Can You Hobby Without A Lobby

YOU KNOW THAT NOT EVERYONE WHO TALKS, knows what they’re talking about; right? I have a hunch that the louder, the bolder, the more dogmatically someone talks, the greater the chance they don’t know what they’re talking about. But don’t take my word for it; I don’t know what I’m talking about.

This little essay falls smack dab in the middle of me talking about something I know very little about. But that hasn’t stopped me before. Don’t look at this as so much advice or guidance but more like a cry for help. So, with all of that disclaimed, let’s dive in. I’ll admit it, I fall into that category of weak, frail, old-people who need to stay at home, even though I feel like a fraud because I see myself as active, hip, wise, virile, and cool. Now I see that is the fraudulant persona. The more accurate one is the old, weak, vulnerable one. But enough of the self-misdiagnosis.

For now, we are “shut-ins”. That’s what the church used to call folks like this. “Let’s pray for the shut-ins.” Then the title was upgraded to “homebound”. Sticks and stones. I’m one of those persons for a while and maybe you are too.

My Amazing-Missus is much better at this than I am. But she has a hobby! She’s a sewing machine—not like the actual Singer or PFAFF, but in the productivity sense. Every now and then I go to the door of her sewing room and look in and wish I had a hobby. I’m sure she also wishes I had a hobby because when I get bored I play my drums.

I do have options: I have a guitar, a ukulele, but arthritis in my fingers. Thankfully I can still hold drumsticks, type and use the TV remote. I used to paint a little; watercolors were my medium of choice. I still have my brushes, paper and water, but lack the paints.

I’ve noticed a number of online offerings and ideas for learning new tricks. But nothing is ringing the bell yet.

Classes from MASTERCLASS

Which brings me to this: for a while it looked like the Green’s would be keeping their lobby for hobbies open. Experts are advising that social distancing can be more fun with a hobby. If we all need a hobby. We need a lobby, right? But alas…

I’m sheltering in place so I need to ponder a hobby from the safety of home. I’ll need a soundtrack for this. Maybe Spotify has a playlist of Hobby-Lobby-esque music or as I like to call it: “Kenny G Plays Through the Baptist Hymnal”.

With stuff we have on hand I could do a bit of macaroni art, but we might need to eat that. Papier mâché is out. We may need all of our loose paper. I could convert the garage to a den but I sold my circular saw to help pay for the Airstream® which we could take on a social distancing road trip but RV parks are closing too for some odd reason.

Back in my psuedo-hippie days, I did some freelance tie-dying. I also did some leatherwork—watch bands, belts, bracelets, etc. That was always fun.

Many, many videos later—YouTube leather crafters have encouraged and emboldened me. To the Tandy Leather website! It’s not working, apparently Tandy is in the same boat as Hobby Lobby. Some of the YouTubers recommended Springfield Leather Company. I gave them a call. Very nice, very helpful. I spent the evening filling a “shopping cart” with the tools and goods for my new hobby. The next morning I went back to the website to place my order; “Springfield Leather has shut down”.

Finally I found a couple of online shops still up and running. I talked to wonderfully helpful people like Emmy and Robin from Rocky Mountain Leather Co. They actually did a FaceTime call with me to show me some leather they were recommending.

So with apologies to my vegan friends, I have a hobby and I didn’t even need the lobby. COBBLE ON! (As soon as my order arrives and I open it with gloves and douse with Lysol.)

THE OLD SHOE COBBLER BY STEVE MCKINZIE. FINEARTAMERICA.COM

MY PENNY LANE

LAST TIME, I was talking creativity and Penny Lane. I threw out (or, down) a challenge, a prompt to do some creative writing or at least thinking: In the spirit of The Beatles’ song Penny Lane, write some thoughts about your own “Penny Lane” — the street(s), neighborhood, or town where you grew up.

I’ll get to that in a bit, but first… My Amazing Missus’ “Penny Lane” story is fascinating for a lot or reasons, but one of the coolest parts of the story is that her grandfather owned an amusement park! With a roller coaster, a train, a lake, Tilt-A-Whirl and all the rest. Her family and four siblings lived within a corndogs throw of the park. Oh, the stories of their Papa, F.H. “Red” Cox, and his amusement park; there’s a whole book right there.

If you ask my grandkids, “Tell us about Pops. Does he have anything like an amusement park?!” They might say, “He knows two magic tricks, but now we know how to do them because he showed us. He knows like three or four stupid jokes. He says he once had a sailboat. Oh, and he says he used to play drums in a band.”

But, they didn’t know me; back then; in the good old days, as I choose to remember them. I’VE WRITTEN BEFORE on growing up on Quincy Avenue in south Tulsa. At the time, in the 60s, Quincy was on a sort of pennisula created by the Arkansas River and Joe Creek, both of which tended to flood a lot back then. At the southermost tip of the pennisula was a slough, a feeding ground for boyhood adventure. I’VE WRITTEN ABOUT that as well.

