PBS Digital Studios Remixes

I listen to a lot of Public Broadcasting.  They tell me Public Broadcasting is liberal.  I have some friends who won't listen to it for that reason.  I'm afraid I don't get that argument, and listen frequently anyway.  The other day I heard a discussion about these videos.  They took voices of PBS icons and brilliantly mixed them into songs. (The song starts after a short introduction with just talking.)

I grew up watching Bob Ross.  I never once did any painting, since my brother Buddy got all the talent in that department and anything I ever drew looked pitiful compared to his work.  Ross had a way about him that was mesmerizing.  Part of if was his voice that induced a trance, the other part was was his hair, which you couldn't take your eyes off.

And then there was Mr. Rogers.  I watched him even though I was older than his target age.  Mr. Rogers also had a way of inducing a trance with his voice as well.  He is probably responsible for calming down thousands of kids with ADHD.

And I watched Julia Child occasionally as well.  Again, I never cooked one thing.  I wonder what percentage of viewers actually did after watching her?  Perhaps this is an argument against worrying about the impact of TV on kids.

Tenth Avenue North / Deck the Halls

Bill Sammons from 88.7 The Bridge was talking about this video the other day on the radio.  This is what happens when wildly creative people get bored and decide to do something completely different.   Here's a clue to the whole thing:  think pop up children's book.  This whole video was done in one take. (The drummer gets the award for the goofiest smile.)

Here's a video about how they made the first video:

If Chickens Could Sing / Carol of the Fryers

Here is a re-post of a previous blog entry. 

We first heard this song when WXPZ was on the air in the early '90s.  During the first listen, one asks himself  "What the heck is this?"  But at the end of the song, it becomes clear.  It has become one of our favorite Christmas songs, and believe it or not, one of the most touching.

We have a new Christian Radio Station, 88.7fm, THE BRIDGE, and they still play the song.

Never too soon for Christmas Music

Yea, it's not even Thanksgiving yet, but I got this song in my mind today during my 20 mile run while trying to put together an article for the Manna in my head.  This is a re-post from last Christmas Eve:

Casting Crowns

Here is another Christmas song, recorded in a contemporary style by Casting Crowns, which has become one of my favorites.

  "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day".

Here's a live version, which sounds almost as good as the studio version.

I failed to recognize (until my all-knowing mother pointed it out) that this is an old, old song.  I actually have it on a cd which I had made from a Fred Waring and the Pennsylvanians Christmas record we listened to when I was a child. 

According to Wikipedia, ""I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day" is a Christmas carol based on the 1864 poem "Christmas Bells" by American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.  The song tells of the narrator's despair, upon hearing Christmas bells, that "there is no peace on earth... for hate is strong and mocks the song of peace on earth, goodwill to men". The carol concludes with the bells bestowing renewed hope for mankind."  For additional background into the poem, see this article by Tom Stewart.

Well, we know Who holds that hope.  Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I heard the bells on Christmas day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along the unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

Till ringing, singing on its way
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And in despair I bowed my head
“There is no peace on earth,” I said,
“For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail
With peace on earth, good will to men.”

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound the carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn, the households born
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

Minute by Minute

Back in the day, Michael McDonald was one of my favorite musicians.  He was with the Doobie Brothers at the time.

During the '80-'81 school year, I went to see them in Philly with some friends in college.  As I recall, in attendance were my roommate Bill (his family lives 10 minutes away, and our children are best friends), my other roommate Dave (he was a character, and disappeared part way through the year), Paul  (he would be my roommate two years later), and another Bill (he lived across the hall from us, and I was disappointed that he transferred to another college later).

Little did I know that during that era in my life,  McDonald's voice would set the bar for voices.  The question is - is it really that good, or was it related to the fact that I heard him during impressionable years, and he would become one of the people from "The Good Ole Days."

We all know "Good Ole Days" people (present company included).  They harp on what it was like "back then".  Nothing compares to "back then".  Something happened "back then" that made a huge impression.  It wasn't necessarily about the quality of the thing - it was about the time, the people, the whole event.  I think it has something to do with the theory that the mind is a blank slate, and new memories receive much more hard drive space on the brain, thus making them more "memorable".


This is McDonald in 2006, singing a Doobie Brothers song.

