RunAwayImagination

Feeling sad

2011-03-08T13:14:00.006-06:00

It was nine years ago (2002) about this time of year that my wife Nancy was coming to her wits' end about the state job at the Tennessee Department of Human Services that she had started almost a year prior. She had earned glowing performance evaluations, pleasing clients and impressing coworkers with the boundless energy, nearly flawless performance and new ideas that she brought to the job. But there were two big problems: (1) The job had a 12-month probationary period, after which she would be under the protections of Civil Service, but before which she had absolutely no worker's rights. (2) Her department head hated her. He hated her ebullient and irrepressible personality and demanded absolute and total quiet on the floor where she worked. Her cubicle was positioned right outside of his office, so he could hear every word she spoke - and she spoke a lot! And so with only a few weeks to go before her probationary period would have expired, and with months of near-perfect evaluations from supervisors, he determined to end her employment. At first he pressured Nancy's immediate supervisor and then the next supervisor up the chain of command to write an unsatisfactory performance evaluation. But to their credit they both refused to fabricate an untruthful evaluation. And so the division boss removed Nancy from their supervision and placed her under another sub-boss over which he had more control. Then the unsatisfactory evaluations started being written with the goal of having a basis for dismissing her before she had achieved 12 months of satisfactory performance. Nancy protested these unfair evaluations, all the way up to the boss of her department head and who also happened to be a college classmate of mine (William & Mary, 1968). Months earlier Nancy and I had shared a pleasant dinner with her as well as a trip to Tullahoma to attend the funeral of a colleague's mother. But all of these pleadings fell on deaf ears, and she refused to intervene. So much for integrity.

And so it was on March 13, 2002, just five days from today, that I met Nancy for lunch in the AmSouth (now Regions) bank cafeteria. She was shaking with fear and dread. And so I said, "let's go," and we proceeded to march across the street and up to her office on the 7th floor of the Citizen's building, where we quickly packed her personal belongings into a cardboard box. The last thing she did before logging off the last time was type an email to her boss and coworkers explaining that she was resigning effective that day.

During the next couple of weeks we carefully prepared the documentation necessary to pursue an EEO complaint. But as the days progressed Nancy began feeling weaker, nearly fainting upon arising from a chair, and then starting to show bruises on her body. It was time for her eye exam, and so when the Optometrist reviewed her retina scans, he told her she must have diabetic retinopathy because he noted the presence of burst blood vessels inside her eye. So we decided to go to her primary care physician for a complete physical. She seemed fine other than being a bit pale, and at the end of the appointment the nurse drew a sample of blood for testing.

The next morning at work I got a call from Nancy. The blood test results showed an abnormally low level of platelets (the component that allows blood to clot). The nurse who called her suggested that we proceed immediately to St. Thomas hospital for further diagnosis. And so I raced home, we packed an overnight bag for Nancy and raced back to St. Thomas where we checked in at the Emergency Room. Another blood draw was taken, and the ER doctor came in to explain that they were going to check her into a room for further testing. Later that afternoon she had the first of what would be six bone marrow biopsies, in which a long needle is inserted deep into the hip bone to withdraw marrow - a very painful procedure. The next day, which was her 50th birthday, Oncologist Dr. Seth Cooper came to Nancy's room to give her the bad news: She had Acute Myelogenous Leukemia (AML), which would be fatal within weeks unless she began an intense regimen of chemotherapy. The first round of chemo would last 30 days, after which she should go into remission and then after a week or so rest would return for a final round of 30 days. The chemicals used are so toxic that they cannot be introduced into an arm vein, because the vein would be quickly destroyed. Instead, a large catheter was inserted directly into her chest into which the chemotherapy and other powerful drugs were pumped 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. This chemotherapy completely destroys the patient's immune system, so few visitors were allowed, and not even potted plants could be brought into the room. To prevent infections that could be fatal, she was pumped with powerful antibiotics, antivirals and antifungal drugs, some of which had nearly fatal side effects by themselves. She also required lots of blood: 100 units of platelets and 50 units of red cells during her hospitalization.

But she did not go into remission after the first round of chemo. Exhausted and spent after a 30-day nosebleed and other complications, Nancy wanted to go home to die. And so we went home under Hospice care to wait for the end. The Hospice nurse came once a week to draw blood and take vital signs as well as address any issues that arose. But after a couple of weeks her blood chemistry started to improve, and she decided to go back for another try. This time after the 30-day hospital stay she was finally in remission. She went home for a week to rest, then re-entered the hospital for a final 30 days of chemotherapy (known as "consolidation").

We spent a total of 102 days in St. Thomas Hospital, with me sleeping in a tiny cot beside her bed most nights, returning home on weekends to pay the bills. My employer (also State government) allowed me to go on Family Medical Leave, which ensured I wouldn't lose my job, although I lost pay after exhausting my leave balances. My good neighbors mowed our lawn and brought in the mail while I was gone.

After being treated with chemotherapy, the preferred final treatment is a bone marrow transplant, in which the patient is given powerful drugs that completely destroy her own marrow. Next the donor's marrow is introduced into the patient's bloodstream, and if all goes well, it will automatically go into her bones and begin producing marrow and eventually produce a new blood supply free of leukemia.

A couple of months after she left St. Thomas we visited a bone marrow specialist at Vanderbilt, who explained that Nancy had very few options. Her family members had been tested as potential bone marrow donors, but none was a possible donor. The odds were extremely long for achieving success with a non-related donor considering Nancy's age. The most likely outcome would be a slow and painful death in the hospital of complications following the transplant attempt. And so Nancy decided to enjoy the life she had left and hope for the best.

Nancy enjoyed 6 months of remission, during which we enjoyed a week in Hot Springs, AR, and Nancy got to hold her newborn niece Lauryn. But shortly after the beginning of 2003 she began experiencing increasing pain behind her right ear, which eventually resulted in the collapse of the facial muscles on the right side of her face. The pain became so great that only liquid morphine could give her any relief. A Hendersonville ear nose & throat specialist treated her unsuccessfully for a couple of months with antibiotics and ear tubes, and finally out of frustration I took her to Nashville ENT, where a CT scan showed a large mass in her mastoid bone (a honeycomb bony structure behind the ear). It was impossible to perform a needle biopsy through the thick bone to determine what it was, and so surgery was arranged. I can still vividly recall Dr. Michael Schwabber coming to see me in the hospital waiting room after he had performed the surgery. He said when he opened her up, the mastoid was filled with a greenish substance that he recognized as leukemia that had escaped from her blood system into the mastoid bone and had been growing for months. The operation did relieve much of her pain, but by this time we knew the end was near.

One last bone marrow biopsy confirmed that the leukemia was back with a vengeance. So again we called on Hospice to help me care for her while she lived out her last days at home. I got to be a pretty good nurse, learning how to dispense IV antibiotics and care for the large catheter that had been implanted in her chest to dispense the chemotherapy.

Nancy called her friends and family to our home for a last goodbye. First our fellow choir members came to give her a final communion and sing some of her favorite songs. Then her family and some close high school friends from Kokomo came down for one last party, complete with lots of laughter and fond memories. I remember Nancy asking each of us what they would remember about her. This was a tough one. Mike Newburn said the thing he would remember is that Nancy is the kind of person who made you feel good about yourself. The next day my son & daughter showed up with their children to say their last goodbye.

And then the waiting began. It was an agonizingly slow process, death. Every day Nancy got a little weaker. I finally had to move into the guest bedroom across the hall in order to get any sleep, because she was constantly stirring. I can remember her asking one morning, "Why does this have to take so long?"

It was on Monday, April 28, 2003 at 6:15 pm that the Angel of Death finally came to visit my dear Nancy and relieve her suffering for good.

And so every year about this time when spring is just around the corner, and when the daffodils begin poking their little heads above the ground, I think of what began for Nancy and me in 2002 and ended a year later in 2003.

I still feel a mixture of anger and sorrow. I understand that leukemia is basically a defect of the immune system, which fails to recognize and kill a cancerous cell that then divides uncontrollably. And I know that the immune system can be compromised by extreme stress, and so I am angry at the state government for allowing such a tyrant to rule a department with terror. I am angry at myself for pushing Nancy into getting a job with the state. Mostly I feel deep sorrow at losing my best friend. But I retain some degree of satisfaction knowing that I went above & beyond the call of duty to ensure that Nancy's last days on earth were as comfortable as possible.

Milestone

2011-02-11T08:57:00.013-06:00

I will turn 65 this Valentines Day.

I was conceived in May 1945 shortly after Hitler died in the spring of 1945. The following summer during which I developed in my mother's womb saw the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, which brought about the end of World War II. Many young couples decided to begin families at this time, giving rise to the Baby Boomers, of which I am one of the earliest members.

The world's first general-purpose computer, Eniac, was introduced to the public on the day I was born in 1946.

My dad is holding me when I was about six months old.

This family portrait was taken around 1956, when I was ten years old.

This picture was taken shortly after I started work for C&P Telephone Co. in late 1969 or early 1970.

My birthday also marks the 40th anniversary of my father's death in 1971.
A massive heart attack killed him as he shook my hand goodbye following my 25th birthday party.
His own father would die on the same day six years later.

And so in that instant I was transformed from a young husband and father of a 9 month-old girl
to the patriarch of a larger family, additionally responsible for my mother and my mentally retarded sister (today she would be called developmentally disabled).

But I passed all of those tests and grew into my role,
supporting my young family,
working a 29-year career with the Telephone Company,
arranging care for my sister's placement in a county home for disabled adults and enrollment in a sheltered workshop, where she remains happy to this day.
I watched over my mother until her death in 1996.

My daughter has grown into a beautiful young woman who sings opera professionally and who raised twin grandchildren, now bright, healthy and talented teenagers.

My son was born in 1972 and has also given me two grandchildren. He recently won a major contract to implement cloud computing for the federal government.

My 26-year marriage to my high school sweetheart ended with divorce in 1994.

I married Nancy in 1995 and relocated to Nashville in 1998 to start a new life.

Nancy died in 2003 after a courageous year-long battle with leukemia.

Later that year I met & married Suzanne, who had also lost her husband to an untimely death.

And so I approach the milestone of my 65th birthday.

Mostly I'm glad to be alive and healthy,
grateful to have good memories of a rich life lived to the fullest,
glad to have passed all the tests with which life has challenged me,
married to a woman with whom I share unconditional love,
playing in a band, which has been a constant passion throughout my life,

looking forward to the road ahead that holds a bright future full of love, friends, music and discovery.

Inner Light videos from 1976

2010-11-13T23:56:00.003-06:00

In October 1976 I recorded a video with my band, Inner Light. I bought the tape for $25 from the agency in 1977 and have not seen it until today. Special thanks to David Crosswait and his capable staff at DC Video for rescuing the 1" open-reel tape from the ravages of age and technological obsolescence. Thanks also to Jeff Haas of Deep Freeze Videos for referring me to David.

A Man and a Woman + Intro

Have You Ever Been Mellow

Rock & Roll Music

Say You Love Me

We've Only Just Begun

More More More

Whole Lotta Shakin'

The Great Colonial Hurricane of 1635 and my ancestry

2010-09-02T14:22:00.003-05:00

With Hurricane Earl threatening the East Coast, it brought to mind the odd turns of fate in my own ancestry. My ancestor William (spelled "Reade" in the ship's manifest) left England with his family in July 1635 and arrived in Boston in October on the ship Defence. That was the year of the Great Colonial Hurricane of 1635, which hit the Boston area in August. So if the ship had left only a few weeks earlier, I would not be typing this message.

From Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Colonial_Hurricane_of_1635): "[T]his hurricane was very likely the most intense hurricane to ever impact the New England region in recorded history."

From Ken Gunn's Jasper Ship Defence Manifest (http://www.kengunn.com/genealogy/defence.htm):

THE PLANTERS OF THE COMMONWEALTH
A study of the Emigrants and Emigration in Colonial Times to which are added Lists of Passengers to Boston and to the Bay Colony; the ships which brought them; their English Homes, and the Places of their Settlement in Massachusetts.
1620-1640
By Charles Edward Banks
Baltimore Genealogical Publishing Co., 1961.
Pages 167-170.
The Ship DEFENCE of London, Edward Bostock, Master. She sailed from London about the last of July (1635) and arrived at Boston October 8, with about one hundred passengers.

...

William Reade, 48, Boston
Mrs. Mabel Reade, 30
George Reade, 6
Ralph Reade, 5
Justus Reade, 1 1/2

I am descended from Ralph, the 6 year-old.

Looking back

2010-06-08T15:46:00.004-05:00

On this day in 1968 I married my high school sweetheart.
Our marriage lasted 26 years and produced a daughter and a son.
We divorced in 1994.

Whenever this date comes around,
I'm not sure how to feel.

I used to feel sad,
but now I don't feel much of anything.

I am glad I stayed for the sake of my children.
They were worth it.

In 1995 I married Nancy,
who showed me what it is like to be truly loved.

We moved to Nashville in 1998
so we could start a new life together
free from the entanglements of my former life.
She died of leukemia in 2003.

At age 57 I was ready to be loved again,
and so I found Suzanne.

And we have lived happily ever after.

Fall morning

2009-11-13T19:22:00.005-06:00

A few splashes of red and green are all that remain of the summer. I took these from our backyard this morning.

40 years ago today

2009-11-10T10:27:00.013-06:00

Forty years ago today, on November 10, 1969 I began work as Assistant Manager for C&P Telephone Company in Fairfax, VA.

I had just completed my military service in the Navy and considered myself lucky to land a decent white-collar job at a time when thousands of other veterans were competing for scarce private-sector jobs during an economic recession.

Here I am in Service Representative training, which lasted 12 weeks. There was lots for me to learn about a very complicated business.

The "new guy" always gets assignments like coordinating the United Givers Fund ("UGF" - now United Way) fund drive. Here I am receiving an award from Alan Sharett, General Manager of the Northern Virginia area, for achieving 100% participation in the 1970 UGF drive.

A few years and lots more hair later, I arranged for the donation of an old coin collector's truck to the Fairfax Jaycees, of which I was a Director. The Jaycees in turn donated the truck to Central Fairfax Services, which provided transportation to mentally disabled adults.

I was put in charge of the Service Order Bureau, which used machines like this to cut paper tape to transmit the details of telephone service orders. These orders were transmitted over wireline facilities to central offices, traffic intercept and comptrollers for setting up billing records. I successfully campaigned for more modern equipment (including Touchtone telephones if you can believe it) when we moved the office to a new location in 1971.

Great weekend at Barefoot Charlies

2009-11-09T14:24:00.008-06:00

Here are a few pictures from this past weekend's gig at Barefoot Charlies in Hendersonville. We really rocked the house!

My band at Halloween

2009-11-07T12:04:00.003-06:00

This is how my band dressed up for our Halloween show at the Nashville VFW. I'm the 50s rocker, second from the left.

Full moon with new camera

2009-11-07T11:54:00.004-06:00

I decided to try out my new camera on last week's full moon. The closeup was taken at 80X zoom. I set up my camera on a tripod and used a 2 second delay to avoid jiggling the camera.

The World Has Lost a Remarkable Innovator and Musician: Les Paul Passes Away at 94

2009-08-13T18:39:00.001-05:00

Thanks to Jerry Webb for forwarding this post, which was created by Rober Ball and Ronny Light

1915 - 2009

08.13.2009

New York, NY…August 13, 2009…Les Paul, acclaimed guitar player, entertainer and inventor, passed away today from complications of severe pneumonia at White Plains Hospital in White Plains, New York, surrounded by family and loved ones. He had been receiving the best available treatment through this final battle and in keeping with his persona, he showed incredible strength, tenacity and courage. The family would like to express their heartfelt thanks for the thoughts and prayers from his dear friends and fans. Les Paul was 94.

One of the foremost influences on 20th century sound and responsible for the world’s most famous guitar, the Les Paul model, Les Paul’s prestigious career in music and invention spans from the 1930s to the present. Though he’s indisputably one of America’s most popular, influential, and accomplished electric guitarists, Les Paul is best known as an early innovator in the development of the solid body guitar. His groundbreaking design would become the template for Gibson’s best-selling electric, the Les Paul model, introduced in 1952. Today, countless musical legends still consider Paul’s iconic guitar unmatched in sound and prowess. Among Paul’s most enduring contributions are those in the technological realm, including ingenious developments in multi-track recording, guitar effects, and the mechanics of sound in general.

Born Lester William Polsfuss in Waukesha, Wisconsin on June 9, 1915, Les Paul was already performing publicly as a honky-tonk guitarist by the age of 13. So clear was his calling that Paul dropped out of high school at 17 to play in Sunny Joe Wolverton’s Radio Band in St. Louis. As Paul’s mentor, Wolverton was the one to christen him with the stage name “Rhubarb Red,” a moniker that would follow him to Chicago in 1934. There, Paul became a bona fide radio star, known as both hillbilly picker Rhubarb Red and Django Reinhardt-informed jazz guitarist Les Paul. His first recordings were done in 1936 on an acoustic—alone as Rhubarb Red, as well as backing blues singer Georgia White. The next year he formed his first trio, but by 1938 he’d moved to New York to begin his tenure on national radio with one of the more popular dance orchestras in the country, Fred Waring’s Pennsylvanians.

