Confessions of an English Major – Re-Reading

I have stacks of books (not yet on shelves) that I have not read - yet.  A further list of some 150 titles lives on my phone in a file called “Books to Read,” and I periodically plunk away at the 100 Best Novels listing published by the Modern Library.   One might argue that I have no business re-reading any books.

I just can’t help it. 

Some books are as comforting as old friends or coming home after a long trip.  Familiar and reassuring, their pages turn with the easy knowledge that this story will turn out ok.  As bibliophiles we sometimes become very invested in the books we read often sharing the pain, frustration and anxiety of characters – or feeling it in their absence as the omniscient reader.  Reading new titles can be tiring.

A big part of what and why we read is left to personal preference, which I celebrate. And here is my general philosophy regarding the practice of re-reading. 

Sometimes I re-read to suss out deeper layers of meaning in a complicated plot line.  Often I return to a much-loved title break up other more strenuous reading.  Some books I read seasonally (LAMB, at least in part during Lent for the last several years).  Other books are just never far from my mind.  I think there are three or four print copies (not to mention two film copies) of The Hobbit at my house including one that rides around in my briefcase.  This last, in case there are a few moments to kill and I have nothing to read. (Yes, this is a concern in my life.) 

Mostly, I just like to re-read books that make me feel something. 

Why do you re-read?  

Here are some of my favorite re-reads:

The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff Christ’s Childhood Pal by Christopher Moore

Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse

Chronicles of the Shadow War by Chris Claremont & George Lucas

Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

On Writing by Stephen King

Recent titles I’m adding to the list:

Cuckoo’s Calling by Robert Galbrathe (aka J.K. Rowling)

Ghost Soldier’s by Hampton Sides

Kingdom of Ice by Hampton Sides

O Captain! My Captain! OR A Curtain Call for Mr. Williams

For the past two days, my newsfeeds have been dominated by the death of the late great Robin Williams.   There is no shame in my confession that I too have turned my thoughts toward the amazing life and body of work of this prolific entertainer. 

Mr. Williams was the first A-list entertainer that I ever saw in a live performance.  To say the show was memorizing would be an injustice – he was on fire and so was the audience.  Robin Williams is to my generation what Jonathan Winters and George Carlin were to my parents’: edgy, dynamic, irreverent, thought provoking, intelligent, intense, pure entertainment. 

Like so much of his life, and the comedy the fueled his work, the death of this giant of film and stage forces us to stop and think. 

What I’ve been doing, what we’ve all been doing over the last few days has been more than thinking.  We’re mourning.  I actually miss this guy whom I’ve only seen once in real life and never actually met.  What’s wrong with this picture? 

Whether we like it or not, we live a more plugged in life.  In this screen-dominated reality, the role that entertainers play in our perception of the world seems to be shifting.

This isn’t as far a logical jump as we might think.

Consider the child who lives across country from their beloved grandparents.  When interactions with Grandma and Grandpa are facilitated through skype, video-chat, video messages, pictures sent through email and facebook peppered with the occasional visit, there is a disconnect.  Really, how much different is that relationship than one with a performer who is seen perhaps more regularly on the same devices. 

Ask yourself how many of your friends do you claim you’re “in touch with,” but in reality your interactions consist of reading each other’s blog, following on twitter, and occasionally “liking” photos and posts on Facebook.  That’s not a relationship folks, once upon a time that was called stalking.     

Taking this one step further, each year there are fewer and fewer reasonable arguments that violent video games influence acts of extremeviolence in schools, shopping centers, etc.  It boils down to an ancient idea, that messages reinforced over time eventually become reality. 

If that’s the case as Lt. Col. Dave Grossman and his research shows, then why can’t the same principle work the other way?  The loss of a beloved entertainer may seem more real than it used to.

Robin Williams was “an airman, a doctor, a genie, and ananny,” but for many he was also a companion, a babysitter, a mentor, and a message of hope.   For several days we have tried to capture the feels associated with this loss. One of the best writers I’ve ever run into happens to write a blog for my local library, and he tackled this difficult topic with a style and grace deserving of Mr. Williams, you should check it out here.  

