Compatibility
What a strange word to describe a relationship that is harmonious. It actually sounds like combat-a-bility, which, if we were totally honest, could describe some of our marriages.
Kathy and I have been married now for 33 years. We have enjoyed most of that time together (at least I have) and have learned to not only get along well, but to actually love each other. We have learned what not to fight about and why we shouldn’t. We’ve learned to accept each other’s weaknesses and treasure the other’s strengths. We can go weeks and months without a major disagreement and have learned how to push them aside and forgive each other when it’s over. All in all, it’s been a very good journey and one I treasure more than anything else in this life.
But, I have to ask myself how we can get along so well when we are so totally different. You want to know these things in case your kids ask your advice about marriage. For most guys (including myself most of the time), we’d just shrug our shoulders, say we didn’t know and ask what’s for supper. But I’ve decided I need to figure it out at least a little bit so I won’t sound totally stupid if the question ever comes up.
And to say we’re different is without question. We’re like oil and water, cats and dogs, eggs and broccoli. I mean, there’s the obvious difference between man and woman. We all know the differences there and their implications, but ours goes beyond that.
Music
Our tastes in music are from one spectrum to the other, although I can enjoy her preferences from time to time. She likes soft, soothing, relaxing, quiet, mood-enhancing music like smooth jazz or Celtic Woman. She prefers her music in the background and not ‘in your face’. She likes country and anything on 98.5. Now, like I said, I can appreciate that style and will listen to it under the right circumstances (when she makes me), but it’s not my favorite. I’m more of a fan of classic rock, blues rock, blues, pop and anything else that is loud, creative and done to perfection. I like to turn the volume up to the point where it is just about to blow the speakers so I can totally immerse myself in the music. I have an eclectic taste in styles and bands, but tend to zero in on blues and blues rock most of the time. So, how do we manage to get along so well with such varied tastes? It’s easy. When I’m with her I listen to her preference and when I’m alone I listen to mine. I take her to the concerts she enjoys and go with my buddies to hear bands I like. In other words, I yield to her preferences when I’m with her because I know it makes her happy, and we all know if the wife is happy the husband is happy.
Organization
I have learned over time that I am an efficiency centered person. I don’t like to waste time and make adjustments in my life to avoid it when possible. I drive too fast because I’m always in a hurry. I don’t have any idea why I’m always in a hurry, but I am. I’ve tried to slow down and enjoy the ride, but always end up in the left lane shouting at the idiot who’s driving too slow and doesn’t have the courtesy to move over. And the crazy thing is I usually get to where I’m going early and have to wait for normal people to eventually show up. This drive for efficiency is also evident at home in my organizational skills. I like things in the right place so I don’t have to spend time looking for them. I like my clothes to be hung up in categories so I can put my hand on a work shirt quickly and don’t have to move the dress shirts out of the way to find it. I have my tools organized so I don’t have to look for the ½ inch socket (although I always seem to lose that one). Kathy, on the other hand is not consumed with organization. She can handle complicated real estate deals, balance the checkbook, schedule a mission’s conference at the church while watching a 1year old grandchild with ease, but her office is a mess. I think it’s because she has so much going on all the time that she doesn’t waste time putting stuff in a special place because she figures she can find it later. I don’t really know, but it works for her.
Cooking
She cooks and I don’t, unless she’s not home and then I pop a microwave dinner in for 5 minutes.
Toilet Paper Roll
I always, always, always change out the rolls when they’re empty and always make sure the tissue rolls over the top and not under. Why anyone would do it otherwise is one of the greatest mysteries of the universe, but Kathy never thinks about it.
Kids and Grandkids
Kathy is, without a doubt, one of the greatest moms and grand moms there ever was. She talks to her kids nearly every day and offers advice when needed or when not. She rarely hesitates to ‘keep’ the grandkids when asked even when she’s tired and needs to rest. She will remain plugged into their lives until one of them dies whether they want her to or not. I, on the other hand, like our house without kids. I love my kids and grandkids and want to be the best dad and pawpaw there ever was, but I really enjoy this time in my life without them here all the time. I like to walk around in my pajamas or boxers without embarrassing someone and spend time on my stuff now instead of devoting my time to their sports and lives. To me, they’re grown and are on they’re on their own now. I’ve done the best I can to prepare them for this life and spent many, many hours on that project. Now it’s time to spend time on other projects. I’m here if they ever need advice or need help on any project around their house, but only if they ask. I don’t want to intrude into their lives and won’t unless they ask.
These are just a few examples of how we’re different. I could spend another hour or 2 on how we’re alike though, so it’s not as bad as it seems. But, it is amazing to me that 2 people can live together for so long and not get completely tired of each other. We have our struggles still, but we’ve leaned a long time ago how to get through them together and not be selfish about it. In fact, that’s the real key isn’t it? If you both strive for unselfishness, you can live together in harmony. The bible says it best, as always – Romans 12:10b “Honor one another above yourselves”.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
The Hair Cut
So, I'm buzzing my head tonight with a number 2 and ask my wife to trim my neck. She spends a few moment on each side and then starts laughing.
“What?”
More laughter, and she steps back to survey her work
“What are you laughing at?”
“Well, I trim one side and then have to trim the other to match it and I keep going up your neck” she says, unable to control her laughter at this point.
“Well, quit woman!” and I turn around to the mirror to see if I can see what she's done.
She can't do any more trimming now because she's paranoid.
I'm paranoid too now and guess I'll be wearing collared shirts for a while.
“Sheesh! the stuff I go through to save a little money”.
So, I'm buzzing my head tonight with a number 2 and ask my wife to trim my neck. She spends a few moment on each side and then starts laughing.
“What?”
More laughter, and she steps back to survey her work
“What are you laughing at?”
“Well, I trim one side and then have to trim the other to match it and I keep going up your neck” she says, unable to control her laughter at this point.
“Well, quit woman!” and I turn around to the mirror to see if I can see what she's done.
