Alexandersmap

    Category: Culture

    • A Rainy Day Soundtrack in Five Jackson Browne Songs

      It’s raining today.  It’s April in New England and such things are to be expected.  I set my alarm every night for 6:30 AM, and I’m usually up well before it ever goes off.  This morning I was finishing a dream I don’t recall except that someone was about to speak and as they opened their mouth the alarm went off and it all went away.  Feel free to analyze that if you wish, I’m moving on to other things.  6:30 is sleeping in for me, and I found myself behind the eight ball on my morning routine.

      But back to that rain.  It reminded me of this collection of Jackson Browne songs I’ve been collecting in my drafts waiting patiently to fly.  So why not now?  It’s not easy to create a list of only five songs from a writer as prolific as Jackson Browne, I mean, I played the Running on Empty album on repeat for months when I was 17 or so.  That one would be a favorite album, but only one of the songs on it made it onto this list.  I think the rain also impacted my choice of songs, all of which are introspective, forgoing classic hits like Running On Empty, Doctor My Eyes and Somebody’s Baby in favor of deeper water.  Anyway, here are five Jackson Browne songs that are particularly meaningful for me:

      You Love The Thunder
      “When you look over your shoulder
      And you see the life that you’ve left behind
      When you think it over, do you ever wonder?
      What it is that holds your life so close to mine”
      This song, along with The Road and The Load-Out, was a highlight and the one I play frequently from this album.

      For A Dancer
      “Into a dancer you have grown
      From a seed somebody else has thrown
      Go on ahead and throw some seeds of your own
      And somewhere between the time you arrive
      And the time you go
      May lie a reason you were alive
      That you’ll never know”
      Jackson wrote this for a friend who died in a fire, and it’s one of those songs I return to when I think about people full of life taken too soon from this world.

      The Pretender
      “I want to know what became of the changes
      We waited for love to bring
      Were they only the fitful dreams
      Of some greater awakening?
      I’ve been aware of the time going by
      They say in the end it’s the wink of an eye
      When the morning light comes streaming in
      You’ll get up and do it again
      Amen.”
      If the pandemic is doing anything, it’s pushing people to question the endless cycle of mindless work they do.  If you don’t love your life, change it.  This song is the great reminder of the unfulfilled potential in all of us bursting to get out, if you’ll just stop doing what you think you have to do.

      Your Bright Baby Blues
      “Baby if you can hear me
      Turn down your radio
      There’s just one thing
      I want you to know
      When you’ve been near me
      I’ve felt the love
      Stirring in my soul”
      The link above is a Don Kirchner performance in 1976 where Jackson’s backing band was The Eagles.  I’m old enough to remember a lot about the 70’s, but young enough to have missed most of the craziness happening at the time.  I imagine there was a hell of a party after these guys played this song.

      These Days
      “These days I’ll sit on corner stones
      And count the time in quarter tones to ten, my friend
      Don’t confront me with my failures
      I had not forgotten them”
      I understand that Jackson wrote this when he was 16.  Talk about being an old soul at a young age.  I’m a long way from what the lyrics express at the moment, but haven’t we all been here?

       

    • A Bit of Thoreau and Sagan on Earth Day

      I toyed with the idea of a long blog post about Earth Day. Instead I’ll drop these two quotes. I think Thoreau and Sagan would have gotten along quite well. I’d hardly keep pace, but would love to sit in on that conversation:

      “This whole earth which we inhabit is but a point in space. How far apart, think you, dwell the two most distant inhabitants of yonder star, the breadth of whose disk cannot be appreciated by our instruments? Why should I feel lonely? is not our planet in the Milky Way?” – Henry David Thoreau, Walden

      “Look again at that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every “superstar,” every “supreme leader,” every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there-on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.” – Carl Sagan, Pale Blue Dot

    • Patriot’s Day 2020

      Today is Patriot’s Day in Massachusetts and Maine (once part of Massachusetts). The day marks the commencement of hostilities in the Battles of Lexington and Concord. Traditionally, it’s also the day that the Boston Marathon is normally run, at least when there isn’t a global pandemic anyway. And the Red Sox play a matinee game that caps a four day weekend of baseball. In a normal year anyway.

