Holiday Writing

Holiday Writing

Usually by this time in the Christmas season I've written and mailed off an uproariously funny “family letter” to all of my close relatives, the ones who understand how truly off balance I am.  But this year my humor writing mojo seems to be in Florida with all the old folks, so that letter never happened.  Last year I posted an article on my blog site about overcoming the cynicism and commercialism that seems to rise up so strongly around Thanksgiving.  If you want to remember that bit of redemptive writing just check out the blog archive.  But this year I’m not going to try an inspirational message either.

Nope.  This year I’m going to tell you a story.  This story won’t be a retelling of “A Christmas Carol” or “Miracle on Some Street in New York City” or “Charlie Brown’s Amazingly Boring Christmas Special”.  You won’t be inspired or moved to tears of empathy.  In fact this story doesn't even take place at Christmas time.  It’s more of a late fall thing though there is a brief Christmas reference.  Watch for it.  Here’s the story.

Starter Trouble

Many years ago on an early November Saturday morning two boys, ages eleven and ten, sat in a car arguing.  The car was a ’56 Plymouth station wagon, only a year or so old though it had the distinct aromatic ambiance of Pall Mall unfiltered cigarettes.  The boys weren't smoking.  At least not at this time.

The argument so far had not reached the point of physical contact because at any moment the boys’ father would return to the car and notice any blood or bruises.  The eleven year old was putting forth the idea that it was easy to start a car but he would never do such a thing, at least not until he was a little older and had permission.  The ten year old agreed that starting a car was very easy and he would show his brother the proper technique since said brother was a real low down coward for not even taking the dare and trying to turn the key.  Dares were serious in those days.  Being accused of low down cowardice was an even more serious matter.

The two boys, let’s call the oldest one David and the younger one Daniel, had been in the car for nearly three hours.  They were passengers as their father drove around the neighborhoods near Lake Ontario not far from their home.  Their dad was earning extra money by collecting payments for magazine subscriptions that folks had bought over the phone and while he was collecting he was also trying to sell new subscriptions.  People read genuine paper copies of magazines back in those olden times, sometimes several every week.  The boys were with their father so that their mom would have a slight break and only have to worry about three kids instead of the usual household complement of five.  And, as a reward for putting up with the boredom of riding around the magazine route, the boys would get a great hamburger lunch at a local lakeside joint which was, and still is, a major treat.

But let’s get back to the argument.  David was faced with a large moral dilemma.  He had seen the car started thousands of times.  Insert the key, push one of the pedals down near the floor, turn the key and the car will start.  Simple.  However starting the car without permission would constitute a major break in the rules of life.  Their dad had said “Don’t touch anything in this car.  Ever.”  He was pretty clear about that rule.  But Daniel had played the “low down coward” card and somehow David knew he had to come up with a counter-play or completely lose face, probably for the rest of his natural life.  It was a big moment.  So David went for the stall.  He told Daniel that when they got to the Hunsacker’s house he would accept the dare because the Hunsacker’s always gave their dad a cup of coffee and talked about new subscriptions and major world affairs for at least twenty minutes.  That would be plenty of time to either kick Daniel’s butt or distract him with a reverse dare involving something less drastic than car starting.

Their Dad then came back and drove on to the next stop.  There was no one home.  So he turned onto Braddock Road and cruised up to North Street.  He stopped.  It was the Hunsacker place.  Just before he closed the door as he left the car their dad said “You guys are doing okay today.  This is the last stop.  The Charcoal Pit is only a few minutes away.  Don’t screw it up.”  David and Daniel just nodded their heads. 

Then Daniel said to David “You’re the worst kind of coward if you don’t start the car.”  He was a persistent boy when it came to rule breaking.  David couldn't find a way out of this one.  So he threw a pretty good right hook to Daniel’s neck but the punch didn't seem to work very well.  Daniel countered with a flurry of slaps which sent David’s glasses to the floor.  Punching blindly David moved in for a Davy Crockett bear hug technique but Daniel pulled a reverse and pushed his brother’s face up against the window.  They held the position for a long time.  Daniel clearly had the upper hand.  David said “Give”.  They both climbed from the back to the front seat.  David wished his father was more careful about taking the keys when leaving the car.  But he wasn't and they were dangling from the ignition switch just above the lighter. 

As David settled into the driver’s seat he realized that his legs were just a little too short.  The pedal pushing part of starting was going to be a problem.  But his brother had the solution as he crawled down in front of the bench seat.  He volunteered to push the clutch and gas pedals with his hands while his big brother turned the switch.  After deciding on a countdown procedure, which was accomplished with surprising quickness, they each did their jobs.  The car coughed a little but didn't start.  David told his brother to push the gas pedal a little harder and they cranked the engine again.  Nothing but a solid grinding and clicking noise came from beneath the hood.  After seven more attempts the engine caught with a roar that startled Daniel so badly his hand slipped from the clutch pedal.  The car bucked once, jerking a few inches forward, and died off with a wheeze.  The boys scrambled for the back seat.

When their dad came out of Hunsacker’s house with a slight smile on his face and a sheaf of new subscriptions in his hand the boys relaxed.  They figured he’d start the car and never notice the sixteen inch change in its position.  He got into the car, lit a cigarette and with his usual practiced precision turned the key.  The starter clicked.  The engine didn't roar.  He tried again.  He glanced at the boys, got out of the car and went to the hood latch.  The boys could see his arms beneath the hood through a gap over the front seat.  He wiggled wires and he rested his hand for a second on a strange looking canister shaped part.

The boys froze as he slowly opened the door and looked at them.  He said “The distributor cap is pretty warm.  You guys weren't touching anything were you?”  The reply was, of course, “Nope.  Not us.  We've just been sitting here waiting.”  Denial was a staple of their young lives.  Their dad walked back to Hunsacker’s house, an angry tension in his shoulders, knocked and went in.  The boys began their litany of blame.  “It was your fault.”  “No, you made me do it.”  “Did not.”   “Did.”  Then their father’s face appeared at the window.  He opened the door and asked what the argument was all about.  “Nothing” was the simultaneous reply.  He lit another cigarette and said that a tow truck would be along shortly.  Then he said “This is going to cost a lot of money.  Christmas might just be cancelled or at least cut down to nearly nothing.  You boys will have to make some sacrifices so your sister and little brothers get at least a little something.  You won’t have a problem with that, will you boys?”  They choked out “No” in chorus.

