59.5 music

When you were a kid, were you one of those who gleefully announced you were not just 8, but 8 and a half? Somehow that extra few months made you a little bit more sophisticated, or smarter, or more aware, or something.

Well, in my case, a couple of days ago -- on September 23 -- I turned 59.5. Not that getting this far is any great shakes, but I must admit, running up on 60 feels different than any other birthday I’ve had so far. I remember hearing someplace that a woman’s 40th (or was it 50th?) hits her harder than others. Then I heard a man’s 50th (or was it 60th?) hits him a bit differently. All I can tell you is that deep down in my brain #60 is working on me more than 50 ever did.

But aging isn’t the reason for this post today. It’s really more about music and that deep-seated interest some of us have had for years to play disc jockey.

Ever since I delivered the Journal Herald, Dayton’s old morning newspaper, back when I was in the sixth grade, I’ve been collecting recorded music. ‘Back in the day’ the collection was all on vinyl in 45 rpm format. I still have that old collection, too. Not that I play ‘em any more, but the collection is still in tact. The biggest chunk of those old 45s even got numbered and indexed in a carrying case. Remember those? Well, I’ve got two of them, plus a slew of other records that never fit in the boxes. And I’m proud to say that the first dozen or so pieces in the primary catalog are all Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. Shows what I really liked back then. It’s tough to beat ‘Sherry,’ ‘Big Girls Don’t Cry,’ and ‘Walk Like a Man,’ you know?

But I suppose it was with the advent of cassette tapes and in-car tape players that my penchant to make playlists began. I’d mix and match songs, even audio clips from VHS movies, on high-quality 90 minute cassettes to create collections of stuff that, on many days, sounded better than radio in the car. On long trips the tape collections sounded better, too, because with them playing in the deck, I would never drive out of their ‘range’ like I could with radio station signals.

Now, like many of us, I listen to music digitally. The CD collection is much deeper than the old 45 and album collection ever was and takes up pieces of wall space in both my office and a walk-in closet upstairs. But the most recent game-changer, in my view, is mp3 format. With the content of many of my CDs now stored in iTunes on my Mac, I can create myriad playlists that can be truly delightful. Which leads me to 59.5.

A few years ago, while sorting selected mp3s into another generic e-playlist, I hit upon the idea of creating a unique eclectic collection containing both oldies and new stuff that somehow just fit together and felt right -- and would sound great in the car. Voila! The numbered semi-annual collection from Tom Schaefer was born. While I don’t have rights to duplicate these discs and distribute them, I do burn a handful of copies and share them with a few friends, most of them classmates who share my birth year. Each collection comes due on my birthday and 'half-birthday.'

I do wish I could make you copy of 59.5. More than that, I wish I could write more about why each piece on the one hour collection made the final cut. This time around, I did figure out how to add some ‘liner notes’ inside the printed playlist inserted in the CD jewelbox. I’m feeling more like a DJ / record producer with each new collection! It's my hope that when earthspeaks.org gets reorganized this fall, early winter, I'll have a 'playlist' link that will give more detail on these semi-annual collections.

So, for your reading enjoyment -- sorry it can’t be listening -- I present the 59.5 collection:

1. Wasted on the way Crosby, Stills & Nash

2. Love at the Five & Dime Nanci Griffith w. Darius Rucker

3. The older I get John McCutcheon w. Tom Chapin

4. Koji Island Paul Winter Consort (from Crestone)

5. Morning star Susie Ryan, Nadan

6. Sing the changes Fireman (Paul McCartney)

7. Stand by me John Lennon

8. Berkley woman John Denver

9. Brave Idina Menzel

10. The load out Jackson Browne

11. Stay Jackson Browne

12. You are goodbye Holly Conlan

13. Africa Toto

14. Somewhere over the rainbow Tori Amos

15. This is me Cheryl Wheeler

I could send you a copy if you asked really nice. ;-)

Today’s elder idea:

To all you out there -- all you moms and pops, you cats and kittens that always make a show a show. Thanks so very much for having us over. Keep smilin'. Be sharp. Be careful. Bye bye. Buy bonds. And love you, love you madly. Got to go now. Got to see a man about a record.

