Southbound

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Moving is a lot of work. Transitioning stuff 50 miles might not seem like much, but it is.

The last time we made a major move, we sold a house we’d been in for 26 years. We found a place we thought would be a good placeholder until we figured out whether we wanted to own another home.

Then, less than two months later, the floor of our lives opened-up: Mark was killed.

Living in Brunswick was tarnished. It became a place where we experienced the horror of losing our son. I guess the house by the cove was as good a place as any to grieve and deal with our loss.

Brunswick is a nice community. Mary always loved their farmers’ market. Curtis Memorial is a terrific library. I enjoyed downtown, visits to Wild Oats, and walking around town with my friend, Paul.

I also found living outside of town lonely and isolating—not as much as Durham, but Brunswick never felt like home for me.

In 2015, I stumbled upon what was beginning to ripple in downtown Biddeford. I ended up pitching a story and ultimately writing one about city’s mills and their redevelopment for the Boston Globe. I was proud of my work.

When we began actively looking to buy a house, Portland was too expensive. There were also things about Portland that I’ve never loved. We broadened our geographic horizons and began in earnest to look in Westbrook, then Saco, and eventually, Biddeford. Westbrook did nothing for either of us. Saco is a nice community, but we found a place we both liked in Biddeford.

Biddeford’s downtown has really blossomed. Some have taken to calling it, “the Biddessance.” I like that. Continue reading →

Moon Shots

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Tomorrow is the 50th anniversary of the moon landing. Being old enough, I can actually say I was alive when it happened. I don’t remember much about it, though.

I imagine it was a topic of conversation in the house where I grew up. Did my parents watch it on their black and white television console? I don’t know.

This summer, I’m more apt to learn about current events from music, or related to the music I am listening to. I think it beat my former method of news consumption, relying on cable’s 24/7 cycles and never-ending Trump coverage.

Most Fridays (at least for a few more weeks), I’m usually at home, streaming Jon Bernhardt’s “Breakfast of Champions” slot on WMBR. I don’t know Jon, but by the kind of music he programs, I’m guessing we both have an affinity for mid-90s indie and that our interests in current bands/artists is informed by that period of time. I could be wrong.

Bernhardt featured a compilation called, The Moon and Back: One Small Step for Global Pop, along with a host of other songs related to the moon shot. Like most of his shows revolving around a theme, it was pretty cool, coming from a former DJ who took pride in putting together a radio show back in the day. A few songs into the show’s setlist, I figured out that there must be an anniversary related to the first landing on the moon.

The compilation tracks I’ve heard thus far are really good. I especially like The Nameless Book’s “AS-506” (track #13).

Along with the music, I found this article that I thought was well-written. It delves into why we fixate on things from the past and get all “geeked out” about anniversaries like these. The past does actually matter. Who knew?

I’m a bit like Larry Norman when it comes to celebrating the moon landing and nostalgia about it. Back in 1969, Norman was non-plussed about it and wrote “The Great American Novel” that touched on the waste or resources that the moon launch represented. Norman’s song creates a snapshot of that time that in my opinion is as powerful as anything Dylan wrote about the late 1960s. Unless you ran in Xian rock circles like I did for a time, you probably don’t know his music. Norman launches it with this line:

I was born and raised an orphan in a land that once was free
In a land that poured its love out on the moon

He goes on from there to offer a critique of a country that still gets its priorities upside-down, or worse.

Changing Shifts

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I’m going to miss swimming at the Bath Y. For more than three years, I’ve driven north on Route 1 to Bath to swim. Swimming has been one of a few things that kept me centered during the most difficult period of my life, both emotionally, and a year ago, when my SI joint flared-up.

For the past year, I’ve tried to swim three mornings a week. I’m usually there Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I tend to arrive after 6:00 (the pool opens at 5:00 a.m.), which allows me to get up at 4:45, have a cup of coffee, watch the weather with Mary, and then throw my bag in the backseat and make the 12-minute drive from where we’ve been living in Brunswick.

My arrival usually corresponds with a “shift change” of sorts. The group that arrives when the facility opens is usually wrapping up and the locker room most mornings is full of talk and camaraderie. Having played team sports throughout high school as well as coaching, the energy in a locker room is a special kind of thing.

