How you gonna keep ’em down on the farm?

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

Have you ever done this?  You begin something and then start questioning the wisdom of it.  You wonder if people really understand why (or if they care).  You think that maybe you should have waited until someone asked.  Well, that’s par for the course for me.  (I told you the elevator didn’t go all the way up to the top, the deck was not full, etc.)  Today’s post is just me, explaining myself.  I’m guessing that this will happen frequently, because it’s part of what I need to get out of my head…

I started putting down some random thoughts to form this blog a week or so ago and the concept was a little muddy around the edges, but I was very definite in my intent.  I have found myself spending more and more time recently in mindless pursuits, silly games on the internet, TV watching, and yes, even Facebook.  My objective in writing the blog was to follow through on a longtime goal of communicating what’s important to me, while freeing myself from the prison that all of us are in danger of lingering in; the mundane and pedestrian routine that binds us and keeps us from excellence in living and in expressing ourselves.

Let’s face it, Farmville and Cafe World, even World of Warcraft (never played it myself) don’t inspire us to higher expression.  Quite the opposite, they depress the individuality and uniqueness with which our Creator has endowed us.  You can’t tell me that you become a better person as you mindlessly plant fake plots of land with fake seeds with the click of a button, only to come back a day or two later to reap the fake crop with another click of a button.  Likewise, blasting into oblivion the avatars of unseen online opponents, who are plying a joystick halfway across the continent, has zero benefits, either in reality or even in the fertile ground of one’s mind.  Any accomplishment made today will disappear tomorrow, any emotional high brought on by a great victory will most certainly be followed by depression and the need to eclipse that victory with another, greater one to feel the high again.

And television!  I don’t really want to start down that road…unreal reality shows filled with fake personalities, modern day freak shows that voyeuristic adults (and kids) can’t turn away from, dramas filled with actions and language so vile that none of us would countenance any deed from them in our homes (yet we open the conduit and fill our living rooms with the garbage day after day).  No wonder our kids are leaving our lifestyles and principles in droves as they mature!  We don’t communicate with them except to give them the means to access this garbage, and we even sit and bathe in it ourselves with them night after night.  To say that we don’t communicate with them is a major misstatement.  We just don’t say words.  But, I guarantee you they get the message!  How can they help it?

Tired of the preaching yet?  Okay, I’m done for tonight.  It would be easy for me to take the words written above and think of them in terms of families with young children, or of young married couples, and talk about the need to make drastic changes. But it never made any difference when I was that age, so I’m pointing tonight to myself.  This blog is a small step for me along the path of recovery.  I’m going to learn to communicate again.  I’m guessing the results will be a little spotty, especially if the first week of posts is any indicator.  Some of my stuff you’ll love, some you’ll hate.  Probably most of it will be on neither extreme and you’ll just tolerate it, if you continue to read it at all.

Regardless, I’m going to continue to press on.  Hopefully you’ll be able to see who I am as you read.  I hope you’ll be generous enough to make comments (both encouragement and criticism).  Although I’ll try to spend time writing every day, you probably won’t see a new post that often.  I’m finding that even though I have lots of ideas that have been stuck in my brain that I want to communicate, many of them can’t be said right now without arousing anger or shock and I don’t want to do either.  So some things will stay unsaid until I find a better way to communicate them, half-baked ideas in the oven of knowledge and wisdom, waiting until they are fully cooked.  Give them time…

Finally, friends, whatever things are true, lovely, and well thought of…If there is any benefit, any excellence, these are the things to let your minds dwell on. (my paraphrase of Philippians 4:8)

The Other Side of Puzzles

~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

Her mom has washed windows at my store for years, but it was just a month ago that 3 year-old Addison started coming in to visit while she waits for the task to be done.  She’s too young to help much, so she sits at the little wooden kid’s table in the front of the store.  For the first ten minutes, she bangs on a drum we have there, alternating between that and fussing at her mom about having to wait so long.  The banging drum doesn’t bother me at all.  It’s the first step for most kids into music, so I love the sound.

