Old Fashioned

Yesterday I was struck with a strange, raging headache that laid me out for much of the afternoon. I tried to read the book I’m currently reading, one a trusted friend claimed as deeply moving but had yet to touch me. I managed to crawl out of bed for dinner and on the night’s grandchildren entertainment/ education list was a re-viewing of the 1947 film Miracle on 34^th Street. By the end of the film, I felt wholly healed, genuinely touched by the story, its imagination, its moral compass and characters who I loved hanging out with. It had been many years since I’ve seen it, but it held up and then some and I now place it alongside It’s a Wonderful Life as not only one of the finest Christmas movies, but one of the great American classics of all time. 

 

Then I decided to begin to re-read Dicken’s Great Expectations instead of continuing with the modern book and within the first three pages, I was wholly embraced by Dicken’s exquisite language and memorable characters and engaging images and soon-to-be-unfolding intricate plot. Then, of course, there’s Bach, who exhibits more heart, soul and intelligence in any one of his 1,128 pieces, all penned with feather quill and paper, much by candelight, than in the entire output of today’s pop stars. 

 

So I’ve become a crotchety old “They just don’t make ‘em like they used to!” old man, thoroughly old-fashioned in my tastes and preferences. Of course, I listen to a lot of contemporary music (ie, jazz) and read mostly books by living authors and see all of the worthy new films and TV Series and yes, there’s good work still being done in all genres. But truth be told, it’s rare to find the depth, the soul, the extraordinary intelligence, of many of the old masters. “Old masters” meaning as recently as the Keith Jarrett Trio, the Coltrane Quartet, the Miles Davis Quintet, James Baldwin, Mary Oliver, JD Salinger and back. There is so much that was wrong about “the good old days” in terms of the norms around race, religion, gender and such, but within that turmoil of confused thinking were some visionary artists and thinkers touching the full depth of humanity and sharing it through their images, words, notes, dances and more.

 

And so while attending the latest Disney fluff with the grandchildren, I’m determined to at least expose them to movies like the above, Hitchcock, Singing in the Rain, Stormy Weather, Charlie Chaplin, read Charlotte’s Web and The Wind in the Willows, listen to Ella and Billie and let them dance in the living room while I play Bach on the piano. I know it doesn’t mean the same to them as it does to me, but I hope to infuse them with at least a touch of the timeless and universal art that has shaped my life so profoundly. 

 

Our last night in San Francisco before heading down to Palm Springs and they’re restless after their five-mile hike in Muir Woods (another timeless and universal activity), so time for a relaxing in-between fluff and classic film, Sister Act with Whoopi Goldberg.

 

Pass the popcorn.