Me: So why can’t Mommy and I play with your stuffed animals?
Sophia: (exasperated sigh) Because you’re adults! Adults don’t need toys – money is your toys!
Updates from February, 2010
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Sophia, social critic, age 4
michael
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Music....food for our souls
Zack
The first record I remember hearing was James Taylors “Sweet Baby James”. The vinyl sounded course and dirty. The lyrics confused my 12-year old brain; I had no idea what love was, or how it felt to lose it. But the melodies spoke to me. James Taylor had this way of writing about pain and longing, without sounding whiny or….to use the parlance of my particular time: “Lame”. My parents liked his music, so I was almost forced to listen. I’ve always been glad they were James Taylor fans.
The first album I bought with my own money was the “Days Of Thunder” soundtrack. David Coverdale, Chicago, Guns N’ Roses. I grew up in a sort of racing family, so the film moved me. The soundtrack was silly, and I kind of knew it at the time. But still, I would crank that sh*t to eleven, and imagine myself behind the wheel of a speeding race car.
Grunge came along in the early 90’s, and my interest in actually making music started to take shape. Filthy guitar tones, front-men shrouded in mystery. Why were they so angry? Where did these vicious sounds and words come from? I wasn’t a particularly angry or disgruntled kid at 14. In fact, I had it pretty easy. (It wasn’t until about 15-16 that I started to get in trouble with the local police and disrupt an already dysfunctional family) But records like Pearl Jam’s “Ten”, and the soundtrack to “Singles” made me listen beyond the melody, and forced me to focus on the lyrics. At that point, I realized that pop music mattered, and that lyrics were so important; a time-stamp of an emotion; of a generation.
In 1993, I heard Counting Crows,”Mr Jones” on the radio, cutting through the static of generic “grunge/Seattle” programming. On the record “August And Everything After”, Adam Duritz poured his heart out with reckless abandon. He sang of longing and insomnia. Of love and love lost. Of finding ones true self. He washed his words in americana, and metaphor of vast panoramas and endless highways. I longed to explore the American landscape, free of parents who didn’t understand me, teachers who couldn’t teach me – and myself, whom I didn’t really know. The album, “August And Everything After” made me a guitar player, and a songwriter. It made me an artist, and it changed my heart forever. It made me a romantic. It made me truly care about music, and the effect it had on my life. To this day, I regard that record as one of the most important catalysts in my life – not just it’s musical influence, but it’s affect on the way I viewed the world, and how I interacted with it. Last year, I had the opening chorus of “Rain King” tattooed on my body: ”I belong in the service of the Queen. I belong anywhere but in between.” I see these words everyday, and yet their meaning continues to evolve.
This post is about the music that first affected you….the music that you truly adopted as your own. The music that defined you. What first moved you? What upset your heart and challenged your mind? What defined/shaped your taste for art? What made you dance and sing and shout and cry – madly and unabashedly?
Sound off… Because it this little blog has taught me anything, it’s taught me to listen. And I like to listen…
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Scouting at 100
michael
Today is the 100th anniversary of Boy Scouting in America. I am an Eagle Scout, a proud alumni of Troop 257 of Camarillo, California. I owe much of who I am today to Mr. Lance Kistler, our Scoutmaster. He was a former Navy demolitions diver who earned a graduate degree in History and then started his own very successful construction company. He was thoughtful, strong, compassionate, intelligent, worked very hard at everything he did, and in many ways he defined manhood for me.
Today, I am a college professor, and work with young men and women just coming into adulthood. I am convinced that the lessons of scouting are as relevant and significant now as they have ever been. The lessons of scouting don’t have anything to do with tying knots or scaling mountains or starting fires. What scouting really teaches is how to be a virtuous man, and it does that by providing two things that boys rarely get, but badly need.
First, scouting provides a rite of passage. It provides a set of tasks to be completed, and a ceremony upon completion where a boy is acknowledged and welcomed into a new stage of life. From that day forward, he is expected to shoulder new responsibilities, and is held to a higher standard for his actions. Some cultures have retained things like the bar mitzvah, but in our culture at large, we don’t really have anything like this. Ask any Eagle Scout what it meant to walk through that Court of Honor, to have every other Eagle Scout in the room, men of all ages, stand up and surround him, and to have them say, “You belong here with us. You’ve accomplished something significant, and should be proud. You also have a new level of obligation to those scouts coming up behind you.” It’s a very powerful thing, to have a rite of passage into manhood.
Second, and I think more important, scouting provides extended periods of time for boys to be in the company of men, while doing masculine things together. Our culture segments people into groups by age, and children spend long periods of time being influenced, primarily, by other children their own age. When children are the primary influence on other children, the result is always only one step above Lord of the Flies.
When they are under the care and influence of adults, it is still much more likely that those adults will be women. Boys need the presence of strong and intelligent women in their lives, and I don’t want to minimize the importance of that. They need to learn things that are best taught by women. But it’s also essential for boys to observe men, to join them in projects, to feel like they belong in this tribe, and hopefully to imitate the virtues that those men demonstrate. Scouting creates a unique environment where boys are invited to try on the trappings of manhood, where a set of virtues are upheld and praised that are different than those offered by their normal peer group.
