A Story for Our Time

It’s Halloween. Always my favorite holiday, especially when I taught at The San Francisco School. Besides the fun of the costumes and the Middle-School-run booths—the Haunted House, bobbing for apples, fortune-telling, etc.— there was the unique Intery Mintery ritual performance (available for viewing at www.thesecretsongfilm.com). And then at the end of the day, the elementary kids gathered once more and I told them a story. Choosing what stories to tell and when and why is an art form in itself, so besides picking one with a big of magic and at least a little scary, I would always think about what the story would speak to relevant to our particular times. 

 

So today, this storyteller is all dressed up with nowhere to go (no schools have invited me in—waaah!), so I might as well tell one here. It’s a Norse folk tale titled “The Giant Who Had No Heart in His Body.”

 

Once upon a time, once before a time, once inside a time and once for our time, there was a King and a Queen with seven sons. They loved them as parents should and maybe a bit more, as they couldn’t bear to be without at least one by their side at any time. As happens, children grow and keep on growing until they are ready to leave home and set out in the world. And so it came to pass that the six oldest decided it was time to go out and seek their life’s partners. The King and Queen insisted that the youngest stay home to keep them company and bid farewell to the others, giving them the finest clothes and horses. The sons visited many neighboring palaces in search of love and finally came to one where there was another Kind and Queen with five daughters and one son. They set to wooing and each seemed to find the one just right for them. 

On their way home, they passed a giant’s house and there the giant came out and for no other reason than to cause trouble (though some say he was jealous that no one loved him), he turned them all to stone. The King and Queen waited for their six sons, but alas, as time dragged on, they finally had to admit that some great trouble had come upon them.

 

The youngest, whose name was Boots, tried to console his parents and then asked their permission to set out to try to find his brothers. His parents were sick with worry that he, too, would never come home, but finally they relented. The only horse left in the stable was a broken-down old mare, but Boots didn’t mind and off he went on the sorry old steed.

 

Along the way he encountered a Raven on the road who was dying of hunger and begged Boots for a little food, suggesting that if he did, the Raven would one day repay him by coming to his aid in his hour of need. 

 

“No need for that,” said Boots, who secretly doubted a mere Raven could ever be of use to him, “I’m happy to share the little bit of food I have.” And so he did.

 

A little further on, he came upon a Salmon who had washed up on the riverbank and couldn’t get back into the water. The Salmon made the same offer of future help if Boots would only set him back into the stream. “No need for that” said Boots, "I’m happy just to help you."

 

Yet further down the road, he encountered a Wolf who was so famished that he crawled on his belly with his ribs sticking out. The Wolf told how he hadn’t eaten in two years and asked if Boots would sacrifice his horse to feed him. This was too much for Boots, who not only felt sorry for the horse but told the Wolf he needed him to ride on. The Wolf promised that once he was well-fed, Boots could ride upon his back. Truth be told, the horse was near the end of his days so Boots agreed and the deed was done. 

 

Boots told the Wolf of his quest to find his brothers and the Wolf said, “I know where they are.” Boots then mounted the Wolf and they rode off at great speed until they reached the Giant’s house. 

 

The Wolf pointed to the frozen brothers and their new partners and told Boots, “Go into the Giant’s house and there you’ll find a Princess who will tell you how to free your brothers and make an end to the Giant. Do exactly as she says.”

 

With fear and trembling, Boots entered the house and there he saw the loveliest Princess he had ever set eyes on. “Oh, heaven help you!” she exclaimed. “Why are you here? Don’t you know a terrible Giant lives here and no one escapes alive! And he can’t be killed because he has no heart in his body!”

 

“I am here to free my brothers,” said Boots summoning up all his courage ”and if we come up with a plan, perhaps we can free you as well. For I see that you are afraid and are held here against your will.”

 

“That is as true as true can be. Let’s try this. Creep under this bed, be still as a mouse and listen carefully to everything the Giant and I talk about.”

 

Just then the Giant came roaring in, bellowing “Fee! Fi! Foe! Fum! I smell the blood of an Englishmun!” The Princess told him that a magpie had flown over the house with a man’s bone and accidentally dropped it down the chimney and the smell of it lingered all day. She calmed him down and made him dinner and that night in bed, said, 

 

“Dear Giant. There is one thing I’ve always been curious about. I’ve noticed you don’t keep your heart in your body. Pray tell, where is it?”

 

“That’s none of your business!” said the Giant. But after a bit, he said, “If you must know, it lies under the doorsill.”

 

The next morning, after the Giant went out of the house and off to do whatever it is Giants do, Boots and the Princess dug under the doorsill until they finally had to admit they had been tricked and there was nothing there. They picked beautiful flowers and laid them all over the doorsill to hide the fact that they had been digging there and Boots once more crept under the bed. 

 

Once more the Giant came in intoning his "Fee! Fi! Foe! Fum!" chant and once more the Princess said another magpie had dropped a bone. When he asked about the flowers on the doorsill, she sweetly replied, “Why, I love you so that knowing your heart lay under the doorsill, I wanted to make it pretty.”

