Sunday, January 30, 2005
PAIN IS GOOD??
OWWWW!!!
MY FREAKIN FINGERS ARE KILLIN ME!
My band played last night in a space that was so tight it was almost laughable and right in front of a massive brick wall(!!) although with a large passthru area. The brick wall served an important function, damping much of the sound, so subsequently we could (had to) TURN UP to be heard. (i do like volume - there's a level of volume which, if you play below, truly prevents you from connecting with the passion wellspring you need in order to express your "source". Its kind of like trying to sing, and as you start belting it out, you only get a whisper instead of the natural resonance of your voice. Hard to put feeling into a song without any balls to it.
But I woke up this morning with all 4 fingers on my left hand burning.What I've done basically is to have separated the fingernails of my fingers from the skin just below the nail. There's an explanation of this curious phenom.
What happens as you're playing is this: basically the fretboard on a guitar is structured into a neat, precise, harmonically organized, area to put your fingers so that when you play, you are able to stay in tune. The problem is when you want to play outside this structured environment. Blues is a musical style which is tonally based on a couple of sounds which go beyond this strict, precise scalar concept. When you take the notes in the C scale = C D E F G A B C and play them in the blues environment its not enough to just play those notes. The emotional character of the music calls for more expression and so what happens regularly is that a couple of the notes generally the 2nd note, D, and the 5th note G,) end up getting stretched which sort of creates a type of anguished feel as you play. Essentially this note stretching was an integral part of the musical scale which its creators FELT and sang and eventually the style adapted to guitar because of the instrumants ability to easily mimic what was harmonically taking place with the singers.
So today, in mute testimony to the pain of the blues, my fingers, which were busy stretching the crap out of my strings in order to connect with the emotional fire in my soul, hereby affirm that "pain is good". Meaning that it must have been a damned good night last night in order for me to have hurt myself this effectively and to not have been aware of it as I was playing.
MY FREAKIN FINGERS ARE KILLIN ME!
My band played last night in a space that was so tight it was almost laughable and right in front of a massive brick wall(!!) although with a large passthru area. The brick wall served an important function, damping much of the sound, so subsequently we could (had to) TURN UP to be heard. (i do like volume - there's a level of volume which, if you play below, truly prevents you from connecting with the passion wellspring you need in order to express your "source". Its kind of like trying to sing, and as you start belting it out, you only get a whisper instead of the natural resonance of your voice. Hard to put feeling into a song without any balls to it.
But I woke up this morning with all 4 fingers on my left hand burning.What I've done basically is to have separated the fingernails of my fingers from the skin just below the nail. There's an explanation of this curious phenom.
What happens as you're playing is this: basically the fretboard on a guitar is structured into a neat, precise, harmonically organized, area to put your fingers so that when you play, you are able to stay in tune. The problem is when you want to play outside this structured environment. Blues is a musical style which is tonally based on a couple of sounds which go beyond this strict, precise scalar concept. When you take the notes in the C scale = C D E F G A B C and play them in the blues environment its not enough to just play those notes. The emotional character of the music calls for more expression and so what happens regularly is that a couple of the notes generally the 2nd note, D, and the 5th note G,) end up getting stretched which sort of creates a type of anguished feel as you play. Essentially this note stretching was an integral part of the musical scale which its creators FELT and sang and eventually the style adapted to guitar because of the instrumants ability to easily mimic what was harmonically taking place with the singers.
So today, in mute testimony to the pain of the blues, my fingers, which were busy stretching the crap out of my strings in order to connect with the emotional fire in my soul, hereby affirm that "pain is good". Meaning that it must have been a damned good night last night in order for me to have hurt myself this effectively and to not have been aware of it as I was playing.
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
IMPORTANT ISSUE
One of the most important issues to come up in the New Administration (only 3 years 361 days to go - aaaarrrgh!) is the plan president Bush has for social security. I, as many others, believe that this is a dangerous use of a tremendous amount of money, and those funds shouldnt be jeopardized by trusting them to the likes of brokerage houses and 2 bit financial planners. I have a link on the top right of the page which will take you to a Democratic National Committee Action page. Today's petition is to "disavow Chairman Thomas' suggestion that we put on the table the reprehensible idea of linking the size of someone's benefits to that person's race or gender". This is today's petition.