      Holidays are funny things, and Patriot’s Day is one of those quirky holidays. Growing up in Massachusetts, I came to expect the day off from school. Living in New Hampshire for half my life now, I no longer “officially” have the day off, but I’ve taken it as PTO a few times to track a favorite runner in the marathon or simply to soak up the energy. I wasn’t there in2013 but I’ve been right there many times. And like many I was pissed off at the affront. Patriot’s Day started off marking the start of war. It’s evolved into the celebration of the human spirit against adversity exemplified by thousands crossing that finish line. Today the course is quiet, as it should be. Runners and fans alike will wait until September and – hopefully – healthier days. And speaking of healthier days, I wonder what Patriot’s Day 2021 will bring? I hope something better for the lot of us. In the meantime, stay the course.

    • Beliefs

      Today I’d planned to open the pool, if only to see water. Instead, it’s snowing again. The world mocks me my intentions once more. Life is a series of checks to our belief that we’re all that matters in the world. Most of us figure this out after a few knocks to the ego but you still feel betrayed at times. I debated putting on boots, but said the heck with it and walked out barefoot into the accumulating snow and lowered the umbrella before it broke under the weight of this latest reality check. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll raise it once again, but for now I need it to live to see another day.

      I mentioned I’d dipped a toe back into Facebook a week ago. It seems that the water is still a bit… funky for my swims into the turbulent waters of social media. I quickly re-discovered all the reasons why I’d left. The one that bothers me most was a post from a man I once worked with who’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, who spends his vacation time on missions to build homes for the poor in Haiti, who is deeply religious and strikingly kind. And he firmly believes exactly the opposite position on Trump. Surely I’ve disappointed him with my own beliefs over the years, as he disappoints me. I thought of leaving a comment on his most recent post but instead I’m going to step away. The world needs more unity and I’ll focus on the essence of this kind soul instead. We will surely agree to disagree on the rest. Beliefs are tricky things.

      Back inside, I see my footprints on the deck hold their form well after I’d walked there. The snow steadily falls but the footprints remain. I’ve seen this with thermal imaging where our heat trail remains after we’ve walked through a space. A bit of our heat and energy leaves us and marks where we’ve been, like the swirling wake behind a sailboat, softly marking where you once were for seemingly forever until the sea swallows these final traces long after you’ve sailed over the horizon. It seems we do matter, even if we don’t always believe it.

      I feel a bit less spun up about my friend’s beliefs after seeing the footprints. He’s not insulting me with his post, I’m the one choosing to react to it. I recognize the energy he leaves in his wake sometimes unsettles my own state, but it’s not malice that stirs me, just a different belief. We both stir the water in the way we each move through life, living to see another day and doing the best we can. The world needs more people like him, beliefs be damned.

    • Stupid Prizes

      I’m not sure where I heard the phrase first, but I know for sure I wrote it down most recently when I heard Naval say it, so I’ll offer him credit for repeating it once more that I might truly hear it: “Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.”  Boy, have I played some stupid games in my life.  To be fair, haven’t we all?  Life is full of stupid games, and what are you really pursuing in the playing of it?

      I once played a stupid game where we threw glass bottles in a stream and threw rocks at them to try to break them as they floated by.  The thought of that horrifies me now, but I was a dumb kid in a time when it didn’t seem like a big deal to introduce litter and broken glass into a stream.  My prize for playing that stupid game was getting hit by a car when I tried to run across the road to throw rocks at a bottle that had gotten away.  I deserved that car windshield, and I’m grateful the prize didn’t include a coffin in my size.  I’m not sure my mother deserved the prize of hearing her son was hit by a car but hey, I was playing a really stupid game and there were ample prizes to go around.

      More typical stupid games are trying to be cool in school and missing out on better prizes while you play stupid.  Taking a job you hate to try to play the corporate ladder game for another rung into a job you’ll hate more but has more prestige and money you’ll waste on stupid prizes.  I’ve had a few dress shoes pressed into my forehead owned by ladder climbers in my time climbing ladders.  Chasing metrics and KPI’s and all manner of Chutes and Ladders in the pursuit of differentiation in a red ocean of sharks feeding on one another most famously profiled in a New York Times profile on the culture five years ago at Amazon.