The tow truck came but wasn't needed.  The driver and the boys’ father were able to jump start the car.  The driver was paid twenty dollars and he went on his way.  It was almost one o’clock when they reached the Charcoal Pit.  David was sent into the restaurant to get the burgers and drinks so that the car could stay running.  He was sure he’d come out to find that he’d been ratted out by his brother.  And he was.  The scolding was loud and the punishment swift.  David thought that, in spite of the pain, it actually felt pretty good to get everything settled, even if Daniel got away with his part in the crime as usual.  And though they knew they didn't deserve it, it came to pass that Christmas wasn't cancelled that year.

That’s it for the old blog site this year.  Hope you all have a very Merry Christmas (or whichever equally important Holiday you observe) and a Happy New Year.  Look for a new poem on www.bluecollarpoetrybyjimbourey.blogspot.com very soon.

Low Key Show Biz

A few nights ago in a blinding flash of inspiration (actually a dimly lit fit of insomnia) I thought I might try to write a very brief history of Bluegrass music.  So far my knowledge of the subject was stuff that I had gleaned from my crazy friends, album liner notes and occasional nuggets from Kyle Cantrell or Chris Jones.  (If you don’t recognize the names of those two fellows it’s because you aren’t a Sirius/XM subscriber tuned to channel 61)  So I vowed that when I got up the next day I’d start some serious research and from that research I would carefully craft a brief but fascinating treatise.

And I did.  At least I started the research.  Using the ever present Google and Wikipedia I began to dig in.  Then I went to our local library and found a couple of biographies of the big names in the business and scanned through them looking for the juicy stuff that might spice up the story.  There was some seamy material but somewhere along the way most of the giants of Bluegrass got squared away and went on to lead productive and not terribly gossip worthy lives.  Almost all of those giants came from humble beginnings and steadily worked at becoming masters of their craft so that they could make music, usually about their humble beginnings.  Or love.  Or faith.  Or work.  Or music.

So that sent me off on another tangent (I’m easily sent off) thinking about what a dull corner of show business Bluegrass occupies.  In other parts of the world of entertainment the big stars can’t seem to get their dirty little secrets out in public fast enough.  Magazines, tabloid papers and TV “news” shows are all about the scandals of singers, actors and politicians.  Talk shows are quick to book the slimiest characters on the circuit.  That reminds me of a line from an article by William Zinsser – “Then talk shows were born and shame went out the window.”  Now that’s a true fact and I believe that Bluegrass artists still understand what it is to have a sense of shame.

There I was with a pile of notes about Bill Monroe, Ralph Stanley, the Louvin Brothers, the Carter family, Ricky Skaggs and many more.  I had stuff about the little record companies and the promoters and festivals.  There were stories about how people from outside the Bluegrass world came inside and scammed some artists and left them high and dry.  But most of my notes were like this.

“Born on a farm in (fill in the blank).  Learned how to play from a grandfather, parent, aunt, uncle.  When he/she heard (fill in another blank) he/she was inspired to try and make a living in Bluegrass.  Struggled for a time, built up recognition, made some records, gradually survived and eventually made a decent living.”

Story after story goes like that.  Of course not all of the big names came from a farm.  But there aren’t many who popped up out of New York City or Los Angeles.  And there are very, very few Bluegrass artists, past or present, who suddenly arrived at the top of the heap.  There is no “Star Making Machine” in the Bluegrass business.  Fan bases are built at a glacial pace, one listener at a time.  And that, I believe, is a large part of the appeal of this music.  It is built so firmly on friendship and honesty that it just feels good to follow and to be involved in, even if being involved is just sitting on a lawn chair at some rural festival.

I’m still going to write that history some day in the future.  I’ve got a lot more to learn before I can do justice to the subject though.  Meanwhile I’m going to see if I can find a concert or show nearby.  It’s time for another shot of that Bluegrass music.

Have a fine day.

 

Modern Culture

It’s high time we considered “culture” (pronounced by some high-falutin’ folks as “cull-cha”) as something more than great novels, symphonies or art museums full of stuff made by dead or dying artists.  And as we begin this discussion I’ll admit that I’ve been less than open-minded in what I consider part of the great melting pot that is modern culture.  In fact I’m a bit of a snob.

The dictionary has a long list of definitions of culture.  For the sake of this little article we’ll use this one from “The American Century Dictionary”:  1a) Intellectual and artistic achievement or expression 1b) Refined appreciation of the arts, etc.  Pretty simple.

In fact the simplicity of that definition opens up the cultural world to include what I’ve always considered to be pretty crappy stuff.  If the arts are literature, music and visual creations then we must consider stuff like comic books, rap and splashing paint randomly on canvas as culturally viable.  Dang.  Of course the definition does open with the words “intellectual” in part 1a and “refined” in 1b.  So maybe we can pare down the volume of material that is truly cultural by using those two razors.

Let’s start with music.  Music is arguably the most widespread cultural pursuit.  People who wouldn’t open a book, even if the title was “There’s Money Taped to Every Page”, still will listen to music.  Many will make up tunes in their head and hum them as they jog along through their lives.  There is a thing called the “Music Industry” and it is sub-divided into dozens of genres or types.  A person’s individual taste, which is formed over a lifetime, will dictate the types of music he or she prefers and considers high on the cultural scale.  Some people have a narrow taste in music while others are open to several types.  I prefer Bluegrass, Beethoven and Mozart, Big Band, Sixties Rock and Folk, Older Country and Melodic Jazz.  One friend of mine will only listen to Bach, Beethoven and Brahms.  He thinks anything written after those guys croaked is anti-cultural.  Another guy that I know is completely obsessed with Heavy Metal, especially Metallica.  But, and here’s the big point of this thing, it’s all part of our culture.  Just because we don’t like a certain kind of music doesn’t mean that music is without value.

Except Rap.  Rap is out.  No, I’m kidding.  Rap is in.  Reggae is in, even the stuff played on steel drums.  So we’ve settled, by the flawless logical method of me making the decisions here, that musical culture includes any type where the artist or writer makes an intellectual effort and garners an audience that has a refined approach to the appreciation of that form.  Even those songs that Barney the purple dinosaur sings have some cultural relevance.  Sad, isn’t it?

