I've Got The Music In Me

The music is definitely in me. My great frustration is that it does not come out of me like Joni Mitchell or Aretha Franklin or Barbra Streisand (ok, a tad old school but I'm good with it!) Undaunted, I navigate the music world as 'maven wanna be' and this month my cup runneth over.

In a funny, unexpected confluence of events within a recent ten day period, I am reminded how vibrantly music connects us.  It is the unbounded expression of our inner rhythms. We have just 26 letters in the English alphabet to create a seemingly limitless bank of words. It is no surprise that the breadth of sound that can be created from a modest set of notes, sharps and flats also provokes measureless wonder.  We not only listen to what is being sent, we cloak our souls with the artist's intention.  It is a gift that blankets us if we are open.

While I cannot argue with Simon and Garfunkel's assertion that silence is golden, I usually exchange house silence with the sound of music and have my iPod player on especially when I am cooking. Silence was anything but the case when my daughter and I along with two of our mom, daughter friends recently stepped into the Wells Fargo Center in Philadelphia to the energized throng of teens and tweens. The cast of the TV show Glee was in the house.  Even from our seats in the last row of the upper level, the energy was palpable.  The sound potency rivaled the unexpected power of the stage show.  This group of talented twenty-somethings delivered their show's catalog of ballads, pop and oldies with verve. They convinced me that not only did they want the audience to have fun, they too, were having a fantastic time.

The tone, mood and vibe all changed in the same arena when I attended Sade's concert later in the month.  After a ten year gap between albums, Sade released "Soldier of Love"  last year and announced a tour in October spurring me to grab the chance to see her perform live.   There is something to be said for delayed gratification.  Strolling to my seat I savored the well dressed, couple-centric crowd also sauntering to their respective spots.  No anxious faces, no squeals of expectation here.  I gauged a deep, controlled appreciation for the sultry songstress and her opening act, John Legend.


Filling a large concert venue with high volume, high energy music poses little challenge in my estimation.  Connecting subtle, gloriously soulful, delicately composed sound in the same open venue would seem to be a bigger quest which proved effortless for Sade and her band.  My fellow concert goers and I were made to feel as though we just happened upon a secluded jazzy blues club, so intimate was the resulting show.  Sade really is a smooth operator. 

She ably communicated the bliss of Love's triumphs and the ache of its demise all with her steamy, soothing vocals. And when she was not singing, she stepped aside to give her band their due in their magical solos. Her performance was minimal with maximum results! When introducing each band member, she turned the usual raucous, inaudible effort made by most headliners, and quietly, lovingly shared something specific about each man.  She ended the Father's Day concert asserting "They are fathers all" evoking broad smiles from each musician and connecting us to the performers beyond their music. Sade is, as her song title commands, a soldier of love. 

It is no small feat to create that kind of intimacy in the same arena where hockey players bash each other mercilessly to the lionized cheers of those watching.  I am forever a Sade fan.

Intimacy unexpectedly played a role in the final night of this concert trilogy when I saw Florence and The Machine perform riverside at Philly's Festival Pier the next evening.  Shoulder to shoulder with a twenty and thirty something crowd, my friend, my daughter and I found ourselves four people from the stage to witness the ethereal, powerfully voiced Florence Welch belt out her anthem laden songs in open throttle.  All the while she floated across the stage in wispy spins and leaps taking us along for her waif-like musical attack.  Our proximity to her full charged vocals and opposing soft spoken comments gratified the adoring throng.  On the eve of summer's first full day, cool breezes and breezy Florence combined for an energy packed effort.  The mixture of gut thumping drums and delicate harp mirrored this Brit's duality as an impassioned powerhouse inside a gossamer spirit.

Whew! The music was in, around, above and below me.  I continue to revel in its many forms, confident that in my next life - the music will be me.

Say What You Mean

I am usually not at a loss for words.  This, of course, can be a blessing or a curse. That choice is left up to you, dear reader.
 
I very often struggle for just the right words in many circumstances.  Joy-sorrow-disappointment-anxiety-even elation can trip me up in my hurry to connect with someone. Writing, hearing or reading an especially well crafted phrase is one of life's simple pleasures. When I finish reading a book or an article, the content may or may not resonate but the style and word choice are the first yardsticks I use to measure its value.

I remember the scrambled phraseology of toddlers and it was a word phase I relished when my girls were that young.  My eldest daughter's blending of the words 'escalator' and 'elevator' to come up with the hybrid 'escalvator' each time we saw one at the mall cleverly created a composite that worked either way.  The choice of 'bay-bin soop' by my youngest daughter for her 'bathing suit' was a version I did my darnedest to keep in use even as she became wise to the correct pronunciation. I still slip it in once in a great while simply for my own pleasure. Toddlers alter everyday words and unknowingly make us think twice about what is being said.  They also give new meaning to common language. 

Why do we often miss the chance to do this as adults? Comedian Norm Crosby's malapropisms (I am really dating myself here) not only act as a clever ploy to get us to laugh but equally get us to think about what we mean!

The times that are most challenging for expressing myself effectively are times of sorrow.  I am strong in the empathetic feeling but challenged in the verbal execution.  Often the desire to say something gets in the way of whether or not any words fit the bill. 
 
Bruce Feiler's recent article in the NY Times titled "You Look Great and Other Lies" takes a firsthand look at the chestnuts worn out by those of us talking to someone who is dealing with a serious illness.  Mr. Feiler's three year experience with bone cancer and its treatment gives him a front row seat to some tired phrases (as well as many fine thoughts).  It sure makes me listen.  He mentions phrases such as My thoughts and prayers are with you and What can I do to help? as a few of the ones we can kick to the curb when it comes to saying what is best. I plead guilty on both counts.
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/06/12/fashion/what-to-say-to-someone-whos-sick-this-life.html?_r=1&src=me&ref=style

Is it that greeting cards have infiltrated our thoughts so deeply thus making the go-to phrases so tired? Do we slip into mental automatic pilot and say the very first thing that comes to mind?  Are we thinking less and becoming less authentic?  And who are we really trying to soothe with these phrases?  I think the intention is to be kind but often our discomfort in dealing with discomfort results in a quickie salve to ease our natural unease. 

