The boy could play...

"Guitar payers never listen 

to lead singers."

- Steven Tyler

I hadn’t picked it up for quite some time.

There is little reason not to, it sits quietly by my desk, as it has done for the past five years.  Sometimes it has a whimsical expression, well, I suppose as whimsical as an inanimate object can have. 

It’s an Epiphone, and truth be told not the first in my life.  You know, sometimes solo is not enough – there were moments when that guitar was my only companion. There was a time when I couldn’t put it down.  It had been a comfort and a friend when alone was all there was.

It had been a hard week, so I did what I had so often done in the past...I picked her up and played a little.  As a familiar song or two emerged, I thought of him.

Things always have a beginning…

It began after the war in 1970.  A group of us moved off base a few miles from Fort Rucker, Alabama.  We were on the back end of a three-year commitment and had just returned from Vietnam.  We had a little rank and that gave us the privilege to move away from the open barracks to which we had become accustomed during our military service….communal sleeping, showering and whatever other personal hygiene issues that were part of our daily routines.  Yes sir, the last year we were on our own.

My best friend and I rented a trailer – first position on the left when entering the mobile home park.  Sometime that year he borrowed my car for a weekend visit home.  When he returned, he didn’t come alone.  The car was packed with stuff, and to my surprise, another person – the product of an unexpected (at least to me) and a hastily arranged marriage.  Little doubt, the dynamic of our lives had had taken a turn.

During that time I had a job as a waiter at the Officer’s club and was playing basketball for the Ft. Rucker post team.  It occupied a lot of time and kept me away from home…however, with newly weds in the trailer, it wasn’t quite enough time.

I found a friend…

I’m not exactly sure how it happened, but I somehow got my hands on an old guitar.   I had no idea how to play it, but the price was right and it was clear anything keeping me away would be good for all of us.  You know, something to take up time as our living arrangements got sorted out.  Sorted out, eventually meant moving to another place.  I liked the Beatles and picked up a book of their songs with picture chords.  That’s how it began…

I lugged that old thing around with me after the military, and would sit quietly with Paul, John, George and Ringo – pretending I was singing along with them…better said, attempting, yet one more time to play, “She Loves You” without having to stop, look at my fingers, and sing two words at a time.

By the time I started my doctoral program in the mid 70s, that guitar had become a real friend.  I wasn’t very good on it, but had written a song or two, and in moments of loneliness had a companion that brought a sense of completeness to my world.

“The” community…

Somewhere early in the final years of school, I became involved with a spiritual community.  It was fulfilling, and I figured would be a good anchor until I graduated and moved on.  Graduation came on time…moving on?  Well...as it turns out..took 30 years!

This little church had a band, and I was encouraged to play with them.  Undaunted, something that happens when one does not know how truly unskilled they are, I said, “Sure.”  I quickly discovered my talent was, to put it politely, second tier.  Over time, however, I got better and moved from 'not so good' to mediocre where my skills plateaued and have remained to this day.  I was the rhythm guitar player in the band…a well-known euphemism for “Keep that thing in the background sonny!”

It’s hard to say how gratifying it was to play with other folk…a team effort…a group with a purpose…focus!  There is little more fulfilling than finding something in common and exercising it with like-minded people.

Over the years, we played and wrote a lot of music – all of it homegrown.  While spiritually oriented, it came with a variety that was truly amazing – folk, rock, semi-classic, richly rhythmic…sometimes ‘a capella.’  Yep, it truly was a ‘band of brethren.’

The player…

The piano players and singers rotated, depending on the song, but the rest of the group was constant.  There was a bass, rhythm guitar (you know who), a marvelous horn player (trumpet and flugelhorn) and a lead guitar.  It was, however, the lead guitar that for me brought the soul to our little band.  He wasn’t the leader…he was a rock.  He wasn’t in the front, but he was always there.  He would say he had been simply terrible, but just kept at it like the long distance runner who knows the race is only completed by putting one foot in front of the other again and again and again…That was Billy.   By the time we met, ‘terrible’ was more distant than the ghost of Christmas past…

While Bill was not the decision maker for the music, I do not remember ever a time when he wasn’t ready and willing to play at the drop of a hat.  He wrote a few songs and had one of those haunting voices that could be sweet and gentle or hard and gritty…He felt the music when he played, and it was impossible not to ‘feel him’ as his fingers caressed those strings.  Playing with him could be transcendent.

