Last night, Billy C and were jamming on our ukes with our friend Victor K on guitar. This was a different kind of jam for us as Victor is a talented musician. I'm not saying that we don't know other talented people, but when you say "take it, Victor," he takes it. In fact, when Billy C or I asked one another to take it, Victor usually took it. The only thing we took was credit.
We finished our set with "So Lonesome I Could Cry," with Billy C singing melody and me singing harmony. It evolved into a meditation of sorts with Vic taking solo duties as we strummed along.
At the end, we began talking about music and its spiritual essence--not the exact words Victor used, but close enough. The main point was that words couldn't really express what he felt. He told us how there was nothing like playing with friends just for the sake of playing.
It made me think of Mom's last couple of years. Do did some research on Alzheimer's and learned that musical memory is something that stays with us even as our other memories leave. Mom didn't have Alzheimer's. She had Parkinson's. But the same truth still holds--at least in her case.
I stayed with her one night at one of the facilities where she had lived. She had had a very bad day and the woman who ran this home didn't know what to do with her. So I stayed the night.
I didn't sleep much because about every half-hour or so, Mom would try to get out of her bed. At the time, she couldn't walk much and getting out of bed would have been disastrous for her. So I'd go over and take her hand and say "Mom, you don't have to get up yet." She'd say "Can I sleep for just one more hour?" I'd say "yes" and then stroke her hair as she lay back down. Eventually, she'd drift back off.
At around 3 AM, while still sleeping, she started singing. Now Mom had studied opera and had been an excellent singer in her day. She sang an aria and, considering she was lying on the bed, she sang in perfect pitch and kept perfect time, her foot tapping out the rhythm as it stuck out from under her blanket.
And she sang the whole thing. At full volume. Sublime.
A year or so later, as her disease progressed, we moved Mom into a rehab center for evaluation. Most of this time, she ate and drank very little and slept a lot. Sometimes, when awake, she would hallucinate. We would be sitting and talking (she, her bed), when she would suddenly get this look of horror on her face. She say "Don't let me go!" and I would hold her hand more tightly while the episode passed. I realized, finally, that she thought that she was walking with me and was losing her balance--that she was falling. So, when it happened again, I'd say, "It's alright, Mom. I've got you," and she'd calm down.
One day, I brought my uke by for a visit and found her asleep. I sat there for awhile, strumming a random chord progression. Lo and behold, Mom started singing with me--again, on pitch, even though my fingers traveled carelessly from chord to chord. No words, just notes. But I felt like we were talking, so I played until she came awoke and talked with me a little bit.
Soon Mom moved to hospice. We kept reminding ourselves that sometimes people go into hospice and they're still around for years.
Once in hospice, she began the three-month decline until her death. In the beginning, she'd drift in and out of consciousness. She'd be out most of the day because, at night, she would go into sundowning mode, staying too antsy to sleep. She said very little during most of my visits.
One time, again armed with my uke, I brought a fake-it book and played some songs for her, many of them hymns. I came across one I didn't know. It had a Latin title. I asked her if she knew it. She then awoke to lecture to me about an aria with a similar sounding title and then sang it to me--again in fill voice, in perfect pitch.
And then fell silent.
That was the last time she sang for me.
Now, I'm thinking of how Billy C and I used to play with our Tinker Toys, Lincoln Logs, and Erector Sets, sometimes building hybrid constructions using all three, while Mom had Madame Butterfly playing on the stereo as she did her housework. We didn't think much of it because we figured that's just what everyone's mother did.
Thanks for the music, Mom. I can hear you still.
Showing posts with label Loss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Loss. Show all posts
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Like a Kid on a New Bicycle
Took my bike to get tuned up today and got a bunch of gizmos put on too. I could have installed every one of them myself, but I am mechanically challenged enough that I would screw something up. The shop charged me next to nothing for the installation and I figure I helped their economy a little by letting them do it. The main thing was getting new tires. My old tires are mountain tires and I never rode this or any bike through actual mountains. The closest I ever came to that was when I used to ride my bike around the paved bike path at Lake Peru. There is one hill that you have to climb if you want to do the whole loop, but I always walked my bike up and down that.
