Life of Plane (Air that is)...

I awoke in an airplane. A pretty decent airplane. I felt there was a reason for me to be here, and I'd better start working out what it is.

As time went on, I took stock of what I had going for me. A pretty good machine, enough food to eat, companionship, a family who loved me... not bad!

Since my life was happening on (in) the airplane, I threw myself into learning about it. What made it fly? How do you get it off the ground? How high is up?

Thankfully I would receive clues from others more worldly than me. "Never co-sign a loan" (a good one), "Save your money" another good one. "Work hard at what you love to do", "Choose your companions wisely". And so on.

Having come from a long line of men who "flew their own planes", my time spent working on other's flight plans has been relatively short: I worked for wages from high school until a couple of years after H.S.
After that, "the sky was the limit".

It has taken 2/3 of a lifetime to realize our journey (life) is like an assignment to fly a plane around the world.

I recall time spent trying to figure out what I would do, then how I would do it. The biggest moment of that period was realizing I had choices and they were more than just those I saw around me.

There were years spent climbing, gaining altitude, struggling to reach goals and milestones.

and

Years spent cruising at a fairly comfortable level, working but not struggling, worrying.

It is evident as I see my 60th birthday on the calendar, that this airplane is coming down at some point.

But for the time being, I wouldn't mind taking it a few thousand feet higher first . . . 

Sleeping on the Floor

I have been reading Adam Carolla's book "Not Taco Bell Material" a Memoir. His life and mine have a number of similarities, so reading it has been a compare/contrast exercise. One of his theories has to do with the correlation between how far off the floor you are sleeping and how your life is going.

Being one who has slept on hard floors and about 3 feet off the floor, I think I have the qualifications to comment on this. When I went out on my own as a teen, I was on the floor. First sleeping on a waterbed. I was working an entry level job in Chicago and lived with a roomate. Not the best of worlds, but not all that bad. A good few steps ahead of my high school buddies at the time.

From there, was Houston. Sleeping on a cheap foam rubber mattress. It had a flimsy frame to hold it. BUT WAIT - the San Francisco gig found my then spouse and me back on the floor on a small mattress. A minor local celebrity, until we went to crash.

Quick flash forward, my father discovered a method for raising the bed really high, you almost had to get a step ladder to get into it. I used that method as a (single guy) larger fish in the small pond then known as Clear Lake (Our Bay Area). I did enjoy that time and the tall bed.

That was a long time ago.

My "adult life" has kept the mattress a respectable distance from the floor, although our current bed is a little low. The head board is about right, while the footboard is low. This is due to my habit of chocking in my sleep without the incline. Here's hoping your bed is just about 30.5" from the floor...

One More Thing To Be Thankful For...

Ever since I heard this story on NPR about how extremists have taken over Timbuktu, the wonder of the psychology of  Totalitarian politics has been on my mind.
I guess it got personal when I heard a musician say "I had to move south or be arrested..."
Cleric don't 'low no music playin' here.

So it seems there have always been this ilk driven by a need to control others. In extreme cases it becomes a political system bent on dictating individual behavior and thought. Most of us who have any experience with it know it on the family level, a 'controlling boss', or perhaps a religion.

Imagine living in a society where your neighbor or family member will turn you in for speaking your mind?
That is my version of hell. Which brings me to another thought:

 "Glimmers of your life being heavenly is a sign you are on the path. Experiencing life as hell indicates you are off the path."

How to Get Along in a (Politically) Intolerant Society

'Heard a good (radio program) "This American Life" yesterday, 'dealing with the fallout of people who do not agree on political matters. This is a serious subject that effects everyone. They presented life-long friends who no longer speak, family members, who are no longer welcome at family gatherings, the works.

We all know people like this, and most of us have a personal experience in line with this. So what can we do about it? Make no mistake, this is everyone's problem.

First step: don't start a conversation around politics unless you are ready to have a civil conversation on the subject. Many is the time someone has started this conversation with me with the agenda of being affirmed.
If you ask me what I think, be prepared to accept "this is what I think". A 30 minute lecture from you is not going to "straighten me out".

Step two: Seek to understand (the other person) NOT be understood. That means letting the other person explain their thoughts. Not everyone is a political scientist, so often this takes patience.
 If the other party does not echo your belief system, IT DOES NOT MEAN THEY ARE WRONG. It means their life experience, religion, etc. has led them to a different conclusion.

Step three: Please accept that being Americans means we have the freedom of having our own political beliefs, our own religious practices, even (just recently in some states) love who we are inclined to love. A demand that your way is the RIGHT way and anything else is the "wrong way" is a tossing out of the basis of what America stands for.

Step Four: Take a step back and really think about the BIG PICTURE. Are the thoughts in your head really worth alienating your friends and family members? I can respect your passion, but what are you accomplishing? I am not in charge of the world and neither are you. Try to have a little faith in people.