Auto workers leaving the General Motors Powertrain plant in Warren, Michigan (2008)

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Desert Guitar

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For a time, guitarist Matt Sweeney had an awesome job—traveling around and gigging with other guitar players for Noisey. Apparently, the spots are no longer being made: the last one was posted on the “Guitar Moves” site late in 2017. If you dig these like me, check out the rest of them. This one was with Josh Homme of Queens of the Stone Age.

When we went out to California the spring following Mark’s death, we spent time near Joshua Tree National Park. We weren’t far from Rancho De La Luna, where Homme and a host of other musicians have recorded. This studio shows up in the episode with the late Anthony Bourdain filming his No Reservations show with Homme. The desert is where Homme’s roots run deep. Bourdain talked about the mystical elements of the California high desert. I clearly felt that energy when we were there.

While we were staying in the town of Joshua Tree, I thought of heading over to Pappy & Harriet’s to catch a show, but at that point in my life—being overwhelmed by grief and loss—keeping it simple was the plan. Being able to make it through another day and making it back to our rental in the desert after spending the day out in the natural world was the best Mary and I could do at the time..

I’m enjoying learning how guitarists do what they do. I’ve heard the pentatonic riffs Homme is talking about with Sweeney countless times over my life loving rock and roll. I recognize them whenever I hear them, but now I’m thinking about how to play them, as I continue my journey with the guitar.

I love how Homme talks about how much fun he has playing the guitar, too. It’s nice to know that a professional musician still finds joy from doing something he dreamed of doing and that the “bidness” of rock and roll hasn’t stolen it. Because in the end, for me, finding a little joy in life is what it’s all about right now.

Oh Mercy

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No desire to write a long blog post this week, either. Maybe I’ll never write another one of those TL;DR types of efforts that I used to pour so much energy into. Why? No one cares about what I’ve written about, so why not simply write whatever I want to write?

It’s possible that I feel this way because I just finished up a laborious technical writing project. I’m pleased I was able to get through it, learn some new things, and yes, buy a new guitar with some of the money.

Writing 200,000 words about my dead son also might have taken some of the starch out of me. Being a non-celebrity, “grief journals” are no way of currying favor with agents in today’s world of publishing.

I also have a bunch of writing to do for a summer session course I’m taking at USM. I’m saving my words for that. Oh, and I’m once again acquiring yet another certification to do something brand new later in the summer. Insurance wasn’t really for me. The new project seems to be a better fit and offers a better return on my time spent studying.

Lastly, I’m using my free time to play guitar instead of writing. In the past, it was always my writing that took precedence. I’m really digging the guitar.

In lieu of lots of words, here’s a song by Mark Eitzel. If you’ve never heard of him, you should check him out. He’s a talented dude. His music and some of the interviews I’ve read with him make him seem like someone that I’d enjoy having a conversation with.

He was featured because WMBR has been highlighting music connected with the LGBTQ community. This is because June is unofficially recognized as Pride Month. The historical tie-in is that the last Sunday in June is when many Pride events take place to commemorate the anniversary of Stonewall.

This song by Eitzel has a refrain about being a “ghost drifting by.” I am able to identify with that.

Oh mercy, oh mercy, don’t look in my sore eyes
I just want to believe, honey, the road will rise
Who, who, who, am I?
Oh, who, who, who, am I?
I’m a gho-o-o-ost drifting by
I’m a gho-o-o-ost drifting by
Yeah, who, who, who, am I?
Oh, who, who, who, am I?
I’m a gho-o-o-ost drifting by
I’m a gho-o-o-ost drifting by

One of the Cool Kids

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Once upon a time, everyone wanted to be one of “the cool kids.” I’m not sure what today’s kids want.

I love that WMBR’s “Breakfast of Champions” show always features a Band of the Week (BOTW). Often, it’s one I’m less than familiar with. Or like this week’s selection, Cloud Nothings, one I’ve forgotten how damn good they are. Take that qualifier with a “grain of salt” since we are now living in a post-rock world.

Cloud Nothings are from Cleveland, Ohio, the city immortalized forever by the anthem, “Cleveland Rocks.” It does (and has before), which may be why the Rock &  Roll Hall of Fame resides there. Another rock history footnote: Cleveland was home to Raspberries (not, The Raspberries), too.

