Playing in the Street

“There comes a time in every rightly constructed boy’s life when he has a raging desire to go somewhere and dig for hidden treasure.” The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain

I feel sorry for so many children today. Maybe they don’t sense the oppression that I believe they live under, especially now as the days begin to warm and grow longer.

One of the privileges of senior adulthood is that you get to talk about the good old days whether anyone cares or not, listens or not, believes you or not. Let’s start this way: back when I was a boy…

We played in the street. We crawled through broken windows exploring empty buildings. We waded the banks of the Arkansas river. We rode our bikes to the little gas station on 71st street to reach into the icy water of the pop box for a bottle of Grapette. The days were full and lasted until after dark when we could hear someone’s parent summoning him home.

This photo of our Grand-Girls and some of their friends reminded me of those times. I am so glad they live in a town, among great friends where they can play in the street, where they are not limited to living adventures only through TV shows and a game on an iPad.

I do not claim to be a poet, but I like to dabble. A while back I took a challenge to write a poem about the street where I grew up. Here it is:

ON QUINCY STREET

On Quincy Street south of seventy-first
A portal stood seen just by boys and girls
The lack of dreams by which adults are cursed
Vice versa saved the wonder of this world.
Quincy to kids as an oyster to pearl
A treasure trove and innocent eyes to see
Princess, Prince or King; not a one a churl
Creating as those who are completely free.
In the venues diverse like the old oak trees
The rock path that leads to the river’s edge
Where grade and pace caused many a skinned knee
But some shed blood strengthens the secret pledge.
The sign at the head of Quincy reads, “Dead End”
It should have said, “Path that adventure tends.”

Fooling Around

“In a culture where con men, hucksters and others desperately seeking power and influence have decided that they can profit by making truth seem relative, we’re in danger of every day becoming the first of April.” — Seth Godin

First of all: 

It’s April Fool’s Day. Seth Godin wrote a brillant little essay that includes the profound, apropos thought I opened this post with. I wanted to somehow archive this, so I’m embedding the link here.

Next:

“The Fool On The Hill”
The Beatles. Magical Mystery Tour.

Day after day, alone on the hill
The man with the foolish grin is keeping perfectly still
But nobody wants to know him
They can see that he’s just a fool
And he never gives an answer

But the fool on the hill
Sees the sun going down
And the eyes in his head
See the world spinning around

Well on the way, head in a cloud
The man of a thousand voices talking perfectly loud
But nobody ever hears him
Or the sound he appears to make
And he never seems to notice

But the fool on the hill
Sees the sun going down
And the eyes in his head
See the world spinning around

And nobody seems to like him
They can tell what he wants to do
And he never shows his feelings

But the fool on the hill
Sees the sun going down
And the eyes in his head
See the world spinning around

He never listens to them
He knows that they’re the fools
They don’t like him

The fool on the hill
Sees the sun going down
And the eyes in his head
See the world spinning around

---

Next:

Our first born son wrote a piece recently. It was written as “A letter from myself in my 30s to myself in my 20s”. Here it is:

1. You’re going to have children—three girls. I’d tell you to prepare now, but there’s really nothing you can do. Good luck.
2. Your band won’t get signed. I’m just sayin’. You can keep playing music, but it will be nothing more than that.
3. You’ve gained some weight. You’ll gain more. And not just in your belly, your whole face will get sort of fat.
4. Your hair will get thinner while your eye brows get thicker. There’s technically no hair loss; it just relocates.
5. Religion. It’s a messy business, if it comes to that. You’ll get sort of disillusioned at certain points, but you’ll turn out okay.
6. Even though—right now—there’s all this uncertainty, you’ll eventually have a job that could be your job until you retire, and you’ll have a house that could be your house until you die, but sometimes you’ll kind of miss the uncertainty.
7. Finish your MFA. Do it now.
8. Don’t listen to NPR too much. It’s good to be informed, but not in heavy doses. It’s sort of depressing.
9. There’s a legitimate chance that Donald Trump will become president; work on thwarting that.
10. And I guess the last thing would be… You married a good woman. Don’t mess it up. You lose every fight you win.

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There’s nothing foolish about that exercise. Is it a fool’s quest though to think we might be smarter and wiser going forward by pondering the folly of our youth? Maybe.

Next:

I’m taking the challenge, thinking about a letter that my 60-something self would write to my 20-something self. 

