You know you're a neighborhood regular when you sit down at a coffee shop for a Sunday morning and recognize the woman's English accent sitting next to you from time spent at your favorite neighborhood bar.
That was me, this morning, at Frothy Monky in 12South this morning. I immediately recognized the voice of a woman I've sat next to at the bar at Edley's on a few occasions. I don't know her name but she's always in a good mood, laughs a lot and has a heavy (and cool) English accent.
It's Sunday morning and I am about to head south to NHC Place to spend some time with my mom. I stopped by yesterday afternoon in between two basketball games, a trip with the boys to Lucky Ladd Farm and Saturday night Predators' game vs. the Islanders.
When I arrived I used the code to let me into Aspen Arbor, and walked down the hall toward my mom's apartment. I glanced through the kitchen and saw eight or ten residents sitting together watching television. My mom was one of them, which made my happy. When she's involved in a group activity, I normally don't interrupt her because I think it's good for her interact with others. I think she needs that and, I hope, it causes her to think, reason and use her mind more than just talking quietly with me.
I slipped into her apartment and spent a few minutes straightening up. She's still tearing pages out of coloring books and leaving them lying around the apartment. I left out some cookies I brought for her then stopped to talk with a couple of the caregivers before I left.
They told me a funny story or two and reiterated how much they like my mom. Already, she's making a mark with her sense of humor, which has remained intact in spite of everything else she's lost mentally. She laughs a lot, which is something I have to remind myself to appreciate now, because it likely won't always be the case.
Anyway, one of the caregivers pointed out that she was sitting next to "Mr. Tom" and, further, that they normally sat together. They had become friends. That comment - that one comment - made me want to smile and cry at the same time. Literally.
At Maristone, my mom never seemed to be able to connect with any of the other residents or make new friends. One of the cruelest things about Alzheimer's disease - at least in the way that it's affected my mom - is that her ability to make friends and to be comfortable around people she doesn't know well has vanished in the wind. Watching this woman who had so very many friends and was so involved socially struggle to talk with another resident has been heartbreaking for me. Maybe that's changed in her new environment, just a little. I need to believe that it has, anyway.
I'm off to pick up donuts for the residents and staff this morning, a Sunday morning tradition I've been thinking of starting.
Sunday, October 29, 2017
Wednesday, October 25, 2017
A Moment's Peace
Yesterday, I finished a mediation at my office earlier than expected. With a couple of hours more or less free - there is always more work to be done - I drove to NHC Place to spend some time with my mom.
When I arrived, she was sleeping comfortably in her lift chair, reclined, nestled under a blanket. I sat down in the other chair, took a figurative deep breath, and unplugged for a little while. For almost an hour, we sat together with her sleeping and me reading articles about Tom Petty's death and the aftermath that I had saved on my phone. She occasionally stirred but didn't wake up and I was perfect content to sit with her.
It's interesting - to me, anyway - but something about being there put my mind at ease. I didn't feel conflicted or guilty, because I was where I was meant to be. It was a bit of a zen moment, as I was totally present and within myself, in control of my emotions, just kind of being. Especially lately, those moments are few and far between and, in truth, hard to find. Somehow, though, I tend to find t them in my mom's presence.
After giving it some thought, what I concluded was this - even in her diminished state, when she's quite literally a shell of her former self physically and mentally, my mom has the ability to comfort me and to make me feel safe and at peace. That's true love, I think.
It's special and a bit of a miracle to me and probably to me only, that my mom still has the ability to wrap me in the cocoon of her love.
I suspect I'm going to miss that most of all.
When I arrived, she was sleeping comfortably in her lift chair, reclined, nestled under a blanket. I sat down in the other chair, took a figurative deep breath, and unplugged for a little while. For almost an hour, we sat together with her sleeping and me reading articles about Tom Petty's death and the aftermath that I had saved on my phone. She occasionally stirred but didn't wake up and I was perfect content to sit with her.
It's interesting - to me, anyway - but something about being there put my mind at ease. I didn't feel conflicted or guilty, because I was where I was meant to be. It was a bit of a zen moment, as I was totally present and within myself, in control of my emotions, just kind of being. Especially lately, those moments are few and far between and, in truth, hard to find. Somehow, though, I tend to find t them in my mom's presence.
After giving it some thought, what I concluded was this - even in her diminished state, when she's quite literally a shell of her former self physically and mentally, my mom has the ability to comfort me and to make me feel safe and at peace. That's true love, I think.
It's special and a bit of a miracle to me and probably to me only, that my mom still has the ability to wrap me in the cocoon of her love.
I suspect I'm going to miss that most of all.
Sunday, October 22, 2017
The Best Saturday Ever
Yesterday was one of those days. One of those great, memorable, happy days you wish would never end.
As are all of our Saturdays in the fall, it was packed with the boys' sports, a pair of soccer games in the morning and a pair of baseball games in the afternoon. We were on the go from 9 a.m. at Joe's soccer game to almost 5 p.m., when J.P.'s baseball game ended. The Saturday sports gauntlet and, as always, I loved every minute of it.
