The Mallet Murders

My publishing woes continue. Someone discovered that an online company was selling my books without my permission and without paying me any money. An Orff book dealer that has sold my books for over 20 years told me the younger generation doesn’t buy my books because they don’t like to think or read. Someone offered to promote my books at book fairs for a guaranteed (read NOT) explosion in sales, for a mere $2500 fee. 

 

But hey, it’s bad form to just whine and complain. So I’ve decided to take action. What sells? Any book with “Paris” in the title. Any book about the resistance in World War II. Any murder mystery. Any book with good recipes in it. Any book with impossible hardship and trauma overcome. Any Manual for Dummies.” So the next books I write will be things like these:

 

1). The Orff Underground in Paris: Three years after the debut of his work Carmina Burana, Carl Orff comes to Paris to conduct it. During the rehearsal, the Germans invade and occupy France. Here he must face a life-changing choice: collaborate with his fellow Germans or go underground and join the resistance? Oh Fortuna! He spins the Wheel of Fortune and where it stops…

 

2) The Mallet Murders: Renowned sleuth GWK (alias, Gunild “The Weaver” Keetman) is confronted with a series of brutal murders and discovers in each case a most unusual murder weapon— a bass xylophone mallet. Dodging bullets from glocks and surveillance by drones, GKK uses elemental analysis while sitting at her loom, connecting all the threads to uncover a nefarious gang  known as the Kodaly Killers. Can she discern their ostinato pattern of death in time? While the bells chime “Ding Dong, Digi-Digi Dong,” the disappearance of the last victim’s cat provides the missing clue. 

 

3) The Frigian Cookbook. After her triumph in Scandinavia, Babette comes to Germany to continue to release people’s frozen erotic libidos through food. Follow her as she unleashes love with the Mixsaladian concoctions, her Piala Modes, her Gin and Penta Tonic mixed drinks. Recipes included.

 

4) My Awful Orffull Life: Orffaned at a young age, Maya Lex must overcome the ancestral trauma in her genes bequeathed by her father Lex Luthor. In her grueling journey through drone addiction, obsession with heavy metal-alophone music, her unsuccessful attempt to save her lover Tommy from drowning in the pond, we follow her down the Polonaise path as she spirals down to the dark pit of Fortune’s broken wheel.  In a harrowing scene in which, injected with pentathol-tonic, the truth of her defection to Dal’s crows to help her fly free is revealed. We finally see some signs of redemption when Maya joins a group dancing to Streetsong. But is it too late?

 

5) Music Teaching for Dummies: Finally, a method that guarantees that you can teach without ever having to think or even know a quaver* from a crotchet. Buy our success-guaranteed video series so you’ll never have to finger a recorder, sing a song, execute a dance step or plan a lesson. Just click on the link and spend your class shopping online while the kids are wholly entertained. 

 

·      Any similarity with the company Quaver is purely accidental. All lessons have been generated by me with a little help from AI after teaching actual kids for two weeks and deciding the machine can do it better.

 

Well, folks, what do you think? Five books that should catapult me into the John Grisham stratosphere. Then I’ll start my new company: “How to Publish Books and Make a Million Without Knowing a Damn Thing About Anything.”

 

Pre-orders now accepted. 

 

 

 

The Numbers Game

 I reposted the last post on Facebook to try to reach a wider audience and so far, 24 people have liked it. Meanwhile, the stats on this Blog say 14,519 people have read it, one of the higher numbers I’ve seen. Any artist naturally wants as many people as possible to consider her/his work, be it a book, a poem, a post, a painting, a performance, what have you. It’s a lot of work to create something and yet more to put it out in public, so yes, knowing it reaches people feels like a natural part of the cycle, a completing of a loop. And having made the effort, yes, there is a satisfaction in knowing that large numbers of people have seen/heard/ read your work and are considering what you offered. 

 

But at the end of the day, so what is it’s 24 or 14,000? It doesn’t change my experience of the day. I had one person who I know make some thoughtful comments on the post that actually inspired another post and that was indeed more satisfying and real then 14,000 anonymous readers. And who knows? Perhaps 13,900 of them were bots. 

 

I suppose I should count myself lucky that while I have a modest amount of ambition and a mild lust to be known (for what I believe are the right reasons), the center of my work is mostly with 20 to 50 kids or teachers at a time in real time. I have written more about this music education work than most any other colleague I know and again, I hope it touches other teachers and helps them reach their students with more joy and musical satisfaction. But all my writing is just a description of the marvelous banquet of the teaching itself and some recipes that help pass on some of the tasty dishes. But it’s not the meal itself. 