What I can’t take for long is the whining at Mom, so I ask her if she wants to work a puzzle.  She seems to be excited and dumps the pieces onto the table, but that’s as far as she gets before she’s stymied.  The puzzle is only 20 or so large pieces, so I’m not sure what’s going on, but it’s not long before I realize that this girl doesn’t work puzzles.  To be absolutely honest, neither do I.

I know how to work puzzles.  I’ve worked puzzles in the past.  The thing is, I just don’t like them much.  Like all hoarders with OCD (self-diagnosed, you understand), I don’t comprehend the concept of working hard at building something piece by piece, only to tear it up and put the pieces away in a box.  Stuff is made to be seen, to be left out for years and to be admired.  “Well,” you may say.  “Glue the pieces together and mount the puzzle.”  That assumes that I would want something like that on my wall or coffee table.  Part of my problem with OCD is that I can’t put anything on the wall that isn’t an original work of art, so mounted puzzles are out.  Then again, I can’t have them stacked all over the tables, when there are more puzzles waiting to be put together, and I just don’t want to work that hard on something and tear it apart.  So I don’t work puzzles.

But the girl is whining.  I can’t stand whining and something has to be done.  So piece by piece, starting with the edges (a large percentage of the pieces in kids puzzles, you know), we put together the puzzle.  “Does that straight edge match with this one?”  “Do you see Winnie The Pooh’s shirt?”  “Try it under Winnie’s face.”  And as we work, Mom now having finished her job and waiting to get on to the next set of windows down the street somewhere, the picture comes together.  There’s Winnie and Piglet, and of course my favorite, Eeyore.  (My favorite because at times, I know just how he feels, the world going by him, with all the beautiful people entertaining and being entertained.  And, once in awhile, just once in awhile, they include him in their activities.  “Thanks for noticing me,” he says sarcastically.  I never can tell if it’s his choice to stay on the fringes or if they just don’t include him until they want to feel better about themselves, inviting him to join in for purely selfish reasons.  Regardless, it’s nice for everyone to be acknowledged once in awhile.)  But, back to Addison…As the picture comes together, her excitement grows.  She’s making a picture of her friends!  She’s doing it!  No more waiting and whining, no more being just a little girl who has to be tolerated.  She has done something worthwhile! For a few moments, she understands accomplishment and the reward of hard work.

Then Mom, check in one hand, squeegee and bucket in the other, calls out, “Addison, take apart the puzzle and put it away.”  The tot is devastated.  “No, Mom!  I want to leave it together.”  Now I’m no Dr. Spock, but just this once my brain is working.  I suggest that there’s no need to tear it apart.  We can leave it just like that for other people to enjoy.  I know it will be taken apart long before she returns, destroyed by the ravaging hordes of kids, long since hardened to the fate of such endeavors.  But today, this young lady gets to walk out the door with her pride intact, secure in the knowledge that she has left her mark on civilization as she knows it.  And even though she won’t say goodbye to me (“She hates to say goodbye,” her mom apologizes.  And, again I understand perfectly…Goodbyes can lead to never seeing someone again), I realize that finally, I’ve met a child with whom I’m in agreement.  Her, I understand!  I’ll never get these puzzle workers who toil at their task so industriously, not to get to the finished product and enjoy it, but to tear it up and start on another.  It’s as if the purpose is not to have a thing of beauty, but just to be busy.  Well, give me a comfortable chair, a glass of lemonade, and a beautiful painting on the wall and leave me to my leisure.  You do your busy work, I’m going to enjoy the finished product and won’t be disturbed.

“A thing of beauty is a joy forever” from Mary Poppins (Okay, really from a poem by John Keats, but I think he stole it from Mary).

“Suffer the little ones to come unto me and forbid them not, for of such is the Kingdom of Heaven” (Jesus in Mark 10:14)

Jumping to Conclusions Isn’t Exercise?

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

The sign on the front door says, “Open at Noon on weekdays.”  You would not believe how that inspires the wise cracks.  Folks who would never think about telling the unemployed man who lies abed until noon daily how lazy he is, say the words to me without apology.  “I wish I could sleep until noon.”  “Banker’s Hours?  We have to work for a living!”  “When are you going to get a real job?”

