Omnifarious New Year's Resolutions

 

omnifarious - adjective - comprising or relating to all sorts or varieties (Google).

If you want to get an idea of what a New Year's resolution is, all you have to do is look on Facebook. At this time of year, you'll find omnifarious ones: big/small, complex/simple, extraordinary/mundane, unique/ unoriginal, verbose/concise, etc. You get the picture. According to history.com, the Babylonians were the first to make New Year's resolutions some 4,000 years ago. Apparently, they were the originators of New Year's celebrations as well. I always figured that crew knew how to party. I'm wondering, though, whether their resolutions were similar at all to ours. If I am right that human nature doesn't change over time, then they probably were. Did they keep their resolutions or break them as we often do? Perhaps. 

Because we tend to forget during the course of a year, perhaps it is more important to note ideas for change on January 1 and reflect back on them at junctures. Even though we may not actually accomplish what we set out to do initially, at least we have a written record of our positive intentions. 

Personally, I like to keep my resolutions simple. In 2022, I will continue to strive to live my life sans complications, sans conflict. Like Ebenezer Scrooge in Charles Dickens's A Christmas Carol, I will keep the spirit of the holiday (love) in my heart throughout the year. (I kind of do this materially because I Christmas shop for others throughout the year.) At the center of love is giving unconditionally without the expectation of reciprocation. 

This morning, I wrote down a passage that had been reprinted twice on FB, something that is worthy of repeating again. Unfortunately, I don't know who the originator is, but here goes:

"If you wronged me, it's all good. Lesson learned. If you're angry with me, you've won. I let it go. If we aren't speaking, it's cool. I wish you well. If you feel I've wronged you, I apologize; it wasn't intentional. Life is too short to be anything but happy and at peace."

What I like most about this staccato surrender to an unnamed former friend or family member is that the writer composed it after emptying herself/himself of herself/himself. The tone defines humility. The emphasis? "It's all good." This person understands that to be happy and at peace, concessions have to be made; onus must be taken. All of the negativity must be let go so that in retrospect, everything, even the egregious things, are "all good." (Notice how the author doesn't ask for anything in return. There are no conditions, just acceptance. There is genuine love present here.)

Maybe this year, we should all make a mutual resolution just to let go of the omnifarious, omnipresent negativities that hold us back from being our best selves, from being truly content, from loving freely sans the expectation of receiving.

Just a few thoughts on this dark, dank day in December. 

Happy New Year!!!!!!

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The Year in Language

 

deplatform - verb - to ban, boycott or otherwise limit the influence of someone on a platform, usually a social media or other public forum (TIME, December 27, 2021/January 3, 2022)

The one magazine that I subscribe to and actually read is TIME, a source of more reliable news than most periodicals. I'd like to think so, anyway. At the close of each year, the editors feature a page of neologisms coined or used generously during the course of twelve months. Deplatform is one of eleven featured in the year-end issue. I chose it because I actually deplatformed my former plumber, brother of a deceased close friend of mine, on Facebook due to his disrespectful, misinformed, political posts. Usually, it takes a lot for me to unfriend anyone. This particular person overstepped the borderline of decency, which to me, is a good reason to cancel anyone on any social media platform. (I'm sure you can relate.)

On January 20, 2021, I began writing this blog on blogspot as well as on Tinder, a site on which I no longer post since it represents pornographers as well as artists. I guess the creators must feel as though there is a fine line between the two, which might be logical as there are one or two similarities :). We live in that kind of world, one which is politically correct but not essentially ethical. My initial purpose for composing was on the selfish side because I wanted to attract an audience for my writing since I am looking to publish a memoir through an existing publishing house. Today if you don't wish to self-publish, something I have been doing since 1997 and now have growth tired of since there is so much competition, you have to jump through extra high hoops to prove that there may be a market for your manuscript. Since I no longer care whether or not my book gets picked up (The agent who had been encouraging me for a year wound up being a phony.), at present, I write to share not only possibly unfamiliar vocabulary but slices of life and lessons learned that readers might or might not be able to digest.  Ergo, my purpose is on the selfless side, a side of the street that I always like to occupy. 

I thank all of you regulars (Maybe two of you?) and all those who have visited once or twice for reading this column. 

I am hoping that life will treat us all a bit better in 2022. 

Happy New Year to all! 

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English and Aphorisms

 

aphorism - noun - a pithy observation that contains a general truth (Google).

