Other Poems

School got out two o'clock,

collecting my bike,

she asked for a ride.

It was Kristi,

who lived down the block.

I mumbled, "Yes."

Without a notion, not a beat,

she took her place not upon the frame,

but upon the seat.

Surprised and perplexed, but nothing said,

for I was vexed.

Pedaling, standing as I could,

her hands on my waist,

we took a wobble, then off to the race.

Unsure, uncertain, then momentum build,

Laughing, rolling down the hill,

No worry of the tumble or the spill

nor the chance of getting hurt.

Her hands on my waist,

her black stockings, her long legs

stretching out

of that impossibly short skirt.

Safely arrived, she made her adieu.

No lingering, just "See you at school."

Kristi moved before the year's end.

Surprised and perplexed, but nothing said,

for I was vexed.

Just Some Photos

I get it every semester.

Someone wants to drop the guitar class. Or someone really needs to drop.

Then there's the slow, painful process of keeping a hopeful attitude (and a false front) when the student is so clearly behind the Eight ball that it's apparent that the ship has never left the harbor. i.e. They never practice.

This year, I've had one student who never came to class and emailed me that she needed to drop the class. That was about eight weeks ago. She keeps asking me when I'm going to be at school to sign the drop slip, but she has never shown.
Undoubtedly, I will be blamed for her not being able to drop before the deadline.

On student decided to come for two lessons. They were late for the second and actually lied about what time they arrived. I let that one go, but stashed it in the memory for future reference. I filed it under: "If you lie about it now, how's the rest of the semester going to go?" Well... it went nowhere. She hasn't shown up for about seven or eight sessions. All my email has never been returned. Perhaps she dropped out of school. I haven't a clue.

This week, I got an email from a student, one I considered a pretty good one, saying that she had to drop (Yes, the majority of my students this year are female. I have three males to five females.). She had this really apologetic and sweet email stating that she regretted that she had to drop...la la la.

For some reason, perhaps it's a vibe I give off or it's in the nature of the one-to-0ne weekly lesson - which builds a quasi "personal" relationship, students somehow think that they are letting me down when they realize that practicing a guitar is not something they want, nor are inclined to practice.

There she was, all hang-dog looking, trying to make me convinced of her sincerity. She is sincere- I trust that. I let her know my thoughts (in a gentle way). She needed to drop, she had written. She was sorry.

Sorry? Sorry for what? She had been doing well.

"Off the record, for some reason students seem to think that I am disappointed when they drop this course- as if I take this personal. I don't. Only you know whether you have the time to properly finish the requirements." I said all these things while smiling in a friendly way.

Truth is, while I am encouraging every student's successful completion, I don't take any of this personally. This is a job. I am lucky that I get to teach something that I love, but beyond that, I don't care. Another truth: I recognize that she is at least polite enough to let me know. Many simply vanish into collegiate air without a trace.

I have had many excellent students over the years and I have had some real duds as well. My two most outstanding students graduated from this institution by playing each a fantastic senior guitar recital. They have gone on to become professional musicians and they made me beam with pride. Mission accomplished. After those two guys, I never had any student go that far.

But that dream has been fulfilled and I no longer ache to have the ultimate protege. By the time I was finally teaching at a "real" university (Marshall) and have five guitar majors to teach, I had lost the desire to be a college professor. Perhaps UC has killed that dream, maybe the dream died on its own, maybe it was never going to be a reality for me as long as I stayed in this lonesome valley. I don't know.

Don't get me wrong. I love engaging with students. They are a joy. I am happy each week to see them and watch them grow more and more confident on the instrument.

The student promised that she would take the class next semester. I appreciate the thought, it is sweet.

She might.

But, I doubt it. Trust me, I can tell.

Seriously, Read This

The Morning Sitting
I

The morning sitting, initially & primarily, trains the volitional attention. Our attention engages the finer energies of organic sensation, feeling & thinking. In time, these finer energies begin to cohere, developing a subtle energetic vehicle which supports finer qualities of experiencing: physically, intellectually & emotionally.

There are a series of morning exercises of increasing subtlety that, over time, begin to increase & substantiate our personal presence. This is not an end in itself, more a beginning to living a proper life for a human being, to support us in achieving whatever we might hope for ourselves. The practice also supports us in responding to what life might ask of us.

The morning sitting is not meditation: meditation is active-receptivity. The morning sitting is actively-active, while physically still and externally motionless. The morning sitting trains us to hold ourselves in place, quietly and in receptive mode: in this sense, it prepares us for meditation.


II
Two Questions:

Why practice the morning sitting?
Why not practice guitar for half an hour instead?


