” There are many other facilities and activities there to enjoy.

Having made reservations, as recommended, at Timbers in Leid Lodge, I chose to sit on the deck overlooking treed grounds. I enjoyed an excellent meal of Prime Rib, homestyle mashed potatoes, and asparagus, with a glass of Cabernet. This was actually the third point at which I really felt Pam’s absence, the first two being while strolling in the woods. The second, while shopping. She would have really loved this place. Her joy would only enhance my experience.

Views from my table

I played my guitar on the stone terrace behind the lodge where more than a few people, especially with children, stopped to listen and offer their thanks. Cool. Having a fourth floor room facing the orchards, I hoped for a glimpse of the Northern Lights anticipated that evening. But they did not manifest. I slept well.

On the road before eight on Sunday morning, headed for the bridge. It was appropriately gloomy and I could see rain shafts in the distance toward Creston NE from the open road. Sullen anticipation enveloped me. About a 2-1/2 hour drive, I arrived by 10:30.

It was cool and breezy at Pam’s bridge, with intermittent light rain. Also appropriate. Avoiding too much detail about my time there, my lasting images are of dropping yellow daisy flowers over the guard rail while reconnecting with my sorrow, loneliness, guilt, and just trying to connect with Pam. And being on my knees, grasping the guard rail while screaming in agony as the pain overtook me. I spent quite a while there. I didn’t want to leave, but knew I would eventually have to.

Heading east again toward Ankeny, I had another lunch stop to make in Beebeetown Iowa, truly a “don’t sneeze or you’ll miss it town”, to a place called Twisted Tail Steakhouse and Saloon. Also recommended by Only In Iowa, it looked like a fun place to visit and enjoy another good meal along my route. Talking with a sister while on my way, I suggested that it might be the only restaurant in town and busy, being Mothers Day. No kidding. Look at the map on the link. Beebeetown is literally a on stop sign town. Twisted Tail was the only business I could see there. And it was packed!!! Cars parked up and down the street. People standing in line outside, decked in their Sunday best or Mothers Day finest – whatever. I moved on, grabbing a wrap sandwich in a convenience store and eating on the road. I’ll have to consider going back to Beebeetown another time.

of a sudden, in the hills about a mile west of Harlan, I crossed the path of the recent tornado. Mangled trees and missing roofs, silos, and damaged barns. There was a concrete slab on the side of the road. It was once covered by a house. All that remains is the slab and the entrance to a storm cellar, doors in tact. I hope the inhabitants of the house were in there!

On to Ankeny where I visited family and stayed over. It was a good plan. I was totally exhausted from two days on the road and emotionally spent from my experience. I did sleep well, though, and my leisurely trip back home Monday morning was pleasant and relaxing. Ah, the back roads!

This week has been filled with to do’s, and overarching feelings of sorrow and self pity. As of writing this yesterday (Friday), I am coming out of the funk and remembering that I must go on, remembering and honoring the past, while striving for a quality-of-life future. Remembering the rainbow.

Strength for a Reason, Strength for a Season

Another from the vault of future topics on which to write. This one, not a quote that I know of, conjures up many potential meanings, none of which I can directly attribute because I did not flesh them out when I added it to the list. I am, however, confident that it had something to do with my grieving process. The need to be strong. The potential that the need may have a finite time frame.

Back from two weeks and 2,400 miles away from home, I begin the process of mentally preparing for the upcoming second anniversary of Pam’s passing, two short/long years ago. I am putting possibly too much weight behind the date. As with my many backpacking trips during which I hope or expect some sort of epiphany about life, I feel the need to attribute some rite of passage to visiting the site in Nebraska where Pam’s ashes were scattered.

Could it actually be a milestone in my grief journey? Have I been strong for this season to culminate in a literal and figurative step forward in my new life without Pam? Based on past experience, I’d say no. Yet somehow I feel like it should. Like it will.

There have been plenty of milestones since May 12, 2022. First it was days, then weeks. Counting months seems to have subsided several months ago. But two years! Is this one particularly significant? In a way, I think so. Not because of a date. But because of how I feel and the way I view life at this juncture.

Being strong through the pain and sadness, clutching almost without hope to the need to play music in Pam’s honor and absence. With the incredible help of family and friends I have come far – much further than I thought possible – through my grief journey. I recognize once more who I was, who I am, and who I want to be. And though the two of us were another amazing being together, Pam never lost who she was, nor did I.

We are no longer the same being, nor will we ever be again. Pam is gone. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Evidenced now only by a bridge to visit on the back country roads in rural Nebraska. I live on with her memory. She lives on through the memories of so many family and friends who knew and love(d) her. I/we cannot change this reality.

