Alexandersmap

    Category: Music

    • Something Tangible

      It ill becomes me: that I’m older,
      Time I should be more sensible…
      And yet the frivolous disorder
      Fills every jitter of my soul.
      — Alexander Pushkin, Confession

      I had the house power washed a couple of days ago. I say this with some chagrin, for I own a pressure washer and generally do such things myself (fancying myself a homeowner for some time now). But I will acknowledge that things fall through the cracks when we get busy living under the robe of identity we weave for ourselves. It was easier to simply pay someone to do what I could well have done myself.

      My job was to remove the screens from the windows. Let me confess that some of those screens haven’t been removed in twenty years. We thought we had clean windows because we could see out of the glass. It turned out we did not have clean windows. But now that we do, the revelation of all that we’d been missing is a little embarrassing. That we can see clearly now makes the time not seeing clearly all the more surprising. There are of course analogies to be drawn between those windows and the current state of things in the world, but really, why go there yet again? Most of us can see it now, but there are still too many blissfully unaware of what they cannot see.

      We all get busy and focused on things that make us not see other things that whisper for attention. Sometimes we have to be jolted into awareness by a check engine light, or the sudden passing of a friend we thought was doing okay because they simply said they were. We ought to dig deeper, we ought to be more rigid in maintaining order in our own lives, that nothing escapes us. But this is folly; the very act of focusing on one thing means that we inevitably take our focus off of something else. We can’t be everywhere at once, we have to trust that some things will take care of themselves.

      So it is that things slip through those cracks. Dirty windows aren’t the worst of things, and I’m pleased that they’re now clean again. It’s prompted me to look at other things that have whispered for attention and to knock off a few other things before the long, cold winter calls. I’m older now, even if I’m not yet old. There are things that must be done to keep order with myself, and not just this house. Disorder is an acceptable condition of youth because there always seems to be more time left to get back on track. In time we either learn to see clearly or have our light dim for want of attention.

      The opposite of frivolous disorder is focused discipline. That may not sound fun at all on the surface, until we put one foot in front of the other and make meaningful progress in our lives. I used to love that line from The Beatles’ song, “Oh that magic feeling, nowhere to go”. But I’m older now, and it turns out that I’m quite fond of having someplace to go, and something to do when I get there. We’ll never have it all figured out, but we ought to find something tangible to call our life.

    • Hold Your Hat

      Dogs lay down in the evening heat
      Fish do worse when they leave the sea
      Songbirds only end up where they’re going
      In this autumn town where the lights can change
      Some get mercy and some get blamed
      Some get lost when they feel the river flowing
      It’s all holy smoke and the flame dies fast
      We hold our hats while the days fly past
      Cold wind comes and we wait but it keeps going
      Father, Sons and Holy Ghosts
      All come back or they all come close
      Songbirds only end up where they’re going
      Some get hard and some go home
      Some want flesh and some want bone
      I just want to see you in the morning
      — Iron & Wine, Autumn Town Leaves

      Taking a lunchtime walk yesterday, I finally saw the grapes I’ve been smelling on evening walks. The grape leaves have largely vacated the vines, leaving the grapes exposed for all to see. I left them hanging for the birds and squirrels to eat. I savored them this season with my other senses, and that’s enough for me.

      This will be written and published on the tenth day of the tenth month. Two years ago, according to my line per day journal, we had a tremendous aurora borealis lighting up the skies. The great thing about a line per day journal is that we are reminded of things like that as we enter this day’s line.

      Some days bring more to wonder at than other days, but they all might be savored. The objective, of course, is to do something eventful enough to be noteworthy. Magic may or may not ensue today, but surely we can make it interesting.

      How the days fly by while we hold our hats and lean into our lives. Go for a walk in the woods, go to the orchard for apple cider donuts and pumpkins, feel the warmth of the sun counter the These are days to remember, as we live them. Whatever we do, be there for it.

    • Enjoy Yourself

      Enjoy yourself, it’s later than you think
      Enjoy yourself, while you’re still in the pink
      The years go by, as quickly as you wink
      Enjoy yourself, enjoy yourself, it’s later than you think
      — The Specials, Enjoy Yourself

      Thanks Ted Lasso, for reminding me of this old gem. Joyful noise is my kind of music. I collect it, play it louder than I ought to, dance to it until the knee and ankle remind me that it’s later than I think.

      It’s all going so very quickly, isn’t it? Tempus fugit. Might as well enjoy the ride while it lasts. Sure, the world is a hot mess, the fools will always be foolish, the planet is ready to shrug humanity off for good, but all of that aside, this is the one go at things that we’ll ever have. And sure, the years go fly by. So get up, get out, and dance already.

