Alexandersmap

    Category: Culture

    • Oh, That Magic Feeling: Abbey Road

      Abbey Road turned 50 years old last week. It’s always been my favorite Beatles album, particularly side two with its magical medley. It grabbed me the year that Lennon was shot and hasn’t let me go since. To be coming into my own as a young Beatles fan and then lose one of them was a gut punch at a time when I hadn’t taken a lot of gut punches yet.

      Abbey Road ages well. From the first notes of Come Together to the surprise bonus track Her Majesty, the album is still an astonishing journey after countless listening. It’s The Beatles throwing it all out there to see what happens, as they’d done for each of their milestone albums since Rubber Soul. It would all end with Abbey Road, their last studio album, and the last song they’d ever collaborate on was Come Together. Surely they had a sense of irony?

      George Harrison, the quiet Beatle, was at his creative peak with two of the best Beatles songs ever, his masterpieces Here Comes The Sun and Something. As a kid I latched onto Harrison as my favorite Beatle. Lennon and McCartney were just too big for me then. Harrison wasn’t flashy, he just got things done. And he surely was doing, er, Something. “Something in the way she moves” would be a line James Taylor would borrow from George for his own song of the same name, a tribute to the giants around him when he was recording at Abbey Road Studios around the same time.

      If the album had great individual songs on side one, side two would become famous for that medley. How many radio DJ’s put the needle down on that medley and ran to the bathroom because they had time? All of them. Because, You Never Give Me Your Money, Sun King, Mean Mr. Mustard, Polythene Pam, She Came In Through The Bathroom Window, Golden Slumbers, The End…. Her Majesty. Boom. Rapid fire, half finished songs blended together into one unified medley. Brilliant percussion from Ringo and Paul’s underrated bass guitar, John and George on guitar… and all of them harmonizing like they’d sing together forever. But this truly was the end.

      One verse in that medley stands out for me the same back as a teenager as it does today, if the meaning has changed over the span of time;

      “Any jobber got the sack

      Monday morning, turning back

      Yellow lorry slow, nowhere to go

      But oh, that magic feeling, nowhere to go

      Oh, that magic feeling

      Nowhere to go, nowhere to go”

      – The Beatles, “You Never Give Me Your Money”

      Surely the idea of nowhere to go meant something to The Beatles, having ground themselves to dust touring and then prolifically cranking out brilliant album after brilliant album. They were exhausted, sick of each other, burdened by business transactions gone wrong, wrestling with creative tensions, and incredibly, still in their twenties. Solo careers were just ahead for all of them, but they came together for this incredible album to give us one last gift. Let It Be would come later, but was recorded prior to Abbey Road. This would be it, but what a way to end.

    • Let the Clamor Be

      Wednesday afternoon I found myself in a customer’s Audi driving to lunch. His customer in turn was also in the car (my role being “vendor”). The 15 minutes spent in the car was spent listening to the driver’s pro-Trump diatribe on the impeachment investigation and his firm belief that anything he said would result in strong nods of agreement from the two passengers in his car. He didn’t notice that neither of us said anything. I don’t know the political views of the end user, but I do know mine. More importantly, neither of them know my political views. I happen to have strong views on this topic, but those views had no place in a business meeting. Aside from lack of professionalism, it’s unnecessary noise that distracts from purpose. Me jumping in on this topic would have created more rather than relieved tension.

      “Learn to stop trying to fix things, to stop being so preoccupied with trying to control one’s experience of the world, to give up trying to replace unpleasant thoughts and emotions with more pleasant ones, and to see that, through dropping the ‘pursuit of happiness’ a more profound peace will result.” – Oliver Burkeman, The Antidote: Happiness for People Who Can’t Stand Positive Thinking

      I’m not seeking “happiness” (that’s akin to playing Whac-A-Mole) but I do have a fair amount of restlessness I work through. So it’s interesting if only to me when two books arrive at the top of my stack of real and virtual books at the same time. Burkeman’s and Ryan Holiday’s latest, Stillness is the Key. Both tackle similar ground – with focus on the value of Stoicism in particular, but common themes in Buddhism and (in Holiday’s book), other world religions and philosophies.

      Burkeman throws out a nugget in his book that struck me as profound: “Let the Clamour be.”  In American English we’d spell that ‘clamor’.  But no matter, the point is made.  I’ve worked on that for years, sometimes successfully, sometimes not so.  What I don’t do is actively meditate.  I take my meditation in turning off the noise and doing yardwork, or gardening, washing dishes or simply taking a quiet walk.  Am I missing out on something significant by not meditating?  Probably, but I feel better about myself for getting something done while I’m in my mind.

