New Relatives

It was very tempting today to write about certain current events.  There were many things in the internet news reports that were irritating and that almost drove me to angry tirades of virulent prose.  If my grandkids hadn’t been around most of this weekend then you might be reading a far different bit of opinionated observation.  But the kids were here and they sent me on a different path.

 

As I watched those youngsters mess about with imagination and unbelievable energy I began considering all the new relatives that have entered my large and varied family over the years.  Not long ago I wrote about dead relatives and what they can teach all of us.  It seems appropriate to offer equal consideration to new relatives.

 

Let’s get the most obvious new additions out of the way first.  Babies.  My grandparents had babies which led to my parents; my parents had my generation of misfits and we continued the process by getting involved with our various wives and husbands until a new group of babies came along.  Then that bunch, our sons and daughters, grew up and using all the means available brought new children into the family.  And some of those youngsters are all grown up and repeating the process so that one of my brothers and some of my cousins are actually great-grandparents.  It’s amazing.

 

The thing about all of these babies is how widely they are spread across the spectrum of ethnic and racial heritage.  Not only that but a couple of these little ones were created using the most modern medical technology, methods that weren’t even dreamed about sixty or seventy years ago.  People of my generation broke some ground by marrying people of different religious or cultural backgrounds.  My parent’s generation were quite reluctant to break any of those barriers.  In their day folks largely stayed within their faith and nationality when they made marriages.  In fact they very often stayed within the same economic or social class.  My generation started to stretch things and our kids took giant steps further as they gained partners.

 

Racial barriers have developed some big cracks.  I know that racial issues have been a big part of the news-day diet of late.  There may be some grounds for that but I suspect that a whole lot of the problem is the amount of politicking and media posing that attends even the hint of an incident where race may play a factor.  And the furor over some cases seems to me, after a great deal of reading and studying, to be far out of proportion to the real situation.  But I’m not writing about that today.  I’m writing about what I see, what I hear, what I experience as I watch my large extended family grow.

 

I saw a term the other day that caught my eye and I rather like it:  blended families.  Isn’t that a neat pair of words?  The older way of describing families made up of different racial or ethnic backgrounds was usually naming them as “bi-racial”.   The government was the biggest perpetrator of the crime of labeling people in as many ways as it could.  All those forms that follow us throughout our lives, where the government wants to categorize and define segments of the population have had a part in this labeling;  birth certificates, wedding license forms, driver’s license applications, census forms, employment records and on and on.  This purportedly is done to help the government identify and protect minorities.  But I think nowadays it is more of a habit that helps government agencies to keep their people busy on the one hand and various population groups pitted against each other on the other hand.

 

In my family I’ve witnessed several unions between people of different races.  Beautiful new relatives were gained in those unions and even more beautiful new relatives were made when those unions produced children.  And some of my relatives adopted children who were of ethnic and racial backgrounds that were new to our family.  More beautiful new relatives resulted.  Our family is getting so blended we could be a product endorser for Cuisinart. 

 

But here’s the most interesting thing I’ve learned as this blending process goes on.  Older folks in the family, the folks that always seemed a little bit entrenched in their adherence to the idea of marrying within one’s faith, race, cultural background or even economic status level have become less stiff, less rigid, well let’s say it outright, less prejudiced than they ever were.  Some of them who were not cautious with their hateful language are very mindful of it now.  Some who would once write off whole population groups for all kinds of imagined defects are much more inclined to evaluate others as individuals.  And it’s truly amazing how powerful a new baby can be in helping these folks who were so hard-assed in the past.

 

When I started writing this little article I took a few minutes to try to inventory my relatives, especially the new ones, to see how blended our family has become.  Bear with me while I spit out a few statistics.   In my generation I count forty four first cousins and four siblings.  We all started out as white Catholics of French descent.  We’re all still white and of French descent but some of our husbands and wives were Protestants of several denominations, Jewish, Mormon and atheist.  Some of the places that my cousins found their partners were Germany, Canada and China.  So far the changes weren’t too drastic.  But the children of this generation have a wider mix of ingredients.  In this group, which numbers about ninety five, we have gained new relatives from Asian, Hispanic, African, African-American, European and Middle Eastern backgrounds.  I can’t even count the religious affiliations but I know they cover everything from Muslims to Christian Fundamentalists.  There are children from adoption and from other medical methods.  I’ve often wished that we could gather all these people in one place for a big photograph.  That picture would truly reflect a diverse group.