In this day and age of pauciloquent persons who rely on four-letter words that can be used randomly for emphasis, educated listeners tend to miss the literary wizards of the past who could put together quotable aphorisms. Just this morning as I was sipping my smoothie and scrolling through my Facebook feed on my iPhone (I can't believe I have conformed to this sort of morning routine since I just gave up my flip phone a little over a year ago.), I came across a post in support of enlightening epigrams. It featured a short list of some of the best adages from the best minds like Oscar Wilde (my personal favorite), Mark Twain, Ernest Hemingway, and William Faulkner, men who knew how to read and write well, skills that seem to have gone the way of the Studebaker today. Being that I am a pronounced logophile and am not ashamed to admit it, I read the entire list, pausing to exhale a chuckle every few seconds. After finishing up, I continued the finger-numbing habit of liking posts, mumbling to myself, "They sure don't make minds like they used to."

Ironically, yesterday, my L.A. man and I were on the phone discussing the necessity of space in romantic relationships. I neglected to mention that we have too much physical space, nearly 3,000 miles, separating us, but the observation would have led to a foregone conclusion, and therefore, would have been redundant. I truncated Mark Twain's "Distance lends enchantment to the view," an aphorism that he had never come across in his peregrinations of pithy truths. He challenged my quote with one more familiar albeit opposing one, "Familiarity breeds contempt." We were one for one in the contest. And the match concluded at that point in a tie. 

The one aphorism by Oscar Wilde that I like to contemplate at this time of year is as follows: "To give and not expect return that is what lies at the heart of love." Christmas, a holiday that has come to feature materialism ("Capitalist Christmas") is coming up soon. Maybe we all need to walk on the Wilde side and concentrate on the true meaning of the day, which involves a healthy portion of love. Yum. We can all indulge in that concept freely sans regret. 

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Funerals and Weddings

 

paean - noun - song of praise or triumph (Google).

*Disclaimer: for those who are extra sensitive and take offense easily, the following contains facetious, "dark" comedy. Do not read it if you don't own a sense of humor. 

Unfortunately or fortunately, December tends to be a month of funerals and weddings. Since both are ceremonies, paeans directed at a specific person or persons during the course of both are common. In fact, the two have quite a few similar attributes although most who meet with wedding planners are not looking at them and seeing their resemblance to funeral directors. If they are, they probably shouldn't be getting hitched in the first place. 

Unfortunately (as most would perceive it), I am included as an attendee at more funerals than weddings, but I am over sixty, so it just makes sense that many of my friends are losing their parents at this time of life. I, unfortunately again, lost mine many years ago when I was still considered comparatively young, but my parents were much older than those of my friends. Lately, though, since I don't see myself ever getting married again (once was definitely enough.), I'm starting to understand and side with the character of Gareth in one of my favorite comic films from the 1990s: Four Weddings and a Funeral. As he is gay and does not have the opportunity to marry, he prefers funerals to weddings because "it is easier to get enthusiastic about a ceremony one has an outside chance of eventually being involved in." To be painfully honest, at this juncture in my life, lying horizontal in a wooden box before a church altar seems more realistic than standing dressed all in white beside someone at the same location albeit the former would not by choice and the latter would be.

If you step outside of your emotions for a minute or two, you can see that funerals and weddings have more than paeans that unite them:

1. Both involve unknowns. No one actually knows what will happen to the deceased's soul; no one knows what will happen to the newly contractually combined couple. (Will the agreement hold or not? The divorce rate is a bit beyond 50 percent right now.)

2. Both involve an end and a beginning (if you believe in some kind of life after death or marriage) or the beginning of the end of individual freedom on the planet. The spirit of the deceased or either of the newlyweds could very well be asking, "Where do I go from here?" The question is not one that you'd be privy to hearing, though. 

3. Both involve a large sum of money upfront. (I know because I've had to shell out for both.)

4. Both fill churches and can be similar to a family reunion since there are some relatives who will only attend one or the other or sometimes both depending upon the featured individual. 

5. Both involve emotions. People cry at both services, but hopefully for opposing reasons. 

On Saturday, I sang paeans as a first soprano in a church choir at a glorious memorial service for a friend's saintly mother. The service, like that of a wedding, included eulogies not unlike those you might hear from the best man or maid of honor at a wedding reception. (There's another commonality.) Because the deceased passed at nearly 93 and had lived a picture-perfect life, the general mood in the church was light. In fact, when I did shed some tears at the end, people walked away from me, which I thought was on the rude side, but they were probably just protecting themselves from a similar fate. The officiating minister, someone who knew the saint well, was even uniformly jovial and upbeat. Unusual, I know.