Turns out, this is NOT one of those "Good Ole Days" events.  In fact, he was good then, and only improved with age.  You may not like his style, but I can't imagine anyone disputing the quality of his voice.

And those guys at the concert with me?  There is no dispute about the quality of those friendships.

The Arts

Some very good friends of ours invited us to attend an outdoor showing of the movie "Homeward Bound" beside the Riverwalk in Salisbury, MD.  The event was put on by the Salisbury Wicomico Arts Council.  There is something irresistible about outdoor events in the summer.

Roma Old Bay Sausage

We shared dinner together beforehand in our friends' new home.  The old bay sausages expertly barbequed on the grill were a huge hit. 

We were handed a pamphlet at the movie by someone from the Arts Council.  I noticed a quote at the top of the page, which said:  "The arts are a gift to our souls, that we may achieve gladness in the midst of tedious living.  The arts are our entitlement to lift ourselves to higher ground, simply for the asking." 

Finally, someone has put into words why I listen to music, why I drag my family to concerts in the summer, why a good book is a thing to ponder on for weeks, why every dollar spent towards ballet lessons for our girls is a dollar well spent, why the sound of the clarinet and saxophone are music to our ears in our home, why I mix the sound for the family who leads worship at our church, why I badly attempt to accompany that family with the djembe, why I love to see our Sarah draw, why I am fascinated by architecture, and why I write.

Food may actually be a fine art as well.  Maybe that's why I enjoy eating so much.

Flat-footing with The Homegrown String Band

I got home from work, and hurriedly looked at the concert schedule for Stango Park in Lewes, DE for that evening.  I thought it said that "The Rogues", a Celtic band, would be playing.  So we headed off the Lewes.  When we got settled into our chairs, we soon realized that I had apparently made a mistake.  Instead of "The Rogues" playing, it would be "The Homegrown String Band". 

The band is a family, and plays music "inspired by the rural string bands of the early 20th century".  We took a liking to the band, and were glad we had mistakenly stumbled into their show.  The father, Rick, commented that later in the show, the girls would be doing some flat-footing.

Coincidentally, we had just been talking to my mother about my grandmother flat-footing.  Mommom used to talk about getting together on the weekends with her family and playing music.  Eventually they would end up flat-footing.

I regret that I don't recall seeing Mommom flat-foot.  I remember her talking about it, and for some dumb reason, I never asked her to demonstrate it for me.  Perhaps she never did because there was no one left to play the music.

So near the end of The Homegrown String Band's performance, the mother and two daughters flat-footed.  I pulled out our digital camera and recorded a small portion of each woman's dance in video.  They all have a slightly different style.  I picture Mommom Timmons flat-footing in the style of the last daughter.

It is this kind of thing that creates a connection that attracts me to people.  After the concert, our families chatted with each other.  As I spoke with him, I realized that Rick was not as old as I had thought, but rather was probably about my age. We bought a cd, and wished them well.

A few days later, I checked the schedule of the Delaware International Speedway in Delmar, Delaware, found when the Little Lincoln cars would be racing (a club of racers who drive 50's era dirt track cars), and invited my dad to join the boys and I for a Saturday night of racing and talk of fast driving.

Sometimes I Cry

I'm not one to cry much. It's not a man thing...not sure what it is. I don't try not to cry.  I think that if I listen to this song enough, I just might, and I would feel better.

Sometimes I Cry

(Buddy Miller, Julie Miller,&  Jim Lauderdale)

Moments when I could swear
It's like you were just here
Somebody wake me up when we get there
So you'd be here why can't you be here
Sometimes I cry sometimes I cry

I stop holding up and my heart gets stuck
And that might take awhile
Sometimes I cry sometimes I cry
Sometimes I just break down and my tears come round
Like water from the sky
Sometimes I cry yea yea

No one knows what might happen
Takes away so much that matters
Images showing up start me thinking
And remembering I'm remembering

Sometimes I cry sometimes I cry
I stop holding up and my heart gets stuck
And that might take awhile
Sometimes I cry talk to you and sigh
Sometimes you still make me laugh
And that helps to pass
All the carrying on
Sometimes I cry yea yea

Can't make the puzzle fit like before
We'll have to discuss that a lot more

Sometimes I cry sometimes I cry
I stop holding up and my heart gets stuck
And that might take awhile
Sometimes I cry
Sometimes I cry
Sometimes I just break down and my tears come round
Like water from the sky
Sometimes I cry yea yea
Sometimes I cry
Sometimes I cry

The Voice Moses Must Have Heard

This is a country song.

