Able to Inspire Love

I was re-reading Patti Hill’s book “The San Clemente Bait Shop and Tellephony” the other day. If you must know, I was perusing it to see what format she used and who did her graphic design and layout. Anyway, I got lost in the story again and I remembered Patti saying it was a story about love – unconditional love.

I was re-reading Bonnie Grove’s book “Time and Again,” as I dropped off to sleep the other night. I pulled it out on my Kindle reader the night before to see how she denoted her chapters and timeline of the story. I got lost in the story again and read to the end of the book. I pondered what Bonnie had to say – through Morris – about love—real love.

I took a nice long hike yesterday and mulled over Patti’s take on unconditional love and Bonnie’s take on unconditional and enduring love and my thoughts ran something like this:

It must be true. Too many authors write about it for it to be false. Even Charlotte Brontë wrote about it. I wonder if those authors experienced it?  One thing is for certain, I was never able to get anyone to love me that way. I was never able to inspire unconditional, enduring love. Yet something is wrong with that thought right there. It smacks of control. Can you MAKE someone love you? It is one thing to admit that you have never received unconditional or enduring love. It is quite another to think you are a failure because you were never able to inspire or draw out that kind of love from another toward yourself.

***

There is, in each of us, a little trigger that if not competitive, is at least jealous.

While competition is healthy, uplifting and encouraging in its place, here are some things for which a person should never be required to compete:

The fidelity of a significant other,

The love of a mother,

The support and protection of a father,

Fidelity, Love, Support, Protection – Not out of pity or need or awarded as a trophy, but just because. Because it makes us better humans to give and receive.

House Of Cards

Judging by my quantity of birthday cards and greetings received this year, and all the good wishes therein, I’ve a prosperous 365 days to look forward to in the immediate future.

“If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride,” I take this sell-worn saying and phrase to mean that one must take action of some sort to make wishes, dreams, plans or goals, come true. Yes, wishes are all well and good, but they come to naught unless the recipient makes choices to facilitate the wishes. Several friends wished me a beautiful day out in Nature. I took steps in the right direction. I took a drive to the mountains. I spent time outside. I put my kayak into the lake. I did my best to make those wishes for a beautiful day out in Nature come true.

My mother used to say that children should only have as many birthday guests as they were years old.  Though we are at the widening end of a pandemic, I had no birthday gathering. Yet, thanks to Facebook, my birthday wishes equaled my age.

The number of actual birthday cards received via snail mail has remained static over the years;

A prompt card – always the first to arrive – from my parents; faithfully sent this year by my dad in the absence of my mom; a card from my cousin-my quasi sister; and a card enclosed in the birthday gift from my brother and sister-in-law. I have always known if you want to score the perfect birthday gift, you need a brother like mine.  Now I didn’t take a single action or make a single wish to request a brother when I was three years old, but he has always had a knack for choosing just the right gift for me, be it birthday or Christmas. Thirty years ago I acquired a sister-in-law. Once again, I had no hand in this acquisition, but my sister-in-law has a knack for finding superb, artistic, one-of-a-kind greeting cards. They are lovers of everything Nature, everything out of doors, things artistic and things scientific. Together these two are expert at gift-giving. Just like wishes, cards and gifts may not arrive on your birthday. They may arrive early when someone discovers a perfect card – or they may arrive late if a proper gift cannot be found on time – or delayed due to traditional mail delivery bottlenecks. In fact, perfect presents or cards may arrive anytime during the year. But this year, this year the gift and card arrived precisely in time for my birthday – and what a winner it was! The gift was a book (which, more often than not, it is from my brother and SIL) – a debut novel by one Andrew J. Graff, and I loved it! I didn’t know they published books like this anymore. I wanted Mr. Graff’s next book. As a writer, I wanted his agent. I wanted his publisher. He writes well, and he writes about things he knows. He treats his characters with respect and understanding, he writes about things I know and have learned.

***

But, before I got to the book, I read my birthday card and the card was awesome! It had a kayak on the front and … well here, just let me show you:

The back of the card informed me that friluftsliv is the new hygge. Remember hygge? It’s that Danish word for coziness and comfortable conviviality; feelings of wellness and contentment.

Friluftslive reportedly is a Norwegian word meaning a way of life that involves spending time in and appreciating nature. My heritage is one half Scandinavian, so these words resonate with me. 

Inside the card, my sister wished me much friluftsliv. My brother wished me happy paddling and many adventures to come and solitude… astonishing beauty of Nature. Those were great wishes. I acted on the wishes immediately. I sallied forth to commit friluftsliv.  Because, if you want to experience hygge or you want to enjoy friluftsliv, you have to make the right choices – choices that support your wishes. Otherwise, it’s just a house of cards!

