Dad and I spoke for almost an hour today. The conversation energized me, boosting my mood into a happier place. On the surface, a high percentage can be attributed to relief: Dad was home. No greater problems were found during his latest hospital visit, and it was a short one. He and his wife were both friendly, engaging, and happy on their end. Undoubtably this fed me and my spirits.
I also insist, though, that some of this came from just speaking with Dad. He and I are familiars. We mock and respect one another. He’s one of the few people I sense I can really spill myself to regarding what’s going on, whether it’s politics, writing, relationships with my wife, Mom, and sisters, or my DIY projects.
We’ve not always been like these. It’s been a long evolution. I’m glad we made it here, though. It’s taken time. We followed a torturous path. But here we are.
Be nice if I was given a sabbatical from aging. Feels like I’ve been aging my whole life.
It was great for a while. Then…aging started getting old. Now worries come up with every fart, creak, and groan these days. What is that? Do I need to worry about it or can I forget it?
That whole worrying about things is different when you’re aging. When I was young, I’d fall off a building, land on my head, bounce up with a little cry. Mom would spit on my injury and I’d motor on. Maybe Mom’s spit was magic; I haven’t tried that recently as I live across the country from her. Seems like all the issues she’s had related to her aging, if her spit was magic, she would have used it on herself. Then again, maybe a mother’s spit only works on her children. Maybe her spit aged and lost its magic. Either way, a year off from aging would be a wonderful break for me.
The pendulum is swinging. It’s Friday, August 30, 2024, and the hours of daylight have noticeably reduced. It’s an advantage at sun soars through blue cloudless skies, working with the air to lift the temperature next to triple digits during the day, like 97 F today. But then the clear skies and longer night lets the temps skivvy down to the upper fifties, delivering relief. Slips of autumn have climbed back into my life. Some maples have shifted into fall fashions. Starbucks is offering fall drinks. School is back is session at every level locally. And football is again rolling across TV screens, carrying news through feeds.
But first: we must get through Labor Day. In the U.S., we have the bookend holidays of Memorial Day and Labor Day. To many, MD marks summer’s unofficial beginning, and LD is the unofficial end.
I read several news articles in depth this morning. One was about how Republicans have softened their climate change stance. They rarely outright deny it these days. I guess that with so much extreme weather killing and maiming our world, they recognize that they look and sound like fools when they do. Instead, they like to problemtize the solutions which Democrats — and much of the world — recommends. Like moving to more sustainable forms such as wind and solar. No, these caus more problems, they inform their constituents, even as they lie about what’s happening.
Last day of my theme of time in the song’s title. As many of age and are forced to cope with changes, we lament the same thing. The Neurons brought the song that asks the question into the morning mental music stream (Trademark timed): “Where Have All the Good Times Gone?” It originally popped onto the rock music scene in the hands of the Kinks in 1965. It’s since been covered by a chunk of performers, most notably Bowie and Van Halen. But I stayed with the Kinks for this day. Ray Davies of the Kinks wrote it and said in an interview:
“We’d been rehearsing ‘Where Have All the Good Times Gone’ and our tour manager at the time, who was a lot older than us, said, ‘That’s a song a 40-year-old would write. I don’t know where you get that from.’ But I was taking inspiration from older people around me. I’d been watching them in the pubs, talking about taxes and job opportunities.”
We went to Lake of the Woods Resort last night. The agenda was to dance, socialize, have fun, and unwind.
It worked as intended. Twenty-seven miles away up in the nearby mountains, we arrived in forty-five minutes. The smoke had retreated. Surrounded by tall trees, on the edge of blue water, the picturesque scene was fresh and sigh-inducing. Saucy was the band. They played pop, rock, and disco, like “Lady Marmalade”, “Rebel Yell”, “Life in the Fast Lane”, “Shut up and Dance”, “Bring Me to Life”, and “Honky Tonk Woman”. We ate barbecue meats with potato salad, cole slaw, and mac & cheese.
But the star was this little five-year-old in a red shirt. Up there on the steps to the stage, they entertained with Freddie Mercury and Elton John moves interspersed with inspiring air-guitar solos. Yet, the old man in me couldn’t help but think about the damage they were doing to their young ears, standing in front of a rock band’s amplifiers.
The children bellowed into the coffee shop on a wall of sounds and cliques, styles varying sharply among them all, a mélange of current youth culture. Their ages escaped him – anywhere from fifth grade to eight or ninth, he thought. Several schools surrounded the coffee shop so it wasn’t impossible. Except, few of them seemed like young adults. No, these were children.
His study flicked through them, trying to glimpse their futures. Not the close history, no, but what they’ll be in thirty, forty, fifty years. No more possible for him to see in them than he’d seen in his friends. Few followed predicted paths. Surprises, disappointments, successes and failures too often changed the paths.
Today’s song streamed into my head after I thought of another song.
The other song was “Sara Smile”, by Hall and Oates, which I thought of after meeting a friend’s daughter named Sarah. After thinking about it while walking, I remembered “She’s Gone” by the same duo.
“She’s Gone” (1974) came out during a period of struggle in my relationship with my girlfriend. I’d graduated high school and she was traveling Europe with a nun. I felt lost, and ended up enlisting in the military, upsetting just about everyone I knew. That’s life, right? “She’s Gone” appealed to my sense of loss, frustration, searching, and self-pity. I particularly enjoyed the lyrics, “Think I’ll spend eternity in the city. Let the carbon and monoxide choke my thoughts away, yeah.”
Michael Seidel, writer 