Keep Going

Back in mid-life, I often celebrated New Year’s with three other families up in the snowbound Sierras. We concocted elaborate ceremonies—writing something you wanted to leave behind— a behavior pattern, a job, a person, what have you— and then throwing the paper in the fire. Then another positive resolution (or more) written on another paper, put into a bowl and then each randomly picking one and reading it and guessing whose it was. We probably threw in a little burning of sage, short Buddhist chants, drumming, ringing Tibetan bells or banging on pots and pans or both. Of course, the mandatory kiss at the stroke of 12— usually with our partners. 

 

As we aged, all aspects of our lives grew simpler and that included the Resolutions Rituals. One of the families still hosted a party, but the full house at 8:00 pm was pretty cleared out by midnight, just a few of us out on the streets ringing in the year with our bell collection. Then came the idea of celebrating the New York New Year—9 pm our time! So it went. 

 

Now most all of us simply stay home, go to bed at the normal time, and having failed for decades in most of our resolutions, wisely decided, “Why bother? If I wake up tomorrow morning, that’s victory enough!”

 

Here in our Indio family retreat, we also didn’t stay up past 10 and no group fuss was made one way or another. The rain continued this morning as it had for most of yesterday and mostly we puttered around, each doing our little routines. But after lunch, the rain finally stopped and my wife, children and I got out the door and left the grandkids alone (their choice) while we set out on a hike. A mile walk to the Indio Badlands and then a six-mile loop through this remarkable landscape where rocks looked like frozen waves, caught in stop-motion. The sun peeked out in the late afternoon, the almost full moon began to rise, the conversation flowed and at one point, I asked my daughter Talia if she had any resolutions. She said they were a work-in-progress and then asked me the same. And I came up with this:

 

“Keep going.”

 

I like it. Simple and to the point. Since I enjoyed most everything I got to do last year, it makes sense that I simply want to keep going with doing the things I love. Why make it more complicated? 

 

The calendar indicates that (always health permitting) I certainly will continue to teach workshops to adults. In Singapore and Bangkok in January, Tennessee and Mississippi in March, New Orleans in June, China and California in August. I’m signed up for subbing in San Francisco in April, guest residency in a school in Toronto in May, so I’ll certainly keep working with kids. I plan to keep playing piano at the Jewish Home for the Aged, keep playing piano at my home, spending time with the grandkids in March and August and remarkably, with Zadie in February taking her to Japan! 

 

All is lined up for me to keep reading, keep writing, keep showing up at No Kings Rallies, keep walking and biking (and possibly a May group trip to the Dolomites!). Just keep moving. Not just moving for the sake of random exercise of body, mind and heart (though all are important—today’s 8-mile-hike was just what I needed), but going with a sense of direction and sense of purpose. Going someplace that one can see on the horizon like the shining city of Oz, never, ever, quite arriving, but transformed in the journey by staying focused on the rainbow’s end. 

 

So there you have it. Resolution 2026. Keep going.

Reciting the New Year In

Poetry was not a big part of my informal upbringing nor my formal education. Though I did get a poem published in The Harrison Echoes, my elementary school “literary magazine,” when I was in first grade. I believe it was:

I was up in the sky

And I waved goodbye.

 A good sign that poetry was not to be my career path! 

 

In high school, I believe Walt Whitman was my first poet of note that I read, perhaps sprinkled by a few grains of Matthew Arnold’s “Dover Beach,” Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Raven,” and of course, Robert Frost and his two roads and snowy evening. But it was e.e.cummings, sometime around late high school or college, who lit the flame that has burned at different intensities my whole life long. His imaginative structure and syntax, his singing the praises of Spring and Love and the mystery of mere existence, spoke to my emerging romantic self. I still have the big hardcover book of his collected poems gifted to me by my first girlfriend, with select poems marked. 

 

Fast forward a few decades to when I began a project of memorizing poems. At the height of my powers, I had some 45 poems on the tip of my tongue—a few each from poets like Yeats, Shakespeare, Mary Oliver, Gerard Manley Hopkins, Emily Dickinson, William Stafford, Robert Frost and more. But oddly, not anything by e.e.cummings. Was he just a passing fancy?