Now on to literature we go with our newly discovered opened minds.  Literature should probably be approached in the same way as music.  There are all kinds of literature:  classical, romance fiction, detective and mystery fiction, thrillers, horror, gothic; non-fiction, magazines, short stories, newspapers; cooking books, self-help, inspirational, religious.  (Did you see all those colons, semi-colons and commas in that sentence?)  You see what I’m getting at here, right?  You have to decide for yourself the parameters of how high or how low on the cultural scale your preferred form of literature should be.  If you think James Patterson ranks up there with Shakespeare, well that’s your decision.  Just be advised that some folks will take exception to your choices.  They may even call you a mindless twit.  But don’t let it bother you.  I’m sure people called Shakespeare a mindless twit at one time or another.  But not Stephen King.  Nobody calls him names. 

Of course I’m sure we can all agree on one major fact.  The highest of the literary arts, the form of literature that sits at the tippy-top spot on the cultural scale is Poetry.  And not just any poetry, no, it must be the good stuff.  And if you want some recommendations to beef up your own cultural standing I’ll be happy to oblige.  Just contact me.  There will be no further discussion on literature.

Now we move on to the visual arts.  There are a bunch of visual arts and they include, but are probably not limited to – painting, drawing, photography, film, television, sculpture, pottery, making little villages out of popsicle sticks, dance (which combines music and motion), graphic art and graffiti.  It is especially important that we keep the “intellectual” and “refined” guidelines in mind when it comes to visual art.  Coloring inside the lines most likely does not constitute an artistic accomplishment.  It’s a good thing and should be rewarded with refrigerator placement but it isn’t art.  Television is a very tough art form to judge.  Some folks might think that the Jerry Springer Show is art.  It’s not.  Others might think that “Dancing with the Stars” is art.  Since it has dancing as a part of the show it can be considered art.  At least it could until they brought Bill Nye the Science Guy onto the set.  Then it slid into just being silly.  Now I honestly shouldn’t be making these judgments about TV since I almost never watch that art form.  For good information on where TV shows place on the cultural scale you should probably check with TV Guide, People Magazine or some other high-class publication like that.

Other kinds of visual art are easier to rate on the cultural scale.  If a piece of art looks like it has some intellectual basis and can be appreciated by at least a handful of folks then it just might have some cultural standing.  If a piece of art looks like a piece of crap that some wacko put together just to get a reaction then, sadly, it may be art.  That doesn’t mean you have to look at it or if you accidentally get a peek you have to like the thing.  Nope.  Art critics will disagree about the cultural value of the stuff.  Just find out which critic hates the same thing you hate and in artistic discussions agree with him or her.  That’s called having an informed opinion and it’s all the rage in cultural circles.

Well I’ve got over a thousand words on “culture” now.  I hope I’ve brought some understanding to all you good folks.  I made my big point a few paragraphs back.  In case you forgot already the big point is that “culture” is a very large and varied thing.   It’s worth studying.  It’s worth finding some cultural things to appreciate because they will help you grow intellectually and maybe even spiritually.  But if you don’t like something that is considered high on the cultural scale don’t feel that you’re less of a person.  Just be sure you approach your cultural decisions with intellect and refinement.

Now go do something artistic and have a fine day.

 

Putting Politics Aside

The government partial shutdown is over, though the talking about it goes on.  We were, according to some accounts, brought to the very brink of disaster, the near collapse of the world economy, the permanent loss of our vast wildernesses so ably protected by forest rangers in cooperation with Smoky Bear.  I know I was worried.  After, all how would all that nature survive without federal help?

But the disaster was averted thanks to the stellar leadership of our valiant Senators and a few stalwart members of the House.  In all my nearly sixty-seven years I’ve rarely seen such cohesive and concerted leadership.  Deals were made.  And I’m sure the deals were all to the benefit of the vast majority of Americans.  We’ll never really know of course.  I guess one Senator, from Kentucky I believe, is denying that the two billion dollar dam project in his state had anything to do with the deal making.  Of course not.  The deals that are yet to be revealed will also have nothing to do with anything more than furthering the cause of the whole nation.

It was interesting to see that the Congress and the administration and all those hardworking federal bureaucrats will now be fully participating in the new health care system.  They aren’t?  Funny, I thought sure that would have been a concession on the part of the party in power.  So once again a law is passed, all nice and legal like, that doesn’t apply equally to all the citizenry.  What a surprise.  If there is one thing that we need to learn it’s that the folks we elect to high office take the “high” part very seriously.  They very quickly come to believe that they are high above the ignorant masses that sent them to the glory land that is Washington, DC.

Now some of my kind readers may feel I’m being sarcastic towards, and harsh on, those well intentioned elected folks and the entourages with which they surround themselves.  And that may be true.  One time I did a little research and learned about the costs of keeping our Senators and Congressman in the manner to which they so richly deserve.  I’m not going to go on and on with an itemized list of transportation costs, office expenses, salaries for aides and administrative assistants, cafeterias, postage, fitness opportunities and the like.  We all know it’s a tough job representing the people.  It’s tough learning all about the issues and then reading the bills that come before them so that smart votes can be made.  Yes informed votes are important which is why it’s curious to learn (by their own admission) that our legislators often pass bills that they don’t read or of which they’ve only read summaries.   But I’m just covering old ground here.

And covering old ground is easy because those folks in Washington do it over and over again.  They fight the same battles in the same foolish way.  They are as predictable as sunrise and sunset.  They are so firmly set in their self-serving circle of being self-serving that when we see honest representation we are truly surprised. When a few members of the House actually try to represent their districts with actions following their campaign promises the news agencies think those members are trying to pull a fast one.  Or they accuse them of being crazy radicals.  Strange world over there in Washington.

But I’m putting politics away for a little while.  I’m going to focus on poetry, family reunions and other more positive things.  If we come to the brink of disaster again I’m sure I’ll pick up hints from friends and relatives and then I’ll be sure to start paying attention.

Now have a fine day.

