My wonder years

Here are some things that occasionally cross my mind and make me wonder:

• If politicians – actual lawmakers – can ignore lawful subpoenas without consequence, then can I? And if not, why not? Money? Power?

• Is ignoring a subpoena also conscience of guilt?

• If you don't believe in science, was that a waste of your elementary school education? Or is ignoring science simply willful ignorance? Were you even listening? Or did you once believe in science but then got derailed by politicians who ignore subpoenas? Or by social media spreading misinformation?

• I wonder what the world would be like if we protested against polio vaccinations? Or smallpox vaccinations?

• Green Bay quarterback Aaron Rodgers, tennis star Novak Djokovic and Brooklyn NBA star Kyrie Irving are all prominent anti-vaxxers. The No. 1 seeded Packers lost to No. 6 San Francisco last night; Djokovic has been denied entry in the current Australian Open and Irving can only play in road games. Sure, it's unrelated. But still, Karma, I wonder?

• When San Francisco quarterback Colin Kaepernick took a knee during the national anthem in 2016, he set off a firestorm of pushback with many NFL fans vowing never to follow pro football again. That didn't last long. Ratings for the recent NFL regular season are soaring again (up 10 percent from last year). 

It should be further noted that Kaepernick was not protesting the American flag but rather the violent and perhaps unconstitutional actions of numerous police agencies against black people. I wonder if it's been forgotten that Kaepernick got the idea of taking a knee from Green Beret special forces soldier Nate Boyer, a white man who once played for the Seattle Seahawks?

• Did the United States really make child separation from families seeking asylum at the Mexican border four years ago actual federal policy? Or am I confusing that with 1930s geopolitics? Child separation. Really. In the United States.

• Do walls designed to limit illegal immigration actually work? Hmm. Hadrian's Wall, the Berlin Wall, the Great Wall have all been breached or bypassed at one time or another. Historically, the only thing certain about walls is that people die at them.

• After the most secure presidential elections in United States history, why are GOP controlled states working so hard to suppress voting rights? Florida is even proposing "election police", which by definition sounds a whole lot like third-world fascism. (see 1930s geopolitics).

• Are we getting more snow this coming weekend? I've seen several early forecasts of a potential superstorm coming our way. Don't get me started on climate change...

My fault

I think the snow you see outside your window this morning – our first really decent snowfall in two years, probably – could be my fault.

It's on me...

 The other day, when I was packing up our Christmas stuff, I replaced our New Year's garden flag with a flag that has a giant snowflake on it.

It's supposed to be our winter garden flag, since our garden flags are intended to be seasonal. But Kim believes that I actually brought on this snowfall by hanging this particular flag. Everything is an omen, you see. Don't ever talk about how good the car is behaving; don't ever mention that we haven't caught the flu – or Covid – in two years; don't say how smart we were to cut down our leaning red oak tree when five other trees are still standing within striking distance of our house.

Kim, a native-born Lexingtonian, is not a fan of winter. I can't say that I blame her. I'm a native-born Pennsylvanian, and while I grew up loving to play in the snow, that feeling mostly disappeared when I got older and had to drive in the stuff.

I remember one winter when I was covering sports for The Quakertown Free Press. One of our local high school basketball teams qualified for the state playoffs, which happened to be played in the Palestra at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia. The Palestra was only an hour away, but it started snowing on the way down to Philly, it snowed during the entire game that I was covering, and it snowed on the drive back home. At night. I've never been a big fan of winter after that decidedly uncomfortable experience.

Anyway, I can't say for sure that I actually brought on this snowfall. It's been in the forecast for days, but Kim was listening to the voice in her other ear that was telling her it was all a joke and that we really weren't going to get snow. I mean, the forecasters had pretty much gotten it wrong the past two years. I, for one, was hoping she was right.

But, you know, there was that snowflake garden flag taunting us...

Still, we made our preparations. We did our grocery shopping yesterday instead of today, and our supplies appear be in good shape. We can hunker down, stream a movie or two, watch the NFL playoffs, finish off the pizza we brought home yesterday from Thomasville.

Just as long as the power holds out. Ice and sleet are in the forecast for later today. Yikes.

I wonder if it's too late to hang the hummingbird-and-honeysuckle garden flag?

Madison

 Here's the strange thing:

I never met Madison Taylor in person.

But when I read my friend Steve Huffman's Facebook post early Friday morning noting that his longtime friend, Madison, had died the previous afternoon, I felt the sudden shock and sadness as if I'd known Madison for decades.

