So it goes...

Donna and I went out and saw some live music with friends on Friday night. One of our favorite bands, Zach Petrini , an band that plays largely Americana, was playing at a new venue called the Ivy House in the Third Ward. It was a place we'd never been, so thought we'd check it out. If you know me, you know I'm a music buff. I love live music because it is such an in-the-moment experience. Like theater, each show is an entirely different experience. If the band is having a good night and the crowd is into it, it can be almost a spiritual experience. (Speaking for myself personally.) What I enjoy so much is picking out the different instruments as they play. Everyone has a critical role in the creation of it. If the bass player sucks, the whole thing sounds like crap. If the guitarist hits a couple of rough notes in a row, people cringe. But if every member is in synchronicity, it can be downright stunning. Many of Petrini's songs have a distinct progression to the...

My wife posted and interesting question on Facebook the other day. It was simple: Who inspires you, and why? Now, I have to admit that Facebook prompts don't usually trigger me to act. There was something a little more provoking about this one though, so I felt compelled to answer. I answered that my mom inspires me. She was faced with a lot of loss and adversity early on in her life and still managed to raise seven of us kids. She is still active in the community as a worker/volunteer and has a great friend group - all of which I think plays an important part in having a healthy senior life. But there are lots of others that inspire me too. I'll just touch on a few. Men and women in their forties, fifties and sixties who are actively writing. The same goes for those doing art, or trying to master an instrument. I favor this group for obvious reasons, but I just think it's so cool that people at these stages of life still see themselves as worthy contribut...

The older I get, the more I appreciate creative arts that move me in ways nothing else can. Be it words from a poem, a play that strikes a chord and brings me to tear, a movie that makes me laugh or even a well written book. I recently finished Richard Brautigan's book, A Confederate General From Big Sur, which had me laughing in bed while reading it. Part of the appeal of that book and other great works is that I try and get in the head of the artist/author/poet/director that penned the thoughts, wrote the piece or created the work. It is a pure and simple appreciation for an artistic outpouring or talent.  Along these lines, if anyone knows me, they know that I am a music nut. It has always been my "thing" and so when I heard that The Church, a favorite band of mine from way back was coming to Evanston, Illinois to play two sets, I was intrigued. I'd been meaning to see them since I last saw them in Madison in 1988.  And so when I heard they were playing my...

Over the past few years I've increasingly taken notice of the enormous talent of people around me. I don't mean to keep going back to it, but the sickness and passing of my brother seemed to open my eyes to something bigger than me. The God-given talent of artists and tradespeople and musicians and writers around me, is positively dizzying. I'm pretty sure it was there before, but maybe I wasn't as cognizant of it as I am now. Sometimes death tilts a person's axis so they look at everything with a new orientation. For me it seems to have enabled me to better recognize the good in people, the talents that I don't have, talents that amaze me. I've mentioned things like the drumming of Neil Peart (from Rush) and the guitar work of Mark Knopfler (formerly of Dire Straits),  or the voice of Norah Jones. But those are all professionals. I'm talking about people around me, like me, that are working stiffs with day jobs, but have secondary passions and pursuit...

I responded to a writing prompt I got as an email notice the other day. The prompt was "Your Favorite Song." It asked for feelings, emotions, etc., that hearing your favorite song might trigger. You were supposed to use them inside a poem and send it in for consideration, so I did. Within a day or two I heard back that it was accepted and was just the kind of thing they were looking for. It made me think though, what makes a favorite song? Lyrics? Music? Emotional reaction? Danceability? All of these? When I thought about what I considered my "favorite song," I had to think about it a bit. I am a music lover, and I have what I consider many favorite songs. They vary by genre, artist and even era. Somehow though whenever I'm asked what my favorite would be it always comes back to the same song. The song is Under the Milky Way by The Church . It dates back to 1988 when I had just moved to Wisconsin, from Minnesota. I was a Church groupie, so bought it the min...

As my obsession with my own mortality continues to dominate my thoughts, I've become incredibly attuned to commonplace things of beauty on a regular basis. Lately it's been in music. Take for example Middle Schoolers singing Christmas carols. Last night was a "worship night" at Mosaic's Sunday PM  which is the 6-8 grade ministry at church. I lead a small group of about six boys in the sixth grade, but they are part of hundreds of middle-schoolers that attend regularly. Usually our night is divided up into 3 areas; gym time, large group teaching and small groups. Because we're so close to Christmas, they just made last night to be mostly singing and then released to small groups. There was a single guitarist/vocalist, Jayden Lee (formerly of Sons of Korah ) who lead the group of students. Because their voices weren't drowned out by the usual over-accompaniment of drums, bass, etc, the student voices were more audible than usual. The young voices filled ...

A short excerpt I just finished for my memoir. Bear in mind it hasn't been edited yet. Note too that the song names are links to audio samples of the songs. This way you can share my insanity. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Our trips were always electronic-free. That is to say, we did not bring radios, tape players or Walkmans, those Ipods of the 80’s, for those of you who are wondering. Of course cell phones had not been invented yet, so they were not an issue either. We all agreed that being unplugged for a week was a good thing. The silence of the BW was refreshing to our souls and we knew that all the electronic noise would be waiting for us when the week was over anyway. There were times though that the noise would follow me into the wilderness and not leave me alone. It always took the form of a single song that would haunt me the whole week long. Often times it was a song that I’d heard on the car stereo on the way up. With Paul being in a band, me a ...