A Better Resurrection

I have no wit, I have no words, no tears;
My heart within me like a stone
Is numbed too much for hopes or fears;
Look right, look left, I dwell alone;
I lift mine eyes, but dimmed with grief
No everlasting hills I see;
My life is like the falling leaf;
O Jesus, quicken me.

This brightened even my day; it's sure to bring a smile to anyone's face.

Well, here I am again, at work.  My three-day holiday weekend turned into just three more work days, and I have no one to blame but myself. 

My counselor is working with me to limit my new addiction, which is workaholism.  Not going as well as he'd like it to, it seems.  And I'm all jacked up on caffeine from coffee and Diet Dr Pepper.

What did I give up to feed this addiction?  Well, Janiusz and I had been planning to go downtown to Hart Plaza for the Detroit International Jazz Festival.  Haven't made it yet.  But I did manage to get over to The Little Fella's place for a cookout. 

It's not that I'm so ambitious that I just HAVE to work.  I think it's just another way of avoiding -- avoiding boredom, etc.  If I keep busy at work I don't have to think about other things.  Like how much life sucks.

If I do manage to get out of here this afternoon, maybe I'll catch a band or two.  Wish me luck.

"It has been my experience that one cannot, in any shape or form, depend on human relations for lasting reward. It is only work that truly satisfies."
     -- Bette Davis (1908 - 1989), The Lonely Life, 1962

As for that Facebook thing (q.v.), well ... it's a trip, that's for sure.  It's rather like real-time gang-blogging. 

Try this link to reach my Facebook page.

Inevitable, it was.  For alas! I have succumbed to the spirit of the age and have taken unto myself a Facebook account. 

Seriously, I'm not sure how to link to my profile here, but if you go to the Facebook site and look hard enough for it, I suppose you will find it.  At any rate, for what it's worth ... I add this new Facebook account to my MySpace and YouTube accounts (links at left).  Yahoo 360, being now defunct, is a dead link.

Much has been written about the tragedy of talented and celebrated musicians who develop the disease of addiction.  From legendary blues artists of the 1930's through the jazz greats of the 1950's and 60's to the tragic stories of today's music industry -- addiction has been there as muse unto creativity as well as angel of death.

While many have debated whether the jazz icon John Coltrane's music was better before or after getting clean, the phenomenon is not limited to musicians.  It seems to me that creative genius -- whether musical, artistic, or simply creative -- has an unusually high frequency of addiction associated with it.  Music is just the most obvious to us because that particular form of creative genius most easily leads to fame. 

It is an observable fact that the gift of creative genius is often accompanied by the disease of addiction. 

Eric Clapton illustrated this fact very clearly when he performed before a huge audience of addicts at an NA (Narcotics Anonymous) convention some years ago.  After talking the stage he was met with overwhelming applause as he introduced himself with the words, "Hello, my name is Eric, and I'm an addict." 

Judy Garland's story is not as rosy.  Unbelievably talented and phenomenally gifted, she nevertheless died of a secobarbital overdose in 1969.  This was in a time when the disease of addiction was hidden, not spoken about openly.  Recovery for celebrities was far more difficult then.  Can you imagine the repercussions if she had made a public admission such as Eric Clapton did?

We found this video today.  This is Judy in 1964, body showing many telltale signs of addiction, mannerisms betraying that she's high -- but she nevertheless delivers an outstanding performance.  Healthy folks may not see the cues, but we addicts can spot them a mile away.  What a tragedy that she had no choice but to die in her addiction.

Here is the promo photo for the Garden City Brass Band, taken last month.  Not a good picture of me at all, but what the hey, it's the only recent one I have.

When I am ready to move on, I may have some possibilities.  I am weighing them carefully.

My oldest brother (on the left in this picture of us three brothers from 2005) lives up in the mountains of Colorado.  He has offered for me to stay with him.  The economy in Colorado is better than in Detroit, for sure.  And it would be wonderful to live up in the mountains, hours from the nearest civilizing influences.  There are horses and trees and fresh air.  But some of the very factors that make it so appealing could also be drawbacks.  For example, I would be isolated up there, miles form any potential support group.  And how would I get to meetings every day?

Another possibility, this one more local, is to move in with my friend The Little Fella.  He's doing quite well now.  He has custody of his two early-teenage children, and is currently living with his brother and sister-in-law.  He offered to go halves on a house or apartment with me.  He currently lives just a few miles from here, we're both in recovery, and he and I kick it around a bit every now and then.  The downside of staying there is that I'd still be in the depressed Detroit area, and occupational choices would be next to nil.  However, I'll keep it in mind.

There are other options, but those are the only medium-to-long term ones I'm considering.  Of course, I still plan to pursue my career goals, wherever I may land.

The Salvation Army is having a brass band concert next week near here, in Garden City.  They were looking for brass players, so (*gulp*) I volunteered.

I haven't played since 1979.  That's thirty years.

I borrowed an instrument from my daughter, Sweetie (a trombone performance major at the University of Michigan), who was kind enough to bring it over to me yesterday.  It's my old King Silver Sonic jazz trombone.

To my surprise, I could still play!  I could read the music, translate that into actual sounds, etc.  But there were a couple of problems.  First, I don't have the breath I used to.  I lost 60% of my right lung in the aftermath of that accident I had in 2004.  And second, my eyes have gotten so bad that I can hardly see the music.

But I shall give it my very best.  We practice once, and only once before the concert.  That's tomorrow.

Wish me luck ...