I almost got a new helmet, but thought I'd stick with my old one for awhile.
I miss the days when I would ride without a helmet, the wind blowing through my hair--but these days, wearing a helmet is pretty important around here.
So I go to a nearby Starbuck's (I know, again) and sat and did a couple of crossword puzzles and graded a few papers.
As I walked in I found a familiar scene. It was like watching myself or an actor playing myself and an elderly woman playing my mother.
Parkinson's Disease.
A middle-aged man sitting with his elderly mother, drinking coffee and eating pastries in silence. She had the sad, drawn face my mother often wore--a symptom of Parkinson's. She was dressed up to go out--sometimes Mom would do this for the simplest trips, usually to go to the doctor.
So they sat in silence, mostly. An occasional word--the son trying to get his mother to talk. After about 20 minutes, they got up, he said "thank-you" to the barrista and headed for the door, his mother walking slowly behind him with a walker.
It reminded me of a time when I took Mom on an errand--again, probably a doctor visit. She still lived in her house at the time, but it had become more difficult. Her world had shrunk to three tiny spaces: Her bedroom, her den, and her bathroom.
Her hallways had become long journeys from one point to the next. It could take her ten minutes to get from her bedroom to her chair in the den. It could take her that long or longer to get to the bathroom when she needed to get there. And, of course, there was the trip back to her bedroom at night.
And transferring from her wheelchair took that much time as well.
She used to like to like to travel, when she was able.
A friend from her church gave her an electric wheelchair that had belonged to their mother, and that made things easier.
When we'd visit for Sunday dinner, we'd end the night by taking her to her room and setting her up so the transition from wheel chair to bed would be easy. When that became too difficult, we'd help her into bed. She would watch TV until she dozed off.
At that point, we had visiting caregivers who would help her in and out of bed during the week. But they were expensive and we could only afford a few hours a day. Eventually, of course, we had to put her in assisted living.
But back to our errand: On our way home, she asked if I would take her to Starbuck's. We went through the drive-thru window. I had asked her if she wanted to go inside, but she said she wanted to stay in the car.
We parked and she asked me to roll down the windows so she could feel the breeze. I realized that, at this point, she could no longer go outside on her own and just wanted that breeze while she was out of the house.
So we sat in silence. Once she muttered "That feels so good."
After that, when on errands, I'd ask her if she wanted to stop somewhere on the way home. And we'd sometimes go inside--but sometimes we'd stay outside with the windows down, sitting in silence as the breeze blew through my mother's hair.
I almost got a new helmet, but thought I'd stick with my old one for awhile.
I miss the days when I would ride without a helmet, the wind blowing through my hair--but these days, wearing a helmet is pretty important around here.
So I go to a nearby Starbuck's (I know, again) and sat and did a couple of crossword puzzles and graded a few papers.
As I walked in I found a familiar scene. It was like watching myself or an actor playing myself and an elderly woman playing my mother.
Parkinson's Disease.
A middle-aged man sitting with his elderly mother, drinking coffee and eating pastries in silence. She had the sad, drawn face my mother often wore--a symptom of Parkinson's. She was dressed up to go out--sometimes Mom would do this for the simplest trips, usually to go to the doctor.
So they sat in silence, mostly. An occasional word--the son trying to get his mother to talk. After about 20 minutes, they got up, he said "thank-you" to the barrista and headed for the door, his mother walking slowly behind him with a walker.
It reminded me of a time when I took Mom on an errand--again, probably a doctor visit. She still lived in her house at the time, but it had become more difficult. Her world had shrunk to three tiny spaces: Her bedroom, her den, and her bathroom.
