Month: September 2024

The topic of “things I’ll probably never do” includes the F-1 pilot idea and several others I discussed here. Written over six years ago, the actual topic is politics. One dear, late friend proclaimed it the best thing I’d written. Another said, more or less, “You’re wrong.” The two had an unusual connection that will go into the unwritten small world blog. A search of all posts reveals that I haven’t written about today’s topic although I could’ve sworn…

Tango. I love it. Some decades ago, my son, before leaving for two years on a church mission, purchased a CD called simply Tango (1996) by Julio Iglesias. It won a Grammy nomination and an American Music Award in 1998 when up against Iglesias’s son, Enrique. Was that awkward? Millions of copies sold in spite of the horrible cover photo. All others are better. For the next two years, I listened at least once on most of my drives around the metroplex. Hundreds of times, and then the child came home, the CD went missing, and I didn’t hear it until last week when said child played it again. These days, YouTube has the entire work, free with ads. We enjoyed a bit of nostalgia because I had thought of the lost album but didn’t know how to find it. Julio’s name had gone missing from my brain.

Some were and remain favorites: “La Cumparsita” (the little parade); “El Choclo” (the corn cob); and “Mano a Mano” (hand in hand). One “Cambalache”) I had to skip because it begins with a heavy metal riff before returning to the familiar accordion/orchestral instrumentation.

Did I ever do anything about this passion? No. It was before YouTube, of course, so how would I possibly learn? Here is a tutorial for American tango. This Argentine version seems easy, maybe too easy, and maybe skip the first 30 seconds as a little too sexy.

Rudolph Valentino introduced the tango to Americans in his 1921 movie The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. It’s an anti-war film, shot just after World War I, with a complicated plot involving French and German families. Valentino was a relatively unknown Italian actor until then, but he became the era’s sex symbol and the tango a sensation. He died in 1926 when only 31 years old. My grandmother talked about him, though I don’t know her opinion of him. The details of his life are, well, complicated.

The chief figure in tango composition remains Carlos Gardel. In Tango, four of the twelve pieces are his. Born in France in 1890, he went to Buenos Aires when a baby because his mother was not married and could say she was a widow there. His birth name was Charles Gardès, and when his father arrived in Argentina years later, his mother declined the marriage. Gardel died in a plane crash when he was 45.

Now for movies. Here are seven clips from a variety of films, including several familiar ones. The last features Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers in a rather chaste version.  The Tango Lesson (1997) is a semi-autobiographical film about a woman writing a film but encounters writer’s block and decides to take lessons from a gifted dancer. Here is Tom of Tom and Jerry fame, dancing with a bear, and a door, and a clock. They are doing “La cumparsita,” acknowledged as the most famous tango tune.

So, what do I like about this rather seductive pastime? Perhaps it’s the dancers’ postures. They carry themselves beautifully if you’ve watched the clips. Perhaps it’s the shoes, here in a decidedly non-sexy version.

Perhaps it’s best explained in this review of The Tango Lesson from critic Roger Ebert: “Most dances are for people who are falling in love. The tango is a dance for those who have survived it and are still a little angry about having their hearts so mishandled. The Tango Lesson is a movie for people who understand that difference.” Case in point: Cinderella (2015) has this waltz scene. Beautiful dress, beautiful people, lots of sparkles. But no fire. And at times, one wants a bit of that.

Anglish. The word doesn’t autocorrect to English though the sound seems familiarly Texan. My new favorite podcast, Everything Everywhere,  included the term in an episode on French origins of the English language. Hundreds of years of history packed into 17 minutes. My history knowledge is shallow and sketchy at best, though I hope to be stopped on the street and asked when the Declaration of Independence was signed. (Go to 1:16 if you like.) So, yes, I knew about the Norman Conquest (1066) when the French took over England and ruled for hundreds of years, speaking French because they were. And I know that our language is ridiculously hard partly because it’s made up of so many others. Most words, however, are from Anglo-Saxon, French, Latin, and Greek.

Consider this sentence: “The prince, dressed in a lilac shirt and khaki pants, boiled the beef jerky with potatoes in a cauldron because Santa Claus would want to consume a substantial meal before downing his pecan and vanilla sugar cookies.” Most of the words are foreign-based, but not just from French or other European languages. I did this myself.

The same sentence in Anglish: “The king’s son, clad in a light purple shirt and brownish trousers, boiled the dried meat with earth apples in a big pot, for Father Christmas would want to eat a hefty meal before taking down his nut and sweet-root biscuits.” Thank you, ChatGPT, for removing all those loan words and substituting simpler, Anglo-Saxon ones.

Known as linguistic purism, this approach seeks to replace foreign words with common ones. And for that I had to learn inkhorn term: “a loanword, or a word coined from existing roots, which is deemed to be unnecessary or over-pretentious.” Escargots are also, equally, snails. Both are lumps of chewy clay in garlic butter. (A triumph! That sentence is in Anglish.)