In those days it seemed that things would never change…that we would play “…forever and a day…” – that we would always find an excuse to pick up our instruments…just to see what happened.  When we played together, in spite of my average skills, he made me feel complete.

It has been patiently waiting…

As I picked her up and played a little of the music that had been so much a part of my life for those decades, I felt a warmth as familiar words slipped out of the recesses of my mind.  There was nobody around…it was just me and that six string Epiphone.  In truth, it was pretty rough around the edges, but I could hear Billy’s firm and gifted hand embracing that lead guitar and the sweet harmonic voice that had been as much a part of me as the sound of my own.

Those who were privileged to hear him play knew there was something special that worked its way through those fingers that seemed to have a life of their own.  The following words from the biblical book of James will not mean as much to those who never heard him sing them…BUT for those who did…they will reach inside and touch a very special place

“My life is but a vapor, here for a moment

Then it vanishes away

And like a flower of the grass

It shall fade away.”

It has been a while since we have communicated, but at last contact he was still playing, honing his hand with that six-string seductress. 

As I plunked away on my old guitar, I couldn’t help thinking how powerful music has been in my life and what an honor it had been to play with that man…an honor indeed.

Yes sir that boy could play a guitar. 

- ted

Holes in the heart…

“The rule of friendship means there should be mutual sympathy

between them, each supplying what the other lacks and

trying to benefit the other, always using

friendly and sincere words.”

- Marcus Cicero

 On Friendship

I’ve been procrastinating. 

Yeah, I know…all it does is increase the pressure for the inevitable – Right?  

That is usually the case, but not this time. 

I have put this off because somewhere deep inside, I want to believe that if I don’t write about him he will still be there.  If I don’t write about him, I can pretend he will be waiting for my promised visit.  If I don’t write about him I will be able to stem the tide and sense of loss I feel.  If I don’t write about him his breath remains.

In fact he is not there…he is not waiting for my visit…I cannot stem the tide…he no longer has breath. 

So, I will do my best to execute the words I have so often said to others, “While this is the cycle of life, it does not fill the hole in your heart at this loss.”  Yes it is the cycle of life, and HELL NO, it doesn’t fill the hole in my heart!

He wasn’t a big man by anyone’s standards, but he was a giant.  He wasn’t an academic, but he ‘knew things’…he was wise.  He was the most optimistic, forward-looking and humorous human being I ever met.  He knew how to recalibrate in an instant when things did not seem to flow as he expected.  He was an adventurer…he took me as his friend.

He ‘closed his eyes’ last Tuesday and I got the word Wednesday morning…I was out of town…on the road…I was shaken.  He had survived so much, stared death in the face so many times…no one, but Sally would know all that he had endured.  She had prepared to say good-bye so many times, and so many times had seen this warrior…this enormous character…this amazing creature for whom it seemed God could not quite bring home…finally slip into His gracious arms.

There is much I could say…so much, and yet none of it would touch the heart of the matter…none of it would bring anyone reading these words a sense of the fabric of who this man was and how he had enriched my life.  There is so much I could say…

I loved you Cheong Wing Lee from the day we met, and am grateful for every moment of your life you shared with me…

Procrastination never works…

- ted

Exercise - there is a point...

“An early morning walk is a

blessing for the whole day.”

– H.D. Thoreau

It is routine in our household – the two of us that is – for Molly and me.  For some reason, the cats seem even less than disinterested.

Let’s get going…

It starts something like this, “When do you want to walk this morning?”  It is sort of a mantra for us…one asking the other…the kind of gentle encouragement often helpful when folk are ‘tag-teaming’ through life.

It’s not that we wouldn’t do it on our own.  It’s just that the reminder from the other often acts as that last piece of motivation one needs to get over the hump…AND the time together helps to keep current on what is going on in each other’s lives.