 

I know that most folks don’t have as large a family as mine.  But I’ve walked around my neighborhood, I keep my eyes open in stores and other public places and I’ve seen differences in the make-up of neighborhoods in our city and in small towns I’ve visited.  We hear so much about inequality that when some equality stares us in the face we fail to see it.  The truck driver that lives across the street from me is a black man, the hospital worker next door to him is Hispanic, the lady next door to me is African-American, and the neighbors on the other side are white folks.  Over where my brother lives, a much more upscale area, I’ve seen Asian, African-American and white people all taking their bills out of their mailboxes.  By the same token I’ve driven through a couple of low income trailer parks nearby where there are equally diverse populations cooking hamburgers and hotdogs on their grills on a Sunday afternoon.

 

So now you might understand why I’m thankful for all the new relatives I’ve gained over the years.  By gaining all of these family members I’ve learned to appreciate the blending that is possible.  And I do believe that this kind of blending can be a big part of a hopeful future.  My liberal friends often chastise me for my political views.  This article is not about politics and I wish that some of the politicians would back off from their constant use of divisive rhetoric and take a good look at the areas they represent.  They might find that the picture they’re presenting doesn’t square entirely with the reality of their districts.  And if they look at their own families they might even find they have some new relatives that they need to be thankful for.

 

So go on and have a fine day.

 

Modesty; the Other Kind

Yesterday as I waited in line at the convenience store for my low-budget sub sandwich I couldn’t help but notice a couple of young women and their several children, five I think but it was hard to count as the kids kept running around wildly.  It must have been five because they got seven sandwiches.  Anyway, the thing I noticed besides the kids and the sandwiches and the fact that they bought the stuff with food stamps was the blatant sexuality of the too small clothing they wore and the large amount of body art which decorated their exposed fleshy parts.  I’m talking about the women here, not the kids.

 

Before you all start thinking about what an old fuddy-duddy I’ve become you should know how much progress I’ve made in shedding my fuddy-duddyism.  So get ready for a history lesson.  When I was a kid (I can hear you groaning, so stop it) the standards of decorum in fashion were based on something called modesty.  It wasn’t the kind of modesty that prevented the hero who pulled the kitty-cat out of the burning building from bragging about his heroic deed.  And it wasn’t the kind of modesty that the straight “A” student practiced when he kept his mouth shut around the dullards in his class.  No it was the kind of modesty that prevented a young woman from exposing her ample charms in a bold, attention getting way.  It was the kind of modesty that encouraged grown men to avoid Speedos at the community pool.  Why even the boys who spent summer days at a secluded swimming hole up the creek near the second orchard would wear swimming suits.  We would wear them unless we happened to be coming down the creek and the siren call of the swimming hole became too strong and there was no time to go home and then come back properly attired.  But those were the exceptions.  And we would never wear a Speedo, probably because they weren’t invented yet.

 

So, modesty was a standard of dress.  At the Catholic boys school where I lived for a couple years the level of modesty was so high that the dorm shower rooms had privacy curtains, walls between urinals and locking doors on toilet stalls.  Boys were required to wear bathrobes and not just a simple towel wrapped around the waist as they went from the shower to the dorm room.  And in the room the bathrobe became a dressing gown, modestly draping one’s body as underwear and trousers were put on.  Only then could the robe be hung up neatly in the closet.  Yes it was a repressive society in that school.  And that “training” sure didn’t help me out when I got to military basic training.  Of course, I recognize now that so much repression bred more than a little strangeness.  Thankfully I avoided the strangeness and got rid of most of those imposed inhibitions.