What a Life I’ve Had

What a life I’ve had!

Ah, what a life I’ve had!

But I think I’ll have some more;

More pain more gain, more money, more glory!

Ah, what a life I’ve had!

Nothing the same for the past,

Sixty or sixty-five or seven,

Not one year like the other.

I must have lived nine lives,

Not as a cat;

But as a Mother,

As a sister to a brother,

As a wife, a partner, a daughter.

Ah, what a life I’ve had;

Running a business, commanding my own Starship Enterprise from an office chair,

Taking out the garbage, sweeping the dust,

Eating the losses.

Ah, what a life I’ve had,

Singing with the best, accompanying all the rest

With 88 keys at my fingertips;

Raising the young to love history and rhyme;

What a life, what a life.

Studios, stages, microphones, lead-lines,

What a life I have had,

Learning that everything speaks,

Stooping to hear what is said,

Taught by rocks and rivers and meadows.

What a life I have had!

What a fine time cutting my losses, hedging my bets,

Smelling the roses – – by whatever name.

Ah, what a life I have had!

But, I think I’ll have some more;

More pain, more gain, more money,

ALL the GLORY – this time!!!!!

Cherry Odelberg, May 2021

In a Music House part 3, crashing a party

We crashed their party, and when I say we, I mean two genXers – both of them dads – and me, the gray-haired baby-boomer. “Let’s go down,” said my 47-year-old son, “And ask if we can jam with them.” He was talking to me, but mostly to a former bandmate who was visiting from out of town. Down we trooped, to the well-appointed basement studio. “Can we set in?” I called, feeling very much like a nuisance neighborhood kid. Now I ask you, how can two sixteen-year-olds, one seated on the throne and the other slapping a bass, refuse the dad who shelled out the lettuce for all the equipment? And how can they refuse grandma? Captain picked up a second bass (Tennille was upstairs chatting with the mom of the graduate). Kvon grabbed the guitar and started setting options on the pedal board. I flipped the switch on the keyboard stack and got…nothing – this is not my studio and the sound man is AWOL. So I moved to the Hammond which was live last time I was here, pulled a few tabs, disengaged some buttons and full-throttled the Leslies. We’ll play in “A” said the captain to the co-bassist. So I did. Played “A” for about ten minutes. Played A 440 on the upper manual and A 440 on the lower manual and A 880 and riffed the notes in between. Eventually, I slide off the bench and drifted away to greet cousins and walk the old homestead. The teenagers switched instruments and cross-trained. But for a moment there, it felt like old times. I’m even saddle-sore from dangling my legs off an organ bench. And what of the graduate, the person who precipitated this event?

He wasn’t manning the keyboards, instead, he was playing video games with his classmates. Are they wasting time? No. Think of it as research. He’ll design something someday, a game that integrates original music and video and creativity and it will be a hit. Because all this is what you do; all this is at your fingertips, when you were raised in a music and media house, with grandparents who were songwriters, engineers, and bandleaders in the 70s and great grands who knew how to raise the roof at gospel camp meetings. 

***

I returned to the music house today after a job interview of sorts. Like most interviews I have been to, this one included a fair amount of listening on my part – listening to the story of another and absorbing the information between the lines and applying it to my life, shaping an opinion and a proposal. Unlike most interviews I have ever been to, this one ended with me sitting on a piano bench playing a medley of popular tunes whilst the retiring piano man wandered off to talk to the restaurant owner. “I told him he should hire you,” he said. “When he asked me why, I said because you guessed the correct amount of money in the tip jar.” He laughed and played a few tunes for me. I thanked him and walked back home, declining a ride in his convertible. After all, it’s only a few blocks and the weekend weather is fine. Walking gives me a chance to soak in the neighborhood ambience and hear various kinds of music wafting out the doors of houses and food establishments. My own house is no exception. When I arrived home live music was filtering through the open screen. Laid back guitar riffs, a bit of funk, nice steady patterns on percussion, perfect for a lazy Saturday afternoon. Andrea sat on the cahon, hand-drumming snare and bass and adding tambourine fills with her foot. My guitar was in the hands of someone obviously more capable than I who was effortlessly picking and strumming. A mandolin and a bass lay in open cases nearby. They’ve gone to do some grocery shopping now, and I just spent another hour at the keyboard improvising old favorite tunes. It’s a fine thing to live in a music house, and an even finer thing to have a musical family.

Four generations worth of musical instruments in this studio
This is the Diamond Belle Saloon where four time Olde Tyme Piano champion, Adam Swanson, plays six nights a week
This is the Jean-Pierre French Bakery where Cherry Odelberg will supplement her retirement by busking for breakfast and brunch on the weekends