There will be other issues.
Please go to the link and sign the petition if you feel it's valid. Also if you can save the page and go back often to stay on top of what is going on in terms of helping create change, you may be helping yourselves, although many years down the line.
Thanks,
Doc
There will be other issues.
Please go to the link and sign the petition if you feel it's valid. Also if you can save the page and go back often to stay on top of what is going on in terms of helping create change, you may be helping yourselves, although many years down the line.
Thanks,
Doc
Monday, January 24, 2005
It's The Time of The Season
It was turning into one of those remarkable events that spring out of nowhere and take on a life of their own. The band was booked to play this past weekend at one of the nicer establishments in the local area and that fact helped propel the beginnings of it all. Friends and family began organizing to converge on our home about 6 weeks ago and as the final tally of carousers added up, the number 20 planning on crashing at our home was being tabulated regularly. From Cape May, Philadelphia, Montclair, New York, they called in their resevations - "Bring sleeping bags" was the standard response. Friends and family of the members of the band were also multiplying at a meteoric rate and we realized a "HUGE" party was about to unfold. The energy was building and it almost seemed that it was similar to a mid-winter celebration with everybody determined to refuse to accept the brutality of the season. Frivolity was in the air. The only circumstance which could possibly drop a wet blanket on the party was the weather. Bob, the other guitarist called it 3 weeks ago -"wouldn't it suck if we get snowed out?" Thanks Bob. Jinxed the whole damn thing. And sure enough The Blizzard of '05 sucked all that beautiful energy out of the weekend and transferred it wailing up the East coast to close down just about everything.
But it was a magical feeling which was in play, and that experience alone, altho no match for the anticipated adventure, was nonetheless a gratifying surprise. Thanks to everyone who planned to be here. It really did brighten up the darkness and bitter cold of the season.
Luvya - Doc
But it was a magical feeling which was in play, and that experience alone, altho no match for the anticipated adventure, was nonetheless a gratifying surprise. Thanks to everyone who planned to be here. It really did brighten up the darkness and bitter cold of the season.
Luvya - Doc
Friday, January 21, 2005
What I Like About....
What the hell do I like? And why would you care? And why do I feel I have to express this portion of myself to anyone?
'Cause...
I guess I just like exposing myself. And people are so curious as to what you have TO expose. "Please expose yourself", they say. "I'm too timid to, but if you do then I can live vicariously through you!!" The only complication about exposing what you like is that there are those limits that are required - what if you enjoy say, smothering the parakeet with a chamois cloth soaked in a combination of motor oil, mustard, and blue cheese? WHAT WILL PEOPLE THINK?!?!?! So again, honesty and good sense have to tread the same fucking slim line. AGAIN. (Things I Hate: slim lines)
Oh well, honesty and danger call - I HAVE TO cross the line. (I love playing music in a band - it really does engender utilizing my right brain and with that, the choice of taking greater risks. That can be good or bad, but the more I play, the more I want to flirt with the edge. My New Years Resolution is to be bad. Badder than I've been. I'd been playing it WAY too safe. You only live once and I want to enjoy my one and only life).
Anyway back to the task at hand. There's stuff I LOVE, things I like, and shit I'm plain not into. So let's see what's uncovered. I cant wait to find out!
Foremost, of course, is family and friends - loving and being loved - it goes without saying. But the ones you love the most are the ones who get the nakedest, who have the highest expositive natures, who're willing to bare their asses emotionally. Then you have a chance of knowing who they are. You know who you are people. Luvya.
Music is my straight connection with God. I'm constantly tring to get to a level of honesty in what I'm playing. In attempting to express who and what it is I am, as I'm playing, that's when I'm touching God. 'Cause that, my friends, IS what God is. When you are playing what and who it is you ARE, you're communicating your essence, and that's what God is. It's a really simple/complex process, and when it works, its beautiful. You are experiencing what God's essence is too during those moments. To do it with several other people who have all transcended their egos to the spirit of music is enough to make you weep, its so powerful. And whats great is to be experiencing it thru "time" - moments, minutes - not just a fleeting moment. It's like an orgasm but not AS physical but in a much longer time frame. Out of control and in control. Letting go and holding on at the same moment. Schizophrenic. Not a thought process, but a kind of spiritual walk with the progenitor of creation/love/power. Thats why people love music - it is Gods language.