 

But I digress, as usual.  Modesty existed.  Girls wore clothing that covered quite a lot of their bodies.  Girls who exposed too much were considered “loose” or “trampy”.  We loved those girls.  But even the bad girls back then didn’t come close to the average young woman of today.  And that brings me back to the convenience store.  At the risk of being risqué I’m going to describe what I saw standing in line at the counter.  The first young woman that I noticed was blonde and quite pretty.  She wore some make-up but not enough to put her in the class of a “painted lady”.  She was dressed in the conventional costume of tube top, shorts and flip-flops.  The only problem with her costume was that it was made for someone at least four sizes smaller.  The shorts adhered to her body almost as tightly as her numerous tattoos.  And the tiny top she was wearing was struggling mightily to keep her womanly parts harnessed and not breaking free like a pair of horses running away from a broken down buggy.  A tattoo on her lower back crept down into those tight shorts and probably didn’t stop any too soon.  In fact the bulk of her backside was in the fresh air and seemingly enjoying the feeling.  The other young woman was similarly attired but she had even more body art.  One rather engrossing picture on her back showed a nude man and woman in a rather passionate pose.  The lady pictured resembled Sophia Loren in her younger days.  I didn’t recognize the man.

 

I’m sure you, dear reader, are chastising me for making such a thorough study of those girls.  But I made these observations innocently and without a lascivious thought in my senile old brain.  It was all in the interests of learning more about the world around me.

 

We all understand that standards of dress are much different than they were forty years ago.  When the hippies of the sixties and early seventies started to let it all hang out there was no wrapping it back up.  A significant segment of our population has expanded upon that notion and there sure aren’t many limits of modesty around these days.  It’s always amusing to me when I’m shopping at a supermarket or at Walmart and I see in line a couple of girls like my convenience store friends with their unruly kids standing next to a couple of Amish or Mennonite women and their well-behaved children.  A simplistic view would correlate the modesty of dress with the orderliness of lifestyle.  And one also might note that the Amish folks never use food stamps.  But that’s a different issue, isn’t it?

 

So what’s my point here?  I guess it’s just an observation on change and how change isn’t always for the best.  Or maybe I’m just an old fuddy-duddy after all, full of complaints and no suggestions for improving things other than to say…

 

Have a fine day and dress modestly.

 

Dead Relatives

If a person lives long enough he or she will accumulate some dead relatives.  That is especially true if a large family exists as a storehouse of potential dead folks. I have both the age factor and the large family factor going for me.  So in my sixty-six years I’ve racked up quite a scorecard.  I have a dead father, a brother, four grandparents, ten uncles, eight aunts, a couple of cousins, some cousins’ spouses, a mother and father-in-law, a brother-in-law and several other folks related by marriage.  Since the focus here is on relatives I won’t even begin to count dead friends and acquaintances.
 

Some might think I’m being callous in this matter-of-fact accounting.  But I’m not.  Each of these dead relatives is a source of really fond memories and countless stories.  They were all good people, some were even great in their way, and each made a big impact on my life. When they died I felt great loss and mourned each of them in my own way.
 

However, mourning must end and the usefulness of dead relatives must be acknowledged.  Besides the occasional humorous story and nostalgic memory dead relatives serve a vital function, if we pay attention.  By observing how our relatives passed (now there is an ambiguous way of describing death) we learn the ways death operates, how transient life is and how some folks seem to die well and nobly.  Those are some powerful lessons and I’m just now coming to understand their importance.
 

Writers of every kind have written about death in every type of literature.  From comic books to rose colored sonnets we can read about the process of dying, what happens after death, how death affects those that survive, taking the life of another human and on and on.  There’s even a sub-genre of writing about folks who claim to die and then come back to life.  Most people are interested in death and dying although some avoid the subject completely.  I can understand those avoiders.  Why should they worry about the inevitable?  Reading about dying can be useful but the passage of time will probably give us the information we need, even if we never open a book.
 

Religious folks die convinced of an afterlife.  Atheists feel that the end of life is the end.  There are other kinds of believers who have some sort of hope in a continuation of their existence in one form or another, perhaps in a reincarnation cycle or some cosmological “oneness”.  And there are people who have a wait and see attitude.  But back to dead relatives.
 