 

“Ha ha!!" roared the Giant. "You silly girl, that’s not where my heart is. I keep in the cupboard against the wall!”

 

The next day, Boots and the Princess searched there, to no avail and again decorated it with flowers. Again, came the Giant sniffing the air and again came the magpie story and again came asking about the flowers and again came the answer about making his heart’s place pretty. Again the Giant roared with laughter, “How can you be so foolish as to believe my story?!” For the Giant had lied about things all his life and took special pleasure in fooling people. “You’ll never know where my heart lies!”

 

But the Princess put on her sweetest charms and pleaded with him and finally he relented:

 

“Well, you’ll never find it, so I guess there’s no harm in telling you. Far, far way in a lake lies an island and on that island there stands a church and in that church there is a well and in that well there swims a duck and in that duck there is an egg and in that egg—well, that’s where my heart is. Now stop bothering me and let me go to sleep.”

 

The next morning, Boots said farewell to the Princess, vowing he would return, and left the house. There he mounted the Wolf in search of that island. On they went for days, over hedge and field, over hill and dale, until they finally came to the lake. The Wolf jumped into the lake, still with the Prince on his back, and swam over to the island. They stood in front of the church and were discouraged to discover that the door was locked. Then they spotted the keys in a tower up high. Boots was despairing of how to ever get them and then remembered the Raven. He called for him and the Raven appeared on the spot and flew up to retrieve the keys. They entered the church and came to the well and there was the duck, swimming back and forth. The Prince leaned over and grabbed the duck, but just as he lifted him up, the duck dropped the egg deep into the well. Once again, Boots was in despair and then he remembered the Salmon. He called for him and the Salmon appeared and fetched up the egg from the bottom of the well.

 

The Wolf told the Prince to squeeze the egg and when he did, the Giant screamed out in pain. “Squeeze it again” advised the Wolf and when he did, the Giant screamed yet more piteously, so loud he could be heard all the way to where Boots and his friends where. He begged Boots to stop and promised he would do anything he wished if he would not squeeze his heart in two. The Wolf advised:

 

“Tell him to unfreeze your brothers and their new sweethearts and bring them to life again.” That the Giant did. “Now squeeze the egg in two” said the Wolf and that Boots did and the Giant fell down dead. He then rode back to the Giant’s house, rejoicing with his brothers and traveled with them and his own Princess bride back to their parent’s castle. There they held a great celebratory feast and the mirth was so loud and long, I believe they are still at it!

 

And so, a story for our time. The squeezing of the egg will take place Tuesday at the ballot box and this heartless Giant’s lies and hatreds and greed will fall down dead, never to rise again in that particular body. And I for one, plan to be feasting and celebrating for days on end. May it be so!!!

 

Good Karma

I was sitting outside at the Dolores Park Café enjoying my lunch, basking in both the bright sun without and the warm glow within having just helped teach three Middle School classes. This is the school where I have been a mentor to the music teacher and guest teacher of sorts off and on for over three years. Contrary to every public image of 7^th and 8^th graders, these kids are so generous in appreciating what I have to offer, giving me the nickname GOAT. I was confused by it because I’ve yet to play my Bulgarian bagpipe for them, but apparently it stands for the “Greatest of All Time.” Well, I’m not a fan of the rock star mentality, but if that’s how they choose to let me know that my half-century of work has helped me understand how to release their musicality beyond their own expectations, helped me know how to sincerely praise and appreciate their efforts so that they feel respected and valued, heck, I’ll take it! 

 

The day before I took my group gathering singing skills to Golden Gate Park to meet with neighbors and ex-neighbors who moved from my street, but still live close by. This was the group that began singing outdoors a few times a week during the pandemic and though the intervals between gathering are much longer than they were before, still we carry the tradition on. About five families came and the kids who were around 3 and 6 back then are now 7 and 10. A few of the parents wrote to me afterwards thanking me for the time and reporting how their kids were still walking around the house singing the songs. I replied that of course, it was my pleasure and I hoped we’d keep meeting until the kids went off to college. And then probably sing again when they came back to visit! Fates willing, it could be.

At the gathering, I went through my considerable Halloween repertoire and after all those slow, spooky songs in D minor, switched to the major scale and a brisker tempo to my social justice repertoire to buoy us adults up for Election Day coming up. That felt good.

 

The day before that, I went up to the Redwoods Assisted Living and sang with another group of some 30 folks in their 70’s and 80’s. Because of all those years of singing every day at The San Francisco School and playing piano and singing at the Jewish Home for the Aged, I have an engaging varied repertoire, almost all of it at my fingertips without having to read notes in books or look up lyrics on my phone. The happiness in that room was palpable and made even more special by the view out the window looking out at Mt. Tam. 