As for me and my house, we shall remember the joy and vitality that Mr. Williams brought to millions.  He inspired a generation by his life and turned international attention to the very real dangers of clinical depression by his death. 

“But oh, to be free.  Not to have to go…Poof! Whaddya need? Poof! Whaddya need?  Poof! Whaddya need?  To be my own master.”  Genie, Aladdin

For those who have posted disparaging comments about or questioning the reality of depression – I appreciate that you don’t get it.  Until you fight that battle yourself or stand beside someone you love who wrestles those demons it’s pretty hard to grasp.  But I assure you; once you’ve witnessed the pain caused by that great abyss of mental illness you will never question its power again. 

My thoughts and prayers go out to the family, friends, and fans of Robin Williams. 

And to the man himself:  May you find peace wherever you are. 

There is no better way to end this reflection than with words borrowed from Mr. Williams’ own body of work, words which he in turn borrowed from Uncle Walt. 

"O Captain! my Captain! Your fearful trip is done…”  Rest in peace. 

Dead Poet's Society: http://youtu.be/X6y2Y9i5Sj0

Confessions of an English Major: In Defense of a Liberal Arts Education

The value of reading has always been important in my family.  My involvement in Speech & Debate, Theatre, and Alpha, Delta, Rho Literary Society, also found general favor as appropriate extra curricular activities. 

The Ah, Ha Moment:  My senior year of high school brought with it a requisite unit on Shakespeare.  We had an amazing teacher (Mrs. L) who made the language come alive and inspired us to dive in head first assuring us that the water was in fact plenty deep.  That semester changed my life.  For one man to write such timeless characters and stories that reach into the heart of what it means to be human and strike a universal chord, amazed me.  Then Mrs. L introduced us to the concept of Shakespearian Archetypes.  The lesson on archetypes came home during a research session for debate when I cam across an article about non-biologically related look-a-likes. (Here’s a more recentarticle on the same topic.) It just made sense.  My friends Nate and Z, were not related yet shared spookily similar physical features, facial expressions, and movement patterns.  And my first major realization of the crossover from literature to real life took root. 

A few years later, when I announced that my college majors were going to be Communication (focus in Rhetoric) and English Literature, but I wasn’t planning to go to law school, the nervous looks started coming out.  

“What do you plan to do,” nervous friends and family asked.  My answers varied, but I had faith in the skills I was developing.  It wasn’t until much later, however, that I realized the real value of my love affair with the liberal arts.  The entire sum of my undergraduate experience can be summed up into three simple elements that have made all the difference: I learned to think, research, and create.

You can reframe these skills into much more resume appropriate, human resources approved, buzz-word savvy terms but they are the foundation of my intellectual growth and professional development. 

In the liberal arts we are taught to consume and analyze words, images, ideas, processes, history.  The best teachers push students beyond to learn about the systems and climates that inspired such creations, then a step further to really understand the impact those cultural artifacts had on the world ever after.  All things come back to the human experience, and what better way to understand that experience than to study literature, art, history, sociology, political science, religion and philosophy.  Everything else stems from and returns to this foundation. 

Please understand that I’m not downplaying specialized educational tracts.  We need to have highly trained nurses, engineers, accountants, mathematicians, and even lawyers.  But let’s also acknowledge the roles of the liberal arts majors who dissect social norms and organizational systems only to rebuild them stronger and more efficient than ever before.  It’s time to acknowledge the value in teachers who change plans time and time again because not all kids learn the same way or on the same schedule (even if that’s how the state wants it).  Let the student who majored in Philosophy and Computer Science be proud that he brings a heightened ethical framework to the projects he develops from code to front end interface. 

To all my fellow Liberal Arts Majors, to anyone contemplating a course of liberal arts study, and especially to the parents and friends of those young people: THERE IS GREAT VALUE to studying liberal arts.  Are there jobs out there explicitly advertising “Wanted: Liberal Arts Graduates,” probably not many.  Are there jobs that need liberal arts majors to do them well, you bet.  You see we are used to having to reframe and interpret material in innovative and exciting ways – even ourselves. 