Tinkering with electronics and guitar amplification since his youth, Les Paul began constructing his own electric guitar in the late ’30s. Unhappy with the first generation of commercially available hollowbodies because of their thin tone, lack of sustain, and feedback problems, Paul opted to build an entirely new structure. “I was interested in proving that a vibration-free top was the way to go,” he has said. “I even built a guitar out of a railroad rail to prove it. What I wanted was to amplify pure string vibration, without the resonance of the wood getting involved in the sound.” With the good graces of Epiphone president Epi Stathopoulo, Paul used the Epiphone plant and machinery in 1941 to bring his vision to fruition. He affectionately dubbed the guitar “The Log.”

Les Paul’s tireless experiments sometimes proved to be dangerous, and he nearly electrocuted himself in 1940 during a session in the cellar of his Queens apartment. During the next two years of rehabilitation, Les earned his living producing radio music. Forced to put the Pennsylvanians and the rest of his career on hold, Les Paul moved to Hollywood. During World War II, he was drafted into the Army but permitted to stay in California, where he became a regular player for Armed Forces Radio Service. By 1943 he had assembled a trio that regularly performed live, on the radio, and on V-Discs. In 1944 he entered the jazz spotlight—thanks to his dazzling work filling in for Oscar Moore alongside Nat King Cole, Illinois Jacquet, and other superstars —at the first of the prestigious Jazz at the Philharmonic concerts.

By his mid-thirties, Paul had successfully combined Reinhardt-inspired jazz playing and the western swing and twang of his Rhubarb Red persona into one distinctive, electrifying style. In the Les Paul Trio he translated the dizzying runs and unusual harmonies found on Jazz at the Philharmonic into a slower, subtler, more commercial approach. His novelty instrumentals were tighter, brasher, and punctuated with effects. Overall, the trademark Les Paul sound was razor-sharp, clean-shaven, and divinely smooth.

As small combos eclipsed big bands toward the end of World War II, Les Paul Trio’s popularity grew. They cut records for Decca both alone and behind the likes of Helen Forrest, the Andrews Sisters, the Delta Rhythm Boys, Dick Hayes, and, most notably, Bing Crosby. Since 1945, when the crooner brought them into the studio to back him on a few numbers, the Trio had become regular guests on Crosby’s hit radio show. The highlight of the session was Paul’s first No. 1 hit and million-seller, the gorgeous “It’s Been a Long, Long Time.”

Meanwhile, Paul began to experiment with dubbing live tracks over recorded tracks, also altering the playback speed. This resulted in “Lover (When You’re Near Me),” his revolutionary 1947 predecessor to multi-track recording. The hit instrumental featured Les Paul on eight different electric guitar parts, all playing together.

In 1948, Paul nearly lost his life to a devastating car crash that shattered his right arm and elbow. Still, he convinced doctors to set his broken arm in the guitar-picking and cradling position. Laid up but undaunted, Paul acquired a first generation Ampex tape recorder from Crosby in 1949, and began his most important multi-tracking adventure, adding a fourth head to the recorder to create sound-on-sound recordings. While tinkering with the machine and its many possibilities, he also came up with tape delay. These tricks, along with another recent Les Paul innovation—close mic-ing vocals—were integrated for the first time on a single recording: the 1950 No. 1 tour de force “How High the Moon.”

This historic track was performed during a duo with future wife Mary Ford. The couple’s prolific string of hits for Capitol Records not only included some of the most popular recordings of the early 1950s, but also wrote the book on contemporary studio production. The dense but crystal clear harmonic layering of guitars and vocals, along with Ford’s close mic-ed voice and Paul’s guitar effects, produced distinctively contemporary recordings with unprecedented sonic qualities. Through hits, tours, and popular radio shows, Paul and Ford kept one foot in the technological vanguard and the other in the cultural mainstream.

All the while, Les Paul continued to pine for the perfect guitar. Though The Log came close, it wasn’t quite what he was after. In the early 1950s, Gibson Guitar would cultivate a partnership with Paul that would lead to the creation of the guitar he’d seen only in his dreams. In 1948, Gibson elected to design its first solidbody, and Paul, a self-described “dyed-in-the-wool Gibson man,” seemed the right man for the job. Gibson avidly courted the guitar legend, even driving deep into the Pennsylvania mountains to deliver the first model to newlyweds Les Paul and Mary Ford.

“Les played it, and his eyes lighted up,” then-Gibson President Ted McCarty has recalled. The year was 1950, and Paul had just signed on as the namesake of Gibson’s first electric solidbody, with exclusive design privileges. Working closely with Paul, Gibson forged a relationship that would change popular culture forever. The Gibson Les Paul model—the most powerful and respected electric guitar in history—began with the 1952 release of the Les Paul Goldtop. After introducing the original Les Paul Goldtop in 1952, Gibson issued the Black Beauty, the mahogany-topped Les Paul Custom, in 1954. The Les Paul Junior (1954) and Special (1955) were also introduced before the canonical Les Paul Standard hit the market in 1958. With revolutionary humbucker pickups, this sunburst classic has remained unchanged for the half-century since it hit the market.

“The world has lost a truly innovative and exceptional human being today. I cannot imagine life without Les Paul. He would walk into a room and put a smile on anyone’s face. His musical charm was extraordinary and his techniques unmatched anywhere in the world,” said Henry Juszkiewicz, Chairman and CEO of Gibson Guitar. “We will dedicate ourselves to preserving Les’ legacy to insure that it lives on forever. He touched so many lives throughout his remarkable life and his influence extends around the globe and across every boundary. I have lost a dear, personal friend and mentor, a man who has changed so many of our lives for the better.”

“I don’t think any words can describe the man we know as Les Paul adequately. The English language does not contain words that can pay enough homage to someone like Les. As the “Father of the Electric Guitar”, he was not only one of the world’s greatest innovators but a legend who created, inspired and contributed to the success of musicians around the world,” said Dave Berryman, President of Gibson Guitar. “I have had the privilege to know and work with Les for many, many years and his passing has left a deep personal void. He was simply put – remarkable in every way. As a person, a musician, a friend, an inventor. He will be sorely missed by us all,”

With the rise of the rock ’n’ roll revolution of 1955, Les Paul and Mary Ford’s popularity began to wane with younger listeners, though Paul would prove to be a massive influence on younger generation of guitarists. Still, Paul and Ford maintained their iconic presence with their wildly popular television show, which ran from 1953-1960. In 1964, the couple, parents to a son and daughter, divorced. Paul began playing in Japan, and recorded an LP for London Records before poor health forced him to take time off—as much as someone so inspired can take time off.

In the 1977, Paul resurfaced with a Grammy-winning Chet Atkins collaboration, Chester and Lester. Then the ailing guitarist, who’d already suffered arthritis and permanent hearing loss, had a heart attack, followed by bypass surgery.

Ever stubborn, Les recovered, and returned to live performance in the late 1980s. Until recently Les continued to perform two weekly New York shows with the Les Paul Trio, even releasing the 2005 double-Grammy winner Les Paul & Friends: American Made World Played, featuring collaborations with a veritable who’s who of the electric guitar, including dozens of illustrious fans like Keith Richards, Buddy Guy, Billy Gibbons, Jeff Beck, Eric Clapton, and Joe Perry. In 2008, The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame paid tribute to Les Paul in a week-long celebration of his life which culminated with a live performance by Les himself.

Les Paul has since become the only individual to share membership into the Grammy Hall of Fame, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, the National Inventors Hall of Fame, and the National Broadcasters Hall of Fame. Les is survived by his three sons Lester (Rus) G. Paul, Gene W. Paul and Robert (Bobby) R. Paul, his daughter Colleen Wess, son-in-law Gary Wess, long time friend Arlene Palmer, five grandchildren and five great grandchildren. A private Funeral service will be held in New York. A service in Waukesha, WI will be announced at a later date. Details will follow and will be announced for all services. Memorial tributes for the public will be announced at a future date. The family asks that in lieu of flowers, donations be made to the Les Paul Foundation, 236 West 30^th Street, 7^th Floor, New York, New York 10001.

New Year's Eve videos of me playing keyboards

2009-02-17T16:05:00.002-06:00

Here are three videos of me playing keyboards on New Year's Eve with my classic rock band "Two-Bit Eddie" at the Nashville, TN VFW. This picture was taken at my debut gig on Halloween.

What'd I Say

Ain't No Sunshine

California Sun

Hope you enjoy them.

The U.S. health care crisis

2009-02-11T14:12:00.003-06:00

A conservative friend recently forwarded an email complaining about potential health care rationing under President Obama's proposed health care program.

So I decided to do some research on my own. (My comments are in red.)

Here's what I found out:

US Health System Ranks Last Compared to Other Countries: Studies
May 15, 2007 WASHINGTON

"The US health care system ranks last among other major rich countries for quality, access and efficiency, according to two studies released Tuesday by a health care think tank.

"The studies by the Commonwealth Fund found that the United States, which has the most expensive health system in the world, underperforms consistently relative to other countries and differs most notably in the fact that Americans have no universal health insurance coverage.

"The United States stands out as the only nation in these studies that does not ensure access to health care through universal coverage and promotion of a 'medical home' for patients," said Commonwealth Fund president Karen Davis.

"The US ranked last in most areas, including access to health care, patient safety, timeliness of care, efficiency and equity. Americans were also last in terms of whether they had a regular physician.

"The US spends twice what the average industrialized country spends on health care but we're clearly not getting value for the money," Davis told AFP.

"The United States is also far behind in adopting modern health information technology, which translates into spiralling costs and poor care."

U.S. Health Care Spending: Comparison with Other OECD Countries - published May 2007 by the Congressional Research Service (under the BUSH administration):

"...countries that spend less than the United States on health care nevertheless enjoy similar high levels of reported health status. In particular, New Zealand, Ireland, and Canada spend a half to a third as much as the United States, yet the percentages of their populations who report a "good" or better health status is nearly identical to the United States.

"The average life expectancy for a person in the United States is 77 ½ years — slightly below the OECD average, and 4½ years less than top rated Japan. Life expectancy is nearly 2½ years longer in Canada than in the United States. The United States is ranked 22nd out of 30 countries on life expectancy at birth.

"The United States has a higher rate of deaths from natural causes than 17 OECD countries. The higher U.S. number of premature deaths (before the age of 70) from all causes except external causes (e.g., accidents) results in an average of 35.9 years of life lost per 1,000 people in the United States — a loss of roughly 7 additional years compared to the OECD average of 29 years of lost life per 1,000 people.

"Death rates for heart disease in the United States are the 17th worst in the OECD, despite the fact that the United States performs substantially more invasive heart procedures than all other countries in the OECD. "In terms of respiratory diseases, the United States ranks 24th out of 30 countries, with twice as many people dying from respiratory diseases in the United States compared with the top-ranked countries, France, Switzerland, and Italy.

"The United States has the third-highest rate of deaths from medical errors, among 26 countries reporting."The United States has the third-highest infant mortality rate in the OECD, after Turkey and Mexico.

"In 2004, the United States spent more than twice as much on health care as the average OECD country, at $6,102 per person (compared with the OECD average of $2,560). Health care spending comprised 15.3% of the U.S. GDP in 2004, compared with an average of 8.9% for the average OECD country. Although a country's health expenditures are highly correlated with GDP, U.S. health spending is nevertheless 60% greater than its GDP alone would predict.

"The United States spends more on prescription drugs per capita than any other OECD country. The United States also consumes more prescription drugs than most OECD countries, according to a nine-country study. That study found that the United States paid more for brand name drugs but less for generic drugs than other OECD countries."Spending on health administration and insurance cost $465 per person in the United States in 2004, which was seven times that of the OECD median."

NY Times July 17, 2008
While the U.S. Spends Heavily on Health Care, a Study Faults the Quality
"American medical care may be the most expensive in the world, but that does not mean it is worth every penny. A study to be released Thursday highlights the stark contrast between what the United States spends on its health system and the quality of care it delivers, especially when compared with many other industrialized nations.

"The report, the second national scorecard from this influential health policy research group, shows that the United States spends more than twice as much on each person for health care as most other industrialized countries. But it has fallen to last place among those countries in preventing deaths through use of timely and effective medical care, according to the report by the Commonwealth Fund, a nonprofit research group in New York.

"Access to care in the United States has worsened since the fund’s first report card in 2006 as more people — some 75 million — are believed to lack adequate health insurance or are uninsured altogether. And within the nation, the report found, the cost and quality of care vary drastically.

"The study, which assesses the United States on 37 health care measures, finds little improvement since the last report, as the cost of health care continues to rise steadily and more people — even those with insurance — struggle to pay their medical bills."

So things continue to get worse.

From McKinsey Global Institute: (See here for the complete study.)

"…the United States spends $650 billion more on health care than might be expected given the country's wealth and the experience of comparable members of the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD). The research also pinpoints where that extra spending goes. Roughly two-thirds of it pays for outpatient care, including visits to physicians, same-day hospital treatment, and emergency-room care. The next-largest contributors to the extra spending are drugs and administration and insurance.

"It's not clear whether the United States gets $650 billion worth of extra value. Parts of the US health care system, such as its best hospitals, are clearly world class. Cutting-edge drugs and treatments are available earlier there, and waiting times to see physicians tend to be lower. Yet the country lags behind other OECD members on a number of outcome measures, including life expectancy and infant mortality. Furthermore, access to health care is unequal: more than 45 million Americans lack insurance."

So you could say this is a $650 Billion tax that weighs down our economy and as a result makes the products and services that we might export that much less competitive, costing more Americans their jobs (and health insurance) in a continuing downward spiral.

From Wikipedia:

"The health care system in the U.S. has a vast number of players. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of insurance companies in the U.S. This system has considerable administrative overhead, far greater than in nationalized, single-payer systems, such as Canada's. An oft-cited study by Harvard Medical School and the Canadian Institute for Health Information determined that some 31% of U.S. health care dollars, or more than $1,000 per person per year, went to health care administrative costs, nearly double the administrative overhead in Canada, on a percentage basis.

"Enrollment rules in private and governmental programs result in millions of Americans going without health care coverage, including children. The U.S. Census Bureau estimates that 45.7 million Americans (about 15.3% of the total population) had no health insurance coverage at some point during 2007. Most uninsured Americans are working-class persons whose employers do not provide health insurance, and who earn too much money to qualify for one of the local or state insurance programs for the poor, but do not earn enough to cover the cost of enrollment in a health insurance plan designed for individuals.

So THE U.S. CURRENTLY HAS HEALTH CARE RATIONING. The problem is that the rationing is done on the basis of income and employment. If you're unemployed like a significant and growing percentage of Americans, then you lose your health care. Few unemployed people have the resources to pay for private coverage, so their families go without health care. The U.S. could experience a real public health crisis in the event of a pandemic, because so many will lack the ability to afford immunizations or treatment.

"A lack of mental health coverage for Americans bears significant ramifications to the U.S. economy and social system. A report by the U.S. Surgeon General found that mental illnesses are the second leading cause of disability in the nation and affect 20 percent of all Americans. It is estimated that less than half of all people with mental illnesses receive treatment due to factors such as stigma and lack of access to care."

So the U.S. health care system costs too much, delivers too little, hamstrings the US economy with excessive costs that drag down our economy - and is also unfair, failing to provide for the basic health care needs of millions of Americans.

The Obama program may not be perfect, but it's well past time for arguing about whether fundamental change is needed. The sooner we get started the sooner we'll arrive at a better future for our country. I want my grandchildren to grow up in a healthy world.

Inaguration memories of a DC area native

2009-01-17T08:17:00.010-06:00

In just a few days the US will inaugurate its first African American president.

I was born & raised in Falls Church, VA, just six miles from Washington, DC where so many important events in our nation's history have taken place. This map shows the drive from my boyhood home to the Capitol.

In May 1963 I witnessed the parade for astronaut Gordon Cooper.

Martin Luther King, Jr. delivered his historic "I Have a Dream" speech in August 1963 only minutes from my home.

Just months later in November 1963, while I was a Junior at JEB Stuart High School I drove downtown in the middle of the night to view the miles-long line of people waiting to view JFK's body lying in state at the Capitol.

On April 15, 1968 from our house we could see the smoke from parts of the city that had been set ablaze following Martin Luther King, Jr.'s assassination. I was home from college during spring break at the time.

Most of us suburban residents of the DC area tried to stay away from downtown when there were big crowds.

Nashville, TN has been my home for over ten years now. I have some fond memories of the 52 years of my life spent in Northern Virginia but am glad to be living in a much less stressful environment.

How evil are you?

2009-01-11T15:35:00.001-06:00

Turns out I'm not evil at all. How about you?

How evil are you?

My ancestor Reuben Philips views the aftermath of the New Madrid quake in 1830

2009-01-07T10:42:00.005-06:00

Below is an extract from the autobiography of my great-great-great-great-great grandfather, Reuben Philips, who was born in 1795 near Asheville, NC and spent his life as a circuit-riding Methodist preacher, schoolteacher and teacher of singing schools throughout western NC in the early 1800s. Keep in mind that all of his travels were on horseback.

