It was a June Sunday many, many years ago. Perfect suburban Chicago weather, sunny, warm, green backyard grass, windows open. Mom and my sisters and I had gotten home from church earlier than my dad, who was counting money from the morning's services before running it to the Des Plaines bank and then coming home to a Sunday dinner and a ballgame on TV.
But his kids and wife had other plans. Father's Day plans! We (meaning:Mom) had gotten him a hammock from Sears for the backyard patio. I'm not sure Dad ever wanted a hammock but he was getting one today. We had to assemble the metal frame then string the canvas between the ends. Green canvas with white rope-y dangles along the side edges. We wanted to have it set up for him so that when he came home, he could go out and enjoy it while Father's Day dinner was prepared. The old man wouldn't have to lift a finger. It was His Day, after all. He earned it.
So we were excited to show it off to him. Mom had his card ready and was pleased that she was going to pull this off. He had no idea! It was going to be a total surprise!
We were in the kitchen when we heard him pull his Buick into the garage. We knew the routine so we had the timing down. He came into the kitchen through the garage door and saw his family standing there waiting for him. His wife and four kids, all smiles. All laughing! He was genuinely surprised! He got him! We got the Old Man! Happy Father's Day, Dad! Come on out here. Look! Out on the patio! We put it together just for you! Here's your card. Open it!
He opened the card. He looked out the door and saw his new hammock. The perfect summer afternoon. Just waiting for him. He saw his wife, beaming. His goofy kids giggling.
And then he looked at us and with a smile of his own said, "Father's Day? Today isn't Father's Day. Today's Flag Day. June 14th. Next week is Father's Day!"
And we froze before making a beeline to the calendar on the wall next to the phone.
June 14.
Sunday.
Flag Day.
June 21.
Sunday.
Father's Day.
And he just shook his head at the screwball family, stunningly celebrating Father's Day a week early.
We surprised him all right. Surprised him that we would mess up His Day!
But he did enjoy the hammock. The green backyard grass. The perfect summer weather. The Sunday dinner. The ballgame. And his goofy family.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Monday, April 30, 2012
What did you learn today?
I used to ask my kids that question at the dinner table. After a day at work, for me, and a day at school, for them, I'd ask, "So what did you learn today?"
It was a fair question. We'd spent time apart, experiencing our days, going about our business, spending time with friends, co-workers, teachers. We must have learned something that day, right?
I got pretty typical shoulder shrug responses. Nuthin', they'd say. I knew they were wrong, of course. How could anyone go to school all day and not learn something they didn't know before they walked through the front door of that school in the morning?
But as they were going through their daily routine, it seemed like it was always the same kind of things they were experiencing. I'd do the same thing with my work. I'd go through the rituals involved in working in a printing plant. Make a buck, figure out ways to avoid boredom, don't get hurt, make everything right, work at a high level of competence and productivity, meet or exceed expectations. Go home, pick up the kids, cook some dinner, watch a ballgame, read stories.
Every once in a while something interesting, something out of the ordinary, would occur. Something big would capture our attentions for an hour or two or a day or two. We would process the event and go back to our routines.
Then we started waiting for big things to happen and forgot about the daily events that we were experiencing. Ignoring the seemingly unimportant daily matters. Pushing the routines way down the Priority List. Anticipating that Next. Big. Deal.
As I've lived this life of mine I've gotten to a point where I realize that the daily things are just as life altering as the big moments. It's something that I've known for a long time, really. I've known a lot of things for a long time. I've forgotten a lot of things for a long time, too. But I've gotten to this really interesting time of my life. I've grasped a certain understanding of how things work (or don't), of where I fit, my little cog in the Big Machine. I've gained a certain knowledge of who I am, where I've been and where I'm heading.
It's a comfortable feeling. A contentment.
It's called getting old, right???
Ha!
That's OK. That is what it is, after all. Travel around the sun fifty or sixty times and one does learn a few things. The perspective of age does that to a person. One sees the bigger picture. One experiences life's beginnings, middles and ends and can see the whole story arc. Youth isn't wasted on the young. It's right where it should be. And retirement isn't wasted on the old, either!
So the little things matter. As much as the big things. No more, no less.
Remember to enjoy the view!!
It was a fair question. We'd spent time apart, experiencing our days, going about our business, spending time with friends, co-workers, teachers. We must have learned something that day, right?
