Archive for the ‘Remembrance’ Category
Cold Weather, Bob Uecker, and Reggie White…
The past week at Chez Caffrey has been bleak, cold, and miserable. It’s also coincided with a lot of angst, stress, and difficulties that I can’t go into, but have nothing to do with my writing, my editing, or my music.
Except, of course, for draining my energy, but that happens. Hopefully I’ll get it back at some point.
Anyway, I thought I’d discuss a bit more about Bob Uecker, the Brewers broadcaster (also an actor and comedian), as something came to me after I’d written my post not long after Uecker’s death had been reported to the media. Uecker reminds me, somehow, of Packers legend Reggie White, nicknamed “The Minister of Defense.” Mind you, Uecker could be profane in private (he admitted this), whereas Reggie White did not swear at all. But both men had the ability to talk with you, one on one, and make you believe you were the most important person in their life at that time.
How do I know this? Well, while I didn’t meet Bob Uecker, I did meet Reggie White years ago. (He died at the untimely age of forty-three due to obstructive sleep apnea.) He was signing one of his books at the local mall (as he knew most of his audience was likely to be in Wisconsin, he spent time at quite a few malls), and I went to talk with him. I told him I could not afford his book, not then, but I would try to get it later (I did, too; while I don’t have the copy anymore, I enjoyed reading it as it was half-affirmations and half-tough love).
Now, there are a whole lot of things people can do when someone comes up to them and says, “Hi, I see your book and can’t buy it right now.” Some responses aren’t polite. Some are, but are the equivalent of a brush-off, like “Go away, kid, you bother me.” Then there’s what Reggie did.
As there was a momentary lull, he said he needed to stretch his legs (he put this differently, but it was very polite), and would I like to walk with him? (I did not use a cane then.)
My answer was, “Absolutely yes!” (I would’ve said “Hell yes,” but Reggie was a minister. Couldn’t say that!)
At any rate, Reggie and I chatted. About football. About life. About the Bible, as I had a question for him…after this, he offered to give me a copy of his book because he knew I’d been telling him the truth (I wanted it, but hadn’t been paid yet, so couldn’t get it). I told him no, that I would buy it — and I did, with my next paycheck.
Bob Uecker and I never met. I might’ve seen him a time or two going into Brewers games when I was younger at old Milwaukee County Stadium, but my interactions, such as they were, tended to be at arms-length: his broadcasting, his acting, and his comedy.
That said, the people who had one magical conversation with him said much the same things of Uecker that I just said about Reggie White. And Uecker’s star power was akin to White’s, especially in Wisconsin, where Uecker was born, raised, and died.
It’s good to know that fame does not change some people, and they remain good, kind, decent, and honorable despite the temptations in their path to do and be otherwise. Bob Uecker and Reggie White were good people, and while Uecker lived to be ninety and White lived to be only forty-three, their impact on people will last far longer than their lives.
That’s the way it’s supposed to be.
Illness, Thanksgiving, and Observing My Late Father’s Birthday
My father was born around Thanksgiving, and even before I knew how to understand things like months, days, and years, I knew as early as three years old that if Thanksgiving was coming, Dad’s birthday would be soon.
Of course, Dad died last year about a month shy of his 87th birthday. Had he lived this long, he’d have turned 88.
There are so many things that have happened in the past year that would’ve pleased him. There were other things that would really have upset him, including the national uptick of bad behavior, rudeness, and obnoxiousness. In some quarters, it now seems perfectly acceptable to treat others with disdain, disrespect, and, quite frankly, dishonor.
Dad was a proud veteran of the United States Navy, and watching the country devolve into chaos would not have been his thing. The pandemic was more than bad enough as it brought out the worst in a whole lot of people that seemingly hasn’t gone away since.
Mind you, there are still many wonderful people out there. I think the majority of people in the United States, as well as around the world, are good, caring, decent, honorable, and kind-hearted people who want only to live and let live. We hear about the others because they are aberrations. But there seem to be more and more of them, and you see this sort of bad behavior everywhere nowadays. On the highways, with road-rage incidents and people shooting at each other. In the grocery store, where I’ve seen several fights break out over the years — more in the last few by far. Really, anywhere a person can congregate with another, including churches, mosques, or other buildings meant for faithful people to enjoy their religion/religious beliefs and others in their congregation, can hold a mass shooter.