Special Thanks to my parents for their love and support of my crazy academic wanderings

and to a few of my teachers (sorry for everyone I missed)

Bonnie Roehrborn

Janet Smith

Betty Buchanan

Anna Leichty

Traci Andis

Jeremy Bernstein

Monty Pedon

Bob Pickell

Br. Rob Reuter, C.PP.S.
Charley Kerlin

John Rahe

Heidi Rahe

Zachary White

Maia Hawthorne

Bill Mottolesse

Fred Berger

Fr. Tim McFarland, C.PP.S. 

Rob Pfaff

Sally Berger

John Nichols

Peter Watkins

Jody Watkins

Bill White

Mark Steiner

Fr. Ed McCarty, C.PP.S. 
Fr. Dr. Bill Stang, C.PP.S.

Confessions of an English Major: The Power of Words

My buddy Canadian Greg has offered a lot of sage advice over the years, but few conversations have stuck with me more than when he shared his philosophy on the power of words.   For readers who may not know Canadian Greg, he is an extrovert’s extrovert.  He’s a storyteller at heart and has rarely met a stranger. 

Family and friends often tease Greg about his prodigious abilities to start and hold conversations with total strangers and life-long-friends alike.  This ability also makes Greg a phenomenal businessman and leader in his field. Despite all of the conversations he participates in, Greg maintains a tremendous respect for the power of words. 

On some level, Greg acknowledges that between the words involved in formal and informal conversations (not to mention contracts, business e-mails, and client letters) millions of dollars and the livelihoods of dozens of families depend on him and the words he chooses to use and not to use. 

“Words are real,” he once told me while we were hiking through a Canadian Nature Preserve.  “People aren’t careful enough, eh?” (he’s Canadian remember) “You have to pay attention to what comes out of your mouth and what you write, because those words have power.  Like electricity you can guide them, but once they’re out of your mouth (or pen) a lot can happen and you can't take them back.” 

I still talk a lot.  So does Greg.  But ever since that conversation, I’ve tried to be more mindful of what I say and how I say it.  Writing, like sculpting, is often best approached as a process of refinement.  Distilling words down to their most elegant form.  Words represent ideas, and inspire action, giving each syllable a real world power to influence lives.   

More than any English Professor, Debate Coach, or professional mentor, I have learned some of my most important lessons about the power of words from farmers, grandma's, EMTs, secretary's, Firefighters, nurses, outdoorsmen, mechanics, and housewives.  Wisdom, when she comes, takes the least expected and most effective path.  

This post is the first in a series that will focus on the power of words, literature, writing, reading and general observations on the language that we use and misuse on a regular basis.    

The Name Game

Life gets more complicated when the lines start to blur.  As a young people we are taught to exist within structures, at home, school, and in the neighborhood.  Rules are imposed upon kids as much to teach as to govern, yet with each year the boundaries become more nuanced and judgment calls come into play.   

One simple example is the name game. 

My freshman year of college, I remember encountering faculty who insisted that we called them by their first names.  Doctor’s and Professor’s became Maia’s and Bill’s.  This request flew in the face of my upbringing in which people (elder’s especially) were referred to by their appropriate titles (Mrs. & Mr., Aunt & Uncle, Professor & Sister, Father & Brother, etc.).   I will admit I was uncomfortable with this at first, but eventually came to accept the reality of our casual college culture (though for some reason Dr. White was always Dr. White… to everyone… even to his peers… even to people who technically outranked him, but I digress).  The use of familiar names was, in fact, one of the first and most fundamental lessons of my college career that it’s important to adapt to the culture in which you find yourself. 

Now after a decade in the workforce, I’m still often the youngest person at the table and the questions remain.  The same questions come into play outside of work as well.

• When do you drop the MR. and MRS. when addressing the parents of your oldest friends?
• How about when meeting your significant other’s parents… it’s very different if you’re 16 year’s old vs. 36 years old. 
• What about when they become “in-laws” or “Ex-In Laws”? 
• When does your parish priest become Charley, instead of Fr. Smith?  
• When does your dentist become Janice instead of Dr. Ozwald? 

Where’s the balance between showing respect (Mr. and Mrs.) and using the familiar names.  Is it enough to approach everyone as equals, or does propriety demand you wait until given specific and explicit permission to address people by a less than formal moniker. 

