Monday, June 23, 2008 Hillside Farm, Meigs County
I just got back from Cuyahoga Falls where I was privileged to be on A Prairie Home Companion with my friend Barry Mitterhoff. You know, there are many milestones in a man’s life and fortunately, as long as you actually stay alive, they keep on coming. I have been fortunate enough to have had many of them. My Father loved Garrison Keillor dearly. Dad was from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan and the humor of this show was tailored for him. In honor of Dad and these thoughts, I wore his old Rolex up to Blossom so there was a little bit of Dad with me on the stage that night.
I carry my loved ones who have passed in my heart and in my memory at all times… there is plenty of room there. A thought occurs to me though. George Carlin just died and I realized that he was only three years older than I. As we get older the mortality that has been with us since birth rides on our shoulder every day. That is just the way of things and it reminds me that every day must be made special and lived as if it were to be our last for when we are gone, only the memory will be left and that too will fade in time.
In my garage there are still boxes of Mom and Dad memory stuff, most of which I have saved for so long simply because it was theirs. As I look at the albums of old photographs stern faces from another century stare back at me with the intensity of their youth. Not only are they all long gone now, but almost everyone who knows who they are have taken that final journey also. I think I will prune the memory boxes again this week… All these things have a way of slowly drifting away and once they are gone, that is it. George Carlin is gone and his memory will fade too. I recall as I watched his most recent HBO Special, I did not find it as funny as some of his older ones. (Like George would have given a rat’s ass what I thought) As a fan, I get to have these thoughts. He sounded bitter and resentful. I no longer look for bitterness and resentment in entertainment. Such is life indeed. With a ten year old and a two year old in my life, I just look for different things these days.
Ray Charles said in his song, ‘Let The Good Times Roll,’ ‘You only live but once, and when you’re dead you’re done, so let the good times roll.’ My concept of ‘Good times,’ has obviously changed since I was younger and that is as it should be. We still need to let the good times roll.
Each of us travels wrapped in the current of the River Of Life. Sometimes when we are still alive we get swept into keepers or eddy’s. While we still live we have the chance to get back into the stream and continue our journey. When we pass we leave the flow and rest on the bank forever and life continues without us. After a while the flow leaves so far behind we are forgotten and that too is as it should be. The lives of my Grandparent’s times really mean nothing to me today and yet there are things I would know, but I never shall. That too is as it should be.
Our children will grow and, I hope, blossom. Our lives will be a footnote in their history. This is a good thing. Everyone has plenty to do living their own life without re-living some else’s. It is a beautiful day today. A gentle breeze is sifting through the leaves here at Hillside Farm. The sky is a light blue and fluffy white clouds make their presence known. It is an Ohio summer day and I love it. In this moment, all is as it should be. My Dad found George Carlin amusing. Perhaps they are chatting together right now. Perhaps not. All this is as it must be. You had a good run George. May we all be as fortunate.
Thursday, June 19, 2008 Hillside Farm, Meigs County
My friend Jerry was kidding me yesterday on the sparseness of my web entries of late. Indeed, it's sad but true. Before the kids were in my life, my tales revolved about sentimental escapades about me. I'm a sentimental guy to be sure, but somehow taking the time to write about these things has taken the back seat to being part of a family. Something will happen during the day and I'll be all fired up about writing about it... but then Izze and Vanessa will come home, or I'll talk to Zach and all the me, me, me stuff just seems to dissipate. Yep, Izze had her first swimming lesson last night and before she went to bed as we were waiting to see The Bucket List, she came over, kissed my face and said, 'Good night Daddy.' Does it get much better than that?
Tomorrow is my son Zach's last day as a fourth grader. I am going to D.C. next weekend to pick him up, bring him back to Hillside Farm and get ready for a trip to Hungary and Italy with him and the rest of the family. Does it get any better than that?
Somebody emailed me the other day and wanted to talk about Woodstock. Woodstock? Who cares? My son is almost ready for middle school... I can almost understand my daughter when she speaks. Let's talk about the Back Yardigans or Pinky Dinky Doo. This the intellectual fodder for today's hip parents. Motorcycle ride? I do that almost every day. My Dad would have loved to see me as a dad... so would Mom. I wonder if they would have had advice?
Hmmm....
Thursday, May 08, 2008 Westminster, Colorado
Ten years ago today, short of an hour or two, my brother Peter, and I said goodbye to our Mother for the last time. I had come to California a week or so prior and by the time I got to Mill Valley Mom was already taking steps on that last road home. The first day I was there, I think she recognized me. ‘Jerry’ she said? Later on in the week she grasped my hand one last time with strength gathered from beyond the pale. ‘My dear one,’ she said. Other than that, Peter and I sat with her… sang to her… read to her… and spoke self consciously to each other. It was a rare moment of sharing. My brother and I were never close and I will take some of the blame for that. In this last week of life, however, we were there together for our Mother.
