BOO!

MAKING SCARY FUN. Halloween is today. It's one of my favorites because we get to make what should be scary, eerie, sinister and creepy; fun.

The are some other notable days coming up that also have the potential to be scary, eerie, sinister and creepy. I'm hoping for some fun in their midst, but I'm skeptical. Here's the list:

November 1: Sign up for Medicare and choose a plan. I don't know whether to put my trust in Tom Selleck or Joe Namath.

November 6: Fall Back. At my age I'll take any opportunity to "gain an hour" even if it is the one we lost last spring. But I don't like that fact that it will be dark before "Wheel of Fortune" comes on.

November 8: Election Day. This is the scariest of all. I realize I don't live in Georgia, but the fact that Hershel Walker could actually become a U.S. Senator--one of the 100 most powerful, unrepentent people in the country, makes my skin crawl. Which brings me back to Joe Namath. No offense meant, but Joe and Hershel, I loved watching you play football, but I think I'll look to someone who's been hit in the head a few less times to guide my Medicare choices and to sit in the Senate casting policy-making votes.

November 10: Dental appointment. If you can't see the inherent terror in that...

November 11: Veteran's Day. My fear here is that we are forgetting. Forgetting the sacrifice. Forgetting the worth of a democracy worth fighting for. Forgetting the beauty of civility and common causes.

November 17: My oldest Grand-Girl will be 14. Please can we slow this down a bit. I'm scared, I'm in awe of the beautiful young lady she is. I'm daunted: how can I be the best Pops I can be to a 14 year old?

Here's a picture of her at four years old sitting next to her Mimi, anxiously waiting on the curtains to go up on "The Nutcracker" ballet.

The next picture is of her a few nights ago sitting next to her Mimi, anxiously waiting on the curtains to go up on "Lady of the Camellias" ballet.

November 24: Thanksgiving. Not much to fear here other than the power of gluttony. I do fear that the scale has tipped to ingratitude in our culture today. Arrogance seems to be valued over humility; power over servanthood. Hope is giving way to despair.

In an essay by David Brooks he notes a study of headlines published between 2000 and 2019 by 47 news outlets popular in the United States. "The headlines grew significantly more negative, with a greater proportion of headlines denoting anger, fear, disgust and sadness.

"The General Social Survey asks people to rate their happiness levels. Between 1990 and 2018 the share of Americans who put themselves in the lowest happiness category increased by more than 50 percent. And that was before the pandemic.

"Each year Gallup surveys roughly 150,000 people in over 140 countries about their emotional lives. Experiences of negative emotions — related to stress, sadness, anger, worry and physical pain — hit a record high last year."

TODAY IS HALLOWEEN. Really the only thing to fear is that we will all be judged by some little witch, princess or Spiderman on the quality of the offering we drop in their bag or bucket. Sure the days are getting shorter. I'm going to pay the dentist mightily (because Medicare doesn't cover dental) to learn I need to floss more. All of our Grand-Kids are getting too old for Pops' antics and stupid jokes. I miss my Dad, one of the last WW2 vets. The election will come and go, some will accept the results, some won't. But, at 6:30, Pat and Vanna will still be there. Thankfully, the political ads will be gone for awhile. And when the Medicare ads run, I will have that settled.

After Thanksgiving we will go to Utica Square in Tulsa with all of our kids and Grand-Kids and they will sit by Santa for a picture just like I did when I was a little boy and the world seemed simpler.

Before your treat bowl is empty this evening, turn off the porch light and eat the last few Snickers by yourself in the dark. [You are giving Snickers aren't you?]

GROOVY

Slow down, you move too fast
You got to make the morning last
Just kicking down the cobblestones
Looking for fun and feeling groovy
Ba da da da da da da, feeling groovy

59th Street Bridge Song by Paul Simon

LET'S FIND THE GROOVE. Tap a foot to the beat. I'm playing around here with a mix of ideas: a musical groove and finding a state of pleasing consistency, a flow, sort of like a needle of a turntable on a vinyl disk, or ink rubbed into an etched incision of a metal plate.

