COREY AND CLAUDE

"According to Claude you have 427 published posts and 284,000 words! I had Claude convert the XML to Word, and then I put the Word content into InDesign. It's 607 pages! The images just have placeholders but it seems to all be there. I also got Claude to build an csv/excel sheet with all of the images links. Insane." This was a text message from my son Corey. Claude is an AI tool.

It all started thirteen years ago--August 2013. Actually, I remember a seed planted c. 1966. I was a freshman at Jenks Junior High School, Jenks, Oklahoma. We were given an assignment to write an essay on what occupation we would like to have as adults. With all the certainty a 14-year old could muster, I wrote at the top of page one: "Being A Disc Jockey". That didn't happen; yet. However, I remember the process of writing that paper and finding joy there. I spent time in the library doing some research. I reached out to a local radio station and arranged to sit in the studio with a real DJ during his show. The best part was writing sentences and paragraphs and handing in my paper. Missus Cumbie, our teacher, returned it a few days later with a smile and an "A". Oh, sure, there were a few red marks and notations: something about dangled participles and comma splices; but nothing to cause discouragement for this young writer.

Through the years I've written some published stuff: mainly in books and articles about adolescence and for adolescents. For a time I wrote a column--mainly humorous/slice-of-life stuff--carried by a couple of small community newspapers. Vocationally I did copywriting: brochures, policies, manuals and the mundane: the word soups and stews that people like regulators insist the public wants and needs to know. The most consistent writing I've done has been in personal journals: thoughts on life, stuff to remember later, sorting through emotions and issues, seeking level mental health.

A friend and mentor relentlessly encouraged me to start a blog. A blog about what? “You're always talking about your grandgirls (this is before the boys were born), write about that.” About being Pops? And about being in the second-coming-of-age.

So in August 2013, I posted the first post and now, 13 years and 284,000 words later... 427 published posts and probably a couple of hundred more I've written and chosen not to post... What's next?

Since day one I've used a web services company called Squarespace for hosting this blog I call AboutPops. I pay an annual fee--not a lot but big enough to matter. For the last few years, as renewal time approached, I've contemplated calling it "good", closing the door, being careful not to let it hit me in the rear end as it closes.

kathleen Kelly (meg Ryan) closing up “the shop around the corner” for the last time

One of the things that keeps me from clicking the button that says: "Delete this site?" is that it also says: "All data will be lost!". All 284,000 words!? Yes. Maybe I can export it all or simply copy/paste/format all 427 posts. For what?

We've had talks with other folks our age about the fact that the next generation doesn't want grandmother's china. They have no sentimental attachment to our stuff. What makes me think anybody would want to save these dusty old sentences?

I mentioned this to our oldest son, Corey. Just as a hypothetical to see if he had any interest. I told him that I had spent several days copying and pasting from the Squarespace posts to a text editor and hadn't made a noticeable dent in the task. "Let's get Claude to help." he said. He explained to me that Claude the IA is great at doing reptitive tasks. Corey explained that he could ask Claude to go through the entire blog, scrape everything there and put it in a savable, salvageable format. In a matter of minutes it was done.

Back in the genesis of this blog I intended to avoid politics and religion--a promise to myself that I keep breaking with more regularity. Over the years I've reflected and written about weddings, births, the passing of family and friends, the search for meaning, some fun and some heartache, and adventures with My Amazing Missus. Occasionally someone will ask why I'm not writing as much. Oh, I do. But my heart and mind are so locked on the horror of our current earth-as-it-is, I struggle to think and write above it all, thus relegating the passages to the private journals.

So now that I have a viritual book of posts in safekeeping, I will continue to write for my own mental health and occasionally go public with a few thoughts, along with news ABOUT the Amazing Grandkids that make me POPS. That's ABOUT-IT.

Worth Sharing

I LOVE A GOOD SCONE. There is a certain texture and composition that makes a scone good--to me. I've tried to find a recipe that would be true and foolproof so I could make my own, but it eludes me.