Next, we go to the world of music. As my church goes about introducing new hymns to the hymnbook, many are not new at all just new to our use. Asked to play recently, I chose “His Eye Is On the Sparrow.” Sort of a catchy tune and a message from the New Testament (Matthew 10:29-31 and John 14:27). As it happens, the song is old and well-known. The Tabernacle Choir sings it here. Here is Whitney Houston. A Mississippi children’s choir with soloists. Gladys Knight, who is a member of my church as I tell you yearly. Ethel Waters in the 1952 movie The Member of the Wedding with her explanation of what she planned to sing and why, a usual unaccompanied version. So many others, from Sister Act 2 to Michael Jackson to Tennessee Ernie Ford. Someone turned to me after we sang it on Sunday (I’d been sick and couldn’t practice), I said I thought it was too slow and not heart-felt. I’m 0-2 for not playing when asked, but if again I have the opportunity, I’ll suggest something I can do well, which isn’t that gospel song. Current favorite is “This Is the Christ.” We can make it work. Slow is okay.

In other random news, we have an event beginning Sunday—a new mini-moon. It has a number but no name, 2024 PT. Coming from a group of asteroids called the Arjunas, PT is about the size of a school bus. After two months, back it goes to its group. The orbit isn’t like our Luna (the Latin term; our moon’s name is…Moon) but erratic and irregular. We are not in danger. Apparently, the phenomenon isn’t even rare. At any one time, the moon will have minis that have stayed for as long as two years. These are no more than three yards in diameter, invisible to us even with binoculars or amateur telescopes. What might it be like to peak over the sky’s limit and see what’s beyond? A few have, and Tracy Dyson came home safely today. She was smiling as they carried off the craft.

Today I had my first root canal. We’ll not speak of it further, but now I know why the phrase gets into common parlance: “I’d rather have a root canal than…” Poor endodontists. This one rails against the unjust bottom-of-the-heap worse-than designation. And it’s not that anyone was unkind, and it’s not that it hurt. I did not enjoy the experience. Frankly, I hope never to see those people again. This is somewhat representative of my reaction: I wouldn’t even be able to recognize the endodontist who worked on my (very little) mouth except maybe the top of her ponytail.

As if affected by the gas, for which I paid extra, I’ll randomize briefly. (Is that even a word?) Commonly called “laughing gas,” nitrous oxide is not for pain—there’s not any—but for anxiety. In retrospect, I probably didn’t need it. I wasn’t anxious or fearful. A topical deadener makes the two shots easy, or easier anyway. But what’s $100? As noted, hopefully never again…

The tech put the mask device in my nose, and for some reason, I suddenly wished my grandmother was with me. She’s been gone since 1970, but, as is common, I miss her more than anyone for some things. Suddenly, we were resting on her bed—the one I sleep in now—and she’s teaching me a relaxation technique. “Imagine you’re floating on a soft, pink cloud…” it began. It was my heart that hurt, and I began to cry. (Note to self: Never say one day “I don’t cry easily” because the next day you will.) The color my grandmother chose for her bedroom was “Ashes of roses,” a Victorian shade you can still request—not a pink like we see today but a softened, grayed one. But she wasn’t holding my hand, and I got through it.

Back to the crying. With my head made accessible to the endodontist, the tears rolled into my ears. “Hurray!” thinks I—a title. When researching, I learned that, of course, it isn’t original. In 1950, Homer and Jethro made a recording of “Tears in My Ears.” Perhaps you can imagine the result. It’s awful. You can listen to it here, if you dare, or read the lyrics here. Life is reality based, and the title will have to do even though I now know it’s in a subgenre of bad lyrics. Check out this book title, available on Amazon for $1.21: I’ve Got Tears in My Ears from Lyin’ in My Bed While I Cry over You: Country Music’s Best (and Funniest) Lines (1992) by Paula Shwed. The blurb describes the “hilarious compendium of country music song titles and lyrics encompasses one hundred immortal lines, including ‘I bought the shoes that just walked out on me’ and ‘You’re the reason our children are ugly.’” Groans all around.

Last weekend, a friend and I drove to San Angelo to our high school reunion. I remain puzzled at loud music at such events because all we want to do is talk. The meal will be chicken, the lights will be dim, and the nametags will be necessary. Facebook has been a boon to staying connected. But there are still things to learn about people. Laine Farley worked as a digital librarian, which I knew, but she also collects bookmarks. I do, too, but not in a serious, thoughtful way. We didn’t have much of a conversation, but brief research revealed this blog she wrote which includes lovely examples.

Another theme I’ll complete later involves small world stories. The Sunday morning memorial breakfast was at Olive’s Nursery, owned by our dear Tommy and Debbie Olive. We could hear and see each other, with sunglasses. It wasn’t 102, which it could have been, and there were lots of fresh breakfast burritos—chorizo, bacon, potato, but no chicken. There are too many names of the departed to read aloud by now. A few people gave brief tributes, but the only invited recognition went to Billie Jean Lacy, twin sister of our student council vice-president, Bobby Lacy. He died in April. At the last reunion, we had a lovely conversation. His was a remarkable life. His obituary is beautifully written, ebullient, hopeful. A life well lived is a life well loved—I think that’s what Tommy said. My colleague at Thanks-Giving Square, Don Robinson, also grew up in San Angelo. It happens that the Lacys are long-time friends. He’d kept up with Bobby via Facebook. They’d all attended the church Don’s father M.E. Robinson pastored, Antioch First Missionary Baptist Church.

