I am taking some time today to recall a great soul who died five years ago.

This individual was not a politician or statesman, neither a captain of industry nor a spiritual leader -- although he was an inspiration to many people. He never starred in a single commercial, never made a single film or hit record, never became a doctor (or even played one on TV). Some considered him heroic (in a sense), although he never went to war or saved anyone else’s life. He did one thing really well, and his love of it was clear to everyone who watched him. In fact, part of the tragedy of his all-too-brief existence was that it was doing the thing he loved so much that led, eventually, to his untimely demise. The eight-month-long struggle for his survival was played out on our TV screens and in our hearts, and it was his response to the difficulty of his circumstances during this time that moved and inspired people far beyond the relatively narrow circles interested in his field. In an era when so many public figures are revealed to have feet of clay, this individual was adopted as a role model by a surprising number of people, despite the fact that he was not even human.

I am speaking, of course, of Barbaro, the winner of the 2006 Kentucky Derby.

It is all too easy to ascribe human motives and reactions to animals, but Barbaro’s perceived “response” to adversity reminded people of some of the better angels of our own nature. We like to think of ourselves as courageous, meeting whatever life throws at us with our heads held high and a keen appreciation of the pleasures around us on even our most challenging days, rather like Barbaro’s interest in the mares whose presence he sensed following the initial surgery to repair his broken leg. We like to root for those individuals who buck the odds. In an uncertain world, the one fighting those battles might well be one of us the next time around, and seeing another’s success -- however fleeting it may be in the end -- gives us hope and the heart to keep going during our own struggles. Or, perhaps, we do still retain some capacity to recognize and respond to greatness of soul wherever we find it, and to note with sadness that the passing of such an individual means that a measure of light has gone from the world, at least for a time. And so I pause today to remember Barbaro, a great soul among the equines, in the hope that my doing so will help kindle whatever similar sparks may be lurking among the embers in the depths of my own soul.

I'm just thinking: if I had had the money, back in 1985, I would have stayed in England. I felt comfortable there: I had come to feel at home, even. There was much to like: health care (how's that for timely?); a certain calmness, comparatively speaking; a lack of much of the day-to-day "drama" -- even insanity -- that passes for culture, politics, and society here in these United States.

What I would have missed out on was: knowing my niece and nephew, as well as every last one of the richest, most satisfying, most nurturing friendships in which I am currently involved, many of them being on the short list of the most fulfilling relationships of my entire life.

Wanting to stay over there just goes to show how much I knew....


(Reposted from FaceBook)

A Blast from the Past. . . .
I wrote this one in the spring of 1987, after televangelist Oral Roberts announced that, unless his viewers coughed up $8 million, God would “call him home.” I set it to a possibly recognizable tune.

ORAL ROBERTS

Help! I'm Oral Roberts
Help! I'm a TV preacher
Help! I'm running out of funds
Help!

Mom always told me I'd do great things for the Lord
If I preached long-winded sermons, no one would get bored
But when I prayed the other day, I think God said to me
"You'd better get 8 million bucks, or you are history!"

Help me if you can -- time's running down --
Or pretty soon you won't have me to kick around
Don't let them put me six feet underground
Won't you please send money?

Then there’s our hospital, with beds in empty rows
We have to ship the patients in, else no one ever goes
But these med school scholarships cost more than I can give
If you help me help these kids, God might just let me live

Help me if you can -- time's running down --
Or pretty soon you won't have me to kick around
Don't let them put me six feet underground
Won't you please send money?

Mom always told me I'd do great things for the Lord
If I preached long-winded sermons, no one would get bored
But when I prayed the other day, I think God said to me
"You'd better get 8 million bucks, or you are history!"

Help me if you can -- time's running down --
Or pretty soon you won't have me to kick around
Don't let them put me six feet underground
Won't you please send money, money, money? Ooh. . . .

Have you ever noticed how easy it is to say exactly what you think -- until the instant somebody actually asks you to do it? Maybe it's easier, sometimes, to mouth off in the abstract, with nobody else around to critique, to judge, to censor, than it is to come out with whatever it is and risk public scrutiny. Especially by people whose opinions you care about.

I have seen those who are apparently of the opinion that the worst thing you can do to other people is disagree with them. True, some people seem to regard any divergence of opinion as somehow disloyal, an outright rejection of themselves as persons. I, on the other hand, having been the recipient of enough genuinely bad treatment over the years -- "the thousand natural frets and shocks that flesh is heir to" -- think I can usually tell the difference between, say, bullying and a simple difference of opinion.

If you disagree with me, that's fine: it very often shows me that you respect me as an equal, and that you have given enough consideration to my ideas to know that you don't agree with them. On the other hand, don't give me the sort of "freedom of choice" which is only free if I pick what you've already decided on. (And, yes, I have had someone do that to me.) In my own experience, I'm far less likely to develop that sort of "deer in the headlights" mentality as an immediate response to another person's questions if I'm not expecting reprisals for anything I might say.

Evasions:


Class A. Answering a question with the answer to a different question.

Class B. Answering a question with a question.

Class C. Answering a question by restating the original question.

Class D. Answering a question by pretending not to have heard the original question.

Class E. Answering a question by pretending not to understand the original question.

Class F. Answering a question with a detailed analysis of the original question, whether sincere or spurious.

Class G. Answering a question by answering only part of the original question, without addressing the main point of the original question.

Class H. Answering a question by starting to answer the original question but then embarking upon a digression (or series of digressions) so lengthy as to lose the questioner along the way.


(Reposted from FaceBook)

Campaign 2012 (as of 22 January 2012):

An exercise in which several rich guys, representing two 19th-Century political parties, along with their over-rich cronies, spend obscene amounts of money in an attempt to persuade early 21st-Century Americans to return to life in 1895, 1925, 1955, or 1985.

Three Little Words. . .


In recent years I have become more aware of (and a fan of) the old Fleetwood Mac song “Landslide,” which Stevie Nicks wrote while at a crossroads in her career and her personal life. There are actually two “hit” recordings of the song by FM, the original studio version from 1975, and a live version done 22 years later - not to mention the cover version recorded by the Dixie Chicks, the one by The Smashing Pumpkins, etc. Of these performances, though, my favorite by far is Fleetwood Mac’s 1997 live version, which differs from the original by three little words.

Here’s the difference. In the original recording, the lyric runs:

“. . . mirror in the sky, what is love?
Can the child within my heart rise above?
Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?”

But, in the later version, Stevie Nicks added “I don’t know.” Three words that transform the meaning of the song. Three words packed with decades of experience and an understanding of just how fragile our circumstances, our plans, hopes, our dreams can be. Three words suffused with a richness that a more mature Stevie Nicks brings to the words she penned when she was young.