One would think living in the same house would be enough, but there are lots of distractions in our daily routines.  Morning walks create a focused time together where the conversation is ‘free form’ and can go practically anywhere.  I like that.

It came honestly…

Exercise has been a part of my life as long as I can remember.  My mother had been a camp counselor in the summers for many years before she and my father found each other.  For her, exercise was about doing things that had lifetime value – swimming, tennis, horseback riding, skiing, basketball, hiking…she taught them all.  So when her children were growing up – well at the very least her son – there was encouragement to be active – just because.

My early years were anything but lifetime activity (swimming the exception).  Those days were consumed with basketball, track and field (sprinting and jumping), and one year of high school football – all of it extremely competitive.

In American culture, and now pretty much worldwide culture, team sport is not necessarily that much fun.  It is not really about the love of the game, it is more about what it takes to win.  There is nothing wrong with winning, I hasten to add, but winning at any cost – a mentality that has soaked so deeply into the minds of our shared societies – is a mechanical phenomenon rather than a character and life building experience.  Claudius Galen, the Roman physician of the first century AD, argued against competitive sport because it put excessive stress on the body for which the athlete would pay dearly in later years.  Sage advice…but I digress

Perception is everything…

Molly and I have taken the mental position that exercise should be both fun and provide a secondary reward. So we ‘train’ most mornings by walking around our neighborhood for about four miles (6.4km).  One would think we do this simply for our health, and that would not be wrong.

On the other hand, we see these morning walks, and the other things we do (not necessarily shared) such as yoga, resistance training, boot camp (some mysterious activity Molly loves), and swimming, as preparation for the exercise events we find ourselves doing from time to time.

Labor…fruit – you know…

This past week, we had such an event.  We found ourselves in Copenhagen, Denmark for three days after visiting our friends Uffe and Charlotte in Aalborg. 

In destination cities like this, there are many ways to see the sights:

·      Double decker busses that take routes to the most interesting tourist sites.  One can hop on or hop off these busses anywhere en-route to explore a particular spot.

·      Guided bus tours where an expert in the area takes groups of people to specific sites, giving them context and texture, and herding them like cattle.

·      Individual guides take small groups around in small buses or cars to get a little more intimate feeling for the city.

·      Guided walking, bicycle and water tours.

It is not that we get to travel often together as this past week, but over the years, we have done all of these sorts of things.

There is little, however, more gratifying than simply grabbing a map and heading out on your own to see what the day brings.  And so it was this past week in Copenhagen. 

We logged somewhere in the neighborhood of 10 to 15 miles over the two days meandering in and out of cobble stone pedestrian pathways.  We explored local stores, ate in interesting places when we felt like it – met and chatted in open-ended conversation with interesting people from distant places.

We climbed a couple of towers with spiral staircases and wide upward circular walking corridors…we hiked around a castle or two…had cheese and apples under the shade of lovely green trees in beautiful sunny parks…walked along rivers…explored, well whatever we wanted…whatever we found of interest, for as long as we were interested.

The reason we could do these things in the ways that we wanted to, begins with this simple and consistent question: “When do you want to walk this morning?”

It is this routine, built into our lives, that gives us the reserves of energy to play the way we like to play, and explore the way we like to explore.  Our training, by most standards is pretty tame…the event for which we prepare is not one that is very interesting to the masses…there are no performance standards…BUT there is little doubt, the ability to move and walk and climb and investigate provided us with a ‘win.’  Not a competition…nope, just a love of the game.

A nice path to the sunset…

As the years move along and the physical resources become naturally less robust, I can honestly say, I never played any game…run any race…jumped to any height or distance…that is as gratifying as having the capacity to be active ‘just enough’ to play the way I still want to play.  I/we are grateful, at a time in our lives when we are able to have a greater appreciation for the world around us, we are able to engage it.

Anyone up for a walk?

- ted

It doesn't take much...

“Let us always meet each other with smile,

for the smile is the beginning of love.” 

- Mother Teresa

The guy grabbed my arm, gave the camera to his wife, uttering something in Japanese...the content of which was a complete mystery to me.

