I’m sitting in the small community of River Meadows, between Sunriver and La Pine, Oregon, on the last evening of 2012. It’s been a hell of a year. Lots of good stuff, to be sure, but I have experienced more death this year than in any other year in my memory. I may look back on this year as The Year of Dying. I lost people very close to me and there were the very public deaths in the News. Wow. I could embark, here, upon a real downer of a story to post. Part of the situation, I’m sure, is my age. I’m currently sixty-two. People start dying right where I’m at. So, it goes with the territory. But still, I’m kind of a rookie at the personal part of it. The public part of it, mass shootings, stabbings, rapes, species destruction, genetic modification extinctions, all that stuff that drives us all nuts, well, it’s pervasive and has put an ironclad protective shield of dangerous cynicism around my normally airy sense of irony. It’s the Way of the World. It’s Nature. It’s Darwin at Work. It’s not about guns, it’s not about knives, it’s not about video games. It’s about people. If you want to stop the bleeding, heal the culture. Heal the people who are so marginalized and disconnected that they pick up a weapon and scream “Look At Me!”
But life is about choices. For this evening, I choose to leave that stuff under the rug. At least, for now and for the rest of this piece.
Okay, so it’s a short piece. Bless all you readers. Bless your families and your loved ones. Bless us all. May the coming year be better than you hope and more than you dream. We all deserve it.
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Monday, December 31, 2012
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Ramblin' Jack Cass
It’s been a long time since I last sat here in this venue and wrote something. I’ve been very musical during this time, but not very writerly. In this interim, we’ve lost Billy Hults, perhaps the greatest washboard player ever and certainly one of the most profound and funny men in the history of profound and funny men. Now, I’m not sure what “cockles” are, but the outpouring of affection from so many people at Billy’s passing has warmed the ones that allegedly have something to do with my heart. It’s an interesting idiom “the cockles of my heart.” I guess it comes from the folds and wrinkles down there in the depths of my emotions.
I’m so glad that I was able to go see Billy when he was still pretty strong and feisty. He looked me in the eye and said “I’m the healthiest man in Hospice.” He was really happy about his beautiful herb garden and was amused at the irony of dying and having more living ease than he’d experienced for most of his life. So many people have said their public goodbyes to Billy in brilliant ways. I think my favorite was Turtle Vandemarr singing “How Can I Miss You When You Won’t Go Away” at the first church night following Billy’s death. It was poignant and funny and, oh, so Turtle and right-on. For those of you who don’t know what a “church night” is, it’s most Sundays from 6:00 to 8:00 when the Freak Mountain Ramblers play at the Laurelthirst Public House. It’s on NE Glisan at 30th. I think it’s the coolest gig in Portland, bar none.
We’ve also lost Michael Jackson, Ed McMahon, Farah Fawcett, Robert McNamara, Billy Mays, Bob Bogle, Koko Taylor, and a whole host of other folks. We lost one of my heroes, Walter Cronkite, who was an icon all through my growing up years. What all this death means is that life goes on. I didn’t know any of those people. Their passing has been interpreted for me by other writers and reporters. I never had the connection to bone and sinew. I never knew the sound of a gentle and genuine laugh with any of these celebrities. But I did know that with Billy Hults and I shall miss his wise and gentle spirit.
I’m starting to think about poker again, specifically Texas Hold’em tournaments. I’m sure that I’ll be sharing some of my thoughts about that in the future. If I have any real thoughts about it, of course. As nobody ever said: "Vapid is as vapid does."
A couple months ago I decided to sign up for the first guitar lesson I’ve taken since 1964. Mary Flower, the renowned Blues finger-stylist and consummate musician, has graciously consented to put up with me for some lessons. I’m just beginning to get a little bit of comfort with the Piedmont finger-style syncopation. I’ve been playing the guitar all of my life and have had some success with it and more enjoyment than anyone could possibly know. I’ve played in front of thousands of people and have a small, but very gratifying following of people who enjoy my music. I just got tired of feeling like a sham every time I played the Blues. Sure, I knew the notes, sort of, and could play leads, sometimes riveting leads, in the traditional I-IV-V format. But I've always felt like I was just faking it. So, I’m trying to establish a little credibility, even if it’s only with myself. Ultimately, it may just mean that I get to understand a little bit of my vast ignorance, but hey, that would be some progress. If nothing else, I’m all about that.
See you next time. I’ve been thinking a lot about golf. Maybe we’ll go there.
I’m so glad that I was able to go see Billy when he was still pretty strong and feisty. He looked me in the eye and said “I’m the healthiest man in Hospice.” He was really happy about his beautiful herb garden and was amused at the irony of dying and having more living ease than he’d experienced for most of his life. So many people have said their public goodbyes to Billy in brilliant ways. I think my favorite was Turtle Vandemarr singing “How Can I Miss You When You Won’t Go Away” at the first church night following Billy’s death. It was poignant and funny and, oh, so Turtle and right-on. For those of you who don’t know what a “church night” is, it’s most Sundays from 6:00 to 8:00 when the Freak Mountain Ramblers play at the Laurelthirst Public House. It’s on NE Glisan at 30th. I think it’s the coolest gig in Portland, bar none.
We’ve also lost Michael Jackson, Ed McMahon, Farah Fawcett, Robert McNamara, Billy Mays, Bob Bogle, Koko Taylor, and a whole host of other folks. We lost one of my heroes, Walter Cronkite, who was an icon all through my growing up years. What all this death means is that life goes on. I didn’t know any of those people. Their passing has been interpreted for me by other writers and reporters. I never had the connection to bone and sinew. I never knew the sound of a gentle and genuine laugh with any of these celebrities. But I did know that with Billy Hults and I shall miss his wise and gentle spirit.
I’m starting to think about poker again, specifically Texas Hold’em tournaments. I’m sure that I’ll be sharing some of my thoughts about that in the future. If I have any real thoughts about it, of course. As nobody ever said: "Vapid is as vapid does."
A couple months ago I decided to sign up for the first guitar lesson I’ve taken since 1964. Mary Flower, the renowned Blues finger-stylist and consummate musician, has graciously consented to put up with me for some lessons. I’m just beginning to get a little bit of comfort with the Piedmont finger-style syncopation. I’ve been playing the guitar all of my life and have had some success with it and more enjoyment than anyone could possibly know. I’ve played in front of thousands of people and have a small, but very gratifying following of people who enjoy my music. I just got tired of feeling like a sham every time I played the Blues. Sure, I knew the notes, sort of, and could play leads, sometimes riveting leads, in the traditional I-IV-V format. But I've always felt like I was just faking it. So, I’m trying to establish a little credibility, even if it’s only with myself. Ultimately, it may just mean that I get to understand a little bit of my vast ignorance, but hey, that would be some progress. If nothing else, I’m all about that.
See you next time. I’ve been thinking a lot about golf. Maybe we’ll go there.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