 

Today, I hope to honor a new New Year’s Day ritual of re-memorizing many of the poems that have been hibernating for much of the year, something I’ve done for the last ten years or so. I awoke with the line “when serpents bargain for the right to squirm” on my mind, so a clear message that it is time to include my first favorite poet in the mix. I’ll begin memorizing that poem and then hope to include “o sweet Spontaneous earth” and “In Just-Spring” in my repertoire. To my mind, he holds up. A good reminder to us all on this first day of the year to reclaim what is truly normal and refuse the rest. Happy New Year!

 

                       when serpents bargain for the right to squirm
                    and the sun strikes to gain a living wage -
                    when thorns regard their roses with alarm
                    and rainbows are insured against old age

                    when every thrush may sing no new moon in
                    if all screech-owls have not okayed his voice
                    - and any wave signs on the dotted line
                    or else an ocean is compelled to close

                    when the oak begs permission of the birch
                    to make an acorn - valleys accuse their
                    mountains of having altitude - and march
                    denounces april as a saboteur

                    then we’ll believe in that incredible
                    unanimal mankind (and not until)

Puzzling the Year Out

The last day of this most troubling and hopeful year didn’t go quite as I hoped. Here in Southern California, the rains we left in San Francisco found us and I have not stepped out of the house. After a morning of indoor puttering, it seemed like the right time to begin the 1,000-piece puzzle I brought down. It’s a map of the 97 National Parks in the continental United States, and is the perfect puzzle for three reasons:

 

1)   A great combination of words, numbers, clear images, without big swathes of just blue-sky. 

2)   My Christmas gift for Malik were three books of National Park mysteries, the first one set in Rocky Mountain National Park where we all had a big family reunion a couple of years ago, hiking in the places the story refers to. (This from a series of 9 books by Aaron Johnson perfect for 5^th graders and fun for adults as well.)

3)   I was determined to “home-school” Malik in a school-neglected subject these days— U.S. (and world) geography. 

 

Those the practical reasons. Then the pleasure when Karen, Kerala, Talia, Zadie and Malik all gathered around and spontaneously started working in teams. Puzzling together is a happy family activity, working toward a common goal, enjoying the casual banter, feeling the thrill of a coherent image slowly taking shape through our own directed efforts. And perfect to end the year with my blood family, the ones who know me inside and out, are perfectly comfortable imitating with affectionate mockery my faces and expressions and words and movements. The chosen family of friends and colleagues and fellow teachers, musicians, writers, social justice carers and more are an important and enormous part of the life I’ve crafted. But family is something more, the people who will gather around your bed in your hour of need and I treasure them all. 

 

Four hours later, the puzzle is close to done and we’re all taking a break to help prepare dinner. These simple gestures a kind of love letter to the year that has passed and the one yet to come. No big words of wisdom and poetic inspiration here beyond everything I’ve said in the last 15 years (see last three posts). Just a little appreciation for the pleasure of sitting side-by-side at the table, putting together the puzzle of the places that hold Nature’s beauty in states that carry their own unique character that we someday may come to claim as part of a larger family, with every one worthy of our love and responsible to do their part to love others. Each of us working to put together the puzzle of our complex lives, one little piece as a time. 

 

Blessings to all in 2026. 

  

December 31st Through the Years: 2021—2024

Dec. 31—2021: Turn of the Year

 

… The day began dropping off the grandkids and daughter at Oakland Airport—at 6:00 am. A morning of reclaiming the house and then off for a long walk in the park. On this, the last day of the year, I am accompanied by the full community of selves that live together in this body-mind— my doubts and confidences, my shortcomings and successes, my old hurts and wounds and disappointments alongside my power to heal, my unshakeable faith, my muscular hope. All huddled together in this fragile, feeble, foolhardy, flowering, forgiving, fun-loving human frame. …

 

In six minutes, it will be New Year’s pandemonium in Denver and Phoenix and by the time it rolls to San Francisco, I believe I will be greeting it in my sleep. Just this final post— the 365^th with a one-per-day average!— to acknowledge the perpetual renewal of hope against all odds, the certainty of more grief and bewilderment and mayhem up ahead, but also the happiness we ourselves can create through the simple decision to live wholly and attentively, to accept and embrace and enact the design that accompanied us into this life. On we go, however we can, staggering forth rejoicing.