In truth, I'd known him for only a couple of years. And that was only through his Facebook posts.

Madison Taylor

 I knew that Madison, a former sportswriter and news editor for The Burlington Times-News, had been ill, but it was never clear to me that he was deathly ill. He was only 62 when he died at Duke University Hospital, diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis and emphysema. His lungs could no longer fill with the magical and magisterial breath that sustains us all.

I'm not quite sure why Madison's death affected me so. We became Facebook friends after he commented on several of my blogs (I sometimes wonder if he had a red cyber pencil at the ready), and usually, his posts to me were supportive and complimentary. There's no greater satisfaction for a journalist than earning the respect of his peers. So there's that.

But I think there's something else going on here.

The foundation of our brief friendship isn't strong enough for me to offer a proper obituary, much less an eulogy. Others are doing that copiously in their posts the past few days, and it's a way for me to learn more about Madison and the life he lived. Curiously, some – like me – never met him in person. And, yet – like me – they are moved. That has to tell you something about the man.

I think for me, however, Madison's death marks – what, an awareness? An alert? A reminder? A bell in the fog? Madison wasn't even old enough to collect full Social Security. Conversely, I am about ready to plow a little deeper into my 70s. So, yes, I am reminded of the transitory nature of our journey, of how we make that journey and with whom we make that journey.

Ours is more of a tale of paths crossed.

And for that, I am grateful.

-30-

Ready to try again

We bought some champagne a week or so ago as we prepared to help bring in the new year Friday night, but then it turned out we never had a New Year's party to go to.

Omicron, you know.

So the champagne is still unopened in the refrigerator, waiting for something to celebrate. And the way I see it, the longer we wait for something to celebrate, the lower the bar for an actual celebration falls. Originally, the champagne was meant to welcome in 2022 – a major event, I guess – but once that didn't happen, we might actually pop the cork for something else. Anything else.

Maybe I'll open the bottle because we finally got our Christmas decorations down. Or maybe because I set a new personal record for my calorie burn that day in the gym. Or maybe because of that dime I found in the Food Lion parking lot. (Finding somebody's lost change is still pretty exciting to me. I think it goes back to my days as the community swimming pool's maintenance boy. I'm the guy who had to pick up the garbage at the end of the day, and occasionally I'd find some loose money among the hot dog and candy wrappers in the grass. Back in 1965, even a quarter was a significant bonus to my meager salary. So getting excited about finding coins on the ground is a life-long conditioned response for me.)

Anyway, I try to approach each new year with a sense of optimism, but it's getting harder and harder to do so. I mean, the pandemic is still here, entering its third year. It seems that no matter how many booster shots we get, Covid is something we're going to have to live with, along with social distancing and masking.

In a 50-50 country, politics seems to have us at an impasse.

I don't know what the answer is. I suppose something could happen that brings us back to our senses, that binds instead of breaks us. 

If that happens this year, maybe I'll finally pop the cork.

That's the spirit

I'm not so sure if there was a sense of pride as much as there was a sense of purpose.

December had arrived and the good folks in our neighborhood were already putting up their Christmas decorations almost as soon as the last of the Thanksgiving turkey had been devoured. The 400 block of West 2nd Avenue, I'm pretty sure, was feeling the expectations of having been declared the Best Block in the Lexington Parks and Recreation Department's Light Up The Block contest for the past two consecutive years.

And in those two years, each house was pretty much on its own. Decorate your own house the way you want. That's the way it should be.

And it looked pretty good, too. All nine houses on the block participated, with some of the homes winning individual awards, like most original, or most traditional, or most unique.

It was kind of cool. Car loads of people actually drove down our street to have a look-see.

But what could we do differently this year?

The work is done and the neighbors gather together.

The answer turned out to be both obvious and simple: luminaries. I'm pretty sure that idea evolved during one of the neighborhood porch parties or fire pits. Maybe 100 percent sure. And I'm sure a little wine may have been involved, or perhaps some craft beer. Or both.

Anyway, one of our neighbors, Stacy Sosebee-West, ordered luminaries for the block: about 500 little translucent white bags and battery-operated tea lights. Meanwhile, T.J. Strickland had the sand we needed to put inside the bags so they wouldn't blow away.

Then, on Thursday, came the best part. Late in the afternoon, while there was still some sunlight in the sky, the neighbors came out and got to work. T.J. and Billy West loaded up two wheelbarrows with sand, with a wheelbarrow load for each side of the street.