      Stupid games include competing to get your child into the right school, with the right social activities, playing the right position in the right sport on the right travel team, to win the next “right” prize.  It’s another ladder with people stepping on top of each other on the scramble, made worse as it’s removing childhood from the lives of children in the pursuit of status.  That seems a particularly cruel stupid game.  Rising above stupid games isn’t easy, but it’s our only hope of winning better prizes.  But then again judging people for the games that they play is a stupid game in itself.  What does it get you but resentment or jealousy or condescension?  Now that is stupid.

      It would be easy to write that I’m done playing stupid games and this pandemic has shaken me of the beliefs that made me play them.  But we’re all human and will make decisions that in hindsight will be stupid.  No, life itself is a game and sometimes we find ourselves pursuing stupid.  I can’t guarantee to myself that I won’t pursue stupid games, but I can promise myself that I’ll stop playing the game as soon as I realize it’s stupid.  There are only so many games we get to play.  So I’ll at least try to raise my game and play at a higher level.  A higher level where I’m not worried about prizes and how others play the game.  That seems a worthy pursuit.

       

    • Return to Normal

      I know they’re up there, just not as many. I’m sure the flight paths from Europe to America or Boston to Chicago are still traveled by some planes, but they aren’t flying over my home anymore. Chances are they aren’t over your home either. Like many businesses the airlines have furloughed thousands of employees and planes around the globe are getting an extended break from the constant flights that make up their existence. The highways and roads of the world are getting a similar respite from the constant flow of vehicles. Factories are shuttered while the curve flattens. And the planet gasps the cleaner air. The people in India see the Himalayas for the first time in a generation. People in Los Angeles see blue sky. Even here in relatively rural New Hampshire the stars seem clearer.

      No, the sky isn’t empty at all. It’s as full as it ever was, we’ve just finally cleaned the windows enough to see outside. The universe pirouettes above and around us, and collectively we finally see it. Perhaps we’ll remember it when things return to abnormal. For isn’t this far closer to the planet’s normal state than the constant buzz of machinery spewing emissions into the air? Billions of years of normal versus a century or two of abnormal. We just don’t see the forest for the trees.

      Too many act like temporary renters of the space we occupy. Having experienced the attitudes of renters versus homeowners, I know not all renters feel enough of a sense of ownership over where they reside to treat the place well. There are plenty of people roaming the planet with a renter’s mentality. Use it up, discard, get another one. But there are too many of us for that to go on indefinitely. There’s nothing good about COVID-19 for humanity, but the planet might feebly raise a hand to express gratitude. We’re too deep in it to know the long-term impact, but maybe we needed the pandemic to shake us all awake from the drunken stupor we’ve been in. The planet gets a much-needed breather while humans focus on something besides themselves for a bit. The return to abnormal will come, will it be enough of a jolt to reset our worldview? It seems to me that Earth could use more homeowners and fewer renters. What will the new normal be?

    • Dry Towns, Blue Laws and Border Crossings

      There was a time, within my time, when towns were well known for being wet towns or dry towns. I’m not talking about the amount of rainfall, but rather whether a town allowed alcohol sales or not. I went to a dry wedding once and marveled at the resentment in the room as people found out about it. Imagine moving to a dry town and realizing it afterwards? Like that wedding people would simply carry in what they’d like to drink. Rules are meant to be broken, aren’t they?

      New Hampshire only has one “dry” town out of a combined 259 total towns, cities and “unincorporated places”.  That town is Ellsworth, a small town just west of I-93 between the Lakes Region and the White Mountains.  There are only 83 residents in Ellsworth, and every one of them of drinking age have to go to another town to purchase alcohol.  I’m guessing there aren’t a lot of restaurants or stores selling alcohol in Ellsworth anyway, but if they have anything going for them it’s that quirky statistic that makes them unique in the state. Live Free or Die indeed.

