Few things in life feel so good.
Down a hazy hall of sleep snuck the few, strange details of a dream. For some reason, I rarely remember my dreams although from time to time I recall at least some particulars. The specifics of this dream are really not important. Most likely if I shared them here, the people and things in the dream would not register with you at all. So, I’ll spare you those things although you should know I found those details and those involved in the dream to be rather funny.
As I began to laugh and explain the dream to Jennifer I could not hold back my laughter long enough to even get any words out of my mouth. As I struggled to speak, the dream’s absurdity hit home even more and the laughter began to roll even more uncontrollably than before. By this time, Jennifer, understanding some of the details of the dream and the total wackiness involved, began laughing. This made me laugh even more. Finally, the laughter captured my breath and caused me to snort, which in turn, caused me to laugh even harder. I laughed so hard my eyes filled with water. I laughed so deep I coughed. I laughed so freely I twisted my body from side to side in some vain hope of regaining some sliver of composure. I laughed so hard, so deep and so freely, I thought for a split second I would not be able to ever stop laughing.
For a moment, I lost myself in laughter with someone I love. I laid the smack down on the cares and worries of life at least for a few seconds. Riding the brakes on the slowing ripples of laughter it dawned on me that I love laughing this way and probably need to laugh this way more than I do.
Few things in life feel that good.
4.29.2009
4.16.2009
Make the Music Last
The final note from the piano resounds making one briefly think the sound may carry on forever. It fades though, so subtly, so smoothly, one cannot distinguish when it actually stopped being audible. Then, it’s gone.
At that time we were less like our parents and more like the children of our parents. Life was just opening up then and the possibilities seemed without limit. We gathered there in that small west Tennessee town for a few years to pursue an education knowing at some level these were life-changing times but not realizing how broad that change would be ultimately.
Some tend to say there’s nothing to do in this small town. Of course, there is, if you are creative enough to make things happen or know the creative people who make things happen. Life was, and still is, what you choose to make of it, no matter where you are. So, then, from time to time, that place kicked out the jams and rocked.
Usually, one of those leading the way in this regard was Gregg. This town was his home. Maybe that was why he looked and seemed so comfortable rattling the keys on the piano or hitting some licks on the guitar. Maybe that’s why the lyrics he wrote and then performed seemed to come from the heart. It seemed to be what he was meant to do.
Many of the rest of us who made this town our home for a time would gather at the foot of the stage. The band rocked under the bright lights while we watched in awe, captured for a time in the spectacle, the magic, the music.
Now those days are memories scattered among other things which remind us of then from time to time. Those memories come flooding in when something sobering happens.
Earlier this week, Gregg passed away.
The memories of that time and place get stirred around again. It’s as if we are standing at the edge of the stage now. The lights have faded, the band has left the building. The spectacle has ended. The magic has evaporated. The music though still resounds in our ears. It seems like that last note will ring in our ears forever. We try with all our might to get it to last just a little longer. We try to hang on to it before it’s gone although we know that it is subtly, smoothly slipping away.
Gregg, rest in peace, brother. May God’s care bless your family, your friends and your fans.
At that time we were less like our parents and more like the children of our parents. Life was just opening up then and the possibilities seemed without limit. We gathered there in that small west Tennessee town for a few years to pursue an education knowing at some level these were life-changing times but not realizing how broad that change would be ultimately.
Some tend to say there’s nothing to do in this small town. Of course, there is, if you are creative enough to make things happen or know the creative people who make things happen. Life was, and still is, what you choose to make of it, no matter where you are. So, then, from time to time, that place kicked out the jams and rocked.
Usually, one of those leading the way in this regard was Gregg. This town was his home. Maybe that was why he looked and seemed so comfortable rattling the keys on the piano or hitting some licks on the guitar. Maybe that’s why the lyrics he wrote and then performed seemed to come from the heart. It seemed to be what he was meant to do.
Many of the rest of us who made this town our home for a time would gather at the foot of the stage. The band rocked under the bright lights while we watched in awe, captured for a time in the spectacle, the magic, the music.
Now those days are memories scattered among other things which remind us of then from time to time. Those memories come flooding in when something sobering happens.
Earlier this week, Gregg passed away.
The memories of that time and place get stirred around again. It’s as if we are standing at the edge of the stage now. The lights have faded, the band has left the building. The spectacle has ended. The magic has evaporated. The music though still resounds in our ears. It seems like that last note will ring in our ears forever. We try with all our might to get it to last just a little longer. We try to hang on to it before it’s gone although we know that it is subtly, smoothly slipping away.
Gregg, rest in peace, brother. May God’s care bless your family, your friends and your fans.
4.09.2009
Standing Somewhere In The Middle of Life
Standing somewhere in the middle of life, looking ahead, yet looking back I tend to drift around in thought.