Is this the season of transition? Is it the season of change? Of course. There are many impactful changes taking place here and around the world. They are constant – change. I certainly feel that my life’s journey is in transition and that I am ready for change.

I suffer no delusions that transition and change are linear. My emotional ups and downs confirm that change and seasons are cyclical or, as some say about the grief process, a spiral, moving up and around through time. We all live with them. I choose to accept them.

So on I go, embracing each day, remembering yet not living in the past, not afraid of what the future holds. I am thankful for this outlook and hope to continue being strong for good reasons, strong for any season.

May you all find strength and peace amidst life’s changes and seasons.

Assessment and the Amanas

I was still assessing and evaluating last week’s performances while driving between routine medical appointments Wednesday morning, the latter being in Hiawatha IA on the north end of Cedar Rapids. As expected, I had the initial letdown through last weekend. But the funk lingered into this week.

I was pleased with my performance on Friday of last week. I played as well as I hoped. Not completely error-free, but with only minor hand coordination mistakes that I doubt were noticed by the audience. I did, in fact, remember all the words. Everyone stayed for the entire performance, allaying my second deepest fear that people would just get up and walk out. “And the first?”, you ask, was that I would get lost mid-song and freeze up. How embarrassing!

But I was less than satisfied with people’s response to the songs. One person’s comment was that old people don’t want to hear sad songs. I thought I had left those out of the playlist! Another clearly disliked what is probably my most popular song, Bad Habit Creatures. But I suspect it was a political dislike. Most who attended liked it over the other songs.

Returning home that afternoon, I felt numb. Part of it was having worked so hard in preparation, just to have it over in less than one hour. But it also felt empty. Of course, I had achieved what I set out to do, play in public, having an opportunity to share my stories through song.

What I realized over the next few days was that I didn’t enjoy it. I didn’t enjoy having to pare down my playlist and manipulate it to fit what I thought was the audience I was playing to. I didn’t enjoy practicing only specific songs in hopes of playing ‘well enough’ for that particular crowd. I didn’t enjoy worrying about whether my music would be accepted or appreciated.

By Wednesday, the conclusion I came to was that, though I accomplished this project that I set out to do, I was not being true to my original goal and commitment of just playing what I want, when I want, where I want. What I want is to be able to just play. Play the songs I want as my mood dictates. Like it or don’t. That I can handle.

Still, I was unsettled as I sat in the parking lot in Hiawatha trying to figure out what to do next on this Wednesday afternoon. I had no reason to rush home. I decided to make the trek to The Amana Colonies about 20 miles SW of where I sat. I had read an article in Only In Iowa just that morning about a hotel in Homestead, the only Amana Colony without the word Amana in its name. I thought it might make for a little get-away sometime where I could stay as a base for branching out to tour all of the colonies. I’d been through them, but only briefly in most.

My second motive for going was to pick up some wonderful smoked salami’s at the Amana Meat Shop and Smokehouse. That place is so much fun for a guy like me. So many meat, cheese, and kitchen gadget choices. Plenty of other tasty morsels as well. As usual, I came out with more than I went in for.

Having increased my groceries and decreased my bank account, I sat in the car again, planning to head for Homestead, just a few miles away. But it’s almost past lunch time. Surely there are places to eat in Amana. Then I remembered that Millstream Brewing Company, the first craft beer establishment in Iowa, had added a brew pub, “Millstream Brau Hous.” Since I’d never been there, I decided to go.

Somewhat typical in style, but with the cultural design on the exterior as well as the interior, I was greeted and ushered to a window-side table. Sitting down, my eyes immediately fixed on a blonde Ibanez guitar hanging on the wall on the other side of the room near the bar. There were few people in the room. I asked if someone played it. It belongs to the owner and is there for anyone to play.

That was all it took. I quickly ordered my burger, fries, and Widow Maker hazy IPA, and headed for the guitar. Nice tone. New strings. Sounds good. I planted myself on a bar stool facing the bar, and began to play. It came easy. It sounded good. I was having fun. I barely noticed that my food had arrived across the room.

However, the beer was not at the table. I finally went to the bar to ask for it. The server apologized, saying he was distracted, enjoying the music, and forgot. I took that as a compliment.

After enjoying the food and quaff, I went straight back to the Ibanez. I noticed the bar tender tapping his hand on his thigh as I played an instrumental riff that I enjoy. Turns out he is also a musician.

