A One And A Two

In 1955, a popular local Los Angeles TV show, was picked up by ABC and swept the nation. You can still see it in reruns every Saturday evening. The star of the show was a Ukranian-born German named Lawrence. Little Larry's family migrated to the U.S. when he was a wee lad. Dirt poor farmers, the Welks struggled for food and shelter. At some point, according to the lore, Lawrence asked his dad to buy him a mail-order accordion. In exchange for this extravagance, Lawrence promised to work diligently on the family farm until his 21st birthday.

Lawrence Welk

And, as so many have done throughout history, sacrifices were made because people understand the arts are worth it--we need music, we need poetry, we need art and design and beauty.

When I was 5 years old, however, I didn't see it that way.

I remember it like it was yesterday: I was with friends, hiding in the bushes in front of our house on South Owasso Ave. Our plan was to throw pebbles at passing cars. A couple of issues became quickly apparent: 1. Very few cars passed on our street; 2. The distance between our hideout and the street exceeded the length of our best throw.

Finally, here came a car and we gave it our best shot, which fell way short, but the strange car stopped; right in front of our house. Yikes! It paused, then pulled into our drive way. A man I had never seen before got out, opened his trunk, pulled out a suitcase and carried it to our front door. (Oh, the curse of a fertile imagination.) I watched from the seclusion of the bushes while he knocked on our door. I heard my mother invite him in.

Anxious moments passed and I heard my father call my name. I walked into the house expecting the worst. It was worse than I imagined. I walked it and noticed In the man's open suitcase was a shiny little accordion. I was being signed up for accordion lessons.

Dang you Lawrence Welk.

I don't know for sure, but I'm guessing that accordion sales soared during the early years of the Lawrence Welk Show. I also don't know for sure, but I'm guessing that like Lawrence's family, my accordion and lessons were probably a big sacrifice for my parents. Did they envision that I would some day be the leader of my own polka band?

I did learn to play the accordion well enough to make my family proud when I played "The Little Indian Dance" in a recital with other young Lawrence Welks. I also learned, although it didn't occur to me until years later, that I loved music, I loved being a musician, that music is worth sacrifice. Thanks Mom & Dad.

Gratefully, our two sons love music. Both are skilled drummers. Yes we spent money on drums and lessons at a level some would call excessive. It was worth every penny. My Amazing-Missus and I have always agreed on this. She grew up in a music-loving family. Her mother was a wonderful pianist and made sure her daughter learned to play as well. Her twin brother married a very talented musician and their son is a gifted trumpet player in a world class band, just home from a concert at Carnegie Hall in NYC. Last night we had the privilege of hearing him play once again with his jazz band. (There's nothing better than live jazz.)

Now; the Grand-Girls. I am so grateful that their parents allow us to be involved in their lives. I hope we never take advantage or take it for granted. Since the girls were tiny, they've been in a program called, "KinderMusik." It is wonderful and it has been fun to participate with them from time to time.

Harper & Pops at KinderMusik

One of the greatest joys for me as Pops is watching the next generation grow to love music.

Thank you Lawrence Welk... and Mrs. Kaylor, and Aunt Betty Brady, and Betty Cox, and Mr. Churchill, and Tom Durham, and James Keyes, and Miss Conchita. 

The Idea Man

WE DO WHAT WE CAN.

I realize, and reluctantly admit, I can't do a lot things I used to do. Age has a way of sneaking in and stealing our capabilities. But here's something cool--age also brings us new stuff and opportunities, like: the benefits of experience, richer insights, depth of relationships, a pace that allows us to be more observant, to drink a little deeper from the cup of life.

I wanted to find something credible to back me up on this idea of us "mature" dudes having an essence that makes us vital in a very significant way. So I searched the ancient scriptures and found Joel 2:28, which basically says that while the young girls and guys get to prophesy and have visions, us old guys get to dream the dreams. What would the world be without the dreamers?"