Other countries do not put up with this, but the US does. I don’t know why. I’ve written about it many times over the years, and I’ll probably write about it even more when the next unthinkable incident happens.
It’s because of knowing this, along with observing my father’s birthday soon and then Thanksgiving later this week, that I have a hard time finding the blessings there still are.
But there are blessings. As I said, there are good people out there. The scenery can be beautiful. I’m fortunate that I live near Lake Michigan — it’s only a few short miles away — and I can gaze out at it any time of the year and gain some peace from that. Books have always been my salvation, too. Plus, I ponder a lot of moral conundrums, as it’s been my lot in life to be a spiritual seeker rather than a follower of any one religion. (I consider myself a NeoPagan, which most of you reading probably already know. But I read the Bible often for its beauty and elegance and feel it holds a lot of truth within it. I’ve also read translations of the Koran and some of the Bhavagad Gita, though not much of the latter stuck.) I consider Buddhism, as it was my late husband Michael’s practice, and try to let whatever part I can absorb infuse my soul with meaning and purpose. (That sounds odd, doesn’t it? Best I can do right now, though.) I have enjoyed reading about the Stoics and their movement of Stoicism, which isn’t exactly what we Americans think it was…yes, they believed in what one Star Trek writer called “mastery of the unavoidable,” but they didn’t believe you shouldn’t feel. They actually believed more along the lines of “don’t let the bad things throw you, as we all have bad things happen in our lives. What can we gain from life besides the bad things?”
Thanksgiving is a time to honor family, friends, and loved ones, past or present. I do plan to see my family, despite the fact I’m quite ill right now and have been for weeks.
(Some of you may be thinking, “Barb, what took you so long to talk about the illness you’re enduring?” I’m getting to that.)
About two weeks ago, I’d called my doctor’s office about my asthma, the fact my throat was sore, and that my allergies were acting up. I was seen, and told that it was most likely viral bronchitis. If I was still sick in a week, I should go back and be seen or walk into urgent care if it was a weekend.
So, yesterday, as I was still quite ill, I walked into urgent care. I was told I had an acute asthma exacerbation — thus the bronchospasms and bronchitis — along with a particularly wicked sinus infection that was spreading to my ears. I had so much fatigue that walking from my car to the house required several stops to rest, and that’s all wrong. I was very frightened by all of this, which I’ll admit here…I also didn’t want to eat anything, though I was still trying to eat, as my throat hurt so bad I could barely swallow.
I was using all my tricks to amp up my appetite, including drinking diet soda before and during meals. (For some reason, diet soda raises my appetite. I guess I’m not the only one this happens to, but I don’t know how frequently it happens to others.) During meals, I often drink diet soda or some other carbonated beverage in order to be able to swallow the food. (Two endoscopies have been performed in the last ten years to find out why this is and no one has any idea.) Plus, I knew that without food, I’d have no energy with which to heal myself.
Because I’ve got so many friends and family on the Other Side now, and fewer remain on this side, I thought a lot about why I continued to fight to stay on this plane of existence. Yes, I feel I have unfinished business. Yes, there’s editing to do. Yes, I’ve got I don’t know how many books in me to finish plus at least seven stories at work either singly or in collaboration with my friend Gail Sanders. Yes, my family needs me, and yes, I hope someday that I’ll find some nice man that can tolerate me (better yet, light up at the sight of me and enjoy all our interactions, but first things first) and that I can tolerate in return (again, I want a lot more than tolerance, but I tell myself, “Patience, grasshopper” in my best Kwai Chang Kane voice).
Still. My chest hurt so bad it was like a vise was around it. I couldn’t get a good breath. My cough was unproductive in the extreme, though intermittent. And until yesterday, I had been told it was viral and that I couldn’t do anything about it other than put up with it and hope it went away.
I’m fortunate that I still have medical insurance, though I wonder for how much longer. That said, I had it now, and I was able to get the medication I needed at a lower price than I’d have paid on my own after I was diagnosed with acute asthma exacerbation driving the bronchitis and a wicked sinus infection driving everything else.