“Banker’s hours? Real job?”  How is this possible?  Can they not see how hard I work?  Do I not complain about overwork loudly enough?  But no…they believe if the door is locked, I’m not working. They think I’m sitting at home with my toe in the air, doing nothing.  What’s that, you say?  Oh, the toe in the air thing.  It’s a family joke, but it fits the situation, so I’ll let you in on it.

A few years ago, my brother-in-law was adding on to his house.  Family members helped him some, but he did the lion’s share of the work.  Until one painful day, that is…the day he shot a nail from the nail-gun into the joint of his big toe.  The pain was excruciating and he couldn’t walk for a few days.  Work would have ground to a halt, but his father-in-law offered to help if he would tell him what to do.  So the brother-in-law sat with his foot elevated to ease the pain and gave instructions to the willing worker.  Unfortunately, one of his father-in-law’s cronies happened past about this time and, seeing the home-owner sitting while his father-in-law worked, went home with the story.  “That lazy so-and-so…He’s just sitting there with his toe in the air while his father-in-law builds his house for him.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions.”  
“Don’t judge a book by its cover.”  
“Still waters run deep.”   

We all do it…Think that we understand a situation simply because we take a glance as we drive by…Believe that because we can’t see activity, nothing is being accomplished.  How do we get to the point where we assume that the person we’re talking to is not as hard-working, not as intelligent, not as knowledgeable about their area of expertise as they should be?  What drives us to accuse someone of laziness simply because we don’t see what they accomplish when we’re not there?

So, learn the facts and cut those you find yourself critical of some slack.  I’m not saying that we shouldn’t require excellence, nor even that we should lower the bar for performance.  Just do your homework before showing your ignorance.  And cut me some slack about opening at noon.  I’ll be sitting here with my toe in the air waiting for you…

What do you call it if you jump out of an airplane without a parachute?  
Jumping to a concussion!

Sometimes a conclusion is simply the point at which we stop thinking…

Perfect attendance!

~ Paul Phillips ~ 3 Comments

“Twenty Dollars.”

These two words, spoken listlessly by the scruffy, not-quite-clean, but once-proud man were exactly what I had expected to hear, as I looked at what he had to sell.  The now-commonplace scene was repeated again one day recently and I’ve got to tell you, I long for the days when the musical instruments coming in my door are being brought by folks who want to sell them.  I love a good bargaining session where the give and take, the reciprocity, are mutual and spirited.  I make an offer, they counter-offer.  I balk, they come down a bit, and we come to an agreement (you know, like Pawn Stars on The History Channel).  I now own an instrument which can be resold for a reasonable profit and they leave with money in their hands, usually more than they came in expecting (and sometimes less).  But they wanted to make the deal and leave satisfied.

Today’s specimen is not such an example.  The instrument is a no-name, beat-up, barely-playable electric guitar in a non-matching and groaty case.  And yes, I realize the term “groaty” is an obsolete fad-word, used by my generation in our prime (a long, long time ago) to describe a gross, disturbing mess, but that describes this case precisely.  It is almost slimy with mold and putrid with the stench of stale cigarettes and cat.  If I were anyone else (you know, like Pawn Stars), I would probably order them out of the shop with it, but I cannot.  This is not about an instrument, a case, nor even about money.  This is about the person holding the monstrosity.  I don’t need that guitar.  I already have a back room filled to over-flowing with such unmarketable eyesores.  But, I do need to buy the instrument.  He doesn’t want a hand-out, but he needs one, so he’s brought the only thing of “value” that he can let go of.  This man needs to walk out of here with dignity (but with money in his hands) and I rise to the occasion.  Why?  Because I have to.  It’s my reason for being here.  Well, one of them anyway, but an important one.

When I wrote my first post, I said I needed a “pulpit from which to preach.”  So here’s a little of the preaching part.  When Jesus said, “The poor you have with you always,”  as He gave permission for an extravagant gift to be given for Him, what He did not mean is, “Don’t help the poor.”  He meant exactly the opposite.  Give to the poor and give extravagantly to God.  We are not excused from helping them, simply because we can quote Paul’s instructions to the Thessalonians,  “If a man will not work, neither shall he eat.”  That phrase is so overused and incorrectly applied that it has lost all of its original meaning. When uttered today, it means, “I really don’t want to share with you and it’s your own fault that I have an excuse.”  In its original context, it was never to be applied to unbelievers, and certainly not as an excuse for selfishness!  If love is not the purpose of our actions, they are wrong. Period!