Gene 'by golly' Barry

hip rock disc jockey on Dayton’s WING (c. 1965)

Church going

I am one of those kids from the 1950s who was raised Roman Catholic and attended parish- and parent-supported Catholic school from first grade through high school. Kidergarten was spent at Dayton Public’s old Belmont Elementary with Mrs. Benz, afternoon session. Other than that, it was Catholic school the whole way until I got to Wright State University.

As a young Catholic, I grew up thinking everything Catholic was good, true, and beautiful, and all other Christian church-goers were kidding themselves. We good Catholic kids were taught that we were the only ones with bona fide keys to the kingdom, and everybody else might be well meaning, but were on the centuries-long wrong road created by the likes of Reformationists Martin Luther and John Knox.

Much of that thinking changed by the time I finished grade school. One of my heroes, John XXIII, was elected pope in 1958, and by 1962 had called the Second Vatican Council in which the universal Latin mass was dismissed in lieu of using the local language. Ecumenism was also celebrated, which promoted unity among Christian churches around the world. Those are pretty big changes for a kid to digest, but they surely felt right.

I’ve always felt loyal to the Roman church and because of a ‘values based education,’ thought it essential to send both my daughters to Catholic schools as well. Neither girl currently attends church, nor did either one feel it necessary to baptize any of our three grandkids. Kind of makes a guy reassess priorities, you know?

I can’t speak for my kids. I know them and their spouses to be thoughtful adults who have made decisions about their and their family’s religion and church going. Somewhere along the line, they have decided that church teachings and promises don’t work for them in the real world. We’ll have to talk about that some time.

And for me, a divorce and remarriage put me on the outs with the Roman church. I pop off now and again saying, ‘I could have committed murder, been forgiven, and be welcome at the communion rail.‘ But divorced and remarried? No such luck. I have committed an unpardonable sin and am no longer welcome at their table. It doesn’t make sense to me anymore, which is why I left that church and am now an accepted Episcopalian. Frankly, I was amazed how familiar the Anglican/Episcopal Sunday liturgy was, complete even with the Nicene Creed, which professes the ‘holy catholic church.‘ I am not the first to refer to the Episcopalian church as Catholic lite. And the fact that Episcopalians ordain women and have this past summer invited gays, lesbians, and trans-gender folk into full communion when most other churches still think homosexual coupling a damnable sin, warms my heart. I’ve always preferred an open hand, inviting souls, rather than excluding them.

But if I am totally honest, I must admit that some of what Christianity teaches doesn’t work for me even today. I love being in community and find it important in keeping my head turned the right direction in a frenzied world. Through Christ Episcopal Church (Dayton), I have participated in work crews helping to rebuild a post-Katrina New Orleans; and currently chair Waffle Shop, our 80 year-old seasonal fundraiser, with the majority of proceeds going to Outreach Grants. The work, the talk, the sermons, the community of church-goers works for me.

But what of heaven and eternal reward? Sorry, I just don’t buy it. (If heaven is real, can you imagine how it operates? How many folks are ‘up there’ by now? Can you imagine the cafeteria line at lunch? Yipes! ;-) I have this deep-seated feeling that what we experience every day -- here -- is what life is. When we die, our turn is over. There is no heaven out there as a prize for being good. Or, unfortunately, a hell for being bad. I don’t mean to call anybody a liar. Let me just say that whatever Jesus taught about his Father in heaven, and our place in it, needs another explanation for me to understand and accept.

So, I am a professed agnostic, I suppose. I’ll believe it when I see some proof. But in the meantime, I must say that churchgoing with people who want to make a difference in the world by serving others is a mighty good way to spend some time every weekend. It keeps me focused, thankful, fed, and humbled by this wonderful world in which I live. Works for me, even if it is a hybrid belief system that doesn’t fit anybody’s orthodoxy.