You know that color that has always been known as "baby blue"? The color for little boys? Well, I am hereby announcing the official color for us Men Of A Certain Age (drum roll; trumpet herald): COBALT BLUE! Be careful about making assumptions about cobalt blue when you see a just printed sample of it. You really have to see it in glass, porcelain, watercolor, etc. to get a real sense of the depth and mystery of this color. Same for us older guys. Over time, that baby blue has become much deeper with a certain mystique about it.

So what brought on this defense of aging, or as I like to call it: living the Second-Coming-Of-Age?

Kathleen The Muse

If you've followed this blog for awhile, you've heard me mention my muse, Kathleen. Kathleen and her sister are owners of an amazing business called Braid Creative. As a service of their company they broadcast an e-letter with helpful tips and inspiration for young, creative entrepreneurs. I will readily admit that I am neither young nor entrepreneurial, but occasionally I feel creative, but can I call myself creative?

As I've said before, Kathleen as a muse can be very challenging--in a good way. With her, you don't get by with anything. You can only do so much talking before she begins to expect results. This blog, About Pops, for what it's worth, wouldn't exist if it weren't for her challenge to me.

Anyway, a few days ago, she sent this e-letter (I've edited it some): 

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HAVING A GOOD IDEA IS NOT ENOUGH | from Kathleen Shannon

You all know that Tara and I are sisters, right? Well, our dad often tries to make a bid for a position in our family business as our “idea man”. He outlines his job description as having a space in the corner of our office with a single bare light bulb and chain hanging above his elementary school-style desk. He might have a pen and yellow legal pad for notes and sketches. Any time he has an idea he pulls the chain, turns on the light bulb, and declares his idea – it might be an idea for our own business or an idea for our branding clients. Then it’s our responsibility to capture his ideas and do what we will with them. 

As ridiculous as this may sound a lot of aspiring creatives and young freelancers have the same dream job as our dad. They’re so great at coming up with good ideas they basically want their job title to be “idea guy”. But having a good idea is not enough, because guess what? Most people have good ideas – what makes a creative stand out from most people is their ability to make it real. Sitting in the corner of a room with a light bulb hanging above your head does not make you creative. Being able to bring the idea into the world as an actual service, offering, or product is what makes you creative. (Sorry, dad!) 

---

See what I mean? When it comes to muse-like encouragement and inspiration, she cuts even her dad no slack. But a few days later, overcome with pity, remorse, or something, she sent this (somewhat edited):

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I’M NOT A CREATIVE… | from Kathleen Shannon

A couple weeks ago I sent out an email saying that just because you have ideas does not make you a creative. That being creative means you’re able to take action on your ideas to make them real. I used my dad’s dream job as our “idea man” as an example and you guys… I really hurt his feelings.

So it was a Friday afternoon, just after I had sent out that letter proclaiming that having a good idea is not enough, and I was hanging out with my sister after work. My parents stopped to pick up my sister’s kids for the night and my dad comes in the house with a big frown and sideways glare in my direction. He also had a bloodshot eye which made the whole thing that much more intimidating. He gruffed at me, “I never said I was ‘A Creative.’ I never said that.” 

And then I felt like a terrible person. While I was kind of just poking fun at his expense and obviously didn’t mean harm, I realized I had made a big mistake. 

Because the truth is… Everyone is creative. It’s just another label that either you identify with or you don’t. My dad is truly brilliant. He’s kind of a big deal at his government job in air quality and has his masters degree from the University of Hawaii in earth science. But beyond that he tells really funny stories and writes limericks for his retiring buddies. He makes a mean deviled ham and eggs on toast. He is a state champion at catching bass and can remember where the fish are biting at lakes he hasn’t been to for years. If that’s not creative, I don’t know what is.

---

Yes Kathleen, sometimes you have to look deeper and longer at us cobalt blue guys, but it's worth it.

So maybe on the surface we look like whimsical old relics, living off the stories of our virile youth years. But as I said, the scriptures promise us the dreamer role--the Idea Men; "So we've got that going for us, which is nice."

