Spreading The News

My Uncle Bill - one of the few uncles that I know reasonably well - is in the hospital. So my mother asked us kids to contact him via phone or email or letter to let him know we were thinking about him. I thought about calling, but cell phones and hospitals seems like a tough combination. And my aunt, his wife, said he was having some trouble remembering things from being on strong pain medications. So it seemed like an email was a better alternative.

But what to write? I didn't want to be maudlin and talk too much about the problems he's having. It's been a bad few years. He had to have all his teeth removed. His new dentures haven't ever really fit. He now has a carcinoma that they can't operate on because he's in too much pain from bursitis. So he's in the hospital so they can try to find the right pain meds for him to take and get his pain under control before they operate. Not a good time at all.

I decided to write about my life and times. About organizing the family portrait to be taken at Christmas and the logistics of all that craziness. About work and some upcoming changes that we are expecting to happen soon. And about the animal rescue volunteer work that I do. Just trivial stuff, really. But hopefully something to make him smile. To let him know that I was thinking about him. And to maybe distract him for just a little while.

Godspeed, Uncle. I hope it works.

Revisiting The Past

As I'm readying my house for a move - i.e., getting rid of extraneous stuff to "stage" my house - I am clearing out my closets. In my closets are boxes of stuff from my past. In my quest to simplify my life - in addition to staging my house, I'd also like to just clear out the things I don't need anymore - I'm actually going through the boxes to weed out things that I really don't need.

Today, I went through a box that included all the stuff that my parents had collected from my childhood through college. It included the script from a play I was in in third grade. All my report cards from elementary school onward. Drawings from kindergarten. My PSAT scores. My GRE scores. (Interestingly, not my SAT scores.) And a bunch of letters that I had written to my parents over the years. As well as a few old love letters.

In 1983, as I was thinking about graduating from college and what I would do next, I apparently was thinking that I would go to law school. I sort of remember having that thought. I mean, what else does one do with an English degree if one has a desire to make any kind of money? On the other hand, I think that I would have made a really bad lawyer. I'm much too empathetic. Perhaps if I had been in contract law? Nah.

I also mentioned going to France for a year or two to try to become fluent in French. I had taken French from fourth grade to eleventh grade. That's a lot of years learning a language that I really couldn't speak at all. I could read pretty well. But I never really got to the point of being able to hold a conversation. So I thought it would be good to submerge myself in the country and force myself to learn what years of school had not achieved.

In the end, I did neither of those things. Ultimately, as much as I'd like to think otherwise, I'm way too much of a chicken to go live in another country by myself for a year or two. My sister lived in France for a few years. She left her husband here and moved there for a job she thought would be a great opportunity. I give her a great deal of credit for taking that chance. I'm just not that brave. And I'm a total homebody. I get homesick traveling for a week. I can't imagine what I would do if I had to live in another country for any length of time. It really would not have been a good thing.

As for law school, as I said, I don't think I would have made a good lawyer. When I was young and impressionable, I thought that I would be a public defender. I wanted to help the helpless. But in the real world, public defenders have to defend people who have done really bad things. And I just would not be able to see myself as part of the process. I would have gotten beaten down by dealing with those kind of situations. Again, it really would not have been a good thing.

So revisiting the past has been interesting. If nothing else, it makes me appreciate that the decisions I've made (or had thrust upon me) have ultimately led to good things.

On Giving Thanks

Jehovah's Witnesses don't celebrate Christmas. They believe that a true Christian should celebrate Christ every day, not just once a year. (They also don't celebrate Easter or birthdays. According to Wikipedia, this is because of the pagan association with those holidays and celebrations.)

There are those who feel the same way about Thanksgiving. Perhaps not that one shouldn't celebrate it at all, but that one should not use the holiday as an excuse to not be thankful all year long.

While I understand their point - and perhaps even agree with it to some extent - I think it's important also to have a single day of the year when we really take the time to be thankful. To take the time with family and friends to slow down, to think about what really is important and therefore what we have to be thankful for, and to say out loud "thank you" to those people who are important in our lives.

Felix teaching Patrick about Thanksgiving (thanks Patricia for posting on Facebook): Patrick (age 4): I'm thankful for TV and video games. Felix (age 9): You're not supposed to be thankful for those things on Thanksgiving, just important things. ...I'm thankful for my home, food, and my parents. Patrick: You said you're thankful for parents. Felix: I am! Patrick: You're supposed to be thankful for me!

Out of the mouths of babes...

So here in public are the things I'm thankful for.

I'm thankful for my family. I'm thankful that our parents raised us to be nice people. That we all get along just fine, thank you. That we love each other, support each other, and generally act as families are supposed to to each other - with respect and honor.