Obviously I have a profound love of God.
I love:
fast cars - driving 125 mph
cool guitars with fast playing necks that have that funky sound I hear in my head.
using my hands to make something beautiful with wood
making something interesting even if not beautiful with wood
the smell of wood having just been cut.
going home after working with wood all day and smelling the fragrance of wood on my hands.
the smell of wood burning in the crisp air coming from a neighbor's fireplace or woodstove as you take a walk out on a snowy night.
walking in the woods as it quietly snows, the flakes landing cool on your nose, and coming across several deer - you stare each other in the eyes, big brown eyes, and try to express that there's nothing to fear but they still scamper off.
playing guitar incredibly loud and passionately .
playing acoustic guitar with my ear to the side of the guitar to hear and feel the full rich resonance of the vibrations.
playing a jazz tune with deep expression as when I know the lyrics and can express the feelings the words convey. Ex: Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars by Jobim.
capturing beautiful moments on film - either still moments or moving moments.
a cup of Jamaica Blue Mountain coffee while reading the NY Times.
running on the beach barefooted.
spandex brimming with labia (cameltoes).
chamber orchestras which include a harp, violins and an oboe.
pencills, erasers - general stationary equipment.
kissing her until she cant keep herself from getting nasty any longer.
designing homes.
building a home you've designed - one of the most fulfilling accomplishments I've experienced is building homes. To be involved in coordinating all the people and materials to construct something which starts as a germ of an idea in your mind and then to eventually see that become a tangible realization which could conceivably be there hundreds of years later is very satisfying. And they pay you too!
first freeing a tender breast from it's concealment.
first touching, and gently pinching pointy, poke yer eye out, nipples.
laughing - laughing until you think you're gonna explode.
joking with friends - that fun airy feeling of everyone being free and glad to be right there right then.
children laughing.
writing. writing my blog. Seeing an editorial in print.
having an editor write to ask you if they can reprint your editorial!
electronic toys! OMG, Help! cameras, mp3 players, multi-track digital recorders, music software for recording, camera phones, computers, ad infinitum.
having her unzip me; reaching in and freeing Mr. Passion.
truly aroused oral sex...
writing a song and having the concept click - the feel, the lyrics, the music.
learning new material with the band, especially original songs - there's so much creative energy which is focused with 4 intelligent sensitive human beings trying to find the best way to get an idea/feeling/concept across. Its electric.
recording music and again especially original material.
The ocean: water in general, swimming, surfing (attempting to), splashing, having kids dive off my shoulders, water skiing, throwing a football on the beach, parasailing, skinny dipping in the middle of the night in really nice warm ocean water, intoxicated with alcohol, laughter, and love, sex on the beach under a full moon, body surfing in BIG waves, sailing really fast in a catamaran so that one of the pontoons is feet above the water - YES!
laughing in bed with your wife just before you get up
coffee and conversation early in the morning (rare for me)
Being kind - being kind to our old, old, puppy, Kramer. Looking in the eyes of the homely pup and seeing the beauty of her soul shining brightly right there in her eyes, and realizing, knowing, that we are all the same beautiful souls just beyond our thick, protective, frightened shells.
69 on a snowy day - all day.
Billie Holiday, John Coltrane, Charlie Parker, Wes Montgomery, Joe Pass, Bob Marley, Jimi Hendrix, Bob Dylan, the Phat Back Groove band.
capturing passionate, sexual moments on film - I have always felt that by pretending that sex doesnt exist and excluding it in film, that it is as pathetic an expression of reality as it was for Ricky (in the Lucille Ball Show) to keep his foot on the floor in another bed in any bedroom scene. Sex is healthy, beautiful, and if expressed with intelligence, as much a part of any love scene as you can get.
earning money doing something I love - getting paid twice.
having my desk organized especially after waiting months to do it.
Irish lobster with real lobster.
nut Brown Ale.
new ties - new colorful ties.
having nice new clothes.
new strings on my guitar for a hot gig.
playing in public with a hot band.
Coming.
'Cause...