      Which brings me to the acorns.  I’ve got 10’s of thousands of them sitting on my front lawn right now, just waiting for me to rake them up.  Just me, a rake, shovel and barrel, and endless acorns.  I can feel the stillness already.

    • Thin Walls

      Contemplating the snoring of the person in the room next to mine, I appreciate the consistently good hotels I usually stay in. Not expensive, mind you, but clean, friendly and generally built with thicker walls and floors. This one is old school independent, built economically – I’m guessing – in the 1980’s. The comforter I peeled off looked to be an original. The television, which shall remain dark, doesn’t owe them anything. Yeah, this place was new when Huey Lewis was cranking out hits.

      I’ve stayed in some dive hotels and motels before; from the run down to the truly gross. This isn’t one of those. The owners keep it clean, it just shows it’s age a bit. In this era of Airbnb and chain hotels it’s a throwback to another time. Yelp and other such online review sites has made it less of a mystery what you’re walking into, but I’ve found most people who write negative reviews need to be filtered out. Find the average and go with it. For me, if a room is clean, I received a warm welcome when checking in and the environment is safe you’re already at 3 1/2 stars.

      Ultimately we’re spoiled by the relative luxury we live in. Who am I to complain about the choice of bread in a free continental breakfast? I’m trying to cut down on carbs anyway. I’m well aware of how lucky I am to live here, at this time, with a great job and good health. Most of us have more than enough. I will eat today; that’s more than many can say. Thin walls just remind you that there’s other traveling souls out there, and I learned many years ago to always bring ear plugs.

      “Choose not to be harmed — and you won’t feel harmed. Don’t feel harmed — and you haven’t been.” – Marcus Aurelius

    • Viewing Hedonism Through a Stoic Lens

      I was making coffee with the AeroPress this morning. I’ve quickly grown to love this coffee press for its ease of use, quick cleanup and the great cup of coffee it produces. It got me thinking about this concept of hedonic adaptation I’d been reading about, where we quickly become accustomed to new things that once excited us. Every iPhone owner has experienced this the day a new iPhone was introduced. The trick is to not to allow stuff to dictate your mood. Easier said than done, but there’s value in trying. Will I eventually take the AeroPress for granted? Probably, but Stoicism offers a path.

      “Regularly reminding yourself that you might lose any of the things you currently enjoy–indeed, that you will definitely lose them all, in the end, when death catches up with you–would reverse the adaptation effect.” – Oliver Burkeman, The Antidote: Happiness for People Who Can’t Stand Positive Thinking

      There you go: Memento mori. Stoicism taps me on the shoulder once again telling me not to worry about all that stuff, you’ll lose it all in the end anyway. Your happiness can’t be dependent on the newest shiny toy you buy. None of that stuff matters. Does that mean I can’t enjoy that AeroPress? Not at all, just don’t depend on an object for happiness. That’s a fools game, and expensive to boot.

      According to Wikipedia, “The hedonic treadmill, also known as hedonic adaptation, is the observed tendency of humans to quickly return to a relatively stable level of happiness despite major positive or negative events or life changes. According to this theory, as a person makes more money, expectations and desires rise in tandem, which results in no permanent gain in happiness.”

      I’m watching Sunday football as I finish writing this, tolerating the endless stream of commercials promising me happiness if I buy this car or that, order pizza from that delivery place, or buy that latest iPhone with the cool-ass camera(s). All designed to trigger desire for what you don’t currently have. And all nonsense when you view it through a stoic lens.

    • Lost in an Autumn Playlist

      Autumn. Smell the pumpkin and ripe apples and decaying leaves and wood smoke. Late September through Thanksgiving in New England offer vibrancy with the fourth sense fully engaged in the game of being alive. I could live in many places in the world, but these crisp nine weeks are when I appreciate living in New Hampshire most.

      Autumn. Blue jeans and long sleeves, the heat radiating through a mug warming your hands, wiping dew off the chair before sitting down in the backyard writing chair. Blankets pressing you down into the mattress like you’re a panini. Socks. The days grow shorter and cooler, and the wardrobe changes with the tilt of the earth. We’ve been here before, and we grow reacquainted once again with fabric on our extremities. The dance with Autumn inevitably means literally feeling her on your skin.

      Autumn. Yellow and red waves sweep first over the highlands and wetlands, moving southward and finally capturing the strongest holdouts in between. Northern vistas so stunning you can’t help but stare, and apologize profusely for being so rude. I confess my productivity decreases when I travel to Vermont or northern New Hampshire. Like stained glass in a church, the leaves demand your attention.

      Autumn. Sweetness of apples and the omnipresent pumpkin spice. Last of the harvest turned to cider and preserves. Lighter summer fare giving way to richer dishes that warm you inside out. If you haven’t lost those few extra pounds by now you face an uphill battle as caloric intake holds the advantage. Baked goods take the place of salads, rum gives way to scotch, soups and stews and casseroles tempt and delight. The scale be damned.

