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Sunday, December 18, 2005
Merry Christmas, baby
Ah…Christmas.
It’s still legal to say that in this country, isn’t it?
The Christmas season means different things to different people, and I would not presuppose to nail my feelings into your precious holiday memories. However, since this is my blog, and you are reading it, I will go ahead and share my feelings with you this season.
I hope that everyone is in touch with their family at this time of year. Since this time is all about some memories, and since most of our best and most important thoughts are tied into our childhood remembrances of Christmas, I wish that for each and every one of you. I am sitting here in SC wishing I was with my family this Christmas. I haven’t seen my brother or sister in many moons and I would really just like to sit and have some coffee with them and catch up on what’s going on. I would love to know what’s going on with my nieces and nephews, and their children whom I know exist but barely know as people. I am sitting and listening to some of the classics of Christmas music, and some of my obscure favorites as well. It’s amazing to me how much these old cheesy songs can reach down and touch our souls to the point of making us an emotional wreck and keeping us from doing really important things…like getting the cards out, and trimming the tree and hanging the lights on the house, and braving the malls to get that perfect gift for that special someone.
For me, Christmas is all about memories. It was the last time I can remember that my entire family got together that wasn’t a funeral. I can remember all my nieces and nephews opening gifts with me, and I can remember my aunts and uncles dropping by with gifts I hadn’t opened yet, and some more desserts to go with all the wonderful food that Mom and my sisters had made for the day. I remember football in the back yard, and how wonderful the house smelled. I remember the bright colors and lights, and the music. It’s funny to me how my perception and appreciation of Christmas music has changed in these past years. When I was a child, the old favorites rang in my ears, and I sang them with gusto whenever the season approached. My odes to Santa and Rudolph and baby Jesus would roll off my tongue with the greatest of ease and the maximum of joy.
Maybe that’s why folks get what they call the “Christmas Blues”.
I can see that.
Christmas, at least the secular celebration and annual vacation occasion that comes once a year, is a time when we remember more than anything. Christmas to the older, and those growing older, is a time for the young. If we’re lucky, we can relive the joys by watching the anticipation on our children and grandchildren’s faces as the magical day approaches, and vicariously relive our most wonderful times by observing them opening gifts and having the time of their lives. Ah, what glorious fun to be a child, isn’t it?
But that doesn’t change the steady tick of the clock, or the onslaught of age. It is no accident that the song that drove Bogie to drink in ”Casablanca” was a song called “As Time Goes By”. (Actually, it was love for a woman that drove him to drink, but that’s another blog entry for sure.) The relentless march of time is a judgment for which there is certainly no appeal. Christmas, for the aging, is a time to remember times gone by, and, just like our youth, lost forever and ever. By nature, that makes it very, very sad.
Christmas carols, to me as a musician, seem to be sad by design. Perhaps that is designed to force all of us to pause and consider things…
“When the dog bites, when the bee stings,
When I’m feeling sad,
I simply remember my favorite things, and little by little my heavy heart sings,
And then I don’t feel so bad.”
Thank you, Perry Como. Mama loved you, and I think you’re cool as well. But that seems to capture the feeling of the season. I mentioned earlier all of the family memories I cherish, and the reflections of my life and memories in the faces of my children and grandchildren. I do wonder about the poor folks who have no family at all at this time of year, who have no home or love or hope in their lives, and I wonder how they live day to day, much less this time of year. Hard to feel sorry for yourself when you consider that others have it much worse.
It’s been a hell of a year, friends and neighbors. There’s a war on terror, which, as necessary as it is, drives many folks mad trying to comprehend it. It was so much easier when evil had a real face that you could take a picture of. There is still much in this world of ours that could stand improvement, and most of that could occur by simply looking in a mirror and taking a heart-felt inventory. There is an onslaught of information from several sources…the Internet, evening news, radio, music, books, and blogs such as this one, which can overload our feeble minds as we attempt to assimilate and collate all the data blasting into our collective heads…..
As I type this, the wonderful piano of George Winston interpolating “Carol Of The Bells” has moved to the next track. Written hundreds of years ago by a genteel court composer in Germany, it remains, to this day, the most realistic human rendition of what choirs of angels must truly sound like. As I listen to the harmony, and the words, and the phenomenal, ingenious music, I think of what those shepherds watching the flocks by night must have heard all those thousands of years ago. I have the urge to raise my tired gaze skyward, and consider with heart and mind the true meaning of the season as it was taught to me as a young man. Some things never change, and when they do…well, there’s always room for improvement. But some things can never be improved upon. And the current example has been given to us by George Fredric Handel.
Hallelujah, Hallelujah!
For the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth,
And He shall reign for ever and ever.
Kings of Kings, and Lord of Lords,
Hallelujah, Hallelujah!