When we first moved to our current house we had a neighbor named Julie. She was in fact one of the reasons we chose the neighborhood we did as we were house hunting. Julie, in addition to be a superb baker, was a prolific artist, particularly in pottery and fiber arts. Her too-young death was one of those that leaves you wondering why--when the world so desperately needs human beings like her.

Julie's scones were the standard that I strived for. Probably if I had asked her for the recipe she would have shared it. She was a sharer--of baked things, of hearty conversation, of knowledge and skills and techniques, and of pottery pieces like our teapot and the urn that held my parents ashes in between death and burial. Even if I had had her recipe the scones would not have turned out like hers.There is this real thing I'll call essence for lack of a better word.

I want to make a scone at least so good that I would want to take a bite, close my eyes a second, chew slowly to savor and then swallow with gratitude. I also want them to be of a level of goodness that I would share them with others--they would be share-worthy.

I like to write. From time to time, I write words that I think are worthy of sharing: maybe an insight or something humorous, maybe a eulogy for a friend, maybe something that will encourage or inspire. Sometimes I do share these words--here on this blog, or maybe in a card, or spoken out loud, usually quietly.

Many times; most times, the words I write are never shared. Maybe one of these days someone will dig through the wooden box of journals I have and read a few words, but those wouldn't really be shared words would they?

If you're old like me you might remember a song by the Moody Blues that said:

Nights in white satin
Never reaching the end
Letters I've written
Never meaning to send
Beauty I've always missed
With these eyes before
Just what the truth is
I can't say any more

So why bake scones you wouldn't share? Why write words that may never be read by others?

There's a line in one of my favorite movies, Finding Forrester, "Why is it the words we write for ourselves are so much better than the words we write for others?"

Maybe: we can be a little more honest, worry less about grammar and spelling and syntax. Mainly though we don't worry that our words will offend or hurt; or be twisted or misconstrued. To quote another song from the 60s, this time the band called The Animals:

I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood

That's all for now. My scones are in the oven and about done.

“We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection.”

— Anaïs Nin

LEAVE IT BE

WHEN I FIND MYSELF IN TIMES OF TROUBLE... This post is installment #2 of a new series. In my last post I over-shared about my current state-of-mind regarding the current state-of-affairs. I said I'm searching for ways to find footing, forward-thinking, with a bit of escaping.

Maybe, I thought, that by revisiting the greatest hits of my First Coming-of-Age, in the late 60s, when we had a president of questionable integrity and motives, and were stuck in a needless and seemingly unending war, I could find in these songs familiar footing--remembering the zest and lust for life of an idealistic, long-haired whatever.

Let's think about The Beatles "Let It Be". The first recording of the song with the entire band happened on January 8, 1969, my 18th birthday. The song was written by Paul McCartney. Paul told a story about a dream he had had of his mother, Mary, who died of cancer when Paul was fourteen. He said he dreamed of his mother coming to him and saying, "It will be all right, just let it be."

When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be
And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be

The title I chose for this post, "Leave it be", might look like a typo or the typical malaprop of an old man. It's actually a tip o' the hat to a wonderful piece of dialog from a movie called "Yesterday" about a weird occurence that leaves the world without any memory of The Beatles or their music except for just a few, including a young struggling musician who chooses to pass The Beatles amazing songs off as his own. In one scene from the movie he is playing one of the songs for his parents who thought he had given up on his singer/songwriter career. You can CLICK HERE to watch the clip on YouTube.

What if Paul had called his song "Leave It Be" or "Leave Him Be"? Does it change the perspective, if not the meaning? For me the song's three word lesson has always been a spirit of: "it is what it is". It could even be seen as benediction--sort of an "Amen" which means "so be it". I think that's a healthier way to look at status quo. A friend once wrote a book she titled using a fragment of a phrase from The Lord's Prayer. She called it: "On Earth As It Is".

