Archive for the ‘Remembrance’ Category
Whitney Houston dies at 48
Whitney Houston has died at age 48.
I heard the news tonight on various channels, including MSNBC, CNN, and Fox News, so there is no mistake. Houston is dead, and her beautiful voice and ability to emote while singing has died with her.
From a musical standpoint, there was a great deal to admire about Houston. She had an operatic range, which is rare for singers of popular music (only Mariah Carey among current pop singers has anything close to the range of Houston). She also chose great songs from great songwriters; for example, one of Houston’s best-known songs, “I Will Always Love You,” was originally written and performed by Dolly Parton — herself no slouch as a singer. Yet Houston was able to add something to Parton’s excellent song to the point that if you asked ten people who’d heard each version which one they liked better, seven out of ten would probably say they liked Houston’s version better.
Houston’s death is a great loss for the music community. And even knowing that the Grammy Awards are tomorrow (where music as a whole celebrates music and musicians), and that there will have to be a Houston retrospective, it doesn’t help overmuch because it just doesn’t seem right that someone so vital die at age 48.
As anyone who’s read my blog knows, I resonate strongly to this because my late husband Michael died at age 46, suddenly and without warning. Then my best friend Jeff died last year, suddenly and without warning, after he’d fought off the worst of a terrible bacterial infection and seemed to be on the upswing, at age 47. This is why it really and truly does not seem right to me that someone who still had so much left to give is dead at age 48.
I tend to think a person’s life has to be measured by what he or she did with it; in the case of Houston, I believe she was as successful as she could be, considering the terrible toll drug addiction had exacted from her. She was a gifted performer, a fine singer, and by many accounts was a very kind person whose only real weakness was drugs.
At any rate, Houston’s life is over; she’s done all she could, and now all we have left are the recordings she left behind.
I refuse to say “rest in peace” because the phrase has been so overused that it’s trite. I’d rather say that my heart goes out to Houston’s daughter, Bobbi Kristina, Houston’s ex-husband, Bobby Brown (someone that Houston stayed close to even after she divorced him), her mother Cissy Houston (a gifted singer in her own right), and cousin Dionne Warwick (one of the best singers of the ’60s, ’70s, and early ’80s), along with anyone else who knew Houston or loved her music. May they be comforted by their memories and/or her music; may her spirit find happiness in Eternity. (Amen.)
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** Note: Whatever else that can be said about my late husband, or my best friend Jeff, know that up until the day of each man’s passing, they learned, changed, grew, and became better people the longer they lived. This is not to say they were saints (saints are boring); they were good men, which is a whole lot tougher thing to be than it seems.
Whitney Houston, according to Rev. Al Sharpton, had beaten most of her demons (this is my best paraphrase from hearing Sharpton on CNN and earlier on MSNBC); CNN has reported that Houston was about to star in her first movie in 15 years. So as far as anyone knows right now, Houston was clean and sober. She was able to act. And she was able to perform again, albeit with a voice that was badly ravaged by drugs — though even had she “stayed clean” throughout her life, the voice tends to break down for many operatic-trained sopranos in their late 40s.
To my mind, Houston’s life was a success. Not because she was such a great singer, but because she kept trying and didn’t give up. In this way — and perhaps only in this way — she was like my husband, or my friend, and that’s the main reason I mourn her passing.
Former Packers Radio Network Announcer Jim Irwin dies at 77 from Kidney Cancer
Former Green Bay Packers Radio Network announcer Jim Irwin has died at age 77 of kidney cancer. Irwin, who worked mainly for WTMJ-AM 620 Milwaukee in Wisconsin, announced games on the radio for the Packers, Milwaukee Bucks, Milwaukee Brewers (as a fill-in announcer) and Wisconsin Badgers for many years, starting in 1969 and retiring in 1998. Irwin also occasionally worked as a sportscaster for WTMJ-TV channel 4 in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
Irwin was a mainstay of the Packers Radio Network** for years as first a color commentator, then a play-by-play voice. Irwin called games for the Packers through many losing seasons before they finally got and stayed good in the 1990s; he retired after the Packers went to their second successive Super Bowl in 1998. Irwin was the last remaining radio announcer from his particular broadcast team, as long-time color commentator Max McGee died in 2007 and statistician Jim Palm died in 2010. (Note that in the 1997-8 season, Irwin called games with color announcer Larry McCarren as Max McGee retired one year before Irwin; McCarren continues those duties to this day with current Packers play-by-play announcer Wayne Larrivee.)