As I was leaving the repast, I thought that funerals may not be all that bad as they tend to give back in a way that weddings do not. For one, at a memorial service, you learn quite a bit about the departed that you never knew in life. For another, if the panegyrics are well written, there are usually embedded, uplifting jokes somewhere that are memorable, worthy of repetition. And if you are on the cheap side or are not monetarily well off, a funeral will not cost you more than the flowers or charitable donations you give. On the other hand, a wedding could cost you, the invitee, up to a thousand dollars if you are on the guest list of the engagement party, the bridal shower, and the actual wedding. You could pay more if you are asked to be included in the actual wedding party. Ouch.

The bottomline reads that you are your attitude. Both funerals and weddings possess positives and negatives depending on your viewpoint (and sense of humor). The wine glass that you hold at either reception can be half full or half empty. What you need to remember is that both traditions are part of life; both give us a rare opportunity to celebrate loved ones for better or worse in the present or past tense. 

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Hegemony at the Zoo

 

hegemony - noun - leadership or dominance, especially by one social group over others (Google).

Hegemony, a word that has gained prominence lately due to political plate tectonics, also has meaning in the animal kingdom. Yet it is not as obvious or as significant when the "lesser species" are held in captivity and must contend closely with human beings. 

Case in point: Yesterday, a close friend, Pat, who just happens to be the "number two man," the curator, invited my daughter and I to celebrate her birthday (December 16th) in grand style at the Bronx Zoo. She had only visited the urban aviary once before, I, about three times, but not for many years. Since he will be retiring in two weeks, we couldn't say no to his complimentary, personalized tour of the grounds, especially as he is a reality TV show star ("The Zoo" on Animal Planet) and one of the most prominent zoologists in the world. 

To be expected, from the moment we arrived until the moment we departed, Pat treated us like royals, providing us with a treasure trove of information while we tooled around the vast wooded acreage in a chauffeured, spiffed-up golf cart. At one juncture, he had to leave us on our own so that he could attend a meeting. It was then that we really had a few moments to observe the habitats closely for any evidence of animal hegemony. Oddly enough, most of the species seemed to rely on each other rather than impose dominance. There was a clear, peaceful sense of equality and communalism among them. An exception involved one gorilla that was alone for a few minutes. She tested the grounds of supremacy by throwing herself against the glass of her habitat just to watch a small group of us onlookers jump. The joke was on us, and it was enough to satisfy her taste for hegemony as she hobbled off playfully to find her mate while we were recovering from the shock.

Toward the end of the day, Pat returned and brought us into the sealed-off area containing the giraffes so that we could feed them their version of M&Ms: freshly cut carrots, apples and lettuce. (This opportunity was ours alone. Sometimes it is not what you know, but whom you know that will take you where no one else is allowed to go.) Somewhat shy, only one of a pack of four of the prehistoric looking giraffes showed much interest in eating from our hands. Quite content to exercise freedom of choice, but not hegemony, the others trooped off together to snack on the dry, brown leaves of a nearby tree.

Although hegemony does exist in the circles of the wild, contained creatures that rely on humans for sustenance must learn to get along if they want to survive. From the animals, I learned an invaluable lesson yesterday: despite differences, all denizens of planet Earth can get along if they all pay attention to each other and realize that harmony is a key ingredient when it comes to health and happiness. Lately, some of us are forgetting the importance of conforming to the group if only to maintain our health during Covid. Perhaps we should remember that united we stand, divided we fall and take the majority of our neighbors, not just ourselves, into consideration. 

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Theater as a Germane Topic Today

 

germane - adjective - relevant to the subject under consideration (Google). 

As we all know, when the pandemic hit, it managed to close the many doors, including those of the Broadway show houses. However, at present, they have squeezed past the paranoia and have opened to everyone holding a valid I.D. and vaccination record. Naturally, each must wear a mask as well, and an usher carrying about an oval sign reading, MASK UP, lolls about the house as if bored at a cocktail party to remind the audience to behave and do as they are told. 