I'm thankful that my parents are happy and healthy in their later years. At 82 and 78, still going strong and still in full possession of their faculties. Can't ask for much more than that.

I'm thankful for a job that I enjoy. While, like any job, it has it's bad days, for the most part, I work with smart people doing good things. Again, can't ask for much more than that.

I'm thankful to be reasonably well off. I'm not rich, but I don't have to worry about money too much. I do worry about having enough money for when I do decide to retire (in 15 years or so!). But I have plans for that and seem to be on a good path. In my mid 20s, when I was in grad school, I was living on $400 a month. I've also been unemployed a couple of times since then and had to watch every penny I spent. I remember well those times and am still thankful that I now am in a position to buy what I need and want when I need and want it. And I try to remember - as part of my thankfulness - to spread the wealth to those who are less fortunate or who are trying to help those in need.

I'm thankful for my health. I have good genes and so far they are holding up. There have been a few health scares along the way, but overall, I can't complain. No chronic pain. No congenital problems.

I'm thankful to live in a country where I am free to be what I can be, to think what I want to think, and to say what I want to say.

Thanksgiving may be an American tradition. But I think it's a good one.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Music Hath Charms To Soothe The Savage Breast

William Shakespeare got that right. Music, most of the time, soothes me. I can be in a bad mood, and a good song will come on and I'll be much happier. When a good song comes on the radio, I might not even mind that I haven't gotten out of second gear in two miles. Turning up the car radio, with the top down, and singing at the top of my lungs while driving down the highway (at normal speeds) - one of my definitions of happiness.

But music also has the ability to bring pain. There are certain songs that are associated with painful memories. And hearing those does not soothe.

He was an old friend. We had hooked up a couple of times years before. Then we hadn't seen each other for quite a while. But were both single again and met for drinks. And perhaps a little hooking up again. Friends with benefits, I believe, is the colloquialism.

That's where it should have stayed. Had it stayed there, there wouldn't have been pain. Hurt. Humiliation. No music that pains. Instead, it became...well, it's really unclear what it became.

It was the first season of Rock Star. In this case, to find a new lead singer for the band Inxs. As a music fan and singer, I was fascinated by this idea. Turned out that he was too. Not a singer, but watching the show. Now you have to understand that music is a big thing for me. For me, any guy that I'm going to be with long term has to like music. I didn't know that this guy liked music. Not only did he like music, he liked the same music that I did.

So I invited him to a concert with me. In the meantime, until the day of the concert, he started coming over after work to watch Rock Star. And after we watched the show, we would retire upstairs. More friends with benefits.

The day of the concert came...and he didn't show up. I waited as long as I could for him to arrive at my house. He didn't come. I went to the concert anyway. And vowed to be done with him.

He came up with a good excuse. A friend had a big problem. He lived out of town. His cell phone battery died. So he couldn't get a hold of me. I believed him. And forgave him.

The season of Rock Star continued. We continued to watch it - mostly together but occasionally over the phone. We did some Christmas shopping together. We didn't exchange gifts, but then again, I wasn't really expecting him to get me anything. And I hadn't gotten him anything.

Then New Years came and went. I thought...perhaps...maybe...I would finally have a date for New Years Eve. No such luck.

And then it was Valentine's Day. I hate Valentine's. Probably because I have had a date for Valentine's exactly twice in my life. Being a hopeless romantic and being alone on Valentine's is not good. And so I thought...perhaps...maybe. But I didn't hear from him one way or the other. In fact, I hadn't really talked to him much since the New Year. But he'd started a new job and was working a lot of long hours. And things were not going well with the new job. Or so he told me. And I believed him.

Until I got a call on February 13th. From his girlfriend. Asking me why I was calling her boyfriend about spending Valentine's together. At 11:30 pm. Waking me up. It was horrible. I had no idea I was "the other woman". He denied it. He denied that she was his girlfriend. His relationship with her was just like his relationship with me. Except that he was moving in with her. He said it was because he was losing money on his business. He told me a whole song and dance. And, this time, I didn't believe him.

But now, unfortunately, the music of Inxs reminds me of him. And this time in my life. And so it doesn't soothe me. It makes me mad. Because I'm embarrassed. Why did I believe him?

But I don't want to feel that way about music. Any music. So I'm going to listen to it for a while. And hopefully it will eventually soothe my savage breast.

Old Dead Guys

Today has been a day for old dead guys. That's what Cindy and I call the classical composers we like. We are not fans of newer "classical" music for the most part. Too atonal. We like the old dead guys. The guys who wrote music that moves smoothly from one note to the next. Music that tells a story. Music that soothes the soul.