Her hallways had become long journeys from one point to the next. It could take her ten minutes to get from her bedroom to her chair in the den. It could take her that long or longer to get to the bathroom when she needed to get there. And, of course, there was the trip back to her bedroom at night.
And transferring from her wheelchair took that much time as well.
She used to like to like to travel, when she was able.
A friend from her church gave her an electric wheelchair that had belonged to their mother, and that made things easier.
When we'd visit for Sunday dinner, we'd end the night by taking her to her room and setting her up so the transition from wheel chair to bed would be easy. When that became too difficult, we'd help her into bed. She would watch TV until she dozed off.
At that point, we had visiting caregivers who would help her in and out of bed during the week. But they were expensive and we could only afford a few hours a day. Eventually, of course, we had to put her in assisted living.
But back to our errand: On our way home, she asked if I would take her to Starbuck's. We went through the drive-thru window. I had asked her if she wanted to go inside, but she said she wanted to stay in the car.
We parked and she asked me to roll down the windows so she could feel the breeze. I realized that, at this point, she could no longer go outside on her own and just wanted that breeze while she was out of the house.
So we sat in silence. Once she muttered "That feels so good."
After that, when on errands, I'd ask her if she wanted to stop somewhere on the way home. And we'd sometimes go inside--but sometimes we'd stay outside with the windows down, sitting in silence as the breeze blew through my mother's hair.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
I Lose Things Sometimes
I just got a new flashdrive to back up my other spare flashdrive, which had nothing on it. I did this because I lost my old flashdrive I don't know where.
I think I lost it last Thursday, or whenever it started to drizzle. I remember going into Target on Day Street. I put my cell phone in my front pants pocket and remember the sensation of feeling two flashdrives rolling around amongst the pocket cargo. While in target, I called Mama C to she what supplies she needed.
Much later, I was getting my car keys and felt only one flashdrive in said pocket. But it felt like the one I now think I lost. The one I didn't feel is the one with all of the slide shows from the past five years of teaching.
Much, much later, while in a different pair of pants, I found the flashdrive I thought I had lost in a pair of pants I was preparing for the laundry. Somewhere along the line, I could not find the flashdrive I thought I had, which is now the flashdrive I think I may have lost.
The flashdrive I now think I lost has pretty much all of my school-related stuff, pictures, writings, etc. on it. I have most of this stuff--almost all of it scattered amongst my computer at school and my laptop at home--but the missing flashdrive has a couple of things that I have recently updated but not saved to the either computer, like my RCC syllabus.
If my past experience is any indication, I will probably find it in some pocket or shoe or something a month from now.
In the meantime, I did go back to Target to see if they had it in their lost and found. I discovered that the Target lost and found is at the photo developing counter. The girl working their looked through about eleven different drawers, several of cabinets, and even a couple of pencil holders.
I don't think she'll find it even if it's there.
So now I have two flashdrives with everything from my laptop on them. I got a little flashdrive holder to put on my keychain. It can hold both my flashdrives and, since it's attached to my keychain, they will be harder to lose.
I think I lost it last Thursday, or whenever it started to drizzle. I remember going into Target on Day Street. I put my cell phone in my front pants pocket and remember the sensation of feeling two flashdrives rolling around amongst the pocket cargo. While in target, I called Mama C to she what supplies she needed.
Much later, I was getting my car keys and felt only one flashdrive in said pocket. But it felt like the one I now think I lost. The one I didn't feel is the one with all of the slide shows from the past five years of teaching.
Much, much later, while in a different pair of pants, I found the flashdrive I thought I had lost in a pair of pants I was preparing for the laundry. Somewhere along the line, I could not find the flashdrive I thought I had, which is now the flashdrive I think I may have lost.
The flashdrive I now think I lost has pretty much all of my school-related stuff, pictures, writings, etc. on it. I have most of this stuff--almost all of it scattered amongst my computer at school and my laptop at home--but the missing flashdrive has a couple of things that I have recently updated but not saved to the either computer, like my RCC syllabus.