In 1830 Reuben traveled to Memphis to collect a debt and traveled across the lake that was created by the New Madrid earthquakes of 1811-1812. The lake he refers to as Obion Lake is now called Reelfoot lake. Wikipedia states, "Popular history says that the lake was formed when the region subsided after the New Madrid earthquakes of 1811–1812, and that the Mississippi River flowed backward for 10-24 hours to fill it."

"I was called on in the fall of that year to go to Memphis, Tennessee to Collect some money that I had in suit for Dr. Askew by the foreclosure of the Equity of Redemption on a mortgage deed given by a man Hargess to said Askew for loaned money being now collected. I started on the 7th of December and was hindered by high waters and also by hunting up Alexander Starrett who lived near Troy in Obion County Western District. I had claims on him in behalf of his orphan sisters whose money he had got and used as kind brother while single but after marriage he left the country and wandered off, proved insolvent, and swindled his sisters out of their money. I found him and his family living in poverty and worse than all, no disposition to remunerate his sisters even if he had been able.

"I remained one day and two nights with him and then made my way to Memphis, crossing the Obion Lake which had been made by the shaking of the earth in 1810. An eruption took place and threw up the earth across the mouth of the Obion River some 15 miles below where I crossed it. I could see the tops of the trees the water had backed over. Here I was greatly astonished at seeing the boatmen as they crossed the lake catching the flying fish by suspending a hook and line with a small bit of scarlet skimming the surface of the water. The fish would rise out of the water and take the hook; they caught numbers as we crossed. I crossed the Michigan Lake also. It was not so large. I saw a great many earth cracks occasioned by the shake above named, some so large that they had to be bridged where the road crossed them. It was strange to see the white sand thrown out on the black soil in so many places.

"In traveling down the line of counties to Memphis I was so near the river I had to swim the bayous as the waters were very high. I rode all day on Christmas day being the wettest day I have ever witnessed. I however succeeded in getting to Memphis and got my money and started for home on the first day of January 1831. On my way home I came very near being drowned in Little River in the Cherokee Nation. I swam it after night and was washed below the ford but miraculously escaped. Before going into the water I tied all my money in my handkerchief and around my neck so that if I was drowned it might be found on my person. Through great mercy I got home safe, found all well, and though I lost my school that winter I made $150 by the trip and prepared for a crop."

Happy New Year

2009-01-02T15:30:00.003-06:00

Wifie and I rang in the new year in style.

My classic rock band, "Two-Bit Eddie," played the VFW, and we kicked butt! I'm in the process of downloading the video; what little I heard through the headphones sounded really good.

About 15 of our friends joined us, pulling tables together until we had one really long table.

The band had worked long and hard, practicing 10 hours per week most weeks during the three months I've been with them. Our hard work paid off with tight arrangements and crowd-pleasing medleys.

Here are the songs we played:

Set 1

I Can't Turn You Loose (Otis Redding)
Let the Good Times Roll (Muddy Waters/traditional)
Can I Change my Mind (Tyrone Davis)
Devil with a Blue Dress (Mitch Ryder & The Detroit Wheels)
Jailhouse Rock (Elvis)
Raise your Hand (Eddie Floyd / Bruce Springsteen)
Sittin' on The Dock of the Bay (Otis Redding)
Daydream (Lovin' Spoonful)
It Don't Come Easy (Ringo Starr)
Mellow Yellow (Donovan)
Hold on I'm Coming (Sam & Dave)
Don't Worry Baby (Beach Boys)

Pretty Woman (Roy Orbison)

Set 2

Wooly Bully (Sam The Sham & The Pharoahs)
I'm Ready (Muddy Waters)
Peter Gunn Theme/Pink Cadillac (Henry Mancini/Bruce Springsteen)
California Sun (The Riverias)
Love Potion No. 9 (The Clovers)
Ain't no Sunshine (Bill Withers)
96 Tears (? & The Mysterians)
Hanky Panky (Tommy James & The Shondells)
Doo-Wah-Diddy (Manfred Mann)
Knock on Wood (Eddie Floyd)
I've Been Loving you too Long (Otis Redding)
Keep Your Hands to Yourself (Georgia Satellites)
Magic Carpet Ride (Steppenwolf)
Fire (Bruce Springsteen)
But it's Alright (J.J. Jackson)
Knockin' on Heaven's Door (Bob Dylan)

What'd I Say (Ray Charles)

Set 3

Feelin' Alright (Joe Cocker)
Auld Lang Syne (traditional)
Midnight Hour (Wilson Pickett)
Caldonia (Muddy Waters)
Let's Get Stoned (Joe Cocker)
Revolution (Beatles)
When a Man Loves A Woman (Percy Sledge)
Folsom Prison Blues (Johnny Cash)
Brown-Eyed Girl (Van Morrison)
Green River (Creedence Clearwater Revival)
The Weight (The Band)
Hard to Handle (Otis Redding)
Surfin' U.S.A. (Beach Boys)
Louie, Louie (Kingsmen)
Mustang Sally (Wilson Pickett)

That's Life (Frank Sinatra)

(2009 graphic from Colorcubic.com)

The clapper

2008-12-11T08:57:00.003-06:00

I couldn't resist posting a link to this hilarious video (completely safe for work):

The Free Market Clapper

And here's another one from the same author:

State-Run Sacrament

Enjoy!

My Halloween debut with Two-Bit Eddie

2008-11-26T15:02:00.003-06:00

As reported on Oct. 6, I've begun playing keyboards with a Nashville classic rock band, "Two-Bit Eddie." I'm the hippy face peeking out between the werewolf (John, our bassist) and drummer Jim (with the fake knife sticking out of his head). Our lead guitarist, Stin, is dressed as Jed Clampett and standing on the left holding the knife. Norm, our leader and lead singer, is dressed as a Wall Street banker (what could be scarier than that?) standing in the rear.

My debut was Halloween (10-31-08) at the Charlotte Pike VFW. I videotaped the event and was surprised at how good the sound came out. Here are a few highlights. You'll need to install Quicktime (a free download from Apple) in order to view the videos.

What'd I Say (where I am introduced)

Let The Good Times Roll

I'm Ready

Medley: Devil With a Blue Dress/Good Golly Miss Molly/Raise Your Hand/Don't Worry Baby

Have You Ever Seen The Rain

Ain't No Sunshine

Medley: Werewolves of London/Keep Your Hands to Yourself/Hard to Handle

Feelin' Alright

The Weight

The band has gotten tighter with each subsequent practice, and we're learning a ton of new songs. Soon we'll have enough songs to play for three or four gigs without a repeat. We play next on Friday, Dec. 12 at the VFW (7220 Charlotte Pike) from 8 to midnight, and we also play there again for New Year's Eve. If you're in Nashville, c'mon by and see us! There's no cover charge, and although the club does allow smoking, the ventilation is very good.

The Story of Stuff

2008-11-26T14:54:00.003-06:00

I highly recommend that you watch The Story of Stuff with Annie Leonard. It's a 20 minute film that will leave you questioning how long we can sustain our current way of life.

Here are some ways in which we can become better global citizens:

Many people who have seen The Story of Stuff have asked what they can do to address the problems identified in the film.

Each of us can promote sustainability and justice at multiple levels: as an individual, as a teacher or parent, a community member, a national citizen, and as a global citizen. As Annie says in the film, “the good thing about such an all pervasive problem is that there are so many points of intervention.” That means that there are lots and lots of places to plug in, to get involved, and to make a difference. There is no single simple thing to do, because the set of problems we’re addressing just isn’t simple. But everyone can make a difference, but the bigger your action the bigger the difference you’ll make. Here are some ideas:

10 Little and Big Things You Can Do

Power down! A great deal of the resources we use and the waste we create is in the energy we consume. Look for opportunities in your life to significantly reduce energy use: drive less, fly less, turn off lights, buy local seasonal food (food takes energy to grow, package, store and transport), wear a sweater instead of turning up the heat, use a clothesline instead of a dryer, vacation closer to home, buy used or borrow things before buying new, recycle. All these things save energy and save you money. And, if you can switch to alternative energy by supporting a company that sells green energy to the grid or by installing solar panels on your home, bravo!
Waste less. Per capita waste production in the U.S. just keeps growing. There are hundreds of opportunities each day to nurture a Zero Waste culture in your home, school, workplace, church, community. This takes developing new habits which soon become second nature. Use both sides of the paper, carry your own mugs and shopping bags, get printer cartridges refilled instead of replaced, compost food scraps, avoid bottled water and other over packaged products, upgrade computers rather than buying new ones, repair and mend rather than replace….the list is endless! The more we visibly engage in re-use over wasting, the more we cultivate a new cultural norm, or actually, reclaim an old one!
Talk to everyone about these issues. At school, your neighbors, in line at the supermarket, on the bus…A student once asked Cesar Chavez how he organized. He said, “First, I talk to one person. Then I talk to another person.” “No,” said the student, “how do you organize?” Chavez answered, “First I talk to one person. Then I talk to another person.” You get the point. Talking about these issues raises awareness, builds community and can inspire others to action.
Make Your Voice Heard. Write letters to the editor and submit articles to local press. In the last two years, and especially with Al Gore winning the Nobel Peace Prize, the media has been forced to write about Climate Change. As individuals, we can influence the media to better represent other important issues as well. Letters to the editor are a great way to help newspaper readers make connections they might not make without your help. Also local papers are often willing to print book and film reviews, interviews and articles by community members. Let’s get the issues we care about in the news.
DeTox your body, DeTox your home, and DeTox the Economy. Many of today’s consumer products – from children’s pajamas to lipstick – contain toxic chemical additives that simply aren’t necessary. Research online (for example, http://www.cosmeticsdatabase.com/) before you buy to be sure you’re not inadvertently introducing toxics into your home and body. Then tell your friends about toxics in consumer products. Together, ask the businesses why they’re using toxic chemicals without any warning labels. And ask your elected officials why they are permitting this practice. The European Union has adopted strong policies that require toxics to be removed from many products. So, while our electronic gadgets and cosmetics have toxics in them, people in Europe can buy the same things toxics-free. Let’s demand the same thing here. Getting the toxics out of production at the source is the best way to ensure they don’t get into any home and body.
Unplug (the TV and internet) and Plug In (the community). The average person in the U.S. watches T.V. over 4 hours a day. Four hours per day filled with messages about stuff we should buy. That is four hours a day that could be spent with family, friends and in our community. On-line activism is a good start, but spending time in face-to-face civic or community activities strengthens the community and many studies show that a stronger community is a source of social and logistical support, greater security and happiness. A strong community is also critical to having a strong, active democracy.
Park your car and walk…and when necessary MARCH! Car-centric land use policies and life styles lead to more greenhouse gas emissions, fossil fuel extraction, conversion of agricultural and wildlands to roads and parking lots. Driving less and walking more is good for the climate, the planet, your health, and your wallet. But sometimes we don’t have an option to leave the car home because of inadequate bike lanes or public transportation options. Then, we may need to march, to join with others to demand sustainable transportation options. Throughout U.S. history, peaceful non-violent marches have played a powerful role in raising awareness about issues, mobilizing people, and sending messages to decision makers.
Change your lightbulbs…and then, change your paradigm. Changing lightbulbs is quick and easy. Energy efficient lightbulbs use 75% less energy and last 10 times longer than conventional ones. That's a no-brainer. But changing lightbulbs is just tinkering at the margins of a fundamentally flawed system unless we also change our paradigm. A paradigm is a collection of assumptions, concepts, beliefs, and values that together make up a community’s way of viewing reality. Our current paradigm dictates that more stuff is better, that infinite economic growth is desirable and possible, and that pollution is the price of progress. To really turn things around, we need to nurture a different paradigm based on the values of sustainability, justice, health, and community.
Recycle your trash…and, recycle your elected officials. Recycling saves energy and reduces both waste and the pressure to harvest and mine new stuff. Unfortunately, many cities still don’t have adequate recycling systems in place. In that case you can usually find some recycling options in the phone book to start recycling while you’re pressuring your local government to support recycling city-wide. Also, many products – for example, most electronics - are designed not to be recycled or contain toxics so recycling is hazardous. In these cases, we need to lobby government to prohibit toxics in consumer products and to enact Extended Producer Responsibility (EPR) laws, as is happening in Europe. EPR is a policy which holds producers responsible for the entire lifecycle of their products, so that electronics company who use toxics in their products, have to take them back. That is a great incentive for them to get the toxics out!
Buy Green, Buy Fair, Buy Local, Buy Used, and most importantly, Buy Less. Shopping is not the solution to the environmental problems we currently face because the real changes we need just aren’t for sale in even the greenest shop. But, when we do shop, we should ensure our dollars support businesses that protect the environment and worker rights. Look beyond vague claims on packages like “all natural” to find hard facts. Is it organic? Is it free of super-toxic PVC plastic? When you can, buy local products from local stores, which keeps more of our hard earned money in the community. Buying used items keeps them out of the trash and avoids the upstream waste created during extraction and production. But, buying less may be the best option of all. Less pollution. Less Waste. Less time working to pay for the stuff. Sometimes, less really is more.

Two-Bit Eddie

2008-10-06T12:22:00.004-05:00

I began rehearsing with Two-Bit Eddie in October 2008 and expect to begin playing out with the band sometime in November.

I first heard the band at an outdoor concert in Hendersonville, TN. I was impressed by their "deep tracks" classic rock repertoire and their tight, snappy arrangements that were obviously well-rehearsed.

These guys are all seasoned pros with world-class talents who have families & day jobs like I do. I'm excited about re-entering the professional music world after a long hiatus as well as making new friends who care about the music as much as I do.

Stin, Norm, John and Jim

Click here to see their current list of songs.

Click here to see a video of Hold On, I'm Comin'. Here are four more of their songs you can listen to:

Caldonia
Knockin' On Heaven's Door
Poor Poor Pitiful Me

Of course, these will all sound different in a few weeks when I add my keyboards and vocal harmonies to the mix.

Extra Pounds Mean Fees in Alabama

2008-08-25T11:43:00.002-05:00

Extra Pounds Mean Fees in Alabama
By PHILLIP RAWLS, AP

MONTGOMERY, Ala. -- Alabama, pushed to second in national obesity rankings by deep-fried Southern favorites, is cracking down on state workers who are too fat.

The state has given its 37,527 employees a year to start getting fit — or they'll pay $25 a month for insurance that otherwise is free.

Alabama will be the first state to charge overweight state workers who don't work on slimming down, while a handful of other states reward employees who adopt healthy behaviors.
Alabama already charges workers who smoke — and has seen some success in getting them to quit — but now has turned its attention to a problem that plagues many in the Deep South: obesity.

The State Employees' Insurance Board this week approved a plan to charge state workers starting in January 2010 if they don't have free health screenings.

If the screenings turn up serious problems with blood pressure, cholesterol, glucose or obesity, employees will have a year to see a doctor at no cost, enroll in a wellness program, or take steps on their own to improve their health. If they show progress in a follow-up screening, they won't be charged. But if they don't, they must pay starting in January 2011.

more...

Editorial comment:
It infuriates me that the state of Alabama implies that fat people cost the state money and therefore must be penalized. How about diabetics? How about people with cancer? How about people with disabilities (mental and physical)? Should they remove the wheelchair-friendly curbs and stop allowing access to public places for people who can't climb stairs? It obviously costs the state money to provide those accommodations - and they only do it because of the ADA Act. But the point is that once you get started on this kind of thinking, you can't really stop.

I think it would be more useful for the state to concentrate on the things that mitigate toward health or un-health. Of course, right away they would discover that inequalities in income and education lead to inequalities in health outcomes. So maybe the state would be better off tackling the underlying problems of income inequality and poor education.

But it's easier for them to deride fat people than to tackle the real problems of society. Besides, many fat people already hate themselves.

Don Helms, 1927-2008

2008-08-12T12:54:00.017-05:00

Don Helms, the last surviving member of Hank Williams band, the Drifting Cowboys, died yesterday of complications following recent heart bypass surgery.

I had the privilege of a casual conversation with with Don in May 2000 during intermission from a benefit concert in Lafayette, TN. I was playing keyboards for Leroy Van Dyke, and he was accompanying Jett Williams, Hank's daughter.

In less than a month I would return to the white collar workforce, and Don would go on to finish his illustrious career as "the dean of Nashville musicians," as Marty Stuart puts it.

But for a few precious minutes on the steps of Macon County high school eight years ago, Don Helms and I were equals, relaxing together from our jobs as sidemen. It is a memory I shall treasure for the rest of my days.

My good friend Jerry Webb played with Don for ten years (see Jerry's MySpace page). Folks like Don & Jerry make me glad I made the move to Music City ten years ago.

Here's the article from today's Nashville Tennessean:

August 12, 2008

Steel guitarist put lonely in Hank, Patsy classics

By PETER COOPER
Staff Writer

Don Helms 1927-2008

Don Helms, whose lonesome steel guitar graced some of country music's most important and enduring records, died Monday at Skyline Medical Center after suffering a heart attack. Mr. Helms was 81.
"In my mind, he was the dean of Nashville musicians," singer-songwriter Marty Stuart said. "He served at the foundational level for the family of country music."