I guess I just like exposing myself. And people are so curious as to what you have TO expose. "Please expose yourself", they say. "I'm too timid to, but if you do then I can live vicariously through you!!" The only complication about exposing what you like is that there are those limits that are required - what if you enjoy say, smothering the parakeet with a chamois cloth soaked in a combination of motor oil, mustard, and blue cheese? WHAT WILL PEOPLE THINK?!?!?! So again, honesty and good sense have to tread the same fucking slim line. AGAIN. (Things I Hate: slim lines)
Oh well, honesty and danger call - I HAVE TO cross the line. (I love playing music in a band - it really does engender utilizing my right brain and with that, the choice of taking greater risks. That can be good or bad, but the more I play, the more I want to flirt with the edge. My New Years Resolution is to be bad. Badder than I've been. I'd been playing it WAY too safe. You only live once and I want to enjoy my one and only life).
Anyway back to the task at hand. There's stuff I LOVE, things I like, and shit I'm plain not into. So let's see what's uncovered. I cant wait to find out!
Foremost, of course, is family and friends - loving and being loved - it goes without saying. But the ones you love the most are the ones who get the nakedest, who have the highest expositive natures, who're willing to bare their asses emotionally. Then you have a chance of knowing who they are. You know who you are people. Luvya.
Music is my straight connection with God. I'm constantly tring to get to a level of honesty in what I'm playing. In attempting to express who and what it is I am, as I'm playing, that's when I'm touching God. 'Cause that, my friends, IS what God is. When you are playing what and who it is you ARE, you're communicating your essence, and that's what God is. It's a really simple/complex process, and when it works, its beautiful. You are experiencing what God's essence is too during those moments. To do it with several other people who have all transcended their egos to the spirit of music is enough to make you weep, its so powerful. And whats great is to be experiencing it thru "time" - moments, minutes - not just a fleeting moment. It's like an orgasm but not AS physical but in a much longer time frame. Out of control and in control. Letting go and holding on at the same moment. Schizophrenic. Not a thought process, but a kind of spiritual walk with the progenitor of creation/love/power. Thats why people love music - it is Gods language.
Obviously I have a profound love of God.
I love:
fast cars - driving 125 mph
cool guitars with fast playing necks that have that funky sound I hear in my head.
using my hands to make something beautiful with wood
making something interesting even if not beautiful with wood
the smell of wood having just been cut.
going home after working with wood all day and smelling the fragrance of wood on my hands.
the smell of wood burning in the crisp air coming from a neighbor's fireplace or woodstove as you take a walk out on a snowy night.
walking in the woods as it quietly snows, the flakes landing cool on your nose, and coming across several deer - you stare each other in the eyes, big brown eyes, and try to express that there's nothing to fear but they still scamper off.
playing guitar incredibly loud and passionately .
playing acoustic guitar with my ear to the side of the guitar to hear and feel the full rich resonance of the vibrations.
playing a jazz tune with deep expression as when I know the lyrics and can express the feelings the words convey. Ex: Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars by Jobim.
capturing beautiful moments on film - either still moments or moving moments.
a cup of Jamaica Blue Mountain coffee while reading the NY Times.
running on the beach barefooted.
spandex brimming with labia (cameltoes).
chamber orchestras which include a harp, violins and an oboe.
pencills, erasers - general stationary equipment.
kissing her until she cant keep herself from getting nasty any longer.
designing homes.
building a home you've designed - one of the most fulfilling accomplishments I've experienced is building homes. To be involved in coordinating all the people and materials to construct something which starts as a germ of an idea in your mind and then to eventually see that become a tangible realization which could conceivably be there hundreds of years later is very satisfying. And they pay you too!
first freeing a tender breast from it's concealment.
first touching, and gently pinching pointy, poke yer eye out, nipples.
laughing - laughing until you think you're gonna explode.
joking with friends - that fun airy feeling of everyone being free and glad to be right there right then.
children laughing.
writing. writing my blog. Seeing an editorial in print.
having an editor write to ask you if they can reprint your editorial!
electronic toys! OMG, Help! cameras, mp3 players, multi-track digital recorders, music software for recording, camera phones, computers, ad infinitum.
having her unzip me; reaching in and freeing Mr. Passion.
truly aroused oral sex...
writing a song and having the concept click - the feel, the lyrics, the music.
learning new material with the band, especially original songs - there's so much creative energy which is focused with 4 intelligent sensitive human beings trying to find the best way to get an idea/feeling/concept across. Its electric.
recording music and again especially original material.
