Dad is officially under in-hospital hospice care and is fairly comfortable, considering.  I’ve had several cousins and acquaintances drop by and it’s been enjoyable hearing some of my father’s old stories from a different point of view.  Some nights I manage to grab 5-6 hours of sleep, but Sunday night I had about 2.  In my wisdom, I decided to go to work on Monday morning;  –I survived but after that experience I’ve decided I’m only teaching one class today.

I’m slowly building Dad’s obit and memorial service in my mind.  I guess I’d better call the pastor and see if he’s available.  Mom and Dad outlived all the ministers at their little country church and it now has services bimonthly with a random minister chosen from those available.  We’re not a densely populated county and folks learn to do the best with what’s available.  It’s the pioneer way, still present in the 21st Century.

Today Tess gets her tonsils and adenoids removed and the surgical center is just one floor down in the same hospital.  How’s that for luck?

Peace!

-J

2008 continues to be challenging, but the good news is that Dad is improving daily and has bounced back almost to the point of walking.  He’s exercising constantly, according to his physical therapist, but he continues to have leg pain.  He seems to have picked up a cold from some of the other residents;  –that’s normal according to the wing nurses and they’re keeping an eye on it.

We took Mom to the doctor today to try to regulate her mood swings/memory issues.  In other words, the doctors want to try to change her meds.  The best way to accomplish this is to admit her and keep her under round-the-clock supervision.  In other words,  we had to leave Mom with the doctors on New Year’s Eve.  We knew this was coming, but it was still very hard;  –especially considering that she doesn’t remember what her problems are from one minute to the next.  All she knows is that her only son left her at the hospital against her wishes. We (my wife and I) have great faith in the doctors and nurses at both facilities to help improve my parents’ quality of life.  I know that they’d be doing the same for me, if the situation were reversed.

May 2009 bring us all the blessings of life!

Happy New Years to you and yours!

I hired a soprano from the university’s vocal studio for the Christmas Eve mass at the local Catholic Church where I play organ.  Normally we have a little choir showcase prior to the mass, but our numbers were down and the priest wanted a simpler service this year.  The student’s name was Lauren and she showed up an hour early to go over “O Holy Night” prior to the service.  While we were rehearsing, the priest heard her sing and wanted another selection, so we added “I Wonder As I Wander” just prior to the service.

The soloist was a good sport about the extra songs and added a descant or two during the hymns.  Father Miley loves incense and obviously loaded down the censer;  –at one point it looked as if a fogbank had rolled in over the altar!  During communion, she sang “O Holy Night” and really nailed it.

Unknown to us, a thunderstorm had formed and during the high note at the end (”O night divine”) a huge single clap of thunder shook the church and surprised everyone.  As we finished the solo, everyone sat spellbound;  -a true miracle of synchronicity, the song’s climax and the thunderclap shaking the church at the same time.  No one spoke and I started the congregation singing “Silent Night” and kept pushing stops off until it was completely a cappella for the last verse.

Before the dismissal, the priest conveyed his thanks to our visiting soprano and the congregation burst into applause.  He then asked her to sing “Ave Maria” (another surprise) and luckily I happened to have a copy in the right key in the book of preludes I had on the organ and somehow she quickly found the Latin words in another arrangement in the hymnal.  Many people don’t understand how scary it can be for musicians to take impromptu requests in front of an audience.  She managed to handle the request with grace, but I’ve known that same feeling of terror in all too many situations.

I’ve played for many services since my first church gig for a little Presbyterian church at the age of 12, but I’ll never forget this Christmas service.  Nothing like this has ever happened before.  You might say it was a “religious” experience.

When we start out learning to play guitar, G is probably the first chord that separates the calloused sheep from the tender-fingered goats.  I personally had trouble with F, but the others fell readily into muscle memory.  If you don’t stick it out and learn G, you probably aren’t going to play guitar.  So at some point, Grandma had probably climbed that mountain and come out on top.  Can you imagine what it felt like at the point in her golden years that she realized that her fingers were too uncooperative to play a regular G anymore?

The old adage “where there’s a will, there’s a way” comes to mind.  She took the cards Life dealt her and continues to play her hand, doing the best that she can. My 94 year old father is amazing the doctors at the rehab place with his will to recover.  The pain of the physical therapy is excruciating, but he’s determined to stick it out because he has hope.  Today he was pulling himself down the hall in his wheelchair using his feet.  Three days ago, he had no lower body control at all.

