All of It

Who could imagine that an American TV show would have the artistry and sincerity to make me cry three times in 45 minutes? So it was with the last episode of Ted Lasso. When a beloved character dies, the others meet the moment in the only way we should— with music, poetry and a renewed determination to live their remaining lives more fully. The music was the heart-touching Irish song The Parting Glass, the poem was the soul-stirring When Death Comes by Mary Oliver and the determination came in the form of casting aside cautious doubts and anxieties and grabbing life by the tail and swinging it around in full-bodied enthusiasm.

 

And that means meeting all of it head-on. The deafening arrogant roars of the Blue Angel planes that traumatized my peaceful walk through the park yesterday next to the deep comfort of Schubert’s Ave Maria I’ll play at the Jewish Home today. The cold machines driving driverless through my beloved city and a smile from a passing stranger. The AI billboards convincing us to abandon the human experiment and the delight and curiosity of the 5-years I danced with last week in music class. The explosive sweetness of a ripe pear with the crunch of walnuts and the stench of piss from the homeless in the alley. The wild dogs roaming freely in government halls and the 95-year-old protestor out on the street with her home-made sign. The whole catastrophe. 

 

How to embrace it all without accepting it all? How to keep hope in the heart without being beaten down for staying informed? How to sidestep those hurting you and your loved ones with their heavy shoulders of power while still staying in the game? How to be a perpetual bride to amazement? 

 

Questions for a Friday morning. 

 

 

WTF x 10

Have you ever seen the Onion Newspaper! Don't know if it still exists, but it was purposeful fake news spinning out the most outrageous stories with a great deal of humor. (I remember when Obama was elected, the headline was "Business as usual: Black man given the nation's worst job.") It soon became irrelevant when the real news was even more outrageous than their fake news! (Though I just looked it up and it's still going.)

 

So when an Orff colleague asked me to sub for a few days, I was delighted as I always am. All seemed promising until he discovered that I had to do some kind of Live Scan thing to make sure I wasn’t wanted by the FBI. And then there would be an interview. I asked him to find out more about the details and he came back with this (names redacted to protect the guilty): 

 

The process for becoming a sub at ____  is for someone to apply through the school job post. The division head can then evaluate Doug's materials and decide whether to interview him. Once she decides to move someone to an offer stage, then she’ll send Live Scan fingerprinting clearance, TB testing, and mandated reporter training. We are also required to perform egregious background checks with each prior educational employer. Once cleared, we send an offer letter, which the head of school has to sign. If we really hustle, the entire process can take 2 weeks. 

 

As several comedians have commented, "You can't make this shit up!" If I wanted to write a satirical version of what it takes these days to sub, don't think I can do better than this.

 

 Needless to say, I will not be subbing there, this week or ever. Sorry for the kids who won’t get to work with the Steph Curry of Orff , but I’m sure they’ll have fun with a non-criminal sub who will stick in a video. 

 

There is not a font big enough to express my disgust. Multiply this times 10 and you’ll get closer. 

 

WTF!!!!!!!!!!!!

Advice from Thumper's Mother

In my memory, Bambi was the first movie I ever saw. I might have been four or five years old—who knows? But I do remember being terrified of the forest fire and perhaps experienced my first taste of empathy feeling so sad that Bambi lost his mother to the evil hunter. 

 

I also remember a scene when Bambi is a newborn and the rabbit family with little Thumper comes to visit. Thumper makes some childlike honest comment about Bambi’s dubious appearance and his mother scolds him: “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” Good advice! If only the Orange Man had seen the movie and taken this advice to heart, we would have a silent President indeed. 

 

Why am I thinking of Bambi? Because as I start my Thursday, it occurs to me that nothing worthy of writing down has crossed my mind. So to paraphrase Thumper’s mother, I thought: “If you don’t have anything worthwhile to write, than don’t write anything at all.”

 

And then I wrote this post. 

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.