The first dead relative that I can recall was my grandmother, my mother’s mother.  I was seven years old when she died after several years of severe illness.  My memories of her alive give me a picture as a stern but steady presence, often in a quiet room being attended to by an aunt or two.  But my strongest memory of her is seeing her lying in the front parlor of my grandparent’s home in a heavy, dark wooden coffin with a rosary wrapped around her unmoving fingers.  It was then that I learned about the absolute stillness of death.  In those days the funeral director would take the dead person to his place of business, do the embalming and so forth, then bring the boxed-up body back to the family home for the wake.  From there it was on to the church for a funeral and then to a cemetery for burial if the ground wasn’t too frozen.  And so it was I learned about the rituals of death.  I can only remember a couple other relatives after my grandmother who were “laid out” at home.  The move to funeral parlor viewing was well underway as I entered my teenage years.
 

It seemed like quite a few years went by before more dead relatives came along.  One of my uncles, I think, was the next.  And then another grandparent, another uncle, a cousin until it seems like there was a steady procession.  Not too many years passed by without a relative passing on.
 

My father died in 1987.  He was sixty-five years old.  That was when I learned something about the ability of some people to die well and nobly.  And I also became aware of the potential of powerful medicines to make the dying a little easier.  Those are both important lessons.
 

My brother died shortly after surgery to remove one of his legs.  The surgery didn’t kill him but a heart attack quickly and effectively did the job.  His death was probably a blessing in many ways.  It took me a long time to realize that, sometimes, death can be a blessing.  That is a hard lesson to accept.
 

I’ve been with a few relatives just before they died, hours before in fact.  It was always a great comfort knowing I saw those folks alive instead of only at their viewing.  They taught me the importance of visiting sick relatives and sharing a few moments remembering better days before taking leave of life.  And visiting sick relatives, as tough a job as that can be, is an invaluable task.
 

So there you have a few examples of the usefulness of dead relatives.  I expect to learn more as time moves along.  I wish I didn’t have to learn all these lessons with so much pain and sorrow.  But death doesn’t offer any easier options.
 

So have a fine day.  You’re alive after all.

 

Pondering Paula

Well friends, I’ve been pondering again.  That always leads to trouble.  Lots of big questions and political and moral issues are occupying the news on radio, the internet and, I imagine, on television.  These are issues where compromise doesn’t seem to be possible.  Sides are taken and firmly held because each side claims moral superiority.  There doesn’t even seem to be room for a rational “agree to disagree” stance because the politicization of all of these things is in full swing and political action is going on that will bring legislation that one side or the other will be morally obliged to resist.

It’s a complicated world.  But most every one of these big questions boils down to the belief systems held by each of the opposing sides.  Neither side can accept that they might hold a moral tenet that is without foundation, or built on a weaker foundation, which could lead to some compromising.  And maybe there shouldn’t be any compromise.  Perhaps one side or the other does have the moral upper hand.  Politically, in our republic, questions are typically settled with the ballot.  We vote, one side prevails, and we get on with our business.  But in these complex times it doesn’t seem to be so easy, nor is the system working.  There seems to be a deep underlying anger worming around the guts of our population.  It doesn’t matter which side we look at, people are pissed off.

When one side objects to a particular piece of legislation being proposed then those folks that have the upper hand angrily dismiss the objections as morally corrupt or logically flawed.  At the same time the objectors are accusing their opponents of the same sins.  And these attitudes show up beyond the realm of politics.  The polarization leaks down to attitudes about such silliness as how one or another celebrity is acting in public or even in private. 

I haven’t named issues or pseudo-issues because it doesn’t matter what they are.  The polarization exists and is encouraged by the people who would profit from an agitated public.  It seems that the more public angst that is generated the more people look to media sources for a constant feed of information.  The media sources are, of course, dependent on an audience so that products can be advertised and money from advertisers will flow into media coffers.

But it’s all driven, this penchant for controversy, by more than commercial media corporations.  It is also driven by social networking platforms.  And it is driven, ultimately, by true believers on both sides of every issue.  We relish confrontation.  We love announcing our superior moral positions.  We enjoy the attention we get when people agree with us publically and we might even enjoy more the attention of those who disagree.  Of course there are plenty of folks who either ignore every issue or, worse, have knee-jerk pre-programmed reactions whenever a question arises.