She can't do any more trimming now because she's paranoid.
I'm paranoid too now and guess I'll be wearing collared shirts for a while.
“Sheesh! the stuff I go through to save a little money”.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Stepdad
My step dad, Papa James, is in the hospital with a clogged up blood pump. He’s his usual funny self, joking with the nurses, but letting them know exactly how he’s feeling. He’s not a bad patient, but exceedingly hates being in the hospital. James is a doer, not a sitter, and he can’t stand having to lay there in that bed doing nothing. He wants to know everything there is to know about what’s going on and what the doctors have planned. He speaks of his body in a very frank and open manner with little room for embarrassment, as if he’s talking of work being done on his car. For instance, last night he needed to go to the bathroom and they wouldn’t let him out of the bed. They offered him a bed pan and he dismissed it immediately. “I can’t use those things. It won’t work. I’ve got to get up to go to the bathroom”. I can’t blame him. I never could use one either. It’s as if your bladder knows what you’re asking of it and simply refuses to cooperate. I think it prefers porcelain over plastic and will simply turn it’s back and close itself up tighter than a pouting woman.
James is really a cheerful, optimistic, resilient and funny guy. He works hard in his yard with his many plants. He loves variety, so he has one of everything that catches his eye at Pikes. They’re not planted in a harmonious or eye appealing way, just here and there, wherever he thinks there’s a good spot. He’s not a landscaper, he’s a plant lover. But, he loves to work out there, tilling his garden, trimming the bushes, planting and cropping his flowers, cutting the grass and picking up leaves. It’s helped keep him healthy and young for his 81 years, and keeps him from getting bored. He’s not one to sit around for long but does enjoy reading his books. But, lately he has been sitting around and sleeping a lot. It makes sense now. His heart wasn’t pumping well enough to keep him going.
I’m pretty sure the Great Depression had a profound effect on James. He doesn’t talk about it much though. He’d rather talk about the different jobs he had in the past, or his school buddies. It’s always entertaining to sit and listen to him. Can you believe that he started driving a school bus when he was 16, driving himself and his school mates to class? And he and the school superintendent drove from Mississippi to Georgia to pick it up! My, how times have changed.But, as I was saying regarding the depression, he cannot throw away anything. And, I mean anything. If there’s a possibility that it could be used in some way or for some purpose, he’ll store it away somewhere in the house or basement. There are drawers full of pill bottles, little slips of paper where’s he’s made a note of something, tools of every sort (some never opened), rusting appliances from his restaurants, chairs that are a hazard to sit in, hoses that could function as colanders, screws and bolts of every sort (and probably none that fit each other), and other things that most of us would consider junk. But, to him, there may be a need someday for that one little something that is tucked away in a dark corner of the basement, waiting patiently for its new purpose in life. He and my mom will occasionally fuss over it, but she’s not going to win this fight.
Mom: “James, I wish you would clean up that basement. I don’t know how you can find anything down there in all that mess”.
James: “Now, you don’t have to worry about that basement. That’s my basement and you can’t even walk down there.”
Mom: “Well, I can walk down there, I just don’t need to. And I can’t even get in the door”.
James: “Awww, you can get in the door, and I know where everything is, so you can just ask me”.
And so on,,,,
Kathy can’t stand to hear them argue over it, but I find it amusing. My dad didn’t argue with Mom. He’d just read his paper, or leave, but he wouldn’t argue. James, on the other hand, doesn’t hesitate to stand his ground and state his opinion. And, Mom usually loses most of the ones I witness.
I love to talk to older people about their lives. It’s like reading a book to hear the different perspectives they have and the changes they’ve gone through. I’ve sat through many of Jame’s memories of running various restaurants, getting to know all the employees and their many personalities; stocking the storage room; making the coffee so it wouldn’t grow bitter over time; catching thieves; working long hours and holidays; tip-toeing through the difficulties of segregation; moving from town to town and dealing with the many owners and their demands. His ability to remember the finest details is simply astounding. He sat and talked the other day about growing up and working on and driving the pulp wood trucks. He remembered getting stuck up to the axels and how he would have to put it in the granny gear to get out. He recounted the argument he had with his boss about parking the truck. He could remember so many details and the names of everyone he worked with. He would laugh and laugh at the memories and we did too. He’s such a joy to be around and I hope he stays around a lot longer. I’m praying the surgery goes well this week. And I’m committed to allocating more of my time just sitting and listening to him in the coming years.
My step dad, Papa James, is in the hospital with a clogged up blood pump. He’s his usual funny self, joking with the nurses, but letting them know exactly how he’s feeling. He’s not a bad patient, but exceedingly hates being in the hospital. James is a doer, not a sitter, and he can’t stand having to lay there in that bed doing nothing. He wants to know everything there is to know about what’s going on and what the doctors have planned. He speaks of his body in a very frank and open manner with little room for embarrassment, as if he’s talking of work being done on his car. For instance, last night he needed to go to the bathroom and they wouldn’t let him out of the bed. They offered him a bed pan and he dismissed it immediately. “I can’t use those things. It won’t work. I’ve got to get up to go to the bathroom”. I can’t blame him. I never could use one either. It’s as if your bladder knows what you’re asking of it and simply refuses to cooperate. I think it prefers porcelain over plastic and will simply turn it’s back and close itself up tighter than a pouting woman.
James is really a cheerful, optimistic, resilient and funny guy. He works hard in his yard with his many plants. He loves variety, so he has one of everything that catches his eye at Pikes. They’re not planted in a harmonious or eye appealing way, just here and there, wherever he thinks there’s a good spot. He’s not a landscaper, he’s a plant lover. But, he loves to work out there, tilling his garden, trimming the bushes, planting and cropping his flowers, cutting the grass and picking up leaves. It’s helped keep him healthy and young for his 81 years, and keeps him from getting bored. He’s not one to sit around for long but does enjoy reading his books. But, lately he has been sitting around and sleeping a lot. It makes sense now. His heart wasn’t pumping well enough to keep him going.
