"Man is never so contemplative as when he is at stool". Frankly I beg to differ. Vacation, late night and a quiet, serene, comfortable home certainly wins when it comes to contemplation. Why do we do what we do? Why do we enjoy what we enjoy? What makes me happy? What makes me sad, anxious, worried, scared? Looking back at the last 40 or so years, have the choices I've made been worthwhile, have I made a difference? Would I do it all over again if I could? Would I make the same choices? Have I given my children a foundation to make choices in their lives, or did I just give them controlled chaos and leave their fates to the winds of fortune or luck? Is this ride, as short as it is, a great ride or just an endless loop of ups and downs? What about when the ride ends, does it really end or does it just change shape? I have no idea on any of these things, but I sure am chewing on them in the quiet of the night.
I miss the night. There was a time where I rarely went to bed before midnight. I used to work, or read or listen to music, or just fret. Now the first real conscious effects of "getting old" have to do with sleep. If I don't get enough, if I stay up late and have to work the next day, I'm a mess. I'm tired, yawning, crabby, curt, and generally not pleasant. The world seems to spin so very much more quickly without these extra hours at night. I somehow felt more alive with longer days, now I feel the "grind". Get up, work, go to second job, come home, go to bed, do it all over again the next day. This is why I cherish this vacation thing, just the luxury of being able to stay up well past my new "bedtime". This alone makes me feel young again, no matter that it's just temporary (only 4 more days this week actually, but who's counting?).
Once upon a time the day still had a long way to go when, on the radio, (WNEW-FM 102.7) would come the ethereal voice....“The flutter of wings, the shadow across the moon, the sounds of the night, as the Nightbird spreads her wings and soars, above the earth, into another level of comprehension, where we exist only to feel. Come, fly with me, Alison Steele, the Nightbird, at WNEW-FM, until dawn.”
The music would play in the background, sometimes on the radio next to my bed, sometimes I would listen through the night while reading or working.
Alison Steele died of stomach cancer in 1995, aged 58. I'll be 58 in August of this year. Sorry Mr. Swift, man is never so contemplative as when he is alone, late at night, in his home.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Every once in a while the right guy wins.
I love sports. It is the ultimate in reality television. Unlike episodic or comedy or "reality tv" where in either 26 or 56 minutes all the angst or all the fun is fully and carefully resolved, sports provides an arena where sometimes the "hated" opponent (see Boston V. NY 2004) prevails. Sometimes even in individual sports the "not so nice" (see Ilie Nastase) rises up to win.
Sometimes "sports" is overtaken by the "sportscasters" or just news stories, (see Tiger Woods 2009-current) where someone so talented does something so reprehensible that they become the story not the event and not the competition. I was a huge Mickey Mantle fan, and yet, Mickey was the Tiger Woods of his day in terms of personal life, maybe even worse, he just preceded the Twitter/TMZ/E-media days. To his credit, just before his passing, he held a press conference where he did say, clearly from his heart, "don't be like me". But it did take illness and age for him to get there.
Today, Phil Mickelson won the Masters. He won in dramatic fashion, hitting shots that are reminiscent of those Kevin Costner's character was unable to pull off in the movie, but he was able to do it. He completely erased the stigma of his collapse at the US Open in Winged Foot. He blasted out of the pine straw, under the trees, over the creek to land on the compelling 13th hole when he could have put the ball in the water and just been another lovable loser. This past year, Phil's young wife Amy and his Mom both battled breast cancer. Through it all, Phil was pleasant and accommodating to the galleries and the media. He took time off to be with his family, but when he played it was not days and days of legendary coverage. He just played. Amy's treatments have gone well but have not been easy, yet he played and did interviews, and didn't complain.
Today, he bested Tiger Woods, he put his head down, and played as well as he can play, all the while bumping fists and taking the chances that gave him the occasional (not too flattering nickname) Phil the Thrill. And at the end, he hugged his faithful caddy companion Jim, and with tears in his eyes, first Amy and then his three daughters none of whom will likely every have to read a discouraging word about their dad.
Sometimes the right guy just wins, and when it happens you can't help but feel that positive things do happen to good people.