 

And then the day before that, there I was back at The Jewish Home again with the folks in their 80’s and 90’s and a group that I’ve come to know so I can tailor the song choices to their taste somewhat, making sure to include some of their favorites in every session. I love how some look so startled when they hear “their special song,” as if it was a divine inspiration. I don’t think any of them have Alzheimer’s but it is one of the benefits of diminished memory that they seem surprised by things like that. 

 

So here is my new—well, now in its 4^th year—retired life. All these opportunities to keep making music with the little ones, the budding teenagers, the elders— and of course, all the teachers in their 20’s through 50’s that come to the Orff workshops I’m still teaching. All kinds of music with all kinds of folks at all kinds of ages in all kinds of different places. 

So eating my lunch at The Dolores Park Café, I thought of that line from the “Side by Side” song I had just sung with the 7^th graders: “When they’ve all had their troubles and parted, we’ll be the same as we started.” And then it struck me. 

 

I first set foot in San Francisco in the summer of 1971, having traveled across the country with my sister, her husband and a dancer friend. We traveled in a Volkswagen bug—four of us in that tiny car!— camped along the way, cooked our macrobiotic meals of brown rice and vegetables when we could. Arriving in San Francisco, we treated ourselves to a lunch at a macrobiotic restaurant, the first eating establishment I visited in the city that would be come my home for the next 50 years plus. And where was that restaurant? On the corner of 18^th and Dolores, exactly the same place I was sitting now. “We’ll be the same as we started.” And the name of it back then? The Good Karma Café!

 

I don’t know what I did in past lives to merit the blessing of making joyful music with people as I do, but I deeply appreciate the Good Karma that perhaps made it possible. And so this moment of feeling everything come around full circle, with the fullest measure of gratitude I can offer. 

 

And then I returned to the school to teach another 8^th grade class. 

 

What's Important

Interesting how the likes and comments on Facebook posts have been a kind of thermometer taking the temperature of what people care about and respond to and think is important. If we post something announcing a new book or upcoming concert or award we’ve received, most people are sincerely happy for our small success. But that can be mixed with a touch of envy or a sense of the person tooting their own horn beyond what we’d like to hear. If we post some political piece, even if it’s filled with good insight and might help folks consider another point of view, still it’s in that murky subject area we’re told to avoid at family gatherings. In my experience, both kind of posts above reap a modest number of likes and comments. 

 

But if we post something that reveals our vulnerability or our love for others or our honest confession of what’s either hard for us or delightful, people really respond. Like my recent wedding anniversary post. Not only 378 “likes” in one day, but an off-the-charts percentage of those people commenting—160! So sweet to see all those names and remember how our paths crossed and read their comments, especially from the kids Karen and I both taught at The San Francisco School. (And interestingly, mostly kids we taught back in the 70’s and 80’s! Did our teaching decline after that? :-). )

 

The point? We can’t avoid what passes for politics or religion or issues of social justice. They need to be part of our national discourse and why not use every medium available to put ideas out for consideration? And yes, Facebook is one of many ways to announce concerts, publications, art shows, book readings and so on and also a good medium to post little clips of live music or dance or theater. All of that is fine as far as it goes.

 

But not far enough. For what we really crave is the sense that we’re all in this together. That we delight in being reminded of the bed of roses we all have lain in and equally need to hear that others also are tangled up in the thorns that come with a human incarnation. In short, we are not alone. That’s the place where all the divisions that can come from the list above ( and yes, even art, as folks can be as passionate about what music is good and what is bad, which artist is the cat’s pajamas and which is a feral alleycat rooting around in garbage cans), that’s the place where divisions can be healed.

 

A good honest confession of our vulnerability, for those who need the courage to face their own and to feel that others are with them—well, that above all is what those Facebook numbers show is important. 

 

And it is. 

Longevity as Love

 

(Here’s what I posted on Facebook today.)

I don’t usually share much personal information here, but today is my 45^th wedding anniversary. Add five years before marriage of living together and that’s a half century of life side-by-side with my wife Karen. And the numbers continue: 50 years of summers in Northern Michigan, 42 years living in the same San Francisco house, 41 years teaching at the same school, 44 years of life with our remarkable daughter Kerala and in a few weeks, 40 years of life with our remarkable daughter Talia, some 40 states and 40 countries we’ve traveled to, 42 years of hosting neighborhood Christmas caroling and 42 years of a ritual New Year’s walk with friends and my sister’s family. 

 

Karen and I aren’t exactly soulmates in any conventional sense, as we each follow different stars. But still we’ve built a notable life together, weathering all the storms and basking in the sunshine of the usual round of political disasters and jubilations (please, jubilation next week!), losses of loved ones and delightful enduring friendships, raising two children and now two grandchildren, pursuing our separate art forms, surviving a pandemic, sharing nutritious and delicious meals and etc. and etc. Those bright eyes in this photo staring hopefully into the future still with some twinkle in them as we look back to the past. Longevity is a form of love and here we still are, “travelin’ along, singing a song, side by side." Happy Anniversary to us both!

