Pop Quiz

My addiction to Facebook quizzes is getting worse, but it does boost my intellectual self-esteem, help stave off dementia and teaches me some new things. I took one about idioms the other day and that inspired me to make my own quiz. Not multiple choice, but a “fill in the rhyme variety.” Since most addicts like having company, let’s see if I can entice you to fill it out! Unfortunately, my computer skills are not good enough to put the answers upside down, so you’ll have to exercise restraint before scrolling down for the answers. Good luck! This will be part of your final grade.

 

1.    You think that this is hard? Well, make no mistake.

       For someone like me, ___________________________.

 

2.    When something doesn’t work and you don’t know why or how,

              It’s time to admit that you should _____________________________

 

3.     You gotta get something done when you wake up in the morn.

               It clearly is time to ________________________________________

 

4.    When you’re searching for something, don’t be in a rush

              Because _________________________________________.

 

5.    When you have worked so hard every minute of the day,

You deserve some rest, it’s _____________________________.

 

6.      Everything is going up, like the price of an egg,

              Anything you buy ______________________________.

 

7.    When evil people have the power to kick us in the ass,

              Now is not the time to _______________________________.

 

8.    You feeling kind of woozy, your head is in a fog,

              You’ll feel much better if you can ____________________.

 

9.    Life is short, so have some fun, with good food and good wine.

             Might as well ___________________________________________.

 

10.                  If you want to know who did it, ‘cause it clearly wasn’t me

                        I suggest you stop ___________________________.

 

          Write your answers down before scrolling below. Don’t cheat!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1.    … it’s a piece of cake!

2.    … throw in the towel.

3.    … take the bull by the horn.

4.    … a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

5.    … time to hit the hay.

6.    …costs an arm and a leg.

7.    … look through a rose-colored glass.

8.    …sleep like a log. 

9.    …make hay while the sun does shine.

10.  … barking up the wrong tree.

 

How did you do?

Back Burner Books

 

I have two second-draft books on the stove—one still simmering on the back burner and the other moved to the front where I am stirring it, tasting it, adding spices here and there. That one is titled: The Kindness of Strangers: Travels in a Different Time and chronicles a life-changing trip my soon-to-be wife and I took around the world in 1978-79. 

 

The second one is titled: Zen, Jazz and Orff: A Life in Three Worlds and is both part autobiography and more importantly, a look at where three distinct practices overlap. It seems like a surefire best-seller—NOT!!! The number of Zen practitioners and Orff teachers are small and Jazz musicians/ fans a bit larger, but still miniscule by Taylor Swift standards. (In fact, some years back, Jazz was at the bottom of the public listening totem pole with some 2% interested!) And the number of Zen students interested in reading about Jazz, Jazz musicians interested in reading about Zen, Zen and Jazz people interested in reading about Orff and so on narrows the field yet more. Why bother?

 

Well, I have given a copy of the book to a Zen student, a jazz musician, an Orff teacher and two people who miraculously, like me, have some connection with all three worlds and they all are encouraging me to pursue publication. As I wrote in an abstract when I submitted it to a publisher who unsurprisingly (but disappointedly) rejected it:

 

This book takes a look at the common principles these three practices share that could refresh the world, offering both individual transformation and contributing to collective healing. Not intended to convert anyone to any of these practices, the hope is to consider their common values, how they stand in opposition to many of the toxic ideas that currently permeate our culture and how they can help forge the future we need and deserve.

 

So while the publisher made it clear—“not interested”—I was delighted to get this comment from the Orff teacher who I shared it with, a colleague from Korea (who, interesting enough, is Catholic, not Buddhist):

 

Your book connects so strongly with my own thinking. The older I become, the less interested I am in impressive systems or grand claims, and the more I believe in what happens when one person genuinely learns, creates, cares, and acts—and then carries that into relationship with others.

 

And I keep thinking about another idea running through the book: that suffering, freedom, discipline, purpose, experience, tradition, humor, community, service (all chapter titles in the book) and the long road itself are not steps in a formula that guarantees an outcome. We practice, learn, and keep walking, but at some point we also have to let go of the plan and remain open to what we cannot control.

 

It feels so good to be understood. That indeed is a sub-theme that runs through both the book and my own life, nourished and sustained by these three practices. Not ready to open up for pre-orders yet and have to finish the travel book before turning back to this. But hey, if you’re deeply interested, contact me and I’ll send you a PDF. 

The Most Valuable Thing in My House

In a world filled with dazzling technologies, the things I value most—and always seem to be in short supply— are:

 

• Clothes hangers

• Clothespins

• Rubber bands

• Paper Clips.

• Post-its

• Pencils with erasers

 

Regarding the latter. The 20 pencils or so in our house all have erasers worn down to the nub. A few are the kind you can add to the pencil, but they hardly work and often break off. As an artist, my wife uses a rectangular stand-alone eraser that I tried today and it works great! But she only has one.