I know this to be true as last night, my daughter and I made our way onto the Great White Way to see Company, George Furth and Stephen Sondheim's musical analysis of the pros and cons of marriage, originally premiering in 1970. And now for something completely different: in case you didn't know, the former leading man, Bobbie, has been altered to a female version with the same moniker. In fact, all of the characters with the exception of Joanne, have been updated in order to be considered germane representations of what is considered a reflection of today. God forbid any director should attempt to revive the musical in its original form and call it a period piece. Everything creative these days must be totally relevant to the time period. Which is okay, but not necessarily a good thing, especially not in Company. Poor protagonist Bobbie has nightmares about her biological clock timing out (a bit stereotypical and sexist as her male counterpart sure didn't) and escapes the stress via getting high or drunk with friends, intimating that no one single at age 35 could possibly be content. To this, I took offense. I am single and 63 and have never been more happy. At 35, I was married with child and was miserable. But to each her own, I suppose. The musical, as you could probably imagine, is a comedy. You have to laugh at Bobbie's antics or else cry. Your choice as the price of the ticket won't change one way or the other.

One day, I am hoping to see something from the past that is actually representative of the past. I'm tired of everything having to be completely germane given the present era. There is nothing wrong with revisiting the past in its original form every once in a while with or without company. It might just be illuminating on another level. 

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The Chanteuse and Free Will

 

chanteuse - a female singer, especially in a nightclub; chanteur, a male singer (Google). 

As a professional singer-songwriter, I started out forty years ago as a chanteuse, touring with a show band that performed in hotel lounges or nightclubs. Although I didn't especially like being a bona fide night owl, I loved my bandmates and the work itself. In the present, I am no longer nocturnal, yet I still manage to perform for senior audiences in nursing homes and assisted living facilities. On occasion, my  accompanist, also a former chanteuse, and I will wind up in a shelter for abused women and children or a public library, performing during the day or early evening. Admittedly, I miss my all-male colleagues, but as a purveyor of joy, not sorrow, I still adore what I do. 

For my birthday last Sunday, a dear friend from college sent me a refrigerator magnet displaying an aphorism with metaphorical value that everyone can relate to, especially singers, even those that croon in the shower. In chiaroscuro tones, it reminds: "Those who wish to sing always find a song." "Sing" and "song" are enlarged in black bold type for obvious emphasis. I don't think my friend was thinking figuratively when she purchased the mini plaque for me, but as a singer who also taught high school English, I can't help but go beyond the surface meaning because an English teacher wouldn't be an English teacher sans literary exegesis. This one isn't hard to fathom since the underlying implication is quite apparent and points to another adage: "If there is a will, there is a way." 

If you want to do anything in life, particularly something positive and upbeat like entertaining others, you surely can. Even if you don't think you have the natural talent, confident you can always find a way because you have been endowed with what is known as free will, the ability to make definitive choices. Free will is somewhat of a super power, the comic book heroes and heroines like Superman and Wonder Woman each possess one or more. However, most don't recognize that free will is one because people make dozens of choices on a daily basis, starting with making the decision to get out of bed in the morning. With each choice, you are propelled in a direction–positive or negative–depending on the quality of each decision. You are in control as you are behind the wheel. When you see the option, though, steer toward the upbeat song with the positive message, not the dreadful dirge. Lately, I'm hearing too many dirges, too many excuses as to why you can't do what you want to do or should do, so much so that I am convinced that the excuse alone will inevitably annihilate the human race altogether. 

Perhaps there should be a secondary magnet to accompany the one that my friend gave me. Perhaps it should be Nike's slogan: "Just do it." Do what is right and makes sense. Today, steer the wheel in that direction. 

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J'e'conte: I Listen

 

j'e'conte (French) - verb - I listen

Although I never signed up for any French classes in high school, I have always liked the sound of French. To me, it possesses a musical, romantic quality that most other languages lack. Just about anything sounds better in French. In fact, thirty-one years ago come Thursday, when I was laboring with my daughter, the anesthesiologist du jour at the hospital just happened to be French. When I spied the foot-long needle he was about to use to inject the epidural anesthesia, I cried out, "Speak to me in French; just say anything as long as it is in French" because I knew it would calm me. He granted my request, and whatever he said in French truly helped me get through some painful moments.

But the language of French is not the focus of this blog entry. It's listening. Many have the ability to hear, but few actually listen. We are so consumed by our own comparatively minute problems, that we forget that others may just want and need for us to listen to them rather than ask them to listen to us. Therapists, like my main squeeze in L.A., are paid hundred of dollars an hour, mainly to listen to clients. Not a bad gig since I tend to do it all the time for free.