Just knowing what’s wrong helps. Being able to take some medicine (in this case, antibiotics and steroids) that I know will work has improved my attitude overall, to the point I can at least come to my blog and write/talk about it.
I’m glad that the US still believes in helping those in need, those who are not as fortunate as others (I, a disabled, long-time and still youthful widow, count in that category). But the uptick in bad behavior has me concerned. If we as a country go all in for “I’ve got mine, to Hell with you!” we are doomed.
I think most of us want the US to be a strong and safe country with leaders that make sense and try to do the people’s bidding rather than go off on tangents and only fix their own, personal hobbyhorses. I also hope and pray that people in the US, as well as around the world, will know that putting someone else down does not make you rise up. It instead lowers you to your enemy’s level.
This has been a long blog. But it all weighs on me. Dad’s impending birthday, that I’ll probably celebrate out at the cemetery where he’s buried. Thanksgiving, where half the country seems to hate the other half. This illness, which came too close to me just saying, “OK, if my time’s up, it’s up.” (When you can’t breathe well, you can’t think, you don’t really have much in the way of energy as I said before, and trying to find positives seems like a Herculean effort.)
I hope those of you who are ill right now, in body, mind, or spirit will know that you are worth it whether anyone else knows it or not. I also hope that this Thanksgiving will be one of reconciliation and kindness. Somehow.
If you want to light a candle, though, please do it. Pray for peace, especially in the Middle East and the Ukraine. Pray for wisdom among our elected leaders. Pray for strength for ourselves, and healing, too. Pray for the downtrodden, those marginalized by bad circumstances, by faults not their own, and pray their situations get better. (Here I’m thinking about the Sudan, much of the problems Middle Eastern women have, and other such things along with the prosaic.)
If you want to add to your prayers, say a prayer for my father, who I hope is in Heaven/the positive afterlife of his choice now. Or you could even say one for me, and I can’t stop you…(I know it’s a weak joke, but that’s all I’ve got right now).
Please have the best Thanksgiving holiday you can, though. Try to find the good in your relatives, even if they are difficult and insist on only the choicest cuts of turkey and hog all the dressing to themselves. (You can always wait until they get up to use the bathroom and grab the rest of the dressing if they refuse to give it up, you know.)
Find meaning and purpose however you can. Remember, don’t spread vitriol, and do be kind to others.
That’s what I want this week. That’s what I want always.
Linkin Park Hires a New Co-Lead Singer, and I Have Thoughts…
In case you haven’t heard yet, Linkin Park has a new lead singer, or probably better explained as co-lead singer along with singer/rapper Mike Shinoda. They needed someone because their iconic lead singer Chester Bennington died seven years ago by his own hand, and most of Linkin Park wanted to play together again. (The exception was their original drummer, Rob Bourdon.) So they’ve hired a woman, Emily Armstrong, who fronted a group known as Dead Sara, to sing the parts that Chester would’ve sung had he still been alive.
Note that I did not say “to replace Chester,” as there’s no way to replace Chester Bennington. But Linkin Park wanted/needed someone to sing those parts, and Emily Armstrong can sing melodies and then scream in a heartfelt way. My guess is that Emily A. sings in a similar range to Chester, or at least is close enough that with some minor arrangements (perhaps changing the key signature and/or mode — as lots of groups use modes like Mixolydian, Lydian, Dorian, etc., in addition in order to better reflect a mood or feeling), Linkin Park’s songs can be rendered well enough for fans to appreciate them.
This is a big controversy because of two things. One, you can’t replace Chester; he had a unique set of skills, including an emotional awareness that was almost uncanny, that could never be reproduced by anyone else. Two, one of Chester’s sons, Jamie, is very unhappy about this. Jamie pointed out that September is International Suicide Awareness month, which seems disrespectful to him as his father Chester died by suicide.
That raises a good point: as Linkin Park had been working with Emily A., quietly, for months, why didn’t Linkin Park wait another month to drop this news? Or why not move it up into August? Why court this sort of drama when you don’t have to?