Shutdown: A View from the Bottom

I guess it’s a pretty serious thing, this government shutdown.  After months of debate (or has it been years?) a final impasse has been reached and all of the federal bureaucracy, the House, Senate and Executive branches, the Supreme Court and lots of things I can’t remember have come to a halt.  The national parks are closed, the military is on furlough and PBS has no money to broadcast.  And what about the post offices and OSHA and the EPA and the IRS?  Closed as well, I suppose.  But as kids today say:  “Not!”

My political position has been discussed in previous blogs.  I’m not registered in either major party.  I’m not a libertarian or socialist or Whig or even a Bull Mooser.  But I am registered to vote and I exercise my civic privilege whenever any election comes along.  My tendency is always to vote against incumbents.  I’m a big proponent of giving someone else a chance to try and bring some common sense to the business of governing at all levels.  Term limits seem like a common sense idea as well.

The monstrosity that is the federal bureaucracy rolls along even while the folks who supposedly control the thing declare it closed.  The election last year re-endorsed the current administration at the same time that a bunch of legislators were put into office on the promise that they’d try to slow down the progressive agenda.  Seems like both constituencies are being well served. 

It’s a complex thing, governing a nation of over three hundred million people.  In some ways it seems impossible.  Here in Delaware we have a population of just over nine hundred thousand stuffed into three counties.  As small as we are there is still plenty of difficulty in getting anything useful done by the government.  And we are pretty much run by one party, a party that fully buys into every federal program that plops down from the folks in Washington.

Our unemployment rate is up close to eight percent and we have a pretty large public assistance program as well.  In our state the number of government employees (including state, federal, county and city) is three times larger than the DuPont Company, our largest corporate entity.  To me that is a scary number.  When the taxes are collected to fund this huge number of government employees, and the seemingly never-shrinking public assistance programs, we have to be at least a little bit worried about how those taxes will affect the economy of our state.  It’s not looking too spiffy right now.

But back to the shutdown.  The television and other news media love to sound the alarm about closing the government.  Politicians love to stir things up even more, declaring that their opposite numbers are holding the American people hostage (or some such crap) or threatening the very stability of democracy and the safety of the free world.  I’m not so sure about all that.  Even these moronic politicians seem to know enough to keep the military and basic services going.  But they sure do have a problem devising and adopting a basic balanced budget without fudging the federal deficit.  I’ve been trying to recall a single truly balanced federal budget in my lifetime.  Bill Clinton claims to have had one but as I recall that was largely the work of the House of Representatives under Newt Gingrich.  However that budget consisted mostly of long term projections regarding deficit reductions.  Do you see how easy it is to make the numbers serve your own cause?

Of course balancing a government budget is just accounting trickery and is not at all like running a real business.  Government operating is far removed from running a real business and yet the people in control of our government, and their supporters, keep wanting more and more of the functions of real business under direct governmental control.  That’s another thing I can’t understand.  When we look at the track record of government programs (Fannie Mae, Freddie Mac, Farm Subsidy Programs, SEC, NSA, IRS etc.) then we just might want to reconsider giving those folks more control.

Well, that’s enough about this.  I’m disappointed that some compromises couldn’t be reached but not at all surprised.  The folks in control in the Executive Branch and the Senate have no real good reason to check with the electorate about programs involving health care and such.  After all they won the election and they are a fairly arrogant bunch who think they know what’s good for you and me.  And they’ll continue to chip away at our freedom to make our own decisions.  But, friends, there are more elections to come (at least we hope so) and we’ll have the opportunity to make ourselves heard once again.  Of course that doesn’t mean fifty-one percent of our neighbors will agree with us, does it?

Enjoy the shutdown.  They probably won’t be taking any money from you for a few days, right?  Want to bet?  Have a fine day.

 

What's This - Another Bluegrass Blog?

This one isn’t about politics.  And it’s not about poetry.  But it is a subject that I return to now and again even though I don’t think my reading audience is packed full of Bluegrass music fans.  My hope is that you good folks will read this thing and be moved to take a fresh look at the freshest thing going on in the world of music.  And what is prompting my muse today, you ask?  You did ask, didn’t you?  Well, the answer is the annual International Bluegrass Music Awards events which were held in Raleigh, North Carolina over the past several days.

Usually I’d go on and on about how my friends the Gibson Brothers were the highlight of the event, walking away with the top awards.  They did.  But I’m more inclined to tell you all about the awards show and the peripheral events that were enjoyed by thousands of fans.  Even though I wasn’t in attendance in Raleigh the magic of modern technology brought the excitement and feel of the festivities right up here to little old Dover, Delaware.  There was a live feed of the awards show over the internet and on Sirius/XM radio, Facebook feeds and YouTube video postings also kept us involved and fired-up.  It’s winding down now but at various times on Thursday and Friday it was hard to keep up with everything.

We’ve all seen awards shows.  They’re highly predictable with just enough suspense and controversy to keep an audience coming back after the commercial breaks.  They’re packaged events that follow a reliable formula, often with lip-synced musical acts and tiresome acceptance speeches.  Music awards shows are closely watched for the “scandalous” fashions and profane verbal “faux-pas”.   There was none of that at the IBMA awards.  There were awards and some brief and honest acceptance speeches.  There were a couple hall of fame inductions.  One of those involved a miracle of sorts, with guitar virtuoso and singer Tony Rice demonstrating how his voice, lost about nineteen years ago, was gradually coming back to a point where he may just sing again.  And there was music.  But this music wasn’t mouthing and pretending over some studio produced recording.  This was live music, driving hard, with strong instrumental solos – some of them inspired, and real, solid heartfelt vocals.  These folks weren’t faking.  They weren’t putting on airs.  Nope, they were delivering their art.

It’s hard to single out any one performer or group for accolades.  They all gave performances that were award worthy.  The flow of the show wasn’t always without a glitch here and there.  But it was all warmly received with an incredible amount of goodwill between the audience and the performers and between performer and performer.  People were happy to be there and it showed.  The audience didn’t need cues for applause or laughter.  It was all natural.

Then after the awards show (and in the time leading up to it) there were concerts and jam sessions all over the Raleigh area.  There was a “Kids on Bluegrass” show, there was a Red Hat Amphitheater top name concert, and there were late night and early morning shows at various venues featuring bands with guest musicians.  Jam sessions popped up in hotel rooms, building lobbies and in backstage areas all around town.  There was even a banjo players’ “flash mob” at the Sir Walter Raleigh statue.  Many of these great performances can be seen on YouTube.  I was particularly impressed by one I saw that featured the Gibson Brothers Band and Sierra Hull.