I’m pretty sure the Great Depression had a profound effect on James. He doesn’t talk about it much though. He’d rather talk about the different jobs he had in the past, or his school buddies. It’s always entertaining to sit and listen to him. Can you believe that he started driving a school bus when he was 16, driving himself and his school mates to class? And he and the school superintendent drove from Mississippi to Georgia to pick it up! My, how times have changed.But, as I was saying regarding the depression, he cannot throw away anything. And, I mean anything. If there’s a possibility that it could be used in some way or for some purpose, he’ll store it away somewhere in the house or basement. There are drawers full of pill bottles, little slips of paper where’s he’s made a note of something, tools of every sort (some never opened), rusting appliances from his restaurants, chairs that are a hazard to sit in, hoses that could function as colanders, screws and bolts of every sort (and probably none that fit each other), and other things that most of us would consider junk. But, to him, there may be a need someday for that one little something that is tucked away in a dark corner of the basement, waiting patiently for its new purpose in life. He and my mom will occasionally fuss over it, but she’s not going to win this fight.
Mom: “James, I wish you would clean up that basement. I don’t know how you can find anything down there in all that mess”.
James: “Now, you don’t have to worry about that basement. That’s my basement and you can’t even walk down there.”
Mom: “Well, I can walk down there, I just don’t need to. And I can’t even get in the door”.
James: “Awww, you can get in the door, and I know where everything is, so you can just ask me”.
And so on,,,,
Kathy can’t stand to hear them argue over it, but I find it amusing. My dad didn’t argue with Mom. He’d just read his paper, or leave, but he wouldn’t argue. James, on the other hand, doesn’t hesitate to stand his ground and state his opinion. And, Mom usually loses most of the ones I witness.
I love to talk to older people about their lives. It’s like reading a book to hear the different perspectives they have and the changes they’ve gone through. I’ve sat through many of Jame’s memories of running various restaurants, getting to know all the employees and their many personalities; stocking the storage room; making the coffee so it wouldn’t grow bitter over time; catching thieves; working long hours and holidays; tip-toeing through the difficulties of segregation; moving from town to town and dealing with the many owners and their demands. His ability to remember the finest details is simply astounding. He sat and talked the other day about growing up and working on and driving the pulp wood trucks. He remembered getting stuck up to the axels and how he would have to put it in the granny gear to get out. He recounted the argument he had with his boss about parking the truck. He could remember so many details and the names of everyone he worked with. He would laugh and laugh at the memories and we did too. He’s such a joy to be around and I hope he stays around a lot longer. I’m praying the surgery goes well this week. And I’m committed to allocating more of my time just sitting and listening to him in the coming years.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Men and health
I’m a man and I do not like admitting that there is anything wrong with my body. I have no idea why this is and don’t feel like figuring it out. It may be that I view being a man as being invincible, strong and resilient. I somehow developed the idea when I was growing up that being sick was just showing weakness and you did not want to be viewed as weak. This misconception was confirmed when I was younger by hearing my uncles and other older men brag about how few sick days they had ever taken from work. My dad probably held the record at 1 sick day for his whole career, but I rarely heard him discussing it.
I was diagnosed with cancer in 2001 and it was hard for me to admit that it just wouldn’t go away. It’s not that I dislike doctors, I just don’t like their offices, hospitals, medicine, the poking of my body in areas that should be reserved for only me (or my wife I guess), pushy receptionists and waiting an indeterminable amount of time in a sterile room with nothing to read, watch or listen to. I like doing things and accomplishing things; I like talking to people; I like going places, but I do not like waiting. Also, I don’t like exposing my overweight, lily white, aging body to people I hardly know. Those are a few of the things that cause me to avoid the medical profession. To say nothing of the primitive treatments we still use to cure us.
I was radiated by this huge machine every day for something like 6 weeks. I would have to pull my pants down to the point where I was almost fully exposed, lie on a cold metal table and watch this machine rotate over me for a few minutes. The thing looks like something out of star wars, makes a lot of noise and is housed in a very cold room (at least it feels cold with your pants down and you’re laying on metal). I had to endure this inconvenience (that’s really all it amounted to) in front of whoever was on duty that day, including young attractive women. Now, I’m not overly shy, but pulling your pants down in front of a young cute female just doesn’t fit my ego very well.
Of course, there were other treatments that I endured that were equally inconvenient and that have left some residual effects on this earth suit, but they’re not much compared to being free of cancer for the moment. So, I’m not saying the treatment wasn’t worth it, I’m just saying I didn’t enjoy the treatment or the scars left over from the treatment.
Most men have fragile egos to begin with and the medical community has absolutely no practices in place to take that in consideration. You tell me I’m going to the doctor and I feel a dread in my soul, not from fear but from the dread of knowing that my manhood will be cast aside for however long the visit will take and there’s no power I have over the situation. Inside, I’m reasoning that this sickness will probably go away on it’s on and I shouldn’t even be concerned with it. My wife, on the other hand, can see no sense in this and will always bring up the ‘D’ word. So, of course I will go. I will go reluctantly and feel like a whipped puppy, but I’ll go.
On the other hand, I do like the concept of pills. This probably goes back to my drug abusing days where you took pills to make you feel better (or different, which was better in our minds at the time). We all hope they’ll produce a pill that eradicates or at least cures cancer, and it won’t make your hair fall out or make you puke when you smell really good food being prepared. I hope they produce pills that makes the hair on your head grow back out (not out of your ears or nose); gives you a really cool tan without the risk of skin cancer; enhances your sex drive (and your wife’s); cures MS, Cancer, and other eeky disease, especially in children. I know it won’t happen but it sure would beat going to the hospital and having tubes and needles stuck into your body.