Joe's young soccer team, mostly l5 year olds, played a team of boys that looked like they were two grades older than them. I could tell from the minute the game started that Joe's team was going to get pounded, and they did. Midway through the second half, Joe's team was probably down 15-0 when Joe kicked the ball from his teams end of the field, well in front of the midfield line. It bounced the length of the field and went through he goalie's legs for his team's first and only score of the game. Classic and a big moment for Joe.
At 11 a.m., J.P.'s soccer team had a grudge match against the USN team. I called it the "sweep the leg" game. It was J.P. against all of his classmates from USN, several of whom had given him some grief on the playground at school about in the days leading up to the game. J.P. wanted this game. Hell, he needed this game, because he sure didn't want to have to listen to all of his buddies talk trash on the playground for the rest of the fall.
The USN team scored twice early to go up 2-0. Their best player - one of J.P.'s good friends - ran down the field popping his jersey after his first goal, which I didn't like. Later, when the same kid scored in the second half, he ran down the field popping his jersey, again, and holding his index finger to his lips to quiet the crowd, like he was playing in the Premier League. I would have benched him if he were my son or if I was coaching him.
Late in the first half, J.P. hammered a ball from long range that hit the goalie in the face, bounced off and was kicked in the goal by a teammate. Assist, J.P. A minute or so later, J.P. took a nice pass from a teammate and scored on the goalie - his good friend referenced above. 2-2 score. Now, it's a ballgame.
The USN team scored early in the second half to take a 3-2 lead. After that, J.P. literally took over the game. He was everywhere - contesting shots all over the field, pressing the action, bumping and jostling other players and just leading his team. It was glorious, just glorious, and one of my proudest sports moments as a father, to watch him lead. From 25 yards away or so - with Jon and Uncle Carley watching - J.P. took a cross field pass, settled the ball, and pounded a shot over the goalie's left shoulder into the upper corner of the goal. Amazing! Jon and I looked at each other in disbelief. J.P.'s teammates went nuts, chest bumping him and high fiving him. It was a big time play. 3-3. A few minutes later, J.P. led a two on one break and made a perfect pass to a teammate for the go ahead goal.
The final score was 5-3 or 6-4. J.P.'s buddy - the one popping his shirt and quieting the crowd - fell on the ground in tears at the final whistle. And J.P. held an index finger pointed toward the sky with a satisfied look on his face. He had left it all out on the field and led his team to victory. A big moment for him, for sure.
At 3 p.m., J.P.'s baseball team - the boys I have coached in fall and spring since they were 5 years old - played a team of 10 year olds who had moved down from the majors to the minors (our league) after getting boat raced by the 11-12 year olds all fall. Their team is comprised of a bunch of kids from a local private school. Our boys play most of these kids in basketball, soccer and baseball every year and there's a bit of a rivalry there. Their players (and siblings) tend to be a little obnoxious and, in fact, taunted our boys after a 1 point loss in the finals of the league basketball tournament last winter. For the Saturday baseball games, they picked up a travel player who played with us when he was 6. A good kid, good player, almost a head taller than anyone else on either team.
The Dodgers took an early 4-0 lead with Benton pitching and pitching pretty well and J.P. at shortstop. By the end of the second inning, J.P and the boys were up 5-3. in the bottom of the third inning, they stretched the lead to 9-3, with one of the runs coming when I gave J.P. the straight steal signal when he was on second base. It was a gamble, but J.P. slid into third base and popped up and ran home to score, sliding into home, when the ball got away from the third basemen.
J.P. came into pitch in the top of the third inning. His control was okay, not great, and got out of the inning after giving up one run. In the top of the fourth inning, he struck out the first batter, then ran into trouble after he walked a couple of players and the other team scratched out an infield hit. Our boys got another out, then a run scored and J.P. walked a runner home. Suddenly, the score was 9-6 our way, with the other team's ringer at the plate with the bases loaded. A grand slam would have given them the lead.
The ringer worked the count to 3-1 in his favor. "J.P.," I said. He looked over at me. "Dig deep." He threw a strike. Full count. My assistant coaches - who are my good, good friends - and I looked at each other, enjoying the moment. "Dig deep" I said again, as much to myself as to J.P. He rocked, lifted his knee and lunged toward home plate, released int the ball as he did. Right down the middle. The ringer swung the bat, missed the ball and it was strike three! Game over. J.P.'s teammate erupted and ran to him as he walked calmly off the field, toward the third base dugout, smiling just a little bit. They hugged him and pounded on his back, then we lined up to shake hands with the other team.
What a memorable day for J.P. It's one he will undoubtedly forget about in a week or so, but that I will treasure forever.
Sunday, October 15, 2017
Saying Goodbye to a Car
I'm sitting on my back deck on Sunday morning, listening to Lucinda Williams and enjoying a few minutes of peace and quiet before I head down to spend some time with my mom at NHC Place.
Jude and the boys have been in Chattanooga since Friday. I spoke at a CLE event late Friday, so I couldn't leave when they did. Truth be told, I needed some alone time to gather my thoughts and recharge my batteries and Jude was kind enough to understand. So, I stayed here and spent some time alone.