Looking at two sides of a moral issue is very difficult.  I’m very susceptible to the knee-jerk reaction.  My education, my work background, my age, my religious training, my reading and many other things enter into how I see an issue.  I’m often quick to make a judgment and slow to back off and reconsider.  If I was more like Mr. Spock on Star Trek it would be easier.  I would look at the facts, look at the logic and then weigh it all to make a decision.  But that method ignores one very basic and very human characteristic, and that is the type of belief system that is ground into my whole being.

Usually, if given some time, I can back up and look at things rationally.  I can read and try to understand both sides of an issue.  Let me cite an example at the risk of offending some of you good people.  The case of Paula Deen, celebrity chef and salesperson, has been all over the news for the past week or two.  She apparently used racist language in a private business setting and is being sued for those actions.  Fine.  In a normal world a trial might occur or a settlement might be made and the matter would be finished.  If some of Ms. Deen’s employers wished to sever their connection with the lady then that would be a matter between those parties.  But in our world the media found this case to be really sensational.  The reporting got cranked up and that brought out the professional opinionators.  Politicians got involved, other celebrities came out for or against, Facebook was full of comments and shares and links (some truly hae filled), until finally the lady was dropped from cable TV and many of her lucrative endorsements were terminated.  It wasn’t truly a reflection of public opinion.  I’ll bet if a proper survey was conducted the majority of our population would not give a hoot about old Paula.  Those that do care could easily stop buying her junk and change the channel when her show pops up.  Simple.  So as I thought about the “Paula Deen Issue” I came to the conclusion that it wasn’t really an important issue after all. 

Another celebrity know it all, Martha Stewart, was found guilty of insider stock trading and some kind of fraud.  She went to jail and paid fines and court costs.  But her sins must have been less egregious than Paula’s use of the “n” word because now that she’s out of the slammer Martha has rebuilt her little merchandising machine and is back in the public eye as an expert in everything having to do with homemaking.  Fancy that. 

The point I’m making, as I’m sure you understand, is that the response to issues is completely upside down these days.  The economy, in spite of miniscule advances in measurement numbers, is still doing poorly.  Millions of people are out of work.  Millions more won’t work because they are being housed and fed by various government programs.  The number of folks using food stamps is a huge percentage of the population.  This can’t be a healthy situation.  Real jobs are diminishing.  Thirty percent of young adults graduate from college and move back home with mom and dad.  We are so distracted by made up issues that the real important stuff gets no mention at all.  Divisiveness is promoted and promulgated.  The problems that affect us all, and I mean in a real way that is much more important than the hateful language by a TV cook, are not truly understood or publicized.  Something is crumbling and I fear that it is the guideline that was once being used to keep our country on a path towards real progress and civilization.

I apologize for the pessimism.  Try to have a fine day in spite of it all.

 

Senior Activities

Friends and neighbors I have heard some disparaging comments lately.  It seems that some people (you know who you are) think that retired guys don’t do much as they plod through their declining years.  Some people are spreading false rumors, accusing those of us who have worked and struggled for many years, earning the right of retirement, of being lazy and useless.  Well friends, I’m here to tell you that those people (ingrates) are wrong and with a few well-ordered paragraphs I’ll prove my case.

First I’ll address this notion that we are useless.  Why just last week my dear wife planted the seed of an idea that I developed into a new technology which I’ll be offering to the big players in the software/hardware industry.  This could make millions and I’m sharing the idea with you, trusting that you won’t steal it.  My wife was discussing the problems some of her co-workers have with nighttime disorders that are medically dangerous.  She opined that it was a shame someone couldn’t think of some simple solution to the problem.  It’s fortunate that I was paying attention at the time because I immediately hit on an idea.  Why not find a way to use the ever present personal communication devices to solve the problems.  A little more thinking brought me to this – the Sleep App Neuro-Emitter-Amplifier.  Yes, the SleepAppNEA!  A simple change in the hardware of IPhones could add a little sensor and a lead wire.  The phone would then be programmed to sense when a person suffering from Sleep Apnia is not breathing in a regular fashion.  At that moment a neurological signal would pass through the transmitting wire giving the patient a jolt that would re-establish normal breathing.  This new phone could be clipped to one’s pajamas or, if the patient doesn’t wear those binding garments, it could be affixed to the skin with hypo-allergenic adhesive tape.  Useless?  I don’t think so.  I’ve spent many hours thinking about this and I’m sure it’s a viable idea.  SLEEPAPPNEA – A New Solution!