How I Spent My Memorial Day Weekend

Our annual retreat at U Bar U in the hill country, is something we all look forward to; this year no different: hitch up camper, arrive Friday, attend Folk Festival Saturday, hang out, relax, walk dogs around property, etc. Leave Friday come home Monday.
However, Fate had other plans. First, head dog (who has had terminal cancer) was really going down fast. She stepped on a rainbow Wed. night.
Second, I got a piano booked in Austin. This has happened before, I just went out to U Bar after the gig. This time Rita wanted to work in town on Friday, so we could only meet if we drove 2 vehicles. No to that. I decided to come back late Friday and drive us and the camper to the retreat center on Saturday morning.

Update: Saturday Morning

I wake up to Rita sick with diarrhea, “let’s wait and see if it goes away”. Bring piano to shop, come back to prepare to go, ‘still sick, “go without me”. OK, well, I’ll go and not bring the camper. Just the dog and a few other things.
As we get the Emergency Backup Dog (I guess head dog now) and prepare to load her into the van, she bolts off down the street, (maybe) never to be seen again. Well, she misses out, I’m leaving. As I round the block, I see her across the busy West Road, about to make contact with a local black dog that happens to be running around.
She sees me and comes across the street, but (of course) not to me. EBD stops in the middle of the street, so I jump in my truck and encourage her to move (with my bumper) down the street back to the house. All the time looking back at me in disbelief(!) Much like petulant teenager, testing me by stopping, but wisely jumping up to continue running when she saw I meant for her to keep moving.

Now running for the front door in full gallop, no second chances, EBD is staying home... I’m off to I-10 West, the Jewel of our nation’s Interstate highway system. Enjoying NPR as it is always best on Saturday morning, things look good. Right up until I get just past Katy TX. cars and trucks on the crowded highway come to a stop. And we sit. And sit. And...

2 hours go by with little to no movement. Here’s a “The More You Know” moment: “Did you know that when 10s of thousands of people are stuck on a major highway, the mobile internet is useless? Phone (mostly) is too. They are all doing what I was; that is, find out by the magic ultra-net what the heck is going on, and how much longer it will be going on.

Good ole 20th century technology kept purring right along and the radio continued. But the programing changed from comedy to tragedy, All the news of mass murder in Guatemala in the 80’s brought me down quick. That and the sensation of feeling trapped with nowhere to go on this damn road.

I gave it till noon then I’m turning back. We slowly crawled to the next exit and just before, I see the wreck that has I-10 closed, about 7 vehicles, in various states of damage, none that looked life threatening. A couple of Trooper cars there, but that is it, after more than 2 hours no emergency response. Tow trucks whatever. The cops at the scene sure didn’t seem care about the wreck or the thousands of cars now backed up. They seemed to be waiting for someone else to show up. I exited, U-turned and headed home, half a day shot.

Nice to hang out with the wife relax, good call Bil.

Bridges Through Time and Space

It only happens once in a blue moon, but one of those really neat experiences took place last night as I was watching SNL with Mick Jagger as guest.
I'm not a regular watcher of the program, but I catch it when there is an extra-interesting host or musical act. Jagger fills BOTH those requirements. His skit acting is a cut above that of most celebs they have on there (even some of the actors). Finally, the music started. They kicked off the first song with an a cappella gospel group singing a melody I did not recognize, but who's words were readily apparent.
The guitar I was noodling on, (I often noodle as I watch TV) helped me find their key (E), and when the scene changed to rock band and the count, I was right with them for "The Last Time".

I was 12 years old when I first worked that one up with my friends in 8th grade. As beginners, we could all play the notes, but few could play the lick in the fluid motion of the record. In his book, Richards said John Lennon delivered a barbed comment on his guitar solo. "Workman-like but not particularly memorable".
OK, true.
For me on this night, my 59 year old self was able to cross time and space to give my 12 year old self a knowing smile as I jammed with Mick and the TV band playing the main lick with the fluid motion "This Could Be the Last Time" deserves. 

Work Ethic

This has been on my mind for a while. I have fallen out of the habit of blogging regularly (to put it mildly). So I find myself writing only when compelled.
I may have mentioned this before, but way back in high school, I was restless and bored, and as a 10th grader, failed to show up most of the year for my classes.

I did have 1/2 credit for choir and 1/2 credit for working in the P.E. office, but that was about it.
During the summer as year three loomed ahead, I thought it over carefully; did I want to be a "5 year man" (no). Did I want to be a H.S. drop out? (no again). I needed a third way.

After speaking to my teachers, we worked out a plan: I would make up the missing year by attending school day/night/summer and graduate with my class. This I did and worked in a factory to boot.
The plan (almost) worked. A highly conservative algebra instructor broke his promise and failed my hippy ass, forcing me to attend summer school and graduate with that group who (some say) was larger than the Spring class.

But this post is not about something that happened 40+ years ago, it is about what happened after, and continues to this day: Hard work does not phase me. 'Never has.

Didn't bother me to work on stage until 1-2am and then hold a rehearsal at 8am the next day.
Didn't bother me to practice scales on piano 6-8 hours of the day and then work a 4-5 hour show that night.

Does not bother me to deliver 3 grands in the morning by 1pm, and pick them up and bring them back in at midnight that night.
Funny, I am married to a woman that thinks and acts the same. It's like we don't know the difference between work and play.

We do, we just don't care. It's all rock and roll to me (us).