Today’s elder idea: It is the role of the church to give of itself for the world's reconciliation, not preparing man for heaven.

Rev. Gordon S. Price

Christ Church Rector Emeritus

Dayton Daily News (28 March 1982)

photo: Working in New Orleans, February 2008

Loving Ohio

I know I’m late with this weekly entry, but as a blogger who tries to post on Sunday or Monday, I was a bit occupied this past week beginning. On Sunday afternoon, late, I headed out for a solo camping retreat at John Bryan State Park near Yellow Springs, one of my favorite places in all the world.

Sure, I love the mountains and the shore, and JB surely isn’t any of that, but it is a geologically special place with Clifton Gorge and towering limestone cliffs protecting the Little Miami Wild & Scenic River below. And fall in Ohio? If you know Ohio and you don’t think fall is the best season around here, you have probably been watching way too much football or are too tied to your Wii gaming system.

Fall in Ohio is, and has been this season, just spectacular. When I got to John Bryan about 5 pm, I got a pretty good sweat going setting up the camper. It only takes a half hour or so to complete the task, but it was warm. Low 80s, I think. However, when I pulled up my lawn chair and popped a cold one, I dried off nicely, and frankly enjoyed the cool breeze coming through the campground. Just exceptional.

The sun was amazing, too. It surely has headed south from its overhead position on June 21, summer solstice. So, much of the afternoon had that golden tone of diagonal light. Emily Dickinson wrote of that ‘certain slant’ of winter light. We’re not there yet, with the sun being so sharply south for us northern hemisphere types, as it will be on those rare sunny January days. But now with the leaves just beginning to turn, the sunlight glowed through branches, the humidity wonderfully low, to combine for a mental image that has the potential to sustain a body through the greyest of Ohio winters. And the sky this day? As I like to say, ‘high blue’ without a cloud.

Sitting in my own private corner of the camp ground gave me the panorama of a nicely treed, rolling field with very few campers to enjoy the spectacular late afternoon. Trying to explain it now, I guess Sunday’s conditions could be considered intangible, sort of. Unless you know already how gorgeous Ohio’s falls can be, descriptions sound full of overused superlatives.

Heavens, but the squirrels sure were busy. As I sat in my chair for the first time, I was amazed at the dull thuds I’d hear every few minutes all around me. The campground is full of walnut trees, and trust me, this year was great for walnuts. The trees still looked fully freighted, yet there were plenty already on the ground. And I could see squirrels working the branches, knocking nuts off the already mostly leaf-free walnut branches. I’m glad I set-up the camper away from one of those monsters. I’d have dents on the ceiling, let alone doing damage to my little SUV.

Sitting in the JB campground brought back a good memory set here in verse:

When I was a boy

Perhaps it is this very place near Clifton

where my first memory of a state park resides:

I am not more than four. My parents

have taken the five of us for a picnic outing,

though I don’t remember the food at all.

What I do remember is my young mother

hurling her shoe into a tree aiming for walnuts

to lose their grip and thud earthward.

They became the day’s special prizes.

I learned that day, too, that handling

wounded walnuts, or trying to strip the epidermis

away to get into the sweet nut center, leads to

fingers and hands stained with markings

unwashable, a reminder of a good day

with Mom & Dad, Patty & Mike,

when we all were younger and perhaps

more able to laugh a little easier.

Still, Mother remembers even today,

still laughing.

