I am not there yet.
Still a work in progress. Both knowing and then doing.
But for now, I need to live in this moment with intention, think, speak and act with selflessness, embrace and trust in my faith and engage in and cultivate genuine fellowship.
If I can trust this description, then I can and will live it.
Bit by bit.
Day by day.
Now there’s a question.
And I LOVE music.
Back in the 70’s and 80’s, I spent a great deal of time going to concerts.
My first one ever? Not gonna believe this. The Carpenters at Ravinia, maybe mid 70’s. Don’t remember a thing from that show. Not that we were toasty. Just don’t. Wore suits. With “dates”. Awkward to say the least. Yikes.
From there?
Let’s see.
Saw Uriah Heep open for Kiss at the old Chicago Stadium. Peter Criss spun like a hamster on some drum kit thingee they designed. Also saw Led Zepplin there, until Jimmy Page needed a chair because he was “under the weather”. A few songs into the set it was cancelled. Foghat and BTO at the old Amphitheatre, the loudest. I think Elton, Wings, Black Sabbath, Kansas and And for the Rush show, our tickets were for the main floor. But me and JSV were pretty much sitting up in the rafters that whole show, if you catch my drift.
Outdoor ones? OMG
Superbowls and World Series of Rock through out the Chicago area. The Police, Flock of Seagulls, Yes, The Fixx, Lynrd, REO, Ferocious Theodocius, Molly Hatchet and Guns n Roses. Tom Petty, Boston, Stevie Nicks, Phil Collins and the Hot Tub Club, Stevie Ray Vaughn at one of his final performances, Aerosmith before and after they maintained sobriety. Inxs three times in one year. Cheap Trick. Dire Straits. Pink Floyd for the Animals Tour at Arlington Raceway and Frank crooning as only he can at the Taste of Chicago. Had tickets for Mr. Dylan but couldn’t get there. Dang.
Willie Nelson played for three hours straight at Alpine Valley I think. In college, we developed a thing for David Allen Coe. He was to warm it up for Hank Williams Jr. in Chicago. But he also had a tendency not to show up. So me and three other suburban brats went to the show on the ifcome. Mr. Coe was a no show. But Hank played three hours straight to a crowd that was mostly motorcylists and tatted up if you know what I mean.
So yes. Concerts were big in my life.
But to name favorites, I would have to jettison years ahead, to the days my kids played.
When I was in grade school, I didn’t pass a test to allow me to learn an instrument, though my dad was an accordionist and pianist. But I did sing in a barbershop chorus, and was lead for a quartet in middle school.
My kids though?
They must have gotten my dad’s genes. My oldest daughter, son and youngest daughter played the viola, cello and viola in the orchestra from grade to highschool. Once in highschool, the orchestra took trips overseas to play in Europe, going to Czech Republic, Austria, Italy and Spain. Their rendition of “Ashokan Farewell” still remains in my heart.
My youngest son was a percussionist for the band and the orchestra. He still is. So he played drums for the marching band and whatever they needed for an orchestral concert with his siblings. He was the whip in the Christmas song, “Sleigh Ride”. He said that one part was nerve wracking. He and the band went to Hawaii and played at half-time for a bowl game his senior year.
I still grin when I think about sprinting across the infield at Arlington at 7:00 AM to capture a spot to watch Pink Floyd at 7:00 PM.
But my heart smiles most when I remember watching my four play their concerts.
My favorite four aficianadoes.
When I got it going this morning, the prompt was one thing, albeit a wee bit of deja vu in it. Since then, my noggin has been in overdrive down that path of prose. But alas, it to has changed. But what the heck. It did prompt me to offer something. So gird your loins.
I mentioned that it was sort of like a rerun, something to the effect of how you like to be active or participate in the community. I recall sharing something about my experience in youth sports, Boy Scouting, publicspeaking and the like here at home. But a pot or so of coffee and about 150 miles later, I arrived at this perspective. Whoa, that pun arrived right on schedule. Like it was in Maps.
Community goes far beyond where one lives. It is situated all over. Where, how and what we are meant to be when we just simply live. We are all different in some fashion. That is just the way it is. But in reality, we are all the same. The mold is essentially identical. From a Master drawing perspective, it is still rev. 1. Has been for, what, thousands of years? The only difference is how we come out of the finishing department. Exteriors aside, we all have the same engine, frame and suspension systems.
So you can be traveling on business, to say Pekin, Illinois and your rev. 1 model will then become a part of their local inventory. How you go about embracing them and their way of life in the Land of Lincoln even if for only that one overnight stay casts impressions that may extend far beyond your time there. Both on them and on you. What you do as a foreigner in that foreign land of Cardinal fans can be defining in many ways.