I've had my mom's car - a light blue Honda CRV - for a month or two. It was sitting in her driveway - obviously not being driven - and we needed an extra car for a few days while Jude was having some body work done on her Honda Pilot. Once I got it up here, I started driving it a little bit around the neighborhood. I even drove it exclusively for a few days while my truck was in the shop. I've had it washed and detailed a couple of times which, for some reason, made me feel good.
I helped my mom purchase the Honda CRV a few years ago by talking to the general manager of the dealership. He is very close friends with a attorney friend of mine. They took care of my mom when she bought it and I was happy to help her, of course.
Tracy's son, Matthew, recently turned 16, got his drivers' license and needs a car to drive. Tracy and Gary wanted to buy it from mom, but I wouldn't hear of that. I want Matthew to have it and it makes not sense for them to pay for it, particularly after all that Tracy has done and continues to do for my mom. Most importantly, my mom would want Matthew to have the car and wouldn't hear of Tracy and Gary paying her for it.
The last couple of days, when it hit home that I wouldn't be driving the Honda CRV any longer and that it wouldn't be parked in front of my house, I've been a little sad. Strange, I know, but driving it has made me feel closer to my mom. Closer, really, to the person she used to be, before Alzheimer's disease and other complications kidnapped her from us.
There are vestiges of my mom and earlier, happier days, inside the Honda CRV. There's still a booster seat left over from when she used to occasionally keep J.P. for us. She often drove him down the street from her house to the Brentwood Public Library. That stopped, I guess, about the time he turned five years old. I don't recall her ever keeping Joe on her own.
Although I've cleaned it out for the most part, there are still a few Wintergreen Lifesavers in the car. My mom always had those in her purse, probably to keep her from giving in to the desire to smoke. She quit smoking more than two decades ago. There is loose change which, at some point, my mom handled when she could still make change. I found a few handouts from an old Sunday school class she attended.
I'm happy for Matthew to have mom's car. I remember what it was like when I got my first car, a 1966 Ford Mustang, also light blue. It was one of the greatest moments of my life. That Mustang represented so much to me. Freedom. Responsibility. Leaving childhood behind. Fun. Work. Promise. Independence, most of all. I'll never, ever forget my 1966 Ford Mustang and all that it symbolized for me.
On the other hand, though, it makes me sad to close another chapter of my mom's life. And to know I won't be able to open that chapter again. It's gone, forever lost except in my memory.
Damn, this is hard. Hard and hopeless.
Jude and the boys have been in Chattanooga since Friday. I spoke at a CLE event late Friday, so I couldn't leave when they did. Truth be told, I needed some alone time to gather my thoughts and recharge my batteries and Jude was kind enough to understand. So, I stayed here and spent some time alone.
I've had my mom's car - a light blue Honda CRV - for a month or two. It was sitting in her driveway - obviously not being driven - and we needed an extra car for a few days while Jude was having some body work done on her Honda Pilot. Once I got it up here, I started driving it a little bit around the neighborhood. I even drove it exclusively for a few days while my truck was in the shop. I've had it washed and detailed a couple of times which, for some reason, made me feel good.
I helped my mom purchase the Honda CRV a few years ago by talking to the general manager of the dealership. He is very close friends with a attorney friend of mine. They took care of my mom when she bought it and I was happy to help her, of course.
Tracy's son, Matthew, recently turned 16, got his drivers' license and needs a car to drive. Tracy and Gary wanted to buy it from mom, but I wouldn't hear of that. I want Matthew to have it and it makes not sense for them to pay for it, particularly after all that Tracy has done and continues to do for my mom. Most importantly, my mom would want Matthew to have the car and wouldn't hear of Tracy and Gary paying her for it.
The last couple of days, when it hit home that I wouldn't be driving the Honda CRV any longer and that it wouldn't be parked in front of my house, I've been a little sad. Strange, I know, but driving it has made me feel closer to my mom. Closer, really, to the person she used to be, before Alzheimer's disease and other complications kidnapped her from us.
There are vestiges of my mom and earlier, happier days, inside the Honda CRV. There's still a booster seat left over from when she used to occasionally keep J.P. for us. She often drove him down the street from her house to the Brentwood Public Library. That stopped, I guess, about the time he turned five years old. I don't recall her ever keeping Joe on her own.
Although I've cleaned it out for the most part, there are still a few Wintergreen Lifesavers in the car. My mom always had those in her purse, probably to keep her from giving in to the desire to smoke. She quit smoking more than two decades ago. There is loose change which, at some point, my mom handled when she could still make change. I found a few handouts from an old Sunday school class she attended.
I'm happy for Matthew to have mom's car. I remember what it was like when I got my first car, a 1966 Ford Mustang, also light blue. It was one of the greatest moments of my life. That Mustang represented so much to me. Freedom. Responsibility. Leaving childhood behind. Fun. Work. Promise. Independence, most of all. I'll never, ever forget my 1966 Ford Mustang and all that it symbolized for me.