Today’s elder idea: Here comes the sun / Here comes the sun / And I say, ‘It’s alright.‘

The Beatles

from Abbey Road

photo: Footbridge over the Little Miami River in John Bryan State Park, September 2009

Green bean casserole with a Bosnian twist

Back in 1995 when Cindy Lou and I were pretty much newly-weds, our social consciousness was alive and well when our hometown of Dayton became famous for reasons other than automobiles. The war in Bosnia and Herzegovina had been raging for three years as we Americans tried to understand the cultural differences between Croats, Muslims, and Serbs. We Daytonians were particularly honored to have peace talks between these warring peoples held right here in our own backyard at Wright Patterson Air Force Base. It’s still a point of pride to hear about the successful Dayton Peace Accords that brought a version of calm to that part of eastern Europe.

During that time, too, we became aware of refugees trying to get out of that war zone and relocate in the United States. A retired priest at our downtown Episcopal church was working for Church World Services then, a group matching up refugees with local American sponsors. It didn’t take long for us at Christ Church to wade into the fray to see what we could do.

As it turned out, Cindy and I found ourselves at the center of the discussion. After talking with friends and our pastor, I was given the go-ahead to contact the placement people to let them know our church would sponsor a family. Our message was met with gratitude as we were advised it would take perhaps a week or more to get a family from a refugee camp in the Adriatic all the way to us in the Midwest. Good, we figured. That would give us time to iron out a few more details.

Only it wasn’t a week or more, but only a couple of days before we got the call that our family was in the air making their way to us. A couple from church offered a rental home at a very reduced rate, but such wasn’t ready yet. We had to make room -- and now.

So Cindy and I decided our home would have to do for the short term. We only had one bedroom to spare, but we figured it would have to do. As it turned out, our family was Muslim, which further thickened the plot. We knew little about Muslim eating habits as we shopped the El Halal grocery down on Wayne Avenue. We surely didn’t want to offend the newcomers with meat butchered in an unclean way.

The Issa family stayed with us for a little more than a week. As it turned out, diet wasn’t a big deal. They were very pleased with whatever food we could put on the table for their family. And therein is the kernel, or should I say the bean, of this blog entry.

This past Saturday Cindy and I were invited to dinner at the Issa house. To be accurate, we were invited to dinner at Suada Issa’s house. Since 1995, much has happened in this family. Divorce, for one, and growing kids for another.

The oldest boy, Elvin, now a Wayne High School graduate and a proud member of the United States Navy, had just returned from his old hometown of Banja Luka, Bosnia, which he hadn’t seen since he was 8 years-old. He brought back lots of family video for his mother to savor. He also had seen his natural father for the first time since he was 6, and wouldn’t you believe it, was just engaged to a lovely Bosnian girl. Suada invited us over to hear her son’s stories and share a meal.

On the table? Steaks nicely grilled over charcoal, a fresh loaf of bread, some pasta salad, and green bean casserole, complete with mushroom soup and topped with dried onions. I commented on how lovely the meal was, when Suada remembered the first time she had the casserole was at our dining room table so many years ago. It was then that Elvin fondly remembered Sugar Smacks, or Kroger’s version of the same, for breakfast way back then.

I was moved then, as I am now, hearing this hearty bunch of folk remember how we had fed them at the beginning of their American adventure. New foods, new favorites, good new memories.

Again, I find myself blessed to be remembered as part of something peaceful -- and wholesome -- that has given this family an opportunity to live a fuller life. I am honored to have been mindful when others were in need.

Today’s elder idea: ‘I need somebody.’

Alyssa Brown

then a 5 year-old, reaching out for adult friends,

coming out of the dark an hour after going to bed

The Kennedy boys

I remember well that Friday afternoon civics club meeting I was chairing back in the eighth grade -- working out the details of one of the guys bringing his aquarium into the classroom -- when our principal, Sr. St. Augustine, came over the school-wide address system to advise everyone at Immaculate Conception School that President Kennedy had been shot in Dallas.

We were Catholic kids. Trust me, we were very aware that he was the first and only one of us to be elected President. We loved the guy and his family. Our hearts broke when little Patrick died at birth in the hospital. The term hadn’t been coined yet by Mrs. Kennedy, but this was our Camelot. How much tragedy could we and the Kennedy family take?