Irwin was inducted into the Packers Hall of Fame in 2003; prior to that, he had been inducted into the Wisconsin Broadcasting Hall of Fame and the Milwaukee Press Club Hall of Fame. Irwin was named the Wisconsin Sportscaster of the Year for a record-setting ten times in a row. (Please see this biography from the Packers Hall of Fame Web site for further details.)
Irwin was an outstanding, passionate announcer who loved the Packers and didn’t try to hide it, but wouldn’t hesitate to call out plays he felt were dumb or unnecessary. Irwin also could be caustic with regards to bad coaching, though it took a lot to get him there; as Bob Harlan said today on WTMJ radio 620 in Milwaukee during the Wisconsin Afternoon News program, Irwin was extremely “enthusiastic” about the Packers, was always “well-prepared,” but had “a temper” and would occasionally let it loose, especially if he felt something was wrong due to someone not doing his or her homework (either for the radio broadcast, or regarding the team itself).
Listening to some of the calls Irwin made fifteen years after the fact (as some were from 1996 and early 1997) reminded me how much I enjoyed the way Irwin called a game. He didn’t insert himself into the commentary as so many do nowadays; instead, he let the game come to him, and he explained what he saw in a way that was both clear and entertaining.
I’ve missed hearing Irwin’s smooth voice and insightful commentary on a regular basis since 1998, but he had occasionally worked on behalf of WTMJ AM so I still heard his thoughts now and again in recent years. There also had been an interview with Irwin on Today’s TMJ 4 (WTMJ-TV in Milwaukee, Wisconsin) last May that referenced the beginning of Irwin’s fight against kidney cancer, a fight Irwin was certain he’d win; that link is here.
Please see this link for a few transcribed Jim Irwin play-by-play calls, along with a great deal more information about what Irwin actually did for WTMJ radio and TV:
http://www.todaystmj4.com/news/local/137903348.html
Irwin led exactly the life he’d hoped to live, one filled with professional and personal success. And my guess is, he’d not have had it any other way, as referenced by this quote from the TodaysTMJ4 article:
When asked about how he would rate his life on a scale of 1-10, Irwin answered, “Is there a 12 or a 14?”
Rest well, Jim Irwin.
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** Wisconsin is unusual in that we’re a state that follows one, single NFL team, the Green Bay Packers. The Packers Radio Network in 2011-12 is comprised of thirty-six separate Wisconsin stations (see list here) and stations in Iowa, Michigan, Minnesota, North Dakota, and South Dakota. That’s why our broadcasters often have a wider scope than some in other, much bigger media markets.
Music, Remembrance, and Observations
Folks, this is a difficult blog to write, mostly because I’ve been struggling with my grief process over the loss of my good friend, Jeff Wilson, all week long. (Well, really since he died, but this week it hit hard and fast, and just hasn’t really let up for very long.) Couple that with the holidays, and with missing my late husband Michael something fierce, well . . . let’s just say that I haven’t really had an enjoyable few weeks and save steps, shall we? (The sinus infection I’ve been dealing with hasn’t helped, either.)
What keeps me going despite these difficult and frustrating times? My music, that’s what. Music has a profound resonance for me, partly because I’ve spent most of my life studying it, and partly because I think better in music than words. (Strange, but true.)
Next Tuesday, I’ll play the first concert since making a bit of a comeback as a musician out at the University of Wisconsin-Parkside in Kenosha. The UW-Parkside Wind Ensemble and Community Band will perform, both singly and together; as first chair alto saxophone in the Community Band, I will be playing an extended solo in a piece called “Roma.” I’m looking forward to the concert, and I hope those of my friends and family who attend will enjoy it.
