Wednesday, January 15, 2014

On a melancholy day, Jupiter provides perspective -- and a cure for the blues


Some days, you just feel like you flop out of bed in the predawn darkness only to painfully crawl into the day.

It's "Hump Day." That mid-week marker of futility that reminds you that Life has settled into a routine of work that, thank God, pays the bills, but has long since ceased to challenge.

There was a time when in-depth reporting, well-crafted writing and meaning imbued your job -- but with the decline of the long-form narrative in newspapers in favor of the quick-hit, short digital briefs posted to the Web, those days are pretty much gone.

And, occasionally, on days like this one, you mourn the meaningful past and lament the shadow your journalistic career has become.

You reach out, freelancing editing and writing. For a while, that works. An up-and-coming media company gives you three years of steady work; it's fun and it pays well.

But success leads to larger staff. The need for freelancers disappears with more full-timers on board. Progress for them; back to the drawing board for you.

And on this morning, trudging through the dark and cold and snow to the train, you realize that THIS has become the "now." And, it sucks.

Yes, you have a job when many do not. Gratitude is expressed to the heavens. And yet . . . melancholy.

Suddenly, the mist puffing from his scarf-wrapped mouth, a fellow smiles and asks: "Do you know what that star is, just to the right of the moon?"

You look up. The moon is nearly full. Next to it is a sparkling, aqua-to-bluish light twinkling. It is cold, distance and . . . amazing.

"Actually, that's not a start at all," the man continues. He points to the light. "That's Jupiter!"

He continues, his enthusiasm infectious. Jupiter has 40 moons, and counting. Jupiter has two and a half times the mass of all the other planets of the solar system, combined. 
 
Jupiter is . . . huge. You could fit, roughly, 1,400 Earths within the gas giant's mass.

"You can tell I'm an astronomy buff," he finally says.

I look up and smile. The moon is a shimmering silver orb, Jupiter hanging off its shoulder like a cosmic broach.

No only are we on this planet not at the center of the Universe, but our lives are both infinitesimally small and uniquely precious and fragile, all at the same time.

Perspective.

Life.

Not so bad, after all.

Thursday, January 2, 2014

An old cassette tape discovered, a father's musical legacy saved

When my dad was 57 (roughly my age now, plus a few years), he was at the peak of his musical abilities, playing his plectrum, four-string long-neck banjo is ways the likes of Eddie Peabody and a few others of the greats in this form applauded.

Dad was so good that he was repeatedly turning down professional gigs. As a preacher, he believed at the time that he should limit is playing to the "Lord's venues." Playing for the "world" would almost be akin to intentional backsliding, a sin. So, he smiled, treasured the compliments of the pros, and pastored small churches in small towns throughout the Northwest.

Today, almost 92 and slowly losing his sight and musical memory, he struggles to play a few songs on a banjo-tuned ukelele.

He told me a few weeks back that he wished he could hear how he used to play. Well, in the mail last week came a package from an uncle with some documents we needed for our POA roles, and wrapped in plastic was an old cassette tape.

On it, 60 minutes of my Dad playing his old gold-plated, pear-inlaid Gibson, one song after another, including original arrangements and medleys of decidedly old but classic secular hits.

From 1979, he navigated through complicated notes, chords, runs and riffs that reminded me just how good he was.

I was able to transfer the cassette's contents and burn some CDs for him and my kids.

Already, I have a happy new year.

Click here to listen to a sampler of my Dad, one of the best banjo artists, ever.