      Neighboring Massachusetts by comparison has 8 dry towns. It used to be many more in my lifetime, but the trend is downward. Look, even the Puritans drank alcohol, and for generations it was safer than water in those early colonial years when life was hard and cholera was common. The Pilgrims brought beer across the pond and negotiated with Massasoit with aqua vitae. People went straight from the cold church to the warm tavern. Alcohol consumption was common right up to a century ago, when Prohibition crashed the party for the entire country. From 1920 until 1933 the United States was “dry”. But rules are made to be broken, and organized crime and small time bootleggers, rum-runners and illegal moonshine stills came into prominence immediately afterwards.

      Dry towns are bureaucracy in action, or simply inertia. Most dry towns today are in rural, sparsely populated places that don’t have restaurant and store owners campaigning for change. Dry towns are a curiosity now, 100 years after Prohibition, but also a legacy to the cultural and political winds that blew across the country then. Being a wet town kid, I remember going with my grandfather to the bar where he would proceed to drink many beers in tiny glasses. That bar was on the edge of town, and that edge was wet meeting dry. How many people crossed the border over the years to have a couple of drinks and zig-zagged home? Now that former dry town sells much more alcohol than that old wet town. Money talks, and there’s money in alcohol sales.

      Sunday’s were once a sacred day in Massachusetts, with Blue Laws that prohibited the sale of alcohol. So naturally residents drove across the border to states that didn’t have blue laws. New Hampshire’s southern border is dotted with old convenience stores that sold beer to eager Massachusetts residents on Sundays. New Hampshire built liquor stores on the highways for the quick and convenient sale of alcohol to out-of-staters. The Blue Laws are long gone, but “sin taxes” aren’t. People still stop to fill up their trunks.

      So Ellsworth, New Hampshire remains the lone holdout on the dry side of the law. I hope they always will be, as a reminder of where the country was 100 years ago. If we’ve learned anything over the last few years, it’s that the political winds can blow in strange ways, and a few people can impose their views upon the masses given the opportunity. But if Prohibition teaches us anything, it’s that Americans chafe at arbitrary rules and find ways around them. Our forefathers would recognize the debate either way, and marvel at the choices in the liquor stores.

    • Grateful For The Connection

      They say the Striper return to New Hampshire waters when the lilacs bloom. By “they” I mean a guy standing in front of me talking to another guy six feet in front of him. That the statement was overheard in a COVID-19 mandated line to get into a store is a curiosity of our times, but interesting to me if only because I don’t generally participate in fishing talk. I’m not much of a fisherman, more a fish eater, but I instinctively heard the truth in that statement.

      I’ve been in the woods of New Hampshire for a month now, and other than two trips to visit the in-laws from afar I haven’t strayed out of the 603. I’m plotting covert salt water visits in my mind. I scroll through old photos on my phone and think about excuses to visit Cape Cod once again. Salt water is just out of reach… damn. I’m told that social isolation helps flatten the curve and like most people in the world I hear the truth in that statement. I’ll remain here in the woods for now.

      “Sometimes we are starving to see every bit of what is right in front of us.” – Brian Doyle, The Shrew

      I’ve learned the truth about myself over the years. Especially now I suppose. I’ve learned that it’s easier to listen when you turn off the flow of distraction the world offers. I suppose that’s why people turn on the flow; for distraction. Or to feel connected to the world. We all do, in some measure. The truth about me is I don’t need much distraction. But I do need connection. I learned long ago to have connection you need to reach out for it, because most people are dancing with their own distraction. I turned to the poets and songwriters because they offer connection in spades, even when they’re long gone from this world. If they are so bold as to reach out to me I ought to listen to what they have to say.

      As I stood in that line waiting for enough people to exit that I might enter the store, I found silent connection with a couple of fishermen. It was a bit like stealing because I picked up pieces from them but didn’t give anything back in return. So instead I paid it forward with others I’ve spoken with since, and now with you. Connection is a chain, and we are the links. Distraction weakens the link, attention strengthens it. It doesn’t always seem like it, but I do try to pay attention. And since I have yours, let me say I’m grateful for the connection.