Wow!  I’m almost done preaching now…But I do laugh at how people (notice; one finger pointing outward, but three pointing back at me) just don’t “get it.”  The other day, one of my “always with me” guys (let’s call him Joe) was in as I was bartering with a different “always with me” guy (call him Jack) for an amplifier.  When I gave Jack too much for the amplifier (because he needed a break), Joe waited until he was gone and asked, “Is he somebody special?  You gave him way too much for that.”  Picture this being said as Joe was pocketing the proceeds from the sale of his guitar, for which I paid him well more than Blue-book price, simply because he needed money to make a payment to his creditors. But that’s all of us to a tee isn’t it?

I like to think that I’m a student of human nature, but my guess is that I’m just as blind as the next guy when it comes to recognizing the gifts I’m given.  Instead of simply being grateful, I point to what others are given and talk about how little they deserve it.  Look around you, you may also see what I mean.  We’re surrounded by examples.  You can probably find one if you try…

“Twenty dollars.”  I paid the man and later threw away the case and added the guitar to my ever-growing collection.

I’m hoping someday to find plans for an art project that calls for electric guitars without pickups, trumpets with missing valves or slides, and moldy saxophones with broken keys.  Any suggestions?

The Genuine Article!

~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

He was back again today.  When he said, “I hope you’re doing well”, I think he meant, “I hope your doctor got the meds straightened out.”  Stradivarius violin discussion, Part 2.  This time with new evidence.  Really irrefutable evidence.  Three knockout punches!

1) “My Dad says it’s real, because he’s read the label.”  Even the following quote from the Smithsonian didn’t make much of a dent  “Therefore, the presence of a Stradivarius label in a violin has no bearing on whether the instrument is a genuine work of Stradivari himself.”  Dad said it!  Who is this Smithsonian organization anyway? 
2) “My Grandpa found it in an attic around 1900.”  Me:  “Stradivari built his violins in the late 1600’s and the early 1700’s.  Thousands upon thousands of fakes had already been made in the intervening 200 years.” Still no help…
3) “It has a real wood case and only the genuine Stradivarius violins had that case.”  Now, the fact that I could show him that eBay has these things available at $20 was helpful here...But still he was not convinced.

As he left, muttering that Grandpa and Dad both couldn’t be mistaken, and promising to get the violin to an appraiser to prove me wrong, it struck me…We all do that!  In the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, we believe what we want to believe.  Hey!  As I write this in the wee hours of the morning, not two miles away from me there are Don Quixotes throwing chips at the roulette wheels at the casino, knowing that it’s a fool’s game, but believing that this time, it will be different for them. (“To dream, the impossible dream…” Sung in the key of B-flat busted…)

“Statistics!  Phtooey!  Who needs ’em?  I’ve got a feeling that tonight’s the night!  Besides that, Jack’s cousin’s girlfriend’s brother won $10,000 out here a week ago (or was it a year?).  I’ll win for sure!”

We laugh, both at the Stradivarius guy and the Casino guy, but I’m convinced that we all need a little of that.  No, I’m not saying that we should live our lives based on the ridiculous falsehoods of easy money and hidden treasure.  What I am saying is that hopes and dreams are amazing motivators and, kept in perspective, goad us on to do things we might never attempt otherwise.  “Hope springs eternal in the human breast…” is not just the first line of an old, dead piece of prose, but it’s true.  We always hope for better, always believe that we can do more, and always reach for the future.  (And yes, I know there are times when the flame of hope dies down, but that’s a discussion for another time.)

Twenty-five years ago this month, I sat in the living room at the late Dr. Marc Gilbert’s house, having gone to him for advice about leaving the steady job I had (and really wasn’t fond of) and buying a faltering music store in the small town in which I live.  Dr. Gilbert advised strongly against it.  “The numbers just aren’t there.  You’ll be much better off staying where you are.”  But he, wise man that he was, also inquired, “You really want to do this, don’t you?”  Boy, did I ever!  The early years I had spent in music and the few years previous when I had worked in this very store were all I needed to know that this was it!  This was what I was made for!  Not a huge aspiration, as aspirations go, but it was mine!  And he, listening to me talk, knew a dream when he heard it and simply said, “Well you already know it won’t make you rich.  But it looks like it will make you happy.”  Yep!  Right on both counts, Dr. Gilbert!  But still loving it and thankful to the Lord for making it possible.