Maybe you've been in the groove before. Here's one way to look at it: Maybe you had a spell where you weren't feeling great, disjointed, bewildered; but now you're getting "back in the groove."

Maybe you've been in a rut before, that ditch of a lifeless routine. I heard someone say that a rut is a "grave with both ends knocked out."

How do you know if you're in a rut or in the groove? If you're in the groove, you're feeling it. At a minimum you're tapping your foot to it (even metaphorically). Because apparently it's part physiological:

The urge to move in response to music, combined with the positive affect associated with the coupling of sensory and motor processes while engaging with music (referred to as sensorimotor coupling) in a seemingly effortless way, is commonly described as the feeling of being in the groove.

In a rut there is no sound, or if there is, it's a hum, a droning, without rhythm or melody and certainly no harmony.

I love jazz. Often people say they don't. I think it's because they can't find the groove. People like a good four-count rhythm with a hefty downbeat: ONE, two, three four. ONE, two, three, four. And repeat.

One of my favorite jazz tunes is Dave Brubeck's "Take Five". It makes a good example of how irritating jazz can feel. It has five beats to a measure. Finding the groove is tricky but so fun when you do. My advice is to pay attention to the rhythm section: the bass, the drums and piano. They will almost always give you the groove. But even if you miss it, it's way more fun than a rut.

As I move closer to retirement, I fear the rut; not the rhythm, but the rut. There's a difference. Here's an example: My Amazing-Missus and I have discovered a little diner where we live. On Monday nights they have half-price burgers. We say to heck with the diet and cardiologist's warnings. She has the old-fashioned w/o cheese and fried okra, I have the ultimate patty melt. So, for now, our Monday rhythm is burgers out, get home in time to watch "The Voice", then she goes off to another room to sew or watch to see if they're going to LOVE IT or LIST IT, I watch what's left of the Monday Night Football game to see which team will WIN IT and which will LOSE IT.

At some point, if at our little diner, we're just stuffing greasy beef and bread down our gullets without even tasting it or enjoying the danger, we've fallen into a rut. If we miss an opportunity to do something else because of the routine, we're in a rut.

I played drums in some fine bands. That included marching in a bunch of parades including one presidential inaugural parade (the one for the infamous Tricky Dick Nixon). During a parade, the drummers never rest. In between songs they play a cadence. It provides the groove allowing the members of the band to march in unison and unity. I can still play the cadences from those days. Those memories are still in my old muscles. We played those over and over and over again. We were in a rut? NOPE. We were in the groove. Heck, we were the groove.

It it's quiet where you are right now, pay attention to the beating of your heart. Concentrate on your breathing; in and out. That is your groove, your cadence. Groovy! Right?

When I was much younger I heard a guy, a guy I had a lot of respect for, say that "maturity is learning to play the hand you've been dealt." That sounded so right to me when he said it, and I accepted it for fact. Now, it sounds like selling-out, or at least, settling; to me.

The thing about being in the groove is that it moves us forward. It's consistent but dynamic. Along with the groove there is a melody and harmonies. AND, there is the chance to ad-lib. You can riff. You can change keys or tempos, but the groove is always there.

I was visiting about these ideas with my oldest son/drummer/art professor. "It's like Intaglio printing," he said.

In Intaglio printing, ink is rubbed into grooves created by etching a design in a plate made of copper, zinc or other materials. Under pressure the paper is embossed into the grooves picking up the ink and producing a range of printed effects.

This picture of grooves being cut and inked; impressions created under pressure to produce a final product which can be replicated over and over, is rich in application to living in the groove.

There is a verse to the Paul Simon song "The Boxer" which didn't make the radio version of the song. It goes like this:

Now the years are rolling by me
They are rockin' evenly
I am older than I once was
And younger than I'll be; that's not unusual
Nor is it strange
After changes upon changes
We are more or less the same
After changes we are more or less the same

As I'm writing this I'm listening to "Portrait In Jazz" by the Bill Evans Trio. If this blog post doesn't make any sense, play the 6th cut called "Peri's Scope" and see if you don't find yourself in the groove and just a little bit happier.