If my past experience is any indication, I will probably find it in some pocket or shoe or something a month from now.
In the meantime, I did go back to Target to see if they had it in their lost and found. I discovered that the Target lost and found is at the photo developing counter. The girl working their looked through about eleven different drawers, several of cabinets, and even a couple of pencil holders.
I don't think she'll find it even if it's there.
So now I have two flashdrives with everything from my laptop on them. I got a little flashdrive holder to put on my keychain. It can hold both my flashdrives and, since it's attached to my keychain, they will be harder to lose.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Uke at Do's Dos
Uked at Do's tonight with Billy C in attendance.
The night started slow. I got a call on my cell from Mike C, former student of many years ago. He's about 40 now and he's in own because his uncle is dying. He wanted to get together some time this weekend to take a break from the hospice.
Worked on Sweet Jane, which sounded pretty cool. We tried sneaking into it without the traditional opening riff, using Do on the dumbek instead, followed by me singing the first verse a capella (except for the dumbek), and then Billy C coming in with the riff on the chorus. After finishing one run-through, Billy C started into Satellite of Love which I thought was a cool blending of the two songs. It sounded like he was just finishing Sweet Jane, but--surprise!--it's now Satellite of Love!
The we did Tweedley Dee. I kinda suggested it because I felt Donita was getting sad. This weekend is the anniversary of Jim's passing. A couple of Jim momentos around the house caught her eye and she became bummed. I thought the song would cheer her up a little.
We then did Ofuskee. Not our best rendering, but we all like that song. One thing that pepped it up is Billy C doing a solo that was both odd and sublime. Up until that point, none of us did solos, I don't think.
Tomorrow, I'm going to join Mike in Murrieta for breakfast. Afterwards, Do and I may take Mama C to see her friend who is not doing so well. She and her husband are old friends of the family and they are the parents of a good friend who passed away a few years ago. She has diabetes and recently had her leg amputated and has trouble taking food. No appetite.
A sad weekend shaping up, but it had a good start.
The night started slow. I got a call on my cell from Mike C, former student of many years ago. He's about 40 now and he's in own because his uncle is dying. He wanted to get together some time this weekend to take a break from the hospice.
Worked on Sweet Jane, which sounded pretty cool. We tried sneaking into it without the traditional opening riff, using Do on the dumbek instead, followed by me singing the first verse a capella (except for the dumbek), and then Billy C coming in with the riff on the chorus. After finishing one run-through, Billy C started into Satellite of Love which I thought was a cool blending of the two songs. It sounded like he was just finishing Sweet Jane, but--surprise!--it's now Satellite of Love!
The we did Tweedley Dee. I kinda suggested it because I felt Donita was getting sad. This weekend is the anniversary of Jim's passing. A couple of Jim momentos around the house caught her eye and she became bummed. I thought the song would cheer her up a little.
We then did Ofuskee. Not our best rendering, but we all like that song. One thing that pepped it up is Billy C doing a solo that was both odd and sublime. Up until that point, none of us did solos, I don't think.
Tomorrow, I'm going to join Mike in Murrieta for breakfast. Afterwards, Do and I may take Mama C to see her friend who is not doing so well. She and her husband are old friends of the family and they are the parents of a good friend who passed away a few years ago. She has diabetes and recently had her leg amputated and has trouble taking food. No appetite.
A sad weekend shaping up, but it had a good start.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Harboring a Fugitive
Today, the rabbit let me pet him again. In fact, he stretched out and just let me scratch and then looked a little angry when I stopped. On my way to pay some Mom Bills, I saw that my neighbors were home and decided to go ask them if the rabbit belonged to them. I had actually considered keeping the rabbit, but yesterday, while out walking, I could see through there front gate an empty cage--like a rabbit cage, only smaller. So I decided that I'd better at least ask them if my new little friend was theirs.
It was.