 

 Karen is coming back from a weekend singing retreat today and I’m beginning this anniversary day with a trip to the dentist. But I did write her a handwritten card and then another longer version written on the computer. The storebought card has a John F. Kennedy quote on the front: “We are living in extraordinary times.” Here is the typed message: 

 

One week from the strangest election of our lifetime, “extraordinary times” is an understatement! And here we are, still together, battening down the hatches to weather the storm we pray won’t come or ready to take to the streets with the collective jubilation 100 times greater than the Giants World Series win at Yancey’s. Extraordinary times.

 

But hasn’t every year of our 45-year marriage, our 50 years since that kiss on Tank Hill, been extraordinary in its own way? And most extraordinary of all— we’ve lived a half-century together! And each morning wake up to the next day ready for the next adventure. 

So much life shared together. Somewhere around 40,000- 45,000 meals shared together, 15,000 nights saying good night and mornings saying good morning. The sheer quantity of life lived together is indeed extraordinary and something to be celebrated. 

 

But of course, it’s the quality that tells the deeper story. The camping trips, the travels far and wide, the Michigan summers, the hours spent in the old SF movie theaters, four decades of driving to and from school and that whole place a shared universe in itself. Giving life to two extraordinary children, with the birthday parties and piano recitals and basketball games and school plays and more camping and traveling, the pumpkin carving and Thanksgivings and the Revels and Christmas caroling and Christmas mornings and Easter egg hunts and a few 4^th of July fireworks and so much of that with the neighbors as well. Board games, card games, reading aloud, Cheers and Bill Cosby, art projects, occasional music jams. Then the graduations—8^th grade, 12^th grade, college and suddenly two adults. A few boyfriends, a husband, two grandchildren and around we go again doing what we did best and still do. 

 

Meanwhile, all the weddings and memorial services and retirement parties and milestone birthday parties (your scavenger hunt!), the loss of so many friends and parents and a sibling and aunts, uncles and cousins, neighbors and school folks. The joys and pains of national elections, art shows and music conferences, bike trips apart and together, family reunions, Palm Springs gatherings, Paula Poundstone and New Year’s gatherings, protest marches, A pandemic and sheltering and the whole new worlds of TV series watched sitting on the couch together. All the SF goodbyes to restaurants/ Cafes  like Narai, Heidi’s, Stoyanoff’s, Peppers, Just Desserts, Tart to Tart, the movie theaters like the Gateway, Surf, Parkside, Bridge, Coronet, Regency, Lumiere, Alhambra, Clay and looks like the Castro, the stores like all the bookstores (9^th Ave. Books, Cover to Cover, …), Le Video, Tower Records/ The Magic Flute, Streetlight Records, Community food stores, quirky sights like Fleischacker Pool, the North Beach postcard store, the 9^th Avenue Bank of America. And then hello to Crissy Field, Tunneltop Park, the Presidio without the Army and yet more. We watched them all come and go, leaving behind the imprints of all the marvelous times we spent in each. 

 

And while I’m naming places, why not evoke the travels? The Southwest, the Northwest, Maine, Key West, Savannah and Charleston, Estes Park, Yosemite, Portland, Washington DC, New Jersey, New York, New Smyrna Beach, Hawaii, Providence, Boston and beyond. 

 

Canada, Mexico, Guatemala, Belize, Costa Rica, Cuba, Bahamas, Ecuador, Brazil, Argentina, Ghana, South Africa, Morocco, England, Scotland, Ireland, Sweden, Czech Republic, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Italy, Slovenia, Spain, Portugal, Greece, India, Sri Lanka, Nepal, Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore, Java, Bali, Japan, Australia, Fiji. Each one memorable and indelibly stamped on our mutual life. 

 

It has been quite a life together. But we’re not done yet— more to come! Here’s to continuing to live in extraordinary times because we help make them so! Onward!

No Brief Candle

The jury is out as to whether Facebook is the great connector or the death of human civility. Frankly, most of the evidence points to the latter. But more than occasionally, people post things that I find important, useful, inspiring, uplifting. Like this quote from George Bernard Shaw.

 

 

I think from childhood on, I always had some inward sense that I was bound to some worthy purpose. I hadn’t the slightest idea of what it would be, but I felt its presence none the less. Of course, there have been (and still are) times when I felt like a “feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances” and still in some blog posts, you can hear my complaint that “the world is not devoting itself to making me happy.” But alongside that is the firm conviction that indeed my life belongs to the whole community and it is indeed, my privilege to do for it what I can. Like going to the Jewish Home yet again on Friday for a glorious hour of bringing comfort and happiness to the people there, most of whom I now know, through the simple act of moving fingers up and down the piano. Then on Saturday, I went to the Redwoods, another Senior Home in Marin County where two friends now live and played again for some 30 people they had gathered, with them singing along to some 15 songs amidst the piano solos. This is a new group for me, but it felt like we were old friends by the end and their happiness charged the air, tangible and touchable. 