Here’s the video for Cloud Nothings’ “Hey Cool Kid.”

Music more, write less

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Some people begin blogging to write exclusively about a passion they have. Music is that kind of topic.

A blog like When You Motor Away is a great example of blogging about the thing you are gaga about—which in their case is music—specifically, the kind of off-the-radar indie pop and rock that I’ve been following for more than 30 years.

Since Mark died, this kind of music has been one of a very few sources of joy for me. When they say that music speaks universally across our differences, I’d concur.

Radio stations like WMBR have served as stand-ins for friendships I’m lacking. I’ve memorized the program schedules of numerous stations and particular DJs. Like I know that Friday morning at 8:00, Jon Bernhardt will be playing bands, like Monnone Alone (who get written-up nicely via WYMA). Bernhardt opened his show today with another Australian gem, Possible Humans, playing a 12-minute “screamer” from their latest record. Pitchfork likes them, so there you have it. For someone who cut his musical teeth reading rock criticism, writing like this review about Possible Humans’ prior record (see the first paragraph) carries forward the torch left by prior rock journalism luminaries like Lester Bangs, Griel Marcus and others who once wrote for Rolling Stone, Creem, and even, SPIN. Continue reading →

Countering Contempt

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I’ve heard Arthur C. Brooks before. I apparently didn’t pay close enough attention.

Perhaps I saw that he was president of a think tank that tilted away from my ideological proclivities. Or, like often happens in life when you first encounter something that will later possess greater meaning—you pass on it once, or several times.

Book TV, which broadcasts on C-Span 2 each weekend, is what the network bills as “television for serious readers.” It’s 48 hours of nonfiction books and authors discussing their works. For someone like me who gravitates towards that genre, it’s a place I usually end up at some point each week.

After Words is a feature where one author interviews another nonfiction writer about a book they’ve written and it usually has a thematic orientation. This week, Senator Ben Sasse (R-Nebraska) interviewed his friend Arthur C. Brooks about his latest book, Love Your Enemies: How Decent People Can Save America from the Culture of Contempt. Actually, I think the show was taped earlier and likely, I was viewing the rebroadcast.

Arthur C. Brooks’ new book about countering contempt.

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The Tutor

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After the interminable summer of 2017—a summer oppressively sad following a major loss—I ended up taking a position: I would be tutoring youth at a nearby private school. Since it was 10 minutes from my house in Brunswick, the location seemed right. It was at night, so I had my days to be down and depressed (or in theory, be able to write).

I told the academic dean who hired me “the story.” I let him know that I couldn’t commit to anything long-term. Amazingly, he was okay with that. That was the extent of what I could handle at that moment in my life.

On my third night, I ended up paired with a young man who needed help with statistics. I hadn’t done statistics since I’d been taking night school classes during my CMP days in the mid-1990s. Somehow, I remembered enough to provide some help to my protégé.

He was back the following night. The two of us became a team, an academic Odd Couple of sorts. Over the remainder of the 2017-18 school term, we worked on English, History, and fortunately for me—he dropped statistics. The person supervising the night Guided Study program asked me if I’d want to work with Billy as a one-on-one assignment. Since I had nothing better to do with my evenings, I agreed. Continue reading →

Something Other Than Writing/Anyone Can Play Guitar

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Spring speaks to certain sense of rebirth—at least in places like Maine where inhabitants are forced to endure the bleakness that inevitably comes during winter. When life gets reduced to finding a way forward post-tragedy, then any extension of hope can serve as a stand-in for a talisman.

Writing as a central element dates back to 2002 for me. That’s when, in a job that I hated, I latched onto cultivating my craft as a writer. I wanted to become a writer and I was willing to put the work in.

After Mark was killed, writing was all I had to sort through the randomness and pain that a tragic death like his delivers to the father left behind. I initiated the process of using narrative as a tool to find a few shards of meaning from the randomness of what I’d been dealt.

For two years I’ve written and rearranged words in an effort to craft a story centered in grief and loss. I recognize that none of it provided much solace for the emotional agony I’ve been feeling. In fact, like has happened countless times over the past 17 years of writing, editorial arbiters either ignored my writing, or sent back notes that served as the publishing world’s version of the “thanks but no thanks” notice of rejection. Continue reading →