I spend a lot of time coming up with great ideas like the one outlined above.  I’m very sure that other retired folks, especially the guys, spend much of their valuable time considering ways to make life better for all mankind.  Some of the ideas they’ve come up with may already be in use.  I have it on good authority that “Swiffer” mops, Keurig coffee makers and squirt guns that shoot soap bubbles were all invented by retired people in those quiet thinking moments. 

Now I need to address the idea that retired people are lazy.  In fact, besides the hours that I spend thinking, doing household chores and writing, I also help keep hundreds of people busy and in jobs that pay well.  And even better, these folks work all over the world not just here in the good old USA.  Yes I’m talking about telemarketers.  I’m here at home all day and I’m always ready and willing to give those fine members of the work force a chance to tell me what they’re selling.  It stands to reason that if they had no one to talk to then they’d soon be out looking for a job.  Now I’ll admit that I don’t buy anything from these people.  My dear wife keeps far too tight a hold on the family purse strings for me to start buying insurance, siding, windows or medical alert systems.  But those callers are only interested in completing a call because other people do the actual selling.  I also admit that I sometimes get bored with the usual sales pitches and consequently will play with the earnest employees.  I might ask them where they’re sitting.  I might say that they have twenty seconds to make their pitch and then hang up after only eighteen seconds.  One caller a couple days ago asked if I would verify that the line she called on was, in fact, my assigned number.  I told her no and asked her to call me back on a different number.  I gave her Joe Biden’s.  Yes I have Joe’s number.  I am a Delawarean after all.  Once in a while I’ll let the caller go all the way to the end of their set of questions, answering just the way he or she wants me to and when he gets to the part where a sales appointment would be made, I hang up.  They really hate that one.  I know because more than one has called back to try and finish the deal.  I act like I never heard of them.  So now you see that I’m not only busy but I’m good for the economy.

I’m closing this up now.  The phone’s ringing and Mr. Obama is counting on me to do my share.

Have a fine day.

Big Problems

I was sitting at the computer scrolling through the news on CNN the other day when my oldest grandson walked by my chair.

He said “Grandpa, why are you muttering so much? And why are you so angry?

I said “Young man, you don’t really want to know. Besides that, I wouldn’t know how to begin to tell you without taking up several days of your precious growing up time.”

So he went off to do something useful regarding bugs.

I used the amazing power of the mouse and clicked off the news and thought about that brief conversation. When I get into a pessimistic frame of mind it’s better to keep my thoughts to myself. It’s wouldn’t be right to unload on an innocent child all the dismay and discouragement that builds up when I read the news. Kids will find out about all of that soon enough. But here’s the big question. (There’s always a big question, right?) What the hell is wrong with the world today?

Okay, never mind. That’s too big a question. Let me try to narrow it down a little bit. Try this on for size. What the hell is wrong with so many people in our country today? I’m not trying to disparage any particular individuals, but I’m going to list a few groups of folks that I just can’t understand. If you’re in one of these groups please don’t take offense, I just want to try and understand you and the particular behavior that you indulge in, because frankly I don’t get it. Here goes.

1) Why wear pajama bottoms in public? Or even worse, why wear pajamas that don’t fit, a too small t-shirt and flip flops or fuzzy bedroom slippers in public? Will this fashion statement ever fade away? I certainly hope that it does.

2) When did the biggest boon in entertainment become a family of bearded, duck and goose call carvers? I missed that transition. It seems to have happened after the big excitement over the obnoxious kid in toddler beauty pageants and before the dawn of aggressive gold mining shows. Of course I see television very infrequently so it’s easy to get one by me. I completely missed all the furor a couple of years ago when those really annoying people from South Jersey were on the tube.

3) Who is getting all the texts that are sent by all those people incessantly texting? In any gathering of two or more people, it doesn’t matter what kind of gathering, someone will be tapping away on one of those little electronic devices sending a message to who knows where. At the mall one day I tried to keep track of keystrokes and messages sent within a fifteen minute period. By doing a little mathematical extrapolating I determined that people in that mall sent a mass of data equivalent to two volumes of the Congressional Record in just over an hour and a half. Who can read that much crap?