So, after reading all of the above you’re probably wondering how a sophisticated and erudite individual such as myself could possibly be so smitten with all that twangy hillbilly plucking and whining.  If that question is in your mind then friend, you haven’t listened to Bluegrass lately.  There is no fresher music, music that draws on the origins of traditional country and American roots forms, being made today.  Yes there are plinking mandolins and banjos.  But they are played with drive and innovation.   The guitars are acoustic and the fiddles are sometimes mournful.  But the players are often masters of their instruments.  Even less skilled musicians are making valuable contributions to the great body of Bluegrass music.  And the rhythm section of a Bluegrass band is usually supported by a big old stand-up bass fiddle.  Today’s bass players know how to build a foundation for some mighty fine beat keeping.

That’s not the whole story though.  Another part of modern Bluegrass is songwriting.  Great songwriters are contributing to the genre every day.  Eric and Leigh Gibson, Sean Camp, Sam Bush, Joe Newberry, Tim O’Brien, Jamie Dailey, Claire Lynch and dozens of others are bringing new songs into this traditional form.  Though new music is being created there is a great deal of reverence and respect for older songs.  It’s a rare Bluegrass show that doesn’t feature a very large percentage of traditional songs and music from the founders of the form.  Those songs won’t always sound exactly like the originals because most Bluegrass performers eventually put their own personal touches on them.

Finally I want to mention a facet of the Bluegrass business that I’d been thinking about for a long time but was unable to express adequately.  Credit for a breakthrough in my thinking must go to my friend John Saroyan who tosses ideas around like they’re a common commodity.  John said that there seems to be a move away from “packaging” Bluegrass acts which had been a burgeoning trend.  It was then that I realized that most regular country music and virtually all of “pop” music is a packaged product.  There is a sameness, a cookie cutter approach to recordings, an effort to make every show identical and to stifle the honest emotion that should be a part of art.  But packaging is rare in Bluegrass and it seems that the more a band or performer moves towards becoming a packaged product the less appreciation they find from the audience.  Bluegrass can most often be found in festival settings.  I went to three festivals this year and each one had a different ambience and audience make-up.  Every line up of performers was varied and interesting.  There were bands that were playing for the first time and bands that had been playing for more than thirty years.  There’s also a lot of what I call “cross-pollination” in Bluegrass music with musicians changing bands, sitting in as fill-in players or just joining in with spontaneous invitations.  It adds a lot to the freshness of the music.  This kind of forming and re-forming discourages packaging.

Did I say finally up there?  Well, I want to add a couple more little things.  The first is that Bluegrass is the only musical form that does so much to encourage listeners to become players.  Most every festival has workshops where folks are encouraged to bring instruments or note pads and participate in making music.  There are workshops for every instrument and for vocalists as well.  I attended a songwriting workshop at the Plattsburgh Bluegrass Festival given by the IBMA songwriter of the year and his brother (sorry Leigh).  There are special sessions for young people and performances are scheduled so they can show off their new found skills.  All of those things add to the honesty, traditions and freshness of Bluegrass.

And finally, and I mean it this time, my friends the Gibson Brothers won “Vocal Group of the Year” “Song of the Year” (They Call it Music) and “Entertainers of the Year” at the IBMA awards show this past Thursday night.  And Eric Gibson won “Songwriter of the Year” earlier in the day.

Give Bluegrass a listen.  Take your time and think about it.  Go to a festival or concert.  You won’t regret it.  Now have a fine day.

Help Me, I'm A Poet

I’m a poet.  In some circles a confession like that is equivalent to admitting that one is a degenerate of the worst sort.  At a conference of MFA’s those who are unfortunate enough to pursue the poetic arts are shunted off to small corners of a dark room where they are left to indulge in their esoteric language of iambs, tropes and pentameters.  I don’t even have the academic credentials of those cornered poets.  Out in the real world admitting to poetry is admitting to a wastrel’s life.  “There’s no money in poetry” is the mantra.  “Get a job” follows close behind.

There are young folks in a couple of my writing groups (similar to group therapy but with homework) who write poetry though they usually have day jobs.  Some teach, some do research and others occupy cubicles where they push around multiple pieces of virtual paper.  There are the rare few who have a sponsor and are therefore allowed to write full time.  I fall somewhere in between.  My working life came to a close when I reached sixty.  Since then I’ve survived through the kindness and generosity of my dear wife, with a little help from social security.  During my working life I wrote poetry and stories and articles but I never tried to get published or in any other way recognized.

Now that has changed.  I write most every day for at least a few hours.  Sometimes, when I’m on a creative roll, I might even put in eight hours broken up into two or three hour segments.  When I get enough finished poetry I send it off to various publishing houses, literary journals and poetry competitions.  Rejection is my constant companion.  My successes so far have been limited.  I had a top ten finish in the Margaret Atwood Poetry Contest last year.  I was a runner-up for first place in the William Faulkner Writing Competition; Poetry Division, also last year.  I’ve had a few poems published here and there, none with remuneration.  And I had ten poems in an anthology published by an independent publisher who subsequently cheated all the contributors by not living up to our contract in any way.  This year, nearly finished as it is, has seen less success than last year.  I have had several poems make short-list and semi-finalist lists.  But I have had only one piece make the finals of a competition.  The results on that contest are due in a couple weeks.

It’s not a Tom Clancy or James Patterson world for a would-be senior citizen poetic soul.  So why do I do it, is the rhetorical question.  Well, I write because I feel inspired to write.  I write to say things that, for some reason, seem important.  That’s not a very humble statement I suppose.  I also write for the joy of seeing words work themselves into the shape of a poem that might provide a glimpse of beauty or an atom of rational meaning.  And on some days I write just to amuse my own rather challenged intellect.

But I’m serious about this poetry stuff.  I read a lot.  I’ve almost exhausted the poetry section of our local library and I’m re-reading my favorites.  Some days I get online and read poetry on various literary sites.  I read the poetry of my writing group friends and write commentary on their work.  And I read articles about writing and critical works about many, many great poets.  My academic credentials are non-existent but I have studied the art and craft of poetry.