On the other hand, though, it makes me sad to close another chapter of my mom's life. And to know I won't be able to open that chapter again. It's gone, forever lost except in my memory.
Damn, this is hard. Hard and hopeless.
Thursday, October 12, 2017
Appetite for Destruction
On Tuesday morning, I stopped by NHC place for a quick visit with my mom before work. When I walked into her apartment, she was sitting in her wheelchair with the bound version of year 1 of this blog in her lap, tearing it apart page by page. I was crestfallen.
More than 8 years ago, on J.P.'s first birthday, I painstakingly printed out all of the entries from the blog, including photographs, for the first 1 1/2 years of its existence, then made copies and had them bound. I gave one of the bound versions of year 1 to my mom. She was tickled to death to receive it and delighted in showing it to her friends. She often thumbed through it and commented to me about particular entries and photographs. Truly, it was one of her prized possessions.
When we first moved her into Maristone last November, my mom spent a lot of time coloring in coloring books with colored pencils. It was interesting, because she was quite good at it and seemed to take a lot of pride in completing pages in coloring books Tracy, Alice or I picked up for her. She especially liked a couple I had found for her, one that featured Nashville landmarks and one that featured Franklin landmarks. It was a little bit sad for us, at times, to see her concentrating so intently on an activity that children 70 years younger than her enjoy. Still, it gave her something to do, which was good. She called it her "work."
By February or March of this year, she had stopped coloring as much. Instead, she began to her pages out of the coloring books. Often, she tore the pages into smaller pieces. It was tough for us to see her destroy some of the beautiful work she had done. I wish I had saved a few of the pages she colored, but I didn't.
I hid the bound version of the blog in her apartment at Maristone the first time I noticed she had torn a couple of pages out of it. I mistakenly thought my sister, Tracy, had taken it with her to her house last week when we moved my mom to NHC Place. That wasn't the case, however, which brings us back to Tuesday morning and my mother destroying one of her most prized possessions. I carefully took it out of her hands, distracted her, then put it away. I wanted to cry, for her and for me.
Instead, I gave her a cookie I had picked up the morning for the Bongo Java bakery, took her for a walk, then drove to work.
More than 8 years ago, on J.P.'s first birthday, I painstakingly printed out all of the entries from the blog, including photographs, for the first 1 1/2 years of its existence, then made copies and had them bound. I gave one of the bound versions of year 1 to my mom. She was tickled to death to receive it and delighted in showing it to her friends. She often thumbed through it and commented to me about particular entries and photographs. Truly, it was one of her prized possessions.
When we first moved her into Maristone last November, my mom spent a lot of time coloring in coloring books with colored pencils. It was interesting, because she was quite good at it and seemed to take a lot of pride in completing pages in coloring books Tracy, Alice or I picked up for her. She especially liked a couple I had found for her, one that featured Nashville landmarks and one that featured Franklin landmarks. It was a little bit sad for us, at times, to see her concentrating so intently on an activity that children 70 years younger than her enjoy. Still, it gave her something to do, which was good. She called it her "work."
By February or March of this year, she had stopped coloring as much. Instead, she began to her pages out of the coloring books. Often, she tore the pages into smaller pieces. It was tough for us to see her destroy some of the beautiful work she had done. I wish I had saved a few of the pages she colored, but I didn't.
I hid the bound version of the blog in her apartment at Maristone the first time I noticed she had torn a couple of pages out of it. I mistakenly thought my sister, Tracy, had taken it with her to her house last week when we moved my mom to NHC Place. That wasn't the case, however, which brings us back to Tuesday morning and my mother destroying one of her most prized possessions. I carefully took it out of her hands, distracted her, then put it away. I wanted to cry, for her and for me.
Instead, I gave her a cookie I had picked up the morning for the Bongo Java bakery, took her for a walk, then drove to work.
Friday, October 6, 2017
Settling In (Again)
We moved my mom from Maritstone of Franklin to NHC Place in Cool Springs yesterday. Alice, Tracy and I all took off from work to handle the logistics of the move. Tracy picked up my mom early and took her for a drive, while Alice and I were with the movers at Maristone. My mom's close friend, Jan Baker, met Tracy and my mom at NHC place, where my mom had her hair done, then ate lunch. Jan sat and talked with my outside while Tracy and Alice supervised the movers and set up her apartment. Then, I met the movers at my mom's house and directed them as they unloaded the furniture my mom won't be using her new place. A lot of logistics and a lot of moving parts, but we got it done.
It was funny, in a way, but mostly sad, when two of my mom's longtime neighbors walked over to see if everything was okay. When they saw the moving van, they were afraid my mom had died. That's just where we are right now, I guess.
Almost exactly like when we moved her into Maristone last November, the move seemed to go well until the evening. After she ate dinner with Alice - Tracy had slipped away to see her children - my mom refused to go into her apartment and insisted on going "upstairs." She lived on the second floor at Maristone. She was kind of ugly to Alice, then to Tracy, as well, when she got to NHC Place after dinner. Fortunately, she calmed down and seemed to settle in with Tracy for the night.