Recognize that line? It's a classic from one of our Second-Coming-Of-Age brothers: Carl Spackler (played by Bill Murray in the film treasure, Caddyshack).

Here's the text and the clip from the film. 

Carl Spackler: So I jump ship in Hong Kong and I make my way over to Tibet, and I get on as a looper at a course over in the Himalayas.
Angie D'Annunzio: A looper?
Carl Spackler: A looper, you know, a caddy, a looper, a jock. So, I tell them I'm a pro jock, and who do you think they give me? The Dalai Lama, himself. Twelfth son of the Lama. The flowing robes, the grace, bald... striking. So, I'm on the first tee with him. I give him the driver. He hauls off and whacks one - big hitter, the Lama - long, into a ten-thousand foot crevasse, right at the base of this glacier. Do you know what the Lama says? Gunga galunga... gunga, gunga-lagunga. So we finish the eighteenth and he's gonna stiff me. And I say, "Hey, Lama, hey, how about a little something, you know, for the effort, you know." And he says, "Oh, uh, there won't be any money, but when you die, on your deathbed, you will receive total consciousness." So I got that goin' for me, which is nice.

And it shall come to pass afterward, that I will pour out my spirit upon all flesh; and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions. Joel 2:28.

Gaps & Glimpses

Sounds of laughter, shades of life are ringing through my open ears
Inciting and inviting me
Limitless undying love which shines around me like a million suns
It calls me on and on, across the universe
Jai Guru Deva OM

The only hymn-singing tradition that I'm fully aware of is that of Southern Baptist churches and I've experienced it across the full spectrum for over 60 years: from little country churches where a volunteer leads the singing while standing next to an old upright piano, tuned close enough to recognize the song and off just enough to make it somehow genuinely old-fashioned; to the highest of high worship, as defined by baptists.

One of the common traits of this hymn-singing tradition is the skipping of the third verse. "Turn in your hymnals to number 241 and let's sing the first, second and fourth verses."

Why? I have no idea. "That's the way we've always done it."

It seems like for me these days, if I am moving toward what might be called spiritual maturity, I'm kind of like filling in the gaps--gaps left by skipping third verses, or certain hard to grasp passages of scripture, or seeing dinosaurs as something bigger than the plastic toys you buy at Toys R Us. 

Oh there will always be gaps and I'm good with that. In fact, I love the mystery and wonder of a divine plan than passes our understanding. These days I'm grateful for the glimpses we get of how things might be designed, what the creativity of a loving God might be like, what's in the gaps. So that's pretty much my spiritual journey these days: gaps and glimpses.

Oh, that bit of poetry I started this post with--that's the third verse of John Lennon's "Across The Universe." See what we miss when we skip the third verse? Note: For my younger readers, John Lennon was in band called The Beatles. ;-)

In case you're interested, I've included the complete lyrics of this song at the bottom of this post along with an explanation of that weird language John used at the end of each verse.

Maybe one day I'll publish a book of skipped third hymn verses. Then someday those amazing poets of old, like Isaac Watts, will come up to me in heaven and say, "Thanks for the book Pops. By the way why did you people skip those verses?" And I'll say, "I'm not sure Mr. Watts, but it may have been for expedience sake. You see it was important that we got out of church by noon so we could beat the Methodists to the cafeteria."

So you'll know; here's the third verse of one of Isaac Watts amazing lyrics:

See, from his head, his hands, his feet, 
    sorrow and love flow mingled down. 
    Did e'er such love and sorrow meet, 
    or thorns compose so rich a crown.  

We shouldn't have skipped that part.

One more example of the treasures we miss when skip third verses (From The Sound of Silence. Simon & Garfunkel):

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared disturb the sound of silence.

---

Here are the lyrics I promised. Third verse included.