Returning to the table to pay the tab, the two ladies at the table next to me expressed their appreciation of my playing. That’s the effect I am going for.

My assessment complete. My analysis spot on. I never wanted to be a performer, though I like to play for people, hoping they enjoy and get something out of the listening. I just want to play my songs whenever and wherever I can. Be it in the garage, in parks, in brew pubs or coffee houses. I’m not in it for the gigs. Now I remember the vision and the commitment. I hope to be true to it.

On to Homestead Iowa. Home town to Ashton Kutcher. Homestead is literally a one street town with its homes and businesses lining it. Stop signs only at the two ends of the half-mile long road. I found the hotel about 3/4 of the way through town. It had a for sale sign on it. So much for that cozy getaway.

Just drive on home. Play my guitar. It’s a good day. I’m back on track.

PPA:

It’s a TLI
PA: It’s also a TLI, or a TLA

I used to do this in the classroom. There were so many abbreviations. In my jargon, a TLA is a three-letter acronym – and also a two-letter acronym. But I know that actually, PPA is not a three-letter acronym. It’s a three-letter initialism.

Acronym

a word (such as NATO, radar, or laser) formed from the initial letter or letters of each of the successive parts or major parts of a compound term

Merriam Webster Dictionary

Initialism

an abbreviation formed from initial letters

Merriam Webster Dictionary

“Okay”, you might say, “Wut’s this all really about?” Well, I thought I might be coining a new acronym/initialism, but once again, Google search saved me from embarrassment.

PPA is an initialism for Pre-Performance Anxiety. According to WebMD, pre-performance anxiety is stress and anxiety about performing in front of people and causes performance anxiety. PA can be considered either an initialism or an acronym since its letters also form a colloquialism for father. Performance Anxiety is also known as stage fright.

Now do you see where I’m headed with this? I now have two performances scheduled for next week. On Thursday I will participate in an open mic at Sidekick Coffee & Books in Iowa City. I recently added this venue after previously committing to the 55+ Connections Lunch at the North Liberty Recreation Center.

I’ve known about the 55+ gig for some time and have been practicing a set of songs that I hope will engage and somehow positively affect the lives of those who attend. Now that the time is near at hand, I find myself second guessing. Are my music and lyrics really “good” enough for public consumption? Is my presentation polished enough to expose myself to scrutiny? Will my aging, stiff fingers work!!!? On the up side, I do think I’ll remember the words.

I am not self-absorbed enough to think I am the only person who experiences performance anxiety (stage fright). I immediately think of my 13-year-old granddaughter who landed a major part in a community theater musical that opens next Friday, the same day as my 55+ performance. Break a leg, E! And there are others in my immediate sphere who have upcoming meetings and interviews who may deal with similar anxieties.

I found an interesting article, Get excited: reappraising pre-performance anxiety as excitement, on the National Library of Medicine website. Just reading the abstract helped me reframe my perspective:

Abstract

Individuals often feel anxious in anticipation of tasks such as speaking in public or meeting with a boss. I find that an overwhelming majority of people believe trying to calm down is the best way to cope with pre-performance anxiety. However, across several studies involving karaoke singing, public speaking, and math performance, I investigate an alternative strategy: reappraising anxiety as excitement. Compared with those who attempt to calm down, individuals who reappraise their anxious arousal as excitement feel more excited and perform better. Individuals can reappraise anxiety as excitement using minimal strategies such as self-talk (e.g., saying “I am excited” out loud) or simple messages (e.g., “get excited”), which lead them to feel more excited, adopt an opportunity mind-set (as opposed to a threat mind-set), and improve their subsequent performance. These findings suggest the importance of arousal congruency during the emotional reappraisal process.

Alison Wood Brooks 
PsycINFO Database Record (c) 2014 APA, all rights reserved

Next week will be a culmination of an extensive period of hoping, dreaming, and preparing that began even before my retirement and Pam’s illness and death. I’ve conveyed many times my desire to “take it on the road” with Pam during our retirement years, using venues as a tour guide for going places and seeing things together. Something we so enjoyed together.

These two gigs also mark the beginning of a new phase of reaching for the dream. Though I have performed at very limited open mic sessions and in front of a friendly audience of family and friends at a church, these are the first true public appearances in front of people whom I don’t know. No one will have heard the songs. No one will know what to expect. At the 55+, I’m not even sure they know that the program is a musician. They only know that there is a program every last Friday of the month.

Success will look like people not walking out during the first song or shortly thereafter. It will look like people looking at me, perhaps nodding with some sort of mutual understanding. Maybe even clapping? Success will catapult me forward in my journey, give me confidence to book other performances, find other ways to get my music out there. Obviously, failure will look and feel quite different.

