by Fitz | Nov 28, 2013 | Journal, Poetry
I am surprised sometimes
by the suddenness of November:
beauty abruptly shed
to a common nakedness—
grasses deadened
by hoarfrost,
persistent memories
of people I’ve lost.
It is left to those of us
dressed in the hard
barky skin of experience
to insist on a decorum
that rises to the greatness
of a true Thanksgiving.
This is not a game,
against a badly scheduled team,
an uneven match on an uneven pitch.
This is Life.
This is Life.
This is Life.
Not politely mumbled phrases,
murmured with a practiced and meticulous earnestness.
Thanksgiving was born a breech-birth,
a screaming appreciation for being alive—
for not being one of the many
who didn’t make it—
who couldn’t moil through
another hardscrabble year
on tubers and scarce fowl.
Thanksgiving is for being you.
There are no thanks without you.
You are the power of hopeful promise;
you are the balky soil turning upon itself;
you are bursting forth in your experience.
You are not the person next to you—
not an image or an expectation.
You are the infinite and eternal you—
blessed, and loved, and consoled
by the utter commonness
and community of our souls.
We cry and we’re held.
We love and we hold.
We are the harvest of God,
constantly renewed,
constantly awakened,
to a new thanksgiving.
*Have a great Thanksgiving!
by Fitz | Nov 26, 2013 | Essays, Journal
The house is quiet earlier than usual. I can hear Margaret playing her guitar and singing in her bedroom—door closed as she would have it, but still beautiful to hear. It reminds me of Kaleigh when she was younger singing her heart out, as if the world didn’t really exist outside of her room.
EJ and I played some banjo and guitar earlier tonight. He has some pretty fast fingers on the old “banjer” and a good ear for music. At some point all of the kids, sans Charlie, were playing something: Tommy on the trumpet, Emma on her new ukelele—even Pipo picking up a few chords on the guitar. We were talking about music at the supper table, and I noted that I have never met any adult who regrets playing an instrument. Maybe something actually soaked in. On Saturday night, we took all the kids to a party at Tom Cummings house and there was a big jam session going on all night. EJ and Emma sat in a for a bit, but at least all the kids got to see the purity of experience that music brings to a community. I do want all my kids to play something, and I want them to find joy in music. Really, all I want is for them to experience true joy, and that’s what music brings to life—done right.
I can’t figure how music is done wrong. I love traveling around on Sunday mornings giving guitar and song-singing advice to a few young teenagers. They are all earnest, sweet, and love their music. My only regret is that I really can’t do the same for my own children. I teach them on the rare occasions when they come to me for some advice, but we don’t have the spare cash to give them lessons. For the most part they have done well with our rather feral approach to music and have “figured things out” on their own, but there is always this pang of guilt that I haven’t given them the same kind of chances to have a teacher, guide, and mentor for weekly lessons, though I guess they have all had plenty of chances to have a heck of a lot of fun with music at pubs and campfires, concerts and camps, and living room jams and long car rides.
I should stop now, lest I indulge even more in one of my deepest fears—the fear of becoming that overly proud parent who somehow manages to spill out the accomplishments of their children to anyone willing to listen.
But damn, Margaret does sound good.
by Fitz | Nov 21, 2013 | Essays, Journal
Every Thursday, for some thirty years, I have been spending this same time each week wrapping up the loose ends of the day before heading down to the inn to play to whomever and whatever shows up. Tonight looks like a fun night: Maroghini will be with me for his last show before heading back to Jamaica; Seth will be down. We’ve played less with each other the last few months, so it will be good to “get back in a groove’ with him, and hopefully Hatrack will show up, too.
What’s cool is that I never really know who is going to be there or what kind of night it is going to be. I know a few posts back I wrote about the power of the “redemptive moment,” but tonight feels like everything is in place for a great night. I know some folks are coming down; I took the day off from school and feel pretty rested, and I am in the mood to sing. I even sent out an email to my list of folks who over the years have kept me in the business of folksinging.
I had been practicing the Mumford and Son’s song “I Will Wait” this afternoon because Joe, the bartender at the inn, has been asking me to learn it for far too long now, but I will take the reprieve and not spring a song I barely know on musicians that perform on a level far above most of their peers. In that sense, it is a humbling experience for me. I can hold my own on the stage, but when Hatrack, Seth, and Maroghini get going, it is usually wise for me to let them go down their own roads without me screaming…”wait for me…”
It’s a small stage tonight, but it will be a full one.
by Fitz | Nov 17, 2013 | Essays, Journal, Teaching
Sometimes, like right now, I long for a pile of papers on my lap that I could speed through, grade with a series of checks and circles, a few scribbled lines of praise or condemnation, and drop into a shoebox on my desk and say, “Here are your essays!”