So we walked to where the rabbit was lounging. When he saw his family, he perked up as if to say "uh-oh!" and skeedaddled under my front gate, across the yard, and under our common fence into their yard, where he tried hiding behind some bushes to no avail.
Poor guy.
When I first asked them about the rabbit, the dad asked me if I wanted it, implying that he abut had it.
Apparently, it kept escaping from its tiny cage and getting into their garden. Also, they were told it was a dwarf bunny. It might have started out to be a dwarf bunny, but it grew into a hefty bunny. In fact, when I think about it, I bet this rabbit was an Easter gift. The timing is about right for him to grow beyond cute size. And the bunny cage looks about the right size for a tiny bunny.
I don't think he wanted to go back. I have the feeling this is a too-many-pets type family--one that keeps all of their pets alive, but loses interest. I may drop the hint that I know where they can place the rabbit if they decide to get rid of him, creating the opportunity for getting him back, but nt appearing t anxious.
I'll think on it.
It was.
So we walked to where the rabbit was lounging. When he saw his family, he perked up as if to say "uh-oh!" and skeedaddled under my front gate, across the yard, and under our common fence into their yard, where he tried hiding behind some bushes to no avail.
Poor guy.
When I first asked them about the rabbit, the dad asked me if I wanted it, implying that he abut had it.
Apparently, it kept escaping from its tiny cage and getting into their garden. Also, they were told it was a dwarf bunny. It might have started out to be a dwarf bunny, but it grew into a hefty bunny. In fact, when I think about it, I bet this rabbit was an Easter gift. The timing is about right for him to grow beyond cute size. And the bunny cage looks about the right size for a tiny bunny.
I don't think he wanted to go back. I have the feeling this is a too-many-pets type family--one that keeps all of their pets alive, but loses interest. I may drop the hint that I know where they can place the rabbit if they decide to get rid of him, creating the opportunity for getting him back, but nt appearing t anxious.
I'll think on it.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Jim's Farewell
Saturday, Donita and family honored Jim's memory with a party celebrating his life. Yeah, that's the way to do it. No church. No ceremony. No formality. Just opportunities for everyone to honor Jim in their way. Jim and Donita come from musical families, so there was lots of music.
Jim's bro and cousin ran things, along with Donita of course.
They encouraged people to tell Jim stories. Those of us who played instruments performed. Jim loved progressive rock, so I played "I've Seen All Good People/Your Move" by Yes on my uke (minus the "I've Seen All Good People" part. The afternoon was chilly and I had a hard time getting my fingers to move, but I got through it. Soon after, the Canaries joined me on stage and we did our Dylan repertoire, with Blowhard Canary on vocal and Billy C and I on ukes and harmonies. The youngster's voice is really becoming more confident. I think he will shape up to be a fine singer. I think he can hit lower low notes than his father.
Many other people sang and played including both sides of the family: with both TV's Kyle and the Jimmy Jammers (Jim's band with Do, daughter, and Daughter's boyfriend), Casual Sunday (Jim's band with Bro and Do), and various other musicians and singers Jim has performed with.
Jim's keyboard was missed in every sense of the word. But he would be so proud of his family. He was a guy for whom music was life.
Do and a friend sang this sea shanty that Jim used to play with them. It was beautiful and and brought tears to everyone's eyes. Wish I could remember the title. I know it was written in the early 20th century in the traditional way.
A lot of people I had known once as teenagers were there, looking to me more like their own parents.
People mingled. Some found their own corners to sit and mourn.
Jim, you were a much-loved man.
Jim's bro and cousin ran things, along with Donita of course.
They encouraged people to tell Jim stories. Those of us who played instruments performed. Jim loved progressive rock, so I played "I've Seen All Good People/Your Move" by Yes on my uke (minus the "I've Seen All Good People" part. The afternoon was chilly and I had a hard time getting my fingers to move, but I got through it. Soon after, the Canaries joined me on stage and we did our Dylan repertoire, with Blowhard Canary on vocal and Billy C and I on ukes and harmonies. The youngster's voice is really becoming more confident. I think he will shape up to be a fine singer. I think he can hit lower low notes than his father.