See, there was someone else, a musician — I can’t remember the guy’s name right now — who had reported about four, maybe five months ago that he’d heard that Linkin Park had hired a new female singer. Mike Shinoda and other Linkin Park members pooh-poohed this and said if there was any news to report, they’d report it themselves, thank you.
But the guy who reported this was a fellow musician. I knew at the time, being a musician myself, that something was undoubtedly going on even though the guy who’d said he’d heard Linkin Park had a new lead female singer backtracked pretty quickly once Mike Shinoda, et. al., basically said the man should mind his own business. Still, from that report, I figured Linkin Park was probably rehearsing, trying to lay tracks in the music studio, and figure out if a combo with some woman — who we know now to be Emily A. — was commercially viable.
That’s exactly what was going on, as we now know.
My thoughts on this are a bit mixed. First, it is hard for me to conceive of anyone singing the parts Chester sang so well and so distinctively. Chester Bennington was an integral part of Linkin Park, and as I said before, I do not believe he can ever be replaced. But second, as a musician, I know that the members of Linkin Park wanted to play again. It’s been seven years since they last played a concert in public, and most of them (Rob Bourdon, original drummer, aside) were itching to get out there and to perform.
I can’t blame any musician for wanting to perform, OK? That’s kind of what we do, providing we’re healthy enough to do it. Every performance, even of a well-known song like Linkin Park’s “In the End,” is a little different, because the energy of the crowd may be different. Or maybe one or more of the group members is feeling especially emotive. Or there’s some extra tenderness in a quiet musical interlude. Or the bombastic, up-tempo stuff seems to have extra fire one day, while the next, while still fun to listen to and hopefully fun for the group members to play, doesn’t quite meet that level of intensity.
This is true of any human music group anywhere in the history of time. Live music has variables to it, and can be extremely good one night, good the next, a bit off the third (though probably the audience won’t recognize it, the members of the group assuredly will know and feel like they let themselves down), and back to good the fourth night. It is just the nature of the beast.
As I’ve said before at my blog, there are such things as post-concert highs and post-concert lows. For example, I believe famous singer Chris Cornell may well have been dealing with a post-concert low before he called his wife and sounded so odd just a few hours before he took his own life. Audience members, from what I can recall at the time as he passed a couple of months before Chester did, said that Chris seemed frustrated, maybe a little unhappy, and his performance was not necessarily up to par. Again, some of this is the nature of the beast, and every musician worth his/her/their salt knows it. But it can be hard to remember, in the moment, that as wonderful as music is, and as wonderful as it is that some people get to live their dreams and make a living from music, that being a musical performer is not the sum total of everything we are.
I’ve had both post-concert highs and post-concert lows. They can be disconcerting, but the lows are worse by far than the highs. On those nights, I wonder why I even bothered to take up an instrument. (I don’t sing in public and am glad I don’t.) My hands felt a little off, maybe, or it was very hot outside and playing an outdoor concert was uncomfortable and unpleasant. Either way, it affected my performance for the worse. Because of that, I felt like I’d let down the audience, let down the group I was playing in, let down myself too, and just wished the ground would swallow me up, whole.
At any rate, getting back to Linkin Park and their new singer Emily A. — I think we should give the new-look and new-sound Linkin Park a bit of time to see how things go. I also think that as open-hearted as Chester B. often was, he’d not want to keep his bandmates from making music with someone else (even if it doesn’t feel easy for fans).
Finally, Shinedown’s lead singer Brent Smith posted on social media that he believes Linkin Park is doing what’s right for them. It sounded to me like Smith also believes fans should give the new version of Linkin Park time, and at least be open to listening to Emily A.’s vocals. (He spoke in a quite complimentary manner of Emily A., too.)
I think that’s a good position to take, and it’s one I can live with.
So, while I still wish that Chester was alive, singing his heart out, and playing/singing music to his heart’s content, I’m at least willing to listen to the new version. I make no promises yet as to what I think…but I will at least listen, and hope all goes well for them.
Father’s Day Blues
Folks, this will be the first Father’s Day without my father. I am not looking forward to this whatsoever.