My first thought after the initial shock was that President Kennedy couldn’t die. I mean, we needed him. We kids needed him, that’s for sure. Along with John Glenn and Alan Shepherd, he was a genuine, grade A, American hero -- the author, for pete’s sake, of Profiles in Courage. How could God take him from us?

Well, we all know what happened within the next hour. Our America was no more. It changed. Radically. And our innocence went with it. It’s part of the reason I like the movie Dirty Dancing: it’s summer story was to have taken place in 1963. Max, the proprietor, says at the end of the movie that he could feel something changing. Boy. Did it ever.

Even with the horror of losing our Presidential hero, however, there were still the other Kennedy brothers. We didn’t know attorney general Robert and Massachusetts senator Teddy as well, but I believed they were good men and when given their chance, surely they would make us proud Catholics as Jack did. I was in the eighth grade, after all. We hadn't heard the Marilyn Monroe stories yet.

And we all know how their stories turned out. Of four Kennedy boys, Jack was the only to serve in the highest office of our land, and then only for three years at that. Joe died over Europe in World War II, Bobby murdered the night he won the California Democratic primary in 1968, and though Teddy found his way out of his submerged car at Chappaquiddick a year later, his Presidential aspirations were not as fortunate. Neither was Mary Jo Kopechne.

So if the truth be told, I haven’t been a real Ted Kennedy fan over the years. I liked his progressive/liberal politics well enough, but I always thought he acted irresponsibly with Kopechne and pretty much got away with it.

Presidential material? Maybe not. But while listening to retellings of Ted’s life over this last weekend, the Kennedy story was dusted off and, for me, polished to a 1960s shine once again. I hoped a little bigger back then. I remember.

Perhaps a sinner, it was he, the Lion of the Senate, who made universal health care his self-proclaimed political cause of his life. He tried and failed with Clinton in 1994. Still, he sponsored lots of health care legislation over almost five decades in the Senate -- and was successful passing some. Medicare was one. Not bad.

The political cause of Ted Kennedy’s life and the substance of his legacy issue is now upon us. America gets to decide soon if we are big enough as a nation to guarantee that everybody can see a doctor and get treatment when they get sick. I know it galls some that somebody somewhere might get something they didn’t earn. But what of the moral issue of insuring that all Americans get medical care if they need it? Most, if not all, major industrial countries do it already. Except us.

What will the United States do?

Today’s elder idea: We’ll make health care what it should be in America: a fundamental right for all, not just an expensive privilege for the few.

Senator Edward M. Kennedy

on the stump, somewhere, sometime

Loyalty

When I committed to writing this blog a few months ago, I promptly made a list of topics I could write about. I think the list went on for at least two pages. To be honest, I’m not even sure where the list is right now. So far, I’ve sorted through my week’s experiences waiting for one to pop up that had writing potential. And that’s what I’ve done so far. The list still waits.

Yesterday Cindy & I were talking about what her next car might be. She said she saw one recently she really liked, but didn’t get a make and model. She’ll be on the lookout. But that got me to thinking about my always buying new Fords. Why is that? Are Fords the best? In some cases, yes. I think we own two of them: her Taurus and my 4 cylinder Escape.

But, best? Surely not always. Just today, with only 65,000 miles on my little SUV, I felt what appears to be the clutch slipping while engaging first gear. I’m still under warranty, so no big deal, I guess. But a hydraulic clutch going out under 100,000 miles? Under 75,000? Surely Ford can do better.

I am loyal and that’s how I buy camera equipment, computers, cars, and groceries. I don’t feel it so much for my high school any more, though I still have good memories. It’s just that I don’t care too much if they win or lose in the gym, on the diamond, or on the pitch these days. I wish ‘em luck, but it doesn’t quite make my day like the Reds. Shoot, I’m only mildly interested in the successes of Wayne High School, the place I taught and loved kids for a career.