The ocean: water in general, swimming, surfing (attempting to), splashing, having kids dive off my shoulders, water skiing, throwing a football on the beach, parasailing, skinny dipping in the middle of the night in really nice warm ocean water, intoxicated with alcohol, laughter, and love, sex on the beach under a full moon, body surfing in BIG waves, sailing really fast in a catamaran so that one of the pontoons is feet above the water - YES!
laughing in bed with your wife just before you get up
coffee and conversation early in the morning (rare for me)
Being kind - being kind to our old, old, puppy, Kramer. Looking in the eyes of the homely pup and seeing the beauty of her soul shining brightly right there in her eyes, and realizing, knowing, that we are all the same beautiful souls just beyond our thick, protective, frightened shells.
69 on a snowy day - all day.
Billie Holiday, John Coltrane, Charlie Parker, Wes Montgomery, Joe Pass, Bob Marley, Jimi Hendrix, Bob Dylan, the Phat Back Groove band.
capturing passionate, sexual moments on film - I have always felt that by pretending that sex doesnt exist and excluding it in film, that it is as pathetic an expression of reality as it was for Ricky (in the Lucille Ball Show) to keep his foot on the floor in another bed in any bedroom scene. Sex is healthy, beautiful, and if expressed with intelligence, as much a part of any love scene as you can get.
earning money doing something I love - getting paid twice.
having my desk organized especially after waiting months to do it.
Irish lobster with real lobster.
nut Brown Ale.
new ties - new colorful ties.
having nice new clothes.
new strings on my guitar for a hot gig.
playing in public with a hot band.
Coming.
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Horny Wimmenz
Ok girls - give it up. Excuse me, I mean, please read and comment - exchange is healthy for writer and reader. Though it may appear disingenuous as written, the intent is a serious inquiry. If you have an understanding, c'mon and share.
What do you all really want when you've reached kick the kat horny? What's going on in those devious minds and other parts of your anatomy that are screaming for attention. I know this is no time for Price Charming relationship fantasies. So since its obvious that girls (even homely ones) are capable of attracting guys, then why the drama when it comes time to get the job that needs to get done, done?
How can men know what wimmenz want if we dont get it from the horse's mouth?
Just found out the other day about the quiet shy bride of a friend who was literally having fantasies of being tied up and sodomized by a group of soldiers... and that was just the tip of it. How's a husband to respond to desires like this? How's a girl to handle desires like this?
Now if you're married, the answer is a lot (not easier, but) less complex 'cause you have an optional toy right there in bed with you - you just have to do the Lazarus boogie sometimes.
Men are simple. We see a thong encrusted booty shakin and some sexy Vic's Secret bejewelled boobies and we're off to the races - tie em up (silk ties please gentlemen!) spank em (give em a likkin they wont forget)and 3 or 4 hours of on again off again amour and then BOOM, next! We're ready to move on. No mind games with ourselves. Relationships come about as a result of it all - not as a pre-'curser'.
Women create much more complex rules/games for each other to play (I swear they just enjoy seeing each other go mad-ass horny). What a blow job! Then when the shit hits the fan, and the kat's licking it's wounds in the korner, it seems that that's when the game is really getting in the way. What do you do then???
What do you all really want when you've reached kick the kat horny? What's going on in those devious minds and other parts of your anatomy that are screaming for attention. I know this is no time for Price Charming relationship fantasies. So since its obvious that girls (even homely ones) are capable of attracting guys, then why the drama when it comes time to get the job that needs to get done, done?
How can men know what wimmenz want if we dont get it from the horse's mouth?
Just found out the other day about the quiet shy bride of a friend who was literally having fantasies of being tied up and sodomized by a group of soldiers... and that was just the tip of it. How's a husband to respond to desires like this? How's a girl to handle desires like this?
Now if you're married, the answer is a lot (not easier, but) less complex 'cause you have an optional toy right there in bed with you - you just have to do the Lazarus boogie sometimes.
Men are simple. We see a thong encrusted booty shakin and some sexy Vic's Secret bejewelled boobies and we're off to the races - tie em up (silk ties please gentlemen!) spank em (give em a likkin they wont forget)and 3 or 4 hours of on again off again amour and then BOOM, next! We're ready to move on. No mind games with ourselves. Relationships come about as a result of it all - not as a pre-'curser'.