Last Thursday, I had lunch with a dear friend, who is blessed as she does not need to hold a regular job since her husband makes a boatload of money. Rather than lather herself in the amenities that wealth can provide, she volunteers her time generously by working for the rescue squad, her church, and the suicide hotline. Apparently, to commit suicide today is easier than ever, particularly for adolescents as there is a website that will enable them to go through a short list of steps that will put them on the stairway to Heaven. My friend and her colleagues are working diligently to prevent them or anyone else in the same position from getting there via their own means. In order to take calls, a volunteer has to go through months of training, most of which centers on what to say to these desperate people at the end of their proverbial ropes. Interested and plain curious, I asked her what she can and does say, and she replied, "Not much. Mostly, j'e'conte. I listen." Hmmm. "You mean you can't mention any of your own similar life experiences so that they feel as though they aren't alone in their emotions?" "No, the person on the other end has to be the focus. Which is why I listen." Although superficially, this might not make perfect sense, underneath the surface, it actually does. Most people contemplating suicide are doing so because they have no one willing to listen to them. When they finally find someone, a sounding board who will grant them thirty minutes, they feel much better and redirect their energies to something positive.

December is the season of giving and receiving. If you pride yourself on being a witty conversationalist who steals the spotlight and holds onto it, maybe it is time to allow the listener(s) to be the speaker(s). If you concentrate on what they tell you, you may just walk away with a gift that transcends anything that money can buy. 

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Sine qua non: True Friends

 

sine qua non - noun - essential condition; a thing that is absolutely necessary (Google)

December is a month of birthdays for me, one after the other. Mine is tomorrow, just about right in the center. Because so many remember when they could easily forget me as the holidays force everyone to juggle a number of balls at once, I feel particularly blessed. What I am always and forever reminded of at this annual junction is that friendship, true friendship, is a sine qua non in life. The unconditional love that friends express toward each other is absolutely imperative to survival on the planet. If every material appliance were taken away from us, we would have to rely on each other exclusively. Relations might walk away for whatever reason, but friends, the authentic ones, tend to stick around. At least this has been true in my experience. 

A dear boon companion and former colleague of mine is a testament to the essential quality of friendship. (She could probably be one of the first to read this. I hope she is.) This morning I opened the front door to falling moisture, and spied a small, baby-blue-and-white-checkered box nestled up against the threshold as if trying to stay dry. I picked it up, thinking that it must contain a surprise birthday gift from my L.A. admirer. Taking it into the kitchen, I placed the package on the granite counter. Since I couldn't find a trace of the sender's name, my daughter took it and removed the label, promptly revealing the information I was searching for. The contents, an assortment of cookies, came from my friend. Naturally, I did what most would do immediately: I texted a thanks and proposed that we should have lunch. Within minutes, she returned a text reading that another friend of hers had lost her husband at a moment's notice and yet another had just had a limb amputated. To both, she promised sympathy and support, accompanied by maybe tea or a Coke. Of course, I understood the sine qua non of this, and told her we would get together in January. 

If we are very lucky, all of us have at least one companion who will go the distance for us, no matter what. Fortunately, I am blessed with more than one, who, like the aforementioned, would be there for me through the thick and thin: the storms, the fires, the blizzards...well, you get the picture. I know this for a fact because they have proven themselves to be true friends,"rainy day people" (G. Lightfoot) who are dauntless and indefatigable and knowledgeable when it comes to giving and receiving love. 

I thank all of you who lighten the burdens of life for others. You are indeed angels. 

OXOXOXO

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"Give Me Some Truth"

 

spurious - adjective - not being what it purports to be; false or fake

In these strange days, nothing is truly what it seems to be. Spurious information and those perpetuating it are seemingly ubiquitous. And as humans are deceptive creatures by nature, there are no signs that the situation will be abated in the future. Quite frankly, because of the continuous flow of spurious claims via multiple platforms, times are getting more and more unsettling and downright dangerous (in case you didn't already notice).