Reading it doesn’t do justice. Get a recording, and listen to the entire Hallelujah chorus very loud. When you’re done, listen to it again. And while you do, cast your eyes heavenward. Go ahead, give it a shot, you cynic. Look to the skies and attempt to perceive what this season, and this existence, is all about. Consider that there are greater things than can be conceived of in your philosophy. And consider why, after so many years, we’re still celebrating Christmas, for whatever reasons. Longevity says a lot, even to the heathens among us.
Think, and pause, and think again. And then call your family and friends. They’re waiting to hear from you.
Peace to all of you, and Merry Christmas. Be happy, and love somebody, even if it’s just yourself. And mean it when you do. really, really mean it. It's the only chance you get...make it count.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Tonight's the night
It is a pain only those who have experienced it can truly understand. It is a hollow feeling, like you haven’t eaten in five days and no food in sight. It is an emotional blow to the gut, like when the young lady that you believed was the love of your life tells you that not only do you not have a shot now, but that you never, ever will.
I am, of course, talking about being a sports fan in Houston.
The latest incarnation of the defeatist demon that plagues this wonderful town reared its ugly head Monday night, when the hometown Astros, who have never been to the World Series in their 45-year existence, had the defending NL champion St Louis Cardinals on the ropes. They had a 3-1 series lead, a 4-2 lead in the top of the ninth inning with two outs, and their nearly unhittable closer, Brad Lidge, on the mound with two strikes against the pesky Cardinal shortstop David Eckstein.
I was watching in my living room at home, and was beside myself with ecstasy. They’re finally going to do it, I remember saying. It’s really going to happen.
A couple of minutes later, I was face down on my hardwood floor, prostrate, tears in my eyes. I didn’t even have the air in my lungs to say, “What the hell just happened?”
Credit to Albert Pujols to coming up with a huge play when his team needed it most. Now that I’ve given him credit, he can go straight to Hell without passing Go and burn for all eternity. And he can say hello to past members of the Phillies, Mets, Braves, Bills, and Steelers when he gets there. There’s a special wing down there for those who crushed our dreams in Houston over the years. It’s not as big as the Red Sox wing, but it’s bigger than most.
And this has gone on for years. When the endless replays of the home run ran over and over again on television, all the old feelings came back.
The Astros blowing a lead with Nolan Ryan on the mound in 1980.
The Oilers losing twice to the Steelers in the AFC championship with Earl, Bum and the rest. Sure wish we had had instant replay then. I know Mike Renfro does.
The Astros in 86. What if we had got to Game 7, where Mike Scott would have owned the Mets once again? Maybe a routine grounder from Art Howe would have rolled through Bill Buckner's legs?
The Oilers and Bills. The greatest choke in sports history. Nuff said. I still say Don Beebe was out of bounds and came back in.
We got a brief taste in the mid 90's, thanks to Hakeem Olajuwon, Clyde Drexler and the rest of the Rockets. However, in most sports fans' minds, there will always be an asterisk next to those championships because those were the two years that Michael Jordan was retired.
The Oilers left town and became the Titans, who lost the Super Bowl by an arm's length to the Rams.
What seemed like an endless parade of playoff losses to the cocky Braves.
Losing last year to the Cardinals, and losing Beltran and Kent as well.
And now, the one-pitch-away-from-glory game. The one that got away.
So, what happens now? Roy Oswalt, winner of 40 plus games the past two seasons, gets the ball in what is without a doubt the most important game in franchise history. I can’t even imagine what it must feel like to have a generation’s worth of hopes and dreams of an entire city resting on your back. Go get ‘em, Oz. The Astro bats must come alive, and manager Scrapiron has got to guess right every single time.
And, should it come to it, Brad Lidge must take the ball at the end of the game and completely forget about the worst day of his life...day before yesterday.
Can they do it? Sure. Will they do it? The schizoid animal that is the Houston sports fan would answer that two ways. One side would say that it is their time, that they are in fact a team of destiny. The other would speak of curses and bad luck and summarize by saying, “C’mon, it’s the Astros.”
A man much wiser than me once said that faith was defined as believing in something when everything tells you not to. In that spirit, I join the faithful one more time on the razor’s edge, and will cheer my team on with every fiber of my being...at least that which is left after Monday night. The mere existence of the hell that we fans have been in dictates that there is in fact a heaven...and we’re going to get there. Today is as good a day as any.
Go Astros!!!!!
Thursday, September 29, 2005
The ill wind and the aftermath
I took somewhat of a personal interest in the two storms which ravaged the Gulf Coast this summer. Both of the hurricanes, especially Rita, came perilously close to my hometown and the majority of my family. I have always had a fascination with natural disasters for some reason (I'm sure I could pay someone to help me figure that one out sometime), but these storms brought it a little too close to home for me. Fortunately, the Houston-Galveston area was spared a direct hit, and my family is all safe if just a bit inconvenienced. I wish the same could be said for all the poor souls who have been displaced from their homes, lost their livelihoods and all they own, and been seperated from everyone they love and cherish. The images on television were heart-wrenching and anger-inducing, but of course that was the point...the media loves human misery, because it's a great story. Cynical? Maybe. True? Absolutely.