Here's to a rut-less and groovy day.

WAX ON; WAX OFF

This is not political, it's not personal. I hope it's practical, and if it's prophetic; so be it.

Remember when The Beach Boys gave us this:

When some loud braggart tries to put me down
And says his school is great
I tell him right away
"Now what's the matter buddy
Ain't you heard of my school
It's number one in the state"
So be true to your school now
Just like you would to your girl or guy
Be true to your school now
And let your colors fly
Be true to your school

My personal experience with loud braggarts was to give them my lunch money and hope for the best. I'm still haunted by the memory of a couple of bullies at Jenks Elementary School.

This time I'm taking them on.

We had the privilege of being a part of a small community for many years. Our boys grew up there and now some of our grandkids are too. We are so happy for them and for an on-going connection there.

There is a greek word that you might hear at church. It's koinonia. It means fellowship, community, communion. In some communities it is palpable. I hope you've experienced it. It is a beautiful thing and we will miss it as church attendance wains and our lives become more separated and segregated. As our communication happens in text messages and "social" media, our human connections will weaken.

There is a place of community in towns, and neighborhoods that has been and can still be a place where ties are bound, where you can "let your colors fly." It is our public schools. Think I'm exaggerating? Watch what happens to a town when its school and churches close. The local public school is often the hub, the cultural catalyst, the pulse.

There are those in the political races right now who would say I am misguided and ignorant, accusing me of using scare tactics to sway voters. They would be wrong: I don't have that kind of influence. But, my message is true and urgent. Our public schools are essential to our culture, to our communities, to our koinonia. There is an attack on our public schools that is wrapped in false virtue, high-mindedness, and an arrogant claim to know deep spiritual truths. They believe that our teachers and local education leaders are too stupid or driven by an evil agenda to the point where THEY need to step in and take control. They want us to believe that public education is subpar and fraught with immorality and therefore a danger. Their solution: take public money and give it to unaccountable institutions under the guise of "parental choice".

Hold on. I'm not anti- private schools, christian schools or home schools. I have dear friends who have chosen one of these options for their kids for a variety of reasons. It's their choice, and it has been the best one. I also know of kids who have come from church schools and home schools who have been cheated of proper educational opportunities. I know that can also happen in public schools. This, though, is about state government meddling in local affairs and diverting public money.

Our kids, our grandkids, our communities and towns need our schools--our public schools. We need the school carnivals, the bake sales, the school plays, the band and choir, we need Friday night football and Monday afternoon softball. We need the lifeblood of education and socialization. We need the job opportunities for aspiring teachers. We need the gifted people who teach and lead in our schools to also teach and lead in our communities.

OUR OLDEST GRAND-GIRL, KARLEE, BEING TRUE TO HER SCHOOL

I'm not naive, or a fear-monger, and I'm not going to be bullied by Ryan Walters' doomsday message for public education. His platform in the run for State Superintendent is built from scare tactics. He's afraid our kids will read "The Outsiders" or "To Kill A Mockingbird". I'M AFRAID THEY WON'T!

He loves to talk about “critical race theory.” My guess is he couldn't explain it if he had to. It's just a trigger for him to use in speeches to fire up people who don't understand it and won't take the time to. And, there's his threat that if you don't elect him there will be a "boy" trying to play on your daughter's soccer team. If we go down this crazy path that the likes of Walters are blazing, our daughters won't have a soccer team to play on. He and his ilk love to talk about "woke". He doesn't understand that either. It is time to wake up.

He reminds me of those revivalists that used to travel from church to church with sermons meant to scare the hell out of kids. As the old saying goes: their message held kids over hell like a wiener on a stick. Don't let Ryan do that. I'm sure he's a nice young man; as I said, this isn't personal. I know he has an (R) after his name. I know he's endorsed by the governor and beholden to him. He's hoping to ride that R and that relationship into a position he's not prepared for, and for which he has a wrongheaded vision and questionable business practices.* As I said this isn't political it's practical.

