It Was Nice Talking To You, Dad

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Hey - I think that I just had a brief, but very enjoyable chat, with the spirit of my late father (please see my previous post regarding the 20th anniversary of his death).

I was waiting in line at Books & Co. and I noticed a commemorative magazine on display titled "Ronald Reagan at 100." It featured a 1970ish photo of a very dapper looking Reagan on the cover.

Some old guy behind me in line obviously noticed the magazine as well because he very dryly and bluntly said to nobody in particular: "Reagan at 100? I thought he was dead." The other two folks in line fidgeted a bit, but I cracked up.

I turned to the guy and deadpanned: "Yeah - he's looking pretty good for 100, isn't he?" The guy gave me a big smile and said "I thought we were supposed to stop counting when we die." I said "Not if you're famous. They just keep counting." Without missing a beat this guy says: "Well, thank God I'm not famous because I never want to be 100-years-old." :-)

It was odd because it wasn't until I headed down the road to the post office that I suddenly realized: "Damn. That was probably the exact conversation my dad and I would have had if we had been standing in line together at the book store."

Those kinds of casual and fleeting occurrences give me faith. Faith in what, I don't know - but faith nonetheless.

It was nice talking to you, dad.





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20 Years Ago Today

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Monday will be the 20th anniversary of my father's death.

By day, he would kick anyone and everyone's ass in golf.

By night, he would summon the Gods and soothe the savage beast with his violin.

Throw in a deadly sense of humor that was drier than the Sahara - and a wit that re-defined "quick" - and you begin to get a picture of my father, John C. Smith.




January 31, 1991


I speak directly into your ear
and your head twitches, then pivots,
your mouth gaping as if surprised.
But there are no surprises here.

You are childlike and helpless
so I kiss you. Your cheek is whiskered
and warm, your skin a thin casing
barely holding the heat and bones
that want so badly to leave.

As you focus above me, staring
at something I cannot yet see,
I tell you exactly what I am doing.
More for my benefit than yours.
To excuse this invasion of privacy.

Death seems a formality now.
It is the dying that I'll remember.

With each full breath
you move further away.










Dad: How's that pig gonna smell if you cut his nose off?
Mom: John . . . not again.
Dad: Terrible.

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Today's Fortune Cookie

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I don't know how, but my Chinese brothers and sisters sure have got me figured out.




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The United States of America

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"This is America, where a white Catholic male Republican judge was murdered on his way to greet a Democratic Jewish woman member of Congress, who was his friend. Her life was saved initially by a 20-year-old Mexican-American gay college student, and eventually by a Korean-American combat surgeon, all eulogized by our African American President." (Mark Shields, PBS)


And the word on the street - the one that runs north-south, from my head to my heart - tells me that when the news of the shooting flashed on the TV screen above the jukebox at O'Leary's Pizza Emporium And More in Chinatown, NYC cabbie and art student, Abdul Sahib, his wife, and their daughter, set down their gyros, joined hands, and said a prayer for the victims and families of Tucson.

It's true.

If you believe it.



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Have You Ever Wondered What Love And Devotion Look Like?

.17 Jan 2011 02:43 pm

"A dog named Leao, sits for a second consecutive day, next to the grave of her owner, Cristina Maria Cesario Santana, who died in this week's catastrophic landslides in Brazil, at the cemetery in Teresopolis, near Rio de Janiero, on January 15, 2011."

[By Vanderlei Almeida/AFP/Getty]

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BIG in Holland!

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"Big in Japan" is so yesterday. The true test of a 21st century band is whether they are big in Holland:

http://www.altcountry.nl/blog/2011/01/andrew-and-the-pretty-punchers/


Here is a fairly rough translation of the above review:


"Andrew and the Pretty Punchers come from Dayton, Ohio, a city with a certain reputation in the field of garage rock. "No Longer A Lover" is a fairly busy blade with only from time to time a rest point, such as the ghostly stalk guitar in as a result, to Triffids the inclined "Hide & Seek (For Her)."

Garage rock with soul music is there in "Timewaster." Much of the numbers of Andrew Smith (sing, guitar) have themselves defined as hectic new wave. But in "Shitty Teeth" the guitar bring zomaar what southern rock in that English striking as sound.

