On It Goes

 I can’t remember a week like this, where every small thing that can go wrong continues to do so. The latest was a casual e-mail from JustFly saying “your itineray has changed,” but when I opened it up, it seemed to want me to buy travel insurance. But off to the left, I could click on “Itinerary” and noticed that my 1:30 pm flight on Friday now said 1:30 am. Double-checked my reservation and no, I didn’t get that wrong. But that’s a pretty big change! 

 

So I tried their CHAT help which, of course, didn’t work and then called an 800 number. “Your wait time may be as long as 25 minutes.” So I gritted my teeth, put the terrible music on as low as I could and hour and ten minutes later, it was still playing. Left it on while I showered and when I got out of the shower, noticed I didn’t hear it. Ran in towel to the back of the house just in time to hear the voice of the man in India who said, “Oh yes, that flight was cancelled. You can either leave on the 15^th(tomorrow) or the 17^th(too late to meet the group in Ghana).” Really? Is that so? (Different tone that the previous post!!) I quickly opted for the 15^th, which now left me 24 hours less than I expected to get ready for and pack for the trip.

 

No sooner had I hung up that I ran to the Apple Store, where the new operating system that I had been downloading so I can actually get Word on the new/used computer a friend gifted me had 7 more hours left. My new Genius Bar friend said that they would finish the process and I could pick it up when they open at 10:30 tomorrow morning. Which means on the way to the airport for my 1:30 flight with all digits crossed that it all worked and the computer is actually ready for me to use. If not, I’m taking the old clunky one with the external keyboard in the car with me as a back up. Well, that should be interesting. 

 

First World problems all, but hey, it happens to be the world I’m living in and need to navigate it much more smoothly to get through each day. But now so happily on the way to the “Third” World, to a culture that actually lives on the planet earth in their bodies and celebrates life with song, dance and music instead of machines. I am so ready to break this cycle of techno-abuse. 

 

Wish me luck. 

Rubber and Glue

A young woman living next to Zen Master Hakuin became pregnant, but refused to tell her parents who the father was. They pressed her and she finally told them it was Hakuin. The enraged parents went to Hakuin and accused him of being the father. All he said was, “Is that so?”

 

When the child was born, they brought the baby to Hakuin and said he must raise it. “Is that so?” he replied and took the baby. His reputation was destroyed and all his neighbors disdained him, but he took good care of the child.

 

A year later, the mother finally confessed that she had lied and the real father was a young man who worked at the fish market. The mother and father went to Hakuin, apologized, asked for his forgiveness and asked for the child back. “Is that so?” he replied and put the child in their arms, resuming his life as before.

 

Would that we had such equanimity and could meet all of life’s betrayals and disappointments with a shrug of the shoulders and in the face of boldface lies and decisions that affect our lives, simply comment “Is that so?”

 

Well, dream on. When people with their heads up their butts have the power to make ignorant and hurtful decisions with no accountability and no capacity for further thought and conversation, who among us could calmly reply “Is that so?” and get on with our lives?

If you know someone, I’d like to meet them. 

 

But one of the gifts of the last stage of life is the capacity to reduce the surface area where the barbs can enter. To smooth out the psychic body’s surface so things don’t stick quite so tenaciously and just bounce off. Having just been through some nonsense like this, being unseen, unvalued, dismissed by people whose job it is to see, value and welcome, I won’t pretend it doesn’t hurt. I can’t convince them to see the error of their ways, but I can control how much I allow it to hurt me. So I thought of my childhood response to insults from my friends:

 

“I’m rubber and you’re glue and whatever you say or do bounces off of me and sticks to you!”

 

That’s about right. 

 

(Followed by “Na   Na    Na   Na   Na Na-na Na  Na.”)

 

One Way Ticket

I now know that there is a God and he is a vindictive SOB who has targeted me by making sure that every attempt to navigate through this labor-saving-efficient technological world is thwarted at every turn. Like trying to migrate my information from one computer to another that even had my computer expert scratching his head as he hit some 25 dead-ends (conservative estimate) and met each one with, “Okay. Let’s try this.” 25 times! And at the end, some progress, but far from finished. We meet again today for the next round of knockout punches.