Therein lies the fear with pre-performance anticipation. I am excited that I have followed through with the commitment to pursue my music. I believe that I have a message of humanness, one that not everyone is willing to share. It happens to be through music. I am fearful that my musical message will not be received, even though those who have listened have encouraged me.

Performance anxiety, stage fright, is another matter. My mouth gets dry, my heart rate goes up (even more than when I just play the songs), and I have trouble staying focused. My eyes and ears seem to work overtime to ferret out any peculiar distracting input, of which there are ample, when one is on stage. Practice, even trying to imagine myself at the venue, helps. Just thinking about looking out over the audience during practice is enough to distract me. Thus, the more I do it, the better I will be able to focus – I hope.

Again, none of this is unique to me. I am sure that many of you can relate at some level. And again, I am just egocentric enough to think it’s worth writing about. That you might enjoy the reading, and maybe get something worthwhile out of it.

By this time next week, all of the anticipation, anxiety, excitement, and of course, the performances will be over. I will have an emotional let down, as I always do. I will review and evaluate the outcome. Then I will pick myself up and figure out the next plan. Yet I have made a greater commitment – to Pam:

I will go on. I will be okay.

Wandering Writings

More on Birds
Ecclesiastes 1:9
January thaw

More On Birds

Whoosh! I connected the sound.

Though all of my menagerie of feathered friends take to flight at the slightest movement or sound (except maybe the robins), departing sparrows are most noticeable simply due to their numbers. I had not recognized until this week that they make a collective sound as they depart from the bushes and ground just outside my living room window. I suppose my hearing devices pick up the whoosh better than with just my unaided hearing, but I was taken aback when I realized the soft sound was associated with their flight. Now I notice it all the time. Fun!

Goldfinches

American Goldfinches are hereby added to the menagerie. They are less noticeable in the winter when the males lose their golden color and thus blend in with the sparrows and other finches. But I was able to recognize them in the birch tree, feeding on its seed pods as they dangle, totally exposed, from the leafless branches.

Goldfinches are a treat, both visually and acoustically. Our neighborhood includes many echinacea plantings that produce a thistle-like seed pod at the center of their flowers – a favorite of the goldfinch. Goldfinches stay here the year round and I do enjoy their songs. You can listen by clicking the link above.

More On Bluebirds

One more note regarding bluebirds. Last week’s post instilled in me a desire to set My Little Bluebird to music. I listened to their songs on the link included previously and am attempting to emulate and include them, currently with chord progressions that I hope to put with the words. I’m thinking it’s going to take some massaging of the verse to make it work, but I look forward to creating something new and meaningful.

More on birds
January Thaw

Ecclesiastes 1:9

What has been is what will be,
and what has been done is what will be done;
there is nothing new under the sun.

Book of Ecclesiastes, New Revised Standard Version

I think of this verse often as I ponder what to write to you about each week. I am self-aware enough to realize that my musings are simply different ways of expressing the same thoughts and feelings, observations and sensations, that humans, and maybe other animals and plants, have experienced since time began. I am self-centered and bold enough to express them anyway!

The wisdom in this verse also applies, and I think of this often also, to what’s going on in the world around us. I remember, many years ago (like back in the ’60s and ’70s) trying to impress upon my dad the tenuous times we were in. He would always respond that all which I mentioned, wars, floods, earthquakes, climate change, etc. have been with mankind since the beginning. It does not portend the end of the world.

Fifty plus years later, I think I understand and accept that he was right. Unfortunately, just because it’s nothing new, nor does our current global “situation” necessarily mean the end of mankind, nor that it has all happened before and the deeds being done repeat previous mistakes, make it easier to accept and deal with individually or collectively. When will we ever learn?! (scroll down to listen)

More on Birds
Ecclesiastes 1:9

January Thaw

After one of the harshest beginnings to a new year, with record-breaking snow totals, January appears to be going out like a lamb here in eastern Iowa. I listened to the snowmelt dripping from the downspout each time I woke last night. I’m sure I’ll hear it again tonight as there is still plenty of snow on the roof and temperatures are predicted to remain above freezing. Additionally, we have a 100% chance of rain later today and into the night (Thursday). Rain! In January!

Add to that the dense fog that lingers all day as the humidity level stays nearly equal to the ambient temperature, a result of the melting snow. Sure beats sub-zero cold! Hopefully, February will take the hint and keep up the “nice” weather.