Mr. Helms was the last remaining member of Hank Williams' original Drifting Cowboys band, and he played integral parts on Williams classics, including "Cold, Cold Heart," "Your Cheatin' Heart" and "I Can't Help It (If I'm Still in Love With You)." After Williams' 1953 death, Mr. Helms played on notable recordings such as Patsy Cline's "Walkin' After Midnight," Lefty Frizzell's "Long Black Veil" and Stonewall Jackson's "Waterloo."

"Nobody was better respected and loved than him," said Lloyd Green, like Mr. Helms a member of the Steel Guitar Hall of Fame. "There weren't a lot of stylists who were inimitable, and he certainly was. And he never lost any skills: Throughout his life, he played exactly like he did in the 1940s and '50s."

Mr. Helms often played introductions and solos to songs high up on the neck of his steel, and the result was an emotionally direct sound that cut through the mix of the song and allowed his playing to serve as a kind of duet with the lead singer.

He showcased that playing on stages throughout his life, bringing his 1948 Gibson Console Grand to thousands of shows, and he was at home playing the historic Ryman Auditorium or Robert's Western World across the alley.

In performance, he would treat audiences to instrumental versions of songs by Williams, Cline and others, and listeners left with the understanding that Mr. Helms' playing was not merely an adornment to those recordings. Take the steel away, and the impact of the song would be irrevocably compromised.

"He kept that same steel under his bed," said Stuart, who with wife Connie Smith frequently visited with Mr. Helms and his wife of more than 60 years, Hazel. "I'd go get that guitar and hand him his picks and he'd play 'Walkin' After Midnight' and 'Cold, Cold Heart' and just freeze me to death. When he was through, you realized, 'There wouldn't be this part of country music if it hadn't been for Don Helms.' "

He fell in love with sound
Mr. Helms was born in New Brockton, Ala., and as a child he fell in love with the sound of the steel guitar.

Each Friday he listened to the Grand Ole Opry to hear the steel players, and he was inspired to play after hearing a performance by Alabama native Pappy Neal McCormick.

"He was playing that thing and I thought, 'Man, what a way to have fun. What a way to make a living,' " Mr. Helms told author Colin Escott.

At 15, Mr. Helms purchased an electrified steel guitar from Sears, though the farm where he lived had no electricity. To practice, the teenager had to flip a washtub over and place the steel on the tub: The washtub resonated enough for the steel to be heard. When Mr. Helms joined Hank Williams' band at age 18, he was happy to play clubs with power outlets.

A year after joining up with Williams, Mr. Helms was drafted into the Army. Upon his return to civilian life, he turned down a chance to join Williams on the Louisiana Hayride show but became a Drifting Cowboy again in 1949, after Williams became a Grand Ole Opry star. In less than four years, Williams would be dead, but in that time Mr. Helms established himself as an instrumental force onstage and in the studio.

"Don was very honest about those times, but also very sentimental," said Country Music Hall of Fame Instrument Curator Bill Lloyd, who interviewed Mr. Helms in 2006 for the Hall's Nashville Cats series. "When he would tell stories about Hank, he'd sometimes well up with emotion."

He played Hank till end
His recordings with Williams would be enough to secure Mr. Helms' legend, yet he remained active in music throughout his life. In addition to his studio work, he played in the band of Williams' daughter, Jett Williams, beginning in 1989, and he often performed at steel guitar conventions and at live music shows. Mr. Helms appeared with the Wilburn Brothers (including a stint on the brothers' syndicated television show), Ray Price, Ferlin Husky, Cal Smith and plenty of others. Mr. Helms performed with Hank Williams Jr. as well, and with Williams' grandson, Hank Williams III. In recent years, he played once each month at Robert's Western World, bringing that old Gibson out from under the bed and toting it to Lower Broadway.

"His goal was to keep playing Hank Williams songs until he died," Green said.

In 2005, Mr. Helms joined with Dale Vinicur to write an as-told-to memoir called Settin' the Woods On Fire: Confessions of Hank's Steel Guitar Player. In truth, categorizing Mr. Helms merely as Williams' steel guitarist minimizes his other accomplishments, which include writing songs recorded by Brenda Lee and Hank Williams Jr. Yet the Hank Williams legacy is among country's most vital, and Mr. Helms was pleased to be a crucial part of that legacy. Though his face was in the shadows, his steel guitar was right up front.

"Nobody else played like that," said Country Music Hall of Fame guitarist Harold Bradley. "Anytime anyone does one of those Hank Williams songs, they're going to have to copy what Don did."

On Monday, Stuart grew emotional, thinking not only of Mr. Helms' musical contributions but also of his personal kindnesses.

"He truly was an essential," Stuart said through tears.

Meanwhile, Hank Williams Jr. chose to ponder a reunion rather than a loss.

"The last of the Drifting Cowboys has gone home to heaven," he said. "The heavenly band is now complete."

My visit to Chicago – May 11, 1992

2008-06-28T11:18:00.016-05:00

I recently rediscovered this story tucked in the back of a filing cabinet.

I met Rick “Cookin’” Sherry during the summer of 1991 at Blues Week in Elkins, WV. Blues Week is part of the Augusta Heritage Workshops, which offers adults the opportunity to learn and practice the artistic expression of traditional folk cultures. Students can learn blues, Cajun music, swing dance and crafts including stonemasonry, storytelling, pottery making, weaving and even log home construction.

Rick is a harmonica player from Chicago who formed the acoustic blues trio, “Jukin’ Jake and the Salty Dogs” and whose day job is teaching 8^th and 10^th grade science. He invited me to visit him if I was ever in town, so I called him when a business trip took me there in May 1992. He lives in “Ukrainian Village” on the South Side near Western & Chicago Avenues. He and his girlfriend Cynthia live in a 2^nd floor walk-up, an old building with high ceilings, big windows and a claw foot tub.

It was a pleasant evening. People were talking to their neighbors, and an elderly couple walked past on their way to Mass. Rick and I took off in his little car for the Checkerboard Lounge. As we sped along, the warm wind rushed past and brought the city sounds close to my ears. Off the expressway and deep into the heart of the South Side we plunged. Now I’m a stranger in a strange land. The faces are all black, and mine is white.

We pull up directly across from the Checkerboard. It is 7:30 p.m. and still light outside. The club is dark. I follow Rick closely, deeply conscious of who I am and how far out of my culture I am straying. Music is playing, and that’s enough for me. I’ve read about this place, and now I have a chance to see it for myself. Rick’s friend Paul is on stage with a drummer and singer. He plays an acoustic set on Mondays. Electric blues is all you hear in most clubs these days. We listen to a couple of songs, and then I buy each of us an Old Style, a local brew.

A tall, older man strides into the club. He’s outfitted in white cowboy gear, complete with guns, boots, hat and belt. He slips on a mask as he enters the club, and Rick tells me he’s the Black Lone Ranger. After Rick does his songs, the Black Lone Ranger approaches the stage. Paul, Rick and the drummer back him up. He does “Rock Me Baby” and one other song just like it. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to laugh, applaud or do both. I try to closely observe the audience for cues without appearing to do so. He really is funny as Hell. This is one of those situations in which a foreigner (me) is at a loss. I just try to "do as the Romans do."

After Rick finishes, the MC asks him to come back another night. The Checkerboard is known as a proving ground for new musicians, and it’s a tough audience. Rick’s triumph gets a congratulatory handshake from me. Later I trade cards with and talk for awhile with Hinds. He’s a big tall man with a hat and an accent from Trinidad, his native land. First he traveled to Ontario, then New Orleans, now Chicago. I invited him to call if he comes to D.C. and tell him about the DC Blues Festival on September 12, 1992.

I wish the club had a piano, but I will get to show my chops later, at another club. The MC takes me over to meet a guy sitting in a booth. The greeting is cordial. I have no idea what this means, but I go along with it.

We get up to leave and stop briefly on the sidewalk outside the club. I introduce myself to the drummer. He has a local TV show. I also met Lefty Diz, who was to go on stage next. He told me he doesn’t drink when he’s “on the road.” Says he’s “all business” then.

Rick is waiting at his car. I realize this and begin walking across the street. I hear someone calling for me, following behind, catching up slowly. I decide now’s the time to walk quickly and get in the car. Off we go to a Mexican place.

“Biggest burritos in the world,” they’re advertized, and they are. Next we return to Rick’s apartment to pick up Cynthia and head out to the Hot House.

It’s a Monday night, and Yoko Noge and Clark Dean are playing. She plays boogie, blues and standards on the piano, and he plays soprano sax.

Yoko Noge & Clark Dean

At one point, Yoko, an oriental woman, sings “Georgia on My Mind,” both in English and in Japanese. This is a favorite of the crowd. They ask Rick to get up and play with them. Tony Manguilo is on drums. Tony owns Roses, another bar Rick is playing soon with his trio. This was another triumph for Rick, because Roses is a well-known though newer club in town.

During the break I introduce myself to Clark. I tell him I’m a piano player, and of course I’m invited to get up and play. I start with Boogie Woogie, a guaranteed hit. While I begin, I wonder what I’ll do for a second number. I noodle a bit, and then light into an energetic “Hold It.” Finally I invite Rick up to do “Sloppy Drunk,” a song we did together at Blues Week. We trade verses and instrumental breaks. All the songs generate rousing applause.

Toward the end of the next set, I’m invited up again to join the musicians on stage. Yoko asks me to play four-handed; I take the bass. I play some with her at first, then some alone. Tony on drums, Clark on sax and electric guitar, and Rick on harp. We finish with an inspired “Down Home Chicago.” Then handshakes and business cards are traded. We say goodbye and head home. I have a standing invitation to sit in with Yoko and Clark anytime I’m in Chicago.

Postscript: Rick currently plays with "Devil in a Woodpile." Check them out, and see them play live next time you're in Chicago!

Recuperating after knee arthroscopy

2008-06-07T09:45:00.005-05:00

I had arthroscopic knee surgery Thursday morning, which went just as expected. After dropping our friend Karen off at the airport, wifie and I drove to the surgery center and waited just a few minutes before the nurse called me back to get prepped. The anesthesiologist started my IV, into which "happy juice" was injected just before they wheeled me back, and quite soon I began to feel very fine. I kissed wifie goodbye, and the next thing I knew I was in recovery with a big ace bandage wrapped around my knee. I vaguely remember asking whether I was still waiting to be taken back to surgery.

I was advised to relax the rest of the weekend, put ice on the knee as needed and take the pain medication I was prescribed as needed. I can bear weight as tolerated and use crutches for support when necessary.

I removed the bandages yesterday afternoon. There were two small incisions each side of the front of my knee with a stitch or two closing each one. There is no pain at all from the incisions.

I'm posting this about 10:30 Saturday morning and have needed the crutches less with each passing day. I go back for a followup appointment Monday afternoon, at which time the doctor will remove the stitches and let me know what if any physical therapy I need.

This year marks my 20th anniversary of beginning Jazzercise, which I look forward to resuming in a few weeks.

Torn meniscus

2008-05-24T07:58:00.004-05:00

After recovering from rotator cuff surgery in January, I now discover that my right knee has a torn meniscus.

From Arthroscopy.com: "Medically speaking, the 'cartilage' is actually known as the meniscus. The meniscus is a C-shaped piece of fibrocartilage which is located at the peripheral aspect of the joint. The majority of the meniscus has no blood supply. For that reason, when damaged, the meniscus is unable to undergo the normal healing process that occurs in most of the rest of the body. In addition, with age, the meniscus begins to deteriorate, often developing degenerative tears. Typically, when the meniscus is damaged, the torn piece begins to move in an abnormal fashion inside the joint.
Because the space between the bones of the joint is very small, as the abnormally mobile piece of meniscal tissue (meniscal fragment) moves, it may become caught between the bones of the joint (femur and tibia). When this happens, the knee becomes painful, swollen, and difficult to move."
That explains why I've been experiencing pain in my knee upon putting any weight on it, such as when climbing stairs. The good news is that this surgery is done arthoscopically and is very minor as surgeries go. After 48 hours on crutches, I should be able to return to my normal activities.
It's a major relief to finally find out what's wrong and that it is so simple to repair it.
My surgery is set for Thursday, June 5, after which I'll stay home from work until the following Monday, when I should be okay to return to work.
And then sometime later in the summer I should be able to mow my own lawn and eventually return to Jazzercise.

Old B&W pix

2008-05-14T11:28:00.012-05:00

Here I am trying to look as cool as possible at age 13.

My Aunt Mildred, mom, mom's mother, sister Mary and me posed in our Easter outfits in the front yard. In the background is the 1962 Cadillac that I got to drive when my mom didn't need it.

Here I am again looking uncool with my sister Mary. The vacant lot behind us has long ago been built on.

Dad, sister Mary, mom & grandmother (mom's mother) on a snowy day. The greenhouse dad built to house his azalea cuttings can be seen in the background.

Here are my dad, mom and sister in the living room.

I am looking as uncool as possible in my bow tie.

This is one of the saddest pictures if you understand the background. This is my grandfather, holding my daughter. He had traveled from Nebraska to attend the funeral of his son, my father, who had died of a heart attack while shaking my hand goodbye on my 25th birthday at age 57 .

Antique farm implements

2008-05-09T10:15:00.010-05:00

Prairie Bluestem recently posted a picture of a horse-drawn hay rake, which prompted me to dig back into my own photo archives. In June 2003 I attended a reunion of the O'Rourkes, to whom I am related through my father's mother. Her grandparents immigrated from Ireland to Wisconsin in the mid 1800s, and her parents homesteaded in the sandhill region of northwestern Nebraska in the late 1800s. The reunion was held at RuJoDen, a family ranch south of Chadron, NE where my cousins Jim and Lora O'Rourke maintain a huge collection of horse-drawn farm machinery.

Childhood memories

2008-04-06T22:09:00.018-05:00

A friend asked me to come up with some memories of my childhood and then suggested I post them on my blog.

My childhood

I was born in 1946 and grew up in the Northern Virginia suburbs of Washington, DC.

We got our first TV in 1950, a Dumont with a 5-inch screen when I was four years old.

After the morning news, the stations would go off the air until the evening news and then continue until midnight, when they would sign off until early morning. A test pattern would appear while the station was off the air.

I remember the AM radio (AM was all there was), which played the top tunes of the day. My dad liked to listen to classical music in his car and while reading after dinner. I learned early on that my ear was extremely attentive to music of any kind.

There were lots of obnoxious commercial jingles on radio and TV, which (as you know) I have always detested. I remember one for Double-Mint Gum, another for Pepsodent (“Brush your teeth with Pepsodent, and you’ll wonder where the yellow went” ), which of course as boys we would substitute “flush” for “brush” and direct the jingle toward another bathroom activity. There was the “Brusha-Brusha-Brusha” commercial for Ipana toothpaste featuring Bucky Beaver.

Then there was the invisible shield of Colgate Dental Cream. God, they go on and on!

Songs I remember from the 1950s:
Mona Lisa – Nat “King” Cole
Tennessee Waltz – Patti Page
How Much is That Doggie in the Window (flip side of TN Waltz) – Patti Page
Be-Bop-a-Lula – Gene Vincent
Blueberry Hill – Fats Domino
Mr. Sandman

TV shows I remember:
Howdy Doody

Lassie
Superman
Hoppity Skippity (local DC show – I got to be in the studio audience “Peanut gallery”)

Captain Video

The Milt Grant Show (local DC teen dance show like American Bandstand)
Ed Sullivan
Red Skelton
The Pinky Lee Show

Captain Tugg
Pick Temple

Toys I remember:
Hula Hoop
Silly Putty
Erector Set

My stuffed doggie, which I still have (missing one eye)

I was sick a lot as a child until I had my tonsils out at age ten. I nearly had to repeat third grade because I had been out of school so much. My mom would allow me to bring the radio/record player into my bedroom while I was sick. During these long times alone, I enjoyed listening to the old radio dramas (“Gunsmoke,” “Fibber Magee & Molly,” “Don McNeil’s Breakfast Club” and others) and went through my parents’ collection of classical music, during which I developed a love for Tchiakovsky and Grieg. I can remember drawing a portrait of Tchiakovsky in the water condensation on my bedroom window. I can also remember keeping a box score while listening to the Washington Senators on the radio. My dad took me to a game at the old Griffith Stadium in DC. which was the predecessor to RFK stadium, which has since been replaced by the new stadium north of the city. The times they are a-changing.

I mostly played outside as a child. Inside was boring. When the TV started broadcasting during the day, it offered only soap operas and other stuff that was uninteresting to me. I much preferred exploring the real world beyond my front door with friends. We would often stray beyond the boundaries set by my parents, for which I received more than one hard spanking from my dad. I remember climbing trees and exploring creeks and woods more than anything else. Once as a four year-old I wandered down to a railroad embankment with some older friends, where we stripped down to our underpants and swam in the deep water around the bridge abutments. I vowed never to tell my parents about this excursion, fearing certain death.

I rode my tricycle all over the neighborhood, once venturing so far that my mom drove her car around until she discovered me far from home (probably a block away). I explained to her that my imagination had run away with me (hence my blog name runawayimagination). Later when I was old enough for a two-wheeler, my adventures could take me farther still.