It’s all urban sprawl now but then most of it was raw land, pecan groves and an emerging architectural mess they were calling Oral Roberts University. For those of you who don’t remember Oral, he was a TV preacher, faith-healer, evangelprenuer. That’s a word I just created to describe “evangelists” who make some serious money plying their trade and trinkets. I should mention that Papa, the amusement park owner, and Oral Roberts, the owner of the university that looked like an amusement park were friends, although they definitely did not share the same religious worldview.

from the ORU website. Used without permission or apology

There were roughly twenty homes along that part of Quincy below Seventy-First. In our neighborhood, was a small gas station, and the Riverside Drive-In movie threatre. On many summer nights we would sneak in the back to watch movies and create trouble.

Krause Auction was also on Seventy-First just off Quincy. I loved hanging out there. The pace of the whole thing was intriguing—the call of the auctioneer and the bidding. To this day I don’t know how he knew who was bidding through the smoke-filled, hot, greasy air, of the overcrowded room. On the days leading up to the auction you could go in and see what items would be on the block.

My most memorable and only auction experience was going in one day to see a go-cart among the items for the Thursday night auction. I set to work earning as much money as I could—doing odd jobs for people, picking strawberries for my uncle Bob. I think I had about five bucks by the time Auction night came. I stood at the counter to get my bid number. A man who I recognized as a regular asked me if I had my eye on something to bid on. I told him I was hoping to get the go-cart. When the go-cart came up for bid, the man was standing by my side. He helped me open the bid for all that I had. There was not a single other bid (as far as I know) and in a matter of minutes my number was called as the winning bid.

The next day I pushed that go-cart down the street, because it wouldn’t run, but later did, all the way to our little concrete block house on Quincy Avenue.

And as John Lennon says in the Penny Lane lyric:

“[Quincy Avenue] is in my ears and in my eyes”

Seeing 2020

REMEMBER THE SONG “In the Year 2525 (Exordium & Terminus)”? The one-hit wonder of Zager & Evans? If you were driving up and down Peoria Avenue on a weekend night in 1969, you do.

Let me save you some Googling:

• ex·​or·​di·​um | a beginning or introduction especially to a discourse or composition.

• ter·​mi·​nus | a final goal : a finishing point.

This is my stream of consciousness on the theme: In the Year 2020. Hopefully it isn’t as bleak as the aforementioned song.

Without a doubt the most eagerly awaited event for 2020 will be the birth of our next GRANDchild. This could happen any day now (but I’m guessing her/his mother and father are wishing for any hour now). This beautiful mom has had all of her kids (3 of them) on the 12th day of the month. So, I’m planning on that, but Elvis and I wouldn’t be sorry to see it come on the 8th of January—the DOB he and I share. 8th, 12th or tomorrow; I’m ready.

What I’m not ready for is the year-long slog through political muck. It’s bad all the time, but this election year looms like a festering Oklahoma storm.

Thunder. The Oklahoma City Thunder are a huge surprise. Not just in the fact that they’re winning but that they are so fun to watch. I know a trade or trades is coming. That’s what “rebuilding” means, and the bottom line in the NBA, as in any big business, is business. It all comes down to that.

Why have we elevated politicians to a place above prophets and poets and priests? And by “priests” I mean ALL who seek God, as in Luther’s understanding of the priesthood of all believers. There is no authority between you and God, no one. Not a man, not a woman, not a husband, not a wife. Not a pastor or priest or rabbi, not a ruler, or politician, or TV preacher, or mega-church pastor, no one (unless you put them in that position). The spiritual journey is in following God and serving, not in power and ruling. Like that father in the Bible story who said, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!” (Mark 9:24 NIV), The journey is full of questions and doubts and maybe an occasional answer. Go on the journey.

On January 8, 2020, I will be 69 years old. The summer of 1969 is probably not as remarkable as I remember it, but I remember it fondly. I remember it as the summer after high school and before college. I remember it being a little bit crazy, a little bit risky, a little bit scary and a little bit bold, free and easy. I am hoping that the summer, this summer, of 69 will be described like that.

I have friendships that I have neglected. I blame it on introversion, but that’s unnecessary. Many of my friends are much younger than I am and in some cases older. Hopefully I still have something to bring to the friendships regardless. I’m a boomer and I’m OK with that. So if I have a story to tell feel free to acknowledge that with a trite “OK Boomer”. It’s apropos.

Rhythm is life. It is in the breaths we take and the beat of our heart. It is in the sunrise and the sunset and the tick of the clock. God created order out of chaos by giving life a rhythm. It is one of the things I love about being a drummer—celebrating rhythm. In 2020, I want to perpetuate rhythm. One of the ways I want to do that is by helping a young drummer. I want them to have the equipment they need in order to pursue their dream. Let me know if you know someone I could reach out to.

In looking forward to 2020, I don’t want to leave 2019 behind too quickly. You know how when you taste a really good dessert like pecan pie or whiskey cake, and your first thought is: that is rich, and then next thing you know it’s gone? 2019 was rich like that and fleeting.

This past year I helped with memorial services for two men who lived rich lives: gentle-men, fathers, husbands, disciples, classy men who gave way more than they took and left the world a much better place for having been here. One was my dad and the other my friend Dave.