I don't care if you don't like country music.  I don't care if you don't like guitar pickin'.  Just listen to Josh's voice.  It is, well, just listen for Pete's sake.  You don't have to become a fan of country or get a pickup truck or drink beer or learn to line dance.  It won't hurt much at all.

Now didn't you just say to yourself  "What! How does he do that?"

Burning Down the House

February 12, 1979...I was sitting in Joe Palermo's Biology II class.  Mary Jean Bunting talked about just seeing the Talking Heads on Saturday Night Live singing "Take Me to the River".  She wasn't impressed.  They had just released their second album entitled "More Songs about Buildings and Food".  The album title alone was a statement of their creativity.

But we weren't in class to discuss music.  We were there to learn from Joseph Palermo.  Mr. Palermo was a relatively new teacher at Indian River High School in Frankford, De.  The first class I took with him was Biology I in the ninth grade.  My family had moved to upstate NY for two years , and when we returned home to Delaware for my freshman year, I was a year ahead in math and science.  So they put me in sophomore classes.  It was odd being a ninth grader in tenth grade classes.  The feeling of not knowing exactly where I belonged took me a couple of years to get over.  Or maybe I never did.

Mr. Palermo was a breath of fresh air in the midst of that transition.  I had my epiphany of the value of education in the eighth grade .  I had latched on to two teachers at Honeoye Falls-Lima Middle School - Kenneth Pike who taught science, and Doug Powell who taught mathematics.  Their love of the sciences had grown on me, and I started a habit of using teachers as role models.  Early in that 9th year, Mr. Palermo was one of the teachers who took that place.  He was young, energetic, and full of fresh ideas.  He didn't do things the way everyone else did.

Neither did the Talking Heads.  Their fifth album, interestingly entitled "Speaking in Tongues", contained the song "Burning Down the House."  It has an extremely interesting and complex rhythm near the end of the song with a combination of instruments, predominantly percussion.  Much of the music I listen to tells a story with words.  This doesn't.  I think the words and voices are there only to make a sound to go along with the music.  The story they tell is in sound of the instruments and voices together.  A whole nother world of creativity.

For some logistical reason, I had ended up with my given class of '79 in Biology II with Mr. Palermo.  He did not remain in high school education.  He left soon after our senior year to pursue Sports Medicine.  I'm sure he had a successful career in that field, but high school education lost a valuable asset when he moved on.  Perhaps he found where he really belonged.  Fortunately for us, my classmates and I were on the receiving end while he poured himself into teenagers for those few years.  Thanks Mr. Palermo. 

Wide River to Cross

I realize I post a lot of music.  I know it doesn't interest everyone like it does me.  I know that no one has the time to take 8 and 1/2 minutes just to listen to two songs.  But that's the perk of having a blog.  And who knows, one of these songs may change your life.

I first heard "Wide River to Cross" performed by Levon Helm on his Dirt Farmer album.  Levon just died on April 19.  He played music up to the day he passed.  Here is a previous post featuring The Band.  And below is Levon singing "Wide River":

The song was written by Buddy and Julie Miller.  Here's Buddy performing it:

Not sure which version I like better.  If I happened to be doing an alternative Christian radio show, both would be at the top of my play list.

Wide River to Cross

by Buddy and Julie Miller

There's a sorrow in the wind
Blowing down the road I've been
I can hear it cry while shadows steal the sun

But I cannot look back now
I've come too far to turn around
And there's still a race ahead that I must run

I'm only halfway home, I've gotta journey on
To where I'll find, find the things I have lost
I've come a long long road but still I've got some miles to go
I've got a wide, a wide river to cross

I have stumbled, I have strayed
You can trace the tracks I made
All across the memories my heart recalls
But I'm still a refugee, won't you say a prayer for me?
'Cause sometimes even the strongest soldier falls

I'm only halfway home, I've gotta journey on
To where I'll find, I'll find the things I have lost
I've come a long long road but still I've got some miles to go
I've got a wide, a wide river to cross

I'm only halfway home, I've gotta journey on
To where I'll find, I'll find the things that I have lost
I've come a long long road but still I've got some miles to go
I've got a wide, a wide river to cross
I've got a wide, a wide river to cross

Want to know why I post lyrics?  It's because I love to look at the words.  And I'm hoping that eventually, osmosis will set in, and I'll write a song.

