“We cannot comprehend what comprehends us.”
— Wendell Berry
“For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways,”
declares the Lord.
“As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts.
Isaiah 55:8-9. The Bible
Pops Prayer for today:
God, deliver me from trying to put words in your mouth; again.
WHAT DO YOU GET when you put together a group of people ages 78, 64, 67, 41, 37, 82, and 36?
Charles Lloyd & The Marvels
On January 15, 2016, Blue Note released I Long To See You, the profound new album from Charles Lloyd & The Marvels. The album finds the iconic saxophonist and recent NEA Jazz Master in the company of a new band featuring guitarist Bill Frisell and pedal steel guitarist Greg Leisz, along with his longtime quartet members bassist Reuben Rogers and drummer Eric Harland. The album also includes two remarkable guest vocal appearances by Willie Nelson and Norah Jones. — from Blue Note.
The release of this album alone is worthy of a blog post, but that’s only a small part of the reason I’m writing this.
My main point is to highlight the beauty of a multi-generational collaboration, and even more broadly, to acknowledge the power and potential of multi-generational friendships.
I came to this conviction first by seeing it at work in my own life, and then I began to notice it in all walks of life. As I have written before, I am a tested and confirmed introvert. My batteries are recharged in solitude. That’s not to say I don’t have close friends or that I enjoy spending time with friends. I do. But I prefer to spend that time with just a few at a time in a quiet, intimate setting like a coffee shop or bookstore. I’m not saying this is the way it should be, but it is what I prefer.
One day I just sort of noticed something about my friendships, or maybe someone pointed it out to me, but I can count on one of Mickey Mouses’s hands the number of close friends I have that are near my age. Most of my friends are much younger or older than me. I don’t know why. I have a theory or two. But, nothing certain. Maybe I don’t need to know why. I may know more by tomorrow sometime.
Tomorrow night, Charles Lloyd & The Marvels are playing at Jazz At Lincoln Center in New York. I will be there in spirit.
Tomorrow at Noon, I will be having lunch with some of my favorite people. One is 20-something, one is 30-something, one is 60-something and the other is 80-something. I plan to ask them how they feel about being a part of a multi-generational collaboration. I’ll let you know how it turns out.
Occasionally we had vertical hold issues at our house. If you grew up in 50s and 60s as I did, the Reality of television was that it was quirky, not only problems with vertical hold, but horizontal hold too. There were little knobs you could twist that helped sometimes to slow the roll of the image on the screen. Soon or later though, the man of the house would take the pegboard cover off the back of the TV set, jerk the tubes out, and take them to the Humpty Dumpty, Piggly Wiggly, or Snap-E-Sak to “test” them. Inevitably they would have gone “bad”. Hopefully we could get the new tubes and get them inserted before “Leave It To Beaver” came on.
Sometimes the problem was a fuzzy or snowy picture. Usually a twist of the rabbit ears would fix these issues. Sometimes drastic measures were called for. More aluminum foil had to be added to the telescopic ears. As I said; that was our television reality, if not reality television.
While I’m not an avid fisherman, I do enjoy wetting a worm or flinging a fly. Especially fly-fishing, standing in a cool stream hoping to outsmart a trout. I have a friend who makes regular trips to Alaska to fish. When I see his pictures from those trips, I envy the manliness of it all. I suppose if I were to go to Alaska to fish, I would hold in high regard the endorsements of Sarah Palin regarding a good fishing guide, places to go, bait to use, etc.
I remember as a kid fishing the waters of Lincoln, Union and Ouachita Parishs in northern Louisiana with my Uncle Steve and cousin Danny Roy. My Dad’s roots are there, down the road from the Robertson's of Duck Dynasty fame. It would be fun to go backand listen to the Robertson's tell stories of fishing and hunting there. I would love to hear them swap stories with Uncle Steve. When it comes to fishing or duck hunting I can’t think of any one’s advice I would respect more than that of Phil Robertson, the patriarch of the Robertson Dynasty.
If Phil and Sarah were ever to visit Oklahoma, and want my opinion, there are a few fishing/hunting resources I could recommend to them. Probably, if I were to give them a call to let them know who I might or might not be endorsing for President they would tell me they don’t give a duck’s quack or polar bear’s ass whom I’m considering. And, to be honest, the feeling’s mutual.
Back to reality TV. How in the world have we come to the point where the most cherished endorsements for presidential candidates come from cartoonish “reality” TV stars? I am completely at peace and entertained by the relatives of these celebrities being on “Dancing With The Stars”. But something’s not right here. Maybe we need some more foil on our rabbit ears or a new vertical hold tube.