Many other people sang and played including both sides of the family: with both TV's Kyle and the Jimmy Jammers (Jim's band with Do, daughter, and Daughter's boyfriend), Casual Sunday (Jim's band with Bro and Do), and various other musicians and singers Jim has performed with.
Jim's keyboard was missed in every sense of the word. But he would be so proud of his family. He was a guy for whom music was life.
Do and a friend sang this sea shanty that Jim used to play with them. It was beautiful and and brought tears to everyone's eyes. Wish I could remember the title. I know it was written in the early 20th century in the traditional way.
A lot of people I had known once as teenagers were there, looking to me more like their own parents.
People mingled. Some found their own corners to sit and mourn.
Jim, you were a much-loved man.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Jim
Donita's Blog isn't up to date as of this posting, but you can go there to get the details of what happened. Her husband, Jim, had a bad stroke Sunday night and it looks like he won't make it.
This is one of those times where you search for the words that make sense. The wise realize that there are no words.
Donita called me with the update, after a more positive call on Monday.
Jim is one of those people who has this sweet nature and you just wouldn't want anything for him but a long, happy life. He is one of those rare individuals who is possessed by his music. When he plays his keyboard, he becomes the music and he seems to be able to fill in on anything you throw at him. He and Donita are two people who together are a vortex of creative passion.
I love them both and, as is my nature, I hold on to hope, but it looks very bad right now.
Just love your life people. Love your life. Each day is a gift.
This is one of those times where you search for the words that make sense. The wise realize that there are no words.
Donita called me with the update, after a more positive call on Monday.
Jim is one of those people who has this sweet nature and you just wouldn't want anything for him but a long, happy life. He is one of those rare individuals who is possessed by his music. When he plays his keyboard, he becomes the music and he seems to be able to fill in on anything you throw at him. He and Donita are two people who together are a vortex of creative passion.
I love them both and, as is my nature, I hold on to hope, but it looks very bad right now.
Just love your life people. Love your life. Each day is a gift.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
William Styron
William Styron died today at the age of 81. Doc Koon, my favorite professor when I went through my Masters prgogram often referred to him as a "Golden God."
I have read three of his books,all of which I just relished: The Confessions of Nat Turner, Sophie's Choice, and Darkness Visible. Each of them reads like the writer is on a mission from God.
The Confessions of Nat Turner examined a slave revolt in the Sotuh before the Civil War. It was a work of fiction, imagining much of the story it told, but it was brilliant.
Sophie's Choise of course told a multi-layered story about a Polish death camp survivor. Just when you thought Sophie's story couldn't get worse, Styron would clobber you with another smack-to-the-head moment.
Darkness Visible told Styron's story of his own battles with depression. A very short book, it also discussed several other writers and celebrities who suffered--and succumbed--to the illness.
One of my pompous-ass theories is that most great writers have one great book in them. Rarely do they have more. There are exceptions, of course. Styron was one of them.
I have read three of his books,all of which I just relished: The Confessions of Nat Turner, Sophie's Choice, and Darkness Visible. Each of them reads like the writer is on a mission from God.
The Confessions of Nat Turner examined a slave revolt in the Sotuh before the Civil War. It was a work of fiction, imagining much of the story it told, but it was brilliant.
Sophie's Choise of course told a multi-layered story about a Polish death camp survivor. Just when you thought Sophie's story couldn't get worse, Styron would clobber you with another smack-to-the-head moment.
Darkness Visible told Styron's story of his own battles with depression. A very short book, it also discussed several other writers and celebrities who suffered--and succumbed--to the illness.
