A Stolen Kiss

An 85 year old church lady in one of my congregations has quite a crush on me. In my first few weeks working for this church, she invited me out to breakfast and, effectively, propositioned me.

“You’re not too old to still have some fun,” she told me. “But, not with me. I’m too old.”

She sat there and waited for me to disagree, but I didn’t.

I shouldn’t have accepted the invitation to breakfast, but I hadn’t thought that 85 year old women might still be horny. Lesson learned. I weaseled my way out of the invitation without any damage, and I thought that was the end of it.

Eve (I’ll call her) has been texting me almost daily for a couple of years. At church, she demands a full body hug during the group meet and greet part of the service.

Last Sunday, Eve arrived early for services and, as usual, marched right up to the piano bench to greet me.

“Give me a hug,” she begged.

I haven’t considered this an unusual request, or one difficult to comply with, so I hugged her.

Eve started to try to kiss me, and much to my surprise landed a wet smooch right on my lips! I hadn’t expected that.

The taste and odor she left behind was unbearable. Dense makeup covering over an odor of intense bodily decay. I’m old, too, so I’m aware that the bodily disintegration of an old person is difficult to tolerate.

The residual taste and odor were so awful that I got up after I played for the opening hymn, and pretended to go to the bathroom to relieve myself. I washed my face and hands and rinsed out my mouth, and I was able to continue to play for the service.

Things have gotten out of hand. Churches are incredibly sensitive to allegations of sexual abuse or unwanted sexual advances by their employees. I cannot afford even the hint of romantic involvement with a church lady in one of my congregations. The churches are terrified of being bankrupted by lawsuits.

I’ll have to be on guard with Eve. That’s the last time she gets close enough to French kiss me. I can’t really complain to the church board or the pastor. That will only rebound against me.

The constant texting is something I probably can’t stop, but I can try to cool it off.

Dealing with the romantic aspirations of the church ladies is the most difficult part of my church musician job. The attention and compliments are appreciated, but if I don’t keep my distance I’ll be out of a job.

A Ketchup Tale

Last time I ate at Five Guys, something in the taste of the food irritated me. Sharp, chemical attack on my palate. Sickeningly sweet.

My guess was that this was a reaction to Heinz ketchup saturated with high fructose corn syrup as a sweetener. I’ve just about eliminated corn syrup sweetener from my diet.

My guess was probably correct. I bought a bottle of “Simply” Heinz ketchup, which is sweetened with cane sugar. Used it at home today. That sharp, chemical taste was not evident. The pic at the top lists the “Simple” ingredients. 

Yeah, I eat some cane sugar. Need it. My body was partially built on it, and I like the energy boost. I eat, most likely, 8 to 10 teaspoons of cane sugar every day… jam on my toast in the morning, and dark chocolate from Krause’s after lunch. 

Now, how do I take the “Simply” ketchup with me to Five Guys?

Fortunately, Amazon has everything, including the tiny 25mL squeeze bottles above. A medium sized bottle of ketchup contains about 30 ounces, or about 900mL. So, I think that these little squeeze bottles can be smuggled into Five Guys without attracting a lot of notice.

Next time I return to the restaurant, I’ll take my “Simple” ketchup along in a couple of these little squeeze bottles. Will be interesting to see if I can taste the difference (or whether I think I can).

Something’s Gotta Change

Fortunately, it always does
But not without a lot of dead time first
All I can do is pray but for what?
Roll back the clock 60 years and don’t be stupid
Not this time around, not like all the other times
Even tried visiting the beach on a hot spring day
No peace to be found, radio next to me thumping
N*gger this n*gger that fuck this fuck that

I’m ready to leave this world
But this world is not ready for me to leave
No matter how hard I close my eyes and pray
When I open my eyes I’m still here
Filling out the forms for senior assisted living
Checking the want ads for a part time job
Looking for an apartment again, again and again
Thinking on living alone without the hatred

Stick the laundry in the washer, flip it on
Maybe do some yoga to try to change my mood
God, please take me away, away
Away from this awful isolation and dry death
Why must I continue to be old and decaying?
Where is death to relieve me of this burden?
Something has to change, God
You are, as usual, taking your time

Tired of Myself

I’m not suicidal, just fed up with myself and fed up with being alive. There’s a difference, right?

