The Organ Recital

Preamble:

When the idea for this blog first popped into my head, I was feeling fine. No cold, flu, Covid, not even a sniffle. My daily focus was on all the Eveready Bunny energized stuff I could do each day. Then, dreaded symptoms of a ‘cold’ unceremoniously descended, blossomed, and lasted far too long. The theme no longer seemed right. It only applies to those not dealing with matters of health. If you don’t have your health, you don't have anything. Regaining it becomes Job #1, the work is 24/7, and all consuming. That said, feel free to read on.

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Shoulders, knees, hips, and

shoulders knees, hips.

Now move deeper. 

Visualize your heart as it beats, 

slide down to the kidneys, 

cruise through your colon, 

then roll down each vertebra of your spine.

Contrary to what you may be thinking, this is not an anatomy lesson, nor set of yoga routines for a full body holistic workout. Yoga produces a feeling of invigoration. What I outlined does not. They’re actually bullet points of body part afflictions serving as conversation starters for too many folks in my age demographic. Many comically call this ‘The Organ Recital’. The performance however is not to be confused with uplifting symphony hall-type musical entertainment. 

During these ‘Organ Recitals’ every conversant typically has a story to contribute, and some levity does usually infuse the discourse. But at its core the conversation is a downer. 

It doesn’t have to be this way. 

Why?

The answer my friend is not blowing in the wind. I found it searching for something which I now can’t remember. What I did discover was a well-worn dusty file box tucked away in the corner of a seldomly used bookcase. Eureka! Within were dozens of letters, postcards, even telegrams from times long ago and places far away, a virtual treasure trove of memorabilia. 

Postmarks were from a time when members of today’s ‘recital demographic’ were fresh faced young adults exploring the world and staking out next steps in life. Unlike Pandora’s Box of mythology, opening this box did not unleash curses, but rather a cure - a motivational GPS for today. 

Consider …..

Recently hobnobbing at an exhibit reception, my wife and I overheard a guest mentioning she found her 70s to be the most exciting time of her life. 

 

What, no ‘recital’, just excitement? 

We had to break into the conversation and discover her secret sauce. Unfortunately the opportunity slipped away before closing time. The gallery owner, an accomplished professional photographer who knew the woman well and had the key, proceeded to unlock the secret to her excitement. 

Like his ‘excited with 70s guest’, he too was of the same demographic and was finding fresh ways to remain engaged and energized. He recounted how back in the day he was regularly in the air crisscrossing the globe on assignment. When that no longer was his cup of tea, he set up a stylish Cambridge photography gallery, continuing to keep his finger on the pulse of the profession.

Aha! We discovered the sauce recipe - no exotic ingredients, no magic potions. Everyone can make some and no two sauces will be the same.  

stock photo

The Recipe:

Look past the ‘organ recital’ half-empty water glass to refocus on all the new possibilities in the half-full part, then dive in. Maybe your cup of tea is travel, or learning, or volunteering to repair the world, or whatever. In fact, maybe it’s actually something you’re already doing in your Chapter II Life. Just do it with a different mindset, and don’t leave it on the dark side of the road where the recital is playing. 

Which leads me to this concluding story ….

Pickleball is my court game now. It used to be tennis. Back then, I was in an active mens doubles group. One guy, Charlie, had to drop out at a summer’s start due to an eye injury. When he surprisingly reappeared toward season’s end, fellow players wanted to hear his story. Charlie, kind of a free spirit always quick with a touch of wit, recounted the following: “50 may be the new 30, and 60 may be the new 40,  but 70 is definitely  the new 90!” 

Charlie’s stand up monologue was chuckle-worthy at the time, but going forward it won’t be my mantra. To make the 70s the most exciting of times, I’m sticking with a Shakespearean view, ’the world is my oyster’. There are pearls out there. You too can join the hunt.

photos © David Greenfield

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Lifting the Fog

 

‘She was always just there - at piano recitals, every holiday, and every graduation ceremony. She was a pillar of my life, a constant I took for granted as young people tend to do. I didn’t start to fully understand or appreciate her until my youthful fog lifted’. 

words of tribute from JP, her youngest granddaughter, when the family gathered to be with one another and bid a last farewell. 

JP and her 'pillar'

‘…. until my youthful fog lifted …..’ 

Recently at her service, there was no shortage of heartfelt, heartwarming words offered. But JP’s words stuck, like the jingle in your head that won’t quit, akin to a meteorologic fog descending to blanket the earth and  refusing to dissipate. 

Lifting the fog to fully understand and appreciate what we have is such a good and valuable action. Unfortunately it is often not done or done too late. As 2025 begins, lifting the fog has an even greater imperative. More on this later … 

For now, who was the pillar?

She was born Rachel Faust in the Polish town Przeworsk in 1927 - don’t bother trying to pronounce the name, it takes years of dedicated, tongue-twisting practice. Born Rachel, she lived part of her life as Helena Krokos, the illegitimate daughter of a cousin’s Catholic housekeeper.  