So here we are, finally, at the reason for this little article.  I’m setting up a new blog page which will be devoted to poetry.  More specifically it will be used as a modest showcase for my own work and will link to other poets as well.  Now and then you’ll see on Facebook that a new poem or article is posted on the soon to be named poetry blog.  If you like poetry check it out and see if it has any value.  If you don’t like poetry check it out anyway and give me a chance to change your mind.  I promise no flowery verse, no obscure Greek or Roman mythological references, no confusing language or messages buried in five layers of metaphor.  Nope, it’s all plain talk in short poetic lines.  I’m a specialist in short lines.  So when you see the announcement of the new blog check it out.  You’ll be glad you did.

Now have a fine day and find a poem to read.

Family Connections

My mother’s side of our family is in the planning stages for a reunion next year.  We have a big family with all kinds of diverse folks who have different ideas, different lifestyles and different political views.  And we’re a garrulous bunch who will discuss things in a loud way, not afraid to voice a point of view exactly the opposite of what might happen to be prevailing in a particular assemblage.  It isn’t unfriendly.  We laugh a lot and tend to tolerance.  But we will get loud especially when the wine and spirits start flowing.  Thinking about the differences in individual members of our very large extended family I was knocking around in my mind how it can be possible that we can get together, laugh and argue, share ideas and memories and still stay friendly. 

We have folks in the family who fit the classic political definitions of “Left” and “Right”.  We also have people who stand somewhere in between.  And there are still others who might be left wing on some issues and hardline right on others.  We have Republicans, Democrats, independents, socialists, separatists, Southerners, Northerners, moderately rich, quite poor, Catholics, Protestants, an atheist or two and on and on.  There are people in our family who have lived all over the world and others who have rarely left the confines of their hometowns.  So as I was thinking about all of these diverse people I started to wonder how we seem to be able to get along pretty well most of the time.  It goes without saying that we haven’t always had harmony in the family, but we seem to overcome those discordant times eventually.

After a while, in my ruminating, I hit on the notion that we must have some basic, deeply underlying sense of understanding that allows us to get along.  Polar opposites should repel each other.  But we seem to have somehow overcome that law of physics.  When one of my rough and ready, right wing, red-neck cousins puts his arm around the shoulders of one of his gay liberal relatives and shares a family story, the affection isn’t faked and there is no hidden animosity on either side.  It isn’t tolerance dictated by some legislative edict either.  No, it is the understanding that we’re all in this together and there needs to be some place we can find shared ground if we’re going to survive as a family.  So what is that common, shared ground?

It’s pretty simple really, as most good ideas are.  The common ground is the family.  It’s those ties – by blood, by marriage, by adoption – that allow us to set aside differences.  No, that’s wrong.  It’s those ties that allow us to embrace and celebrate our differences.  We can argue, discuss and bicker.  But we’re still family.  We can accept that we’ll never change the opinion of the person we’re talking to (but we might) and it’ll still be okay.  We won’t be shunned.  We won’t be kicked out of the family.  As long is that level of tolerant understanding flows along like a quiet current, things will work out.

When I look at the complex and divisive problems in our country and our world, looking for the root causes of the troubles I always (in my simplistic way of thinking) end up with the idea that a whole lot of the difficulty arises with the fall of the family.  As families have scattered and broken over the past sixty years or so, troubles have increased.  People have lost touch.  Fathers disappeared leaving mothers to care for children.  Children became un-important, or worse, un-wanted.  That leads to abuse.  Abuse becomes a vicious cycle.  All kinds of unhappiness comes out of the ashes of burned down families.  We have seen some of that unhappiness in our own extended family.

 

But recently I have seen a small ray of hope.  It might just be wishful thinking on my part, but I sense that people seem to be trying to reclaim that sense of family.  And I hate to give too much credit or credence to technology but some people seem to be using modern tools to rebuild family connections or to construct new family groups.  These electronic connections often lead to face-to-face meetings.  And reunions.  So there you have it friends my philosophical meandering thoughts for today.

Now go make some connections and have a fine day.

Crazy News

News articles on the internet have caught my attention over the past couple of days.  That’s never a good thing.  A lot of the stories fuel a smoldering anger.  Others leave me slack-jawed at the human capacity for blatant displays of ignorance.  Still others make me fearful as I see the nearly constant increases in all kinds of violence.  And of course there are the never ending stories of celebrities and their constant drive to attract attention.

But today I’ve been thinking about an ongoing story that has become a minor political issue.  At least the media would have us believe that it is an issue.  This story is about the military individual who was convicted of the unauthorized release of classified materials and for that crime was sentenced to a very long prison term.  But that’s not the story that the news folks seem to be interested in.  No, the big story is that this young criminal wants the U.S. Army to provide him with sex change therapy, maybe even surgery, while he is incarcerated for the next thirty years or so.

Friends, I’m sorry but I’m about to say something that may cause the more sensitive and caring among you to cringe with pain and disdain.  This is nuts.  (Absolutely no pun intended)  To even consider such a request is nuts.  For reporters, who like to think of themselves as serious people, to write and broadcast this nonsense is completely and utterly nuts.  I don’t feel sorry for the guy/gal.  I have no doubt that he’ll find much support for this insanity from folks who share his problem.  Too bad.  He was a man when he committed his crime and a man he should stay until he gets out of the slammer and on Obama-Care.  And that’s only if he can afford to pay for that notion of a “right” to health insurance.

Some of my friends may think that the humanitarian response to a young man who feels he should be a woman would be to arrange the necessary medical alterations at the taxpayer’s expense.  At the risk of seeming to be trans-gender-phobic I must voice my opinion.  Here it is.  Baloney!  My opinion has nothing to do with that particular non-issue.  Of course my opinion is just my opinion.  But my tax money should at least be used for expenses more in line with normal military expenditures.  I wouldn’t mind at all if my taxpayer dollars were used to buy ammunition for the execution by firing squad of the radical Islamist Fort Hood terrorist.  I guess that’s a little harsh.  But that’s what happens when I read the news.  I lose my tolerance for all kinds of things.

