Eddie and the Cruisers

Over the weekend, I got the itch to watch Eddie and the Cruisers again. [A movie about the mysterious disappearance of lead singer Eddie Wilson and a journalist’s attempt to get to the bottom of it.] The movie was released in 1983 and I probably saw it for the first time in the mid-80s. I saw it again in the late 80s, but not since then.

One particular scene in the movie really stuck with me when I first saw it and I loved it just as much this time around too.

Eddie Wilson, the leader singer in the group, has a disagreement about the the way bass player Sal Amato wants to play “Betty Lou’s Got a New Pair of Shoes.” Amato wants it to be upbeat without any pauses in the lyrics. Wilson on the other hand says, “I’m just saying words. You gotta give me a little room so people know what I’m singing about.”

As the debate goes on, Wilson asks for the opinion of a guy named Frank who works at the club they are practicing in. Frank is a little shy at first but he comes over and here’s what transpires:

“Now you heard what we’re talking about,” Wilson says, “What do you think?”

“I think he’s right,” Frank says. “I think it needs a caesura.”

“See,” Wilson says pointing to himself, “My way with a cesarean.”

“A what?” Sal says.

“Tell ‘em Frankie,” Wilson says.

“A caesura?” Frank says. “That’s a timely pause—a kind of a strategic silence.”

“That’s exactly right,” Wilson says.

“If you want, I’ll give you an example,” Franks says pulling a book out of his back pocket. “One evening I took beauty in my arms and I thought her bitter and I insulted her.”

“Sounds like sh**, right?” Wilson asks the group.

“Now I’ll do it with the caesura,” Frank says. “One evening I took beauty in my arms . . . and I thought her bitter . . . and I insulted her.”

“Now that’s got class,” Wilson says says turning to the group. “Does that have class Sally, right?”

Then Wilson looks back at Frank and says, “Hey kid, you can stay.”

Life would have more depth if we inserted more caesuras. Instead, it seems like we do everything at breakneck speed for the sole purpose of getting it over with so we can can do the next thing in the same manner.

I’d rather read a book in a contemplative fashion than reading it for the mere sake of getting through it—even if it takes me a lot longer. I’d rather listen to a song on a CD several times that speaks to me instead of simply allowing the CD to play all the way through without ever getting anything out of it. I’d rather read the Bible in small portions as I think about the context, setting, possible symbolism, and application instead of reading it quickly without any of those things.

Speed has it’s time and purpose too. But being conscious of the appropriateness of pace goes a long way toward making sure we get the most out of each experience.

Wanting More for the Next Generation

Read this beautiful post over at Everyday Stranger this morning about what it feels like to grow old and how it doesn’t meet with our expectations. Shannon’s post made me think.

When we’re 18, we have ideals and independence and confidence coursing through our veins. We’re going to do things differently than our parents and the rest of the adults we know. We’re going to be kinder, gentler, bolder, more engaged, more concerned, more determined, and less judgmental. We’re going to listen better and scream less often. We’re going to change the world.

What we can’t possibly know at the time is that most of the adults we were quick to condemn internally have been hoping for the same outcomes for us all along—even if they never say so, even if they have been crappy role models.

I’ll probably never have children, but I have two nieces—one is nineteen and the other is four. I love them both dearly.

I suspect the nineteen-year-old already sees me as a curmudgeon, but underneath all of the crustiness, I want her to know that I want more for her. I want her to be a better person than I am—to be wiser, more consistent, kinder, more understanding, and more godly than I am. I also hope she’s able to attain all of her major life goals. And yeah, I’m hoping she’ll be happy too, but happiness is overrated in my opinion because it’s fleeting. 

My four-year-old niece doesn’t see me as anything other than a person to climb on right now, and I love that. She’s 400 miles away from me, so I’m just thrilled that we’re to the point in which she’s comfortable enough to want to climb on me. But, when she’s 18, I’ll be 56, so, by then I’ll be beyond curmudgeon status in her mind. I’ll still want all of the same things for her that I want for my other niece.

Wanting more for the next generation is part of the aging process. As a 42-year-old, I know how it feels to fall short, to lose dreams, to lose confidence, to lose perspective, to give up too quickly, or to hang on too long. But I also know what redemption feels like. So, as my nieces experience real life in the coming years, I’ll be rooting them on through their mistakes and losses in the hope that their mistakes and losses aren’t as debilitating as mine have been to me.