1. Floss regularly and use sunscreen. (Did they even have sunscreen when I was 20?)
2. Except for the undeserved grief and stress it causes your parents, you will survive a journey to the land of waywards and it will have been, in some ways, worth it. On the other side you will have a deeper understanding of grace, and hopefully it will make you more empathic.
3. You will regret being so self-absorbed. Stop it.
4. Treasure those people and experiences that taught you to love the arts. Music, art, and writing will be food for your soul when you’re old.
5. The Methodists were right; the Baptists were wrong: you won’t go to hell for dancing (as far as I know).
6. You seemed to have been right to register to vote as a Democrat, although you were idealistic. The Republicans seem to adopt a strategy which hijacks, distorts and cheapens the idea of christianity for political gain.
7. You will be given an opportunity, a gift really, to work with teenagers, and you’ll get paid to do it, not much, but enough. It will be your calling.
8. There will be this thing called “Facebook”. It will allow you to sort of reconnect with people you haven’t seen or heard from since high school, and maybe you’ll wish you would have stayed in touch over the years.
9. You should have gone to Woodstock. They’re still talking about it today. Oh, and the VW Bus you’re driving, keep it. It will be worth a fortune.
10. Sure, you’re only 21 and she’s only 18, and you’re half in love and half in lust, but definitely marry her. 40-some years later, she will still be your best friend, mom of your sons, grandmother of your Grand-Girls, your Amazing-Missus. Life without her will be beyond imagination.

---

Lastly:

A little April Fool's day humor from Gary Larson.

For Sunday, March 27, 2016. Easter.

DON'T GET ME WRONG, I love autumn: the turning leaves, the cool, crisp air, the Pumpkin Spice Latte. But, I can’t imagine Easter in any other season but spring. Can you?

How can we fully appreciate life beyond the grave without the imagery and poetry of spring flowers and colors, trees budding, and longer days, newness breaking forth?

Do those in the Southern Hemisphere dye their eggs in deep reds, oranges, and golds? Does their Easter Bunny wear a sweater? Probably not. But happy Easter and happy autumn to all our brothers and sisters Down Under anyway.

Springtime with Nora

Recollections

rec·ol·lec·tion |ˌrekəˈlekSH(ə)n| noun

the action or faculty of remembering something.
“to the best of my recollection no one ever had a bad word to say about him”
a thing recollected; a memory.

As I write, I’m listening to a song called “Recollections” by Miles Davis and band. It’s 19 minutes of free jazz and one of my favorites. I tend to be mindful of having a soundtrack to life.

This week I roadtripped to Nashville. I prepared for the trip emotionally and spiritually by listening several times to Loretta Lynn’s new record, “Full Circle”. The trip represented a sort of full circle for me. I was visiting Floyd and Ann Craig at their beautiful home in Nashville, AKA, The No-Agenda Retreat Center. Riding shotgun was my dear friend and mentor Doug Manning. Driving up from Atlanta to join us was my “brother” Gene Chapman.

For me this was a re-collection of people who have been there in some of the most pivotal times of my life. We spent hours recollecting and remembering the past better than it was. (As we’re apt to do.)

Back in the early 70s I was going through a crisis of faith and calling. Floyd was my go-to guy during this and he introduced me to Doug. If you’re interested in more of that story, I’ve told a bit of it in a post last year about this time. Gene and I met a few years later as I was seeking to live out my calling on the other side of the crisis. I've always felt I could be completely real with Gene.

Hopefully you get a sense of how important these guys are to me, as are the recollections that have rushed in through being with them again.

photo by Krystal Brauchi

I also hope that in the midst of the bunnies and eggs and chocolate and ham this weekend, you will re-collect your friends and families and that there will be good times of story-telling and recollecting.

Most of all I hope for a time of anamnesis for all of us.

anamnesis |ˌanəmˈnēsis| noun
(from the Greek word ἀνάμνησις meaning reminiscence and/or memorial sacrifice), in Christianity is a liturgical statement in which the Church refers to the memorial character of the Eucharist and/or to the Passion, Resurrection and Ascension of Christ. It has its origin in Jesus’ words at the Last Supper, “This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me”, (Luke 22:19, 1 Corinthians 11:24-25).  -- Wikipedia

Anamnesis is just a fancy word for recollecting, for remembering, but that is powerful stuff. I heard a doctor speak one time about remembering. He explained that when someone loses an appendage, let’s say a finger, it is called “dismembered”. He said that when it is reattached it should be called “re-membered”.

That’s what happens when we remember: we reengage, we reconnect, we re-member and we recollect. That’s why families and friends gather and stories are told; to re-member.

At our No-Agenda Retreat in Nashville, we all gathered around a table for lunch in a restaurant. Floyd asked, “Do you all remember the way Grady Nutt used to say the blessing before a meal?” Grady Nutt was a special guy to all of us there. Grady, unfortunately died in a plane crash many years ago, but we remember him.

So Floyd led us in the blessing, just as Grady would have done. We all joined hands and Floyd said exuberantly in a voice loud enough for all to hear, “He’s done it again!!!!”

What a beautiful acknowledgement of the provision of God. It was so wonderful to re-collect and recollect.