Often times I feel guilty because Tracy seems to get stuck with hard stuff when it comes to dealing with my mom. Last night, for example, I had to coach J.P.'s baseball game at 7 p.m., so I was otherwise occupied for the evening. We're in different places in our lives - all three of us - so our work and family schedules allow us to be involved at different times. Alice is not married and sells real estate, so her schedule during the week is a little more flexible. Tracy's works during the day as a physical therapist but her children are older, so she has more evening time free. I work, of course, as a lawyer but my children are younger, so I don't have as much free time in the evenings. Doing trial work, my professional life is quite stressful at times. I think it all evens out. At least, I hope it does.
I am grateful, truly grateful, for the many ways Alice and Tracy have cared for, helped and loved my mom during these dark, sometimes hopeless days. I couldn't do it on my own and I couldn't handle it, emotionally, on my own.
If you read the blog or maybe just read this post, please stop by and see my mom or send her a card. Also, please share her address with others who know her and ask them to send her a card. She loves to get cards from friends. Her new address is below:
Jane Newman
c/o NHC Place
211 Cool Springs Boulevard
Apt. #307
Franklin, Tennessee 37067
It was funny, in a way, but mostly sad, when two of my mom's longtime neighbors walked over to see if everything was okay. When they saw the moving van, they were afraid my mom had died. That's just where we are right now, I guess.
Almost exactly like when we moved her into Maristone last November, the move seemed to go well until the evening. After she ate dinner with Alice - Tracy had slipped away to see her children - my mom refused to go into her apartment and insisted on going "upstairs." She lived on the second floor at Maristone. She was kind of ugly to Alice, then to Tracy, as well, when she got to NHC Place after dinner. Fortunately, she calmed down and seemed to settle in with Tracy for the night.
Often times I feel guilty because Tracy seems to get stuck with hard stuff when it comes to dealing with my mom. Last night, for example, I had to coach J.P.'s baseball game at 7 p.m., so I was otherwise occupied for the evening. We're in different places in our lives - all three of us - so our work and family schedules allow us to be involved at different times. Alice is not married and sells real estate, so her schedule during the week is a little more flexible. Tracy's works during the day as a physical therapist but her children are older, so she has more evening time free. I work, of course, as a lawyer but my children are younger, so I don't have as much free time in the evenings. Doing trial work, my professional life is quite stressful at times. I think it all evens out. At least, I hope it does.
I am grateful, truly grateful, for the many ways Alice and Tracy have cared for, helped and loved my mom during these dark, sometimes hopeless days. I couldn't do it on my own and I couldn't handle it, emotionally, on my own.
If you read the blog or maybe just read this post, please stop by and see my mom or send her a card. Also, please share her address with others who know her and ask them to send her a card. She loves to get cards from friends. Her new address is below:
Jane Newman
c/o NHC Place
211 Cool Springs Boulevard
Apt. #307
Franklin, Tennessee 37067
Wednesday, October 4, 2017
The Day the Music Died
Tom Petty died Monday and here I am, two days later, trying to make sense of it all.
After Jude and the boys went to bed Monday night, I walked through the neighborhood past midnight, listening to random songs by Tom Petty, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, the Traveling Wilburys and Mudcrutch. I needed to be by myself, somehow, to process the loss. It felt, and still feels like, my world shifted.
A few of my oldest friends reached out to me because they knew how I felt about Tom Petty. As I was walking, I got a text from Jay Miller in San Francisco. We went to high school together. His text was simple and to the point - "RIP Tom Petty. That show we went to at the Opry is one of my fondest HS memories." I convinced 12 or 13 of my friends to go to that show in 1982 or 1983 (my junior year of high school). My mom and I waited in line at Port-o-Call in Harding Mall to get tickets and Doug Brown and I sat on the front row. When the band was playing "Refugee" for the encore, we rushed the stage. As Tom Petty played guitar, he walked up near the edge of the stage, reached down, and grabbed my hand. True story.
Here's an early MTV video of "Refugee:" dhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fFnOfpIJL0M
Tom Petty had already been my dude for four or five years at that point. I fell in love with the Heartbreakers in 1978, when they released "You're Gonna Get It," their second album. "Damn the Torpedoes" came out in 1979, when I was 13 years old, and I was off on a ride with Tom Petty that I never thought would end, at least not this soon.
I worked from home yesterday and, for the most part, sat on our back deck and listen to a Tom Petty playlist on Sonos on our outdoor speakers. It was a beautiful fall day but as I listened to so many familiar songs, I was in a fog. It still didn't seem real, somehow, that Tom Petty would never make any more music. Our next door neighbor, Maureen, also working from home, leaned over the fence and we commiserated and exchanged Tom Petty stories. Last night, I went down the rabbit hole and read obituaries and tribute pieces on the internet. The obituary in the New York Times was excellent.
https://www.nytimes.com/2017/10/03/arts/music/tom-petty-dead.html?_r=0
I knew - I always knew - that when Tom Petty died, I would be profoundly affected. And I was right. There is no other celebrity whose death could seem so personal to me, so life altering. And, yes, I didn't know Tom Petty and he didn't know me but, still, his music was the soundtrack to my life for almost 40 years, from my early teens to my early 50s. It feels like I lost an old, longtime friend, as strange as that sounds.