In ending I’ll tail a story about me getting radiated and how it can be de-humanizing. I went for my appointment one day and there was a guy doing work in the ceiling of the room where the treatment took place. As I walked in the young girl who was my technician stopped me and said, “you might want to wait until he leaves before you pull down your pants”. I looked at incredulously and said “why? I pull them down in front of you every day and you think he bothers me?” We both laughed about it, but I was serious in a way. I didn’t enjoy it but knew it was a necessary evil in my life at the time. I also knew she had worked with so many people that nothing embarrassed her in that situation. Yes, it was nothing more than an inconvenience in my life. But, I hated every minute of it, or at least most of it. In the mean time, I’m hoping I’ll never get sick again, and if I do it will just go away after a good night’s sleep.
I’m a man and I do not like admitting that there is anything wrong with my body. I have no idea why this is and don’t feel like figuring it out. It may be that I view being a man as being invincible, strong and resilient. I somehow developed the idea when I was growing up that being sick was just showing weakness and you did not want to be viewed as weak. This misconception was confirmed when I was younger by hearing my uncles and other older men brag about how few sick days they had ever taken from work. My dad probably held the record at 1 sick day for his whole career, but I rarely heard him discussing it.
I was diagnosed with cancer in 2001 and it was hard for me to admit that it just wouldn’t go away. It’s not that I dislike doctors, I just don’t like their offices, hospitals, medicine, the poking of my body in areas that should be reserved for only me (or my wife I guess), pushy receptionists and waiting an indeterminable amount of time in a sterile room with nothing to read, watch or listen to. I like doing things and accomplishing things; I like talking to people; I like going places, but I do not like waiting. Also, I don’t like exposing my overweight, lily white, aging body to people I hardly know. Those are a few of the things that cause me to avoid the medical profession. To say nothing of the primitive treatments we still use to cure us.
I was radiated by this huge machine every day for something like 6 weeks. I would have to pull my pants down to the point where I was almost fully exposed, lie on a cold metal table and watch this machine rotate over me for a few minutes. The thing looks like something out of star wars, makes a lot of noise and is housed in a very cold room (at least it feels cold with your pants down and you’re laying on metal). I had to endure this inconvenience (that’s really all it amounted to) in front of whoever was on duty that day, including young attractive women. Now, I’m not overly shy, but pulling your pants down in front of a young cute female just doesn’t fit my ego very well.
Of course, there were other treatments that I endured that were equally inconvenient and that have left some residual effects on this earth suit, but they’re not much compared to being free of cancer for the moment. So, I’m not saying the treatment wasn’t worth it, I’m just saying I didn’t enjoy the treatment or the scars left over from the treatment.
Most men have fragile egos to begin with and the medical community has absolutely no practices in place to take that in consideration. You tell me I’m going to the doctor and I feel a dread in my soul, not from fear but from the dread of knowing that my manhood will be cast aside for however long the visit will take and there’s no power I have over the situation. Inside, I’m reasoning that this sickness will probably go away on it’s on and I shouldn’t even be concerned with it. My wife, on the other hand, can see no sense in this and will always bring up the ‘D’ word. So, of course I will go. I will go reluctantly and feel like a whipped puppy, but I’ll go.
On the other hand, I do like the concept of pills. This probably goes back to my drug abusing days where you took pills to make you feel better (or different, which was better in our minds at the time). We all hope they’ll produce a pill that eradicates or at least cures cancer, and it won’t make your hair fall out or make you puke when you smell really good food being prepared. I hope they produce pills that makes the hair on your head grow back out (not out of your ears or nose); gives you a really cool tan without the risk of skin cancer; enhances your sex drive (and your wife’s); cures MS, Cancer, and other eeky disease, especially in children. I know it won’t happen but it sure would beat going to the hospital and having tubes and needles stuck into your body.
In ending I’ll tail a story about me getting radiated and how it can be de-humanizing. I went for my appointment one day and there was a guy doing work in the ceiling of the room where the treatment took place. As I walked in the young girl who was my technician stopped me and said, “you might want to wait until he leaves before you pull down your pants”. I looked at incredulously and said “why? I pull them down in front of you every day and you think he bothers me?” We both laughed about it, but I was serious in a way. I didn’t enjoy it but knew it was a necessary evil in my life at the time. I also knew she had worked with so many people that nothing embarrassed her in that situation. Yes, it was nothing more than an inconvenience in my life. But, I hated every minute of it, or at least most of it. In the mean time, I’m hoping I’ll never get sick again, and if I do it will just go away after a good night’s sleep.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Talent
Talent is one of the world’s most unevenly distributed gifts that God has given. Not just musical talent, but painting, writing, dancing, and many other activities that brings joy to others. I am thankful that God has given me a certain quantity of talent. I love to write music and share it with others; I love to play guitar and sing and I love to write, but I always want more talent. It’s not that I’m not thankful for what I have; it’s just that when I play with others they all seem to be more talented than me. And yes, I know it’s not always true, but it feels like it.
We had band practice last night so I was able to play with a lot of great musicians. Every one of them is younger than I am (in fact, a lot younger in most cases) and every one of them can play guitar like they were born with one in their hand.
George is a good example. George is a single man who is usually the drummer in the band, except when he’s playing bass or guitar. He’s a good guy to be jealous of because he can switch from one instrument to the next and sound great on any of them. He doesn’t have a drum set at home so he doesn’t spend any time practicing the music, he just shows up after listening to it on a CD and nails it that night. In fact, he will often stop us because we’re in the wrong key or have missed a stop or change in the music. In other words, he is an incredible musician.
Last night he was on acoustic guitar (as we all were) and played lead when needed. Of course he had never worked on it and was playing by ear the whole time. He was so fluid and creative that his playing just ‘made’ the song. How he can do that just baffles me. I know he plays a lot because he’s single, but man, I wish I could do that. I try to play like that alone at home and can tell that it just doesn’t sound the same. It’s more mechanical and predictable and not nearly as musical as George can make it sound.
Erik just has music flowing through his veins. He’ll tell you right away that he’s not much of a guitarist, but he’s great on bass, vocals, percussion and harmonica. He just has that innate ability to feel the music and play along. And, whether he admits it or not, he’s actually pretty good on guitar for someone who has just learned to play.