I got pretty typical shoulder shrug responses. Nuthin', they'd say. I knew they were wrong, of course. How could anyone go to school all day and not learn something they didn't know before they walked through the front door of that school in the morning?
But as they were going through their daily routine, it seemed like it was always the same kind of things they were experiencing. I'd do the same thing with my work. I'd go through the rituals involved in working in a printing plant. Make a buck, figure out ways to avoid boredom, don't get hurt, make everything right, work at a high level of competence and productivity, meet or exceed expectations. Go home, pick up the kids, cook some dinner, watch a ballgame, read stories.
Every once in a while something interesting, something out of the ordinary, would occur. Something big would capture our attentions for an hour or two or a day or two. We would process the event and go back to our routines.
Then we started waiting for big things to happen and forgot about the daily events that we were experiencing. Ignoring the seemingly unimportant daily matters. Pushing the routines way down the Priority List. Anticipating that Next. Big. Deal.
As I've lived this life of mine I've gotten to a point where I realize that the daily things are just as life altering as the big moments. It's something that I've known for a long time, really. I've known a lot of things for a long time. I've forgotten a lot of things for a long time, too. But I've gotten to this really interesting time of my life. I've grasped a certain understanding of how things work (or don't), of where I fit, my little cog in the Big Machine. I've gained a certain knowledge of who I am, where I've been and where I'm heading.
It's a comfortable feeling. A contentment.
It's called getting old, right???
Ha!
That's OK. That is what it is, after all. Travel around the sun fifty or sixty times and one does learn a few things. The perspective of age does that to a person. One sees the bigger picture. One experiences life's beginnings, middles and ends and can see the whole story arc. Youth isn't wasted on the young. It's right where it should be. And retirement isn't wasted on the old, either!
So the little things matter. As much as the big things. No more, no less.
Remember to enjoy the view!!
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Me and Americana music
My musical tastes have been transitioning for a number of years now. Where I used to listen to a narrow field of music - electronica, prog rock, 60's British Invasion - I now can say that my focus has opened up to a more wide angle view.
It occurred to me, at one point, that I needed more variety. I had plenty of experience with the above music, and though it certainly had it's time and place (still does!), it became too cliche'd, too predictable, too monotonous.
One artist that I admire and have followed for many, many years is Neil Young. I have always loved his music as something that could challenge and propel my imagination. One sign of a terribly written song is the ability of the listener to guess the rhyming word from one line to the next, or the last word of the next line by hearing the last word of the current line. Predictability is death. And opposite that, uniqueness for uniqueness' sake is also death. But being clever and different and real are the the cornerstones of solid songwriting. Those are the enduring (and endearing) things.
Neil's songs can be hard to pin down. He changes dramatically from song to song, album to album, concert tour to concert tour.
But it's always real and true and challenging and enlightening. Take a walk with this guy and one never knows where the path will lead.
Now my musical tastes are geared more towards a larger scope of songwriting and performing. Diversity is key. There's plenty of room for the old stuff but the listening catalog is ever increasing and the new stuff is fascinating.
Susan and I have gone on three music cruises over the last four years. People ask what kind of music is it that attracts us to spend so much money, to go to such great distances, to become so engrossed? And we kinda think about the wide range of artists we've come in contact with through these cruises and we're hard pressed to come up with one central designation. But "Americana" seems to sum it up best.
Here's Darrell Scott on Americana music - "Roots music. I love that Americana is so hard to pin down. As soon as it gets too easy to understand, it may detract from the wonderful music that it is. It's a funny spot between Americana being promoted, talked about and understood, then defined. Once it's defined too specifically, it will get pigeonholed for everyone. I kind of like the hard-to-define place that the music is in. I want the music to be as free as it can be. It can be whatever the hell it wants to be. I mean, there's great Americana being made in Canada and even Ireland, so I don't mean for Americana to imply flag-waving or that it's only from here in the states. I do still think Americana is an alternative form. Bluegrass fits into Americana. Honky-tonk fits into Americana, and Texas Swing does too. I love that Americana's just a big, ol' messy catch-all that no one knows what the hell it really is. I want to keep it as weird as it can be. When it's defined, its power will be gone. Instead of that campaign in Austin to "Keep Austin Weird," I want to keep Americana indefinable."