      Autumn. The fading crickets song grows sadder while the crows caw grows bolder. Soon the red-winged blackbirds and other transients fill the trees with a cacophony of excited conversation. The hiss and pop of an outdoor fire. And always, a playlist of standards for Autumn. There’s a soundtrack for every season, and Autumn is when my playlists grow reflective.  In the spirit of the senses, I’ll limit myself to five standards that set the tone for Autumn in New Hampshire:

      Philosophers Stone by Van Morrison (King of Autumn music)

      The Long Day is Over by Nora Jones

      I Was Brought to My Senses by Sting

      You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me by Shelby Lynne (sorry Dusty)

      Deacon Blues by Steely Dan

    • Ghost Dancers in the Wild

      We’re all borrowing time, and the ground we stand on too. How many people passed through the spot you’re occupying now? And what was their story? That’s history, and you either dance with the ghosts or ignore them. I like to dance with the ghosts – bring them back to life for awhile. Perhaps they’ll welcome me warmly when I reach the other side.

      Yesterday I had a business lunch with a couple of consultants in Boston. After the usual talk of feature enhancements and product roadmap one of the consultants mentioned his drive from Lake George to Quebec City, and suddenly we’re all pulling out our phones comparing pictures of various forts we’ve visited. Were we the hippest table at Row 34 that day? No doubt. But it’s nice to run into people who know the lay of the land as well, or better, than you do.

      I stopped by the Bourne Historical Center recently as a follow-up to a visit I made to the Aptucxet Trading Post Museum a few weeks back. Both are places to meet other history geeks, and places where you can talk openly about King Philip’s War without the listener backing away slowly. Ghost dancers aren’t always easy to spot in the wild, but corral us in a museum and we open right up.

      Aptucxet was missing one artifact that brought me eventually to the Bourne Historical Center. Specifically, a rock. History is all sticks and stones and the occasional cannon, isn’t it? No, it’s the stories behind those things. It’s always the stories, the rest of this stuff just helps you see it better.

      Anyway, that rock. The Bourne Stone. A piece of granite engraved with markings (pictographs) sometime before the 1650’s. Was it some kid with time on their hands scratching pictures on a rock or some ancient wisdom being passed down to us in a language lost to history? Who knows? But there’s a story in that rock, from the person who marked it to the threshold it once occupied at a Native American meetinghouse and the many people who have stepped on it, touched it and speculated on its meaning ever since.

      I’m no archeologist, but I found it interesting enough to stop by for a look. Maybe the sailboat engraved on the stone captured my attention, or maybe I have a thing for questions with no answer. Whatever it is, I’ve checked a box that’s been nagging me a bit. The mystery of the Bourne Stone for me was solved. What is it? What does it look like? The stories behind it I leave for other ghost dancers.

    • Funny that Way

      Few things get the eyes rolling faster on those who Know me best than me mentioning my indignation over ambient light and noise. Both topics play on my greatest hits collection of irritants for only me. Each is a consequence of proximity to… neighbors.

      Don’t get me wrong, I like my neighbors. Until they do things that normal people do that encroach on my world. Things like mowing the lawn, vacuuming, or the worst offense, leaving a light on. Nothing encroaches on an evening outside by the fire pit like a neighbor’s floodlight illuminating your backyard. Nothing illuminates that feeling of waking up with the world like a neighbor’s floodlight shining in your window shouting “Are you up yet??” But there I go again; greatest hits of irritants.

      Ultimately it comes down to living on the edge of solitude but not quite far enough into the deep end. My desire to see the stars runs head-on into their desire to feel safer on a quiet street at night. And so I grumble a bit to myself and a few trusted advisors and move on. I don’t really want to live on an island out in the middle of the ocean, but I do want to visit once in awhile.

      I spent the night on the Cape last night to visit my parents. I live on the edge of the woods in New Hampshire, this is the edge of Buzzards Bay. Both are blessings. Middle of the night I woke up to the rain pelting the roof and window panes. Got up to slide the windows closed and went back to sleep until the storms passed. Got up as the sky lightened to crows and crickets deep in conversation and the slap of waves on the jetty. Sitting down on the deck to take it all in a mosquito cozied up for a drink before meeting my right hand (her Maker, apparently). This kind of encroachment I can take. So why not a little ambient light? I’m funny that way.