Today, Sunday, I’m gathering with the old neighbors to continue the singing we began during the pandemic, those little kids now almost double their age and all of us re-stitching the threads of song begun four years ago in what feels like another lifetime. 

 

Bringing music to the folks, from 3 to 103 years old, is the flaming torch Life handed me and I am blessed to have the health and energy to keep running with it before releasing it fully to the future generations. Meanwhile, each gathering is a passing it on of sorts and it appears to be doing its work well of bringing light and warmth into people’s lives. 

 

Like this note I just received from a participant in my Orff workshop in Rochester: 

 

“I want to express my heartfelt gratitude for the workshop you led in Rochester. It was such a PRIVILEGE (caps hers) to experience your teaching again after more than 20 years. Your method and process profoundly influenced my work as a new teacher all those years ago, so it was incredibly validating to see how your approach has remained so consistent and impactful over the years. I left the workshop feeling inspired, rejuvenated, validated and ready to bring even more joy into my teaching. 

 

Your dedication to the Orff philosophy continues to inspire not only me, but countless music educators and children worldwide. Thank you for your unwavering commitment to music education and sharing your legacy with us. For that, I just want to say “WELL DONE!”

 

 It’s my pleasure. Much better than being a little clod of ailments and grievances. 

Living Memorial Services

Back almost a half-century ago (!) when I started teaching at The San Francisco School, there were two administrators— Terry and Lynne. They were the Head and Assistant Head, but we just called them Terry and Lynne. Staff and “admin” (a name we never used) were all seated together at the parent-made peanut-shaped table during the Staff Meetings, dreaming forward the school as we wished it to be. 

 

After ten years or so of this communal bliss, we hired a Development Director and as times changed, the team in the office kept growing geometrically while the student population increased arithmetically. By 2007, I heard the first pronoun “they” to refer to the enlarging admin and by the time I left in 2020, there were some 25 people working in the office!

 

But that’s a theme for another post. I fell down that rabbit hole because I wanted to introduce Lynne, who retired a few years before me and moved up to Washington State to be with her kids and grandkids. At 84 years old, she is having severe physical issues and apparently has just been diagnosed with Alzheimers. Brutal. Our alum staff, so many of whom keep in touch with her, started a little phone call/ letter writing campaign to gather around her in her hour of need. Apparently those calling have had trouble getting through, so I decided to write a letter and e-mail it to her husband John to read out loud. 

 

It's a bit strange to share it here, as it is mostly personal reflections alluding to people and incidents the reader knows nothing about. But I offer it as a model of a kind of living eulogy, the kind of things we might say while a person is still living rather than waiting for the Memorial Service. I remember being so struck by the scene in Tom Sawyer where he is mistakenly reported to be dead and gets to peek in at his own funeral. Even when I was young, it struck me that it would be good if we all could have “pre-funerals,” loved ones gathered around sharing their appreciations and memories while we’re still alive to hear them. Good idea, yes? 

 

Here’s the letter (FYI, Nina and Lisa are Lynne and John’s daughters); 

 

Dearest Lynne.

 

Halloween is coming. Somewhere in the i-Cloud where I can’t get to it is a photo of you and I dressed as Greek statues. One of thousand memories of all those years we shared together at The San Francisco School. There was skinny dipping at the Feather Falls camping trip, Nina running out of my music class my first year of teaching and you dragging her back, that hard Stern Grove Board Staff meeting with all the problems with Jeanne Mahoney out on the table, alongside Roy Swanson saying how he and Dan and Nutmeg used to sit outside sometimes and say, “I think we’re in heaven.” 

 

All the years of you at the front desk reminding kids to walk, all the stories you shared about running to the ocean early each morning with Marcia Anderson, about your French class, about your horseback riding and always some stories of your dogs. Sweet memories of you sharing your early life with John somewhere in Scandinavia and then later North Beach and one edgy story about you running with John in Kansas visiting family over Christmas and how you solved the problem of a part of him getting frozen. You connecting us with Donna Pineo (thank you for that!), teaching piano to Lisa and seeing her in a play (I think) at Lick Wilmerding. A staff Christmas party where we sat on a couch and you sang a song to me called “Popsicle Toes.”

 

Always so much to enjoy and also to admire about you— your iron discipline with running and horseback riding, that lifelong learning with your French classes and then your rise from Assistant Administrator to South Class Assistant to Montessori-trained head teacher. Appreciating you anew through the eyes of Sofia, who named you as one of her favorite teachers. 

 

So many changes we weathered together, from an administration that was simply Terry and Lynne to the rise of 25 office people with that new guy in charge who didn’t like to eat Patty’s food in the kitchen and was determined to bring me down. But finally, he’s gone now and the new head is lovely and there are some 6 alums (including Talia in her 14^th year!) carrying the old school character forward, alongside Dolores, Vahlee, Erika, James and Sofia. I’ve been in and out since retirement subbing for James and Sofia and soon will sub a week while Sofia teaches in Salzburg. The 5-year-olds I taught in my last year are now in 4^th grade, so I still know about half the kids in the school and some 75% of the teachers. All those ceremonies I helped start and sustain are still intact and though part of South class got walled off and we lost our second music room that’s now admin and the kitchen is now off-limits to staff, mostly things feel recognizable, both physically and community-wise. 