I couldn't agree more!
Robert Plant turned down his previous bandmates so he could delve into Americana and the results were impressive!
Buddy Miller is an extraordinary talent and can create guitar sounds and effects with awesome results.
John Hiatt is a songwriter's songwriter with a Midwesterner's heart and wit.
Patty Griffin has the voice of an angel.
Emmylou Harris IS an angel.
Brandi Carlile is a powerful, newer talent with the soul of an old timer.
Americana is like gumbo. A blend of unexpected pleasures. One might hesitate in taking the first bite, not knowing what that combination is going to taste like, all messed together in one bowl. But after dipping into it and letting the flavors all run together, the spices sparking, the textures teasing, one can then sit back and enjoy the incredible moment. The "Ahhhh, that was perfect!" moment.
It occurred to me, at one point, that I needed more variety. I had plenty of experience with the above music, and though it certainly had it's time and place (still does!), it became too cliche'd, too predictable, too monotonous.
One artist that I admire and have followed for many, many years is Neil Young. I have always loved his music as something that could challenge and propel my imagination. One sign of a terribly written song is the ability of the listener to guess the rhyming word from one line to the next, or the last word of the next line by hearing the last word of the current line. Predictability is death. And opposite that, uniqueness for uniqueness' sake is also death. But being clever and different and real are the the cornerstones of solid songwriting. Those are the enduring (and endearing) things.
Neil's songs can be hard to pin down. He changes dramatically from song to song, album to album, concert tour to concert tour.
But it's always real and true and challenging and enlightening. Take a walk with this guy and one never knows where the path will lead.
Now my musical tastes are geared more towards a larger scope of songwriting and performing. Diversity is key. There's plenty of room for the old stuff but the listening catalog is ever increasing and the new stuff is fascinating.
Susan and I have gone on three music cruises over the last four years. People ask what kind of music is it that attracts us to spend so much money, to go to such great distances, to become so engrossed? And we kinda think about the wide range of artists we've come in contact with through these cruises and we're hard pressed to come up with one central designation. But "Americana" seems to sum it up best.
Here's Darrell Scott on Americana music - "Roots music. I love that Americana is so hard to pin down. As soon as it gets too easy to understand, it may detract from the wonderful music that it is. It's a funny spot between Americana being promoted, talked about and understood, then defined. Once it's defined too specifically, it will get pigeonholed for everyone. I kind of like the hard-to-define place that the music is in. I want the music to be as free as it can be. It can be whatever the hell it wants to be. I mean, there's great Americana being made in Canada and even Ireland, so I don't mean for Americana to imply flag-waving or that it's only from here in the states. I do still think Americana is an alternative form. Bluegrass fits into Americana. Honky-tonk fits into Americana, and Texas Swing does too. I love that Americana's just a big, ol' messy catch-all that no one knows what the hell it really is. I want to keep it as weird as it can be. When it's defined, its power will be gone. Instead of that campaign in Austin to "Keep Austin Weird," I want to keep Americana indefinable."
I couldn't agree more!
Robert Plant turned down his previous bandmates so he could delve into Americana and the results were impressive!
Buddy Miller is an extraordinary talent and can create guitar sounds and effects with awesome results.
John Hiatt is a songwriter's songwriter with a Midwesterner's heart and wit.
Patty Griffin has the voice of an angel.
Emmylou Harris IS an angel.
Brandi Carlile is a powerful, newer talent with the soul of an old timer.
Americana is like gumbo. A blend of unexpected pleasures. One might hesitate in taking the first bite, not knowing what that combination is going to taste like, all messed together in one bowl. But after dipping into it and letting the flavors all run together, the spices sparking, the textures teasing, one can then sit back and enjoy the incredible moment. The "Ahhhh, that was perfect!" moment.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
For Dad, From Rumi
Our death is our wedding with eternity.
What is the secret? "God is One."
The sunlight splits when entering the windows of the house.
This multiplicity exists in the cluster of grapes;
It is not in the juice made from the grapes.
For he who is living in the Light of God,
The death of the carnal soul is a blessing.
Regarding him, say neither bad nor good,
For he is gone beyond the good and the bad.
Fix your eyes on God and do not talk about what is invisible,
So that he may place another look in your eyes.
It is in the vision of the physical eyes
That no invisible or secret thing exists.
