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On July 14, 1914, my dad was born to immigrant parents in New York City. He lived to be 104, and his father  survived to 94, so I guess I’m genetically headed toward 114. That will be in early March, 2054, just 29 years away.

Though it was  was never discussed, I believe  Dad, in his youth, wasn’t a great student in traditional school subjects. And yet, because he showed musical aptitude,  he became  a very successful studio musician. His choice of instrument was entirely pragmatic. His parents asked his music teacher which instrument he  could play to earn a good living.  The French Horn (Voltone) was not popular at the time, and at age 18 Dad became the  solo horn player at the Minneapolis Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Eugene Ormandy. That was quite an improvement over his own father’s employment, a piece-work tailor in the New York sweatshops. Literally – a sweatshop! There was no air conditioning in the early 1900’s.

When I pause to think about it, I have enormous respect for Dad’s life choices. And while he insisted that my younger brother and I  learn to play an instrument, he discouraged us from pursuing  a career in music.  In retrospect, he was absolutely correct.

There is a well worn joke about a young  man who said, “When I was 18 my father didn’t know anything. But by the time I was 23 he had learned a lot.

And so,  this is   a “Thank you” note.

Thanks, Dad, for your guidance and support. You were an exemplary father, and I have done my best to emulate you. Your example, and your advice, have been at the center of my success. While I did not inherit your deft touch in the stock market, I’ve done well finding s investments that work for me.

I hope you know that I love and respect you.

Thank you, Dad.

P.S.  Regarding the photo, my mother played the trumpet professionally in the 1930’s.

Alan

Whenever I’m planning to leave for a vacation, people inevitably ask if I’m “looking forward” to the trip.

As I’ve shared before, this question takes me by surprise because I live in the moment. I focus on what is happening now, rather than in some unknowable future. This enables me to remain curious and open-minded to whatever opportunities and experiences come along.

I’ve noticed that, over the years, I’ve enjoyed both “Town” and “Gown.”  I enjoy the “real” practical world of non-academic, business and work. That’s the “Town” part.

The “Gown” part is Academia.  Perhaps that explains why, throughout my business career, I have continued to attend classes and seminars in the afternoon and evening. In this way I went on to obtain an M.S. in Education and an M.A. in professional writing – in addition to my original accounting and law degrees.

I knew a doctor who, after he retired, enjoyed attending classes at UCLA Extension. Just because someone is engaged in a particular career, or retired, doesn’t mean they have to close themselves off to other pursuits.

All of the above is leading me to reveal that – yes – Daveen and I are taking a cruise from Vancouver to Alaska, leaving later this month. To be clear, however, at this moment I’m enjoying writing my blog, and nothing else.

So I assume that soon you will hear from me writing from Sitka or Juneau.  Also, for one week in August, we will be at the Edinburgh Festival —enjoying many theatrical performances. Ten years ago I began writing this blog in Edinburgh — in my hotel room between performances. It’s been a wonderful ride.

But I can put my normal life on “hold” for just so long, and not forever. I still have things to do and people to see.

Not to mention many more blogs to write.

Alan

I’m sitting in my family room on Sunday afternoon, alternating between watching the Wimbledon tennis tournament on television, and the wind wafting through the trees in my backyard. Frankly, I’m not sure which is more engrossing.

Tennis is tennis.  I don’t think I need to explain that one, other than to note that generally I cheer for the American.  Or the underdog.  And for many years the Americans have been both.

Woof.

Back to the trees.

First, I should mention that yesterday I actually took a closer look at a blade of grass. Grass. That’s something we walk on but seldom observe closely.  Perhaps this blog is really about paying attention.

Back to the trees, waving in the wind.  At least ten different shades of green. Beautiful.  And, in the breeze, it seemed as if the trees were having a conversation.

“Meet you at the park,” one said.

“I love to watch the children play,” another added.

It was a perfect afternoon for a convocation of trunks, branches, and leaves in my backyard forest, on an early summer afternoon in Southern California.

I’ve read that in music the pauses between the notes are just as important as the notes themselves.  In conversation the pauses signify that we are taking turns, listening to one another and sharing information, feelings and ideas.  In nature the movement of the leaves lets us know that we are alive and aware, and in the presence of a force that is as awe-inspiring as it is invisible -– the wind. Like life itself, also remarkable, and, in many respects, invisible.

What can I bring to this windy afternoon?

My attention.

I’m remembering the end of Arthur Miller’s play Death of a Salesman, in which his widow reminds us that, even to her mess of a husband,  “attention must be paid.”

The universe is large. But everything depends upon our paying attention. To the leaves fluttering in the sunlight.

Alan