The Cheap Seats

Songs and song titles naturally reflect the eras in which they were recorded and performed. Chattanooga Choo-Choo is pure cornball to the modern ear, but in the pre-war America of 1941, it was at the top of the charts. Danny and the Juniors played At The Hop in 1957, capitalizing on an emerging teen culture. Today the only hop kids are familiar with walks in lockstep with hip . In 1964, Bob Dylan wrote The Times They Are a Changin' , accurately portraying an anxious America still reeling from the assassination of a President and harboring vague concerns of an unknown future.   So it's not difficult to see that every decade is musically different. Moving into the 70's and beyond, singer-songwriters like Bruce Springsteen and John Mellencamp sang of disaffection and discontent. Guitar rock, synth-driven beats, packaging over performance - popular music continues to evolve at high speeds.   And then there is the 80's.   As I smarmily (possibly not a real wo

No complaints, no pity, but it has been a long week. Through a series of commitments and choices, I have found myself at work and at play late into each of the last five nights, with no break in sight until Monday, when the week starts all over. No worries. As I have mentioned in previous posts, I am a teacher. My district just wrapped up Fall parent/teacher conferences. This is primarily a positive couple of nights when many moms and dads stop in to "get the good news" as I call it. Too often the parents we need to see stay home. Their children, making up less than 20% of our student population, are the ones who occupy more than 80% of our time; time spent re-directing, re-teaching, re-everything. But even an old social studies teacher can tell you that less than 20% of anything isn't too much. My long work week concluded with a 7am flight to Boston on Friday morning. Confession: I am not a frequent flier, or a good one for that matter. When you have to r

Halfway through and halfway there Questions flood my swirling mind; Unknown answers in the air, Out of reach and unaware Of the peace I long to find. Is there more I cannot say After ash and dust return; Will there dawn an endless day? Some grand bargain to parlay, Weighed against eternal burn. Faith in an End I know not  Is elusive, troubling still; Soothing waters I have sought, Clash with insight so hard fought From the practice of free will.  Envy those with sure belief Full of reverence and awe; Certainty - a sweet relief, All doubts dashed upon a reef, Defeating death's waiting maw. Halfway through and halfway there, Striding, pushing toward one goal; Ever searching ev'rywhere, Seeking answers to a prayer, Do I have an endless soul?

I have lived alone for most of the last dozen years. My kids, friends and family come and go on a regular basis, but for the most part it is just me. While I certainly would not have predicted this domestic state of affairs for myself 20 years ago, I have discovered that I don't really mind either. As I mentioned last spring in The Perks of Living Single , the benefits are numerous.   Oh sure, it does occasionally get lonely. And quiet. But after a long day or week entertaining teenagers, peace and quiet is the first thing on the menu. These periods of silence and inactivity, however, usually wear thin by Saturday morning. Then I am grateful for things to do, people to see and places to go.   But the fullness of my personal calendar, when it is not driven by my children's schedules, ebbs and flows. So, busy by demand becomes busy by design - a bridge during those times when responsibilities, home maintenance and fun are at low tides. In other words, I make shit up - at