    • Dancing after the Dragons

      “How could we be capable of forgetting the old myths that stand at the threshold of all mankind, myths of dragons transforming themselves at the last moment into princesses?  Perhaps all dragons in our lives are really princesses just waiting to see us just once being beautiful and courageous.  Perhaps everything fearful is basically helplessness that seeks our help.” – Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

      The Ninth Wave is a painting by Ivan Aivazovsky on display at the Hermitage in St. Petersburg, Russia.  I stood in front of it 30 years ago and it stays with me still.  There are two paintings from that visit that keep coming back to mind, the other being Henri Matisse’s The Dance.  Both are stunning when you stand in front of them and immerse yourself in them.  Google both and look at the images that come up, and you’ll see a wide range of colors, from vibrant primary to muted mixed colors.  There’s nothing like seeing each in person, where it literally washes right over you and you swim and dance with the subjects in the paintings.

      I’ve got a bucket list of art and architecture that I hope to see in my lifetime.  I only have to reconcile the images I see in a book or online to know that there’s nothing like seeing the real thing.  Travel gives you that gift.  And more than seeing The Ninth Wave or The Dance in my mind, I see the entire picture of that time.  Babushkas sternly looking at college kids to make sure we weren’t taking flash photography or crossing past the ropes.  Black market traders trying to swap blue jeans for assorted USSR military stuff.  Seeing Cuban soldiers for the first time when we visited the Aurora (As a Cold War kid being in the Soviet Union and seeing Cuban soldiers was heady stuff).  Such is the richness of world travel; Seeing the world as it is and not some portrayal on a screen.

      I may never get back to St. Petersburg, but I would surely go to the Hermitage again and re-visit these two masterpieces.  I’ve changed quite a lot in 30 years, and so has St. Petersburg and Russia.  When I visited I was a college kid visiting a city with a different name in a country with a different name at the height of Glasnost, which would inevitably wipe Leningrad and the USSR names off the maps in favor of what once was and is again.  The enormity of the changes we’ve seen in the last 30 years cannot be understated.  And we’re in the middle of massive change still.  What will the next 30 years bring?  I hope I’m around to report on it.

      The image of that dragon in Rilke’s quote above brought to my mind The Ninth Wave.  This is the moment when the subjects in the painting are either driven to their deaths under the sea or they find salvation. Aivazovsky leaves it for us to interpret how it ends.  The optimist in me sees the brightening sky shining light through the wave.    Have the courage to hold on just a bit longer and things will get better.  Rise to the challenges of the moment and turn that dragon into a princess.  30 years ago it was Glasnost and Tiananmen Square.  Today it’s Climate Change, the rise of political extremism and the Hong Kong protests.  Is this the Ninth Wave?

      The optimist in me sees a positive future, and eventually the scarcity mentality that leads to extremism and greed giving way to a better world.  The report that showed the dramatic decrease in child mortality is a good example of how the world is getting better.  I’m well aware of the dragons in this world, and a little light shining through the storm clouds doesn’t mean the wave isn’t going to crash down on you.  But I see the joyful dancers of Mattise waiting for us if we can only have the courage to find the princess and join in.  What will we do to get us there?

    • A Day at the New Hampshire Highland Games

      This weekend the New Hampshire Highland Games take place at Loon Mountain in Lincoln. Want to feel like you’re in the Scottish Highlands in America? Go to Lincoln. The games seem to grow more popular every year, now a 3-day event peaking in popularity on Saturday. Saturdays bring a crush of people soaking up all that is Scottish culture, sampling whiskey, buying kilts and t-shirts, watching the games and the pipers, listening to lectures and traditional music, and of course eating; eating fish and chips, haggis, meat pies and the like.

      Advice for anyone going: Friday and Sunday are less crowded and less expensive. Purchase tickets in advance and bring cash. Both help you avoid long lines for those using plastic to enter. Almost everything is cash only, so come with plenty. The ATM line was as long as the beer line, and three machines were down to one for a time as they struggled to keep with demand. And by all means get there early! The lines to get on a shuttle bus were extremely long. From parking my car Saturday morning (when admittedly I got a late start) to when I finally entered the games was just north of an hour. As with the ATM’s, the shuttle buses struggled to keep up with the hordes of people. Get there as early as possible!

      The New Hampshire Highland Games are spectacular, and no surprise it grows in popularity every year. Blessed with good weather, I soaked as much as possible (lot happening this weekend and I only had the one day). Waiting in lines is a requirement, but simply staking a claim on the ski slope and watching the caber toss and stone press was easy enough, and wildly fun. The crowd roared when Steve Schmidt set a world record in the stone press, and was abuzz when the announcer pointed out a bear passing by further up the slope. The crowd was here for a good time and they found it. And so did I.

      In just over a month I’ll be visiting Scotland for a week. Thats not nearly enough time to see everything, but it just means I’ll have to go back. The Highland Games were a good primer for that trip, but they certainly stand on their own as a must-do event. I’m already planning for a return next year.