Monday, August 16, 2010
Death and Dying.
I'm obsessed with death. When I was young a lot of people at various stages of life died in a variety of ways. My greatgrandfather (heart attack), a young girl my age (rare blood disease), my aunt (murdered). I suppose when I was early death seemed scary and incomprehensible.
In the years that have follwoed I've lost friends and co-workers in a variety of ways:
work place:
maintanence worker (fell to his death) age 22
Sybil (lukemia) age 52
Amy (murdered) age 27
friends:
Kennedy (heart attack) age 41
Don (heart attack) age 55
And death has been my greatest teacher when it comes to trying to figure out how to live. (Nothing like having someone you care about yanked from you -- forever -- to wonder if it isn't time to live a better life, right now.) First and foremost I learned that dying is a process (and usually a lengthy one). Second, death is instantaneous.
So where does the living fit in? And how does living impact dying/death? A discussion on these topics is being reserved for future posts. Right now I'm knee-deep in bittersweet removal and working just enough to pay the bills. (Within a couple of months all of this will change drastically.)
And in a couple of months I'll be heading to Menla to participate in The Art of Dying IV. And the thrifty Scot seeing an opportunity got her tail in gear and headed up to Menla for 2 days of work/trade. If you're ever heading off to a weekend-long workshop you might want to consider work/trade. Basically, the hours worked are deducted from the tuition. I like work/trade for a number of reasons. First there's the economic angle: I can save a bit of scratch. Second, and this is almost more important, I can get a real sense of the place and interact with the staff. Third, I end up having a deeper connection to a place once I've worked there.
I spent part of a rainy afternoon bagging trail mix for an influx of incoming retreatants. (I'm not sure retreatants is a word or perhaps it's better used when referring to an army that has recently lost a battle and is fleeing.) The next day was sunny and spent in the garden. I worked with Gordon, this season's head gardener, and when I asked him what to do he said, "Do what you're drawn to. Have fun." That might have been the best direction I've been given in years and my heart swelled. Then I got down to business. It wasn't until I was turning the compost and weeding that I realized I miss farming. There's also still some of that need to dig ditches that continues to course through my veins. The bittersweet removal has been fulfilling that aspect but... The bittersweet removal will end, my life will go on, and I'm just about to go full-on country. By that I mean, eke out a living doing lots of odd jobs and figure out how to get off the grid. Ok so maybe I'm not going country, maybe I'm about to go Grizzly Adams. Maybe it wasn't such a great idea to read My Side of the Mountain when I was 8 years old. The again I also loved The Phantom Tollbooth. What I'm trying to get at here -- how can I live the life of the mind in a rural setting? If I figure that one out I'll be one totally satisfied human being.
And when I'm up late staring at the ceiling (as in later tonight) I might have to re-think reading and children's literature. It's possible that books have ruined my mind by making me think that I can step out of this exceptionally square world and be happy. The world is round, right? So it's time to live round.
In the years that have follwoed I've lost friends and co-workers in a variety of ways:
work place:
maintanence worker (fell to his death) age 22
Sybil (lukemia) age 52
Amy (murdered) age 27
friends:
Kennedy (heart attack) age 41
Don (heart attack) age 55
And death has been my greatest teacher when it comes to trying to figure out how to live. (Nothing like having someone you care about yanked from you -- forever -- to wonder if it isn't time to live a better life, right now.) First and foremost I learned that dying is a process (and usually a lengthy one). Second, death is instantaneous.
So where does the living fit in? And how does living impact dying/death? A discussion on these topics is being reserved for future posts. Right now I'm knee-deep in bittersweet removal and working just enough to pay the bills. (Within a couple of months all of this will change drastically.)
And in a couple of months I'll be heading to Menla to participate in The Art of Dying IV. And the thrifty Scot seeing an opportunity got her tail in gear and headed up to Menla for 2 days of work/trade. If you're ever heading off to a weekend-long workshop you might want to consider work/trade. Basically, the hours worked are deducted from the tuition. I like work/trade for a number of reasons. First there's the economic angle: I can save a bit of scratch. Second, and this is almost more important, I can get a real sense of the place and interact with the staff. Third, I end up having a deeper connection to a place once I've worked there.
I spent part of a rainy afternoon bagging trail mix for an influx of incoming retreatants. (I'm not sure retreatants is a word or perhaps it's better used when referring to an army that has recently lost a battle and is fleeing.) The next day was sunny and spent in the garden. I worked with Gordon, this season's head gardener, and when I asked him what to do he said, "Do what you're drawn to. Have fun." That might have been the best direction I've been given in years and my heart swelled. Then I got down to business. It wasn't until I was turning the compost and weeding that I realized I miss farming. There's also still some of that need to dig ditches that continues to course through my veins. The bittersweet removal has been fulfilling that aspect but... The bittersweet removal will end, my life will go on, and I'm just about to go full-on country. By that I mean, eke out a living doing lots of odd jobs and figure out how to get off the grid. Ok so maybe I'm not going country, maybe I'm about to go Grizzly Adams. Maybe it wasn't such a great idea to read My Side of the Mountain when I was 8 years old. The again I also loved The Phantom Tollbooth. What I'm trying to get at here -- how can I live the life of the mind in a rural setting? If I figure that one out I'll be one totally satisfied human being.