But when the eye is turned toward the Light of God
What thing could remain hidden under such a Light?
Although all lights emanate from the Divine Light
Don't call all these lights "the Light of God";
It is the eternal light which is the Light of God,
The ephemeral light is an attribute of the body and the flesh.
...Oh God who gives the grace of vision!
The bird of vision is flying towards You with the wings of desire.
What is the secret? "God is One."
The sunlight splits when entering the windows of the house.
This multiplicity exists in the cluster of grapes;
It is not in the juice made from the grapes.
For he who is living in the Light of God,
The death of the carnal soul is a blessing.
Regarding him, say neither bad nor good,
For he is gone beyond the good and the bad.
Fix your eyes on God and do not talk about what is invisible,
So that he may place another look in your eyes.
It is in the vision of the physical eyes
That no invisible or secret thing exists.
But when the eye is turned toward the Light of God
What thing could remain hidden under such a Light?
Although all lights emanate from the Divine Light
Don't call all these lights "the Light of God";
It is the eternal light which is the Light of God,
The ephemeral light is an attribute of the body and the flesh.
...Oh God who gives the grace of vision!
The bird of vision is flying towards You with the wings of desire.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Picturing the Winfield Mounds Forest Preserve in 7,000 words
Monday, September 26, 2011
cure for the 1st-saturday-of-fall-but-i'm-not-done-with-summertime blues
I know.
It was as inevitable as, well, as the change of seasons.
It WAS the Change of Seasons!
It happened again. Right on time. The Autumnal Equinox.
Not the happiest of times around the old household. Susan and I are Summer People. We each have our birthday in the Summer. We love opening windows and neither of us are overly fond of air conditioning. We're glad to have it when it's needed but we find ourselves needing it less and less as we go along. We're outside, being active and loving every minute of it.
So now the nights are longer than the days.
And the windows will stay mostly closed until sometime next April.
This past Saturday was the first Saturday of Fall.
We woke up late, took our sweet time getting out of bed. Then after getting dressed, we walked, didn't drive, to the local Fire Station. Why walk to the local Fire Station on the first Saturday of Fall?
Two words...Free Pancakes.
Add four more words...All You Can Eat.
Whoa.
Not too much to dislike about that! That's worth getting out of bed and walking a half mile for.
We got there at a good time. The line was short-ish. Got to greet the Fire Chief and an EMT.
Got to eat a plateful of freshly made pancakes, a biscuit and gravy, some sausage. A couple cups of coffee.
Yeah, we weren't counting calories but we were OK with that. How often does one get a chance to eat free comfort food in a fire station? We weren't going to pass on that chance.
We grabbed our second cup of coffee and headed for a walk through our little town. Crossed the railroad tracks, strolled through the "downtown" and stopped at a bench in the small park just past the gas station. It's a nice enough park. Doesn't get enough use and I'm not sure why. It's got a gazebo large enough to hold a number of people. It's grassy areas are fairly well tended. Big trees. Plenty of shrubbery and flowers. And a creek!
The sun was shining on and off, there were a good number of clouds around. The temperature was holding in the upper fifties but there was no breeze to speak of. We were comfortable, we were sitting in a pretty park, we were sipping a cup of coffee.
SPOILER ALERT!
Listen - if you think I'm going to write about how everything was all rosy and then, BLAMM-O, the roof caved in and smiles turned to frowns and what should have been a great day turned into a rotten one. Forget it. Not going to happen. Sorry.
After the coffee in the park we continued our walk through our town, through some neighborhoods we normally drive past without more than a glance up and down the street. And we were surprised at the things we saw. Houses big and small, new and old. We went over a couple of hills and ended up at the end of a dead end street. Turned around and re-traced our steps. The neighborhood changed from suburban sprawl to a deep woods in a matter of less than a half mile. By the time we were at the bottom of the hill and turning around at the dead end, we could have been in any woods in any number of places but certainly not mere steps from our cute little park, gas station, library and fire station. We stopped and heard birds chirping, something scurrying in the underbrush and nothing else but our own breathing.
We had left our home an hour earlier looking for pancakes and found ourselves a little bit of unexpected solitude.
Nice.
We made our way back home, got into our car and went out to get some mums for our front porch planters. Found some beauties and planted them immediately.
It wasn't even noon and we were already finding a cure for our end of summer blues.