I had been sitting in front of the Helsinki Scandic Continental hotel in the early morning light – okay, it had been early morning light since midnight.  By now it was quite bright.  Twenty-four hours of 'day' creates the most surreal of settings.

It was cool (52 degrees F/11C) when I slipped out of the hotel at 4:30AM.  I hadn’t slept well, and decided it might be nice to head to the small lake (called Töölö) across the road from the hotel to greet the day and work on the coming week’s blog.  In spite of the fact it had not gotten dark, there was a layer of dew on the bench by the water.  I thought about sitting down anyway, but because of the temperature, and my experience with wet bottoms ( a persistent itch for a good part of the day)  I let discretion be the better part of valor, and decided to come back to my temporary home and sit on one of the dry benches along the circle drive.

The thing about a tourist hotel…there are A LOT OF TOURISTS!  It appears this place is on the bucket list for the Japanese.  The distance from Tokyo to Helsinki is about 4,800 miles (7,800km) over Russia…a considerably shorter distance than coming from San Diego I might add.

I was writing away, at 5:30, when a couple of middle aged women returned from a morning walk.   They had cameras, and since the sun was at their backs, they took turns taking pictures in front of the hotel.  I gave hand signs indicating I would be happy to get them both in the frame if they would like that.  They were delighted and stood rather somberly in front of the hotel entrance.  I lowered the camera, pointed to my face and put on a goofy smile (the only one I have, actually).  They grinned from ear to ear and giggled out loud.  That is when I got the picture and they were delighted.

Over the next 20 minutes or so small groups of these folk emerged from the hotel to take pictures of one another as a reminder of their visit – I repeated the ritual several times.  I could not get everyone to smile, but my success rate was well into the 90^th percentile!

Finally a group of four came out, with one of the men taking a shot of his wife and the other couple.  I gave, what had become by now a smooth signal that I could help.  The man taking the picture, however, refused and went into the hotel leaving the two women and the other man.  That’s when the remaining fellow grabbed my arm and pulled me in front of the door.  He was quite animated, saying something to his wife.  She took the camera as he pulled me beside him.  He looked up at me pointing to my head, laughing.  I suddenly realized he wanted a picture with this tall white man!  I had become the morning novelty act. 

After this day’s starting event, it became clear the nearly finished blog about how I learned to play guitar, slipped out of focus.  

In the next 30 minutes, a large tourist bus backed into the hotel circle and like ants emerging from an anthill, the tourists came out.  Their suitcases were quite large making the people look even smaller.

The tour driver came over for a cigarette while the bus was loading and told me there were daily flights from a number of Japanese airports year round.  In the summer they come for two weeks in Scandinavia, spending a week in Helsinki and a week in Copenhagen before heading home.  In the winter, when it is dark almost all the time, they come for the Aurora Borealis, which by his account is simply spectacular!

It was time to go when the first two ladies I had photographed came hurrying out of the lobby door for their bus.  They looked at me and smiled.  Then one said something to the other, and came quickly over to me.  She pointed to the bench and sat down as her friend aimed the camera.  It was clear I was going to have more than one shot at Japanese celebrity. 

I put my arm around this tiny lady as we both smiled for her friend.  Up she popped and was replaced immediately by the other woman, who snuggled in beside me.  I repeated the arm around her shoulder, as my recently departed companion snapped a picture of what looked like an online dating service gone horribly wrong!  The two of them thanked me bowing and saying, “ありがとう” (Domo Origato – or thank you) several times as they giggled all the way to the bus, and with a wink and a nod, they were gone!

As the sun continued to make its way slowly through the leaves of the trees across the road by the lake, I was reminded how good it feels when people find a rhythm with one another…the little things…the smiles…the small efforts that take so little...really. 

Some time in the coming weeks I will become part of the story of their journey to Helsinki, as they have become part of mine.  Each time they show these pictures and tell this brief story they will smile at the giant on the bench typing away on his laptop computer…the giant man who took their picture and made them smile.  Each time I tell it I will smile at how quickly we connected and shared a moment of pure, unadulterated joy.

I find that it doesn't take much to entertain me, or help me to appreciate life.  I'm guessing, it didn't take much for them either...

- ted