And when I'm up late staring at the ceiling (as in later tonight) I might have to re-think reading and children's literature. It's possible that books have ruined my mind by making me think that I can step out of this exceptionally square world and be happy. The world is round, right? So it's time to live round.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Come as you are.
I met Frank in the early 80s but I didn’t start to spend time with him until he helped me land me an internship at Relativity Records in the 90s. And when Relativity was bought by Sony I worked for a bit at the offices on 5th Ave. We went to a lot of shows together. I can’t even name half of them. I recall giving Frank a Promo copy of the 6ths album Wasps Nests. And later a poster from The Magnectic Fields album Get Lost. I remember a CMG show when Jeff Buckley shafted the Tindersticks (one of the opening acts) because he wanted to see a show so he moved his time slot an hour earlier. After Jeff Buckley played the venue completely emptied out save for 60 people who stuck around. Frank was among that small crowd. We heard a great set from an under-appreciated British band. I met Bob Moog at a record release party (Frank got me on the list).
Nothing like humidity and gray skies and a memorial service to send a person to the doldrums post haste.
Yesterday I went to a memorial service to celebrate the life of the late Frank Mazza. Frank was a Buddhist and a pacifist which did not deter him from joining the Marines. Luckily he enlisted in the early 80s so he was never sent into armed conflict. Yesterday three Marines in full-dress uniform arrived at the house to honor one of their departed. One played Taps while the other two folded the United States flag, Old Glory. Frank was rather unemotional and matter-of-fact and I didn’t anticipate any tears of my own but when the Marine handed the folded flag to Frank’s teary-eyed mother and father, I admit I was choked up. Everyone around me was crying. (I felt that if Frank had been there he would not have been crying. He just wasn’t that sort of person.)
As I moved among the friends and family I was searching for a way to honor Frank and when they started serving food I got my insight. “Eat.” “Eat a lot.”
Frank was not a foodie. Frank was particular. Frank ate a lot. He at from his own personal food pyramid: sushi, pizza, pastrami on rye, cookies, coca cola, and grape soda. (Please note the absence of fruits and vegetables in Frank’s diet.)
So I ate a lot. Even though I’m a vegetarian I had a small piece of pastrami on rye, lots of sushi, 2 pieces of Joe’s pizza, many cookies, and a glass of coke with ice. Oh and one piece of a yummy fruit tart (which I don’t think Frank would’ve eaten).
I can hold my own when it comes to big eaters, which is not to say I’m ready to enter Nathan’s hot dog eating contest but I’m sure I did Frank proud yesterday. (His only criticism might have been that I should have eaten more sushi.)
After I tossed my dietary restrictions out the window I spent the next several hours catching up with a lot of guys I hadn’t seen in over a decade. Other than gaining a few pounds and having a bit more gray hair, these guys were all surprisingly unchanged by the passage of time. I find that a bit odd. I don’t see life as a constant. I see life a huge adventure in which we meet our challenges head on. I see life as urging loved ones to live larger lives, to embrace change, to engage in interesting pursuits. It was really weird that everyone was still (more or less) doing the same thing they’d been doing back in the 90s. I couldn’t wrap my head around that.
Some of the guys wore t-shirts but when pressed on this (not by me) Mike Del Tufo who wore a Smiths t-shirt told this story. “I met Frank in a bar and I was wearing a Smiths t-shirt. Frank said, This Charming Man is one of the greatest songs ever written. Would you like me to sing it? Mike said, Sure. Frank walked over to the juke box selected the song and then sang it ‘note for note.’” Gene Gritzan wore a Radio Head t-shirt and replied, “Frank wouldn’t have cared how anyone dressed. Come as you are.”
Are you starting to get to know Frank a little bit here?
He liked to eat like a 10-year old boy but could pack it on like a man. He was an ardent follower of music. He was unabashed.
I suppose if I had one memory of Frank it’s that I never felt judged by him ever. That’s refreshing. It’s also something I wish I could offer other people. Sadly I’m a bit OCD when it comes to personal growth so I’m always pressing myself onward. Naturally any of my friends feel the force of this when they’re in my presence.
One of the big topics of conversation was Frank’s music collection. The guy assembled an impressive collection over a variety of genres. I think the collection should be donated to a school (or archive) that can appreciate the depth and scope of Frank’s taste. Sadly, it looks like the family is going to figure out what’s valuable (in terms of $$$) and will most likely dismantle the collection. In my opinion that’s a shame. In Frank’s opinion (and I’m guessing here) I don’t think he’d care too much either way. I’m going to see if I can agree with him in the coming months.
And before I sign off I will describe the circumstances of Frank’s death.
He went for his daily jog on Friday. He left the house without ID. When he failed to show up at his parent’s house Saturday morning his sister realized he was missing. She filed a missing person’s report and then started calling local hospitals. Monday he was located in the morgue, John Doe. During his jog he collapsed. A good Samaritan called an ambulance and Frank died en route to the hospital.
