A Journey That Never Ends

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Grief is primarily a solitary slog. If you and your partner end up being thrust into the position of having to share in the journey, then there are times when your parallel paths join and then, depart again.

Briefly, there are times when others come alongside: We both experienced this in the days and weeks following Mark’s death. But then, people go back to wherever they were before the tragedy occurred.

In a nation where our empathy deficit is just one of a host of maladies, this inability of other people to understand at first is maddening, then it becomes the source of anger (or sadness), then eventually you simply stop caring. You are left alone to live in a place you never considered before—but there you are—a ghost among the living.

This weekend, in addition to being pleased with the documentary that was made about Mark, we got to spend time with people who reminded us both of Mark. They were a lot like who he was, believing that our better angels might win out. The filmmaker, Julie Sokolow, is a force to be reckoned with. It would have been enough for Mary and me to have a wonderful film. But, to see Julie in her element, bringing her “A game” to the Heartland International Film Festival, on message in interviews, was a thing to behold. She’s also so easy to be around and we’ve come to consider her a friend in addition to the woman who gets to tell Mark’s story in documentary form. Having spent so much time with Mark and his memories she’s forged a unique connection with his parents.

Barefoot: The Mark Baumer Story (poster by Jim Rugg)

Continue reading →

Songs About Rachel

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Someone who I considered a friend once told me I couldn’t play guitar.

I’m playing and over the last month, I’ve written four songs and three of them now sit up on SoundCloud. I don’t think he’s got anything out there I can listen to.

Canadian singer-songwriter and guitarist, Bruce Cockburn, has a line in “Lovers In a Dangerous Time” that goes, “got to kick at the darkness ’til it bleed daylight.” Playing guitar and writing for the instrument is me, kicking at the darkness that nearly swallowed me, nine months ago.

Sunday, I read an excellent feature by Amanda Hess in the New York Times Magazine, on Rachel Maddow. I’d highly recommend you take the time to go through it.

I’ve been a fan of Ms. Maddow, or simply “Rachel” as I call her when I speak about her to Mary or others that share similar views on the state of politics in America. On Monday, I came up with some lyrics in my head, while swimming prior to work. I jotted them down on a legal pad and when I returned home in the middle of the afternoon, I had a song.

Then, I had to come up with a chord progression and I had that completed by dinnertime. I played it for Mary when she came home.

Tonight, I decided to record “Rachel, Rachel” before going to bed.

That’s how I roll these days. And I appreciate former friends who motivate me to do things that they said I couldn’t do—like play guitar and write songs.

Mark on the other hand would tell me, “keep doing what you’re doing, dad.” I keep that thought close to my heart, always.

 

The Gift of Affirmation

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There are people who validate—and there are people who criticize. From my vantage point, I’m of the opinion that there are more of the latter than the former—but there are certainly a significant number that live in that first category—they make building people up rather than tearing them down a priority.

I’m trying to spend more time with the validation crowd than with the critical set. I also know firsthand that being validated can carry you forward for days and weeks, while being criticized (whether valid or even offered in a constructive manner) makes you want to run and hide. It totally sucks and drains whatever energy you had at that moment.

I know plenty about laboring in obscurity while following my passion and rarely, if ever, receiving compliments or recognition. It’s what I’ve been doing for most of the past twenty years as a writer.

During that period, I think I can number on both hands the people that I’d consider real fans or people who’ve taken the time to routinely acknowledge a blog post I’ve written, or mention one of the numerous articles I’ve had published, or tell me they’ve read one of my books. One of these is someone who I don’t know very well. She’s also a wonderful writer and we see each other maybe two times a year. But a month ago she was in a town in Maine and walking by a book shop. She happened to see my Moxie book. She took the time to send me an email when she got back to Portland and let me know that and reminded me that she knew I was still out here. Continue reading →

Upside-Down World

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I wrote another song. This one is a bit more up-tempo.

I’m sure the critics (who don’t write songs) will tell me that my recording process sucks, or that my chord changes are awkward, or that there’s too much fret buzz, or whatever the fuck that haters always manage to inject into everything.

No worries—I’ll just keep on playing!

Building a list of songs.

 

Fatigue

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I am tired. That’s a statement about physically feeling a dearth of energy at the end of each and every day. Likely it’s due to trying to cram as much as I can into a 24-hour span. Having a new job and also working at another part-time gig, while taking a class at USM probably has something to do with feeling “wrung-out.” Continue reading →

Roots and Community

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I’ve been fascinated by the concept of community for a long time.

Communitarianism, sometimes called “community,” is a concept I’ve been captivated with and have read widely about for the past 25 years. I even got to play in the “laboratory” and forge elements of this concept in various places around the state of Maine. I think the germ for me was first planted by Wendell Berry’s writing on the subject.

When I was directly engaged in community-building and nonprofit work during the first decade of this century, Berry’s foundational values: place (it matters), community, good work, and simple pleasures resonated with the side of me that tended towards seeing what was ideal, if not always practical. The best part of the time I spent engaged in what I found to be “good work” however, was that it taught me that people working together could produce positive results that benefited many and rippled outward long after I was no longer around doing that work.

My son embodied these values. He saw the good in people. Mark also had the capacity and the drive to move beyond mere words and playing around the fringes of social justice. He actually took action.