But I don’t have a desk. I have the cool classroom with a wide screen TV and a drop down screen, a seminar table and plenty of comfortable chairs, big new iMacs and even a recording studio. I haven’t used paper in years. I post my assignments, grades, flipped classroom videos and the literature we study online. I send out assignments via text, email, and online calendar. I let parents into the loop in an open and ongoing way. It is a really cool way to do things. Really… I get few complaints from kids or parents; I work pretty hard at what I do, and I get an incredible amount of support from bosses at school.
Lucky guy, me.
(more…)
by Fitz | Nov 16, 2013 | Essays, Journal
The day grew warm today, as did my mood. I did a couple of shows at my school’s diversity day. It was good to see girls there and the obvious racial differences. It was comforting to see a sea of color with a smattering of white instead of the other way around. My “workshop” centered around Irish music, but I barely touched on the Irish part of the music. Instead I had a blast talking music, shared experiences, and the bonding power of music to make sense of and make palatable the ups and downs of life. They seemed to go away happy. I certainly did, even though I dragged myself there in a curmudgeonly crawl because I was missing a precious Saturday at home.
On my way home I returned a little Fishman Loudbox to Hatrack that I borrowed for the show. He was painting a floor and getting ready for the big couch his girlfriend Laurie and Erin went out and bought. He bitched and moaned about the size of the couch and the color of the paint, but it couldn’t hide the joy I sensed in his life. Hatrack has been playing with me for years and is probably the most unaffected and giving person I know— all without sanctimony or even an awareness that he is a good guy. Life has thrown him more than few curveballs that hit him pretty hard, so I was just damn happy for his happiness today. If anyone deserves it, it is him!
Kaleigh came home a bit ago and brought her music with her. I can hear the kids inside playing and singing some Hank Williams’ “Lovesick Blues” and “I Will Wait” by the band whose name escapes me, but who seem to be loved and hated in equal degrees. Some of my purist folksinger friends think them annoying and cliche. I rather like them, especially considering the what my kids could be listening to and playing [Mumford and Sons. I just figured it out]. Now a Beatle’s song, “All My Loving.” Pretty cool. It makes me think we did something right by them.
Finally, my brother Tom and sister Eileen and their families will be here soon for a pre-Thanksgiving Thanksgiving, which just completes the circle of the day. I know we’ll have a blast and laugh and tell stories like we have for the fifty plus years I’ve had here on this old orb of an ecosystem. Even the moon is rising full and beckoning. My life is full of good people.
If there is someone near you, pull them closer. It works.
by Fitz | Nov 15, 2013 | Essays, Journal
I see the clock ticking towards 7:00. The kids are deep in their weekday world of homework, juggling soccer balls around the house, watching TV, but I am in my “got to rally” and get to the inn mode that happens very Thursday. Tonight I am tired. I’ll admit it, but tomorrow is Friday, and as I’ve said almost every Thursday night: “You can always get through a Friday,” and I will. I even got a rare nap in this afternoon after school. It is a bummer that I am missing Emma’s talent show performance on the ukelele singing the song (don’t know the name) she has been practicing for weeks. Time to rally the boys to help bring my sound equipment to the car…
… I’ll write later after the show. This feels so…dull…
and later…
But redemptive moments do come. Even after I got to the Inn last night, the energy was not there. The room was a disparate mix of groups intent on their conversations, not on the folksinger in front of them. I satisfied myself by singing some old songs that I knew would work in the background, and I didn’t even try to engage the crowd with any portion of my bag of tricks, stories, jokes, or cleverness. I just let it be, though I wished it were different.
Then Denise walked in with Emma and Margaret, and Emma had her new ukelele with her fresh from her talent show performance. I asked if she would come up and sing her song, and she did—and I have to say I was a proud papa, but no because of her playing or singing, but more because of how relaxed and friendly and good she was with the crowd—who of course now were all ears and hearts.
All it took was that little switch. From that point on, people listened, laughed, and another night at the inn went by, and I came home happy, refreshed, and thankful. Maroghini even came down and sang the best version of “Redemption” I have ever heard.