Ahead: I wonder in twenty years what will be the concern of the day. Who will be here to laugh with, who will be around to give that ‘can you believe that’ look to? What things will happen that I never imagine would or could happen? What will matter more then than any other thing?
Behind: I recall being less-hardened by the world, more idealistic and romantic toward things, but less aware of my own abilities in a realistic way, still not even coming close to comprehending how the road ahead of me then would shape me into who I am now and not understanding the things that really matter in life.
The other day I saw a photo of a group of older men, most of them in their 70s, some even older. They had gotten together and taken a trip to visit a nearby attraction. I know most of these men fairly well. I value them for who they are and what they have accomplished in life. When I observe them or talk with them I get just a small sense of who they really are and the roads they have been down on their journey. Sometimes I’m capable enough to glean something from their words, their actions, their reactions, that helps me with things I am grappling against or know I may face in the future. Usually though, I’m not humble enough to appreciate the untapped well of wisdom I have available.
I know enough to know that lessons get learned the hard way most of the time in life. We never believe things will happen to us that will test us in ways great or small. I suppose we think we are smart enough or slick enough or just full enough of ourselves to think we can work our way out of things or through things. And maybe we can in some things. I do know when testing comes we often rely on our own experience, or inexperience as it may be, and our own knowledge, limited as it may be, to see us through. Experience seems to be a teacher one can learn from, even if sometimes she also happens to grade things harshly.
Then, and maybe then, does my experience become a resource I can count as reliable.
But there, embedded in my mind, is that photo, or more importantly those in the photo. There in the photo is a vault of hundreds of years of traveled roads, long nights, great ideas, bad moves, cuts and scrapes, wounds and scars, defeats and triumphs, loads of knowledge from years of experience. And it is hardly ever opened for consumption.
Today’s society generally ignores our older generation. After all, they aren’t trendy any more. They’re not plugged in. They aren’t Twittering, Facebooking, iPodding. They can’t tell you a thing about “American Idol” or “NCIS”. They wouldn’t recognize Lindsay Lohan or Kanye West. They could care less what Oprah Winfrey or Jon Stewart thought about anything. They aren’t ‘with-it’ or whatever phrase of the day all the cool kids now use.
And generally those like my friends in the photo aren’t those things. That is a good thing. Most of them have stood in the middle of life looked ahead and looked back, and made it to where they are now and can share a great deal about the things that at the end of the road really matter.
Now, if it would only matter to us on that road to ask.
Ahead: I wonder in twenty years what will be the concern of the day. Who will be here to laugh with, who will be around to give that ‘can you believe that’ look to? What things will happen that I never imagine would or could happen? What will matter more then than any other thing?
Behind: I recall being less-hardened by the world, more idealistic and romantic toward things, but less aware of my own abilities in a realistic way, still not even coming close to comprehending how the road ahead of me then would shape me into who I am now and not understanding the things that really matter in life.
The other day I saw a photo of a group of older men, most of them in their 70s, some even older. They had gotten together and taken a trip to visit a nearby attraction. I know most of these men fairly well. I value them for who they are and what they have accomplished in life. When I observe them or talk with them I get just a small sense of who they really are and the roads they have been down on their journey. Sometimes I’m capable enough to glean something from their words, their actions, their reactions, that helps me with things I am grappling against or know I may face in the future. Usually though, I’m not humble enough to appreciate the untapped well of wisdom I have available.
I know enough to know that lessons get learned the hard way most of the time in life. We never believe things will happen to us that will test us in ways great or small. I suppose we think we are smart enough or slick enough or just full enough of ourselves to think we can work our way out of things or through things. And maybe we can in some things. I do know when testing comes we often rely on our own experience, or inexperience as it may be, and our own knowledge, limited as it may be, to see us through. Experience seems to be a teacher one can learn from, even if sometimes she also happens to grade things harshly.
Then, and maybe then, does my experience become a resource I can count as reliable.
But there, embedded in my mind, is that photo, or more importantly those in the photo. There in the photo is a vault of hundreds of years of traveled roads, long nights, great ideas, bad moves, cuts and scrapes, wounds and scars, defeats and triumphs, loads of knowledge from years of experience. And it is hardly ever opened for consumption.
Today’s society generally ignores our older generation. After all, they aren’t trendy any more. They’re not plugged in. They aren’t Twittering, Facebooking, iPodding. They can’t tell you a thing about “American Idol” or “NCIS”. They wouldn’t recognize Lindsay Lohan or Kanye West. They could care less what Oprah Winfrey or Jon Stewart thought about anything. They aren’t ‘with-it’ or whatever phrase of the day all the cool kids now use.
And generally those like my friends in the photo aren’t those things. That is a good thing. Most of them have stood in the middle of life looked ahead and looked back, and made it to where they are now and can share a great deal about the things that at the end of the road really matter.
Now, if it would only matter to us on that road to ask.
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