That being said, it feels very strange to me to be playing a concert at this time. I’m not one hundred percent right, not physically (even without the sinus infection, my hands continue to give me fits due to my carpal tunnel syndrome), and certainly not emotionally due to the recent loss of my friend Jeff. But that’s not any sort of excuse to keep me from doing whatever I can; I refuse to sit on the sidelines just because I am not in the musical shape I’d rather be in, or the physical shape, either.
The last time I played a concert, it was before I had met my late husband Michael — while Michael heard me practice many times, he never got a chance to hear me play in a concert, something I will always regret. Now, Jeff is also gone; while he was there encouraging me through both rounds of occupational therapy in the last year, which helped me regain enough of my abilities to again be able to play my saxophone (and play reasonably well), he is no longer able to hear me tell him how things are going, much less get a chance to hear a recording of the concert itself. (With his health issues the last five weeks of his life, that would’ve been the only way for him to hear me play unless I’d been able to get out there and play for him in person. Which of course I also wanted to do.)
So the two people who were the most important to me in this life are gone. I can’t do anything about that, other than wish with all my heart and soul that they were still here . . . and that’s not enough. (I’m sorry. I wish it was, but it really isn’t.)
What I’m going to try to do, therefore, is play and hope that wherever they are, they’ll hear it and know I’m doing everything in my power to regain my musical abilities. That meant a lot to them, and I’m sure that wherever they are now, it still does — so for the moment, all I can do is save up my experiences and hope that down the line, I’ll again be able to share with them how I felt about what I was doing in some sort of meaningful way (even if it has to be in the positive afterlife, not here).
Music, ’tis said, is a great healer. All I know is, it helps me to be able to play right now, even though nothing is going to be able to take this pain away because I miss my husband. I miss my good friend. And I wish very much that they were still with me in this life, because I really would’ve liked to see their faces after I finished, triumphantly, playing my solo in “Roma.”
Jeff Wilson: An Elegiac Portrait
I’ve been asked to describe my good friend, Jeff Wilson, to those who never got a chance to meet him. Here’s my best take, which I know will be inadequate.
Jeff was a very kind, compassionate person. He deplored the evils of this world, most particularly selfishness, greed and stupidity, but refrained from passing judgment on anyone. (More people should be like this.)
Jeff loved animals, and kept several cats (or maybe they kept him; I’m not sure). His cats were extremely important to him, and he treated them with respect and dignity — but don’t take that to mean he didn’t enjoy them, because he did. They often made him laugh, and he viewed this as an unalloyed blessing (which indeed, it was).
Jeff was an excellent friend. He was always there whenever he was needed, and he’d do whatever he could to help. He was an excellent listener; more to the point, he understood what he heard, which was a rare and special quality.
Jeff had very strong principles and an intrinsic sense of balance. Perhaps this was due to his appreciation of Eastern religious thought, most particularly the words of Confucius and Gautama Buddha; maybe it was just something about him that would’ve been there even without that, though studying those tenets certainly helped refine these excellent qualities.
Jeff searched for excellence in all things. He rarely found it, but when he did, he was as delighted as a child unwrapping just the toy he or she had wanted at Christmas.
Jeff appreciated classical music because it brought him closer to the Divine. His favorite composer was probably Ludwig van Beethoven; his favorite piece was Gustav Holst’s The Planets.
Jeff read everything, but he had a particular love for two different and disparate styles of writing: science fiction and fantasy on the one hand, and the highly structured and mannered novels of Jane Austen and her imitators on the other. He loved the former because they opened up new worlds and ways of thought to him; he loved the latter because they proved that even in a highly mannered world (now lost), people often acted rashly, badly, and without forethought — but how they got out of trouble in the end and found worthy pursuits was very similar to our own time. (In other words, Jeff found the commonality of human experience to be worthy, regardless of genre.)
