#c.2010

[writingsofgvearwood]

There are men too gentle to live among wolves Who prey upon them with IBM eyes And sell their hearts and gust for martinis at noon and search For other men to prey upon and suck their childhood dry.

That verse was written by James Kavanaugh in 1970 and has long been a favorite of mine. The further into adulthood life pushed, the more I craved and missed and eventually wept for the loss of my childhood. For with it, as it is with everyone, went the lackadaisical absence of imaginary friends, the purity of original thought without concern for what any god or baptist might condemn. It is the simplicity of the soul that is harmed by maturity, responsibility, worrying, and judging. There are, however, a few people, a very, very few people who have or will acquire a god-like soul that is too gentle to live among wolves. There is neither indignity nor success in becoming such a gentle soul. There is only peace. For some of us it has taken most of a lifetime to discern that. For most of us it will never be understood. For a few of us, we shall not fit; we shall not surrender any more of our childhood than living has already cost; and we obviate the interest of IBM eyes, as it were, with honesty of self. Of irony, I was working a temporary job (one of a few hundred throughout my working life) at the IBM offices in Atlanta. After a few mundane and wholly uninteresting days of being what was then commonly called a "word processor", the "floor supervisor" came to me in a most excited way. OK, the money was nice and, in the words of my eldest nephew, "they were paying me to be there, so I was there" Jane, being the perfectly named "floor supervisor" wore her navy blue skirt and blazer over blouses which actually varied in color from time to time, patted me on the back to inform me that my work was so good that she had gotten approval to hire me as a "permanent IBMer". Amidst her glee and expectation of the same from me, I ended my temporary assignment with IBM, but only because I calmed her enough to quote the verse first above as my "favorite" poem.  I still don't know why they wouldn't even let me finish that day's work.  Hell, I needed the money!

[writingsofgvearwood]

A Few Musical Thoughts

My family enjoyed "making music". And that is exactly what it was appropriately called. The first warm-fuzzy-I-am-somebody feeling happened at 5 years of age while riding in a 1950 Ford with Dad, Mother, an older brother and an older sister. I don't think there was a working radio in the car, we sang so much in my memories that I'll go ahead and say there wasn't a radio at all. When I suggested we sing "I'll Fly Away", a unanimous favorite to which we all knew all of the words, Dad asked me to lead it out. And lead it out I did.

From that time throughout my entire life, music has been so much more important than I ever imagined. I have a thousand songs in my head. I certainly don't know all the words or even the melodies, but a memory is attached to a majority of the songs I've ever heard. With whom, doing what, wherever, whenever - none of that has ever left my memory even if I can't remember a lot, or much, or anything specific.

Music surreptitiously accompanies your soul throughout the process of living. The gamut of emotions, the need to remember something you do remember, Music is the invisible baggage we all carry, and it has no weight but can be as heavy or as light as the moments of you. Carry it proudly and hold on to it with zeal, for even as your specifics become whitewashed or fade away, the memory of that touch, that smile, that joy, that roller coaster, that kiss, that crazy night out with a hooker and a Jew, whatever your memories are, there is a soundtrack.  Enjoy it, for it is as much a part of you as your five or six senses. Live. Shut up, and Dance to your Music!