Kindred Spirits

Had lunch with a friend of mine today.  We came to the following conclusions:

• Creative people like ourselves crave more time to exercise our creativity, but we are probably better off keeping our day jobs.  Otherwise, our creative endeavors would become our jobs, and then they would be like, well, work.
• Having said that, we would both like to at least have a shot at the opportunity to just do creative stuff all the time without the nuisance of having to make a living.
• History is probably full of people doing creative things in the midst of making a living doing something else.
• Playing live music is exhilarating.  My friend knows about this extensively.  I have only done it once so far.  But addiction has already set in.
• For some people, like ourselves, Springsteen's "Born to Run" album changed everything.
• There are some things that must be universally beautiful (a phrase my friend used), one of which is Clemon's sax solo in Jungleland on the aforementioned album.  (See previous post.)
• Having four kids also changes everything.
• Creativity and the ability and energy to express it probably follows a bell curve. But we aren't going to be discouraged by trends.
• Many creative people were only recognized as great after their death.  So if recognition is the goal, there is still hope.  But recognition is a lousy goal.
• The Applebee's pick 'n pair deal makes a great lunch.  And cheap too, especially since Joe picked up the tab.  Thanks man.

We would have come up with many more interesting things, but had to go back to work.

Clarence Clemons

Clarence Clemons of The E Street Band died on June 18, 2011.

"Jungleland" is a 9 minute 33 second song on the 1975 Springsteen album "Born to Run".  In the midst of the song, Clarence plays one of the best saxophone solos ever.  If you're feeling melancholy, it will make you cry, seriously.

I had the solo here, but it was removed due to copyright issues.  

If you care to hear the whole song in all of its 9 minutes and 33 seconds of glory, here it is.  Springsteen wrote this at about the age of 25.

This is one of the reasons I encouraged our Sarah to take up the sax.

Jungleland

By Bruce Springsteen

The Rangers had a homecoming
In Harlem late last night
And the Magic Rat drove his sleek machine
Over the Jersey state line
Barefoot girl sitting on the hood of a Dodge
Drinking warm beer in the soft summer rain
The Rat pulls into town rolls up his pants
Together they take a stab at romance
And disappear down Flamingo Lane

Well the Maximum Lawmen run down Flamingo
Chasing the Rat and the barefoot girl
And the kids round here look just like shadows
Always quiet, holding hands
From the churches to the jails
Tonight all is silence in the world
As we take our stand
Down in Jungleland

The midnight gang's assembled
And picked a rendezvous for the night
They'll meet 'neath that giant Exxon sign
That brings this fair city light
Man there's an opera out on the Turnpike
There's a ballet being fought out in the alley
Until the local cops
Cherry Tops

Rips this holy night
The street's alive
As secret debts are paid
Contacts made, they vanish unseen
Kids flash guitars just like switch-blades
Hustling for the record machine
The hungry and the hunted
Explode into rock'n'roll bands
That face off against each other out in the street
Down in Jungleland

In the parking lot the visionaries
Dress in the latest rage
Inside the backstreet girls are dancing
To the records that the DJ plays
Lonely-hearted lovers
Struggle in dark corners
Desperate as the night moves on
Just one look
And a whisper, and they're gone

(This is the location of Clarence's solo)

Beneath the city two hearts beat
Soul engines running through a night so tender
In a bedroom locked
In whispers of soft refusal
And then surrender
In the tunnels uptown
The Rat's own dream guns him down
As shots echo down them hallways in the night
No one watches when the ambulance pulls away
Or as the girl shuts out the bedroom light
Outside the street's on fire
In a real death waltz
Between what's flesh and what's fantasy
And the poets down here
Don't write nothing at all
They just stand back and let it all be
And in the quick of the night
They reach for their moment
And try to make an honest stand
But they wind up wounded
Not even dead
Tonight in Jungleland

House Songs

I had the radio on as I washed my truck. When the song "Our House" by Crosby, Stills, and Nash came on, I immediately thought of a friend I met during my sophomore year of college.  (This is the kind of thing music can do, and what makes it so powerful.)