This afternoon, Cindy and I went to see the New York Philharmonic. It's part of our subscription to the Washington Performing Arts Society. This year, the New York Philharmonic will be our only opportunity to hear old dead guys in symphonic form, though we have some soloist shows that will likely include a few. The New York Philharmonic played Liszt, Elgar, and Prokofiev - all old dead guys. All eminently easy on the ears. My personal favorite was the Liszt. Les Preludes. Four parts - love, war, the countryside, and destiny. It's considered a symphonic poem, putting thoughts to music. I could hear those elements. Gentle melodies for love; lots of bass, cellos, and timpany for war; flowing violins and violas with flutes intermixed for the countryside; and all instruments playing with drama leading to a definite conclusion for destiny.

I don't always "get" the music. The Elgar, for example, was supposed to be reminiscent of Italy, which is where he was inspired to write the piece (Concert Overture). I didn't get that feeling with the music. Although it was pleasant to listen to, there were no stories in it for me.

The last piece, the Prokofiev, was 10 pieces from the ballet Romeo and Juliet. More pictures, this time of a storyline I know well and could almost envision how the dancing might go. Again, sweet melodies for Romeo and Juliet's love story; louder and stronger playing for Tybalt's death; sad and yet very dramatic music for Romeo's discovery of Juliet dead on the tomb.

Tonight, I watched The Soloist. In it, Steve Lopez. columnist for the LA Times, talks about how Mr. Ayers is transformed by the music he hears. Not just in the sense of enjoying the music, but actually transformed, taken away from the voices in his head. In the movie, they used colored lights and images dancing to portray this sense of being taken elsewhere by the music. Which I think is interesting because there are some, I've heard, who see color when they hear music. It made me wonder if such a person was the one who chose which colors would be used for which parts of the music. Or perhaps it was just what the director envisioned. Doesn't really matter. What matters is that Mr. Ayers is also a fan of the old dead guys. Specifically in his case, Beethoven. When discovered by Mr. Lopez, Mr. Ayers is playing Beethoven in a park in Los Angeles underneath a statue of Beethoven. Coincidentally, and conveniently (so I wonder if it was done for the movie) the Los Angeles Philharmonic was playing all Beethoven that season. At any rate, it made for a nice plot point that Mr. Ayers and Mr. Lopez went to a rehearsal of one of Beethoven's symphonies and, as noted previously, Mr. Ayers was transported by the music.

So I guess the old dead guys speak to more than just Cindy and me.

Rain, Rain, Go Away

We've had a very rainy fall. At least it seems like it's been very rainy to me. Gray, dark, and rainy. Not much hard rain, but at least a drizzle more days than not. I'm not a fan of rain, but I'm really not a fan of what it does to traffic. I really don't understand why rain makes the traffic worse, but it does. Maybe it's because visibility gets worse. Or people feel like they want to drive slower because the ground is slicker. Whatever the reason, traffic is always worse when it rains. So I recite "rain, rain, go away."

The Moments That Make Me Watch TV

Tonight's Grey's Anatomy rerun in Lifetime TV was the first one I had ever watched. And the reason I keep watching. It was the second part of a two-part episode. The one when Meredith has her hands in a guy's chest, holding still a homemade bomb that could blow up at any minute. At the end of the episode, after Meredith is home again, recovering from almost dying, Derek comes to the door to check on her. She says, "You know what I was thinking about today, today when I almost died. I kept trying to remember our last kiss." (or something to that effect) And Derek says, "It was a Thursday morning" and proceeds to describe their last kiss. Like Meredith, I found him irresistible.

It made me think about the best parts of other TV shows.

For Friends, for me, it's the proposal scene. Chandler has been running around New York trying to find Monica, who he's been trying to throw off the scent that he's going to propose. He comes home, thinking that he's lost her. The lights are dim. There are candles everywhere. He walks in, distraught, and Monica says to him "You wanted it to be a surprise."

Ask the average Buffy the Vampire fan which episode that makes them watch, and the likely answer would be when Buffy and Angel finally get together, and he goes bad again. That's certainly a seminal moment for the series. But for me, the one I remember is the episode where demons take everyone's voices. For 22 minutes of the 45 minutes of airtime, there is no spoken conversation. The first time it aired, I had to call my mother and get her to watch because it was so odd. No speaking, no music, nothing. Silence. I hadn't realized how much I didn't actually look at the screen when I was watching an episode. Until I had no choice. For 22 minutes, I had to look at the screen because all conversation was either through gestures or using chalk tablets. If you didn't watch, you didn't know what was going on.

There are others. For all the schlock and garbage on television, there are moments that are brilliant. And those are the moment that make me watch TV.