Granted, I’m fortunate that my father lived as long as he did. There were things he didn’t get to see, that he wanted to see again, such as watching the Milwaukee Brewers make it back to the World Series (they’ve only been there once), and eventually winning a WS. I know he wanted to see at least one of my books succeed and thrive, too…
The thing is, he did get to see a lot of excellent things. He got to see both of the Milwaukee Bucks championships on TV. (He liked watching better on TV. When he went to the arena, he didn’t enjoy it as much.) He got to see Brett Favre and the Packers win a Super Bowl, then a few years later Aaron Rodgers and the Packers win another Super Bowl. He got to see a lot of good college basketball, a lot of good WNBA basketball (Dad loved the WNBA; he thought they played better as a team than most NBA clubs), and he enjoyed watching Brewers games on Sundays (when Telemundo has a free broadcast providing it’s a home game) while listening every other day on the Brewers Radio Network.
He also got to see me at my best, worst, and everything in between. (I would dare to say that my sibs probably feel the same way.) Just as I saw him (and so did my sibs) in the same ways.
I also know that as long as I live, some of him remains in this world. (Same for my sibs.)
It’s not the same, though. And as it’s the first Father’s Day observance without him, I definitely am feeling the worse for wear.
Those of you whose fathers are alive, please hug them and make much of them. Life is so damned short. You don’t know how much time you two may have left to be together, so don’t waste whatever is left.
Also, play a game of cribbage, smear, or, I suppose, Scrabble in my father’s honor. (Those were his three favorite games.) If your father likes ’em, too, give yourself double bonus points.
Thoughts on Papa Roach’s “Leave a Light On (Talk Away the Dark)”
Sorry about the brief hiatus in posts, folks. Nothing much to report, except that I’m still working on writing, editing, and that I hope to finish a musical composition of some sort soon.
Anyway, while I have been “away” (away in no real sense, but not posting), I’ve been contemplating Papa Roach’s single “Leave a Light On (Talk Away the Dark)” quite a bit. (Here’s a link to the YouTube video.) This song is a fundraiser for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFPS.org), a group close to Papa Roach’s heart.
Those of you reading along may not know who Papa Roach is. I didn’t, a few years ago, though I knew a few of their songs. (“Last Resort” is a personal favorite.) They are an American hard-rock group from California, and they once had a regular trombonist. (I approve of that! More rock groups should have interesting instrumentation.) They also have talked much about suicide, suicide prevention, depression, and anxiety throughout their career, as it’s important to them.
I’ve posted before about how this is a cause important to me (though I may not have put it that bluntly). One of my best friends killed himself before age forty. (We were on the same bowling team, years ago.) I’ve also watched as excellent singers and other musicians have struggled with addiction, anxiety, suicidal ideation, and more with my own unique perspective. (Hey, being a musician who’s not known along with being a writer who’s not known either has to have a unique perspective, or she’d just give up. I’m not into giving up. Moving on…)
When high-profile singers such as Linkin Park’s Chester Bennington and Soundgarden’s Chris Cornell die too young, what else can you think other than that life can be a major struggle? Being extravagantly talented can’t always save you.
But talking about your problems, honestly and with empathy, can.
That’s what Papa Roach’s song is all about.
Fortunately, because those musicians did so much to acknowledge their struggles while they were still alive, other musicians have continued to acknowledge their own struggles, partly because of the memories of their dearly beloved and departed friends. Papa Roach has a live version of “Leave a Light On (Talk Away the Dark)” that is dedicated to Chester Bennington, for example. Disturbed’s song “Hold on to Memories” has pictures of Bennington, Cornell, and quite a few other musicians who’ve died too young that Disturbed knew well to get across the fact that these people’s lives mattered. (I’ve discussed “Hold on to Memories” before.)
Perhaps a quote from a previous blog, which I called “When Life Does Not Go as Planned,” applies here:
Life, sometimes, is just damned hard. But we get up, we try, we do our best, we create or build or work hard on whatever it is that we feel called to do. Even when we’ve felt like we’ve failed at our deepest levels, what we’ve done matters. Even when our lives have been shattered, what we’ve done and who we’ve loved and how hard we’ve tried matters.