Frank was 52 years old when he died.
I take away from Frank's death the following:
1. You never nkow when you're going to die.
2. Eat like I mean it.
3. Eat with people I like and care about.
4. Don't sweat things too hard.
5. Actively participate in things that matter to me.
6. Don't leave the house without ID.
7. Contemplate my legacy: what do I want to leave behind?
I leave you with one of Frank’s favorite quotations.
“The only real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.” Marcel Proust.
R.I.P. Frank.
Nothing like humidity and gray skies and a memorial service to send a person to the doldrums post haste.
Yesterday I went to a memorial service to celebrate the life of the late Frank Mazza. Frank was a Buddhist and a pacifist which did not deter him from joining the Marines. Luckily he enlisted in the early 80s so he was never sent into armed conflict. Yesterday three Marines in full-dress uniform arrived at the house to honor one of their departed. One played Taps while the other two folded the United States flag, Old Glory. Frank was rather unemotional and matter-of-fact and I didn’t anticipate any tears of my own but when the Marine handed the folded flag to Frank’s teary-eyed mother and father, I admit I was choked up. Everyone around me was crying. (I felt that if Frank had been there he would not have been crying. He just wasn’t that sort of person.)
As I moved among the friends and family I was searching for a way to honor Frank and when they started serving food I got my insight. “Eat.” “Eat a lot.”
Frank was not a foodie. Frank was particular. Frank ate a lot. He at from his own personal food pyramid: sushi, pizza, pastrami on rye, cookies, coca cola, and grape soda. (Please note the absence of fruits and vegetables in Frank’s diet.)
So I ate a lot. Even though I’m a vegetarian I had a small piece of pastrami on rye, lots of sushi, 2 pieces of Joe’s pizza, many cookies, and a glass of coke with ice. Oh and one piece of a yummy fruit tart (which I don’t think Frank would’ve eaten).
I can hold my own when it comes to big eaters, which is not to say I’m ready to enter Nathan’s hot dog eating contest but I’m sure I did Frank proud yesterday. (His only criticism might have been that I should have eaten more sushi.)
After I tossed my dietary restrictions out the window I spent the next several hours catching up with a lot of guys I hadn’t seen in over a decade. Other than gaining a few pounds and having a bit more gray hair, these guys were all surprisingly unchanged by the passage of time. I find that a bit odd. I don’t see life as a constant. I see life a huge adventure in which we meet our challenges head on. I see life as urging loved ones to live larger lives, to embrace change, to engage in interesting pursuits. It was really weird that everyone was still (more or less) doing the same thing they’d been doing back in the 90s. I couldn’t wrap my head around that.
Some of the guys wore t-shirts but when pressed on this (not by me) Mike Del Tufo who wore a Smiths t-shirt told this story. “I met Frank in a bar and I was wearing a Smiths t-shirt. Frank said, This Charming Man is one of the greatest songs ever written. Would you like me to sing it? Mike said, Sure. Frank walked over to the juke box selected the song and then sang it ‘note for note.’” Gene Gritzan wore a Radio Head t-shirt and replied, “Frank wouldn’t have cared how anyone dressed. Come as you are.”
Are you starting to get to know Frank a little bit here?
He liked to eat like a 10-year old boy but could pack it on like a man. He was an ardent follower of music. He was unabashed.
I suppose if I had one memory of Frank it’s that I never felt judged by him ever. That’s refreshing. It’s also something I wish I could offer other people. Sadly I’m a bit OCD when it comes to personal growth so I’m always pressing myself onward. Naturally any of my friends feel the force of this when they’re in my presence.
One of the big topics of conversation was Frank’s music collection. The guy assembled an impressive collection over a variety of genres. I think the collection should be donated to a school (or archive) that can appreciate the depth and scope of Frank’s taste. Sadly, it looks like the family is going to figure out what’s valuable (in terms of $$$) and will most likely dismantle the collection. In my opinion that’s a shame. In Frank’s opinion (and I’m guessing here) I don’t think he’d care too much either way. I’m going to see if I can agree with him in the coming months.
And before I sign off I will describe the circumstances of Frank’s death.
He went for his daily jog on Friday. He left the house without ID. When he failed to show up at his parent’s house Saturday morning his sister realized he was missing. She filed a missing person’s report and then started calling local hospitals. Monday he was located in the morgue, John Doe. During his jog he collapsed. A good Samaritan called an ambulance and Frank died en route to the hospital.
Frank was 52 years old when he died.
I take away from Frank's death the following:
1. You never nkow when you're going to die.
2. Eat like I mean it.
3. Eat with people I like and care about.
4. Don't sweat things too hard.
5. Actively participate in things that matter to me.
6. Don't leave the house without ID.
7. Contemplate my legacy: what do I want to leave behind?
I leave you with one of Frank’s favorite quotations.
“The only real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.” Marcel Proust.
R.I.P. Frank.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Monday, May 31, 2010
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