We somehow organized an assembly-line process on the fly. On our side of the street, Keith Cude opened the folded bags one at a time. I filled each bag with a cup of sand, Stacy put a tea light in each one and then she and Billy lined them up on the sidewalk.

It was pretty much the same across the street with T.J. and his wife, Christie, and their kids, Ellie and Jackson, working the sidewalk, along with Kristi Thornhill and her twin daughters, Sarah and Mary Evann. Sam West, the son of Billy and Stacy, also joined in.

While we were in the process, Ken Coleman served as quality control, checking each luminary, making sure they were lit, properly spaced from one another and in a straight line.

The whole thing evolved into a remarkably efficient operation. In less than 40 minutes, we were done and at least 250 luminaries were in place. And it wasn't even dark yet.

The neighbors gathered to see what they had created. I've written numerous times about how unique this neighborhood is, at least as it is in my mind. But the camaraderie already on this block seemed to notch up another level.

And in a few moments, the sun slipped away and the luminaries took on their own special glow in the twilight. It was impressive. Like a church service. Like Christmas.

Suddenly, this didn't seem like a city-wide competition anymore. We were together as friends and neighbors, working with a purpose, having fun. Hey, we wondered, can they see this block from space?

Or do they see the spirit, joy and affection among us instead?

Like the way it should be. 

"Our house is a very, very, very fine house..."

 

 

Reflection

I am not a deep thinker, although there are times when I think I can have deep thoughts.

The tornadoes that ravaged six states in middle America Friday – and particularly a candle factory in Mayfield, Kentucky – have brought me to this location in my brain again.

The scenes of devastation are almost overwhelming: overturned vehicles, leveled buildings, a debris field that stretches across 250 consecutive miles. And then you think: the number of people who lost their lives just two weeks before Christmas is both heartbreaking and heartrending. And then you think of the survivors whose lives have been irrevocably changed.

When I first saw the news Friday morning, I turned to Kim and tearfully choked, "You know, you try to live your life each day. You go to work, and just like that, even the weather can kill you. You just never know."

One of the first things that crossed my mind was that this devastation is another prime example of climate change, as if we needed another reminder. Tornadoes, perhaps F-5s, in December. At least 30 tornadoes in six states. One of them rampaging for an unbelievable 250 miles on the ground. We're seeing things we don't think we've ever seen before.

Yesterday, right here in Lexington, on Dec. 11, it was 73 degrees. We haven't had a decent snowfall in nearly two years.

I try not to ponder on why there is suffering in the world. I'll leave that up to the theologians. Human history is littered with tragedy. Maybe a lot of it is our own doing. We build homes on fault lines, we live in the shadow of volcanoes, we insist on living near beaches that annually welcome hurricanes. We carry guns like they were toys and ignore vaccines because unqualified politicians tell us it's a hoax.

We eat ice cream when our cholesterol is too high and our hearts threaten to attack us.

Having said that, it's still the world we live in. Wars will happen. So will famine. So will disease. So we carry on, knowing the best we can do is to play the percentages and hope the next tornado veers to the left into an open field and not to the right into downtown Main Street.

It might be the best we can do. It might be all that we have.

The Beatles: Get Back, addendum

I never get tired of writing about The Beatles. So bear with me.

After recently watching Peter Jackson's time-traveling three-part documentary The Beatles: Get Back last week, I felt compelled to add to last week's blog.

There was just too much to process. So much to unpack.

The eight hours of Jackson's video were culled from nearly 60 hours of archived footage taken during The Beatles Let It Be sessions, held at Twickenham Film Studio and Apple headquarters in January 1969 and shot by directer Michael Lindsey-Hogg. The resulting film was a gloomy overview of the eventual breakup of the world's most prodigious band.

Jackson's effort, by contrast, showed The Beatles, at times, joking around, serious and mostly friendly with each other. The Beatles say so themselves in the footage. At least, that's how it came out in the film editing. But I'll take it.

I suspect the truth of their eventual breakup lay somewhere between the two films, released more than 50 years of each other. The one thing we truly gained here was perspective.

There were seminal moments for me in Jackson's work. I'll go through a few of them, as much for myself as for you.