As predicted, the unorganized response by the governing bodies involved has caused much debate. People of both political persuasions used this tragedy to heap blame and shame upon their opposition, callously using the victims as unwitting pawns in the process. Ah, how far we humans have come. The fact is, there was plenty of blame to go around at the local, state and national levels of government. The REAL lesson here would be to never depend on government for anything you could reasonably take care of yourself. "But that's too simplistic, Key!", you say. "Some people have no choice but to depend on government." Hmm...I'm not so sure. But no matter how dark the day may seem, the individual always has some choice, and the individuals working outside of the bloated government animal can make the greatest difference in healing the suffering of their fellow man...that is, if the government will let them.
God bless the victims of this cataclysm, and shame to those who would exploit it for their own gain.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Members only
Due to some automated spamming comments I have received on this blog, I am forced to limit comments to those who take the time to become a member. It is free and painless. I regret placing the restriction, but I really have no choice but to take the step before things get out of control. Thanks for your understanding and participation, and we'll talk soon.
Assuming, of course, anyone even reads this damn thing.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
An open letter to Cindy Sheehan
Ms. Sheehan:
Before I say anything, let me express my heartfelt condolences for the loss of your son. I cannot begin to imagine what you went through emotionally, and I won’t waste your time with platitudes that, given the context of this letter, you may not believe anyway. Just know that I am truly sorry that your son died.
That having been said…please shut up and go home.
I believe in our country, ma’am. There are many things about it that could use a little improvement, but I like the Constitution the way it is, especially the First Amendment. Soldiers like your son have fought and died for generations to keep our country free, and to protect the rights that you and your supporters freely exercise today. Many of us are exercising the right to not listen to you, especially now that your message has become more strident and angry, and the words from your lips seem written by the pens of others.
I just wanted you to know that I see clearly, and I can see right through you. You and your friends obviously have an agenda, and you are associated with people who will stop at nothing, stoop to any level, tell any lie, and do anything they can to further their cause, no matter who it hurts or whose memory it dishonors…including your own son’s. You were an activist for left-wing causes long before your son was killed, and your unreasoned hatred of our president and our nation is clear in every sarcastic, spiteful word you have said and continue to say. Expressions of dissent are admirable and patriotic, but in terms of taste, decency and truth you are way out of bounds. Using your son’s casket as a soapbox is reprehensible, and it totally diminishes whatever points you are trying to make.
Personally, I think the President should talk to you. I think he should come right out to the road and talk to you in front of everyone. Then, when you lose what is left of your mind and start shouting and spitting your hate and contempt at the man, the entire world will see you as you really are, and there’ll be no way to spin it around. It won't happen, of course, but it would be very enlightening for many people.
I hope that you get to feeling better, and pray that you find a healthy way to heal your wounds. But your fifteen minutes are way up. Please, in the name of decency, just go home.
Sincerely,
Mark Key
American by birth, Native Texan by the grace of God, and Conservative by Reasoned Choice.
Monday, August 08, 2005
Texas - the all-too brief version
Well, we did make it out to Texas this summer. In addition to just wanting to see as much family as we could, the trip had a special sense of urgency because our son-in-law Nathan was due to be deployed to Germany in late August for up to three years. The possibility of not seeing our three grandchildren for that long made everything we did a little more urgent.
We did get to spend our grandson's fifth birthday with him, which was a blast. Just a nice, small party, but it was fun to watch Michael open his presents, play with his friends and be the center of attention. I thought about how cool birthdays used to be when we were young. He had a grand time, and we got some great pictures.
It was great spending time with them just playing or reading or doing absolutely nothing. I got to re-meet the middle child, Bailey, who was just a small baby when we last saw her. She is quite precocious, and loves getting her picture taken and just hamming it up in general. Aislynne is just a handful of weeks old, so she won't remember us, but it was nice to get to know her too. Diane is preparing some video and picture montages to send to them so they will at least sort of know who their maternal grandparents are.
We took a break on Wednesday, rented a Jeep Liberty and drove all over the state trying to see as much family as we could. We went to Lake Livingston in East Texas to see Diane's dad and his wife, who were doing all right. Carla's had emphesyma and some other problems, but Carl seemed to be the same feisty old redneck he has always been. He also got to meet his great-grandson, who rode along with us.
