Today is April 8, 2024. Where I live the sun is shining and there’s warmth in the air. Looking out my window I can see the daffodils bursting with glorious new color as the blooms stretch their necks to let the warm face of the sun shine on the bright, yellow faces of the flowers. As Fred Rogers would say, “It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood.” Today is also the day when Luna will pass before the face of Old Sol. I’m fortunate in that I live directly in the center of the Path of Totality. So, I will be on my patio with my special ISO approved glasses watching as this event crosses directly over my head. As I reflect on this a few things pop into my head like sparks rising from a fire and drifting into my consciousness to illuminate whatever it is that may be hiding in the nooks and crannies of my mind. This particular eclipse has a fairly lengthy lineage. About 13.8 billion years ago the Universe which we call home exploded into life. As the gasses and various atomic “stuff” that makes up everything that we can see sped at nearly the speed of life in all directions, clumps of it began to gather and coalesce. Approximately 4.6 billion years ago a hot mess spun into shape. Over the next bunch of billions of years that hot mess began to form and differentiate into balls of hot gasses and matter. These slowly cooled and formed the Solar System that we love and know. During this process the earth and the moon began their dance of joy around one another. Sometimes, as we’re spinning our beloved partner she takes her place between Old Sol and our Terra. We are truly “Leapin’ and Hoppin’” in a Moonshadow. Such things are blessings made. There are many, perhaps too many, who think that such an event is a ‘sign’ or ‘portent’ of something much more sinister and supernatural. To them I say, “Let’s talk tomorrow when everything is still the same.” For me, I am quite happy to share in this Super event that is truly Natural. Too old souls simply enjoying the music of the heavens and dancing with joy.
Well, it’s Friday morning. I finished the dishes and took Josie for a walk. She loves watching the squirrels and chipmunks. Actually, she’d like to play with them. But, that’s not a great idea. We know that spring has arrived. The ducks are back. Yeah, Josie wants to go swimming with them. They don’t seem too keen on that. It’s really wet back in the woods, so I have to wrestle with this 60 lb. dog to keep her out of the mud. She loves the water and the wet. If I let her she’d splash through the muck with a great big doggie smile. But, for my sanity and the condition of my house, we need to keep her to the trails.
Andrew Zimmern’s on the tube with his Delicious Destinations show. I like Andrew. I’d never eat half of what he considers edible. His other show, Bizarre Foods has some nasty looking concoctions. My wife won’t even watch it because of the stuff that Andrew calls ‘food.’ It’s not. It’s offal and it’s insects and some things that I have no clue what it is.
After I get done here I need to continue my search for some kind of part time employment. Nothing much, but something to help out with bills and such. You’d be surprised at what a Master’s degree costs!
It’s a Friday in Lent. We usually do fish on these days. Last week we decided that a veggie pizza works. So, maybe that’ll become our new Lenten go to meal. Gotta love jalapenos! Do any of you follow any kind of Lenten tradition? When I was a kid I never even heard the term ‘Lent.’ If I had I would have probably thought that it was stuff that was on your clothes when they came out of the dryer. We had Lent Rollers to take care of that.
I know that this post is a tad strange. After all that I have written lately, I needed to take a break and write about nothing at all. Clear the mental palate. Next week it’s back to the words that I need to write. It’s not really a matter of what I want to do. To share God and God’s Love is more like a vocation, a calling, that I have to follow. But, til then, enjoy the weekend. Take a walk. Breathe.
Yesterday was interesting. And, not because anything out of the ordinary happened. I had lunch with the Rector of the church I’ve attended since September. But, before I left to meet Fr. Alex, I watched “Ghosts of Christmas Eve” with The Trans Siberian Orchestra. I really like TSO. Being a musician I appreciate what the arrangers did. Especially, since I cut my musical teeth on Prog Rock from the early 70s, the mash-up of classically inspired shredding guitars is a favorite. So, when the first scene opened I found it strange that my emotions began to surface. In fact, until late in the program it took a concerted effort to not sit there and bawl like a baby. Now, I’ve had music affect me emotionally before. Certain passages and sequences of notes charge me up. Chills and constricted arrector pili muscles appear on my arms. Yesterday was different, though. And, honestly, I have no clue why. The script and acting in the program were mediocre at best. Contrived and frivolous at worst. Was it simply the music? I don’t think so. The wave of emotion began well before the music really took off. Maybe, it was the idea of the young runaway spending Christmas Eve in a run down old theater. The old story goes that no one should be alone on Christmas. As I write this, I’m still not sure what the deal was. But, I’m kinda glad for it. It proves, once again, that I am not Mr. Spock. I do have emotions that surface and cause me to reflect. And, in spite of everything, I am connected to other people and the World at large in ways that are not always predictable. Maybe, that’s a good thing.