Ricky is a guy who joined my band years ago. His wife came up to me and said that her husband was pretty good on guitar. I’ve heard that many times before and am usually disappointed, so I took it with a grain of salt. Ricky shows up at practice and worked with us for a few weeks before I asked him to unplug his head phones and let us hear how he was doing. Our jaws just dropped when we heard him. This guy had been playing at home and had never played in a band and here he is playing with us and making us sound like sloppy amateurs.
David and I have been playing together for years. He started as a young guy so I expect him to be better than me since I started playing as an adult. But the thing that sets David apart is how clean his playing is. No sloppiness or missed chords, just solid sweet Strat sounds emerge from that side of the stage. And his blues licks really make my songs sound like they were meant to sound. “Now God, I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but can’t you help me play like that?”
Dennis plays bass primarily but can pick up a guitar and make it sound like it's supposed to. He is a great bass player who can cover every lick from any song we play and he's been playing only a very short time.
Jeffrey is this incredibly amazing percussionist that can play congas, tamborine and shaker all at once (no lie). I've never seen anyone with his sense of rhythm and his diversity. I would love to be able to play like he does.
Alex, Adam and Ben were guys I played with long ago in a band. Alex can play keyboard as well as anyone I know and has an uncanny feel for structure and expression in recording. If he had the time to devote to it he could be a great composer. His brother Adam is the kind of musician that just makes me sick. Equally adapt at drums, guitar, keyboard, bass and vocals, he can express himself musically in any capacity he desires. A great songwriter and performer and, like Alex, he has a great sense of how a song should be structured to make it shine. Ben, who has passed away, was a lot like Adam. He was a great drummer (his first passion), but could also play the keyboard and guitar. Talent seemed to flow through his veins and ooze out of every pore of his body. After spending time with these guys I had to constantly fight the urge to envy them and the gifts they had been given. Can you understand that? Probably.
Now, I know it sounds like I’m just whining, and yes, in a way I am. I know many people who envy my abilities on guitar and song writing, so I have no reason to complain. But, I just had to get it out in the open and be honest about it. I don’t care that I can’t dance. I don’t care that I’m color blind and not very good as an artist. It doesn’t matter to me that I couldn’t whittle a stick into the shape of a stick, but I would like to play as well as my friends. And that, my friends, is a lot to ask.
If you'd like a taste of what I'm talking about visit this site and listen to the music. Alex recorded, produced and directed the album as well as doing the keyboard work and drums. Adam added the bass in one night's work and David did the electric guitar work. David and I wrote "Under Construction" with him doing the recording and guitar work. And you can hear David, Ricky, Erik and George on the live version of "I've Been Blessed". Once you listen to that suff you'll have a better underdstanding of my complaints.
On the other hand I just realized how blessed I am just to know these guys and am grateful that they let me play with them.
Now, isn't that a better perspective? "Sigh, yes"
Talent is one of the world’s most unevenly distributed gifts that God has given. Not just musical talent, but painting, writing, dancing, and many other activities that brings joy to others. I am thankful that God has given me a certain quantity of talent. I love to write music and share it with others; I love to play guitar and sing and I love to write, but I always want more talent. It’s not that I’m not thankful for what I have; it’s just that when I play with others they all seem to be more talented than me. And yes, I know it’s not always true, but it feels like it.
We had band practice last night so I was able to play with a lot of great musicians. Every one of them is younger than I am (in fact, a lot younger in most cases) and every one of them can play guitar like they were born with one in their hand.
George is a good example. George is a single man who is usually the drummer in the band, except when he’s playing bass or guitar. He’s a good guy to be jealous of because he can switch from one instrument to the next and sound great on any of them. He doesn’t have a drum set at home so he doesn’t spend any time practicing the music, he just shows up after listening to it on a CD and nails it that night. In fact, he will often stop us because we’re in the wrong key or have missed a stop or change in the music. In other words, he is an incredible musician.
Last night he was on acoustic guitar (as we all were) and played lead when needed. Of course he had never worked on it and was playing by ear the whole time. He was so fluid and creative that his playing just ‘made’ the song. How he can do that just baffles me. I know he plays a lot because he’s single, but man, I wish I could do that. I try to play like that alone at home and can tell that it just doesn’t sound the same. It’s more mechanical and predictable and not nearly as musical as George can make it sound.
Erik just has music flowing through his veins. He’ll tell you right away that he’s not much of a guitarist, but he’s great on bass, vocals, percussion and harmonica. He just has that innate ability to feel the music and play along. And, whether he admits it or not, he’s actually pretty good on guitar for someone who has just learned to play.
Ricky is a guy who joined my band years ago. His wife came up to me and said that her husband was pretty good on guitar. I’ve heard that many times before and am usually disappointed, so I took it with a grain of salt. Ricky shows up at practice and worked with us for a few weeks before I asked him to unplug his head phones and let us hear how he was doing. Our jaws just dropped when we heard him. This guy had been playing at home and had never played in a band and here he is playing with us and making us sound like sloppy amateurs.
David and I have been playing together for years. He started as a young guy so I expect him to be better than me since I started playing as an adult. But the thing that sets David apart is how clean his playing is. No sloppiness or missed chords, just solid sweet Strat sounds emerge from that side of the stage. And his blues licks really make my songs sound like they were meant to sound. “Now God, I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but can’t you help me play like that?”
Dennis plays bass primarily but can pick up a guitar and make it sound like it's supposed to. He is a great bass player who can cover every lick from any song we play and he's been playing only a very short time.
Jeffrey is this incredibly amazing percussionist that can play congas, tamborine and shaker all at once (no lie). I've never seen anyone with his sense of rhythm and his diversity. I would love to be able to play like he does.