Where do we learn to persevere?  Who taught you to keep going when things got tough?  I played for graduation a few weeks ago and I’ve yet to hear a graduation speech 1/10th as inspirational as the one Churchill gave at Harrow School in 1941:

“Never give in. Never give in. Never, never, never, never–in nothing, great or small, large or petty–never give in, except to convictions of honor and good sense. Never yield to force. Never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy.”

You’ve probably heard that somewhere before.  But Churchill’s closing remarks are the best:

“Do not let us speak of darker days: let us speak rather of sterner days. These are not dark days; these are great days–the greatest days our country has ever lived; and we must all thank God that we have been allowed, each of us according to our stations, to play a part in making these days memorable in the history of our race.”

This has been an interesting time for me.  In my “spiritual” walk through the shopping mall of life, I always try to smile and look for the good side of bad situations.  While I’ve been incredibly stressed these past few days, I’m still positive that things will turn out for the best.  I should explain:

This past week was finals and I had juries throughout.  In other words, I was too busy to get my finals graded and missed the deadline by about an hour.  A few mistakes were made and I’m still sorting out the issues as they arise.  Friday was graduation and I scrambled to get the music set.  It dawned on me as I started the recessional that “Under the Double Eagle” sounded a bit too much like  circus march.  I probably shouldn’t use that one again.  And the arrangement of the national anthem was chosen in haste to fit the singer’s range;  it had a few strange harmonies in it, prompting an email from one of my colleagues.  No worries, though.  I scrambled to try to wrap up the last preparations for our anniversary on Saturday.  I drove to pick up one of my wife’s presents and the place had closed early.  So we went out to dinner Friday night, hoping that I could win brownie points and the present that I had already received would be suitable.  And I had planned to take my wife out Saturday, so things should have been good.

Saturday morning, I began my daily routine by hopping in the car to give my parents their medications.  Dad’s 94 and Mom’s 84 and while Mom gets the bulk of the meds, I always count on Dad to tell me what they need and how she’s doing.   I walked in and Dad was lying on the floor bundled up in blankets.  The patio door was open and Mom’s walker was outside.  Mom was sitting on the couch and said “Dad’s sleeping”.  I knew instantly that he had fallen outside when he went to check on the bird feeders and had crawled in.  He gets up at sunrise and Mom had just come from her room.  With her Alzheimer’s, she didn’t realize the severity of the situation;  Dad was shivering and his feet were ice cold.  I guessed that Dad had been on the floor for at least an hour and a cold snap had hit just a day before (32 degrees low on Saturday).  He was unresponsive and I called the ambulance, bundled Mom up and helped the ambulance folks when they arrived.  Dad opened his eyes but seemed to look past me.  When I tried to talk with him, he couldn’t reply.

The morning nurse at the emergency room was top notch.  That’s a good thing here because some of the ER doctors have a reputation for doing screwy things.  Given a different situation, I would have asked the ambulance guys to take him to a hospital in a neighboring town, but I didn’t think I had that option.  Dad’s temperature was 95.  They began warming him up and recording his vital signs.  The doctor admitted him and began an IV as nurses took blood for tests.  He had a CT scan and x-rays;  –no broken bones or other problems.  The test results revealed that he was dehydrated and his blood pressure was dangerously low.

Moving him upstairs to a room presented a new problem.  I took Mom first and got her into a chair.  Then I returned to the ER to go with Dad when they moved him upstairs.  The nurses came running and said there was a problem with Mom.  When I reached the room, the head nurse said that I wasn’t allowed to leave her alone anymore while she was on hospital grounds.  In fact, they really didn’t want her to stay.  This was the new problem;  Mom gets agitated when Dad’s not around and Dad never leaves her side.  It seemed to me that I really needed to keep them together, so I went into defensive mode and told them that if she couldn’t stay, I’d need to move Dad to another hospital.  That seemed to work and they put us into a semi-private room so that Mom could have a bed to sleep in with rails.  They brought in a recliner for me and when Dad arrived, he looked worn and tired, but was able to answer simple questions.  He was confused about the date and his location, but I knew he was going to be OK.

Dad’s appetite had been poor the last few weeks, but tonight it was gone.  He refused food and would only drink a little bit of liquids.  With the nurse’s reluctant approval, I ran home to take my wife to dinner.  We hastily ate and I rushed back to the hospital.  My wife is so understanding and supportive, but it’s got to be a similar feeling to the one where the husband forgets the anniversary altogether.  I’ll make it up to you, Dear!