Rachel owes her long life to Ms. Krokos whose birth certificate she was more than fortunate to obtain in 1943. The document allowed her to pose as a non-Jew and survive deportations and certain death in Nazi occupied Eastern Europe. Then for the next eighty years she was Helen Gruenfeld, wife to Martin, another Holocaust survivor with a fancy dance step complemented by an unquenchable spark for life. They fell in love at a post-war Displaced Persons camp in Austria.  

She was beautiful, elegant, strong, intelligent, brave, and loving. Always impeccably dressed, she worked and drove until her nineties, read voraciously and ... she was untouchable in head to head Scrabble matches. 

She was the matriarch, my aunt, and now the last of our family’s survivor generation. JP’s older sister expressed it best, ‘we are who we are because she was who she was’. May her life be as a blessing.

Now, back into the fog and lifting it for 2025 …..

 

Realizing I’m not speaking for everyone, I know I share the same whole body emotional deflation as a large cohort, those who worked tirelessly throughout the 2024 election season to achieve a forward vision for the country and the world different from that of the incoming administration. 

© Marek Bennett 2024

We were in shock as the votes were tallied. There were no exit ramps for a different outcome paved by either hanging chads or ‘found’ boxes of ballots. It was clear we lost. What previously had been unimaginable had just become reality for the next four years. A dense, seemingly impenetrable fog of dread enveloped us. We became immobilized. How could we move forward?

Then the fog lifted.

The way forward for now is embracing what JP realized about her grandma Helen when her youthful fog lifted. It may feel formulaic, but appreciate all that you have, and do it now. Start with the inner circle of family then gradually widen the circle. End in reengaging with the many struggles to repair our world. There'll be plenty for you to do later.

As Yogi said, “it ain’t over until it’s over”. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.

all non vintage images © David Greenfield

Silos

 

Ever wondered how Vermont acquired its name? All you have to do is hop on Interstate 89 somewhere in New Hampshire and head north until you cross the Connecticut River. Once on the other side of this aquatic border, look left and right. You’ll think you’re surrounded by humongous green mountains of humongous heads of broccoli, or as the French would say, montagnes vertes, i.e., ver-mont. 

From July through October the US 89 corridor is the weekly route I enjoy to ferry a cornucopia of fresh vegetables donated by fellow community garden partners to the Vermont HQ of Willing Hands, an Upper Valley non-profit. 

Once there drivers promptly distribute the veggies  to over eighty area food shelves and social service organizations  serving the needs of those suffering food insecurity. 

    But there are more perks for the weekly ride than just performing this hunger mitigating mitzvah - it’s drinking in the stunning visuals along the journey.

Aside from mountains of a certain green vegetable, Vermont’s countryside is dotted by sprawling farms. The grain silo of each adds  just the right touch for a souvenir picture postcard. 

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Silos are essential for farm storage. Mega fortified varieties are also essential. Those secure nuclear tipped ICBM missiles. But silos are the bane of journalists whose days are diligently spent working to develop an informed citizenry and leadership. Sadly, social media has become ‘the preferred way’ so many get their news, selecting only those infomercial silos which pipe in what folks want to hear, i.e., echo chambers … and nothing more for balance. No wonder we have major conceptual divisions in our republic.

A glimpse into this divide can easily be spotted on the street, at the gym, on public transportation, or even while driving (!) There are so many folks in the info receiving mode while multi-task using a variety of plugged-in earpiece accessories.  

It’s one thing to be into your own private world amidst our shared world, but to add insult, plugged-in minions are often oblivious to those around them. 

My first encounter with this phenomenon was on a Haifa to Tel Aviv southbound train. A portly plugged-in young man had just sort of waddled onboard accompanied by his backpack and arms laden with shopping bags.  

I watched him eye the crowded car until he spotted a mere sliver of daylight between a seated group of happily conversing older women. 

Continuing in his own piped in auditory realm and undeterred by their friendly engagement, without a word he wedged himself and his baggage between the women. All they could manage was taking a deep breath to slim themselves down a bit and countenance a WTF expression. 

This episode was a window into the current norm creating digitally assisted, customized personal space in the common era and common area. But beyond the impact of this practice, and the occasional collision of distracted walkers, what’s the impact of this intellectual curiosity black hole being embraced by our elected leaders and their handpicked advisors? 

If unsure, I will recommend a NYT Bestseller, Andy Borowitz’s Profiles in Ignorance: How America's Politicians Got Dumb and Dumber.  

Paraphrasing Amazon's review, " .... the book aims to make us both laugh and cry: laugh at the idiotic antics of several public figures, and cry at the cataclysms these icons of ignorance have caused.

But most importantly, the book delivers a call to action and a cause for optimism: History doesn't move in a straight line, and we can change the course if we act now,"

That's the good news for all regardless of how you get it.

images © David Greenfield

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