On the first Saturday of Fall.
Monday, September 12, 2011
end of the line and a john hiatt concert
Last night Susan and I went to Ravinia to see a concert. John Hiatt and the Combo were the headliners and Big Head Todd and The Monsters were the opening act. It was the last show of the Ravinia season. It was 9/11. It was a lot of things to a lot of people. It was the first time we had seen BHTATM and we were pleased! BHT put on a fine show featuring plenty of guitartistry (new word - just made it up. i like it!), good for the ears vocals, interesting songs and BHTodd never stopped smiling and enjoying himself. It was a great way to start off the last night.
The not-so-excellent element of being at Ravinia for the last night of the season was the limited selection of premium beers and ice cream! They were obviously using up the balance of their seasonal stock in both cases. I've never paid 7 bucks for a Coors Light before. I paid 7 bucks for one last night, though. There wasn't a Heineken or Amstel Light on the premises and I needed a cold beer and needed it quick. So I swallowed my pride and then I swallowed a 7 dollar Coors Light.
Never again, I told myself. Never again will I subject myself to a second rate taste just because some bottom line front office type decided to not supply enough of the top of the line item in order to save on some re-stocking charge.
Then we went to the ice cream concession stand. I wanted a mint chocolate chip cone. It's only the best flavored ice cream. Susan was looking forward to her cookie's n cream cone. Her favorite. My Number Two. We got in line. Noticed that half the serving area was shut down. Only three kids working the counter. Uh oh. Got to the front and found out, no premium ice cream. No mint chocolate chip. No cookies n cream. Vanilla. Chocolate. Strawberry. And something called Cappuccino Crunch. My five minute old vow to turn my back on second rate? Dang it! Give me a chocolate cone. Susan got a Cappuccino Crunch. The Coors Lights of the ice cream world.
End of the season. End of the food and drink stock.
The sun set. The stage lights came on. The opening act performed and pleased. A short break then, John Hiatt and The Combo took center stage.
I've seen John H. on stage many times since the first time I saw him in the late summer of 1990. Seen him with Sonny Landreth and The Goners. Seen him solo with just his acoustic and a piano. Seen him with this current band, The Combo, in what is now it's second incarnation. Seen him in the defunct Poplar Creek Theater (moment of silence, please, for the long gone and still sorely missed venue). Seen him at the legendary Birchmere club in Alexandria, Virginia. Seen him in a big top on the shores of Lake Superior a half day's drive from...anywhere. Seen him on the main stage of the Cayamo cruise in the Caribbean. Twice! Still the best vacation EVER. And we've said that same thing, each of the three times we've gone.
I've met him and shaken his hand three or four times. He's signed my ballcap. He's taken his picture with us.
I've been a huge fan for well over 20 years so anything I say about his performance is completely and unabashedly biased. The man's been a part of my life through low points and high. I give full credit to his Slow Turning record as one of the things that helped me recover from acute depression many years ago and helped me to remember the important things in my young life. Reminded me to see the big picture. I understood - things may seem bad now but don't judge those things in their current state. Let them unravel and reveal their complete selves. The revelations will no doubt take a while to show themselves completely. What I was seeing was just a part of the entire process. And that revelation process would only start from inside me before working it's way out.
Those words, those thoughts were life altering. I've since talked to other people who have had similar experiences with the same music. I know those words of comfort could be found in any number of sources. Books. Lecturers. Family. Friends. Teachers. Ministers. Mine happened to show through a remarkable combination of words and music of a singer/songwriter from Indianapolis/Nashville accompanied by the guitar licks of Mr. Sonny Landreth, from Breaux Bridge, Louisiana.
And whatever it was that hit me way back when, it's stuck with me through the years. So every time I get the chance to see John H. play, in whatever configuration, in whatever locale, I'll go back, enjoy the music and remind myself of the important things in my life.
It never fails to amaze and fulfill.
Last night was no exception.
Even from the last row. On the last night. "Suffering" through that last beer and last ice cream.
Knowing as I do that summer doesn't always end when schools open or when pools close or when Labor Days are celebrated or when calendars insist, last night had a sense of closure to it.
The end of things as I've known them is coming. The end of the line is at hand. The Doctor is past healing or being healed.