I've spend a considerable amount of time the last couple of days trying to understand what it was about Tom Petty that resonated so deeply with me, so early and for so long. Tom Petty stayed relevant for me, and for so many others, for four decades. Why? Those are two different questions, I think.
For me, as a 12 or 13 year old, Tom Petty just seemed so fucking cool. I can remember staring at the album jacket inside "Damn the Torpedoes" over and over again. I think it was a profile shot, with Tom wearing dark sunglasses and smoking a cigarette. The background was green, I think. He would have been around 28 or 29 years old at the time. But he just looked so fucking cool, insouciant, really.
And he stayed that way for the next 35 + years. Cool, rebellious and anti-establishment. He fought with record companies. He refused to allow the record company to raise the price of "Hard Promises" to $9.98, rather than $8.98. He threatened to change the name of the album to "This is $8.98" until, finally, they relented and didn't raise the price. That's the kind of shit he did. Tom Petty always seems to stand for something, to stand on principle, even if it meant suing his record label and going bankrupt in the process. That happened.
I think I identified with the fact that Tom Petty was not a good looking guy, certainly not in the classic, lead singer/movie star sense. He was average looking. And, though I loved - and I mean loved - his voice (I still do) - he didn't have a beautiful, traditional singing voice, not by any stretch of the imagination. I identified with that, too.
Tom Petty taught me, on some level, to listen to the words of a song and not get caught up in how the voice singing the words sounded. As a result and no doubt because of Tom Petty, I became big fans of artists like John Hiatt, John Prine and Lucinda Williams, to name a few. As my longtime legal secretary, Lisa Johnson, once said, "you like all of the same artists - strange sounding voices but great songwriters." Damn, she was right on the money with that observation.
I think I grew to appreciate great songwriting because of Tom Petty. He wrote amazing songs all the way until the end. "Trailer," a song he wrote and sung a year or so ago with Mudcrutch, his original band from Gainesville, FL, is fantastic.
As Rob Harvilla wrote in an obituary on The Ringer, everyone knows probably 25 Tom Petty songs by heart. "'Know by heart is a very different notion than 'have them memorized.'" Damn, that is so true. I can play a Tom Petty song I haven't heard in years - and I've done that a lot the last two days - and its lyrics and the music come back to me immediately. Why? Because I know them by heart. They're ingrained on my heart. Here's a link to Rob Harvilla's obituary:
https://www.theringer.com/music/2017/10/3/16407332/tom-petty-dies-obituary
I also think in high school and later, in college, I enjoyed being identified as a huge Tom Petty guy. Everyone knew he was my dude. In every dorm room, fraternity house room and apartment I had in college, I had the same five Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers posters on my wall. People gave me some shit about it, but they admired me, I think, because I stuck by him. They knew I didn't give a shit if anyone else liked Tom Petty or thought he was cool. It turned out, of course, that in the end, almost everyone liked him and thought he was cool. I was just in on him early and never left.
I saw him in concert several times, of course. I'll regret, though, for the rest of my life, not seeing him at Bridgestone Arena when he came to Nashville a few months ago. At the time, I looked on Seat Geek and saw I could buy a ticket on the second row for $500. It was his 40th anniversary tour and I thought I would treat myself to a night with Tom Petty on what might be his last big tour. Ultimately, I decided not to go because I was busy at work, had a mediation the next day, etc. I'll catch him next time, I thought. Well, there won't be a next time. Shit.
At every important time in my life, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers were there. As a teenager, on MTV when it was new, learning to drive, working my first job at Wal-Mart, going off to college, going to law school, getting married, getting divorced, getting married again, having children, turning 40, turning 50 - all of that. Tom Petty was the soundtrack for all of those important events in my life. Jason Isbel, who is an amazing songwriter in his own right, felt the same way and said it much more eloquently:
https://twitter.com/JasonIsbell/status/914938291400708096
When Ann and I were getting divorced 1997, and for the year or so after, I was in a dark place. So was Tom Petty. He and his first wife were divorce in 1996 and out of that divorce came the album "Echo." It is, without a doubt, the band's darkest album, but it's one of my favorites. Then, when I listened to "Room at the Top" or "Echo," it felt like he had written those songs for me. That was comforting for me at the time, really comforting. Hearing him sing those songs - those songs he had written during a difficult time in his life - helped me get through my difficult time. I don't know why, but I know it did. After the tour to support the album, Tom Petty quit playing songs off "Echo." He said it was just too hard and brought back bad memories. Here's is a video of "Room at the Top":
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nQFCF9KESic
Tonight, while Jude was at book club, J.P., Joe and I watched a baseball playoff game (Arizona - Colorado). Before bed, I switched over to Youtube and played some Tom Petty and the Heartbreaker videos. When I played a video of "Refugee" live, in concert, from 1982, J.P. watched and listened intently, like he does when he hears a song for the first time. I smiled as I watched him, watching Tom Petty. Maybe Tom Petty will be his dude, too.