 

Then trying to do the simple thing of teaching 10 music classes to kids for five days at a dance summer camp. That requires four different forms, a tb test, a livescan fingerprint, a 75 minute Sexual Harassment training and another thing that I had to join with a password that stopped working halfway through and won’t go on. I told them to find someone else to teach and they suggested I come in (on my own time) for them to walk me through it. 

 

Then the book printer who always sends me books to dealers and sends me the invoice now informing me that their new system requires I have a UPS account. So I went to the local store and they said, “You have to do that online.” NNNNOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! 

 

So I began that process this morning, another freaking password and of course, halfway through, the whole thing stopped. So I called the 800 number and got the cheery computer “How can I help you?” voice with two options— 1) Sending a package/ 2) Tracking a package. Neither, of course, which I want. So I start screaming “Agent! Agent!”  and the cheery voice says, “I know you want to speak to a customer service representative but I can’t help you until you choose one of the options that you actually don’t want.” (Last five words mine)

 

On Friday, I leave for Ghana for two weeks of making music with people who live in their actual physical bodies, where kids roam freely playing games with each other, where people sit down and talk and laugh and joke and then sing and dance and drum, often for three hours at a time. A place I first went to in 1999 without any pre-made arrangements and when I met someone playing an instrument and asked if they could teach me, they said without hesitation, “Meet me under the tree tomorrow.” I did, we played, I paid with physical money and it was a simple as that. 

 

It feels like this last month or so has been a geometrical increase in those damn driverless cars circling around and the simplest acts of arranging something become an obstacle course through the 12 Gates of the Techno City, with many doors slamming in my face and not a human being in sight to hear my calls for help or open the doors. What the hell is going on here?!!!!!!

 

After two weeks of life as humans are meant to live it, not sure I can return to this dystopia. Maybe I'll just sell my return ticket and live out the remaining years in Ghana, away from machine culture. Stay tuned. 

Day Off

 My head ordinarily so full of things to say seems to have a “Gone fishing” sign posted and the blank screen awaiting my words is still blank. So at least for today, my post is “Blogstore closed. Will return soon.”

 

What to do with your freed up time, dear reader? A few suggestions:

 

• Write your own piece about recent news or what’s on your mind.

 

• Lie down on the floor and listen (with your best sound system) to the Kyrie of Bach’s Mass in B Minor or John Coltrane’s A Love Supreme.

 

• Go for a walk without your phone and see what you notice. Smile at everyone you pass by.

 

• Go to Youtube and watch either Hazel Scott playing two pianos or Sugar Chile Robinson playing and singing Caldonia or both.

 

• Think of an old friend you haven’t been in touch with and write them a handwritten letter. 

 

Hope to see you tomorrow. Enjoy your day!

The New Pearly Gates

St. Peter: Welcome to your new home! 

 

Me: Happy to be here. Thanks for noticing that teaching music to kids was a heaven-worthy profession.

 

St. Peter: Right. Now let’s get you checked in. Do you have your Real ID?

 

Me: No, I had a problem because my passport was at the Ghana Embassy when I renewed my driver’s license and they wouldn’t accept a copy of my birth certificate. 

 

St. Peter: Okay, well, you won’t be driving up here, but we will need a copy of your death certificate and it must be notarized.

 

Me: What? No one told me that. And I wasn’t able to take my death certificate to the notary, for obvious reasons. 

 

St. Peter: We’ll also need a live scan copy of your former fingerprints to make sure we didn’t make a mistake admitting you. I’ll be giving you a link to download the Sexual Harassment and Angel Abuse training that’s required and you’ll need to create a password and then enter your Apple ID Code to get access to the training. 

 

While all of that is booting up, sit down and read this 100-page Heavenly Handbook so you’re clear on all rules, regulations and procedures. If you prefer, you can attend the 6- hour Power-Point Seminar covering the same information. 

 

Just so you’re aware, housing is a bit tight as i-Cloud has bought up most of the prime real estate, so things might not be quite as comfortable as you imagined. If your eternal accommodations are unsatisfactory, you can choose the reincarnation option, but your preferred race, religion, gender, sexual orientation, class and political party will be at the discretion of our Karma Committee and you must schedule a hearing far in advance.