Jeff was a nonmaterialist, a nonconformist, was an autodidact (meaning he taught himself many things he’d never learned in school and could absorb almost anything), a writer, an artist, dabbled with poetry but was rarely satisfied with his efforts (which to my mind, would make him a poet; not to his, though). He loved life, talking with people about anything and everything, and wanted to know all that was knowable.
I will miss him profoundly.
More on my friend, Jeff Wilson . . . and a bit about the recalls
Folks, these two topics aren’t as far removed as they seem. My best friend’s name was Jeff Wilson; he lived in Fort Collins, Colorado, and as I said earlier today, he died on Sunday morning at the age of 47.
Jeff was a political watcher, just as I am, and was keenly interested in the recall of Governor Scott Walker and also in the recall of my own sitting State Senator, Van Wanggaard (R-Racine). Jeff believed, as I do, that Walker and Wanggaard overreached drastically back in February due to SB10 — that being the budget bill that stripped public employee union members of their rights to collectively bargain. So me continuing to pursue the recalls, even though I really feel terrible about Jeff’s passing, is the right thing to do. It’s what he’d want me to do.
The recalls of both Walker and Wanggaard will start at 12:01 a.m. on Tuesday morning — that is, about two hours from now. Some people are going in their pajamas to get the recall papers; some are going straight from football parties (as the Packers are playing tonight; currently they’re up 31-7 in the third quarter). I won’t be doing that; I’ll be lighting a candle, again, in my good friend’s memory. But tomorrow afternoon, I will be going if at all possible to the recall office and will not only sign to get Walker and Wanggaard out, but will take the training so I can perhaps train others to do the same thing.
As I said before, Jeff was a deeply principled and ethical man. He had a very strong moral compass. He knew what he believed was right and he did that; nothing else need apply, and that was one of his best qualities to my mind (I suppose it matched my stubbornness rather well). That’s why he supported, very strongly, the recall of these two men; he even mentioned it on Friday during our last conversation.
It’s very hard right now to concentrate on anything because I feel so terribly about Jeff’s untimely passing. He was getting better. Everything looked good. I believed I could get out there to see him, and would’ve found a way as I was looking really hard; I also know that Jeff looked forward to my telephone calls, and that my encouragement and support meant a great deal to him — as me talking to him, knowing he was alive and fighting as hard as he could, meant a great deal to me because I knew he’d have done the same thing if I’d have been in his place.
So while I still want to recall Walker and Wanggaard and try to restore some balance to my state (all three branches of government right now are controlled by radical, hard-right Rs), it’s muted even though I’ve been looking forward to this day for months. I hope you can understand why.
While Heaven, or the positive afterlife (“the Good Place (TM)”), whatever you want to call it, has gained an angel, I feel absolutely devastated. Jeff and I were friends for a long time — six years, maybe a bit more — and he was my best friend, the person who understood me the best, and the person I understood the best also. Maybe it’s selfish of me, but I would much rather Jeff be here, and be upset at not being home where he wanted to be (a completely understandable reaction, to my mind), and me be able to talk with him directly and him with me, directly, than Heaven gaining him as an angel.
Because when one good person dies, the whole world loses, whether the world knew this person or not. In Jeff’s case, as he was a very, very good person, the world’s loss is nearly incalculable. And my own — well, I have no words to describe it, except to say that I wish with everything I have that this hadn’t happened.
I wanted to be there, to hold his hand, and to be able to give him a hug. I thought him seeing me, seeing my caring and concern, would make a difference. I wasn’t able to get there but was working hard to do so; obviously, I didn’t get that chance.
And while I don’t know if me getting there would’ve made a difference to him, it assuredly would’ve for me — being able to see him and touch him and hold his hand would’ve helped a lot right now.
I’m doing my best to remember the good times and positive memories of the excellent conversations Jeff and I had about all sorts of wide-ranging subjects. That’s the only way to deal with grief, really; you can’t forget, and you can’t “move on,” but you can go on with your memories and never, ever forget the wonderful people who have graced your life.