I could ramble on forever about Tom Petty and how his death has hit me so hard. I've listened, really listened, to so many of his songs the last two days. Some of the lyrics haunt me now that he's going. This, from "Walls (Circus)", for example:
Some things are over.
Some things go on.
Part of me you carry.
Part of my is gone.
R.I.P. Tom Petty
October 20, 1950 - October 2, 2017
After Jude and the boys went to bed Monday night, I walked through the neighborhood past midnight, listening to random songs by Tom Petty, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, the Traveling Wilburys and Mudcrutch. I needed to be by myself, somehow, to process the loss. It felt, and still feels like, my world shifted.
A few of my oldest friends reached out to me because they knew how I felt about Tom Petty. As I was walking, I got a text from Jay Miller in San Francisco. We went to high school together. His text was simple and to the point - "RIP Tom Petty. That show we went to at the Opry is one of my fondest HS memories." I convinced 12 or 13 of my friends to go to that show in 1982 or 1983 (my junior year of high school). My mom and I waited in line at Port-o-Call in Harding Mall to get tickets and Doug Brown and I sat on the front row. When the band was playing "Refugee" for the encore, we rushed the stage. As Tom Petty played guitar, he walked up near the edge of the stage, reached down, and grabbed my hand. True story.
Here's an early MTV video of "Refugee:" dhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fFnOfpIJL0M
Tom Petty had already been my dude for four or five years at that point. I fell in love with the Heartbreakers in 1978, when they released "You're Gonna Get It," their second album. "Damn the Torpedoes" came out in 1979, when I was 13 years old, and I was off on a ride with Tom Petty that I never thought would end, at least not this soon.
I worked from home yesterday and, for the most part, sat on our back deck and listen to a Tom Petty playlist on Sonos on our outdoor speakers. It was a beautiful fall day but as I listened to so many familiar songs, I was in a fog. It still didn't seem real, somehow, that Tom Petty would never make any more music. Our next door neighbor, Maureen, also working from home, leaned over the fence and we commiserated and exchanged Tom Petty stories. Last night, I went down the rabbit hole and read obituaries and tribute pieces on the internet. The obituary in the New York Times was excellent.
https://www.nytimes.com/2017/10/03/arts/music/tom-petty-dead.html?_r=0
I knew - I always knew - that when Tom Petty died, I would be profoundly affected. And I was right. There is no other celebrity whose death could seem so personal to me, so life altering. And, yes, I didn't know Tom Petty and he didn't know me but, still, his music was the soundtrack to my life for almost 40 years, from my early teens to my early 50s. It feels like I lost an old, longtime friend, as strange as that sounds.
I've spend a considerable amount of time the last couple of days trying to understand what it was about Tom Petty that resonated so deeply with me, so early and for so long. Tom Petty stayed relevant for me, and for so many others, for four decades. Why? Those are two different questions, I think.
For me, as a 12 or 13 year old, Tom Petty just seemed so fucking cool. I can remember staring at the album jacket inside "Damn the Torpedoes" over and over again. I think it was a profile shot, with Tom wearing dark sunglasses and smoking a cigarette. The background was green, I think. He would have been around 28 or 29 years old at the time. But he just looked so fucking cool, insouciant, really.
And he stayed that way for the next 35 + years. Cool, rebellious and anti-establishment. He fought with record companies. He refused to allow the record company to raise the price of "Hard Promises" to $9.98, rather than $8.98. He threatened to change the name of the album to "This is $8.98" until, finally, they relented and didn't raise the price. That's the kind of shit he did. Tom Petty always seems to stand for something, to stand on principle, even if it meant suing his record label and going bankrupt in the process. That happened.
I think I identified with the fact that Tom Petty was not a good looking guy, certainly not in the classic, lead singer/movie star sense. He was average looking. And, though I loved - and I mean loved - his voice (I still do) - he didn't have a beautiful, traditional singing voice, not by any stretch of the imagination. I identified with that, too.
Tom Petty taught me, on some level, to listen to the words of a song and not get caught up in how the voice singing the words sounded. As a result and no doubt because of Tom Petty, I became big fans of artists like John Hiatt, John Prine and Lucinda Williams, to name a few. As my longtime legal secretary, Lisa Johnson, once said, "you like all of the same artists - strange sounding voices but great songwriters." Damn, she was right on the money with that observation.
I think I grew to appreciate great songwriting because of Tom Petty. He wrote amazing songs all the way until the end. "Trailer," a song he wrote and sung a year or so ago with Mudcrutch, his original band from Gainesville, FL, is fantastic.