 

These days, I’m writing much more about the larger issues behind the work, the humanitarian promise I’m trying to nurture and draw attention to and celebrate. I’m posting here and on Facebook in hopes that my words bring solace and comfort in distressing times, hope and light in dark times, determination and courage in fearful times and some necessary information that helps people see the larger perspective of what’s going down in the greater world of culture and politics. So yes, the numbers here feel like they could matter, reaching 14,000 voters instead of 24. But it’s not in my control.

 

Meanwhile, I’ve just arrived in Portland to be with my grandkids while Mom is at a Conference. So I’ll turn my attention to the numbers that truly matter— the Rummy 500 score in our card game!

We Are the Ones

A friend recently made this comment on one of my Facebook posts: 

 

“If we are in a shift, as my psychic friends say, what does the next stage look like? We need a leader with a vision to lead us.”

 

With all due respect, my opinion is the opposite. The next stage is the Hopi prophecy: “We are the ones we have been waiting for.” It’s time to let go of the Messiah complex and wait for someone to save us. For many reasons:

 

1)   Jesus had a beautiful vision and went from 12 followers to some 2.5 billion “Christians” in the world. Why do I use quotation marks? Because so many of those billions of followers have changed his message from love to hate, from peace to war, from hunger for spirit to greed for money, from turning the other cheek to revenge, from throwing the money lenders out of the temple to having them run the temple and demand donations, from mercy to domination, from humility to narcissism, from traveling barefoot to flying in private jets, from companionship with God to allegiance to Caesar, from giving the poor a room in the Inn to ICE agents' brutal deportations. If another leader with vision showed up, it’s likely the followers would eventually do the same. Why?

 

2)   When we look to a leader to “save us,” we outsource our responsibility to our own spiritual growth. We are content to offer blind obedience, naïve faith, uncritical acceptance of dogma, dutiful attendance for an hour or two at the church or temple with no attention to the Spirit the other 110 waking hours of the week. We forsake the gift of intelligent questioning and critical thought, self-examination, growing a morality that serves as a compass in our daily actions, listening to and considering other points of view. Following a leader is the lazy path to claiming our sacred birthright, excusing us from doing the hard work of growing into our capacity for kindness, compassion and love.

 

3)   When we transfer all our own deferred hopes and promises and capabilities to another, be it a spiritual teacher, Hollywood celebrity, pop star or politician, we are setting ourselves up to be crushingly disappointed and let down when the news comes out. All the sex scandals from India gurus to Zen masters to John F. Kennedy and Bill Cosby and the long, long list in the Epstein files, the money schemes, the hidden (or not so hidden) racism, misogyny, anti-Semitism from those who otherwise inspired us. It is human nature to admire others and actually an important part of our growth. But best not to expect perfect human beings and to take the whole show with a few grains of salt. 

 

4)   Depending upon a leader to save us likewise excuses us from action and needed vigilance: “He or she will take care of it.” I can personally testify, and I imagine others can relate, that my whole body and spirit relaxed when Barack Obama was elected. I was convinced that this was the precise turning point when the moral arc swung heavily to justice. So while I— and so many others— happily attended to my personal work and play, the Republicans were busy holding Town Halls, forming the Tea Party, crafting the narratives for Fox News to spin out to millions that led directly to the catastrophe of the 2016 election. We let our guard down and while a little more vigilant during the Biden years, clearly not vigilant enough and history repeated itself. And that leads us to:

 

5)   “We are the people we have been waiting for.” The 10 million or so who took to the streets at the last No Kings’ Rally, the same —and I predict more— who will speak out again in a few weeks, are all ordinary folks with no public persona or big name or sweeping leadership vision beyond, “This is not right. We can be better than this.” And that was enough to get them out in the freezing tundra of Minnesota and face the Beast without a single charismatic leader leading the charge.

 

Every day on Facebook, I read extraordinarily eloquent pieces with important information and deep insights from people I have never heard of. A slowly-growing swell of caring, of learning the stories that we need to learn and telling them, of refusing to be naïve or gullible, of standing up for common decency, of determination to protect those are threatened or vulnerable, of standing shoulder-to-shoulder and lately, singing together. If the next Martin Luther King or Rigoberta Menchu showed up, I’d be happy to listen to them speak, but would not count on them to lead us to salvation. And I’d be equally happy to hear the “ordinary” folks —in quotes because none of us are “ordinary” but each have our unique story to tell in our unique way. 