We drove down to my hometown of League City to see the house I grew up in. It was sold when Mom passed away, and it doesn't look the same. The people there are really not taking care of it very well. I guess you can't go home again. I also stopped at the cemetery and paid my respects. The town really looks different...it has grown so much. We drove by NASA and aroun dthe lake as well. We got to see Diane's brother Curtis and her niece Michelle, then drove up into Houston. Talk about looking different! We hadn't been downtown since they put the monorail in, and we also saw Minute Maid Park and the Toyota Center for the first time up close. Then we went to my brother's house. I was very, very upset that time constraints prevented me from seeing my sister Maggie. We didn't have the time to double back to Friendswood, and she couldn't make it up to my brother's house since it was a weekday. It took me a while to get over that. I swore to myself that the next time I came out here that I would spend all the time with my family since they got short-changed again this go-round. I did have a nice visit with my brother and his wife, and we spent the night there. The next day we drove back to our daughter's house.
We really are very proud of Jennifer. Trying to make ends meet, raise three kids as a stay-at-home mom and keep it together while Nathan was in Iraq...she's doing it all, and doing an awesome job. The kids are so wonderful, and we found it very hard to say those final goodbyes.
I like living in South Carolina, and I'm doing well here with my job and the band, but a large part of me wil always yearn for Texas. There's no place like it in the world. And yes, we did have Mexican food and barbeque while we were there!
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
A big fish story
(Originally posted 5/30/05)
A couple of weeks ago, I had the opportunity to join three of my friends on a deep-sea fishing trip out in the Atlantic off the coast of Charleston, SC. It was a truly phenomenal experience, and one which everyone should try at least once. We traveled on a boat named the “Hot Shot” out of Charleston, a 43-foot beauty built by Ricky Scarborough. The captain was Dick Vance, and his son David was the first mate. His nephew John was also along. The four fishermen were myself and my friends Rod, Kris, and Tony.
We set out on Sunday, May 15th, at 0500 in the morning. It was pitch dark, and we were all a bit out of it from Dramamine and not enough coffee. The ride out was smoother than I expected, even when we cleared the harbor and the captain gunned the engines for the trip out. It was a little hard to walk around the boat, and we all got some laughs watching each other try, only to fall on our asses. The sun came up over the ocean around 7:00, and that was quite a sight. It also lit everything up, and we could see that we were miles away from everything. The water was an indescribable color of blue…deep, dark blue. I found myself staring at it constantly, marveling at its natural beauty and wondering what was swimming around under the waves. I had a lot of music going through my head…big orchestral sounds, pirate-type music. There were also swarms of flying fish all around. They looked like little mullet fish with dragonfly wings! They would jump out of the water and fly in a straight line for about 50 feet, then drop back into the water again.
About 7:30, we made it to the Gulf Stream. We were about seventy miles from land. The crew set up the outriggers, which were fascinating in themselves. Through a maze of pulleys and wire, they kept all twelve of the fishing lines from getting tangled. The mates baited up the hooks with little ballyhoo fish, ran them out, and we were fishing! Rod got the first one, and that was pretty exciting as well. One of the reels started spinning like mad. David and John jumped into action as the captain directed traffic from up on the bridge. Making a clear path for the line, David set the hook and handed the pole to Rod, who was already in the chair. About five minutes later, Rod was reeling in the first catch of the day…a big dolphin! They were very pretty, with many shades of blue and green and yellow on their scales. They lost color once we reeled them in, and David gaffed them, picked them up and threw them in the large ice bin at the back of the boat.
Then it was my turn. I had the distinction of being the only one of us to lose a fish that day, and I lost it right at the boat when the line broke! I was anxiously waiting my turn as Kris and Tony caught their first fish, and Rod caught another. When I finally got another shot, I was determined not to miss this time. When the fish bit, I jumped in the chair and David handed me the pole. I had to remind myself to not pull too hard going up with the pole, and reel in like crazy on the way down, never giving my finned friend any slack. Finally, I got to the end of the reel and David was gaffing my first catch! It was a dolphin about three feet long and around 30-ish pounds. He put up quite a fight, even after he was in the bin. We could hear them slapping the sides and flopping around like mad. What a rush that was!
We ended up catching eleven dolphin that day, not even seeing another kind of fish. On the way back in, we saw a group of porpoises chasing our boat. They would pace us, then swim ahead and criss-cross in front. It was almost like having a dog chase your car. They played like that for several minutes, then they disappeared. They either got bored or realized we weren’t going to stop and feed them. When we got back to the harbor, we unloaded our catch, took some pictures, and watched the captain cut up the fish for us. Good thing we brought several coolers! I ended up giving away a lot of the fish when I got back home, but Diane and I will still get several meals of mahi-mahi out of the trip. Our feet hadn’t even hit the dock yet when we started planning another trip out. Again, it was an experience I will never forget. For more information on the charter we took and fishing trips in general, check out the Hot Shot web site.
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