Jeff was a Physical Therapy student.  He told me he became interested in the field when he stepped in a hole while running cross country in high school.  He ended up in therapy, and decided he wanted to devote his life to helping others in need of care.

One thing I appreciated about him was that he sang and played guitar, and did it quite well.  One night in a coffee house he sang "Our House".   At least I think I remember him singing it.  Or perhaps it was "House at Pooh Corner" by Kenny Loggins.  Geez.  Well, now I've got to post that song as well.

Jeff is now a pastor in NYC at the Redeemer Presbyterian Church.  True to his original calling, he is helping those in need of care, which pretty much covers everyone.

Here's something I do remember.  Jeff used to sing "Vincent" by Don McLean.

And here's another thing that is unforgettable.  There was something about Jeff that made a lasting impact on me.  Perhaps it was his gentle spirit, his kindness, or the simple fact he was a believer.  I suspect it had a lot to do with the song in his heart.

Perhaps Loggins said it best in "House at Pooh Corner":

It's hard to explain how a few precious things
Seem to follow throughout all our lives

Thanks for singing, Jeff.

What Pleases a Father's Heart

Note:  This story first appeared in the November 2008 edition of the Manna. http://readthemanna.org.  It was written after the girls' first annual ballet recital (before I learned the value of brevity).  They just performed their fifth.

Sarah had always shown a propensity for dance.  When she was 4 or 5, she would pretend to be a ballerina.  Often in a church gathering, she would ask if she could dance.  She would go to the end of our aisle, put her little hands over her head, and twirl around.  Tina and I talked about the fact we should send her to ballet classes. 

Katherine 2012

As she grew older, she stopped asking to dance during the church meeting.  She gradually lost that lack of inhibition that young children often have.  Finally one day, her mother and I had that “If we don’t go ahead and do it now, she’s going to grow up and the opportunity will be lost” conversation.  So as she was about to turn ten, we made the decision to offer ballet classes to her.  Tina suggested that we should do the same for her sister Katherine, about to turn 12, in the interest of fairness.  That seemed appropriate, but I had doubts that our quiet Katherine would have any interest in something that would require a recital.

The day came to make our offer known to the girls.  As expected, Sarah was thrilled with the opportunity.  And unexpectedly, Katherine also expressed an interest in taking classes.  We told her she could start the class to see how she liked it, and if it wasn’t something she enjoyed, she was free to stop.  She was satisfied with that, and we set about the process of choosing a teacher.

The girls have two friends who had been taking ballet from a lovely lady who, how shall I say it, is a very mature and seasoned ballet instructor who has been teaching for many years.  These friends have been very satisfied with this particular instructor, and in fact have grown attached to her.  We had also heard that as this instructor has been doing this for some time now, she may not have the patience that some may have (a justified attitude after years of dedicated hard work).  She expects the girls to come prepared to pay attention and work.  Knowing our girls, we did not expect this to be a problem at all. 

Sarah 2012

We also became aware of an instructor who teaches a class using praise and worship music.  Now this seemed appropriate for Sarah, whose interest in dance was apparently motivated by worship.  She seemed to have a desire to express worship through dance.  The one drawback to this instruction was that it was not strictly classic ballet. 

Fortunately, these were the only two choices we really considered.  But still, which should we choose?  Classic ballet, with an older, possibly impatient instructor, or praise and worship dance, with a younger, perhaps more energetic instructor?  Either choice would have been a good one, but after some debate, there was one thing that tipped the scales.  The classic ballet class was a little cheaper, so we based the decision of our girls’ dance career on finances.  We are spiritual giants.

So off to ballet class our girls go.  The concern over their instructor’s possible impatience never materialized.  The girls listened intently and did as they were instructed.  The instructor was kind and gentle.  All was well. 

I don’t recall the exact instance, but I did have second thoughts one day when something came up about praise dance.  Had we made a mistake in not encouraging Sarah’s worship dancing, I wondered?  But that concern passed, perhaps as a result of a request by my wife for me to take the girls to class one day.