 

 

Dec. 31—2022: Finding My Way Home

… What is this life but a constant seesaw of exile and homecoming? There are a thousand ways to leave home or lose your way or get evicted and if we’re lucky, many ways to find our way back. But our home keeps moving its address and what works one time fails miserably the next. Nothing you can depend on to always take you there and no dependable address that is consistently the there that becomes here…

 

 And so I post my 365^th Blogpost/one-a-day average certainly too-long story to exorcise the little and big demons and metaphorically ring those bells of hope out full-force on this electronic street. May you and yours prosper and thrive— in friendship, in beauty, in Spirit.

 

Happy New Year!

 

Dec. 31—2023: Year’s End

 

… as we turn into the New Year, my main petition to the gods is to grant me continued health so that I can continue to be of use in this broken world. Bring some happiness to others and myself any way and any time I can, be it through music, teaching, writing or simple acts of unasked-for kindness and smiles at strangers. The 2024 calendar is filled with opportunities to do all of that and more, here, there and everywhere, and I look forward to every day of it. Which means I want to be here for it. Please.

 

And I want you to be also. Forget the diet and the great American novel— let’s just be kind to each other, to ourselves and savor each moment we can of this precious, precious life.

 

As good a send-off as any to a most marvelous year, with hopes for more to come.

 

Happy New Year, my friends. 

 

 

Dec. 31—2024: Wrapping It Up

 

…Sometime in early December, I made a list of all the workshops I had taught, places traveled, people visited, books published, concerts performed, film showings of The Secret Song, TV series watched, books read or listened to, as well as other notable things like getting hearing aids, going to a poetry retreat, biking in Slovenia. In spite of November, it was a fine year and I’m grateful beyond measure for the strength, energy and health to keep doing all these things I love so much. Many difficulties lie ahead, both personal (my daughter’s divorce, my ongoing vestibular dizziness, the difficulties of aging) and collective (the nightmare of the election results). And much to look forward to as well—teaching in Brazil, Hong Kong, Ghana, Carmel Valley and a possible bike trip to France. 

 

And so the Wheel of Fortune turns round and round, now six hours away from its next spin. Wishing all of you the best of health, happiness and healing and once again, thank you for reading. May we all “drink a cup of kindness yet for the sake of auld lang syne.” 

December 31st Through the Years: 2016 - 2020

 

Dec. 31—2016: One Starfish at a Time

 

… I was fortunate in my life to cross paths with a teacher named Mary Goetze. … Mary has since “retired,” but we keep in Christmas touch and I just got her newsletter and her moving news of work she’s doing with displaced people, folks in prison and other marginalized groups in the cultures that love to "win" and leave the “losers” to fend for themselves. She ended her newsletter with a story whose punch-line took my breath away. I can’t think of a better message to help us turn toward the coming year. Thank you, Mary!

 

A young man is walking along the ocean and sees a beach on which thousands and thousands of starfish have washed ashore. Further along he sees an old man, walking slowly and stooping often, picking up one starfish after another and tossing each one gently into the ocean. 

 

“Why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?,” he asks.

 

 “Because the sun is up and the tide is going out and if I don’t throw them further in they will die.”

 

 “But, old man, don’t you realize there are miles and miles of beach and starfish all along it! You can’t possibly save them all, you can’t even save one-tenth of them. In fact, even if you work all day, your efforts won’t make any difference at all.” 

 

The old man listened calmly and then bent down to pick up another starfish and threw it into the sea. 

 

“It made a difference to that one.”

 

(PS I had forgotten that I first heard this story, which I refer to a lot, from Mary and especially poignant because Mary passed away at the beginning of the past year, 2025. This one’s for you, Mary. )

 

Dec. 31—2017: Letter to the Last Day of the Year

 

Well, hello last day of the year. Here I am, awake yet again for another spin of the earth. How shall we spend the day together?… Now the sun is setting and the soup is cooking and after dinner, the new annual ritual of going to hear the hilarious genius of Paula Poundstone, topped off with another ritual party at my ex-school head’s house that culminates in taking to the streets and ringing his family’s collection of Tibetan bells as the clock strikes midnight.

 

Of course, there was the time writing this blog, closing out 7 years of marking in print the joys and sorrows of some 2,555 days in some 1900 posts, to be shared with a public who might or might not find something affirming, thought-provoking, funny, poignant, boring or parallel to their own experiences. 