Sitting in Panera, just to get the hell out of the house. Don’t really need coffee. Just a prop sitting on the table. Thought getting out of the house for a while would improve my disposition.

Crappy music playing on the PA system. I’ll hit the gym next, and the music will be even worse.

Tough night sleeping. Old injury nagging at me. Broke my collar bone in a bicycle accident 15 years ago. In the past year or so, the pain of that injury re-asserts itself when I lay on one side in my bed for a long time. Woke up at 2:30 a.m. with my shoulder aching like hell. Slept sitting up in my recliner with my feet on the sofa.

Although I’m not experiencing declining health, I have a strong feeling that my time is up, or that it ought to be. I’m tired of this incarnation, and I’m too old to be free from the past.

I’m ready to go, but God doesn’t seem ready to take me.

My Musical Seasons

My musician life now runs through a three part annual cycle. 

Starting after Labor Day, the Mendelssohn Club begins rehearsals for the Christmas Concert, and my church work focuses on the progression from Advent to Christmas. 

After New Years, the Club starts rehearsals for the Spring Concert, and my church work moves from Lent through Easter.

After the Spring Concert at the end of April, I begin my summer vacation of about 18 weeks, during which I focus on popular music.

This cycle is likely to continue to repeat for the rest of my career.

Finding outlets for my popular music is the weak part of my game. Three more weeks to the end of the spring Mendelssohn Club season and it will be time to try to develop venues and opportunities for popular music.

I don’t know what to do here. I readily admit to being stumped.

Sometimes, action is the only response to being stumped. Once choral rehearsals are over, I’ll head out there to play on whatever stage is available and see what happens.

Everything New is Old Again

I’ve reached that strange juncture attained every five years or so. Except for my 2023 Ford Maverick truck, everything I own is worn out and needs replacing.

Replaced everything when I moved in with my daughter, son-in-law and grandkids eight years ago. I had some money left over from the sale of my house in Woodstock to pay for the update.

Now, my clothing is fading out and thin. My furniture isn’t exactly right for my needs. My musical instruments all need renovation or repair. This time around, I don’t have a slush fund of cash available.

Church clothing is especially frayed and grayed. I think I have 5 dress shirts, so that means each one is washed and dried 10 times a year. At $40-50 per, replacing those is a serious investment. Members of my Methodist congregation often suggest that I don’t need to wear a jacket and tie to services. My answer:

“I’m really doing it for myself. I need to get cleaned up and dressed to go somewhere a couple of times a week.

My Martin D-28 guitar has already been completely renovated, and my Gibson J-200 is in the shop. Those guitars are 50 and 20 years old, respectively. The pedal board on my organ needs repair. That’s an hour trip in each direction to the technician’s shop.

Bed sheets are completely washed out. I bought four sets when I moved, which means each set has been washed 12 or more times a year. Not much fabric left. $60 to $80 per set.

So, should I go on being ragged and threadbare? I’ve already replaced my sweats. That’s what I wear 95% of the time.

Many of my fellow congregations, both Methodist and Catholic, seem to have decided to let it all go. They attend services in threadbare, worn out clothing. I can understand. We’re all approaching the nursing home stage when clothing and appearance will cease being very important.

I think this is the last time round for me. I’ll buy a little bit each month. For at least the next 5 years, I’ll try to keep up appearances, if only for myself.