    • Jam and Honey and Joie de Vivre

      When I was in London last fall I got back into tea, and with it back in the habit of adding a spoonful of honey. London also rebooted my brain on the delight of spreading some of that honey or a great jam on a bit of bread or a scone. Small, commonplace joys sprinkled into the day. Europeans are much better at these things than Americans. Here we drive through a coffee shop and eat something out of a bag while commuting to work. Sometimes you don’t even see what you just ate. Cheap fuel with no joy at all. Hopefully you tipped the drive-through person?

      The French long ago figured out the simple pleasure of being fully alive. Joie de vivre, the joy of living, is an expression but also a lifestyle pursued with zeal.  We’re all finding our stride with the joy of living right now, but I’ve seen plenty of evidence that joie de vivre is alive and well in the world. Zoom family calls, group text strings with old friends, Italians singing from balconies and drive-by celebrations of birthdays or just thanks for being in our lives.

      When this collective sacrifice for the greater good of humanity ends, the stories of these moments won’t end, and neither will the memories. I miss connection with the everyday world, but find joie de vivre in smaller bites – or sips – now. Gently fold the very best small pleasures into the daily habits of your life and these little joys punctuate the moment. The joy of living is now, this moment right here, spread out over your life like honey on a bit of bread.

      “Whisper, “I love you! I love you!” To the whole mad world.” – Hafiz

      Isn’t that the whole idea of joie de vivre? Loving life and all the nooks and crannies in our days. Embrace the suck and get through it as best you can, celebrate the small joys and dance with life. Our time on the floor is limited. Maybe stop to celebrate the small bite of food you’re unconsciously nibbling on. Add a bit of sweetness and savor the gift of that morsel of food just a wee bit more. And find ways to make the bigger moments bigger.

      Last weekend I visited my parents from six feet away. We had a bit of rum to celebrate the moment; them with their glasses, us with disposable paper cups on our side. Eye contact is important in such moments, and we fed energy across the fence and sipped spirits. We all miss the hugs and handshakes and kisses on the cheek, but we make the best of what’s still available. In this time of so much death and financial devastation, celebrate being alive in the smallest of ways. Whisper “I love you” to the whole mad world. For it really is a wonderful life.

    • Rest In Peace, Happy Enchilada

      And then COVID-19 took John Prine…  I wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye to him.  Surely losing Bill Withers to heart disease last week was tough enough, but now another voice from my private stock is gone too soon.  I share the Withers tunes with the world, and the world embraces them.  But honestly most of John Prine’s songs I listened to on my own.  It’s not that he didn’t speak for most of us in his charmingly self-effacing, folksy way, it’s that you don’t roll out Prine songs at parties.  It’s thinking music, sung in a gravely voice that warmed the soul.  His most famous song was Angel of Montgomery, which Bonnie Raitt covered and made it a hit.  Enough people know that one that I’ll leave it to fly on its own.  Here are a few of my favorites.

      All The Best
      “I wish you love – and happiness
      I guess I wish – you all the best
      I wish you don’t – do like I do
      And never fall in love with someone like you
      Cause if you fell – just like I did
      You’d probably walk around the block like a little kid
      But kids don’t know – they can only guess
      How hard it is – to wish you happiness”

      All the best John, you’ll be missed…

      Glory of True Love
      “No, the glory of true love
      Is it will last your whole life through
      Never will go out of fashion
      Always will look good on you”

      Jesus the Missing Years
      The video on this one isn’t great, but John Prine is, and that makes this version worth listening to.

      That’s The Way That The World Goes Round
      “That’s the way that the world goes ’round.
      You’re up one day and the next you’re down.
      It’s half an inch of water and you think you’re gonna drown.
      That’s the way that the world goes ’round.”

      I love the live version of this John sings where he talks about the woman who confused the lyrics “inch of water” as “happy enchilada” , but this version with Stephen Colbert is new to me and put a smile on my face when I watched it.  We all need to smile more nowadays, don’t we?  Rest in peace, Happy Enchilada.