I also helped tie the knot in two special weddings. I thought my marrying days were behind me, thinking “I can’t imagine anyone being left who would want me to do their wedding.” But through wonderful friendships with two beautiful, creative young women, I signed marriage licenses in two of the most unique weddings I’ve ever been a part of. Here’s a quote used in both of these weddings that would be good to live-out in 2020:

“The best thing to hold on to in life is each other.””

— Audrey Hepburn

Oh; but the best part of 2019 was family. Watching our kids make a difference in the world, watching our grandkids grow. I know every grandparent says so, but these six, and almost seven grandkids are so beautiful and bright.

We were married eight years before we had our first child. I told My Amazing Missus I didn’t want anyone to think we “had” to get married. So we should know how to do the empty nest thing together. And we do. Whether it’s life on the road or at home, I love our times together.

And for my mom, I can’t even imagine how she does it after all of those years with dad at her side. But, she does. And we do.

In the Year 2020:

“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”

— Henry David Thoreau

MISTER WHO

I CAN’T QUITE PUT MY FINGER ON IT. I’m going to call it a cultural enigma. The serials I grew up with always had someone who would ride in to the rescue: The Lone Ranger, Superman, Lassie, Sheriff Andy Taylor; even in the serial lessons at church: Jesus (but in a non-fiction way).

So, today as a guy of a certain age, I still think, surely, someone is going to ride in and save the day or at least show us the compass and ensure us that the needle hasn’t been broken off, it still points North, every single time.

With the new movie about Mr. Rogers (which in my opinion couldn’t have been made without Tom Hanks to play the title role) just out, I can’t help but wonder if maybe we could use a man like Mister Rogers again.

My friend Alissa Wilkinson who writes movie reviews for Vox wrote:
“It becomes apparent that A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood is framed as a feature-length episode of Rogers’ show, but for and about adults, in which very adult feelings — like anger at your estranged father, or fear of parenting your own infant son — are meant to be confronted. Gently, Rogers reminds Vogel (and us) that we all get angry, but what we do with that anger is what matters, and that forgiveness is the hardest thing of all to do.”

Maybe you remember Archie Bunker from the sitcom, All In The Family. Remember this line from the song that Archie and wife, Edith sang together to open each episode:

And you knew who you were then,
Girls were girls and men were men,
Mister we could use a man
Like Herbert Hoover again.

Not sure why Archie longed for Hoover’s second-coming, but it was part of his caricature.

If you’re not familiar with the show, here’s the premise as described in Wikipedia:

All in the Family is about a typical working-class Caucasian family living in Queens, New York. Its patriarch is Archie Bunker, an outspoken, narrow-minded man, seemingly prejudiced against everyone who is not like him or his idea of how people should be. Archie's wife Edith is sweet and understanding, though somewhat naïve and uneducated; her husband sometimes disparagingly calls her "dingbat". Their one child, Gloria, is generally kind and good-natured like her mother, but displays traces of her father's stubbornness and temper; unlike them, she's a feminist. Gloria is married to college student Michael Stivic – referred to as "Meathead" by Archie – whose values are likewise influenced and shaped by the counterculture of the 1960s. The two couples represent the real-life clash of values between the Greatest Generation and Baby Boomers. For much of the series, the Stivics live in the Bunkers' home to save money, providing abundant opportunity for them to irritate each other.

The series was ground-breaking and somehow showed us we had better learn to laugh at ourselves and to learn there is truth in satire.

Each episode began with this disclaimer:

The program you are about to see is ‘All in the Family.’ It seeks to throw a humorous spotlight on our frailties, prejudices and concerns. By making them a source of laughter, we hope to show—in a mature fashion—just how absurd they are.

Today, I almost feel like reruns of the show should also have a disclaimer that begins: “This is not a documentary...”

Mister, I’m not suggesting that we could use a man like Archie Bunker again because I’m not sure we could handle satire these days. Maybe we’ve become too fragile for it, or too blind to see it.

Just for fun and as a sort of test, here are the other lyrics to the opening song. Read them and tell me how you feel (not really).

Boy the way Glenn Miller played
Songs that made the Hit Parade.
Guys like us we had it made,
Those were the days.

And you knew who you were then,
Girls were girls and men were men,
Mister we could use a man
Like Herbert Hoover again.

Didn't need no welfare state,
Everybody pulled his weight.
Gee our old LaSalle ran great.
Those were the days.

{In the longer version}

People seemed to be content,
Fifty dollars paid the rent,
Freaks were in a circus tent.
Those were the days.

Take a little Sunday spin,
Go to watch the Dodgers win.
Have yourself a dandy day,
That cost you under a fin.

Hair was short and skirts were long.
Kate Smith really sold a song.
I don't know just what went wrong,
Those were the days.

---

So, who do we need these days Mister? Mister Rogers, Mister Myagi (The Karate Kid), some Clint Eastwood character, Atticus Finch, Bob Dylan. Joe, Pete, Elizabeth, Kamala or 4-more-of-what-we’ve-got?

Something’s missing, or maybe it’s someone. That’s the cultural enigma I’m feeling.