Cases in point: 1. Yesterday, I had lunch with my ninety-one-year-old aunt who has a propensity for dirty laundry, not the literal kind, the figurative kind: spurious or "fake" news. As a staunch conservative, she gets her "facts" from The Epoch Times and Fox News. She told me yesterday that she read that Biden himself will be breaking into her checking account in order to withdraw funds. When I told her that that sort of activity is blatantly illegal, not to mention against the Constitution, her eyes widened, her mouth contracted into a pout, and she mumbled something like, "I don't know." I went on to explain to her, a woman who has full control of her faculties, that we live in a democracy governed by the people, for the people, not one autocratic man who has limitless powers. At the end of my rant, which lasted for about five minutes, her mindset didn't seem to be altered in the least. I walked away wondering just how many members of her generation are being perpetually poisoned by what media they are tuned into on a daily basis.

2. A few weeks ago, I spoke to my daughter's friend, a handsome young meteorologist, whose eyes of crystal blue could land him easily on any network news show as a weatherman. When I asked him why he wasn't on his way to being the next Storm Field, he told me he had had a gig on a program, but when the management told him to alter a forecast to appease the masses, he declined and promptly quit. "I studied meteorology too hard to make up things just for the sake of money." Exactly. Thank Goodness there are people out there who still possess an ounce of ethics. What does this anecdote prove? What you hear on the nightly news could be seriously embellished or just spurious. And I am not just referring to the weather here.

In the late sixties, John Lennon wrote a song called, "Give Me Some Truth." Fifty plus years later, some of us are still humming that tune, hoping for some miraculous breakthrough resembling honesty. Why is it so hard to tell and/or accept the truth? If you know the answer, please tell me. I am in need of solid edification regarding this matter.

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Chiaroscuro Cars

 

chiaroscuro - noun - use of strong contrasts between light and dark in fine art (Google).

On December 12th, I'll turn 63, a number that entitles me to reflect back on the past and compare it to the present every now and then. Call it a nostalgic impulse, if you need to; but sometimes I, like many of my generation, stand back and notice the small things that have changed over the years. I can't help myself. Cars are in that category. Yes, automobiles. As a child, I possessed the rare talent of being able to identify the make and model of every car in the parking lot sans the ability to read the insignias, most likely because there was a degree of uniqueness to each, unlike today. To me, all of the autos, mainly SUVs, look almost exactly alike. And it doesn't help that most of their manufacturers indulge in chiaroscuro coloration when spray painting their creations' bodies either. Most are painted black, white, or some muted tone that lacks personality or fun. 

Last Saturday, my daughter and I returned to a ski shop on Route 1 and 9 to purchase new ski boots for an upcoming jaunt out to Vail. Three years prior, my daughter had bought skis from the same shop and knew that if we returned and found boots, the management would adjust the bindings at no cost. Oddly enough, I remembered waiting out in front of the shop for my daughter who was completing the transaction, just watching the cars pass by on the highway, noticing their repetitive drabness. Fast forwarding to last weekend, the deja vu hit me when I figured out I was standing in the same spot, doing the same thing, and coming to the same conclusion: all cars–and perhaps the people in them–are group conformists.  

When it comes to autos and even pick-up trucks, gone is the romance that was once so divine. Not only do I miss all of the bodily configurations, I miss the colors: canary yellow, like my dad's petite Chevy Vega from the late seventies; fern green, like his sleek Buick Skylark from the same decade; azure blue, topaz, purple, vermillion, orange, and yes, even pink. All of the colors of the rainbow that had once undulated at 60 mph down the Garden State Parkway and thoroughfares like it in the heat of summer are now, for the most part, no longer present. 

What happened to these steel moving colors? Why are they now a rarity on the roadways of the U.S.? Is it because we are starting to lose our own uniqueness, our own individual color, that they have gone the way of the Oldsmobile and Pontiac? Are we conforming to the status quo because it just takes too much effort to stand out in a crowd? Or are we just complacent, fearful of making waves? If the answer to the final three of these questions is yes, no wonder the car manufacturers don't give us much of a choice in terms of models and colors. Why should they when we might not even care?

I don't know about you, but I'm hoping when we are all forced to buy electric cars someday soon, they will be available in magenta, crimson, midnight blue, etc., as well as the chiaroscuro white and black. If so, then finally we will be free from the dull drums if only on the roads that take us where we want to go. 

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Right Time, Right Place

 

fortuitous - adjective - happening by chance rather than design (Google).

Since I started composing this blog roughly a year ago, I have featured 244 words. It is conceivable that today's came up a while back already, but after a night of little sleep, I frankly don't have the motivation to go through all of them for the sake of originality. If you have been an avid reader and recall that I already used this adjective, I beg your pardon and request patience. After all, vocabulary words are meant to be seen and heard and used more than once.