4) When did being a vegan become a religion? If one chooses to subsist on vegetables and their by-products then, by all means, carry on. But please don’t feel like you need to change the world to that point of view. I saw an article today that some high school vegans were bullying and criticizing students who were taking conventional agriculture classes. The vegans were picking on the FFA membership. Back when I was in high school only the pumped up jocks could pick on the FFA. And they had to be careful because those hay-slingers could be deceptively strong.

5) Shouldn’t those folks that drive the little electric carts in Wal-Mart and grocery stores be required to take a couple training sessions and pass a test? I’ve been assaulted by old ladies backing up or making quick turns more times than I can remember. One day in Acme I had to leap up on a toilet paper display to avoid being crushed by two of those drivers trying to be the first to reach a Depends sale. It turned into road rage on aisle ten. Give those folks some driving lessons. Then assign an employee to police the aisles and issue tickets. If they get a ticket take away their coupons or gas discounts. It’s just common sense.

Okay that’s enough of my complaints for today. You can see how telling my grandson about all of these big problems in our world might affect him in a bad way. But all of you kind folks that read this stuff are already messed up so you can take the bad news.

Now have a fine day.

Comparative Bluegrass

As a birthday gift last month my wife got tickets for a Bluegrass concert tonight in a nice theater in a nearby town. I’m not going to mention the band’s name but I will describe them a little bit. They’re considered one of the top acts in the business. They’ve had Grammy nominations, IBMA awards and SPGMA awards. And they’ve been around for quite a long time. The group consists of a bass, mandolin, banjo, fiddle and two guitars. The lead singing is divided between two fellows and the bass player sings harmony on most songs. They’re very good.

Everyone who knows me knows that my favorite Bluegrass group is the Gibson Brothers. Some folks think that I’m not objective enough in evaluating the appeal of their music and their live performances. In fact some say that I like the GB’s mostly because they’re nice guys from the North Country. Nope.

Hearing this other band tonight brought into clear focus why the Gibson Brothers are a cut above so many other bands on the festival and concert circuit. So here’s a little bit more about the show we saw tonight. All of the instrumentalists were technically excellent. They took solos and really dazzled with their picking skills. The harmonies of the lead singers were also first rate and when the third part singer came in it was really nice. The songs played were a mixture of hard driving standards and a few old time ballads along with some original material. There was one kind of non-denominational gospel song I’d call more of an inspirational piece. Every song was delivered with energy and professionalism. But something was missing. On only one or two songs did I feel like these fine musicians cared about the music. They enjoyed performing and were good at it. But they weren’t emotionally connected.

Every time I see the Gibson Brothers play, or listen to one of their CDs, I sense that they really love each and every song they play. The instrumental work serves the song. The vocals serve the song. And the harmonies always serve the music. When Joe Walsh or Clayton Campbell or either of the brothers take a solo it’s not about showing their considerable skills, and their skills are as technically sound as any band in the business. The solo enhances and emphasizes the song being played. Mike Barber’s bass is technically sophisticated and precisely right. But he always provides the solid foundation for the song and never swerves from that purpose.

Another thing that the Gibson Brothers have is clarity. The band we saw tonight had a fine sound system and they were pretty tight in their arrangements. But they sometimes stepped on one another in transitions and seemed a little muddy in their vocal and instrumental delivery. I’ve seen the Gibson Brothers play with some sound systems that were barely adequate and yet their clarity of tone in voice and instrument was clean and crisp. They achieve that result through coherence of the band members that shows the humility of each member as they serve the song and the whole concept of the performance.

Making Art is what I’m talking about, I guess. The band we saw tonight may consist of some fine musical artists. In fact I’m sure it does. But they didn’t all seem to share the vision of what that art should be as a musical organization. The Gibson Brothers band really knows that they’re creating art as individuals and, when they’re together, as a band.

So there you have it. This should be just one more reason for you to pick up a copy of the new Gibson Brothers CD “They Called It Music” available through their website or Compass Records or Amazon and other outlets. But this also should give you a good reason to catch the band when they perform live at festivals and concerts over the next several months. They’re worth a whole lot of driving.

Now have a fine day.