How do you make that judgment call? 

While I’m not advocating that we get too caught up on labels and titles there still needs to be a measure of respect.  Your culture and the culture of those you are addressing will come into play, but that is very hard to determine in an initial meeting.  And the answers to this question may lie with the culture in which we were raised.  I have very distinct memories of my Mom sharing a little Irish prayer with us in times of social distress.

“May those who love us, love us

and if they do not love us,

May God turn their hearts

And if he does not turn their hearts,

May God turn their ankles

so we may know them by their limping.”

Now, I don't suggest that we give a limp to anyone whom we feel doesn’t love us… that’s called assault children.  Rather, I encourage that we have faith that good people will take our efforts as a genuine desire to communicate and establish rapport.  We are going to make mistakes.  Err on the side of formal and you may offend someone who doesn’t feel as though they are old enough to be “Ma’am.”  Err on the side of approachable and your attempt to connect may be seen as a disregard of the hard earned title of “Doctor.”   It’s the intention that’s important, and the faith that those who love us will love us. 

Standing Up and Living with Fall Out

“Have you ever felt the odds stacked up so high, you need a strength most don’t posses?”  There is a certain right of passage when an individual takes a stand for something in which they believe strongly.  Whether political, social, or personal it takes guts to stand up and say, “no more.” 

No, I won’t tolerate this proposed legislative agenda.

No, I won’t allow you to drive home drunk. 

No, the way your are treating me is unacceptable. 

The first challenge is standing up for what’s right.  To make a stand, we must be honest with ourselves.  We must overcome the powers of denial so ingrained in our subconscious and admit when actions and inactions are no longer acceptable.  This is especially challenging if it means drawing some lines in the sand for yourself, your kids, and in opposition to those we may respect and love.  The question then becomes where is that line between unpleasant and intolerable.    

“Every once in a while…every once in a while there’s a day with an absolute right and an absolute wrong, but those days almost always include body counts.  Other than that, there aren’t very many un-nuanced moments…”  President Josiah Bartlet, The West Wing 2002. 

There’s a lot of gray area when taking a principled stand so the weasels of self-doubt have ample room to play – scurrying in and out of our mind gnawing at our resolve.   The absolutes we crave, the situations we read about in fiction or pine for on the silver screen, are rare.  Bad guys don’t always wear black or have ominous theme music play when they enter a room.  Unfortunately, most of the important stands one makes in life involve opposing the people we care about, respect, and love.

'There are all kinds of courage,' said Dumbledore, smiling. 'It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr Neville Longbottom.'  Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.

Standing up in the face of an enemy can leave one with a sense of heroic pride, but when that opposition is one whom we value as a mentor, friend, or significant other an entirely new set of emotions take hold.  In a healthy relationship discourse can facilitate understanding and reconciliation after such confrontations.  Just as often, however, standing up risks alienation and damage to the relationship. 

If taking the stand is the first hurdle, living with it is the second.  The right path is often not the easy path, so this is where our resolve is really tested. Moving forward in the wake of serious disagreement is difficult even if all parties reconcile their differences.  When one or both parties resign themselves to dissolve the relationship or reduce the association to a less perfect union feelings of betrayal and loss abound.  All the guts in the world do not cause our losses, disappointments, and failures to go gentle into that good night.  We carry them with us, even after the initial trauma is addressed

“I follow four dictates: face it, accept it, deal with it, then let it go."
~Sheng Yen

Letting go is the hardest part for me.  Part of me wants to find ways to reconcile.  Part of me wants to “be right” and “win” – whatever the hell that means.  But the larger part gets stuck trying figuring out what I did to lose control of the situation. 

Letting go is admitting mistakes.  Letting go is living with past actions, in-action, and miscalculations.  Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting what happened, it means forgiving ourselves for not being perfect and moving on.  In letting go, we dare to step up to the line and do mighty things once more. 