 

My now-daily habit of doing an Acrostic word puzzle (only available in books through the mail by Penny Press) is a legacy from my Dad. He did one or two a day and remarkably, always did them in pen! Me, I need pencil and more importantly, I need an eraser. So that’s my big project of the day as I go out into the world— to buy a good supply of erasers. 

 

It was the composer Arnold Schoenberg who was reputed to have said: 

“The most important tool for a composer is an eraser.”

 

The same could be said of a writer or teacher planning music classes or other creators. Goodness knows the alleged Almighty could have used one when creating human beings! 

 

And while I often complain that “advances” in technology are often anything but, I can state unequivocally that the delete button on the computer is far superior to white-out on the typewriter. And perhaps even a little bit better than an eraser, able to obliterate whole passages in a single highlight-and-click-delete stroke. 

 

As author Anne Lamott advises her writing students, by all means splash it all out there while the inner critic is sleeping and write shitty first drafts. And then— eraser in hand, whittle it down like a sculptor trying to reveal the image asking to come forth in a piece of wood. Which, by the way, except for a quick read-through to clean-up typos and spelling and such, I never do in these blog-posts, knowing they are ephemeral little thoughts and experiences not destined for posterity. Sometimes I think about combing through them all and cleaning them up for presentation, like getting your kid ready for church, and putting select pieces together in a printed collection. But having passed that 5,000 post mark, not too likely that that will ever happen!

 

Meanwhile, I put forth and erase as and when I can. And that erasing goes for sloppy patterned behavior in one’s own life! Start with that pink little nub and keep going!

Now about those clothes hangers. 

 

PS Simple solution. Erase the unworn clothes in my closer (well, take them to Goodwill) and I should have plenty of hangars!

 

Back Home(s)

Our little heat wave—temperatures in the 80’s— continued and off I went in shorts and short-sleeve shirt on a city walk with my wife Karen and Marlene, one of her oldest friends. A short segment in Golden Gate Park past Children’s Playground, through the tunnel and out on Haight Street, where some sidewalk-sitters looked look it was still 1973 when I first lived a block away on 410 Shrader Street. It was my first apartment in San Francisco, shared with Andy Lampone, someone I had met briefly at college. After I moved out, we lost touch and indeed, I’ve never seen him since. 

 

But here I was again on Haight Street, not looking or feeling too different than 50 years ago. It’s a street that refuses to be gentrified, even as there’s a great grocer’s (Gus’s), a bookstore (the Booksmith), a profusion of coffee shops, Mendel’s fabrics holding on amidst the head shops and places selling Tibetan statues and such. 

 

Up we went through Buena Vista Park and ran into Patty, the cook of 40 years at the school, who had come to my party yesterday with her 11-year-old grandson Abe. He was with her again, alongside 15-year-old Eli whom I had taught in preschool at ye ole San Francisco School. A fun conversation (never did get to talk to her yesterday) and on we went, past our old house on 1519 Masonic where Karen and I lived 1979-1982 and where our daughter Kerala was born. A few blocks away was the house at 247 Downey where I had lived with my sister and husband in 1974/75. For $125 a month split three ways with a view of the ocean. 

 

We passed a beautiful brick house on a corner that always goes all out with decorations on Halloween and Christmas. The theme was “Lost Souls Cemetery” and it had graves for all those we can’t wait to see filled— Elon Musk, J.D. Vance and their ilk. And of course, the Toddler-in-Chief who we hope to see featured when we comb through the obituaries and each day, are disappointed. Someday and how sad that the only way he can bring genuine joy to good-hearted people is to die.

Past the Randall Museum where I used to put on plays with the kids at school in their charming little theater. Watched some folks playing pickleball— miraculously, the first time I actually saw a game— and then winding on down to Castro Street. Where lo and behold, there was a huge street fair in progress, complete with some naked men casually strolling about. Past the Castro Theater, my sacred movie house that I was terrified would close permanently after the pandemic and it almost did. Now they do a combination of live shows and still occasional movies, though it’s been over six years since I’ve had the grand pleasure of returning to its hallowed halls. Finally made it to Cliff’s Hardware, where my wife and Marlene got some material for their punch-needle embroidery projects. 

 

Marlene and Karen turned back to bus home while I continued up Castro Street, past the house on 803 Castro where Karen and I first lived together from 1975-1978. Up to the peak of the hill and then down the other side to 24^th Street, where I had lunch at a sub shop on the corner. I asked the young clerk if she knew what store used to be there and she surprised me with the correct answer—Bud’s Ice Cream! (Which closed well before she was born in 1980!) However, neither she or the other clerk had ever heard of the movie Bullitt where in a spectacular chase scene, he races past Bud’s. 