My Mother was many things… a complicated woman. At heart though, I believe she looked for simple satisfactions, many of which seemed to elude her in life. In some of our conversations in the last year of her life she would say things like, ‘I wish I could believe.’ That made me sad. I hope she had something she could believe in. She probably did, but I didn’t know.
Dad was gone much of my early childhood. Mom taught me many ‘dad’ things… camping, bike riding, fishing and the like. My grandfather Ben, her father, taught me to work with tools and although I did not realize it at the time, he taught me that if you work hard enough and believe, almost anything is possible… that and to accept setbacks with equanimity. Mom had her share of intellectual pretensions and I fear I have inherited a hearty helping of these. She also passed on a love of reading and a deep appreciation for art in all its many forms. I try to hold on to my inheritance of these.
Peter and I went to the flower shop in Mill Valley to get Mom some flowers. Mother’s Day was upon us. When we came back twenty minutes later, her pain was gone, her longing for the company of old friends was gone, and she too was gone, gone, gone. Such was the passing of her life. She did not outlive her children, and that is, I believe, as it should be.
On April 27, 1998 I called the old number at Mom and Dad’s house. The nurse said, ‘Oh she can’t come to the phone anymore.’ My brother Peter said, ‘If you want to be able to say goodbye, you better get here soon.’ With soon in mind, I went the next day but before I did as my eyes shuttered with tears, I wrote this song.
Song For Our Mother
April 27, 1998
Fur Peace Ranch
Meig’s Co, OH
Strength unto my life she was before I was a man
Daddy’s off to fight the wars in some far-off distant land
He don’t come around much just at special times of year
But Mama always holds our hands and puts away our fears
Come and take a walk she’d say down by that old Pierce Mill
And listen to the water passing by the rocks and rills
That old grey goose will bite you but you can feed the ducks
Trust your heart in all you do, you won’t have to trust in luck
Refrain
Mama tried to teach us to be strong
And keep walking against the wind even though your hope is gone
It don’t matter how alone you are today
‘Cause if you keep on walking hard you’ll find a better way
Many years have come and gone, now that I’m a man
My bro and I are all that’s left in this part of our clan
Daddy won’t be coming back, he’s fought his final war
And Mama’s eyes look far away for some distant shore
She wanders in her mind now to that old tobacco farm
When she was just a girl at play in my grandfather’s arms
He strokes her hair with loving hands and sends her on her way
To walk across this century which brings us to today
Refrain
My brother sits beside her bed and holds her hand so tight
He looks upon her shuttered eyes, will she make it through the night
The what she is remains today, the who she is is gone
But what she’s done in both our lives I know will linger on
Her favorite books are closed now, her favorite song’s been sung
For her boys who stay behind here she’s done all than can be done
She’s going to see her friends now that have vanished for so long
She’s on the road beyond the stars
She’s going... going... gone
I saw my brother one more time, as I recollect, at Mom’s interment. He is living his life as I am living mine and I wish him and his family well. Since I wrote Mama’s Song, our clan has grown and we both have kids. He now has a lovely wife and two children. Mom would have loved that. Vanessa and I have a little daughter named after my Mother. Mom’s middle name was Love and our daughter is Israel Love. She is growing so fast and looks at the world with open and amazed eyes. ‘I am here,’ she seems to say. ‘Watch me grow!’ Beatrice would have loved that girl. My son Zachary will be joining me in a week or two on a trip to Alaska. The boy is reading at an eleventh grade level and he is not quite eleven years old. He has good blood in his veins. Mom would have loved him too. ‘Take that boy into the world and let him taste adventure,’ she could easily have said. Being a Mother of boys, she was always a little suspicious of other women… often with good reason. She came to accept Vanessa as a loved and loving member of our family and she would loved where Vanessa is today.
When someone dies, their possibilities die with them. Their song is sung. That said, the teaching and wisdom of their experience has very long legs indeed and with the infinite blessings of G_d, flows into the river of life that is in the blood of their loved ones. Mom’s cat Mimi came home with me after Mom passed and she has been living with us ever since. Sometimes I think she channels Bea. She gets a look that is, well, reminiscent of Mom herself.
We all fulfill our destiny in our lives and in our deaths. I still miss my parents every day. I miss their wit, their understanding, their complaints and their love. I miss our conversations. I will always miss them and I will try to live my life in such a way that were they here I could tell them proudly of my adventures. Once more, as Werner Johnson said at my Dad’s memorial: ‘Fair wind and following seas!’
Always!
Always! And always for you, Beatrice Love Levine…
In Many Houses
In many houses
all at once
I see my mother and father
and they are young
as they walk in.
Why should my
tears come,
to see them laughing?
That they cannot
see me
is of no matter:
I was once
their dream:
now
they are mine.