 

Meanwhile, our shared past life echoes on in the 34^th year of the Men’s Group, with Terry, Jim Thurston and I, Brian McCaffery, Barry Dekovic, Chris Cunningham, Bernie Weiner and recently joined Calhoun (Janet’s husband). Solveig has organized a monthly walk with Laura, Patty, Jane, Corrine, Vivian, Steve Rubin, Miriam, Mia, Rose, Andrea, Karen and I and after her knee operation, perhaps Maggie can join us now. Laura, who also suffered from the new admin, often quotes you when she asked how you could hold up amidst all these disturbing changes and you said something like: “I’m just grateful for all the years I had.” 

 

And so am I and so am I grateful that you were such an important part of it. And so sad to hear all that you are suffering now, as the lion’s paw of mortality has unsheathed its claws. So hard to witness (and feel myself!) the way Time ravishes the body and diminishes the mind of people once so alive and vibrant. Nothing to say but "Aaaaargh!!! Meanwhile, all I can offer is this tiny crumb of comfort that you matter to so many, that we stand around you in a circle of great love and that as you say, “we’re all so grateful for the years we had.” It was a most marvelous time.

 

Love always,

 

Doug

Poetry for Geese

A few posts ago I noted that it has been a long time since I've written a poem. Today I did. 

Poetry for Geese

 

It’s a grand San Francisco day, 

 

The Mediterranean light casting its glow 

 

Over the distant Golden Gate, viewed from

 

a bench by a pond in the Presidio

 

 with its burbling fountain

 

                lush green grass,  

 

                      rocks in the tumbling stream.

 

 

While I’m sitting there, drinking it all in, 

 

a goose comes to greet me. 

 

Stops in front of me, looking straight into my eyes. 

 

She’s so close I could reach out and touch her.

 

 

My hand goes to my bag and she follows it,

 

hoping for some bread crumbs or some such thing. 

 

Instead, I take out my book of Lawrence Ferlinghetti poems. 

 

She is not amused.

 

“What’s the point?” she silently speaks to me, “If you can’t eat it?”

 

“Ah, but this is food for the soul. Listen. “

 

I start to read. 

 

Me, I thought it one of his better poems.

 

But she listens for 20 seconds 

 

                 and then waddles off,

 

                        thoroughly unimpressed.

For the Voters

Some five minutes after posting my silly little piece and lamenting it wasn’t more meaningful if indeed I have 2,000 readers at the moment, I read this post from a fellow Orff teacher. I was quite surprised to hear her political history, but moved by her courage in facing head-on the change in her party to its present toxic character. If there’s any reader out there still somehow on the fence or who knows undecided voters, this is a convincing argument. She has given permission to freely post and share, so by all means do. (For the record, I don’t agree with her about Reagan, but I, like her, look forward to the time when we can have a civil conversation about such disagreements. Well, more accurately, when we all can have such conversations. She and I can indeed discuss this — after the election!)

 

I was 16 years old in 1980 when Ronald Reagan was elected President. He shaped my political consciousness and made a Republican out of me. My first vote was for him in 1984, and I don't regret it one bit. He was far from perfect, but his love of country and his moral clarity in dealing with the Soviet Union outweighed the flaws I saw in him at the time, and since then. Reagan loved America, and he loved his fellow Americans. His rhetoric united rather than divided us, and when he did poke fun at his opposition across the aisle, he did so in a way that made them laugh, too. There wasn't a mean bone in his body. 

 

From 1984 till 2016, I voted Republican in every election. But by the Obama years, I was growing disillusioned with a big part of the Republican base. For a long time I had stubbornly resisted the idea that Republicans were racist, naively believing that the Civil Rights movement of the 1960's had eliminated the majority of America's racial problems and that we were on our way towards fixing the rest. Just a few adjustments around the edges, and we would have a colorblind society, as Dr. King had envisioned.

 

But then, Barack Obama got elected President. Suddenly racists came crawling out of the woodwork. I voted against Obama twice - I found him rather arrogant and far too liberal for me. But some of the ugliness of the rhetoric that was deployed against him was shocking in its racist nature - and it all came from the far right! But that wasn't the mainstream of the Republican Party, I thought. Just some fringe kooks and quite a few senior citizens who simply never outgrew the nasty racial slurs they grew up with. I still believed in Republicans like Mitt Romney, who were gentlemen.

 

Then the tea party movement came along, targeting traditional Republicans who got stuff done in Congress and in Austin by finding common ground and working across the aisle with Democrats to pass laws that would benefit all citizens. My Republican State Senator, who was a problem solver and a man of character and great intelligence, got beaten in the primaries by a Tea Party opponent who has yet to sponsor a single meaningful piece of legislation - all because the challenger embraced inflammatory, hateful rhetoric and slandered our Senator with the ugliest of lies. I was discouraged.