I’ve had two, now. My wonderful, amazing, extremely intelligent and talented husband, Michael. And my astonishingly smart, gifted, and remarkably talented friend, Jeff. So I’ve been doubly blessed, and I know that, even though I really wish both of them were here on this plane of existence rather than the positive afterlife I’m sure they’re enjoying right now because I miss them both more than words could ever say.
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** Note: As I’ve said before, there’s no question in my mind Michael would want me to pursue the recall efforts also. Michael was deeply principled also, and believed hypocrisy was among the worst sins known to mankind — Van Wanggaard has been guilty of that, in spades — while pitting brother against brother, sister against sister, the way Scott Walker did, is right down there, too. So with my extremely heavy heart, I will do my best to oust these two politicians and send them home to pursue a different course of employment . . . and hope whoever takes their places will be much better public servants than either of these two, or even both of them put together.
What to do when a Publishing Relationship Ends
Why is it that most writers plan for the beginning of a publishing relationship, but never plan for the end?
I know, I know. The end of any relationship, in or out of publishing, is not what most people prefer to dwell upon because it’s depressing. The end of any relationship means the end of any current possibilities, and that’s sad and extremely difficult for most human beings to contemplate.
That being said, in the current world we live in, we need to plan how to deal with failure graciously. (Not that every end to every publishing relationship means you’ve failed, mind you; just that it’s going to feel like failure, especially when you know you’ve tried everything in your power to make a publishing enterprise work.) We need to learn how to come to terms with setbacks, be they minor or major, and learn to deal with them as graciously as possible.
See, I look at the publishing business as a long-term thing that, in its own way, is a microcosm of life. We’re going to have good days and bad. The good days are usually easy to handle; it’s the tough ones we must learn from as best we can.
What I do when a publishing relationship has ended is to acknowledge it, make some sort of announcement to those who need to know about it, and am otherwise as polite as humanly possible. My thoughts, which are greatly influenced by those of my late husband Michael in this regard, are these: who knows if I’ll be working with this person/these people in the future? So why be obnoxious now when there’s really no need for it?
Yes, we need to acknowledge when we’re upset or frustrated. I’ve never advocated “sitting on” any emotion, as in my experience that tends to fester and make things worse later on. But we don’t need to go out of our way burning bridges this way and that, either . . . in fact, if we can avoid burning bridges, that’s probably the best way to handle things.
All that being said, it’s sad when anything you’ve spent a great deal of time and effort on goes for naught; I’ve had this happen a few times this past year, and the only thing that can be done is this: chalk it up to experience, be as polite as possible, and move on.
This is very hard to do, granted. But if you can do it, others will notice and appreciate the professionalism of your attitude, which may lead you to further and better work in the future.
So, to sum up, here’s the three things you need to do when a publishing relationship of any sort ends:
1) Come to terms with it and write a brief, polite, professional note saying you’re sorry things have come to this pass (whatever it is), and that you’ve appreciated working with whomever. Also, if you can bring yourself to it, wish the person (or people) well in the future as this costs you nothing.
2) Acknowledge it to those who need to know in a brief, polite and professional note. (Keep your feelings about it, as much as possible, to yourself.)
3) Allow yourself to grieve the loss, because it is a loss — give yourself an hour, or even half a day if you must, to be upset over it. Then, do your best to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and move on.
Most importantly, do your best not to bear a grudge. Remember that we’re all human, we’re all fallible, and there’s no need to spread nastiness. You don’t need to put up with bad treatment, mind you; far from it. Just try to rise above it if you can while knowing that it’s possible that someday you might work with this person (or these people) again. And if that opportunity arises, you want to be able to work with whomever without undue rancor if at all possible.
You need to think long-term at a time when your inner self is screaming, “No!” at the top of its lungs. This isn’t easy, but if you can do it, it’ll help you in the long run.**
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** Michael’s name for this was the “better in sorrow than in anger” method. Try it. It works.