Some of my best friends were the neighborhood dogs, who I followed around, and who followed me around. In fact, the family members to which I felt closest were my dog and cat.

I’ve always had just a few close friends, usually loners like myself. I didn’t travel with the gangs of bigger boys, who liked to terrorize the younger kids like me.

When I was 6 to 9 years old, I built a wooden car with a neighbor friend. We got it to roll down the hill, but the lack of effective steering and brakes caused us to bail out before it ran into the ditch. Later on when I was in my early teens, another neighbor friend and I built a go-kart powered by a lawnmower engine that we drove around the neighborhood.

One sport I remember playing is baseball (not softball). I had a pretty good left arm and was often assigned to left field, because I could throw the ball farther than anyone else on the team. I used to enjoy hitting the spiny fruit of sweet gum trees over the roofs of houses.

Beginning at about age 12, I began to discover the wonders of my parents’ extensive library of books. I loved reading Michner and also enjoyed perusing my mom’s 1918 “Our Wonder World.”

Existential crisis?

2008-04-02T12:08:00.002-05:00

Who the Hell am I, and what the Hell am I doing here?

What is my life, anyway?

Is my life about showering, dressing, eating, drinking, driving to work, logging on & logging off, reading & writing stuff?

Is it?

Or is my life about the children I brought into this world?

Is it about the friends I made? The friends I lost?

Is my life about trying to keep body and soul together? Purchasing products and services, then trying to figure out how to pay for them?

Is my life about loving my wife?

Is my life about nothing? Everything?

Is my life about whatever I want it to be about?

Are there any guidelines, and would I even follow them if they existed?

Is my life about the myriad responsibilities I take on?

I see fellow travelers every day.
Some old, some young,
Some injured, some healthy,
Some living, some dying.

Thoughts tumble through my head,
cascading one after another,
Sometimes like angry bees swarming around my head,
sometimes like snakes slithering through the underbrush, following other snakes that are following other snakes and so on.
Most thoughts never reach my consciousness, and most of those that do never find expression through my lips or my fingertips.

I wonder.

I just wonder.

So maybe that’s what my life is about.

Wondering about my life.

Late winter snow Mar. 8

2008-03-30T22:37:00.009-05:00

I took these pictures about 11:30 a.m. on March 8. We had received about six inches of snow overnight, so considerable melting had already taken place.

Where I'm From

2008-03-03T17:58:00.021-06:00

I am from the old piano,

the AM radio

and the record player.

I am from the creek in which I discovered frogs, toads and salamanders,

from the azaleas,

dogwoods,

redbuds

and the tall oaks under whose canopy I discovered the world of Nature.

I am from the Frozen Dairy Bar whose creamy goodness delighted me

and from the 7-11 where I got cigarettes to smoke with my friends in the woods

and lighter fluid to set the creek on fire.

I am from Granddad Bill the railroad man,

Grandaddy Peacock the Knower of All Things and Nanny the southern grandma.

I am from, "Do you have a grain of sense?", my mom's spaghetti sauce

and the library stocked with books that enlightened and incited a lifetime of learning about the world.

Indiana winter scenes

2008-02-23T19:45:00.005-06:00

I took these pictures one winter morning from front yard of our friends who live in the country west of Kokomo, IN

Lunar eclipse

2008-02-23T18:43:00.012-06:00

I took some pictures of the lunar eclipse, my first attempt at night photography with my digital camera (Canon Powershot A95). It was in the mid 20s, and I was freezing. I used my rather light aluminum tripod - yes I know the pictures would be better with a heavier tripod. And they would also be better with a telephoto lens. But I did get some interesting results.

I was using at 15-second exposure, the maximum for my camera. The moon pictures came out okay, but this one was plain lucky. Notice the dashed line below the moon - that was a plane passing through the picture with its red light flashing, which created a dashed line in the picture.

This picture captured the ambient light reflecting off the Japanese Cherry tree in our front yard. You can see the redness on the blossoms signaling the coming of spring.

This was another interesting result, not of the moon but of the stars against a tall oak tree in the yard.

Chad Graham & The Echoes, 1964

2008-01-16T21:33:00.000-06:00

I recently downloaded a 45 rpm record that I cut with a high school rock band Chad Graham & The Echoes during my Senior year (1963-64) at JEB Stuart High in Falls Church, VA.

After installing Roxio Easy Media Creator 10 and connecting the line output from my turntable to the microphone input on my laptop, I was easily able to digitize the songs.

Click the links below to hear the songs.

I Want To Do It

Do It Any Way You Want

Looking into the past

2007-12-26T08:57:00.001-06:00

This weekend I began downloading some old analog camcorder tapes.

My mother-in-law Betty is nearing her Final Passage,
and I want to make a DVD for her,
to remind her of the good times,
when her husband and daughter were still with us,
happy and full of energy and wit.

Now they are both gone,
and Betty lingers in her nursing home,
unable to walk due to a hip injury,
awaiting her time.

Leukemia took Nancy in the spring of 2003,
and John passed in October 2006.

I first met Nancy's parents and friends in 1994
on the occasion of their 50th wedding anniversary in Kokomo, IN.
I carried my camcorder around all weekend
to record my first meeting with all these people
whom I knew would become part of my new family.

Later I recorded John's 80th birthday,
and in 1997 I interviewed him about his life.

It is remarkable to see these old images
and also to view myself at an earlier time,
before I had left behind a long career and a lifetime of friends
to start a new life in Tennessee.

I hear my voice and see my face in these old tapes
and wonder how I have changed.
I see the ponytail and the earring,
the slender and taut features
and compare them with the older man
who now stares back at me from the mirror.

I remember how I felt old then,
maybe a little too old (48) to be changing my life
in such fundamental ways.

But I plunged ahead anyway,
following a new life path
that has brought me to this day.

Ambushed by sorrow

2007-11-28T20:35:00.000-06:00

Tonight as I was packing for a trip, I poked around in the closet.
I noticed a little wooden box in the back of an upper shelf

and decided to see what was in it.
The top was brightly decorated.

Then I recalled its origin.
Nancy and I bought it in 1994 during a honeymoon vacation in Jamaica.

I opened it,
and inside
I had placed
the contents
of her wallet

after leukemia took her in 2003.

In the bottom were our wedding rings.

Sorrow had ambushed me.

Tears did not flow,
but their wells were stirred.

These thoughts do not trouble me constantly,
but sometimes,
and when least expected,
sorrow will alight
if only for a moment.

As I age,
I find that life
finds more ways
to remind me
of its brevity.

My interesting life

2007-11-17T23:49:00.000-06:00

I have lived a very interesting and full life.
Actually several lives.

My first life began with a normal childhood.

Born February 1946 at the leading edge of the Baby Boom.
Raised in the Northern Virginia suburbs of Washington, DC.

Graduated from William & Mary in 1968 with a BA in Psychology.

Married my high school sweetheart the day before college graduation.

Short Navy career, then 29 years with the Telephone Company. (This is my mom telling me how to run the company)

Raised two wonderful children

Who are each raising two wonderful children of their own.

Took piano lessons from age six to 16.

Thus began a parallel life,
That of a musician.

Here I am with The Cavaliers, JEB Stuart High School's stage band.

Began playing in bands at age 15.

Played lots of private parties in high school.

Here's the first page from the song book of "The Redlighters, my first high school rock band.

Here I am (2nd from left) with The Shades, featured in The Washington Star Weekender in 1964, my senior year of high school.

Played through college at frat parties, earning spending money.

Here I am with The Strangers at our first paying gig during our Freshman year at William & Mary.

And here I am playing our last job.

Played in “Inner Light,” a highly successful agency band from 1973-77
Including one year of Fridays and Saturdays at the Olney Inn from 8:30 to midnight,
Then a contract with Washington Talent the following year
Lots of weddings, bar-mitzvahs, bat-mitzvahs and country club parties.

All tuxedo gigs.

Yes, ruffled shirts and all.
My trademark was a leather top hat.

Here I am in action with guitarist Jerry Kozelsky looking on in amusement.

We played Jimmy Carter’s Election Night celebration at the Statler-Hilton in Washington, DC before 3,000 people and two national TV networks . With less than a week’s notice, we managed to learn the Jimmy Carter theme song and perform it together perfectly the first time on stage.

Eleven fallow years from 1977-88.

Passion was rekindled in 1988 after sitting in with the house band while on vacation at the Outer Banks of North Carolina.

Auditioned for a classic rock band immediately after returning from the beach.

Became the leader.

The band became “Mirage.”

Mirage played clubs in Northern Virginia for 3 ½ years,
Putting my daughter through two years of
college.

In 1992 I got to play the blues with future FCC Commissioner Jonathan Adelstein at Blues Week in Elkins, WV.

First marriage fell apart in 1994 after 26 years.

New marriage to Nancy in 1995;

New life began in 1998.

Retired from my white collar job after 29 years,
Sold my parents’ estate,

Stuck a pin in a map and decided to move to Nashville

to invent a new life
Away from the shadow of my first life.

By the spring of 1999 I was on tour

With the best band I had ever played with, “Ashley & Alexia.”
The dream I had nourished for decades had been realized.

But art won’t pay the bills,
So after nine months of searching,

In June 2000 I landed a white collar job in state government.

Leukemia claimed Nancy.
It started on her birthday in 2002
And ended one year later.
And so also ended that life of mine.

Suzanne ushered in yet another new life.
We met via an Internet dating service,
She had also lost two spouses as had I.
The first to divorce,
The second to death.

We’ve made our new lives together since then.

And yes, I still play in bands.
Here I am in 2003 (2nd from right) with Ben Byler & The Rest, a classic rock band.

What lessons have I learned?

Exercise, eat right, make love and play music as often as possible,
Because life is short,
And it’s our job to enjoy it while it lasts.

And for my interesting life I am thankful this Thanksgiving.

Veterans Day

2007-11-12T20:10:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was Veterans Day.

I am a veteran of the Vietnam War,
in which 50,000 of my generation gave their lives.

All of us had to deal with it somehow.

I graduated from college in 1968, the year of the Tet Offensive.
Men of my age were drafted in huge numbers,
and to avoid that fate I applied for admission to Naval Officer Candidate School.
I was accepted, so six weeks after college graduation I showed up in Newport, RI
to begin a grueling 4 1/2 months that would qualify me to lead men into battle, read navigation charts and fire torpedoes.

Lady Luck was on my side, however.

Upon graduation, I was assigned to the job of Assistant Legal Officer at the Little Creek Amphibious Base in Norfolk, VA. I prepared cases for Captain's Mast (a.k.a. Article 15), prosecuted Special Courts Martial and conducted investigations. So in the spring of 1969 I returned to Newport, this time to live in an apartment off base with my wife while attending legal classes on base. In six weeks' time I learned all I needed to know about the rules of evidence and procedures for carrying out military justice.

So no bullets whizzed by my head.
I never had to live in a tent or even go to sea.
My wife and I lived in an apartment only ten minutes from my office.

What's more, after only eleven and a half months' commissioned service,
the Navy informed me that I had three choices:
1. Go to sea immediately;
2. Transfer from Naval Reserve to regular Navy (which meant going to sea);
3. Leave active duty.

And so with only six weeks' notice,
I found myself looking for a civilian career.

On life and the veil

2007-11-03T08:53:00.000-05:00

On Halloween I felt moved to write a post about Nancy's death, starting with her diagnosis of leukemia in the spring of 2002 and ending with her death a year later.

Yesterday wifie told me that according to ancient pagan lore,

the veil between this world and the next reaches its thinnest point around Halloween.

So I wonder...

What exactly is the nature of this veil?
What does it mean to be alive or dead?
What is the nature of the life force?
What is spirit?

Where does it come from, and where does it go?

Is life a river?

Does life flow through us?

The food we eat, the air we breathe.
We become Earth, and it becomes us
in a continuous fluid,
the river of life.

Then life is like a song,
forever creating itself in the perpetual Now,
always coming into and out of existence.

The two components of life:
1. Instructions (DNA)
2. Force (energy)

Instructions assemble and shape the force.

And so the hamburger I eat becomes me;

and through the process of eating, drinking and breathing,
I become one with the earth;
it becomes one with me,
and so my apartness from the earth is an illusion.

The force itself is life.
And so life continues on.

DNA shapes the Force.
Gives it a personality,
a fingerprint,
a face.

DNA enables the continuation of life threads,
which individually weave together
into the rich tapestry which is
the diversity of life,
the sea of forms,
that each arose and continue to arise from the earth itself.

DNA is the principle of organization.

Each individual is a branch of the vine of life,
and as such exists on a continuum of forms,
each deriving its individuality from a unique combination
of the elements from which its parents were themselves formed.

I am my parents,
or rather a node on the vine from which they arose.
There is nothing of me that wasn't also present in my parents' DNA.

And so although the form of me is unique,
the elements of design (DNA)
and the life force that animates these elements
are only borrowed from the earth.

I am reminded of something Nancy said during her last days of life.
I asked her what she thought would happen to her when she died.
She gestured toward the woods behind our house and replied,
"I will become one with the trees and birds out there,"
and so she asked that her ashes be spread in our woods.

A death in the family

2007-10-31T15:05:00.000-05:00

Today is Halloween.
It is a day to laugh at death.

I am acquainted with death,
for it has visited my household.

I do not laugh at death,
but neither do I fear it.

It was April 2002, the week before Nancy’s 50th birthday.
We had reserved a cabin in east Tennessee for her birthday weekend.
We had tickets to “Stomp” at the Tennessee Performing Arts Center in Nashville.

But she had been feeling weak, faint upon arising from sitting down and out of breath with the slightest exertion.
She had a number of bruises.
A routine eye exam showed some broken blood vessels in her retinas, which the optometrist attributed to high blood pressure.
But her blood pressure had been under control for years with medication.

So we decided it was time for a physical exam to find out what was wrong.
Her doctor examined her and found nothing obviously wrong.
Blood was drawn and sent off for analysis.

The next morning my office phone rang.
It was Nancy.
The doctor’s office had received the results of her blood tests.
The doctor said, “Go immediately to the hospital.”
Her platelet count was 17 thousand (normal is 150 thousand to 400 thousand).

I went home immediately.
We packed an overnight bag and drove directly to St. Thomas Hospital.

The Japanese cherry tree in our front garden was just starting to bloom.
The birds were singing.
Spring was in the air.

That afternoon she endured the first of five bone marrow biopsies.
It is not a pleasant procedure.
The doctor inserts a long needle deep into the hip to extract bone marrow.
It was her fiftieth birthday.
The next day the oncologist shared the bad news: She had Acute Myelogenous Leukemia (AML), which is one of the deadliest forms of leukemia. She would die within weeks if chemotherapy was not started immediately.

Thus began a long and difficult journey, the last one we would take.

After 102 days in the hospital and three rounds of chemotherapy, she finally achieved remission.
I spent those nights on a narrow, uncomfortable cot beside her bed.

But we made a living room out of her hospital room.
I brought items from home, including VCR, stereo, boom box and CDs;
rented movies for her to watch;
got take-out from nearby restaurants to give her a break from hospital food.

Remission was finally achieved after three rounds of chemo.
Then six months of “normal” life.
A vacation to Hot Springs, Arkansas.
A visit to her first great-niece in Kokomo, IN
She sang “His Eye is on The Sparrow” at church for Thanksgiving
with me accompanying her on piano.

Her monthly blood tests were normal until March 21, 2003.

Then we heard the doctor utter the dreaded word, Relapse.

She was tired.
The doctors said her chances were slim.
So we went home to await death.

Spring was in the air once again.
The cherry tree was blooming once again.
The birds sang once again.

I sipped my morning coffee on the front porch,
listening to the birds
along with the sounds of Nancy’s breathing through the baby monitor.

Death came at 6:15 p.m. on April 28, 2003, eleven days after her fifty-first birthday.

What did I learn?

Life is short,
so you’d better enjoy it while you can.

Blood saves lives, so donate if you are healthy.
Nancy used 153 units of blood (100 units of red cells and 53 units of platelets) during her treatment.

Love conquers all.
Although death defeated Nancy’s body, it did not defeat our love.

Gene Pool

2007-10-25T20:29:00.000-05:00

"The very idea of a gene pool has no meaning if there is no sex. 'Gene Pool'
is a persuasive metaphor because the genes of a sexual population
are being continually mixed and diffused, as if in a liquid.
Bring in the time dimension, and the pool becomes a river,
flowing through geological time..."

-Richard Dawkins,
The Ancestor's Tale , page 432

Quiet Sunday morning

2007-10-14T08:07:00.000-05:00

7:50 a.m.

It's nice and peaceful here this morning.
Sun's on the rise,

birds are busy at the feeders,

cat wants attention,

I want to dream.

The world seems full of stuff for me to do.
Hang towel racks, caulk, learn songs.
And yet right now, in this time and place,
stillness seems to beckon me to be silent,
to observe
and not act.

Great night of backyard jamming

2007-09-30T02:26:00.001-05:00

Last night wifie and I attended a backyard birthday party that included some musical jamming with some people we had seen in a band Thursday night. I bought their CD and learned the songs this morning, which impressed them and enabled me to show off my piano skills.