"Across The Universe"

By John Lennon

Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup
They slither wildly as they slip away across the universe
Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my opened mind
Possessing and caressing me
Jai Guru Deva OM

Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world

Images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes
They call me on and on across the universe
Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box
They tumble blindly as they make their way across the universe
Jai Guru Deva OM

Sounds of laughter, shades of life are ringing through my open ears
Inciting and inviting me
Limitless undying love which shines around me like a million suns
It calls me on and on, across the universe
Jai Guru Deva OM

Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world

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The Sanskrit phrase Jai Guru Deva, is a sentence fragment whose words could have many meanings. Literally it approximates as "glory to the shining remover of darkness," and can be paraphrased as "Victory to God divine". --Wikipedia

Making A List...

Should every guy have a "bucket list?" Seems like it's a concept for older guys, but maybe, like the inverse of youth, this one's wasted on the old.

I was sent a link to a recommended list. Of course, there are as many suggested bucket lists as there are people getting close to their bucket. This one is interesting to me however, for a couple of reasons: one, it is from Esquire magazine, a self-proclaimed magazine for young men; and two, it is one of the longest and most creative I've seen. You would have to start as a young man to check all the boxes on this one. But as I said in paragraph one, that's who ought to be working through a list anyway.

Esquire magazine didn't consult me regarding the title of this list, but if they had, I would have told them the title was all wrong. Men of their "young" target audience don't even have death on their radar. Plus, I don't know many young men that will read a list that's 83 items long, if they read at all. Most of the lists they seem to read are more like: "3 Steps to a Firmer This" or "5 Sure Fire Ways to a Stronger That."  

Well, on to the list. For each item on the list I've included the wording pretty much as it was printed in Esquire. Then I've included my comments, if any, in a bolder typeface.

83 THINGS EVERY MAN SHOULD DO BEFORE HE DIES
Experiences, endeavors, opportunities, journeys, and fantastically bad ideas you might want to give an honest try.

1. Apologize. Now, apologize isn't a thing you'll find on most life lists. But then, most life lists require you to exit your life, or your good sense, to execute the list items—parachute from outer space, visit the Titanic, sit through a whole season of Girls. Not that you'd be tempted, but don't do those things. Do these.

2. Take down that wall. Rip up a floor. Fell a tree.

All but the tree.

3. Lose 15 pounds without talking about it.

Done it, but it took heart surgery to make it happen.

4. Take one stunning train trip. The more nights, the better.

I've taken a few train trips, but none over night. I have spent a lot of nights sleeping in the luggage rack of a tour bus.

5. Preemptively say, "I'm sorry, too" when in the midst of a vicious argument with a loved one. Works only once per relationship. But it works.

Check.

6. Spend an uncomfortable amount of money on a really good suit.

I have spent a relatively uncomfortable amount on a suit, but I'm not sure it was for a "really good" one.

7. Leave a tip big enough to upset you.

Does leaving a tip at all when the service didn't warrant one count?

8. Make a pilgrimage to Bonneville Salt Flats, site of land-speed-record attempts for more than fifty years and a big piece of gorgeous nowhere. Go there to drive very fast. Go there to camp. Go there for the sunrises and the sunsets and the stars at night. Go there to be alone.

This won't make my list. I remember pictures in Hot Rod magazine and it had no appeal then or now. 

9. Take a little girl to see The Nutcracker.

I do this annually.

10. Nearly die, then don’t.

Did I mention heart surgery? Not sure how close I came.

11. See a band’s last show ever.

I played drums in a couple of bands and was there for the last show ever. Does that count? I've also been to shows that should have been the band's last.

12. Selectively run red lights.

Who hasn't?

13. Have yourself a little cannonball run. Different teams. Different beat-up used cars, procured specifically for this occasion and each costing less than $700. A race for time across 278 miles of road (and 90 degree desert heat) between Los Angeles and Las Vegas, and no rules about T-boning, rear-ending, or winning at any cost.

We drove from Tulsa to LA ONCE when I was thirteen. That was enough.

14. Volunteer.

Check.

15. Fly in the Beaver. You know the Beaver. Around since the forties and looks it. It has a big round radial engine, an oily, primitive thing the size of an old Volkswagen. But it flies, and lands anywhere covered in water.