 

So day, what do you think? Shall we do this? Let’s go!

 

 

Dec. 31—2018: Pebbles in a Pond

… I remember Gary Snyder’s Zen teacher saying to him, “Sweep the garden—any size.” So it’s not only about the quantity of your contribution to some healing and justice in this world, it’s about the quality and the effort and the sense that each small contribution helps. A music teacher’s voice is a tiny whisper compared to the mighty roar of a Supreme Court Justice like Ruth Bader Ginsburg but still it counts. It reminded me of a poem I wrote when I turned 60:  

 

           PEBBLE IN A POND

 

At 20 years old, I was confident, cocky, sure 

     that the boulder 

         I would heave into the mainstream

                  would make a big splash in the world.

 

Each decade, the stone

                             and the stream

                                          got smaller.

 

At 60, that once-big splash a mere pebble

                                                                    in a small pond.

 

But still it makes ripples, tiny rings 

that circle outwards 

     and sometimes reach the shore

of someone’s life about to be changed.

 

Here’s to yet another year of tossing pebbles in the pond.

 

Dec. 31—2019: Goodkin Wenceslas

 

… 
1)   Goodkin once loved Santa Claus,

       Loved his jolly spirit.

      Pledged that this would be his cause,

            To help bring others near it. 

 

              Now that feels a good league hence,

              Far from generous giving.

              Living with Trump and Mike Pence,

              (If you can call that liv—ing.)

 

2)   Goodkin went once and looked out,

              As the year was turning.

              Looking back he heard the shouts,

              ‘Midst flooding and the burn-ing.

 

              “We won’t take it any more!

                The ignoring and denying. 

                Disdain for the victimed poor

                Deafness to kids cry-ing.”

 

3)   In the tyrant’s steps some trod

              Bringing down democracy

              Like peas sheltered in a pod

              Hiding in hypocrisy. 

 

              Therefore all good folks unite

              Wealth or rank possessing

              Let us join in the good fight

              Bring healing and some bless—ing.

 

4)   Those who now can sing this song.

              With these words can read it.

              Let’s pledge now it won’t take long

              Before we start to heed it. 

 

              May truth and love be our reward,

              And small things feel like plenty.

              May our vision be restored

              Return to 20/20. 

 

 

Dec. 31—2020: Farewell to 2020: The Year in Review

… On the last day of 2020, I had the thought of finding one Blogpost from each month that stood out a bit and re-print them one by one. 

 

•JANUARY: The Other Side of End Times: First mention of corona virus

•FEBRUARY: Dis-appointment: My last live workshops in Singapore and beginning of things cancelled.

• MARCH: The Great Time-Out: Looking for meaning at the beginning of sheltering.

• APRIL: The Modern Online Schoolteacher: My Gilbert and Sullivan parody.

•MAY: Retirement Speech: The one I spoke online to the school community.

•JUNE: A Chance to Savor: My nod to Black Lives Matter.

              Closing Ceremony: Another farewell to school on the last day of 45 years.

• JULY: Why We Come to Orff Workshops: Might as well include one post related to the Blog’s title!)

• AUGUST: From the 60’s to the 60’s: A funny look at aging through hit songs. 

• SEPTEMBER: Petition to the Gods: My poem about the day that stayed dark.

• OCTOBER: Letter to My 11-Year Old Self: Preparing for the election.

• NOVEMBER: A Song For Every Occasion: Parts I/ II: Election euphoria!

•DECEMBER: Perfect Answer: Have to include the grandkids here!

December 31st Through the Years: 2011- 2015

 

To celebrate the end of the 15^th year of this Blog and reflecting on what I keep hoping for all these years, I’m posting the last paragraph (occasionally the first sentence or two) of my Dec. 31^st blogposts, starting in 2011. Interesting (though shouldn’t be surprising) that I keep wishing for the same things even in the “Golden Years” of Obama and Biden. My three takeaways are:

 

• I’m consistent.

• These goals will never be wholly realized.

• Nevertheless, I persist. 

Dec. 31—2011: Dream On

 

…On the last day of the year, the time for New Year’s Resolutions, it’s a good time to pause, to sort through the dream images and find your own, to publicly announce your intention to move one inch closer to who you have imagined yourself to be, to name the particular concrete steps needed. Also a good time to remember this piece of wisdom:

 

“Be careful what you wish for. It just may come true.”