Unlike most piano players, I prefer to play in a group and almost never play solo. I thrive on the exchange of energy that happens when people make music together.

I handed out keyboard business cards to several of the musicians I jammed with. One said he would call me to do some studio work on a CD that he is producing for another one of the players who was there tonight. We played several of the songs tonight, which everyone enjoyed immensely.

I really like energizing this part of my soul. This may or may not lead to money, but it's something I must do to stay healthy and in balance.

This is my antidote for the ladder.

The end of the ladder

2007-09-18T11:15:00.000-05:00

Men often define themselves in terms of their achievements.
The ladder is a traditional metaphor for their climb.
Career accomplishments measure success and define worth.

This imagery begins in childhood.
For Baby Boomers like me
raised by children of the Great Depression,
the message was clear:
“Study hard in order to gain admission to a good college;
otherwise you will be condemned to a life of manual labor.”

Got good enough high school grades
for William & Mary.
Achieved a “C” average there
while investing real passion into playing piano with a rock & roll band.

After a Navy stint during Vietnam,
began career with the Telephone Company in 1969,
starting as Assistant Manager;
making a living by wits;
achieving one promotion in 29 years.

Married high school sweetheart;
raised a boy and a girl.
Straddled two professional worlds:
one playing music on weekends,
the other 9 to 5 in telephony.
One paid the bills;
the other nourished the soul.

Fast-forward.
Kids leave the nest 1992;

First marriage collapses 1994;
Last parent dies 1996;
Take early retirement 1998,
Ssell everything;
Move to Nashville with 2nd wife;
Play piano full-time for a year and a half,
Tour the country in 1999
with six other people in a 1991 Econoline van at age 53.
Write a book about the experience.

Money runs low later that year;
nine-month job search ends with state job in 2000.

Second wife contracts leukemia in 2002
and dies a year later.

Meet third wife online;
she moves from Memphis to Nashville.

Time marches on.
Now seven years into second career;
four and a half to go until final retirement.

What is there to learn by looking back?
Was good father & husband;
Raised children;
Supported family;
Survived losses;
Made courageous choices
and mistakes too.

Now four wonderful grandchildren.
Great relationship with son;
hope for reconciliation with daughter.

Health good;
mind sharp;
piano skills good as ever.

The ladder comes to an end.
Soon no more rungs to climb.
Not that many rungs were ever climbed anyway.
Never really believed in the ladder;
the stuff you can measure in this way is the most trivial.

Maybe this is the lesson.

Life is complicated and messy.
It is lived one day at a time.
Not for the future
nor for the past.

Only the Now.

Straight but not narrow

2007-09-06T14:37:00.000-05:00

A few months ago wifie put this sticker on the bumper of our van.

Upon returning to our car in a parking lot this weekend, we discovered this note on our windshield.

So by the simple act of announcing our acceptance, a lesbian couple now knows that there are straight people out there who support them. Our little bumper sticker must have shone as a beacon of hope and sanity.

There is so much fear and hatred in the world
that those of us who dare to love unafraid
often feel overwhelmed.
But in the end,
love must overcome hate
if humanity is to survive.

Brink

2007-08-07T14:24:00.000-05:00

Sanity usually feels solid as rock,
but sometimes it feels like a thin ledge.
One mis-step and plunge into nothingness.

But those times don't last long.

Sometimes this world
is a lonely place.

My sister is facing thyroid surgery,
but now heart issues have surfaced.

My wife faces multiple health issues.

If this is a movie,
I want to get my hands around the screenwriter's neck.

And so it is with the ebb and flow of life.
Emotions tumble from high to low,
then back to high again,
stealing with them the illusion of control.

Sometimes my daily work seems important,
but sometimes it seems like meaningless drudgery.

Life stretches out longer behind than ahead.
So much time was and is wasted,
but who's to say what's wasted and what isn't?

In the end no one judges you,
except yourself.

Why

2007-07-17T10:51:00.000-05:00

My XM is playing "Why" by Annie Lennox.

That song brings back to mind the summer of '94.
It was a summer of confusion and hope,
Love lost and love found,
The closing out of old parts of my life
and the opening of doors to a new life.

My wife of 26 years and I decided to divorce that spring.
It was the Tuesday after Easter.

It happens to lots of us.

Only days later I reconnected with Nancy, whom I had first met in 1991.
She was still single,
living in New Jersey.

After a glorious week in Jamaica
we spent the summer traversing the New Jersey Turnpike from DC to NJ
to spend glorious weekends floating on a sea of love.

I never knew New Jersey could be so beautiful.

Finding love again after all those years.

Nancy had the CD of "Diva" by Annie Lennox,
which I copied onto cassette tape to play in my aged Volvo on my 4-hour trips back & forth.

Hearing those songs now returns part of me to that place and time.

It seems like so long ago,
and yet sometimes it seems just like yesterday.

Leukemia took Nancy in April 2003.

Suzanne came into my life two months later,
bringing her own symphonies into my heart.

I know that now is now,
and then was then.

But when I hear those songs,
I can feel a certain moisture
gathering in my eyes.

Rotator cuff surgery

2007-06-22T16:04:00.000-05:00

Wifie had rotator cuff surgery to repair a torn tendon in her left shoulder last Thursday. Here's a picture of the inside of a shoulder so you can see where the rotator cuff is.

It's amazing what medical science can do! The surgery is completely arthroscopic; she was left with only five small incisions that healed rapidly. But of course the major work was inside the shoulder, and that's where her pain is centered right now. The surgeon explained that they actually fill the shoulder with water to do the surgery. Water flows continuously into and out of the area, flushing out bits of bone and damaged tendon as the surgeon cuts them out and repairs the tendon.

I've been the Head Nurse around our house this past week, administering pain killers on schedule, shopping, cooking, cleaning and providing patient entertainment.

This morning I drove wifie to her first Physical Therapy appointment. The Physical Therapist was impressed with how well she is doing only a week after surgery.

He told us that the rotator cuff repair requires the most extensive rehabilitation of any joint-type repair. It may take a year or more to completely restore the shoulder to full functionality.

The shoulder is a remarkable part of our anatomy, enabling us to move our arm through a wide range of motions. But like most of our body parts, we don't realize how much we depend on them until something goes wrong.

Butterfly

2007-06-11T22:52:00.001-05:00

I took these pictures early the other morning on our deck.

Travelogue of our trip west

2007-06-04T15:53:00.000-05:00

Our flight from Nashville to Denver left on Friday, May 25, arriving about 7:40 p.m. We spent that night with my cousin in Littleton.

On Saturday morning we arose to delicious Costa Rican coffee and a visit with my cousin's energetic doggies Hays and Didi before leaving for a delightful breakfast at the Sunrise Sunset Cafe, then we headed south to Colorado Springs, where we met a friend and her friendly and energetic Boston Terriers with whom we spent the next two nights. That afternoon we toured the Garden of the Gods.

Sunday we took off on Rt. 115 to Royal Gorge, the highest suspension bridge (1,053 ft.) in the U.S. over the Arkansas River

before following the Arkansas River valley up to Salida and continuing to Buena Vista. After that we took off eastward across a beautiful mountain plateau toward Cripple Creek through South Park (yes, there is a South Park), then north on Rt. 67 to Divide before heading back to Colorado Springs.

On Monday we drove north for a delightful visit with friends in Lakewood before taking off west to Central City, where in 1999 I had played two weeks in a country rock band at Harvey's Wagon Wheel casino. We drove back to the Interstate and continued westward to U.S. 40, on which we crossed the continental divide at Berthoud Pass (elevation 11,307) . We continued westward on U.S. 40 to Rt. 34, which becomes Trail Ridge Road through Rocky Mountain National Park. The road had been opened for the season less than a week before. Once again we crossed the continental divide, this time going from west to east at Milner Pass (Elevation 10,759 ft.) . At these elevations us flatlanders can really get exhausted after just a few paces. We eventually reached Estes Park, then continued to the Interstate and our lodging in Wellington, CO.

Tuesday we drove north to Cheyenne, then east to U.S. 385, which took us northward through western Nebraska to Carhenge, which is a replica of Stonehenge made with cars. Seriously! Rt. 385 eventually took us to our destination for that night, my cousin's 420-acre ranch, RuJoDen, south of Chadron. There we enjoyed a great afternoon that included meeting a baby mule and his mother, petting chickens and making friends with Sandy, the friendly beagle. I got my tennis shoes wet following my cousin across the fields to check on his cows.

Wednesday my cousin accompanied me to Chadron College, where I was able to obtain a copy of my dad's college transcript plus pictures of him in football attire. He attended there from 1931-35 and was the president of the college Democrats (go dad!). Next we headed east to my dad's hometown of Gordon, NE where we spent the afternoon in the archives of the Gordon Journal copying old articles from 1913 (the year of my dad's birth) to 1931-35. I found the listing of his high school graduating class and other interesting articles. One that caught my attention reported on his father taking him to his first semester of college at Creighton University before his father was to serve as a delegate to an international labor convention in Toronto. My grandfather retired as a railroad foreman in the 1950s. After my neck could take no more craning up at the library's antiquated microfilm machine, we took off north through the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation to the Black Hills. Pine Ridge has the notoriety of being the poorest U.S. census tract. We passed by scene after scene of abject rural poverty on the reservation. The GPS device we rented along with our car directed us onto a dirt road leading into Custer National Forest, where we soon came upon a huge bison not 50 feet from the road. After taking pictures, we headed on to an intersection with the Black Hills Wildlife Loop where we saw many other wild creatures. Soon we intersected the Needles Scenic Parkway, which took us through some breathtaking scenery. It was near sunset, so the angle of the sunlight created some spectacular views. We finally made it to our lodging for the night in Hill City, SD.

On Thursday we toured Mt. Rushmore and then the Crazy Horse memorial, which we found to be even more impressive. All of Mt. Rushmore would fit inside Crazy Horse's head; when finished it will be the largest sculpture in the world. Next we drove into Rapid City, where my cousin had reserved a room for us to attend my great-aunt's 100th birthday celebration. Nearly 175 O'Rourkes were present for a delicious dinner honoring this wonderfully spry lady. That evening many of us gathered in the hotel hospitality room to compare genealogies and make new friends.

Friday morning we took off eastward for a lunch at Wall Drug (the world's largest drugstore) before driving the Badlands Loop. Weather alternated between driving rain and brilliant sunshine, creating many dramatic photo opportunities. I should say here that during the week my wife took probably 1,000 or more pictures from the passenger side of our rental car. She's a great photographer! That evening we returned to Rapid City for my aunt's "official" birthday party at the retirement home where she lives. I was prevailed upon to play the piano, which I did to much admiration and applause. Boogie and blues appeals to everyone it seems.

Saturday we drove south through the Black Hills via Hot Springs, south through eastern Wyoming on Rt. 85, passing through places like Lusk and eventually back to Wellington, CO where we spent the night. We passed through some of the most remote places either of us had ever seen. Blue-green sagebrush as far as the eye could see with little or no signs of human habitation save for the long road ahead and behind with no cars in sight. No cell phone coverage either - a good place to have a full tank of gas and good tires! The sweet smell of prairie grass is still in my mind's nose as I type this from my desk in Nashville.

On Sunday we drove south into Denver, purchased a cooler, bubble wrap and tape to pack the wine and other gifts we had purchased on our trip. We returned our rental car having put over 2,000 miles on it. Our plane left at about 7 p.m. and arrived Nashville a little before midnight. After five hours' sleep my alarm told me it was time to begin my work week. It's now almost quitting time, and I surely plan to get to bed early tonight.

Trip west, part 1

2007-05-27T23:58:00.000-05:00

Our flight to Denver left promptly at 5:55 p.m., taking off into the sunny late afternoon skies of Nashville. The clouds obscured our view of the ground until we were over Colorado. I took this picture out of our window.

Ravi Shankar and getting old

2007-05-18T14:09:00.000-05:00

Sometimes your age catches you by surprise.

Last night at Jazzercise (which I've been doing for 19 years) we danced to a tune by Norah Jones, and the instructor asked if anyone knew who her famous father was.

I answered, "Ravi Shankar," which drew inquisitive looks from the others.

I explained that Ravi Shankar had been the Beatles guru.

I got to shake Ravi Shankar's hand following a concert he gave at William & Mary in 1968, where I was a senior.

Little exchanges like this make me realize that I am in a different generation now. Many middle-aged people seem to be only vaguely aware of the Beatles and other cultural icons of my youth.

I don't really mind getting old as long as I can maintain my physical health and vitality, which I seem to be doing pretty well so far. I turned 61 this past Valentine's day.

The grosbeaks have arrived

2007-04-28T22:46:00.000-05:00

The grosbeaks have arrived.

This one likes the suet.

In flight

in flight

hanging upside down from the suet cage

Notice the Carolina chickadee in flight in the lower right. Look at how wide his wingspan is.

The female is on the left; the male is on the right.

A welcome harbinger of spring

Senseless tragedy at Virginia Tech

2007-04-17T08:16:00.000-05:00

I'm from the DC suburbs of Northern Virginia, about 4 hours from Blacksburg where the shooting deaths of 32 innocent occurred yesterday at Virginia Tech. I've visited Blacksburg many times and took both my kids there on pre-college tours. My son attended two years at Radford, only 15 miles from Blacksburg. Virginia Tech was my second choice for college - I attended William & Mary.

So it's not THAT close to home,
but it is WAY too close to home.

So many unanswered questions.
Who did this and why?
Why did the university seem so slow to react?
Could anything have been done to end the rampage sooner?
Should we tighten gun-control laws?

Each of these questions and many more will be asked and answered over the coming days, weeks and months.
But none of the answers can provide true comfort for the families of those murdered and injured.

When something like this happens, it causes an immediate reaction of disbelief and shock.
It's Kubler-Ross' five stages of grief, each of which we must endure after any trauma.

I feel the sense of shock now,
as the sun rises to begin a beautiful spring morning with a bit of chill in the air.
Reminds me of 9/11/01, a beautiful fall day,
another day of tragedy
that lead to much greater tragedy than even the 19 guys with box-cutters could have hoped for.

Why do we react in such a way?
Do such events awaken in us the slumbering realization
that we too are mortal,
and that our time must come one day,
that life is temporary,
but death is permanent?

Springtime in Nashville

2007-04-11T09:54:00.000-05:00

I took these pictures a couple of weeks ago on my lunch break at the Bicentennial Mall near downtown Nashville. Since Blogger will not position my captions correctly, I'm going to describe the pictures up front.

- A dogwood tree frames a distant view of the Tennessee Tower.
- It was a perfect day for kids to play a spirited game of Frisbee.
- Redbuds are my favorite springtime tree.
- Pieces from the Parthenon renovation are placed around the park.
- Blooming azaleas up close
- Younger visitors the world, which is suspended on water. I doubt they notice the irony of the nearby picture of the A-bomb - signifying the end of WW II. Let's hope this generation can make a better world than mine.

Wild turkeys in the front yard

2007-04-11T09:40:00.000-05:00

I stood on our front porch yesterday morning and snapped these pictures of a wild tom turkey in our neighbor's front yard. The sun had just risen and was backlighting his feathers from my perspective.

He follows his flock of females around, spreading his feathers as if to impress them. Most of the females appear to pay no attention to him.

He is part of a flock that lives in the 150+ acres of woods and fields behind our house. Sometimes at sunset we see the huge birds jockeying for roosting positions in the tall trees, and we often observe 12 or more of them in the woods. They particularly like to scavenge for birdseed that falls from our bird feeders. They sound particularly comical in the woods, as if they are telling jokes. A long period of silence will be broken by excited gobbling, as if one of them has told a good joke.

Blue volunteers of spring

2007-03-27T15:24:00.000-05:00

I'm following the lead of Prairie Bluestem, who always posts such beautiful pictures of the area surrounding her home. These little blue flowers have escaped the bed in which they were planted years ago in our front yard and now make their appearance a little farther out in the yard each spring. Unfortunately I must mow them down soon.

Brilliant morning sunshine welcomed me streaming from my office door the other morning.

I love ironic juxtapositions like this picture of the Municipal Auditorium that I took the other day. On the left you have, "Acquire the Fire - Branded by God," and on the right you have, "My Chemical Romance." I wonder how well the fans for these disparate events would mix.

Springtime maliase

2007-03-22T13:34:00.000-05:00

Something about the beginning of spring usually finds me in a funk.

Why is that?

I know there are lots of things I should be doing - like landscaping, transplanting azaleas, planting dogwoods and redbuds and sealing my deck.

Then there are the inside jobs - straightening up my garage, building shelves, cabinets and a workbench.

And then there are taxes. Ugh!

Outside Nature is putting on Her best show of the year,

and inside I'm stewing about this stupid little job that must be done every year.

Every year I find a million excuses to not get started on taxes.

I discover boxes of old photographs I've had for decades,

I find songs I need to learn,

I find TV shows I must watch,

and places I must visit.

I absolutely dread taxes.

But when they're done,

as they always are,

the huge weight is lifted from my shoulders,

and I can get on with my life

and enjoy the coming of spring.