Normally, Tina would take the girls to their 5:00 class.  But for one reason or another, I ended up taking them.  I sat in a waiting area adjoining the studio.  There was a door with a glass window where you could observe the class.  Their instructor played the accompanying music loudly, and it could easily be heard from that room.  When she started the music for their dance, an unmistakable male voice began singing with quiet guitar accompaniment.  I didn’t recall hearing the song before, but I suspected immediately that I knew the artist.  The instructor’s choice of music took me by surprise.  Turns out, the class was working on a dance which they would do at their spring recital. 

After class, I immediately questioned the girls about the song.  “Oh, that’s Psalm 62,” they responded.  “Do you know who sings it?” I asked.  They didn’t, but informed me that it was a song their instructor had heard in church and really liked.  That was about all they knew.

I suspected the artist was John Michael Talbot.  Anyone who has heard him would agree that his music and voice are unmistakable.  A search of the internet confirmed that the song I had heard coming from the dance studio was indeed his.  I ordered a CD, and eagerly awaited its arrival.  “Psalm 62” was from the older album “Come to the Quiet”, with which I was familiar.  It came out in 1980, during my first year of college.  The music was proving its timelessness, just starting to make an impact on my family even now.  I doubt that Mr. Talbot could have dreamed the music would touch our hearts twenty eight years later.

About two weeks before the spring recital, I had another opportunity to take the girls to class.  I watched as they danced to the song, having progressed much further along in the choreography.  It was then that I felt it approaching.  There was a combination of thoughts and emotions that were all coming together.  Although I wasn’t quite sure what it would look like, I had a hunch it would culminate the evening of the recital.

That day finally came with the typical controlled chaos.  I had to work part of the day, and got home in time to watch their mother labor over the preparations.  There were baths to take, hair to do, Katherine’s sore foot to wrap, two little brothers to get ready, even dinner to make.  We headed down to the high school auditorium, right on time.  The girls made their way back to the “Dancer’s Only” corridor.  And the rest of us waited in anticipation. 

First out were some tiny children - just too cute.  Whether they could dance or not was immaterial.  They made their parents proud.  Two more classes of more tiny children followed, making their parents proud as well.

Finally, the program read “Psalm 62”.  Our girls filed out with six others.  John Michael Talbot’s voice and guitar rang out loud and clear.  The lights made the girls and their tutus glow.  They danced in worship on that stage before hundreds of parents and grandparents, who may as well have been kings and queens. 

Any parent can identify how I felt.  I am normally a relatively unemotional person.  But as I sat there, the emotion was irrepressible.  The tears flowed.  I basked in the feeling, and although I couldn’t quite put my finger on what I was experiencing, I knew it was good. 

To call it a “proud” moment would be overly simplistic and would not do it justice at all.  What I was feeling was much larger, much more complex.  I was thinking about our choice of where to send our girls to ballet class, and how we arrived at our decision.  I was enjoying the sentiment and tone of the song that John Michael Talbot was singing.  I was thinking about how our girls had been faithfully going to their ballet class, always seeming to enjoy it, never complaining about not wanting to go. I was thinking about the camaraderie of these two very different sisters, and how dancing together served to encourage that.  I was thinking about how excited they were the night I took them to class and they got their dresses for the recital.  I was thinking about how seriously they were taking this recital.

And now they were dancing, and they seemed to be enjoying it.  Sarah was obviously more comfortable performing, but Katherine, in her own serious manner, was taking pleasure in the dance in her own, individual way.  Did they dance flawlessly?  I had neither the ability to know, nor the desire to care.  It was irrelevant.  This was not about a performance.  It was about our girls just living.

That’s basically all they were doing, just living.  They were going about their lives, doing something challenging which they enjoyed.  Tonight, it all came to a head, and we were privileged to witness it.  It was witnessing that “just living” that brought such pleasure to my heart, and tears to my eyes. 

I make the assumption that many of the things I experience as a father are placed there by design to allow me to understand what our Heavenly Father experiences.  And I believe that this is just one of those things.  What I experienced at the girls’ recital is much like what The Lord God must experience with us.  He must take such pleasure in watching and participating in our “just living”.  We go about our lives, doing everyday things, following and learning from Him.  And then we have a recital - a moment of being pressed into some situation, and He watches, and takes great pleasure in seeing us live out the Life of His Son which He has worked into our lives.   

Those were some of the emotions I felt as our girls danced.  Life just doesn’t get any better than that.