This blog really is about loyalty to stuff. To brands. Stuff you want to trust. Stuff you want to be, if not the best, at least dependable and, well, good. Reliable. Resilient to use. Near unbreakable. Stylish. Cool, even.

Nikon: My first one turned out to be an old manual 35mm FM. Great camera. Ended up with a macro lens that let me get so close to an object I could almost taste it. Lovely.

The first digital, a Nikon Coolpix 5000, came as a retirement gift from Cindy & friends. Again, amazing images using less than the 5 megapixel max. I’m not disappointed with what that little camera can still do. I’m now using a D50 SLR with the standard 18-55mm zoom. Good camera, but to be honest, way too much stuff on it. I’m still not comfortable running the thing manually. I always program. I’m not completely happy about that.

Apple Macintosh: In 1985 when I finished my masters, I treated myself by buying a brand new typewriter. Personal computers were new on the market, but besides scaring me to death, I hoped they would just go away. Not long after that my daughters’ mother & I decided a computer for the kids would be a good idea. I didn’t think I’d use it much, but you know: for the kids. It was an Apple IIc. I still have the monitor box in the closet next door. It’s currently housing old reel-to-reel tapes. Tells you how far we've come, doesn’t it? Within a month I loved the green monochrome Apple.

I’ve gone through a few Macs since then. Currently I’m relying on the iMac Intel 2 GHz Core 2 Duo processor for almost all of what I do. I’m still a desktop guy, though I do have a MacBook 1.83 GHz Intel with a recently maxxed out hard drive. I love my Macs and OS X. I just pre-ordered Snow Leopard (10.6) an hour ago. It ships this Friday. Brand new operating system. It’s going to be fun.

And I like to shop at Kroger’s, too. I like to buy Private Selection, their store premium brand, when I can. They are about as local a national chain as they come -- and my brother works for corporate in Cincinnati. And yes, I know Kroger’s muscled out plenty of local mom & pop neighborhood grocer/proprietors over decades to get their sizable niche in this market. But they are pretty much local, and well, there’s always family. I don't shop at WalMart.

I’m not too big on comparison shopping either. I listen for those brands that have reliable reputations, like Toyota. I’ve never shopped one, but maybe I should.

I mean, how important is loyalty re: stuff? It’s not a marriage, after all, even if it does feel kind of like a commitment.

Today’s elder idea: I find expression in Nikon, Mac, and Ford. It’s personal.

Summer storms on the porch

One of the coolest things about living in the Midwest is experiencing summer thunderstorms. By July/August we have enough heat and energy in the air for forecasters to predict pop-up storms just about every day. I wrote about similar storms in Colorado’s San Luis valley last month, and as exciting as those events were, being present for summer storms around here is better on a different and more frequent scale.

As I write this entry late in the evening, with the cicadas starting to wind up for the night and crickets having begun their nocturnal chorus, thunder ripples across the southwest Ohio sky. It has rained off and on all day, with sunshine baking through now and then cooking the moisture off the pavement and returning it back into the storm system.

The back porch is a great place to be for these pyrotechnic and sound shows, sitting protected beneath the drum head of the canopy inside the arboreal theater of wind sounding through needle, leaf, and limb.

I sometimes wonder if some of the draw for my sitting out in the rain is the bad boy in me challenging fate and lightning to come get me. Maybe some, but I think it more akin to being at a live musical performance trying to discern the voice of each and every instrument as the orchestral dynamic develops. It is the chorus of rain’s tympani on leaves and canopy and the song of wind and six-legged critters playing together in a natural symphony unique to life on this planet that is such a special physical experience that I just want to sit outside and take it all in.

Just now, as I revise this entry in my office and prepare to post, another rumble of thunder and the crescendo of rain on leaves can be heard through closed windows. Beautiful! My California pals must be jealous.

Today’s elder idea: Listen to the sound of weather: It is Earth’s unique soundtrack.