Old pictures

2007-03-13T09:06:00.000-05:00

Last night I scanned a few old pictures from my childhood.

Here I am in 1950 at age four squinting in the bright sunshine reflecting from newly-fallen snow.

Here I am at seven years of age in the summer of 1953 with a box of Boston Terrier puppies that our dog Penny had.

In 1954 at age 8 with my sister Mary on Skyline Drive, which was an afternoon's drive from home outside of Washington, DC.

Easter, age 8 (1954) with my Granddad Bill (dad's father), his wife Edna (my dad's mom died in 1933), my mom, sister and of course our Boston Terrier Penny.

I was pulling my sister on a sled in the winter of 1954.

Here I am 1959 at age 13, the completely gawky nerd that I was then when dressed up for church.

But here I am at the same age looking much cooler.

At age 14 with my sister and dad after a big snow.

I was still pretty gawky by age 16. Here I am at Easter 1962 in the company of my Aunt Mildred, my mom, my mother's mother and my sister.

A twinge of sadness

2007-03-12T15:52:00.000-05:00

XM just played "Dressed up Like Nebraska," by Josh Rouse.

My second wife Nancy got that album for me,

maybe in 2000,

but I didn't care for it,

so she returned it.

She contracted leukemia in the spring of 2002

just as spring was waking up the flowers

and died in the spring of 2003

just as her last spring was waking up the flowers.

Hearing that song just now gave me a twinge of sadness.

It's a Monday

2007-03-12T10:28:00.000-05:00

It's a Monday, for sure.
Daylight Savings Time change meant less sleep than usual.

Wifie is on her way to spend the week with a good friend in Memphis.
It's a beautiful day in Nashville,
and I have absolutely nothing to do.

Well, I do have some projects to work on,
but none of them are "critical,"
and everyone else in the building is doing other things.

So I'm cruisin on a Monday morning,
listening to XM Satellite Radio on the computer,
hoping wifie is having an enjoyable and safe trip,
looking forward to Jazzercise tonight,

knowing I have to learn some songs this week
and knowing I'll have my cat Roger to keep me company.

Nashville Lawn & Garden Show

2007-03-03T22:37:00.000-06:00

The day was initially warm and windy, sunny and bright with puffy white clouds chasing across the blue sky. It became increasingly cold and grey as the afternoon wore on, and by late afternoon we saw snow flurries.

We drove down to the Nashville Fairgrounds and visited the Nashville Lawn & Garden Show, where I took these pictures:

This one ended up looking pretty funny, although when I took it I did not notice the man sitting behind it. It looks like he's sitting in the fountain.

The animal rescue people were there.

We saw a beautiful collection of flower arrangements, complete with lighting to show them off.

A most unusual vase!

Another unusual vase.

Thoughts on turning 61 and how I came to be

2007-02-14T18:55:00.000-06:00

It was the middle of May, 1945.
The young couple had celebrated their 2nd wedding anniversary on May 7.

German forces in Berlin had surrendered the city to Soviet troops on May 2, 1945, and the western allies celebrated V-E Day on May 8.

They may have had a romantic dinner,
perhaps a bottle of wine.

A gentle spring breeze was blowing through their bedroom windows,
stirring the curtains ever so slightly.

Forces beyond their control had brought them together.

Cy was born and raised in the tiny town of Gordon (pop. 2,000) in the northwestern part of the Nebraska panhandle.

He began college at Creighton University in Omaha but transferred to Chadron College after his mother's untimely death and graduated from Chadron with an A.B. degree in 1935,
the first of his family line to earn a college degree.

Cy's father Bill, was a rough-shod railroad foreman with steely-blue eyes
who fell in love with Mae, the beautiful Irish daughter of 2nd generation immigrants.

Mae's parents Dennis and Mary moved from Sheboygan Falls, Wisconsin to homestead in some of the last land available in the U.S. in the sand hill country near Gordon.
Mae's father died in his 40s, leaving her mom to raise the family and run the ranch by herself.
Mary was one tough cookie - a great horsewoman and cook.

Bill's ancestors immigrated to the New World from England in 1635 and moved west with the first wave of Mormons to leave New England in the 1830s. His great-grandfather John had been a close associate of Joseph Smith and crafted the ironwork for the first Mormon temple in Kirtland, Ohio outside of Cleveland.

Cy was 16 at the beginning of the Great Depression, and he vowed to make a better future for himself than was available to a young man in the vast emptiness of the High Plains during those hard years.

After college graduation, Cy moved to Washington, DC to put himself through George Washington University Law School, taking classes at night while working for the WPA during the day. He received a Juris Doctor degree in 1939 and was commissioned an Officer in the U.S. Navy.

Millie moved to Washington, DC from Plant City, Florida
after graduating from nearby Florida Southern College, staying with an aunt who lived nearby. Millie descended from a long line of college-educated women.
Her great-great grandfather had been a circuit-riding Methodist preacher, school teacher and teacher of singing schools to the sparsely-populated mountains of North Carolina during the early 1800s.

Cy was 26, and Millie was 20 on September 1, 1939 when Hitler invaded Poland and sparked World War II. On September 3 the United Kingdom, Australia, New Zealand and France responded by declaring war on Germany. Japan attacked the U.S. Naval base at Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. On December 11 Germany and Italy declared war on the U.S. About 62 million people, or 2.5% of the world's population died in the war.

Cy was commissioned an officer and spent the war as a U.S. Navy lawyer at the Pentagon.

They met while working for the Navy Department in the Navy Annex, which overlooks the Pentagon.
Their wedding was held in Plant City, Florida on May 7, 1943. He was just a month shy of his 30th birthday and cut a dashing figure in his Navy dress whites. She looked the part of a southern belle at age 24 in her long white lace gown.

At the consummation of their love on that warm spring night,
his DNA merged with hers,
and a new being was formed.
The biological instructions in Cy and Millie's DNA had been handed down from their respective parents,
who in turn inherited their instructions from their parents and so on back to the beginning of life on this planet.

She would have been about 11 1/2 weeks pregnant,
and I would have been about the size of a kidney bean
on August 6, 1945 - the day the Enola Gay dropped the atomic bomb dubbed "Little Boy" on Hiroshima.
Three days later, a B-29 named Bockscar dropped the second atomic bomb, "Fat Man" on the port city of Nagasaki. The Japanese surrendered on August 14, or V-J Day.

On a cold Valentine's night in Arlington, Virginia on 1946,
it was almost midnight when
a young mother brought her firstborn into the world
who now writes this post.

Commercials - the bane of my living room

2007-02-08T22:51:00.000-06:00

Why do commercials affect me so negatively?
I wish it were not so,
for when they come on,
my head hurts.

It's like a big ASS comes farting out of the TV screen.

And so I must reach for the remote,
which creates dissent.

If I could,
I would be like everyone else,
and just ignore the commercials.
But there is no other option,
and I must be like myself.

I resent mind control.

I will not
drink their beer,
watch their movie,
or buy their car.

I will not be manipulated.

I must lack some filter
that everyone else has,
or maybe my ears are just too sensitive

Sometimes I do not like being me.

This is the next day, and I've had time to think more about this issue.

I think my distaste for commercials is rooted in three of the central traits of my personality.

One:
I'm the poster child for adult ADHD;
I am HIGHLY distractable.
In college I had trouble finding a place to study.
The dorm was too noisy,
and the library was too quiet;
the books on any nearby shelf always beckoned for my attention.
I could always find a reason to procrastinate and do anything other than studying,
such as making up song lists for my band.

This explains my mediocre college grades.

And so I cannot resist the distraction of commercials;
they intrude on my serenity
and make it impossible to think about anything
other than what they are trying to sell me.
(Which I know is their purpose.)

Two:
My ears are extremely sensitive to input.
(I don't mean that I can hear better than other people,
because I often have trouble understanding speech).

I mean that sounds affect me more - or differently - than most people.

When I first started work for C&P Telephone in 1969, the business office where I worked had Muzak playing through the overhead speakers. The sounds of crappy elevator music nearly drove me crazy, although the office full of 75 other workers seemed unaffected. I remember holding both my hands over my ears trying to concentrate on writing memos.

And so commercials rivet my attention in a very uncomfortable way.

Is this a kind of insanity - experiencing a vastly different reality than anyone else?)

Three:
I crave independence of thought.
Some kind of internal "intrusion attempt alarm" (for want of a better word) goes off in my head whenever I suspect that I am the object of an attempt to manipulate me.
I cannot control the bristling feeling inside when a voice shouts at me from the TV set,
or the seductive scene begins
that will end in a car commercial
or an ad for a TV show or movie.

It doesn't really matter whether I like the product or not;
I just cannot stand being manipulated.

Is this a kind of insanity?

I grew up in the 1950s-60s during the struggle for Civil Rights and the conflict over the Vietnam War.
Now in retrospect I realize that I had been fed a pack of lies all along.

Lies about the inferiority of black people,
lies about the nobility of the southern cause in the Civil War,
lies about the Vietnam war,
lies about Russia,
lies about sex.

It took nearly a lifetime for me to come to my own conclusions about these issues.

In the 1960s I wasn't sure who was telling the truth about Vietnam.
In college I had John Birch Society friends and listened to their impassioned arguments;
I also had "hippie" friends whose walls were plastered with SNCC and SDC anti-war posters;
I also listened to their impassioned arguments.
I tried my best to understand each point of view,
because I sensed that the real truth lay somewhere in between.

I remember seeing news of forced school integration in the south;
the fire hoses being turned on crowds of black people;
the violence after Martin Luther King's assassination.
From our house I could see the smoke rising from the riots in Washington DC.
I believed violence and destruction was wrong.
(In retrospect I don't know how else such fundamental social change could have come about.)

All the same, I was not one of those brave souls who participated in the protest marches.
I served in the Navy during 1968-69
and immediately thereafter began a career with C&P Telephone Company,
and was too concerned about keeping my job and supporting my family.
I stayed on the sidelines of life,
letting other people with stronger convictions man the front lines.

Boy, this post is wandering far afield from its initial focus on my distaste for commercials.
I suppose I got going on the track of explaining how I have acquired a built-in distaste for attempts to convince me of something I know I should determine for myself.

Okay, now I've wasted sufficient time at work
instead of doing my job.

Do you see that this is a perfect example of my ADHD?

To be continued...

Antique computers

2007-01-24T09:36:00.000-06:00

I was first exposed to mainframe computing when I joined C&P Telephone Company in 1969 as Assistant Manager in the Fairfax, VA Business Office. I toured the company's billing office in Richmond, which used an IBM 360 mainframe with 16K of memory and took up an entire huge room, complete with its own cooling system. The floor was raised about a foot to make way for the extensive amount of wiring that connected the various elements of the computer.

Service Order Typists in the Business Office cut the orders using the Model 28 ASR Teletypewriter, which used 5-channel paper tape.

The Service Order Bureau also had a few of the "newer" 35 ASR Teletypewriter, which used 8-channel paper tape.

Service Order Representatives in the Business Office would hand-write the order on a special form. The orders were carried via a pneumatic tube system (which I designed) to the Service Order Typing Bureau. There Service Order Typists would create a punched paper tape. Each character was represented by a specific pattern of holes in the paper tape (either 5- or 8-channel). This tape was then fed through a tape reader. As the tape advanced to each position, little metal fingers protruded through each hole in the tape, generating an electric signal that was sent out over the service order network. The network operated at 110 baud, meaning that 110 characters were sent per minute. A long service order for a business with many extensions could take hours to transmit.

The service order network was hardwired and dedicated to only service orders. If one printer ran out of paper or jammed in the dozens of locations to which the multi-leg circuit terminated (which happened frequently), the entire network would go down until someone was dispatched to fix the problem.

In 1974 when I joined C&P's headquarters forecasting staff, I learned to use the mainframe timeshare (VM/CMS) system, with which I created mathematical models of customer demand using linear regression and multivariate econometric models. These models were run using "STATLIB", which was an acronym for "Bell System Statistical Computing Library." STATLIB was a high-level language based in FORTRAN and developed by Bell Labs. Input (data and models) was created by paper tape, which was fed into the computer and run on the mainframe, which was located in New Jersey. Most programs were run in batch mode, and the printed output would arrive several days later.

About that same time I bought a Timex Sinclair 1000 for my home, with which my son and I discovered the joys of programming in BASIC.

In 1984 my division received our first IBM personal computer, which was shared among 14 people. I was one of the early adopters and shortly thereafter spent $4,000 to buy an IBM PC-1 for my home, with which my son and I discovered how to write simple graphics programs using BASICA. It came with 64K of RAM, which I upgraded to 640K, the maximum that DOS could address at that time.

The strange story of my first car

2007-01-18T13:11:00.000-06:00

Here I am leaning against my first car.
It was a 1964 Chevy Nova, which my dad purchased for $800 and gave me for a combination college graduation/wedding present.
I paid half, as I had saved $400 to buy a car upon graduation.

It had a 3-on-the-column stick shift and an in-line 6-cylinder engine that got about 18 mpg.
It had no air conditioning but did have Positraction (limited slip differential), which was very handy on icy roads.
It was our sole family vehicle for the first 3 years of my marriage.

We used to drive it to the Outer Banks of North Carolina for family vacations.
We'd leave by 4:00 a.m. to take advantage of the cool morning air and let the kids sleep in the back.
We'd stop at Williamsburg by 7:00 a.m. for breakfast, then arrive at the beach before Noon.

I sold it to a "friend" sometime in the mid 1970s.

I enclosed the word "friend" in quotes because he had an affair with my wife.
Or maybe she had an affair with him.
Either way it still hurts.
He was an ex-con.

Anyway, shortly afterwards he gave the car to a new girlfriend.
He gave her the car because she was short of money.

Her name was Ellen "Kay" Hatch, Executive Director of the National Kidney Fund,
and it seems she got pretty good at her job.

Here's a Washington Post article about her:

Frances Sauve
February 19, 1981; Page C8

The National Society of Fund Raising Executives has presented its Greater Washington Metropolitan Area Fund Raiser of the Year award to Ellen Kay Hatch, national Executive director of the American Kidney Fund. Hatch, whose area of fundraising expertise is direct mail, raised more than $3 million in 1980 for the Kidney Fund, with fund raising and administrative costs of less than 28 percent. The foundation provides direct financial assistance to kidney patients across the nation.

Four years later Kay was found dead of a self-inflicted gunshot wound.
Here's the Washington Post article:

Kidney Fund Sues Aide's Estate

Lee Hockstader and Patricia Davis, Washington Post StaffWriters
November 22, 1985; Page C1

The American Kidney Fund has filed suit in Fairfax County against the estate of the executive director of the Bethesda-based charitable organization, who committed suicide in June, alleging that she "wrongfully diverted" more than $1.4 million into three bank accounts she kept secret from the fund.

Ellen Kay Hatch, 44, who had been executive director since 1974, was found with a gunshot wound to her chest June 29 in an empty Jacuzzi in her Herndon home, according to Fairfax County police. About a month earlier, she had been fired by the board of trustees of the fund, which had discovered the alleged misappropriation, the executive director of the fund said.

I have often wondered about the connections between these people.

Lunchtime walk around Nashville's Bicentennial Park 1-12-07

2007-01-14T08:47:00.000-06:00

Friday was cloudy an unremarkable in every respect except for the unseasonably warm temperature for mid-January. My previous post about Sulpher Dell was drawn from the same lunchtime walk, but my imagination ran away with me (as is its wont - see my screen name). After much research I ended up devoting an entire post to the historic ballpark that once occupied this site. And so here are the other pictures I took on that 20-minute walk. (Have I mentioned lately that I love working in downtown Nashville?)

I set my camera down on the sidewalk to get an ant's-eye view looking up toward the state Capitol, which you can see on the hilltop in the distance.

Here's a standing-up perspective. This is what a normal person would see - not that I'm at all "normal." I always search for the unexplored perspective.

This little tree has been fooled into thinking it's spring. You can see the Captol building again through the branches.

Its buds are opening,

and we wondered what will happen to it when/if we get a hard freeze.

Then we spied a vine that had wrapped itself around a bush and opened its seed pods to spread its next generation. I love the way it looks windblown, even though the atmosphere was completely calm.

Underneath the bush we saw where a mockingbird appears to have met its demise.

On the way back to the office we passed some new condos for sale where an old vegetable distribution warehouse had stood until a few months ago. Can you imagine paying $300 thousand dollars to live in a two-story townhouse within a block of the railroad tracks?

Here's a perspective looking back at the condos from the other side of the tracks. A train was passing at the time.

Nashville's Sulphur Dell

2007-01-13T10:35:00.000-06:00

Yesterday my bud Jerry and I took a walk around Nashville's Bicentennial Mall, which was once home to Sulpher Dell. Union solidiers occupying the city during the Civil War introduced baseball to Nashville in 1862.

I set the camera down on the sidewalk to get this ant's-eye view looking toward the state Capitol, which is visible on top of the hill in the distance.

Supher Dell was the oldest professional baseball field when it closed in 1963.

How did Sulpher Dell get its name?
From The Tennessean 10/30/02:
"The park was in a low-lying area south of Jackson Street along Fifth Avenue, just a bit north of the present-day James Robertson Parkway. The area was subject to flooding when the Cumberland River exceeded its banks. To its credit, this topography also made the spot a natural amphitheater.