This post is the 3rd installment of a three part series.  See the 1st and 2nd segments here: Dare Mighty Things and 5 Stages of Grief, Plus 1

“Have you ever felt the odds stacked up so high, you need a strength most don’t posses? … I’m not a coward, I’ve just never been tested.  I’d like to think that if I was, I would pass.”  The Impression That I Get, The Mighty Mighty Bosstones  

5 Stages of Grief, Plus 1

This post is the 2^nd installment of a three part series.  See the 1^st segment here: Dare Mighty Things.  Look for the 3^rd and final segment Standing Up and Living with the Fall Out. 

A young friend recently went through an abrupt and painful breakup.  Knowing my recent relationship history, we spent some time talking about the sense of loss and grief that comes from such a parting of ways.  There really is a kind of mourning that takes place in the wake of a damaged relationship (plutonic, romantic or otherwise). 

In some cases the people involved in the relationship change.  In others true colors come to the surface either over time or in the face of stress.  From time to time there is no single reason at all, and relationships end. 

Often times you miss the other person.  Even if you know (intellectually) that you are better off without XYZ – name the behavior, tendency, addiction, vice, stressor – in your life.  We yearn for the “old days” or the “good times,” even if those days are over or they were never that great in the first place.  We are, after all human and divorce, breakups, and failed friendships signal change, which is sad and scary.  So we grieve.

When dealing with grief many articulate the experience within the context of the Kubler-Ross Model or more commonly, the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.     

I’m no expert in psychology or human development, but I pay attention to people.  From my observation and personal experience the five stages are fairly universal for those who suffer loss.  We also know that the model is cyclical with certain phases repeating.  (I had a hard time getting sucked back to the anger stage.)  Recently, I’ve come to think that there should be a 6^th stage – denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance….and singing! 

Maybe it’s my extroverted nature, tendency to perform, or just my Irish-side flaring up, but sometimes there’s nothing left to do but sing.   Sometimes the songs are sad but a funny/bawdy song can help flush stagnant emotions from the soul just as well.  It’s not about being mean, vengeful, or “getting back” at the ones who hurt us by their parting – rather singing helps us face, accept, and deal with trauma, while jumpstarting the process of letting go.  In other words, singing can help us heal. 

In that richest of traditions of troubadours and tavern singers I close with a song – dedicated to all our Ex-es.  To all those who have chosen the company of others over our specific company – let us celebrate our Jubilation Day.  We’re probably better off anyway.

Steve Martin and the Steep Canyon Rangers

“Jubilation Day” from the album Rare Bird Alert

Check out the rest of the album at http://www.steepcanyon.com

Dare Mighty Things

Disappointment and suffering are universal – yet most of us don’t handle it very well.  If we’re completely honest with our selves, it’s not hard to accept this to be true.  Most can’t count the number of times we’ve missed the mark, fallen short, failed.  

Who keeps scrapbooks of their failures?

And here’s where I spilled the coffee all over my boss 2 minutes before the Board meeting.  Oh, and this is where I dropped the baby on the concrete trying to hold her and unlock the car at the same time, while texting.  Let’s not forget the time when I was a pawl bearer and dropped Grandma…

These examples may seem extreme and goofy, but most of us keep a mental listing of times when we were not enough.  Whether missing a deadline at work, disappointing a parent, or being part of a failed relationship – at some point most people feel as though they have failed the test.  To make matters worse we insist on lugging around the emotional baggage of our failures.

Most of us don’t admit that, in fact, we’re pretty good at justifying our unhealthy attachment.  We can learn from the shortcomings in our past, but not at the expense of our futures.  In the early days of my divorce one of my buddies came to my house to see how I was doing.  I was a mess.  My marriage had failed.  I had failed.  I wasn’t dealing with it all that well.  Then my buddy shared this:

“Far better is it to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure... than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much, because they live in a gray twilight that knows not victory nor defeat.”   Theodore Roosevelt

There is great value in giving something your all, even if you fail.  You learn, you grow, you get better for the next time.  But then there’s one more step.  You have to dare enough to try again the next time.  I recently read a blog post entitled, “The Truth About Self Love.”  The author talked about forgiving ourselves when we fail, and taking the time to care for ourselves especially right after tragedy or disappointment. 