Alex, Adam and Ben were guys I played with long ago in a band. Alex can play keyboard as well as anyone I know and has an uncanny feel for structure and expression in recording. If he had the time to devote to it he could be a great composer. His brother Adam is the kind of musician that just makes me sick. Equally adapt at drums, guitar, keyboard, bass and vocals, he can express himself musically in any capacity he desires. A great songwriter and performer and, like Alex, he has a great sense of how a song should be structured to make it shine. Ben, who has passed away, was a lot like Adam. He was a great drummer (his first passion), but could also play the keyboard and guitar. Talent seemed to flow through his veins and ooze out of every pore of his body. After spending time with these guys I had to constantly fight the urge to envy them and the gifts they had been given. Can you understand that? Probably.
Now, I know it sounds like I’m just whining, and yes, in a way I am. I know many people who envy my abilities on guitar and song writing, so I have no reason to complain. But, I just had to get it out in the open and be honest about it. I don’t care that I can’t dance. I don’t care that I’m color blind and not very good as an artist. It doesn’t matter to me that I couldn’t whittle a stick into the shape of a stick, but I would like to play as well as my friends. And that, my friends, is a lot to ask.
If you'd like a taste of what I'm talking about visit this site and listen to the music. Alex recorded, produced and directed the album as well as doing the keyboard work and drums. Adam added the bass in one night's work and David did the electric guitar work. David and I wrote "Under Construction" with him doing the recording and guitar work. And you can hear David, Ricky, Erik and George on the live version of "I've Been Blessed". Once you listen to that suff you'll have a better underdstanding of my complaints.
On the other hand I just realized how blessed I am just to know these guys and am grateful that they let me play with them.
Now, isn't that a better perspective? "Sigh, yes"
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Camping
I’ve been camping since I was a young boy, so I really enjoy it as it brings back fond and comfortable memories of mosquitoes, snakes, yellow jackets, rain, snow and sun. I don’t really remember the bad part as much, to be honest. As a boy I didn’t really let those things bother me even when bitten, stung or sunburned, chilled or soaked. In fact, those memories are the things of legend when the family gathers and reminisces. They are the tales that bring the most laughter and fun as we recall them and enhance the injuries to exaggeration.
Camping as a Boy
Of course, camping has changed a great deal since then. As well as I can remember (and it’s sketchy at this point) we started when I was probably around 8 or 9 years of age. We went to a place in Tennessee on top of a mountain that had a lake full of cold water, a hike to a water fall and a building near the lake that included a small store and showers (very cold showers from mountain springs). We camped in a tent that opened up like an umbrella and I don’t believe we had air mattresses at that time. How my mother enjoyed it I’ll never know. We cooked on a 2 burner Coleman stove, always had a fire going and had to tote water from some distance away. Of course, there was no electricity at camp sites back then so we had a lantern that illuminated the camp at night. I don’t remember where we went to the bathroom but I’m assuming there was an outhouse. It was a fun place to go and we went there every year for a number of years. In fact, I can remember a trip there when I was nearing high school with a couple of other families that we had invited.
Camping is treasured
Camping is the hidden jewel of the middle class. It is treasured by those who can’t afford more and considered more excellent than staying in motels or hotels by a number of standards.
Camping requires some planning and a little work. It requires at least some investment in outdoor equipment and a certain amount of fortitude to brave the elements in order to enjoy the benefits. But even a small investment in a small tent, sleeping bag, camp stove and lantern will get you started. Then you can graduate to a homemade trailer to store your stuff and/or a tarp to throw over the gear that’s tied on the roof. After that, the pocket book is the limit when you can literally drive a house on wheels to the mountains and set up a couple of folding chairs just so you can say you made it outside. Of course, if you have teenagers you might want to pack the car to make it look like you’re a bunch of gypsy’s just so you can embarrass them.
I’m not sure if the draw has to do with some kind of pioneering fantasy or the fascination with the cowboy life style, or just the economics of it all, but I’m a fan of it. To be sure we do it because it’s one of the only vacations we can afford, but we also do it because it’s fun. We love meeting and talking with people and we love the outdoors. We will do everything we can to avoid the harsher aspects of it but will brave whatever nature throws our way and try to remember it all so we can brag about it later.
Happy camping!!!
I’ve been camping since I was a young boy, so I really enjoy it as it brings back fond and comfortable memories of mosquitoes, snakes, yellow jackets, rain, snow and sun. I don’t really remember the bad part as much, to be honest. As a boy I didn’t really let those things bother me even when bitten, stung or sunburned, chilled or soaked. In fact, those memories are the things of legend when the family gathers and reminisces. They are the tales that bring the most laughter and fun as we recall them and enhance the injuries to exaggeration.
Camping as a Boy
Of course, camping has changed a great deal since then. As well as I can remember (and it’s sketchy at this point) we started when I was probably around 8 or 9 years of age. We went to a place in Tennessee on top of a mountain that had a lake full of cold water, a hike to a water fall and a building near the lake that included a small store and showers (very cold showers from mountain springs). We camped in a tent that opened up like an umbrella and I don’t believe we had air mattresses at that time. How my mother enjoyed it I’ll never know. We cooked on a 2 burner Coleman stove, always had a fire going and had to tote water from some distance away. Of course, there was no electricity at camp sites back then so we had a lantern that illuminated the camp at night. I don’t remember where we went to the bathroom but I’m assuming there was an outhouse. It was a fun place to go and we went there every year for a number of years. In fact, I can remember a trip there when I was nearing high school with a couple of other families that we had invited.
Camping is treasured
Camping is the hidden jewel of the middle class. It is treasured by those who can’t afford more and considered more excellent than staying in motels or hotels by a number of standards.
- The Bond: One of the main differences is the company you keep and the brotherhood that develops among campers. With few exceptions you can walk into almost anyone’s camp, start up a conversation and be invited to sit a spell and talk. In fact, you’ll probably be offered a cup of coffee, something sweet to eat (everyone has sweets on camping trips) or whatever is available at the time.