Honestly, I'm not big on the idea of chance. I tend to believe that all things happen by design, for a reason. Every once in awhile, though, the concept of luck fits because of the randomness of the occurrence involved and the resulting situational irony. For the most part, I am an unlucky person, but every once in a blue moon, happenstance happens, and I and maybe one other person are in the beneficial center of it. When this sort of thing occurs, pure magic is the byproduct.

There are two cases in point; both involve rock concerts that took place less than 48 hours apart. Last Saturday night, the eldest member in good standing of Platonic Anonymous invited me to a Smithereens' concert at a venue that was unfamiliar. The reason why we had never heard of it previously was because it had literally just opened its doors. Uninformed, ergo, unaware, we arrived and were directed into a premiere gala celebration, complete with searchlights a la 20th Century Fox's logo, plush red carpets rolled out in just the right spots, complimentary Prosecco, Budweiser, and Californian wines, as well as an appetizing assortment of appetizers and somewhat appetizing fellow guests, meaning they were dressed relatively well considering the featured new wave musicians. Fortuitous? I'd say so, particularly for Jersey.

The second situation was even more so. Last night, Monday, my daughter treated me to a Genesis concert at Madison Square Garden, the tickets to which she had purchased for a high price back in July. Despite the extraordinary amount of money she spent, we still wound up in the nosebleeds, several levels above and back from the stage. Naturally, she was disappointed. A few minutes after we situated ourselves and came to terms with our unlucky locale, the good fairy of fortuitousness appeared in the guise of an usher. He was not waving a wand, but a wad of tickets. When I turned all away around to face him, revealing only my eyes since I was wearing a mask, he asked how many we required, I replied, "Two" and just like that, I was cradling in my hand two tickets to two seats just slightly above stage left on the first level of the arena, tickets worth double the price that my daughter had paid. We were upgraded at no cost at all, for no reason at all other than that we just happened to be in the right place, at the right time. Wow!

Although I'm quite sure I have cited this quote before, it's appropriate here as well. Tom Petty, a rocker from the same era as Genesis and the Smithereens, once wrote, "Even the losers get lucky sometimes." In a world of balance, Karma, it just makes sense. 

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The Irony of Knowing or Not

 

situational irony - noun - something happens that is different to what was expected (Google).

Life is filled to the brim with situational irony, particularly when it comes to relationships. You might think you know someone well–a colleague, a friend, a mentor, a spouse, a lover, a relative–over the course of a lifetime, yet may never realize that individual completely. And just when you think you've uncovered specific truths about the person, perhaps from the person himself or herself,  Death can draw the curtain and either contradict what you thought you knew or reveal even more knowledge, neither of which you had expected. 

Case in point: I grew up thinking that my mother's family was partially German and Polish by descent. Why? My mother told me. If my memory serves me well (and it usually does), she said that my grandmother, whom my sister and I never knew since she had passed when our mother was fourteen, had been born somewhere between Berlin and Szczecin on the border of East Germany and Poland. Years after my mom's sudden death, her distant cousins, whom I had never before met, invited my father, daughter and me to a family reunion. According to one of the elders in the tribe–a niece of my grandmother–my grandmother and all of her siblings were born in Eastern Lithuania, nowhere near the East German/Polish border. Within seconds, adult I reformulated an adolescent identity crisis that wasn't cleared up until my daughter gave me a Christmas gift of Ancestry.com. Eventually, I learned that I am one hundred percent Lithuanian on my mother's side. So, just when I thought I had a clear indication of who my mother was, and who I was, I really didn't.

The bottomline is that the more you know about anyone or anything, the more you come to know that you actually know very little. I believe it was Einstein who first came up with a similar ironic statement: "The more I learn, the more I realize how much I don't know" (Google). In some cases, you can't even know yourself that well as self-perception is always skewed. It is like hearing your voice in your head but then listening to it on a recording and realizing it sounds vastly different. You perceive yourself one way, but others perceive you another. Rather than fight the impulse to disagree ("No, I'm really not like that."), the smart thing to do is accept the point of view of others because you can never quite get around situational irony. Just when you think you've got yourself and everybody else all figured out, evidence is unearthed that changes everything. 

Nothing truly is what it seems to be. 

Unexpected Unification Before Death

 

unification - noun - process of being united or made into a whole by joining or connecting (wordhippo.com).