Say you check into the Holday Inn there on Kelly Ave. and no know strangers, they will likely respond in kind. In a few minutes of shootin’ the feces, you can become one of them. Like a Bears fan in Wisconsin, meeting a Cubs fan there will stoke a great rivalry conversation. Steer clear of 1969.
Smile and share puns and open doors. Say “thank you” for their help and dropping their guard. Make friends. Maybe they have kids graduating or getting married too. Perhaps they just lost a parent or a sibling. Could be that this is there side gig during retirement or their first job out of high school. And should the tunes in the background elicit a response or sing along, share the concert you went to growing up. Your favorite kind of music. Or how you love to listen to Led Zepplin at “11” on I55 with the windows down.
For some strange reason, we forget that we are all one. As one. The only difference is a zip code. Don’t matter where, how or what.
Just be active in them.
Wherever.
A mystery.
Hmmmm. Let me see….
I don’t see any Poirotesque connections in this one. Plus, how in the heck does he make his moustache stand at attention like that. Good God. One booger search, sleeve sneeze or an asiago bagel piled with cream cheese and that stache would be histoire. I wonder if I could do something like that with my 4/0 eyebrows. Mon dieu, mais je m’éloigne du sujet….
At this stage in the game, it appears as though my personal search discernment party has found it self at a cross road. There are still acres to be trod and perseverance to be deployed, but sense is being made regarding this life mystery. Not that I know the answer. Just that I am getting better acquainted with the question.
For some reason, that still lay outside my grasp, I have allowed my value and worth to be determined inan open and albeit unconcerned market. To ensure “proper consideration” through out this external assessment process, I then add to the calamity by using “over” as the requisite prefix to every thought, word and deed I enjoin.
Over-functioning is how my counselor termed it. Figures, since it fits perfectly with all manner of functions. Like – thinking, – trying. – doing, – extending, – caring, -carrying, – attempting, – giving, and so on, ad nauseum. When unleashed into a field with no fences, this fuzzy little guy just wants to run all over, seeking a look, some attention, a semi-smile, heck, even a passing pat on the noggin. Should those affirmations be of short supply, then it had to be something I did or didn’t do that produced that level of inattention, disaffirmation and neglect.
So fill up the tank, get off your ass and get back to it Hahn.
Over, and over. And over.
And over.
And over.
The Hercule en moi is still pondering this one.
But by the grace of God, I at least have a starting point. That may take me to its origins. To “why?” Maybe. Or perhaps its take was to simply make me aware, so that I can just learn, appreciate the value of its lesson and begin to leave it. At the very least, I am now aware of its dissonance when it starts approaching me from a distance. I can gird them, remain in the moment and make some much healthier choices. Protect myself for once. And just let me be.
It took some time to unravel this mystery of my life. Still a few more layers to go. But I do know one thing with absolute clarity and certainty.
Pour une fois.
I am worth it.
First off, I have lived in the Midwest pretty much my entire existence, so there has been ample opportunity to freeze and live in forever. Don’t get me wrong, we get all four seasons, in no particular order, but shorts and a T to jeans and a down coat the next day is life in these parts.
That being said, I would drop the vernacular and replace “freeze” with something more temperate. Like the perpetual warmth that accompanies rapture. A being carried away by intense and loving sense of delight, joy, bliss and euphoria. (Sorry Syd, not you.)
Maybe this better captures my thoughts:
Awe.
‘Cause then I get to use a word I made up, allegedly, in some other tome; awe-full. To find yourself full of awe. Bet you never guessed any of this was going happen in this prompt. Funny where life takes you. Especially when this guy is driving the bus.
That being said, or rather all of this being said, I think I would be inclined to want to find myself in awe over and over again. At random. Not always or every time. Then it could become redundant. The same old, same old. That would deplete it of its lustre, lower the “what the…??!!!!” aspect of its sudden appearance and transform it from a gift of grace to an exercise of expectation. In short, it would be aweful.
So knowing and appreciating the centering, healing and resurrective essence of awe, perhaps I would ask that I could somehow became more open and aware of the circumstances that lend themselves to bringing it all about. Not that I need to make that happen or want to be the sole creator of those moments. I turned in my resignation for being in charge of everything a little while ago. A weird hybrid schedule.
But if I could somehow be better equipped as a human to nourish the circumstances leading up to it, and then witness its birth, then I would be one happy camper.
Living an awe-full life.
A wish come true.
Wait, is that a smile?
...my temporary assignment. 