 

On I walked up Clipper Street, past the Community Garden, past the School of the Arts and then up the road going to the top of Twin Peaks. Stopped at the top to savor the spectacular view, down into Cole Valley, back to Haight Street and stop in Amoeba Records and got a new Branford Marsalis with Dianna Reeves CD that follows the repertoire and feeling of the John Coltrane/ Johnny Hartmann CD from the 60’s. Back into Golden Gate Park and back home, with my phone health ap reading 9.4 miles and 20, 247 steps. Yeah! Grateful that this 75-year-old body can still walk some distances.

 

It was a lovely day by all counts— passing old homes, meeting old friends, running into the Castro Fair, enjoying the hot day (though some moments of the odd sensation of sweating in San Francisco) and reviving the body with good exercise that didn’t feel like “exercise.” Now an evening with Ted Lasso and Ludwig. Sometimes life is grand. Like today.

  

My Belated Birthday Bash

My belated birthday bash came and went and while not precisely glorious, it seems like a good time for all. 48 of the people invited where able to come, 47 were not, but still it was a nice blend of people who knew me as family and friends, students/ parents/ teachers at the San Francisco School, music teachers who had taken my Orff workshops/ courses and “other.” Some of the people who couldn’t make it included a few people I had gone to middle school, high school and college with and I was sorry to miss them. 

 

The party began with some jazz by my “Pentatonics group” and then we gathered in a circle and I did a 40-minute “Orff workshop” with people who had known me both recently and forever, but never participated in this part of my life. I loved it! A folk dance where each person in groups of 7 got to make up their own motion that others copied, the Miss Mary Mack partner-clapping game that ended in a hilarious double-circle where people played with partners that changed every 8-beats (a la folk dance mixer), clapping with each with their eyes closed! 

 

People then stayed with their last partner and introduced themselves. Part of my hopes for the party where bringing together people from different parts of my life and that was a good way to mix it up socially and get to know a few people. Then the two had to share a story about me and five or so shared back with the big group. That worked pretty well and of course, the stories were fun and funny. 

 

Then the band launched into a swingin’ New Orleans tune while daughter Talia called out different categories and people who matched went into the center of the circle and danced. Amongst the categories were (as mentioned above): 

• School people. 

• Orff people. 

• Friends and family.

• Fellow musicians

• People 75 or older. (Big group!)

• People who met me after 2010; between 2000 and 2010; in the 90’s; 

In the 80’s: in the 70’s: in the 60’s (just my brother-in-law); in the 50’s:

(just my sister, who did a remarkable solo dance that took all of our breath away—well, that was her career as a modern dancer, but her energy and technique at 77 years old was really impressive!)

 

Then daughter Talia added a few more categories:

• People who had read my books.

• People who had seen my movie.

• People who had seen my cry. 

 

Of course, at the end, all came to the center to dance a bit more. Then back to the chairs in the semi-circle and I sang two songs with them, both rounds in 4-parts that got people connected with their groups while making a harmonious all-group sound. 

 

In hindsight, that would have been the time to just socialize for 30 minutes or so and then gather back before cake for a few words, a song and then more eating. 

 

But of course, I was greedy and determined to use the opportunity to share some of my poetry and have the band play again with more attentive listening. To my credit, I cut the number of poems in half, but still about 15 or so. After which, there was clearly little time nor energy for the band to formally play. So we got over to the cake and then people stayed another 30 minutes plus to keep socializing and they all seemed to be genuinely enjoying themselves. 

 

So the moral of this otherwise perhaps boring tale is that the things I do in Orff workshops are also great for birthday parties or other gatherings. They instantly get people connected, engage people just at the edge of their comfort zone, but without embarrassment, bring fun and frolic into the event and set the tone for the informal socializing to come after the formal connections.

 

And note to self: Some cliché’s are meant to be taken seriously. More is less. Find another time to just read poetry or just give a concert. Maybe my 80^th!

 

The Joys of Competition

Last night, I had the grand pleasure of hearing jazz pianist Hiromi perform a solo piano concert. I had seen her play solo last year and was mightily impressed, but this was another universe altogether. The blend of extraordinary virtuosic technique with exquisite dynamic control, her physical engagement that could be seen as showmanship but instead was wholly authentic and engaging, her playfulness with the music and the audience, setting up our expectation for certain notes and then fooling us, the remarkable range of style that was impossible to classify in any one genre, the use of every single note on the keyboard from the lowest to the highest, including reaching into the piano for other sonic effects damping or plucking string. I could go on. Of course, none of this conveys the experience of being there and the good news is it’s likely she’ll play in your part of the world someday. I think I was in Spain some years back when I passed a small jazz club and she was scheduled to play!