 

Happy New Year!

 

Dec. 31—2012: The Wheel of Fortune

 

… 2012 has been the usual blend of the height of human promise and the depths of human depravity, the quirks of Fate and the focused intentions of Work, the Wheel that spins on its own and the one that we control as we spin the threads of our own fate and fortune. Given a choice, I lean towards hope and love and justice and beauty, renewed each day in the eyes of the children I teach and the teachers dedicated to giving them the world they’re worthy of. May each of us continue to weave separately and together the fabric of our glorious future. On to 2013!!

 

 

Dec. 31—2013: Testimony

 

… And what precisely are these themes of these three years of blogposts? Mostly praise and its cousin, outrage. Praising the power of art, the beauty of music, the astonishing souls of young children and equally old folks and the winning combination of all those souls meeting art. Speaking on behalf of the wondrous things that have small voices in this loud, shouting, electronically amplified world, bearing witness to the things that Fox News doesn’t cover and can’t be bought at WalMart, tuning the ear to those tender notes buried under screaming guitars, testifying to the God and gods that stay away from TV Evangelists and deluded dogmas. 

 

I suppose my goals, such as they are, are the same as when I first wrote them in the ABOUT ME paragraph on the right— to simultaneously enjoy the world as it is and help change it to the something better it might be. I wish the same for us all as the old year turns the corner to 2014. May it be so!

 

 

Dec. 31—2014: The Wheels on the Bus

 

… “Oh, the doors of the bus go open and shut, open and shut, open and shut…”

 

One of the most thrilling opening doors has been working with the musicians in my Pentatonics Jazz band. This year, we went on a road trip! Okay, it was only to Fresno, but still fantastic! We also taught various family workshops at SF JAZZ and performed a concert in SF in May. In the same vein, I was thrilled to teach workshops at the New Jersey Performing Arts Center by the invitation of jazz vibraphonist Stefon Harris. That’s an open door I hope will keep opening and eventually include the full Pentatonics group. I love these guys! My only complaint is not enough rehearsals and not enough gigs. Anyone out there want to help change that?

 

Amidst the pleasure of continuing to ascend the ladder of my dreams came the closed doors of loved ones who left this year. First and foremost, the passing of my Mom three weeks shy of her 93^rd birthday. Then my Zen teacher Sasaki Roshi, at 107 years old. And my mother-in-law on the cusp of 90 starting to edge toward the exit gate. Their long lives (107!) help soften the blow, but absence is absence and there’s no way not to miss them. Then Karen’s old college roommate, my cousin, our neighbor, all in the 60’s and 70’s— too close to our age for comfort. On the public stage, more hard farewells to Robin Williams, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Joan Rivers, Lauren Bacall, James Garner, Shirley Temple, Sid Caesar, Mickey Rooney, Pete Seeger, Paco De Lucia, Horace Silver, Maya Angelou, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Amiri Baraka (formerly Leroi Jones) and more who kept us entertained, inspired and moved through their writing, music and acting. And so our losses sting and our remembrances warm and isn’t that just the way of life honestly lived? Those seats on the bus so sadly empty, but their presence still palpable if we keep remembrance alive.

 

“Oh, the babies on the bus go wah!wah!wah!…

 

Yes, I’m talking about my granddaughter Zadie, who fulfilled her toddler quota of crying fits in each of my five visits this year. But none of it canceled her deep joy, infectious laugh, warm hugs and all the joys of being around her. And as if that’s not enough of a blessing, a second grandchild is on the way!

 

“Oh the wipers on the bus go swish, swish, swish…”

 

Finally, much needed rain in California! Too early to call an end to the drought, but it sure is helping. Maybe I’ll take advantage of an indoor life and finally clean my front room.

 

“Oh, the driver on the bus says move on back, move on back, move on back…”

 

Yeah, but I’m not listening. I know I need to make room for the young folks coming up and with all the workshops and Intern training and such, I’m doing my part to train them to take the wheel. But I’m not done yet! Keep those invitations coming!

 

“Oh, the wheels of the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round…”

 

And so farewell to the 2014 bus ride and hopes for more adventurous travels through the landscapes of 2015.