    • Afterglow

      Just my old guitar and me
      Out to find my destiny
      Nashville is the place to be
      For big dreams and faded jeans
      — Dolly Parton, Big Dreams and Faded Jeans

      Like the rest of the world, I found it easy to like Dolly Parton. She had a gift for lifting people up. Like many, I wonder why people like that pass from this world too soon while the worst characters in history live well past their welcome. Even wondering such a thing makes me a less beautiful spirit than Dolly Parton. Call me a work in progress then. May there be time to reach that kind of potential.

      I wasn’t much of a country music fan growing up, but Dolly Parton was still a large part of my life’s soundtrack. Her songs were seemingly everywhere, and so was she. By all appearances, she got everything out of her 80 years. A candle in the wind that somehow survived the stormiest of times. Someone like that, you just assume that they’ll always be there, doing their bit to light up the world. When they pass, you realize the fragility.

      Still, there’s an afterglow. Like Glen Hanson a few weeks back, there’s a catalog of music, movies and videos to look back on in wonder. The lesson for each of us mortals is to contribute something meaningful to others, that they may carry us with them when we are no longer around. Our time grows shorter, and yet there’s still time enough to make a difference in someone’s life. Those memories, like faded jeans, offer comfort when we return to them again and again.

    • Who Knows Where the Time Goes?

      Across the evening sky,
      all the birds are leaving,
      But how can they know,
      it’s time for them to go?
      Before the winter fire,
      I will still be dreaming,
      I have no thought of time.
      For who knows,
      where the time goes?
      Who knows,
      where the time goes?
      — Sandy Denny, Who Knows Where the Time Goes?

      The other day I heard the honking of geese as I sat under the umbrella reading in the shade. I only heard and never saw the geese, but a sudden pop on the umbrella made me stop reading and look up. It turns out the umbrella saved me and the book from an unpleasant deposit a goose was making on its flyover.

      Yes, the geese are back. A sure sign of the summer season shifting towards later in the game. And have you noticed? Sunrise is later too. The summer harvest is abundant and relentless. Acorns are already bouncing off the pavement. Back to school sales are in full swing, and Halloween candy will be sold out if we dare wait until October to buy it.

      Ready or not, time moves on. Memories relentlessly pop up in social media feeds. WordPress prompts us to look back on our own posts from this date in previous years. Reminders are everywhere to look up from what is occupying our attention and have a look at where we are, where we’ve been, and what’s changed.

      And still, we have no thought of time until something jolts us into awareness. Beating a familiar drum, we ought to savor those summer tomatoes and corn, soak up the sun and time with one another. For who knows where the time goes? Tempus fugit. It flies right along like geese on a mid-August day.

    • Something Gritty and Tangible

      Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing,
      Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness;
      So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another,
      Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.
      — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, The Theologian’s Tale; Elizabeth

      We modern time travelers are forever busy, distracted and hustling on to the next. We ought to remember that many encounters we have will be our one and only exchange with a fellow time-traveler. Or it may be the last of many. The lesson? Savor the time together, however fleeting it may be. For we will never pass this way again.

      Since his untimely passing last week, I’ve been on a Glen Hansard binge. This often happens when an artist passes—we are reminded of their work, and seek to know more about what they’ve left behind that we may have missed. And with Glen Hansard, there is a whole catalog of brilliant, stunning music and film to choose from. Dare I say, he was the Van Morrison of Gen X.

      One might say the deck is stacked against us reaching even a small percentage of our potential, let alone our potential time with others. We must prioritize, and hope that we encounter the right ships in the night along our way, and at just the right time. This requires our receptiveness, active awareness and diligence, before the opportunity slips away forever.

      We can’t possibly experience everything, or know everyone. Inevitably something slips right through our grasp. Like sand, we can’t grab hold of it too tightly or too much squeezes through. But we can grab our share and hold on just tightly enough to feel we’ve got something gritty and tangible on our hands even as the rest flows past us in a whir. Sometimes, maybe that’s enough.

    • In Between

      And take your time babe
      It’s not as bad as it seemed
      You’ll be fine babe
      It’s just some rivers and streams
      In between, you and where you want to be
      — Glen Hansard, Song of Good Hope

      Inevitably, when you linger on anything in social media, you’re marked forever as interested in that particular thing you lingered on. The passing of Glen Hansard this week marked me as interested in the man and the legacy he leaves behind. Consider me marked, if you will. I don’t mind so much.