I worked in youth ministry longer than Walters has been alive. I can tell you in no uncertain terms that kids are much smarter and more resilient than we credit them for. Let's focus on strengthening families, giving teachers the support and resources they need to offer the best and bring out the best. Let's work as communities to sustain the values that have served us.

BE TRUE TO YOUR SCHOOL!

---

*From Wikipedia: On May 2, 2022, The Frontier and Oklahoma Watch reported on a United States Department of Education report which found the “Bridge the Gap” program Walters oversaw was implemented with few safeguards to prevent fraud or abuse and that federal auditors were investigating the distribution of COVID-19 relief money through the program.

On May 11, Oklahoma House of Representatives Democrats called on Governor Stitt to call for Walters resignation. The Governor's office responded "Secretary Walters is doing a great job fighting for parents’ right to be in charge of their child’s education and advocating for funding students, not government-controlled systems.” (In other words, according to Stitt: local school boards can't be trusted.)

Later in May, Oklahoma newspapers reported that while working as Secretary of Education, Walters remained Executive Director of “Every Kid Counts Oklahoma,” an Oklahoma education non-profit. Walters was paid approximately $120,000 a year by “Every Kid Counts Oklahoma” compared to his state salary of $40,000. The Frontier and Oklahoma Watch reported that “Every Kid Counts Oklahoma” was funded by national school privatization advocates and charter school expansion advocates, such as the Walton Family Foundation and another group founded by Charles Koch. (In other words, Walters serves at the behest of special interest groups rather than in the best interests of our schools and communities.)

The parentheticals are mine. --Pops.

PAUSE

THERE'S A PLACE where time stands still; or so I thought. Maybe I was just trying to will the clock and the calendar to slow down.

BROOKE AND JEREMIAH; KYLE AND MALACHI ON THE FERRIS WHEEL AT THE HINTON FAIR

There seems to be an age at which we grow more nostalgic. For me it was somewhere around 17. Could be that wasn't nostalgia; more of a youthful sentimentality (if there is such a thing.) Now though at 70-something, I long for a place of nostalgia, a return to the good old days when even in politics most everyone agreed with the admonition to Richard M. Nixon: Don't let the screen door on the back porch of the White House hit you in the rear end on your way out, as he resigned in 1974.

I long for those halcyon days when it was clear the best music ever was being created: Paul McCartney, John Lennon, Brian Wilson, Bob Dylan, Stevie Wonder, Neal Young, Carole King, Stephen Stills, Jimi Hendrix, Grace Slick, Dolly Parton, Marvin Gaye, Jimmy Webb, Paul Simon, Dave Brubeck, Miles Davis... just to mention a few.

Sorry. I drifted off into that sweet place a few decades back, driving up and down Peoria Ave on a Friday night with Crosby, Stills and Nash playing "Suite Judy Blue Eyes" on the 8-Track. I'm back to the future now.

We need a place where we can pause every now and then, but those places where time will slow or pause are harder to find these days, or so it seems to me. When we do get to pause though we can glimpse what is important: our shared humanity, hopefulness, possibilities, joy and a peaceful moment or two. It happens waiting in line to ride the merry-go-round, or Ferris wheel. It happens sharing a funnel cake, just pulled from the grease, served on a dixie paper plate, covered in powered sugar, or blowing on a too-hot corn dog, while listening to the whistle of the little red train coming out of the tunnel.

I realize that even while watching children ride the little kiddie cars, or trying to pop balloons with darts that I'm not a child any more. Still; the pause works, because the emotions are the same, the feelings of glee when winning a prize, the terror of getting on the Tilt-A-Whirl seen in the faces of the young are still real.

I've been listening a lot lately to a song by Switchfoot called "Beloved". Here's verse 3:

The questions that we're too afraid to ask
'Cause the present is the future of the past
'Cause the river is the same, but moving fast lately
And maybe every other is a we
Maybe differences are easier to see
Than a family we are that's underneath, maybe
I start to recognize that I need you
Like you need me

For a few hours in the hot, dusty midway of the Hinton Free Fair, we were all just there to live in the glow of the colored lights and happy sounds. Differences be damned. I'm off to find the homemade ice cream stand.