 

 

 

Dec. 31—2015: Come Hither Angel

 

… Tonight I’m bringing in the New Year with a comedy show by Paula Poundstone at the Palace of Fine Arts, the very building that housed the Jeweled City Exhibit (now showing at the De Young Museum) at the 1915  Panama-Pacific International Exhibition. The central image is a presiding angel stopping the brute force of war and materialism with her left hand while the right hand shines on those who come bearing the gifts of culture that celebrates life.  It’s a good time to re-invoke that angel and invite her down to help keep some equilibrium between the forces of light and dark. A good time to renew my own vows to help brighten that light and work to dismount the rider (especially in an election year!). So I’ll close with the end to my Holiday Newsletter:

 

Here’s wishing for—and working for— more beauty than bombs, more guitars than guns, more poets than pundits, more fun than fundamentalism. Onward!

  

Oasis in the Desert

Palm Springs (and its companion towns) is a place that doesn’t make sense. A desert environment with enormous amounts of water for its 100 + golf courses and just about every house in every town with a pool and a hot tub. But ecological issues aside, it’s clearly an attractive area in a state with a lot of competition for attractive areas. A few hours outside of L.A., it became the getaway retreat for various movie stars whose names are now on the streets— Frank Sinatra, Bob Hope, Gene Autry, Dinah Shore, Bing Crosby, Barbara Stanwyck, Claudette Colbert, Dean Martin and yet more. Its reputation as a place for discretion and liberation, allowing movie stars to be themselves away from the world’s watching eyes, made it a preferred destination for the Gay community as well and soon became a mecca of sorts with Gay resorts and bars.  

 

All of that is interesting, but none of that is what drew us to try it out for a family gathering place back in 2019. With my wife, two daughters, son-in-law and grandkids then aged 4 and 8, the real draw was:

 

1)   Swimming pool and hot tub.

2)   Warmer weather than San Francisco and Portland.

3)   A long, but drivable distance, from San Francisco (Portland folks flying first to San Francisco and spending some time there). 

 

All of which proved to be perfect, with an unexpected extra bonus— great hiking in the surrounding areas! Which we did almost every day. 

 

So with a pandemic break in 2020, this became our go-too place for the next five years, still happily so. In our first two days, we’ve done an 8-mile hike, hung out in the pools, played ping-pong, played basketball in a nearby park, alongside the constant word/card/ board games, great cooking, lounging and reading. Daughter Kerala’s “wuzband” Ronnie exited from the scene, Talia’s boyfriend Matt with us for his second year, grandkids old enough to beat me (sometimes) in ping-pong and hold their own in our spirited basketball game. (And may I indulge in a little pride that at 74-years-old, I survived an intense game with Talia and I against Matt, Zadie and Malik that we barely lost 12-10! The day after the 8-mile hike!). 

 

And so we arrive at the last day of the year. In a life of reflection (as is obvious as I close out the 15^thyear of this Blog), I feel compelled to say something. Of course I do. Re-reading some old journals recently, it was clear what should be obvious. I was—and am— on the obsessive side of ambition. Not to be rich and famous, but to create the opportunities to spread my particular and peculiar thoughts and skills always just a little bit further over the horizon. To honor the hard work and drive needed to keep working as I do, arranging a new year filled with workshops and courses and guest teaching in schools. Today, I’ll send the completed manuscript of my 11^th book to my lay-out person after hours and hours and hours making sure every comma and semi-colon is in place. 

 

At the end of it all, I hope I’ll be remembered as a visionary teacher, but also a kind and caring one. As an okay pianist, but also one who tried to bring a bit of beauty into any room where I played. As a good writer, but one who hoped to use words to shine the light on the glorious promise of all human beings. And here with the family, equally and perhaps more important, as a fun-loving and involved father and grandfather. A husband who tried his best, a devoted son and brother and loyal friend to many. It goes without saying— and now I’ll say it—that I constantly fell short in all of the above, but hey, I did what I could.

 

A little nervous that I’m using the past tense here! I’m still in the game and scoring baskets and have no intention of sitting on the bench or dropping out! Are you listening, Fate? I plan to stick around for a long time and hope you’ll agree. 

Meanwhile, another glorious day awaits, even as it seems a bit cloudy and cooler out there.