Failure is an opportunity to learn, but only if we dare to get back up and try our hand at greatness once again.  We owe it to ourselves to try.  To our past self, who suffered the brunt of the initial disappointment.  To our future self, who will likely benefit the most from trying again.  And to our present self, who draws healing from the work of rebuilding and daring mighty things once more.  

There and Back Again, and Again, and Again

I choose to embrace my geek side.   If that bothers you, it’s probably best to stop reading now.  It’s only going to get worse.

To date, I have read The Hobbit in excess of twenty-five times.  Each read brings out something different for me.  At first, it was just a great story with heroic characters.  Then in middle school, I saw myself as Bilbo Baggins – a pudgy, timid, character who had more to offer than anyone expected – including himself.   Through that lens the book became a tale of hope.  Each subsequent reading uncovered some new insight, pearl of wisdom or subtle humor that further endeared me to the story. 

Rereading the book in anticipation of the film release I discovered sympathy for the character of Thorin Oakenshield.  A leader vested with the responsibility of leading his people, yet a character in pain after suffering a great loss.  At his core, Thorin is driven by a desire for justice and a good heart.  His focus to look out for his company, his team, was so great that it almost led to their collective demise.  Tunnel vision that becomes attachment, which then crosses into obsession is not all that uncommon in how we operate in the professional setting.  Tolkien calls it the dragon sickness, now we mostly call it drive or ambition.  When infected by this sickness achieving the objective or completing the mission becomes our focus – at any cost.  Results matter more than methods. 

We are called to do more, to be more.  Completing checklists and accomplishing goals possess no more inherently “bad” qualities than does being rich or successful. It is in the pursuit of these objectives and conditions surrounding them, which brings the moral imperative into question. 

Author and Aikido Master, Terry Dobson addressed the roots of this problem in his book Aikido in Everyday Life. 

“There’s nothing wrong with winning, provided that what you are winning is a contest.  The problem…is that, over the years, we’ve let the win/lose frame of reference shift into areas of our lives that are not contests.   [We’ve] bought into an imaginary, arbitrary system where everything’s a contest and there are no ties—just sudden-death play-offs and a long walk to the showers.” 

Within the metaphor of The Hobbit, Thorin too was blinded by the prize.  His focus, his greed, ruined relationships and ultimately cost him his life – though not without an 11^th hour conversion.  Whether intentional or not, the story of the Dwarf-Kings mania speaks loudly as a cautionary tale. 

In our own professional lives it’s easy to let one more project, one more sale, one more case closed, one more patient served drag us deeper down the rabbit hole.  Not that any of these things are bad, but when their pursuit chokes out others aspects of our character, ethic and humanity then we really have a problem.  

Blue Monday: The Soundtrack of Our Lives

One of the unexpected developments during my two tours in Charleston was a new found love of live music – especially the Blues.   From 2003-2005 I lived in a city with nightlife for the first time in my life.  This was also my first real exposure to live music at every turn.  Charleston is a great city for performers and artists.  Great music is tucked into the nooks and crannies that pepper King, Queen, Market, and High Street.   Cover bands, jazz, rock, reggae, country, and the Blues provided an eclectic soundtrack for my two years in Chuck-town. 

My favorite club, however, was Mama’s Blues Palace on John Street.  The house band Mama & the Misfits was the lovechild of a pair of retired schoolteachers.  Mama and Papa Dupree, their son Jo-Jo, and a group of some of the most talented artists I’ve ever heard blew the roof off that club every weekend.  My friends and I made it a point to check out the show at Mama’s as often as we could. 

It was in that dingy little blues bar on John Street, where we met Del Rae, a jazz singer, piano player, and composer.   Del, who famously hated Stevie Wonder for beating her out for ‘song of the year’ at some point in the late 70’s, was standing the warm up act.  Well into her 80’s by the time we met her, she warmed up the house for an hour every Thursday thru Saturday. 

After her set she’d visit with us early birds and let us buy her a drink.  She was a great old lady.  She was one classy lady (unless you got her talking about Stevie Wonder).  Over the course of our visits, Del taught us that music had to come from the soul, and as long as you had music you could live a long and happy life. 

