Category: Uncategorized (Page 22 of 95)

“Enjoy your show.” Those words were comforting text from a loved one who was carrying a heart full of Good Friday heaviness. My body was at Boston’s House of Blues, but my head and heart were home. I needed the towering amps to blow through my soul and I asked the Facebook faithful to pray, vibe or use the force… for good. And they both did.

I’d really been looking forward to the Drive By Truckers, and they brought it, but the set list was so catalog deep and of such varied tempo, that to me, it was like a frustrating at bat against an aging Mike Mussina, full of change ups, slow curveballs and the occasional number one. I wanted all high heat.

Not to say it wasn’t a good show. It was, and the 2,449 other people carpeting the floor and papering the walls with sticky spilled drinks seemed to be in unified sway. “Patterson, you’re the f&^%ing man,” was the very direct review of a guy near me. Yeah, Patterson Hood is the man, and his songwriting is stellar, but “the moment” of the show for me was during a song by Hood’s number two, Mike Cooley. “Birthday Boy” is such a fun, rockin’ song, and the moment came at the 3:08 – 3:18 point in this video. At the HOB, that’s when Patterson rose to his Mike with the biggest smile to sing this harmony with his partner Cooley who penned the words:

To see that unadulterated joy of a guy who loves what he does and really appreciated the words of another, got me. I thought about one “Mr. G.,” Tony Gonnella. He got so much joy out of seeing his son Mike and I rain when we were young. Then I thought about Mike. And Arizona in August. And how I got here. And three words. And how I couldn’t wait to get home.

Sorry to my ones of readers for the lack of language lately. Deep in the blast-proof underworld of this space live words about living a more non-virtual life. I am. Sometimes words fail us and lately I’m whiffing on attempts to describe the present. I stare at the blinking vertical black cursor and nothing. There it is again. Now I’m chasing it like the crocodile chasing the pirate, except I’ll never enjoy the satisfaction of engulfing it. It’s always one click ahead. Elusive. It’s a carrot and I’m after it. I can only hope that what’s left in its digital wake is satisfying. I have a story to tell. It’s got everything. It’s a story where Monday is Saturday and Saturday defies description. Walk beside me and I’ll tell you all. We’ll make it up as we go. Just like when my kids were children. I’d start the story and they’d take turns filling in the blanks. Monsters became princes. Rivers always reached the sea. Loss turned to love. And somehow Jaws always showed up to eat the hero and had to be written out of the script…

We’re not in Kansas anymore.

Saturday morning I joked about the marketing term “an idyllic retreat” to describe our 36 hour cape getaway, followed by a quantum physics effort to slow time down… I don’t know where to begin or end, but since there is none, it doesn’t matter. There were so many moments that will defy the laws of time as long as my memory can. There was a five minute dueling fit of laughter and two mothers engaged in a serious conversation while ones hairdo resembled Dr. Emmet Brown from “Back to the Future,” though it wasn’t the source of the hilarity. Crystal night clarity revealed constellations to walk under and a targeted moon haze to marvel. Water glistened golden on lakes and soaring silver outside our ocean deck. Whole grapes and their fermented juices were shared with the best crackers ever. Sunday walking to Huevos rancheros and coffee, a pair who spoke for themselves: Muy Bueno! Knotty Pine, skylights, outdoor showers, dirty carpets and unstained shingles blurred through the hours. One image is indelible. A beautiful, slender left hand draped lifelessly over a right shoulder, gently brushed by sleeping hair. It hung there weightless and I watched it for awhile without touching it. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to alter the perfection of it. I thought about taking a picture, but I never could have captured the moment that lives in my mind. Quantum physics is cool.

Let me post preface by stating I’m not buying the “guy in the sky” with harps and pearly gates, but now that I’m actually paying attention when in a house of the holy, I am beginning to understand. Last night’s 5:00 gathering was a good one, mostly because of the wonderful voice of the elder directly behind me in Pew 43, Seat 6. Actually, I only envisioned the old man, but looked forward to the “Peace be with you” moment when I could tell him I enjoyed his tenor.

The gospel was a long-un, but reading along, it told the story of a wealthy man with two sons, one of whom jumped the nest with his early inheritance to blow on basically, hookers and um, blow. Anyway, after junior hits bottom, he heads home and is lovingly welcomed by his father, much to the annoyance of the brother. In spite of what the son had done, the father welcomed him back with unconditional love. Without knowing “the rest of the story,” we can speculate whether the father’s act was prudent or just one of enablement with a bad ending… Whatever. It gave me some perspective on something personal to me.

The homily was titled, “Christianity is for losers.” As Father Tim talked about loss, I looked around the church and took in the faithful. It was mostly a blue-collar crowd and I realized Joyce and I were probably among the most fortunate in the room. I thought about how many struggle with paying bills, battling illness, or wrestling more elusive emotional or spiritual demons. The sermon described a black man about to be lynched by a white mob of his neighbors. The local pastor halted the proceedings to read the man’s will. He left all his possessions to those under the sheets for the acts of kindness they had shown him through life. They all left quietly in shocked silence from the love they’d been shown.

Buddha, Jesus, Mohammed… To me, they are examples of how to live, not gods. In the category of “what would Jesus do,” I think if he saw the fuss made over him in the last 2,000 years or so, he’d be embarrassed. To me, if going to church can help people be humble, kind or loving to each other even a fraction more than they were before, that’s a huge benefit. A “force” if you will.