What makes life interminably interesting is that it is often unpredictable and inexplicable. Related events can and do happen seemingly at random, perplexing us. Mysteries abound and surround, forcing us into the realm of interrogation in our attempts to make some sense of them. Inevitable death in itself is a question mark as no one can be quite sure of what happens to us after the lights go out. But it is possible to experience unexpected unification with someone of personal note before it. 

Case in point: Over the long holiday weekend, three deaths occurred, perhaps proving that bad things as well as good things tend to happen in three's. None of the deaths was particularly tragic as each person was over the age of 85, had lived a glorious life of privilege, and was and still is well loved. Two of my close women friends lost their mothers, and I, my favorite high school teacher, Mr. Joe T., who directed me as an inchoate actor in five plays and who subsequently became somewhat of a role model since I went on to pursue a career in theater. He and I had lost touch for many years, only to find each other again on Facebook. Joe and I had planned to get together for lunch P.P. (pre-pandemic), but at 91, he fell, broke a hip and after replacement surgery, wound up in a nursing home. His daughter Mary was kind enough to inform me via email that lunch would be off indefinitely. 

Even though I had not heard from him or Mary in almost two years, the week before his death, I kept thinking about him. I tried in vain to find Mary's email so that I could reach out to her and him if only to find out how he was doing. While scrolling through posts on Facebook on Wednesday, something I practically never do because I have so little time, I came across Joe's obituary. He had passed away the Friday after Thanksgiving, a few days after my attempt to connect with him. Yesterday at his funeral mass, I met Mary face to face for the first time. I mentioned my preoccupation with Joe right before his death, and we both came to the conclusion that perhaps Joe himself was somehow involved, perhaps he had wanted to unite with me psychically before leaving the planet and decided to possess my thoughts. 

Is it possible to be so inextricably bonded to those who have influenced us most, so united that they continue to motivate us subliminally? It is puzzling to think about what is normally perceived as impossible or improbable. Yet there are enigmas in life that can only be dissected for so long before we throw up our hands and accept the fact that there are no answers to our questions, our attempts to  understand what isn't supposed to be understood. Unification before death, unexpected or not, one way or the other can and does happen. And when it does, we somehow feel lucky because inherently we know that the bonds forged in life will remain unbroken in death. 

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The Fine Art of Timelessness

 

timelessness - noun - quality of not changing as years progress or as fashion changes (Cambridge English Dictionary)

Timelessness is not a polysyllabic word that is used often. In fact, when I did a Google search on it to double check its definition, I found a question that someone posted asking whether or not it is indeed a word. Apparently, it is. When it comes to legitimate English, I trust anyone from Cambridge. 

Timelessness in a person is as rare as the word's common usage. Throughout my life, I can only say that I have known one magnificently timeless individual and am proud that she has been a friend of mine for forty years. Although chronologically, she is somewhere in the vicinity of 88, it really is impossible to associate that numeral with her as she has not really changed much at all over the years. Sure, there are a few more pounds around her middle and miscellaneous wrinkles defining facial aspects, but the celebrity smile, the infectious laugh, the contemporary attitude, the refusal to relax in a box that she doesn't fit into make her perennially youthful. We all should be so fortunate as the Divine Ms. Muriel. 

But she may not be entirely alone, not virtually anyway. The other night, my daughter and I were watching Disney's presentation of "Get Back," hours and hours of edited footage of the super group, the seminal Beatles, caught on camera in a warehouse of a film studio somewhere in England, writing and/or rehearsing timeless songs that are preserved for all time on the trailblazing albums Let It Be and Abbey Road. For nearly three hours, our eyes were transfixed, incapable of disengagement from the screen, yet our mesmerism had little to do with the fact that we both have created original music. Timelessness hooked us. The series is all about timelessness. Although filmed in 1969, all four Beatles in their late twenties look as though they could be alive and well today. Hypothetically, if they were to walk down Fifth Avenue at noon, no one would comment, "Wow, what planet from the past are they from?" Conversely, everyone surrounding them–the various technicians, the producer George Martin, the documentary's director–all appear dated, but not the stars composing the music that has passed the test of time as it is still popular today. So amazing!

"Get Back" got me wondering whether the truly gifted and their gifts don't come with an expiration date intentionally so that they can maintain relevance throughout the progression of eras. Perhaps timelessness is a fine art in and of itself worth preserving somehow when found. 

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