And that’s the whole point. We each of us are capable of extraordinary thoughts and deeds and courageous moments and simple acts of kindness. Once we begin to believe that, once we organize our schools, our communities, our thinking around that, then indeed we become “the people we have been waiting for.”

 

The Messiah complex is finished. No one is coming to save us. There is no future Savior. The future is now and the saviors are us. The Hollywood superheroes are for children, but we need to become adults. Responsible for our own intelligence, our own values, our own vows to live well and help care for others. I say it again: 

 

“We are the ones we have been waiting for.”

 

See you at the next gathering on March 28^th. 

 

Gravitas

Gravitas. Ah, there’s a word worthy of our attention. Defined primarily as “seriousness and importance of manner, causing feelings of respect and trust in others,” gravitas is a quality that is hard-earned. The relation to “gravity” means your authority is given a certain weight that inspires others to take you more seriously. “Gravity” in turn is closely aligned with “grave,” both as “seriously important” and the “resting home of the dead.” The moment death enters the picture, our “have a nice day” default takes a sharp turn and demands a pause from business as usual. “Grave” in turn aligns with “grief,” the emotional response proper to reminders of our mortality and loss. Not only the physical loss of loved ones, but loss in all its myriad faces— lost love, lost youth, loss of a place one holds dear, a job, a quality of being once cherished that has gone into hiding. When one looks loss and mortality straight in the eye without flinching, gravitas appears. 

 

Our once exuberant sunny nation, where we love the superficial happiness of cotton candy, the cute cat videos, the Club Med getaways, the technicolor musicals where people are singing and dancing on the streets, is now entering a new phase. We are coming to understand how the whole infrastructure of life as entertainment is built on a privileged class (middle to upper) of white-skinned people (mostly “Christian” straight men) assuming the world is built for their pleasure, in ways so invisible that they’re incapable of seeing who pays for it all. The system depends on people of color, women, poor people, people of different religions and sexual persuasions, co-existing in a world not built for them, but depending on their labor, their compliance, their vote, their cultural uplift. And once again, if there’s any hidden lesson in the madness of the unfathomable horrors perpetuated by people the American public voted in to take democracy down, it is to show us that the privilege of powerful rich men leads to the Epstein files, the doctrines of white supremacy and patriarchy leads to murdering white people in Minnesota who question it. 

 

Lest I be misunderstood, let me say this as clearly as I can. The awakening into the needed gravitas in our national character is for the white folks. Black people and people of color in our country have known this forever and in fact, it is their gravitas, that blend of deep grief and yet still joy, that touches us all listening to the Blues or Count Basie or John Coltrane, inspires us watching the extraordinary energy and determination in all athletic endeavors, rings out a voice rich in tone in the speeches of Martin Luther King, Malcolm X, Jesse Jackson, Fannie Lou Hamer, Jasmine Crockett and countless others as they speak truth from the depth of the belly. 

 

Slowly I see signs everywhere of gravitas side-by-side with the funny signs, frogs, ukeleles at the No Kings Rallies. Humor is not excluded from genuine gravitas (think of Louis Armstrong and Dizzy Gillespie and Trevor Noah), but has a different weight when it is so aligned. It is a needed shift in our national character, one so present in countries that have directly suffered wars and invasions and gives a different feel to those cultures and their people. It shows up in music in the Irish laments, the Spanish flamenco, the Portuguese Fado, the Bulgarian women singing, the Greek Rembetika music, Korean string Gugak music and hundreds more styles worldwide that allow grief, lament and sorrow to be voiced. 

 

All this was inspired by a small section in a novel I’m listening to by Indian author Kiran Desai, the Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny. Here is the passage:

 

To be a citizen of a troubled nation gave a person gravitas. To be holding out against a cruel new world gave a person gravitas. To be wounded, yet fighting on against the barbarians, gave one gravitas. To be exiled, abandoned by the one you love (or the nation you once loved) gave one gravitas. Whether it happened in a personal relationship between couples or under a dictatorship run on fear, these things changed you.

 

How well that describes where we are. Struggling through each day in a troubled nation, a cruel, barbaric, purposely fearful new world and feeling exiled from the country we thought we knew. Those willing to look it in the face are gifted with this growing gravitas and it’s not easy, but it makes us more true, more authentic, more trustworthy. Descending to the depths of grief allows us to ascend higher in the firmament of joy. We’ve lived in the middle neutral zone shopping at the mall for too long and our time has come. 

Our time has come.  

The Ten Commandments

 

In June of 2024, Louisiana Governor Jeff Landry signed HB 71, a new law requiring the Ten Commandments to be displayed in all public K-12 and college classrooms by early 2025. Thus, the Christian Nationalist Movement continues to violate the Constitution, in this case, the 1^st Amendment promise of separation of Church and State. 