There is a sense in our culture that as children reach a certain age, adults can no longer influence them. I don’t think that’s true at all. I think parents slowly lose that privilege, but the influence and attention of other adults, especially those who are not parents or teachers, becomes even stronger. And that’s really what’s happening when a group of boys and men walk 15 miles, setup camp, light a fire, cook food together, sharpen axes and clean knives, sit around telling scary stories and crude jokes. Boys are being steeped in the influence of good men, who are not their parents, and who can offer them models of how to be men.
On one of our local weekend backpacking trips into the hills above Malibu, a new kid showed up. He had missed the pre-trip meeting, where we bring packed backpacks and check over gear, so that everyone is prepared. He was a very rotund kid, and was being raised by his single mother. He showed up at the trailhead with his clothes, sleeping bag, and lots of snacks, all packed into two suitcases. If you’re missing the mental picture, suitcases don’t work well when you have to hike six miles uphill before you setup camp.
As soon as he and his mother figured out what was going on, he looked completely defeated; his mother started apologizing to him, telling him that they would have to wait until next time, and they started to move back toward their car to drive home. He was crushed.
One of the boys in our troop realized right away what was happening, walked over and said, “Hey, my name is Robert, me and these other other 3 guys are your patrol. You belong with us.” Without another word, they unpacked his suitcases, pulled out the essentials, and divvied them up into the packs of the other boys in the patrol.
Where else do boys learn about the special obligation of the strong to the weak? Where else do they learn the power of those words, “You belong with us”? Where else do they learn about the power of small groups committed to the same purpose? Where do we teach them to look out for each other, that the failing of one is the failing of all? Where do we teach them to work with others their own age not as rivals or rebels, but as a team, as brothers? Where do we send them to learn about leadership, and how real authority comes from competence and integrity, not just from conferred title or brute strength? What better workshop could there possibly be for teaching boys that the truest test of character is the endurance of failure, and perseverance in the face of defeat, that the thrill of the summit is made sweeter by the miles of sweat that came before?
Happy 100th birthday, Boy Scouts of America. Today, more than ever, I can think of no better environment for helping boys discover the substance, the virtues, obligations, and challenges of becoming men than scouting.
(This post was originally posted as a comment on this post)
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To War and Back Again
michael
Oh, my heart just aches sometimes.
Josiah and I went to war tonight.
“Please leave the door open.” Slam.
“Don’t touch that.” Poke.
“Sit down and finish eating.” Wail.
“Hold still please.” Kick.
Finally, barely fed and crammed into jammies, we slowed down just enough to read Christmas stories by candlelight, because my wife does many things well, but none better than planning perfect moments for the joy of others. So, we lit candles, spread a blanket on the floor, and read about a little girl whose father was off to war, so her mother cut apart her wedding dress to make a Christmas dress and doll for the girl, and then the two of them went into the woods at night to chop down a tree for the church pageant. Yeah, I cried a little.
And then I scooped up my boy, took him into his room, and shut off the light, forgetting to turn on his nightlight first. The room fell pitch black.
And in the perfect darkness, the rain dripping from the roof, he laid his head down on my shoulder, sighed deeply, and without words he declared his unconditional surrender.
I sang his lullaby to him in the darkness:
Lay down your head, Josiah
Lay down your head, though night is falling
The Lord protects his children through darkness
The Lord will guide your steps in the lightLong ago lived a boy named Josiah
He heard the voice of God in the night
Long ago the boy named Josiah
Led God’s children back into the lightSo raise up your head, Josiah
Raise up your head, though night is falling
Hear the voice of God in the darkness
And lead his children back into the lightWhen I wrote it, Gretchen’s first comment was, “Wow, a little word of prophecy there, huh?” Maybe so.
I don’t know what’s ahead for Josiah and I, how many more times we’ll go to war and declare peace, or how much higher the stakes will get. I’m sure that there are nights coming when peace will cost significantly more than a song in the darkness. I don’t know how many moments in life we get like tonight, when you lift your son up, and he lays his head on your shoulder, and you try your best to weep softly so that you don’t break the magic of the moment.
He has both strength and tenderness, and I pray to God that both of them survive my parenting. I pray for wisdom and patience, to know when to be just and when to be merciful. I pray for strength that lasts through the day until I get home at night, so that he doesn’t always have to make his feast with the sparse remainder of my daily bread.
I pray that as he grows, he will look more and more like Jesus, and you can keep your damn bumper sticker. I mean that in all of the gritty ways. I pray that he learns when to braid a whip, that he has the strength to stand guard over an outcast woman and stare down an angry mob, that he speaks with fire and truth, that he spreads out a banquet for the friendless and unlovely. Most of those things, he’ll have to figure out on his own, because I don’t know how to do them.
I pray that he becomes a better man than I am.
God, you have blessed me through him. I hope that you bless him through me.
May we find peace at the end of every battle, and love, always love, no matter what.
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Simpler Times
michael
I’ve spent the past few weeks with this vague sense of nostalgia in the back of my mind for a time when things were simpler. I don’t know if it ever existed though – was there ever a time when we were just young and carefree? Help me out, my old friends (Hey Bobby!). Remind me.