I couldn’t wait for the “let us offer each other the sign of peace.” Well, for one I got a kiss, but at that moment I wanted to tell the old gentleman behind me how much I’d enjoyed his singing. When I turned, the old man was gone. In his place was a large, 40-ish man who looked to be somehow disabled. I can’t describe it better than a “vacancy” in his look. My comment about his singing was lost on him. At least that was my perception. I thought of a young man with a beautiful voice and a heart full of love…

Back in the car I had so much to say, but “that was worth it” said it all.

For some reason, tears of a clown appeared when I read this: “The mere fact that there is a world at all is so miraculous, so impossible to explain, that we should, in recognition and faith of that, be continually awestruck and joyful, in spite of any lacks we may feel in our daily lives.”

It was very odd that while Maddy napped next to me and Kyle auditioned for the lead in “Wicked” from his room downstairs, I was overwhelmed on Saturday afternoon reading that little passage in “Dr. Quantum’s Little Book Of Big Ideas: Where Science Meets Spirit,” by Fred Alan Wolf, Ph.D.

Why? Was it just a “Dude, we could be just a speck under my fingernail” stoner moment, or something else? Well, just think about how freakin’ heavy (not the gravitational suck “heavy”) it is that we’re here. I get the same wave of emotion at times when I look at my little granddaughter, Maddy. It’s never when she’s doing something special, it’s just when she’s being. Witnessing that little life in those simple moments is massively awe inspiring and sometimes overwhelming.

Give yourself a treat. Clear the clutter, focus for just a moment and take in the slightest bit of the beauty and love in your life. Think about the enormity that you and it exists. It feels good. Do it.

This morning began with one little bird chirp sprouting from somewhere in the massive oak tree hovering above my stucco bungalow. Then another. It was as if word was being passed along the hundreds of dormant branches: “Wake the kids. Spring is near.” In his poem Locksley Hall, Alfred Lord Tennyson wrote, “In the spring a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.” My fancy has been there since the fall, and actually long before that, but for reasons untold, this bright morning I’m thinking baseball.

Exactly four weeks from tomorrow is Opening Day for the Red Sox. Well, actually it’s opening night with an 8:05 ESPN tilt against the… yep, the Bombers. The “World Champion New York Yankees.” Man, even after the epic “greatest comeback / biggest choke” in the history of professional sports in 2004, it’s still not easy to cough up that Yankee hairball. Anyway, one reason the Yanks are champs and the Sox naught is still tilting the American League East equation this year… The Red Sox have no fear in their lineup, and the Yankees, um, do.

Sox GM Theo Epstein has stated, “We actually have nine guys on our club who hit 25 or more home runs in a season.” Yeah Theo, but those were career years for many of them, and right now, not one of them strikes fear in an opposing pitcher, and that’s a problem. Theo’s a numbers guy, and his calculus has produced two world championships, but what’s getting lost in the Sabermetrics is that the game is played with emotion by human beings, and in the biggest situations you need emotion on your side, and one of the most important is fear.

Aside from their tremendous ability to hit, the 3-4 combo of David Ortiz and Manny Ramirez in their prime was psychologically devastating to opponents because they struck fear into the hearts and minds of pitchers. Let’s say it’s the 8th inning and the Sox were down 2-0 with the top of the lineup coming to bat. Not only would the pitcher have to worry about Jacoby Ellsbury and JD Drew, but they’d be especially worried knowing Papi and Manny were to follow. So they’d have a little less focus on Ellsbury… They’d press… They’d squeeze the red stitching a little tighter. With heightened emotions, missing a close pitch aggravates them more than it should. They squeeze. They over throw. Ball four. Ellsbury’s on and becomes another worry. “Shit, if Drew gets on, I’m screwed. I can’t walk him.” Drew knows it and laces a first pitch fastball that caught too much of the plate the opposite way. Big Papi lumbers toward the spotlight… We know how the rest of the story usually turned out.

That’s how big innings happen. It’s rare that a team just bashes the baseball hitter after hitter. There are hits, yes, but mental errors caused by pressure, caused in large part by fear, fuel those innings. Right now the Yankees and every other team have nothing to fear but the Red Sox getting Adri?n Gonz?lez…

I’m trying. I really am. One birthday present for the newly working-out Megan was the latest “Women’s Health,” with the gorgeous Paula Patton (“Precious”) on the cover. Honestly, it caught my eye because her body really reminded me of um, this friend of mine. Yeah, she’s way too young and hot for me, but that’s not really important right now. Anyway, as said friend and I watched the Vancouver Winter Games closing ceremony, I thought I’d earn some points by handing her the magazine and saying, “you look this good.” She flipped through the magazine eventually arriving at the article on Ms. Patton. I was feeling pretty good as I scanned other very flattering pictures that naturally would make my friend feel even more beautiful…

“She’s five months pregnant,” was what I heard as the magazine left airspace and landed in my lap. There was some silence, but I scrambled for recovery, “hey, there’s Neil Young.” Neil was standing alone in black under the “Superman” movie-like ice pillars with acoustic guitar and harmonica. As he sang “Long May You Run” to the athletes and the world, the flames died out around him. Pretty much the same thing I’d achieved a few minutes earlier.