 

But be that as it may, maybe it’s not a bad idea to remind the children that these Biblical pronouncements should be understood and obeyed and that anyone violating them is deserving of punishment. If I were teaching a class in Louisiana today, I would say, “Children, let’s take a look at how our President is doing.” I think we all could come up with pretty good examples of his violation of the first five—his pathological narcissism and worship of the Almighty Dollar, Trump Tower and his portrait displayed everywhere he can, bad language, playing golf on Sundays and would his mother really approve of his behavior or feel dishonored by it? But the second five are indisputable. Killing (through his hitmen and soldiers), adultery (Stormy Daniels, for one), stealing (read the stories of those doing business with him who have been stiffed),  bearing fault witness (every lie he tells on Twitter) and coveting (see the Epstein files—underage girls, we might add). In short, guilty, guilty, guilty, guilty and guilty, with evidence to back it all up.  So should he be punished?

 

Well, God says yes. Since we’re adopting the Bible as the true word of God and no questions asked, let’s take a look at Leviticus. In 26/ 11- 34, God makes clear in no uncertain terms the consequences of failing to obey His Commandments:

 

“If you will not hearken to me and will not do all these commandments, if you spurn my statutes and if your soul abhors my ordinances… I will do this to you: I will appoint over you sudden terror, consumption and fever that wastes the eyes and cause life to pine away. …I will set my face against you and you shall be smitten before your enemies; those who hate you shall rule over you…I will break the pride of your power…Then if you walk contrary to me and will not hearken to me, I will bring more plagues upon you, sevenfold as many as your sins and I myself will smite you…”

 

God goes on threatening our President’s cattle and fruit trees and it gets worse. Apparently, he’ll have to eat the flesh of his sons and eat the flesh of his daughters (Verse 29). It’s not a pretty sight. 

 

Speaking of breaking covenants, God makes a vow here. My question: What’s taking him so long? Can we get on with it? (And just for the record, I’m okay with skipping Verse 29. But I’m all for the rest.)

 

"Well, kids, hope you learned something today. Tomorrow's lesson will focus on Governor Landry. Don't forget to read your Bible!"

My Generation

 

People try to put us d-down (talkin' 'bout my generation)
Just because we g-g-get around (talkin' 'bout my generation)
Things they do look awful c-c-cold (talkin' 'bout my generation)
I hope I die before I get old (talkin' 'bout my generation) 

-       The Who 

-        

I’m sure I thought this song was cool when I was in college, but I, for one, am quite glad I didn’t die before I got old. Not only am I enjoying my life more than ever, but I’m so inspired by my generation who made it through all these long years. And when I say “my generation,” I’m talking about those rebels from the 60’s who envisioned a new world. In numbers, we were probably a numerical minority, but we got a lot of press and deservedly so. Of course, we were naïve and self-obsessed and indulgent in our instant pleasures, but hey, considering our frontal lobes were still developing, we did pretty well in dreaming a world of more care and kindness and fairness and fun. 

 

And here we still are. In fact, almost everywhere I go. At the SF Jazz Center, at the City Arts and Lectures Series, at the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute classes, at the No Kings Rallies. We pass each other in the park walking or biking or skating, meet at the pickleball court, gather in book groups or sketching classes or community choirs or line-dancing classes. We’re still getting around, maybe a bit slower than when we listened to the Who, but with more attention and hard-won elegance. We’re great cooks and gardeners, intrepid travelers and hiking companions (perhaps without the backpack these days), avid readers and if we’re women (based on my observation), chances are high that we’re drawing, sketching, painting, knitting, quilting, weaving or engaged in some form of visual art. And whereas once we simply shouted our outrage at “the Establishment,” now we’re doing the detailed work of working at the food bank, writing postcards, volunteering at the senior center or the school. 

 

Today I went to a marvelous day of Singing Workshops sponsored by the SF Bach Choir and got to choose between singing Old Time Music, Gospel, Bulgarian songs, Medieval Music, Circle Singing, Broadway, Jazz and more. Hard to choose! At the end, we all gathered in the sanctuary of the church that sponsored it and sang some new protest songs that came from Minnesota. 

 

I was happy and proud to note that most of the folks were grey-haired, my peeps still showing up, and at the same time, wished there were more young people. The other week, I saw many youth out on the street protesting some unfairness in the SF Unified School System and how I loved seeing them there! How I would love to see more at the SF Jazz Center and the Lectures and most definitely, the No Kings Rallies. And dare I hope, I think they’re beginning to look up from their phones and show up. 