Brewers Play Giants; My Thoughts
My late husband Michael was a San Francisco Giants fan.
Of course, this isn’t surprising, considering he was a long-time San Francisco resident. That his father and mother both supported the Giants, as did his brother and sister . . . well, that probably helped a little, though Michael wasn’t the type to join in just for the sake of joining.
Nope. He loved baseball because it was — and is — a game that can be measured. Baseball statistics make sense, to the degree that different eras can be compared and contrasted, as are various players, their situations and their teams.
Michael loved his Giants. Which is why me watching my Milwaukee Brewers team play them is ever so slightly bittersweet.
I keep thinking about how Michael would enjoy this year’s Giants team as much as he would’ve enjoyed last year’s — the 2011 Giants once again have stellar pitching, defense, and play well as a team, all things Michael appreciated as a long-time baseball fan. But, of course, it’s my Brewers playing the Giants — the Brewers, who mostly live and die by the long ball. By the big inning. Who aren’t exactly known for their skills at base-stealing, small ball, or for any of their starting pitchers.
I mean, think about it. Who do you know on the Giants pitching staff that’s a big name? Tim Lincecum. Matt Cain, who’s pitching tonight. Barry Zito, though he’s not done well this year and hasn’t justified the huge amount of money the Giants spent on him a few years ago. Jonathan Sanchez, perhaps the best #5 pitcher in baseball. And previously-unknown Ryan Vogelsong, perhaps the best story in baseball this year as he went from getting his outright release in 2010 to having the best ERA in baseball — 2.02 — in 2011, with a 7-1 record in fifteen starts.
Whereas the Brewers have two pitchers who’ve pitched reasonably well throughout — Shaun Marcum, who’s pitching tonight, and Randy Wolf. Then, we have two wildly inconsistent pitchers who can be either really good or really bad — Zack Greinke and Yovani Gallardo. And, finally, we have Chris Narveson, a guy who is better known for his bat than his pitching, though he’s had a decent year thus far. And let’s not even start about the Brewers defense, as I could go all day about how many ways the infield in particular needs improvement (only Rickie Weeks is relatively solid at second, though he does not have great range; Casey McGehee has had some good moments but mostly isn’t known for his glove; Prince Fielder’s fielding has regressed this season, so he’s once again a well below average first baseman who holds his position due to his fearsome bat; and, of course, Yuniesky Betancourt, who hits better than he fields, but doesn’t exactly hit a ton considering his overall .250 batting average coming into tonight’s game).
I have mixed feelings here, because I see how the Giants are by far the superior team. The Giants have pitching, defense, and overall team chemistry, even if they don’t hit particularly well . . . their pitching makes up for a great deal, which is how they win games. While the Brewers have hitting, hitting, and more hitting, with some good outfield defense (Corey Hart in RF is good, Ryan Braun has really improved in LF but hasn’t been healthy recently, while Nyjer Morgan plays a decent center field and has speed — mind, losing Carlos Gomez due to a broken collarbone hasn’t helped), some good to better pitching amidst massive inconsistency, and more hitting.
So it’s a battle of two different styles of baseball being played out tonight in this Brewers-Giants game (currently, as I write this, the Brewers lead 3-1 in the top of the sixth). Good to excellent hitting versus good to excellent pitching and outstanding defense. A worthy game, one which I’ll enjoy as best I can, wishing all the while that my wonderful husband were still alive to share it with me.
Still. I am here, and I see at least some of what Michael would’ve seen in the Giants, as I’m also a long-time baseball fan who appreciates excellent pitching and defense. I can’t recreate a conversation which didn’t have a chance to happen, though I know what sorts of comments Michael made when he and I watched his Giants play in 2002, 2003 and 2004 . . . I suppose because I’m thinking so much about what he would’ve seen had he been here to observe it, at least a small part of Michael has survived.
And that, at least, is a good thing. As is the enjoyment I get from watching my Brewers and Michael’s Giants.
Barb Caffrey's Blog 