Although it wasn't a Beaver, I've had my share of small plane experiences.

16. Love something other than yourself. Like a dog. Or even a person.

Check.

17. Shoot a Glock. Do you know what it’s like to have a heart bursting at the end of your arm? Didn’t think so.

No interest. I have shot a 12 gauge at clay pigeons.

18. Write a poem. Make it about whatever you're feeling about whatever you're seeing in your mind's eye. A person. Someone you love. It's a poem; why waste it on anger or fear? That stuff is what prose is for.

Check. I know what you're thinking: he doesn't want to shoot a Glock, but he writes poetry. I also have a motorized two-wheeled vehicles in my garage. It's a Vespa, not a Harley. Let's say I'm confident and comfortable in my own manly skin.

19.  __________________________

I'm skipping this one as it was printed. My 86 year-old mother reads this blog.

20. Try as many drugs as possible. Also, if possible, before 9:00 P.M. on a Tuesday.

Did I mention heart surgery? I now take a medley of medications with enough side-effects to make me strip naked and howl at the moon. Put that on your list, Esquire.

21. Make an incredibly important decision very quickly. One example: go from single to married in six whole days.

My Amazing-Missus and I had our first date on a New Year's Eve, we're engaged on Valentine's Day and married in June.

22. Coach kids. Not necessarily your own.

Check

23. Pick two to four friends. Go on annual vacations. No significant others allowed.

Why?

24. Develop a personal uniform.

This is one I really want to do.

25. Learn to tell a joke. When in doubt, mock the powerful, not the powerless. And focus on the things that everyone hates or loves. One tip: Everyone hates Congress – even Congress.

I've been doing this successfully since childhood. My fourth-grade teacher said so.

26. Hold a newborn’s hand.

Check. And I will get to do it again in June when our third grand-girl is born.

27. Get lost in the world. Because when you don’t know where you are, you just might end up in the place where you most want to be. You don’t have to go to the Atacama Desert in Chile either. But it helps.

I've been lost in Chicago and St. Louis.

28. Change someone else's tire without having to be asked.

Check

29. Offer a stem-winding toast to your father, in the presence of your father.

My Dad's a Baptist pastor. The only toast in our house had jelly on it.

30. Write a country song.

I wish I had written "I'd Rather Have A Bottle In Front of Me Than A Frontal Lobotomy."

31. Build an irresponsible fire.

My maternal grandmother warned us that boys who do this also wet the bed. Why risk it?

32. Shovel soil onto a casket.

Check.

33. Take a month off.

Off from doing what?

34. Face your own mortality by taking a physical risk.

Did I mention I took one of those $50 heart scans and that led to surgery?

35. Drive cross-country the other way—from Great Falls, Montana, to Austin, Texas.

Does Tulsa to Winnipeg, Canada count?

36. Walk somewhere at least fifty miles away.

All at once?

37. Climb Angels Landing in Zion National Park.

Not interested.

38. Drive the Going-to-the-Sun Road in Glacier National Park.

We've driven the Pacific Coast Highway.

39. Hondle. It's about shamelessness, about asking and asking and not caring when you get shot down. Once you achieve shamelessness, the world opens its arms to you.

"Hondle" is apparently a version of haggling over price, but with the added dimension of shamelessness. To do something shamelessly is a good addition to the list.

40. Quit your job. Especially if you are miserable.

Sort of did this, but not until I had a new one lined up.

41. Kill your dinner. No store-bought stranger-killed meat will ever taste so good.

Does fishing count?

42. Put your phone down. Seriously, just put it down.

Done.

43. Make enemies! Stand for something.

Done more times than I care to admit.

44. Sleep outside, next to a fire.

Check.

45. Sleep outside, in a public park.

Check.

46. Try really @#$%^& hard to be great at one thing.

Time will tell.

47. Help to bring life into the world.

Check.

48. Switch your lights off, even if just for a second, while driving late on a moonless night on a two-lane road.

Does just forgetting to turn them on count?