Sometimes "sports" is overtaken by the "sportscasters" or just news stories, (see Tiger Woods 2009-current) where someone so talented does something so reprehensible that they become the story not the event and not the competition. I was a huge Mickey Mantle fan, and yet, Mickey was the Tiger Woods of his day in terms of personal life, maybe even worse, he just preceded the Twitter/TMZ/E-media days. To his credit, just before his passing, he held a press conference where he did say, clearly from his heart, "don't be like me". But it did take illness and age for him to get there.
Today, Phil Mickelson won the Masters. He won in dramatic fashion, hitting shots that are reminiscent of those Kevin Costner's character was unable to pull off in the movie, but he was able to do it. He completely erased the stigma of his collapse at the US Open in Winged Foot. He blasted out of the pine straw, under the trees, over the creek to land on the compelling 13th hole when he could have put the ball in the water and just been another lovable loser. This past year, Phil's young wife Amy and his Mom both battled breast cancer. Through it all, Phil was pleasant and accommodating to the galleries and the media. He took time off to be with his family, but when he played it was not days and days of legendary coverage. He just played. Amy's treatments have gone well but have not been easy, yet he played and did interviews, and didn't complain.
Today, he bested Tiger Woods, he put his head down, and played as well as he can play, all the while bumping fists and taking the chances that gave him the occasional (not too flattering nickname) Phil the Thrill. And at the end, he hugged his faithful caddy companion Jim, and with tears in his eyes, first Amy and then his three daughters none of whom will likely every have to read a discouraging word about their dad.
Sometimes the right guy just wins, and when it happens you can't help but feel that positive things do happen to good people.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Rotational Relevance
Some days the world seems to spin in slow motion, then there are days where it seems like the world is spinning so fast it is trying to shove you off its edge as if you have fulfilled whatever usefulness you might once have had. These last few days seem like the latter. My head is filled with thoughts of things to do, how to actually get them done, what I want to do, what I don't want to do and finally what I need to do. Notice nowhere in here is there any mention of fun or joy or breathless anticipation, just seemingly unstated apprehension. How did this happen?
I'm getting ever closer to having my second hip replaced. A surgery that I now don't fear, but instead, am anticipating, if not breathlessly, at least with the knowledge that it will not only relieve me of this annoying pain and immobility. I'm pretty healthy, I just met with a retirement counselor who laid out the next couple of years and it looks for all the world that whistle will actually blow on the "5 O'Clock World" for me in the next few years and really then no one will own a piece of my time at any time during the day. Yet, melancholy, and apprehension are my constant companions. I feel as if I am running parallel to the life I want to live, that I can reach out and touch parallel "me" but the real me is not having a lot of fun.
Susan is going to have an Estro-Fest tomorrow and I am running away to MGM-Grand with the lovely Kate, my soon to be 30 year old daughter (no, I'm not that old, that's parallel "me" who's that old, I'm still just barely old enough to get into the casino!!). Nice dinner at Craftsteak, with any luck at all, enough winnings to cover the trip. Regardless, maybe the world will spin in sync with the fun side of the weekend.
It is, after all, just all relative.
I'm getting ever closer to having my second hip replaced. A surgery that I now don't fear, but instead, am anticipating, if not breathlessly, at least with the knowledge that it will not only relieve me of this annoying pain and immobility. I'm pretty healthy, I just met with a retirement counselor who laid out the next couple of years and it looks for all the world that whistle will actually blow on the "5 O'Clock World" for me in the next few years and really then no one will own a piece of my time at any time during the day. Yet, melancholy, and apprehension are my constant companions. I feel as if I am running parallel to the life I want to live, that I can reach out and touch parallel "me" but the real me is not having a lot of fun.
Susan is going to have an Estro-Fest tomorrow and I am running away to MGM-Grand with the lovely Kate, my soon to be 30 year old daughter (no, I'm not that old, that's parallel "me" who's that old, I'm still just barely old enough to get into the casino!!). Nice dinner at Craftsteak, with any luck at all, enough winnings to cover the trip. Regardless, maybe the world will spin in sync with the fun side of the weekend.
It is, after all, just all relative.
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"A hole in the water, surrounded by fiberglass, into which one pours money"
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