 

Any questions?

 

Me: Is the other place as complicated as this?

 

St. Peter: No, they’ll take anyone. Just walk straight through the burning gates.

 

Me: Sign me up! 

Show Me!

School is out! But in my new role as part-time teacher/ mentor at a school to two music teachers, the exclamation point doesn’t quite ring true. As a kid, it definitely merited 4 or 5 (School is out!!!!!) and as a full-time teacher at least 2 or 3 (School is out!!), but now it’s a little bit more like “School is out.”

 

Nevertheless, I vicariously shared one of my mentee’s pleasure in her wonderful final concert and that sense of catharsis and release. Before summer swept her away, I asked her to reflect on the experience of the mentorship and what it meant to her, to the kids, to the program. She wrote a beautiful, sincere and articulate piece and the sentence that really jumped out for me was this:

 

The kids just needed to hear "I heard you are amazing. Show me." 

 

That’s what I said to them when I first met them and I loved that it made a difference. 

 

Seven words. Two short sentences. That’s all it takes sometimes to change a life.

And each sentence is necessary to the other.

 

Sometimes adults/ teachers might say, “You’re amazing!” And nothing else. What’s a kid to do with that? A 2-second dopamine rush of self-esteem, but leaving the kid wondering, “Really? You think I’m amazing? Why? What precisely is so amazing about me?” Nothing of much use beyond that little puff of inflation. So it needs the second sentence: “If it’s true that you’re amazing, I can’t just rely on what others say. You have to show me!”

 

Sometimes a teacher might say, “Show me what you can do” with a look on the face that might suggest “I’m going to bring you down a few pegs as I criticize all the things you didn’t do as well as you should.” For the old kind of student, determined to keep practicing after the drummer throws his cymbal at the young sax player at the jam session and everyone laughs, that could be useful to fuel his determination to practice harder. But today’s students don’t seem to have that kind of resilience and fortitude and grit. 

 

But if you put those two sentences together, the young student might first think, “Wow. I didn’t realize others knew how amazing I am or could be. So I guess this is a good time to show them!”

 

And even if the group then launched into their piece and it was less than 100% wonderful, I would still answer; “Wow! That is pretty amazing! But if you want to be really amazing, let’s work on playing with the mallets closer to the bars and softer so we can hear your singing voice.”

 

Kids—and all of us— need that balance between affirmation and critique. When the latter is given on the soft cushion of loving affirmation and sincere belief in their ability to rise higher in their accomplishment than they thought they could, that’s when things get moving.

 

In a similar vein, next time I teach a new group of kids and I see some dubious or even outrageous behavior from a kid, here’s what I’d like to say to them.

 

“ My job as a teacher is to give you the tools and understanding to do better in this subject than even you thought you could do. But to do that, I have to learn to love you. And I can’t learn to love you if I don’t know you. So here’s my question for you:

 

“What would I love about you if I got to know you?”

 

I’m looking forward to the first time I get to ask this. Stay tuned.

 

 

Close Shave

I have a kind of personal Murphy’s Law:

 

“Whatever item Doug customarily buys, likes or needs will soon be obsolete.”

 

Time and time again. My beloved Niji pens. Trader Joe’s Brown Rice Medley. GilletteTrac-2 replaceable razors. It’s a long list and now the next one seems to have bit the dust:

 

Williams Mug Shaving Soap.

 

Yep, I’m an old-fashioned shaving brush lathering up from a circular shaving soap bar. But now I’m close to out of my current bar and sure enough, no stores in San Francisco, from Mom and Pop to Walgreens, carries it any more. Or anything like it.

 

So off to the online world and there were some possibilities, ranging in price from $6.49 per bar to one that I swear I saw yesterday (but can’t find today) for $149. Yes, that’s for ONE BAR OF SOAP! Even the ones I did find today have quite a price range for the exact same product— the e-Bay $46.29 over six times more expensive than the Brivol $6.49!

So I bought three bars from Brivol (with free shipping) and hope that will last at least a year or two. If it’s completely gone by then, I’m just going to grow a beard.