This story, along with all of those about young men killing people for no apparent reason beyond boredom or racial hatred, has forced me (again) to lay off the news for a week or so.  Some of you have told me that ignoring all the daily insanity of the wider world is irresponsible or worse.  Maybe.  But it’s the only way I can have a fine day.  You’ll have to find your own method.

So go have a fine day any way you can.

No Excuse

We all make excuses.  We make excuses when we do something that we shouldn’t have.  We also make excuses when we don’t do what we should have.  Well, maybe some of you out there avoid making excuses.  Maybe you always do what you say you’ll do, do it when you should and never make any mistakes in the process.  Right.

I’ve been thinking about the kinds of excuses that folks use as they go about their daily lives and, since I’m a scientific sort of guy, I’ve divided the excuses into three categories.  The categories are pretty broad because I didn’t want to think too hard.

The first category is the “I had no idea!” type of excuse.  This category is a tricky one as it obviously points the finger of ignorance at one’s self.  That often elicits sympathy from the offended person because it automatically puts them in a position of intellectual superiority.  It’s hard to be angry at a person who is calling you a genius.  Comparatively speaking.  I use this style of excuse all the time.  My wife will say “Why didn’t you put the trash out last night?” and I’ll reply “I had no idea it was trash day.”  And she’ll say “It’s been Tuesday nights for seven years now.”  My clever excuse “I had no idea.”  She feels smart and sorry for me at the same time.  Forgiveness flows.  This category of excuse is very popular among government officials when caught raiding the treasury.  “I had no idea it was illegal to fund this fact-finding mission to Costa Rica with money from the Health and Human Services budget.”

My next broad category of excuses is the ever popular “I’m sorry, but my bad back (shoulder, knee, hip, ankle, elbow, etc.) won’t allow me to help with the fund raising project.”  Of course the defective body excuse is useful for more than just fund raising projects.  It can be used when the wife wants her husband to attend a social function that is particularly odious.  Or it comes in handy when the friend who helped you remove a fallen tree needs the same kind of assistance in his yard.  There’s a subgroup in this category especially reserved for the female gender and that is the PMS excuse.  A woman might say “Sorry I was so incredibly rude to your mother last night but I was PMSing at the time.”  That excuse is very versatile and it’s a shame men can’t use it.

Finally we have the “I didn’t get the email (memo, phone message, text, etc.)” excuse.  This one doesn’t need to be true, just believable.  It works best when there is no paper trail and in these days of paper-free communications there’s pretty much no way it won’t work.  For working people this is the workhorse of the excuse portfolio.  (Did you notice how many times I used “work” in the last couple of lines?)  We retired folks can’t avail ourselves of this one as often unless we’re avoiding certain tedious family functions.  “Sorry I missed Uncle Barney’s funeral, but I never got the email announcing that he croaked” And it nearly goes without saying that politicians and other government types depend on this excuse almost as often as the “I had no idea” variety.  “We needed extra security at the embassy?  I never got those emails.”  You can see how useful that is.

I just now thought of another category that is very useful in avoiding blame.  It’s the “I’m sorry but I’m old now and I don’t remember so well anymore” excuse.  I would have brought it up sooner but, well, I’m older and don’t remember things as well as I used to.  I can get a lot of mileage out of that excuse.

Now, excuse yourself and have a fine day.

Celebrities

Last Saturday night a charity basketball game was played at a local university.  The game featured a team made up of celebrities against a team of local college players and alumni.  I’m going to display a rare bit of ignorance (Ha!) by confessing that I only recognized one name on that celebrity roster.  That person was someone named Brandy and she was acting as a coach.  I had no idea what Brandy does for a living but I had seen her name in some internet articles.

So, being a modern guy, I used Google to check out what made these celebrities famous.  Brandy, not to be confused with Brandi Passante of Storage Wars fame, is a singer whose last name is Norwood.  She’s got some credibility as a performer and a very strong voice.  A fellow by the name of Mario is another singer who added his presence to the event.  He also has a legitimate claim to celebrity status.  Then there was Sevyn Streeter yet another singer who seems to be a more recent arrival.  A young man by the name of Trevor J was listed but I couldn’t discern if he was a Trevor Jackson, singer and actor, or a Trevor John something also an actor.  But I’m sure all these folks have made the grade as celebrities by exhibiting some talent and by struggling through a process of climbing the difficult steps that are involved.

But thinking about celebrities, which usually makes my head hurt, brought me to the notion that there are an awful lot of them who have never really shown any talent other than a talent for self-promotion.  There are also celebrities in the world of sports who gained fame quickly, perhaps had some initial promise of real talent, but then settled into a mediocre career bolstered only by their talent for getting their names in the papers.  Their stardom was more about ego than performance.  But sports is a whole different story.

On the internet one can read about celebrities from the wonderful world of reality television shows.  People named Kardashian seem to turn up frequently.  Paris Hilton, Lindsey Lohan, Jessica Simpson; who are these people and what have they done to deserve their celebrity-hood?  I used up all my patience for checking out celebrities a little earlier so they’ll remain mysteries to me.

Some people get to be really, really big celebrities.  Perhaps they’ve had talk shows or acted in movies or television.  Some might have been thrust into the limelight through politics or being involved with politicians.  And all too frequently these people are taken seriously when they offer opinions or advice about big issues or current events.  They may be smart folks and they certainly have the freedom to say what they think.  But why they should be taken any more seriously than Elmer Fudd puzzles me.  How did Oprah become a legal, spiritual and literary expert?  How did George Clooney become an authority on international governmental relations?  When did Ed Begley Jr. become the go-to guy on environmental issues?  And finally, why would anyone even listen to anything that Anthony Weiner or Monica Lewinsky had to say?

Now I’d like to be famous someday.  It would be cool, for a little while, to have a small degree of celebrity.  And I’ll bet most of you reading this wouldn’t mind it for yourselves.  But being a celebrity brings much that is unpleasant.  Celebrities need to be prepared to have their entire lives exposed to the public eye.  They need to realize that the smallest action will result in a terribly out of proportion reaction.  I’m not sure my private life would stand up to too much scrutiny.  Celebrities are not only greatly loved they are also frequently vilified and even hated.  I mean look at what I just did in this little article.  I pretty much dismissed celebrities as a class.  Not that I hate celebrities, I just question their usefulness from time to time.  Of course there are those charity fund raising events that get help from celebrities.  So maybe there is a reason for them after all.