This past week was hard. I wrote and posted some pretty harsh words. The topics engender my ire and stoke my passion. Injustice and hatred have always been triggers for me. The issues that I wrote about are absolutely links in chains that bind many, many people. I would love to see those links broken, lying on the ground in pieces. So, I write about them hoping that my words may enlighten and encourage others who struggle, as I have. There are other links and other chains, though, that are just as binding. These are ones that bind us to a particular path in life. They hold us fast to iron fixtures that are fastened to the cold, stone of dungeon prisons. We all have them. They are made up of the expectations that we, and others, have piled on us over the years. The lost or missed opportunities to pursue our dreams are the bolts that secure the chain. Words that may have been meant to guide, yet became the shackles that have held us fast, unable to move. When I was young I remember wanting to make things that people liked. I drew pictures. I made up songs and dances. I was a kid! And, kids do these things as expressions of what they are learning. We all wanted our productions, our ‘art,’ to be accepted. How many of us who drew a picture that our mom or dad just gushed praise on said, “Here! Wait! I’ll do another one!” Then we ran off to our paper and crayons and instantly produced another masterpiece. Just walk into any American home today where young children live and take a look at the refrigerator. Most will have all kinds of magnets that secure the work of a budding Renoir or, maybe better, a young Picasso. “Here! Look what I made!” We grow older, but the desire to create things that please oneself and others is still there. We just choose other ways of expressing that creativity. For me, it was music. I was blessed, (cursed?), to grow up when rock was young. Bands like The Beatles and Jan & Dean were popping up all over. Folk music was at the pinnacle of its popularity. I remember standing in our living room with The New Christy Minstrels playing “Green, Green” on our mono record player while holding a tennis racket like a guitar. Yep! The beginnings of air guitar right there. My parents thought that I might like learning how to play the real thing. So, at 9 years old, I was presented with my first instrument. I don’t remember the brand. I just remember that it was a big old acoustic with a warped neck. I couldn’t even press the string to the fretboard past the third fret. But, it was mine! My dad signed me up for lessons at a local music store. “Gardner’s Academy of Music.” My teacher was the owner. King Gardner. He was an older guy, thinning hair and a mustache. After taking lessons for a while it became apparent that the instrument I had was woefully inadequate. So, my dad parted with $80 to buy me a red sunburst Harmony Rocket. Wow! My first electric guitar! King also sold us the small Danelectro amp that we used in his studio. I was set. Watch out world! Here I come! I joined my first band when I was 12. We knew, I don’t know, about 8 songs. But, that was enough to play parties and some dances. And, if nothing else, we were loud! I continued to play and learn. At one point I spent about 8 hours everyday practicing. I walked around thinking guitar and playing air guitar. My dad used to chide me, “What? Are you afflicted? One hand waving in the air and the other scratching your navel.” Soon, though, reality began to set in. At least for those people who knew better. My parents began to press me toward learning something that I could actually make a “real” living at. Aunts and Uncles soon joined that chorus. I had to listen. They were older and wiser that I was. “You can have it as a hobby, of course. But, you’ll never make a living doing that.” Ok. I kept playing in small bands on weekends. It was fun, I guess. But, the joy of discovery and forging a new path in the Unknown was gone. What had once been a fiery passion had now been tamed. As B. B. King once sang, “The Thrill is Gone.” Of course, his song was about a relationship between two people. It was still fitting for me, though. A link was forged. The chain made longer…heavier. I share this because I think that we all have similar experiences. We find something that fires our passions. We find joy, love, acceptance, and accomplishment. Then, someone comes along and says, “Well, that’s real nice and all. But, it’s not real.” Or, “That thing will never fly, Orville.” Over years we listen to these voices. Many times, perhaps most, it’s our own voice telling us these things. We become so conditioned to what’s right or acceptable that we learn that language and speak it to ourselves. I don’t know. I’m just rambling. Maybe, it’s the time of year. Maybe, it’s the time of life. They say we can never go back. And, they’re right. But, maybe we can start something new. Maybe there’s still hope for that child who was so full of wonder and delight to poke an impish face around that corner and say,