If I were going to choose a “reality” TV star to trust for a presidential endorsement, it would probably be Dale Gribble. I know, I know. Dale is just a cartoon neighbor to Hank Hill, but he is just as passionate about his worldview as are the other “reality” TV stars: Phil, Sarah and The Donald. And while Ted Cruz doesn’t have his own show, I have no doubt he would if given the opportunity. Show me a guy who will make a mockery of the U.S. Senate by standing on “the Senate Floor” for hours in a pretend filibuster, reading “Green Eggs & Ham”, and I will show you a guy begging for his own TV show.
Since Dale Gribble has not gone public with an endorsement, you might not be familiar with his views and opinions. Allow me to share a few gribbleisms:
“If all you’re goin’ on is my confession, forget it, I’m simply not credible.”
“That’s code for U.N. commissars telling Americans what temperature it’s gonna be in our outdoors. I say, let the world warm up! See what Boutros Boutros-By-Golly thinks about that! We’ll grow oranges in Alaska!”
“Guns don’t kill people. The government does!”
“If you want, I can teach you how to make a bomb out of a toilet paper roll and a stick of dynamite.”
“Whoa! Hold on, son! I want you to keep an open mind so you can make an informed decision! If you want, you can read a bloated government report on smoking, or go straight to the horse’s mouth and get the facts from the tobacco industry.”
“20 years. If your marriage was a murderer it would be out by now.”
“I’d like to live in your fairy-tale world, Hank, but the Fair Play For Cuba Committee is retro-fitting my mower to power Fidel’s one-man escape sub.”
“If you want to elect me, Dale Gribble, president of the Gun Club, running on the ‘Save-Your-Sorry-Ass’ platform, say aye.”
“They wanted to see me wet my pants from fear… but they’re too late!”
P.S. Maybe you’ve seen this image floating around the WWW (which of course means it could be true). Makes you wonder if Mr. Cruz has bigger heritage issues than just being born in Canada. Like Ricky used to say to Lucy back when TV wasn’t pretending to be “real”, “Someone’s got some splainin to do.”
candidate cruz and grandpa munster
I didn’t know until the announcement of his death on January 10, that David Bowie (RIP) shared the same birthday as Elvis and me; January 8th.
Yes, that’s my way of saying that I just had a birthday (in case you didn’t read my last post on January 8, my birthday).
On January 9, the day after my birthday, we visited Shawnee, Oklahoma, the home of the Grand-Girls. Karlee the oldest was serving as a “ballgirl” at the OBU Lady Bison basketball game. Turns out, it was sort of an honorary title, but she performed wonderfully.
We met at the OBU fieldhouse and Harper, the middle Grand-Girl, came running to me and said, “Happy Birthday yesterday Pops! Why didn’t I get to come to your birthday party?!”
Not wanting her to feel bad for missing it, “It wasn’t much of a party,” I explained. She wanted to know “why not?” “It was just me, Mimi and some friends. We went out to eat at a restaurant, and that was all.”
“You didn’t have inflatables?” she asked with obvious shock and a bit of pity.
You need to know that Harper has a “good friend” named Lilly, and Lilly’s dad owns an inflatables company, not balloons, but big bouncy houses, climbing walls, etc. So it is not unusual, or unduly priviliged of Harper to assume that every birthday party will have inflatables.
karlee at her Fifth Birthday. When It's your birthday and you have inflatables you don't care if it's a giant football.
But there’s a bigger, deeper issue here than inflatables. It took a four year-old to help me see it. When I tried to explain, unconvincingly, that I’m too old for inflatables, she taught me this lesson: “Well, maybe your friends would have liked them.”
I suppose I had learned the narcissistic view of parties listening to my cousin Beth Ann’s 45 RPM record of Leslie Gore singing, “It’s My Party And I’ll Cry If I Want To”.
Maybe if Leslie had had inflatables at her party, Johnny wouldn’t have left with Judy. And even if he did, and they came back later with Judy wearing his ring and struttin’ like a queen with her king, maybe Leslie would have been having so much fun because her other friends were having fun that she wouldn’t even have noticed them, and maybe she would have realized that maybe Johnny’s a loser and Judy’s a slut. Maybe she would have learned Harper’s lesson that sometimes the party may be our birthday, but it’s not just for us, but for the friends who want to celebrate with us too.
So if you like a good party — SAVE THE DATE — JANUARY 8, 2017. Harper will be planning the party and there’s a good chance there will be inflatables, and cupcakes, orange sherbet and Cheetos, and an equally strong chance it will have a “Frozen” theme.
Check out this groovy video of Leslie. If ever there was a party that could have used inflatables… (No wonder adults in the 60s were convinced the wheels were coming off.)