Women create much more complex rules/games for each other to play (I swear they just enjoy seeing each other go mad-ass horny). What a blow job! Then when the shit hits the fan, and the kat's licking it's wounds in the korner, it seems that that's when the game is really getting in the way. What do you do then???
Monday, January 17, 2005
WEBSITE
All kindsa stuff happening with the band this week. We have a feature article coming out in the Morning Call - we're supposed to get the front inside cover of the "Go Guide" - the events of the week insert which is being written by someone who really enjoyed seeing us play a couple of weeks ago. It should hopefully generate some new listeners in the area. Its great having friends and relatives come out but you cant rely on them to be your sole (soul) supporters. We will be playing at Pearly Bakers, in downtown Easton Saturday night which I believe is going to prove to be a VERY FUN EVENING. We in the band are all pretty psyched to play. And now we have a Website too.
PhatBackGroove.com. Check it out - it has MP3's on it too (recorded before we we even had a gig!)and some entertaining pictures of me thru the years.
PhatBackGroove.com. Check it out - it has MP3's on it too (recorded before we we even had a gig!)and some entertaining pictures of me thru the years.
Friday, January 07, 2005
ALL TOGETHER NOW
I brought a song I wrote into the band to learn last week. I had changed the format from the bluesy, jazzy, feel it had to a reggae rhythm about a year ago when I was playing solo gigs at the Banana Factory in Bethlehem. I liked the new groove and when I saw people dancin/groovin to it in the art gallery, it was encouraging.
Well, I have a blues band (Phat Back Groove) and I wasn't sure what sort of reaction I'd get bringing in the only reggae tune we'd be doing. I had tried to get them to do White Christmas reggae style at Christmas and they all balked - such traditionalists! So I wasn't sure if they'd embrace the concept 'cause they're (and very much me too) a tough crowd to please.
Well after Steve's regular resistance to ANYTHING new, I found that not only did they get into the song, but the ideas they all brought to it in deciding how best to set up the arrangement were smart, insightful, and as their enthusiasm grew, really began to affect the song in a very positive direction. It's really a very interesting process to see a song born long after its actually been written. It's almost as if the song is merely conceived when it's written and not until you bring it out in public, that its birth truly comes to bear. And when the guys say they "love" the song, they aint bein polite - I know! 'Cause it really shows in the hours that have been devoted to it. And we aren't even finished with the arrangement yet.
Well, I have a blues band (Phat Back Groove) and I wasn't sure what sort of reaction I'd get bringing in the only reggae tune we'd be doing. I had tried to get them to do White Christmas reggae style at Christmas and they all balked - such traditionalists! So I wasn't sure if they'd embrace the concept 'cause they're (and very much me too) a tough crowd to please.
Well after Steve's regular resistance to ANYTHING new, I found that not only did they get into the song, but the ideas they all brought to it in deciding how best to set up the arrangement were smart, insightful, and as their enthusiasm grew, really began to affect the song in a very positive direction. It's really a very interesting process to see a song born long after its actually been written. It's almost as if the song is merely conceived when it's written and not until you bring it out in public, that its birth truly comes to bear. And when the guys say they "love" the song, they aint bein polite - I know! 'Cause it really shows in the hours that have been devoted to it. And we aren't even finished with the arrangement yet.
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
THE CHANGE JAR
Money-wise, it wasn't a great job.
Travel-wise, it packed too many miles on his car.
Future resume-wise, it didn't add a lot of splash to a page.
But being new to the area and not having the contacts required to establish his own business again, it provided some sense of security for his new bride and that was important. Having always been entrepreneurial, 9 to 5 was deeply anti-personal to him - almost sacrilegious. The false security it provided didn't compensate for either the gnawing need he had to express his personal capacities, nor for the financial gain with which he knew only entrepreneurialism was capable. But for the sake of kind regard, he proceeded.
Problem was, the money did force compromises. And with his child away at school, it did prevent him from being able to provide for her in a way he had been able to just a few years prior. It wasn't desperation inducing or any such behavior but it did affect him. Beside the budgeted monthly stipend he sent, the desire to take care of his child was deep, so as an added little 'gift' he decided he would put in a change jar whatever coins he managed to accumulate in his pockets each day.