49. Reach or explore your peak performance levels while stinking drunk.

How would you know? Is there a meter or a buzzer that goes off?

50. Live your nightmare. An example was doing standup comedy.

I have been talking about doing the standup comedy, once, at an open-mic night. I've been working on my routine.

51. Learn how to make an Old-Fashioned at the drop of a hat.

Not interested.

52. Ride a horse. At full tilt. Across a field.

Done that. The horse was in total control. I was just an unwilling passenger.

53. Make something with your hands. We know a guy who makes violins in a little shop, which he also made. We know another guy who makes large abstract sculptures: blocks of stone that weigh tons. We're happy they make these things and are sort of in awe of their process and results. But we're talking about something more useful. Make something useful with your hands.

My handmade stuff tends more to the aesthetic than the utilitarian. 

54. Make a sandwich at three in the morning.

Probably have.

55. Swim naked. (At least 30 minutes after that sandwich)

Check.

56. Sing for your supper. Like literally sing to strangers in the hopes they toss change and maybe even some bills in your hat.

While I don't want to be the singer, I do have on my bucket list to be a part of a street-performing group.

57. Meet your hero, if you have one.

I have several and have met most of them.

58. Have a hero.

Check.

59. Spend an afternoon reading in the Rose Reading Room of the New York Public Library.

Check. It was a cold, rainy day. I would do it again.

60. Walk away from a conversation you aren’t enjoying without explanation.

Done.

61. Get fired, for cause.

Done. Apparently, I just wasn't cut out to be a school bus driver.

62. Talk to your father. About his life before you knew him. Sooner rather than later.

Some, but not enough.

63. Sail continuously for three days and nights on the open ocean.

I am actually certified in Coastal Sailing and Navigation. Part of the certification was a multi-night sail.

64. Master a skill with your non-dominant hand, like shaving or brushing your teeth.

I can chord my ukelele with my non-dominant hand.

65. Get married at least once.

Check.

66. Hire someone.

Yep.

67. Fire someone.

Ditto.

68. Watch a kid's show. Figure out its message. Incorporate that message into your general outlook.

No doubt, Captain Kangaroo had a huge impact on my worldview.

69. Attend the launch of a rocket.

Mostly bottle-rockets.

70. Believe in something fervently, with every fiber of your being; then believe in its opposite.

Yes, but that's a whole other post.

71. Eat at Roscoe's House of Chicken 'n Waffles, Los Angeles.

I have eaten at Sear's Fine Foods in San Francisco--the best pancakes and waffles I've even eaten.

72. Walk around New York City all night. Because a walk like this is not possible in any other city in the country. You can't plan such a walk. You just have to be ready for it.

Pretty much all night.

73. Commit a petty crime.

I was involved for a very short time in an organized crime ring. We were all in the 7th grade. I won't go into the sordid details.

74. Read any novel you “read” in high school. Be amazed.

I regularly reread a novel we were not allowed to read in high school-- "Catcher In The Rye", and it is amazing.

75. Read Huckleberry Finn.

Yes.

76. Read Fifty Shades of Grey.

Check. Don't judge me.

77. By the way: you need not do any of these things no matter what anyone says: Learn a foreign language. Watch The Wire. Run a marathon. Develop character by setbacks. Fast for longer than theologically necessary. Have a picnic. Work at a standing desk. Visit a sex club. Attend the Super Bowl. Join any given social-media platform. Count your lucky stars. Drink absinthe. “See the world.”

Noted.

78. Do something incredibly interesting and refuse to monetize it.

Several times.

79. Have a pair of shoes made.

Can't even imagine it.

80. Run for office, win.

Done with politics.

81. Run for office, lose.

Check. I once ran for local school board. I lost, which in retrospect was actually a win.

82. Spend some time in Detroit, where you can do most of the things on this list with impunity.

Check.

83. Don’t have a life list. Keep on like before—travel, eat, go places—until the things you’ve done, rather than the things you’ve yet to try, define the man that you are.

Advice taken.

So, what's on your list?