Now go have a normal person’s fine day.

 

Borders and Crossings

For twenty five years or more we hadn’t crossed the border between Canada and the United States.  But last week, with my daughter and two grandsons, we decided to head over to Hemmingford in Quebec for a visit to Parc Safari, one of those wild animal places with added amusement park features.  We were all prepared.  My dear wife and I had our fresh new “enhanced” Delaware drivers’ licenses.  My daughter and the boys had passports.  Remembering back to the days when we would go to Canada a few times a year, for a few hours or for a pleasant weekend, I anticipated a friendly welcome from the border control guys on both sides of that boundary.  Times have changed folks, times have changed.

 

Going into Canada we pulled up at one of the many rural crossings in northern New York at about eleven in the morning.  The young man in his dark blue uniform filled out by body armor had a rather stern expression on his face.  I figured he might be having a bad day so I was just as pleasant as I know how to be.  We opened the van doors so he could see inside the vehicle and I handed over our documents.  He looked inside the van saw a twelve year old boy, a seven year old boy, a forty something young lady, my dear wife who looks much younger than her years and me, a silver haired smiling older gentleman.  He asked “What brings you to Canada today?”  I said “We’re going to Parc Safari.”  He was quiet for a short time flipping through the passports and drivers’ licenses.  Then he said “What’s your story?”  I replied “What do you mean, what’s my story?  We’re taking the kids to the attraction that attracts kids to your country.”

 

He said “You surely didn’t drive all the way from Delaware just to go to Parc Safari?”

 

I replied “Is it that bad an attraction?  But no, we only drove from our place in Franklin County on the Deer River.”

 

He gave me another stern glance and then started comparing our faces to our documents.  I once again willed myself into a pleasant attitude hoping this little ordeal would end quickly.

 

Finally the young man asked if we were bringing anything into his country; things like alcohol, firearms, agricultural products or children to be sold into slavery.  He really didn’t ask about that last item, I made that one up.  After determining that we weren’t terrorists, smugglers or agitators for the Quebec separatist movement he told us to enjoy our visit and sent us on our way.

 

So we went on our way.  We had a great time.  Parc Safari is a much better attraction than the Border Patrol guy seemed to insinuate.  We drove through their wild animal safari section and interacted with (that means fed, smelled and were accosted by) all kinds of critters.  We saw different kinds of antelopes, buffalo, camels, zebras, deer, hippos and other creatures too numerous to mention.  Then we parked our van and walked up to a large platform where we were able to view giraffes and some other animals.  Next we hiked on over to an area that had a little shopping center with restaurants and gift shops.  We had a very nice (really) lunch in a café which was only mildly overpriced.  After lunch the kids got a couple of souvenirs at a neat store.  Then we walked to an area that had lions and tigers which we viewed from glass tunnel like structures.  The animals walked right over us as they moved from one part of their large enclosures to another.  I was really impressed with that feature.   There were other areas to see and we walked a couple miles seeing them all.  Throughout the walking areas a water park attraction winds its way with slides, pools, tube ride chutes and fake beaches covering a lot of the ground.  And I must say that the French Canadian ladies sure do know how to wear teeny-tiny bathing suits.  That water park was a whole extra attraction as far as I was concerned.

 

The visit to Parc Safari ended about six-thirty and we loaded up and headed back to the USA.  I decided to re-enter the country at a different crossing just to see if the experience would be better.  I figured the American border security guys would be pleasant and glad to welcome us back to our homeland.  Well, maybe not.

 

The young fellow on our side of the border was also decked out in a sharp looking uniform with body armor under the shirt which gave him the appearance of an extreme body builder.  He was pleasant enough as he collected our documents and asked a few questions.  He obviously knew from his little computer screen that we had been to Parc Safari and that we had entered Canada at about eleven in the morning.  Data sharing like that reassures us all that US – Canada relations are healthy.  But then the fellow said “Do you and your wife have a birth certificate or passport with you?”  I said “No we don’t, we have the new enhanced Delaware driver’s license which you have right there in your hand.”  And he replied “Well I don’t think this is an enhanced license and I don’t think Delaware actually has that program yet.  Of course I personally haven’t met anyone from Delaware at this crossing before.”  So, mustering up more pleasantness I said “Well you have a computer right there in front of you, right, so why don’t you Google the Delaware DMV site and check on the license program.  I know I had to bring all kinds of documentation to get this license and pay extra for the thing so it would seem that the border authorities, such as yourself, would be aware of the program.”

 

My voice may have risen a decibel or two as I made that last little speech because the fellow seemed to get a little sterner as our conversation went on.  He asked if we were bringing anything back from Canada, such as firearms, alcohol or agricultural products.  I told him that we might have some elephant poop on our shoes but that was about it.  He didn’t seem to appreciate my little joke.  But he didn’t make us get out of the car for a search or any further interrogation.  He did closely match up our faces to our documents to be sure we hadn’t changed identities in the seven or so hours we were in Canada.  Then he said he was going to research the Delaware license issue and suggested that we do the same so that the next time we came through a border crossing there wouldn’t be any problem.  I asked him if he was going to send out a memo to all of the border crossing places when he discovered that I was right.  He said that he’d have to notify his superiors and that memo would come from much higher up.  Right then I knew I wasn’t going back to Canada anytime soon.  In fact I might even be on a “No-Fly” list at all the airports in the world by now.

 

Now friends, I understand the need for security on the borders.  But I also understand that the rules and procedures used to harass honest, law abiding citizens should be tempered by common sense.  Any person that has gone through border patrol training and passed all those tests should have the ability to recognize that the level of threat that a set of grandparents, a mother and two kids coming back from an amusement park present is pretty small.  And that person should have the authority to scale back on the interrogation and let that van full of citizens back into their home country.  Having been through airport security and having endured the insulting procedures at those places I really don’t have much hope that common sense will ever enter into air travel or border crossing again.

 

Next time I want to go out of the country for a little holiday I’m heading south to Texas or New Mexico or Arizona.  I’ll just drive on some back roads near the border, spot some Mexican citizens heading into our country without benefit of border security and cross over into their country.  I think it’d be a lot less hassle doing it that way.

 

Now have a fine day.