- The Smells: Everyone will agree that motels and hotels have a certain odor that smells of Lysol, dirty carpet and very used bed spreads. You just feel dirty in one of those rooms no matter how clean they’re advertised. Not so when you go camping. You sleep in your own sleeping bag that’s used about twice a year and stored in a humid basement; eat on a concrete picnic table; cook on a blackened grill; and shower in public showers, and even at that you just feel better about fighting off those outdoor germs. The smells are of burnt and smoldering wood, charred meat, fresh air, musty tents, lake water, fish, marshmallows and smores and the occasional skunk. Now, just tell the truth and say that’s not better than a motel.
- The Memories: There are no better tales at family get-togethers than reminiscing about the torrential rain storms (and waking up floating in water); the swarm of yellow jackets; the poorly planned hikes over unbelievable mountain ranges; the snakes, bears, skunks, raccoons, squirrels and other wild life that were viewed, chased off or ran from; stepping on hot coals in bare feet; extreme sunburns and poison ivy rashes; and magnificent views that most people with never see. I know it sounds crazy to those who’ve never experienced it, but it’s true that we’d never trade all those memories for those who visit 5 star resorts and eat in fancy restaurants every meal (although we’d probably like to try it out just to be sure).
Camping requires some planning and a little work. It requires at least some investment in outdoor equipment and a certain amount of fortitude to brave the elements in order to enjoy the benefits. But even a small investment in a small tent, sleeping bag, camp stove and lantern will get you started. Then you can graduate to a homemade trailer to store your stuff and/or a tarp to throw over the gear that’s tied on the roof. After that, the pocket book is the limit when you can literally drive a house on wheels to the mountains and set up a couple of folding chairs just so you can say you made it outside. Of course, if you have teenagers you might want to pack the car to make it look like you’re a bunch of gypsy’s just so you can embarrass them.
I’m not sure if the draw has to do with some kind of pioneering fantasy or the fascination with the cowboy life style, or just the economics of it all, but I’m a fan of it. To be sure we do it because it’s one of the only vacations we can afford, but we also do it because it’s fun. We love meeting and talking with people and we love the outdoors. We will do everything we can to avoid the harsher aspects of it but will brave whatever nature throws our way and try to remember it all so we can brag about it later.
Happy camping!!!
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Staying home
Is it just part of growing old if you don’t want to go anywhere in the evenings? We were out of town all weekend, had dinner with my son last night, church meeting tonight and band practice tomorrow night. I just want to stay home and do stuff there. When you’re young you don’t care. You can go, go, go and enjoy every trip. But, as I grow older I just want to be home. It’s not like I have a lot to do, that’s not the point. I just like being there. I can water my plants; work on music (play or record); write stuff for this site or the church’s site or just watch TV. It doesn’t matter really as long as I’m at home doing it.
I’m convinced it’s just part of growing older. You begin to treasure the routine and the steadiness of life rather than the excitement of something new. You can sit at home with the wife and say nothing much at all and still enjoy it more than speaking to 20 or 30 people at church or some other gathering. It may have to do with raising 4 kids when we were younger. There was so much to do and so much noise all the time that having an empty house and no noise at all is a nice change. Also, I don’t have to worry about what I’m wearing (which is really important for a guy because we treasure function over style).
It may also have to do with the fact that I’ve come to enjoy yard work. I never liked it much in the past but I do now. I like the creativity of it and the pace of it. You can’t make a plant grow any faster than it naturally does and any change you make may take days, weeks or even months to have effect. There’s something about that that makes you slow down and pace yourself. That’s really good for me because I always feel like I’m in a hurry to do something or be somewhere, which can get tiring.
As I write this it’s caused me to think about what it is I actually do every night and whether it’s important enough to treasure it. There’s the yard work, which I think is therapeutic for me to slow myself down and because it gives me another creative outlet; there’s the music I write and record and I think that’s important because it brings joy to others (I hope, since it really is work); there’s this writing stuff, which I do simply because I like it; there’s TV which is mostly a waste of time, but can be educational at times; there’s my wife whom I love to be with, and I don’t have any problem with that. So, I think my time at home is worth it and valuable not only to me but to others as well.
Okay, I’m fine with it then. If you can think of any problem with it let me know and I’ll consider it, although I think you probably feel the same way, right?
I’m convinced it’s just part of growing older. You begin to treasure the routine and the steadiness of life rather than the excitement of something new. You can sit at home with the wife and say nothing much at all and still enjoy it more than speaking to 20 or 30 people at church or some other gathering. It may have to do with raising 4 kids when we were younger. There was so much to do and so much noise all the time that having an empty house and no noise at all is a nice change. Also, I don’t have to worry about what I’m wearing (which is really important for a guy because we treasure function over style).
It may also have to do with the fact that I’ve come to enjoy yard work. I never liked it much in the past but I do now. I like the creativity of it and the pace of it. You can’t make a plant grow any faster than it naturally does and any change you make may take days, weeks or even months to have effect. There’s something about that that makes you slow down and pace yourself. That’s really good for me because I always feel like I’m in a hurry to do something or be somewhere, which can get tiring.
As I write this it’s caused me to think about what it is I actually do every night and whether it’s important enough to treasure it. There’s the yard work, which I think is therapeutic for me to slow myself down and because it gives me another creative outlet; there’s the music I write and record and I think that’s important because it brings joy to others (I hope, since it really is work); there’s this writing stuff, which I do simply because I like it; there’s TV which is mostly a waste of time, but can be educational at times; there’s my wife whom I love to be with, and I don’t have any problem with that. So, I think my time at home is worth it and valuable not only to me but to others as well.
Okay, I’m fine with it then. If you can think of any problem with it let me know and I’ll consider it, although I think you probably feel the same way, right?
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Names I Like
Names I like -
Sadie: Sadie is the girl that grew up ‘across the tracks’ as they say. She is a cute girl with an attractive figure, but your momma wouldn’t want you to date her because she would think of her as ‘loose’. But, Sadie is actually a very nice girl who will one day settle down with the town pharmacist and will be the chair person for the Baptist WMU. She doesn’t go by Sadie anymore though, and prefers her middle name, Josephine.