Settling into the recliner for the evening, I realized that it was actually some instrument of medieval torture.  I pushed it out into the hall and spread a blanket on the floor.  No sleep happened.  Every time a nurse came in to check Dad, Mom woke up and started her barrage of questions:  “Where are we?”  “Who are you?”  “Is that a car outside the window?”  Mom’s normally pretty good, but this was not a good evening for her.  Dad was making steady improvement and we talked her into going home to rest the next day.  That requires a sitter and I was unable to find one on the weekend, so I had to stay with her, making quick trips out to the hospital, drugstore and home.  I managed to shower and make it to my church gig and then hurried back to the parent.  My daughter and cousin stayed with Mom Sunday night and things went well.  They brought their new puppy and that took Mom’s attention away from whatever plans she had concocted to bewilder her only son.

Monday morning and Dad looks great!  His color has returned and he’s back to his old self.  A new test reveals that he’s loosing blood in his stool.  The doctor orders physical therapy and talks about rehab.  I go check out the place while Mom’s with a linebacker-sized sitter that knows how to handle the situation very well.  I wrote her a check and paid her for a week’s worth of hours in advance just for my peace of mind.  The rehab place will do and if I want to place Mom there while Dad’s recovering, it will cost $140 a night.  I can handle it, but they’d darn sure better have a continental breakfast and indoor swimming pool at that price.  Back to the hospital, Dad’s taken a turn for the worse;  while his appetite has improved, he seems weaker than this morning and sleeps the afternoon away.  The doctor orders whole blood and they spend the afternoon preparing for tonight’s transfusion.  It was difficult to leave tonight, but I have confidence in the night nurse;  in fact, I’m blessed with quality nurses throughout Dad’s stay so far!  His doctor is very careful and professional and errs on the side of caution, so I know he’s doing his best.

So that’s my situation.  I’m handling it the best I can.  I cancelled a Christmas luncheon gig tomorrow and made sure they had a replacement.  I stopped by the bank to set up a home equity account on their old home because the 24-hour sitters that will be required from here on out will exhaust their savings in a few months.  Much of their wealth is tied up in property which is not very liquid in the current economy, so it seemed like the bank line of credit was the best way to go.

I was telling the nurse tonight some of my dad’s old war stories.  She grew up near the church that Dad and Mom helped build in the 1950s and remembered seeing him there at community services when she was growing up.  Dad was listening but kept his eyes closed.  I’m very proud of him and keep reassuring him that I’m taking care of Mom.  It seems to relax him.

Our family was Presbyterian and I’m an Episcopalian now but I’m playing organ at the Catholic church in town to help them out and make a little gas money.  Every Sunday there comes a part in the prayers where the priest petitions that we all might have a graceful death.  I understand that part a little bit better now and look at how gracefully my dad has aged.  Every day he’s with us is a blessing and even though he’s not his old self, he’s becoming my definition of “grace”. I trimmed his fingernails tonight and reassured him that Mom was doing great.  She actually is doing great.  She knows us and still has all these great old memories…except that their no longer in the right chronological order.  She’s graceful too.

I guess this post is probably too personal and you might even think it a bit odd to be reading this.  But take my advice;  –someone in your life has doled out some grace in your direction.  It’s a blessing to say “thank you” and you never know when that opportunity will cease.  All things considered, I’ve very lucky and you are too, so make the most of every day you have.

Peace,

-J

Almost at the end of the first part, Lanois says:

“…and as performers, we witness the raising of the Spirit, you know, the capacity the music has to change the feeling of a room. So we can’t help but be spiritual people…”
and

Near then end of this clip, Lanois says:
” Heart and soul is probably what’s most important in the “center of the matter”, and especially within an education system that we’ve sorta been brought up in, we are led to believe that if you’re interested in a subject matter, then you should study. But in fact, Passion is probably your greatest teacher, because even as a kid, if you’re passionate about something, you can learn how to do it through looking at books, asking friends, listening to records…whatever you’re interested in.”

Passion. That’s what I’ve gotta book.