"Another asset was the free-flowing sulphur water well on the ballpark's southern boundary. Players between innings could take a few steps to the well house for a cooling, if strange-tasting, refreshment. The first game there between organized teams was in 1866.

"Known early on as Sulphur Spring Bottom and later as Nashville Athletic Park, it got the better-known name of Sulphur Dell thanks to Grantland Rice, a legendary Tennessean sports writer. One day in the 1907-09 period, when Rice may have been struggling to find a topic, he suggested in a ''prankish moment'' renaming the bottom the dell.

"The name stuck with the locals, just as baseball had four decades earlier. (The irony that didn't go unnoticed was that this ''dell'' — the term for a tree-lined valley — was largely a coal-smoke-filled, flooding lowland. Part of it was even used as a city dump, its fires often sending out acrid fumes.)

"Nashville's 'Vols' were among the Southern League's eight teams in the first decade of the 1900s."

Hank Williams in a Nashville Vols cap.

LBJ throws out the first pitch in 1961.

The area flooded frequently. This photograph was taken after the Cumberland River flooded in 1937.

In its heyday.

For sale.

My father's artwork

2007-01-03T09:32:00.000-06:00

Japanese Landscape in mosaic tile created by my father sometime in the 1960s.

This is the tag on the back. My father was the top civilian assistant to the Chief of Personnel for the Naval Reserve when he died of a heart attack in 1972 at age 57. He worked at the Navy Annex, which is just uphill from the Pentagon in Northern Virgina. During his long recuperation from an attack ten years earlier, he discovered a passion for making mosiac tile art. Dad accumulated a stock of bathroom tile that he picked up free or at very little charge from contractors. He and mom had designed and had built four houses between 1952-58 and of course in the process had made good acquaintance with many contractors. It appears dad had entered this piece in a competition at his office. You can see he was left-handed. He developed great strength in his hand and could cut the thick tiles single-handedly using a tile cutter.

All of these pieces are in need of a good cleaning and re-grouting. They are quite heavy, so they've been stacked on the floor for more than 30 years. One day I shall re-frame and hang them where they can be enjoyed.

Dad was born in 1913 to a railroad foreman and a second-generation Irish immigrant. He was raised in the tiny town of Gordon (pop. 2,000) in the panhandle of northwestern Nebraska. He was the first of his family to graduate from college, and after graduation he moved to Washington, DC where he put himself through law school and later met my mom. From these examples, I surmise that he was indeed an artist.

My dad designed and made this piece himself; I believe it is a representation of Venice.

Roger the cat inspects the piece from this angle,

experiences it in a tactile manner,

and gives it his sanguine nod of approval.

Would you call this a cat-scan?

New Year's moving day

2007-01-03T09:03:00.000-06:00

The year 2007 was barely underway when a friend and I helped another friend move into her house.

She lives at the end of a cul-de-sac at the top of a hill. She had rented a 24-foot long truck to move her belongings to Nashville from Atlanta.

This truck was full when we started.

We worked from 1 p.m. to about 4 p.m. unloading and moving things

UP the steep driveway,

UP the steep stairs outside,

UP the stairs inside,

then back down again to get another load,

and repeated the process for four hours.

These are a few of the things we moved.

The hill does have its advantages once you get to the top. Here's her view out the front window:

What better way to wish a new Nashvillian Happy New Year!

Goodbye mom

2006-12-25T14:21:00.000-06:00

Ten years ago on December 14, 1996

my mom passed from this earthly realm.

Here she is holding me when I was just a few weeks old.

and dad holding me at a slightly older age.

Dad died suddenly when I was just 25

Here we all are on the front steps a few years later.

Goodbye mom.

I wish I could hug you one more time,

and tell you I love you.

Wildlife on our deck

2006-12-25T13:54:00.000-06:00

The other night I got these pix of this little guy on our deck.

What are these weird-looking creatures?

It is a Virginia opossum, North America's only marsupial (female has a pouch). The female carries and nurses her young in her marsupium until they are about 2 to 3 months old; then they are carried on her back another 1 to 2 months whenever they are away from the den. They are solitary and nocturnal: usually slow moving; when frightened and unable to flee may fall into an involuntary shock-like state, "playing 'possum."

When threatened or harmed, they will "play possum", mimicking the appearance and smell of a sick or dead animal. The lips are drawn back, teeth are bared, saliva foams around the mouth, and a foul-smelling fluid is secreted from the anal glands. The physiological response is involuntary, rather than a conscious act. Their stiff, curled form can be prodded, turned over, and even carried away. Many injured opossums have been killed by well-meaning people who find a catatonic animal and assume the worst. The best thing to do upon finding an injured or apparently dead opossum is to leave it in a quiet place with a clear exit path. In minutes or hours, the animal will regain consciousness and escape quietly on its own.

Its tail is prehensile. A prehensile tail is adapted for grasping and wrapping around things like tree limbs. The opossum can hang from its tail for a short time. Some people think opossums hang from their tails and sleep. They don't. Their tails aren't strong enough to hold them for that long!

Opossums probably diverged from the basic South American marsupials in the late Cretaceous or early Paleocene. A sister group is the Paucituberculata, or shrew opossums. They are commonly also called "possums", though that term is more correctly applied to Australian fauna of the suborder Phalangeriformes.

It lived during the age of dinosaurs: fossil remains have been found from 70 million years ago.

The Paleocene, "early dawn of the recent", is a geologic epoch that lasted from 65.5 ± 0.3 Ma to 55.8 ± 0.2 Ma (million years ago). The Paleocene epoch immediately followed the mass extinction event at the end of the Cretaceous, known as the K-T boundary (Cretaceous - Tertiary), which marks the demise of the dinosaurs. The die-off of the dinosaurs left unfilled ecological niches worldwide, and the name "Paleocene" comes from Greek and refers to the "old(er) (paleo) – new (ceno)" fauna that arose during the epoch, prior to the emergence of modern mammalian orders in the Eocene.

In other words, these awkward-looking critters are extremely good survivors, despite the fact that they are slow-moving, easy prey for predators and frequent victims of roadkill. Their unspecialized biology, flexible diet and reproductive strategy make them successful colonizers and survivors in unsettled times.

The first description of the opossum in the English language comes from explorer John Smith, who wrote in Map of Virginia, with a Description of the Countrey, the Commodities, People, Government and Religion in 1608 that "An Opassom hath an head like a Swine, and a taile like a Rat, and is of the bignes of a Cat. Under her belly she hath a bagge, wherein she lodgeth, carrieth, and sucketh her young."

Opossums have a remarkably robust immune system, and show partial or total immunity to the venom of rattlesnakes, cottonmouths, and other pit vipers. Thanks to their lower blood temperature, rabies is almost unknown in opossums.

House party gig

2006-12-11T14:47:00.000-06:00

Last Saturday I filled in as keyboard player for a classic rock band at a house party.

Here are the songs we played along with my performance notes:

We played "Sympathy for the Devil" from our "back pocket" list.

The party was lots of fun. It was held in a house in which a performance hall, complete with stage and PA system, had been built into the top floor. There were maybe 100 people, all of whom danced and cheered loudly as we played their favorite tunes.

I hadn't played in months, so it felt good to stretch out.
Although it was a last-minute call, and I had never played many of songs, I enjoy a challenge like this. It stretches me to perform my very best.

It didn't hurt that I came home with a cool $100 in my wallet!

I have made a New Years resolution that in 2007 I will play a lot more music.

A personal dialogue on the future

2006-12-08T22:03:00.000-06:00

A dialogue like this goes on inside my head as I contemplate my future:

Background:
Age: 60
Health: Excellent
Marital status: Married (VERY happily)
Recent events: Two much-loved men in my family died in the past 2 months; one was 91;

the other 80.

My father died at age 57 (heart disease).

Employment status: Happily & securely employed but just making ends meet.
Retirement savings: Good-sized nest egg from smart savings in previous corporate career. Finance guy says I need to work 6 more years.

The Dreamer: I want to retire earlier than age 66.
The Protector: There’s not enough money.
The Dreamer: There’s not enough time.
The Protector: How can I afford to?
The Dreamer: How can I afford NOT to?

I want to fulfill so many dreams:
spend more time with my wife,
spend more time with friends,
and finally become a part of my grandchildren’s lives.

Create new things:
write,
read,
complete my genealogy,
play music,
write music,
record my own music in a home studio,
scan & document my old pictures,
digitize hundreds of reel-to-reel, cassette tapes, LPs and 45s,
index and convert hundreds of hours of video to digital format,
turn some of them into DVDs complete with voice-over, subtitles, etc.
catalogue family treasures for my grandchildren,
try out living in an intentional community,
travel,
discover new places and people
and walk in the woods.
I want to indulge photography,
landscape gardening,
woodworking
and many more passions.

The Questioner: Aren’t you in good health?
The Dreamer: Yes, but every time Death visits, it reminds me that life is finite even with the best of health.
The Protector: You have to survive.
The Dreamer: Aren’t you confusing means with ends?

The Philosopher:
And so what is the purpose of life anyway?
Is it enough to simply work to pay the bills?
Or is there a larger purpose for my existence beyond mere survival?

The Protector: Most of the world’s people struggle for survival; you should be satisfied with a comfortable life. You should be very conservative in your spending plans, because your comfortable living could vanish in a moment by any number of unforeseen circumstances.

The Dreamer:
That’s just the point. Life is short, and therefore I should make the most of it.
There are no guarantees in life; you must live one day at a time.
I have all these dreams.
Visions of words, music, understanding and communicating.
Communicating to my children, grandchildren and others who love me.

The Questioner: Why is writing so important to you?

The Voice of Experience:
I grasped the meaning of immortality when cleaning out my mother’s attic after her death.
I discovered an old typewritten transcription of the autobiography of my great-great-great-great-great grandfather, Reuben Philips (1795-1877). He was a circuit riding preacher, school teacher and teacher of singing schools in the mountains of western North Carolina in the early 1800s. Because he set down so much of his life in writing, I realized that he had become immortal. He spoke directly to me from the time of Napoleon because he took the time to put his life down in writing.

Through experiences like these I have come to realize that the only thing that makes me unique is the substance of my thoughts. All of the elements that constitute my physical body will eventually return to the earth from which they were borrowed. Because thoughts precede actions, any accomplishments are the result of thoughts.

I always knew I was different from everyone else. In childhood I thought I might be crazy. My sister was retarded, and the thought often crossed my mind that there might be something seriously wrong with me. I was depressed a good bit of the time. I tried my best to hide my differentness by pretending to be like everyone else but often not quite getting away with it. I was not an unhappy child, but life has progressively improved with age.

I got pretty good at fulfilling other people's expectations,
But staying out of trouble is just not good enough anymore.

Each year I learn to respect myself a bit more,
to give ear to that still small voice.
To appreciate my own wisdom.
To expand my capacity to love,
and to be loved.

Each year allows me to become more truly myself.

A close acquaintance with death has taught me to appreciate life.
A great marriage,

the love and respect of my son,
great friends,
good health,
living in Music City (college town, music central)

enjoying being a new Unitarian Universalist,

becoming more politically active,
working on causes in which I believe,
paying my bills
and enjoying continuous learning.

Now that I re-read the dialogue above,
I realize that I tend to slip into first person when using the Dreamer voice
and third person when speaking with the Protector voice.

My True Self must be the Dreamer;
I should follow her call.

Goodbye Uncle Fred

2006-12-05T10:29:00.000-06:00

This morning wifie's favorite uncle, Fred passed away at his home in DeFuniak Springs, FL. He was 80.

Here he was petting his cat with wifie when we visited him last February.

He was wifie's favorite uncle and will be dearly missed by all who knew and loved him.

Morning walk

2006-11-28T09:43:00.000-06:00

The other day wifie and I took a walk in the unseasonably warm morning sunshine.

We noticed how tiny our little house looks compared with its neighbors.

Our mum is getting gold.

Roger the cat basked happily in the sun upon our return.

Great bumper sticker

2006-11-28T09:02:00.000-06:00

Seen outside a Nashville bar on November 25, 2006.

Thoughts of mortality

2006-11-27T19:15:00.000-06:00

Yesterday in a rare idle moment I explored the calendar on my cell phone.

You can set reminders for future dates.

I wanted to see how far into the future the calendar would go,
so just for fun I set a reminder on my cell phone for my upcoming birthdays.

I'm 60 now.
I set reminders for my 80th,
90th
and 100th birthdays.

Although I know in two years I'll trade this phone for a new one,
it was an interesting exercise.

Holding down the # key rapidly on my phone scrolls rapidly through the months,
and before you know it, a year flashes by,
and then another,
and another...

(Kind of like real life)

It got me to thinking,
thinking about the finiteness of life.

How many cell phones will I go through in my remaining years on this planet?

Even if I live to be 100,
I will have already lived more than half of my years.

This exercise started me thinking.

What is life about, anyway?

The early years seem simple if sometimes hard.

A person must learn;
might choose a mate;
might reproduce;
must earn a living for oneself and one's family;
and raise one's children.

Then comes this long stretch of years
before the end arrives.

One's marriage may crumble;
one's children grow up and make lives of their own,
perhaps giving one grandchildren.

One may remarry and begin a new life;
inheriting a new extended family far away.

One may move to a distant city far away to start anew;
beginning a new career, starting over again from the bottom as a novice,
scratching and clawing one's way slowly back into respect.

One's new spouse may die an untimely death from leukemia as did mine,
leaving one alone as never before.

One may then have the courage to begin a third new life;
inheriting yet a third new extended family in yet another new place;
the adventures seem unending,
and new challenges appear every day.

But one day
it will come to an end.

What is the moral of this story?

Is there any real purpose to life?

Is it just putting one foot in front of the other?

I think the answer lies in the accumulation of knowledge,
which one may pass on to one's descendants
and to all the others who will follow.

Because
in the end
there will be
nothing
left of me
except
my thoughts.

High school bands 1

2006-11-06T09:49:00.000-06:00

My high school years were 1960-64.
I began playing in bands in 1963.
The Beatles hit America in 1964.

I am sadly lacking pictures of most of the bands I played with during high school, but I'll share these few items, along with some history of those times and of my life in particular.

I had spent the summer of 1960 in Gordon, Nebraska with my granddad and his wife. Upon my return, my mom told me about a phone call I had gotten from the Youth Fellowship of my church (Dulin United Methodist of Falls Church, VA). They were putting on a play and needed a "combo" for one of the scenes.

[Back in those days, what we call "bands" today were known as "combos" "dance bands," or "dance orchestras." Most popular music of that day was still heavily influenced by the Big Band Era of WW II.]

After a great deal of reluctance (shyness, performance anxiety - you name it), I returned the call. They supplied me with sheet music for "Basin Street Blues." I learned my part and arrived at the church social hall for our first rehearsal. Also present was a stand-up bass, a sax and maybe a trombone. We had all learned our individual parts, so after tuning up, someone counted off "1 - 2 - 3," and off we went. I can't adequately describe the sensation I felt that day, hearing the sound of the small group, making music for the first time. It was my first time to play with a group of people. It was so beautiful that I remembered wanting to stop and listen. The play never was produced, and we never rehearsed again. But that experience had triggered something powerful inside me, something that would influence the direction of the rest of my life. I had awakened my Muse.

After that experience I was left hungry for more. And so I joined the newly-formed high school "dance band, "The Cavaliers," an offshoot of the school stage band, which was itself an offshoot of the marching band, lead by Morris Dubin. I'm sitting at the piano with Mr. Dubin behind me (ready to whack my fingers if I make a mistake).

"The Cavaliers" played one paying gig at the Sadie Hawkins dance for my high school, JEB Stuart. We made exactly $13.00 each that night, the first money I had ever made playing music. I felt like a real pro. I forget if the band disbanded after that, or if I just left. I know it was nerve-wracking for me to keep up with all the sheet music. I've never been much of a sight-reader. I would tape together all the pages of a particular song to avoid the necessity of page-turning in the middle of the song. A long song might therefore stretch from one end of the piano keyboard to the other.

Blogger has stopped allowing me to post pictures, so I'll continue my my story in a new post.

Nearest Book Meme

2006-11-06T09:45:00.000-06:00

This is from Prairie Bluestem's blog, who got it from Sarabeth, who in turn got the idea from Fat Doctor:

Grab the nearest book.
Open the book to page 123.
Find the fifth sentence.
Post the text of the next four sentences on your blog, along with these instructions.
Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest!

The first book I picked up was a children's book, "Gus was a Friendly Ghost," that didn't have 123 pages.

The next was "Zen - Images, Texts and Teachings," which had the requisite number of pages, but page 123 didn't have five sentences.

Finally I picked up "10,000 Dreams Interpreted," and on page 123 I found five sentences, the fifth being:

"For a mother to carry fresh flowers to a cemetery, indicates that she may expect the continued good health of her family."

Cat in a box

2006-11-04T17:37:00.000-06:00

Here's our cat Roger obviously enjoying himself in a big box full of styrofoam popcorn.

(Actually I put him in the box, but he didn't complain.)