To say "this too shall pass" doesn't mean we acquiesce--throwing in the proverbial towel. For example, at first glance it may seem utterly futile to write letters to our elected congresspersons from Oklahoma. As far as impacting their positions and loyalties, my letters mean nothing. But it gives me a bit of satifaction from that good old 60s transgressiveness to let them know I'm still here. I take consolation from verse two of Paul's song:

And when the broken-hearted people
Living in the world agree
There will be an answer
Let it be

For though they may be parted
There is still a chance that they will see
There will be an answer
Let it be

For those with a cranky old guy in your life, that third take on the title of the song might be good advice:

• If he wants to take a nap every afternoon--leave him be.

• If he wants to have Mexican food two days in a row--leave him be.

• If he wants to watch multiple basketball games in a single day--leave him be.

• If he wants to share his words of wisdon...

Please take a few minutes to watch the remastered recording session of The Beatles recording "Let It Be"! CLICK HERE.

The Day The Music Died

THIS POST IS INSTALLMENT #1 of a new series. In my current state-of-mind over the current state of affairs I'm searching for ways to find footing, forward-thinking, with a bit of escaping. So far, my tools include:

• Prayer -- prayers of lament and thanksgiving

• Exercise -- the kind for meditation, balance (both mental and physical) and flexibility (both physical and mental)

• Socializing -- stepping outside my very narrow and brittle comfort zone

• Substance Abuse -- I am treating myself to dark strong coffee drinks, frozen yogurt, peanuts, dark chocolate, and the occasional high-quality cheeseburger

Now I'm adding to the list of coping mechanisms a deeper immersion in the arts. I'm practicing my drums more. I'm even practicing the piano. I read an article that piano practicing is good for arthritic fingers because of the movement. "Motion is lotion," the article said.

I'm also going back to the greatest hits of my First Coming-of-Age, in the late 60s, when we had a president of questionable integrity and motives, and were stuck in a needless and seemingly unending war.

Those songs helped by giving a way to look at the zeitgeist. The power of poetry delivered with new, creative, culture-shaping music. So, for a few posts here on the old blog I'm going to remember and recommend some of those treasures that are serving again today in my Second Coming-of-Age to help me navigte the unrest and blurriness. Now, for the first installment, two tunes that are on my mind and heart and greatest hits list: Stairway To Heaven and American Pie. [Yes, I know I said songs of the 60s and both of these are of the 70s, but that counts too. It's my blog and I'll cry if I want to.]

members of led Zeppelin: john paul jones, robert plant, jimmy page

There's a video I've watched over and over; it's still moves me. It's an episode from the Kennedy Center Honors. You can watch it HERE:

In the video the band "Heart" is giving a tribute to the living members of Led Zeppelin by covering their song "Stairway to Heaven". The drummer playing with the band is Jason Bonham, son of the late John Bonham, drummer for Led Zeppelin.

jason and john bonham

Now when I watch the video it breaks my heart because the beauty marked by the Kennedy Center Honors is now gone--because the Kennedy Center is no longer the "Kennedy Center". It has been unworthily renamed by the illegitimately self-appointed chair of the Center's handpicked committee. Now the center is being shut down for "two years". And the words of Don McLean ring in my head:

A long, long time ago
I can still remember how that music
Used to make me smile
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And maybe they'd be happy for a while
But February made me shiver
With every paper I'd deliver
Bad news on the doorstep
I couldn't take one more step
I can't remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died...

I met a girl who sang the blues
And I asked her for some happy news
But she just smiled and turned away
I went down to the sacred store
Where I'd heard the music years before
But the man there said the music wouldn't play
And in the streets, the children screamed
The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed
But not a word was spoken
The church bells all were broken
And the three men I admire most
The Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost
They caught the last train for the coast
The day the music died...

They were singin' bye-bye, Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry
Them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye
Singin', "This'll be the day that I die."

--selected passages from Don McLean’s American Pie