Yesterday I played a wedding and reception at Pavilion of the Oaks just south of Montgomery.  There’s no piano or organ at the hall, but that would have done us little good, since the couple wanted their wedding to be outside.  Unfortunately, Hurricane Fay had other ideas for the poor couple.  About 24 hours prior to the wedding the rain started and never let up until midnight on Saturday.  Needless to say, the families and the wedding planner hastily made room for the wedding to take place indoors.  As I unloaded my keyboard rig and amp, I was soaked within 30 seconds of exiting my car.  I found the corner where the musicians were set up and someone was nice enough to find some paper towels to dry things off before I plugged into the electrical outlets.   I took 15 years of applied music lessons for this?

There were probably 100 people present, despite the downpour and high winds.  The hall where the couple wedded had one wall which was filled with big windows and french doors.  As we played the wedding inside, the wind whistled and shook the doors so violently, that no one could really hear what was going on. 

I often remember my own wedding while I watch and listen to these ceremonies.  Liturgical churches have the best weddings ’cause the ceremony is stuffed right in there with a regular communion service.  I was thinking that it’s a good thing that this one was more of a civil-style, meaning that was gonna be short and sweet (15 minutes).  Then the unity candle moment arrived and the flute player stood and nodded for me.  What?!  There’s nothing in the program about music here…     Well, it seems that someone’s mother decided that Panis Angelicus was needed here, but neglected to tell the piano player.  Crap!   About the time I dug through my book and found the page, it was too late and the couple was already getting blessed.  When the last strains of the Purcell recessional faded, the other musicians (trumpet, flute, and violin) bundled up their gear and got the heck out of there.   I had another 2 hours to play.

For the reception, they wanted me set up in another room (near the groom’s cake, which looked tasty, but I’ll never know for sure).  The challenge of lugging the stage piano and amp while dodging the crowd managed to throw my back out;  –OUCH!!  Grimacing through the pain, I played Chopin, Strauss, Beethoven, Liszt, and Brahms for about 45 minutes and 2 people came over to make nice comments.  Sensing that perhaps they were tired of classics, I played a little “West Side Story”, then reached for the Scott Joplin book.  Ragtime is a magnet for small children and soon I had a half dozen dancing audience members.   I was feeling pretty good (except for that lower back pain) and had almost dried out. 

Finally, my 2 hour reception gig was over and I packed it up and loaded it into the car.  I was sure hoping that Ampeg speakers are water-resistant because I was soaking wet again and the winds and rain were as savage as ever.  Did I mention that I had to drive another hour to get home?  Poor visibility and tumbling tree parts meant that I couldn’t “put the pedal to the metal”,  so I soggily limped home behind some trucker whose rig parted the water in the road like Moses at the Red Sea. 

Somewhere, I hope there’s a happy pair of newlyweds laughing about a love that endures hurricane-force trama.  For a certain waterlogged musician, it’s a bit harder to laugh sometimes, but I do wish them well.  The things we do for love….

So….does anyone have any similar gig stories to share?

Given the chance, Mr. Wexler would have produced to the end and beyond.

“I asked him once,” said Mr. Thurman, the filmmaker, “ ‘What do you want written on your tombstone, Jerry?’ He said, ‘Two words: More bass.’ ”

From Wikipedia.com:

During his time as an editor, reporter, and writer for Billboard Magazine, Wexler coined the term “rhythm and blues.” He became a partner in Atlantic Records in 1953. There followed classic recordings with Ray Charles, the Drifters and Ruth Brown. With Ahmet and Nesuhi Ertegün, he built up Atlantic Records into a major force. In 1967 he was named Record Executive of the Year for turning Aretha Franklin’s career around.^[1]

In the 1960s, he notably recorded Wilson Pickett and Aretha Franklin, and oversaw production of Dusty Springfield’s highly acclaimed Dusty in Memphis album. He also cultivated a tight relationship with Stax Records, was an enormous proponent of the then-developing Muscle Shoals Sound and founded the fortunes of Muscle Shoals Sound Studios and the Muscle Shoals Rhythm Section. His work in this decade put Atlantic at the forefront of soul music.^[2]

In 1968, he and Ahmet Ertegun signed Led Zeppelin to Atlantic Records on the strength of a demo tape played by the band’s manager Peter Grant and from what they knew of the band’s guitarist, Jimmy Page from his performances with The Yardbirds.

In 1975 Wexler left Atlantic Records for Warner Bros. Records. In 1979, Wexler produced Bob Dylan’s controversial first “born again” album, Slow Train Coming, at Muscle Shoals; a single from that album, “Gotta Serve Somebody”, would win a Grammy in 1980. In the early 1980s, Wexler would record with UK popstar George Michael. The most famous outtake of these sessions would prove to be a rare early version of “Careless Whisper” (also recorded in Muscle Shoals). The version was originally released as “Special Mix” on an early pressing of the single’s 12″.