We often trip up in expressing joy as well.  So happy for you.  This little ditty gets plenty of air time for me.  Nothing is wrong with it but am I really responding in a specific way? No one gets hurt in the process except perhaps the chance to connect in a more unambiguous manner.  What am I really happy about? Why not be more explicit?

In her final show, Oprah acknowledged a primary motivator in her approach to connect to her guests and audience.  She noted that we all want to feel that we matter and she designed her conversations to recognize these needs: "Do you see me? Can you hear me? Does what I say mean anything to you?"  Oprah managed to connect with millions of people following this validation road map. This inspires!  If I can pause and replace regurgitated phrases with more connective efforts, perhaps the person I am speaking with will feel more like they matter.  Perhaps.

http://www.oprah.com/oprahshow/The-Oprah-Winfrey-Show-Finale_1/7

Mr. Feiler offers solutions in his article to what is helpful when speaking to someone who is ailing.  My favorites are: I hate to see you suffer and Would you like to hear some gossip? Making a meal or running an errand also provides help through precise action (provided the recipient gives the thumbs up).  However we choose to respond to loved ones when life's ups and downs come a knockin', we can be better at it if we try to really think about what we are saying and mean it.

Magnificent!

"The greater the artist, the greater the doubt.

Perfect confidence is granted to the less talented as a consolation prize." Robert Hughes

Say what?

I listened again as my co-worker and lunch companion, Gene, repeated this quote upon request.

Greater?  Less? Which one was it and, more importantly, how did it relate to my fears about a presentation which I mentioned in an offhanded way? This type of exchange long ago became the fodder of our brief hour together at a Glenside deli.  It was one of dozens we would spend digging around for the whys and wherefores, or as Gene would say it, the "puts and takes" of life's foibles.



Eugene P. Simonson

Fast forward 30 years and, once again, Gene reminds me of the above noted and long forgotten phrase.  He pitches this to me as I explain my newest fear of an uncertain career change.  Our conversation is rich and invigorating, as always.  Gene is like an infantryman when it comes to any dialogue - he comes prepared to dig in and face whatever verbal artillery is fired.  He is fueled by discussion and ably dispenses ideas, little known facts, and well thought out lessons with precision.  He is a fearless "go to" guy.

What makes this fairly recent conversation more poignant is the fact that Gene begins with a battering ram of personal news - he is fighting stomach cancer.  As he knowingly says with a hint of resignation, "You only get one stomach."  Our talk starts with his health and moves from the space of "what" to the deliciously exposed level of "why" and "how" we feel about things.  Gene just cannot help himself with his bottomless sense of wonder - it is the spark to our friendship that has burned for almost three decades.

On June 7, 2011 that spark extinguished in this world when Gene died.

I hate typing that weighted sentence.  Yet, I am gratefully buoyed by Gene's reply to his son Patrick's question, posed days before his death. Patrick, the eldest of five Simonson children, asked his dad for a word that best described his life of almost 79 years.  My friend, who consistently respected a well chosen word, replied, "Magnificent."

This one-word review is the perfect consolation prize for those of us who were lucky enough to be touched by the momentum of Gene's orbit.  We supped at the banquet of his ferocious appetite for life, even as life's menu held many unanswerable challenges. At the dessert course of his life, Gene's singular critique is a sweet niblet of comfort that resonates beyond measure. 

Gene equally loved life's flavor filled joys with its merciless disappointments because he respected and appreciated a challenge.  The more life stung, the more it motivated him to understand it or create alternatives to deal with a course correction.  He savored it all because he valued honest effort of any kind. 

Gene's enemies were ideas or actions that were not fully fleshed out.  He was confounded when people did not seek to correct a wrong or push to completion.  He struggled to understand why stumbling around in the dark is a sometimes temporary, but often regular, course of action for some of us.  Gene lived in the light because the dark held no purpose for his sensibilities.  I believe this luminous clarity is why people sought him out.  It sure is one reason why I was happily on the receiving end of his friendship.

 In her remarks of remembrance about her dad at the end of his funeral Mass, Gene's youngest child and only daughter, Eileen, shared her idea of why her father's time here ended - his curiosity got the best of him. It is the finest and most plausible explanation yet. Gene's curiosity was limitless.  Eileen's pinpoint observation brought it all into focus for us at St. Luke the Evangelist Church last Saturday.

And here's one more poignant fact that can be understood only as the universe operating as it should: Gene's wife of over 50 years is named Regina. Gene and Jean.  It is syncopation personified.

Jean will travel life using her singular metronome for now.  She is fully equipped for this challenge.  She and Patrick, Tom, Mark, Tim, and Eileen along with their respective families will carry this tempo set by the maestro over the course of their lives.  I am humbled by and grateful for their collective effort to keep playing the music that was the symphony of Gene's magnificent life.

The Little Ship

I stood watching as the little ship sailed out to sea. The setting sun tinted his white sails with a golden light, and as he disappeared from sight a voice at my side whispered,

“He is gone."

But the sea was a narrow one.
On the farther shore a little band of friends had gathered to watch and wait in happy expectation. Suddenly they caught sight of the tiny sail and, at the very moment when my companion had whispered, “He is gone” a glad shout went up in joyous welcome,

“Here he comes!”