But when John H. ended his show with a heart- and gut-wrenching version of his song about the 9/11 catastrophes, When New York Had Her Heart Broke, and followed it up with his classic, Have a Little Faith In Me, there was no place I'd rather be. No one but my lovely wife I'd rather be with.
Ends are beginnings. Beginnings are ends. A friend reminded me of that this weekend.
It's just a Slow Turning...
The not-so-excellent element of being at Ravinia for the last night of the season was the limited selection of premium beers and ice cream! They were obviously using up the balance of their seasonal stock in both cases. I've never paid 7 bucks for a Coors Light before. I paid 7 bucks for one last night, though. There wasn't a Heineken or Amstel Light on the premises and I needed a cold beer and needed it quick. So I swallowed my pride and then I swallowed a 7 dollar Coors Light.
Never again, I told myself. Never again will I subject myself to a second rate taste just because some bottom line front office type decided to not supply enough of the top of the line item in order to save on some re-stocking charge.
Then we went to the ice cream concession stand. I wanted a mint chocolate chip cone. It's only the best flavored ice cream. Susan was looking forward to her cookie's n cream cone. Her favorite. My Number Two. We got in line. Noticed that half the serving area was shut down. Only three kids working the counter. Uh oh. Got to the front and found out, no premium ice cream. No mint chocolate chip. No cookies n cream. Vanilla. Chocolate. Strawberry. And something called Cappuccino Crunch. My five minute old vow to turn my back on second rate? Dang it! Give me a chocolate cone. Susan got a Cappuccino Crunch. The Coors Lights of the ice cream world.
End of the season. End of the food and drink stock.
The sun set. The stage lights came on. The opening act performed and pleased. A short break then, John Hiatt and The Combo took center stage.
I've seen John H. on stage many times since the first time I saw him in the late summer of 1990. Seen him with Sonny Landreth and The Goners. Seen him solo with just his acoustic and a piano. Seen him with this current band, The Combo, in what is now it's second incarnation. Seen him in the defunct Poplar Creek Theater (moment of silence, please, for the long gone and still sorely missed venue). Seen him at the legendary Birchmere club in Alexandria, Virginia. Seen him in a big top on the shores of Lake Superior a half day's drive from...anywhere. Seen him on the main stage of the Cayamo cruise in the Caribbean. Twice! Still the best vacation EVER. And we've said that same thing, each of the three times we've gone.
I've met him and shaken his hand three or four times. He's signed my ballcap. He's taken his picture with us.
I've been a huge fan for well over 20 years so anything I say about his performance is completely and unabashedly biased. The man's been a part of my life through low points and high. I give full credit to his Slow Turning record as one of the things that helped me recover from acute depression many years ago and helped me to remember the important things in my young life. Reminded me to see the big picture. I understood - things may seem bad now but don't judge those things in their current state. Let them unravel and reveal their complete selves. The revelations will no doubt take a while to show themselves completely. What I was seeing was just a part of the entire process. And that revelation process would only start from inside me before working it's way out.
Those words, those thoughts were life altering. I've since talked to other people who have had similar experiences with the same music. I know those words of comfort could be found in any number of sources. Books. Lecturers. Family. Friends. Teachers. Ministers. Mine happened to show through a remarkable combination of words and music of a singer/songwriter from Indianapolis/Nashville accompanied by the guitar licks of Mr. Sonny Landreth, from Breaux Bridge, Louisiana.
And whatever it was that hit me way back when, it's stuck with me through the years. So every time I get the chance to see John H. play, in whatever configuration, in whatever locale, I'll go back, enjoy the music and remind myself of the important things in my life.
It never fails to amaze and fulfill.
Last night was no exception.
Even from the last row. On the last night. "Suffering" through that last beer and last ice cream.
Knowing as I do that summer doesn't always end when schools open or when pools close or when Labor Days are celebrated or when calendars insist, last night had a sense of closure to it.
The end of things as I've known them is coming. The end of the line is at hand. The Doctor is past healing or being healed.
But when John H. ended his show with a heart- and gut-wrenching version of his song about the 9/11 catastrophes, When New York Had Her Heart Broke, and followed it up with his classic, Have a Little Faith In Me, there was no place I'd rather be. No one but my lovely wife I'd rather be with.
Ends are beginnings. Beginnings are ends. A friend reminded me of that this weekend.
It's just a Slow Turning...
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