 

Then 2016 came along, and Obama's years as President were over. 17 Republicans declared their candidacy; I'd say that probably 10 of them could have beaten Hillary Clinton. Then there was Donald Trump. A rude, brash, ruthless con man who has boasted of his marital infidelities for decades, who had been sued for fraud over 4000 times, who constantly appealed to the lowest emotions of the electorate. And one by one, he outlasted all the decent, sensible Republicans in the race. And then he squeaked out a narrow win in the electoral college and became President.

 

In 2016 I couldn't support him. I knew by his own words how utterly unqualified for the job he was; I also couldn't stand Hillary Clinton because I still believed many of the things I had heard about her on FOX News and talk radio. So I threw my vote away on a 3rd party candidate; I figured, since Texas was a solid red state, it wouldn't matter much. And it didn't. And I decided to sit back and watch and see what kind of President Trump was; to give him a chance to earn my respect and my vote.

 

What I saw was chaos. The highest rate of Cabinet turnover of any one term President in history; cabinet officers were fired on Twitter, bewildered generals were informed that "no one knows more about the military" than Trump, traditional allies snubbed and mocked, and dictators coddled all around the world. I saw a man who had no clue what he was doing; who constantly had to be told "Mister President, that's illegal!" - and then fired the people who were trying to protect and advise him. I saw a constant flaming hatred directed at all who would not give praise and adoration to Donald Trump. Anyone from the other party was blasted for "hating America," Republicans like me who voiced criticism of Trump were called "the scum of the earth." Trump made NO attempt to unite Americans; instead he poured gasoline on the flames of partisan hatred. He brought out the best in no one, and the worst in both his supporters and his opponents. Complex issues were reduced to bumper stickers, the opinions of experts derided as "fake news," political compromise became a dirty word - and then came COVID. From the start, Trump flubbed our response. Thousands died while he bragged about the ratings of his COVID press briefings; when asked if he had any words of comfort for those who were afraid, he responded: "What a nasty question!" Now we know that, at the height of the pandemic, he sent desperately needed COVID tests to his buddy Vladimir Putin - at a time when hospitals in the USA desperately needed them! 

 

I hung onto the hope, at the beginning, that the older, wiser leaders in the GOP would work with Trump, help him grow into the office. But instead, one by one, they bowed and kissed the ring. Those who refused were primaried out of the party. Hateful, divisive rhetoric that would have earned Reagan's scorn and instant rejection by the voters became the standard dialect of the Republican Party. Little by little, Trump remade the party in his image. He crowned himself "the greatest President of all time; better than Washington, better than Lincoln!" The lack of humility before history was appalling. 

 

By the time 2020 came along, I couldn't vote against him fast enough. I no longer cared who the opposition was, I was just ready for the hateful clown show to END. And, like 81 million other Americans, when all the votes were counted, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Finally, it was over. The grown-ups had won. Maybe we could get back to normal, and politics would be boring again.

But no. For the first time in 232 years of Presidential elections, an incumbent President rejected the will of the people and sought to remain in office by force. Sixty court cases seeking to overturn the election were filed and LOST, many of them rejected by Republican judges Trump had appointed. Every audit, every recount, found that the initial call of the election for Joe Biden was correct. One audit funded by Trump's PAC actually wound up finding he lost Arizona by a larger margin than first called! All the allegations of mass voter fraud were investigated and shown to be untrue. 

 

Then, on January 6, after the electors had voted, when all that remained was a ceremonial certification of the vote by Congress, Trump sent a mob to stop the certification. For nearly four hours they rampaged through the U.S. Capitol, injuring over 100 Capitol Police officers while Trump watched on TV, threatening to hang VP Mike Pence, and desperately trying to find Nancy Pelosi so they could do God only knows what to her. Only when it became evident that they had failed did he finally tell them to go home, reminding them how much he loved them as he dismissed them!

 

How is this man not in jail? How can anyone want four more years of such chaos? I don't understand it and never will. Yes, inflation was bad in 2022 and 2023, but the truth is, all the factors that caused the global inflationary spike we saw in those years were already in place when Trump left office. America's recovery was faster and stronger than nearly any nation on earth. The recession that many economists feared didn't happen. Right now, unemployment is at 4%, and the U.S. economy, according to the World Bank, is driving the global recovery. Border crossings are back down to where they were during the last year of Trump's presidency (when COVID did even more to limit them than his policies), and America is respected again around the world.

Why do we want to go back to the chaos? Why do we want to embrace a man whose rhetoric is angrier, more racist, more divisive, and more extreme than it was in 2020 or in 2016? Not to mention Trump's increasing inability to remain focused on anything, his bizarre, meandering rants that never complete an idea, and his lies which have gotten more self-evident and bizarre as time goes on - from Haitian immigrants in Springfield eating cats and dogs to public schools giving kids sex change operations to babies being murdered "up to two months" after they are born. The man is lost in a bizarre fantasy world that bears little resemblance to reality, and people want to give him the nuclear codes?

