A generation of baby-boomer entertainers has been leaving their earthly vessels in recent years — Dolly Parton, Jaye P. Morgan and Tim Curry all left the other day.
We must brace ourselves as so many other giants like Dolly age — we all know who I mean — and when they go, it will be another series of body blows to our collective psyche. My generation produced some great songwriters and unforgettable songs — no brag, just fact.
Willie, Bob, Paul and Ringo, Mick and Keith, Joni, Judy, Paul and Art, Carole, James — and others I’ve forgotten at this moment — Their recordings are their legacy, and we will always have the recordings, Lord willing, to remember them and carry on.
We live in a wonderful world that feels a little heavier today, because Dolly lifted us all up and she isn’t there anymore. I guess it’s up to us to keep that light shining.
Six months after Carol Jean crossed to the next plane of existence, I felt a surge of emotion — grief, yes; anger, no, more frustration; determination, yes; and hope.
I poured it all into a poem that proclaimed I had sustained the worst body blow a man can take and emerged shaken, but not defeated. The emotion felt so stark that I took a selfie and drained all of the color from the picture as I shared the poem.
I’m not done. I still have things to say. I don’t know what they are, And I don’t know how I’ll say them, But sure as I feel, I feel that I’m not done.
I’m still here. I didn’t want to lose you, And I’m not the same without you, But there has to be a reason I’m still here.
Let’s find out What those things I have to say are And the reason to go on is. Let’s find out.
Not long afterward, I set the poem to music, and when I recorded the song for my first album in 15 years, New Dog Old Tricks, I added two things—a sixties-style “psychedelic” passage in the middle, and a different opening and closing line when I reprised the first verse: “God’s not done.”
I don’t think any creative people are done until their earthly vessel finally gives out. Oh, and have I mentioned my belief that all of us are creative people?
And our influence doesn’t necessarily end then, either. How many of us have found an old card or letter — or a bit of arts and crafts — from a lost loved one and been moved all over again?
If you’ve checked out the latest album by Willie Nelson, Paul McCartney, or Bob Dylan, you know that it’s true. When I was a little kid, I wrote a silly song called “Never Say Die Until You’re Dead.” Pretty good advice for a little kid.
If you think you’re too old, or your time has passed, or opportunity is lost, think again. You’re not done, either.
I have been retired, for the most part, for 15 months. I still do about 10 hours weekly of clerical work for the last day job. Actually, I never had a “day job”; pretty much every job I ever had required working nights and/or weekends. And come to think of it, I haven’t worked a regular 40-hour week in 10 years.
When my position was eliminated (“Nothing personal, it’s a financial decision”), it was my full intention to work for myself from that moment on. I declared myself a full-time author and started an online “newspaper” for the local news desert southeast of my home. After four months a paper on the other side of the bay decided to recruit me for their open editor’s job, and they were so eager to fill the position that they agreed to let me work 28 hours a week so that I could maintain my online newspaper on the side.
Truth be told, my side hustles never brought in enough revenue to pay the bills. Social Security and the 28-hour job kept the lights on. But I really enjoyed the four-ish years that the online news site survived. I was filling a void and making my own way.
I was also stalling. If I really wanted to be a full-time author when I grew up, taking on two news-gathering jobs was an excuse not to grow up.
I retired 50 years to the day after I started my first full-time job. For these past 15 months, technically, I have been what I wanted to be when I grew up: A full-time author, with a part-time clerical job to help with groceries. Funny thing about growing up: It seems I don’t wanna.
Monday always has been a good day for a reset, and I write this Sunday evening with my finger poised over that button. Will this be the week that I finally start being a full-time author in practice as well as in theory? The fact that I wrote it as a question, not as a declaration, is telling.
I know me. And if you’ve followed this blog, you know me, too. I’ve made declarations before. The first time I declared I was going to become a full-time author, the goal was my birthday in March 1990. I’m currently two-thirds through a novel that I once declared I would publish by the end of 2021. And so I’m going to leave it as a question and not a declaration like, “Yes! From this day forward I am a full-time author!”
But keep an eye on me for me, please. Feel free to ask how my new book or next album is coming, as politely or as rudely as you wish. You don’t even have to be interested in reading or listening to them; just receiving the question will motivate me. At least I hope it does.
Being accountable to someone is a good motivation. I’m planning to have a spaghetti dinner at Mary’s house this afternoon, and my goal is to read her what I’ve written today. That seems to be a good way to reset my brain and motivate me; we’ll see how that works.
If pressing the reset button does work, and the good Lord willing, from this day forward I will be an actual full-time author. The thought both excites and frightens me.