The number most particular stands on the end of this short CD. "Cloudberries" start as soundscape as if a strange connection is achieved between a dark bunch full bird sounds and the universe where strange votes sound. It has not only the environment of Bonnie `Prince' Billy, it also dovetails a group such as Deer Tick. The open acoustic agreements, the drums, slow building to a climax with guitar, these are the most beautiful number of No Longer A Lover. Gregory Saluke (sing, guitar) wrote it with Andrew.

The group exists further from lead gitarist Kevin, bass player Joshua, and drummer Schmike. Available at CD Baby."


I was thinking while reading the very nice review: if I was living in Holland right now I would probably be listening to Andrew and the Pretty Punchers, too. Wooden shoe?

Heh-heh . . . ol' Kev just made a funny.


Congratulations to Andrew and the Pretty Punchers!

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Peace On Earth

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This Land Is Your Land

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XaI5IRuS2aE


This Land Is Your Land
(Woody Guthrie)

This land is your land
This land is my land
From California to the New York island;
From the red wood forest to the Gulf Stream waters
This land was made for you and Me.

As I was walking that ribbon of highway,
I saw above me that endless skyway:
I saw below me that golden valley:
This land was made for you and me.

I've roamed and rambled and I followed my footsteps
To the sparkling sands of her diamond deserts;
And all around me a voice was sounding:
This land was made for you and me.

When the sun came shining, and I was strolling,
And the wheat fields waving and the dust clouds rolling,
As the fog was lifting a voice was chanting:
This land was made for you and me.

As I went walking I saw a sign there
And on the sign it said "No Trespassing."
But on the other side it didn't say nothing,
That side was made for you and me.

In the shadow of the steeple I saw my people,
By the relief office I seen my people;
As they stood there hungry, I stood there asking
Is this land made for you and me?

Nobody living can ever stop me,
As I go walking that freedom highway;
Nobody living can ever make me turn back
This land was made for you and me.

Christina Taylor-Green

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Pictured above is Christina Taylor-Green. She was the 9-year-old girl who was murdered at the Safeway grocery store on Saturday.

Christina was born on September 11, 2001 - the same day as the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon.

According to the Arizona Daily Star, Christina was the granddaughter of former Philadelphia Phillies manager Dallas Green. The paper also wrote this about Christina:

• She was already a good speaker, her father said, Green recently was elec...ted to the student council at her elementary school.

• Green told her parents she wanted to attend Penn State and make a career helping those less fortunate.

• She loved animals and dancing — especially ballet — along with hip-hop and jazz music.

• She was athletic, too. Green liked to go swimming with her 11-year-old brother, also named Dallas. She also was the only girl on her Little League baseball team. She played second base.

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Murder

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Six people were not "killed" at a grocery store in Arizona today.

They were murdered.

There is a huge and very distinct difference.

People are "killed" in accidents.

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"When I think of the road we're traveling on, I wonder what's gone wrong, I can't help it, I wonder what's gone wrong"

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. . . . . . . . . . . Congresswoman Gabrielle "Gabby" Giffords


Federal Judge John Roll, murdered in a grocery store, rest in peace.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AE3kKUEY5WU


American Tune
(Paul Simon)

Many's the time I've been mistaken
And many times confused
Yes, and I've often felt forsaken
And certainly misused
Oh, but I'm all right, I'm all right
I'm just weary to my bones
Still, you don't expect to be
Bright and bon vivant
So far away from home, so far away from home

And I don't know a soul who's not been battered
I don't have a friend who feels at ease
I don't know a dream that's not been shattered
or driven to its knees
but it's all right, it's all right
for we lived so well so long
Still, when I think of the
road we're traveling on
I wonder what's gone wrong
I can't help it, I wonder what's gone wrong

And I dreamed I was dying
I dreamed that my soul rose unexpectedly
And looking back down at me
Smiled reassuringly
And I dreamed I was flying
And high up above my eyes could clearly see
The Statue of Liberty
Sailing away to sea
And I dreamed I was crying

We come on the ship they call the Mayflower
We come on the ship that sailed the moon
We come in the age's most uncertain hours
and sing an American tune
Oh, and it's alright, it's all right, it's all right
You can't be forever blessed
Still, tomorrow's going to be another working day
And I'm trying to get some rest
That's all I'm trying to get some rest.

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Mom

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My mother passed away early New Year's Day nine years ago.

I am convinced that she did not die in the wee hours of morning because she wanted to ring in the New Year, but rather because she wanted General Motors to have to cut her one more monthly pension check her annual cost of living increase.

This was Mom's favorite song:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=57tK6aQS_H0







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