1. Before we ask ourselves to do something, we begin by asking ourselves to do nothing. When our body is prepared to do nothing when we ask it to, perhaps it will do something when we tell it to: such as, integrating & co-ordinating specialised motor skills while playing a musical instrument.

2. As relaxation develops & deepens over time, emotional states and memories fixed within muscular patterns and bodily postures lessen their hold on us. Our personal history, locked inside the body, begins to let us go; increasingly we move into the here-and-now. We gradually develop a relaxed & engaged sense of personal presence: life becomes a little more real.

3. We begin to distinguish between what-we-are & who-we-are. For example, we discover the distance between the background noise of monkey-mind, its associational rattling & automatic mental commentaries (conventionally referred to as thinking), and who is listening to it.

4. The volitional attention is practised & strengthened. Effectively, for nearly all practical concerns, the quality of our attention describes & defines who we are, and is pretty much all we can claim to own in life.

But, these are comments presented at the beginning of the practice. Although, even as a beginning, this much is already a considerable achievement: it is a foundation for living. When established, and there is no end to the depth of the practice while we draw breath, the morning sitting leads us to a more sophisticated awareness of qualities & distinctions in our perceptions and experiencing: life gets richer.

Ingratitude Attitude

This dude had the look.

Oh we all know it well. That cleverly rehearsed face that said, "Buddy, I'm down on my luck. Can ya spare a buck?"

Well, a buck wasn't exactly what he asked for, but it's always money that they want.

Aren't you a little hardcore? Don't you feel guilty?

No, because it's mostly a sham.

I feel sorry for the truly needful, not for the fakers who have lied to my face and then felt superior because they duped me. What about those assholes? Case in point: one night this couple approached me. They needed money to get to Beckley because "her mom was in the hospital," etc. I gave them some change, no biggie.

It wasn't the money, but the stupidity I felt as I watched them head in the exact opposite direction of Beckley. And worse, the smug look on their faces. Smiling cons. Great.

Or the Reverse Guilt Trip that a guy, claiming to be a minister, tried to lay on me because I wouldn't give him any money for a desperately needed trip to Morgantown.

I wanted to ask: "If you're a minister, then surely your church can afford you a trip to Morgantown?" Instead, I stood silent as he gave me that "I can't believe what a low human being you are" look.

When I was in Alabama, attending a conference, these two guys thought they'd put the hustle on me.

"Hey man. I need some spare change. You got any spare change?"

"No, I don't. Sorry."

There were two of them, at night, I was alone and in strange city. Caution was my guide. Also, I sensed a criminal element about these guys.

And then, of course, the GUILT: "Well, you have a good night now" meaning "You go on leading your lifestyle of the rich and famous and we poor folk will struggle for survival out on the streets."

Later that night, I ran into them again. I guess they were making the rounds in the tourist section again.

"Hey, hey. You find any spare change yet?"

What am I? The only tourist you can hassle tonight?

I had had enough. "No, I'm trying to decide where to eat. I'll let you know."

Their faces said the following: "If it was another place, motherfucker, we'd fucking cut you."

Ok, I'm sorry. Did I see through your lies? You no more need money for food than Mother Teresa needed a Porsche.

> Back to our inglorious story.....

"Sir, can you spare [unintelligible] for a couple of gallons of gas?"

"Give me a minute" was my stall tactic. I went inside the convenience store- a place that I frequent so much that I'm on first name basis with the staff and owner.

"There's a guy out there asking for money."

"We'll ask him to move."

"Do you think he's for real?"

"Who knows?"

I gave the guy a buck. I know that's not shit, but his face said, "You cheap bastard. I asked nicely for a couple a bucks. Maybe even five, but all you give me is a damn dollar???" Out of his mouth came a mumbling "You have a nice day, sir."

Ungrateful bastard. I wasn't expecting an ass kissing, but to be so blatenly obvious. Dude, you need a better line. Work on it.

Ask anyone who really knows me, anyone you care to ask. Ask them if I act like I place myself above people. Ask away. Ask all day. I'm no saint, but neither am I a class snob.

I do feel sorry for the homeless and those guys that look like life has beaten them down to nothing.

I just ain't buying the bullshit.

The wedding. It is a certain aspect of the happy gigster's professional life. It is the Yin and Yang of gigs. Either sweet or sour as there doesn't ever seem to be a happy medium.

{Dig the chandelier, baby. Stained glass? Nay.}

The Dynamic Duo were booked for this October wedfest many months ago. The trouble with booking so far ahead that you can easily forget about it or disbelieve that it's actually going to happen. I checked with the mom, and sure enough, it was still a go and our services were still wanted. Fine. Load the car, grab Lisa and head West. Road trip!