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random reflections after my first cruise
Sharolyn
1. Lighting is imperative to ambiance. Upon entering and exiting the boat, people were generally friendly, but in a manner of business. “Passport, please.” “The life vest goes over your head (duh)” etc. Once logistics were settled, the door closed the and ship took off, Hollywood lights dazzled and the disco started pumping. Clearly this was crowd manipulation, and after a moment of cynicism, I was delighted to be on the receiving end. The next three days were like a trance.
This brings me to number 2.
2. Music is imperative to ambiance. There was music everywhere of all styles. I love live music. I even brought my infrequently used iPod in case I got homesick for my own tunes, but never even considered taking it out. One morning I sat listening to a guy and his guitar covering the likes of Sting, the Beatles, Jack Johnson. I am convinced I was the first passenger awake each morning and it was truly a vacation to sit there in my Carnival robe and pretend he wasn’t getting paid, he just wanted me to enjoy some acoustic melodies. Also, we saw a Vegas-style show covering styles from many decades… heard subwoofers booming from dance clubs… relived the sounds of high school and college around the pool… passed a jazz club bopping on the boat… there was something for everyone (and this girl was loving it all). Someone puts a lot of energy into the music on cruise ships, and I appreciated every note.
3. Nurses are among the most important and strongest decision-making members of our society. They don’t take crap, nor should they.
4. Money. I was wondering if the economy had hit this industry so hard to sell $199 three-day cruises. That’s including all meals, free room service, on and on. (Marle ordered a Reuben while getting ready for dinner.) Over the trip I learned that that figure is the tip of the iceberg for the undisciplined. The internet cost money. Pricey drinks also included gratuity (they declared what percent). The cheapest spa treatment was almost as much as the ticket to get on the boat. But instead of presenting your credit card, you present your room key. That must mean we’re not spending actual dollars, right?! What I learned is that the cruise makes more money once everyone is on than they did from selling the tickets.
5. Chocolate melting cake with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and a cup of coffee is really, really good.
6. I can read 70 pages at one sitting when no one is interrupting me and there is nothing else I have to do.
7. Guys, if you’re ever invited to take part in a hairy-chest competition, don’t do it. It’s kind of funny, but you look ridiculous and are the butt of the joke.
8. No one reads the Gideon’s Bible on the “Booze Cruise”. Mine creacked open.
9. Dancing cures motion sickness, and is also beneficial to one’s health in general.
10. I can investment energy into the girlfriends around me, but I can’t always choose THE GIRLS. If you have great ones, there is no better return than knowing and being known. (And laughing your butt off.)
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Professionals, Again
michael
I spent yesterday editing down the tutorial video from the Our Father, Vindicate recording session with our very own Mr. Zack Mathers (so expect some swearing in the comments). For those of you who do not eagerly memorize every detail of my life with rapt attention and a pavlovian frenzy, I wrote a song, wanted to do a big recording session of the song, and the only way I could afford to do it was by getting a grant to fund the demo. To do that, we had to engage in some mild academic trickery, and tell them that the whole purpose of the recording session was to make an instructional video for students.
So, Zack brought some cameras along, recorded the whole session, and yesterday we editing all of that down into a 10-minute tutorial on how to record large-ensemble composer demos with no money down and only 8 singers.
I know I’ve said this before, but yesterday was another reminder: I am always shocked when people I know, people who are just, like, my people, friends, drinkin’ buddies, when they also turn out to be stone-cold awesome at what they do. I felt the same way the first time Aly edited something I had written (the proposal for this same grant, by the way). I felt the same way when June brought down a painting for my office. I felt the same way when other florists started ripping off Gretchen’s work and claiming it as their own (a true indicator of awesomeness). It’s been the same with Cory, Chad, Rosy, almost everybody (hey Bobby).
It’s always fun to get to see people who are your friends as they are perceived by their clients, and to realize that the reason they do what they do is because they do what they do. They didn’t just hang a shingle, they became professionals.
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Here's some music and ethics for ya.
Sharolyn
This morning a mom came up to me at school. She said, “I’m sorry I have been unable to volunteer to help for the school musical. We are grateful for everything you do.” Then she handed me a $25 check made out to Sharolyn Borris.
Surprised, I said, “Oh, this is help with the budget for costumes,” or some teacherly thing similar to that. She said, “It’s for you, do with it what you want.”
Although it is not a large sum of money, what I do with it reveals my character. What would you do?
1) Spend it on yourself. She said it was for me.
2) Cash the check and buy something for school.
3) Shred it, as the tax payers and P.T.A. have already paid me.
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Happy Birthday Michael
Gretchen
Here’s to reinventing what “mid” thirties means!
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Minnie Me?
Gretchen
Overheard in the car this morning:
Sophia (on her “cell” phone): “Ugh! I can’t believe it!”
Us: “What’s the matter Soph?”
S: “They want me to come down and go to that doctor’s appointment. But that’s not my job! I’m not a Doctor, I’m an ARTIST, people!”Priceless. Thought it’d give you a chuckle.
What are some of your favorite overheards? Need not be kid related.