One more image—today at Costco, I saw a young man preparing his sample tray. His name badge said CALVIN. He had on a hair net. As with the dentist, I never saw his face because his head was bent down. Suddenly, though, I felt the struggles of his life, the pain of making his way in the world. I think perhaps that’s where the tears began. Had he looked up, I would have smiled at him.

Since Friday, September 6, at 6 pm, I have told seven people I had a transformative experience. It’s a strong word and people want to understand what happened. The answer is both simple (the what) and complicated (the how). I just spoke to a friend who also found the experience “deeply moving and affecting–immediately calming.” It was, and still is, for me as well.

The event was a speaker, Sis. Shivani. She represents the Brahma Kumaris association as a motivational speaker. Educated in India as an engineer, she joined the group in her early 20s. The Wikipedia link doesn’t have much information. The BK page has a good bit more about the history, beliefs, and practices. It wouldn’t be accurate to say they are an offshoot of Hinduism; meditation marks the initial premise, but it would be possible to agree with many tenets without having a belief in God.

We were a group of 50 at Thanks-Giving Square. She has millions of followers, so our experience was incredibly intimate. Her appearances in Allen and Arlington drew tens of thousands. People who knew each other sat together. Her people sat around the edge of the room on ledges. She began with the greeting Om shanti which means “eternal peace for all mankind.” [Literature types will recognize the “shantih” from T. S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land,” a work so full of allusions that it makes the head spin; it is a work to be experienced, not completely understood.] She then led us through a meditation not unlike this one. Her voice has a deep alto timbre, beautiful, confident, reassuring; her hands graceful and thin. Her white robes are of a material that almost reflects light.

A pause. I once refused to stand and recite a pledge at a luncheon when I had no idea what would be said. This was nothing like that. Sis. Shivani’s meditation allowed us to explore with her the power of the mind to control not only itself but, after calming itself, to turn away stress, any kind of negativity really. I didn’t have the feeling of being manipulated, as at that luncheon. I was willing to suspend disbelief as she spoke of purity and cleansing, forgiveness and healing.

As the meeting continued, I knew I was sorting out what was unfamiliar from what was the essence of Christianity. For example, forgiveness is essential on many levels. Volumes written on it. But the how and why became clearer as Sis. Shivani taught us how to take the pure energy of a purified mind, decide not to be offended or hurt or angered, and then not only forgive but also heal the person who would otherwise create havoc within us. And from one person, outward to the world.

It’s not that I agree with everything Sis. Shivani teaches. In her book The Power of One Thought, she writes, “Ultimately, your destiny depends only on your own thoughts.” Elsewhere, however, she says, “The moment we get rid of ego, our world becomes beautiful, both on the inside and the outside.” As a leader of my church once said, “Forget yourself and go to work.” [His father actually, telling him to quit whining.] But on miracles, Sis. Shivani writes, “A miracle is nothing but an outcome of channelizing the power of our thoughts to get what we want. The human mind is so powerful it can overturn medical prognosis, astrological predictions, planetary influences, public opinions, lack of resources or any other unfavourable situation.” My kids went through a phase with Napoleon Hill’s Think and Grow Rich (1937), with similar principles that none of us has been able to implement just yet. Don’t let that comparison diminish her statement; both happen to assess the power we have over ourselves.

When I spoke to Sis. Shivani, as we all did briefly, I just said, “You speak much truth. Thank you.” I felt a change, a transformation, which is more difficult to share. Have you ever called a friend to vent? The offense can be anything—a personal slight or egregious offense. The level doesn’t even matter. That it “gets” to us should. How wonderful for three full days to have felt (mostly anyway) freed from my own reactions. Today someone called me with an arrest warrant scam. We never got to the money which was inevitably coming, but the scammer eventually hung up on me not because I was clever or conquering. I think he just got tired. [Don’t bother with “Why did you even answer?” I know already.] And I don’t think I healed him with good thoughts, but I can almost forgive him. He should still go to jail. Sis. Shivani said that the law of the land must happen as well as the law of karma, explained by Bruce Reichenbach: “Simply formulated, it states that all actions have consequences which will affect the doer of the action at some future time.”

Full circle and bottom line: What I heard can make me a better Christian. For my Jewish and Muslim friends in attendance, it can make them better in their own quests and practices. For example, the principle of turning the other cheek (Matthew 5:39) is easily misunderstood. We aren’t supposed to be doormats. Returning anger for hurt doesn’t help. With a slight adjustment, the joy of light can, in yielding, not feel harm but cure the offender.

There’s more to say, but I hope you can see it in me rather than read it here.