“There’s a time I can recall
Four years old and three feet tall
Trying to touch the stars and the cookie jar
And both were out of reach…”  (from “Reaching” by Carolyn Arends)

“A man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s a Heaven for?” (Robert Browning)

Aim higher!  Whether it’s cookies or stars you’re reaching for, you can’t get to them standing flat-footed in one place.  Even if you’re on the right track, you’ll get run over if you just stand there.

Keep hoping!  It’s even okay to look for the Stradivarius violin, but honestly, unless it’s just for entertainment,  the casino’s not gonna work out.

The Special for Tonight Is…

~ Paul Phillips ~ 2 Comments

I’m hungry! 

As I write this, it’s after midnight and I can’t figure out why I’m even thinking about food.  I had a little snack at 11:30 and drank a glass of fruit juice.  So why should I want to eat anything else?  Well, the problem is that I’m going for a blood test in the morning and it’s one of the “fasting” kinds (can’t figure out that word…Usually, the time just drags when I’m not eating. It’s not fast at all…).  So no food until after they stick the needle in my arm sometime after 7:00 AM.  I always think that a Honey Bun would be smart before that, just to keep me from getting queasy while watching…

What I want to know is, what is it about being told not to do something that makes me want to do it desperately?  Most nights, I can go from that little snack before midnight until 11:30 or later the next morning without craving a bite. But tonight, I just really need a little something right now!

I’m gonna blame this one on Eve…I know, not very gallant (nor even doctrinally sound), but she’s the bad example I point to when I need to rationalize my shortcomings in the area of forbidden food.  God:  “Of all the trees in the Garden, you may eat, but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, you may not eat.”  Eve:  “Adam, I want that fruit. Pick me one, will you please?  Pretty Please?”  So I’m in good company, when I say, “I’m hungry!” 

The blood test?  Oh, just my semi-annual sacrifice of blood so that my doctor, who I love, can have an excuse to castigate (I know, that even sounds medical, doesn’t it) me for my lack of exercise and self-control in dietary intake.  Well actually, I like what my oh-so-fit, run-til-it-hurts, don’t-be-a-crybaby sister-in-law said to me once.  “Paul, you don’t need to eat less (that’s the part I like!), you just need to exercise more (not so much that part…).  But the good doc, to his credit, keeps believing me when I say, “I’ll do better this time, I promise!  Yes, I understand what I need to do.  No, I do not need to take those pills!”

And now the Day-of-Reckoning has once more arrived and I’ve not walked, biked, or jogged more than three times in the last two months.  The trips to La Juerta (I love the guacamole) and La Capilla (ditto), to say nothing of Fratelli’s (Chicken Florentine is to die for, of course, not literally), have been pretty frequent lately too, so the conclusion is the ever present foregone one;  The cholesterol will be high, the triglycerides even higher. However, I’m pretty sure that the sodium levels will be within the acceptable limits.  Do you suppose that will placate him?  Will he even compliment me about my self control in not adding salt to my food?  Nooo!…He’ll just have to focus on that cholesterol number being higher than the number of candles on Uncle Sam’s birthday cake last July 4th.  And after he’s scolded me for awhile, I’ll tell him that I’ll do better next time and I understand what I need to do.  Oh!  And I don’t need those pills!  Did I tell you that I love my doctor?

So, like the night before any big exam, I’m not sleeping, but I’m not cramming either (food, that is).  At this point, a walk through town seems unproductive (it’s raining anyway), so here I sit, craving food that I can’t have.  Anybody have a Twinkie?

Why am I hungry again?

Going no place…at the speed of life

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

“I just wanted to check,” came the band director’s voice through the phone.  “Have you had my student’s instrument for a week and not fixed it yet?”  I’m in shock and reply, “She brought it in yesterday afternoon and I did the repairs last night!  What do you mean a week?”