Cucumber Canoe

Our girls just had their fifth annual ballet recital.  Of course, they were beautiful and perfect in their dancing.  More on that to follow. 

One of the younger classes performed using this song.  I had never heard it.  The group is a husband/wife team called "The Missing Piece".  Just try listening to it without smiling.  If you don't feel like smiling, I would avoid it.

Chicago vs. Neil Diamond

It must have been the Christmas of 1970.  My parents thought it would be nice to give my brother and me each an album.  Buddy received Chicago's second project, simply titled "Chicago", which later became known as "Chicago II".  I, on the other hand, received Neil Diamond's Tap Root Manuscript.  Both albums had been released that year.

Buddy had been fortunate enough to actually see Chicago perform live in Lousiville, KY during a summer visit to see our Uncle Bud and Aunt Tinka.  He was only 13, and did not participate in the dope smoking that took place at the concert, or so we were told.  I was not allowed to go to the concert, as I had spent several weeks in Louisville with just my cousin Mike, before the rest of the family went out later that summer.  My uncle wanted to do "something special" with my brother, since I had already had that privilege.  I understood, but resented not being able to tag along, and may in fact still be harboring unforgiveness in my heart.

To add insult to this injury, Buddy got the Chicago album, and I got the Neil Diamond album.  I never saw Diamond in concert.  But if I had, I doubt there would have been anyone smoking pot, or any other cool people for that matter, period.  There would only have been older people tip toeing into the world of rock, but afraid to get wet because the water was too cold, or turbulent.

Nevertheless, I did my darnedness to view Neil Diamond as cool.  It was hard not to like "Crackin' Rosie" and "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother", although thus far, my road had not been that long, nor had many a winding turns, and my younger brother was, well, five years of age, and that about says it all.

So I listened to Tap Root Manuscript, but I listened to Chicago more.  And Chicago became one of my favorite albums of all time, an album I came to appreciate more and more, even in the last few years.

In the vinyl version, it is a double album.  On side 2 of the first disc, Chicago recorded essentially one big song titled "Ballet for a Girl in Buchannon", which is divided up into 7 songs.  Twelve minutes and 41 seconds of pure musical brilliance.  Many of the songs will be familiar, but probably only a select few have heard them in succession, as they were intended to be listened to.  Of course, no one has the time to listen to this, but if you feel compelled, then here it is.

Post Script:  I have not posted a link to any Neil Diamond songs, intentionally.  Interesting story... my college roommate in my sophomore year was an actual Neil Diamond fan.  Bill's exposure to Diamond came through his parents as well.  They did not give him an album, but had a secret stash of questionable music which Bill would sneak out and listen to when his mother wasn't watching.

Years later, another friend Bill informed me matter of factly that Neil Diamond was in no way cool, and never had been.  I was a little dismayed at this revelation, and now wonder if all this had something to do with my unpopularity in school with the cool kids.

Addendum to the Post Script:  Perhaps I have not been clear, as I whipped this entry up in record time.  I did not mean to imply that Neil Diamond is cool.  In my effort to be a good child and enjoy the gift of the album, I made every attempt to view it as cool.  But deep down, I think I always knew it wasn't so.  Should have gone with my gut.  It took Bill #2 to show me that I just needed to let it go.  Sorry Mom and Dad.  

Another random comment:  According to Bill #2, Neil Diamond is not a cause of uncoolness, but merely a symptom.  This is the kind of profound statement that causes me to stay in touch with Bill #2, as this is just the tip of the iceberg regarding his wisdom.

JJ Heller, The Boat Song

Last night, while Tina and I went with the boys to Asher's ball game, Grandpa and Grandma took Katherine and Sarah to Crossroad Community Church to see JJ Heller and Audrey Assad

Katherine was excited about this song by JJ and David Heller, which is based on Margaret Wise Brown's The Runaway Bunny, a classic children's book, and a favorite of all our children.

This goes to prove several things:

• It is good to read to your children.
• Margaret Wise Brown should be on the reading list.
• You never know what impact your present actions will have on something in the future.  Reading Katherine the story when she was just a small child set the stage for her favorite moment (as a 16 year old) at the concert last night. 
• That holds true for the crappy stuff you do as well, but I'd prefer to not even know about those things.