When she had been 3 or 4, they had referred to the water jug they had then used to collect change in as "The College Fund". When they'd emptied and counted the jug's contents just prior to her leaving for her 1st semester, it was quite amusing to see the reality of the jar's long kept secret total. Especially in relation to the price of one year's tuition -
jug's total: $375
school's total:$37,500 (100 times as much)
But this numbing statistic didn't prevent him from the thought of presenting his little girl with something to make her life a bit better, and each night he would smile as he heard the satisfying "clingk" of the coins drop in the jar.
It was slow going but winter finally returned the joy of life back to Spring and then the buds on the trees matured into the welcome shade for Summer's sometimes relentless shining brightness. And each night the jar was touched with the warmth of the thought which the contents' fruit would bear. Soon the colors began the glad pronouncement of Summer's release on uncomfortability, and the jar began to take on that similar look of nature's profundity - it was nearly large enough to burst.
Ahh, the harvest. Now was the time and the season, and the jar carefully found its self in the midst of fiduciary greatness and responsibility - the local bank. Soon the pounds of silver and nickel and copper and zinc were ceremoniously exchanged into much less than one ounce of paper at the coin counting machine. It equaled the magnificent sum of 92 dollars and 77 cents.
The 77 cents remained in the jar - seed for the next bounty to begin.
It seems that this was an appropriate time to exchange coin for cash since this very evening his daughter was expected home. The simple joy of being able to present a humble expression of months of gentle thought and concern quietly stirred remembrances of innocent times between them - of shared walks and talks down quiet country paths - of moments of relaxed silence hand in hand.
But fate would prove more foe than friend this day.
Somewhere between happily marching out of the bank with 4 twenties, 1 ten, 2 ones, 77 cents and home, the $92 disappeared. No amount of searching exposed its clever hiding spot and no phone calls to the bank produced any report of newly found funds.
The father was crestfallen - not for the value of the money but for the loss of what the gift represented. Sure, if a stone falls from a ring, it can be replaced, but the sentiment is there, still enfolding the real stone, protecting it from imitation. So too with the gift. And although he did withdraw $92 from his account, it felt less than right. There was now a rift in the original flow of simplicity, the genuineness of the gift.
Several hours later, after having settled down, he prepared for the homecoming of his daughter. It had been some time since she had been home so the anticipation was building and the image of fun times and good conversation was alive in his imagination. And after hearing some commotion outside, the door burst open and in strode his daughter, a young woman now, obviously his 'little girl' no more. She was apparently preoccupied with something much more meaningful, something much more critical, because instead of greeting her father in any fashion at all, she brushed past him as if he were invisible, but much less important.
In retrospect, he probably would have handled her behavior a little more brusquely and humorously but the newness of it all was disconcerting. Especially in light of the history of their fond relationship. So when he gave her the envelope a while later with the intention of explaining the succession of events which we've been explaining, and she accepted it by responding "Yeah, right" and immediately turned and shouted to someone in the kitchen, "Hey, is there any coffee?", a switch clicked in his head.
There's an author who describes how everybody has an emotional bank account with everyone they're connected with. It isnt a conscious tabulation of emotional debits and credits - but when someone affects another in a negative way, the emotional consequence is comparable to a debit, and it is felt. Likewise, when some one does something for you (without attempting to manipulate you), then that person creates an emotional credit. But similar to credit, once you've damaged it, it takes time to prove again that you are trustworthy.
The switch that clicked in his head was the emotional "bounced check", "overdraft", "NSF" response. It took a while to come to grips with the reality, but it was at that moment that he realized that the care and time and tenderness which he was expending on his own child couldn't be less appreciated. Or wanted. A bizarre unpleasant reality.
But love is irrepressible - and fortunately there are beautiful souls to touch.
Travel-wise, it packed too many miles on his car.
Future resume-wise, it didn't add a lot of splash to a page.
But being new to the area and not having the contacts required to establish his own business again, it provided some sense of security for his new bride and that was important. Having always been entrepreneurial, 9 to 5 was deeply anti-personal to him - almost sacrilegious. The false security it provided didn't compensate for either the gnawing need he had to express his personal capacities, nor for the financial gain with which he knew only entrepreneurialism was capable. But for the sake of kind regard, he proceeded.