Li-Li has just returned from the beach the evening before and so she spun her tale as we drove towards the church. Their vaco was a soggy tale of rain storms. Evidently, the storms were pervasive and so strong that, on the last night, she was afraid that the house was going to collapse. Winds blew rain under the doors, shook windows and made rocking chairs appear to be possessed.

Arriving in town, as usual, we got slightly off course, so would say "lost," but I say slightly misplaced. Retracing our path, we found the church very easily.

Step#1 in the wedding musician's guidebook: get the lay of the land. Don't lift a single piece of equipment until you have surveyed the church and talked to someone in charge. Or someone who believes they are in charge.

Finally after wandering about, we see a sign that points to the sanctuary. After years in the Catholic church, I was a bit taken back by the sheer starkness of the interior. No stained glass (That's deliberate and has a theological basis.) and bare walls with only crosses from different branches of the Christian faith made it all seem unchurchy. Yes, that should be a word. After years in the Presby church, I recognized the theme of white, wood and red carpet. What is it with the plain Jane looks, people? Let's celebrate some color, huh? Unlikely.

We met mom and the wedding coordinator, whose name just happens to be that of a famous country music superstar, and the spot they pick for us is the one we have picked. All is well then.

Not really.

You could feel the tension right away. My little flute playing eavesdropper said she overheard a convo between mom and grandmom that went something like this:

Mom: "On what wrist are you going to wear the corsage?"

Grandma: "On the left."

(Exasperated) Mom: "Well...YOU WOULD!!"

Ok, people, let's calm down now. It's just a wedding, people, a time of love and joy.

I didn't hear it, but evidently the bride had crossed over to bridezilla and was talking to people rather brusquely.

Outside, while gathering the amp, music stand, et al, I saw the groom's guys all gathered at the far end of the parking lot. Methought: nips of courage for cold feet? Is Jack Daniels going to make an unexpected appearance?

Out the door comes a blonde in a skirt far too short for a wedding and she yells, "ADAM! LORI WANTS YOU RIGHT NOW!" Well, it don't take an Einstein rocket launchin' fella to realize that that was a prediction of married life to come. The dude is already getting his marching orders.

{Pretty maids all in a row.}

All set up, ready to plug in and something hits me: I have forgotten my guitar cable, the one that plugs into the amp. Hence the whole purpose of bringing, unloading and lugging the amp into the church. I cannot believe my mistake.

I make a plea to the music coordinator.

"Do you have an electronic keyboard?"

No.

"Do you have a music room where there might be a quarter inch cable?"

She's smiling, but I know I'm gaining no ground.

"We don't have any electronics."

Lady, I wasn't trying to set up a Rick Wakeman bank of synthesizers, I just need a ruddy cable. I wanted to point out, just in case there was some purist ideology hidden in that smile, that the PA system is, ipso facto, electronics. Alas, I play an acoustic instrument and that will have to be fine. At least I have that as a backup.

Can't believe I forgot my cables. Kick me in the ass.

A small crowd gathered as we played our standard classical fare. I think we played OK, but I wouldn't give us any stars in a review. There were some clams to be had on both side of the Duo. Lisa often forgets to eat before gigs. I don't get this, but it is almost my duty to make sure she is on an even keel or the music will suffer. She mentioned she needs to start wearing her glasses. We are old: YA THINK?

For me, I spent a lot of time before the gig making sure my suit, shirt and shoes were all looking good and not enough play time with the guitar. My mistake and it always shows.

It was one of the shortest ceremonies on record: no readings, no testimonials, no sermon and only one prayer. Just in-hey hello they are husband and wife, say hello to Mr. and Mrs then out! Wham! Done.

A look of relief was on mom's face. People said they liked what we did as we quickly got things together to go.

We stopped at a little drive-in and ordered some food which turned out to be pretty poor, but food is food when you're hungry.

On the drive home, I fell into a kind of trance. The road hummed along, passing all those little towns, the conversation more sparse than the drive up. We chatted about the gig and how we have to write a book about all this one day. That is certainly an idea I intend to follow.

When home was reached, I was pooped. Yep. I wasn't ready for movies or nothing. I wanted creature comforts. It took something out of me. You see, one of those thoughts I had coming home was, "When exactly are you going to stop doing weddings?" I'm 52. Am I going to be doing these when I'm 62? I have never, ever considered retirement. I mean, a musician doesn't retire, he just has to hang it all up one day when he/she sucks so bad on their beloved instrument that it is too embarassing to continue public performance.

I feel far removed from that idea right now for a number of reasons, the top being financial. I love my guitar.

It's weddings that give me fits.