Things That Happen in a Bar

I read a blog entry of a friend's, and felt compelled to respond.  Bill got back to me and suggested we meet for breakfast to discuss it.  A couple of weeks later, we did.

While there, we never got around to discussing the content of his blog entry.  Instead, he told me a fascinating story about some things currently going on with John Thompson, who, with Micheal Card, wrote the song "El Shaddai", which was recorded by Amy Grant and others.

John now lives in the area.  Among other things, he writes and performs with a local group "The Reminders" along with Ed Shockley and Kevin Short.  A while back, John had told a story about the song "El Shaddai" on Bill's morning show on 88.7 The Bridge (listen on As heard on The Bridge, January 27, 2011 and April 13, 2012). The story involves John going on a risky trip to the Soviet Union in 1985 to meet with Vladimir Slepak, who at the time was part of a group of Jews who had been denied exit visas and were being repressed by the Soviet government.

Bill filled me in on the details of how that story was about to be made into a movie.  Part of those details involved Christian recording artist John Waller, who was being considered for the part of John Thompson in the movie.

Near the end of our breakfast, Bill asked what I was doing Friday morning.  He was going to shoot a screen test for Waller in a little bar in Bridgeville, DE - Jeff's Tap Room.  The scene was meant to portray one which would have occurred in 1985 in the Bluebird Cafe in Nashville, TN, with John Thompson describing his trip to Russia and singing a song which captured the essence of that experience.  Bill said he might need some extras sitting in the audience.

Friday morning, I found myself joining Andy Mason who was in the process of helping Bill set up his equipment.  We were soon joined by John Thompson and John Waller and his son Bailey.  Bill decided that John needed a small audience to speak and sing to, so Bailey and I sat in front of Waller as he told the Slepak story as the character John Thompson, and then sang Thompson's song "Love Has Spoken".

The song touched something in my spirit.  What I heard was not just John Thompson's experience, but an experience of humanity as a whole. I took the story and the song to be about the motivation for people doing extraordinary things without reasonable explanation.  It gave that experience a title - calling it "Love Speaking".

The idea of "Love Speaking" is a universal theme familiar to many.  While the underlying source of the sentiment may be a little different depending on the person, the key is that the effect of it is extraordinary.  A believer in Christ would call that source God living in the hearts of His people, and He speaks His presence into the world.  It is God speaking, not some emotion we call “love”.

That's the kind of life most of us desire to live.  Anything less is just common.

Tears in Heaven

Eric Clapton recorded "Tears in heaven" about the death of his 4 year old son in 1991.

Tears in Heaven

Eric Clapton and Will Jennings

Would you know my name
If I saw you in heaven?
Would it be the same
If I saw you in heaven?

I must be strong
And carry on,
'Cause I know I don't belong
Here in heaven.

Would you hold my hand
If I saw you in heaven?
Would you help me stand
If I saw you in heaven?

I'll find my way
Through night and day,
'Cause I know I just can't stay
Here in heaven.

Time can bring you down,
Time can bend your knees.
Time can break your heart,
Have you begging please, begging please.

Beyond the door,
There's peace I'm sure,
And I know there'll be no more
Tears in heaven.

Would you know my name
If I saw you in heaven?
Would it be the same
If I saw you in heaven?

I must be strong
And carry on,
'Cause I know I don't belong
Here in heaven.

source: http://www.lyricsondemand.com/

In 1995, Dana Key released "Dear Mr. Clapton" as a sort of response to that song.  Dana died in 2010 at the age of 56.

Dear Mr. Clapton
Dana Key

Dear Mr. Clapton,
I have learned of your loss.
Tears in heaven,
It’s a beautiful song.

I know your bleeding
Won’t cease with my words.
They’re just a cool drink
To help you along.

Through Saturdays with no noise,
Baseballs and untouched toys.
They leave an empty feeling in your soul.

He is in heaven’s care.
There are no tears up there, cuz,
Jesus loves children more than we will ever know.
He loves those children more than we will ever know.

Dear Mr. Clapton,
You are not without hope.
The door to heaven
lies beyond the grave

If you would only
believe as a child,
someday this pain
will be washed away.

Of, memories of holidays,
That small angelic face.
They leave an empty feeling in your soul.

CHORUS

Dear Mr. Clapton,
I have learned of your loss.