And the realization hit…my reputation is in the hands of seventh graders, who do what they have to when it comes to staying out of trouble.  How is that possible?  Can’t I get some sort of insurance, some sort of certificate of merit that exempts me from these pitfalls?  You work for a lifetime building a professional reputation and some teeny-bopper tears it all down with one falsehood.  Well, I admit, it’s not as bad as that…I have been known to take a very long time on instrument repairs (although never more than 3 years), and the lifetime I’ve worked for my reputation has been interrupted at frequent intervals by periods of carelessness and just plain indifference. But still…

I guess what  bugs me is that I want to make a difference to the kids, their parents, and yes, even their band directors.  But I’m one of those nuts who has to bat a thousand, has to get it right with every person who comes in my door.  Unrealistic?  You bet!  But it’s what makes me tick, so the disappointment that any normal person would shrug off bogs me down, making me try to find a “fix”, a way to rectify the situation.

Don’t worry, though.  I’m better now and ready to get on with my life in spite of the setback.  I’ll get up tomorrow and remind myself that I least I didn’t disappoint my Grandma by becoming a bum, as I threatened to do many years ago.  Then, I’ll resume my work of helping young minds full of mush (sorry, Mr Limbaugh) become the disciplined musicians of tomorrow (even if it does mean that they want to become a metal guitarist and emulate Dimebag Darrell).

Honestly, which one of us hasn’t at one time or another thought that we would change the world?  We just knew that if we had a stage and an audience, we’d convince every single person within the sound of our voice to come around to our point of view.  But what happens is that, like the fellow I tried to convince that his violin was not actually a Stradivarius simply because the label said so, they look at you wondering if your medicine dosage isn’t right and go on believing their own truth.

So I can’t fix all of them, but I’ll settle for the knowledge that I’m doing my best to impact as many as possible. We might not straighten out the world, but we can sure make an impression on those who cross our paths.  All that’s ever required of us is to live by the Light we’ve been given. 

Oh, and when the little girl came to pick up her instrument, I told her what had been repaired and showed her how to avoid a repeat visit, without ever mentioning my conversation with her band director.  I’m thinking that 13 year old girls already have enough drama in their lives without me adding to it…

Going to check my medicine labels now…

On The Way…

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

Well, I’ve finally done it!  You know…Taken leave of my…Well, it’s been a long time coming, but the day has come when it will be proven to the world that this guy’s not playing with a full deck…his elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top…he’s not the brightest crayon in the box…not even the sharpest knife in the set. 

I have things to say and finally have set up a soapbox on which to stand, a pulpit from which to preach, if you will.  I’m guessing that what I have to say will be of interest to very few people, but maybe the process of getting it written down will relieve the pressure in my brain.  I’ve maintained for the last few years that the mass of trivia with which the cranium was filled in earlier years is impeding the input of new information (at least that’s my excuse for forgetting names and appointments, along with various other semi-important information).  Perhaps the cathartic exercise of blogging will act as a relief valve and finally allow the retrieval of new information. 

If your expectation is to read an entertaining blog on a regular basis, good luck!  The ramblings of an old nut hardly fit that description, but there may be a statement of interest to read now and again.  Even a blind man with a rifle hits the target sometimes (it’s just the shots in between that keep you on edge).

I won’t waste your time telling you who I am.  If the writing proceeds as it should, you’ll figure that out as we go along.  For now, I’ll just say that I’m a fifty-something man, who sometimes is surprised at how fast he’s arrived at this time of life and wonders what has been accomplished.  Other times, I have lucid moments when I see the progression and am amazed at how full my life has been.  That seems to be the conundrum we all live with; the satisfaction, along with the longings for what might have been.  Overlying the confusion is the sure affirmation that God is in control, which is a real solace, considering the ineptitude I  frequently show in situations where maturity and skill are required.

In case you haven’t also noticed, I’m fairly long-winded, which fits rather nicely with the loopy part of me.  Maybe an editor will have to be found, but for now, skim the lines and glean anything worth keeping.  I’ll write of many things, about most of which I know very little.  You’ll be amazed at the acuity I show in demonstrating my ignorance!

Keep the straight-jacket handy!