One of my pompous-ass theories is that most great writers have one great book in them. Rarely do they have more. There are exceptions, of course. Styron was one of them.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Your Baggage Has Been Delayed
I swear that my training as a world traveler--that which has always begun with the mantra "pack light, pack light, pack light"--should have kicked in before I left for Pennsylvania. But, like so many accidents and mishaps in life, I instead listened to the little voice that said "Don't worry about it." I took three bags: my fluke in its case, my laptop, and a bag with clothes and stuff.
I could have just bee-lined for a music store or pawn shop and bought either a cheap uke or a really nice one and played that during my visit. I could have left it there for my nephew and whomever to mess with. Or, if it had been a collectible, I could have figured out a way to carry it with me on the return flight. Either way, someone would have ended up with a ukulele.
I could have gone a week without my own computer. But the reason I bought the laptop was so I could take it with me and write, which would have been difficult on the one computer at my sister's house, since everyone uses that all of the time.
I could have just packed bare necessities and combined uke with regular travel stuff.
Anyway, the marginally positive thing about it is that, if I had bought one of those vintage ukes at Buck's County Music, I would have probably had to pack either that or my fluke and checked it in with my other bag, which got lost. I don't know how they lost it. It was a non-stop flight. All they had to do was put it on my plane and there it would be--no stop-overs where they could transfer it to the wrong plane.
Next time, I won't pack anything I can't carry on.
I could have just bee-lined for a music store or pawn shop and bought either a cheap uke or a really nice one and played that during my visit. I could have left it there for my nephew and whomever to mess with. Or, if it had been a collectible, I could have figured out a way to carry it with me on the return flight. Either way, someone would have ended up with a ukulele.
I could have gone a week without my own computer. But the reason I bought the laptop was so I could take it with me and write, which would have been difficult on the one computer at my sister's house, since everyone uses that all of the time.
I could have just packed bare necessities and combined uke with regular travel stuff.
Anyway, the marginally positive thing about it is that, if I had bought one of those vintage ukes at Buck's County Music, I would have probably had to pack either that or my fluke and checked it in with my other bag, which got lost. I don't know how they lost it. It was a non-stop flight. All they had to do was put it on my plane and there it would be--no stop-overs where they could transfer it to the wrong plane.
Next time, I won't pack anything I can't carry on.
Thursday, April 21, 2005
RIP, Les
Take care! Beware
of the green-eyed dragon with the thirteen tails!
He'll feed with greed
on little boys, puppy dogs and big, fat snails...
Just got an e-mail from Billy Canary telling me that Les has died. He was 89. He had dropped so far out of orbit from many in the old Mish Dinner Theater group that most of us assumed that he had died.
Les was the guy who played the older character in most of our productions. He played the Rabbi in Fiddler. He played the Buster Keaton role in A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, he played the old Indian Chief in Little Mary Sunshine. He was a real hoot.
My experience at the Mish was mostly as the newbie who had no training in show business. I started acting there when a guy in the cast of Fiddler 2, who was a lawyer by trade, was told by his wife that he needed to spend more time building his practice and less time in show biz. I got called in as his alternate.
Les was one of those people who was very encouraging to me backstage. He always had a kind word.
One night, as part of the pre-show, I sang a song called "The Green-Eyed Dragon," an old chestnut I had gotten from a minister friend of mine. It is a quasi-classical novelty tune with this wonderful piano bit, kind of like "Pink Elephants on Parade." I wish I had an arrangement for ukulele because it is one of the few songs that is permanently embedded in my brain.
Anyway, when I came off stage, Les was there, asking me "Where did you find that song?" He had heard it when he was young. In fact, he had a recording of John Charles Thomas, a popular tenor in the 30's and 40's, singing that song. I sang that song almost every show night during the pre-show.
One night, just before the show, Les presented me with a tape he had made from some of his old 78's. Among the songs was John Charles Thomas singing "The Green-Eyed Dragon."
Others included a very young Frank Sinatra singing "Old Man River," Bing Crosby on "I Hear America Singing," and some popular baritone singing "Glory Road."