As Rob Harvilla wrote in an obituary on The Ringer, everyone knows probably 25 Tom Petty songs by heart. "'Know by heart is a very different notion than 'have them memorized.'" Damn, that is so true. I can play a Tom Petty song I haven't heard in years - and I've done that a lot the last two days - and its lyrics and the music come back to me immediately. Why? Because I know them by heart. They're ingrained on my heart. Here's a link to Rob Harvilla's obituary:
https://www.theringer.com/music/2017/10/3/16407332/tom-petty-dies-obituary
I also think in high school and later, in college, I enjoyed being identified as a huge Tom Petty guy. Everyone knew he was my dude. In every dorm room, fraternity house room and apartment I had in college, I had the same five Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers posters on my wall. People gave me some shit about it, but they admired me, I think, because I stuck by him. They knew I didn't give a shit if anyone else liked Tom Petty or thought he was cool. It turned out, of course, that in the end, almost everyone liked him and thought he was cool. I was just in on him early and never left.
I saw him in concert several times, of course. I'll regret, though, for the rest of my life, not seeing him at Bridgestone Arena when he came to Nashville a few months ago. At the time, I looked on Seat Geek and saw I could buy a ticket on the second row for $500. It was his 40th anniversary tour and I thought I would treat myself to a night with Tom Petty on what might be his last big tour. Ultimately, I decided not to go because I was busy at work, had a mediation the next day, etc. I'll catch him next time, I thought. Well, there won't be a next time. Shit.
At every important time in my life, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers were there. As a teenager, on MTV when it was new, learning to drive, working my first job at Wal-Mart, going off to college, going to law school, getting married, getting divorced, getting married again, having children, turning 40, turning 50 - all of that. Tom Petty was the soundtrack for all of those important events in my life. Jason Isbel, who is an amazing songwriter in his own right, felt the same way and said it much more eloquently:
https://twitter.com/JasonIsbell/status/914938291400708096
When Ann and I were getting divorced 1997, and for the year or so after, I was in a dark place. So was Tom Petty. He and his first wife were divorce in 1996 and out of that divorce came the album "Echo." It is, without a doubt, the band's darkest album, but it's one of my favorites. Then, when I listened to "Room at the Top" or "Echo," it felt like he had written those songs for me. That was comforting for me at the time, really comforting. Hearing him sing those songs - those songs he had written during a difficult time in his life - helped me get through my difficult time. I don't know why, but I know it did. After the tour to support the album, Tom Petty quit playing songs off "Echo." He said it was just too hard and brought back bad memories. Here's is a video of "Room at the Top":
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nQFCF9KESic
Tonight, while Jude was at book club, J.P., Joe and I watched a baseball playoff game (Arizona - Colorado). Before bed, I switched over to Youtube and played some Tom Petty and the Heartbreaker videos. When I played a video of "Refugee" live, in concert, from 1982, J.P. watched and listened intently, like he does when he hears a song for the first time. I smiled as I watched him, watching Tom Petty. Maybe Tom Petty will be his dude, too.
I could ramble on forever about Tom Petty and how his death has hit me so hard. I've listened, really listened, to so many of his songs the last two days. Some of the lyrics haunt me now that he's going. This, from "Walls (Circus)", for example:
Some things are over.
Some things go on.
Part of me you carry.
Part of my is gone.
R.I.P. Tom Petty
October 20, 1950 - October 2, 2017
Sunday, October 1, 2017
Fall at Long Last
I'm sitting in Frothy Monkey having a cup of coffee early on Sunday morning, happy that fall is officially here on my calendar. Today is October 1, which marks the official start of my favorite time of year, October 1 - January 2. Halloween, Gentry Farm, Thanksgiving, college and pro football, NHL hockey, MLB playoffs/world series, NBA and Christmas. Cool, not yet cold, weather, perfect for running. I live the rest of the year to get to these three months.
I'm spending a quiet moment or two before I drive down to see my mom. It's hard to believe this is the last Sunday morning I'll spend with her at Maristone. Although I believe moving her is the right decision, I'm not the best at handling change and I'm actually sorry it didn't work out for her at Maristone. I think I'll write more about her time at Maristone another time, perhaps after we get her settled in at NHC Place.
I'm a little worried because she has been much weaker the last week or so. She has difficulty transferring from her wheelchair to the commode to go to the bathroom, generally requiring the assistance of one or two caregivers. She's become more incontinent, too. We thought she had another urinary tract infection but that doesn't seem to be the case. Okay, so I'm more than a little worried.
That's sort of my resting emotional state the last few months. Sad and worried.
I'm spending a quiet moment or two before I drive down to see my mom. It's hard to believe this is the last Sunday morning I'll spend with her at Maristone. Although I believe moving her is the right decision, I'm not the best at handling change and I'm actually sorry it didn't work out for her at Maristone. I think I'll write more about her time at Maristone another time, perhaps after we get her settled in at NHC Place.
I'm a little worried because she has been much weaker the last week or so. She has difficulty transferring from her wheelchair to the commode to go to the bathroom, generally requiring the assistance of one or two caregivers. She's become more incontinent, too. We thought she had another urinary tract infection but that doesn't seem to be the case. Okay, so I'm more than a little worried.
That's sort of my resting emotional state the last few months. Sad and worried.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)