I believe, quite firmly, that’s what Papa Roach’s song “Leave a Light On (Talk Away the Dark)” is all about.
Anyway, I hope you will enjoy this song, if you haven’t heard it before. It’s one of several songs I’ve been paying attention to lately, along with the aforementioned “Hold on to Memories” and Shinedown’s “A Symptom of Being Human.”
Remember this, though: You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to do great things every single day. You don’t have to be anyone other than yourself. You are valuable just the way you are, and if you can keep putting one foot in front of the other, that absolutely matters. Whether anyone else aside from you knows it or not…it does, does matter.
How Do We Go On?
Some days are better than others. Some nights, too.
Last night, I had one of the worst nights in recent memory. It seemed like everything was in an uproar — my physical pain was high, my grief level for my father (and, of course, for my husband) was very high, and I was yet again at the same point I often am: Is this all there is? Is there nothing more?
Not to mention the biggest question I ponder daily: Am I doing any good in this world at all?
I believe the unexamined life is not worth living. But my quest to find meaning and purpose in what I do, lately, has been ground down by life circumstances beyond my control. If I had the financial wherewithal, I might consider a vacation…just to get away, to clear my head, to give myself some chance to rest and recover.
But I don’t have the means.
So, I’m trying to give myself a break in other ways. I don’t know yet if what I’m doing is viable, even in the short term. But listening to more music, reading more for pleasure (even if it’s just a frothy romance, if it makes me smile or laugh, it’s worth whatever price I’ve had to pay to get it), and doing what I can to help others (or at least not to hinder them) has to at some point make a difference even if I can’t see it.
I was reminded a few days ago of something that happened when I was in my teens. I was in religious education — CCD class, as I was raised Catholic — and I was a bit older than most of the other students as I wanted to ponder for a few years whether or not to get officially confirmed in the religion. (This was a big deal at the time.) My parents were not happy together, and were on the road to divorce; worse, I felt like I never fit in, and my skills in music, writing, and teaching did not seem like they would ever lead me in a prosperous direction. (I guess prosperous is a matter of opinion.) I often felt like giving up, yet I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t. But as the chaos around me continued to grow, my personal belief in myself faltered.
Then we had an exercise in CCD class. We had to pick names out of a hat, keep them secret, and write something positive to them for a few days to a few weeks. We could do anything we liked, so long as it was positive.
I can’t remember what I wrote to my correspondent that I’d picked out of a hat. I do remember what the young woman wrote to me, who’d picked my name out of a hat. She sent me pictures of rainbows, poems (not romantic ones, though I wouldn’t have known the difference back then!), and quotes of stuff I’d said when trying to be encouraging that had inspired her. I had no idea that anyone saw me that way, especially as I didn’t see myself that way whatsoever.
When the day came where our correspondent had to come up and introduce themselves, I still remember the young woman coming to me. She was fifteen, I think; I was seventeen. I’m going to call her “Alice,” here…anyway, Alice came up to me, and said she’d always appreciated me. She knew my situation was difficult. (I don’t know how, because while I did discuss some things, I was still deep in the “I don’t know what to say or how to say it” phase of adolescence; sometimes I wonder if I ever got out of that phase, in fact, but I digress.) She wanted me to know that at least one person saw me not only as worthy, but as inspirational…and she reminded me that God (as Catholics believe in a male deity, though some priests including writer and priest Andrew M. Greeley, believe in the Holy Spirit as Sophia, Goddess of Wisdom) loved us all.
I have never forgotten what she said, what she did, or the various ways in which she did it. I also remember how floored I was that she saw me that way.
So, when I think about having a rough night, or two, or twenty, I do my best to remember Alice and what she told me.
I do believe the spirit is eternal, I do believe the Goddess loves us all, and I also believe that we’re here for a reason even if we don’t know what that reason is.
I’ve struggled a lot in recent years with many things. But I’m not yet willing to give up on myself or my talents, no matter how difficult it may seem to use them.
Please wish me well as I continue on this quest to find a meaning, a purpose, a goal, or a decision that matters…not just to me, but to those I care about as well.
Barb Caffrey's Blog 