Still, cabin fever is setting in. But with daytime temperatures in the 30’s and maybe even 40’s next week, I am braving the weather for some outside walks. The brisk air is refreshing and still preferable to inside exercise.

The combination of cabin fever and temperate weather give me incentive to plan for travels again. Thus, I have a plan for the time around the second anniversary of Pam’s passing. Another trip to “her” bridge. Last year’s adventure was just that. You may recall I had to abandon my camping trip due to severe weather. This year, no camping. Rather I plan to visit other places along the way that I have wanted to return to.

Another trip south to visit my family, especially my Mother, around Atlanta is also in the works. Hopefully, this will become another adventure including new destinations along the way. I am also planning a special trip to celebrate a milestone birthday somewhere I can camp and hike. I’m looking into going east instead of west. No decisions yet.

January thaws are nothing new either. I am, however, happy to be looking forward to spring and summer. Happy to think of successfully making it through a second winter alone. Barring any unforeseen calamities, it appears that I will. And this winter will have been a much better one than its predecessor.

May the rest of your winter be healthy and hopeful.

More on Birds
Ecclesiastes 1:9
January thaw

Lost And Found In The Music

Happy holidays to you all! And an honest hope for a happy, healthy, and peaceful 2024!

I woke up Christmas morning with the realization that I had, in deed, been anxious about the coming holiday. I thought I was done with this level of anxiety subsequent to my recent travels and family events. Not so. I didn’t understand why my blood pressure was still higher than normal nor why I found it difficult to sit still during the day or go to sleep at night.

Sure. I know the tendencies of those who grieve to be affected by holidays and anniversaries. I’ve lived it. But I thought I was really doing better. Didn’t I just write about it? So what gives!?

Doesn’t matter. It is so. I cried. No, I wailed. Over and over as the morning passed and the rain (not snow) continued to fall, and the wind continued to blow.

The well-wishes started to light up my phone. “Thinking of you.” “Merry Christmas, Keith.” “Hope your day goes well.” All nice, warm sentiments that I appreciated very much. Knowing that family and friends understood my sorrow forced smiles in the midst of sadness.

By late morning, though, not knowing what to do or how to create a happier day, I found that I wanted to play music. I’ve been practicing with my Alvarez Yairi recently, so I unsheathed it from its case, tuned it, and began to play. First were songs for and about Pam. After all, it is she who I honor on Christmas more that any deity. For she loved the celebration of the holidays so.

So I played. And I played some more. I was lost in my music. Not necessarily playing well. I hadn’t been practicing much lately. It didn’t matter. I was in touch with the sound and the origins of the lyrics that meant so much to me, and that I did write them. I played for an hour. And then another. Taking breaks to rest my hands and voice, wetting my whistle, eating snacks.

From my travels: Lolo Pass, I Look Away, Parkersburg.
Family; loves and losses: When Comes the Time, Rae J, Tell Elizabeth I Love Her, Sarah’s Song.
And, of course, my Pamie Sue: She Sleeps, The Song I Never Wrote For You, Our Lives In Love, Anything To Please.
And many, many more. Covers of Cat Stevens, The Moody Blues, Simon and Garfunkel.

On I played throughout the day. It felt good. I felt better. And I remembered the commitment I made to Pam, shortly after her death, to pursue the music. To follow through with the dream. To give to others that which I have to give. Not amazing, artistic greeting cards as was Pam’s gift, but my music, both old and new. To share myself and those in my life with anyone who will listen and relate, or just enjoy the sound.

The more I played, the more I realized that I am fulfilling that dream. Music is the one constant, the one calming, honest, and true gift that I have to hold onto as I learn to live on my own, without my Pam. And it is due to her that I have been free to write and play for the past almost 30 years. She has been my muse, my inspiration, my collaborator, and my fan.

Now I prepare for the next chapter in what has become the life of a singer songwriter – my life. I have been looking forward to it for a very long time. I have thirteen new, unrecorded, original songs and 6-8 covers that I hope to record over the next few months. Hopefully, I’ll be done by Spring, ready to “hit the road” armed with hours of live music to share. And there are several completed songs that I have yet to practice, to prepare them for performance and recording. Several additional in-progress songs also await in the fringes of my repertoire. I hope I get to them all.

Finding my voice in my music brings me joy and satisfaction. I celebrate my life with Pam, and without her. Being lost in the music is a good thing. I find solace and comfort, able to forget the anxiety of loss during the holidays, and of the challenges that lie ahead. At least for a while, while I play.

Maybe you, too, may find some comfort or consolation. Lost and found in the music.

Still it is difficult to grasp that she is gone.

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!

“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!