Mama’s Blues Palace closed in 2004, while I was home for a visit so I missed the last show.  The Misfits broke up, and Mama only rarely played during the last year of my assignment in Charleston.  I am happy to report though, that Mama, Papa Dupree and Jojo are back performing in the clubs of South Carolina under the new name of Mama & The Redemption Band. 

There is an impermanence of life that forces us or allows us to change, adapt and evolve – that’s true in the Blues as well.  No one sings about being blue, always being blue, and staying blue forever.  The Blues are about transitions.  Times were good, now they’re not.  Times are bad, but tomorrow will be better.  I’m suffering, but I have my guitar so it could be worse.   That’s why we come back to the blues, because we are always in transition.   Riding the wild rollercoaster of life, and jamming the entire way.  

Mama and The Redemption Band (formerly Mama & The Misfits)




***NOTE:  I have not had much luck finding any of Del Rae's music (at least not the Del we met).  If anyone is able to point me in the right direction to songs either written or recorded by Del, I would be most grateful.  We have her picture and an autograph -- but I'd like to hear her sing again.  Thanks, NTS.

Power of Language

Words have power.

Spoken or written, it makes no difference.  The right words, arranged in the right way, delivered at the right time can begin a ripple the swells to a riptide.   Don't believe me; think about the last book you read that really spoke to you.  In the hands of a gifted writer we can experience suspense and horror (Stephen King) or humor and love. 

The artful use of language the ability to inspire such strong emotions in both the creator and audience it is wise to respect its natural force.  It's because of this power that we tend to fear words and how they are used.  

Writing takes guts.

Ask anyone who's ever written a piece that they care about, and if they're honest with you a little part of them self went into that composition.  Once words emerge from our brain, either as speech or written copy, the corresponding thoughts are out there.  Permanently in the public domain to be evaluated, judged, and criticized -- all experiences that most people avoid.  

The year that my marriage started to unravel my writing took a turn to abstraction.  What little autobiographical writing I produced dried up, perhaps for fear that if it is written so it shall be done.  I became hyper-focused on the few positive moments and messages of hope.  All this, to no avail as the end result did not spare any pain.  The words were not at fault, however, despite how much I feared them. 

For all the damage that words can do, there is equal opportunity for words to usher in kindness, healing and love.  The scene from V for Vendetta comes to my mind, when Evey finds the note scribbled on the pieces of toilet paper from the former resident of her cell, Valarie.  At her breaking point simple words of truth and kindness are enough to set Evey free.  Inspired by those words she finds the strength to face her fears.

Power can be used for good or ill.  

As writers, readers, and communicators let’s all take a moment to think about the words that we use, misuse, and abuse on a regular basis.  We’re all guilty of being sloppy with words, “If you do that again I’m going to kick your….”  Seriously, how many of us have followed through with that threat.   Sometimes, however, it’s the words that we don’t say that hurt the most.  A few words of encouragement (even scribbled on a piece of toilet paper) may be what someone needs at that moment in time.  You never know. 

"Watch your thoughts; they become words. Watch your words; they become actions. Watch your actions; they become habits. Watch your habits; they become character. Watch your character; it becomes your destiny."—    Lao-Tze

Blue Monday: Ramble On

This song kicks ass. 

I really was hoping for a much more eloquent opening line.  I tried, but they all seemed flat, and fake.  After several revisions, however, this one just seemed to fit.  It’s honest and exactly what I would say to you if we were talking about music face to face.   Ramble On just simply strikes a chord with me on so many levels. 

For my money, this is Led Zeppelin, at it’s best. 

There is a musical purity that exists with the way this song was constructed and performed.  It reminds me of summer car rides with my dad and brothers with the windows down and the radio up.  Very happy memories.

The lyrics are poetry.

Beyond my utter joy in the Tolkien reference in verse 3, the lyrics possess an epic quality.  They tell a story, a story with which we can all relate – searching, questing, craving freedom. 

Each time I hear this song it speaks to me.

Sometimes our only functional strategy in life is to “ramble on.”  Suffering is not optional, it happens.  The Gollum’s of the world sneak in and sweep away what’s precious.  It’s unfortunate and unavoidable.  This lesson is true if you are 16, 26, or 66.  

All we can do then is follow our hearts and ramble on, singing our song.