I'm so tired of it all. Tired of the hate, the lies, the CONSTANT drama, of seeing people become the very worst versions of themselves in order to keep defending the indefensible. I'm tired of the downward spiral of the Republican Party into a personality cult where the ONLY measure of your party credentials is unshakable allegiance to Trump. I'm ready to turn the page.

 

I am not a Democrat. I disagree with Democrats on many things, abortion not the least. But I won't sacrifice our Republic for that issue, or any other hot button topic that I once regarded as a hill to die on. Once Trump is gone from the national scene, we can debate all these things again, and I'll enjoy the back and forth. But right now, the ONLY thing that matters is making sure this wicked, dangerous, erratic man is never allowed near the reins of power again.

So that's it, guys. If you read to the end, congratulations. This hasn't been an easy process for me. I've taken a lot of criticism, and I've unfortunately lost some friends along the way. But every decision I have made, I have made because I love this country dearly, and because the oath that I took way back in 1982 has no expiration date: "to support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic."

 

That oath is what drives me, and that is why I have taken the stand that I have. 

Now please, everyone vote.

Too Many Hours

Yesterday I had a strange sensation that I rarely have— there are too many hours in the day! Normally I’m wishing for more time to do the many things I both enjoy doing and have to do, but yesterday the clock just seemed to move so slowly and I had to think, “What am I going to do now?”  

 

Mind you, I had spent the morning answering 15 e-mails that needed to be answered, had a Zoom call with someone in Rio de Janeiro about future work there in January, wrote a variety of checks needed to be paid and got them in their respective envelopes. I recorded another practice podcast, posted a blog, played piano, had lunch with my wife and Stephen Colbert (well, on the screen). Then off for a long bike ride with a stop in the park to play some cornhole by myself. Back home and it was only 4:00. Two hours before cooking dinner! What to do? 

 

After the habitual checking e-mails on the computer and messages on the phone, I sat on the back deck with my Crostic puzzle. That took care of 30 more minutes. But still 90 minutes until dinner. 

 

It’s a strange feeling figuring out how to fill the hours and wondering why they pass so slowly. You think that would be a blessing and far preferable to them racing by with mortality’s clock ticking. But somehow it’s unsettling.

 

According to the Stats, there's another weird uplift in this blog's readers— some 2,000 yesterday! I never know if that's really or a bunch of bots, but no matter. But if they're real readers, I should be barraging them with election information that can help nudge them in the right direction. And believe me, there is only ONE right direction. Instead, this odd little piece about too many hours in the day. Oh well. 

Now on to lunch. 

Palette Cleanser

In the midst of a fast-food meal I don’t want to eat in a noisy ugly restaurant, I’m in need of a refreshing palette cleanser. Here I’m talking about the 50 political SMS daily messages grinding my hope with their heels thinking they’re motivating me to action (they’re not). The only thing they’re feeding is my stress and anxiety and that is never a good idea. So if you’re anything like me, perhaps you could also use some cleansing and a little humor goes a long way. Here’s something I unearthed that often made me laugh out loud— actor John Cleese’s thoughts on aging.  Enjoy!

 

1. When one door closes and another door opens, you are probably in prison.

2. To me, "drink responsibly" means don't spill it.

3. Age 60 might be the new 40, but 9:00 pm is the new midnight.

4. It's the start of a brand new day, and I'm off like a herd of turtles.

5. The older I get, the earlier it gets late.

6. When I say, "The other day," I could be referring to any time between yesterday and 15 years ago.

7. I remember being able to get up without making sound effects.

8. I had my patience tested. I'm negative.

9. Remember, if you lose a sock in the dryer, it comes back as a Tupperware lid that doesn't fit any of your containers.

10. If you're sitting in public and a stranger takes the seat next to you, just stare straight ahead and say, "Did you bring the money?"

11. When you ask me what I am doing today, and I say "nothing," it does not mean I am free. It means I am doing nothing.

12. I finally got eight hours of sleep. It took me three days, but whatever.

13. I run like the winded.

14. I hate when a couple argues in public, and I missed the beginning and don't know whose side I'm on.

15. When someone asks what I did over the weekend, I squint and ask, "Why, what did you hear?"

16. When you do squats, are your knees supposed to sound like a goat chewing on an aluminum can stuffed with celery?

17. I don't mean to interrupt people. I just randomly remember things and get really excited.

18. When I ask for directions, please don't use words like "east."

19. Don't bother walking a mile in my shoes. That would be boring. Spend 30 seconds in my head. That'll freak you right out.

20. Sometimes, someone unexpected comes into your life out of nowhere, makes your heart race, and changes you forever. We call those people cops.

21. My luck is like a bald guy who just won a comb.