Problem was, the money did force compromises. And with his child away at school, it did prevent him from being able to provide for her in a way he had been able to just a few years prior. It wasn't desperation inducing or any such behavior but it did affect him. Beside the budgeted monthly stipend he sent, the desire to take care of his child was deep, so as an added little 'gift' he decided he would put in a change jar whatever coins he managed to accumulate in his pockets each day.
When she had been 3 or 4, they had referred to the water jug they had then used to collect change in as "The College Fund". When they'd emptied and counted the jug's contents just prior to her leaving for her 1st semester, it was quite amusing to see the reality of the jar's long kept secret total. Especially in relation to the price of one year's tuition -
jug's total: $375
school's total:$37,500 (100 times as much)
But this numbing statistic didn't prevent him from the thought of presenting his little girl with something to make her life a bit better, and each night he would smile as he heard the satisfying "clingk" of the coins drop in the jar.
It was slow going but winter finally returned the joy of life back to Spring and then the buds on the trees matured into the welcome shade for Summer's sometimes relentless shining brightness. And each night the jar was touched with the warmth of the thought which the contents' fruit would bear. Soon the colors began the glad pronouncement of Summer's release on uncomfortability, and the jar began to take on that similar look of nature's profundity - it was nearly large enough to burst.
Ahh, the harvest. Now was the time and the season, and the jar carefully found its self in the midst of fiduciary greatness and responsibility - the local bank. Soon the pounds of silver and nickel and copper and zinc were ceremoniously exchanged into much less than one ounce of paper at the coin counting machine. It equaled the magnificent sum of 92 dollars and 77 cents.
The 77 cents remained in the jar - seed for the next bounty to begin.
It seems that this was an appropriate time to exchange coin for cash since this very evening his daughter was expected home. The simple joy of being able to present a humble expression of months of gentle thought and concern quietly stirred remembrances of innocent times between them - of shared walks and talks down quiet country paths - of moments of relaxed silence hand in hand.
But fate would prove more foe than friend this day.
Somewhere between happily marching out of the bank with 4 twenties, 1 ten, 2 ones, 77 cents and home, the $92 disappeared. No amount of searching exposed its clever hiding spot and no phone calls to the bank produced any report of newly found funds.
The father was crestfallen - not for the value of the money but for the loss of what the gift represented. Sure, if a stone falls from a ring, it can be replaced, but the sentiment is there, still enfolding the real stone, protecting it from imitation. So too with the gift. And although he did withdraw $92 from his account, it felt less than right. There was now a rift in the original flow of simplicity, the genuineness of the gift.
Several hours later, after having settled down, he prepared for the homecoming of his daughter. It had been some time since she had been home so the anticipation was building and the image of fun times and good conversation was alive in his imagination. And after hearing some commotion outside, the door burst open and in strode his daughter, a young woman now, obviously his 'little girl' no more. She was apparently preoccupied with something much more meaningful, something much more critical, because instead of greeting her father in any fashion at all, she brushed past him as if he were invisible, but much less important.
In retrospect, he probably would have handled her behavior a little more brusquely and humorously but the newness of it all was disconcerting. Especially in light of the history of their fond relationship. So when he gave her the envelope a while later with the intention of explaining the succession of events which we've been explaining, and she accepted it by responding "Yeah, right" and immediately turned and shouted to someone in the kitchen, "Hey, is there any coffee?", a switch clicked in his head.
There's an author who describes how everybody has an emotional bank account with everyone they're connected with. It isnt a conscious tabulation of emotional debits and credits - but when someone affects another in a negative way, the emotional consequence is comparable to a debit, and it is felt. Likewise, when some one does something for you (without attempting to manipulate you), then that person creates an emotional credit. But similar to credit, once you've damaged it, it takes time to prove again that you are trustworthy.
The switch that clicked in his head was the emotional "bounced check", "overdraft", "NSF" response. It took a while to come to grips with the reality, but it was at that moment that he realized that the care and time and tenderness which he was expending on his own child couldn't be less appreciated. Or wanted. A bizarre unpleasant reality.
But love is irrepressible - and fortunately there are beautiful souls to touch.