When the dinner theater closed back in '83 (I think), that was the last time I saw Les. What a fine man.
I should probably try to work out a uke arrangement for that song.
of the green-eyed dragon with the thirteen tails!
He'll feed with greed
on little boys, puppy dogs and big, fat snails...
Just got an e-mail from Billy Canary telling me that Les has died. He was 89. He had dropped so far out of orbit from many in the old Mish Dinner Theater group that most of us assumed that he had died.
Les was the guy who played the older character in most of our productions. He played the Rabbi in Fiddler. He played the Buster Keaton role in A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, he played the old Indian Chief in Little Mary Sunshine. He was a real hoot.
My experience at the Mish was mostly as the newbie who had no training in show business. I started acting there when a guy in the cast of Fiddler 2, who was a lawyer by trade, was told by his wife that he needed to spend more time building his practice and less time in show biz. I got called in as his alternate.
Les was one of those people who was very encouraging to me backstage. He always had a kind word.
One night, as part of the pre-show, I sang a song called "The Green-Eyed Dragon," an old chestnut I had gotten from a minister friend of mine. It is a quasi-classical novelty tune with this wonderful piano bit, kind of like "Pink Elephants on Parade." I wish I had an arrangement for ukulele because it is one of the few songs that is permanently embedded in my brain.
Anyway, when I came off stage, Les was there, asking me "Where did you find that song?" He had heard it when he was young. In fact, he had a recording of John Charles Thomas, a popular tenor in the 30's and 40's, singing that song. I sang that song almost every show night during the pre-show.
One night, just before the show, Les presented me with a tape he had made from some of his old 78's. Among the songs was John Charles Thomas singing "The Green-Eyed Dragon."
Others included a very young Frank Sinatra singing "Old Man River," Bing Crosby on "I Hear America Singing," and some popular baritone singing "Glory Road."
When the dinner theater closed back in '83 (I think), that was the last time I saw Les. What a fine man.
I should probably try to work out a uke arrangement for that song.
Sunday, February 20, 2005
John Raitt RIP
I went looking for information about Hunter S. Thompson, whom I have always found painful to read, when I found a headline that John Raitt died and realized that probably few people alive today would even know, were it not for his rock star daughter Bonnie.
Now, I am one who has sworn off singing showtunes. But John Raitt was a legend, the man was the kind of singer I wish I could be. I once purchased a value-priced CD of a 1970's revival of Carousel in which he played Billy Bigalow. The man must have been in his late forties or early fifties, playing the role he had originated back in 1944. If only to hear him sing "Soliloquy," you should hunt the recording down and buy it. The man had an amazing voice.
I wouldn't even know who he was if it weren't for my mother. She knows a lot about singers of that era. The guy made only one movie that I know of: "Pajama Game" with Doris Day. His greatest work was on the stage.
He appeared with Bonnie on Larry King once about eight years ago, when she was hot off her Grammy win. King interviewed him, but it was mostly about the two of them singing duets on many of his songs from Broadway. He still had the sparkle. And the look in Bonnie's eyes as she watched him sing.
Now, I am one who has sworn off singing showtunes. But John Raitt was a legend, the man was the kind of singer I wish I could be. I once purchased a value-priced CD of a 1970's revival of Carousel in which he played Billy Bigalow. The man must have been in his late forties or early fifties, playing the role he had originated back in 1944. If only to hear him sing "Soliloquy," you should hunt the recording down and buy it. The man had an amazing voice.
I wouldn't even know who he was if it weren't for my mother. She knows a lot about singers of that era. The guy made only one movie that I know of: "Pajama Game" with Doris Day. His greatest work was on the stage.
He appeared with Bonnie on Larry King once about eight years ago, when she was hot off her Grammy win. King interviewed him, but it was mostly about the two of them singing duets on many of his songs from Broadway. He still had the sparkle. And the look in Bonnie's eyes as she watched him sing.
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