Hank: Hank is always the class clown. His name is just so plain and uninteresting that I think he tries to make up for it by being funny. He is musically talented but can’t dance and is not really a very good student. He’s the kind of guy who just skates by and yet somehow ends up doing very well in life. In fact, when he retires he’s one of the few guys from the old neighborhood who has a house in Florida to winter in.
Felix: I’ve only known one Felix and never thought much about his name back then, but I really like the sound of it now. Felix is just the ordinary guy whom everyone likes but no one remembers much about him. He’s friendly and cheerful and easy to talk to. He’ll probably end up being a bar tender, divorcing more than once and living in a small frame house on the edge of town. I wish Felix well and hope he has no major illnesses in life.
Woodrow: I can’t imagine anyone ever naming their child Woodrow now days. I’m sure I wouldn’t. Could you imagine answering to a roll call in high school to this name? I wouldn’t want to think about it. Not sure where it came from but you’d think it was from someone who had a carpenter in the family. Even though you grew up with such an uncommon and comical name I’ll bet you would amount to something someday. Who knows, you might even become president. Nah, not a chance.
Mabel: Not Mable, but Mabel, as in may-bail. Definitely a country girl with strong bones and a hardy laugh. She would grow up on a farm, marry a farmer, raise 10 kids and laugh her way through life. But, she could also be the daughter of some rich guy who made his money manufacturing food condiments. He would name one of his products after her and it would become a house hold name; “Mabel Mayonnaise, Just Like Your Mother Used To Make”.
Sylvia: This name has a rich texture to it that just rolls off the tongue. Sylvia is rather reserved and seems haughty to those who don’t know her. She’s actually a very nice lady who has been misunderstood her whole life. Everyone thinks she grew up in money, but she didn’t and she’s always resented it that people thought that. She’s tall for a woman and rather thin, but with beautiful red hair. I tried to call her once but her mother answered and I ran out of coins using the pay phone. I hope she does well with her new boyfriend.
Eleanor: Probably English in its origins. In fact, I’ll bet she lived in the Liverpool area. Probably remained single her whole life and worked at the library. She had high hopes to marry and have children but never found a man who understood her. Besides, they were all so childish and immature. Except for Reginald McKenzie, but he ended up joining the priesthood. I wonder whatever happened to him?
Jewel: This is a name that is given by a very loving parent. And, it wouldn’t matter if the child was born as ugly as a gibbon, the mother would still think she was the most beautiful girl in the world. I can imagine the mom being something of the hippy sort, a a rather nostalgic woman. Her house would be decorated with antiques and painted in pastels. Jewel would grow up being a bit spoiled, but would grow into a pleasant and loving woman. She would marry an accountant and they would have a large family.
Sadie: Sadie is the girl that grew up ‘across the tracks’ as they say. She is a cute girl with an attractive figure, but your momma wouldn’t want you to date her because she would think of her as ‘loose’. But, Sadie is actually a very nice girl who will one day settle down with the town pharmacist and will be the chair person for the Baptist WMU. She doesn’t go by Sadie anymore though, and prefers her middle name, Josephine.
Hank: Hank is always the class clown. His name is just so plain and uninteresting that I think he tries to make up for it by being funny. He is musically talented but can’t dance and is not really a very good student. He’s the kind of guy who just skates by and yet somehow ends up doing very well in life. In fact, when he retires he’s one of the few guys from the old neighborhood who has a house in Florida to winter in.
Felix: I’ve only known one Felix and never thought much about his name back then, but I really like the sound of it now. Felix is just the ordinary guy whom everyone likes but no one remembers much about him. He’s friendly and cheerful and easy to talk to. He’ll probably end up being a bar tender, divorcing more than once and living in a small frame house on the edge of town. I wish Felix well and hope he has no major illnesses in life.
Woodrow: I can’t imagine anyone ever naming their child Woodrow now days. I’m sure I wouldn’t. Could you imagine answering to a roll call in high school to this name? I wouldn’t want to think about it. Not sure where it came from but you’d think it was from someone who had a carpenter in the family. Even though you grew up with such an uncommon and comical name I’ll bet you would amount to something someday. Who knows, you might even become president. Nah, not a chance.
Mabel: Not Mable, but Mabel, as in may-bail. Definitely a country girl with strong bones and a hardy laugh. She would grow up on a farm, marry a farmer, raise 10 kids and laugh her way through life. But, she could also be the daughter of some rich guy who made his money manufacturing food condiments. He would name one of his products after her and it would become a house hold name; “Mabel Mayonnaise, Just Like Your Mother Used To Make”.
Sylvia: This name has a rich texture to it that just rolls off the tongue. Sylvia is rather reserved and seems haughty to those who don’t know her. She’s actually a very nice lady who has been misunderstood her whole life. Everyone thinks she grew up in money, but she didn’t and she’s always resented it that people thought that. She’s tall for a woman and rather thin, but with beautiful red hair. I tried to call her once but her mother answered and I ran out of coins using the pay phone. I hope she does well with her new boyfriend.
Eleanor: Probably English in its origins. In fact, I’ll bet she lived in the Liverpool area. Probably remained single her whole life and worked at the library. She had high hopes to marry and have children but never found a man who understood her. Besides, they were all so childish and immature. Except for Reginald McKenzie, but he ended up joining the priesthood. I wonder whatever happened to him?
Jewel: This is a name that is given by a very loving parent. And, it wouldn’t matter if the child was born as ugly as a gibbon, the mother would still think she was the most beautiful girl in the world. I can imagine the mom being something of the hippy sort, a a rather nostalgic woman. Her house would be decorated with antiques and painted in pastels. Jewel would grow up being a bit spoiled, but would grow into a pleasant and loving woman. She would marry an accountant and they would have a large family.
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