      Life lately seems to be a measure of who has come and gone. That’s life, after all. It sometimes takes us a few decades to figure this out, being so busy as we are with trying to get from where we were to where we want to be. Life is lived in between. Pay attention and feel the moments pass by. Let it tickle the senses; the joy of being alive and well in the here and now.

      So much of life is spent contemplating our destination, when really, life is right here unfolding before us. Hum that tune for awhile. Here we are, making the most of our fleeting days—these days in between.

    • RIP Glen Hansard

      I’m workin’ on the high hope
      And if it all works out, you might just see me
      Or hear from me in a while
      I’m gonna make it across this tight rope
      Then I’m comin’ for my prize
      No more I’ll be waitin’ ’round
      While life just passes by
      Maybe when our hearts realign
      Maybe when we’ve both had some time
      I’m gonna see you there
      — Glen Hansard, High Hope

      Hearing this morning that Glen Hansard was killed in a motorcycle accident in Dublin earlier today, leaving behind a wife and young child. Hansard joined the soundtrack I keep just for myself, in quiet times, when I’d grown weary of the noise and clutter of the world. He’ll live on there in my soundtrack, and perhaps yours too. Still, I think of those he leaves behind, and the shock of it all.

      I’m reminded of that Sting song at moments like this, about how fragile we are. Memento mori. And I’m reminded again to meet this moment squarely, for the gift that it represents. This is indeed all we have. Rest in Peace Glen Hansard.

    • The Path Becomes Clear

      “In the end, it is important to remember that we cannot become what we need to be, by remaining what we are.” — Max De Pree, Leadership Is an Art

      A couple of weeks ago in Paris, my bride and I were taking the Metro after a night around the city back to our hotel. We’d done this ride enough in our few days in Paris to have a clear idea of direction. But something unexpected happened; we stopped at a station and everyone was told to get off. The line was shut down because of an incident one stop away, which was exactly where we were heading to make a connection.

      Most people simply started walking, either to another line for an end-around, or got out of the Metro altogether to walk, Uber or attempt a taxi (no easy task with hundreds of people trying the same thing). One young man sat stubbornly in his seat, arguing with the Metro officers insisting he get off. What are we to do in such moments? Start with a map, or nowadays, an app, to show the way.

      Take the average of this blog and you may find it’s largely focused on the act of becoming what’s next. Decide what to be and go be it, as The Avett Brothers put it (so often quoted in this blog). Well, what happens when we arrive at what we wanted to be? Or just as often, what happens when the universe denies us the path we were on to reaching that place? We pivot and decide on what to do next.

      We are attracted to moving water over stagnated water because we intuitively know which is better for us. To be like water, fluid and forever transforming as life rolls on, is a path to avoid stagnation and more, to thrive. We are forever pulled in different directions. The needs of others in our lives are one pull. The current and future needs of ourselves is another. Work or other pursuits are right there pulling too. Write the book? Buy the boat? Move across town or to another country? Retire or work to the end of our days? So many choices, so precious little time to do it all. No wonder so many simply stay right where they are.

      We need a good compass in such moments. We need to stop talking so much and listen. The right way is calling, waiting for someone to pick up. That someone is us, buckaroo. Just what are we waiting for? Where to next? Calm down and have a look at what needs to be done next. The path out of confusion is always one step at a time.

      That night in Paris, we saw that the answer was to walk 20 minutes to a station where we could get directly on the Metro line we needed to be on to get back to our hotel. Every taxi had a red light. The Uber pickup area was jammed. Walking was our answer. So we walked with a gradually thinning crowd as each individual’s path became clear to them. We all have our path beyond the confusion of the moment. Sometimes we just have to pause a beat to see it and go be it.

    • An Expansive Life

      What do you want from life
      To get cable TV
      and watch it every night
      There you sit
      a lump in your chair
      — The Tubes, What Do You Want From Life?

      I was talking to someone I’ve known a long time at a family event last week, and mentioned that I’d be visiting Paris later this summer. His response surprised me. He looked at me earnestly, and asked, “But what about the rioters?” And with that, he reminded me that underneath his gruff exterior, he was a fearful boy who watches too much television “news”.

      I’m not here to judge the person I was talking to (I like him very much), or to berate the entertainment vehicle he watches that calls itself a news program (I would rather have my nails extracted than watch news programs), but I think it’s fair to ask ourselves, what exactly do we want from life? To be spun up in a fearful ball afraid to venture across borders real and imagined, or to reach beyond our comfort zone to try something new? We will live a life as expansive as we wish it to be.

      We have agency in how our lives go. We may be street smart and still venture into unfamiliar places far beyond our locked doors. Be bold! Life will end either way. ’tis better to wear out than to rust away. The world awaits our next move.