Energy as a Commodity

I started reading Getting Things Done: The Art of Stress-Free Productivity by David Allen a couple of days ago in an attempt to maximum my productivity. I’m always looking for ways to streamline. Not sure if this will be the method I choose or not, but so far I like what I’ve read. Early in the book, Allen said this:

“. . . in the last few minutes, has your mind wandered off into some area that doesn’t have anything to do with what you’re reading here? Probably. And most likely where your mind went was to some open loop, some incomplete situation that you have some investment in. All that situation did was rear up out of the RAM part of your brain and yell at you, internally. And what did you do about it? Unless you wrote it down and put it in a trusted ‘bucket’ that you know you’ll review appropriately sometime soon, more than likely you worried about it. Not the most effective behavior: no progress was made, and tension was increased.”

Okay, first, the editor in me wants to rewrite that paragraph for clarity, especially the second sentence, but this isn’t about me being an editor—it’s about the thought that popped into my head after I read this paragraph.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve known that money and time are valuable commodities. I never thought about energy being a commodity though. I guess I always knew it was, but I never thought it about it on a conscious level. Now that I have, I totally agree with Allen—I get tense and irritable when my mind gets overloaded with what it perceives as having so many tasks to complete that some of them are slipping through the cracks of my poor memory. Ultimately, I spend energy—a real commodity—in ways I wouldn’t need to spend it if I just found a system that kept track of what I need to do and then actually followed through and did it.

That led me to this conclusion: If money, time, and energy are all commodities that have limited resources, then I need to make sure I’m spending all three wisely. And conversely, whenever possible and appropriate, I need to either save or replenish those commodities so I’ll have more in reserve when I need it.

The Great Adventure Journal

I am one of several writers who contributed to a devotional book called The Great Adventure Journal. It’s going to be a beautiful leather-like hardbound book with color inside and a ribbon marker. The devotions draw a parallel between the Christian faith and popular outdoor activities such as camping, hiking, fishing, biking, hunting, etc. Each devotion will also include a place for readers to journal. I can’t wait to get my advance copies.

The book is set to be released in September. I got to see the cover for the first time yesterday (pictured). The tan and brown rectangle that you see located to the right of the tent is a cut-out in the box lid to show the color and texture of the book cover. Amazon.com is already taking advance orders, which is nice to see.

Short Conversations

When I go on the road, like I did last week, I tend to let my grocery supply run pretty low or completely out before I leave to avoid coming home to a refrigerator full of spoiled goods. I hit the grocery store last night knowing that I needed to buy a ton of things but also hoping to stay under $100.00.

Not an easy task, but possible.

I’m normally not very talkative with store clerks, but I’m better than I used to be. I don’t really consider myself shy any more, but I’m still introverted. The store was dead last night and for some reason I felt like having a conversation so I told the clerk, a woman who is probably in her sixties, that I was hoping to stay under $100.00.

“That worked out well then,” she said. “That’ll be $84.75. I think we’re all in the same boat. I usually keep too much food in my house, but I’ve been cutting back too.”

“Oh yeah?”

“For Easter, I told my kids that if they wanted anything to drink, they needed to bring it,” she said.

“Sounds fair. You supplied the food, right?”

“Yeah. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

The conversation didn’t last long but I enjoyed getting to learn just a little about what went on in someone else’s home during Easter. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t know her and will probably never meet her again. For me, it was the interaction that counted. And it made me wonder about how many other chances to interact with people I’ve missed out on.

Surface-level conversations will never satisfy the way an hour-long conversation with a best friend will, but I think they have more power than we realize.

Letting Go

It’s been a long time coming, but I finally ordered a dumpster to get rid of the junk that has been accumulating in my house over the past 30-40 years. Lots of guys have come and gone through here—including me a couple of times—and nearly every one of them left something behind; a broken recliner here, an old broken down television stand there, and I just couldn’t take it anymore.

Several guys helped me and it took us close to three hours to get rid of about 80-90% of the stuff in the basement. I can’t tell you how good it felt to finally be rid of it all. I held on to several items that hold sentimental value, but when I was in doubt, I dumped it. It wasn’t as painful as I thought it would be.

I’m always afraid of throwing things away that I wished I hadn’t. I still feel that way to a lesser degree, but I feel less affinity toward the past than I used to. I want to remember the past, but I don’t want to live there. This felt like a giant step in the right direction.