 

May it be so! Meanwhile, my update of the Who song:

People tried to put us d-down (talkin' 'bout my generation)
But here we are, still gettin’ ‘round (talkin' 'bout my generation)
We warm things up when they feel c-c-cold (talkin' 'bout my generation)
Glad we didn’t die before we got old (talkin' 'bout my generation) 

The Change Is Now

          

           Be the change you want to see in the world.— Gandhi

 

Gandhi’s simple, but powerful advice, well describes the way I planned and lived every music class I’ve taught in my life, be it with kids or adults. I wasn’t ticking off lists, but trusting my intuition as to what felt right, what seemed to bring happiness and joy and connection. Testimonies abound to affirm that indeed these classes were—and are— something notably different than business as usual, in ways that echo on in people’s lives. Of course, my own included. 

 

This past week I’ve noticed that life in San Francisco is indeed the change I want to see in the world. Of course, the 70-degree weather and flowering magnolias and budding cherry trees and blooming daffodils helped. As mentioned in the “Small Gestures” post, people are out and about on the streets and mostly not hunkered down into their devices. I’ve spent much time in Golden Gate Park as I often do, but now with new eyes after going to our friend Marta’s book-release reading at Green Apple bookstore. Seeing it all with fresh appreciation of its many remarkable trees, its gardens and groves, its ponds and lakes, its each with their own character, the remarkable variety of active sports available—lawn bowling, bocci ball, pétanque, cornhole, ping-pong, frisbee golf, real golf, archery, horseshoes, handball, racquetball, baseball, basketball, volleyball, pickleball, tennis, rollerskating, skateboarding, fly-fishing, not to mention the playgrounds, the art studio, the Lindy Hop Dancing, the pianos, the Senior Center, the Art Museum and Academy of Science. In short, innumerable ways to awaken the senses, exercise the muscles, feed the imagination, nurture intelligence, all of it three-dimensional with textures and smells and sounds and most of it in company and communion with fellow human beings, people in all shades and sizes and ages and not a single one excluded. 

 

Yesterday, I led singing at the Sequoia’s Senior Living and accompanied a resident who came forward and surprised us all with her artistic rendering of My Funny Valentine and this afternoon, a regular at my Friday Jewish Home music sessions requested Amazing Grace in C and brought the room to pin-drop silence with her soulful singing. In the next few days, I’ll bike to a church to attend a free singing event featuring Gospel, Old-time music, Broadway tunes, jazz singing, Balkan singing, Body Music and more, go to a house concert honoring a singer/songwriter, shop at the Farmer’s Market. All of this is par for the course for my life in San Francisco, but it struck me today in a different way. 

 

Because outside of this bubble, a war has begun, Gestapo ICE agents continue to tear families apart and hurt and terrorize for no justifiable reason whatsoever, spineless politicians keep feeding the monster with their compliance with no consequences. When I asked to sing some songs for my nephew’s children’s class in Portland next week, the first response was I had to submit to a 10-day-to-process background check. (I refused and they relented). But if I have to do so out of some fantasy of protecting the children, shouldn’t the President have to submit to a thorough background check to see if he’s safe to assume power? Every day, people who have chosen to care are feeling their hearts trampled, their sanity threatened, their outrage fueled, their sorrow deepened and we’re all crouched down in a defensive posture wondering “What’s next?” Not an easy time to understand that the change we long for is already here with us. 

 

But that’s what I felt today. I—no one—can’t dismiss the horror, but on a level, the life I long for us all to enjoy is already happening right here where I am. We don’t have to wonder about how much better it could be or how to make it better— it’s happening right here, right now, side-by-side with the needed efforts to topple the monsters of indifference and greed and hatred. If you’re wondering what that life could be like, come walk with me in San Francisco.

 

Of course, we are far from immune. Our unsolvable homeless crisis, our garbaged streets, our relentless AI billboards and armies of Waymos roaming the streets are most definitely not the change I want to see in the world. But the parks I walk in, the people I know, the things we do, are indeed precisely what we all could be enjoying, all available for you to try and test right here, right now.

 

When I was a college freshman at Antioch College back in 1969, there was a cool class titled “The Future Is Now.” None of us had any idea what that meant, but we just thought it sounded profound and enigmatic. But now I get it. The future we could have is indeed happening already, right here, right now. And of course, not just in San Francisco. Wherever people are gathered and committed to leading happy, caring, connected lives. Let’s go.