In 1987 Wexler was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.  Wexler retired from the music business in the late 1990s.

From the NYTimes obit:

Mr. Wexler was something of a paradox. A businessman with tireless energy, a ruthless streak and a volatile temper, he was also a hopeless music fan. A New York Jew and a vehement atheist, he found his musical home in the Deep South, in studios in Memphis and Muscle Shoals, Ala., among Baptists and Methodists, blacks and good old boys.

“He was a bundle of contradictions,” said Tom Thurman, who produced and directed a documentary about Mr. Wexler in 2000. “He was incredibly abrasive and incredibly generous, very abrupt and very, very patient, seemingly a pure, sharklike businessman and also a cerebral and creative genius.”

From the MuscleShoals Times/Daily:

Songwriter Donnie Fritts knew his friend was sick but had simply hoped the inevitable wouldn’t come.

Fritts learned of his good friend’s death at 8 a.m. Friday after a phone call from another close friend, actor/musician Kris Kristofferson, who co-produced Fritts’ album, “Prone to Lean,” with Wexler in 1974.

Still struggling with his emotions later in the morning Friday, Fritts relayed what he called, “one of the most beautiful displays of friendship I’ve ever heard of.”

Fritts said Kristofferson, who’d been in Europe on business, flew to Wexler’s Florida home on Monday.

“(Kristofferson) went in and played (guitar) and sang to Jerry for two hours, just the two of them,” Fritts said. “Jerry had a way of loving his friends that can never be forgotten, and we adored him. He gave to each of us intellectually, inspiring us to be better people. I know I’m a million times better man for having known him.”

Alright,  I’m having embedding problems with video here at ol’ Edublogs.org, so if you want to see 26 seconds of amusement based on this post, click the following link:

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=05yo2811i1Y

Michael Langan is a promising new animator whose short film “Doxology” was featured in a film festival in Alabama yesterday.  Michael is originally from Montgomery, Alabama and I wish I’d made the trip up to meet him, but we had a full day of activities yesterday. 

On the movie site, http://www.doxologyfilm.com/index.html,  you can watch the trailer and see where the film is headed next.  In a recent interview, the filmmaker described recording the music for the Doxology (aka, Old 100th hymntune):

Perhaps my favorite part of filmmaking is designing the sound and music for a film. “Doxology” involved extensive original recording, for which I enlisted the help of a choir, two organists, a box of corn starch, and a mariachi band. The song which plays over the climax of the film is called “The Doxology,” which is an English hymn sung at the close of many church services. To achieve the full sound of an enormous church congregation, I had to multiply the sound of a single choir many times over. This required animating a sing-along video of sorts, from which the choir and organist could take their cues and sync up when joined by editing. I recorded the Higher Keys of Brown University in a large dance hall, asking them to sing the song ten times, changing their voices and positions after each take to add as much variety as possible to the recording. They sang like grandparents, children, opera singers, bored teenagers, and hopelessly tone-deaf churchgoers. On a separate day in another hall I recorded the organist playing the hymn with no choir. I then layered all of these sounds on top of each other, creating the illusion that the audience is listening to a single, gigantic congregation being led by an organist.

Sounds like he’s got some producer chops….pretty cool, eh?  Well, the movie is about the complex interrelationships between tennis, dancing cars and spiritual enlightenment.

Check out the synopsis:

Before reaching spiritual enlightenment, one sweater-vested young man must face a dancing Oldsmobile, endure a boozy encounter with God on a frozen tundra, and brush his teeth, comb his hair, floss, Q-Tip, lather and shave simultaneously. “Doxology” combines groundbreaking stop-motion animation techniques and unusual storytelling with the time-honored quest for spiritual awakening.

The really interesting thing is that this film is stop motion.  Like that series of stick-figure drawings you did in the textbook margin in elementary school.   Very old-school.

I took 2 pictures of the burlarized house this morning and wanted to share:

-first, a sample of a ransacked room where I had office stuff and books stored.

Looks like someone had a can of spray paint.  ” H T H Lil Hoo”   Hmmm…

This is a clue to the mental age of the felons…

But why fret about some silly break-in;  –it’s only stuff, right?

I wish I could find that old movie I saw years ago;  “Walking Tall”.  Or anything pretty much any movie that stars Charles Bronson.