Part 1

• About an hour into Part 1, and four days into the three-week project, we reach what I think is the most remarkable moment of the entire documentary. Paul, George and Ringo are sitting around together, waiting for John to show up. Paul picks up his signature Hofner violin bass and starts strumming a tune that only he can hear hidden in the synapses and axions of his brain. He's playing the bass as if it's a six-string Martin acoustic. Who does that?

A moment later, a melody appears and the beat is catching. Ringo starts hand-clapping a percussion line. George, who was yawning and bored to tears just 60 seconds earlier, picks up his guitar and follows along. We instantly recognize the tune as "Get Back," and already Paul is singing fragments of the lyrics.

Then John finally arrives, picks up his rhythm guitar, and seamlessly jams with the others to a tune he's never heard before.

It's a remarkable moment. The sequence was caught mostly by an overhead camera and, 50 years later, we truly feel like flies on the wall as we watch something special happening. We were granted access to the birth of a new single, created, coaxed and recognizable within two minutes. Two weeks later, The Beatles are playing it on the roof of Apple headquarters in full glory.

• Some of this documentary can be tedious as we listen into banal conversations and bits and pieces of songs from a group that knows it is fraying at the edges. Near the end of Part 1, George has had enough. He's been ignored. Disrespected. He announces that he is leaving the group. It's lunchtime. The others aren't sure what's happening. "See you 'round the clubs" he says and walks away.

In the film's most tender moment, as the group tries to figure out what to do, Paul, John and Ringo get ready to leave for the day. Studio engineers, girlfriends, technicians still linger, but the three come together in an arm-embracing huddle. We can't hear what they're saying, but we see it. The band is making an effort to stay viable in the midst of chaos. As the group begins to splinter, these three may be never closer than this moment.

The background music, as the scene fades to black, is George's "Isn't It A Pity?", which will ultimately end up on his epic All Things Must Pass trilogy. It's a timely lament of sorrow and heartache.

Part 2

• A few minutes into Part 2, Paul and Ringo are both on the verge of tears. George, who left the group on Friday, still hasn't returned. And John is late for Monday's session. John is always late.

Paul briefly touches on the forces pressing in on The Beatles after nearly 13 years together, and he can foresee their demise. John finally arrives in time for lunch, and in a revealing discussion with Paul around a hidden microphone in an arrangement of flowers in the studio canteen, Lennon/McCartney discuss how they've alienated George. It's almost a revelation to them, and they make another effort to get George to return.

• At the 21-minute mark, Ringo comes to work and immediately joins Paul at the Bluthner piano, where they bang out an original off-the-cuff boogie woogie tune together ("I Bought a Piano the Other Day"). I'm stunned because I didn't know Ringo could play the piano. "Lookit that," I said to myself.  "They can all play multiple instruments but can't read a note of sheet music."

• About 40 minutes into Part 2, George is back and the sessions have moved out of Twickenham and into the friendly recording studio in brand-new Apple headquarters on Savile Row. The Beatles are back at work, but there's an energy and a focus that's obviously missing.

Then, in a stroke of serendipity, Billy Preston arrives unannounced just to say hello to some old friends.  A keyboardist who backed Little Richard, Preston knew The Beatles as long ago as 1962. Because the group is now planning a live album, they need a piano player, because as good as The Beatles are, none of them can play guitar and piano at the same time. Would you like to have a go, Billy?

Billy sits down at an electric piano and immediately joins in with the others to "I've Got a Feeling" as if he's known the song all his life. He makes all the difference. Paul smiles. John smiles. The documentary smiles, and the new energy Preston creates carries the film all the way to the end.

"You're in the group," John tells Billy.

Part 3

• The opening sequence has Ringo back at the piano, working on a tune called "Octopus's Garden," which eventually shows up on the Abbey Road album.

Ringo is stuck and George comes over to help. It's a memorable moment as we see another song taking shape.

• But the final segment is building toward the famous rooftop concert, which covers the final 40 minutes or so of the documentary. It's amazing. And it's not really a concert, either. But it is their last performance as The Beatles, and Jackson gives us all of it, for the first time, from start to finish.

There's just enough time to knock out 10 tunes, all in bitingly cold weather. But it's more like a rehearsal. "Get Back" is played three times. "Don't Let Me Down" and "I've Got A Feeling" each are played twice. Also included in the set are "One After 909," "Dig A Pony," and an instrumental of "God Save the Queen." The last few songs are played in the presence of the police, who are responding to a noise complaint. The bobbies are unfailingly polite, but confused. How do you arrest the United Kingdom's greatest musical export for noise disturbance?

And then it's over.