Friday, as youth around the world came together in a global chain of voices and actions around protesting climate change, I was reminded of the ultimate sacrifice that Mark made for what he believed in. His death profoundly altered my life and the life of his mom in ways that we’ll never be able to step away from. Loss is forever. Continue reading →

Walking Down the Road (song)

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I wrote this song a few weeks ago. The first verse came to me just before leaving for work. I came home and wrote the rest of it that afternoon. It’s about Mark and the epic journey he attempted, crossing America.

I recorded it using Audacity, an open source platform that approximates what I remember four-track recording used to be like using a Tascam Porta 02 I once owned back in the mid-1990s. This was what was referred to as a portastudio and was similar to the kind of recording equipment lo-fi bands like Guided by Voices were using at the time.

The recording isn’t perfect, but it’s a start. Next, I’ll probably hit some open mics this fall. I’ll also continue to write and record additional songs. I opened an account on SoundCloud, also.

Here are the lyrics:

Walking Down the Road

Verse 1

Walking down the road alone, I saw a country lost at home

A mission of hope carried me forth, I lived each day for all it was worth

A president came while I was away, I planned to counter him every day

Hate and division won’t carry us forth, come together and be a force

Chorus:

I wish I had just one more day, I know I had so much more to say.

I love my dad, I love my mom. I’ll miss my friends forever yon

Verse 2

My family back home sent me their love, I wished I got back to give them a hug

We all know what we think we know, but can we strive for a greater hope

Friends I lost along the way, but still I walked another day

Saving earth was what it’s about, some of the haters would jump and shout

Chorus:

I wish I had just one more day, I know I had so much more to say.

I love my dad, I love my mom. I’ll miss my friends forever yon

Verse 3

One hundred days of joy and pain, my feet moved ‘cross the fruited plain

A dirty hippy or something more, why can’t they see my higher road

My face and words live on today, I often wonder what people say

I gave it all held nothing back, but in the end was it done in vain

Chorus:

I wish I had just one more day, I know I had so much more to say.

I love my dad, I love my mom. I’ll miss my friends forever yon

[Instrumental break]

Verse 4

Walking down the road alone, I saw a country lost at home

A mission of hope carried me forth, I lived each day for all it was worth

My family back home sent me their love, I wish I got back to give them a hug

We all know what we know, but can we strive for a greater scope

Chorus:

If I had just one more day, I often wonder what I’d say

It hurts my dad, it hurts my mom. Please remember them from where you roam

I wish I had just one more day, I know I had so much more to say.

I love my dad, I love my mom. I’ll miss my friends forever yon

[Fade]

Another Late Start

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Back before Al Gore (or whoever) invented the interwebs, retailers like Sears and Montgomery Ward produced thick, colorful catalogs laden with merchandise. The introduction of the latest catalog into a household was a big deal. Sometimes siblings might even fight over who got the first pass at such a rich treasure trove of goodies.

Sears was the shizzle when Amazon was only associated with rain forests and tribes of warrior women. Their catalog, dubbed by some as the “wish book,” was for all intents and purposes an encyclopedia of the American dream.

The traditional department stores (Marshall Field’s, Wanamaker’s) sold higher-end fashion, but Sears had made its reputation selling less expensive but necessary items: socks, underwear, towels and bedding, which helped keep sales going even during the Depression. Sears also sold house kits. Yes, you could actually buy a house from the catalog and from 1908 to 1940, Sears sold between 70,000 to 75,000 homes.

In 1968, the Sears & Robuck catalog boasted 225 pages of toys and 380 pages of gifts for adults, for a grand total of 605 pages. Included in those 600+ pages were musical instruments: specifically, guitars and drum sets. Continue reading →

Changing Lanes

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A lifetime of work experience leaves many of us adrift at some point in our “work careers.” I love that phrase in that it glorifies what’s basically a soul-killing enterprise.

After freelancing and being primarily self-employed since mid-2012, I’m back in a work environment similar to the previous world I once inhabited. Working at home seems romantic to many who haven’t done it for any significant period. The reality of staying home and working remotely is pretty isolating. At least I found that to be true, especially since Mark was killed.

I did spend the past two years being out five nights a week, tutoring at a private school. That gig helped pay the bills and I did get out of the house. But the students were difficult, save for a few that I felt I might have made some small difference with. Then again, I might be deluding myself. The tutors I worked with and saw every night aren’t people I’ve remained in-touch with.

Find your lane and stay in it.

I’m in week four of a new job. It’s the “honeymoon” phase, so my expectations are minimal. They pay me, so anything more than that will be a bonus. Continue reading →

Lamentation (for David Berman)

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[from the New York Times, Aug. 7, 2019]

With wry songs full of black humor, his band became an underground favorite in the 1990s, and a new group, Purple Mountains, was set to tour.

David Berman, the reluctant songwriter and poet whose dry baritone and wry, wordy compositions anchored Silver Jews, a critically lauded staple of the 1990s indie-rock scene, died on Wednesday. He was 52.

 His death was announced by his record label, Drag City, which released music by Silver Jews and Berman’s latest band, Purple Mountains…A law enforcement official who spoke on condition of anonymity because he wasn’t authorized to speak on the matter said that Berman was found on Wednesday in an apartment building in the Park Slope section of Brooklyn, and pronounced dead at the scene.

 A spokeswoman for the city’s medical examiner said that Berman had hanged himself, and ruled it suicide.

Another artist has left this world-David Berman [NY Times photo]

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To spend hours, weeks, months, and even years with people and then have them so profoundly reject you at the hour of your greatest need is demoralizing at the very least. The act of abandonment becomes deeply personal and affecting. You internalize it and adopt methods of moving through and beyond it. It leaves you scarred, however. Continue reading →