 

In her run at SF Jazz, she played duet the night before with a tap dancer (!) and tonight she plays in a trio. I would love to see her and Yuja Wang play a duet concert, though you’d have to have the fire department standing by as the sparks would be flying! Worth noticing that it’s a Chinese woman wholly mastering a European classical repertoire and a Japanese woman wholly mastering an American jazz repertoire and both playing a little bit (at least) of the other genre.Yet further proof that we all are part of a shared collective unconscious that defies geography, ethnicity, gender and more. 

 

I’m about to play with my band today for my party and it’s tempting to react the way jazz pianists did when they heard Art Tatum play. “Why bother?” they sighed and changed their careers to go into accounting. Or knowing that she has climbed Mt. Everest and the best I can do is walk up a few San Francisco hills, take the “comparisons are odious” route and just play as well as I can, connecting to whatever I’m playing, be it simple or complex, as deeply as I can and connecting to any listeners as well as I can. As I did yesterday at the Jewish Home for the Aged, lifting us up with my Tea for Two shtick and embracing us all in the comfort of Schubert’s Ave Maria. 

 

I saw a movie about Isaac Stern in China and he was watching an extraordinary gymnast do his routine and then quipped, “Yeah, but can he play Mozart?” So I could say to Hiromi, “Yeah, but can she teach three-year-olds?” Actually, she’d probably be great, as she wholly embodied the playful 3-year-old spirit. 

 

But it's not a competition. Or rather, it is a competition in the root sense of that word.  “Com” meaning “with, “petition” meaning to offer supplication to a particular person, office or more profoundly, a deity. When two jazz players are trading 8’s or two experts playing tennis, they are both together petitioning the gods of jazz and tennis. They are doing so with each other, not against each other. Each spurring the other on to greater heights of accomplishment and expression. At the end, you can see that as the best musicians and athletes hug each other in thanks for raising them higher in their craft. 

 

So thanks to Hiromi for kickin’ my butt to kingdom come and back to work—and play—I go.

Balls in the Air

I have never once been, nor aspired to be, a farmer. And yet I’m not only indebted to them for the food on my table, but I admire the great variety of daily chores any farm demands. Feed the chickens, stack the hay, milk the cow, plow the field, plant the garden, mend the fence, harvest the corn, pick the berries, gather the eggs, fix the tractor and so much more. A lot of balls in the air to keep track of and expertly juggle so they don’t crash on your head.

 

In my life, growing food for the soul through writing, playing music, teaching and such, my days are also filled with a sometimes dizzying array of things to keep track of. Like now. Preparing for my “belated birthday bash” this Saturday that I decided to organize, I’m feeling that “too many balls in the air for my juggling skills” feeling. I’m practicing the music I want to share, gathering the poems I’ve written over the years that I want to read, shopping for the food we need amidst keeping up with my Podcast, writing, teaching, travels soon to come. In the past few days alone, I’ve connected with people on the Nunya Academy (in Ghana) board, the SF Orff Course board, the SF School Alumni Council, the AOSA Conference Chair, a new editor for my books, my Pentatonics Jazz Band, my kids and grandkids, etc. etc. Today I have a Men’s Group meeting and a standing piano playing at the Jewish Home. 

 

Blah blah blah. No one cares about another’s busyness/ business nor should they. I’m just saying it out loud thinking that it might help me juggle it all. But you deserve something more interesting. So having looked back at over a 100 poems I’ve written over the years that I never share—except once read out loud at my 60^th birthday party— I’ll choose one to include here and then get on with my day. As should you, knowing all the things that you have to juggle.

The one I’m choosing makes no sense to share now—better to wait until Spring—and will be more meaningful for Orff music teachers than the general reader. But I had forgotten I had written it and got a kick out of it, so here it is:

 

Spring Concert (Dedicated to music teachers everywhere and with apologies to William Shakespeare):

 

That time of year thou mayest in me behold

When all that hath been silver, 

Must now change into gold.

When that which hath been mere sound, 

Must change to pleasing tone,

And played with two swift mallets

Upon the xylophone.

When children casually tinkering,

Must now show what they feel.

Express their deep emotion,

Upon the glockenspiel.

 

Now merrily the bells doth ring,

With well-shaped mouths, the children sing.

The teachers tense, some close to rage,

Moving hordes of children upon the concert stage.

How shall they enter, go off, which way?

And who knows why Johnny,

Isn’t here today?

Why are all these recorders,

So dreadfully out of tune?

Maybe we can just skip May, 

And go straight to June. 

 

Yes, that time of year indeed has come,

To join together bell and drum.

To take off bars, then put them on.

(And just where has that F# gone?)

Make sure each movement’s choreographed.

Precise and joyful, with room for laughs,

 

Spring Concert’s here, oh, fun! Fun! Fun!

In a mere three days, they’ll be done! Done! Done!