Let’s Get Pissed

Liar’s peddling their trade on X
CIA reality rendered AR/VR
Is it all just a simulation
By some low level basement god?
When I think about all the stupid
Shit I did when I was a kid
But that’s how I got to this moment
Getting ass kicked was the only way

What should I get pissed off about
With, maybe, 3,000 good days
Left to me if I get really lucky?
What does this world have to do with me?
I promise I will change my habits
I will write at least 24 lines per day
Poetry without censoring these thoughts
Just let it all flow don’t stop it

Prayed so much this week
That I’m giving myself morning off
To insult some dumb fuck online
Set this world straight before I go
I can see the Promised Land
Not so far away, drawing nearer
Dad, I’ll join you in the back yard
To play ball before you know it

Controlling My Own Mind

Block out all the screaming
I said my morning prayers
Six Our Fathers Six Hail Marys
One Act of Contrition
When this world is driving me mad
Demons shrieking, spirits calling
God help me
All I can do is pray

Why am I still on this earth?
What do I have remaining to do?
My job, said Myrna, is
To make people feel good
Fourth Friday of lent fasting
Soup and salad before
Stations of the Cross
All I can do is pray

56º high somewhere around 3 p.m.
Bicycle ride 10 miles in the sun
I will not hear the Raskolnikovs
Plotting their thievery and murders
I will count my breaths
To close out the screeching devils
Stay on sunny side of the street
To think my own thoughts

All I can do is pray

Four Tunes in the Can

I can’t afford to carry a band. That would mean selling venues on a constant string of gigs so that I could afford to pay musicians regularly. So, my recording session this week featured a backup band that rehearsed once before laying down four tunes in the studio.

Screenshot

Yesterday, I listened to the “roughs,” that is the unmixed, un-FX enhanced versions of the tunes. What do I have? I have basic drum and bass tracks that I will keep. Everything else, vocals, guitar, piano and fiddle… well…

I’ll be returning to the studio in a couple of weeks to re-record my vocal and instrumental tracks. Why? I had to sing and play piano or guitar to direct the band through the structure of the tunes.

Singing and playing an instrument simultaneously in the studio leads to tracks bleeding together, and less than optimal vocal tracks.

I’ll also probably be adding tracks, most likely synth tracks, to solidify melodic themes in the tune.

The final steps will be bringing in a female vocalist for backup vocals, and mixdown.

I’d certainly prefer to take a heavily rehearsed, gig tested band into the studio, but that’s not an option.

Am I Doomed to Job’s Fate?

I’ve been reading the Book of Job. Why? Half a dozen times in my life I’ve been right on the verge of achieving my full ambitions as a musician, and in each instance, some calamity blew everything up. God struck me down.

The worst and most catastrophic was Myrna’s death, just as we had become a powerful musical duo, just as the music business was opening up to us.

I’ve been trying for years to understand this dynamic. Unlike Job, I was not always a faithful servant of God (in fact I became a rebellious hell raiser), nor did I refrain from cursing God when all hell broke loose.

Like Job, however, I’ve always wondered what I have done to displease God, and why he does not relieve me of my suffering. I’m still trying to find my way through this dilemma. Myrna was equally confounded by this. She often said (forgive me for the sin of pride): “Everybody’s waiting for you to be a great man.”

The Old Testament God actually allowed Satan to destroy Job to test his faith. Would he renounce and curse God if his children and servants were slaughtered, his body destroyed with disease, his life reduced to beggary? Job persisted in worshipping God.

I failed that test of faith long ago.

Tomorrow, I’m headed into the recording studio with a band to put down the basic tracks to three original songs: “Granddaddy Ran Bootleg,” “I’m Going Home,” and “Show Me the Way,” and I’ll be recording what I regard as a Hank William’s hymn, “Lost Highway.”

The burden of my past collapses weighs heavily on me. Where to go with these recordings? Why should anybody listen to a nobody, an old man headed toward the grave?

I tell myself that I only want to document to the best of my ability my lifetime of work and struggle, but the old ambitions still live inside me.

You might be surprised to learn that I do expect these recordings to be noticed and to be well received critically. That’s happened repeatedly. And then… the fall.

Will God release me this time from the fate of Job?